Bastard? Me?

The postman had me worried today. A package came through the door which was packed with a poster and beer mat emblazoned with the words "YOU BASTARD". But my initial fears that Phil Lesh or Glenn Hughes had finally tracked me down were unfounded when I sussed there was also a CD in there. Now, I know I should hate this. Any band that has to resort to using song-titles such as 'Bastard', 'Beat Me' or 'Killer Killer' are clearly begging for attention - usually as a result of trying to over-compensate for piss-poor material. But Electric Eel Shock are actually surprisingly impressive. OK, they may not be stunningly original, as their sound is blatantly entrenched in the stoner-riff genre, but the truth is that they rock like, errr, bastards.

At That Time Of The Night

With things still drifting along at a virtually un-noticeable pace on the DT book front (I'm going to have to write another chapter at this rate Mr Publisher . . !), I've had to try and find something new to fill my days and evenings. It's a bit like finishing exams - you can't wait to get the blight of your life out of the way, but when you do, you end up twiddling your thumbs and being driven slowly insane by the lack of activity. So, I've been scavenging around to try and come up with a new project. Thankfully, it looks like I'm going to be starting a new book early next year. The subject is a closely guarded secret - just because I'm an old paranoid who believes that by "going public" things will rapidly turn to crap. But, I can say that it involves another legendary prog rock band. And that's all you're getting out of me for now.

I've been perusing the latest issue of Metal Hammer today. Of late, I've been pleasantly surprised at the content, as they have seemingly shifted towards more of a "Classic Metal" stance. Yet, they let themselves down by covering the latest bunch of talentless retards who think that dressing as zombies is original/ amusing. Alice Cooper did it years ago. Then there was GWAR the truly gimpish Shitknot, Marilyn Manson etc etc. Need I go on? But no. Here come "metal ghouls" Send More Paramedics. WOW!!! They're "Zombiecore"! WOW!!! They turn up late cos they can't park they're zombie van! WOW!!! They use blood capsules! WOW!!! They're from, errr, Leeds! WOW!! They say such things as "We are zombies risen from the grave to eternally wander the earth in search of brains". WOW!! Such originality and what rebels! But then again, pre-pubescents probably find them cool, so what do I know?

Jam Bands - Don't You Love 'Em?

Spent the last few hours cranking out a few reviews for Classic Rock. As much fun as this undoubtedly is, there are times - such as today when presented with a Phil Lesh live DVD - that you want to cry or become a dustman. Without doubt, this is the worst abortion of a live show I have ever been asked to review. It was so bad, I actually began to resent having to conjure up 120 words on it or waste seconds of my life watching it. The thought also crossed my mind that it didn't deserve 120 words, and that 118 of these words were superfluous to requirements. "Fucking awful" would have done. I do not care this man was the bassist in the Grateful Dead. The man can't sing. His backing band are only happy when they wander off into "jazz jam" mode and noodle away for 15 minutes. And we all know "jazz jam" is a euphemism for five talentless blokes playing random notes and time signatures under the inaccurate guise that it's somehow artistic. But the reality is that like a Jackson Pollock painting, it's ultimately pretentious bollocks. I need a drink . . .

Hate Mail

I was just flicking through a few old issues of Classic Rock and stumbled across one of the letters pages. Amusingly, I'd managed to stress out Glenn Hughes in my review of one of his albums (I think I said he sounded like a bad James Brown and looked like Gary Glitter. Both true). Failing to see the humour he wrote in and complained - which is always a bad move as the magazine always gets the last word. It's especially witless given that the editor always writes the rejoinder and at that time, that position was filled by the notoriously snappy Mick Wall. There was also another letter from a chap who noticed that one of my album reviews bore no resemblance to the version available in the shops. That was due to the crappy, independent AOR label issuing advance copies with a different track-listing to the finished version. How I laughed . . .
Click to enlarge btw.

Seconds Out

I've actually managed not to revisit the Dream Theater book for a couple of weeks which has given me a new impetus. After a while you don't read it in the same way as a first-time reader would. I know the text backwards - all 140,000 words of it- and it is impossible to truly assess the quality. Although I'm satisfied with it, reading it again with a fresh pair of eyes has made it a simple task to edit out any nonsense. The force of some of the comments are also put in a greater perspective.

One of the more outspoken interviewees was David Prater, who produced Dream Theater's hit album 'Images And Words'. Of late, the band and David haven't exactly been reticent in brutally criticising each other and rubbing each other up the wrong way. But ignoring the rights and wrongs of the quarrelling, he's an engaging interviewee. He's also highly intelligent and has a strong understanding of musical theory- which is probably why he and the band butted heads so much when they were in the studio. Too many geniuses in the confined space of the control room was always going to end in tantrums.

Anyway, here's one of his many comments, this particular one referring to working with Kevin Moore:

"I was as mad at him as I've ever been in my life. I literally wanted to assault him to make him feel as bad as what he had done to make me feel this bad. He was a rotten bastard then and may be one now for all I know."