Untitled - University of Oregon

VOLUME XVII
staff
EDITOR IN CHIEF + jennifer l. hill
PUBLISHER + scott e. carver
ART & LAYOUT DIRECTOR + ada l. mayer
COVER ART + tim robinson
PR MANAGER + meredith frengs
COPY CHIEF + linda hjorth
CONTRIBUTORS + sara brickner
+ niko kwiatkowski
+ tom hubka
+ mitch levy
+ eric weilbacher
+ krista johnson
+ erica sebastian
+ ally burguieres
+ carl sundberg
+ john itkin
publisher’s note
While this issue started with heartbreak, (John Kerry you
pathetic bastard) our disgust at has been muted by television,
a bountiful holiday profit margin and a plentiful flow of music.
Back in November Eugene hosted a variety of quality acts,
including Pinback, the Cali-Comm tour, Built to Spill, Mirah,
Les Claypool, Spearhead, De la Soul, the Thermals and They
Will Know Us By the Trail of the Dead, many of which are
touched upon in this issue.
An unusually good month for music was accented by the
startling popularity of Stonehenge, a basement venue
championing community values and cake. But it faded as
quickly as it came, leaving like a jostled tramp in the night.
Those who experienced it will likely agree, something unusual
happened there.
Winter break threw the Voice staff off, but as we put together
this issue it became apparent that the delay had been a
blessing. Art student Timothy Robinson allowed us to use his
woodcut art for the cover and the visual style that it brought
became the underlying element of our design goals.
This issue is packed with music and reviews as our staff pokes
a proverbial stick at the national music scene, bringing an
interview with Pinback, a much-needed analysis of Dreadrock,
some notable dvd offerings, the latest Elliot Smith album and
forays into High Stakes Bingo.
EMAIL+ ovoice@darkwing.uoregon.edu
PHONE + 541 346 0607
ONLINE + www.oregonvoice.com
So, enjoy this issue while doing something you love, like a
computer perhaps.
Scott E. Carver
OREGON VOICE is published seven times per acedemic year, approximately twice per term. Correspondence and advertising business can be directed to 1228
Erb Memorial Union, Suite 4, Eugene OR, 97403-1228. Copyright 2004, all rights reserved by OREGON VOICE. Reproduction without permission is prohibited.
OREGON VOICE is a general interest magazine that expresses issues and ideas that affect the quality of life at the University and in the University community. The
program, founded in 1989 and re-established in 2001, provides an opprotunity for students to gain valuble experience in all phases of magazine publishing. Administration of the program is handled entirely by students.
WWW.OREGONVOICE.COM
4
*Asshole of the Month: annoying people at shows
+ jen hill
Love Machine
+ scott carver
5
6
Minutia: the censorship filter club
+ krista johnson
Dread Rock: The New School of suck.
+ carl sundberg
high stakes bingo
+ linda hjorth
A Legend Comes to Life on the Streets of Prague
+ meredith frengs
8
9
10
Advertisement
12
Book Reviews: Study Abroad, America (the book)
14
DVD REVIEWS: Anti-Flag, Digital Underground, Devo, Murder City Devils, Supersuckers
16
Pinback-Interview with Rob Crow
+ sara brickner
18
Show Reviews: Fast Computers, Colonel Claypool’s Bucket of Bernie Brains
20
Music Reviews: Pavement, Elliott Smith
22
+
OF THE
Annoying
People at Shows.
+ jen hill
Let me get this straight. Going to see a great band live is probably one of my favorite experiences. There’s nothing like the catharsis that comes with
the combination of drinking and a great live performance by a damn good band. However, at every good show I go to, there is always one asshole who
decides to get on my nit-picky nerves and ruin a part of the evening. These jerks usually fall into the following categories:
TALKERS: Neither you, nor I, paid admission into this concert to hear you bitch about how much you hate this band, how much better their older
records were, and how the act that is following is soooooo much better. I’m trying to listen. SHUT UP.
“EXCUSE ME”: I know you’re not trying to get to the bathroom. You’re heading towards the stage. Don’t think you can stand eight inches in front of my
face without being “accidentally” elbowed during the set. I am standing where I am because there was a spot. There isn’t one now. GO AWAY
IN-YOUR-FACE DANCERS: Notice how everyone around you has given you plenty of space? They’re not being nice. You’re a bad dancer, and you
keep touching people. Stop doing yoga poses and the “Elaine.”
THE UNDER-16 SET: Shows usually go late, and you seem to know this very well. Then how come you stand at the front? I am really sick of your mom
bumping into me all the time and yelling about how it’s way past your curfew. Also: NO MORE GLITTER.
Jesus +Hath
Spoken & Ashcroft Heard!
eric weilbacher
It was a pleasure to watch him Infringe, to rally behind such a brilliant, enlightened soul. He was no ordinary Attorney General; he served a higher
power. He was the Savior’s General, Dammit!
And nothing stood in his way. Well, except that antiquated Constitution, grubby thing. And those bastards who claim they know what it’s all about: The
ACLU, Bill of Rights Defense Committee, and Librarians…secular demons! They stood in the way of such long overdue Progress in further Sanctifying
the Government.
It was clearly Divine Intervention that swayed the will of the People of Missouri to vote posthumously for Carnahan, because there was a different plan
for Ashcroft: to be the Enforcer of God’s Laws on all Americans.
He may not have seen the light right away, because when asked about terrorists, at first he didn’t “want to hear about it.” But God awakened him with
9-11, and all sinful Americans for that matter. Like Jerry Falwell said: gays ‘n liberals ‘n most musicians brought us the wrath of God.
Something had to be done, and plenty of whipping boys were found: Zacarias Moussaoui, Jose Padilla, Head Shops all across the country, feminists,
Oregon’s Death with Dignity and Medical Marijuana Acts, Paraplegics, and the Fourth, Fifth, Ninth and Tenth Amendments. Clearly, Ashcroft is a man
with a calling.
Brandon Mayfield was a notably infamous target. This Portland man was a convert to Islam, and the FBI found “miscellaneous Spanish documents”
sitting around his house (according to the New York Times, they were his children’s Spanish homework). He resides in Portland (That’s Little Beirut to
you). Translation: fuckin’ terrorist! For some reason, Mayfield is suing the Justice Department.
But the kick-ass record of John David Ashcroft will live on with the Bush Cabinet! It just seems like there is so much more Progress that could be made;
like making those accused of non-violent drug offenses, credit card debt and sodomy enemy combatants.
4+OV
Love
Machine
Love
Machine
Love
Machine
STORY + scott carver
ONLINE + http://www.fu-fme.com
Long distance relationships can be hard, but thanks to technology they have
gotten easier to manage over the years. First, Ben Franklin’s colonial America
postal service let estranged relationships blossom through the written word
around 1770. At the turn of last century, the telephone was becoming more viable and over the next 100 years became essential to geographically disparate
love. With the rise of cell phones in the 1980’s and the subsequent rate drop
during the 1990’s, coupled with features like the photo and video, distance
relationships have gotten easier for our generation. And now with the help of a
company called FuckU-FuckMe(tm) distance relationships are hurdling one of
the most frustrating aspects of long distance relationships: sex.
With patented “genital-drive” technology, the aptly named FuckU-FuckMe
product stands alone in the distance sex market. No more lifeless penis-like
toys or humping an inflated likeness of your lover! Now you can fuck your loved
one proper...from a distance.
