White Crosses

I wanted my blog to be the place where I first shared the new Against Me! album cover. It was created by the Florida artist simply known as "The Kyle". Check it out.

My Top Ten Favourite Albums Of 2009

In no particular order...

1. Matt and Kim -Grand
2. Handsome Furs - Face Control
3. Fever Ray - Self Titled
4. Dead To Me - African Elephants
5. Future Of The Left - Travels with Myself and Another
6. The Horrors - Primary Colours
7. Metric - Fantasies
8. Moneybrother - Real Control
9. The Raveonettes - In And Out Of Control
10. The Mountain Goats - The Life Of The World To Come

October 18th

Yesterday was our last day in the studio, and today Andrew, James, and George left for Florida. We had a drunken listening party before packing up the gear last night, twelve songs in a little over forty minutes. We’re calling the album “White Crosses”.

Day 45

September 26th

My temperature reached a high of 101.7 last night. When I got home from the studio I washed a TheraFlu nightcap down with a cherry Nyquil chaser and went to bed. I didn’t go into the studio today, Butch told me to stay home. I’ve spent the day laying on the couch, watching TV, drifting in and out of consciousness.

A.I.M.

Day 27

Day 21

Day 16

Day 14

We've finished drums and moved onto guitars. Went to Phoenix this past weekend to play a show on Sunday. Flew back super early Monday morning so we could still make it into the studio at our usual 11AM start time, had to wake up at 4:15AM. Spent the first half of the day riding high on caffeine, crashed hard mid afternoon and spent the rest of the day in a delirium not un-similar to coming down from a night spent tripping on acid.

Day 8

Day 6

Six days in and we’ve got the drums finished for six songs. We’re not recording tomorrow, I plan on taking it way easy, might try and go see a movie but nothing more physically taxing than that. I Haven’t been feeling too well the past couple days, I’m worried I’m getting sick. I kind of have the dull full body ache happening that usually precedes the flu. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends since I left Florida and it’s starting to catch up with me. The constant roller coaster ride I’ve been on of caffeine fueled days and wine soaked nights probably isn’t helping. What is a man without his vices?

Day 3

I don’t think most fans of music realize how much of being in a band is about sitting around waiting for something to happen, it’s called “Hurry up and wait”. You rush to the airport to then sit around waiting to board the plane. You drive through the night to get to the venue for load in/ soundcheck, to then sit around for hours backstage, waiting for the show to start. Making a record is no different. The ratio of time spent actually playing to the time spent setting up, getting the right tones, etc, is heavily weighted towards the latter. It’s a constant stop and go routine. Some times it’s enough to drive you insane. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. All work and no play make Tom…

Day 1

First day in the studio. Nothing actually recorded yet; 9:20PM and we're still setting up, getting tones.

Tucumcari, NM

She asks if I am ready to order. At first, I mistake the partial paralysis of her mouth as annoyance or disdain. I have no explanation why, but I assume it was a stroke that paralyzed the right side of her face.
As the thunderstorm outside grows in its fierceness, the shelter seaking motorists seated around me grow equally impatient for their food. The young waitress apologizes profusely, rushing about refilling their beverages, promising that it won’t be much longer. I can see a steady stream of people lining up at the front desk to check into the hotel, and I can see a steady stream of people lining up to be seated for dining. Caffeine is making my legs shake uncontrollably, I order a glass of the house red hoping it will help calm me down. I make short talk with the busboy as he hurridley clears and set places at the surrounding tables. I want to disassociate myself from the rest of the clientele, as I am in no hurry and do not want spit in my food.
Once served I eat my meal while listening to other people’s table conversations. My wine glass stained with lipstick that isn’t my color. The penmanship on the check I am eventually handed is impeccable. I don’t remember when but I have been to this hotel before.

