LEO COLUMN #7 : MORE THAN WINNING

* Artwork by JAKE EARLY

Published : December 21, 2011

PUBLIC NOISE PRIVATE NOISE

An old joke: Whatever doesn’t kill you … just really, really hurts you. While there’s a surplus of painful subjects both international and local to discuss, I’d like to focus on gratitude. Thanksgiving week offered moments of human goodness and warmth, despite a political climate so vitriolic that writers are actually using the word “vitriolic.” Our week of giving thanks also included a bittersweet farewell to one of Louisville’s most important businesses — though calling ear X-tacy an “important business” doesn’t convey the incredible sense of family and creativity that this one little (epic) record store could inspire. It seems that what often constitutes victory these days is a rather ruthless “last man standing” mentality that many Americans seem to love. We like a good fight … but ear X-tacy fought for many things outside of pure profit and prestige.

Just to be upfront, I worked at the store for seven years and feel honored to be a small part of the story. I always believed our primary role was to build community and give all musical genres a chance to be heard. We aspired to treat every person who walked in fairly and decently, and wanted to offer a social forum for ideas to be debated and expanded. I thought these things because that’s what everyone on the staff requested of me each day. They also gently reminded me to be on time and wash my clothes (many ear X-tacy employees were also working musicians).

No one worked at ear X-tacy to make a killing. We simply loved music and being surrounded by it. Sure, we didn’t always agree, but that made it interesting. I was humbled and inspired by the musicians (from many continents) who shared their talents during the years of free in-store concerts … not to forget the amazing people in this town who showed such loyalty and support for decades. Seeing the Louisville Independent Business Alliance come together was so encouraging. More than ever, we seriously need small businesses to keep our city vibrant and original. We can all debate what the store’s closing means for the music industry, and what that says about surviving a radical change in entertainment technology (coupled with a gnarly worldwide recession), but I mainly think of people coming together in one space, sharing something elemental with each other.

No, ear X-tacy wasn’t perfect. We stumbled sometimes, dropped the phone, missed the beat, couldn’t always special-order the Australia-only 12” remix of “Bootylicious.” I did see people of every background, age, wealth and experience gather and express their personalities. I saw the organic exchange of ideas and ambitions, often scented with dragon’s blood incense or perhaps the less than optimal “wet-dog-hemp-burnt-plastic” smell endemic to good record stores. Fuck — we even sold ceiling fans for a while.

John Timmons was kind enough to share his store and his dream with our town. People from all over saw that Louisville had a space to celebrate the everyday, the everynight, the shaven and shaggy, the devout, the confused, the breakdancers, the turntablists, the acoustic, the virtual, the freaks, the ironic, the mutants, Madvillains, dispossessed, the Lovecraftian, the Funkadelics, the Slints, the white-gloved, the purple-caped, the classical, the romantic, the Gwars, the no-depressed, the dreaded, the undead, the Ut Grets and Vrktms and Nellie McKays and the Nappy Roots and Indigo Girls and those wearing Morning Jackets and all other lifeforms not visible without black light.

I truly believe in the resilience of the music culture in Louisville. There are many people working to expand creativity here (and throughout Kentucky). Louisville Public Media is an incredible asset that needs our support, as do local concert venues, new and surviving record and book and video stores — any place that lets humans come together to share a few urgent thoughts or just vent. We also need you, dear readers, to join the fracas. A diverse, compelling music community won’t just thrive on its own. It requires the rush and energy of being out in the open to grow, not just nibbling on digital packets in isolation. You may be lucky enough to create something that lasts 26 years in the flesh and 10,000 years in the soul.

LEO COLUMN #6 : SKINNY PUPPY PAL

Published : October 26, 2011

PUBLIC NOISE PRIVATE NOISE BY JASON NOBLE

Welcome, fiends. I’m terribly happy to celebrate Halloween with you. This is my favorite season. The smell of sweet decay in the air, the sad scratching of withered hands on mausoleum walls, never to be opened again … and all the candy! This holiday brings out a crazed streak of creativity that really helps people and allows us to express some ancient and purifying impulse (without going full “Wicker Man”). Many of my favorite memories of family and friends involve fake knives in the head and blasting spooky sound effects out the front window. In some ways, Halloween publicly condones dreams, nightmares and catharsis … even confronting our darkest fears.

Which makes me think of Michele Bachmann. With all due respect, dear readers, Bachmann denounces and attacks people so often it scares me. Like her 2004 speech warning educators to avoid Elton John’s soundtrack for “The Lion King” because it could lead to “normalization (of gayness) through desensitization.” She’s also urged audiences away from such corrupting influences as “Sex and the City,” “Aladdin” and Melissa Etheridge.

What about Rick Perry? Ted Nugent recently told Billboard magazine: “As dear a friend as I consider Gov. Rick Perry, I won’t be surprised — and he and I have talked intensively — if I’m not given an authorized position in the campaign because I’m too divisive.” He later clarified, “If I scare them away … then I’m being counterproductive … (but) on a rock ’n’ roll stage, I can tell Hillary Clinton to straddle my machine gun.”

To make some attempt at balance, here’s another political horror story, squarely in the Democrats’ camp. With a year of historic and deadly weather changes, President Obama is debating the Keystone XL pipeline, proposed to transport synthetic crude oil and bitumen from Alberta, Canada, across the Midwest to the Gulf Coast. Rolling Stone reported, “The pipeline wraps up every kind of environmental devastation in one 1,700 mile-long disaster … If you do the calculations, explains James Hansen … it would mean ‘it’s essentially game over’ for the climate.”

Environmentalists have launched a sustained “reminder” to President Obama, recalling his words from 2008, when he promised to free future generations from “the tyranny of oil.” In August, more than 1,000 concerned citizens gathered for a massive act of civil disobedience in Washington, D.C., one of the largest since the 1980s nuclear test protests.

Which brings us, finally, to Skinny Puppy. In the 1980s, I sought out music and “Swamp Thing” comics to help me evolve. The Reagan-Thatcher era was heavy on nuclear winters and dreaded communism. I looked for an alternate viewpoint on cassettes and scratchy vinyl (played on my “Clarinette 90” Radio Shack stereo, via huge Koss headphones). Many bands arrived at my tenuous time of metamorphosis (see Cronenberg’s “The Fly” or “Altered States”), but few had the acerbic power of Skinny Puppy. Emerging from a music scene that would eventually be caulled (ahem) “industrial music,” the sounds were a mash-up of screaming, horror movie samples, keyboards, anti-vivisection speeches and punishing drum machines. Skinny Puppy collaborated with Ministry, Severed Heads, some or all of Throbbing Gristle, Nine Inch Nails, Pigface, Tool and many more around tumultuous break-ups and reformations. I wore out my LP ofRemission and the tape of Bites — and Mind: The Perpetual Intercourse still rules my teenage heart.

With loving titles like “God’s Gift (Maggot)” and “Dig It” (less on bellbottoms, more like shovel), I found an escape to whatever mental terrors, doubts and awkward self-hate that would (mostly) be conquered. I recently requested that my friend The Soft Pink Truth remix the track “Love,” showcasing amazing dialogue from the 1973 “Legend of Hell House.” Skinny Puppy became more politicized and experimental, commenting on chemical warfare attacks in Iraq and animal abuse, while straddling a grotesque stage show fusing real and fake violence (inspiring a 1988 disorderly conduct arrest in Cincinnati for “assaulting” a fake dog/prop). They also led me to Big Black, Public Image Limited and Public Enemy, all of which shared static-y late-night video shows or were suggested by the incredible people at local record stores. It’s truly fitting that their new album,HanDover, is released (exhumed?) this hallowed week — when creatures crawl in search of blood, to terrorize y’alls neighborhood.

For Andy Mercer

LEO COLUMN #5: TURN AGAIN TO LIFE

PUBLIC NOISE PRIVATE NOISE


“If I should die and leave you here a while, be not like others, sore undone, who keep long vigils by the silent dust and weep. For my sake, turn again to life and smile, nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do something to comfort weaker hearts than thine.”
—From “Turn Again to Life,” by A. Price Hughes & Mary Lee Hall, read at the WTC 10th memorial

While our country, and the world, paid their respects to lives lost on Sept. 11, 2001, many turned to music as a way to heal. The World Trade Center, the Pentagon and Shanksville, Penn., are part of our collective identity now. Music has offered some relief from the confusion and dread, but also chronicled our troubled thoughts for these last 10 years. During the WTC memorial, performances by Yo-Yo Ma, James Taylor, Paul Simon, Emi Ferguson and the U.S. Navy Sea Chanters chorus helped express the complex emotions of those gathered. The songs were changed, linked with the national soul in a new way. Paul Simon’s “The Sound of Silence,” written in 1964 as a response to JFK’s assassination, seemed necessary. James Taylor’s “You Can Close Your Eyes” was equally transformed: I can’t sing the blues anymore/But I can sing this song/And you can sing this song when I’m gone.

