Foreplay/Long Time

Yes, I know. It's been almost two weeks since I last posted, and that is completely unacceptable. No amount of excuses can possibly justify this ridiculous absence. It's simply easier for me to say that I've been lazy. So let me try and make it up to you right now. I now present you with something I like to call

MORE THAN A FEELING

Boston are easily the most frustrating band I have ever heard. Now, I realize that's a bold claim to make in a world where Rolling Stone Magazine listed Linkin Park's Minutes to Midnight as the 25th best album of 2007, Weezer sill exist, and people actually find Devendra Banhart intriguing, but really admitting that these artists got under my skin the way a band like Boston does would be giving them all far to much credit. While I cannot fathom how anyone managed to convince Geffen to launch such a massive marketing campaign for Weezer's third album, I can generally ignore them. As for Linkin Park and Rolling Stone I need merely point out that same list also included Maroon 5, Down, The most recent Smashing Pumpkins album, Fall Out Boy, and Britney Spears. It also listed Devendra Banhart, who is (in the Farm Team's opinion) not only vacuous and boring, but also the poorest excuse for a poet since Jim Morrison posthumously defecated in a Paris bathtub.

All of these things are merely trivial issues that are barely worth mentioning save for the purposes of comparison. My problem with Boston is infinitely deeper and more troubling than one might first suspect. It calls into question everything I hold true about Rock n' Roll and thus threatens to shake lose the firm grip I believe to have on anything remotely resembling a reality. The problem is I actually like Boston. Now, to the unassuming reader that might seem like nothing more than a mere guilty pleasure. Let me assure you it is anything but.

However, in order to go further I must now take a few steps back. First, I need to put some things into context. I grew up in southeast Tennessee, right on to boarders of Alabama, Georgia, and North Carolina. This is what I would like to affectionately refer to as "Skynyrd Country." The only radio stations within a 200 mile radius were Classic Rock and Country. Clearly the classic rock station would be the lesser of two evils. Of course at the time that's not at all how I looked at it. Classic Rock was the greatest music I had ever heard and KZ106 was the only radio station I ever wanted to listen to. This is how I discovered Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, The Band, Neil Young, The Who, ZZ Top, Foghat, Foreigner, Journey, REO Speedwagon, Styx, Van Halen, Guns N Roses, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jethro Tull, Yes, Kansas, Grand Funk Railroad, The Eagles, The James Gang (and thus Joe Walsh), Peter Frampton, Santana, Rush, Steppenwolf, the Guess Who, Thin Lizzy, AC/DC, The Doors, Deep Purple, Blue Oyster Cult, Aerosmith, Cream, Jimi Hendrix, The Allman Brothers, and of course Boston. The funny thing is now I can't stand 75% of those bands, but from about 1988 (the first year I actually remember being aware of what year it was) until about 1999 I believed in the power of classic rock. Incidentally, I purposely left out three incredibly important artists, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Black Sabbath because I discovered the Beatles through my parents and wasn't introduced to Dylan or Sabbath until I got to college.

Having said all that, It's important to note that I was never a huge fan of Boston. I liked them, but never have I owned any of their albums, including their self-titled debut (except for one highly scratch vinyl copy of said debut that once ordained the wall of my kitchen). I mention this record because it single-handedly embodies everything that I love and hate about Boston, and therefore represents in physical form that which may in fact prove that Descartes was totally wrong and we cannot, in fact, prove our own existence or really know anything ever. Of the eight songs on Boston's first album, three of them were top 40 hits and six of them still maintain moderate rotation on any given Classic rock station in the United States. Never mind the fact that guitarist Tom Scholz had (and I suppose still does) a Masters Degree in Mechanical Engineering from MIT, and with that knowledge built his own equipment, including his own distortion pedal which gave Boston their easily definable guitar tone, and thus influenced the sound of nearly every hair metal guitarist throughout the 1980s.

