My first childhood memories are of my brother, Chris, and I teaming up with Todd and Wade (our same-aged next-door neighbors) to battle Darth Vader and the Empire, wage war against the opposing yard with “dirt clods” (handfuls of packed, drying Oklahoma mud), or engaging in our favorite pastime; reenacting Flash Gordon. Not the comic or black-and-white serial from the 1930’s, but the full-on camp of the 1980 film with Sam Jones.
“Fans” would be too conservative a description. We were rabid, addicted Flash Gordon zealots. If we weren’t watching it (time registers much differently at that age, but it seemed it was on HBO every day), we were turning swing sets into space ships, sand boxes into alien swamp pits, and big wheels into rocket cycles. Offers to ride along on shopping trips were declined, excursions to the park or zoo were bailed on, and quite a few meals were even missed solely for the sake of being able to once again join forces to destroy the evil Mungo minions and their ruthless, alien tyrant of a leader, Ming the Merciless.
It’s interesting that we never chose one of us to play Ming. He was always just an invisible evil. At that age, too young to yet know all the injustice and cruelty in the real world, Ming was the worst thing my naive, still-forming mind could conjure. Anyone who wanted to kill innocent people and damage the earth MUST be an insane, goatee-sporting alien from light-years away. Everybody on earth was one of the “good guys”, everywhere I could go was safe, and all was right with the world – the “world” being my one little block in Jenks, America. And as for Ming, why worry? We’ve got Flash on our side.
My dad bought us the Flash Gordon soundtrack, written and performed by Queen, on vinyl (which I still have) and transferred a copy to cassette tape so we could rock out to it in the car. This started a trend which later included the soundtracks for Star Wars and a couple of the Rocky movies. But this is truly the first album I ever owned or remember hearing.
I always eagerly anticipated a part in the song “Hero” - the thunderous, impacting tom hits when the band comes in full-force. Not having ever seen a drum kit, I thought they had to be hammers hitting metal. My pulse surged every time I heard those bombastic impacts. I felt electrified, exhilarated, and a little frightened all in the same moment. Thus began my love of enormous rock drum sounds.
The soundtrack is peppered with sound clips from the movie, which is engaging on so many completely different levels. Awkward, annoying, thrilling, laughable, yet inspiring the voice-overs may be, but the music just plain rocks. Queen was killer, and Brian May is a genius. No, really. The guy has an astrophysics PHD. Look it up. His composing and guitar skills are out of this world (pun intended), and a couple of the songs represented here are among Queen's best in my opinion.
This album is awesome. For sentimental reasons as well as audio content, it will always be a fave of mine.
As a musician, you will very likely come into a situation where you're playing a show with gear, often owned by the venue or sound company, which is used by other musicians. Your treatment of this equipment is directly related to how much of an inbred ditch pig other musicians consider you to be.
If you were paying attention in Kindergarten, you understand that you should put things back in their place when you're done with them. You should also take care of other people's things as if they were your own. Though if you are a slobby-slob and, let's face it, as a musician... you probably are, you should treat other people's things as if said people have the ability to psychically flip your nipples inside-out at will.
So you broke a guitar string and had to do a lightning-fast restring on the spot? That happens. But the sin of leaving your left-over string clippings on the stage is cardinal. You would understand this if you've ever innocently reached down to pick up a cable on a dark stage only to have the needle-sharp end of a high E string stab an inch deep into the skin underneath your fingernail.
To the gents who feel the need to tighten the joints on an ADJUSTABLE microphone stand to somewhere in the neighborhood of 35,000 ft-lbs of torque: not a single person is impressed with your strength. It's not terribly difficult to lock those stands up. It is, however, difficult to not be considered a raging twit for ruining the very feature that made that stand an attractive purchase in the first place. Also, the carpal tunnel fairy will be visiting you soon.
On a somewhat related note, don't touch that button on the mixer marked "phantom power" unless you actually know what it does. There's a 99% chance you're singing/playing into a Shure SM-58 or SM-57, both of which are dynamic mics. Don't know the difference between a dynamic or condenser mic? Leave the phantom power button alone. You can even damage certain types of mics by engaging the phantom power. So unless you want the next act who takes the stage to realize what a total noob you are, no touchy.
So do everyone (including yourself) a favor and be kind to the equipment on stage. The next guy on stage after you just might be me...
I purchased this album the day Jurassic Park was released in theaters - June 11, 1993. My brother Chris, my buddy Dustin Keith, and I were planning to see that Cretaceous blockbuster flick and had time to kill. Earlier in the day, Chris drove Dustin and I to a guy's house to buy some comic books the fella needed to unload for monetary reasons. I still have those comics, including a copy of X-Men #1 autographed by Jim Lee - and am hoping all the other kid's moms threw their comic mags away while they were off at college so mine will actually be worth something significant one day. But I digress...
That summer, for a few months previous, my brother and I had been flipping out over this song that would play on the radio as we drove home from church on Wednesday nights. Windows down (the A/C was busted), radio blaring, American-made Ford steel creaking as we hurled ourselves at breakneck speed down I-44 in Tulsa listening to this song. We strongly suspected it was Pearl Jam, but the chorus had no lyrical hook, so it was anyone's guess to what the title was, and it wouldn't have helped guessing since the word "Plush" is never uttered in the song.
I eventually heard a radio personality (this was the era of the death of the real D.J.'s) announce the name of the group. I think I called a record store and asked if they had the "Stone Tower Captains" album or something along those lines. No dice.
But on that fateful day when we were killing time at Tulsa's Promenade mall before watching dinosaurs killing Samuel Jackson and eating Newman from Seinfeld, I saw the cover of this album in the CD bin at Camelot Music (a terribly overpriced precursor to FYE and those other vile mall music shops). Stone Temple Pilots... THAT'S what they were called. My brother had recently acquired an archaic CD player from a kid at school, so I opted for the CD instead of the usual cassette tape. It was 1993 - this was the freakin' future, man.
The album itself doesn't offer up much in the way of surprises, but what it does, it does REALLY well. It's a heavy, rocking collection of grunge-inspired, heroin-fueled angst. The raw, biting attitude is expected, as are the vague, surreal "what does it mean to you?" lyrics. But the band is locked in within nanoseconds of each other, the production quality and sonic clarity are outstanding (Brendan O'Brien, my fave producer, was at the helm), and Scott Weiland's voice never sounded better. My guess is he hadn't yet cocaine-carved his septum into a Grand Canyon diorama. Also, Dean DeLeo's chord usage is a master-lesson in songwriting.
"Dead and Bloated" kicks off the album. Not just kicks, but drop-kicks with atom bombs strapped to its boots. Groove like that is hard to find. For some reason, most drummers seem to hate Eric Kretz - I have no idea why since he's better than most of the guys in the game. True, he's never flashy, but in the departments of groove and feel, he's over-stocked. Other highlights are the radio staples "Wicked Garden", "Sex Type Thing", the groove-o-saurus "Where The River Goes", and my fave "Crackerman".
Listening to this CD as often as I did got my mind leaning more creatively towards song structures and chord progressions. It also gave a bit of inspiration to my dying my hair fire-engine red (as Scott's was in the video for "Plush") several years later.
