Grunge vs. Oldies

I'm still claiming that this is not a music blog, even though 2/3 of my infrequent posts are music-related. Oh well.

I still make these.

I've been thinking about music a lot lately in a different way, because I have kind of a theory: people prefer the music that they were teenagers with. That's always "the best," and even if there are more modern tunes that make the top played list on the iPod, the music from the teenage years is nonetheless regarded with a fondness reserved for other odd, nostalgic memories of things like old school uniforms, your high school boyfriend and that mix he made you, your first car, your first kiss, and whatever atrocious trend that was passed off as acceptable for five minutes.

Try and say JT is cuter. I dare you.

I graduated high school in 2007 and even though the music that was out then was pop generic enough to make my ears bleed and dirty rap (read: CRAP), I expanded from The Beatles, my first true love from around age 7, to the music that had been popular around my preteen years-- that '90s and early '00s grunge. Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, Dishwalla, Nirvana, Godsmack-- I listened to it all and loved it all. They had the songs I would hear on the radio as a kid and sing along to but not know what they were called (I didn't have the internet (or a computer, really)) until I was older. By the time I caught that train, most of them had disbanded. Typical.

Simultaneously, I raised myself on my mum's old 45s and my favorite station, 3WS ("All oldies, all the time!" to which my mum would say, "I don't want to listen to oldies. I'm not old!" and switch the channel) until it got lame and started playing '80s music. So where girls my age were all into NSYNC and drooling over Justin Timberlake or Nick What's-His-Bucket from BSB, I had a Beatles poster and daydreamed about Paul McCartney showing up at my house and proposing to me. Knowing all the words to "Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch" didn't score me any points with my peers though. Nowadays, having spent the last 15 or so years hearing "Genie in a Bottle" or "Tearin' Up My Heart," I'll chime in and even think fondly of those awkward days-- the bangs, the being 5'1" in 5th grade and then never growing an inch after that, the shyness at parties because I didn't know that new Britney Spears song-- all that gets overshadowed by what are, essentially, really catchy pop songs.

What a babe.

I was at work the other day talking to The Pizza God while we were doing dough and discussing music. First of all, he doesn't listen to much music since he's always at work. I said, "Top Five Songs" and he listed "Journey" as number 3, referring to the band. *rolls eyes* Sixteen years his junior, I can appreciate the music of his youth (his favorites include Poison (oh boy), Guns 'n Roses (I approve), and Journey (they made my top 5 too). However, when he said Pearl Jam and the grunge era never really did anything for him, I almost threw flour at him. But to him, the music that was a big deal when he was in high school is what wins-- the hot girls of the day were Pat Benatar and Heart, not Beyonce and Gwen Stefani. He got young Bruce Springsteen though, so who really wins here?

Quality tune.

The worst moment of all came when a guy that works there-- he's 19-- interjected "What's pearl jam?" I think I almost fell into the dough bowl at that one. I mean, I know he's like...5 years younger than me, but let's be real here. Who doesn't know "Jeremy" or "Yellow Ledbetter"??!?! Well, people who listen to dubstep and electronica (the music of the day, the music of HIS teenage years). 

My mum is the only anomaly in this whole thing. She likes music from today more than what she grew up with, and I love oldies and classic rock almost as much as (if not more than) grunge and indie. But I always say I'm an old soul. I was totally born in the wrong era. Overall, though, it seems that people I've talked to mostly like what they associate with their youth and glory days.

The Neverending Story of Coheed and Cambria

One of the wonderful things about being your own editor is that establishing your credibility as a writer is below “ability to wrestle alligators” on your list of priorities, unless you plan on actually being successful with your blog – or, unless you blog about wrestling alligators.

Fortunately, I’m interested in neither at this time, which is a good thing because I went to see a Coheed and Cambria concert on Saturday, and objectivity can go right to hell; they’re an unbelievable band.

Admittedly, I despised Coheed when “A Favor House Atlantic” hit the MTV2 circuit about eight years ago (and yes, there was a time when not only did MTV2 broadcast music videos, but new videos actually “hit the circuit”). “The singer looks weird and sings like he’s a girl, I can’t understand the words, why aren’t they singing about breakups or eternal angst, which one of those guys is Coheed and which one is Cambria, and who are the other two guys then, I’m not listening to this, I'm going to Azerbaijan."

Avenged Sevenfold happened to be one of my favorite bands at the time, and about two years later, they began touring for their new CD with special guests…Coheed and Cambria. Yeah. The band that made videos about mermaids and centaurs and wrote songs about total nonsense was touring with a quintet of muscled metalheads.

