FLASHBACK:

I wish I could tell you I was there in the beginning. That I saw Black Flag’s original lineup or FEAR play in a crappy club. I didn’t grow up in an urban city setting on the lower east side. I wish I did from the stories I read. No… I grew up in a small town. Always feeling alien and alone. I never belonged to a club or felt like part of the norm. No, in this small town, I was the kid in the back of the class who identified more with Luke Skywalker than I did with anyone in the class.

Then the day came when my family moved to a bigger town. I guess I should have been excited. There were girls I didn’t know, my school had actual electives instead of just “agriculture for boys and homemaking for girls” (seriously) and the first day of school in this new city, my shoes got stolen from my locker. While I was stoked to have an actual crime happen to me, I quickly realized that I was still going nowhere and still the quiet kid in the back of the class.

All that changed when a lanky kid with a shaved head named Paul Nasty walked into my 9th grade class and borrowed a pencil… Instead of using it to write notes, he drew band logos all over his book. When he gave the pencil back after class, I asked him about the drawings. “Just a bunch of punk bands” he said. I asked him to make me a tape. “Really?” he said. “Really”.

When I got the tape, it said “Kreator” on it. He said it was his brother’s cassette and he just taped over it. There was no song list. I took it home eagerly and went into my room, closed the door, inserted it into my portable jambox and waited… After a few seconds a wall of sound hit the speakers and the most chaotic noise I had ever heard came to life. I wasn’t sure what it was. But it changed my life. I listened to the whole thing without stopping. Some was better than most, but one thing was for sure… I had never heard this before, and I knew I was changed.

Hearing songs about being an outcast. Hearing songs about being different and not complacent about where you were. The drive an energy of someone who is screaming “NO” as loud as they can over a set of speakers. This is what I needed. I remember hearing certain songs and saying “yes… I need that. Yes this is me.” And just like that I was a fan. I never looked back, and although my appearance has gone from weird kid with no fashion sense, to punk rocker, to bootboy hooligan, back to man with no fashion sense… I have never stopped supporting and believing in the music that I loved.

PRESENT DAY

Punk Rock… to me… has always been about this. To me, Punk has always been no holds barred, do what you feel, a voice that never backs down. It has been a voice of empowerment, giving strength to those who have always sought it out.

So what I don’t understand… is how over the decades… the music I love has become a hotbed for the “ists” in life. (I can just imagine the hate mail now) You know what I mean… “the feminisits, the anarchists, the occupyists” not to mention the anti capitalists, anti big business, anti steroetype, pro PC… etc.. you get the idea. It seems that people have been so against the man, they become so “anti facist” they build a set of rules for a genre and subculture that had no rules to begin with… and again… I become alien.

I flip through a popular punk rock zine. The most popular one, in fact I don’t even have to name it if you know anything about punk rock you know which one I’m talking about… and I see this article that finally pissed me off for the last time.

The article is about “not getting called out”. So I’m thinking. “Cool an article about not being fake, standing your ground and not getting called out for being a poser or something right?”

Nope.

The article is about one girl, who has noticed in her “community of punks” that people have a habit of saying the wrong things  and putting their foot in their mouth. She mentions an example about a person saying they don’t like chick singers and then everyone labels him a sexist. Instead of saying “Wow… maybe he just has a preference and can’t find any girl singers he likes” she gives a set of steps so the guy can recover and apologize for offending people. NO SHIT… I had to laugh. You want to know the steps don’t you? Here they were: 1)Breathe 2) shut up and listen to what people are trying to tell you 3) Kill your intentions dont cling to them 4) assume their intentions are good 5) Ask, seize the opportunity to make amends and learn 6) Learn and reflect…. yup what kind of bullshit is that?

Seriously… what kind of bullshit is THAT? This is not the music I grew up with, this is not the genre I love or the subculture I know. When did we turn ourselves into a quivering set of eunuchs? When did punk lose it’s balls and power to shake shit up and not apologize? If I don’t like chick singers, maybe it’s cause I like a certain song better with gruff vocals (I love chick singers by the way I’m just saying) If I think something is stupid, why can’t I say it and be proud. I eat meat. I don’t care. I drink like a fish. I don’t care. I like girls and fast music and I believe in capitalism because I think that indie bands should be free to make as much money as they deserve. I hate censorship of any kind… and that includes censorship of each other. I would never censor this girl, but I also have the right to rebuttal her idiotic article, and call it idiotic.