The standard unit consists of a male and female unit, basically a rod or a hole,
respectively, that can be installed into a pc with a free 5.25” drive. Using the
FuckU-FuckMe software, users can have remote intercourse with the help of an
internet connection. According to the manufacturer “the system will transmit all
your actions to his/her genitalDrive and precisely reproduce them in real time.”
The key is to pretend your junk isn’t lodged into an angular, electronic box and
imagine the the warm, loving companionship of your mate. This shouldn’t be
too with a little imagination, and perhaps a few drinks.
Imagine a romantic evening with your girl or guy. You call around 6 and you
both drink a glass of nice red wine. You go eat dinner alone, both watch the
same movie and then meet back at your respective computers around 10. You
start instant messaging each other and it goes something like this:
You: Oh, I have been missing you baby.
Your Mate: Me too, I just want to be with you.
You: I know, lets try out our new Genital Drive Honey!
Your Mate: Okay!
2 minutes later you are wildly humping your computer casing and trying to type
with your free hand.
You: oaoohhh youou feeel good. I lovee you, i have missed you sooo mch.
Eventually you finish your business, pull out and fall asleep in your respective computer chairs, wake up about an hour later and send an “I love you.
goodnight.” email.
Currently the units only cater to a “one penis one vagina” type of setup,
although there is certainly room for improvisation. In the future a gay/lesbian
model may be released but in the meantime the manufacturer encourages safe
experimentation with the product, “Ensure first that these acts are legal in your
state. We cannot be held responsible for the legal consequences of extracoital
use.”
One possible position is the “Fuck yourself,” which, sorry ladies only works
for the dudes. You just need two computers, both genital drives and assume
a sandwich configuration. Another possibility is the “suck yourself off,” which
could work for both sexes, presumably.
Unfortunately, FuckU-FuckMe has not updated their hardware or software support in a few years. Currently the system is only compatible with Windows 95,
98 and NT. Just one more reason to unpack the old machine from the closet.
Your long distance relationship could depend on it.
OV+5
the censorship +filter
club
krista johnson
Glossary
Dialect: banned as ethnocentric,
replace with language.
Differently abled: banned as
offensive, replace with person
who has a disability.
Dirty old man: banned as sexist
and ageist.
Dissenter: ethnocentric, use
with caution.
Dogma: banned as ethnocentric,
replace with doctrine, belief.
Drunk, drunken, drunkenness:
banned as offensive when
referring to Native Americans.
Dwarf: banned as offensive,
replace with person of short
stature.
Heroine: banned as sexist,
replace with hero.
Homosexual: banned, replace with
person, child.
Hordes: banned as reference to
immigrant groups.
Horseman, Horsewoman: banned as
sexist, replace with equestrian.
Housewife: banned as sexist,
replace with homemaker, head of
the household.
Hussy: banned as sexist.
Huts: banned as ethnocentric,
replace with small houses.
Polo: banned as elitist.
Pop: banned as regional bias
when referring to soft drink,
replace with Coke, Pepsi,etc.,
except in California.
Postmaster, Postmistress: banned
as sexist, replace with post
office director.
6+OV
T
here is no right more precious in America than the right to complain. We complain
about everything. But there’s a place and time to complain, and a place and time to
complain about complaining. In a battle between censorship and free speech, a small,
sneaky, and well-organized horde of complainers are controlling what your current,
illegitimate, or future children read in school.
Through sophisticated lobbying, they have made controversy, not quality, the number
one concern of educational materials. In order for publishers to survive in the business
world they have to self-censor by putting texts through a ridiculously strict politically
correct filter. The result is that seemingly good intentions have morphed to a ridiculous
extreme. They delete everything from words like “snow”, “polo”, and “homosexual” to
food like gum and salt for reasons even the most creative person could not devise.
Censorship of literature is nothing new; nearly everything with any literary value has
been censored at one time or another. Reading a censored book list is like reading the
highlights of an entire liberal education. Right now however, lobbyists from both sides
of the political spectrum are attacking educational materials so strongly that the little
common ground they find has very little critical, literary, or creative merit.
Conservative book censorship lobbyists are exceptionally effective. They want literature
to show children an idealized past where there traditional family is defined by peace
and obedience. Book censorship has followed a natural progression of attacking the
most significant books. In the 1970s the most attacked books were J.D. Salinger’s
The Catcher in the Rye, John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, Aldous Huxley’s
Brave New World, and George Orwell’s 1984. In the 1980s and 90s they were Bernard
Malamud’s The Fixer, Richard Wright’s Black Boy, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse
Five, and Eldridge Cleaver’s Soul on Ice. Profanity, sex, religion, race, and violence
were the primary justifications for banning these books. In the case of Maya Angelou’s
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Alabama banned it for its degrading depiction of
white people. Whereas Shell Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends was banned for
undermining adult authority.
Currently high on the American Library Association’s list of most-attacked books is the
Harry Potter series for its references to the occult, Satanism, violence, religion, and
dysfunctional family life.
On the other side, liberal censors are also making changes, often seeking to rectify
dominance of race, gender, region, health, or class. In the name of fairness and
diversity, from the 1970s to the 90s, The Council on Interracial Books for Children
published guidelines used widely by the educational publishing industry, librarians,
and teachers to ban specific words, phrases, and images in textbooks. Eventually no
publisher could enter the market place with any biases tied to their books. Feminist
groups such as the National Organization for Women (NOW) joined the CIBC in the
right to rid textbooks of sexist language. NOW demanded a 50-50 ratio of girls to boys
in every book, a possible feat, until they insisted this also include images of animals.
They noted stereotyped behaviors, advocating against images of boys playing football or
women being emotional. Even Oregon played a part in the process when the west coast
PC protests were so strong that one publishing company issued a special “California
edition” for California, Oregon, and Arizona.
The most prominent controversy for the political spectrum in textbook publishing was in
the early 1990s when a K-6 reading series called Impressions was published with 800
excerpts from such greats as C.S. Lewis, Lewis Carroll, the Brother’s Grimm, Rudyard
Kipling, Martin Luther King Jr., and Laura Ingalls Wilder. More than 1,500 elementary
schools in 34 states bought the book. However, it was immediately attacked by family
groups and fundamentalist groups from many religions. Despite winning court battles,
Impressions was not republished and vanished quickly. In the educational publishing
Primitive man: banned as sexist,
replace with primitive peoples.
Profoundly deaf: banned as
offensive, replace with person with
loss of hearing.
market, censorship, controversy, and evidently good quality literature breeds
self-censorship or bankruptcy.
I was given an opportunity to help my mom, a second-grade teacher, sort
through old books in her new classroom. After looking through piles of books
from the 1950s to the present, we retired Nappy has a New Friend (perhaps
the most racist book I’ve ever read), A Day with the National Guard (featuring
small children happily shooting machine guns), and my personal favorite, Sailor
Jack’s New Friend (which I assumed was the clap). The literature we removed
was poorly written and had very little literary value. However, a childhood
without Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Alice in Wonderland, and Brave New
World would have been more dysfunctional than Harry Potter could imagine.
The worst consequence of this self-censorship is the declining quality of
literature taught in schools. Bernard J. Weiss, an editor of a K-6 reading
selection once said, “I agree that this story has very little literary merit…
however, it does help us achieve some ethnic balance.”
