Thursday, January 22, 2009

Let Me Roll It #1 - Queen

Let Me Roll It is a new item within the friendly confines of The Queen City Roller. Let Me Roll It is a series of essays, a memoir if you will, of Rock and Roll experiences, brushes with greatness, and defining moments that have shaped a little life.

I spent a lot of time grounded in 1975. Banished to my upstairs room. Left alone to beat myself at Monopoly, Sorry, to dress up like the Green Goblin (I mean I made the whole outfit), or to just listen constantly to the radio. I had one of those all in one stereo set-ups. Turntable folds down, speakers fold out, big tuning knobs to the right. On a good cloudy night, I could pick up Chicago stations. Chicago seemed like a continent away. Really, it was just 10 hours but I was ten so what did I know? I was grounded for a lot of infractions. Flashing the neighborhood girls, peeing on their playhouse, tearing up the neighbor's tree, crapping in their yard, jumping off the television set, lying, being lazy, and really just having a good time being a kid. What else was I going to do?

The radio was always on. Tuned to local FM stations in the day, tuned to them secretly at night while I lie in bed with ginormous, Keith Moon headphones on my head. In 1975, all I really wanted to hear was Queen. I had LP copies of Queen II and Sheer Heart Attack. I played the crap out of them. I pranced around my room dressed in my self fashioned harlequin leotard to "Killer Queen" all the damn time. I had no idea what the hell Moet Chandon was but I really didn't give a shit. I should have taken the act on the road to fifth grade show and tell. By late 1975, the FM dial began playing a new Queen song, "Bohemian Rhapsody." It was the most brilliant thing I had ever heard. Theatrical, expressive, odd, freaky, gigantic.

I was probably the only kid my age who had a subscription to Rolling Stone and I plowed through every issue. I hung pictures and covers on my wall, like any dedicated follower of fandom. I knew everything there was to know about Brian May, Roger Taylor, John Deacon, and Freddie Mercury. My idol. Freddie. I had a pool cue that screwed together and I used the top half as my half-mic stand. Just like Freddie. I wore mom's ballet leotards and fashioned different outfits, just like Freddie. My dad, who owned a record store a few hours away, hadn't sent me my requested copy of Night At The Opera yet so all I did was sit, wait, and flip the fuck out when my song came on. One particular grounded day, it came in spades.

Up in my room I waited. The DJ would spin all the FM hits. I sat on the end of the bed, at my desk, at the window, on the bed, in full Freddie regalia, waiting for my song. It came on, I performed it like a god. Later, it came on again. I freaked out again. A third time later, exhausted from a long, full day of rocking out, I sat on my floor in front of the speakers, my head as far into them as I could go and listened... "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?" I rocked back and forth to the light introduction, paying close attention to the tale of a guilty man. "Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it alllllll awayyyy."

During the big, monstrous, operatic bit I would do as many of the harmonies as I could. I acted out roles. Accuser, bailiff, judge, murderer, Galileo, Figaro. Thunderbolts and lighting were very, very, frightening to me. But I knew what was coming up. I knew that snare crack and the guitar solo were on the horizon. I could feel the surge coming from inside the carpet, into my feet, up to my ass and up my back. I stood up. I grimaced, made a proud peacock pose, and ran to my desk. I opened the drawer, I pulled out my matches, and just as Brian May was well into his solo, I set my bedroom on fire.

Any way the wind blows.
Gong.

ap - 2009


Saturday, January 17, 2009

1st Poll has closed and the votes are in!

The 1st Queen City Roller poll, Who Smelled Bad All the Time?, is officially over. If you voted, you have to feel pretty good about it. Coming in on top, with 60% of the votes is, Lita Ford. Stinking up second the incomparable, Frank Zappa. I've thought ever since the toilet photo that Frank had the stank but I've been proven wrong. So, congrats to you, Lita Ford, for smelling bad all the time. Hey, I didn't say it your public did. In fact one person said, "I'm not surprised."
ap - 2009

The Who

I just watched The Who at Kilburn 1977 dvd and I can tell you that it is unsurpassed. Amazing. What starts off as a shaky "Can't Explain" (the band hadn't performed in over a year together) turns into a monster of a show. Shot with multiple 35mm cameras and remastered in digital surround it almost blew up my simple 27" TV. Pete seems rather pissed off at something and turns his anger into a performance unlike one I've ever seen from him. He looks like he just finished the Empty Glass cover shoot and wandered over to Kilburn eager to keep up with the punks. Which he does in spades. Roger paces in circles. Pete mocks him. Entwistle is surely The Ox. Moon holds the whole thing together. Pundits harp about how out of shape Keith is but I don't buy it. He's a mongrel, canine. He plays with such ferociousness, especially on "My Wife," and the closing moments of "Won't Get Fooled Again" are so cool that I watched it over and over again.

The second disc, with the band playing at the London Coliseum in 1969, is like finding the Holy Grail under the seat of a taxi. It's a monster set featuring the earliest recorded performance on film of a complete performance of Tommy. An amazing and brilliant piece of film.


Thanks to Paul Crowder et al., for bringing this and his Grammy nominated Who doc The Amazing Journey to an eager public in 2008.

For those living in Los Angeles, Paul is playing with Jim Wirt and Brian Coffman (Fools Face) at O'brien's pub in Santa Monica on January 23. They will be performing Tommy and it's a show not to be missed





ap-2009

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Ron Asheton - Sail On You Genius Bastard!

