The Two Day Evolution

It's just after midnight on the night between September 30 and October 1, and I have just moved into my new (slanty, of course) house in Jersey City. I am just about to get into bed when some force of the Almighty drives me to check Pitchforkmedia one last time before bed. Do I have ESP? Do I know how this moment will change my life before I even act? Maybe. But one thing is certain...I have only 10 days to prepare for the greatest music moment of the last three years since the last Radiohead album was released.

I was only in high school then and, to be completely honest, Hail To The Thief scared the living shit out of me. I had never heard Radiohead before, only heard their name and knew of their revered status, but I assumed it was worth a try. I simply couldn't hand it. Never before had an album ignited an emotion other than sadness or happiness or love. Fear in music was relegated to those outcasts, those Slayers and Marylin Mansons and Nine Inch Nails. We John Mayers and Dave Matthews and Billy Joels were all love and longing, not death and anger.

When I heard the song "A Wolf at the Door (It Girl. Rag Doll)" for the first time I nearly shat myself. For at least a year, until I met one Patricia Mara, I was not able to appreciate the album. With her encouragement I delved into my Radioheadaphobia (yes, that is the clinical term), and slowly built my library with their catalog.

In my senior year at GW I wrote a twenty page paper on the advent of the concept album, with the majority of my paper revolving around the modern classic album OK Computer. And, while HTTT might still scare the living hell out of me, I respect it and even love that it can still reach into me and pull something different out than any other album.

It was with this unique perspective and hopeful ear that I unwrapped (or downloaded from a link in my e-mail, whatever) my free copy (yes, I paid nothing because I don't have a paying job and Radiohead does...it's only fair) of the four-years-in-the-making, seventh Radiohead album In Rainbows at about 1:30 on the early morning of October 10. Over the past two days I have listened to the album no less than six times in its entirety, and at least two more in bits and pieces. My reactions and their evolution over the past 72 hours are chronicled in the following passages:

Day 1: I fell asleep with In Rainbows on because I was so tired from sitting up and waiting. Upon waking and leaving the house, I immediately started from the top. The album opens with "15-step" and immediately sounds great. As my walk to the train station continued and the album went on, I can't help but feel decidedly underwhelmed by my current Radiohead experience. I make it through the album on the way to work and arrive pleased with what I've heard, but altogether disappointed that I wasn't touched like I still am by HTTT and Kid A.

At that point, I had several thoughts (in general and about the album). "Am I being too hard on them?" No, I decide. If they are indeed the second coming, they should be able to deliver as they have in their previous three consecutive efforts. To their credit, though, Kid A, OK Computer, and HTTT are three "this is the best album we will ever make" albums, and they were all released one after the other by the same band. So what if Radiohead's precedent of constantly one-upping themselves is broken? In Rainbows is still a valiant effort and, if released by another band, would be a beautiful piece of music. Besides, at least they're not forcing themselves to create insanely complex works in an effort to imitate early success. Overall, after three listens on Day 1, I was still not convinced that this was at all worth the wait.

Day 2: October 11 was a day of discovery and open minded reassessment. After the previous day's disappointments, I really needed the album to come through in a big way. I didn't want to overdo it, so I resolved to online listen once all day. I found it on my boss's iTunes and listened through the new album, as well as the previous three albums (see above) for good measure.

Now, you may be thinking to yourself, "What the hell is wrong with him? When did he start liking Radiohead this much?" Normally, I couldn't agree more. Ever since the Dave Matthews Band fiasco of 2000 - 2004 I have been cautious about riding a band into the ground with an obsession. But, after my one listen during Day 2 and the subsequent listens to the other albums, the tide began to turn for In Rainbows. The songs all started to work together and, by the end of listen number four and Day 2, I was officially 180'd my opinion of the album. It is, after all, a worthy addition to their illustrious collection (and mine). The strongest track is, hands down, "15 Step," the album's opening song, with its closer "Videotape" as a close second. The least inspiring "House of Cards" and "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" (Tracks 8 and 9, respectively), but by the end of Day 3 (today) I will have probably changed my mind between six and twenty times.