I watched a promotional video for the tour that started by showing A7X live, followed by “featuring COHEED AND CAMBRIA.” I was probably a split second from X’ing out of the video..

HOLY HELL WHAT WAS THAT?

The superb opening riff of “Welcome Home” hooked me. They write, like, rock songs? Hard rock songs? I dove into their back catalog and have purchased every record since.

A few years later, I saw them live for the first time at the House of Blues in Atlantic City. My friends and I like to play the “What’re they gonna open with?” game before any show we attend, and we debated for a solid ten minutes before that concert. Surely, they’d leave Welcome Home for the end and open with another smaller hit, like Favor House, In Keeping Secrets or Time Consumer.

Nope. They started the damn show with “Welcome Home,” whipped the whole place into a frenzy, and proceeded with one of the best concert experiences I’ve ever had.

I’m sure none of you are asking, “Why, Matt? Why does this bizarre rock band deserve your virtually unconditional love and praise?” Well, nobody, I’m glad you asked, because the answer is simple: they do just about everything, and do it excellently.

Even experienced retroactively, listening to the band’s progression from emo-punk to 80’s hair metal to gray, fuzzy hard rock to whatever the hell their upcoming double album turns out to be is fascinating. Musically, the band proved they’re as technically sound as the best bands in each of the aforementioned genres, and lyrically, lead singer/guitarist/songwriter/head honcho Claudio Sanchez has learned to package his poetry and storytelling into pleasant phrasing and even (gasp) traditional rhyme schemes.

Oh yes, storytelling…I should mention that. So, while each individual song deals with ordinary human elements and themes like love, death, betrayal, war, family, coming of age, and the like (but with a special emphasis on that “love and death” bit), most average humans don’t do daily dealings with people or things known as Prises, Newo Ikken, or IRO-bots, unless you’re one of the one-percent.

The entirety of C&C’s musical catalog fits into an extended story set in Heaven’s Fence, a galaxy of planets held together by beams of energy, forming a shape known as the Keywork (it looks like this, or this). The actual concept follows the family of Coheed and Cambria, who are actually robots created to destroy the evil sorcerer Wilhelm Ryan (or Supreme Tri-Mage) determined to defy his fellow mages and rule Heaven’s Fence. Ultimately, destiny falls into the lap of Coheed and Cambria’s son (robo son!) Claudio (hm), who must take his place in history and save Heaven’s Fence and the Keywork from Ryan and his army.

Yeah…I know.

Here’s the thing, though…until about a year or two ago, I had virtually no understanding of the storyline. I knew there was a science fiction saga behind the albums, but WHO CARES GUITAR SOLOS.

Hundreds of bands write concept records, including several in theunderground rock-punk scene that spawned Coheed and Cambria. Even considering the scope of Sanchez’s alternate universe, however, it may never have been less crucial to comprehend the storyline of a concept record in order to enjoy the music. There’s enough variety in the 75+ songs they’ve written about the Amory Wars (the official name of the storyline) to not give a shite about what a Hound of Blood and Rank is, or why the story’s narrator is talking to a bicycle. For those who do want to dive into the story, though, the band obliges, pumping out comics, novels and even a potential live-action feature with MAHKY MAHK.

Listeners will certainly hear familiar ingredients in the C&C stew, but never familiar enough to seem derivative. Yes, Sanchez owes a lot to Rush, both in the extended concept and his high-pitched “Geddy Lee with an accent” vocals. (Rebecca told me that her mom once  heard a Coheed song and asked where they were from, expecting an answer like Iceland or Antarctica or Saturn. They’re from New York/north Jersey). Yes, a million crappier bands exhibit atmospheric elements of Coheed’s earlier work (albiet with far less creativity - open strings and slight reverb alone do not an emo verse make, as I believe Nietzche once said). Yes, Eddie Van Halen heard “Feathers” and wants his guitar tone back. Yes, some serious bands write pop songs as well, and some bands can seamlessly convert their electric epics into stirring acoustic showcases.

Very few bands do all of the above, though, and even fewer pack the feel of a theatrical, arena-ready performance into a bar or club the way Coheed has each time I’ve seen them in the past four years. (Fewer still can play every single song they've ever written live, either) Friday, my friend and I returned to the House of Blues where I’d seen Coheed play for the first time years ago as they began touring for the aforementioned new record. Yes, nearly 1,000 words later, I’ve gotten back to the concert itself. Sorry, guys.

