Operation 2010: Extreme Yourself

It's the end of a dubious decade and one tough bitch of a year. Well, it's time to strike back. Kicking ass and taking names is the order of the new year and (OMFG) decade.

I think back to the dawn of this particular decade. I crash-landed in Los Angeles on April 1, 2000. I love making note of the date. it seems wholly appropriate.

2000 was great for music. My two favorites albums of the year were D'Angelo's "Voodoo" and Radiohead's "Kid A." They still stand among my favorites of the entire decade. Huh.

The first morning that I woke up as a new resident of Los Angeles, I turned on the TV in a Beverly Hills hotel room on Robertson, where I was being put up at the time (on Larry Flynt's dime, thank you very much). I surfed around until I found "Good Day L.A." for the first time. It took me a while to realize that it wasn't some bizarre SNL-styled parody, but an actual morning show.

If you've never seen the show, I won't bore you with the details. But the motley crew of the seasoned news vet, the perky Republican housewife and bat-shit crazy blond sexpot Jillian Barberie was the most completely insane thing I'd ever seen passed off as a serious TV show.

For me, it was all about Jillian. She'd eat her breakfast on the air while reading tabloids and missing her cues. She'd snap at Dorothy (the aforementioned Republican housewife) for pretty much anything, discuss the various medications she was on and spout off about her love of black men. Yeah, I was feeling that.

So much has changed in the past (sweet Maria) 10 years. Jillian is married mother with another on the way. I haven't watched "Good Day L.A." in forever. I'm single and excessively mingle-ish (thugs need hugs too, y'all). I stood next to Sasha Grey at a Skinny Puppy concert. I went to Detroit twice this year, and both times were epic, to say the least. Truth: the heart does indeed grow fonder. I can't wait to go back for BIRTHDAY '10. I gots plans, y'alls. Plans.

I've been to Prince's house. He didn't make me pancakes, but his battery of chefs whipped up pretty much anything else you can think of. And the two sets he played in the basement would easily qualify as my Best Concert of 2009.

Yeah, this year kind of let me have it. But it's good for the character and constitution to endure a thrashing every now and again.

But for every action is a natural reaction. And when the Rebels strike back, we don't make it personal. We make it Biblical:

"And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them." — Ezekiel 25:17

To quote great thespian Jamie Pressly in that timeless classic "Not Another Teen Movie":

Saint Etienne, "Goodnight Jack," live @ Glastonbury 1998

I've played this three times in a row. I don't foresee stopping anytime soon. There is seriously actual magic in those melodies.

I would place this band in my Top 10 favorites of all time. Top 5, even. And yes, there is always a rainbow whenever Saint Etienne plays*

When Animal Collective ruled the world

Do you remember?

Back when 2009 was still wet from birth, music dorks across the land rejoiced in Animal Collective's new album "Merriweather Post Pavilion" in ecstatic tones generally reserved for the likes of Radiohead. Alongside Grizzly Bear, these art-rock darlings from Baltimore had come to represent the new vanguard of "now" music.

I thought it would be interesting to take a quick hop back in time to a piece I wrote for Metromix in advance of AC's first area show after the record's release. It was a show that would eventually be canceled when one of the band members fell ill. When they did play in February, it was one of the coolest gigs I'd seen in a while. The bass was like WOO. Good times.

Newton’s Universal Law of Gravitation can be applied to many things, including an exclusive fraternity of bands during the dawn of the 21st century.

In the world of music BI (before internet), bands able to hit it big generally had the luxury of some time before dealing with backlash. But in the perpetually accelerating culture of today, the arc from fledgling new act to that elusive wave of success to critical drubbings can occur shockingly fast.

In 2008, Brooklyn band TV on the Radio, longtime critical darlings able to sell out mid-sized theaters hit critical mass with the release of their third album, Dear Science. So much so that media outlets that had previously all but ignored them were scrambling to place Dear Science at the top of their year-end polls. It wasn’t long before the hipster grumblings began: what makes these guys so special anyway?