In fact, I feel almost ashamed that I couldn't see the immense value of this album for over 24 hours. I admit it...I was far too quick to judge. But, like most Radiohead, In Rainbows has grown on me. And, if my experience with HTTT is any sort of predictor, it will mostly likely continue to do so until their next album takes its place.

Billboard, Yahoo, Thieves, and Chingy

But first, I must discuss today's events regarding the artist formerly known as Britney Spears. I'm going to leave up the creepy androgynous video for another week because, while I hate to say it, that blubbering ass of a human has a good point. The insatiable appetite of Americans, as fueled by the media, has officially destroyed a life. Now, I know this probably sounds preachy. And I know that Britney has to be held accountable for her own actions. But, after over 10 years in the biz, throughout which she was not given a moments privacy or even normalcy, she was actually driven to insanity. As if the sign's weren't clear enough when she a) married Kevin Federline b) shaved her head c) showed her vagina to the paparazzi d) hit another car in a parking lot and drove away or e) attempted a drugged and hazy "comeback," now things couldn't be more obvious.

You have to give her credit though...unlike most Americans who aren't fit to be parents, Ms. Spears was willing to give up her rights to parentage by refusing to a) admit to twice-weekly drug tests b) sign a form and c) do anything at all required of her by the judge to maintain custody of her children. Thank you Britney, for teaching parents everywhere that, if you decide against an abortion and against adoption, you can always be an alcoholic, drug addicted mess to get rid of your unwanted kids.

Moving on.

Last Tuesday I had the chance -- nay, the honor -- to help set up and attend the Billboard/Yahoo Advertising Week (yes, apparently there is such a thing) concert at B.B. King's in Times Square. The performers were invite-only and included the likes of a few I can't remember, and such notables as Cary Brothers (see Garden State Soundtrack, 'Blues Eyes'), Company of Thieves (see Music That Rocks My Face Off), and Chingy, who singlehandedy revolutionized the way in which I say anything that ends in -ere (see Hurr, Thurr, and Everywhurr).

The setting up was, needless to say, tedious. But I met a guy in the biz, and he seemed keen on helping me find a paying job (woo!) once these internships are over. I got to hang with Cary Brothers for a while, but Chingy was by far the highlight, if for no other reason than his crazy Ebonics. We had about 100 empty boxes by the end of set up and I said sarcastically, "Hey, Chingy, you want some boxes?" To which he replied, "Nah, man, already gotta gaguh boxes." I laughed in his face, which I'm not sure he appreciated, but we talked a bit and he was a surprisingly nice, albeit inarticulate, guy. His posse was also quite hilarious, but quite a bit less witty and intelligent seeming...probably why they're sitting B.B. King's on a Tuesday afternoon and riding on the coattails of they're hugely successful friend.

Anyway...the show started that night, and when I showed up in jeans and a polo, I felt nothing but shame for my foolishness. How could I overlook the fact that this was the previously unknown, but now famed Advertising Week? Didn't I know I needed a suit to go to such a prestigious event? Because of my striking good looks, the bouncer let me by anyway. I got to my table in time to charge my dinner and drinks to the bluhammock (the record company that I work for) tab, and sat to enjoy the show.

After an eventless but solid Cary Brothers performance, an unsigned five-piece band out of Chicago took the stage calling themselves Company of Thieves (myspace.com/companyofthieves). Earlier in the day, during set up, I had immediately fallen deeply in love with Genevieve (I know I know, great name), the band's lead singer, whose quirky and awkward presence both on stage and in person were incredibly endearing. When she took the stage for showtime, however, it was like a new person had metamorphosed from the quiet girl of earlier. When I spoke to her later, she was back in shy/impish mode. But that is all beside the point...

The band, in a word, rocked. Their seamless blend of funk, indie-rock, latin, and jazz influences is incredibly unique, and the free CD I received at the show has been playing on my iPod for a week straight. Check that shit out.