We struggled with Sept. 11, and musicians struggled to express those chaotic feelings: national pride, rage, kindness, intolerance, fear. For many, Bruce Springsteen’s elegiac album The Rising captured New York’s spirit, while others related to Toby Keith’s “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue (The Angry American).” Neil Young released “Let’s Roll” (a phrase from United 93 passenger Todd Beamer), and an all-star tribute to “What’s Going On” was embraced by radio. Country star Alan Jackson’s “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)” received wide acclaim. While critics and fans reacted differently to these songs, they undeniably resonated with people. New Yorkers like David Byrne and Laurie Anderson performed concerts, and Sonic Youth (whose studio space was two blocks from Ground Zero) released Murray Street.

Sometimes, we couldn’t find the right language. What was appropriate? Critical favorites like Massive Attack and I Am the World Trade Center found themselves questioning their band’s very names.

Clear Channel sent a lengthy list of songs to suspend from their 1,000-plus radio outlets. Without describing the resulting debate and censorship concerns, examining the songs on the “no play” list is a glimpse into how people interpret music. A few songs make literal sense — Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’,” Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House” and Lenny Kravitz’s “Fly Away,” but others are curious, like The Bangles’ “Walk Like An Egyptian” and Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train.” John Lennon’s “Imagine,” Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” Neil Diamond’s “America” and Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” were on the list, yet were ubiquitous in other media.

On Sept. 11, the world bonded together. More than 90 countries lost citizens in the attack and rose to help. Sonic Youth’s Lee Renaldo was quoted by the New York Daily News: “It’s made it easier for us to feel sympathetic to people in places where terror is a matter of course. If nothing else, it opened us up.” Still, many Americans are uncomfortable discussing our foreign policy and the possible causes for Sept. 11. When singer Tony Bennett, a WWII veteran, recently discussed these topics on Howard Stern’s radio show, there was controversy. Is it unpatriotic to examine these things?

Yo-Yo Ma performed a selection from the Bach cello suites during the 10th anniversary — the same music he once played for his father before he passed away. The cellist shared a deep part of himself, as many did on Sept. 11. We showed our generosity, strength and selflessness. But we’ve also seen deep divisions and anger that may never be calmed. What will the next 10 years of music and art celebrate? Will we have room in our hearts for something as ephemeral as a song? The lives lost that day are now our collective responsibility to carry. Two wars, ideological differences, the debate over interrogation methods, immense changes in the Middle East, rebuilding … these are our challenges. Maybe a simple act of creativity will help us hold on — give us that small (but elemental) comfort in the face of darkness.

A SHORT TALK WITH SOFTCHEQUE...... (LEO Music Issue)

Softcheque is a three-piece band from Louisville that creates a mysterious blend of music, reminiscent of avant-garde composers and the ’80s keyboard revolution. Featuring Dane Waters, Arsenio Zignoto (aka Alan) and Warren Christopher Gray, the band is brainy without any uptight overtones — plus they throw in some funky humor and catchy electrofunk pop hooks. Softcheque just released an excellent new album, Misericord, as a digital download (on the awesome Bandcamp site) and on vinyl (as it was truly meant to be heard). LEO spoke with Dane Waters (vocals/keyboards) about their new album title and why the future will be totally interesting.

LEO: Softcheque brings up a sense of tangible nostalgia … good memories of bands I heard in the ’70s and ’80s that operated outside of pop music (and eventually became legendary): Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, Tangerine Dream, Cocteau Twins, Brian Eno, Talking Heads, Laurie Anderson, Can. Those bands can make you feel like, “This is what the future will sound like!” Do you feel like the band is part of a “modern music” or “futuristic” tradition?

Dane Waters: Though I find an irresistible allure in the future, I think we try to be in the moment in order to get there. Being a subconscious synthesis of multiple styles from the past/present, we couldn’t exist without them. So rather than futuristic, I think we’re going for more of an “outside the frame of time” feel. Plus, I think our best music is what we’re about to make next.

LEO: Despite mentioning the other bands above, you have a sound that is unique. You guys have worked together on many different projects. What made Softcheque develop into its own beast? When did you decide to make a full-length album?

DW: I wanted to write songs I was in love with, both musically and lyrically. I especially wanted to sing them, because singing makes me happier than anything. Alan had been in Sapat with me, and I knew that he would know exactly how to complement the sounds I was going for. Thinking of drum parts does not come naturally to me, so that’s where Warren comes in. Both Warren and Alan are multi-instrumentalists, allowing us a wider range of possible sounds. As far as the decision to make an album, with the number of songs we had, it was the next logical step. We all share an intense commitment to seeing where this project will take us.

LEO: Sorry to throw out the difficult “influences” question, but ... who/what helps you make your music?

DW: Renaissance part-harmonies, languages, nature, people who stay true to themselves, Klein bottles.

LEO: The production techniques and atmospheres on your new album, Misericord, are very clear and human sounding. It sounds like a band working together in a common space … not aggressively assembled on computers or overly “fixed.”

DW: Warren has a background in recording, so we had the resources to do it ourselves, however humbly. We kept the process simple and pure to retain the integrity and immediacy of the songs without relying on studio gimmicks.

LEO: You all have experience playing all kinds of music (from opera to pure sound experiments). Does 21st century classical music inform your songwriting process?

DW: I’d say that it’s still in the mix, but functions to a much lesser degree. I still use theory to write the harmonies, but rarely notate the songs. They’re in our heads and this is very liberating. Most of the time, Alan or I will bring in songs and we hammer out the details pretty democratically.

LEO: Why does Louisville have so many great avant-garde and experimental bands? It’s like Berlin in 1977 around here.

DW: Low rent = leisure time? Or perhaps it’s just that Louisvillians love music and sound. I think it is a kind of zeitgeist. If one of our friends is in one cool project, they’re usually in at least two or three more. We just can’t get enough.

LEO: So what is the “sound of right now”… and, perhaps, 50 years from now?

DW: The sound of right now is an overgrown garden teeming with life and history and Wunderkammers.

LEO: Misericord — um, mercy seat or knife?

DW: Both!

LEO: If a person was going to ask you a question in an interview, what would that question be?

DW: T’es un oiseau complètement libre. Comment ça se fait pour toi?

To hear SOFTCHEQUE - Click Here!
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Published - July 13, 2011

SELUAH RETURNS (LEO Music Issue)

After a long break, Louisville’s dub/doom-rock ambassadors Seluah have reunited with a ferocious live show and a stunning new album, Red Parole. LEO spoke with Edward Grimes and Andrew Killmeier about music, films and why they both had a briefcase handcuffed to their wrists.

LEO: You’ve worked together since you first started making music with Oval in the ’90s and other artistic projects, like horror films.

Edward Grimes: Making music with these three guys has never been anything short of amazing. We grew up together, and shared similar dreams and influences musically.

Andrew Killmeier: We’ve all gone our separate ways, at times, and been influenced by our other projects (Boom Bip, Rachel’s, People Noise, etc). We bring these things back to the rehearsal space, but most of the music just comes from us and nowhere else. On the very best of days, I’ll plug in my guitar and it feels like I’m back in Edward’s basement in 1993.

LEO: After a hiatus of six years, what was the first “reunited” band practice like?

AK: Awesome. I hadn’t played an electric guitar in six years, or played music with anyone, period. It was like coming home again. Ironically, I don’t recall us really talking about getting the band back together. As soon as I moved back to town, we just started playing together as if nothing had happened.

EG: I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Matt and Andy basically introduced two songs that we immediately began working on, which became the first two tracks on Red Parole.

LEO: Seluah is sometimes compared to Massive Attack, DJ Shadow and Portishead, yet you operate more like a four-piece rock band, without a lot of playback or programming.

AK: I guess we’ve always liked slow, dark and heavy. We used to use a lot more electronic gear in our live shows (two samplers, two synths), but now we’re down to one keyboard that gets used sparingly.

LEO: It was surprising to see such a strong Black Sabbath/Neil Young/Iron Butterfly influence on the new album.

AK: Bad-assery never dies.

EG: Something was quickly evident when we got back together in August 2010, and we have Andy to thank for that. We all cracked up because he almost immediately said, “I’m not gonna be the synth/sampler guy anymore. I’m playin’ fucking guitar, damn it!” We all laughed about it, but he was dead serious. It kinda goes back to our roots … it’s a sound we’ve always loved.

LEO: The vocals are more disturbing — and haunting — than on your previous EP.

