Year in Review: March 2015
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 16
A high fueled melodic roar, audio octane for speed heads and gear
jammers who keep hearing police sirens above the music. Perfect for
hanging out in parking lots, smoking schwag, sippin' Schnapps and
cranking Ant Farmers out the speakers in the old Ford ...... till
some fuckin' old-timers put the kibosh on the party by calling APD.
Hands up, don't shoot!
Veteran KOB anchorman, Tom Joles got into a verbal/physical
altercation shortly before a broadcast. According to an eyewitness,
“Joles interrupted while a young reporter was being counseled by
News Director Michelle Donaldson. Reporter Stuart Dyson intervened,
Joles traded F-bombs and punches with Dyson and photographer Joseph
Lynch” After order was restored, Joles packed up his belongings and left
the station. Donaldson gathered the news staff and told them how her
heart breaks for Joles and that he’s having a tough time adjusting
to the modern era of TV news. KOB then issued a statement explaining
Joles absence from the newscast as a “cool down period
This is
just damn fantastic. Look out – Howard Beale, Tom Joles is gonna
getcha'. The online comments (not surprisingly) leaned towards Stuart
Dyson more than deserving a punch in the face. Not a fair assumption
by any means. Tom Joles (for reasons we'll never really know) had a
cleansing moment of clarity and a wicked roundhouse right.... since
Stuart did not take a knee, I will score that round 10-9
Joles.
Dyson as many of you may not know, was once a
member of the Gutterleaves, an early 1990s cow punk outfit. This was
long before he honed his skills as an investigative reporter at
K-Circle-B in Albuquerque. Stuart is a much better reporter than
musician as his KOB bio states “He plays guitar and sings with a
wandering herd of local musicians who are much better than he is,
although he makes up for his ineptitude by writing murder ballads and
songs about cowgirls and
moonshiners”
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/03/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-16.html
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 17
I was aware of a growing buzz around a local band, Angry Babies.
Nonetheless, finding a review of the band's 1992 album “Mr.
Toyhead” in Creem magazine (briefly reincarnated as a glossy after
its initial demise in 1988) was an unexpected surprise. The gist of
the short review being: Strange things happen out in the desert and
there's a an “odd” music scene taking shape in Albuquerque.
Someone at Creem had their ear to the ground, listening for
hoofbeats.
I'm tying up some loose ends after a three episode flashback to
the 1990s. Man I loved the 90s, best five years of my life followed
by the worst five years of my life.... Hoo-ah! Truth be told, while I'm well versed 90s music, I have no clue as
to the drug culture of that era. See, I was clean and sober for
nearly the entire decade. No shit, from July of 1989 until Nov. of
1998, I walked a straight edge.
My steadfast perseverance was finally broken by an unexpected
find. While rummaging through the cabin of an airliner parked on the
Sunport tarmac (I worked for a Lufthansa subsidiary, Sky Chef) I came
upon a small baggie stuffed full of purple bud, apparently abandoned
by a panicked passenger.
It didn't take long for me to drain a can of Canada Dry Pale
Ginger Ale and fashion it into a rudimentary Steve-O (UNM 96-97)
certified smoking apparatus. Damn near ten years of clean time, up in
smoke. That's how I kicked the 90s to the curve.
“If I was Young, I'd flee this town” Hold on as I double
clutch this beast and slip it into cruisin' gear. Let's set the
controls for El Quinto Sol..... the heart of that forsaken outpost on
the very edge of Mesoamerica known as New Mexico. Mayan Prophecy be
damned, we still bask under the fading light of Nahui-Olin. Give me
some heat, man, give me some heat over here.... Namaste Ya'll.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/03/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-17.html
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 18
Recording software that allows users to capture online streams as
they ooze from the speakers, combined with broadband servers,
totally turned the world around. Music downloads, once queued up
round the clock on Audio Galaxy or KaZaa became a thing of the past.
I could argue over the semantics, but I won't. Just don't give me
that look.... we all did it.
The main drawback to Napster 1.0, Audio
Galaxy and such, besides the shady legality of “Free downloads”
was the absence of local musicians and bands (unless you happen to
call NYC, Los Angeles, Minneapolis or Seattle home) My Space not
only fixed that, it also allowed you to tag and search for music by
locale.
