Posts Tagged ‘Music’

48261_301408206640767_665255221_o*Recently I was asked to write a new bio for a musician friend whose music I have long admired. This is the bio that I sent to him. The entire post below didn’t make it though the editing process, so rather than leave hard-thought words flailing on the cutting room floor, I am posting the bio here. The final version can be found at Billy’s website, billyshaddox.com.

Billy Shaddox is blessed with the ability to blend the Western dualities of coastal dreamer and high mountain drifter into his deep, easy flowing songs.

Rooted in stories of love and fortune lost, perspective and enlightenment gained, Shaddox captures the mystique of the West with indelible lyrical imagery and sharply original musicality: the displaced modern man weary of coping with vanishing ideals, the present-minded realist, the uncontrollable jealousy of the downtrodden miner, and the bright-eyed morning traveler setting out to make his mark on the world.

The characters who inhabit Shaddox’s tunesy tales have a depth of personality and situational believability that leaves the listener feeling affected by their being long after their songs have woven their course.

Golden Fate, Shaddox’s newest record, builds on a strong decade of songwriting and musical performance that has now seen two solo records that easily fit into the Americana genre, along with four releases by his powerful, unheralded San Diego-based country-rock band Billy Midnight.

The record is generously layered with Shaddox’s signature lonesome Telecaster twang, picture perfect acoustic guitar and banjo work, and the soulful wail of his homemade lap steel. The lyrics are neck hair bristling at times, captivatingly laced with references to the wondrous powers of nature and destiny, the joys and travails of living simply, and the introspective importance of home and family. It is one of those rare records that, without being over ambitious in an effort to, seems to eerily match the listeners life circumstances in subtle ways that are revealed deep into multiple listening sessions.

Bouncy and evocative like the best Woody Guthrie dustbowl gospels at times, dark and forlorn in Cashesque grandeur at others, Golden Fate verily demands for to be taken out on a long, thoughtful desert drive where it should be played through barely adequate speakers that compete with the crackling of a sage and juniper campfire, echoing on and on off of steep canyon walls.

Corby Anderson

Emma, Colorado

January 4, 2013


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I’ve never used Down Canyon as a place to simply link to other content, but today I am making an exception. 

My buddies Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers have recorded a GREAT GREAT rock song, and I want to share it with you. 

“It’s A Little Too Late to Die Young” – now streaming for free at Relix. It’ll go live for download on Jan. 15. Check it out!


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July 11, 2012
Metallica, Inc.

Dear James, Kirk, Lars, Rob, and the rest of the Metallica crew and management:

Hi. I see on your Facebook page that more than 26 million people are Metallica “likers”, which is an astounding number, and an indication that you must get hundreds, if not thousands of letters a week. I hope that this one makes it.

Many, many huge congratulations to you all for sticking with your dreams and making shit happen. Metallica is one of, if not THE best rock and roll bands in the history of music. And that, my friends, is an amazing thing when you put it into historical context based on where we all came from.

Note that I did say we. Like yourselves, I grew up California, in my case in the Bay Area. When I was 14 years old, my brother Ody, who was three years older, started telling me about this band called Metallica that was playing around Oakland and The City. Every chance he could, he would go see you guys play. I still remember the ticket stubs that stuck out of the border of the mirror on his desk like paper spokes. Metallica, Metallica, Spastic Children, Metallica, Primus, Slayer, Grateful Dead (!) Metallica….so on.

He knew about you cats because he happened to be a DJ at the only heavy metal radio station in the Bay Area (that we knew of), 90.5 KVHS FM out of Concord – actually, out of Clayton Valley High, to be geographically factual.

You see, KVHS was a high school and college radio program at a particularly metalheaded high school right smack dab in the middle of, or perhaps right there on the screaming, bleeding, serrated blade tip of the Metal Revolution of the mid-80’s.. Mark Osegueda (singer/band leader for Death Angel) was Ody’s CLASS PRESIDENT fer chrissakes! He was also our next door neighbor. It was undoubtedly a cool time and place to grow up, and your music was one of our major guides and sources of inspiration (and good/bad hearted debauchery!)

I had the good fortune of following my brother into the radio program at KVHS when I was a sophomore at CVHS. By then, Metallica was a staple. You were actually FOUGHT over since DJ’s could, by rule, only play the same band every other show. I personally watched a fist fight occur outside of our studios between a DJ who “slipped” one of your songs in as he was about to get off the air and a DJ who had based his whole show around the theme of Fire and was going to lead off with Fight Fire with Fire.

