As I take my first steps into this twitterverse, I am discernedly dimmer than I have been in the face of the social media of my youth. Like the elderly to cell phones, I can’t help but perceive the phenomenon with a sense of carelessness and angst. On the surface, this strange and unusual forum seems riddled with bizarre codes, eerie symbols and a wealth of absentee-information; a mounding dump of mind litter. But, perchance I dive in; swim around in the muck and attempt assimilation…
Upon resurfacing I’ve come to find that, like any bewildered novice, that I was mistaken. Fear and ignorance have slowly abated and carelessness has subsided. The angst however still looms as I struggle to obtain followers and their subsequent interest in the things that I say. The alleged kings of this social spew-tank seem to all have a preordained air where (in this metaphor) celebrity status serves as god, which begs the question: shall I struggle towards the top or be contented with the measly number of followers I presently have? With following comes followers and with followers comes ranking; Can I compete with national celebrities and politicians? If I can will that bring me celebrity or do I have to be a celebrity first? The confrontation of this chicken/egg scenario pales me.
Baby steps; It’s what’s required. Upon singing up for hootsuite.com (and downloading the the supplemental iPhone app), I have been able to blanket my social networks from a main hub. Alexander the Great and his outnumbered force took down the Persian army by flanking on all sides and if I’m to bolster my social-media status, hootsuite will be my flanking mechanism.
I’ve created my profile, I’ve learned the symbols, I’ve begun to lure followers; the political gears are turning. Look out twitter/facebook, here comes @Ottotropolis.
Yo La Tengo members release covers album as Condo Fucks
By Karl S. Otto / Staff Writer Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Some bands just never break out of their respective city’s scene, and the Condo Fucks are no exception. Or are they? According to legend, the New London, Connecticut band has tromped its way through the hearts of post-punk-starved adolescents yearning for the trashiest garage-rock they could find in the early 1990s.
The power-trio – consisting of singer/guitarist Kid Condo, drummer George Condo and bassist James McNew – was iconic to its musical community, but they never cut an official album and ultimately fell into obscurity.
Now, the Condo Fucks, hungry for a piece of today’s garage-rock scene, are ready to reunite and tour once again. Under the umbrella of an eclectic underground label, Matador records, the Condo Fucks have recorded and are poised to release their very first official rehearsal bootleg entitled “Fuckbook.”
Under normal circumstances this would be truly an epic endeavor; that is, if any of it were true.
In fact, Kid Condo and George Condo are aliases for Ira Kaplan and George Hubely, who along with James McNew make up the truly legendary band Yo La Tengo.
The album and band names are simply a ruse played out for the die-hard fans who search liner notes for inspiration (included in the liner notes for Yo La Tengo’s “I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One” was a list of phony Matador bands including the Condo Fucks).
The album “Fuckbook” is, in fact, an homage to Yo La Tengo’s 1990 release “Fakebook,” which consists of ballad covers played acoustically.
“Fuckbook” mightily plows through covers of iconic 1960s and ‘70s bands The Kinks, The Beach Boys, The Troggs, the Small Faces and the Electric Eels, creating a mean and powerful juxtaposition to its name-staking “Fakebook.” The entire album, staying true to its legend, is recorded on what sounds like a couple of microphones trying their hardest to pick up a live performance on quarter-inch analog tape.
At first listen, the album dances the razors edge of insufferability, but if you turn your stereo up loud enough, it’ll begin to take you over. It begins with the Small Faces tune “What’cha Gonna Do About It,” which they do an incredible justice, and though the guitar solo is reminiscent of a pair of dying brakes, the tone is simply set for the rest of the album.
After a nod to the Kinks and the Electric Eels, “Fuckbook” reaches its pinnacle with a set of Beach Boys covers: “Shut Down” and its reprisal “Shut Down Part 2.” By this point in the album, the poor sound quality actually adds a dirty patina to the iconic surf sound we are all used to. “Shut Down” contains wonderful Wilsonian harmonies along with a simple but poignant guitar solo.
Immediately following “Shut Down” is “Shut Down Part 2,” which disassembles the melody into a fiercely pulsating surf groove more evocative of Dick Dale than the Boys, creating a masterful synthesis of garage-rock and surf-guitar.
The album as a whole is a die-hard venture. Unless you’ve been awaiting the next great Yo La Tengo release it’s simply hard to understand. It took a lot of research for me to truly get into this album, but after the 10th listen it began to grow on me. It’s like your friend’s new band’s EP recorded on a four-track; there’s something in the simplicity that just makes it fun.
By Karl S. Otto / Staff Writer
Friday, April 3, 2009
It’s no secret that New York City’s burgeoning alt-rock scene is becoming a Mecca for our nation’s label-redefining youth.
We are part of a generation of progressive thinkers with alternative lifestyles that enrich the culture around us, and the music industry is beginning to reflect this notion. On March 31, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs debuted their third full-length album; the dazzling “It’s Blitz!” constitutes an anthem for our alt-culture.
The YYY’s had rocketed to pseudo-stardom by way of the video game/music-marketing-giant “Rock Band.” Being one of the first tracks in the game, players would be subjected to playing through the single “Maps,” off of their 2003 LP “Fever to Tell” an untenable amount of times. That album’s grungy, down-beat heavy and orgasmic tone became the foundation for the YYY’s sound over the next six years; now in 2009 the band begins to reinvent itself.
“There’s no comparison to the feeling you get when you’re dancing like your life depends on it,” lead singer Karen O told Spin Magazine, which is made a declaration by the second track on the album, “Heads Will Roll.”