This is where problems start to arise. While I legitimately enjoy an occasional listen to the songs on Boston's first album whenever they so happen to be played on a bar jukebox or from the stereo of Greg's old Ford Escort, I also understand that Boston undoubtedly represent everything wrong with commercial music and the bastardization of Rock n' Roll. Not only did they have a profound influence on the worst musical decade of the last century, but they also embodied the very of essence of that which is Corporate Rock. They were gear freaks and thus constructed a perfect sound that was prefabricated for stadiums and arenas. Boston may have played the club circuit, but it wasn't for very long. From the moment "More Than a Feeling" debuted on top 40 stations across America in 1976, Boston were selling out coliseums.

Also, let me point out that Boston's first album came out a year before Punk broke. This is in no way a coincidence as Punk was, at it's core, a rebellion against everything Corporate Rock stood for. It was about bringing music back to the close personal vibe found only in a dirty cramped and crowded club with no AC. It was about not making people pay an outrageous sum to see their favorite band play live. It was about making people get down and dance or bang their head or jump around or whatever they needed to do to express themselves. I mean, I realize I'm idealizing a lot of this, but really isn't that what it was supposed to stand for? It was about bringing Rock n' Roll back down to earth. One look at the cover of that first Boston album and you understand Punk happened because Boston happened.

How can I legitimately enjoy Boston if they represent everything I hate? What does that mean? Are there no absolutes in this world? Is nothing sacred? If I can like something that, on principle alone, I vehemently despise, then does that mean that love and hate are the same thing? How is that possible? How can I love something I hate? How can they be the same? If love and hate are the same then up and down must be the same too. Left and Right. Black and White. East and West. Real and Imaginary. Nothing is as it should be. Everything is the same and different at the same time. I know nothing. I understand nothing. I am nothing.

Fast Forward to the present. There I am, curled up in the fetal position naked, clutching that old copy of Boston I used to own and crying uncontrollably as the cold water from my shower relentlessly pelts me in the face, my tears mixing with the water and swirling helplessly down the drain with all my dreams and hopes for a better future. I don't know anything anymore. Nothing is real to me anymore. The very fabric of my comprehension has been torn a sunder and I am left but the fragile shell of a man who once believed he understood what it meant to love Rock n' Roll.

Chart Watch: Kenny G

It's been a while since I've done one of these so I thought I'd make up for it with something completely ridiculous. For those of you who are new to this blog, you'll find a complete explanation about what you are about to read here. Otherwise, please enjoy one of the dumbest things I've ever read in my life. By the way, the previous owner of this book circled this particular entry, as if to say "yes, I am intrigued about the potential dangers this artist might present to my children." I also would like to preemptively point out that "ultramellow" is not a word.

Title: Breathless (1992)
Label: Arista
Genre: Jazz/Adult contemporary

Pro-Social Content: Only two songs on this mostly instrumental album contain lyrics. Both are romantic ballads, sung by soul artists Peabo Bryson ("By the Time This Night Is Over") and Aaron Neville ("Even If My Heart Would Break"). Neville's tune pledges a deep and everlasting love despite circumstances.

Objectionable Content: Bryson, on the other hand, hopes that "two lovers... will be together in the morning" without explaining whether or not they're married.

Summary/Advisory: Virtuoso saxophonist Kenny G's first album in four years features ultramellow instrumental sounds. A light collection of romantic mood music that is sure to be enjoyed by a wide audience—including some teens.

Holy shit.

Jay Reatard at Mercy Lounge

"Hey man, kill the fuckin' Indian buffet music!" And without waiting for his order to be carried out, Jay Reatard tore into the first of an estimated 13 song set that lasted maybe 20 minutes. While that might seem oddly short, it was actually rather appropriate, especially when you know that Reatard NEVER STOPPED PLAYING. With spit flying and head banging, Reatard played so ferociously that 20 minutes may as well have been two hours.

A high school drop-out, 27-year-old Reatard (born Jay Lindsay), got his start on Goner Records in Memphis, Tenn, and has been making his own brand of dirty garage rock, in one form or another, for the better part of 10 years. It's starting to pay off too, as Reatard made the cover of this month's Memphis Flyer, and Spin Magazine recently called Reatard the "Next Garage-Punk Prodigy."

Reatard's cocky attitude and face-crushing live performances have, in a way, already become legendary. Take the following video of his performance at Silver Dollar in Toronto on April 17 for example.