EG: Once I felt supported by my bandmates to strap on the Madonna headset mic and really commit to both singing and playing drums … I think there was maybe a little venom that wasn’t there before. Not having played music in a few years at all, and now being surrounded by three great guitar players will do that to you.

LEO: What, exactly, is a “Seluah”?

EG: “Seluah” is from Persian folklore. It’s a siren-like creature that drags victims to a drowning death.

AK: In a lot of ways, it’s just a pretty-sounding word.

LEO: Kevin Ratterman recorded your EP and the new LP. You really work well together.

AK: He’s definitely our George Martin.

EG: Kevin knows us as well as anyone (musically) and what we want. Also, it was as if all the analog gear he’s amassed over the years was just for us!

LEO: Film is a big influence for you all. What scores are essential for any listener’s collection?

EG: Ah, soundtracks! “Valhalla Rising,” “Red Riding,” “Zodiac,” “The Proposition” and “The Social Network.” Must listens: “Touch of Evil,” “Once Upon a Time in The West,” Kie´slowski’s “Three Colours Trilogy,” “Sorcerer,” “Sex Lies and Videotape.”

LEO: If David Lynch, Nicolas Winding Refn and Guillermo Del Toro joined forces to make the Seluah movie, who would play you (and your nemesis)?

EG: Matt Johnson — Ashton Kutcher (or the older Jonas brother). Drew Peace — Sharlto Copley. Andy Killmeier — Ben Kingsley. Edward Grimes — Jason Statham (as long as he hits the gym). Nemesis would definitely be Brian Johnson (“Cobra,” “X-Files”).

AK: I’d like to see us all played by robots, except Drew would be played by the guy Steve Martin beats up in the bar scene of “Roxanne.” The Nemesis — Dr. Phil (playing himself). Somehow, the phantom from “KISS Meets the Phantom” would be involved.

To preview a track from Red Parole, visit www.soundcloud.com/seluah

Image: Valhalla Rising - directed by Nicolas Winding Refn

LEO COLUMN #2

"ENJOY THE _____________"

The ever-gifted Martin Gore of Depeche Mode predicted the way electronic music would change the world, and he humanized the sometimes cold genre with humane, sexual, morally challenging lyrics. “Enjoy the Silence” functions as a wicked club hit and perennial mixtape favorite, but also as a heartbreaking ballad about being overloaded by modern life. Communicating, despite all our tools and the “effortless” way machines work together, is still strangely difficult. Not all people face this issue (because many folks can’t even dream of having fancy smart phones and laptops and recording collections). But, for those souls who have been given some latitude by life (and access to technology), it can be a new and disorienting time. The psychic stress and mental real estate media consumes is at an all-time high. Wait, is it already time to update your operating system?

Consider early hunter-gatherers building temples in 13,000 BC or the 32,000-year-old paintings in Chauvet Cave (see Herzog’s awesome film “Cave of Forgotten Dreams”). These humans gave everything they had to make a statement, to create art and represent their beliefs. Music was there, essential — yet so culturally different it’s impossible to truly imagine what it meant. The Neanderthal hyoid bone has been dated as far back as 60,000 years … songs and speech developing with our ability to examine the vastness and mystery of life. (BOOM! Saxophone kitten on motorcycle pop-up ad.) Train of thought … derailed.

We have access to more information than any generation but haven’t been taught how to process (or connect with) the content any more than those early humans searching a Paleolithic landscape for meaning. We scan, get restless, flip, scan. Thirty seconds of a song, key words in emails/online news. We say “think different” because it takes too long to say “differently.” So, I would like to make a few suggestions here to gently discuss media hygiene (especially in regards to music consumption). Aural cleansing. A small dosage could help purge that “I have 5,000 songs in the iPod yet nothing sounds good” feeling. Maybe we can ease that sense of disconnection brought on by a flood of sound and images over a thousand screens. One note: If you only like to listen to ringtones, please stop reading now and consult an exorcist.

1. Sit very still for five minutes. Seriously. It may sound trite, but try to sit for five minutes with no other activity. Please move all tech devices out of your reach. (New parents, this will be tough, but it’s worth the time.)

2. Just listen. Once again, sounds easy. Really listen to whatever is around you at the moment. You may hear a human heartbeat. It may be your own.

3. Pick one album, preferably one that you hardly remember having. Put it on “just because.” Thrift? It’s wild how many 99-cent used LPs become lifelong friends if you give them a chance. Old tapes, CDs — heck yeah. Take a break from your lumbering gigabeast of MP3 tracks and rock the A-side on Future Shock three times in one day!

4. No TV days. TV can actually be an incredible way to experience music, but usually it can’t help but try to sell you cars and steaming foodstuffs. Remind that glowing portal of media madness who’s boss! You may miss hearing how those local penguins figured out how to stay cool this summer (hint: It was ice), but now you have time for more listening.

5. Free music! Louisville is “city-lucky” to have so many free (often all-ages) concerts. Squeeze-bot Sundays at Nachbar, U of L classical shows, bluegrass at the farmers markets, WFPK’s “Live Lunch” series and touring bands at Waterfront Wednesday, in-stores at ear X-tacy ... amazing.

Feel better?

As always, this column is dedicated to loving music and provoking a spirited discussion between friends. Here’s to the power of silence and to your next favorite song, played on whatever media makes you happy (except ringtones).

P.S.: Here are several timeless albums that offer a rare peace of mind — headphones optional: Juana Molina — Segundo; Arvo Pärt — Tabula Rasa; Ambrose Akinmusire — When The Heart Emerges Glistening; Cinematic Orchestra — Ma Fleur; Kronos Quartet performs Philip Glass (1995); Rachel Grimes — Book of Leaves; Talk Talk — Laughing Stock.

Please send your list of “albums that saved my life” to exoskeleton15@gmail.com.
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*Published June 29th, 2011

LEO COLUMN #1 : LITTLE SCREAM

Public Noise Private Noise (published June 1st, 2011 in the LEO Weekly)

Welcome to the first in a series of new music columns that will run in the LEO. I’m tremendously excited about this project and grateful to share this space with three very talented writers - Erica Rucker, Nathan Salsburg and Sarah Ivens. Each columnist was asked by the editors to focus on music that inspires them. We hope to offer moments of sonic joy, celebrate good work, explore creative intrigue and encourage vigorous debates.

I’d like to look at the exhilarating (and terrifying) moments between private creation and public sharing … the path an idea travels to eventually become a piece of vinyl, or digital codes, or live spectacle. While pondering these notions, I met a musician and visual artist named Laurel Sprengelmeyer, who performs under the name Little Scream. Her debut album, The Golden Record (Secretly Canadian), combines autumnal folk with bracing up-tempo marches and sonic adventure. Sprengelmeyer, who lives in Montreal, conjures lovely and ragged landscapes, often disregarding genre expectations. While the record features many incredible guest musicians (from the bands Arcade Fire, The National and Bell Orchestre), I wanted to ask Sprengelmeyer about her lyrics, and how the words propelled the unusual composition of the songs.

LEO: The album seems focused on damaged but heroic characters. From the mention of the character “Amahl” to the “scarred” boys and normal people just holding on, there’s a narrative of how life can deform all of us.
Little Scream: Sometimes I feel like the whole reason I create is to valorize the lives of the people I grew up loving — the colorful and romantic characters who filled up the pages of my youth. The further out into the world I got, the more I realized that most people didn’t care about their experiences or who they were, even though to me they are the most beautiful and interesting creatures on the planet. So if I don’t write songs or paint pictures or tell stories about them, who will? Who will ever care that they existed? More importantly, how will they ever know how much they mean to me, how beautiful they are in my mind? That is a large part of what has motivated me to make these songs.

The reference to the opera “Amahl and the Night Visitors” is significant, because it’s the first piece of recorded music I remember hearing as an infant. There’s a personal parallel in that story — a boy who becomes unwittingly healed when he offers up his own crutches (to someone in need). It’s a beautiful metaphor … somehow it’s important to me on a subconscious level.

LEO: It feels like these songs often embrace the idea of “singing through the storm.”
LS: Whenever I find myself writing about a dark or troubling subject, I’m always reminded of how much I love Motown. In that music, there is a persistent joy that is made more powerful by its relationship to hardship. It is a defiant joy, the triumph of spirit over circumstance. That’s a spirit I always want to embody in my music.