A Short Review Of The Movie "Bottle Shock" -

Duffy, “Queen Of Rockferry” and the King Of Leon are trying to race back to the vineyard to let Bill Pullman know that the white wine he has spent his entire life perfecting will only be brown for a couple of days, don’t throw it all away. Their sex is on fire sitting in the bar as Duffy tells the King that her chest was ripped open when she was a child, she has the scar to prove it.

April 23rd – 2:50PM. Driving to Little Rock, AR
Someone hammered a screw driver into the drivers side door lock and broke into the van last night. Suprisingly all they stole was an I-Pod transmitter and our receipt pouch. We found the receipt pouch, still full of receipts laying on the ground across the parking lot as we were driving away.

April 25th – 4:31AM. Huntsville, AL. @Andrew’s partents house.
Tonights show was the biggest of the tour; it was an energetic crowd. We’re staying at Andrew’s parents house. Andrew’s dad got us all loaded on Schnapps. I’ll be lucky if I don’t vomit.

April 27th – 5:30AM. Somewhere.
Is today my brothers birthday or is it tomorrow?

April 28th – 4:06AM. Hyatt Hotel outside of Atlanta, GA.
I ate dinner alone, the same chain restaurant, the same meal I had last Monday; washed down by a margarita. I popped a vicodin (for the toothache) on the walk back.

April 29th – 3:00AM. Charlotte, SC.
Three more shows, Athens, Wilmington, Columbia, and then I go to Australia.

May 1st – 4:13AM. Wilmington, NC.
An hour into my turn behind the wheel I remember pissing in the stairwell of the hotel last night. John and I had been drunkenly arguing in the hallway, I don’t remember what about specifically, and then the next thing I knew I was all alone. I had lost my room key, not that I could remember what room I was in, I couldn’t remember what room anyone else was in either. The indoor stairwell seemed like a better urinal than the hallway carpet. In my drunken state of mind I thought for some reason that pissing on the handrail would be more discrete, more courteous than pissing directly onto the actual stairs. I don’t know how I got back into my room. I woke up half an hour after van call. Once in the van I immediately passed out on the back bench seat.

We told Warren this afternoon that we are going to look for a new drummer. Andrew, James and I made the decision a couple days ago over lunch. I told them that I didn’t want to play music with Warren anymore. They both agreed that this was a necessary step, it’s been a long time coming. Warren’s heart hasn’t been in this for a while now.


May 1st - 2:42PM. Driving to Columbia, SC
If I hadn’t turned around and come back in through the door that night in Providence, November, 2007, then the band would have ended right then and there, nothing that’s happened since would have transpired. Andrew quit, Warren readily agreed with him that it was time to end. I admit I was being an asshole, I provoked Andrew. At the same time I didn’t know about what all was happening in Andrew’s personal life. I was heading for the bus, I was going to grab my bags, find a cab to take me to a hotel, figure out how I was going to get back to Florida in the morning. But, a couple feet outside the rear exit of the club I stopped, turned around, walked back inside, tail between legs, and begged Andrew not to quit. Minutes later we went back onstage for an encore. I’m still hoping that it wasn’t a mistake to not let things end then and there.

After load in today Warren asked if he could talk with us all again. He said that after thinking about it over night he completely agreed that this was the best decision to make, that he realized his actions as of late have been, if not subconcious, indicitive of him not being fully invested. With his Mexican Restaurant opening soon, he seems ready to start a new chapter in his life. I wish him luck.

Tonight’s show at the New Brooklyn Tavern will be our last with Warren.