When I joined KVHS, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be in radio – to be a broadcaster, and they gave me that avenue, that opportunity: To help people rock to their fullest. Thankfully, I was surrounded with a whole bunch of likeminded folks there. EVERYONE at KVHS wanted the same. And for years, KVHS trained countless professionals how to get into and succeed in the business. Our alumni includes actors, DJ’s, station managers, TV personalities, musicians, sound men and women, and hundreds of other media professionals.

I am writing to let you all know that KVHS is being killed off by unrighteous bureaucrats of the Mount Diablo Unified School District. Clayton Valley High School, where KVHS has been located since its inception, has turned into a charter school, and subsequently both the support and funding for the program was pulled and all options for moving the station to another school were dashed – called “too expensive.”

I do not believe that it is presumptuous , nor is it an exaggeration to say that in some ways, the success of Metallica as a band was spurred on by the wholehearted support of both KVHS and its personnel as they/we moved into the professional ranks. We loved and still love your band and what you stand for.

I wonder if the band might care to comment, intervene, or otherwise remark upon this development in some way? Things are that dire. There is talk of selling off the frequency. The Wilson’s, who have administered the program for many years, have already been given their walking papers. In no way do I intend to guilt you all or anything of that nature – but rather to bring to your awareness a situation that I think, and many of my colleagues think, is just a G$^#%$d shame. And, importantly – something that should absolutely be avoided and corrected if at all possible.

I, and I am sure all of my colleagues, wish Metallica many years of continued success. You are all inspirations for every single rocker who ever lived. Keep shredding! Long live Metallica, and long live, even if in our memories, The Rock, 90.5 KVHS FM in Concord, California.

If I can help with any of your questions and concerns, please feel free to have anyone in the Metallica organization contact me.

Many thanks for taking the time to read this letter and to consider the request.

Corby Anderson

Director of Sales and Marketing


Colorado Mountain College

1402 Blake Street

Glenwood Springs, CO 81601


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Destination Destitution

by Corbett M. Anderson

Copyright 2012

Never said, livin’ was easy

That’s just summer in a song

Never said, dyin was hard

That’s just some collar on the phone


Never wanted, nothin’ at all

Well, I’ve got plenty of that

Anything’s better, than the nothin’ I got

But if I had you that’d be somethin’ else


Never know, the price you pay

Til’ the check comes in the mail

Never know, the debt you owe

Til’ the man comes with the nails


Destination unknown

Destitution well known

Destination unknown

Destitution well known and on and on and on…

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Spicy lineup in Snowmass features chili, beer, music


Real Aspen –
June 4, 2012
The vaunted Roaring Fork Valley summer festival season kicks off this weekend with a two-day mountain party that holds something for anyone who loves great craft and home brews, world-class nosh, and a fantastically diverse live music lineup. 

The 9th Annual Snowmass Chili Pepper & Brew Fest takes place all day long on both Friday, June 9, and Saturday, June 10, on the Snowmass Village Mall and the Fanny Hill stage.
The festival is a serious competition for brewers and cooks alike, with prestigious awards going to the top Summer Seasonal Ale and to the best home brew. Chili cooks from across the nation will be serving up their heated concoctions and vying for purses of up to $1000 for the primo traditional chili red, chili verde and salsa categories, all judged on taste, flavor blending, consistency, aroma, color, and – bolster your guts – heat!
As an added incentive — as if seeing an entire village of happy gastro-adventurers greedily lapping up their igneous concoctions isn’t enough – the winners of the Snowmass chili competitions secure themselves a spot in the International Chili Society’s 2012 World Chili & Salsa Championship held in Charleston, West Virginia.
A traditional festival highlight are the Seasonal Brews Samplings from 5-8pm on Friday and a Grand Tasting from 3-5pm on Saturday, which feature samplers from all of the participants, including a European and exotic brew tasting tent and a Jim Beam Small Batch Bourbon booth (Friday) and a Sauza Tequila booth on Saturday.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a Snowmass festival without an incredible music lineup pumping jams out on the verdant lawn of the Fanny Hill ski run. 

Music headliners include international sensation Gypsy Punk band Gorgol Bordello who perform on Saturday night at 6:00 p.m., along with New Orleans Funk Band, Galactic, who play at 1 p.m. On Friday night, West African Reggae band Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars, will take the stage at 4:30 p.m. and open for The Congress, a southern Rhythm & Blues/Rock & Roll band, who play at 6:30 p.m. Tickets are affordable for both single-day event passes and full festival passes, with various options offered. A 2-Day Party Pass is a bargain at $65 for all of the beer, food and music a person can possibly enjoy in one weekend.
Festival-goers are encouraged to use the bus and shuttle systems as parking is limited in Snowmass Village.
For more information on the Snowmass Chili Pepper & Brew Fest, go to www.snowmasschiliandbrew.com. For more information on lodging and ticket packages call 1800SNOWMASS or go to www.snowmasstourism.com.
The Snowmass Chili and Brew Fest is this weekend. http://www.snowmasschiliandbrew.com/

