2014: Year To Be Happy?

New Year's is one of those bittersweet "holidays" that evokes the apparent need to look at the year that past and promise (or hope) for a better year, often through making certain choices, commitments, etc.  A secular Yom Kippur, if you will.  (I'm sure there's some historical overlap given that Yom Kippur immediately follows the Jewish New Year).

In any case, good luck to all with your respective chosen improvements.  I will start off very small, but relevant.  The Master Cylinder played drums (a/k/a "Pile Driver"), and I, Johnny Human Torch, played bass, (a/k/a, "Low Beef Oil").  On the one hand, it's cool that someone was thoughtful enough to name the band members after the fact, but they made an error or had erroneous info.

Having to do this correction of "the record" if you will, is SO Tap.  We were (are) the Spinal Tap of NYC thrash.

2013: F-U-C-K Y-O-U!! The Passing of Al Goldstein, Mandela, Lou Reed, etc.

I did not post anything with respect to the deaths of Nelson Mandela and Lou Reed, largely because of my life being totally consumed by lawyer-work obligations.  Things have freed up a bit so now I can memorialize my thoughts about Al Goldstein's passing.  (Maybe I post something about Mandela and Reed, maybe not.  I don't know).

Brother Al probably knew next to nothing about music generally and thrash even less so. Nevertheless he was a BIG aesthetic influence on both Falafel and my prog-rock band Ricky Methylene Blue.  Goldstein was uber-New York, absurd, dirty, angry and funny, with occasional brilliance, both intended and accidentally. Wearing my RMB hat, he was so fucking Lincoln.  And he was the Spinal Tap of pornographers.

There was nothing like his show Midnight Blue and the void that his show filled opened deep and wide once it went off the air.  However, I somehow thought that Goldstein would somehow emerge from the bizarre shithole he ended up in as a result of his divorce with the "Irish cleaning lady" as he called one of his ex-wives, and start up at least a YouTube version of Midnight B.  It never happened.

Al's show served up his very (proudly) New York Jew rantings, complete with ample helpings of profanity and teenage bathroom humor and used tits and ass to lure you in.  The porn stars were there just to suck you in but his show was perhaps one of the most unsexy things on TV.  But it was so fucking funny.  Somehow he was able to issue fuck you fatwas effortlessly to both Guiliani and the attendant at his parking garage in the same sentence and maintain some sense of sense (or at least interest).  Much of the content his rants could be done by the brother-in-law you avoid at family gatherings, but Al was the perfect Friday night must-see (or at least watch on Monday night) TV show for when you wanted to chill with the Falafel trifecta of a few bowls, some smokes, booze.  Unfortunately, he wasn't friendly for chick company.  (Oh well, no one is perfect, but neither is thrash).

But like most performers, he was not quiet like his TV persona.  I met Al randomly in 1994 while I was walking home from my office.  He lived on 63rd or 64th Street and I lived on 66th Street.  Dressed in my navy Armani, I was heading up Second Avenue and saw a very fat man about a block away.  Al was lovingly eyeing up a window display in the Duane-Reade of all places.  I thought to myself "that's one really fat dude...wait that's Al Goldstein."

I thought for a second or two whether to introduce myself.  I was never shy with the rich and famous (except in the case of Robert Fripp), but I know fame can be a hassle at times.  However, I figured why not and went up to him..."Mr. Goldstein/"  I extend my hand.  He sheepishly shakes it.  "I really enjoy your show.  It's great.  Please keep it coming."

He responded, with a seemingly genuine modesty, "oh...oh thank you.  Thank you."  He seemed truly touched that someone was actually watching his show and not only didn't want to spit in his face but actually liked the show. Certainly not I expected.  I wished him good evening and went on my way.

I heard from another lawyer I knew from law school that she -- a Jewish woman -- interviewed Al Goldstein for her college radio show and loved him.  She said that she was truly surprised of how kind and modest he was.  She went into the interview expecting to hate him.  "I was expecting a pig" I recall her putting it.  She said that he was not only a gentleman but very naturally sweet and earnest.

I'm gonna post a video remix of Al G to Falafel "Peep Show Man" in the coming weeks.

To Al Goldstein, a lovingly ironic, "Fuck You."

Torched Cat Promo Video: Addendum

Oh....how could I forget...thanks to the Master Cylinder for his ever priceless voicemail messages and in this case, his voice appears at the end of the clip.  Thanks Bro!!  I'm glad that I keep these.

