The Ramones "I Wanna Be Sedated"

Let's get one thing straight---I was not a Punk kid.

My musical tastes in high school were pretty straightforward.  There were kids in my school who listened to Punk Rock, but I was never that Cool/Uncool.

I DID discover the music many years later, and fell in love with the genre.  But again, I was never a Punk kid.

If I went to a Punk show, I was the square in an Izod and Chuck Taylors.  I never rode a skateboard, got a tattoo, had a Mohawk or blue hair, pierced anything, owned a pair of Doc Martens or adopted anything that would have identified me as someone who was "into Punk."

If there were an identity I had adopted, it was "into Square."

But I loved the music.

And if this was my last chance to see The Ramones, you're damn straight that I was going to get as close to the stage as possible.

This was Lollapalooza 1995.  I'd already seen Satchel and Jonny Polonsky and Soul Coughing.  And later that night, I'd get my first look at Rage Against The Machine.

But right now, I was all about The Ramones.

Lollapalooza's closest pass to my home in Virginia, was in a large field outside of Knoxville, Tennessee.  And as the last band was clearing the stage, I wormed my way, slowly, toward the stage.

I'd left all my friends behind me.  I don't think they had any interest in getting anywhere near the mosh pit.

I didn't really have an interest in that, either.  MY goal was to get beyond the mosh pit.

From 5 feet out from the stage, to 40 or 50 feet out, was a swirling vortex of sweaty meatheads, circling, circling, slamming their bodies into the persons closest to them, feeding off each other's adrenaline.

But between the pit and the stage, was a small pile of folks pressed again the retaining fence, trying to get their best look at The Ramones.

The band had announced that they were breaking up, and a few gigs on Lollapalooza were part of the farewell tour.

So that was my plan, to wedge myself in that group, stay out of the pit, and soak up the legendary band.

Easier said than done.

The folks who'd been there all day, had secured their position up front.  There was another layer of folks sandwiched right behind them.  So the closest I could get to the stage, was 3 deep.

Which doesn't sound that bad, except that we, the third layer, were the barrier between the people up front and the mosh pit behind.

So try as I might to watch Joey and Johnny's every move, I had to constantly swivel my head around to make sure I wasn't about to be crushed from behind by thundering bags of meat and bones.

I'll say a little bit about the show . . .

They were awesome.  Everything that you'd want The Ramones to be. Funny/serious.  Dramatic/stripped down.  And so many of the artists playing that day, particularly the guys from Rancid, stood side stage, watching in rapt attention.

And I was going crazy.  You know, in my Wonder Bread kind of way.  Jumping up and down and singing along to "I Wanna Be Sedated."

When BAM!

Some body from the pit came flying into me, knocking me off my balance, knocking me forward.

And I, in turn went flying into the guy in front of me, knocking him off his balance.

This was the moment.  The moment when time stopped.  When the music stopped.  When the pit stopped.  When there was only me, and this guy.

This guy was big.  Bigger than me.  A punk.  Head, part shaved, part spiked.  Heavy leather jacket on a 90+ degree day.  Snarl on his face.  Clearly over "The Pit" and the idiots in it.  There to witness The Ramones.

And in this moment, we looked at each other, for a looong few seconds.  A guy who looked like a true Punk (him), and a guy who looked like the epitome of suburban poseur (me).  I was still on the ground, not sure if I should get up.  He had regained his balance, standing over me.

I fully expected a meaty paw-punch to be delivered to my face, at any second.

He grabbed me by the sides.  Lifted me to my feet.  And leaned his face right into my, smiled and screamed:

"BAM-BAM-BAM-BAH, BE-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAH, IWANNABESEDATEDDDDDD!!!"

I laughed, and jumped back into the groove of the music.

I wasn't a Punk, but I belonged there I guess.  And accepting me into his moment, was the most Punk Rock thing he could have done.


Hear the song on Youtube.

Kula Shaker "Tattva"

Here's another Weekend Post:

Here's another Next Big Thing . . .

When I first started following music press, I'd check in to see what was happening in the U.K.

Ugh, the British music press is soooo Over The Top about what flavor of the month was going to be HUGE.  At least, they were that way in the 90s.  I was so turned off by they B.S. that I stopped reading them over a decade ago.

Anyway, I remember buying into the idea that Kula Shaker was going to be SO BIG.

And I'd bet there is a 90% chance you are, right now, saying "Kula Who?"


Hear the song on Youtube.
 
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.

Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show.  They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.

Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.

Damnations TX "Unholy Train"

Here's another Weekend Post:

A little different than yesterday's "Next Big Thing" that didn't make it . . . is a band that bubbled under, but didn't break through like they should have.

Their album "Half Mad Moon" was one of my favorite records of the 1990s.  A totally solid collection of Texas/Alt-Country, that was strong enough to suggest a string of successful albums ahead . . .