Both sides of the political spectrum see that literature has the power to take
malleable brains and project ideals, models, and behaviors on to them. Yet,
the power of literature lies in its quality, its use of context, and its ability to
encourage thought. In an attempt for people like Weiss to avoid controversy,
they have offended those of us that value literature. Maybe we can start an
organization and lobby to get rid of them. We’ll call it Hordes of Dissenters
Against Sissified Censorship. Anyone interested?
Mission accomplished:
Foods to Avoid in Textbooks:
Gravies, gum, honey, jam, jelly, preserves, ketchup, juice drinks, pickles, pies,
potato chips, pretzels, salad dressings, mayonnaise, salad oil, shortening, salt.
Stereotyped Images to Avoid:
Girls as peaceful, emotional, warm, poor at math or science, neat, shorter or
smaller than boys.
Men and boys as strong, brave, silent, strong, rough, competitive, curious,
ingenious, able to overcome obstacles, intelligent, logical, mechanical, quiet, or
easygoing.
People of Color Images to avoid:
People of Color as universally athletic, who become successful by accepting
discrimination and working hard, who abandon their own culture and language
to achieve success, as exotic, childlike, folkloric, gangsters and criminals, living
in poor urban areas, being angry, being politically liberal, belonging to any one
religion, valued as tokens or valued by whites as professional peers, sharing a
common culture or preferences, sharing common dress.
Persons Who are Older Images to Avoid:
Older people as meddlesome, demanding, childish, unattractive, inactive,
victims of ridicule and violence, in nursing homes or with canes, walkers,
wheelchairs, orthopedic shoes, or eyeglasses, as helpless and dependent on
others to take care of them, as ill, physically week, feeble, or dependent, as
funny, absent-minded, fussy, or charming, having twinkles in their eyes, need
afternoon naps, lose their hearing and sight, suffer aches and pains, who
are retired, at the end of their careers, or are engaged in a life of leisure time
activities, and who are either sweet and gentle or irritable and pompous.
Senility: banned as demeaning,
replace with dementia.
Senior Citizen: banned as demeaning
to older persons.
Serviceman: banned as sexist,
replace with member of the armed
services, gas station attendant.
Showman: banned as sexist, replace
with showperson, entertainer,
producer.
Sickly: banned as demeaning
reference to person with
disabilities.
Sightless: banned as offensive,
replace with people who are blind.
Sissy: banned as demeaning.
Sissified: banned as demeaning.
Slave: replace whenever possible
with enslaved person, worker, or
laborer.
Sneaky: banned when referring to
Asian Americans.
Snow ball: banned for regional
bias.
Snow cone: banned for regional
bias, replace with flavored ice.
Snowman: banned, replace with
snowperson.
Sob sister: banned as sexist,
replace with exploitive journalist.
Soda: banned for regional bias,
replace with Coke and Pepsi, except
in California.
Songstress: banned as sexist,
replace with singer.
Sophisticated: banned when it
refers to religious practices or
beliefs.
Soul food: banned as regional or
ethnic bias.
OV+7
REVIEW + carl sundberg
TEAT + these three bands all reside at lava records
There’s a new school of rock out there kids. It’s called Dread Rock, and it’s about to swoop down on our flailing American music scene
and take it’s rightful place among a long spectacular history of music that went straight…to the dollar bin.
All you need is a recycled 90s nu-metal sound and a singer with dreadlocks, and boom! You’re ready to fucking rock and rule.
Our first dreadrock band, Skindred, “blend up the Ragga metal punk hip-hop,” so fucking hard that you are paralyzed with emotions.
Just think about it. Reggae. Islands and peace, daquaris and weed. Now. Think metal. Violence and anger, pain and death. Can any
two things seem so perfect together? I guess since reggae and rock worked so well for 311, someone would have to take it a step
further. And oh my God, is that special guest Jonathon Davis from Korn on vocals? No? Oh that’s Skindred’s singer Benji Webbe
barking and brapbapblapping his ass off on the mic. Oops. Sorry. I mean…awesome!
Nonpoint, the other dreadrock band is so fresh it hurts. Like Linkin Park? Think scream-grunting with double bassdrum choruses are
just breathtaking? Then Nonpoint is right up your alley. You’ll slam your face into the walls with this disc. And who would have thought
to put DJ scratching in a metal song? Genius! And Spanish lyrics in another? Unreal! And if that hasn’t swayed you yet, there’s the
cover of Phil Collins “In the Air Tonight.” Oh yeah. That’s how boss this band is. But don’t take my word. Wait till you hear this song
on your local cookie cutter assrock radio station every six minutes, just like you did when Alien Ant Farm put out that cover of Micheal
Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal.”
(If you can’t remember who Alien Ant Farm is, check the dollar bin. You’ll probably find them right behind Skindred and Nonpoint.)
Oh…before you go…there is one more dreadrock band worth mentioning: The John Butler Trio. The singer, John Butler, has the
most killer dreadlocks of them all! His sound…well it’s not neo-ass-brap-metal like those other two dreadrocking units. It’s acoustic
didge rock from the fabled land of Australia. Butler has a voice to make Eddie Vedder jealous; a groove that Ben Harper would find
irresistable, and lyrics that would make any Green Party candidate turn their worried head. Yes, John Butler is the band for Eugene.
He has a perfect sound for our rainy tree-hugging, dreadlock dense city and he has the dreads to prove it.
8+OV
HIGH STAKES*
BINGO
STORY + linda hjorth
LOCATION + the arc of oregon
The stereotypical bingo player is closer to realtiy then you might think. This became apparent as I walked into the bingo hall with three
friends. It was filled predominately with older women who sat at long tables; their bingo sheets and colored markers neatly spread
before them. The scene was both disorienting and welcoming. The man selling bingo packets angrily pointed out that it costs them
money to use debit. We are the only young people in the house. Time to express my ‘inner grandma.’
We sat down at an empty end of the table. I eyed the crowd for character and competition. The regulars are immediately obvious.
Many are carrying bingo bags, covered in a pattern of bingo sheets and bingo numbers. There are several pockets on the outside for
storing the preferred bingo markers. More serious bingo players bring their own bingo cushions, also in a similar bingo pattern. We
are blatant amateurs. Although there is little skill involved, speed and precision are essential. The skill and seniority of the regulars
is crippling. There are a variety of regular games (the packet you are obligated to buy if you want to play), as well as special games,
which cost extra but the payout is larger. Newcomers are wise to check the game schedule to learn the six ways to win in certain
regular games (i.e. horizontal, vertical, postage stamp, and more); things the regulars don’t even think about anymore.
Despite our amateur status, there is always the benefit of randomness. That’s the good thing about bingo: it’s technically gambling,
thus I have as much chance of winning as the person sitting down the table from me (unless she is one of those regulars with multiple
packets). Jennifer takes an early victory, saying quietly, “Oh my god. I have a bingo.” Her perfectly blotted corner triangle was a
winning pattern for this particular game. Adrenaline pumped through our veins. Jen raised her hand triumphantly, shouting ‘bingo!’ A
man checked her card and then moments later brought her seventy-five dollars in cash. It was glorious.
Bingo is simultaneously a social and anti-social game. Players arrive in groups, bringing along their fellow bingo-playing neighbor
or their son or daughter. Despite arriving with friends and family, groups rarely converse. Two older women sit across from each
other, both fixed upon their numerous bingo sheets, concentrating and near bewilderment. One props her head up with her hand,
covering her mouth and the other stares blankly at her bingo sheets, her hand poised with a bingo marker, awaiting the next number.