As gnarly (yes, gnarly) as that looks, it turns out Reatard had his reasons for being so pissed. Here's what he had to say about the whole ordeal.

Having seen and read all of this before the show, I was pretty pumped. As a matter of fact, I was kind of hoping to see someone get kicked in the face. Alas I had to settle for seeing the bass player catch a rogue loogie in the crotch from Reatard himself. That's not to say the show was in any way disappointing. Far to the contrary, Reatard's ball-busting no frills rock n' roll delivered the goods like a steaming hot pizza, in 30 minutes or less. I honestly couldn't tell you a damn song the guy played because for one, I wasn't too terribly familiar with Reatard's most recent album, Blood Visions, and also because I was so close to the stage that I couldn't hear the the PA over the brain-rattling thunder emanating from the amplifiers. This in no way prevented me (or anyone else, for that matter) from joining in the fist-pumping action. After 20 minutes, I was sufficiently rocked.

Earth at the Dame/Springwater

Earth are probably the single most important band you've never heard of. This is not surprising as their slow, glacial sludge style of instrumental Metal took more than 10 years to catch on. The story of Earth is not unlike that of the diligent tortoise who eventually finds victory over the hasty hare. Through diligence and dedication to his belief that slower is heavier, front man Dylan Carlson has managed to invent his own genre of metal, called Drone, a genre that is already beginning to change the very definition of Heavy Metal.

In those 10 years, Carlson, who originally formed the band in Olympia, Wash., saw his influence everywhere, and witnessed the quick success of his peers, but saw little recognition for his efforts. One might argue that without Dylan Carlson, the whole of the Seattle Grunge scene would have sounded drastically different. Unfortunately, Carlson may also be partially responsible for one of the most defining and tragic moments in rock n' roll of the past 20 years, as he purchased the shotgun with which Kurt Cobain committed suicide.

Then in 2005, just as a whole new string of bands like Sunn O))), Boris, Om and the whole of the Southern Lord label were wearing Earth's influence on their sleeves, the band dropped the distortion from their sound and replaced it with a country twang. This is the Earth I witnessed on April 27 and 28.

The first night was at the Dame in Lexington, Ky. Locals, Tight Leather (who once played Bread & Bagel), opened the show with some psychedelic surf-infused noise rock. Were there a spectrum of almost infinite scale upon which Pink Floyd were at one end and Man... or Astroman at the other, Tight Leather would find themselves at the dead center. With some late-60s-style visuals projected from an off stage laptop set up, the band brought the only high energy performance of the evening.

Earth were of course, a whole different beast all together. Like the tortoise, Earth were in no hurry to finish their set, or for that matter, any one song. This was as calculated a performance as I've ever seen. Playing material from their recently released The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull, Earth proved that patience is indeed a virtue, even within the realm of Heavy Metal. Most bands tend to play their live material somewhat faster even if only slightly. Such was not the case with Earth, who seemed to take great pride in their effortless however deliberate pace.

This was much the same story the following night at Springwater, in Nashville. The show was again opened by a local band, Hollow Ox, who were a fantastic combination of Post Rock and Post Punk, and yet another band clearly demonstrating Earth's vast influence over modern music.

Earth's performance was more or less same as the night before, right down to the setlist. This is also pretty much what I expected. So why go see a band two nights in a row when I'm 97% the two shows will not differ in the slightest? Because when will I ever have the chance to see a band like Earth twice in a row? Probably never, that's when.

The result from both nights was an audience of mostly long-haired guys in black t-shirts slowly nodding their heads in unison. Of course, this is also exactly what I expected to find. One does not go to an Earth show to get their face rocked off, but rather for the experience of seeing something much more rare; that of a band who refuse to be be effected by the ever quickening pace of the world around them. This is why Earth matters. Because of Dylan Carlson's unaltered belief that what he is doing is important enough to keep doing, he has not only outlasted his peers, but found a greater form of success than any of them. Carlson may not be famous, but he is leaving a deep mark on heavy metal in a way that is redefining the genre even as you read this.