We as a society have let things go to far. We are so worried about being what we hate, we became what we hate… self censoring jackasses that follow the crowd. If that is your definition of “punk” you can have it. I’m going to go listen to my FEAR cd now.

Without hashing too much of it again… but totally for set up purposes, here is the gist: In 2009, my band THE LOVELETTER met a girl who was dating our drummer who appeared intelligent and with it, claimed to be in the know about bands, so we asked her to be our manager. After a 6 month honeymoon period, things began to go south with this person, as they proved not capable of promoting, pushing her client (us), and the band became subject to being bumped on lineups, schedules, and even overlooked on shows altogether when said person got a job booking at a local venue. While this was recently all settled with this now “promoter”, the band gets bumped one more time recently, and I taking it as the last straw, declare to not work with or drink at that venue again or work with that person. There is a lot more to the story, but this… is the main core of it, this is not a surprise to the “promoter” as I have addressed this with them before.

Because I have stated I will no longer frequent this bar, a shitfire of opinions have since been raised. My inbox and comments have been flooded with comments and similar stories, I have somehow become a spokesperson for live artists and a bane for venues and “promoters”. This has led to a ton of things I feel the need to say… not out of this particular instance, (because I am sure some people will read too much into it) but because as performers and people in the industry, you got to know the rules or make up your own. So without further ado… here they are… my set of beliefs and rules that if everyone followed… would make everything easier.  I figured I would take this time as my pages will be smoking hot the next few days with trolls looking for aftermath.

THE BURNING BRIDGES MANIFESTO

VENUES:

We get it. You’re main focus point is to make money. If you don’t make money in your bar… why bother? Hey man, I ain’t knocking that, I am encouraging it. But if you want to make money with live music, you have to do a few things. Treat your bands good, a free bar tab or beer tickets go a long way (kudos to the former bar I would play at for this, this was always nice) A guest list since the bands get the door anyway, and if you want to make money on live music, you have to act like it, which means you have to do some promoting besides leaving it up to the band or “promoter” and if you want to book the same bands over and over, make it a house cover band, don’t keep booking the same original band lineup every two weeks. But I understand you are in the bar biz not the band biz, so you’ll want to work with good promoters, but please… if you put one on the payroll… make sure they know more than 5 bands.

PROMOTERS:

I’ve been playing music live since 1994. Yup. Beepers were popular and the Cowboys were a winning team. In that time I have met a few GOOD promoters. They are: Joe and Crystal from Right Brigade, Evil Ritchie from DMK, Pedro from DCM, and those cooky DelaGarza boys. I may be forgetting some but those were the ones that stuck out year after year, putting rent money up for a cause they believed in and booking tight bands knowing they may or may not make their money. God… I miss these people.

Nowadays, all you have to be to be a “promoter” is the middle man, hooking up show with venue, and no out of pocket (if there is you’re doing it wrong). But there really is more to being a promoter. You have to be aware of what I stated above, you can’t keep booking the same acts (and if you do you need to rotate the lineup order every show) and if you don’t know more than 8 bands because your super former client introduced you to them, then you need to go make your own connections, get out of your comfort zone and take a chance on things you believe in. If you bump your bands repeatedly, book them for the same gig after gig they feel like they are on groundhog day, and complain about the stress of it, I really doubt you are capable or ready to handle a bigger band or client when you have to have something on the line. The last time I booked a show for a touring band, I paid triple digits out of pocket and the other bands agreed not to get paid so the touring band would have money to get to the next destination. If you bump something or decide to quit the show because it’s too much trouble or you don’t want to deal with it, you have no heart. And maybe you’re better off as a spectator. There’s nothing wrong with spectators… they are in my manifesto too.

MANAGERS:

If you are a manager. Your core existence is taking care of your client and help raise up the band. If they make money, you make money,if they get popular, you get popular, as a manager, you are officially part of the band, so when you start dealing with others and put your own client last (if at all) then you’re not fulfilling your job that you agreed to do. A good manager knows what a “conflict of interest” is. So one should be careful of taking booking jobs that will conflict with their current client. This is not a new business concept. Ad companies, vendor companies, and even fast food chains do it with soda products. I’m leaving this brief, because since managers are a great luxury, I have yet to meet one who can walk the walk.