"This paper is your skin,
this ink is my blood,
I'm pressing on my pen."
-Jules Et Jim

April 13th - 2:50AM. Saint Augustine, FL.
Started the day off with a big breakfast. Tofu scramble with fresh cut kale from our garden, soy sausage, toast, coffee. We ate while watching a collection of Danzig music videos. "She Rides" has to be one of the greatest music videos ever made. And then there's all the behind the scenes footage in between the videos. Glenn Danzig slamming a box of milk duds before going back out onstage for an encore, amazing. He tries so hard to look tough and evil, but it's just so obvious that he's just a big comic book collecting nerd from Jersey.
Later we washed the car, inside and out, worked on the garden, cleaned up around the house. Then we went to the beach, sat in the sand, split a tomato sandwich, stared up and down the coast. I have a couple of days at home between the tour I leave on tomorrow and the Australia tour; it should be hot enough then to really appreciate a swim in the ocean, I'm looking forward to it.
We had talked about going out for dinner but ended up eating at home. WHile Heather made pasta I packed. We ate dinner while watching the recent remake of "The Day The Earth Stood Still", followed by the original "Amityville Horror". We have another doctors appointment tomorrow, we should be able to hear our babies heartbeat.

April 13th - 7:00PM. Driving To Savannah, GA.
One hundred and twenty three miles to Savannah. Sitting on the front bench seat behind Warren riding shotgun, Andrew driving. I'm looking forward to the 24 hour gym at the hotel tonight.

April 14th - 1:14AM. Savannah, GA.
I left my journal open on the table in the hotel room when I went down to Jordan's room to get my forgotten van keys; did Andrew read it? I hate feeling like I have to censor myself in my journal out of fear that someone might read it. If Andrew didn't read my journal it's a testament to his character, it's a credit to his parents.

April 14th - 3:11AM. Savannah, GA.
Bedtime. Worry about everything tomorrow.

April 15th - 2:58AM. Greenville, SC.
I've become repulsed by the idea of my own body hair.
I'm not sure what to make of tonights show, it started off strong but then it fizzled. I'm not sure why.

April 15th - 12:52PM. Driving.
Andrew and Jordan are singing made up songs about the stimulation of their anus', in the front of the van.

April 16th - 2:37AM. Raleigh, NC.
Tripped up on a couple of lyrics tonight. I don't remember what I was thinking about but it wasn't the song. I have deep wrinkles developing under my eyes.

April 17th - 1:28AM. Driving.
That's what Anarchy means to the Anarchists, that's the extent of their revolution, a shit filled diaper left on the windshield of our van. Something about being a "sellout" written on it.

April 17th - 9:55AM. Driving.
I feel nauseous from drinks last night. Every bump in the road makes it worse. I got tattoo'd by Jay Chastain yesterday in Asheville, the word "HOWL" across the knuckles on my right hand. I'm hoping there's no problem with it healing up, being on the road and all.
Ian, our manager came to the show last night. I don't like the way any of us act when he's around, myself included. It seems so forced, so fake.

April 18th - 11:54AM. Driving to Virginia Beach, VA.
Ian gave me a copy of the new Dylan record, I'm listening now as I write; it's good. I love how weathered his voice has grown.

April 19th - 12:30AM. Driving To Hotel.
The show had already started, I had been hanging out in the van by myself writing, playing guitar. I decided to go in and check out the scene, watch some of the local opener. Standing just past the two people taking tickets at the door was a group of security guards. I walked up to them, being that they were unavoidable to walk into if going into the show, and met face to face for a moment with a young female security guard. As I started to look down at my ringing cell phone the girl fell over backwards. With a slap her head slammed into the ground, she began convulsing. She was having a seizure. It took me a second to realize what was happening, I thought it was a joke at first. Not knowing what to do I stood there watching as the other security guards scrambled. It was yelled out for someone to call 911, and phones were picked up as if the number was called, although no ambulance ever came. With a short haired, stout, female security guard kneeling down beside her the girl came to. The slowly moved her into a chair, gave her a coca-cola. I asked her if she was okay. She seemed dazed. That was the first time I've ever seen someone have a seizure. I felt helpless.