It was much faster for Fleet Foxes. After releasing two critically lauded EPs, the Seattle band’s self-titled full-length 2008 debut hit the scene under a wave of goodwill and positive buzz rarely afforded any new band. Their self-described “baroque harmonic pop jams” elicited rave reviews from indie bloggers and media giants alike. By the time they were jockeying with TV on the Radio for album of the year honors on charts around the country, they too were assaulted with increased criticisms. One prominent music blog’s headline announcing the band’s appearance on NBC’s Saturday Night Live: “SNL to make falling asleep before ‘Weekend Update’ easier than ever.”

That should pale in comparison to the year Animal Collective will have in 2009. The band has existed happily under the radar since the early 2000s, releasing albums like Spirit They're Gone, Spirit They've Vanished and Danse Manatee under the guise of band member pseudonyms Avey Tare (born David Portner) and Panda Bear (Noah Lennox). The band also includes members Deakin (Josh Dibb, currently on something of a hiatus from the band) and Geologist (Brian Wentz).

But as their experimental, amorphous jams began attracting more and more fans, the band has simultaneously flirted with increasingly accessible music. While maintaining their willfully psychedelic approach, albums like 2005 release Feels and 2007 album Strawberry Jam found the band’s underground status soaring, yet still well away from the growing indie hype machine (no pun intended, web surfers). Shows veered from fan favorites like “Grass” and “Peacebone” to freeform, meandering drones, setting off the inevitable Grateful Dead comparisons.

The overwhelming fanaticism that surrounded the first whispers regarding Merriweather Post Pavilion, the latest Animal Collective long-player (officially released on January 20) was far beyond what anyone expected. When the MPP song “Brother Sport” leaked onto the internet, the “Web Sherrif” (a site devoted to “protecting your rights on the internet”) sprung into action, resulting in a huge public dust-up with the band Grizzly Bear, who’d posted the tune to their blog.

To placate their diehard fans, Animal Collective released the album two weeks earlier than the officially release date—but on vinyl only. The resulting sales frenzy had the album threatening to hit the Billboard charts on the vinyl sales alone (Domino Recording Company spokesperson Peter Berard told MTV that MPP sold almost as many vinyl copies in one day as Strawberry Jam has moved to date on vinyl).

The album is a sprawling collection of childlike romanticism, full of dreamy declarations like “If I could just leave my body for the night” and memories of “Summertime Clothes” over heavily echoed, ambiguous melodies akin to the Beach Boys, MGMT and Flaming Lips bonding over the Turtles’ greatest hits.

With the album already boasting a stratospheric 9.6 rating on influential (if highly suspect) music site Pitchfork, Animal Collective is elevating to a very rarefied air. Over the course of 2009, they’re likely to experience breakout success almost simultaneously with the inevitable backlash. In short, by the time they’re on Saturday Night Live, long-time fans will be lamenting the good old days, when Animal Collective was theirs and theirs alone.

How Lady Gaga made me her bitch (in 6 months or less)

Six months ago, it was the last place I imagined I would be last night: A 6th row aisle seat in the orchestra section of the Nokia Theater for the opening night of Lady Gaga’s sold-out 3-night stand — and really excited about it.

I won’t lie; I tried to hate on the Gaga. When she first broke out with those hit singles we all know so well, it just felt really forced and overly contrived. When I would deign to check her out on a video or something, I dismissed her as an artist using her opportunity by trying way too hard. I was right and oh so wrong at the same time.

Lady Gaga is definitely trying too hard. Pretty much from the moment I wrote her off, she lit into a killer yearlong campaign of being fu*king awesome like I haven’t seen in years. From her bloody performance of “Paparazzi” on the MTV Video Awards to the awesome if ill-fated “Fame Kills” tour concept with Kanye West to her crowning jewel, “The Fame Monster.”

While Gaga has been bringing fantastic drama for some time, her debut album really left me wanting. Sure, I could grudgingly concede the singles. But when I gave “The Fame” a spin, there were few too many half-baked Gwen Stefani knock-offs for me to consider her a real contender. With “The Fame Monster,” Gaga took off the gloves and crafted eight songs that kick her debut up and down the street. Ominous, industrial marches (“Dance in the Dark”), sweeping synth-pop epics (“So Happy I Could Die”), grandiose piano ballads (“Speechless”) — and this is just speaking sonically.