Occasionally their lips move.
The demographic may be distinctly older at the bingo hall, but there is something compelling about observing the players with all their
neurotic habits. But more than that, bingo is something to do at low cost (the regular packets are $4) that provides the opportunity to
win so much more. Bingo is thrilling, not in the extreme sports way, but the quirky, culture-loving, acting-like-a-grandma way.
Bingo can be played every night, except Tuesdays, at The Arc of Oregon, located at 893 Highway 99 North.
*Voicecorp Incorporated lawyers have confirmed the authenticity of this statement.
OV+9
A
legend
comes to
life on the
streets of
prague
STORY + meredith frengs
Prologue:
In Jewish lore, a Golem is a statue or figure of a man produced from
mud or clay, but which can be conveyed to life when certain holy
words, carved upon the Golem’s brow or hung around its neck, are
spoken by a wise Rabbi competent in the ancient and mystical arts of
the Kabbalah…
According to Czech legend, in 1580 Rabbi Yehudah Loew Ben
Bezalel of Prague and two of his colleagues created a life-sized
Golem, which they succeeded in animating by inserting in its mouth
a slip of parchment bearing the word “shem”, which is a kabbalistic
interpretation of God’s divine name. Under Loew’s control, the
creature performed menial laboring tasks that required great
strength but little intellect. Every Friday evening, since the Jewish
Sabbath is on Saturday, the Rabbi would take out the parchment
from the Golem’s mouth, thus rendering it inanimate again, so that it
would not perturb their impending day of rest.
One Friday, however, the Rabbi forgot to take out the parchment from
the Golem’s mouth, and while he was busy performing the Sabbath
service the creature ran amok in a rash of destruction. As soon as
the Rabbi found out what was going on, he left the service in search
of his creation. When at last he found it, he succeeded in pulling the
parchment out of the rampant Golem’s mouth, and while it was again
inanimate he and his colleagues carried it away. They concealed its
powerful form inside the attic of Prague’s Old-New Synagogue. From
that day on, the Rabbi forbade everyone from entering the building
and even removed the stairs leading up to the attic.
Eventually, most people forgot about the Golem, but even today no
one is allowed inside this particular synagogue’s attic, although free
access is granted to those in the Czech Republic’s other Jewish
temples. Could someone — or something—strange be hidden in the
Old-New Synagogue’s mysterious attic?
10+OV
The Czech Republic is a veritable breeding ground for mysterious legends and
dark tales of magic. However, outside my “Representations of the Supernatural
in Czech Fiction” course, I never anticipated actually coming into contact with
the mythic creatures and eerie ghouls I studied while abroad. However, when I
consider the events of that one night in retrospect, I am beginning to think that
I was wrong.
The entire thing started as I stood at an ATM machine, just reaching that
pivotal point of intoxication
when you realize that your
cheeks are no longer cold
and that your esophagus is
starting to tingle all the way
down your chest. “It’s about
time,” I thought, considering
the suffocation I’d just felt in
the Bombay Room. There, the
icy remnants of my sole “girl
drink,” an amaretto sour, and
a table decorated with empty
half-litre beer glasses glistened
in the outdated black lights that
only served to make the crowd
of flailing waiflike Czech girls
more unappealing to my eyes.
The night was already going
poorly enough that listening
to another Euro-dance track
over the booming speakers might have turned my stomach. I’d finally reached
my breaking point when the shy alcoholic from my “Readings in Bohemian
Culture” class presented me with what he called a “Long Beach iced tea” and
slowly put his arm around my shoulder. “Absolutely not,” I resolved. So I left,
defeated, without even a word to my roommates, all the friends I was leaving
in a mere week’s time, or the kids I just kind of haphazardly mumbled drunken
responses to when they asked me a question about school, or traveling, or
my feelings on the shift to EU power in the Czech Republic. Give me a fucking
break, people; I’m just trying to enjoy myself here.
In total Americanin-a-strange-land
fashion, I lifted my
passive-aggressive
arms over my body
in some sort of
protective stance
as I whirled
around to my left.
Stepping outside into the deserted tundra that is night in Prague, I took a
cleansing breath, stumbled, and thus remembered exactly why one isn’t
supposed to drink only while sitting down. At the corner, I splashed in a puddle
of who-knows-what, cursing myself for forgetting my “weather shoes,” a pair
of tall Doc Marten boots that my mother likened to Hitler’s footwear of choice.
They’d kept me warm and dry all winter, through negative-ten-degree snow
flurries and unexpected rainstorms that only served to remind me of the world
I left behind in coming to Prague. I stopped to stare down at my soggy shoes,
and when I looked up again, a lumbering, belligerent man was headed straight
towards me.
Something immediately felt off. It was as if I was watching one of those police
chase videos when the last few moments before the getaway car rolls across
six lanes of traffic are put into slow motion for dramatic effect. Averting my
gaze, I turned to the bankomat on the corner and stood there, just a little bit too
close to the guy ahead of me.
Then, a hand was on my shoulder. A shove, and some grumbling followed.
Was I being mugged? Was this creepy person even human? In total Americanin-a-strange-land fashion, I lifted my passive-aggressive arms over my body
in some sort of protective stance as I whirled around to my left. “ZASTAME!”
I screeched, the only Czech word I could think of in time. Internally, I cursed
myself for opting to take only two weeks of intensive language class, as the
only protective words we learned were “stop!” and “no,” the almost ludicroussounding “né”. As I started into the dark and mysterious eyes of this manbeast, I was immediately reminded of the Golem legend that I studied mere
days before in one of my classes. Although I hadn’t paid much attention to
the tale (I spent the night of our assigned readings dancing on a bar and
belligerently smacking a piñata at a stranger’s birthday party), I recognized the
same gruff exterior, hollow actions, and strong, boxy physique in my attacker.
It was as if the real Golem had been returned to life once more and was
beginning another violent rampage through the city streets!
Slurring some sort of burly grunt in an incomprehensible tongue, he pushed
me down and slammed the skull of the man using the cash machine ahead of
me into the stone wall. I was horrified, livid, and all I could think about was that
I was going to be killed abroad, thus never making it to my twenty-first birthday.
Unacceptable! And I guess I kind of worried about the guy he’d just violated as
well. So, I did the only think I could think of: I leapt onto my feet, pushed the
ATM man down the sidewalk and out of harm’s way, and threw my hands into
the air. “Zastame! Zastame! Né! Né! Né!” I shouted, moving toward the beast
and looking as menacing as possible under the circumstances. And then, the
Golem punched me as hard as he could, right smack on my left shoulder.
Stumbling backward in shock, I tried to make it apparent that I didn’t want to
fight this giant Neanderthal of a man, especially since I am a delicate girl with
Anemia, but when he raised his fist back at precisely the level of my face, I lost
my cool. I cowered against the bankomat where i had simply been trying to
take out some cash, a sharp contrast to the brave warrior I’d just become, and
watched and the monster at last began to drag himself further down the street.
“Shit” was all I could repeat inside my head, as I slowly dusted myself off,
and proceeded to take out
an obligatory sixty koruna
from the ATM. WHAT just
happened? Haggard, I raced
down the dark block toward
my bar of choice, Blind Eye,
where I could surely retell
my adventure over another
tableful of beers.