"The contestants on American Idol are to musicians what meth dealers are to pharmacists." - Gregory Hyde
I get asked quite often why I don't try out for American Idol. I usually try to be polite in responding with "It's just not my scene". The person asking is, after all, insinuating I'm good enough to excel as a singer against the stiff competition these shows offer. That's a compliment in my book, so I try to leave it at that. But for you who would like a deeper look into why I would light my eyeballs on fire before joining the Idol elite, read on.
My quote above holds true, I feel, in almost all aspects. Being a meth dealer, as well as an Idol finalist, requires some serious skill. With both, if you're not accomplished at the techniques of your trade or have at least some ability to market yourself, you'll destroy your career before it ever gets started (and your mobile home along with it in the case of the meth dealer).
The Idol shows aren't just the get-rich-quick scheme for a bona fide music career. It's something else entirely; just as with meth dealers - killing off the very people & industry that support your endeavor. In fact, getting rich AT ALL, much less get-rich-quick, is a long shot for these shows. If you're even a finalist on these programs, you're roped into a contract with the corporation that produces them. You think they're gonna pay you a "fair" wage? Think again. Even guys like Green Day or Justin Timberlake are barely making more than 2 or 3% on every album they sell. Yes, the cut performers get from major labels really is that terrible, but that's another blog post... the likelihood that they'll offer anything close to this for an Idol winner or finalist is nil.
What about writing? Writers make more money right? Heck yes they do. That's why singers & performers keep edging in to take writing credits they don't deserve (yep, it happens all the time. Yet another blog post...). The Idol winners write their own songs on their CDs, right? Heck no they don't.
The reason why goes hand in hand with the direction of the Idol winner's career in general. You win and you're essentially a product owned by this massive corporation. This corporation is a public company that has shareholders that want to see the stock rising each quarter. Do you think this multi-billion dollar machine is going to drop millions on this album's production and marketing and then hand the reins over to a 17 year old girl from Alabama just because she won a singing contest? Don't think so. The label has a stable of hit-making songwriters at their disposal, plus thousands of competent writers vying for a shot to get their song on one of these albums. Do you think they're gonna let Suzy Idolwinner write her own stuff over these guys? I don't care if she made Ellen dance on Randy's lap... the answer is emphatically no.
You don't want to make the worst movie in history? Too bad Kelly Clarkson, you're required to be in "From Justin to Kelly" and you better not say anything bad about it at the junkets or we'll sue your Cinderella-story butt back to Nowheresville, USA.
So what's the draw? Why do people keep going on these shows, barring ignorance of these details, of course? Well, out of the rich & famous expectation, fame is still on the table. People will know who you are and, for a little while at least, might even care enough to listen (but maybe not, right Ruben?). That's worth something, no doubt, but the question is whether the cost isn't too high.
For me, the cons simply outweigh the pros. I prefer having control of my art, career, and income stream. Having the freedom to create for the sake of the creation rather than what a corporate CEO thinks will sell, and not ever having to perform a smiling, group sing-a-long while butchering a Queen song for a Ford Focus commercial are all luxuries that I simply can't live without.
But don't get me wrong - I don't detest these shows. There's some grandiose entertainment value in the try-outs when people sing like Helen Keller praying in tongues, get an honest review, and then run out crying, "I gonna be bigger than all a yall's!!!"
More importantly, these shows have fostered the notion in the masses that there is a wealth of undiscovered talent out there. The guy on the train next to you might be a much better singer and songwriter than John Mayer - who knows? The band in the bar you're going to tonight just might be the most incredible group you've seen in years. Gone is the mindset that if you aren't on the radio or on the t.v., you must not be that good. For this, I can't thank these shows enough.
Roll up, roll up for the Magical Mystery Tour, step right this way!
Technically not an intended 'album' per se, this was more a collection of previously released singles tacked on with tunes for the movie soundtrack of the same name by The Beatles.
"But Gregory, you love the Beatles. Can't we just assume you'd post all of their albums in your Most Influential section of the blog and move along?"
Not so. Believe it or not, I don't love every Beatles album (gasp!). True story.
The White Album, monumental success though it may be, seems to me a scattered mess of about 7 great songs clustered into a collection with several decent tunes, a little album filler, and a few outright junk songs. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band is about the same. Many consider this blasphemy, but I'm just calling it as I see (hear) it. You really shouldn't let it ruin your day though...
But not Magical Mystery Tour, no sir. These songs are bulletproof from front to back. Many of these songs are worth the price of the album all by themselves. There never was or will be anything like "I Am The Walrus", there will probably never be better feel-good pop songs than "Hello Goodbye" and "Your Mother Should Know", no better trippy songs than "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Magical Mystery Tour", and nothing that sums up life quite as well as "All You Need Is Love".
Regardless of how this collection came together, it bears a more concise, air-tight structure than most intended albums ever get close to possessing.
And for all the Ringo haters out there, you simply must listen to the opening track - his ability to move the song through so many tempos, turnarounds, and feels without ever losing the vibe is jaw-dropping.
So throw on an animal suit, make a withdrawal from the zoo, give Poe a kick on your way up the hill from Penny Lane, and throw this CD in the player.
This post is about clapping along with the music, or rather clapping despite the music, without any concept of rhythm as the world knows it.
Check out the video for a real-world example of what I'm talking about.
Clapping along is almost always encouraged at my shows. If you dig the music so much that you just gotta put your hands together (Prince told me to!!!), make sure you have some sense of where the beat is.
This check list just may save your life and the ears of those around you:
* Look around - is anyone else clapping with you? It's okay to give them a few beats to jump in. If not, STOP CLAPPING.
* So other people are clapping - woohoo! The party is almost started. Are you clapping your hands together at the exact time, over and over, as they are? Ya might want to compare with 2 or more folks as the person next to you may be cursed with white-boy rhythm too. If you aren't on the money with somebody on every single clap, STOP CLAPPING.
* If this still doesn't tame that dancing devil inside you and you simply MUST clap to the beat of your own one-armed drummer, do so quietly. It seems these folks that God assembled without a metronome like to clap louder than thunder (again, see video). You're throwing the band off, sweetheart.
I often wonder if these people recited their ABC's or counted to 10 off time. How is that possible? "One, two, three... four... ... fivesixseven... eight, nine,... aaaaaaaand ten."
If these points don't apply to you, Congratulations. Give yourself a hand...
I do believe that good music should be played loud, and that it sounds better when it is loud. However, a guaranteed way to make fast friends or enemies out of the venue, host, or even the audience themselves, has to do with your volume setting and - more importantly - your willingness to adjust it.
I've been told the same tale by venue owners/workers and live show enthusiasts alike of artists or groups that played so loud the audience actually left or moved to the complete other side of the venue. This could easily turn into psychoanalysis... Why would anyone ever feel the need to be so loud that they actually chased off their own audience? This won't make your father love you or bring that pet goldfish you washed down the sink at age 4 (Captain Awesome) back to life.