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Best Life I’ve Ever Found

Bring your fat skis
and your dancin shoes now girl
we got a mountain party goin’
damn near two foot o’ snow

You gotta gotta go
Champagne snow is falling down
and the beer is flowin’ on

I gotta warn you though girl
We got a po-li-ceeeee
No friends on powder days
We’ll meet in Sneakies Trees

If this snow keeps falling down
It’ll cover this crazy town
We’re all gonna get on down
It’s the best life I’ve ever found


Written by:

C. Madison Anderson


Emma, CO

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Mother Hips – Back to the Grotto

Magic Johnson has AIDS and I am on several hits of high powered blotter acid. I have just witnessed multiple adult male people attacking one another in complex, swinging gate row movements with real swords and fully armored suits. I have seen the sky turn a particularly deep hue of orangebluegreenredvioletohmygodlookatthatcloud!

I am on a bicycle with wheels at least 300 feet tall, and I am peddling in oblong loops and weaving my way hazardously from the cool, viney park where the original Robin Hood was filmed to the relative safety of my dorm room at Craig Hall in Chico, California.

I am in love with a girl named Jay who has dropped out of school and who uses me to create fake printouts of her straight A grades. She keeps a blow up sex doll named “Nancy” in the window of her dorm room with a bottle of pills tapes to one hand, a set of fuzzy handcuffs lashed to the other, and a pair of wooden clothes pins snapped onto it’s rubbery nipples. She has come from Seattle and swears that her friends band “Nirvana” has a new record that is going to slay me. I counter with my Bay Area stand-by, Primus, but do not really impress.

I am intercepted by a crowd of rowdy freaks. I recognize most of them. They are dormies, a mixed crowd of Craig Hall jocks and a bunch of stoners from Bradley, the neighboring building. Now I am walking the other direction, back towards town. Backpacks brim with cold beers. Joints materialize and then disappear in a cloud of smoke. The late summer night air feels superheated. A tall girl with long, slick black hair leads us. We are going to a bar called Juanita’s.

The acid is wearing off, but I am fairly certain that Magic Johnson still has AIDS. I am standing outside of a packed burrito joint on a street corner in Chico, California. I do not wonder what I will be like in 20 years. I do not think about money, or work, or bills, or sick relatives. The only thing that I can see, the only thing that I can feel is the music that blares out of the open door to the business that I stand outside of.

I am 19 years old. My brother is 21, but I have lost his identification already and he won’t get me another. I cannot enter, a large person says sternly. I want to go in. I can see the backs of the band playing. A drummer is wedged into the window box, his dirty blond locks flinging sweat droplets that catch glimmers of stage wash as they sail by. He pounds on his tiny drum kit. Dominates it. I like that he smiles a lot when he looks off to the side. He seems cool, like the crowd from Bradley.

A weird, furry black Cossack hat juts out above the shoulders of the tall fellow in the middle. He is impossibly thin. His cloths are not like mine. His guitar looks old. His voice is deep and low and high and all over the place. The guitars wail together in a way that I have never heard. The band is slow and then fast. It is country. It is rock and roll.

I can see the pretty girls lining the front of the stage, swimming in their tank tops. I want IN. I am not an outsider here. This is my place. These are my people. I ask the large person again. He ignores me. A diversion is necessary.

I have many friends. The dorms are good like that. I see a girl that I know. She is Jay’s roommate. Her name is Bean. Bean, I ask. Can you do me a favor? Sure, she says. She is small like a bean. I am also somewhat in love with Bean. I am somewhat in love with every female in Chico, California, but Bean is pretty and likes The Black Crowes too. Bean, I need you to crash. Into a pole. Use this bicycle. Fall down and be hurt. I have to go inside. I have found my people. Bean, you are also one of my people. I didn’t mean it like that.

Bean crashes into a pole on my bicycle, falling down in a heap right in front of the door man. She moans in pain and does not wink at me. The large doorman is chivalrous. Bean sounds sexy when she moans.

I am IN. A friend hands me a pitcher of Sierra Nevada. I drink from it directly, thinking it is all for me. He laughs. I spill it when my legs go uncontrollable on me in a fit. They are driven by the bass line that is played by the jock hippy who lays down a driving rhythm. The singers join voices. They have Been Lost Once. The have Been Lost Twice. They will Probably Be Lost Again. Someone yells CHEEEEK-O. The crowd screams. I scream.

I am IN. These are my people. I have never been out on that curb since.

God Bless The Mother Hips.

Corby Anderson
Emma, CO
May 23, 2012


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