Lyrically, “The Fame Monster” trawls through all sorts of sordid territory. When she’s not getting hammered and masturbating to a dream female lover, she’s being manhandled by a massively endowed club hustler. It’s kind of like a season of “True Blood,” only better. Or a weekend at my place, same difference.

Like any true pop pioneer, Lady Gaga presents all of this insane brilliance with a 24/7 pop-art lifestyle that would have Andy Warhol crying tears of joy. I mean, if the “Bad Romance” video was any indication, the live show was gonna be bananafishballs.

So as an early Xmas present to myself, I scored the aforementioned 6th row ticket to the Monster Ball. I consciously avoided all early show reviews so as not to spoil any surprises.

The first bump in the road: Opening act Kid Cudi gets tossed from the tour for being stupid (hitting a kid in the crowd for throwing a wallet back onstage that wasn’t his). Grrr. Then he’s replaced with Semi-Precious Weapons. I’m not a hater, but I'm just not a fan of that band. I saw them at the Perez Hilton thing and...no. Thanks.

Somehow, I planned the night perfectly. I found a parking spot near the theater, where I pounded a couple of vodka-Red Bulls (pre-game!). Traversed the holiday-choked madness of “L.A. Live” and into the show. All opening acts had finished, and next up: Lady Gaga.



Like I said: Perfect.

The crowd was awesome. Lots of masks and face paint. And yes, girls with no pants. I even saw a boy with a full-head lace mask. These people were not playing.

The show was simply out of control. She opened with “Dance in The Dark” from behind a screen and never looked back. There were lots of costume changes, so while she was offstage an elaborate series of videos with hot house music beats would play and it was really super-cool. The videos were so wild. Gaga wearing these really disturbing Slipknot-like masks or throwing up blue liquid.



She talked a lot of shit between songs, which was great. Her theme of the night was being “a free bitch.” She told stories and taught everyone the new universal symbol for “her little monsters” and reminisced how only one year ago this month she played the Nokia opening for both Natasha Bedingfield and New Kids on the Block. Hello. She said hi to her sister a bunch who was in the crowd somewhere, and at some point called a fan at the show on his cellphone as part of a bizarre Virgin promotion. I’m still salty that she didn’t call me.

And the very end of the show (after a hot take on "Bad Romance"), the show ended with quiet classical music, and another bizarre video. This one of Lady Gaga (wearing a strange bone-like structure over her head) getting a tattoo on her back. At the end of the video, she takes the thing from her head. Her eyes are watery like she's been crying. She looks at the tattoo over her shoulder and smiles. The end.

It was just this non-stop spectacle of pop-art hysteria that was totally amazing. I loved every minute of it and wish I was going to see it again tonight or tomorrow.



Yes, I’m swimming in Gaga’s Kool-Aid right now, and am pretty much her bitch. So fun!

(Please pardon the craptastic quality of the videos. They’re just being used for reference).

"The impatient & easily annoyed type"

People think I'm playing, but I really do love MTV's "Jersey Shore."

Those kids are living the dream. Well, they're living their dream, anyway. You can't front on that.

I'm loving how quickly and effortlessly they seem to be adjusting to the sudden celebrity. The show is barely three episodes old, and Snooki and 'The Situation' have already been on Conan and JWOWW is selling autographed posters on her website.

Speaking of JWOWW's website, girlfriend has the most amazing bio. Check out this sweet excerpt:

Jenni always had a thing for nightclubs, but being the impatient & easily annoyed type never wanted to wait on the lines. It was the long lines, cold winters, and fake club promoters who think they own NY that got Jenni to realize that she wasn't going to be like everyone else who had to wait or pay to get into clubs in the tri state area. After conquering the club scene on long island and much of Manhattans outlaying boroughs she realized she wanted to reach out to the rest of the country by telling her story through MTV's newest reality show "Jersey Shore".

Kid Sister: It's a love thang

I just got back from seeing Kid Sister at this insane Red Bull "Soundclash" event with Moving Units. I'll get into more detail later, but I just had to share this lovely picture of darling Melisa (with my man Jason "Them Jeans" Stewart back there cheesin' away as her tardy-ass DJ haha) rocking the house. Oh, but I will say that the a capella version of "54321" was absolutely amazing, and she'd better be hitting us with the "sensual" mix of "Right Hand Hi" sooner than later. Trust me.