As I started into
the dark and
mysterious eyes of
this man-beast,
I was immediately
reminded of the
Golem legend that
I studied mere days
before in one of my
classes.
I entered bar in only
the classiest way: “Well
everybody, I’ve been
attacked by the Golem!!” I
declared as I burst through
the rickety doors into a
cesspool of cigarette smoke
and the home of countless
other pesky addictions.
My dramatic cue was
understood, and I could
already see Austin behind
the bar, pouring me my favorite concoction of dark and light Krusovice beer.
I grabbed my liquid sympathy, plopped down in the cleanest booth, shed my
jacket, and tossed back my beer in some sort defiant afterthought. A quick
glance at my watch confirmed my suspicions: it was just past eleven o’clock.
As I scanned the bar for more mysterious figures and nervously eyed the door,
worried that it might still be after me, I realized: this was going to be a weird
night.
OV+11
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BOOK + study away: the unauthorized guide to college abroad
AUTHOR + mariah balaban and jennifer shields
PUBLISHER + anchor books
PRICE + $13.95
Changing citizenship is hard. Unless you’re single and hot or have an uncle who can “mail-order
bride” you to some guy named Larry who raises sheep in a small island off the coast of Europe.
That probably isn’t such a good idea anyway.
But don’t let that stop you - there are still plenty of ways to ditch this country. Study Away: The
Unauthorized Guide to College Abroad prepares you, step by step, for your new life as an ex-pat by
profiling sixty-eight English-language schools.
REVIEW + ally burguieres
This is a guidebook to making the next four years bearable. The authors, Mariah Balaban and
Jennifer Shields, focus on “cultural awareness,” “adventures abroad,” and, “new and challenging
experiences.” Regardless, Study Away is an invaluable resource for any disenchanted student.
With a short, and accessible “introduction” many issues are covered. The authors pontificate the
question, “Why Study Abroad?” They try to convince Americans to please “Don’t bring American
baggage.” Balaban and Shields primarily write about individual school profiles.
Each school profile is succinct and informative, with key information delivered in a peer-to-peer tone
(the authors are, true to the tone, in their mid 2Os). Broken down into short paragraphs, each with
a similar sections, the profiles are remarkably well organized. Each begins with an “At a Glance”
section that serves as an overview of the school. Take, for example, the American University of
Rome profile, which begins with the “At a Glance” statement that “The American University of Rome
is one of the most popular American Universities overseas, possibly due more to its historic and
cosmopolitan setting than to its not-so-strenuous academies.” Wishful thinking, but thanks for the
tip.
The idealistic but competent authors also cover “Campus and Location,” “Academies,” and subjects
like facilities, housing, campus life, admissions and financial info. Overall, the text cuts to the heart of
matters - such as the “Campus and Location” entry for American University of Paris, which reads, “If
you love movies, art, cigarettes, and croque monsieur this is absolutely the city for you.” Have they
got us pegged or what?
When all is said and done, the book is an impressively comprehensive and information-saturated
collection of profiles on English-language universities abroad. The two young authors know how
to appeal to the needs of their generation. Written with a slight slant toward the high school juniors
and seniors who are not already stuck on this side of the Atlantic it is nonetheless decidedly useful
for those looking to spend a semester or perhaps, a full four years. Any lack of detail on specific
schools is excusable if not appreciated. They do us the favor of picking the most important details
on each school, and manage to cover a wide variety of schools and locations - including schools in
such unconventional places as Egypt, Hungary, Bulgaria, Kenya and Lebanon.
The authors suggest, “If you like what you’ve read about a college in our book, use the profile as a
starting point to do some more research on your own.”
14+OV
BOOK + america (the book) a citizen’s guide to democracy inaction
AUTHOR + john stewart
PUBLISHER + warner
PRICE + $24.95
REVIEW + john itkin
Thank God for Jon Stewart. At a time when the political
climate and the media have reached a surreal fever-pitch
of insanity, we can look to him and his pals for some clearheaded, truth-baring, soothsaying satire.
Stewart and company’s new book, America (The Book)
A Citizen’s Guide to Democracy Inaction, is essential
bathroom/bong table reading for the conscientious citizen.
Its glossy, colorful pages resemble a sixth-grade social
studies textbook (all the way down to that funky paper
smell) and contain a wealth of anti-information.
Naked Supreme Court Justices, a third party graveyard,
and a Presidency board game are just a few of the
chuckle-inducing tidbits you can glean while waiting for the
Simpsons to come back from commercial. Plus, America’s
hard cover is sturdy enough that it won’t break if you whack
your roomate in the head for watching Fox News Channel.
But seriously, America is damned well-done. It reads like a
good episode of The Daily Show, with a loose allegiance to
facts, funny graphics, great wordplay, and a deadpan take
on government and history. Plus, they make fun of people.
A lot of people. You’ll find Thomas Jefferson, Calvin
Coolidge and Geraldo Rivera strewn in cannon fodder.
Behind all the kookiness, America makes a serious point.
Its mock-textbook theme (there’s even a fake stamp on
the inside cover where you can write your name and the
condition the book was in when it was assigned to you)
and self-aware distortions of history are the mirror image
of all the one-sided bullshit taught in public schools and
broadcast in the mainstream media.
America has to be ridiculous because America is ridiculous.
The book is gut-bustingly funny and definitely not hard
journalism, but its take on American cultural identity, sense
of history, and awareness of the rest of the world is dead on.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
OV+15
16+OV
DVD + live in the land of the rising sun
ARTIST + devo
PRICE + $19.95
DVD + raw uncut
ARTIST + digital underground
PRICE + $19.95
At this point it seems normal that Devo
wears red, plastic pyramid hats and
start their shows with ten-minute films of
shroom induced images. And lots of bands
start their shows with ten minute films of
shroom-induced images. Not many groups
can get 10,000 people to scream “Whip it!”
in synch.
When Digital Underground arrived on the
international music scene in the late 80’s
the Oakland, CA hip-hop pioneers frenzied
crowds with their eclectic energy, dancing
and stage presence. Digital Underground:
Raw Uncut, a DVD released in October
follows members Shock G, Money B, DJ
Fuze and their inevitable entourage through
the course of the group’s early career.
Raw Uncut starts with the early years, “just
kickin’ it drinking fourties and gettin high,
and talking about what we wanted to do,”
through the band’s first single, Underwater
Rimes and beyond. Following a successful
American and European tour, the DU
released “Doowutchyalike” on Tommy Boy
Records selling 80,000 copies and making
the song an underground hit.
Devo really is weird. Yet that’s what we
love about them: their strange, eccentric
attitude that nobody has imitated because
nobody has tried. In celebration of their
odd roots, Devo released the “Live In The
Land Of The Rising Sun” DVD, chronicling
their sold-out show in Tokyo, Japan. The
video and sound quality is comparable
with that of most music DVDs. Bonus
features include humorous clips of the
group shopping in Tokyo and fielding
questions from the Japanese press. The
quality of this disc is good, but the actual
concert is nothing unexpected. They give
the crowd vintage Devo in all its glory:
crunching synths, precise guitar, and
the countless oddities that give them
their notorious reputations. The sleeper
hit of the DVD, however, is their quirky,
gutsy cover of the Stones’ “Satisfaction”.
Something has to be said for a group
that wears matching kneepads on stage
and covers Keith Richards. Devo might
have wanted to reconsider releasing this
overseas gig on DVD, but if nothing else, it
proves that Devo can attract thousands of
fans worldwide, which is a feat most bands
cannot claim. It’s got to be the hats.