LEO: At the end, you include a fragment of an Elgar classical piece that’s often used at graduations … but it’s also a song touched with farewells and the end of a special part of youth.
LS: The title “Pomp and Circumstance” was taken from “Othello” about the pride, pomp and circumstance of “glorious war.” But was I thinking about any of this when we recorded that? Heck, no. I was just thinking about how cool the graduation song sounded when we were checking the tremolo setting on the amp before recording the song “Cannons.” We were almost finished with the album, and I was definitely having a feeling of accomplishment, a sense of passage. A graduation of sorts from a life I had only imagined … toward a life where the imaginary was becoming more concrete. Later that night, I decided to look that song up and was really struck by its poignancy in relation to war — the strange social significance of that combined with the personal meaning. It was a message I wanted to include, even if only as a gesture. It makes me reflect that perhaps a lot of the greatest moments on this album come from the serendipity of my unconscious intentions. I feel like that about a lot of things in my life.
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For more information (and to listen) please CLICK HERE >>>

MAGNET ARTICLE #14: STAYING ALIVE

Well, I’m more than a little unclear if I should write this one. Hopefully, the Bee Gees reference is funny enough to balance the following subject. When I first mentioned writing a little for MAGNET, my wife suggested this, and I want to be open with people. In August 2009, I was diagnosed with cancer (as my little bio blurb mentions). It’s called synovial sarcoma, and I laugh (a small awkward laugh) because this cancer type usually affects much younger people (and I took it as evidence of my immaturity and kid-like sense of humor). It’s actually not funny at all, but you have to hold on to little things to make you feel empowered, y’know? Since then, we have both been on an incredible adventure. I say that not implying that my journey was unique; in fact, it’s sadly very common and I’ve met dozens if not hundreds of people fighting cancer in the last 14 months. Beautiful people who show me what actual courage means. Through the generosity of friends and family—and an incredible amount of help from bands and artists who have donated and played shows to raise money—I’m somehow here, still on earth. Still loving the movie Alien and still looking into the heavens and seeing only heavens (atoms, stratosphere, milky rings, Laika and whatnot) but no angels or divinity. Although I can see the appeal. It’s really enough for me to say: Nature is amazing. And even include my illness as part of nature’s unpredictable (and ferocious) creativity. Many people have done so much for us, and unfortunately I can’t mention them all here. But, if it wasn’t for all of them … wow. No more nothing! It’d be the great silence for me.

A wonderful surgeon in Louisville stepped in during our first big crisis (in the early weeks) and said he could work it out. This was after we had been told it wasn’t gonna fly and I should punch my timecard for the last time. Yet he and his team, they made it happen. Next, ICU nurses, cardio people, support staff, volunteers. Then there were radiation technicians, x-ray technicians, MRI, CT Scan and I think at least one guy playing Sega all putting their time and life into our struggle. There was my oncologist and also an incredible person who runs clinical trials who choose to help guide us when we were lost. Then we were lucky enough to travel and receive treatment at MD Anderson in Houston. Because of Greg King’s (and also Patrick M’s) family experiences with MDA and their advocacy, we found ourselves at one of the major research facilities in the country. In the last year, MDA has worked tirelessly to control my cancer, which—without being overly “movie of the week”—was rapidly advancing and being generally rude to my body. As Jeff Mueller said, “It wasn’t paying rent and was basically a freeloader.” Chemotherapy, transfusions, then “targeted therapy” followed. We took a breath, then, somehow—I don’t know how—we were still here.

I don’t discount prayer or human kindness or belief in any way. I receive high-tech scans and also get treated with 1,000-year-old Chinese accupressure and Jin Shin Jyutsu. I was in a wheelchair, but now I’m able to walk (most of the time). We’ve found that people are unbelievably good (I don’t know which ones were Republicans or Democrats or Green Party or Knife Swallowers), but they all helped. Helped us onto planes, into cabs, up stairs—they were literally taking a stranger’s hand and saying, “Here, let me.” I can basically eat, sleep and lately have been able to make art again. My friend Christian was just here in Louisville recording with me. We even got to hang with Rachel and our extended family of musicians. Can I be a little obvious? I found out when your life is draining away that you cherish everything. The hem of your sweetheart’s coat or the philodendron that Agostino Tilotta bought for us or a sweet “battle-action” Dr. Lizard action figure from our pal Edward. Perfection, all of it. And I found that art comes from some life force or something because I was silent (on the inside) for the first time in my adult life when I was just out of surgery. To the family and friends to the bands and the printmakers and the person who carved a homemade cane for me, I can only say: You are equally responsible for keeping me alive with the doctors, and your decency and warmth has inspired us forever.

My wife Kristin has experienced this whole year with full clarity. When I had weeks and even months of dreaming (or narco-drifting), she was there. No amount of words can express my gratitude. What can I say but that you hope in your life to have someone actually love you for what you are. When I was battered and bent, she never looked away. When I was sick (and was frankly really gross and stuff), she never wavered. I still don’t know what to say—don’t know how to live a semi public life—without sharing this all. I ask your pardon if I got too personal or made you feel like you stumbled into a bad Lifetime movie. One big thing I would like to say: I’m doing well, right now, and we’re so glad to be able to share that. It’s literally a day-to-day experience. Sometimes we falter. And I hope to walk better. And I hope to play shows someday. And I hope we can one day have a “normal” kinda life again. But, for all the work and sometimes tears, for all the incredible efforts by our community, I know it’s not about what you “deserve” or being special. There are people that work just as hard, and are loved just as much, who can’t overcome this disease. I’d like to say to them: You are in our thoughts and with us everyday. And, always, thank you for listening.

MAGNET ARTICLE #13: CONTACT

My final post this week is about places that offer us weary human creatures a place to reflect, react and rebuild. Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to see a small piece of the world. Touring in bands, however aggressive the schedule may be at times, still allows you to make contact with people from every climate and persuasion. It also allows a robust amount of visual input, of change. My favorite thing is seeing home after being away, having a chance to renew my perspective. So, here are just a few places that are special to me. Not all of them are places of quiet reflection, but all of them increase human connection and hopefully empathy.

Garfield Park Conservatory
Built in 1907, this 4.5-acre nature conservatory is truly breathtaking. Located in Garfield Park on Chicago’s West Side, this vast conservatory houses thousands of plants and brings together the talents of architects, landscape designers and artists. With an entrancing combination of wildly thriving plants and industrial design, the feel of the Garfield Conservatory is hard to describe. As you walk in from the street, you sense the clamor and bustle of Chicago soften and the throb of quiet thoughts (pleasantly at ease) take over. Honestly, I kinda feel like this is what Captain Nemo’s Nautilus may seem like at more peaceful (non-squid) moments. Remarkably, the Conservatory is open every day of the year, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., with rare exceptions.

Cave Hill Cemetery
This is one of the few places my wife and I bring every out-of-town guest. At first, the idea of “let’s go to the cemetery” gets a few sideways looks. But, we do our best to describe the more than 500 species of trees and beautifully manicured landscapes. We talk about the central lake and the somehow timeless swans that live there. We talk about some of the famous inhabitants, the Victorian architecture and how peaceful and reassuring it makes people feel. Initially chartered in 1848, Cave Hill has evolved into a 296-acre working cemetery and arboretum. It’s best if you can give yourself lots of time to explore and enjoy this unique historic site. A well-kept jewel in Louisville’s Highland neighborhood, located near downtown, Cave Hill imparts a stately and timeless grace. Oh, they also have peacocks.

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum
When we toured with Shipping News in Japan in 2006, we traveled by van with three excellent young guys: Shino, Yoshi and Takeshi. When we realized that we would be near Hiroshima on our day off, we somewhat tentatively suggested visiting the Peace Museum. We wondered if it could be insensitive or uncomfortable to be standing in that city after what the United States had unleashed there. Thankfully, our friends were interested, and our experience there was, for me, life changing. The Genbaku Dome (now known as the “A-Dome”) was almost directly at the center of the blast on Aug. 6, 1945, and it’s still there. You see it standing in black-and-white photos, an ocean of destruction as far as any human eye could see. Today, it’s still central to the museum, near a large peace bell that people from all over the world ring daily. In fact, the bell probably rang many times today, for the 70,000 dead (in an instant) and the 70,000 more who died of radiation exposure. And those numbers do not include the later bombing of Nagasaki. The museum has a haunting and startling collection of artifacts: news documents and also large recreations of the devastation. The one small item that really affected us was a piece of paper, gently displayed in glass. The heat from the blast had made the ink on the page heat so much that it burned through, leaving sentences of empty space. The resulting years of struggle, the absolute horror of radiation poisoning but also rebuilding and rebirth, are all in full view. The Peace Museum has dedicated itself to working to end proliferation and has a strong activist mission. To stand in that place, 65 years later, is to urgently hope that the lesson will taken to heart before it’s too late. It’s also a lesson that this issue is not in our distant past; we must act. The name says it all—it’s a memorial to peace and request for more connection between all rational people.