As if Marie Antoinette had come back to life in an effort to assert herself through disco music, Karen O sings “Off with head, dance ‘til you’re dead, heads will roll, on the floor,” while being driven by the YYY’s new pulsating-techno-rock style. This tune seamlessly accompanies the flag-ship first track and single “Zero,” a club-ready requiem that bids you to get your leather, know the dark, hit the spot and shake it like a madman.
After two soft-toed soliloquies entitled “Soft Shock” and “Skeletons,” “It’s Blitz!” hits its stride with the soul-searching nod to their older sound with the polished-rock anthem “Dull Life.” Karen O attests “we sing the nightmare of your lives” whilst being back by a rhino-esque stampeding rock beat that tears through your body with no remorse.
“Runaway,” the albums heart crushing b-side weighs heavily on listener’s emotions, evoking the lost-and-found characteristics of a love-life run amok. For YYY’s fans out there, this tune is the testament to Karen O’s ability to write seemingly perfect lost-love songs. Immediately following are the raucously optimistic found-love tunes “Dragon Queen” and “Hysteric,” ultimately ending the album with the beautiful lullaby “Little Shadow”.
Conceptually speaking “It’s Blitz!” seems to follow a woman’s pursuit of happiness via a night out clubbing. She begins by donning her leather then riding the rollercoaster of dancing, drinking, drug-use, and sex, but ultimately finds solace in the little shadows that populate her room at night. It’s nearly impossible to not like this album (let alone not listen to it 10 times in a row); it’s a conceptual masterpiece from beginning to end. To my urban-dwelling brethren is say listen to it now and listen to it loud—this is our anthem.
The venue was brimming with angst and anticipation since the anomalistic king of four strings, would soon traipse onto the stage and redefine what we all consider music. An entirely general admission show, The Vic Theatre in Chicago was seething with patrons from adolescent new comers to 40 year-old die-hards all sharing a common bond, an unbridled reverence for bassist, singer and song writer Les Claypool. Each and every sweat drenched miscreant in this mid sized amphitheater waved their freak flag proudly as the former front man of Primus thumped and gyrated his way through expansively long versions of his material. The very air emanated with raw power, soulful exuberance, and mellifluous unity. It was thick, and heavy, the very essence of a great rock show. Though the once pristine orange and white admissions ticket had simply “Les Claypool” printed in its showcase, the combo that performed was equally as recognizable. The group simply known as the Fancy Band has contained a variety of musicians. This tour in particular was the Fancy Band Quartet featuring Les Claypool on bass and vocals, Skerik on Saxophones, Mike Dillon on auxiliary percussion and Paulo Baldi on drums. Performance’s defined exuberance as the quartet, sans guitar, circumfused a dynamic plethora of Claypool’s song book from Primus classics to unheard material written for Les’s film “The Electric Apricot”. After a two-hour set the band adjourned, and as my stench riddled and drug laden brethren departed the venue one word reverberated through the central lake view area of Chicago…genius. Truly and icon in his own right Leslie Edward Claypool has solidified his name in the rock universe as one of the most iconic bass figures in the recently established jam band scene currently sweeping the nation. A movement and life style dedicated to art, film, and music the jam band scene pioneered by the Grateful Dead, and later spearheaded by the likes of Phish, Gov’t Mule, and Les Claypool will be considered a keynote movement in rock and roll history. Anchored by the now prodigious Bonnaroo, a four-day multi-stage event held annually on a 700-acre plot in Manchester, Tennessee. Though considered to be a solo enterprise based on the fact that he rarely travels with the same combo, Les Claypool established himself differently from his predecessors thus bringing and entirely different voice to the scene. Les Claypool was the bassists, singer and front man of the cultishly popular early ‘90’s alternative rock band Primus. An extremely dynamic trio, Primus fused heavy bass lead melodies buffered by incredibly tight and often experimental percussion, accompanied by choppy, harsh, and wonderfully dissonant guitar riffs. A perfect contribution to the almost bohemian reinvention of rock music prevalent in the early 1990’s. While keeping Primus together for near 20 years, Les has also managed to shepherd other brain children to the forefront of the jam scene including Sausage, Les Claypool and The Holy Mackerel, Col. Claypool’s Frog Brigade, Oysterhead, Col. Claypool’s Bucket of Bernie Brain, and Les Claypool’s Fancy Band Trio, Quartet and, Quintet. He also established Prawn Song Record Label, Frizzle Fry Inc., and Bait Productions. In 2006 he published his first novel “South Of The Pumphouse” which is being likened to the talents of the late Hunter S. Thompson, and in 2008 is releasing his directorial debut “The Electric Apricot”, a jam band mock-u-mentary flowing through the same veins as Rob Reiner’s cult classic “This is Spinal Tap”. Doubtlessly underrated Les Claypool’s career has ceaselessly voyaged the eclectic and emerged a cult phenomenon. His talents, as a bassist, musician, film maker, actor, writer, and artist have paved the way for any child bemused by the harsh realities of the Hollywood limelight. So few men exist in this realm of paradoxical popularity, but the ones that do etch their lives, minds, and art into the hearts of their appreciators forever. They’re loved simply because they choose not to succumb to the dregs of capitalistic multinational record companies and persevere through the hardships of cult fame. Les Claypool made his mark because he was unyielding in his passions which exemplified hard work, dedication and aberration. To quote a Primus song, “too defy the laws of tradition, is a crusade only of the brave.”