REVIEW + scott Carver
REVIEW + scott Carver
DVD
The album, Sex Packets also on Tommy
Boy was an instant classic. In the process
of going platinum, “Humpty Dance,”
became DU’s most iconic song. Through
interviews, concert video and narration, the
story unfolds effortlessly. Throughout this
period the group was a beacon of creativity
and improvisation, bringing their p-funk
inspired beats and stage antics to a wide
variety of fans. Tours of Europe, Japan and
the US launched the group into the arms
of an embracing international audience as
they travelled with other hip-hop legends
Public Enemy and Run DMC -- among
many others. Raw Uncut is a DVD that is
easy to appreciate, telling the stories of
a classic hip-hop group through concert,
interviews and documentary footage.
DVD + rock and roll won’t wait
ARTIST + murder city devils
PRICE + $19.95
DVD + death of a nation
ARTIST + anti-flag
PRICE + $19.95
What do you do when you’ve been
on every label from Interscope to Sub
Pop, collaborated with Eddie Vedder,
named your band after a porno flick
and wear 5-gallon cowboy hats while
screaming out songs like “Rock Your
Ass” and “I Want The Drugs”? Well, the
self-proclaimed “Greatest Rock Band
in the World” released “Supersuckers
– From the Audio/Video Dept. – Live
in Anaheim” in early august of 2004,
hoping to round out a surprisingly solid
discography.
Formed in 1996 and dissolved in 2001 on
Halloween night, the Murder City Devils
enjoyed a successful yet short-lived
existence in the west coast punk scene.
In 2004, James Bazan and Jeff Baker
released this documentary, entitled “Rock
and Roll Won’t Wait”, on the Seattle (not
Detroit) based group. The filmmakers
ended up with a subtle masterpiece. Fans
hoping to experience life on the road or
understand what pisses off keyboardist
Leslie Hardy the most will be pleased.
They will hear the story of how Gabe the
Roadie confronted Dennis Rodman over a
bottle of Jagermeister.
Since the mid-90’s Pittsburgh’s AntiFlag has established a reputation for
radical political music. They are the
founders of A-F Records, established in
1996, which now manages more than
a dozen political punk bands, including
their own. Death of a Nation follows
Anti-Flag on a North American tour as
they taunt the political establishment
and embrace the right to loudly
question wrong-thinking authority.
However, the DVD itself leaves much
to be desired. While the audio quality
is crisp, the gritty video quality and a
mediocre performance by the group
make the concert a forgettable one.
But the Supersuckers do get some of it
right: the guitar of Dan “Thunder” Bolton
is nothing short of astonishing as heard
on tracks such as “The Evil Powers
of Rock-N-Roll” and “Supersucker
Drive-By Blues”. There is also a feeble
bonus disc of their “country” roots.
There is no doubt that the loyal fans
of the Suckers will herald this disc as
the end-all authority in “supersucking,”
but the average listener may have the
urge to compare the disc to the band’s
namesake.
The disc features one-on-one interviews,
extensive coverage of all major shows
(including the Dallas, TX gig with Pearl
Jam), and countless backstage footage.
The DVD offers unparalleled behind-thescenes material, such as MCD hanging out
at an arcade, stranded at a Chevron when
their van breaks down, packing up after
a show in a UCSC basement, and even
an interview with the roadie’s parents.
Music quality is well above par for most of
the video, with solid editing and too many
camera angles to count. All is revealed in
this underrated time capsule of a video.
REVIEW + tom hubka
DVD + live in anaheim
ARTIST + supersuckers
PRICE + $19.95
REVIEW + tom hubka
REVIEW + tom hubka
dvds courtesy of www.musicvideodistributors.com
In concert, Anti-Flag possesses a
furious energy. Drummer Pat Thetic
vibrates and squeezes his face with
the glee of a fat kid that got two candy
bars in his lunchbox. Justin Sane
taunts the crowd with catchy, distorted
lyrics in songs like “Turncoat,” “Mind
the G.A.T.T” and “No Borders, No
Nations” while he, the bass player and
another guitarist perform countless
punk-frenzied jump-and-kick guitar
moves. Perhaps the most fulfilling
item on the disc is the “Death of a
Nation” music video; a demented
and stylish propaganda treatment
- bombs, schoolchildren . . . and the
Bush Cabinet bleed out of the eyes.
The excess of this manic collage is
pure Anti-Flag. Praise be to them for
shooting the propaganda back.
OV+17
AN INTERVIEW WIT H ROB CROW
Rob Crow is a hard guy to pigeonhole. He
is perhaps most well-known for his role as
one of the two frontmen for Pinback (the
other is Zach Smith of Three Mile Pilot), but
Crow has been involved with numerous
other musical endeavors before and after
Pinback’s formation in 1998. Formerly of
Heavy Vegetable and Physics, Crow is still a
part of Thingy, Optiganally Yours, Snotnose,
and Goblin Cock, among others-- none of
which sound much like Pinback or each other.
The Oregon Voice spoke with Crow during
Pinback’s fall tour promoting their album,
Summer in Abaddon.
OV: So, why did you name the new album
Summer in Abaddon?
Crow: It refers to using imagination to make
things, name them what you want. There are
about three different meanings, maybe four, and
it’s about choosing which one you want.
always wanted to, ever since I was little. I tried to get
a guitar and tried playing guitar all the time, watch
TV and watch cartoons and try to play along with the
music on the television.
OV: What direction do you plan on taking with the
band on your next album?
Crow: We never purposely go any direction; we just
try to write songs that we like and try to get an album’s
worth of them done. There’s no overriding idea, no
direction or anything.
OV: What are your plans are after completing this
tour?
Crow: A little bit of a break; we have a show in
Denver, then we go to Japan, and then we go to
Europe, but in between there there’s a couple weeks
hither and thither, and then after Europe we’re doing
the US again. All my time at home has been pretty
much spent trying to finish other records.
OV: When did you start playing music? What did OV: Did you expect to be so successful with your
you start with?
various endeavors?
Crow: It’s kinda this obsessive compulsive thing Crow: Well I don’t know if I’m successful...pretty
where I just gotta do it. I can’t not do it. I’ve
18+OV
much it’s just an obsessive compulsive need to do
INTERVIEW + sara brickner
PHOTOGRAPHS + erica sebastian
and try different stuff because I have lots of different
interests in music. My favorite dude is Captain
Beefheart. I also listen to a lot of hardcore, I like a lot
of modern composers... I listen to a lot of metal, I like
grindcore...um...prog, just a whole bunch of different
crap. I don’t listen to techno or zydeco or reggae or
any ska that was made after 1985.
I hate any blues that was made after 1950 but I love it
before then. I have just about anything the Leadbellies
ever recorded, every session he’s ever done, which is
a hell of a lot of CDs.
OV: Do you feel like those influences go into your
work at all?
Crow: Nah, not really....Oh, we’re in Waco. Yeehaw!
Waco-tastic.
OV: What are some of your favorite instruments to
work with?
Crow: I like cellos but I’m really bad at ‘em. I don’t
know, mostly I play guitar, but I think guitar is a stupid
instrument because everybody plays it. Everybody
knows how to play the guitar. Where’s the fun in that?
I’m sick of guitars. I wish everybody just made their
own instruments.