April 20th - 5:31PM. Nashville, TN. Day off.
Applebee's was my best option for food, so here I sit, waiting for a waitress to place my order with. I have time to kill. My laundry spinning away in the washing machine of the neighboring hotel to ours. We are staying at a Hyatt Place hotel, despite not having guest laundry it is my favourite type of chain hotel to stay in. I spent the morning wandering around the outlet mall right next door to the Grand Old Opry, down the street from our hotel. I did some shopping, clothes, a new suitcase. I prefer to be by myself most of the time, unless with Heather.

April 21st - 5:07AM. Nashville, TN.
If no one ever came to get me, would I ever leave this hotel room?

"She wore a black dress with a transparent lace yoke - the crescent of her chemise could be seen through it - from the lower edge of which the silk hung down in a finely cut frill."
-Pg. 3-
"The Complete Stories"
"Description Of A Struggle"
Franz Kafka

April 22nd - 2:38AM. Nashville, TN.
Our child can make a fist, it can suck it's thumb. His or her skull and bones are solidifying, soon it will have ribs. Intestines are in the right place, vocal chords ready to wail. 13 weeks old.

March 24th - 1:13Pm. Gainesville, FL

In the corner of "The Clock" restaurant which I have been seated, there is a faint smell of fecal matter. The mutant to my left has his gut hanging out all over the lap of his blue sweat pants. I prefer the atmosphere here late at night, but I enjoy the company (and the food, mmmm grits and home fries) offered in the morning. At this time of day there is an almost zero percent chance that I'll run into anyone I know; which is what I prefer to happen when I'm in Gainesville. The coffee works equally well at all hours. I didn't fall asleep last night until just before 6AM. It's easy to lose track of time at the practice space, with no windows, once you turn that dead-bolt lock it's almost as if the outside world doesn't exist. Almost. The lack of windows also makes it extremely hard to wake up in the morning. There's no fresh sunlight to let you know it's time to start a new day. Last night I moved from sleeping on my cot to sleeping directly on the floor; it is much more comfortable. The past couple of weeks have been a black hole.

Feb. 15th, 2009.

This is the view from the front steps of my house. People wave and say "hello" as they walk by, in couples, with dogs. Sometimes they'll stop and chat for a second, ask your name, introduce themselves, point out which house is theirs, mention they knew and were fond of the previous residents of the house.
Our neighbors to the right always have random objects laying about in their yard. They seem to be constantly starting landscape projects, which are never finished and wouldn't look good if they were. The lady of the house parks her black Cadillac in the front yard. The man of the house parks his white GMC work truck and his camouflaged Chevy Suburban on the street. There's a covered car, an old Corvette judging by the shape, parked in the grass on the side of the house. None of their vehicles are ever parked on the driveway. They keep two very large dogs locked in a makeshift corral built in the backyard. It smells of dog shit. I've never seen them taken out.
Our neighbor to the left just moved in, she is young, blonde, in her early 20's, has a small dog, and drives a red Audi. She smokes cigarettes while standing in her screened in front porch. I have never seen her face but Heather says she is cute.
On weekends young boys and girls sporadically run through the backyard. They play made up games with rules beyond adult comprehension, battling imaginary cyborgs and the like. Their friendships with each other begin and end countless times every hour, accusations of "cheating" and cries of "I hate you" being shortly followed with the game resuming, the quarrel forgotten.
Our street, our house, is only a couple of blocks north of the Fountain of Youth, or at least what Ponce De Leon believed was the Fountain of Youth, and is now a national archaeological park. Open daily from 9AM to 5PM (closed Christmas Day), the Fountain is actually a natural spring coming up from the Anastasia aquifer, which also supplies us with out tap water. This is my favourite feature of the house. Every morning I wake up, shower, brush my teeth, make coffee with water coming from an aquifer, which supplies a spring, that 500 years ago a Spaniard believed gave those who drank from it eternal youth.
I've gotten in the habit of taking short walks around the block, mostly when my stomach feels upset. At night you can hear an owl somewhere up in the trees. I wouldn't be surprised if the majority of front doors in the neighborhood were left unlocked. We've signed a year lease, but if the owner would sell the house to us, if we had the money she was asking for, we would buy it.