Rothko Chapel
This remarkable museum/meeting place in Houston, Texas, was started in 1964 when John and Dominique de Menil commissioned painter Mark Rothko to create 14 large-scale (site-specific) works. While Rothko didn’t live to see its opening in 1971, this wonderful meditative space is a testament to the power of his work. To experience this modernistic gallery room—lit by natural light—is to feel a sense of being submerged in color and texture, although the works at first glance seem to be only shades of black. Magnificent 20th-century composer Morton Feldman created the piece Rothko Chapel (1971) in honor of this unusual creative project. Peter Gabriel has also written music inspired by the powerful personal experience that many visitors describe. It’s located on the same site as the radical and beautiful de Menil Collection (a museum that is absolutely worth your time), so you can spend a full day with transformative visual art and culture, nestled in a leafy Houston neighborhood of parks and local businesses. The large reflecting pool on the Rothko Chapel grounds inspires us to pause and repair ourselves, with the large sculpture Broken Obelisk by Barnett Newman surrounded by a gentle wall of bamboo. It’s interesting to me that so many different types of political groups and artist collaborations happen in Rothko Chapel. It can be an overwhelming and somber place—if that’s what you bring to it. The chapel can be viewed in multiple directions and from many different angles. It feels like a room that doesn’t just offer a visual experience but also suggests to the viewer that they have something to say and create themselves.

MAGNET ARTICLE #12: LOCAL RECORD STORES

One of our most precious meeting places is the humble and ever-changing record store. Almost any person reading this website probably knows of the life-and-death business struggle that our independent music stores are facing. So, without dwelling on the bad times, how about we remember all the good? If anything, a record store is the most open-minded and liberal place you can every find yourself, only bested by a library or a really great book store. Although economics can play a large role in what is stocked, in the end, a genuinely fine record store opens its shelves, its bins, its hidden hooks and knooks and skull-candled corners to all music with wonderous abandon. Between secondhand LPs, hand-printed fanzines, sharpie-drawn divider cards, incense-infused flags, shirts, patches, more flags, import mixtapes and homeburned four-song EPs, there is the freedom to stumble into the very best humans can express. Music may have its own hierarchies and clicks and “too cool” and all that—really, it accepts all the freaks and champions the lonely and disaffected and welcomes in the best joys and even lets you find something to agree with your parents about. Where else can you find the new Parlour album next to M.I.A. while searching for Osvaldo Golijov’s wonderful Oceana disc that features Kronos Quartet, which reminds me I need to pick up another copy of that Philip Glass Quartets CD they made in 1995, and wait do they maybe have a 12-inch of “Bullet With Butterfly Wings,” and while I’m getting to the used-vinyl section I might need to see if they have Ali Farka Touré’s In The Heart Of The Moon and Young Widows’ Old Wounds and Low’s Trust. It’s impossible to summarize how local record stores vastly contribute to music culture. We have to act and really support them. Those people behind the counter are living archives of something precious and human, the memory in the body of our collected songs.

MAGNET ARTICLE #11: AKIRA KUROSAWA's "STRAY DOG"

With a master director like Akira Kurosawa, it’s a challenge to pick any one of his films to praise. He’s made so many wonderful and thrilling movies (30!). Yet, until a few years ago, I was strangely in the dark regarding his incredible crime drama Stray Dog from 1949. Starring Toshirō Mifune (Kurosawa’s longtime collaborator in a very early role) and the magnificent Takashi Shimura, this seemingly simple “cops and robbers” film subverts the expectations of the audience. Not to spoil the hardboiled plot—basically, a cop looses his gun in a moment of chaos and then chases down a criminal that is using that stolen gun to wreck havoc throughout Tokyo. With beautiful acting and an unusually graphic visual style (including a montage that seems incredibly modern), a sense of epic struggle and determination fills what could be at first glance a very basic narrative. To see post-war Tokyo is somewhat shocking, and the film has a real sense of scale and historical weight. As with Kurosawa’s other urban crime films (the excellent High And Low and The Bad Sleep Well), there’s a moral discussion at the heart of this story that seems to predict the current work of Michael Mann, Jacques Audiard, Carl Franklin, Christopher Nolan and David Simon. Without easy heroes or villains—and with a painful empathy for each person in the story—Stray Dog is bracing, existential chase film that hasn’t lost any relevance in the last 50 years. Good news? There’s a recent Criterion Collection release of the film with a new English translation. (Thank you to Leon Ingulsrud and Stephen Webber for their input for this article and for being awesome.)

MAGNET ARTICLE #10: WALTER MOSLEY

Walter Mosley is an author of detective fiction and crime stories. He’s also an editor, activist and winner of the Anisfield Wolf Award (for writing that encourages the understanding of race and human diversity). His rare gift is to use the mystery genre to bring rich and troubled characters together, while sharply observing the struggle of decent people of all backgrounds to find a safe haven in America. Issues of friendship and trust are central to these stories. The level of detail and sense of place that he conjures is one of his greatest strengths, but the love and human decency he captures (even in the face of true hatred and violence) is really powerful. I’ve read quite a few of his novels over the years including many of the Easy Rawlins series (Devil In A Blue Dress, Bad Boy Brawly Brown). There is one book that struck my heart with such force I’ve had to return several times to just “be with it.” A collection of 14 short stories all linked in one narrative, Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned (1997) is a masterpiece of any genre. In fact, it may not even really be a crime novel. Most of the real crime in his stories is what happens to good people who try to fight the system or ask for forgiveness or dare to be more than what has been forced upon them. The main character, Socrates Fortlow, is an ex-convict haunted by his violent early life who wants only to be at peace. In Mosley’s world, peace doesn’t come easily, and Socrates finds himself mediating, debating, battling and repairing his neighborhood in Watts. Social barriers and tests of faith fill these stories, presenting a side of Los Angeles that is free from its glossy mythology. The moral clarity and sense of purpose will touch readers from any world, and the beautiful craft of his writing will stay with you a long time and possibly give you strength when you think you’ve finally taken all you can. To say something is “inspiring” can be faint praise, suggesting a soft pat on the back, but this book is a swift kick to the heart, saying, “Keep beating. Never, never, never give up.”

MAGNET ARTICLE #9: TWILIGHT 22 "ELECTRIC KINGDOM"

“It’s Possible For A Radio To Open A Door.”

I can still recall, vividly, my pre-sexual meanderings in the early ’80s, where the notion of the “wide, wide world” was just forming. I was past the tadpole but not even close to the lungfish stage. I had a few friends—but not many—and when one of them moved to the distant continent of “Ohio,” I was crushed. Silver lining? I was allowed to visit my friend John D. in his new hometown of Sidney, Ohio, that summer of 1984. The resulting bus trip/adventure was a big moment of freedom. On that trip, I saw my first punk show. (I think.) I wish so much that I could remember who it was. On the other side of the spectrum, the world of pop radio was quickly becoming interesting. Even with the mountain of commercial junk, there were those initial stabs of genius by Prince, and “Invisible Sun” was a smash, and things were more open to individual DJs spinning what they wanted. (Remember those days?) But that summer, one song changed me forever, and I don’t really know where it falls in the annals of music history or if was even a big radio hit: “Electric Kingdom” by Twilight 22, released in ’83. From the first second of its metallic/robotic/imported-from-the-future beat, I had a glimmer that music was now different—something new and utterly unexpected was happening. I wasn’t there to catch Planet Rock or be down with Kraftwerk, but this song announced that rap and hip hop had found us. In a very small town on a very large jambox. We were intrigued by its weird blend of world music, freak-a-zoid computer voices and heavy drum drones. There was an Egyptian part, then a kind of Chinese(?) part, then some Addams Family baroque harpsichord section and so on. The hard-edge lyrics described an urban life that I vaguely understood from movies. So far away from my everyday life and current battles. There was a sense of darkness but also bravado that had us crowded around the radio, waiting to capture the song on a (low-bias, red-and-gray) Maxell cassette tape.

The song was created by Gordon Bahary (who had previously worked with Stevie Wonder) and Joseph Saulter (who collaborated with Herbie Hancock). The production style alone captivates the listener, but the lack of inhibition and sense of adventure is what makes it great. The track is almost always featured on Rap Classics or Electro-Funk! compilations nowadays. Back in 1984, this song drew us in, leading to Midnight Star, Art Of Noise, Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit,” Grandmaster Flash, Melle Mel and the Furious Five. Soon, Run-DMC, Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul and Ice T would all make legendary albums. Outkast, Cannibal Ox, Jay-Z, the Roots, Notorious B.I.G., Tupac, Nas, Dr. Dre and hundreds of incredible talents proved the power of hip hop to transform American and global music forever. No other musical genre in my lifetime has more of an influence on mass culture, broken more technical boundaries and spoken to a wider and more diverse audience. “Electric Kingdom” is a song title that sounded like the future, then became the future of music.