Our tickets read “8:00,” so, unsure if that meant “showtime” or “doors,” we arrived at 7:45 to learn it meant “doors.” For the first time at a non-festival show, though, I saw a schedule of times for the opening acts and Coheed. This proved useful because, while I occasionally really enjoy the new bands, my impression of Coheed’s opening acts in the past has been poor to middling. To the Irish Pub we went. (If you ever need to find a bar to simply "chill" at in Atlantic City, the Irish Pub's your place. If you can't find it, look for the guy on the boardwalk wearing the enormous "IRISH PUB" sign around St. James Place).

At 10:45, we made it back to the House of Blues just in time for the band’s entrance. Opening with “No World for Tomorrow” and “Gravemakers and Gunslingers,” a killer one-two punch of 80s rock dramatics and bravado, each member demonstrated a combination of nearly flawless musicianship and unbridled energy you rarely find in smaller venues. The newest addition to the crew, bassist Zach Cooper, fit in perfectly with Sanchez, guitarist Travis Stever and prodigal drummer Josh Eppard, contributing to vocals in a similar fashion to the band’s former bassist Mic Todd, who was kicked out for threatening to blowup a Walgreens unless the store pharmacist gave him drugs.

Since I spent this entire post kissing serious Coheed ass, I’ll give a couple quick highlights from the concert rather than detailing the show front-to-back.

·      My friend, a 5’6” or so-tall girl, and I stood on the back periphery of the mosh pit that opened up in the front third of the venue. While I typically enjoy jumping into the pit for a few songs, my job Saturday was to ensure no nut jobs or enormous dudes knocked us around or blocked our view while we rocked out and sang.
This was generally pretty easy, since Coheed fans are generally more of an “energetic dancing/moving” crowd than a “speed metal moshing” one. But during the band’s power ballad “Mother Superior,” two guys continued to body-check people like they were listening to Slayer for the first time (or as if there weren’t a dozen better songs during the set to lose your mind to). As fans waved smuggled lighters and cell phones, a handful of security guards knifed through the crowd and threw the jackasses to the floor like a streaker at a football game. One of them fought tooth and nail, implying he was either hopped on something other than Jagermeister, or he is totally oblivious to his surroundings.
After the song, Sanchez addressed the crowd: “I don’t know what it is, there’ve already been like, what, five fights tonight? It seems like the older we get, the more violent our crowds get.” The whole crowd screamed in approval. AMERICA.

·      Despite the above story, I want my children in as many moshpits as possible when they’re growing up. Not crazy Wall of Death shite necessarily, but a good ‘ol fashioned circle pit. Running full speed into other people for hours is a great way to expend energy and burn up some pent-up aggression. Plus, particularly if they don’t end up playing football or hockey, the pits will toughen them up.

However, you’ll never find a more considerate bunch of people than concert-goers in a pit who either a. See someone fall, or b. See someone lose something. Hit the turf in a pit and 95 people will surround you to help you up and keep others from trampling you before returning to their barbaric activity. Drop a phone or lose a shoe, and they’ll converge to help you look for said item. Mosh pits are the best.

·      As a gift to the man helping Sanchez sell his home, who happened to be in the audience that night, the band played a strong cover of the Dio-era Black Sabbath song “Heaven and Hell.”

·      The only song played from the group’s most recent CD, “Year of the Black Rainbow,” was the lesser-known “Made Out of Nothing.” Considering Eppard is less technical (read: good) than the hyper-progressive Chris Pennie, the drummer for “Black Rainbow,” many songs on that record might be phased out of live performances in the future. What Eppard lacks in chops, though, he makes up for in pure enthusiasm and singing ability, as he leant backup vocals to “Mother Superior” and “The Suffering.”

·      Few moments in life beat singing along to your favorite band’s anthem with thousands of others. I’m not talking about going to a Bon Jovi concert and screeching the chorus of “Livin’ On a Prayer” like you have at every party or dance since 6^th grade. The most rewarding sing-along of your life will come when you hear a more obscure band’s ardent fans shout the chorus or bridge of their best tune like a million kindergarteners belting out their only line in a school play they’ve been rehearsing for months for.
With Coheed, nearly every song is like that, but none more than the conclusion of “In Keeping Secrets.” After the song’s thundering first half dips into a softer, multi-part, two-minute bridge, the band builds back up to a grand finish with a electrifying melody of “whoas.” No words to remember, just shout along. After the band linked the bridge and the outtro with an improvised sound collage of a breakdown during the House of Blues show…well, it’s better if you just watch/listen (at 9:10).