If MySpace music was the 800 pound gorilla in the room, then
YouTube quickly became the 12,000 pound elephant. Once YouTube to mp3
software was added to the arsenal of sound capturing apps, all hell
broke loose. Quasi-legal downloads using quasi-legal software.... who
saw that coming? Not the record labels, for sure. Archive the fuck out of this era, because the
internet as we knew it back in 2000 is long gone and the web as we
know it now, will soon be gone. To be replaced by some over
regulated, homogeneous version of the networks that made television
no fuckin' fun what so ever. Here we are now, entertain us.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/03/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-18.html
A Brief History of Local Music
Meanwhile back on the ranch, Joe Bufalino and Associates, a
booking agency, still had a firm choke hold on local live music
venues. Nobody could play anywhere in the Duke City without signing a
one year contract with Bufalino and paying him up to a 15% fee for
his “services” Cookie cutter cover bands (known locally as “Buff
bands”) were losing their appeal. The emphasis now was on original
compositions, stripped down instrumentation, no more glam rock bells
& whistles.... come as you are. Local bands started finding
alternative venues, sidestepping Bufalino while playing to a more
experimental group of listeners than your average inebriated barfly.
You could say that in fact there were numerous variables at play
in Albuquerque in 1990. The DIY, Indie, LoFi movement was sweeping
across the country. Arena rock was waning in popularity and some
Seattle based bands were starting to make some noise. It was rock and
roll's last big wave, the one before the world wide web became a
matter of fact and a way of life. Between 1990 and 1999 there was an
explosion of bands on the local music scene, more than ever before.
The size and scope of that timeline is mind boggling, so it'll have
to wait for another day.
Just as Internet Explorer is the browser that you use to download
a better browser, Albuquerque is the city where musicians hone their
skills before moving on to bigger and better things. Eventually the
same trail that led local musicians to the Golden State, forked to
the northwest as San Francisco, Portland and Seattle became more
desirable launchpads (along with Austin, Tx. and to a lesser extent,
New York City) Despite this continuous exodus of talented musicians,
the music scenes in both Albuquerque and Santa Fe keep right chuggin'
along. Enduring, self sustaining and never boring. Coming from the
most humble of starting points, Albuquerque now garners a well earned
reputation as a “hip music locale” I must say, that both 'Burque
and Santa Fe wear it well.... oh yes they do!
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/03/a-brief-history-of-local-music.html
Year in Review: April 2015
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 19
“Men haunted by a vision of great achievement, who cannot be
bothered with conventional success, because they reach for
transcendence”
It's delusional, I know. It's a New Mexican condition, the
desperate need for validation from the rest of the nation. The need
to join the major leagues. UNM athletics (men's basketball in
particular) pursues this as an act of sheer folly and quixotic
madness, resulting in a sense of gratification equivalent to that of
drilling a dry hole in Little Texas.
Just before Flake Music segued into The Shins, 'Burque's music
scene was caught in a quandary brought about by the numerous stops,
starts and near misses that had raised hopes that one day soon a band
would bust out of Albuquerque. Only to see those hopes dashed, time
and again. Who would be the first penguin reckless enough to
break the ice?
After Nirvana broke, every Seattle band wearing flannel (which is
to say most of them) suddenly found themselves entertaining offers
from corporate Satan. Why wasn't that happening in Albuquerque? The
music industry insiders working the business end, men with nothing
creative to offer, yet deemed important to the process had
dropped the ball. The system let everyone down, which is fine because
that system is fucked up beyond all recognition now.
The
garage band model is out, replaced by visionary bedroom savants armed
with an encyclopedic knowledge of the current indie rock scene,
working their magic at home before springing their twisted tweaker
tunes on the masses. New is back, because newer is always
better, that's the American way. And the Hits just keep on
comin'....
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/04/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-19_9.html
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 20
Anne Tkach died in a tragic house fire in Webster Groves, MO.
April 9th, 2015. The cause of the fire is currently under
investigation. Unless you followed Albuquerque's music scene through
the mid to late 1990s you're probably not familiar with Anne and her
prolific musical legacy. I didn't know Anne, though I was
fortunate enough to have caught a couple of Hazeldine's live
performances before their local concerts grew sparse.
One could be excused for not noticing Anne playing bass on stage
during her days with Hazeldine. Tonya Lamm's achingly endearing
vocals and Shawn Barton's seductive radiance got all the attention.
Even Jeffrey Richards had a je ne sais quoi about him. Not that Anne
wasn't beautiful nor lacking in stage presence (a friend of her's
Ryan Adams, wrote this on Facebook about her: "I'll never forget
watching Anne Tkach play bass for Magic City, duck walking across the
stage, putting her foot on the monitor, playing the most badass bass
lines in the world, all while wearing a dress”
Anne was
a consummate professional musician with a distinctive style of her
own. This becomes readily apparent as you listen to the extensive
catalog of recordings she participated in. Anne could hold her own
regardless of genre (case in point; check out her work with Magic
City, available on YouTube) A native of Webster Groves in the
St. Louis area, Anne followed the trail west to Albuquerque,
where she became part of a band that many local music aficionados
consider the best to ever come out of these here parts. ~ Anne
Tkach, que en paz descanse ~
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/04/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-20.html
CW Ayon Blues Redux
Much of what I do is retrospective and with seven well received
albums under his belt, it's time to revisit New Mexico's native son,
CW Ayon. If the blues are epitomized by an image of the itinerant
musician making his way from one juke joint to another in search of
an audience then Coop fits the bill. Keep in mind, unlike many New
Mexico musicians who moonlight as musicians while holding down day
jobs.... CW Ayon to my knowledge is a full time musician.