MAGNET ARTICLE #8: UZEDA

“Displace One Note, And There Would Be Diminishment. Displace One Phrase, And The Structure Would Fall.”
—Antonio Salieri In Milos Forman’s Film Amadeus

Uzeda is my favorite rock band. This Sicilian supergroup brilliantly combine elements of punk rock, experimental noise and ancient Mediterranean rhythm. Every element works together in bracing harmony or deliberate discord, each band member functioning in true democracy. There are the influences of “Big Black, the Fall, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, Paco de Lucia, Can, Tangerine Dream, Thelonius Monk, Billie Holiday and Robert Johnson” (from guitarist Agostino Tillota in an interview). This all makes sense when you hear their songs. There’s a sense of this music being created now, unique and unprecedented. And the sense of it being connected to a perfect moment, ancient, timeless. Raffaele Gulisano’s angular and percussive bass lines work in powerful tandem with Davide Oliveri’s intricate drums. Agostino’s indescribable static-blitz (metallic-spiderbite?) guitar sound fuses with the soaring vocals (and urgent whispers) of Giovanna Cacciola so well that it all seems to be coming from one body. All gushing aside, they just rule. I traveled with them on tour several times (as friend and roadie), and every night was full of such passion and rage that you’d think they’d eventually have an off night. But they never relented. They continued with incredible precision, and that’s such a part of their mission. They strive. They aspire. And they constantly offer this commitment to other bands, running an independent record store and arranging tours for fellow bands throughout Europe. They also offer this spirit to everyone they meet, as if the extreme raging and dissonance onstage frees them to conduct themselves with grace. It’s a clear, unselfish generosity that I’ve seen them share hundreds of times. These ideas are presented in their sound, in the poetic lyrics and their communal vision. They have a large discography, much of it recorded by Steve Albini (a longtime supporter and ally to the band). Albini has also recorded their other band, Bellini, which has an equally impressive collection of albums.

MAGNET ARTICLE #7: THE VENTURE BROS.

If you wonder what the best thing to ever be created for the object called “television” is, look no further. The Venture Bros. is the combined matmos-like sentient ooze of all recorded culture and pop history, including Jonny Quest, all 1960s Marvel Comics, David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Alex Toth, Apocalypse Now and anything else that is awesome. I can’t describe it with human words, so please just watch it. I weep at its brilliance. And it has an original score by JG Thirlwell of Foetus fame. No show (animated or otherwise) in the history of human civilization is more hilarious, painful or well made. Go Team Venture!

MAGNET ARTICLE #7: LINTON KWESI JOHNSON

So many of the best things in life are first shared in casual settings. Linton Kwesi Johnson‘s Dread Beat An’ Blood was played in the van while we were on tour a few years ago. Todd Cook, let it be said, has a rare gift for suggesting albums. As it settled in, we all started to realize that this was not some easily consumed dance jam, although there’s lots of great music that fits that bill and you could definitely dance to this record. The darkness and muscular playing, the sense of urgency—what was happening here? It all implied that something really troubling was taking place. As we caught certain lyrics (“It was a sound checking down your spinal column/Bad music tearing up your flesh”), the whole effect came into focus. Originally released in 1978 under the band name Poet And The Roots, Dread Beat An’ Blood is an album of political rage, an urgent request for social justice drawn in beautifully dark beats, sub bass and crystalline lyrics. The album was a collaboration between poet/journalist Johnson and Dennis Bovell, a producer and creator of London dub music. Bringing together many styles, including reggae and spoken-word performance, the album describes the harrowing struggle of black youth with the police in the U.K. In many ways, it foresees and blends elements of hip hop, electro and dubstep. This record definitely deserves a more insightful essay, but one suggestion is just to spend time with it and let it really entrance you. Subsequent releases of Dread Beat An’ Blood are filed under Linton Kwesi Johnson, but he did continue to collaborate with Bovell. Johnson still performs today and has received wide literary recognition. His collection of poems, Mi Revalueshanary Fren, was published by Penguin Modern Classics.

MAGNET ARTICLE #7: China Miéville

“The Spider That Eats Your Dreams”

China Miéville is a young British author who creates a bracing new type of anarchic fiction. His work mixes political ideas, horrifying tentacle-things, archaic technology and lots and lots (and lots) of grotesque and wonderful ideas. There’s a redness of tooth and claw that recalls Cormac McCarthy, Terry Gilliam, Godzilla, Giovanni Piranesi’s creepy architecture, the film City Of Lost Children, Alan Moore or anything that includes the best monsters you could ever imagine. While he’s considered a fantasy novelist, it’s really difficult to really say what genre to place his work. Steam punk? Dark fiction? Hard science? Adventure yarn? There’s a fairly strong noir/detective impulse as well. So with his marvelous “New Crobuzon” trilogy—set in a richly imagined and achingly complex world that Miéville created—he’s received serious fan attention and accolades. His work is such a jolt of raw creativity it’s both captivating and a little overwhelming. Perdido Street Station (2000) is the first in that series, and if you start there (and love it) you will be uncontrollably drawn to finish the other two books. It’s important to note that these stories focus on a painful—often fatal—personal struggle of languages and ideologies, and not only for human characters. This fantasy type is not bloodless or without hard consequences. Miéville has quite a lot of other work, set in all kinds of “almost real” landscapes, including shadow-filled cop procedural The City & The City (2009) and his current book Kraken (which has a fantastic premise and a very central giant squid). To travel with Miéville is to go willingly into a dense and raggedy universe of words, but it’s truly satisfying. My pal Todd and I have become fairly obsessed with his work, and it’s really exciting to see a new talent emerge with such vibrancy and purpose. To quote Jon Hawpe (of Louisville bookseller Carmichael’s), “You never know what’s going to be next with China Miéville. Each page you will face something new, like a spider that eats your dreams.”

RIYL: JG Ballard, pretending there’s a shark in your bathtub under the bubbles, dressing in a full Cylon outfit on days other than Halloween, know what a Velociraptor is, William Gibson, Bad Brains, the drawings of William Stout and anything else that is just plain awesome.

MAGNET ARTICLE #6 : SHANNONWRIGHT

“Violent Colors”
Shannonwright has made a series of breathtaking albums, often featuring her playing most of the instruments and certainly possessed of her particular vision. She’s been a big part of the Touch And Go/Quarterstick family and has been able to navigate certain questionable elements of the music business with grace. Her live shows are well known for their ferocity and tenderness, and her work ethic is jaw-dropping. Her voice is free in the way that’s indescribable (one possible reference would be the octave-soaring Diamanda Galas or maybe the powerful Giovanna Cacciola from Uzeda). It ranges from a painful bloody rage to a healing balm (and back). Her new album is called Secret Blood, and it was released October 31 by Vicious Circle. I’ve had the good fortune to work with Shannon on a few recordings and seen her collaborate with numerous people in our musical peer group. I truly admire her work and her truly generous attitude toward other artists.

MAGNET ARTICLE #5 : ALAN MOORE

Alan Moore is an English author, philosopher, magician, comedian and seriously awesome human. He’s certainly one of the few household names in the comic-book world. (And to be honest, I’m kinda intimidated even trying to write about him.) Every moment of his work speaks to the creative fire in all of us—and speaks strongly for us to act more humanely, even if we happen to be a Lovercraftian beast with six arms that each has an ravenous reptilian mouth. Since his early work in the ’80s, he’s redefined the possibility of sequential art and storytelling (with legendary runs on Swamp Thing, Watchmen, V For Vendetta, From Hell) and is often credited with creating the mature audience/graphic-novel revolution (with the incredible Frank Miller). Oddly enough, labels are just about the worst thing to attempt with Alan Moore. At the peak of his commercial career, he dove into a serious exploration of magic, music, performance art and everything that the universe has to offer.

Defying expectations, avoiding Hollywood’s hooks and daring to question the very nature of the comics business (which functions a lot like the music biz) has made his mythology grow. (Incidentally, our pal Todd Cook looks a lot like him, which is real nice on long road trips and somehow comforts me.) Comics have always been a serious part of his output, and the work he’s created in the last 10 years is as good or better than any preceding successes. In 1999, he collaborated with a team of very gifted artists to create America’s Best Comics, a creator-owned line that operates with wild and wonderful abandon. There’s not space to describe the depth of humor, melancholy and sheer excitement that they packed into their titles. Very few modern publishers have captured the joy and possibility of comics like they do. Oh yeah, he initially wrote every title in the multi-book line, often managing huge stylistic shifts and experiments. In particular, Promethea, Top Ten and The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen are masterpieces of any genre.