OV: How do you feel about the increasing use of synthesized and/or computer-generated effects in
music?
Crow: I think computers are an awesome tool that can be used in many different, cool ways to make our
lives easier and get more stuff done. They’ve affected me for the better; technology can definitely affect
independent music in a positive way, I’m just not sure if it has...but I imagine it has.
OV: How do you feel about people illegally downloading your music?
Crow: I’m cool with it. I like it. I like that I can download music. I wish that everybody could just get
anything they want, and then if they liked it they would pay for it. If that was the way society was, real
artists would be able to make a living and Madonna would starve.
OV: How do the major labels and the music industry effect independent music?
Crow: I don’t really think about it too much; I don’t really have a need [for major labels]. I never want to
have to rely on a major label to get my art out. I did something for a friend that is on a major labe. It was
just something to do at the time. Even that is having
tons of problems trying to get put out. They’re getting
pushed through the ringer. That’s the closest I’ve
come to having to deal with them...it doesn’t really
affect me.
I see no reason to be in a full-time, real band that’s
on a major label, but there could be a major label
someday that acts like an indie label. A lot of indie
labels are just as bad if not worse than major labels.
I don’t think people understand that; once you sign
a contract with somebody, they can really screw you
out of your whole future in whatever project you’re
working on. But there are a couple great labels out
there, like Discord and Touch and Go that are really
cool and really honest and treat people like people,
like people should be treated.
OV: Tell me about what this tour has been like with
the record label change?
Crow: Very much a different scene. I love Touch
and Go, it’s great. I’m really happy to be around with
those guys.
OV: Where is your favorite place to play?
...Mostly I play guitar,
but I think guitar is
a stupid instrument
because everybody
plays it .
Everybody knows
how to play the
guitar. Where’s
the fun in that? I’m
sick of guitars. I
wish everybody
just made their
own instruments.
Crow: I don’t really have a favorite right now. I play
so often that I can never say that there’s one place that I’m always stoked about. There are towns I like to
be in; I like to be in San Francisco, I like to be in New York, I like to be in Portland. There are a lot of good
venues. I don’t have a particular favorite, though.
I like that theater in Portland that we’ve been playing the past couple times. I don’t remember what it’s
called. I always get it mixed up with this place in Denver, Colorado that’s almost the exact same place.
OV: If you could play a show with any band or artist, dead or alive, broken up or together, which would it
be?
Crow: It would have been great to play with Captain Beefheart. But he’s not gonna play anymore and
the Magic Band doesn’t count-- that’s his back-up band. They’re sort of reformed and they’re playing his
songs without him, but it’s not that great. I would love to play with the Shaggs and I would love to play
with Slint. Those are pretty much the three bands, and Fugazi as well, but I guess Fugazi’s not playing
anymore.
I would love to play with those bands. Well, Slint is reformed and we might get to play with them, because
their album Spiderland is one of the most important records that has ever been made and people still rip it
off right and left.
show
ARTIST + fast computers
VENUE + luckey’s
DATE + november 11 2004
On the night of Thursday, November 11 I decided to actually heed the
REVIEW + niko kwiatkowski
advice of musically inclined friends and check out the show at Lucky’s
featuring the Dimes, the Fast Computers, and the one-man phenomenon
known as the Humans (formally Modern State).
Openers the Dimes made me feel like I should be playing Sega on mute.
Up second was The Fast Computers, a Eugene band; presenting a
timid, fun, and unbearably charming, if not overly simple, indie/rock/pop
mosaic of decent retro organ, keyboards and bass. The performance was
enhanced by a chic female drummer and occasional bouts of moderate
tempo 4/4 guitar. Once in a while a nicely placed drum machine gets
thrown in for good measure. Their act is dynamic and stylish amid all
the apparent indie rock clichés, and the group certainly swayed me with
personality and a number of pleasing melodies, as well as an energy that
simply cannot be denied.
Moving to Eugene a little over a year ago from Chicago, Peter and
Jennifer (band-mates prior to marriage) are gradually making a name
for their group, having recently picked up the mysterious bassist and
keyboardist/guitarist (clad solely in snappy looking suits and ties) from
somewhere within the depths of our fair city. Having performed with this
outfit since only the beginning of the summer, the Fast Computers are still
developing and building a repertoire of songs, and will certainly be a band
to watch in the near future. All in all, if you see their name on a flyer you
might want to check them out. The band played a number of songs which
I really dug, and if you’re at all a fan of decent, unobjectionable melody, or
perhaps simply a night of creative rock music you can dance to, this band
just might be a a treasure.
The Humans is Sam Schaur from Portland, Oregon. I was notably
impressed with Sam’s honesty and consistent ability to turn what I would
normally not consider a song into a strange, unique, and surprisingly
pleasing medium for self-expression. The set began with a melee of
guitar noise, ancient Casio keyboard-drum-machine, and some guy
literally pulled from the bar banging on the drums. For some reason it
worked. Following the abstract opening song, the mood shifted with a
wonderfully brutal folksy guitar/vocal piece. Sam’s technique for playing
alone is to utilize one of the many audio looping pedals on the market
today, piling up, at times, two, three, and possibly even four or more
lines of guitar at once, all to the driving beat of the ridiculously artificial
white keyboard in a seamless mix. At times the droning repetition was
meditative; a solid backbone for Sam’s meandering exchange of singing,
tambourine, and an epic, though slightly ridiculous, finishing drum solo.
Throughout random bursts of heckling and praise from the bar flys, Sam’s
modest and often self-deprecating style was brought forth and was fairly
entertaining. The Humans are out on a short west-coast tour and Sam
and his many previous bands can be found through the label Lucky
Madison online at luckymadison.com.
20+OV
ARTIST + colonel claypool’s bucket of bernie brains
VENUE + macdonald theatre
DATE + november 5 2005
When Colonel Claypool’s Bucket of Bernie Brains played the McDonald Theater, I was ecstatic. I am a huge fan of
all the musicians and I was finally going to see the bizarre creature known as Buckethead, a wicked shred guitarist
who wears a white expressionless mask and a KFC bucket on his head.
I arrived just in time to see keyboardist Bernie Worrell of Parliament/Funkadelic fame take the stage and begin to
play. I was up in the balcony getting a beer when I started looking for a seat. The show was sold out and there were
really no seats worth sitting in anywhere in the balcony, so I moved up to the railing, where I saw the entire right front
row of seats unattended and wide open. Unfortunately, hthey were “reserved.”
As Bernie frolicked around his organ, summoning the rest of the band onstage, I asked someone sitting behind
the “reserved” seats who they were reserved for. He told me he wasn’t sure, but he thought they were for press. I
thought, perfect! I’m writing a story for the Voice, so I’m press. If I need credentials I’ll just tell them that I work for the
Voice, and maybe I’ll get to stay. If it doesn’t work, no biggy. I’ll move. So I sat down.
At this time, the band had taken the stage. I was in heaven. This was going to be a great night. And Buckethead,
well, the freak can play. I’ve seen a lot of guitarists in my life, but before me was the ruler of the six string. Hands
down.
Shortly after the first song was over, a security guard came over and fucked up my whole night. He began clearing
out the “reserved” row, person by person. Being the well-trained journalist that I am, I needed to know more about
the mystery behind these “reserved” seats—namely if they were “reserved” for press. So I asked the guy. His reply
was startling.