Not that he's riding in boxcars or hitching rides in the back of
pick-up trucks, come on, it's 2015 a man's gotta have a place to plug
in his phone, tablet, laptop etc. A bluesman better have Expedia
bookmarked and some plastic handy if he wants to stay on the road. CW
stays busy and over the past few years he's expanded his range away
our lonely corner of the state, across this great land and beyond.
Case in point, Coop just returned from a successful turn at the
Terri' Thouars Blues Festival.
If you judge a man by how well he's received when he's far away
from home, then without a doubt CW Ayon is the real deal. Here in the
sticks of New Mexico we already knew that. Now the world wants in on
the fun. The French refer to CW as “Le Chant/harmonica/guitare du
Nouveau Mexique” which sounds a lot cooler than “guitar picker”
Not Coop's first international foray, three years ago he sallied
forth to Australia with Old Gray Mule (CR Humphrey) blues picker
extraordinaire out of Lockhart, Tx. Well, Well, Well.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/04/cw-ayon-blues-redux.htm
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 21
Mitch Hedberg once said “My fake plants died because I did not
pretend to water them”
Greetings from the land of the big mañana.... The
hissing of summer lawns signals a change in the weather. We've been
blessed with a March that came in like a lamb and went out like a....
lamb. April has been borne of the Zephyr. Gentle and serene.
The lack of southwesterly haboobs has given us a much needed
respite from the usual sandblasted spring weather pattern. You don't
need a weather man to know that even under optimal conditions, New
Mexico is dry as a bone. Unlike Californios (or future New Mexicans
as they're known in Santa Fe) we figured out (more or less) how to
get by on meager rainfall and below average runoffs.
All day I've faced the barren waste without the taste of water...
cool, water. The Gaia Theory observes that species thrive which live
in harmony with their natural environments, while those that do not
are eliminated. Humanity is the dominant species and we're living in
disharmony with our environment.
These crackers are making me thirsty. “Hold mighty man, I cry,
all this we know. He spreads the burnin' sand with water, he's the
devil, not a man” I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mother's
son, You better learn it fast; you better learn it young, 'Cause, the
big monsoon it never comes and It's a hard rain a-never gonna fall.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/04/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-21.html
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 22
From its humble
beginnings as a single rock station in Dallas, Tx., Z Rock (owned by
the ABC Radio Network, now Cumulus Media Networks) grew to anchor the
network's 24 hour satellite format, also known as “Satellite Music
Network” Programming features such as Blistering Leads, Wounded
Radio, Back Rockwards, Bad Ass CD Side and Old Stuff For an Hour,
kept the dweebs locked in. Loud and obnoxious personalities were the
norm, with on air hosts such as Crankin Craig, Sharkman, Dave Bolt,
Loud Debi Dowd, Madd Maxx Hammer and Scorchin' Scotty crammin' it
down your throat on a daily basis.
You may recall Z-Rock's slogans “If it's too loud, you're too
old!” “Lock it in, and rip your knob off” “Flip us on and
flip them off” Albuquerque's Z-Rock was based in the studio complex
at the corner of Edith and Baker Lane NE in the North Valley. At the
time I lived at the north end of Edith NE and every so often I would
come across some random hesher wearing a black leather jacket in 90+
heat, trudging up Edith towards the station on a pilgrimage to
collect some free shit or to loiter at the gate, as if hoping to
catch a glimpse of Loud Debi herself.
Z-Rock of course broadcast via satellite from their flagship
studios in Dallas, Tx. See race fans, Z-Rock was America's first
coast to coast rock network (i.e. radio version of TBS & WGN)
marketing nationally for local broadcast with local ads inserted.
