MILLION DJ MARCH DROPPING IT HOTSAUCE STYLE ON D.C.

Bringing DJ culture back to it’s roots and shining a spotlight on Dj culture, turntablism, community and activism, this festival will be a mixture of music and speakers, including KRS ONE.

And it’s taking pace in Dubya’s back yard. Torch it for me, guys.

–Ali On The Air

The Million DJ March

DJ’s have been regarded as “underground” since their beginning in the early 1970′s with founders such as Kool Herc and Grand Master Flowers. They were the “Band” to acts until tracks were just played in the background with little to no live presence. DJ’s then went on to “spinning” these records bringing extra life to parties after and during performances adding to fads and trends in music. Using the turntable as an instrument, DJ’s found new ways to utilize their talent by blending, scratching and sampling, giving longevity to the music we hear today. DJ’s are able to give variety to an otherwise 2 or 3 act performance, hyping up the crowd and making night life quite the experience. Influencing what individuals listened to in Clubs and parties effected what individuals wanted to hear personally. Since the beginnings of DJ, technology has advanced, morphing the standard turntable in to a modern engine full of possibility. DJ’s are a community that promote for many forms of corporation, the music industry being just one of them. What DJs say and do can be compared to the effects of a modern day commercial, as we notice on radio broadcasts and their choices in the music they play.Due to the advancement and sudden metamorphosis of their influence in music, there are very few laws protecting this art form as a craft and career. Self sufficient machines threaten this career choice, as so many fear to lose their jobs to in this advancing society. Depending on the audience, a DJ can custom blend the airwaves, to censor otherwise, “restricted” music and control what the masses hear. It is the responsibility of the DJ to make sound decisions based on the age and the want of the audience. The Million DJ March supports all forms of live music and will donate all proceeds from the march to keep music alive in Public Schools. Keeping Children learning.

THE MILLION DJ MARCH ITINERARY (08.29.08 & 08.30.08)

08.29.08 & 08.30.08

• Million DJ March Mix Master Weekend on XM Satellite Radio Station Raw 66 via Sirius XM Radio (August 29th, 2008 & August 30th, 2008 from 12:00PM – 12:00AM)

08.29.08

• 4:00PM – DJ Leggs: Panel Discussion (TBA)
• 6:00PM – DJ Roz: Insurance Dinner
• 7:00PM – Celebrity Basketball Game at The Boys & Girls Club (2500 14th Street NW Washington, DC 20019)
• 10:00PM – Nightclub Festivities (TBA)

08.30.08

• 11:00AM – 8:00PM – The Million DJ March {THE MAIN EVENT} on The National Mall (Washington, DC)
LIVE PERFORMANCES: Bang Bang Boogie, Chuck T, Cory Gunz, DJ Aaries, DJ Geometrix, DJ Nabs, DJ Self, Gillie Da Kid, Jazzy Jay, Joell Ortiz, KRS-One, Kia Shine, Lord Tariq & Peter Gunz, Saigon, The Dey, The Untouchable DJ Drastic, and many more.
• 10:00PM – Nightclub Festivities (TBA)

Sponsored By

Rane
Vitamin Water
Numark
Rock & Soul
Foundation Magazine
ThatsHipHop.com
Adonai
Mixcast TV
XM Radio (Sirius XM)
Thank you for your overwhelming support. See you at the march.

Sincerely,
A. Shaw
COORDINATORS (THE MILLION DJ MARCH)

Please e-mail the correct coordinator(s) regarding your inquiries:

• Sponsorship Coordinator: Gary@TheMillionDJMarch.com
• Sponsorship Coordinator: Marcie@TheMillionDJMarch.com
• Sponsorship Coordinator: Antoinette.Lawson@TheMillionDJMarch.com
• Sponsorship Coordinator: Overok@TheMillionDJMarch.com
• Sponsorship / Major Artist Coordinator: SVisible@TheMillionDJMarch.com
• Major Artist Coordinator: Sommer@TheMillionDJMarch.com
• A. Shaw’s Management (Massive): Wilkins.Chester@gmail.com
• CEO (A. Shaw)
DJ LEGGS: THE MILLION DJ MARCH PANELS

Providence, Rhode Island’s DJ Leggs will coordinate The Million DJ March Panel discussion board during the preceedings of the main event. Many Prominent DJ and artistic personalities will confront subject matters concerning DJ Technology, The Legacy of The Mix Tape, DJ Politics, and The History and Importance of The DJ In Hip Hop. The panels will be short seminars on August 29th, 2008 and August 30th, 2008 with plenty of press coverage and interaction from the crowd. If you are interested in contributing to the panel please contact DJ Leggs via e-mail at DJLeggs@themilliondjmarch.com. We will address a wide array of criteria concerning elements in hip hop culture mainly covering the DJ aspect but not limited to the cultural surroundings of the urban art forms that have transcended within the past 40+ years.
HOTEL BOOKINGS (THE MILLION DJ MARCH)

ATTN: DJs

Book your hotel room now! We have discounted rooms for you.

