A Very Raging Christmas – Crap Music Is Over, If You Want It

In a land far, far away, called Great Britain a yearly war wages every winter. In this magical Narnian Isle, music is still a viable commodity taken very seriously. Their denizens actually record new holiday songs every season in the hopes of having the top Christmas single of the year.

We cynics across the pond are fine to do with the recycled, rehashed songbooks – over the river and through the wood, decking the halls and all that. Why would you need MORE freaking Christmas? A trip outside for a few hours on Black Friday and we’re drowning in so much Christmas it’s enough to move to the Aboriginal outback.

But England doesn’t mess around. Music and Christmas are a very serious thing. I mean, they still have music programming on TV, AND the government pays for some of it. Can you imagine if our government gave PBS money to make old school MTV styled programming? I might actually still want to live here.

Yes, England gets downright fervent about music, specifically the ‘single’. Especially when it comes to the OZ like machinery of Simon Cowell and company, who pump out yearly soft rock balladeers with their contest shows like Pop Idol and X Factor.  Yes, we have our American Idol, but it pales in comparison to the juggernaut that X Factor brings to the UK every year.

I was treated to the wonders of X Factor this October when I was staying in London. I politely watched with some fervent friends over Sunday roast and found myself drawn in by a bigger, cattier, more sordid and maudlin type of idol where the judges mentor the contestants, take sides and cut each other down so furiously I’m surprised they’re not allowed swords onstage. I have to admit I did get a little hooked. OK, a lot. It wasn’t the music, which was mostly dreadful. It was the huge soppy spectacle of it.

X Factor Judges

But truly music is the loser in this scenario, if it’s nothing more than a soapbox stump for Rhianna or Janet to pimp their new album, in between green faced kids being forced to sing George Michael covers. The winner of this contest releases a single and that song, most likely, goes on to be the Christmas single winner, no doubt to be over played through out the holiday season and beyond, knocking struggling bands off the charts and out of our memories as the new year chimes in.

This year’s X Factor winner, pie eyed Joe McElderry is an 18 year old Geordie accented charmer with a lilting, soaring voice who is as sweet as a Disney cartoon heroine. Blech. They even chose for his first single, the Christmas single in question, to be ‘The Climb’, a Miley Cyrus cover. Jesus. Come on, England! Throw some tea overboard!

Well, Jon Morter for this revolting enough to do something.  Sick of the slick promotional big label machine and the ‘crap’ it pumps out, he decided to take a stand and protest by simply using social media. Jon made a Facebook page called RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE FOR CHRISTMAS NO.1. On the page he asked the fans to buy his favorite band’s 1994 single, Killing In The Name Of, instead of X Factor Joe McElderry’s new Cyrus single “The Climb”.

The kid, Joe McElderry, seems nice enough – benign in a musical theater, syrupy sweet kind of way. He wasn’t even my choice to win the thing – I would have gone with the song and dance man Olly Murs, if I were holding a UK green card, but there I go, tipping my hand as someone who has seen enough of the show to care.

The fact is, there has always been pop music that was put together in a board room. Girl groups formed in the offices of the Brill Building weren’t exactly an organic creative process but still some of the best songs ever sung.

So some pop music can’t be denied, even if the singer didn’t pen the song themselves…but the pervasive problem today, it seems, is the onslaught of boy bands and mall makeovers done on any kid with half a voice who are put on diet pills and thrust into the spot light like Three Octave Barbie.  In a month their CD, filled with tuneless drivel, is overstocked at Walmart and outselling the grassroots band that actually writes music.

If you throw money and PR at a turd, the public will spend money on it. Sheeple are Sheeple, as the D Mode song goes…and the loser is not only the smaller musician out there, but ultimately the music listening public.

Enter Rage Against The Machine. Now they were invited to the party, unbeknownst to them, not because they are a small unknown indie rock band. No, they are a huge successful act on Sony, the very same Goliath label that Cowell and McElderry call home. But RATM started from humble beginnings and won each of their hundreds of thousands of fans, one by one. Not from a television show contest, but by playing small gigs and then larger ones. By touring relentlessly. By making music. And yes, by being political loud mouths and standing up for the little guy.

In an interview with UK paper The Sun, RATM frontman Tom Morello stated: “It is a historic campaign to save the UK pop charts from the abyss of bland mediocrity and we’re 100 per cent behind it. It’s really amazing and completely a grassroots uprising. It’s not like the band put this forward, it was the people. I found out about it when some friends of mine from the UK texted me.”