While the gooey caul of “guy who made comics dark and serious” has stuck with him, in truth, he actually tends to make stories of liberation, social satire and deep forgiveness. You can feel a strong belief in the power of creativity to defy petty despots and rule-makers. In Moore’s worlds, words are cherished and the disempowered are strengthened, often with the help of plants that can travel through space or pneumatic robots with bow-ties. The work he made early is his career was linked to free-wheeling counter culture (in great books like 2000 A.D.), and thankfully the man behind “mature” comics totally refuses to be a boring grown up. Novelist, shaman-like investigator, rock ‘n’ roller and friend to misunderstood monsters. Hell, yes! Check out Moore’s newest project. and visit Top Shelf Productions for updates and information on the forthcoming The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen (with art by the awe-inspiring Kevin O’Neill).

Here’s an excellent article about Alan Moore and J.H. Williams III Promethea by Douglas Wolk.
http://www.salon.com/books/review/2005/07/01/promethea

VELOCITY article (March 2010)

'Music Wins'

by Joseph Lord
Velocity / March 9, 2010

(excerpt - J Noble talks about his band history)

King G and The J Crew

This band started at duPont Manual High School with my friends Greg King and Jeff Mueller — who I've worked with since 1985 on almost every project I've done. We'd made a zine together for a few years and we all looked up to the local bands. Honestly, we made that band for a talent show at school and we had no idea we'd spend years working on rap music together. Our friend Alan Lett took pity on us and added “actually good” guitar playing to the songs. After we graduated we went off to school but music drew us back home. Later on, the very talented producer and engineer Aaron Frisbee stepped in to help us make an album — and it ended up taking nine months of our lives. Back then, it was Public Enemy “Fear of a Black Planet,” Skinny Puppy, Big Black, The Clash, The Police, Ice-T, 808 State — and of course Run DMC, who we saw live at Louisville Gardens in '88, which remains one of my all-time favorite shows ever.

I don't ever expect people to get into our music; I'm just happy if it connects. I think the fact that we were goofy white guys making rap music threw people and they may have seen it as fake or a knock off of Beastie Boys — but we genuinely love hip-hop, and I think that I learned more from that single album than any other.

Rodan

Jeff and I were living with the folks from Crain in Old Louisville as we finished the King G album. Jon (Cook) and Tara O'Neil started playing with us, and we mutated into a rock band. John Weiss from Sunspring helped us continue and helped us write music that would eventually become “Rusty.” Kevin Coultas — who had worked with us on King G — became our permanent drummer, and we began to really tour. None of us had been around the country or overseas and it was a huge experience for us. I think playing live and being in the presence of truly amazing bands — Codeine, Bastro, Kinghorse, Slint, Crain — was the main inspiration for us. A desire to be good, to practice as much as possible was the central intention. Jeff and I had a lot less musical experience than our bandmates, and we had to learn quickly. I was listening to Crain's “Speed,” Slint, Philip Glass' “Mishima,” Screamin' Jay Hawkins and James Brown's greatest hits on cassette.

I am very thankful that people remember us and have remained interested. That band is very close to my heart and I can only say that … maybe that band benefited from its mistakes. I mean, there were many aspects of music that we just didn't know about and sometimes what you make, including jagged songwriting or making unpleasant sound, is very pure because you haven't edited the soul out of it.

Rachel's

In 1989 I met Christian Frederickson in Baltimore. He and Eve Miller were studying at a conservatory there. We all became friends and eventually did some recording together. I moved back to Louisville — getting involved with JCrew and Rodan — but we kept working together long distance. We didn't become an actual band until Rachel Grimes joined the project in '93, when she was still playing in the band Hula Hoop. Greg King and numerous rockers from Chicago became involved, too. Quarterstick Records gave us an opportunity to make an album and we have worked together since then.

It's funny because — with all these bands — there are very strong and different tastes in all the folks involved. And that seems to be a great thing. Contrast or cross-pollination or whatever is very, very good in my opinion. In the case of Rachel's: we all love classical music and experimental sound material. Philip Glass, again, was a huge inspiration for me. Gastr del Sol, Bill Frisell, composer Kevin Volans, Kronos Quartet. My single most played album in '92 may have been the Michael Nyman soundtrack for the film “Prospero's Books.” But I have to say that rock and rap music has always influenced Rachel's. I think hip-hop in particular makes me really question how to engineer and create songs. Hip-hop has advanced the way songs are recorded more than any genre, because DJs can draw on every style of music without getting hung up on tradition.

As with other projects, we were surprised and excited by the response. I think we owe a huge debt of gratitude to Quarterstick. They gave us total freedom and support — which allowed us to grow without huge pressure to sell tons of records.

Shipping News

Jeff was living in Chicago and was approached to make some music for the NPR show “This American Life.” He kindly asked me to help him and we were like, “Hey, let's do this again and forever.” In the three years after Rodan we'd toured with each other — Jeff in June of 44, me in Rachel's — but had taken a total break from playing together. Kyle Crabtree made the project band into an actual band about three months later. We made our first record in a house on East Broadway then finished it with Bob Weston, who has worked with us on almost everything we've ever recorded. For years and years we courted Todd Cook, and we were amazed when he joined the band in 2002.

We're music obsessed, for sure. Including the bands above as influences, I'd also say Uzeda, Polvo, Moonshake, Evergreen, The For Carnation and Shellac all really inspired us. Tortoise, Tones on Tail, Public Image Limited. Man, it actually requires some diligence for us not to rip these bands off. We start every practice with an “open jam” and sometimes we realize it's turned into someone else's song. The only difference then is that we play it for an hour instead of all day. Music wins.

MAGNET ARTICLE #4 : JEFF MUELLER

“Concrete And Crawdads: A Short Conversation With Jeff Mueller”

Jeff Mueller is a musician and artist who currently lives in New Haven, Conn. He’s performed in many bands including the excellent June Of 44. He and his wife Kerri run a letterpress printing company called Dexterity Press. They work with lots of bands, record labels and writers. They’re also great parents.

So, for full disclosure, I have to say: Jeff is one of my oldest friends and the only adult male I’ve ever walked with (naked) down Taylorsville Road in Louisville. Now, it was night time, so no lawsuits were involved. Why were we naked? Well, when we write our own personal version of Going Rogue you’ll get the salient details.

More disclosure? Jeff is a very dedicated musical collaborator and a true confidant. We’ve played together in three bands. With the exception of a two-year hiatus (around 1995), we’ve played together since 1987. Greg King, Jeff and I started our first band in high school (beginning with writing a fanzine/comic book), and it all just went from there. King G And The J Krew, Rodan and now Shipping News, as well as many other visual-art projects and life activities. I may have never played music without Jeff ‘cause I was far too conservative and scared and unsure to even start. Greg and Jeff drew me in and opened up my world.

I realized (recently) that I’d never actually interviewed Jeff, even though we spent all that time making zines and we often share press duties for our bands. So, if you will indulge me a little, here are a few questions I’ve waited 25 years to ask him.



JN: When I first met you in high school, you would carry vinyl albums with you to school. Was it just ‘cuz you didn’t want to be parted from your favorite jams? Did you like the artwork?

JEFF: A little of both reasons that you mention for sure. Middle school was rough; we moved a lot, all to separate neighborhoods in Louisville, I found myself in four different schools prior to high school. Perhaps it’s safe to say that many of the records I carried with me were my “friends”? I dunno. I brought them everywhere I went. Coincidentally, Todd (of Shipping News) and I were pretty close for the first few months of high school. He’d come over to my house with a case of records, and we’d hang out and listen to music. He later threw Hormel Chili Mac on the ceiling of our house and got a mohawk, so we didn’t hang out so much until we re-grouped in Shipping News. I love him.

JN: Again on the subject of music, what was the most significant album of 1987? I feel like it’s Big Black or Van Halen.

JEFF: I’m not sure when the Big Black Headache EP was released on Touch And Go, but it changed my entire perception of music. Van Halen had wilted by 1987; 1984 was my last true connection with them. The Cure Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me was released in the vicinity of 1987 I think; it’s a pretty good record.

JN: Touch And Go/Quarterstick Records was our home label from 1993 to 2009. They have now scaled down the record label and are focusing on keeping their large back catalog in print. So much of their financial issues stem from free downloading and the shift in attitudes toward punk music and how to do business ethically. How do labels stay healthy with the incredible wealth of music out there? How do you think artists can keep making a living when so much music has been given/taken for free?

