I feel as though my curiosity is in a sorry state. It must be reignited, as they say. Crickets may start the thirst. I think sometimes it's a gendered subject. No, it's always a gendered subject.

The Things I ACTUALLY Did at Blowout.

As someone (me) once said (about a week ago), "I have a feeling my post-blowout post is going to end up being mostly stories about me wanting to do a bunch of shit but getting drunk instead. ...Actually that sounds like my biography." Of course it's dark humor; my liver is in fine shape, even considering the damage I wreaked on it during so-called "festival kickoff weekend". But the fact that the picture above and five others almost identical to it are the only ones I took at the pre-party definitely set the bar for how the other nights would go. Granted, I became more productive in documenting, but I definitely did not do anything close to my ambitious promo/wishlist post. This is what actually happened, but you must imagine it all amplified in beer, sweat and flowers.

Wednesday:

Made it to the Majestic complex in great time; we got our wristbands and headed for the bar, where we promptly managed to stay talking to passing friends for over an hour, by which time we thought maybe we should combat any claustrophobic and budlightophobic tendencies to head upstairs for Lettercamp. Of course it was even worse than downstairs. The moment we got in there were roughly 1846 people we knew ready to give us hugs and tell us how excited/drunk/broke they were and we returned the feeling. I never listened to a note of Lettercamp, because I was outside talking to people from Sharky and the Habit and Blue Black Hours. For some reason I spent a lot of time on the deck. Then basically I saw a couple of minutes of the Julie Hecker tribute and tried to pay attention to Moon Pool and Dead Band. I liked some of what was going on with that but honestly wasn't really in their mode. Secret Twins took the stage and became the best-remembered band of the night, despite the fact that I never really looked at them and it was at the end of the night when I was drunkest and I was standing behind a pillar at the back of the room. That really says something. Dina's flying v guitar sound was awesome; they could have gone with the cutesy acoustic guitar-drums duo but they're smarter than that and got the attention they deserved. Definitely something I'll be seeing more of.

Thursday:

After loading up the gear, I headed down to Mars Bar with Steven and Scottie, where I ended up the entire night, not counting a short trip to Jet's Pizza and a brisk parade down Jos Campau at the end of the night. But that's later. We walked in while Betty Cooper was playing. I'm not going to pretend I know their history or anything but I recognize the one singer from somewhere that just can't be placed.

Very pop-rocky, guitar driven and catchy tunes. I enjoyed it. It was confusing at first when the go-go dancers hit the tabletops; I thought, Did this band hire dancers for their set? Weird. But the two girls were hired by the venue, and as strange as the setting was, I talked to them briefly and they're nice.
The next band to hit was Robin Goodfellow. There's one on the list I got. They brought their pyramid-headed wood nymphs and strange electric folklore into the Jersey Shore bar while Superman IV played on a huge screen behind them. It was pretty incredible.
I love ^that picture^. I think it's something I'll never replicate.
Banxx was after Robin Goodfellow, but it ended up being Allan James by himself. I think I heard in passing that there was supposed to be someone else in the band but something happened to bar that. Either way, it ended up being awesome in ways (he covered Vic Chesnutt and offered hilarious banter), but awkward in others, as it became a strange lull between a couple of concept bands. Just a set order strangeness.
Then came Marco Polio and the New Vaccines. I painted Steven, a somewhat regular thing for me now. I had better start getting a stylist's salary. A couple of the 20 bouncers at the Mars Bar were alarmed at the frantics of Polio, and at one point two friends got yelled at for standing where the dancers had been doing their thing. Two new songs, very enjoyable. Black cardboard box monoliths were in the audience, and the only flop of the night was when the audience insisted on throwing said boxes around. Hard-edged boxes are far more dangerous than balloons.


After the regular set was done, they continued their last song (a classic, "Dance With Nobility") into the streets of Hamtramck, with a resident walking a dog beside us and so many of us in tow. Steven was able to make it onto the Night Move, but the failure to coordinate the whole band to get on thwarted the idea of riding to another venue. Still, the parade down Jos Campau was surreal.

