Monday, September 19, 2011

Dirt City Graphic

"Everyday, I wake up to sunshine"

My goal from the start has been to draw attention to the music and musicians of Albuquerque and The State of New Mexico.  I have no hidden agendas, but I do rage against misguided self promotion, rock star mentality and bad music. I posted that on April 18th of this year and it still holds true. Rock music is a primal and juvenile form of music, it's been that way from the start. In order to write about something so frivolous as "rock music" a writer often has to throw pretension out the window and play it for laughs. Humor is a tradition with rock music writers, this goes back to the early days of Rolling Stone, Creem, Crawdaddy and the thousands of fanzines that followed.

The first time two cavemen sat down and starting beating on a log in unison, you know that someone listening, turned to their neighbor and said "Those guys suck!" Thus, music critics were born. If a musician accepts payment for his performance, whether it's a chunk of raw meat or $20 earned at some podunk bar he becomes a public figure, exposed to the slings and arrows of those with discerning taste and ears. Rock musicians have been know to preen themselves like peacocks, local musicians are not any different. Some do get their feathers ruffled and in doing so they miss the point of this blog.

Dirt City Chronicles is a music blog with a humorous mean streak. My humor like all humor can be hit and miss, it's often subtle as a flying mallet. Most articles I post are very complimentary of the artists, a minority are not. I don't grind my axe (as Scott Kesson so smartly puts it) and go looking for heads to lop. It's all done tongue in cheek and if you can't tell the difference then don't read the blog.  I'm not a journalist nor do I profess to be, as such I don't follow the rules that apply to those scribes. This is not a forum, I don't want to trade quips and barbs with readers. If your feelings are hurt, lick your wounds, keep your mouth shut and move on.  

"The juvenile products of the working class"

Scott Kesson has a problem with something I wrote a year ago. Mr. Kesson played in a Taos band called Sticky Pistil (they played at Woodstock '99) He's a bland fellow with the personality of a prickly pear cactus (minus the pears) He took umbrage to something I wrote about his former bandmate Mike Caron. The best way to describe Sticky Pistil, for the multitude that have never heard of them: They were a pedestrian funk rock band that came up with the idea of injecting rap beats into their music. Which was cool, only they did it long after everyone else had beaten that horse to death. Scott Kesson informed me that Mike Caron is a fine and upstanding human being, who comes from a family of noted and respected luthiers.  

If you read that sentence carefully, you'll see that I quoted Mr. Kesson without jamming words into his pie hole. That was his other complaint, I won't quote him any further, because that would just invite another rambling Facebook message informing me that Dirt City Chronicles is nothing more than a collection of juvenilia and misinformation. While I admire Scott's need to stand up for his buddy, I'm sure Mike Caron could do that himself if he so desired. Then again, Mike has a life, he's a luthier, and God knows the worlds needs more of those. Although, if we had no luthiers we could probably get by on the stockpile of stringed instruments that we have now.

Don't mind me, I'm just funnin'... it's a humor blog, my advice to Cactus Scott Kesson is if you don't like it, don't read it. The quote that stuck in his craw, came from either the Taos newspaper or the  Santa Fe New Mexican's weekly entertainment tabloid. It's buried somewhere on the internet. Since, it bothered Scotty so much, I'll let him look it up.  Hey Scott!, just Google "Sticky Pistl" and browse through everything that comes up, you'll find it, I did. This brings me to another point Scott noted. He claims the album "Hi-Fi Superfly" was an attempt at irony (from the cover down to the grooves). He went on to say that if I couldn't see that, then I shouldn't have bothered with the review. These psuedohiphopfunkarelics weren't playing it for shits and giggles. This album was not meant to be the ironist masterpiece that Scott claims it was. Everything they did was orchestrated to help them become the next Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It seems that the clock is running down. Now, more than ever... we need a hero. Someone who will step up and put these goddamn mouthy bloggers with an axe to grind in their places.  A ramrod with a solid sense of irony and self righteous indignation. A man who can't stand it when some piss-ant comes along and pisses in the pond. Who's our man?... "Scott Kesson pulls down the rebound, he dribbles full court, he feints to his left, he feints to his right... he puts up a long jumper.. that hits the front of the rim.... ah! too bad, Rejected!!  Another miss from Scotty the Brick.. better luck next time."

"Be kind and considerate with your criticism... It's just as hard to create bad music as it is to write a good review."