rock | Tough Customer // Wire

The Ringers

Out at my parents’ house they have satellite TV. As a rule I don’t even sit down in front of their TV unless I have at least three hours to kill. I don’t know if all satellite users have this many channels or if they have some kind of mega-channel package, but the amount of choices available is totally overwhelming. There are something like 200 channels devoted to sports, with coverage of everything from slamball to motorcycle ice racing. Cooking shows take up channels 500 through 650, reality and home improvement shows are in the 800s, and you can usually find any sitcom ever made if you flip through the low channels. And of course there are 20 different versions each of HBO, Showtime, Cinemax, and Starz – and that’s not even counting the channels en Español.

With this many choices it’s hard to really enjoy whatever it is you end up watching. Sure that re-run from the original season of Iron Chef is cool, but what if you’re missing something better? It’s almost guaranteed that one of the 1000+ channels is doing a special on the world’s craziest bar fights started by explosions as described by naked co-eds to a soundtrack of rare Motörhead live recordings. And you could probably find it too, if you take the time to browse through all the channels.

Like I said, it’s totally overwhelming. I usually just end up watching the last 15 minutes of a bunch of movies I’ve already seen. Maybe that’s a little ADD, but it’s the only way I can reconcile the thrill of all that variety with the assurance of knowing I’m watching something at least half way decent. My dad, on the other hand, goes one better. He insists that most of the programming itself is worthless and that the true genius is in the commercials. Recently I’ve found myself agreeing with him.

Here’s why: those (relatively) new commercials from the National Milk Processor Board featuring a fictional glam rocker named White Gold. I’m sorry, but that shit is hilarious. Each commercial (not to mention the website, online ads, subway posters, etc.) is filled with so much tongue-in-cheek, self-referencing, semi-arcane rock symbolism that it’s almost like a game of Where’s Waldo for insider music jokes. Songs like “Is It Me Or Do You Love My Hair?” are played against a video back-drop that would make the boys in Spinal Tap proud. The website features tons of pseudo -Led Zeppelin iconography and a video game that allows you to assume the role of a sassy fashion photographer while White Gold and his back up singers strike various “awesome” poses. White Gold himself can be found playing the “infinite guitar solo” on his one gallon axe, which looks like a cross between a Flying V and one of Prince’s weird ass guitars. Needless to say, the guitar is filled with milk.

The first time I saw one of these commercials I realized that the actor playing White Gold had to be in a real band. He was just too good at playing an indulgent rock god. Nobody could step into that role without having spent some serious time in rock n roll fantasy land. Well guess what? I was right. White Gold is played by none other than Joe Hursley, front man for LA trouble punk band The Ringers.

Normally I would say actors and rock bands don’t mix (I’m looking at you Keanu), but in this case we can definitely make an exception. The Ringers play a brash style of punk rock that has the balls of The Stooges, the hooks of The Hives, and all the style of Los Angeles on a Saturday night. Their songs are full of sex, mischief and whiskey soaked growls. The band is all spit and vinegar and they bang out tight little rock songs like they’re getting paid 100 bucks for every party they start. I’ve never seen them live, but I’m willing to bet that the first three rows get wet.

What’s ironic is that The Ringers music is catchy enough that it will probably find its way into some commercial or another. If and when this happens, the result will be a commercial with music by a guy who plays another guy who plays music in another commercial for something totally different than the other commercial. Which is like, more confusing than a TV with 1000 channels.

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MP3: 'Holy Zipper'

By: Editor

26-11-2008

LA, pop, punk, rock

The Phenomenal Handclap Band

photo by Ed Marshall for Prefix Mag

The other day I gave my brother a band-aid for a cut on his hand. Actually, I should say Band-Aid, with a capital “B” and a capital “A” because it was a name brand bandage. Not only was it an actual Band-Aid, but it was one of the fancy ones. They’re called “tough strips” and they stay stuck to your body until you peel them off with a putty knife. It doesn’t matter if you’re sweating, showering, or taking a long walk though a hurricane. These things do not come off.

