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Posts Tagged ‘rock’

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!

http://www.relix.com/news/2013/01/14/premiere-nicki-bluhm-and-the-gramblers-little-too-late

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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

RadioCMC

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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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

http://labs.topspin.net/downloadanywhere/confirm.php?sessionid=18799dbba35458845130b145c01abadc&fb=1

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I do hope I get some calls back soon. I’m ready to rock!

http://modesto.craigslist.org/muc/2259147001.html

“Terrible rhythm guitarist with no sense of timing seeks band opportunity”

That get your attention? Good. It’s true. Sort of.

OK, OK…I’m not THAT bad actually, but it can be said with a modicum of honesty that my guitar skills are equitable to a drunken, quadrapelegic newt. Frankly, I reek, and I know it. And isn’t honesty an endearing, vital quality to have in a band as spectacular as yours? I can, however, mumble incoherently and offkey in such a way that has been described as “quirky”, and perhaps that can come into play when the harmonies really start getting rolling?

I should also mention that I am going bald, am 39, out of work, and am hard of hearing, which means that I love to play extra loud! Luckily, my restraining order allows me to leave the house in the evenings so long as the gigs aren’t anywhere near a school. Or a senior center. Or anywhere that alcohol is served. I should be getting my license back soon, too, so I won’t need you guys (or girls! *wink wink*) to drive me around too much longer.

My musical interests are really whatever you and your friends are in to. I am an open book, and very interested in learning new tunes that I might not have already heard. What with this ADHD and all of the anti-psychotics that they’ve got me on, the actual learning process may take a while, so hopefully you have some patience with the FNG, eh?

Sounds great! Hope to hear from you soon, and rock like an Egyptian!
-Rusty

My ad has yielded at least one excellent conversation:

Jim the Shredder: I’m the one looking for a guitar player who can play lead…can you play lead? View that ad for more info.

Me: Hell NO I can’t play lead! Makes me sick with anxiety just to thi…nk about it. Good luck shredder.

Jim the Shredder: I will never be able to play lead myself – seems like work, can’t remember where fingers ago for individual notes – that’s why I’m looking. IMO shredders don’t make music, but it sure is impressive to other shredders. Good luck in finding your band mates.

Me: Shredders shred stylishly, and strummers strum jealously. Somewhere in between, there are guys like me, who butcher the thing without a hint of envy due to their own evolving terror…

Perhaps we should start a band of strummers, and call ourselves “The Sick Leads?”

Jim the Shredder:

Well put, am I a jealously strummer? Not when I write and play my own material. I have even stopped cursing at myself for flubbing my chords not matter how much I practice because I can bring the songs. But it’s always a struggle getting the fingers down.
I  like to write songs and I have been able to form two bands based on my material – what are they thinking? I’m looking for a lead in one and a bass in the other. I’m also always trying to form any and as many musical acts as possible because bands are unstable entities and ya never know how long they’re gonna last.
Yeah, “The Sick Leads” is incredibly brilliant as a band name and potentially genius in concept. We can recruit others who can relate – the more the merrier so we all masked each other’s flubs or acts of butchering. It would almost be imperative that skill level only be emerging and be inherently limited – like me. No sand baggers or ringers. They make everybody look bad -hahahahaha
I did an open mic and I signed up as “The Strummer” because, of course, everybody else could really play their acoustic. After I was done someone asked me if I was going to do any more open mics. Don’t know if that was some kind of hint. Oh, yeah my singing matches my playing.
Let me know if you want start a band.

And today, a new, totally different response!

Shredder Mike : Hello,

I am a guitarist and bass player. I also have ADHD. I understand what you are saying. I wouldn’t mind jamming. I can play rhythm and lead. Do you have a place to practice?

mike

And my response to that response….

Me: Sorry, I didn’t get this message because I was unfortunately incarcerated over the weekend.

I’m out now, Allah Akbar, and that bitch is really going to pay this time. As soon as I get my trailer back from that unfaithful wench we’ll have an excellent place to practice! Right now it’s parked at the mosque, but I think that the Imam is going to make a judgement in my favor, and then i plan to drag that beater (the trailer, not the girlfriend) back to the compound up by Sonora. And THEN it’s on, shredder!

What are your influences? Mine are pretty unusual, I think. I am way into the music of Jimmy Cliff, but also like things like Stryper, The Oak Ridge Boys, Slayer and George Michael. Sometimes I like to play in the nude. Most times, actually. Hope that isn’t a problem.

Good luck with that mother of an affliction, ADHD. I don’t have that. I have ADD. Tere is no H in my disease, as I am not hyper about anything. Except ADHD drugs. You got any of those bad boys, Mike?

Rusty

***This was listed in the Craigslist musicians section above my post:

“Gag or not, that was one of the funniest I’ve read in a while.”

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