Skinny Puppy 2009: Still got it

A few months ago, I was alerted to the fact that Skinny Puppy was on tour, and said tour was ending in L.A. on Dec. 10. Hm.

It's been years since I've seen Skinny Puppy. Like, a LOT of years. But I've always had love for that band. From the first time I ever heard their music (song: "Smothered Hope," played by DJ Charles English at Detroit club Todd's) through an unforgettable show at St. Andrews Hall and the endless nights in Ann Arbor with Hank and John, drinking Jim Beam and performing "The Red X" ritual (don't ask)— well, let's just say that Skinny Puppy and I go way back.

First, I was pleasantly surprised by a pair of tickets from a very dear old friend Jason. Then, there was this online contest to win tickets that I forgot about entering that turned up even more tickets. The universe really wanted me to see Skinny Puppy.

It was a dark and stormy night. Ha. I mean, it was, but that's besides the point.

I rolled downtown to the Club Nokia for the show. When I went inside, wow. There were a LOT of people out to see Skinny Puppy in 2009. So far, so good.

I was just kind of hanging out in the back Twittering when I saw her. I was just this tiny blur of porcelain skin and dark hair, but the profile was unmistakable. Sasha Grey had just scampered past me and towards the elevators.

Instinctively, I followed her into the elevator. It was just her, me...and some bitchy elevator attendant.


"Um, you need a VIP bracelet for this level." The attendant cast me a steely glare. I glanced over at Sasha as I got out of the elevator. Fail.

I ran into my friend Timothy Norris, who is also an ace photographer. He too had seen Sasha. He mentioned her sneakers, which were rather outstanding. Sparkly red high-tops with silver studs around the top. Fresh to death.

And then, there was the show. Skinny Puppy has not lost an inch over the years. Their stage show is as surreal and awesome as ever (this time around they had kind of a Mummenschanz vibe going on). Nivek Ogre is still a compelling frontman, and they sounded ferocious.

Oh, and Sasha Grey was standing about 5 feet away from me for the entire show. Win.

When Brenna met Meredith

Living in Los Angeles, one is constantly confronted with “celebrities” of all shapes and sizes. They’re simply unavoidable.

You get used to it, but only to a certain degree. There are always going to be those people that still provide that nervous excitement when spied out living their lives. I generally refer to the time I ran into Martin Gore of Depeche Mode at Amoeba Records a couple of years ago. I’m not ashamed to say that I dorked out a little bit.

I was checking Facebook today when I noticed a tweet from a very dear friend from back home also currently residing in Los Angeles:

“Getting my hair done next to Meredith Baxter!”

OK, now this is a good celebrity sighting. Ms. Baxter has only just recently come out to the world as a lesbian. She’ll always and forever be Elyse Keaton to millions of us of a certain age—the same people that knew her as Meredith Baxter-Birney. The Keatons were the white Cosbys back in their day, and no less influential. It’s hard not to feel like you know that lady, even just a little bit.

Yeah, seeing a celeb shopping is cool. But getting your hair did next to one? That’s the good stuff.

I wanted with bated breath for Brenna’s follow-up report. Soon enough it came. The story of when Brenna met Meredith:

“And her girlfriend was there and we talked product. And they wore matching outfits -- cowboy boots, jeans, long sleeve T under short-sleeve T, rings, variations on the same blonde haircut, both carrying big-ass books (John Irving and Norman Mailer) ... totally rad matchalikes! (And MB is WAY prettier in person ... I think all the recent press photos were trying to make her look old and craggy. She's not.) And they were sweet and I love them!”

L.A. is fun, y’all.

Snoop A Loop!

For anyone at the insane and amazing Snoop Dogg record release party last night at the club Vanguard in L.A. wondering why I kept yelling "SNOOP A LOOP!" at the stage. Well, other than the alcohol, of course. I mean, how can anyone ever forget something like this?

Dedicated to Abby O'Neil, the big mack player OG baller double-OG pimpstress supreme. It's your world, girl. I'm just glad to be down!