At the end of the day as we we’re driving home, my brother was astonished to find that his Band-Aid was still firmly attached to his hand. I conjectured that bandages were one of the things that you just can’t buy generic. You’ve got to buy Band-Aids if you want them to stay on long enough for the wound they are covering to heal. This quickly got us listing other things that a smart shopper shouldn’t skimp on when trying to decide whether or not to purchase a name brand item. Not the most stimulating conversation, I know, but a fun game to play when you’re driving across the Bay Bridge and there’s nothing good on the radio.

Here’s our list: Band-Aids, packing tape, soda, home electronics, plastic wrap, ballpoint pens, candy, toothpaste, and bongos.

This has quickly developed into a fun activity that can be used to kill time waiting in airports or turned into a drinking game when beer pong gets old. Basically you just make a list that has one broadly defined, yet very specific rule. For example, things that are better in large groups: games of capture the flag, birthday parties, sex, line dancing, drum circles, the wave, opposition to oppressive government forces, and afro-funk infused retro soul rock bands.

New York’s The Phenomenal Handclap Band has clearly played this game before. For their latest string of shows, they have assembled no less than 24 band members to grace the stage, including Morgan Phalen of Diamond Nights, Quinn Luke (aka Bing Ji Ling), plus members of Antibalas and the Dap Kings. There are also two guys credited as “medicine man” and “witch doctor.” The end result is a sound that is equal parts Fela Kuti, Rare Earth, and Polyphonic Spree.

There aren’t too many other groups out there with this particular sound. In fact, I can’t really think of any, but if you can then go ahead and make a list.

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MP3: 'Testimony'

By: Editor

25-09-2008

afro-beat, dance, New York, pyschedelic, rock, soul

The Yelling

First, let us say that this another band that comes to us via our friend Larry at Future Sounds. We were going to do a whole post about his latest comp – which is fuckin’ rad, btw – but we thought that might be bit redundant. So here’s just one of the many awesome bands he is introducing to the world on volume 32.

The Yelling hails from North Hollywood. They sound a little like The White Stripes with a better drummer (and really, who isn’t a better drummer than Meg White?) plus the guy from Cold War Kids on lead vocals. They rock real good and their drummer has an afro.

The peeps over at Inflight At Night reviewed them recently and used the words “polyembryonal gametophyte” in their article. We can’t hope to top that, so instead we’ll tell you this: The Yelling’s MySpace page lists their band website as www.theyelling.com. Apparently, this is not (yet) the case, because right now that URL leads you to one of those squatted dot-coms covered in advertising. Here’s the thing though: one of the ads is for a computer animated service that allows you to punch in a sentence and then have it read by an automated female voice.

You can have a lot of fun with this. For example, type in “Scott is a chode smoker” and then call your friend Scott and leave the message on his voice mail. Or type in the lyrics to “Baby Got Back” and then hit the play button while your co-worker is on the phone with his grandmother. Seriously, you should give this a try. It will lift your spirits and make you want to listen to some loud rock n roll. Speaking of which, have you heard The Yelling?

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MP3: 'Blood On The Steps'

By: Editor

20-08-2008

Los Angeles, rock

Soft Targets

Every once in a while I experience a strange personal phenomenon that makes me ponder certain unseen forces that may or may not exist in our world. It’s a strange and slightly befuddling experience, and it makes me feel like I’m in the Matrix or something. Before you get the wrong idea, let me just say that I’m not talking about ghosts or Ouija boards or anything like that. I’m talking about vocabulary.

Sometimes when I’m on the train or brushing my teeth, a random vocabulary word will pop into my head. It’s always one that I don’t immediately know the definition of, like “diaphanous” or “welter.” I’ll turn to whoever I’m with at the time and ask them if they know what the word means. Oddly, whoever I happen to ask never knows the definition. And it’s not like I’m turning to the nearest 1st grader for answers either. It’s usually somebody with an advanced degree and a pretty decent score on their SATs.