JEFF: In February 2009, when Touch And Go announced its cutback and voiced the general condition the business was in, the news hit an international chord, as Touch And Go itself has a significant following all over the planet. The balance of Touch And Go’s 2009 was primarily geared toward assisting the affiliated labels, as well as its own staff, in finding their own way. At some point, the consumer has to own up and become a participant in the health of the culture it buys into. With the advent of downloading and the simplicity involved with the process in its totality, theft is inevitable. If it can be gotten for free, it will be. It’s not really a matter of Napster, it’s more a matter of what a music listener finds it necessary to pay for. Clearly, regardless of any regulations that may or may not be in place, when Napster came under attack by whomever, it didn’t stop anything. A record may very well be downloaded thousands of times in the weeks prior to its actual release; all it takes is one digital file to make it so. This will obviously affect sales potential, which in turn has an immediate affect on the artist, the label, the record store and, ultimately, the health of the culture.

JN: What are the five most influential rap songs in your life?

JEFF: “The Message” by Grandmaster Flash And The Furious Five, “White Lines” by Grandmaster Melle Mel, “The Breaks” by Kurtis Blow, “Black Steel In The Hour Of Chaos” by Public Enemy and “I Can’t Live Without My Radio” and “Mama Said Knock You Out” by LL Cool J. (That’s six songs. Fuck you.)

JN: From my perspective, you and Kerri have found an amazing way to keep living a creative life as you have become parents. For six years, you have balanced these parts of your life in a way I really admire. Do you guys have any advice for artists/musicians who are just now starting families?

JEFF: If anything, know when to slow down and take time for each other. For us, certainly now that we have Leo, if we don’t recognize each other’s basic needs, we come undone. We are able to be creative because there is natural support for creativity in our lives together. If our lives together are compromised, everything suffers. Kerri recognizes and advocates for music and art in my life, as I advocate for art and creativity in hers. These are the things that initially made us attractive to one another. If we stopped, for any reason, we may not see each other the same way anymore. Similarly with Leo, I will be behind what ever he chooses to do with himself as he gets older, though I hope that when he hears and sees me playing guitar all the time or coming home from the printshop with ink on my hands, it may help to inform some creative choices in him.

JN: On that subject, what are the top five songs that Leo likes?

JEFF: “The Mantis Romantic” by the National Acrobat, ”Funk You Up” by the Sequence, ”Walking On Sunshine” by Katrina And The Waves, ”All By Electricity” by Shipping News and ”No One” by Alicia Keys.

JN: Bob Weston has worked on many of our projects and has been a collaborator in many ways over the years. When you think of the first week we worked together (on the Rodan album), what do you remember most?

JEFF: Many things. The strongest memory is feeling so welcomed by both Bob and Steve at Kitty Empire. Also, how nice and generally unassuming everyone was. To be honest, I was still digesting the fact that we were going in to record an album that was going to be on Quarterstick—still in a bit of shock. But then, being in that place, with those people, it was all such a rush. A non-Bob but worth-noting memory is that I had fallen down a flight of stairs while carrying an amplifier just before we left for Chicago. I remember feeling to see if all my teeth were still there.

JN: What would you say to a 15-year-old who is just starting music? We were that age when we met, and it’s pretty wild to think of everything that has happened since then. What constitutes a “successful” career?

JEFF: Selling physical formats marked a certain bar of success when we were young. We’ve both sold pressings anywhere from 50 cassettes to 25,000-plus LP/CDs. Both extremes have always granted a feeling of success, satisfaction and thankfulness. Seeing the number of times a song is downloaded is supposed to bring similar emotions, I guess, but there is little joy in this for me. I like making records, seeing and holding the art, forming the associations that are made when you can physically see and feel the record and reading from a sheet of paper versus a flat screen. I’m not going to go into the “career” aspects and financial end of this. The contemporary market for selling records is too much of a confusing bummer, and I think I touched on it in a previous question. In a more tactile sense, if you enjoy what you do and are able to play shows—a lot of shows—you will probably find yourself in a seriously positive lifestyle that supports itself. As much of a life as we’ve built around the bands that we’ve been in, I don’t think we’ve ever entirely relied on music as a career. We’ve been fortunate at times to make money with records and on tours, but we’ve always tried to stay somewhat employed elsewhere. My satisfaction with music has always stemmed from playing live, making good friends, the relationships we’ve nourished with the labels we’re on and, above all, writing music.

MAGNET ARTICLE #3 : VIETNAM KITCHEN

NOVEMBER 16th, 2010

“Vietnam Kitchen: Louisville’s Treasure”
Louisville is a town with an uncommonly diverse and interesting dining scene. While it might seem like we’re overrun with chain stores and national restaurants, there’s actually an amazing collection of unique places to eat, locally created and lovingly supported. My personal favorite is Vietnam Kitchen, located on the southern side of the city. People from all over town meet in the laid-back and spacious dining room, expanded to about twice its original size nowadays to meet the growing demand. Started by Alex and Kim Lam more than 15 years ago, Vietnam Kitchen is the first place we ever take out of town visitors. Great on a casual weekday, awesome for weekends and birthdays, perfect on a Sunday afternoon in autumn (especially after a robust and chilly visit to the top of the hills in nearby Iroquois Park). Locals hold dearly to their favorite dishes, almost always recalled by menu number. (I’m a J4 with tofu, A12, K6 and K7 guy; my wife loves the F9 green curry.) There’s also the mighty avocado milkshake (we suggest it with coconut milk) and the luxurious Café Sua Da (cà phê sữa đá): Vietnamese coffee with sweetened condensed milk. I trust my more carnivorous friends when they say the catfish in a clay pot is heavenly, but this place is also a vegan/vegetarian paradise. Vietnam Kitchen is located in Iroquois Manor (which features a rather amazing ’50s-era neon sign) and is open everyday except Wednesday, so plan ahead if you can. No trip to Louisville is complete without a visit to VK.

MAGNET ARTICLE #2 : SESSION 9

“Safe As Houses: Session 9, The Haunting And The Shape That Moved So Slowly Down The Hall”

Noble: Session 9 is a “haunted house” film that subverts the kinda boring tendency of modern horror films to dwell on cheapy shocks and extreme violence/torture or flappy computer flappery. Not that it’s easily digested or for the faint of heart (it has its own icky flow). The setting is the real-life “scariest building in the USA”: the Danvers State Hospital, built 17 miles outside of Boston in 1871. The fictional plot concerns a small crew on an asbestos-removal project inside the abandoned mental institution—human tensions and insecurities in full swing. (No spoilers to follow). Brought to life by talented and innovative director Brad Anderson (who has directed episodes of The Wire and created The Machinist and the sweetly crazy sci fi-romance Happy Accidents), the film uses its low budget and oddly beautiful digital video (no, really) to capture the remarkable Danvers Hospital. Anderson recalls the creeping sense of dread of The Innocents (Jack Clayton, 1961), Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) and the genre-defining The Haunting (1963, directed by Robert Wise from Shirley Jackson’s magnificent novel). In a recent interview, Anderson talked about the influence of the legendary Val Lewton, a director who created the thrifty and meticulous classics The Seventh Victim and Cat People (1943). Sleight of hand, preying on the audience’s imagination and the “sound down the hall” are powerful tools. In fact, Session 9 uses sound so specifically that it’s often entirely based on aural terror—much like those earlier films. The film’s title comes from the battered collection of psychiatric interviews on reel-to-reel tape (sessions one through nine) that one character finds in the basement. The soundtrack is a real masterpiece of musique concrète and recycled noise, a doomscape of ambient rumblings that actually seems to be stitched together from decayed analog material. Composed by Climax Golden Twins, the score is one of many unusual aesthetic choices that elevate this film. While the pace and quiet tone may turn some modern horror fans away, most fans of suspense and psychological terror will be in dank heaven. One of Anderson’s later projects was a super grotesque (but strangely beautiful) episode of the TV series Masters Of Horror called “Sounds Like,” which used the notion of hearing (and internal terror) in a really unique way. It’s satisfying to see a director pay so much attention to the aural landscape. Thankfully, several virtuosic directors have made horror films in the last 10 years that defy current trends. The Devil’s Backbone by Guillermo del Toro, Let The Right One In by Tomas Alfredson, They Came Back (a.k.a. Les Revenants) by Robin Campillo, Spider by David Cronenberg, Wendigo by Larry Fessenden and Timecrimes by Nacho Vigalondo all break ground in their respective genres and show a truly independent and often humanistic vision. Many of these stories deal with the horror of the everyday, of social repression or the persecution of the “other.” And all of them draw us in with rich characters with identifiable problems and normal human faults. Wait until the last line of Session 9—it haunted me for days if not months—rumbling in a troubling brain loop. But maybe that was just imagination.

Also, there’s a great Lou Barlow song ("CHOKE CHAIN") used in the movie.