The Million DJ March will occur on August 30th rain or shine at 11:00AM sharp on The National Mall. Please make posters and/or picket signs as you would any march. Tent space is available for companies wishing to hand out or promote product to the crowd.

Call (202) 266-9000 to book your rooms. Limited rooms are remaining!
INDEPENDENT ARTIST PERFORMANCES (THE MILLION DJ MARCH)

All independent artists looking to perform are advised to contact TheMillionDJMarch@gmail.com immediately.

If you are interested in volunteering please e-mail Promo@TheMillionDJMarch.com

The Walkmen and Me, or How ‘You And Me’ turns me into an emo scribe

I suppose I should preface all of this by admitting – I am emo for The Walkmen. By now, I’ve seen them play in every possible scenario: Large Los Angeles concert hall, cramped Austin 6th street bar, alongside the Queen Mary at the All Tomorrows Parties festival, at an all night warehouse rave somewhere in the plains of Texas, various festivals and smoky clubs. I’ve seen them more times than I’ve seen my beloved Radiohead. Hell, I’ve even paid to see them. I have them on I tunes. I have them on CD. I have them on vinyl. I don’t pay for music unless I really, really love them. I love the Walkmen so much I’d marry them (my dowry offer to Ham is ready for review).

Hamilton at All Tomorrow

Coming from a rock chick such as myself, this might surprise you. If you looked at the boys, you wouldn’t even suspect that they can play in a band. No, with their unassuming and sweet looks, you’d think that they work in your office, down the hall in the graphics department; Button down shirts, neatly tucked into jeans and chinos, with a belt of course. Nothing flashier than a simple wedding band or old class ring as bling. No bravado or swagger. But don’t let their prep school appearance fool you. You will be transformed.

Hamilton Leithauser

Long before Vampire weekend or Chester French made preppy chic again, The Walkmen rose from the ashes of two great bands. Hamilton Leithauser, who could be perfectly cast as a‘soc’ in the Outsiders though he has the angst of a greaser, had formed the Recoys in Boston and then joined up with former classmates from the defunct Jonathan Fire Eater. The band members remain close, churning out more than an album’s worth in any recording process, and still finding time for side projects such as recording a cover of Harry Nilsson’s Pussycats, recording a staged reading of Sex And The City (seriously), and co-writing the Great American Novel. Apparently the novel seems to be taking a lot more time than they thought to finish – tell me about it, boys. Tell me about it.

With BOWS AND ARROWS, they had a break out hit with ‘The Rat’, a blistering account of a soul broken by a split. I’ve even heard that it was written about a mutual friend in the Brooklyn indie rock circle, but I decline to name him. Perhaps you can figure it out when you read my forthcoming book (shameless plug).

YOU AND ME, the latest album, unofficially dropped in July in a unique way. With their creative contemporaries such as Radiohead and Trent Reznor offering the music online as a pay what you can scenario, The Walkmen teamed up with Amie Street and offered a download for a $5 donation to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. So now, if you were going to even think about downloading it illegally, bear in mind that the boys are donating the proceeds to a cancer charity. Even I, who gets her music for free, clicked on paypal for this. An advance of one of the greatest albums of the year – AND I get to help fight cancer? Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

But what exactly is it about The Walkmen that captures my fancy? It’s hard to put a finger on it. Once when posed with the task of describing the sound of The Walkmen, a friend said it sounded like drunken fairy saloon music. I think that is far too passive and sweet a description. It’s more like elfin mad scientists drunk on absinthe turning wooden knobs at a Narnian console.

Their dirge-ish songs alternate in flavor. Sometimes big band, sometimes calypso or country, you are listening to the soundtrack to a weekend in an Irish pub or a stormy Caribbean vacation. Or perhaps this is the music of the underworld that Orfeo’s true love heard when she was stuck on the other side. Lest the sounds get too sweet, the lyrics can be like a thousand little cynical papercuts. “What’s in it for me….I heard you the first time.”, “You’ve got a nerve to be asking a favor…we’ve been through this before.” “I don’t get some people, but I don’t really try.”, and titles like “Revenge wears no wristwatch”, “This job is killing me”, “Everyone who pretended to like me is gone” These reveal a certain callous and unsympathetic look at what once was happy times. I suppose it’s the duality which resonates with me. The inner idealist wrestling with the voice who has seen disappointment – a ‘fuck you’ to over-sentimentality, which by nature is somewhat sentimental.

Ham at SxSW

The show at the Troubadour was all of this and more. The guys, armed with a horn section, took the stage in an un-assuming, modest way, but hit the crowd confidently with a beautiful, ethereal, punk wall of sound. The performance was so startling and arresting, and then lulling and then engaging.

Paul Maroon of The Walkmen

Ham’s voice, an odd yelping cry which wavers between a Bob Dylan call to arms and a raspy Rod Stewart growl is an unique layer a top the swirling Wurlitzer and big band orchestrals. His fist over the mic like an MC, with the cord wrapped tightly around his arm, pulling on it, tourniquet style, he howled and yelped in epileptic fits, accessing and channeling some type of Brando rage.