Jan. 18th - 9:04PM. Saint Augustine, FL.

We went to the bar because there's a neon flamingo playing a saxophone on the side of the building. We went to the bar because it's just down the street from our house and I felt like having a drink. We knew it wasn't our scene but I'm not sure where our scene is here. I'm not sure it's here to be found. There is no shortage of bars in this town where one could go if they really wanted to hear Sublime while having a drink. At the very least, neon sax flamingo didn't look like the type of place that would be packed with dickhead jocks, which this town has it's fair share of.
The guitar player was rocking a paisley tie-dyed Fender Stratocaster through a Line 6 combo amp. On top of the P.A., which was sitting on a chair just to his right, he had placed a small black light. This brought out the full effect of his custom painted axe. He was dressed head to toe in denim. I wouldn't be surprised if his socks and underwear, briefs not boxers, were denim as well. The solos were drunk, sloppy, indulgent, and awesome. The drummer wore a "Trilby"-esque hat; the bass player a black and white swirls shirt that matched his black and white Fender Jazz bass. It was the true spirit of the mall store "Spencer's embodied in a shirt. You could tell he saw it and just had to have it for gigging. The back up singer, who stood on the floor because there was no room for her on stage, not that the stage was not just a foot tall riser, was dressed like a legal secretary. When she wasn't singing or dancing with the audience she was a playing a P.A. speaker like it was a bongo. She was my favourite. Before they started playing I thought they were patrons, standing around the bar drinking and laughing, loudly conversing.
They opened with a cover of "Second That Emotion" originally by The Miracles. During the outro the lyrics were changed to "I'll rub your ass with lotion". They followed with Stevie Wonder's "Superstitious". Everyone was having a good time, it was the weekend, tear it up. There was the Billy Ray Cyrus wanna-be, new school Billy Ray, not old school Billy Ray, who moments before owning the dance floor had been sitting at the bar with a blond plastic surgery disaster, kissing the top of her exposed breasts. There was the elderly gentleman who i heard telling a group of people how when his wife died he became the "hot item on the block". There was skinny lawyer looking guy with salt and pepper hair. There was bulky zoot suit guy with white shoes in the back of the room. There was girl too cute for guy couple. There was open eyed kissing in the corner totally wasted couple who at one point got ready to go, then decided to stay and dance some more. There were others. It wasn't even 11 but you could tell most of them weren't going to make it much longer. Soon there would be a lot of sloppy sex happening. Billy Ray and P.S.Disaster weren't waiting until they got home, all but fucking right on the dance floor. Heather and I were perplexed at first when we saw them both start dancing with other people for the bands next song, Prince's "Purple Rain". We were perplexed because we didn't understand why anyone else would want to dance with either of them after the gratuitous leg humping session that had just ended. We guessed they were swingers looking to bring a 3rd or 4th party home with them for the evening. When the band started playing Pink Floyd, shaved head with a goatee guy was overwhelmed by everything that was happening, he took out his Nikon and started taking photos of the band. He had to be a part of the moment, he had to document the glory.
I was drinking whiskey and beer, a shot for every bottle. Heather was drinking wine. I felt warm; I felt fondness towards the band. I wanted to talk with them, I wanted to rap about gear, I wanted to let them know that I was also a musician. All of a sudden we were the only people left in the room besides the bar staff and the band. It was time to go. I left with a cd and a business card. What was the band called? I'm not sure. I was told two different names, and the cd they gave me had a third on it. They were "El Toro Loco", "BrokedDickDog" or "Speed Dial: Love", but anyway you look at it they were brilliant. Fuck, I'm not even sure they were real.

