Welcome to January 20th, 2017. Welcome to the future.
I believe music offers the power to heal scars, ignite fires, prop up lost and weary souls. I’ve always resisted doing a weekly recommended column because there are just so damn many. Everyone has a record to recommend. But I’m not everybody. You’re not everybody else.
I’ve consistently promoted the notion that Pitchfork is not the quality controllers of the alt-whatever music business. Now more than ever, in fact, I believe that Pitchfork is off it’s f’ing rocker. Find the voices in music blogging and bl-gging that resonate on your frequency. Discovering new music is not a solitary exercise done in the dark corners of your room while nobody is looking. Discovery is a collaboration between dozens… nay… hundreds of different voices. I read three or four blogs every week. From those investigations and my own haphazard listening, I’ll bring forth at least one record per week that’s worth your time. Maybe it’s not your new favorite. And that’s perfectly fine, but I guarantee it’ll be at least worth the time. You won’t have to be that person wandering around lamenting that nobody releases good music anymore. They do. It’s here. I’ll share it with you.
30Hz New Music Radar: Cherry Glazerr
L.A. noise pop outfit loves a good guitar drone with splendid cacophony, but Cherry Glazerr also can’t resist a great hook when the mood strikes.
Cherry Glazerr released a debut album in 2014. Since then, however, Clementine Creevy’s bandmates jumped ship. The new lineup consists of Creevy, Tabor Allen on drums and Sasami Ashworth on synths. The revamped trio brings a more focused brand of self-aware cherry-stained punk-pop that totters on the bring of self-control. It’s loud, guitar-driven music for square-ish punks.
Sample tracks:Nurse Ratched, Trash People, Humble Pro
Today is a day. Today is a day like any other. In Pittsburgh, the sky is overcast with intermittent rain shows. The temperature hovers around 40 degrees. This is what happens in January. Sometimes it snows and wrongly convinces us all that January is not always gloomy in Western Pennsylvania.
A Writer’s Manifesto
Right now, just a few hours south, the inauguration of our 45th President of the United States ushers in an era that more closely approximates something out of George Orwell, Aldous Huxley or, well, Mike Judge — who perhaps most correctly predicted this day in the prescient documentary Idiocracy. Somewhere Three Doors Down is playing in celebration of something. That alone warrants concern.
But I’m not here to engage in any kind of political or ideological discussion. Not right now. This is more about how we react as artists. We’ve probably Tweeted and Re-Tweeted, shared Facebook posts, and even made some of our own. Is that the best use of our talents? Is that the best use of our creative energy?
In the time since the election, I’ve been wading through a swamp of disbelief. Guess what? There’s no drain in a swamp. A swamp just is. I’d love nothing more than to pull the plug on this shitshow. It’s not that easy. We can’t bury our head in the rising tide of muck and filth. And we can’t just hope it all dries up.
As artists, we cannot be sent into a tailspin of malaise. Use this anger and anxiety. Use this hatred and passion. CREATE. WRITE. PAINT. Do whatever it is that poets do. (I kid.) Use this to inspire yourself to pick up your pen and do what you love. What you set out to do. Exact change through your artistic contributions. Now for a writer’s manifesto, a personal statement about how I plan to endure.
So today, on January 20th, 2017 and for the foreseeable future, I vow to do the following:
Respect the Presidency but refuse to respect the man elected president. And for the record, I did not like George W. but I still respected him as a man that always intended to do right by his country.
I will not say his name. I will call him Captain Cuntmonkey or Senior Pendejo. Coming up with the most creatively derogatory names as a regular mental exercise.
I will not legitimize. Never legitimize. The man is a cartoon gerbil and should be treated as such. This is not normal.
When all this gets you down, write more.
Put something of yourself out in this world rather than retreat inward. Be bold. Allow yourself freedom from your inner critic. Trust your instincts. Surround yourself with good people and trust their instincts. Collaborate.
Join me in ushering in an era of personal accomplishment and creative entitlement. Our collective, creative renaissance begins today. This is our Resistance.
The 2nd Annual 30/007Hz First Watch Hertzie Nominations
According to my Letterboxd.com stats sheet, I watched 245 movies last year, give or a take a bunch of live tweets I forgot to log. 74.7% of those viewings were new to me. My first new watch of 2016 was Melvin and Howard, my final — Gods of Egypt.
Last year, inspired by my growing malaise during Hollywood award season, I started my own annual tradition. I created nominations and awards dedicated to any movie I watched during the past year. Any year, any genre. The First Annual Hertzie Awards became an Interweb sensation! All of approximately four people eagerly awaited the results, which I broadcast on Twitter during the actual Academy Awards. That big Hertzie victory for Slither (1973) really surprised the pundits and turned the tables on a number of sure-thing Hertzie pools.
I apparently had enough fun with my Oscars counterprogramming that I’m back for more in 2017. That said, I’m still rather tired of the hoopla and noise over films made largely to win awards. Also self-perceived and false-fronted bl-gging fame. I’m driven by all those things. And just like last year, let’s kick off the festivities with our very own Hertzie girl, Myrna Loy, looking divine, ready to read the 2nd Annual 30/007Hz Hertzie Award nominees.
I’m continuing my bl-g series devoted to bringing back the spirit of the mixtape. This past Wednesday I found inspiration in the song played at the end of my yoga practice. Though “practice” may be a bit of misnomer with me lately. Jen always plays a killer song during cool down. This particular evening she ended …