Hamilton as Brando

There’s a sense of hearkening back when you’re listening in on them. Maybe it’s the vintage gear, or their somewhat formal and almost polite appearance. But one does feel like Hamilton is yearning for a time when people respected each other and did the right thing.

The Walkmen at the Troubadour

Of course nostalgia can be dangerous – looking at the past for those golden moments, and glorifying a time which was most likely the same mix of heaven and hell, is not an enlightened place to start from. But it is the stuff that bar dirges are made of. And old Hollywood movies. And sweeping novels. It is this magical lightning in a bottle, that the Walkmen capture for me. A bit of gilded memory with the somewhat sour taste of the present.

In fact, while listening to their set, this is what the music made me imagine:

The smell of library books. An empty field at twilight. A pork pie hat with a madras plaid band. Mass held at an all boys Catholic boarding school. A black and white Robert Doisneau photograph. The first time reading JD Salinger or Mark Twain. An old Frenchman covering Bob Dylan. A 400 year old pub on the cliffs of Dover. The ignited sugar cube dropped into a glass of illegal absinthe. Dickie Greenleaf in a late night jazz club. A flamenco dance on a honeymoon.

I can only blame The Walkmen and their gorgeous music for making me emoscribe like this. I want to go for a walk in a rainstorm. I want to smoke cloves while watching the sun set. I want to go plant a freaking tree. See? YOU AND ME has turned me into a mushy mess of flowery prose. Who knows? If I keep listening, perhaps I may just finish my Great American Novel.

The Walkmen perform at the Troubadour Friday, August, 22, 2008. Their latest album, You And Me was released on August 19th.

Mr Lif embeds himself in the campaign/election trail

8 years of W. An insane look at what happens when a complacent, paranoid and indifferent country gets caught sleeping.

Sounds like a horror book by Orwell, does it not?

Now hip hop artist Mr Lif will write the epilogue – and hopefully the first chapter in a new story. Hopefully a story about a country’s redemption. Hopefully. Sweet Jesus, it better be…

MR LIF UNVEILS PLANS TO RELEASE NEW MUSIC IN AN UNPRECEDENTED FORMAT!

1-2 NEW TRACKS CREATED, RECORDED AND DIGITALLY AVAILABLE EVERY THREE WEEKS

FIRST SINGLE, ‘I HEARD IT TODAY’, COMING 9/9! FOLLOWING SINGLES RELEASED ON 9/23, 10/14, 11/4 (ELECTION DAY). FULL ALBUM AVAILABLE 1/20/2009 (INAUGURATION DAY)

The voice of the people is back!!! Mr. Lif returns with more cutting edge political commentary in his new series titled I Heard It Today. Presented in a completely unprecedented manner, Mr. Lif will write and release 1-2 songs every three weeks until Election Day (November 4), following which Mr. Lif will release one more single based on his post electoral thoughts. This single will preface the release of the I Heard It Today (Bloodbot Tactical Enterprises) full length on Inauguration Day (January 20, 2009). The album will feature additional unreleased tracks and corresponding artwork.

Mr. Lif has his hands on the pulse of American society as he rhymes uncompromisingly about important issues that currently affect us. We are looking toward perhaps the most anticipated administration change in American history, and I Heard It Today boldly holds a mirror to the face of the society we have created and perpetuated. As one of the most versatile voices in the game, Mr Lif has enlisted some of hip-hops most talented producers (J Zone, Edan, and Illmind, among others) to create awareness on current political issues and agendas for Americans and the global community.

Mr. Lif adds, “With a new administration on the horizon, many of us are hoping things will change for the better. We are all hoping our voices will be heard and our concerns met with solutions. This project allows me to voice and magnify the all too often ignored opinions of the American people. My research has led me to speak with so many citizens nation wide, and the stories of your struggles combined with the knowledge of my own struggles have given birth to the project now known as I Heard It Today. “

In addition, Mr. Lif will be issuing regular “Presidential Reports” commenting on recent events in national and world politics. “The Presidential Report, Vol. 1″ tackles tension between Obama and McCain and the recently erupted conflict between Russia and Georgia, and can currently be heard on Mr. Lif’s MySpace page (www.myspace.com/mrlif). Stay tuned as more “Presidential Reports” are sure to follow, connecting the dots between each new installment of I Heard it Today.

AllHipHop.com will host exclusive streams of the tracks one day prior to release. They will then become available to fans worldwide, via The Orchard, through hundreds of digital music store and wireless carriers, including iTunes, eMusic, Amazon, Rhapsody, Napster, Verizon Wireless, AT&T, Sprint and more.

AFTER THE GLITTER FADES – PASSENGER AND THE PAPARAZZI

When bands on the road roll into town, they usually are looking for some hedonistic Hollywood fun and want to see the sights: The Capitol building. Lemmy’s barstool at the Rainbow. The Viper Room sidewalk where River died…the beach. Often times the cool indie rock chick in Los Angeles can fall into the role of platonic fluffer. This can be a nice change for a local girl as she can give a tour and see the sour city with fresh and glitter soaked eyes.