Friday:

My band played first at Baker's. With the Loco Gnosis showcase, we knew there would be a built in crowd of some sort. At first we were worried.
But our fears were assuaged by the time we went up to play. The place was pretty full, and a friend recorded the whole thing, and I just have to say that sound guy was the best we've ever had. Not only could you hear the violin perfectly, the friggin' clarinet was clear as a bell. We had a lot of fun and introduced another new song. (Photo by J Michelle Dark)
As soon as we were torn down, the guerrilla Detroit Marching Band entered with all manner of drum and trumpet. It was cool to see them, though I guess some people had heard them play like ten times over the weekend and got a little sick of it. Once was just fine enough for me.
I got to see a little of Electric Lion Sound Wave, who make great sounds that coddle and surprise your ears. Since I had stayed at a single venue on Thursday, though, I was determined to go out and experience other bands/bars. First we tried Smalls, where Bars of Gold was playing. I believe Scottie is cheating on me with Brandon Moss, which is okay with me, because he's fantastic. But neither of us got a chance to see his other love, because the place was so jam-packed you could not get in the room. Seriously. So we packed that train up and went to Skipper's with some other friends to see Tare.
You should see Tare. Really. They are high-energy, spasmodic, and damn good. It's a two piece featuring members of I, Crime, but this band is nothing like the americana-rock of the latter. Switching beats, moods and tempos drastically in the middle of songs (all perfectly timed, too), they are entertaining as hell to watch. And I know, I've observed hell.
It was time to head back to Baker's, and luckily we didn't miss any band completely. I came in while Jehovah's Witness Protection Program was on their last song, the one about freedom. Anthony was able to crowd surf in the strange room, which was awesome. I was a little tuckered out, but you have to keep on keepin' on, so I got another beer and got excited for Duende!

Duende! killed. Their unique sound was well-received and, though usually the rowdiest, they were a perfect centering force for the wasted masses. Owed in equal parts to the straight and hard drum sound Laura gave, the poetry of "Jellyroll" Joel's guitar, the cut of Scott's bass, and the wildly hypnotizing vocals of Jeff, Duende rounded out my Friday perfectly, able to pull off "Tombstone Blues" in their own psych-country-punk way.

After that awesome night, I went home and slept soundly, my ears still ringing.

Saturday:

I was in Ferndale giving people sushi and making a little dough. Scottie got home around 5am after an afterparty to end all afterparties. No one got killed.

Oh, yes, we will be blown out.

I don’t pretend that anyone cares about other people’s carefully-thought-out picks for Hamtramck Blowout (in the same way that I haven’t a clue nor a care about these Oscar things everyone’s pretending are important). But I guess if I’m running a blog and make a post every so often, and if that blog should appear on a roster of Detroit music resources, I should probably write something about music once in a while.

I want to see a bunch of new bands this year. There are a lot of classics that I’ve just never seen, either, but I’m pretty good at faking that I have. And there are several bands that I have seen, (some multiple times!) and remember nothing about the whole night. I’m going to play it safe with my opinions, though. The new/unheard of bands are a stab in the dark for me so I can’t advise who to see, but I’m glad they are getting this exposure (considering mine is part of this group, too!).

So if I could transport myself with extreme ease to any bar I wanted, and if I didn’t work at a restaurant at night, this is what I would do on Blowout week. This list is for anyone who is obsessed with everything I do. Read on, Mom.

Wednesday:

This is easy because everything is in one place and spaced out in a timely fashion. As much as I’ve tried to catch Secret Twins all over the place, I have, alas, been unable to see them. I’ve heard their tracks online and I dig it. I’m a little puzzled about The EEKS playing this night; I saw them this summer at one of their first gigs and it wasn’t anything special to me at the time. A lot of energy from the singer; power-punk with a poppy edge. I suppose they’ve grown in waves since then, though they weren’t bad as fledglings in August. One band I really want to catch is FAWN; they had a record release thingy that doubled as breakfast one time this summer and I thought, “Oh, how cute” and then when I listened to the music I thought, “Oh, how great”. It seems the fairer sex is dominating the night at the Magic Stick. The majority of the musician community is unconsciously wincing a little inside. Sorry, I had to say it.

Thursday:

It’s pretty hard. But I do know that at midnight I will be obligated and ready to watch/participate with Marco Polio and the New Vaccines. Just recently they opened up for Deerhoof and I don’t even think I have to mention my obvious bias. I will probably try to start the night off at GofC Lounge (that’s called street talk; I’m cool enough that I can use it so I don’t have to put in a dozen more letters), with Tone and Niche. They are pretty nice cats. I’ve seen them many times before, but they always deliver and would be a great fresh way to get going. Nichole will kill on fiddle; I can only aspire to even attain her tone (ha) someday. Because they’re going on so early, I’ll be able to catch Hi-Speed Dubbing in the Hall just yards away. I like those guys. Definitely a change of pace and it’ll give me a chance to pay more attention to Justin’s guitar playing. Then I’ll pop back over to the Lounge again to catch some of Scarlet Oaks; they will have some lineup changes this time around, but I hope to hear some grittiness on drums. Noelle was great for the dirty and nonchalant way she kept the beat, and I want to see what a change of personnel will do for them.