Anyway, because I can’t ever get the answer by asking, I’m forced to look it up. (FYI, “diaphanous” means characterized by such fineness of texture as to permit seeing through; a “welter” is a confused mass or a jumble.) It’s after I look up the definition of the word that things start to get a little mysterious. Immediately after putting the dictionary down, I will hear or see the word used several times. And let me just preempt all you skeptics by saying that I understand that once I’ve made such a conscious effort to define these words, I am unconsciously paying closer attention to them – like when you buy a blue Honda you suddenly start noticing more blue Hondas on the road. This is not that. I’ll use the case of “diaphanous” to illustrate my point.

The word popped into my head while I was brushing my teeth one morning. My wife couldn’t define it off the top of her head, so I looked it up. Then I went to read a magazine. The word “diaphanous” appeared in the first sentence of the first article I started to read. I told my wife what was going on so she wouldn’t think I was high on drugs when it inevitably happened again and I started going, “See!? There it is again!” When I went into the living room to tell her, she was watching the news. I tuned to see what she was watching and the guy on TV used “diaphanous” in a sentence. Then I left the house to catch the train for work. There were two hippie chicks sitting next to me talking about some dress they were knitting or something. One of them turns to the other and, swear to god, describes the material of the dress as “diaphanous.” What?! What kind of hippie uses the word “diaphanous?” Up until she said that, every other word out of her mouth had been either “mellow” or “vegan chocolate chip cookie.”

Fast forward to last week. All of a sudden I start hearing the expression “soft targets.” I’m sure it has something to do with one of the wars currently being fought somewhere in the world, given that “soft targets” is a military term referring to unarmored/undefended targets needing to be destroyed. While not technically a vocabulary word, the phrase did catch my ear. I didn’t know what it meant, so I turned to the guy sitting next to me in the movie theater and asked him. Ironically, that guy happened to be my brother, who just got out of the Marines. He gave me more-or-less the exact same definition as Wikipedia (see above).

So this is weird because, for once, somebody does have the answer. But get this: it’s not the right answer. In fact, Soft Targets is a rock n roll band from Chicago. Note that I’m specifically using the term “rock n roll” and not “indie rock.” These guys are certainly independent, but their songs are full of big guitars, big pop hooks and, best of all, big endings (big endings are totally rad! -ed). Their sound is more similar to The Smithereens or Urge Overkill than to any of the shaggy blog rock bands pouring out of Brooklyn. And like any good rock band, they’ve been through about a thousand line-up changes since they formed in 2005, which makes their solid, cohesive sound even more impressive.

Thus we come full circle. I sought to define Soft Targets. I did, and then, in keeping with this mysterious trend, I heard them right away. And since I keep listening to them I’m likely to hear it several more times today.

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MP3: 'Traitors & Spies'

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MP3: 'Walk Away'

By: Editor

13-08-2008

Chicago, pop, rock

Dangermaker

Some people are morning people. In fact, you often hear people talking about their disposition in relation to this fact. They will say, “I am totally a morning person” or “I am definitely not a morning person.” Unfortunately for the latter, the world is pretty much biased toward the former. For most of us, work starts around eight or nine in the morning. This is also when stores open, this is when breakfast is served at most restaurants, and this is when the early birds will be out looking for worms.

It is said that this daylight-centric schedule comes from our early days as an agricultural society. Back when raising crops and tending to cattle were the primary focus of everyone’s lives, the day time hours had to be used to maximum effect. So it was early to rise and early to bed for everybody other than the vampires and nightcrawlers. I guess we’re all just creatures of habit, because here it is 200+ years after the Industrial Revolution and we’re still getting up with the sun and off to work as soon as it gets light outside.