Why would the volume that the crowd hears matter to someone on the stage, where you're likely using monitors of your own? My only guesses are that:
A) You think by being louder than Gilbert Godfrey giving a play-by-play at Pearl Harbor you'll destroy all other distractions and the audience will have no choice but to focus on you. Keep in mind they're bipeds and as such can transport themselves away from you to continue their discussion elsewhere on how little the world would change if the Kardashians never existed.
B) Delusions of Grandeur. "When I saw Mötley Crüe in '86, they made the speaker's ears bleed, dude!" Big, loud rock shows can be fun. Trying to squeeze one into a nightclub or a restaurant bar is like squeezing Oprah into Barbie doll outfits: It won't work, and it's honestly uncomfortable to even be in the same room with it.
C) You're old and your hearing is shot.
Yeah, you might think it saps some of the intensity out of the show. I've had to play my share of gigs where I was asked to turn down below nursing-home level... but I got paid for the gig and received a lot of compliments from those people with eggshell eardrums. That's what they wanted, that's what they paid for, so that's what they got.
There are exceptions. Years ago, I started a show at a venue that was empty when 2 old women strolled in for a drink. They sat right next to me (this place was HUGE - empty seats and booths everywhere), then called the manager over to complain about my volume level. The word moron does come to mind.
You wouldn't believe how laid-back and supportive a venue owner will be when you simply state up front that you'll gladly adjust your volume to whatever level he'd prefer. When I started doing this, the requests for me to lower my volume almost disappeared. Some guys just like to know they're running the show - so tell them up front and they'll have no reason to push the point with you later.
In August of 1998, I was driving down the road and heard a song on the radio. Instantly, I knew it had to be the voice of J.R. Richards, vocalist for Dishwalla. I nearly drove into oncoming traffic as I madly reached for the volume control to crank their new song, "Once In a While".
I discovered Dishwalla when they opened for Letters To Cleo at The Cain's Ballroom in Tulsa on their previous album's tour. I tried turning everyone on to the goodness that was Dishwalla's Pet Your Friends album. These failed converts scoffed, made fun of the band name (you expect me to listen to a band called Dishwater??!), laughed at the album title, and refused to even listen to the CD. About a year later, "Counting Blue Cars" was all over the radio, and the schmucks who so smarmily mocked this group became instant fans. This happened A LOT back then... (sigh)
So their sophomore effort was finally going to be unleashed on the mass public. I drove to a nearby Barnes & Noble and found out they already received a shipment of the new Dishwalla CDs prior to the release date. I somehow convinced them to sell me one ahead of time. I'm crafty like that...
So to home I went, shut my bedroom door, turned out the lights (it now being nighttime), and immersed myself into this album - a large, cheshire-cat grin plastered across my face throughout. I listened again... and again... until it was about 2:00 a.m., at which point I called my bud Matt to inform him I was in the possession of the coolest freaking album that had come out in years. He was less than thrilled to hear the news.
Given the history of my Dishwalla-pitching in the past, most of my friends jumped on board with this album, though none quite as whole-heartedly as myself.
If you want to talk about emotional / musical roller-coaster albums, this one deserves more than a nod. It runs the gamut of pulse-pounding anthems, introspective heartache ("Until I Wake Up" makes my soul hurt - and is well worth the price of the entire album), and mysterious, groove-laden, coolsville trip-rock. In fact, the last 2 songs on the CD barely sound like they were recorded by the same band, yet they work perfectly to give you a breath right when needed and complement the brain burn the earlier songs on the album give.
Due largely in part to the production style, the album is bright, brash and almost harsh at points, granting the guitars Rodney Browning plays through his Bogner amp a particularly severe bite and intensity not heard on many other disks. Samples and loops weave seamlessly in and out without taking away from the raw, rock asthetic of the band. Drummer George Pendergast's unique style and creative techniques lend the songs more musicality than most drummers can muster.
The musicianship of this band is stellar. The songs are outstanding. If I could trade my voice for anyone's it would be J.R. Richards. And it has one of the best album titles ever.
I was asked this question about my projects / albums long before I put humanity's most popularly accepted & recognized deity in the title of my latest album. But the question keeps coming, so I thought it was time to express my thoughts on the subject here:
I'm a Christian. I try my best to follow Christ's teachings, though I obviously fail constantly. I am also a rock musician. Personally, I don't think these things are mutually exclusive.
I play music at church, at my house, in bars, at parties, at concerts, etc. - and I truly feel it's what God has called me to do even though many of my songs have no direct lyrical reference to spiritual matters. But as for Christian Music, I disagree that it exists.
When people refer to 'Christian Music', it is better defined as 'The Christian Music Industry'. As the name implies, it's a business created by human beings for the purpose of commerce of art separated into a faith-based market niche. The motivations behind it are as numerous as the people involved, ranging from saintly to sadistic.
I have a large collection of albums released from Christian labels, and thoroughly LOVE many of them. I think supplying the world with uplifting music is a great thing to do with your life and career, so please don't take the following to be a criticism of individuals or the genre as a whole. Rather, I just want to express my concerns against blanket judgments of art & music based on this term.
There are songs that glorify and praise God, songs that directly blaspheme and mock God, and songs that do neither of the above. Songs are without will. People on the other hand...
Here are some hypothetical scenarios I used for thinking this through:
A) Marilyn Manson writes a song claiming he is Jesus Christ, which he recorded while hanging upside down on a black crucifix, drenched in pigs blood, in a Jewish cemetery. Later, Michael W. Smith (a popular Christian artist) does a cover of it. Is it Christian music now?
B) Good ol' Marilyn does a note-for-note, line-by-line cover rendition of "Amazing Grace" on his new album with the London Symphony Orchestra. It's so illustriously beautiful, it moves the pope to tears before he finds out who recorded it. Does this glorify or blaspheme God? Is it Christian music?
C) Michael W. Smith writes a song about his favorite flavor of ice cream and sings it in church. Christian music or just a song? Is God mad or just happy that Mikey enjoys Triple Butterscotch Ripple so much?
D) A well-intentioned Christian musician writes and records a song that becomes a major hit on Christian radio, though in reality the concept or lyric is the antithesis of something taught in Scripture. Is it anti-Christian music?
E) Ozzy Osbourne dedicates his life to Christ and begins a recording career with a Christian music label. Is "Bark at the Moon" now a Christian album?
F) Michael W. Smith denounces Christ, joins a Yak-molesting cult, and starts releasing albums which worship Tralfarganom, Creator of All Things Slightly Off-White. Is Mike's back catalog of songs no longer worshipful to God? Want to take bets on whether or not Family Christian Book Stores would yank his albums off the shelves?
Scenario D (which happens way too often, BTW) also brings to light another issue. If you want to preach to a congregation or start a church, it's standard practice that you attend a seminary, be mentored by another minister, or obtain an ordination of some kind. Yet anybody with a microphone and a claim to have heard the call can seemingly jump on stage and spout their own brand of cultish religion without much, if any, contradiction. Many people are so militant about only exposing themselves to "Christian music" that they overlook they fact that it sometimes directly contradicts their beliefs more than some of what they consider to be "secular" music.