In a perfect world I would make it to see Robin Goodfellow at Mars Bar. This project has been remarkably well put together in a small amount of time. I blame it on their crazy light show, pyramid hats, and Nathan Burgundy’s firm commitment to the bowtie. And I really want to check out Indian Guides, as my multi-faceted friend Jason Worden is a member and I have yet to see them. But it may be impossible to get to Skipper’s and all over the rest of town before going back to Mars Bar to see Polio at midnight. …Because I also want to finally hear Zoos of Berlin at the New Dodge. I can’t even remember if I have actually seen them live, which is a sad thing, because I often pretend that I’ve heard everyone in this town. But I have heard their recordings and they are quite fabulous. I’m sure anyone reading this probably knows that already though, except my mom (hi, Mom!). If I weren’t watching my maniac boyfriend and his maniac friends tear it up at midnight, I would be simultaneously at Small’s for Illy Mack and the New Dodge for Child Bite.

Friday:

This is the night I will grace the stage. My five-piece band, Eleanora, will be at Baker’s Streetcar at 9:20 sharp for the Loco Gnosis showcase, which is exciting. We plan on literally murdering everyone there with our music. But in a way that you feel like you could never experience something so wonderful ever again, so you welcome death. Though the reality may be that I will stay for the rest of the Loco night, after I play I will try to catch Forget at Whiskey in the Jar. Another one of Worden’s projects, it features a different lineup each and every time, and is completely improvised. How’s that for a set list? After Forget makes me forget everything I know about performing and creating, I’d like to see some good weird rock and roll over at Small’s where Bars of Gold is playing. It’ll snap me back into the present time and place, plus I hear that drummer is kind of a badass. I’d fancy a trip back to Skipper’s to see Tare, which I loved about 2-3 years ago when I first saw the two-piece at the Trumbullplex. Drums and guitar, hard and fast, short and dirty. It’s starting to sound like Friday will be a night for heavy drinking. It would be nice to catch the beginning of The Octopus, and then see some of The Kickstand Band at GofC Hall, where my middle school friend Allison is showing her bass chops. I’m used to her on trombone and I’ve never seen this band. And then it’ll be back to square one at Baker’s with Duende tearing it up: the craziest vocals, the longest bass drum, and the slickest guitarist in Detroit all under one roof.

Saturday:

Saturday I will be both hung over and working at night, so the following is hypothetical. But Pewter Cub is friggin’ amazing and I’ve already written about them, so obviously they are now famous and everyone will be at their set at Baker’s. It would be fun to check out “DJ Tim Vulgar” at the Painted Lady, and be a part of his Kresge performing arts grant at the Human Eye Showcase. I think I’d mostly be hanging out at the Loco Gnosis stage again, though, with kinda-newbies Crappy Future; the best family band in Detroit, Woodman; and last year’s apple of Detroit bloggers and partiers eye, Macrame Tiger. I am not going to be there because two of my coworkers are in that band. Other favorites of the night definitely would include The Mantons (another great drummer), Legendary Creatures (who can cover Elliot Smith and not sound like a fuckwad? They can.), FUR (again, I’ve written about them, they will make you feel all warm, tingly and stabby inside), and Electric Fire Babies (mash-up of Carjack and Hi Speed Dubbing and other craziness, bring it on!).

I put waaaay less energy toward Saturday than the rest of the days. Sorry. It’s the law of sleepiness combined with a lack of concern due to the fact I won’t be there.

I want to ask, what are the new acts you would recommend I see, or groups outside of my normal zone that are worth making my way to? Let me know!

Rant that occurs while waiting alone and drunk for supposedly the best pizza ever and looking at stupid pictures of Eminem and watching basketball

I find myself caring about this stupid shit. And I'm not sorry, it is stupid shit. Perfectly constructed characterizations based upon statistical findings about the public coma that has settled on the vast majority of the first world population.

I know it's easy to relate to these people we see on TV. Of course it is; that's the way they are designed. The more relatable, the more interesting (in the most formulaic sense of interesting) the setup is, the more people that watch it, the more money that is made from ad revenues. Duh. It's as though everything is a ploy and we're not just victims of it, we become the perpetrators of it through out complete belief in it and surrender to it. Ironically, reality TV is set up to be just the opposite, with its grotesque portrayal of everyday life taken as somehow candid and believable. And I enjoy it. Of course I do. I have a hard time being strong enough to resist it, considering my receptiveness, but Jesus Christ, I really fucking should. There's absolutely no fucking reason that I should be feeling sorry for the nice girl in the Office or the shrink in Bones or even the feminist in Community. Because as nuanced and complex as they seem to be, they are really cartoons. Without a doubt. The viewer must be either entirely sympathetic to them or laughing cynically at them. It's the winning equation. And it's the human condition to have this strange sense of community--we're the weirdest herd animal that has ever existed. We simultaneously pit ourselves against one another and become obsessed with one another. We need to be around friends and crowds and need validation of sorts in various ways, and we need the serenity of isolation that being by ourselves provides us.