BANDS:

OK here we go… the last 24 hours, my inbox has been flooded with requests, well wishes and “right ons” from other musicians and former bands around the local area. There are so many of you who are behind the choice I made to stop performing and frequenting this bar for a principle. While this is cool, the one thing I can’t shake is “I’m just doing what everyone else is thinking”.

Guys, we need to stand up for ourselves. We need to let people know that what we do is badass and worth it. We have succumbed to a society where facebook apathy and laziness has prevailed. We need to make it cool and exciting to see a show again and we need to give people a reason to keep coming out. These days, the modern fan is a lazy ass. They don’t need to buy cd’s they can rip it off the internet, they are so busy trying to pose for cool pictures in their restroom to post to facebook (or those pictures they took themselves that try to look like they didn’t take it themselves) to care about you. You need to up your price and your value. If the bars or promoters don’t want to pay it, go onto the next, if there is no next, either rent your own venue or go out of town. This is what I do. It’s fucking awesome and liberating to have this. When people do call, make sure it is what you want, not what they want. Other people will walk over you if they can. It takes guts to do what you do and damned it, go do it. I hate to tell this to you, but no one gives a shit about your band, you have to go and make them give a shit, you have to break out of your comfort zone and leave this city behind. It’s way more liberating to play a show in Houston where no one knows you and hear “great show I enjoyed it” from one person than a hundred of your friends sucking your junk because they have to. Trust me on this. No one got famous playing Victoria, all anyone gets is “Big Fish Small Pond syndrome” and then you only end up disappointed when the cool train leaves.

FANS, SPECTATORS, and EVERYONE ELSE.

This place and scene wouldn’t be possible without you. So grow up and go to a show. No one cares about your FB status (you’re not me) and its better than staying home complaining about your town. Your best friends and colleagues play music that would blow you away if you just listened. Holy shit you are missing out.

PEOPLE ON MY FACEBOOK, TWITTER, OR ANY OTHER SOCIAL NETWORK SITE

For the love of fucking Satan, please do not preach to me about music or your opinions on my space. Especially if you disagree with me. You can’t change my mind, you will lose your argument and Jesus says you are stupid. God must love Stupid… because you jerks are everywhere trying to argue with me on a spot of the internet I moderate (just like this blog dumbass)

What I hate are the moral people who tell me since I am a musician I should like all types of music, This is like telling a chef he should like taco bell. Just because it’s edible doesnt mean it won’t give you the shits. Seriously people.

You can call me childish because I refuse to accept your views, but remember… every social bio I post, I say I am a jerk, so you coming in here and trying to change me is like my 1st wife doing the same thing. I am a 6 year old who drinks… who’s the real asshole?

I don’t like dubstep. So what… fucking sue me. The fact I was bumped for a dubstep show was unfortunate but I also don’t feel the need to stifle my previous comments since they were directed at a genre. I also don’t like new country, Celine Dion, Micheal W Smith, Lil Wayne, Canadian whiskey or domestic beer. If you want a list of the things I don’t like, it’s too long, so please for the love of God, unfriend me or block me if it’s that big of a deal to you. Trying to tell me what to do well only get you a snarky remark, your feelings hurt and all my friends laughing at you… again.

So in closing. Bickering on the internet is stupid. My bad! But look at this awesome post I just wrote… guess it wasn’t all bad.

TIM= 1

World= 0

The New Year is funny though. I was telling Brea yesterday about the odometer effect. The weird need to pay attention when the counter resets itself. Measuring things in lengths of time (a minute, hour, day, month, year) is important, but how we pay attention to it is weird. Humans have the need to want to reinvent themselves. It’s like they aren’t happy with the bad choices they make, or they have brushes with mortality. On a night like NYE, people just want to make resolutions to change what’s wrong in their life, they want to address the things they aren’t doing for themselves, and make pledges to rectify that. The couples get gleeful and smooch, and the down on his luck loner in the corner watches the ball drop in the corner of the party, making the crowd noise envelop him like a deprivation tank… they both tell themselves the same thing every New Year eve… “This will be my year”.

It never happens. There is no magic. Things don’t magically appear at midnight, no revelations get made or anything special. More often than not, they forget the pledges they made to themselves (especially if they are emotional ones) by Monday.

