The Post-Rockist

To those of you reading outside of the confines of the southeast side of the fine state of Michigan, I must preface this sad tale of traveling travail with an explanation about the Detroit “metropolitan” area.

The difference between the Detroit music fan versus the Chicago/New York/San Francisco/Seattle fan is that we are one of the only major musical centers in the US that gets skipped regularly by many touring bands. Worse, the area is so spread out that often bands hit up surrounding cities like Ann Arbor, Lansing, and (gasp) Mt. Pleasant, skipping Detroit even though it makes natural sense to play the Motor City, particularly if the band is heading Toronto-ward from Chicago. I’m not saying that Ann Arbor, Lansing, and Mt. Pleasant don’t deserve shows. I am saying that the area is too spread out and spread thin for any one show to get the audience it deserves and, in the meantime, we dedicated followers of music find ourselves spouting far too many greenhouse gases into the atmosphere from our hour-long drives (of course, no decent public transpo around here either). (Continued)

Lou Reed - Interview
(from American Poet)

The Velvet Underground - “Crash”

The Velvet Underground - “Caroline”

The Velvet Underground - “Wordless”

The Velvet Underground - “Friends”
(all tracks from Squeeze, currently out of print)

Doug Yule has always had a bad rap. Despite being in the Velvet Underground longer than either John Cale or Nico, he’s permanently been relegated to second-rate band member status — the Sammy Hagar to Cale’s David Lee Roth. Decades of snobby fans and critics with a selective memory have envisioned the Velvet Underground as all noise and experimentation and “European Son” and Sister Ray,” while dismissing their forays into pop music as pleasant but not integral. But even in the official record, Yule’s consistently given the shaft. He’s the only member of the Velvet Underground not inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and he wasn’t even asked to participate in their early ’90s reunion tour (where, despite the band’s iconic status, VU was still just opening support for U2). And to top it all off, the 1973 album Squeeze, recorded by Yule without any of the original line-up, has been swept under the rug and neatly disregarded as a non-existant part of the Velvet discography. (Continued)

Dark Leaves Form a Thread

Foam Hands

From Trouble in Dreams

In an attempt to be original and awesome, I was thinking of writing an entire review of Destroyer’s newest, Trouble in Dreams, without mentioning any of the lyrics. I was thinking about exploring other topics that might be interesting to Dan Bejar-o-philes, such as the difference between singing and speaking in Destroyer’s songs (I’ve been designing several charts and graphics using Powerpoint to reveal this difference visually for every song on Trouble in Dreams). Or perhaps I could’ve written an essay about how Dan Bejar does not sound anything like David Bowie at all, contrary to popular blog-belief. I was going to describe the continuously building melodies on “Dark Leaves Form a Thread” and explain guitarist Nicholas Bragg’s vertiginous melodic maneuverings by using a Hilbert Curve as a wicked rad metaphor. I was even thinking of just writing about how Dan Bejar’s hair has gotten totally out of control.

And at 3am Sunday morning, on a drunken, pizza-devouring tear, I had the brilliant idea of defining the new Destroyer album by comparing and contrasting it with an episode of The Cosby Show I was watching (the one where Denise chooses which college she’s going to attend), and I have several illegible, pizza-stained notes to prove it. (Continued)

Nina Simone - “Here Comes the Sun”
(from The Essential Nina Simone, Vol. 2)

Spring’s right around the corner, and no, the Post-Rockist is not dead. We’ve just been in hibernation mode, holed up in some poorly insulated cottage in Oceana county, sipping godawful coffee out of a tin can, and looking out at the gray landscape, waiting for the last throes of winter to withdraw. But we’re not here to bitch about the weather, we’ve got this jaunty, pristine cover of “Here Comes the Sun” to wrestle away the last icy shackles of the season.

I’m generally not a fan of Beatles covers, as a rule, but Nina Simone is a different beast altogether. She’s always managed to convey in her voice an otherworldy sense of maturity and compassion that makes me feel hopelessly commonplace in comparison. But here, she take George Harrison’s rather straightforward lyrics and imbues them with such feeling, a seemingly impossible mixture of frailty and fortitude, that I can’t help but rejoice in the sentiment. The sun! Here it comes.