Also interesting is the lack of denominational attention to detail. Personally, I am ALL FOR breaking down the barriers between denominations and unifying in our common goals and ideals as Christ-followers. But it truly baffled me when a Southern Baptist Christian youth group I knew of was in attendance at a concert, bobbing their heads to their favorite Christian band, which happened to be a Spirit-filled, tongue-talking (therefore hell-bound by their interpretation) band from Georgia. That detail is conveniently omitted from most group's songs and even public lives. Why? You lose album sales. Is that what would motivate Christ?
Would it bother you if Jars of Clay were Methodists? How about if you discovered Third Day or The Newsboys leaned more toward the homosexual-endorsing side of the Episcopalian Church than the Assemblies of God denomination? Would they still be "Christian" music to you?
Lest I need say more (you're gonna love this)...
Testamints. Go to a Christian Bookstore and you'll likely see these in the checkout line. Christian mints. They have Bible verses included and even sport little crosses on them. So does that make Certs secular mints? Which breath-freshener would Christ choose?
If you're not seeing how ridiculous this is, then where do you draw the line with "Jesus Junk"? If songs are either Christian or secular, what about instrumentals? Jingles? A tune you make up and hum in your car on the way to work? Are there Christian guitars? If a novel is Christian or secular, what about children's books? Anecdotes? Memos? Notes on the fridge? Can you have Christian or secular pens? Cars? Clothes? Hairspray? Or is it all just labeling and marketing?
People can make the decision to accept and follow Christ. Nothing else can. Judge what you like and accept on the merits of content and creativity, not a label.
Johnny Loungesinger just played your favorite song of all time and rocked it even harder than Billy Squier and Pat Boone put together with The News as their backup band. Wow.
So how do you show your appreciation? Clapping is good. Screaming his name and "WE LOVE YOU!!!" might get good or bad results depending on the performer, venue setting, or the sensitivity of the audience members around you. But tipping is arguably the highest form of praise for a local, live performer.
You might think this topic seems like something that needs no instruction, but you'd be wronger than a nonexistent tense of the word wrong.
1. No Requirement - This ain't the waitstaff. If you think the band blows, keep your dough. Don't feel bad about it. Still try to be polite though.
2. No Pantomimes - so you're low on cash and didn't expect your date to order the lobster-stuffed duck, only carry credit/debit cards, or maybe you don't want to part with your last $2 bill. These things happen.
Doing the overacted pat down of your pockets and conjuring up a "darn... sorry!" expression isn't necessary. In fact, it can be a little patronizing and insulting. Just say, "Thanks, I enjoyed the music/show/cat-juggling" (which is a rewarding compliment to get in its own way), and move along. Even better - tell the manager (and others) that you really dig the performer.
3. Delivery - if the show is still going, put it in the jar. No jar? Just place it on a flat surface near the performer. If you prefer to hand it directly to someone, just do so in between songs or after the show is over and everything's groovy, baby. NOTE: Trying to hand a dollar bill to a guy playing guitar and then acting like HE'S a jerk for not sprouting a 3rd arm to take it is a stupidity crime worthy of brain reassignment.
4. Advertisements - Yeah, you can drop a business card in with your tip. Can't speak for everyone, but I'll check it out. But don't just drop in a fold-out ad of the multi-level marketing scam that isn't a multi-level marketing scam (really!) you're recruiting for.
5. Amount - Locales and cultures often have their own norms for tipping, so use your best judgment. If this is the best show you've seen in months, or you really want to help and support this performer's career, compensate accordingly. If you're an annoyingly drunk close-talker, go metric with this number (double it & add 30).
This album is a classic for a very, very good reason: It's one of the best collections of songs ever recorded.
Though there may be certain songs on other albums by The Beatles that have a more sentimental place than some tracks on this record, Abbey Road is possibly my favorite album by the Fab Four for a few reasons, but particularly for its versatility.
I always keep this album in mind when I start thinking my songs are too sporadic and unconnected. Those qualities are what make this album so endearing; so engaging through every single track. I usually hate "desert island" hypotheticals, but I think this just might be my desert island album of all time for that very reason.
Abbey Road has it all: Cool, vibing songs. Fun, upbeat, silly songs. Love songs that define the genre. Trippy, psychadelia-influence. Ballads that lull you into waking dreams. Grand, illustrious, orchestral masterpieces. Intense, brazen rock. All performed by some musicians at the peak of their abilities and creativity, overflowing with emotion throughout. The tensions that were coming to a head with the group at this time catapulted this, their final album, all the way to the bleedin' moon and back.
The recording quality is also the tip-top of what George Martin and the lads achieved. George's guitar tone on "Something" is outstandingly warm. Ringo's tea-towel muffled drums are like being punched with a 10-story tall balloon. Paul's bass is just Paul's bass... it always sounds that freakin' good, nothing new.
George really swung for the fences with "Something" and "Here Comes The Sun" and (in my mind) proved himself capable of being every bit as much a songwriting powerhouse as Lennon/McCartney. Sadly, I don't think he maintained that edge without said tensions driving him to compete on that level.
There's undoubtedly never been a better swan song for a group. Up to the blistering rock solos that Paul, George, and John play that build the calamity up to let you softly down on the scripture-esque "The End". I cried the first time I heard the whole thing front to back.
If I put out songs the caliber of "Come Together", "Something", "Here Comes the Sun", "Because", and the closing half of this record all on one album... well I might just have to call it a day too. How could they top Abbey Road? Simple. They didn't. (sigh)
So you loved the first album - it changed your life. The second album was pretty good. But now that this artist/band is 10 disks deep in their catalog, your once favorite performer of all time seems to be taking a tire iron to that once mighty, though now thoroughly deceased, artistic steed.
It's O.K.
You can call it like it is. It's all right to not like every single stinkin' thing an artist or group releases. You no longer have to pretend that each new Radiohead album is even half as good as The Bends or O.K. Computer. Fret not - admitting that the new Pearl Jam album is a festering pile of phoned-in, mediocre, pretentious upchuck doesn't make Ten any less of a monumental achievement of musical greatness. Van Halen was outstanding. Van Halen III is one of the worst things you could ever put in your ears.
It's O.K.
In a related manner, it's no disrespect to the greats that their kids didn't get the goods passed down. Yes, John Lennon was brilliant. It's not blasphemy to admit that Yoko and Sean consistently put out audible dingo feces (though Julian certainly had a few fine moments). Sting - also brilliant, but stating the obvious that his son's band, Fiction Plane, is suited more for torturing enemies of the state than for entertaining the crowd before a concert by The Police... well that's just good old common sense. You can still love "Every Breath You Take".
It's O.K.
Like what you like. Admit what you like. Admit what you don't. Be a fan of good music, not a mindless cult member who nods in lobotomized agreement with whatever an artist does.
Words can't express how much I love this album. But I'm gonna try...
Back in 1995 I was hanging out at my buddy Mark's apartment and the video for "Seether" came on MTV (they used to actually play music videos back then). I was entranced. The other guys in the room were making fun of me for being so enraptured by these weird, nerd girls in slips eating ground up, raw meat out of dismembered baby dolls and occasionally singing like they had sucked in helium. I didn't care. This was awesome.