I gave up giving tours several years ago. After a few platonic friendships crossed the line into the murkiness of long distance love, followed by a looong spell with a live-in boyfriend, I became too busy, too important, to drive around the city with a band in tow. But something about the lads in the British import band Passenger, made me change my tune.

Passenger came to my tv show via Brighton and were sent to me by the gals at Girlie Action. Lead singer Mike Rosenberg, a baby face with a sharp wit and old soul, proved to be a ready opponent for my snark and subversive interview style. Their performance was impressive enough to raise my jaded ass’s interest and I actually stayed in the studio to watch.

Passenger

Still with a good show in the can, I didn’t suspect I’d see them again. The invite to a gig after a taping is something I normally deflect with a lame excuse, more often than not. But that night, when out searching for my first meal of the day, I found myself pulling up in front of the Hotel Café.

Yeah, I know. The Hotel Café. While I had created a new singer songwriter show, Songwriter’s Stage, for Vlaze TV, it isn’t exactly a haunt that you’d ever find me in. No offense to the many talented songsmiths and troubadours that perform there…I just like my music with a healthy serving of edge and vitriol.

Mike Rosenberg of Passenger

Perhaps it’s the fact that Passenger’s comparisons to David Gray are a bit misleading. Yes, the melodies are soft and pretty and the harmonies give it that Starbucks song-of-the-week feel. But those who have likened Mike’s lyrical sense to Nick Drake are a bit more on the money. Drake and a lethal dose of biting British self deprecation. That’s the combo I’m all about. An ironic fist in a velvet glove.

So, while I normally distance myself from the interview subject, that evening I found myself on an all night adventure. The guys took me to an odd house party with two grand pianos and a Fuse TV crew goading us into doing fake vodka shots for their program about ‘partying’. It was somewhat amusing to watch Mike and guitarist Stephen’s faces as they took in all the bizarre pre-mating habits of fringe Angelinos on the make.

“What a perfect Hollywood party to have gone to.” one of them remarked.

“Oh, this is by no means what a Hollywood party is like.“ I corrected.

For one thing there was no hosted open bar from a booze company that no one has ever heard of. No unemployed actors serving expensive appetizers in honor of a major movie release. No DJ with his stage name in glittery sticker letters across his laptop, pumping out banging disco house music. There were no roving club kid photogs goading under age kinds to pull their tops down for a moment of cyber fame. There wasn’t even a celebrity sighting.

In fact, the only real Hollywood thing I was able to show them was the La Brea tar pits – I drove them over to Wilshire, prepping them on the monument to our pre-historic predecessors. As I pulled my convertible up to LACMA, their faces fell.

“That’s it?” Their manager, Dan, yelled. “Those don’t look like woolly mammoths. They’re like cartoon fiberglass elephants. Fooking ‘ell!”

I had failed as a tour guide.

Luckily last week I had the chance to redeem myself. The boys were hopping back across the pond to support the drop of their album Wicked Man’s Rest. I bought me some spf 50, map quested Zuma Beach and rsvped to every annoying pool party and drink fest that came across my email spam box.

Dinner at Jones and a small gathering at the Woods with James Murphy in attendance, was a nice evening out for Passenger…but where was the gin soaked night? The evening of excess? The morning after where you aren’t quite sure where you are or which playmate you woke up next to? I’d have to try harder.

Passenger performed again at the Hotel Café. Even though only six weeks had passed, their performance was so much tighter and dynamic. I got chills listening to Mike warble songs such as Things You Never Done and Table For One. And the upbeat single about stalking (which was just banned by a radio station) Night Vision Binoculars, got the early dinner crowd clamoring to meet them afterwards.

Stephen & Mike of Passenger at the Hotel Cafe

Now, I suppose that too many years spent up all night and sleeping all day has jaded me. My smooth skin belies the time I’ve spent partying hard, and hitting the bottle harder. But a domestic partnership, a serious illness and a jaded ‘been there, done that’ glaze has seriously mellowed me out. My idea of wild fun would have been punk rock karaoke or maybe splurging on a really expensive bottle of wine. I must admit I’ve become more of a boho hipster, rather than a fun-thirsty scenester.

Passenger must have sensed this. Which is probably why they left nothing to chance this time and had their management company make a reservation at a club called Villa. Yeah, that Villa. As in the Villa I only know of from the check-out lane tabloids. Passenger told me the Weho address and I sniffed at it, snobbishly.

“I don’t go west of Fairfax Ave.” I chided.

“Why not?” They asked.

“You’ll see.” I warned.

The MacLean-mobile pulled up to what once was the yuppie pub, Sloans. Now transformed into Villa, the place looked like a Kubrick wet dream. White silk cord ropes hung draped from the ceiling. A giant stuffed peacock competed for attention with a giant silver hot air balloon and a white Apollo space suit. The walls were frescoed with paintings of books as if the Eyes Wide Shut orgies had spilled into a billionaire’s library.