I won't even bother describing Chingy's performance. Though he claims to enjoy playing with a live band better, he was relegated to a DJ and only one stage-posse-member. After a stirring (please note, in today's blog "stirring" should be taken to mean boring, artless, and repetitive) rendition of the hit that put him on the hip-hop and pop-culture map, "Right Thurr," the show ended with hundreds of rich, drunk, white people cheering in appreciation for his complete massacre of what some of us like to call music. I thought Kanye got me over my hatred of hip-hop, but I guess that's not true. That angry, cynical bitterness is still thurr...I mean...there.

Guitar Center Drum-Off 2007

I entered the largest drum-solo competition in the country with nothing but a cloud of pessimism and doubt weighing on my shoulders. "Why bother?" I asked myself. I am simply not a soloist...I've never given a solo in public outside of the pretense of being in a band, and all of my practice revolves around drumming to music, with musicians, or as some means to an end with a band. In this case, I was on my own from the second I took the stage.

The competition, run by Guitar Center, starts store-wide, then goes to the district, the region, and finally the national competition (only 6 drummers make it that far). As I arrived (late) at the Guitar Center in East Brunswick on Wednesday, I was clammy and scared. What if I choked? I had been drilling myself hard for weeks to get my chops up to speed, but what if I just hadn't been able to grow quickly enough? Would I embarrass myself? Would anyone even care that I had played?

I looked around at my competition. A middle aged Russian man, a 300 pound mullet-head, a 19-year-old, a pear-shaped punk drummer, a nice guy named Chris (no complaints about Chris), and an African-American fellow named Ahmed who just exuded confidence and nastiness behind the kit.

Russian guy dropped his sticks twice, mullet was surprisingly agile for his size...and now my turn.

I rolled into the funkiest of grooves, riding the hi-hats and snare with my right hand, the bell with my left hand, and keeping a hip-hop beat with my bass drum. I started out nice a soft, and slowly built up and traded 4s with myself, then 5s, and all the way through 10s until I was crashing on the cymbals every other beat. The crowd went wild, started clapping, and then I stripped it down to a cascara beat (thanks Alejandro), then some Afro-Cuban on the cowbell, and eventually a quick samba. This Latin section was my plan all along, but I wasn't feeling it so I quickly moved on. I know this is all very technical, but the point is, I used some variety and got the crowd going. The solo can only last 3 minutes, and when I am in the zone it's hard to get out. I missed my 30-seconds-left signal, and was brought to an abrupt stop about 10 seconds too soon...before I got to my grand finale of a drum roll on 2 different drums at the same time. A crushing blow!

I spent about 5 minutes after my set crying in the bathroom...no not really! I was disappointed about my poor showing during the Latin section and my lack of finale, but after that wore off I was thrilled! One Guitar Center employee told me I "really brought the funk." Did I have a chance? I don't know, but I was nervous as hell...5 drummers left, and I had raised the bar for them all.

19-year-old was solid, but clearly 19 (3 years makes a big difference), pear-punk did a one handed drum roll (impossible!) and not much else...but Chris and Ahmed blew me away. Great groove, solid chops, original solos. There was no way I could be in the top 2 and advance to the store finals...or was there?

As the judges tallied their votes and I sat satisfied but not confident with my fellow competitors, my nervousness melted into pride. I had given myself a chance...way more than this non-soloist had thought of himself a few weeks ago. Even that morning as I practiced the general ideas that I planned out for myself I couldn't seem to capture the essence of what a solo should be...full of tension and control and finesse. Once I got behind the Guitar Center kit, though, the adrenaline just took over and brought me to my happy place.

As the winners were announced, I wasn't at all surprised to hear that there would indeed be no advancement to the store finals for me. But I was surprised that I wasn't bitter or disappointed (well...only a little). Instead I felt impressed that I had even had the balls to get up there in the first place!