Guns N' Roses - Chinese Democracy

The question of whether or not you personally like "Chinese Democracy" is irrelevant, as this is a question of taste, and taste is often influenced by fickle pop culture trends that change with the times. While obviously a different medium, music should not be measured with any different standards (as it always is) than painting, literature or acting. The validity of any art should not be determined by whether or not people immediately understand the artist's vision, whether or not they find it immediately aesthetically palpable.
Unfortunately it is inevitable that "Chinese Democracy" will be measured by all the wrong standards, especially considering the line up changes in the band, the cost and length of time it took to finally see the light of day. Is it better than "Appetite For Destruction"? Where did it debut on the Billboard Charts? How many copies will it sell? Using these points of comparison to judge the merit of work contained in the 14 songs that comprise the album would yield results that are false, as none of these were goals of the artist when creating the art.
A comparison is necessary to understand what I'm talking about so let's compare the two very different paths taken by Guns N' Roses and their contemporary and rival band, Metallica. Compare "Chinese Democracy" to "Death Magnetic". "Chinese Democracy" has been one man's sole focus; one man's vision, his manic obsession, for 14 years. Axl is Captain Ahab, "Chinese Democracy" is Moby Dick. "Death Magnetic" is just another album, another tour in support of said album, just the next marketing campaign in a long procession of album cycles. Metallica needs a producer to give them direction, to tell them what kind of band they should be this time around, to coax performance, and in the case of "Death Magnetic", to help them return to their roots; to what originally made them popular, since their last few albums haven't sold so well.
Axl is his own producer, he doesn't care about returning to his roots, he is moving forward, he doesn't care who believes in his mission. Meanwhile, Metallica grasp at straws, employing a psychiatrist to help them get along together as a band, to help them communicate as people. Axl does not care about communicating. You got a problem? You're out of the band! It's his vision and no one else's. Axl needs a psychiatrist because he has deep rooted psychological issues, he's "fucking crazy". Remember?
Need proof? Just look at him, the way he dresses, the braids in his hair, the way he behaves, tell me this isn't undeniable evidence that he just completely does not give a shit what you or anyone else thinks. He is only concerned with his own self-perception. For fucks sake he hired a guitarist named "Buckethead" who plays with a white face-mask and an empty bucket from Kentucky Fried Chicken on his head. Why did he hire Buckethead? Because Buckethead shreds on the guitar. Metallica are sporting leather jackets this time around, hoping to convey a tough unified Rock n' Roll image, a back to the streets look. Axl is demonstrating the difference between Artist and Rock Star, a trapping that he has transcended. Axl is demonstrating the difference between self-delusion and self-obsession. Metallica are self-deluded. They need to be the biggest band in the world; they crave the money, the critical praise, and the fame. Metallica's think all these things matter and that they will make them happy.
Axl is self-obsessed. All he cares about is his masterpiece, his monument to himself. Think about it, who else is he writing about? Do you think Axl dates anymore? These songs seemingly sung about some mystery girl, do you really think there is one? Axl is singing to himself about himself. He is in love with himself and at the same time hates himself; he is at war with the demons inside his head. This album is a self-portrait. Metallica are paint by numbers. Axl is Van Gogh. Is his self-mutilation not completely evident? Has he not completely isolated himself into a prison of his own paranoia? Metallica surround themselves with 'yes' men who all tell them that they're still the greatest, still the hardest rocking band out there. No one dares tell Axl anything (except maybe Dizzy. Dizzy is probably a total 'yes' man. But let's give Axl the one). Since "The Black Album", their true high water mark, Metallica have kept on shitting out mediocre record after mediocre record, each time hoping they've recaptured the magic they used to have. They're doing it because it's all they know how to do. It is their profession. Axl is lost in his illusions, following the voices in his head. He's doing it because something uncontrollable inside compels him to do so.
So, the question of whether or not you personally like "Chinese Democracy" is irrelevant. The question is how does Axl feel about "Chinese Democracy". You would have to understand "Chinese Democracy" in order to decide whether or not you liked it, and how could you, or anyone else possibly understand this album better than Axl himself? Axl may have killed the whale, but he lost part of himself to the sea in the process.