The place was gorgeous. That is, until the clientele arrived.

If reality television had spawned a nightclub, then this is where they would come for re-runs. Every fake tanned, fake-titted girl teetering on heels, in a too short t-shirt-cum-dress, came in hungry for attention. It made me do a double take in a way that even blatant beastiality would fail to. It was so…Jerry Springer episode: Tanorexic oompaloompa girls and the trucker hatted dudes who love them.

If this place is supposedly good for spotting stars, then where were they? Where the hell was gorgeous Villa denizen Jonathan Rhys Myers? Where was Johniston or Brangelina? Was the lack of wattage because it was karaoke night? And why was Lukas Haas checking email on his Sidekick WHILE he was on stage singing Bitter Sweet Symphony? That’s enough to make The Verve break up again. Permanently.

“The décor is wasted on these people.” I remarked “None of them know what those strange oblong things called books are.”

“No.” Stephen agreed. “They probably call it ‘the wall with good children’s names’.”

“Yes, like Gatsby Silverstein. Or Nietzsche Jones.”

I shudder to think. Makes Apple Martin or Pilot Inspektor Lee sound kind a good Christian name. Doesn’t it?

We stepped outside for a cigarette to a hail of flashbulbs. That horrible swarm of parasitic paparazzi that you see on TMZ, were in the flesh outside of the club. Even with a little experience walking down a red carpet, I was a bit taken aback.

“Is this what it’s like when you go out in Hollywood?” Mike asked.

“NO.” I stammered. “This is how the other half live. I’m an east side hipster. We stick to indie rock, red wine and artistic integrity.”

Mike and Ali On The Air outside Villa nightclub

Actually what we were witnessing wasn’t exactly how the other half of LA lives. It’s really more like an eighth…the real Hollywood stars don’t hang out at Villa on a Monday night. They go to bed for an early call to the set the next morning. Or they attend a charity function where the swag bags include strands of black pearls and complimentary blackberrys. No, this type of Hollywood crowd is a very specific breed. The ‘dancing with the d-list’ kinda crowd. The reality TV has-been kinda crowd. And that includes you, Miss so-called World 2006.

Almost as if on cue, two of the perma-tanned d cup girls came out for a cigarette, and the parasites went crazy, clicking and sticking microphones into their faces. I couldn’t tell you who these trollops were, or what they possibly had to say that would hold anyone’s interest…but someone was paying the shutterbugs to capture their every move.

“Who are they?” Stephen asked.

“I dunno. Maybe they’re Hef’s playmates? Or maybe they’re on some reality show.” I offered.

“What show would that be, ‘Surgical Mistakes’? Stephen quipped. No doubt coming soon on Spike TV.

Mike & Stephen give the paparazzi a Brighton greeting

This was exactly the part of Hollywood that out-of-towners want to see, but are then very sorry when they do. It’s an embarrassment to someone like me to try and explain away why America is fascinated by this type of vapid vomit. It’s a peek behind the curtain at what glamour really ISN’T about.

Perhaps I should have stuck with ferrying them on a trip to the Sunset Strip. Even though the brains over there aren’t exactly firing on all cylinders either, at least it’s fun to watch the crowd that hasn’t made it past 1986. Watching someone like Vince Neil imbibe and make an ass of himself seems almost wholesome next to this slutbag contest. This was just…depressing.

It also served as a reminder to me underlining the fact that mediocrity and grotesque reign over talent and beauty. Why is Passenger, with their gorgeous melodies, playing an early slot at the Hotel Café? While Heidi Montag of The Hills is singing at Universal Ampitheater?!? Why, in a town of creative people, do we allow this to happen? Why can’t we urge everyone to stop reading OK magazine and stop tivoing Sunset Tan? Why couldn’t I convince any of my friends to go see the free Shakespeare in the park this summer? And who the hell greenlit Don’t Mess With The Zohan?

I'd rather stab my eyeballs with a fork

No seriously. I mean it. For fuck’s sake! I want to know who greenlit it, and I want his head on a platter!

Frankly I’m tired of having to go to the BBC for good comedy via Gervais and Izzard. I’m hoping that by the time I re-read my worn out copies of books by Evelyn Waugh, another Sedaris will be published. I’m really, really, really hoping Vicky Christina Barcelona will beat House Bunny at the box office but I’m not going to hold my breath.

Perhaps that’s what Silverlake is for. A place on the east side for those of us cultural snobs to retire to, after the glitter fades. We’ve drunk ourselves into an oblivion, partied like rockstars and watched our creative dreams slowly erode. So we barricade ourselves beyond the 101 beltway, light candles for Elliot Smith, eat at vegan bistros, and keep working on the great American novel or album.

Elliot Smith tribute wall

When a group of lads like Passenger come to Los Angeles, I want to have something worthy of them to show them. Something smart. Something thoughtful. Something truly glamorous – the type of glamour that inspired De Mille, Hawks, Altman and Allen.