That being said… it’s never happened to me. Yup… I’m hateful and mean everyday, another year won’ t change anything. All it’s going to do is keep me awesome.

Because of this, I have found most drummers to be unique people, playing for the love of music, loving their craft, and doing things that will make them stand out because this is the life they have chosen. I am proud to say this unique spirit has caused me to befriend most of my drummers in bands past to be great personal friends, of which I am pretty confident to say, I have maintained great friendships with.

When I started the Stout City Luchadores back up… I did so cautiously. I had to. The band was everything I wanted in a punk band when I started it. I remember my ex telling me she would leave me if I started a band with such a stupid name and idea (nope don’t miss that one) and the band went on to do some great shows. It was hard too, because when I ressurected the project, I found myself replacing the old members with new ones, and I was really good friends with all the old members especially my old Luchadore drummers Danny White and Chris Benson who became extremely close to my life in 2005-08.

Looking for a drummer was hard, my first choice was drumming ninja James Williams but he was busy with The Revival and Set Trip, I knew that his schedule wouldn’t allow for a third band that was going to have a tight schedule as well. I looked for others, Paul Nasty, Aaron Puffer, and even considered calling up Benson again, but knew that they were all busy with other commitments at the time, and while I really wanted to bring this awesome punk rock band back to life, I was worried that this would be the time the fucking “Drummer Thing” would finally beat me.

Then Trent Jones walked into my life.

I met Trent in college that year. We were both in the jazz combo. He talked to me as much as he talked to the others, so I thought he was a cool cat, but never really much of a close friend. One day in desperate need to fill this spot, I decided to ask him to try out, not expecting much or that he would even be interested. To my surprise he was, and he came to a practice.

Trent nailed practice, I could see Brea’s hesitation since we didn’t really know him and bands are usually close knit groups for us, but we took him in (or he took us in who keeps track) because we knew to get this project off the ground we needed a dependable drummer with his own gear and a sense of commitment.

Something happened in those last few months… The band started to click, and we began to play like the devil. The more we played and relaxed, the more Trent became etched into our group. His ability to fit in with any group of people, make them at ease and chillax attitude made him more than a likable guy, it made him a good friend.

We always knew he was going to leave. He put that out there since the start. He’s going to college to pursue his degree. We will miss him. He’s not just a great drummer, he has proven to be a great friend. He’s never missed a practice or a show, and he has never missed an opportunity to act out, become a spectacle, or have a good time. It would be selfish and greedy for us not to with him well (but we guilt tripped him as much as we could).

Aaron  from Poor Favor has agreed to step in for awhile until we can find a new permanent solution. Just like that, the “drummer thing” starts all over again.

Good Luck Trent.

Trent

When I was a kid. I used to like them a lot. There was a magic about it, my parents have always tried to keep that magic, I am envious of them for that.

It has become apparent to me in recent years, with all the trials and tribulations that I have gone through, that I am not in the same boat. I’m sure I could watch a movie or some network tv show about Christmas that is tailored to try to get some sort of emotion out of me, but it is hard when I know that that movie or television show is not really meant to do that, but for me to buy something.

Don’t get me wrong, the economy needs you guys to go out and spend money. But I just feel like this season is turning sour for all the wrong reasons. Businesses don’t care about us, they care about their bottom line. And the majority of people are only concerned with what they want and not what they need. I’m not talking about those people who bitch and moan about the vacuum they got over the flat screen they wanted (but I sort of am too) but I am also talking about the need of human kindness.

We need that more than ever. More suicides happen this time than any other year, and your worried about your flat screen TV or new electronic Nook you want as a gift. You go to the malls and literally fight traffic and people for the biggest deal. And then on Christmas, you give these gifts out and secretly judge others on what they give you. Do things change? No. Is the world a better place? No.

I used to have really high hopes for people. Now I see I live in a world where they complain what is on cable and how their favorite sports team is doing…. and people wonder why I like punk rock so much or will spend so much time trying to buck the system. Why I would rather spend my time making music, or writing sad dark stories about people in awful situations. It is a reflection of what is around me. The more I learn about others, the more turned off I am. I’ve worked retail, and seen both sides of the customer (having been one as well) I’ve seen the perfectly nice housewife turn into a psychotic when it comes time to shop for others. I’ve seen parents so afraid if their child will reject them for not giving the right gift.