Ahmed and 300-pound-man came in first and second, respectively. Fat guy? Really? Well, OK judges, but I thought this was the Guitar Center Drum-Off, not the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest. I would've been fine getting beaten by Chris, but fat guy? No, I'm not feeling bitter at all.

The Cutting Room

Four months? Do I dare have the audacity...nay...the cojones to just jump right back in as if a long long beat had not been skipped? I have a music blog here, and I went to Bonnaroo, but wrote not a word. In this blog I did not comment on my musical exploits this summer, my decision to pursue music as a career, my undying-and-sort-of-creepy love for John Mayer (and his collaboration with DMB just last week), or any other of the various sonically orgasmic moments that have graced the past four months of my life. Why? I've definitely had the time, and I've definitely thought about doing it. Truth be told, I'm a lazy bastard and I didn't think I would miss it.

But, here we are, all those months later and still I've got things to say. So, to those of you who know this place I proclaim a hearty 'Welcome back!' and to those of you who are just reading this rambling mess for the first time, I say 'Good luck!'

For the past three Mondays (four minus Labor Day), I have been attending a late-night open jam session at The Cutting Room in New York (W 24th b/w Broadway and 6th). It is run by the semilegendary Richie Cannatta, who spent many years as Billy Joel's saxophonist. Between Mr. Cannatta and another frequent visitor, the aforementioned-man-crush John Mayer, I could not resist attending when I found out about the jam from one of the sound engineers at a gig (Porky's in midtown).

So, every Monday at 11:30, I show up at TCR and put my currently meaningless name on a list of about 30 drummers, keyboardists, guitarists, various hornists, and singers in the hopes that the director of the jam, Lisa Miller, will call me up for a tune befitting my listed genres (jazz, funk, blues, classic rock, Latin).

Week 1: The jam begins at midnight, and I am on stage by 2:00am. Unfortunately, some little tart named Meredith requests 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' by Pat Bennatar as the song to "jam" on. Richie looks at my terrified, angry face and asks, "You know 'Hit Me With Your Wet Snot?" At which point I laugh in his face, say of course, sit behind the kit, and make an obviously sarcastic joke about how confident I am that I can "nail this." Nail it I did...if 'it' means my coffin. Note to self and all others who attend the session with me in the future: NO 80s TUNES FOR ME...EVER.

Week 2: The jam begins at half-midnight (12:30am for all you non-Londoners), which is a bit late. I sign up with Lisa, who doesn't remember me at all. 2:30 rolls around and I still have not been called up to play. The house jammers retake the stage, signaling the disappointing end to my night...Doug and I leave lankily and bitterly, respectively.

Week 3: Labor Day...club is dark.

Week 4: The jam begins late, again, at closer to 1:00am. A bad sign for the lesser known jammers, such as myself. I sign up again with the Lovely Lisa, who almost remembers me right off the bat, sort of remembers me when I say that my name is Jake and I'm a drummer, and then really remembers me once I mention 'Hit Me With Your Wet Snot.' I say, "It wasn't really my bag," to which she responds, "Yea...I remember that, too." Lesson of the day: First impressions are important...don't pretend to know a Pat Benatar song when you hate the 80s. Anyway...Lisa announces a disclaimer that she will "try to get everyone up" but not to be mad if we don't make it. I speak with her, she says she'll do her best to get me up, and at 2:45 I have still not taken el stageo (that's Spanish for 'the stage'). I tell Lisa I will be seeing her next week, and drive back to Jersey...in bed by 4:00am, and up again at 8:00 for work. If this is the next 30-50 years of my life, I can't fucking wait.

All of that being said, I am taking reservations from those who wish to accompany me from 12:00-3:00am on Mondays to TCR. Any takers?

P.S. Check out that video at the bottom right of the 'Defensive Britney Spears Fan.' [Note: Video no longer posted] Is that not one of the funniest, most disturbing things you've ever seen? I was going to write an entire post on Britney and her VMA mess, but after seeing that video and the threats to all media personnel who are critical of the poor, poor Ms. Spears, I thought better of it.