A week later, I developed a pretty serious case of bronchitis. My grandmother drove me to the doctor, and on the trip back home, she agreed to let me stop off at Media Play (a store which I sorely miss... they started an incredible CD price war in Tulsa with Best Buy around that time which drove all the CD prices down to $9). I was praying the album cover wouldn't look anything like the video, or there would be no chance I'd be able to buy it without a long lecture. Fortunately, the cover was tame, so she actually paid for it (thanks, G-ma), and I headed home and popped on the headphones while I played video games and hacked my lungs up.
I probably heard this entire disk more than 20 times that day. I was HOOKED. The playing is sloppy in all the right ways, impacting, gritty, yet with moments of elegance here and there. This was grunge, yeah, but a far cry from the Seattle thing, and with much more creativity than just 3 chords and screaming about angst, apathy, and heroin.
The recording quality is stellar. This is another one of my stereo test CDs. The low end on the bass is appendix-shaking, and the crisp, brilliant highs on the ride cymbal bell takes you to the other end of the sonic spectrum.
There are some who will say "But Gregory, they were just ripping off the Breeders!". Kinda true... also like saying Guns 'N Roses ripped off L.A. Guns. It's the same sound, but in my humble opinion, The Breeders had a formula that they really couldn't see or reach the potential of. Veruca Salt was somehow able to construct skyscrapers off of a blueprint The Breeders were using to build dog houses. Plus, Nina and Louise were waaaaay cuter. :)
Every single time this album cues up with that fuzzed-out midrange heavy guitar and "I'm spinning out..." on "Get Back", it's like the climb up on the first big drop of a rollercoaster. The album just rolls from there. "All Hail Me" still creeps me out. I still rewind the scream at the beginning of "Seether" multiple times before I let the rest of the song play. I still sing at the top of my lungs with the whoa-ohs at the end of "Spiderman '79". The harmony parts throughout the album are breath-taking, and the lyrics on all the songs, but especially "Wolf", "Sleeping Where I Want", and "Celebrate You" still conjure up such vivid, demented imagery... I will adore this album for all time.
And if anyone out there knows how to get the guitar sound on the lead that plays out at the end of "25", please let me know.
Again, this probably seems simple to the point of being asinine.
Believe me, it needs to be said. When I first decided to take on being a full-time musician, I made some calls to local club managers, event booking agents, etc. I was trying to promote myself, but before the calls ended I would ask, "What is it that makes an artist someone you love working with?".
I must have asked this to a dozen people, and all the answers I heard could be boiled down to these points:
1) They show up. 2) They don't get hammered drunk while on stage. 3) They don't take long breaks or take breaks every 20 minutes. 4) They either bring people in, or keep people here.
I was amazed. NOBODY said anything about the quality of music being made. And really? Just being there is Priority 1? Isn't that obvious? It seems not.
In the months to come I heard stories from all sorts of people who booked performers that never even showed up to a gig. Some didn't even show to people's weddings they were booked for. I was amazed... all you have to do is drive to this place, play guitar and sing, and people will pay you. And you DON'T GO??!!
Obviously, musicians have a bad rap for being flaky, irresponsible, artsy, bums (and I'm not even gonna get into jam bands)... and for good reason. In my estimation, roughly 90% of "musicians" are nothing more than hobbyists who are far too lazy to do any real work in any form, and a music career is no exception. Yes, I just said that.
So I was excited beyond belief at these list points above. That was EASY. I can show up, not get smashed to the point of vomiting on my microphone, keep the breaks to a minimum (or non-existent... but that's another article), and entertain a room full of people.
Without a doubt, I must say that only the Divine favor of God Himself could have brought me to the level of success I've achieved thus far... I'm certainly not that good on my own. However, diligent work pays off. Always.
If you're struggling as a musician, first ask yourself if you're adhering to these points. If not, there's good news - being a more successful musician is gonna be easier than you think.
This was the first cassette tape I ever bought with my own money.
Around the age of 11, my brother had begun taking guitar lessons and started a quest of finding the best guitarists to emulate. Though I hadn't yet picked up an instrument of my own, I was already an avid music fan, so I shared my brother's enthusiasm for finding new players/groups to check out. Of course, Eric Clapton ranked pretty high on almost every one's recommendation list.
So Chris (my brother) bought a cassette single of "Bad Love" off of Clapton's Journeyman album. We wore that thing into the ground, rewinding and replaying it for hours as we did our homework after school. It's just an incredible song. Clapton's guitar work was everything we had heard it would be (SIDEBAR: Phil Collin's drumming on that track is also artwork in and of itself), and we were instant fans.
Chris later tracked down some of Clapton's earlier group work - namely The Very Best of Cream and the Blind Faith album (I had to draw a black t-shirt over the topless girl on the cover so as not to freak our mom out). Blind Faith didn't have much appeal then, since there weren't any rockin' guitar solos, though I rediscovered the album once my ears had matured a bit. The Cream tape was great though. It's hard to imagine some of those sounds are actually coming out of a guitar.
A while after, I had a birthday coming up and was allowed to pick out a cassette tape as a present at our local mall music store. As I scanned the tape racks (not yet in the market for those new-fangled CDs), I stumbled across this album. An actual Cream album, not just an incongruous selection of cuts. Thanks to the Greatest Hits tape, I was already familiar with songs like "Sunshine of Your Love" and "Strange Brew", but "Tales of Brave Ulysses" (which I hadn't heard since it was only available on the Greatest Hits CD, not the tape) quickly became my new fave song of all time. "Blue Condition" was another favorite, with Ginger Baker's sloppy, cockney vocals making that track jump off the album.
There was obviously some psychedelic influence creeping into the blues-based trio around this time. I was entranced by the subdued, almost eerie vibe to "World of Pain" and "Dance the Night Away". The slow, intense build of "We're Going Wrong" still gives me chills every time I hear it. And "Mother's Lament" is just brilliantly hilarious.
"Outside Woman Blues" also became a staple in my live set. If you've seen me play live more than once, chances are you've heard this song, though my rendition is a hybrid of Clapton's take and the original version.
This album was a major influence on me creatively, and it was also one of my major inspirations for learning bass. Jack Bruce's approach, attack, and note selection were always the target I was aiming for as a young bassist. His tone... not so much. These Cream albums weren't recorded very well, and personally, I think the remastered versions that came out in the 90's sound even worse. Clapton's guitars were already ridiculously high in the mix, and the bass and Baker's drums were barely audible on a few tracks... the remastered versions only amplify these problems.
I'd love to hear an entire remix of this, if it were ever possible. Chances are the only thing they have to work with are 2-track masters, but I still often wonder what it would sound like to have these redone by one of the Lord-Alge brothers.
Fun tidbit... the day I bought this cassette, the guy at the checkout counter asked me if I liked this new band Pearl Jam. I told him I had no idea who they were. He informed me the guy in line ahead of me paid for their new CD, Ten and forgot to take it with him. It was mine if I wanted it. I didn't have a CD player (and wouldn't even know anyone who owned one for a few years), so I declined. It was about a year later when the video for "Even Flow" broke on MTV and I wholeheartedly regretted my decision.