Whalebomb, from an email at 1:15pm: Tired. I’m not remembering much right now due to my confused state of mind resulting from the chaotic previous four days. It’s even hard typing in complete sentences.

Scotter was asleep at 1:15pm when this email was sent, and read it at 2pm. Scotter was still up at 4am, which was actually 5am, due to Daylight “savings.” Scotter was at a Hamtramck party text messaging friends and proclaiming to all that Blowout will continue at this house tomorrow. Scotter was calling bands to play his house. Scotter didn’t want Blowout to end.

Until he awoke this morning, hungover, but somewhat rational again, albeit with a headache.

Scotter received the following text message from Whalebomb last night: “I’m at Painted Lady, drinking like it’s my birthday.”

We had fun. We’re tired. We are not looking forward to work tomorrow. You too?

Here’s what we came up with for Saturday. (Continued)

Whalebomb and Scotter continue their adventures in Detroit Rock Radness at the Metro Times Blowout…

Child Bite (K of C Main Hall), to Blair (Whiskey in the Jar), to Black Jake and the Carnies

Whalebomb: I started the night out very tiredly at The Record Graveyard. We stayed long enough for me to drink a beer then moved onto the Knights of Colombus-Main Hall. We waited till 10:00 for Child Bite to start. Then we waited till 10:10. Then we waited till 10:18. Child Bite? Oh, thanks for coming out and playing. Other than their tardiness, they were awesome. I’ve only seen them once before, which happened to be last year’s 15 minute set they had at the Knights of Colombus-Lounge. Fast paced music with hidden melodies. Why have I only seen them twice?

^{Child Bite}

We then made our way over to Whiskey in the Jar to catch Blair. Blair is amazing. And I really can never find the right words to describe him. He seems like an awesomely nice, down-to-earth guy…but I’m always intimidated by his brilliance. He’s the one person on the Blowout bill that I’d love to sit down and talk with over come coffee. He’s got to be the most talented person playing Blowout…and not necessarily the most musically talented, but everything talented

But sitting down and talking was out of the question. Whiskey in the Jar was about to asplode from the amount of people there. Everyone was talking, which upset me because I couldn’t make my way up front to appreciate Blair’s performance. I stayed in back and added to the noise by complaining about it and complaining about how I had to pee but there was no way I was going to make my way through the crowd to get to the stage/bathroom. So I left. (Continued)

Ever realize how many bars in Hamtramck proudly display myriad trophies won over the years by their bar/club-sponsored bowling, softball, and youth basketball teams? Ever notice that most of these trophies hark back to the 70s, 80s, and early 90s? It’s kind of weird. Are these simply relics of the past–a reminder of the communities that used to be so strong here and are struggling to remain in this age of internets and “www”s? Are they just silly bar bling? Is their dusty gaudiness a sign of what we youngsters are doing to our roots? Ironic trinkets? And what do they have to do with the Blowout? I think we should borrow them from the bar owners. I think the Blowout’s reward for bringing three days of solid business–probably the most they receive all year–should be one trophy every year, to be given to the act that actually plays their time slot and doesn’t go on 20 minutes late.

JK. But seriously folks, if nothing else, these trophies reveal how unique the Blowout really is. The youth and their music invade the old holes-in-the-wall of retired auto workers, laborers, and Pollacks (I am one, so I get to say that with immunity, although I am a Wyandotte Pollack, which is, I’ve been told, a different genus but still the same species) and everybody gets along just fine. It makes me want to give back, perhaps dig up old bowling trophies from my Polish Roman Catholic Union (PRCU) Youth Bowling League days and donate them to Hamtramck bars. The Belmont and Small’s don’t have any. What’s up with that Belmont?!?!?! Hey, I think we should all go back to our folks’ houses, dig up our old bowling, track and field, baseball, and Quiz Bowl trophies (I know some of you out there have Quiz Bowl trophies) and leave them on the bar of the Belmont just after last call on Saturday night. That’s a way to end a Blowout! 2:00 am. Lift a shot glass from the bar. Down it. Plant a youth-league bowling trophy on the bar. Leave. You in?

Thursday night, and Whalebomb and I made some rounds. I had my camera. He had his coy wit and stolid, unblinking stare. We had fun. Here’s the report: (Continued)