Hear the song on Youtube.


Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.

Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show.  They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.

Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.

Jonny Polonsky "Love Lovely Love"

I put this track on a list of songs for "Weekend Posts" a while ago, but thought it was worth a little discussion.

If you haven't heard it before, give this 1995 song a listen.


Hear the song on Youtube.

In 1995, Jonny Polonsky was another "Next Big Thing," with a write up in Rolling Stone, a slot at Lollapalooza and very cool folks like Frank Black championing his music.

And then . . . nothing.

I get that it took him several years after his debut, to navigate some label issues and get a follow-up out.  But then what?

Another big chunk of time, and a record (with a hilarious bio about him and it), but not a tremor on the Richter Scale.

It just makes me think about The Next Big Thing phenomenon.  Is it too much pressure?  Unrealistic expectations?  A weird construct that has nothing to do with the artist?

Strange to have such a build up, only to have it evaporate into the ether.

Mumford And Sons "I Will Wait"

In this day and age, Mumford And Sons' trajectory is pretty unheard of . . .

Their first record, "Sigh No More" was originally released in 2009.  It didn't catch on in the USA until 2010, and it didn't become a smash until 2011.

That's a loooonng time in the Record Industry's version of Dog Years.

Bands don't get that kind of time to ramp up these days.  If you aren't charted within the first few months of your first single release, there is little hope that your label is going to stick with you.

Even more unheard of . . . a band has a smash success, and takes its time with a follow up record.

The Record Industries credo is "strike while the iron is hot," and "the public has a very short memory."

If a band has smashing success, get them in a studio and get the follow up record out there ASAP!

One of the true advantages to this, is to avoid the pit of unwieldy expectations.

If I were a label person with Mumford And Sons, I might have been worried.

The new record has been talked about, and waiting for, and theorized about, and anticipated in the press, all year long.  This leaves plenty of room for people's idea of how good this record might be, to become untethered from reality . . .

Fortunately, the band leads with this single, "I Will Wait."  And smartly, it doesn't do anything to defy, subvert or torpedo expectations.  It sounds like a good Mumford And Sons song.  One that isn't a departure from what people loved about the first record.  It's satisfying.

And that's good news, because it sucks when a record is dismissed on the merits of what people want it to be, instead of what it is.

I'm looking forward to finding out what the rest of "Babel," is . . .


Hear the song on Youtube.

Pat McGee Band "Rebecca"

"Hey Rebecca, this is the pilot speaking . . ." I used to say to her.

It was in response to her saying something like:

"Let's stay out for one more drink.  I'll order some shots."

"No one will notice if I take this off."

"I know we broke up, but wouldn't it be great if we moved in together?"

She was a lot of fun, but didn't always have the most practical ideas.

And it was my role to bring the crazy plane in for a landing.


Hear the song on Youtube.

The Wallflowers "Reboot The Mission"

People seem surprised by the new Wallflowers single, "Reboot The Mission."

Pretty much since their inception, the band has been compared to, comfortably, artists like Tom Petty, The Band, The Counting Crows and Bruce Springsteen.

Straight ahead rootsy rock.

But if you've ever read anything about Jakob Dylan, you know that his formative influences go beyond those earthy antecedants.

He's professed a fascination with The Replacements.

He's covered David Bowie.

He wrote a section of the liner notes for "Beyond And Back," a Best Of collection, for the band X.

So is it a surprise that "Reboot The Mission" features Mick Jones of The Clash?  That it seems to contain programmed beats/samples and such?

It is, only if you've been listening to The Wallflowers, and not Jakob, I guess . . .


Hear the song on Youtube.

Run DMC "King Of Rock"

We were screwed.  Totally screwed.

They were going to pack us up, put us on a plane and send us home.

There was simply no way out of this.

I was 16 years old, and my friend Tip, and two guys we had just met, had trashed a hotel room.

This was 1985, and we were in Washington, DC at Close-Up.

I'm sure loads of you remember, and even went to Close-Up.  For those who didn't . . . Close-Up is a program for High School students.  You are sent to the Nation's Capitol for a week, and from morning until night you absorb the complex wonder of the City and our Government.

In a week's time, I would roam the halls of the Capitol Building, climb the steps to the Lincoln Memorial, wind my way through miles of the Smithsonian museums, experience the solemnity of The Tomb Of The Unknown Soldier, and even take in a night at the theatre (featuing Marlo Thomas!).

But at the moment, it seemed like none of this would happen.

One of the most genius parts of Close-Up is that they paired you up with kids from different parts of the country.  So within our group, there were city kids and country kids, wealthy kids and poor kids, East Coast kids and West Coast kids.

And you even shared a hotel room.

Tip and I were paired up with two guys from Southern California, which was pretty neat.

Naturally, conversation drifted quickly to music, and they introduced us to Run-DMC.