Z-Rock's network became the template de rigueur for modern over-air
broadcast media. So, while these loudmouthed knuckleheads were
rebelling against everything we had..... they were also clearing the
path for the sanitized, dull as dishwater radio stations that most of
us hate so fucking much.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/04/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-22.html
Year in Review: May 2015
The Josephine Street Yacht Club
Rolling Stone magazine described them as, “post-punk power pop”
though I like to think of them as “pop-punk nerdcore” No
matter... Lousy Robot defied being pigeonholed into any one genre. On
'Burque podcast, Ten Drink Minimum, Phillips described Lousy Robot as
“me and Dandee Fleming with revolving keyboard players (primarily
Jack Moffitt and Ben Wood) and five thousand drummers. (the actual
count is six with Joey Gonzalez being the latest)
Life is such, that along the way we lose the ones we love. The
cruelest loss of all is when those blessed with creative vision are
taken from us. Jim Phillips was such. The guiding force behind
popular Duke City alternative rockers, Lousy Robot, Phillips passed
away on May 12th, 2015 at his Albuquerque home, which he referred to
as, the Josephine St. Yacht Club (named after a song by I Love Math)
Jim was born in Golden, Co. raised in Memphis, Tn. and moved to New
Mexico after college. Phillips was also an accomplished writer
(Weekly Alibi, Local IQ, New Mexico Compass) and an aspiring urban
farmer who successfully cultivated backyard crops in the heart of Old
Town.
Behind every successful band (regardless of genre) is an
exceptional person (or two) of exceptional talent willing them on.
For Lousy Robot Jim filled that role. Jim's perpetually muted vocals
brought life to the band's calculated beats and poetically cynical
lyrics. Laid out in a series of three minute primers on love and life
for those living in a permanent state of quiet desperation. Wry
anthems that dwelled on finding liberation in being nothing special.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-josephine-street-yacht-club.html
Year in Review: June 2015
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 23
Slackeye Slim (Joe Frankland) a musician from Wooster, Ohio with
stops in Colorado, Montana and Wisconsin along the way. Now relocated
to Tijeras N.M. he's described as “a musician from the desert
usually, but sometimes he lives in the woods in a gigantic bird's
nest” Slim takes the whole “gothic country” thing a step
further.... “cubist country” perhaps. Frankland paints with
a broad brush, recreating a wild west that is strictly a product of
his own vivid imagination. Zombies, gunslingers and other nefarious
western characters come to life through Slim's stylized drawl and
sparse instrumentation. Cliches and conventions be damned, Frankland
gets away with being goofy as hell... because cynicism made audible
is a taste that we never get tired of.
Finding one's self a thousand miles from the nearest beach
(Tingley not withstanding) doesn't necessarily impede a love of surf
music. New Mexico's affinity for the genre is just one of those
enigmatic things that can't be readily explained. Self proclaimed
purveyors of “high desert surf noir” Phantom Lake consists of Bud
Melvin, Jessica Billey, Clifford Grindstaff and Roger Apodaca. All
talented veterans of 'Burque's music scene, they're more authentic
than Kahuna's beach shack. The Surf Lords revolve around Tom Chism's
pipeline licks.... they're so so authentic that you'll be scanning
the radio dial for surf reports.
Bryce Fletcher Hample's sound project, Reighnbeau is similar in
style to Jeff Mettling's ELU and Joey Belville's Pristina. Ambient
dream pop that builds around breathy sugarcoated female vocals. A
pleasant milquetoast distraction that ultimately leaves you high and
dry. Great background music for stroking the cat or putting on the
dog.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/06/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-23.html
Dirt City Chronicles podcast episode 24
Luigi Russolo was a man ahead of his times. Russolo's essay L'Arte
dei rumori (The Art of Noises) published in 1913, explores the
origins and evolution of man made sounds. Russolo notes that while
early music tried to create sweet and pure sounds, it progressively
grew more and more complex. Luigi envisioned a world dominated by
industry and he saw no reason why this industrial dissonance couldn't
be forged into aesthetically pleasing music. It goes without saying
that Signore Russolo never gave a listen to Contact High with the
Godz, otherwise he may have had a change of heart.
Paul Hegarty, music writer for The Guardian poses the
question: “So what do we seek if we are drawn to noise music? How
and why would anyone want to be assaulted by it?” The overwhelming
human desire to stave off boredom combined with our need to
differentiate ourselves from the mob would be my best guess. Which
leads us back to Russolo, who in the age of gramophones proclaimed
“music has reached a point that no longer has the power to excite
or inspire. Even when it is new, it still sounds old and familiar,
leaving the audience waiting for the extraordinary sensation that
never comes”
With that in mind, Russolo devised noise-making machines that he
called “intonarumori” from which he drew a clamor of sounds that
was music to his ears only. Others may have liken it to the hideous
bellows emitting from Perillos of Athens barbaric Brazen Bull.
There's no accounting for other people's taste and in all likelihood,
Luigi probably had no fucks left to give. A performance of his Gran
Concerto Futuristico (1917) had met with strong disapproval and
violence from the audience, as Russolo himself had predicted.
http://dirtcitychronicles.blogspot.com/2015/06/dirt-city-chronicles-podcast-episode-24.html