I know I’m not responsible for the entire city of Babylon. But I am a citizen here and so I must accept that this is how it is, or change it. After all, it’s been years and I still live here. I could live anywhere in the world. It must be because somehow that promise of glamour, of greatness, of creative utopia is still somewhat alive. Perhaps like the song, the feeling remains, even after the glitter fades.

Jared Leto sued for 30 million dollars…

Virgin sues Leto and his band, 30 Seconds To Mars, for breach of contract…I’d pay that much to make him stop singing…

Virgin Records is suing 30 Seconds To Mars for $30,000,000 for breach of contract and damages. According to paperwork filed Friday in Los Angeles Superior Court, Virgin accuses 30 Seconds members Jared and Shannon Leto of not delivering three of five albums under the band’s contract, which it entered in 1999 with Immortal Records. Virgin took over the contract in 2004. A rep for the band told TMZ however that 30 Seconds To Mars has not been paid accordingly for the their last album, A Beautiful Lie. According to frontman Jared Leto, the band is currently working on a follow-up to A Beautiful Lie in Los Angeles.

Peanut Butter Wolf’s 888 kicks it at Root Down

It’s not like Peanut Butter Wolf has a lot of time on his hands. The man runs Stones Throw records, in addition to recording, producing, and spinning all over the world. So for Wolf to follow up last year’s 7 days of Heaven with 888: 8 days of music videos at 8 clubs in 8 styles – and no repeats nonetheless – well, god bless him. He’s the Little Prince of scratches.

Thursday night’s set at Root Down at Little Temple Bar in Los Angeles, was to be an hour of hip hop videos. I’ve been Wolf’s little blond shadow this week, following him from club to club. So, I was curious to see what he would break out to wow this crowd of uber hip hop fans. I feared it would be a bit like throwing Wolf to the lions.

With a fervent line snaking around Virgil Avenue, the mood was palpable. These lions wanted beats and wanted them bad. A capacity crowd, which included veteran and legend 9th Wonder, crammed themselves into the tiny room to see what Peanut Butter brought.

As PB stepped up to the mic, the crowd surged forward.

“So far, seven days and I’m here, rocking the same white tee shirt and the same Dodger hat…and I didn’t even know that we got Manny.” A few cheers were heard from fresh Manny Ramirez fans, but the rest of the crowd wanted music.

With a shout out to Dilla to kick things off, Wolf masterfully blended videos new and old, mixing flicks by Snoop Dogg, Wu Tang, and Method Man, with oldies by KRS One and De La Soul. Lest there be neophytes in the audience, he dropped hits by House of Pain, Onyx, and the Beastie Boys, but also broke out MOP, Leaders of the New School, and for the lovers of a high fade, Whistle’s ‘Just Buggin’.

The crowd was brimming with the kind of excitement only seen in kids on Christmas morning…that or the dudes in line at Best Buy the night before the premiere of the new Halo. However, the greatest testament to Wolf’s set was the complete joy on the faces of his peers. 9th Wonder, Jedi and Rhettmatic cheered him on, rapped along and peppered his scratches with shout outs.

Wolf finaled his hour long set with a video by Breakestra, featuring Root Down promoter, and Breakestra founder Music Man Miles. He stopped to mention that though he promised to play all hip hop, Breakestra and DJ Dusk were masterful enough to blend funk, soul, latin and jazz and expand the ears of hip hop fans everywhere. So with that testament and a shout out to Dusk, Dilla and Charizma, Wolf ended with some Ruben Blades.

“Damn, it’s hot in here.” PBW exclaimed as he left the stage. “I think I lost five pounds.” Likewise, the capacity crowd who stayed and sweated to the end, probably lost a combined ton in water weight. But that was just an added bonus to a night of electric sweat on the decks.

Oh and a side note – Wolf wasn’t wearing the actual same white t-shirt for the past 7 days. Just like his week of 888 spinning, Peanut Butter Wolf smells like roses.
Peanut Butter Wolf performs his final night of 888 on Friday. For more details, visit stonesthrow.com

Cheeseburger, well done.

I don’t eat red meat. But I sure do love me some Cheeseburger. So when I got word that the boys from Brooklyn were coming to town on the Tales of Colt 45 tour, I decided I’d definitely brave the tidal wave of douchebaggery to see some great cock rock.

Now, it’s hard to get me out to shows these days. Especially when a simple gig is overloaded with distractions meant to pull scenesters in. Professional studio photography, ice cream trucks, do it yourself silk screening, grafitti artists…free crack…if the music was actually good, would the clubs need all this excess shit to lure in the jaded Hollywannabes? Or is the pure love of music an outdated quality?

Colt 45 and Vice magazine were banking on the former with this night. one of the many ‘lifestyle’ extravaganzas which litters the LA scene these days. King King was packed when I arrived, and people were swaying, yelling, spitting and fighting. The free 40 ouncers were like the proverbial stick rattling the tiger cage at the zoo. The only thing left to light this powder keg would be a set of searing party rock.