Rap music at that time was far on the periphery.  There were some kids in Newburyport who were into break-dancing, and I think we were all aware of "Rapper's Delight," but for the most part, Rap was not something anyone we knew listened to or cared about.

But I'd never really heard Rap, until I heard Run-DMC.  And I felt like I got it.

The big guitars and voices that cut right through made sense to me.

Of all the things I took home from Close-Up, surprisingly, the door to a whole new musical world remains the thing that has had the most profound effect on my life.  I would go on to buy Run-DMC's earlier efforts, and pick up their breakthrough record "Raising Hell" as soon as it came out, eventually riding the whole cultural wave that record brought on.

But again, I couldn't see that far ahead.  I could only see the splinters on the floor.

Sure, we talked about music.  But really, you put 4 teenage boys in a hotel room with no immediate adult supervision?  What are we going to do?

Play tackle basketball, of course.

We got a few pairs of our gym socks, and rolled them into a ball.  And we put trash barrels at the opposite ends of the room.  The socks didn't bounce, so there was no dribbling---you carried it like a football.  And full contact was the name of the game.  While you tried to put the socks in the barrel, I was trying to tackle you to the floor.

Well, to make a long story short, someone tackled someone else hard onto one of the beds, and the wooden bedframe basically shattered.  Wood cracked and crashed.  The mattress was now on the floor, over a pile of splinters.

The Close-Up folks did not mess around.  We had already been subject to multiple speeches about how there would be NO tolerance for misbehavior.  Break curfew?  We'll put you on a plane and send you home.  Wander from the group?  We'll put you on a plane and send you home.  Try to sneak a beer?  We'll put you on a plane and send you home.

They didn't specifically mention not trashing the hotel room, but we were pretty sure that they would put us on a plane and send us home.

I calmed down.  And concocted a plan.

Bed check would be coming up in an hour.  Someone from Close-Up would come to our door, take roll call with a clipboard.  We had to make the bed incident, look like an accident.

First, we cleaned the scene of the crime.  Barrels righted.  Clothes picked up.  Suitcases zipped.  Non-broken bed made.

Then we carefully, carefully, put the bed-frame back together.

The wood was cracked into pieces, but if we lightly rested the mattress on top, it would remain balanced there.

And that was the plan.  We rehearsed it several times.  And we waited for a knock on the door.

Knock-knock.

"Bedcheck!"  A couple of security guard guys stood at the door with a clipboard.

"PJ?"

"Here."

"Tom?"

Tip responded to his real name.

"Matt?"  And that was Matt's cue.

He was the biggest of the four of us, we were counting on him to really sell it.

Matt said, "Here!" and hopped on the bed, in the casual, jaunty way a young man might hop up on a bed.

Of course, the bed frame immediately crashed to the floor.

We all gasped!  Oh my goodness, Security Guard guys!  Did you see that!  He sat down on the bed in a perfectly normal way, and it crashed into pieces.  What poor construction this bed was made of.  My my.  What a curious accident.

Actually, I don't know exactly what we said.  But we did our best to sell the "accident."

The Security Guard guys seemed nonplussed.  But a little while later, a Manager-type came in to inspect the scene.  And again, we tried to sell it.  "The Security guys will tell you.  They saw it with their own eyes!  The bed just broke when Matt casually sat on it."

I don't know if he bought it.  Or if it was just 11 at night and he didn't feel like expelling four teenager to Dulles.  But he said okay, shrugged and left.   And that was the end of that.

I learned some pretty amazing things at Close-Up.

But who would have suspected that in the home of Democracy, I'd develop an appreciation for Kings.

Hear the song on Youtube.

Anthrax "I'm The Man"

Here's another Weekend Post:

In looking for yesterday's song, I came across this one, which I haven't heard in a million years.  This one always made me laugh, for the awkward-but-brilliant rap-rock fusion that presaged the late 90s by a half-dozen years.

And yes, I have blogged about Anthrax, two days in a row.  Go figure.


Hear the song on Youtube.

Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.

Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show.  They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.

Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.

Anthrax "Got The Time"

Here's another Weekend Post:

I'm starting to feel the pressure . . .

I said a long time ago, that my goal was to reach 1000 posts on this blog.  This is post number 982.

Part of the reason for the goal, was to force myself to write some of the stories that are going to be on the longer side, because they are some of the biggest, most personal stories I have to tell.

If I'm being honest with myself, I'm not going to cram in everything I'd hoped to, before post number 1000.  But that's a good reason to keep going, to keep writing, beyond my goal.

In the meantime, I'm putting the pressure on myself to crank out some of the stories I've been holding off of.

I always enjoyed how adding a metal edge to the Joe Jackson classic made things feel even more jittery, and I used to pull this one out whenever I felt like I need to put pressure on myself to beat the clock . . .


Hear the song on Youtube.

Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.

Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show.  They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.

Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.