As the race between the two tightened, things got more heated. And weirder. Cowell kept accusing Rage of being bullies. Then the Facebook page went down and suddenly thousands of fans were inexplicably lost. And of course there were rumblings that this was all just an underground ploy of Sony executives to drive up sales of both singles – a major payday for Sony either way.

However, to show that it wasn’t a Sony plot, Morello promised that the band would reunite and play a free concert for London fans if they were to win the number one spot. This earned him some scorn and harsh words from X Factor kingpin Simon Cowell, and fellow X Factor judge Cheryl Cole, a former member of all girl group Girls Aloud, who was Mc Elderry’s mentor on the show. Cheryl stated “If that song, or should I say campaign, by an American group is our Christmas Number 1, I’ll be gutted for Joe and our charts.”

Cheryl Cole and Joe McElderry on X Factor

Morello flattened Cowell and Cole’s jingoistic pleas for support of Geordie Joe.

“The X Factor song was written by a cabal of highly paid professional songwriters and was already made a hit by a pre-teen artists from the United States. That’s nothing I would feel too proud about hoisting the flag up on.”

“The X Factor suits have been pulling out every dirty trick in the book to get their single to No 1. They’ve been pressuring the big retail stores over the price of the single and there were some shenanigans that happened with the Facebook page where it went down mysteriously on the second day.

“Some of the things they are doing seem almost desperate and that’s because they’re afraid of the people.”

As the deadline neared for the tally, Joe was in the lead by a narrow margin. Tom Morello took to twitter and urged his online fans to download on itunes and help push Rage over the edge. They upped the ante by stating that they would be donating their proceeds from their Christmas single to charity. No Sony payout for the people who helped put Rage in the number one spot.

It looked as if Joe had the Xmas single sewed up, but in a Christmas miracle come from behind victory, the American revolutionaries toppled Cowell’s teen idol and took the number one spot. Davey had conquered Goliath!

Of course Cowell was ‘gutted’ for his protege, McElderry, but was gracious enough to concede the spot to a song with well over fifteen ‘fuck you’ s laden in the lyrics. Well done. Cowell supposedly even offered Jon Morter a job doing marketing for his music label, though that might just have been the PR equivalent of licking his wounds.

Whether or not you think that this contest of wills will actually change the stranglehold that Cowell and X Factor has on music, the fact is that this small group on Facebook has managed to raise 83,000 pounds (approximately $132,700) for the charity, Shelter, they’ve helped to break  two UK chart sales records…and it’s made music history and social media history.

It’s also an example that we do not have to sit idly by and listen to crap. Crap music is over, if you want it. If you don’t want it, turn it off. If you hate the television you keep seeing, turn it off. Or make your own. Vote with your dollar, your time and your energy. If you don’t like what is out there. DO NOT give it your time or energy. “I am listening to it cause it’s on” is no longer a viable option as we enter 2010 a supposed enlightened era. If you don’t like it, do something. If you can’t create an alternative, then at least turn it off.

When asked if they’d attempt to overthrow the Christmas No. 1 again next year, Jon and his team admit that it probably wouldn’t work again nor would they want it to. But they are most proud of the fact that they were able to motivate people to take a stand against mediocrity and change something in pop culture history.

On top of that, raising money for a good cause and making friends with their favorite band of all time…well that’s just part of the best Christmas gift ever.

Peter Beste, Black Metal, & Spinal Crap

Peter Beste is a very talented music photographer. His greatness lies in his ability to really immerse himself in the world of the subject, whether it be London grime, Houston hip hop, Southern strip joints or Norwegian metal. The result is vivid, arresting photos that juxtapose the subject with a surprising surrounding. Metal star in a safe, white station wagon? Of course.

get out of my bad dreams, get into my car

What I didn’t expect was for his new book, True Norwegian Black Metal, and his Vice VBS TV documentary for of the same name, would be a window on one of the strangest stories in music.

My friend T.C. and I met Jennifer (of L7 fame) and her boyfriend Chris, at the hoity toity restaurant Jar, for drinks beforehand. Sitting at the posh bar amongst a friendly Aussie and a very charming James McAvoy, lulled me into a false sense of Hollywoodland, and made me ill prepared for the metal fairy tale that was about to unfold…

Peter’s Los Angeles exhibit opening was down the block at Zune. Upon entering, it was clear that the walls of photos brought a crowd of black wearing men and women who only come out at night. To rock.