How do we change that? How do we change the reasons for what we do? I have. I choose not to participate in this celebration of human greed, cruelty and menace. It is a shame no one else does. People talk about doing good. No one can walk the walk. So I say… Scrooge was right in a sense. Only this time, I am Scrooge.  But I am not the greedy evil man. Everyone else is.

Chew on that.

T hat night ended with Brea almost decking some broad in a conversation over music (Brea: these songs are stupid they’re all about cheating and money and cars people don’t have. Woman in bar: well what else is there to sing about?) The creme de la creme though, was when the line dancing started. The whole place looked like it was doing one big choreographed nightmare… Brings me back to my first experience with it…

It was like 2003 or maybe 2002. I was talked into going to this birthday party at a local bar/club. Well, I wasn’t really talked into going, you see there was this girl who sat in my cubicle row at my job at the time that I wanted to seal the deal with. She was cute, bubbly, talkative, a little too good to be true, but I knew she had a flaw, mostly because she was so into going into this local bar/club. The place was not my cup of tea, as a matter of fact, no self respecting punk rocker would be caught dead in there…. but hey, she was cute right? So I go to this party

The first thing about this club I notice is that, well there’s a dress code, I can’t stand dress codes. I didn’t like them in school and I damn sure don’t like them in my adult life. Why should I have to dress to someone else’s standards to drink or try to get laid? It makes no sense. I am a fan of getting what you pay for, if I pick someone up in a bar, you kind of want to know what you’re getting into. That means, I don’t think I should have to put on slacks, tuck my shirt in or not wear a cap backwards.

Bars are a beautiful thing. They are social gathering places. Every band I have ever had has been thought of and recruited in bars, most great revolutions have come from bars, hell the podcast was created after a night out at a show… so why would I bother to go to a place where I have to change my style of clothes and actually pay to get in? As PT Barnum said… “There’s a sucker born every minute”

So I pay my way in, before looking for the birthday group, I stop at the main bar. It’s a nice looking place (it better be for the price I paid to get in) so I saunter up to the bartender who is a good looking gal in a bikini top, and ask her for a Guinness. She laughs “We don’t serve GUINNESS here sir, this is a country bar.” So, I say “OK can I get a Lone Star?” she laughs again. “No sir… this is a nice bar.” Turns out “nice country bars:” only serve Budweiser, Bud Light or Miller Lite… in other words… shitty beer. So I ask for a Jack Daniels on the rocks. She says… “nothing to mic it with?” “No ma’aam… I’m a a man”

I finally get to the party area. They are all there… people are actually surprised to see me… things are going ok. The girl I was talking about was there. She says hello, we talk and drink, I finish mine and have another… letting the alienation I feel either settle for a bit, or drink until I don’t care…

Then… It happens.

There’s this song… it comes on. All the girls squeal like banshees and run onto the floor. Some guys do to… and they all start dancing. Let me rephrase that…. they all start dancing the SAME. I swear I feel like I am in the ending of “Encino Man” and  I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. I’m looking at the party, the tables are almost empty everyone is on the dance floor and doing this horrid dance. They girl I was talking to… she doesn’t look so attractive to me anymore. No one in the bar does, and this whiskey starts to taste like poison. I fear for a second, that a spotlight is going to come on me, and I will have to solo… yes… that’s what’s going to happen… the beat will stop the spotlight will shine, and I will have to exress myself a la Corey Feldman in dance.

So I left. Didn’t say a word. I have a habit of doing that at bars when things go awry.

Flash back to present: There is a dude who has been buying me and Brea drinks all night, he’s a cool cat, likes his motorcycle and calls himself a “country bumpkin”. After my 4th Lonestar… and this second line dance the fella looks at me and says “I’m not much of a dancer really, but this line dance stuff is bullshit” I like that guy. We make sure to get him a shot.

This weekend, Brea and I were stand in musicians for The Cherrybombers. It was a cool gig. For the first time in a very long time, I got to play in a band I was not the lead person in. That was pretty stress free on my part.

There is a lot happening. I am taking it as well as I can.