Where I'm from, Pt. 2

Where I'm from, Pt. 1

It happened in Detroit: Jive Turkey 6

My trip home to Detroit was amazing.

Soooo many outrageous stories, all of them true.

Among my favorites: Jive Turkey 6

The “6” indicating the 6th year in a row this particular Detroit underground throwdown has been happening.

The line-up was already impressive, as evidenced by the flyer. The word was that Kenny Dixon Jr. and Theo Parrish were both going to be rocking unannounced sets. Hell yes. My old buddy Tim Baker was gonna be in the house, it was sure be a night of ‘90s-tastic fun.

I’d never been to the Bohemian House before. Deep in the heart of Detroit’s southwest side, the Ambassador Bridge loomed ominously behind me as I rolled a far too shiny rental car down a desolate side street towards the spot.

There were a couple of dudes in parkas hanging around a bunch of cars parked on a barren lot. One of them approached me and asked for $3. OK, word.

Except that now left me with only $7 in cash. The party cost $10. Hm. I rolled to the door and before I could explain my dilemma, dude at the dude took my $7 and waved me in. Cool.

OK, this was a classic dirty Detroit rave. The location looked like any number of abandoned houses in the city. Random planks and shit were lying around everywhere. The party was broken into two rooms. In the big main room, a DJ I didn’t know was dropping hard house beats. The room was fairly crowded. Behind the decks I spied Boo Williams, Glenn Underground, and a few more old-school heads.

I wandered into the second room, where my bud Tim Baker was spinning serious hardcore techno. He was beating it, as they like to say.

There were a few druggy party kids running around, but for a dirty Detroit rave, the crowd was surprisingly of age. Lots of ‘90s ravers grown up, with a healthy percentage of older black folks just chilling and smoking weed. The bar was doing a healthy business.

There was this insane young blond in front of the DJ tables. I swear she was wearing cut-off panties. With only a bra up top, she was working the floor like she was on a riser at Rain in Vegas. I mean this girl was grinding like she was getting paid big bucks. Even the too-cool-for-school dudes behind the tables were having a hard time not totally ogling her.

At one point this wasted brunette tried to mix it up with the blond, but it was short, painful defeat. She had one move, which was turning around and lifting her skirt up over ass, revealing a thong and a lotta ass. But that got old quick, and soon enough she was outta there.

Some dude starts rapping on the mike about the upcoming DJs, when I noticed a guy in what looked like a cop vest rush past me. By the time I looked up, a stream of police in what appeared to be stripped-down riot gear was streaming in through the main entrance. I glanced at the guy next to me, and we both made a beeline for the exit, only to be met by one seriously angry looking cop.

(The one picture I took before the cops killed the party)

“Everybody get down on the fucking floor right fucking now!”

The music had stopped and this booming cry was suddenly the only sound in the room. Overhead lights started coming on. More cops rushed into the room. People are kind of looking at each other like, “WTF?” My heart started beating really fast.

“I SAID GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR NOW!”

All 200 or so of us slowly squatted down on the filthy floor. Looking to my right, I saw an open pack of cigarettes with a plastic baggie hanging out of it, filled with white powder. Nearby, there were two more similar baggies. A couple more to my right. Damn, Detroit—party much? I realize that I'm actually shaking. The one other time I got caught up in one of these raids, I'd nonchalantly walked out the front door. The cops didn't even give me a second look that night more than ten years ago. This night was not like that at all.

A kid kind of stood up in the middle of the room, only to be thrown violently back down by the yelling cop.

“DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME MOTHER FUCKER?!” He growled.

Oh, shit. This was really happening.

The cops pile everyone into the main room and start demanding ID.

“IF YOU ARE UNDER 21, YOU ARE GOING TO JAIL. EVERYONE UNDER 21, RAISE YOUR HAND NOW!”

A smattering of hands timidly rose. The cops looked around the room, confused. Most of the faces were older than they were.

“IF ANY OF YOU ARE LYING, I SWEAR TO GOD! UNDER 21, STAND UP NOW!”

A couple dozen kids staggered to their feet, while the rest of us sat squatting on the floor of this dilapidated house that’s supposedly a historical landmark of the city. How fitting.