·      The modern concert “encore” is contrived to the point of cliché. Coheed didn’t even bother pretending as if they wouldn’t be back after their final song, sending out three or four sound guys to check their instruments before they came out for four more songs, including new tune “Domino the Destitute,” old favorites “Favor House” and “Welcome Home” (with all the usual double-necked guitar shenanigans you'd expect) and concert closer “The Final Cut.”
While “The Final Cut” usually evolves into a 15-minute improv session, this evening’s edition ended with…mannequins. All night long, two mannequins in bowler hats sat atop the amps onstage, one black and one white. For the final number, a member of the stage crew took the white mannequin off-stage, and another person dressed in an all-white spandex suit ran onstage in its place, chasing Sanchez around the drumset during Stever’s talk-box solo.
Eventually, the spandex man stole an amp, rolled it to the far left side of the stage, and sat atop it. A third stage crew member gave it a push, and the spandex man rolled right by Sanchez, waiting with his guitar. The spandex man grabbed it and exited stage right just as the rest of the band finished the song and bid the crowd adieu. Like the old saying goes, it ain't over 'til you feel like you've been doing shrooms.

·      As we departed, my friend pointed out a small, yellow-ish doll sitting on top of one of the stacks on stage with red light-up eyes and dimples. Yes, folks, a light-up Pikachu doll presided over Saturday’s festivities. Now, I can die in peace.

My hope is that, with this post, I've expunged all the Coheed-love from my system and I won't have to gush about them again for at least...*checks watch*...30 minutes. We'll see how that works for me.

If We Can Stay Here Long Enough...

Like Matt already mentioned, the primary goal of this blog is to still be writing it a few months from now. I used to be an avid writer-- mostly of my own life stories in everything from purple composition books to looseleaf sheets tied together with ribbons (yes, this happened). Bins under my bed filled with old notebooks and picture-stories from before I could write. That sort of thing.

Then college happened.

I decided to write on a blog, assuming it had to be easier to manage since I was always on my computer doing some article or thesis anyway-- and this is after I was adamant about never starting a blog because technology detracts from the beauty and privacy that is pen and paper. Obviously I was desperate. So, I started my personal blog, A More Likely Story. I had all these fantastic ideas I wanted to share with my feeble readership, but as one of the greatest minds of the century said, "Life happens when you're busy making other plans." Regular contributor to Big K Media became...hmm, 4-5 posts? And then I started a blog for my Literature & Pedagogy class that I enjoyed writing so much that I was determined to keep it going. Good one.

Thus here I am, trying to refine my writing skills and do something I'm passionate about but never seem to have nearly enough time for (add that to reading, playing guitar, painting, running...).

I don't want to niche us immediately as "that blog about music" but I got a mix CD for my birthday, and while the whole thing is pretty awesome, I've become slightly obsessed with one in particular: "Bloody Mary" by the Silver Sun Pickups.

Essentially, there's nothing for me to dislike about this song. I saw Silver Sun Pickups live a little over two years ago, and they were absolutely amazing. I always figured that Brian Aubert (the lead singer) used some sort of studio effect to make his voice sound the way it does-- he doesn't. Listening to them live is like listening to them through headphones, except you can see them dancing and twisting across the stage while they play. So that's reason one.

Second, the game "Bloody Mary" holds significance for me because of how frequently I played it as a child. I've always loved ghost stories, haunted houses, scary movies, Halloween. The idea of conjuring old Mary up from the depths of a mirror (freaky objects in and of themselves) was too delightfully scary not to take part in-- or force my sister and cousins to stand in a dark bathroom with me, all squeezing fingernails into one another's palms as we squeamishly chanted "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary..." and then flipped the lights on and ran out, only to do it again immediately.

Aubert's voice combines with the vocal talents of bassist Nikki Monninger to form this ethereal sound that loans itself perfectly to the quality of a song entitled "Bloody Mary," and the first time I heard it I couldn't help thinking of my childhood. Listening to it as much as I have in the past week brings out the lit geek in me and has me analyzing the lyrics, trying to determine the story behind it. Is he singing to a spouse who was abused as a child? Speaking to Bloody Mary? Is it sexual? Is he talking to his own image in the mirror? No idea.

That's the fun part about music-- there are always multiple ways to decipher lyrics and it ends up depending on how you're feeling at a particular time. Music speaks to everyone and has a way of comforting us when closer human contact falls short. It lets us know that at some point, someone knew how we were feeling enough to write a song about it-- and that meaning is subject to change daily.