Requests can be fun. Requests can also be jalapeño-soaked, sautéed hell on a stick.
There are a few key points to keep in mind when making requests of a performer that will ensure the likelihood of you hearing your fave song and (hopefully) avoiding said performer berating you from the stage immediately prior to burying a microphone stand in your ear canal.
I don't need to be tipped for each and every request, but it sure is nice when that happens! I really dig almost all the songs I know how to play, and am more than happy to play them when requested... though every time someone asks for "Sweet Caroline", I die a little inside.
Here are 10 tips to help make the most of your song request:
1 - Please don't make a request while I'm singing. Yes, this happens. Often. If my mouth is open, and my vocal chords are vibrating, how is it that you expect me to answer you when you keep repeatedly shouting "Do you know any BODEEEEEANS???!!". Think, darlin'.
2 - Please don't make a request if you're smashed drunk. The sloppy-slurred request for "that song that goes duhduhduh-duhduh-duh... you know?" is about as welcome as a rabid ferret in my shorts. UNLESS you're laying down an insanely huge, monstrously sizeable tip. Currency covers all manner of sins at a gig. This one is often very closely related to the next one:
3 - Know the song you're going to request. "We had it played at our wedding... umm... gee... what was that... it's my favorite Bob Dylan song of all time... or was it Pat Boone? Could have been Denver Stevens. Is that his name? It's something about a horse and time travel in Alabama I think... you know?"
4 - If I say I don't know it, I don't know it. I enjoy playing people's requests, I really do. If I say I don't know how to play "Welcome to the Jungle", I'm not lying to you. Why would I? And every time you say, "Oh come on, you know it! Uh-huh... you do too... just play it!", you're only making me contemplate how wonderful it would be to possess the ability to make others spontaneously combust. As referenced in #2, singing/humming/duh-duh-duh-ing part of the song is equally pointless.
5 - Keep it realistic. Asking for anything that's actually received radio play is your best bet. Asking for an artist's deep cuts is less likely to get a positive result... not something I'd recommended making a habit of, but you never know. And asking for that b-side from the Live in Tokyo disk that was only available as an 8-track bootleg from their tour in 1973... there's a good chance that I'm imagining your head as a fireball again.
6 - Tip accordingly. If you've asked for a ton of songs over the course of the night, and the guy (or gal) at the mic has managed to play most of them, you'd better be dropping some legal tender with someone besides Lincoln or Washington on it in their jar.
7 - Put a cap on it. Do you really want to hear a certain song, or is the act of making a request somehow thrilling in and of itself? Making a request between each song I play is bad. If you stop me from moving to my next song to just sit and go, "Hmmm... wait a minute... ummm... (turning to the person next to you) what's a good song? Let me think for a minute..." Flame on.
8. Don't give me a hard time if I don't know it. I know over 300 songs (and counting). I simply don't have time to learn everything there is. Also, everyone has artists they can't stand, myself included. My apologies if you love someone I'm not fond of, but I just can't bring myself to listen to Neil Young or learn a song by some Cat who supports religiously-motivated hits on people.
9. Keep it in style. Do I really sound like I would do Korn or Slipnot? Pink? Taylor Swift? Sit down.
10. Don't request the same song multiple times. Yeah, you might love "Layla" so much you want to hear me play it back to back until the gig ends, but that doesn't mean everyone else that's listening feels the same way. Think of others. Other people... and other songs.
I hope this helps. Feel free to print this out and take it with you the next time you're venturing out for an evening of live music. You'll be requesting like a pro before you know it.
We've all said this at one point or another. Somebody mentions an artist they saw butcher a classic tune on the Grammy's, Disney releases another pop tart starlet while she's still in the womb, you see some college fratboy with an ankle tattoo of his favorite jam band, Justin Timberlake comes on the radio, and out it comes... "That musician/band/artist/charlatan/entertainer SUCKS!"
Tempting though it may be to say this, it's incorrect.
I could go into all the P.C. crap about diversity and how boring the planet would be if we were all the same, yada yada... whatever. I think I threw up a little just typing that. There's still a tinge of it in my right nostril. But I digress...
So here are the rules. You can dislike a style, song, artist, producer, or even misspelled album liner notes. You can even downright HATE all of the above, but you have to give your own (good) reasons and not just blanketly say something sucks or else you'll you sound like an imbecile who is secretly going home and listening to those Miley Cyrus albums you are openly condemning to the public. Ya dig?
For example:
BAD - ZZ Top sucks. (blasphemy, by the way) GOOD - I hate ZZ Top because I can't stand blues-based rock songs with sexual innuendo. I also have an intense fear of facial hair.
BAD - Ashley Simpson sucks. GOOD - Lip-syncing chicks who have no musical talent or skill and yet get on Saturday Night Live because of millions of dollars spent on over-producing their albums thanks to their dad's pandering of their eldest sister to Sony execs for that daughter's music career turn my stomach.
BAD - The Beatles suck. GOOD - I need to find a place to hide this body of the guy who said "The Beatles suck."
You get the point.
True, I have been guilty of this more times than I care to admit (and will very likely violate this rule again in the future... probably the next time I hear Neil Young), but let's give this our best effort, ok kids?
you know who this band is. For everybody else... allow me to introduce you to King's X.
A power trio from the Midwest, these guys came to prominence in the late 80's / early 90's as a quasi-hair metal group with a dash of proselytizing fervor (or so it seemed).
They eventually garnered a major label deal on Atlantic thanks to their growing cult fan base which was fueled by heavy grooves, Ty Tabor's guitar virtuoso solos, and Doug Pinnick's soulful, Hendrix-conjuring vocals.
At times bluesy, at times full-throttle rock, occasionally experimental, and often laden with Beatle-esque harmonies throughout, the group was a musician's dream, but were always seemingly just out of reach of the general public's acceptance.
After a few releases, the band was paired with über-producer Brendan O'Brien for their album Dogman. That disk was HEAVY... tuned down to D, then dropped another half-step across the board, and engineered to make the bass rattle your internal organs loose.
They played on major network late night TV shows, they toured endlessly with future Seattle grunge movement super stars, and they even had a primo spot on the bill at Woodstock '94. Yet this disk, ground-breaking as it was, kept with their previous history of being too far ahead of their time to do them any good in the present. Though without question, almost every heavy rock band thereafter followed the Dogman playbook line for line.
Then... silence. For years we all wondered what these guys were up to. Rumors circulated, conspiracy theories abounded about why they cut their hair, and most of their Christian fans gasped in horror when they heard the report that the new album had the F-word on it somewhere (even though it wasn't true).
And then out of nowhere, Ear Candy dropped. I listened to this for the first time in a back bedroom at my grandmother's house through some headphones. Upon that initial listen, I thought these guys had finally done it... there were undeniable, unquestionable radio hits on this disk. Their day had finally come.