Torched Cat Promo Video

Since the primary purpose of this blog is about music, I figured that I had to try to get some of my music up as I work on the album.  So here is a link to a short video I created featuring excerpts of two of the tracks from the San-Ship album: "My Brother Died on The Chessboard" and "Memories In My Pocket."

http://youtu.be/QEj3Z2fUBWQ

The Chessboard excerpt opens the video.  This track is one of the few tracks that I play keyboards on.  In this case, I'm using an Oberheim TV-1 analog synth for the opening.  (Many people mistake it for guitar).  I'll post additional info about the Oberheim later.  Also heard on this excerpt is the Carvin fretless bass.  I use the Les Paul for all the guitar parts on this track, though it is not heard on this excerpt.

The Memories excerpt features both the Les Paul and my Strat.  I play the Paul for the lead part which is panned hard left in the stereo field.  The Strat is panned hard right. (I was too lazy to include footage of me playing the Strat in the video, but it's on the track).  Both are played through my Line 6 Bogner tube amp. The bass is my Ibanez SR500 through the usual chain, though obviously overdriven. Drop D tuning is employed on all instruments.  My "secret weapon" on mixdown is the UAD Fatso plug-in on virtually all the tracks, including the drums and vocals.  The Fatso is particularly effective in bringing out the "growl" harmonics of the Ibanez, especially for the "death march" intro of the song.

Some screen shots from the video of the Ibanez and the Paul:

Summer's Over -- FUCK YA'

I've been hating summer for a while...the swampy heat outside and the blast furnace heat on the subway platforms; the random street stench; the Con Ed bills, etc. etc.

But this summer R-E-A-L-L-Y sucked.  We lost Jeff Hanneman and James Gandolfini, the GOP totally lost its mind and I was super busy in my legal practice.  I started work on another track called "Buttered Flowers" in April but haven't gotten back to it.  Plus I had DAW problems which I've only recently solved.

I'm still in a shit storm of law practice deadlines and projects.  Yeah, yeah, yeah I'm gonna post some snippets of music soon.

Later -- be happy summer's fuckin' over...

Steamy summer night on East 23rd Street -- Remember Big Fun?
Can't you smell the summer puke.  So Lincoln.

Jeff Hannemann: R.I.P. oh great one

What can I say...Jeff passed away yesterday.  The thrash-metal community lost one of its first inventors.  Death sucks for the living. We're going to miss you Jeff but your kick-ass riffs remain.

I Been Dirt....

A few years back, Master Cylinder and I were having some rounds chit-chatting about whatever and somehow the topic of must have, deserted island albums came up.  Two records that I remember we both mentioned were Zappa's "The Best Band You Never Heard of In Your Life" and The Stooges "Fun House."

From time-to-time, I will walk from my office late night to my apartment.  I do this on clear and reasonably nights.  It's a good way to get some physical exercise and mental relaxation for me.  Usually I listen to some music, particularly stuff not in my current regular rotation.  I decided to listen to, first S.O.D.'s "Speak English or Die" and then Fun House.  Perhaps I'll get into it another time the business of doing a full discussion of why that is such a fucking brilliant record, but I'm just going to focus on one of the best rock tracks of all time on that record -- "Dirt."

I thought of doing a cover of Dirt for this solo album.  But given that I'm so pressed for time working on this fucking thing, and knowing the effort (and $$) involved in music licensing -- I'm not only a lawyer but a copyright lawyer -- I decided to take a pass.

Dirt is a very personal song for me.  That song can move me to tears.  Iggy captured those primal, existential sadness dips that you first get in your 20's -- fear of the future and the gradual loss of those fond memories of fun irresponsibility.  He captured the BLUES for me.  Yes, I'm part black by phenotype (and a lot of other things --  I recently discovered that my South Asian/Central Asian haplogroup, R2 dominates my genetics, but I digress).  However, culturally, I'm a working-class white ethnic kid who went on to college and law school and who would be a literal alien in down-home Georgia (my black roots such as they are, reside in  Jamaica) as well as Goa.  I didn't live in an apartment until college.  I first played spin the bottle with a bunch of Irish and Italian girls, while listening to Sabbath's We Sold Our Souls For Rock N Roll.  My blues was whether my parents would make me go to an all-boys Catholic high school.  What did I know about the blues.

The wah-guitar and Iggy's speed-crashed vocals capture that dark cloud in the most passionate way.  Psychedelic, but street.  Sad and dark, but not wimpy.  It's a temper tantrum of indifference.  It's a romantic power ballad to oneself.  Iggy's howl before the guitar solo and the whatever the fuck he's mumbling coming out of it, is poetry.

I remember one time early in a romantic relationship, my gal at the time wanting to get to know "me," asked if there were any songs that made me cry, since my taste were eclectic, usually on the underground side, and decidedly free of ballads or love songs.  My record collection would have Karlheim Stockhousen, Slayer and Ravi Shanker, but certainly no Lionel Richie, Journey or anything that would break the Top 40.

Dirt was the song I told her.

Link to Dirt on YouTube:

http://youtu.be/zxYXV2RrwIs