The days, months, and years went on, my brother and I (already in love with Star Wars as was any birthright to children born in that time period) continued to be fascinated with comic books. The stories of heroes and villains, costumes, escapes, hot space chicks and other things that didn’t involve long division or lunchroom politics was a world to live and escape in. My dad continued to buy us books until he saw the problem, by then it was too late, we were hoarding our own money and going to the used book store next door to the local junior high school on Wednesdays and walking away with that weeks new selection or cheap back issues. Even one book was important. I couldn’t get enough of them. I needed more, and I couldn’t wait until I had a job of my own and could buy as many as I wanted with my own money…

Flash forward to the present. While my other friends have moved on with their lives, I in my eternal Peter Pan complex, have never changed. If anything, my love for comics and all things Science Fiction has only intensified. So when Wizard World decides to bring it’s comic book themed, memorabilia/ celebrity/ artist/packed nerd heaven tour to Texas, it’s only a natural guess I should attend.

I have missed Wizard World’s last few shows in Texas (they used to be in Dallas before they hit Austin) due to the band being on the road a lot, but I knew that Austin was going to be a hit.

The thing about Comic Cons is that there is just so much to DO. I mean if you like comics… great they have tons of dealers to check out, including many that are desperately trying to sell back issues for pennies. Like toys, collectables, or even weird nerd wear? They got you covered. Maybe you think to yourself… “Yknow… one day I’d like to meet that hot chick from ‘Heroes’ or maybe I’d like to hear what Little Anakin thinks about his role in Star Wars” Well they had you covered there too, as a wide variety of celebs and sci fi staples hung out in their booths greeting fans, snapping pictures with fans. Or maybe you want to grab a print from your favorite comic artist, or talk with an indie artist about his/her new project… got that too.

So that’s what we did. We walked the floors, gawked at celebs, talked with our favorite artists (interviewed them too) and yes… we shopped a little bit too.

That’s when it hits. These are our kind of people. And we don’t just mean people who listen to good music or podcasts. The whole place is packed with people who get it. Those that love the genre, celebrate and revel in it. The ones that are looking for that next piece of cool art on their wall or the ones who squee with joy when they find old ROM comics. In that moment, I am transformed back to that kid who got his first books from his dad, it pleases me to no end to find those old issues in the cheap bin.

dont cross the streamsthis guy aint gettin laid

The promoter for the show late Saturday night (not to be confused with the AWESOME and FLEXIBLE promoter at the Dia De Los Muertos festival during that day!!) had us play last late late Saturday following a trendy (and popular) hardcore (?) band. The result was that everyone left after the trendy band played and we played to an empty room. *Sigh*

The dreaded last spot. The killer spot. The ego shrinker. The Last Resort. Too bad it was for charity. I would have walked out.

There comes a time when you stop trying to be the victim and stand up for yourself as an artist. I hate it when people say I’m “supposed to do it for the love”. I love my job. But I expect to get paid for it. Don’t you?

Anyway. Shit Fart. Damn.

That’s all.

My favorite “holiday”. I love the folk art etc.

Anyway… just thought you’d like to know.

Let’s see…

Ummm… I went to that Spoken Word. It was lame like I figured it would be, I really did want to give it a chance, but there were maybe two serious people there, and the rest made it seem like hip hop amateur hour as they made fun of everything and got on the mic and tried (emphasize the word TRIED )to rap when they got on. I left the place feeling more alien than usual.

Not all bad though, I met one of the poets I really liked at a Halloween party Saturday, we talked a bit about writing and such, and I told him about my idea to have a posse of literary badasses. Not necessarily a writers club, just a badass group of smart people who happen to write who get together and hang out. If we talk about writing… cool, but if we drink each other stupid and tell dumb stories about road trips and bad lovers, even better… he seemed to dig it, he’s going to hang out with me and Brea Wednesday and we’re gonna trade obscure poems and movie monster analogies or something (I made that part up)

NaNoWriMo started today. I’m excited but lamed out. I lost my drive for the plot I had two weeks ago, I’m worried I can’t finish it. Really I don’t know if I can. Instead of doing what I wanted to, I’m thinking I might just write a story about someone falling in love. I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I’ve killed my characters, messed them up, traumatized them, got them laid, got them fired… but I’ve never let one fall in love. Maybe I’m messed up, but I wouldn’t wish that torture on anyone.

Oh well… NaNoWriMo beckons… see ya soon.