“These seats are reserved and you have to move!” he barked. There was intense anger in his voice. I leaned forward
so that he could hear me and asked again calmly, “Who are they reserved for?”
He then moved closer with a burning blaze in his cold eyes and yelled into my face, “It doesn’t matter! You have to
move!” I tried again, still calm, “Do you need credentials for this section?”
He got right into my face then and I stood up finally because he was preparing to get physical with me. At this point
my heart was racing and I was approaching fight or flight. If he would have touched me, I would’ve Aikido’d his ass
right over the balcony. At least then they’d have a reason to kick me out and I’d have a wicked story.
REVIEW + carl sundberg
“You don’t have credentials for this section!” he spit into my face. “Now move!”
“But how do you know that?” I asked. I was truly not understanding what this guy’s problem was.
“Because you don’t!” He was now almost nose-to-nose with me and I was leaning back. I could smell
his breath.
“Look,” I said. “I’m not trying to cause a problem here, I’m just trying to find out if I have the right credentials for this
section and if not, maybe you could help me find the right place for me to be,” I said now taking a step back. He was
stepping closer with each of my steps back.
“You are ruining this show for everyone here!” he yelled as he reached for something on his belt. “Now MOVE!”
I didn’t want to deal with whatever he had on his belt, so I gave up and moved back to the aisle and waited for
someone to take the “reserved” seats. No one ever came. Two songs passed before Les Claypool starting talking
about George Bush and the band proceeded to play the song “Junior”. I got a weird chill up my spine as Les
chanted, “Look at him go, Look at him go, YEEHAW!”
This, coupled with the powerhog security guard, left me with a feeling of unshakable defeat.
Yeehaw indeed.
OV+21
more music
REVIEW + jen hill
ARTIST + pavement
ALBUM + crooked rain: L.A.’s desert origins
LABEL + matador records
One of the first pieces I ever wrote for the voice was a review of Pavement’s “Slanted and Enchanted:
Luxe & Reduxe” reissue. That was just about two years ago and I feel like I cheated Malkmus & the
gang out of a thorough review. Now, here I am, facing another Pavement re-issue, this time 1994’s
“Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain,” a monumental record at its release and a damn fine re-release as
“Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain: LA’s Desert Origins.” What makes “Crooked Rain..” a fine record to
begin with can be partially explained by its context; an experimental and bold, vast response to 1992’s
“Slanted and Enchanted,” which is filled with grunge anthems, little yelps alongside quick whispered
choruses. “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain” has all of that, showing the pavement of the past with songs
like “Newark Wilder” and”Shoot the Plane Down” paired with songs like “Range Life” and “Elevate Me
Later” which show Pavement’s sound beginning to unfold into the style of later records like “Terror
Twilight” and “Wowee Zowee”
Another seminal aspect of “Crooked Rain…” is our ability to trace the maturation and smoothing of
front man Stephen Malkmus’ voice. “Slanted and Enchanted” had Malkmus mostly screaming and
shouting lyrics in songs like “Baptist Blacktick” and “Conduit for Sale!” There are little hints of what is to
come in “Zurich is Stained,” but “Crooked Rain..” fully reveals the possibilities of his vocals. While still
having much of the spoken, gritty quality of “Slanted,” “Crooked Rain..” shows Malkmus filing out his
definitive croon in songs like “Elevate me Later” and “Range Life,” still punctuated with his trademark
exclamatory “OH!”
The second disc of this re-release is mostly fodder for the ravenous hordes of Pavement b-side
fans, with alternate versions of many of the album’s tracks and previously unreleased (but probably
heavily downloaded/traded) songs like “Fucking Righteous,” and the beautiful instrumental “Strings of
Nashville.” In the alternate versions, Malkmus’s songwriting and experimentation with words can be
easily traced, especially in the alternate versions of “Range Life” and “Elevate Me Later” (titled “Ell Ess
Two” on the second disc)
The 62-page booklet that accompanies the discs also illuminates the originals – featuring a narrative
of its production by Malkmus and his notes on the lyrics/titles of every song, giving details behind the
lyrics, revealing that “Stop Breathing” is a civil war song and “5-4=Unity” is a tribute to Dave Brubeck.
The eternal goofiness of Pavement shines through the fancy packaging, especially in the portraits of
the band; Bob Nastanovich looking off into the sky through spray-painted glasses and Malkmus’ boyish
grin in a red puffy coat. Like “Luxe&Reduxe,” The “Crooked Rain…” booklet has an interview with
Matador Records exec Gerald Cosloy detailing Pavement’s widespread influence on early 90’s indie
rock, and defining the recording of “Crooked Rain..” as “the time when Pavement became a real band.”
I’ve read enough hype over re-releases to make my eyes roll when catch prhases like “memorable
impact” hit my ears. Too often mediocre bands (TV shows, movies, etc) are memorialized with glitzy
album art and cleverly diced quotes from reviews and token celebrities. This is not the case with
“Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain” (or any other Pavement re-release). Pavement built upon the musical
legends of their rock and roll forefathers in most every album they recorded, paving the way (don’t
pardon the pun) for most rock acts of today and defining the success of Matador Records. “Crooked
Rain, Crooked Rain: LA’s Desert Origins” is a fine example of this. I want “Terror Twilight” next.
22+OV
Figure 8
ARTIST + elliott smith
ALBUM + from a basement on the hill
LABEL + anti
Either/Or
Roman Candle
REVIEW + sara brickner
XO
From a Basement on the Hill, Elliott Smith’s final album, has been a long
time coming. After releasing Figure 8 in 2000, Smith spent what would be
the last four years of his life tinkering with what was tentatively dubbed
From a Basement on the Hill. The album was close to completion when
Smith committed suicide, leaving his family and close friends to piece
together the rest of the album.
In past albums, Smith relied heavily on his proficiency with a guitar, soft
vocals, and very little else. Smith’s self-titled album (1995, Kill Rock
Stars), Either/Or (1997, Kill Rock Stars), and XO (1998, Dreamworks),
utilize instrumental and background vocals subtly, if they are present at
all. From a Basement on a Hill breaks from this style. While a few songs,
such as “Strung Out Again” and “The Last Hour,” revert back to Smith’s
more simplistic approach, From a Basement on a Hill is possibly Smith’s
most experimental album. The new release uses strings, synth washes,
distortion and drums more boldly than any previous album. Most of the
album seems to be an attempt to find the perfect balance between Smith’s
traditional, unadulterated style and overuse of drums and synths. At times,
the drums and synths seem out of place and even mask the high, quiet
voice and masterful strumming that has put him in the ranks with other
great singer/songwriters of this generation. These instances are few,
though, and overall his experimentation successfully complements his
strengths.
In traditional Smith fashion, light, happy-sounding melodies couple dark
lyrics that range from matter-of-fact to apathetic to sarcastic to intensely
dark. His lyrics are critical, confessional, dismal, but never contrived.
Without intending to, Smith paints a portrait of a disillusioned, tortured man
battling depression, drug addiction, heartbreak and anger at society. The
result is brilliant, poignant wordplay that is sometimes maudlin, but nothing
less than pure and sincere.
Elliot Smith
From a Basement on the Hill is not Elliott Smith’s best album, but it is
arguably within his top three. Traditional Elliott Smith fans who prefer the
soft, guitar-strumming style may be disappointed, but true Smith lovers will
appreciate the departure from convention and remember Smith as one of
the best songwriters to grace American music.
OV+23