Shit. Ron Asheton died. Dead in his house for days before they found him. Sitting in a chair. No Maltese crosses or guitars in his hands. Sunglasses on? I would hope so. Is there something about getting into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that causes the geniuses to die off just before playing the damn thing? Joe Strummer, I'm thinking of you. Ron Asheton...

The first time I heard The Stooges, I mean the first time I really heard The Stooges, was at Rocko's House of Mirrors. The first Stooges album was blaring from the speakers. Just incendiary! We were all roaming around on some kind of paper. Cooper holding court like a turd holding vinyl. I just sat in front of the speaker and had my mind literally blown. Shot. Exploded into a new way of thinking about the music I loved and a better way to consider the music I would hear in the future. Iggy howling, mad. Scott Asheton, pounding and hurling. The late Dave Alexander rolling a steady bass line. Ron Asheton playing guitar like no one before him. Proto-punk. Bolder MC5. Balls to the fucking walls. Sold!

But enough of this palaver, watch an old Stooges video and remember Asheton.



ap - 2009

Monday, January 5, 2009

Meet the QCR staff!

Welcome, 2009, and welcome all you young dudes and dudesses. We thought it was high time that the reading public got a chance to meet and greet the staff of the Queen City Roller. We're really excited about the year to come. Some of us are still enjoying the holidays a little too much and that person will receive some stern words when they get back to town. In the meantime, consider your resolutions, think about the now, and put on a good record. Time is tight and it's time to get down with the QCR staff.

AP - a long time Queen City resident and former bay area denizen, Alan is your humble editor-in-chief and really likes Indian food. Bottom row, 2nd from right.

JAE - a drummer, a lover of kid's books, a hero, and an all around great girl, Jessie is shoulders over giants.

JE - Jason, top row third from left, is a guitar wizzard, a master of the hammer and nail, and one of our favorite guys. Really, you should meet him.

MH - he's building a guitar, he's reading some books, he's corraling the kids, he's checking things out. He's, Michael

SP - Silky Poplin is a son-of-a-bitch. He's too long on holiday, he's always using the last of the coffee, no one likes his jokes. But, he's a good writer who meets his deadlines. I guess we shouldn't complain.

Whineboy James - 2nd row, 4th from right. Blue shirt. Glasses. A machine that we use like a machine. Oily. Sharp. Goddamn genius.

GH - Gordon is gonna be a daddy! He hosts the Psychedelic Solution on Compound Radio. You can read about that crap here.

WCL - Billy is like a brother to the staff of the QCR. We think he smells real nice and when the weather is fine he's dealing figs and apricots in the park. Figdealer.

Stu Sturgis - artist, guitarist, orangutan.

And rounding out the staff:
Interns Jackie, Mason, and Collete.
M, the queen of rubylithe. (upper left corner)
Boomer and Lowdown, punks with funny names who check our mail and picture rights.
Pascual, Chugga, Lester, Nick, Veronique, Maddy, Topher, and Carol. Here's to the kids in the office.

ap - 2009

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Fall Out Boy already the worst band of 2009

I was at a party on NYE. A great one. Dick Clark's Ryan Seacrest Bigtoothed Bullshit Rockin' Eve Extravaganza beamed silently at us throughout the last hour of 2008. The people in the audience sucked. The other performers sucked. Alan Thicke's son Robin performed! Wow. Some chick had yellow crap on her eyes. The audience looked like robots and still sucked yet again. Fergie and Ryan turned my brain to jello. Then came Fall Out Boy.

What a joke. 2008 wasn't even over and yet they claimed the crown of Worst Act of the Year. Just in the nick. As 2008 rolled over into 2009 there they were again to hold on to that sacred trophy for 365 more days. How do you think they do it? What makes them so bad?

Fall Out Boy are a cartoon. A really bad cartoon. They are what is wrong with music today. Why nothing that the radio plays has any substance. Not that the radio wouldn't mind playing music with meaning and staying power. They are why the major labels breathe with heavy and phlegm filled lungs. A little boy Spice Girl collective of every bad genre that every Wal-Mart in the country can shit out.

Fall Out Boy is a Jason Mraz (now there's a tool) lead singer who can't quite find his voice. An Adrian Brody/Strokes/Neo-Manhattan lead guitarist who wishes he was Mars Volta. Animal on the drums. Not quite Dave Grohl and surely not Chuck Biscuits who despite having no reason to play shirtless, insists on it. He's there to reassure all you Disturbed fans that Fall Out Boy has some balls and some tattoos. Then, there's Pete Wentz. For the love of god someone kidnap him. A mexican drug cartel. Terrorists. The Westminster Dog Show. They don't have to release him, just keep him until my death then let the world get reacquainted with his 15 minutes. He's a wet nap ass with his bogus outfits, his pathetic strumming bass style, and au natural Anthony Keidis good looks. In fact he has all the staying power of a Kiedis rhyming couplet. I hate him.

I guess one of the things I'll have to look forward to besides the inauguration is watching the relative rate of decline of Fall Out Boy.

sp - 2009

Editor's note; It was reported on Jezebel that Pete Wentz has stopped reading blogs because he's tired of being called a "douchebag." We didn't call him that but wish we had!