"Lookin' for Love" would be the smash hit of the year on rock radio, "Mississippi Moon" would be their crossover chart-topper, and "A Box" would be played at high school proms across the land. "Sometimes", "The Train", and "Thinking & Wondering" were also songs I could see getting some airtime at that point in the melting pot of what was "Alternative Modern Rock Radio".
Yeah right... Atlantic Records pulled the funding for the marketing & promotion, the disk sank like a rock, and none of these tracks ever saw the light of day on mainstream radio. Then Atlantic promptly dropped them from the label. Gasp. (sarcasm)
A lot of King's X fans will tell you their best album was their 2nd disk, Gretchen Goes to Nebraska, but unless you like a monsoon of Aqua Net and spandex on your lead singer, and all that goes with it, disregard that info. This album is where it's at. Some of the best songwriting and performing that came out of the entire decade of the 1990's is found on these 13 tracks (Ok... "67" is just freaking weird, I admit, but it grows on you).
This was, in my mind, the pinnacle of King's X's career. After this it seemed like the air went out of the tires. The albums became more obviously thrown together, Doug changed his name to Dug and came out of the closet and completely recanted his faith (which turned off more than a few of the Christian rock crowd), and the high quality of songwriting and performing began to fade. But this album is still a gem among my collection.
It's got all the goods. Lyrics, melody, musicianship, intensity, sensitivity, and a song called "American Cheese". What more could you ask for?
Many people (myself sometimes included) thought this day might never come. But after nearly 3 years of working on this recording, not to mention years before that were spent in efforts just to get the project started, I can finally say this recording is completed.
Yeah, I know this doesn't seem like a very deep insight. But its simplicity is the very reason many musicians overlook its importance: Set up your merch before anything else.
The moments before a show can be anything from an energetic, anticipation-filled, adrenaline ride to a neurotic, sweating, pray-your-bowels-hold, nervous breakdown. And chances are, every performing musician will experience both more than a handful of times.
So it's easy to get lost in the panic or excitement compounded by the avalanche of other distractions (loading in through the kitchen, bad sound check, no sound check, bi-polar club manager, last-minute equipment failures, wardrobe malfunctions, etc.).
But this IS important. I can't remember how many times I've had people walk up and buy a CD of mine before a show... without even having heard me. Sometimes an intriguing CD cover or display is enough to win a few people over, and there are always some people who just like taking a gamble on a new artist (I LOVE these people).
If I was more concerned with grabbing a drink before my set, chatting up the other artists on the bill, going overboard tweaking amp settings and effects, or was doing anything other than taking the time to set up my CD display, that would've been one less sale (sometimes more), and potentially one less fan, which can ultimately turn into many more fans.
NEVER yell "Freebird!!!" at a live performance. Ever.
You may think you're being funny, but you're actually ruining people's lives.
Seriously. Imagine if each day you went to work, some... person told you the exact same "knock, knock" joke at some point. You don't know exactly when he's going to wander over and destroy your faith in humanity with his sad, pathetic attempt at humor, but it's gonna happen. Might drive you crazy after the 700th time, don't you think?
You're that guy.
Truth of the matter is that I hear this at almost every show I play. This gag is more tired than the "stopping a wedding to tell the bride she should be with me instead" ending of a romantic comedy movie. Notice how the only people who still chuckle at this are the inbred d-bags who yell it?
I've had people call it out who didn't even know the song once they started to hear some of it (because they cheered when I said, "OK", and started to play an obscure Waterdeep track). Someone once was so tactless they called it out before a memorial service I played. I've even had some guys at shows who were so socially retarded they called it out between every single song I played (yes, this has happened WAY more than once).
Stop it. Forever.
For a more humorous insight into this from a gentleman who is also a performing musician, I now leave you with this blog post from my buddy, Les Hodge:
There are some things that will always make me laugh no matter how many times I hear them. It's really rare for a joke to have longevity, because surprise is a keystone of comedy. Nope, it takes a great story, or a running joke that is so funny it hearkens (that's right, I said 'hearkens') you back to the first time you heard/experienced the gag to keep you laughing for an extended period of time. If you're a band you can keep playing your hit song your entire career, but if you're a comedian you have to constantly update your material or no one will pay to see you. Imagine if Letterman was still using the same jokes he used a year ago? Wait, that's a bad example. Anyway, you know what I mean.
So last night, I was playing a show at Crow Creek when it happened
I'm sorry. I had to take a break because I'm laughing just THINKING about it. Right between two songs some guy; some genius... yells out "FREEEBIRD!"
Oh.
My.
God.
Of course, the entire bar just erupted. There were people on the floor, people were high-fiving, an older gentleman reminisced about how some guy yelled out Freebird at another show he was at... We briefly took a hard look at just tearing down our P.A. and heading home. How were we gonna top that? The people came to be entertained and they got what they paid for. Alas, somehow, we pulled ourselves together and finished our set.
Later, as the Freebird guy was leaving, I gave him an appreciative nod as if to say "Thank you. I know that you weren't the first guy to yell "freebird," and you won't be the last, but every time is unforgettable. Even if we never meet again, tonight is something we will always share."
Your ways are mysterious, Freebird man. How do you make it to so many shows? Is there a meeting every night at 6 pm, where a small group of comedy sultans pour over an Urban Tulsa picking out shows to bless with your golden nugget of hilarity? My gut says no. It's something more... organic than that. Spiritual. You just tucked your dirty polo shirt into your jean shorts, fastened that braided belt, and headed out. You had no idea you'd be the Richard Pryor of Crow Creek Tavern. But sometime after your fifth High-life and your ninth GPC, it welled up inside you... like a fire. And then you let that sweet gem pass out from beneath your sans-irony mustache and into comedy immortality.
I know I speak for every musician I know when I say thank you, and keep em' comin.' We love when you 'help us out.' If laughter truly is the best medicine, you sir are the cure for what ails me.
Zakk Wylde... jeez. My first real rock concert was Ozzy Osbourne & Alice in Chains at the Tulsa Fairgrounds race track, next to Driller Stadium in the early 90's (the now laughably titled "No More Tours Tour"). That Ozzy album & tour was a wake-up call to guitarists everywhere. Ibanez guitars, rack effects, and solid-state amps got ditched for Les Pauls, Marshalls, and stomp-boxes. Why? Zakk freaking Wylde, that's why.
Zakk was amazing. Yeah, he had chops for days, looked cooler than anyone on MTV (who else could wear a bowler hat with a bullseye painted on his guitar and still look cool??), but man - that SOUND. I was addicted to that buzz-saw guitar tone and those signature screaming harmonic squeals.
So all of us recently-converted Zakk addicts were crushed when Zakk left Ozzy. We waited in anticipation for his new project, Pride & Glory. When it wasn't metal, but rather a swamp-blues infected Southern Rock that had more influence from the Allman Brothers than from the Van Halen brothers, most Ozz fans were bummed, myself included (I later rediscovered the Pride & Glory album and still dig it immensely). I was also shocked that his voice sounded so deep and bluesy, when he looked much more like a Sebastian Bach-esque pretty boy from that era.