Enter Cheeseburger.

The first thing I asked when I found the band in the crazed crowd, was if their guitarist had been tested. Last time they played in LA, Eric bled all over the stage at an alarming rate. I don’t begrudge an axe man with diseases, but I just had to be sure.

The band assured me that while he may be disease riddled, the calluses he built up would prevent him from bleeding on me during the show. So that takes care of me during the show…I didn’t go into what would protect me afterwards.

Joe, Luke, Eric and Christy, shuffled single file into their “green room” and closed the door so we could get some quiet. Closing the door seemed to make it louder in their actually, the door being less like a piece of paper and more like a noise sponge.

None of them were thrilled to be interviewed, even by an old friend, except for Christy who began snapping pictures and video of me to commemorate the precious moment.

AOTA: What’s the matter? We had fun on Little Radio last year.

JOE: Yeah but we were drunk. You gave us a keg of Heinken.

AOTA: Yes, true. We did roll out a party for you. But you have free Colt 45 – the sponsor of your mini tour. And I’m sure Vice would spring for a few drinks too.

JOE: I actually hate both of those products. I find them distasteful.

Joe scowled and took a swing off a Bud light. Christy stopped taking my picture long enough to survey the energy in the club.

CHRISTY: I feel hostility. I don’t know what it is, but it seems very hostile in this place.

AOTA: You’re in Los Angeles. And you’re in a room of people liquored up on Colt 45 which is slightly less like crack than Sparks, but not by much. But rumor has it that it’s been used as a form of chlorofyl in several kidnappings…

JOE: Colt 45 is for homeless people and college students.

Another long swig of Bud light.

AOTA: What do you have against the homeless? And didn’t you like college?

CHRISTY: College is supposed to be the best time of your life.

AOTA: Was it yours?

CHRISTY: No. I was depressed and lonely in college.

Christy lamented. Pause. Christy snapped another picture. I put my hand up to keep from being blinded by his flash.

AOTA: So when did that change?

CHRISTY: When I got successful and joined Cheeseburger!

Christy yelled this with a passion I haven’t seen from anyone on either of the coasts for a long time.
And I believed him. If you were in a band like Cheeseburger, whose main raison d’etre was to goad people into partying their asses off, wouldn’t you consider it a Cheeseburger job, well done?

Seeing as the guys have had triumph in placement lately, I asked how they felt being featured in Grand Theft Auto IV.

AOTA: Nothing like hearing the song “Cocaine” while you beat the crap out of someone you drag out of their car, yeah?

JOE: I’ve never seen it or played it. I don’t like playing games.

AOTA: You never played a video game? Even when you were a kid?

JOE: I played Q bert.

CHRISTY: Q bert is psychadelic!

Christy added this fact with an air guitar riff played on his beer bottle.

JOE: Cheeseburger is against violence. Enough is enough!

CHRISTY: Yeah! How much quote, violent bullshit, unquote, will we put up with? Make sure you put that part in quotes. And then tell them to ‘Google that’!

Not wanting my article to be a platform for their subversive propaganda, I quickly changed the subject.

AOTA: So, you guys have a song placed in the Will Ferrell movie, Stepbrothers.

I was met with half assed nods and grumbles.

AOTA: Did you see it?

A chorus of no, until Eric sheepishly nodded.

ERIC: I saw it.

AOTA: And? How was it?

ERIC: Uh, hmmm, it was…not good.

The others jeered at him. I think I heard a “duh” form somewhere in the room.

AOTA: Sooo, you don’t drink Colt 45 or read Vice. You don’t play Grand Theft Auto and most of you, except the bleeder over here, wont go see the movie your music is in…so I guess my question is, with all these sponsors that you will work with or take money from – is there anyone you won’t work with?

JOE: Twinkies and marines.

CHRISTY: I’ll work with anyone.

JOE: And Cabbage Patch Kids.

CHRISTY: Wait, you don’t like Xavier Roberts?

Joe shook his head disgusted and stood up and walked away from us.

CHRISTY: Make sure you write that he left the interview at this point.

AOTA: Oh, duly noted.

CHRISTY: I heard about this guy in Europe who opened an orphanage for toy baby dolls. You have to go through adoption interviews and everything. But it’s for a doll.

AOTA: For a doll? Who would do that?

CHRISTY: It’s really popular.

AOTA: Is this something Brad and Angie are contemplating? Have we run out of real children? Is this the only choice left if I wanted to get a baby?

CHRISTY: You could go fuck a homeless guy.

AOTA: Oh, been there. Most of my boyfriends were homeless when I met them.

Then I had to pause and actually think about the fact that someone had suggested I go fuck a homeless man. Over fucking anyone who was in the club that night. That’s how bad the crowd looked, people. One point for homeless men, zero for faded hipsters in capes. Seriously. One guy was wearing a rainbow towel as a cape.

Joe wandered back into our discussion.

JOE: OK, is this done? Anything else? Do you have a serious question?