Joan of Ass

Jennifer, T.C. and Chris at the exhibit

The photographs were strange and beautiful, and at times funny or disturbing. The colors and composition made even the most outlandishly dressed gallery attendees fade into the background like wall flowers. Peter was a clear eyed, affable guy, whom you would never think had held the key to the Metal castle, but he did. And he followed the story of Gorgoroth…

photographer Peter Beste

Once upon a time, there was a phenomenon called Gorgoroth. No, not the dead plateau of evil and Darkness in the land of Mordor from Lord of The Rings…the Norwegian black metal band Gorgoroth. They are much more scary than the Tolkien version of Gorgoroth. Sorta.

Gorgoroth was known for it’s members, King ov Hell, Infernus, Tormentor and Gaahl, amongst a revolving cast of shredders. Gorgoroth’s members weren’t strangers to controversy. They had played a show in Krakow, Poland, once the scene of the horrific Holocaust, and displayed sheep heads on stakes, a bloodbath of 80 liters of sheep’s blood, satanic symbols, and four naked crucified models on stage. Awww, cute!

from Peter Beste's exhibit

Other noteworthy incidents included Infernus’s incarceration for assault and rape, and Gaahl’s jail time for torturing a man, apparently focusing his brutality on the man’s testicles. This pretty much ruled out their being booked for parties and Bar Mitzvahs.

from Peter Best's exhibit

Amidst these ‘Behind The Music’ type skids, the band kept up the good fight. For there was a war going on…a war between the Norwegian Black Metal scene and the Swedish Death Metal scene. The Norwegian scene was known for certain members who committed murder, burned down medieval wooden churches, and desecrated graveyards. Despite the Swedish Death metal scene’s attempts to thwart their actions or overshadow it with their raucous, deadly caucophany, the Norwegians held their ground.

Unfortunately, Gorgoroth’s involvement in this Hatfield vs McCoy type battle was cut short when the band split in 2007. This brought another war on, between band mates for use of the name and the trademark. The litigation war still wages on today.

Peter managed to infiltrate this secretive sect of musicians and they eventually allowed him to photograph them and document them for a five part series. Seeing these Norse gods of metal traipse through lush Narnian fields and woods was brilliant – black leather and spikes weighing them down as they climbed steep embankments.

from Peter Beste's exhibit

While the field trips were a bit comical, Peter’s interview with Gaahl became downright eerie in the end. When Gaahl was unhappy with Peter’s line of questioning, he went into a icy rigid state, sitting dead still and staring straight ahead without blinking. While watching this video at the gallery, I thought the video tape had frozen…but the flickering candle in the background proved that this was one freaky dude – he’d make Charlie Manson sleep with a night light on.

Gaahl

As an interviewer myself, I was captivated by this scene. I’ve had my fair share of rock star enfant terribles and one or two who have stepped over the line, into my lap and tried to lick me (or other dog like behavior). However, this was way beyond an inappropriate sexual advance. How did Beste stay seated during this? How did he not run screaming from the room? Any moment the walls could have started bleeding and the windows blown in in some Shining/Amityville styled nightmare. It made me almost swoon in appreciation for Beste’s courage. This video was truly chilling in an Ed Gein, Dahmer sense, which party made me want to know exactly what he did to that man he tortured back in 2002…but then again I’m a twisted soul who keeps a copy of The Stranger Beside Me on my bedside table.

However, the myth of Gaahl unravels a bit here. Though he may be an unstable, psychopath satanist with a cult following, Gaahl’s recent revelations of his personal life betray his monster mask. It was noted in an interview, that Gaahl has been involved with Norwegian modeling agent Dan De Vero since he was eighteen. But not only did Gaahl use his death scythe to hack his way out of the closet, but then revealed that he and De Vero were designing a women’s clothing line called “Wynjo”. Yes, pretty dresses for summer

Oh, and the magazine where Gaahl affirmed his homosexuality? The November 2008 issue of…Rock Hard.

Yeah, Rock Hard. I am not making this shit up. It kinda turns the Tolkienesque bloody tale into a Spinal Crap farce.

True, the music that Beste’s subject matters play would make Marilyn Manson look like Bozo the Clown, but it comforts me somewhat to know that even the most violent men in Norway are still concerned about whether or not hemlines are going up and the difference between a pump and a stiletto.

Ali and TC - metal babe fashionistas

However unintentionally hilarious in parts, the long, strange trip of this heavy metal clan is a fascinating subject. Beste, bless his heart, has captured it stunningly.

Peter Beste’s True Norwegian Black Metal exhibit runs Nov. 21 – December 18 2008 at Zune LA, 8275 Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles, or visit http://www.peterbeste.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.