It's like media does its job: to be a mediating force between individuals and the society to which they belong. And that is exactly the point at which we need to fight it. It does the important work for us and creates for us meaningless tasks to replace those important things with--to satisfy our chemical impulses and philosophical questions that have lost their original ends, as we surrender our decision-making to an artificial intelligence that we ourselves have created.

Which is the exact definition of a drug. It's fucking worse than any drug a person will take in her lifetime. Because she's forced to be on it 24-7 and it's the very fringe not to be, and no one is telling her there's anything wrong with it. It's perfectly normal and healthy to be not just addicted, but absorbed in it, according to our education.

I need another glass of whisky.

The Steve Barman Show

Sometimes people think of things that would be nice to do. Steve Barman is one of those people. He's done oodles of interviews, reviews, and articles pertaining mostly to the music scene in and directly surrounding Detroit. My band's first gig was a show he put on so he could get higher-quality equipment to do such things with. It was recorded on VHS, as though to prove a point. Aw, how cute we were. Barman has been co-running the music blog MotorCityRocks for a while now, documenting the city's events and ideas. It's wise of Barman to use the opportunity he has in Detroit DIY talk-show history to bring in voices from various aspects of Detroit metro culture. By widening the scope of interests covered, he can help localized groups step away from this inversion that so plagues them (us). It also, conveniently, makes it so there are much more possibilities for upcoming episodes, seeing as it's just a baby right now. I'd like to see it come into almost a themed talk show, where the content is always as diverse as it is now, but loosely centered around a topic or word or person. The bridging aspect of the project is important; as they say, "commitment to fostering the link between contemporary art and contemporary society" is key in Detroit's growth.

The third taping for The Steve Barman Show is coming up this Sunday, so you should go if you can. It features family band Woodman, activist, professor and writer Shea Howell, and artist Mary Beth Carolan.

Here's the sneak peak for episode two.

You can watch the pilot and find out more here.

A Personal Account of New Year 2011 at the Stick

(Midnight and On)

I'm behind the stage at the Magic Stick. The walls are finally all black in here in an effort, I guess, to make it harder to scrawl over them. Three eighteen year old boys giggle as they paint "Silverghost Marco Polio New Years" or something like it across them anyway in broad red strokes. Scottie throws the door open and yells inside.

"C'mon, come on stage with me! It's almost midnight, babe." Half worried about leaving the whole bottle of acrylic red paint with the punks, I still turn my attention to the countdown. I hop up two steps and every light on the platform is on. All the headliners are there, too, in their various paints and decor. I can't really see much, but a lot of my friends, both babyfaced and bruised, are out there on the dark floor eagerly following the projected timer behind us that looks more like a bomb display than a celebration. May as well be, some are probably saying to themselves.

"Can we play one more after the ball drops?" Sean asks Del.

"Yeah, sure! Not like a one ten-minute-long song or anything," and they both laugh.

"Haha, yeah, of course not."

We all count backwards in unison like some huge, drunk kindergarten class until I get to smother Scottie's face with mine, several times and passionately, thoughtlessly. That's it for my fame this night, and I go out to find Steven while the band ends with a ten-minute-long song. I need to paint Steve's body. Feeling creative, I brush his exposed skin with calligraphic and ceremonial lines, circles, dots and boxes, red, red, red. Then I search for Jaye and he tells me something sincere while we get ready to become a parade whale, Chinese New Year style. A beat starts.

Umbrellas broken and raised, we pump them like Jersey Shore stars under the whale body canopy and snake our way up to the the stage before surrendering the costume to the greedy, euphoric crowd. Time to dance. Everyone is fixated on Steven's hypnotic, pentecostal frenzy while on stage Michael and Kyle face off in a battle of synth, guitar and two-step, while Scottie, true to form, rips into his kit without hardly moving his long and already bare torso. After this point my memory gets lazy, due in equal parts to relaxation, Labatt, and my fair-weather friend Mary. There's music for some time, then the switch to Marcie and Del's act, from which I am constantly distracted. There is an hour of conversation with various Lisas, Chrises, Wendys and Pierces, but I don't remember it.