The cops looked crestfallen. One just yelled “FUCK!” at the top of his lungs.

The few, unfortunate busted kids were shuffled into the smaller room for processing. The rest of us got lined up, made to show ID, and sent off into the night.

Just another Saturday night in Detroit…

(The Telway Hamburgers spot on Michigan Ave not far from the party)

Artist profile: TURF ONE

“I sometimes speak English in a very French way,” warns artist Turf One with a good-natured laugh before discussing the work that makes up his latest show, “Shining Darkness,” which is on exhibit at the Thinkspace gallery in Los Angeles through the end of November.

But much like his bold, uncompromising paintings, the former graffiti artist’s thoughts are direct and right to the point. Utilizing a wide range of found objects to serve as his canvas, Turf One’s latest works reflect his process of letting the subconscious mind guide his art.


“The title ‘Shining Darkness’ actually came in the middle of working on it,” he explains from his current home base of Montreal, Canada. “I already had a few pieces done for the show which were very much playing on the notion of the juxtaposition and correlation of darkness and light. This is an underlying theme in my work in general, but I explored a more serious aspect of it for this show with pieces like “MEAT” or “FORTUNE TELLING MONKEY AUTOMATON.”

Animals play a large part in the exhibit, with monkeys, pigeons and a disembodied pig’s head just a few of the creatures represented in the paintings.

“I don’t really know where they come from. They each symbolize different things,” the artist muses about their presence here. “I think the monkey for example is probably a symbol of the unconscious. The pigeons and sparrows are the messengers between different levels of reality. Most of the animals I paint are often vermin placed in a sacred context. Holy pigeons, rats and mice, cockroaches are amongst my favorite subjects. Living in a big city, they are also the species that share my environment.”

“Montreal is definitely a great city,” he continues in regards to his present big city of choice. He relocated after vacationing there in 2000 and falling in love with the Quebec province. “The combination of cultures is very rich and inspiring and makes it unique. It’s not too big, so Montreal is still a very human city. People in general tend to be very chill and open.”

Music fuels Turf One’s painting sessions, citing a panoramic soundtrack that includes everything from legendary hip-hop producer Jay Dilla to revered jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt.

“I just like good music,” the artist shrugs. “I never paint without music. It fuels me. It’s all about good music and coffee.”

While Turf One has nothing specific planned for the time being, he’s been dabbling in taking his vision to the screen, co-directed the feature documentary “Dead Space” with his partner Lela Quesney a couple years ago. The pair has also been working on a TV show pilot based on his work.

“I basically see myself as someone who has a vision and a need to create,” Turf One says finally. “I don’t necessarily define myself solely by the mediums that I use to give life to my creations. Painting is just one of these means I found to give shape to my vision. Filmmaking could be another one.”

(Originally published by Hurley)

Artist of the day: Liselotte Watkins

I discovered this amazing artist, Liselotte Watkins, on killer life/style blog We The Future. Those girls down in Lubbock got it going on.

My TweetCloud for the year 2009*

In the past twelve months, these were my most used words on Twitter (in order):

• detroit
• tonight
• love
• night
• yall
• time
• yeah
• people
• rock
• party
• live
• totally
• game
• times
• hard

Handwritten letter of the day: Joe Strummer hearts Bruce Springsteen

Details available here.

Masonic Temple, downtown Detroit

Another one taken from inside a rental car around 5AM on a Sunday morning*

This is an amazing venue. I saw an incredible Prince concert there once when I was in high school. It was on his birthday, June 7. The year I can't remember, but it was definitely in the '80s. There was also a phenomenal White Stripes show I caught in 2003.

Sayeth Wikipedia:

"The Detroit Masonic Temple is a large-events venue located in downtown Detroit, Michigan, at 500 Temple Street. The 4,404-seat Masonic Temple Theater (managed by Olympia Entertainment) is a venue for concerts, Broadway shows, and other special events in the Detroit Theater District."

But my favorite story about the Masonic is when the Stones played a 'secret' show there in 1978 around the time "Some Girls" came out. I wouldn't see my first Stones show for another three years, damn it.

Spirit of Detroit

Taken from inside a rental car around 4AM on a Sunday morning*