AOTA: How do you feel about the Village Voice describing your music as ‘crunk punk’?

JOE: Crunk Punk? I don’t even know what that is. That’s not a hard hitting, serious question. Those guys are corporate shills. They have no idea what they’re talking about. They’re a bunch of Oberlin College, left wing, homosexual, shit eating—

CHRISTY: I just realized I have drink tickets!

Christy began pulling wads of red tickets out of his pockets.

JOE: Man, I paid for this beer! Give me those.

CHRISTY: Do I get a serious question?

AOTA: OK, what do you think will help the situation in Darfur.

JOE: You ask me about crunk punk and he gets Darfur?

AOTA: Feel free to answer if you have an opinion, Joe.

CHRISTY: I don’t think out government gives a shit about Darfur, so nothing will happen.

JOE: C’mon give me a serious question.

AOTA; OK. You have a new song called Jellybean. What’s your favorite flavor jellybean?

Joe rolled his eyes at me hard.

JOE: Purple.

CHRISTY: Purple is pussy vagina lips flavor!

JOE: And he gets the Darfur question.

AOTA: Ok, ok. A serious question for you. How can America get out of this recession?

Joe paused a second and looked thoughtful.

JOE: It doesn’t matter. It’s all just…just write ‘it doesn’t matter’. Christy you have those drink tickets?

The guys scrambled away from the couch and out of the green room as if the bell had rung on the last day of school. Luke paused at the door.

LUKE: You coming?

Oh yes. I wouldn’t miss the main event. Not for all the towel caped hipsters in Hollywood.

As Cheeseburger took the stage I looked around, noticing that the mass had thinned out considerably. I ambled over to the bar but before I could even order a gingerale, the bartender barked at me that there was no more free Colt. That explains the personal space around me in the club. Most of the little crack whores were on to their next hyphy crunk party to be seen and scened.

But don’t worry. Cheeseburger didn’t arrive with a pocket full of cock rock for nothing. As if transformed by some combination of electric guitar and malt liquor, these creatures from the valley appeared, dressed as if it were still 1988. Not the ironic fashions mind you. These were the authentic Sunset Strip customers that kept people like Vince Neil decked out in rhinestones for years.

As Joe postured and growled his way through the set, these creatures became bolder, rushing the stage and trying to grab the mic from Joe’s sweaty paws. One woman, old enough to have given birth to almost everyone there, kept gyrating on top of the monitor and throwing herself at the mic stand repeatedly. No amount of security could restrain her, and soon the beefy dudes just gave up.

Now, I do love cheeseburger, but I have yet to see any AARP aged women throw themselves at them as if they were at a Bon Jovi concert. Was it the Colt? Or the crushing guitars and pounding drums?

I’d like to think it was the latter. Hopefully the next party Cheeseberger plays will be Colt free. I’d hate for everyone to think they were having fun just because they were really fucked up. In fact, I challenge Cheeseburger to play an aclohol free joint for their next gig. I guarantee everyone will have just as much fun. Cheeseburger is sonic crack – a raging party in every song. And just maybe you’ll get some purple jellybeans.

Tom Morello, Rage, plan show/rally opposite Republican Convention

When it comes to politics, many people complain that musicians should shut up and play. I for one am glad that we have outspoken troubadours today, running the gamut from Billie Joe to Bruce. Tom Morello is one of the best. I have tremendous respect for him and his collaborators. If you happen to be in Minneapolis, go check out their shows.

Kudos to those who speak out and never back down, cave to pressure or let anyone silence their views…except Toby Keith. Toby you should shut up and play. Maybe not so much with the playing either…

“Rage Against The Machine have scheduled yet another show, this time in Minneapolis in conjunction with the Republican National Convention. The band will perform at Minneapolis’ Target Center on September 3 while the convention is going on across the river from September 1 to 4. In addition to the Rage show, guitarist Tom Morello also will hook up with singer/songwriter and fellow social activist Steve Earle to perform a show at a union rally on September 1 in St. Paul.”

LA Weekly Detour Festival 2008 – an early birthday present to me

Here’s the line up for this year.

Some folks said last year was lame…I think those folks are comparing it to Coachella and the big ones…this is more akin to San Diego Street Scene, Siren festival or the Neighborhood festival.

Anyways, even if you don’t like the line up 100%, it’s a good way to go hang out with 2000 of your closest friends…

PB Wolf is spinning – I’ll be posting about his 888 verrry soon.

OCTOBER 4th

Line Up
Mars Volta
Gogol Bordello
Shiny toy guns
The presets
Cut Copy
Matt Costa
Black Lips
Hercules and Love Affair
Grand Ole Party
Datarock
Bitter:sweet
The submarines
ADAM FREELAND
THE BLOODY BEETROOTS
Surkin
Para One
Guns N bombs live
Peanut Butter Wolf
Buraka Som Sistema
Nico Vega
Japanese Motors
The Mae Shi
We are Wolves
Afternoons
Noah and the Whale
Mugison
donMoy
DJ Kid Lightning
Paparazzi
AC means