All of a sudden it's 3am and there's barely anyone there, but the bar still serves. Wendy and I decide we should do shots and I'm in Ferndale mode so I think it's a really good idea to buy four shots of Jameson. It is not a good financial decision. But it does go down easy and there's never anything wrong with having whiskey at the end of a night, right?

Steve is at the helm of our often trio, guiding the organization of most things Marco Polio into one trunk. We get home in decent shape, spouting philosophical nightdreams and whining as we wave goodbye. Partly covered in confetti, I slumber in peaceful denial of the anvil of dawn. Denial works as voodoo in this situation, and I wake up at 9 with a case of the missing hangover.

Local Humans and the Things they Do with their Faces, Feet and Hands

Here's some stuff about records.

Pewter Cub is pretty alright in my book (see page 78, rethink.d: The Early Years) and they had a party at Smalls some months ago for their LP, The Door Opened; You Got In. I enjoy the appropriate use of the semicolon in their title. I also enjoy the tracks, which range from the very Black Angels-ish opening song "As You Were" to the noisy pop of "Surface", though they linger toward more the former, black psychadelia. I find the recordings to be very good, however I don't feel that the band is quite as moody as this EP implies. When I've seen them live they've been more flippant/fun/raucus, or at least have presented themselves in that way. Perhaps in the recordings they showed more the reality of their lyrics? Drum-heavy and deep, the tracks have a vast spacial resonance, with vocals that shine but lack the same depth as the other instruments. Regan, Dave and Scott have quite beautifully fitted talents, though, and the dirty guitar melds with the syrup-sweet voice and booming toms in an unexpectedly full-sounding 8 song album.

Here is an awesome video of the aforementioned "Surface". It's really great because 1. The director did a wonderful job; and 2. It hearkens to the less dark (at least musically and performatively) aspects of the band.

Macrame Tiger was all a-buzz around these parts this summer and into fall. I work with 2 of their members, so I get an exclusive inside scoop and I'm going to tell you all the juicy details of their torrid affairs (devastate the details, get it? Ha... ha... hm). Just kidding. But I do know that they are ready to move forward with a ton of new songs; it seems they were over their EP as soon as it was released. No one else has been dismissing it as much as the band themselves, whose final track "Lucy Sue" was named the #1 local song of the year by the respected Jeff Milo. The consensus seems to be that the record is awesome, though from what I hear from Pedro and Kerry, all of the new material is far more comprehensive and involves Marilu and Kerry in more integral ways. Each of the tracks on the EP is a solid single, yet a single idea they do not make. Somewhat disjointed, they dance between spacey prog-y post-punk bars andfolkey honkey-tonk campfires. Both styles are executed well and sound fantastic on their own. Together, they can become a little patchy. And what's with the super-Frank Zappa feel of "Sparklewood Friendship Society Club"? I'm not complaining about any of it individually--all the songs are catchy and smart--I simply hope they weren't trying for continuity. This EP is, to me anyway, a show of power, to say, "Not only can we do this, but this and this too! So watch out, motherfuckers." And I do love those weird and layered vocals and shimmery effects; it's as if Animal Collective was a band I liked. I'll be on the look-out for Macrame's new stuff.

Fur just recently released another EP. In the same fashion as their debut EP, they released it online and you can get it for free. This one is called Devastate the Details and has a similar sound to the first, though longer. After listening to the EP twice, I felt like I knew the songs from somewhere else--their hooks are brilliant enough. I've said before that this band has a great way of fusing the same ol' garage rock with a heavier and darker pallet. However, it has the opposite problem that Macrame Tiger's does, in that its tracks sit in a small margin of sound. Each song becomes similar to the next when the mood of cathartic anger prevails. There's nothing wrong specifically with the songs; they just could use some variance to avoid loss of interest. I'm looking forward to more of the unconventional way that Ryan plays with vocals. He really does see his voice as an instrument within each song, and yet he doesn't draw attention away from the equal amazingness that is happening with the other three members of the band. Johanna (keys) is featured more on the album, and I really like it, though my Killers-saturated mind keeps hearing "Jenny Was a Friend of Mine" everywhere. Drum sound is fantastic, with Zach's organic breakbeats rich and dynamic, and Mike's stellar work on bass is more prominent this time around than it was on the debut. With all the fuzz cutting through the songs, there is a slight expectation that the formats and lengths will devitate, but they are all under 5 minutes. The last track seems to me to be the best single and also the most standard, forcefully energetic and a great last impression. The use of guitar effects could be played with in terms of integration with songwriting; I think that might be a good step for the sound to go in.

So there's my triple review. I hope I still have friends.