A few years later, I saw this CD in a record store. Given my previous let-down with Pride & Glory, I passed it over a few times, but kept going back whenever I'd return to that store, wondering if it would be as cool as No More Tears. Keep in mind this was before you could preview tracks on the internet... buying an album was a dice roll, so with no radio play, you might be flushing $15 and won't know it until the crap is already in your ears. So I never pulled the trigger...
Fast forward a few years - my buddy and fellow Ozzy fan, Homer Robison, was commenting about this CD one night. He gave me the impression it was worth a listen and offered to let me borrow it. I was working in web design at a company in Tulsa at the time and took the CD to work with me to plug into the headphones while I designed websites for people who always just wanted us to rip off someone else's work... not expecting the disk to be anything more than mediocre.
I was so stunned by how amazing the opening track, "Between Heaven and Hell", was that I was literally immobilized by it. I sat there with my jaw open, staring at my CD player wondering what in the world was going on. I listened to it again... and again... and again... the whole album can't be this awesome, can it?? I decided to find out. Yep, it was.
Given, some albums/songs/movies/books/cult leaders hit you at just the right time in your life to make a life-changing impact when they might not have even scratched the surface a year previous. Maybe that's what happened, but this record resonated with me then beyond anything else I had known.
Truly though, Zakk got ripped with this project. If this had been released by an up & coming black kid from Louisiana and had been executive produced by Clive Davis, this thing would've stomped the Grammys that year. Hard.
It's the perfect marriage between swamp blues, acoustic folk, and heavy rock (if a 3-way marriage can be considered perfect - maybe the album is Mormon?). Yeah, he's still got the riffs & chops (I don't think it's physically possible to play any faster than he does on the solo to "Throwin' It All Away"), his piano work is practically a religious experience, but its the songs on here that seal the deal. Raw, vulnerable, yet lush and undefeatable at the same time. He's hitting the target he aimed for dead-center and then some.
So I absorbed this music for months, indoctrinating anyone who would listen. It sparked a writing streak of southern-fried rock songs in me that lasted for years. The undisputed fan favorite from my band's album at the time was a song called "Better". It's hard to say if that tune, "A Beautiful Girl", "Don't Walk Away", "Southern Highway Love Song", or several other songs I've written would even exist if I hadn't heard Book of Shadows.
Since I was late getting on the bus for this CD, Zakk released yet another new album several months later. This time it was with a new group, Black Label Society... a heavier than hell, grungy, decrepit, tuned-down, scare your mom, beat up your dad, kill your spatula dealer, set fire to your elementary school, and run away with your bus driver's wife, metal band. The kinda crap that weenie, young, white-trash teen boys listen to in order to make themselves seem scary and tough... audio testosterone substitute. Garbage.
However, Black Label would be playing in Joplin, Missouri, and my buddy Homer and his wife were going. I hitched along and experienced the loudest concert ever.
What's that? You have a loud concert story you're thinking of? Nope. Yours wasn't as loud as this. No, it wasn't. We're talking 'Boeing 747 landing on your ear drum' loud; praying for your ears to bleed so the blood can act as an insulator between the razor-blade sharp sound waves and the liquefied brain stem you're trying to prevent from spilling out of your split skull.
And Zakk was scary. By this time he had transformed from pretty boy glam rocker to demon trucker with arms the size of Hulk Hogan's torso, who used gigantic chains for a guitar strap. To top this off, his first guitar, the infamous bullseye Les Paul, had been stolen a few nights previous. He looked like some sort of crazed, beer-guzzling Norse God who hates... well, everything. When he demanded the crowd "Make some F***-ing NOISE!!!", his ice blue, bloodshot eyes got the size of circular saw blades, and we all screamed out of fear, not willingness to show him we were rockin'. We honestly just did whatever he said so he wouldn't come down into the crowd and eat us.
After the show, a line was forming for autographs with Zakk. I didn't really need the signature, but I just had to tell him what I thought of Book of Shadows. The line went pretty quickly. The metal-head fans in front of me would rave about what a great guitarist he was, and 8-foot tall, world-devouring Zakk would just grunt and sign, without ever looking up. I finally got up to him, and muttered out, "Book of Shadows is my favorite album of all time" (which it honestly was at that point). Zakk stopped, put down the black Sharpie marker, looked me right in the eye, and said, "Man, thanks... that really means a lot. I worked really hard on that album." He shook my hand (HARD), patted me on the back, and said, "Thanks for coming out, dude." Then he went back to grunting at people.
At first I was confused why he took the time to address me personally out of the crowd. My brother put it together and told me, "That's the only album of his that he put his own name on. It's obviously the most personal representation of himself".
I've been a fan of Common Children (and all of Marc Byrd's various projects after their demise) since the very first disk. My friend Chad Bonham had a copy of their debut, Skywire, on cassette and let me listen to it during a nighttime drive to a friend's house. He explained that they "are totally awesome" (true), "rock so hard that you need to pad your pants with double-ply Charmin, because of how hard they're going to kick your butt" (also true), and "sound like a mix between Candle Box and Goo Goo Dolls" (very, very, very, absolutely, falsier than the falsiest of false).
I heard "Hate" followed by "Treasure" and I was hooked. I won't go too far into that experience, because that album will surely get its own entry eventually. They released the album Delicate Fade not long after and then promptly vanished off the face of the earth. Their label (Tattoo records) was gone, no more tour dates were announced, and there wasn't even a peep of them on the web anywhere. I was shattered.
Years passed, and I had all but given up hope that I would ever hear them again. Then one night, on a whim, I did a search online and found a single splash-page announcing an upcoming 3rd album by Common Children, The Inbetween Time. I freaked out.
Needless to say, I signed up, paid the $15 and waited patiently. Ok, rabidly might be a better adverb there... It arrived. I couldn't make myself wait for the typical "at night, in bed, through headphones" approach I preferred, so I threw it in the player in my car (still at nighttime, thankfully) on a drive out to my grandmother's house in the badlands of far West Tulsa. Winding through rain-covered country roads lined with aged, decaying trees, under the stars, the album unfolded like the masterpiece it is.
On a sonic level, you won't ever find an album with this many guitars layered on top of each other that still sounds this present and clear. Marc Byrd is an unparalleled master of manipulating ambient guitar sounds in my opinion. Your mind bathes, swims, and drowns in a universe of echoes and distant melodies. But the real strength of this album is in the depth of feeling it conveys; a flood of emotions from grit-your-teeth anger to heart breaking sadness, contemplative, aching loss to reverent, bliss-filled awe - all compounded with the overwhelmingly immense scope of the soundscape all around you.
There are no singles on this disk. Nothing "radio-worthy". Nothing that the mainstream music industry would bother giving the time of day. But The Inbetween Time can break you and rebuild you over and over again if you let it.
My first childhood memories are of my brother, Chris, and I teaming up with Todd and Wade (our same-aged next-door neighbors) to battle Darth Vader and the Empire, wage war against the opposing yard with “dirt clods” (handfuls of packed, drying Oklahoma mud), or engaging in our favorite pastime; reenacting Flash Gordon. Not the comic or black-and-white serial from the 1930’s, but the full-on camp of the 1980 film with Sam Jones. 
