"Jam Bands" and Illicit Drugs

With my recording software currently malfunctioning, my own efforts to create musical fusion are on hold. So I've been writing a lot lately and damned if I haven't found myself listening to "jam band" tracks to sample extended bass lines. This got me thinking about jam bands and the people who claim to love them.

I hasten to add that I've never really liked jam bands. The notable exceptions, bands I've always liked very much, are (of course) The Grateful Dead, The Black Crowes and, more recently, The Word which features two of my favorite artists: Luther Dickinson of NMA and 13-String Pedal Steelist, Robert Randolph, who I believe is super-human.

To me, jam bands were all filler and no killer. I've always considered myself a blues guitarist and always preferred a 2-minute, 12-bar Son House diddy about low-down women and the effects of drinking smoke-stack lightening to a 17-minute arrangement of brightly-colored jazz chords by the likes of Rusted Root, Dispatch or (the dreaded) Phish talking about...well I never really knew what they were talking about. Ben and Jerry's, some place in Vermont with really green grass?

I'm not saying these bands aren't talented, but to me they've always seemed like a cheap rip from ICONS like Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers' Band. There is a difference between being influenced and being an imitator, America. I remember listening to Garcia's "Old and in the Way" with my dad when I was in grade school, so don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, Wendy.

I'd never paid much attention to this sort of music. My parent's were too busy making sure I appreciated Steve Winwood and Steely Dan. So, when I arrived for my freshman year of college with a CD case full of Clapton, Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, and The Doors; I was automatically shunned by the cool crowd in my dorm for liking lame music. What? What to you mean Hendrix is too heavy? He's brilliant! I was gobsmacked.

So, I did what any insecure freshman does, smoked a joint, tried to fit in, and tried listening to Blues Traveler. When I became violently ill, I assumed it was the THC. Once I got straight, I listened to some Phish and discovered that it wasn't the contraband...it was THE band because this time I came down with a mild case of scurvy.

A buddy on my hall (who now writes for a living) was a huge DMB fan, and tried in vain to get me to listen to Everyday with him and I just wasn't that blown away. So we drank a few beers and listened to something we could agree on: Springstein's "The Rising." That was right before we knocked over Danny's beeramid, Jeff. I simply wasn't getting this obsession with jazz-fusion that was now "jam" music.

It seemed like any girl I would talk to about music said she liked the same bands: The Grateful Dead, Dave Matthews' Band (who, ironically, HATE being called a "jam band"), Pat McGee, Dispatch, and Blues Traveler. They ALL said the same thing.

I became very suspicious. It was at this point, I did some detective work: I had a few people hanging out in my room one night and I put on a cassette (NOT a CD) of some Winterland 1973 stuff that one of my first babysitters had given to me. I played it and I waited. And (completely validating my musical snobbishness) one of the so-called, hardcore GD, hemp-wearing, fan-girls asked: "Who is this? Its keeeeewwwwllll." AHA! It all became clear to me at that very moment. These little punks didn't like The Dead...they probably had no idea who Pigpen or Mountain Girl was/is (respectively), they claimed to like these bands because it was the cool thing to like.

Now I certainly know a few people who legitimately like and listen to My Morning Jacket, The String Cheese Incident, or Disco Biscuits. But shame on those who liked/still like it because its the cool college-hippie-pseudo liberal thing to do.

You people are no worse than the suburban white kid trying to be Lil Wayne. The only difference is you don't rock Fubu, you chill in birkenstocks and $90 polo shirts made to look like they cost $5. Shame on you...we've figured you out and we're coming to burn your house down with three-chord, over-driven power riffs from Jack White and vocals from Mick Jagger that will make you crap your corduroys.

Long live rock n' roll.

Matt



p.s.
Matty 305 and The Two-Timers are officially recording. Get pumped America.

Sigh of Sorrow

Hi. I know, its been months. BUT I have a few excuses (thanks to those of you that asked where I'd been)

Excuse #1 I've been writing creatively more and have therefore been putting poems, songs, etc. on the other blog.

Excuse #2 Everything is crap in the entertainment world right now and I don't want to use words like "ass-sucking garbage" and upset my younger readers, or Shannon anyway.

Here's the thing, here is the fucking thing: I can barely turn on my tv anymore without the overwhelming urge to hurt people and small woodland animals. Its turned into COMPLETE garbage across the board. Most notorious? MTV.

Used to be, the way you found out about new bands was: you watched MTV. People say there aren't any good bands like Nirvana anymore. Well, there'll never be another Nirvana, but there is plenty of good stuff out there. You'd never know though because MTV is too busy following the exploits of over-sexed, over-tanned, over-served, under-fed, and over-spoiled American Eagle robots 24 hours a day with cameras.

Do you remember when you could count on videos all day long? Headbanger's ball, Yo MTV Raps, Unplugged and music video after music video until Cindy Crawford's House of Fashion came on. Glorious I tell you. The only "shows" MTV had back then (1990-1999 RIP) were good too. The State, Beavis and Butthead, hell even The Real World had substance back then!

Of course, the paradox is that, well, maybe music was better then and it was worth showing videos by Nirvana, NIN, Alice in Chains, Wu Tang, and Beck. I simply remember the constant talk going something like: "Did you see that new Live video? I'm going out and buying that album." Now its probably something like: "Hey, Tyler, I was watching The Hills last night and that really skinny girl, no the other one, was listening to the new Usher on her iPod. I'm so gonna download that right after I shave my chest and hit up Starbuck's." For shame.

The saddest part is...its gone forever. The minute Dan screwed Melissa and that other chick in the shower on Real World: Miami, I knew it was over.

ON DVD: If you don't already, please go get The Beyond special edition. For God's sake, its probably the best zombie gore fest in the history of Italian zombie gore fests ever. And that's quite a tough market to corner. Its one of Lucio Fulci's trilogy, complete with a (very) young Catriona MacColl, and pre-staff infection David Warbeck.

Music: Black Crowes (with Luther Dickinson on slide) is hot. Shelby Lynne's newest, still hot. Steve Winwood has a new album coming out. Should be hot.

And now, Paris Hilton with our weather: "Its Hot."

I'm back. So be careful, listen and watch wisely. Don't go see Good Luck Chuck type movies (Dane Cook should be strapped to a rocket and shot into the sun), go see Diary of the Dead or No Country for Old Men type movies. You may learn something...like, what good movies look like and that nickel-plated shotguns with silencers are the coolest form of weaponry known to man.

I won't make it such a long time next time.