In the 21st century this no longer makes much sense. Again, the majority of the work force heads off to work in the first hours of daylight, but it’s not to tend the fields or work somewhere outside where daylight is required. Most of us get in cars, trains, and buses and head to office buildings, stores, or classrooms. All of these places have electric light and protection from the elements. So really, the work we do there could just as easily be done at 9pm as it could at 9am. And at this point, many of us are interacting via computer with people in different states, countries, and time zones, which means that there’s not even any real value to having everybody in the same place at the same time.

(Side note: You know what also makes no sense? The fact that UPS, FedEx, and the cable/phone company will only come to your house during regular business hours. They’re just as stuck in this outmoded, 18th century scheduling rut as everybody else, even though it’s wildly impractical for them to operate that way. For example, they will leave several notes on your door saying, “We came by at 11:15am. Sorry we missed you!” No shit. You wanna know why you missed me? Because I’m at work at 11:15am – just like everybody else in the frickin’ world. Why don’t they just start the day a little later so that they can make all the home deliveries/service calls between 5 and 8 pm when everybody is actually home?)

Ultimately what I think it comes down to is light and dark. It’s not so much morning people versus night people, it’s that most people still have some ingrained, primitive fear of the dark and they like to be safe at home before the darkest part of the night falls. However, there are a few of us who relish the dark, be it the dark of a cold, moonless night, or the dark of a warm, windowless bar. Thankfully, some of these people have also started bands so that they can play music for the rest of us.

San Francisco’s Dangermaker is one such band. They play slick, haunting guitar rock that goes perfectly with a shot of whiskey and an absence of light. Don’t bother listening to this band first thing in the morning as you enjoy a bran muffin with your skim latte. This is not a breakfast band. Instead, you should throw on their EP at the tail end of a three-day bender when you’ve jacked up the stereo and you’re just looking to make one last pass at the girl sitting by herself at the end of the bar. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure Dangermaker are creatures of the night – which works for me because I am definitely not a morning person.

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MP3: 'Need'

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MP3: 'Looks Good'

By: Editor

31-07-2008

rock, San Francisco

Pearlene

I’m a mixtape junkie. I’ve got a problem, I acknowledge it, but I don’t see myself quitting any time soon. Talk to me about music for a minute or more, and before you know it I’ll be forcing a CD-R on you, chock full of esoteric songs that perfectly match your taste in music – or at least what I imagine your tastes to be. I’ll be all, “You know how we were talking the other day about the Black Keys? You said you kind of liked that one song with the guitars. Well, I made a mix for you. It’s all songs that feature heavily distorted blues guitar riffs played with a slightly tongue-in-cheek garage rock sensibility. Let me know what you think.”

It’s hard to say whether this behavior is more dorky or annoying. Probably both. Like I said, I have a problem.

One of the things I really like to do is make mixtapes for hyper specific occasions. Anybody can make a compilation of 80s dance hits. In fact, that theme is so far-reaching that they sell those compilations on late night TV. I like to aim a little closer to the bull’s eye. Recent projects for me have included such mixes as Drinking All Night In A Cheap Motel Room Outside Of Reno, Tropical Disease: Songs For The Central American Jungle and The Eagle Has Landed – which refers to an inside joke between my friends and I that I won’t elaborate on, for fear of legal repercussions.

One of the mixtape themes I struggle with though is BBQ music. There are just so many different ways you can go with that. I live in Oakland, and if we’re grilling in the park it’s pretty much got to be West Coast hip hop. I’m not trying to get shot for encouraging the ballers down at Mosswood Courts to listen to something other than Mac Dre. Here in San Francisco, most bar-b-quers (SP?) like to keep it old school – either soul, punk or rap, depending on whose backyard you’re in. Back in New York, rooftop BBQ decorum dictates that you try to please everybody, so you don’t really make a mix as much as you just load up your iPod and hit ‘shuffle.’ Either that or you get an indie rock band from Brooklyn to drag their shit up the stairs and play a set over by the water tower.

In general BBQ music is a pretty amorphous category. You can go with something gritty and urban, or you can just as easily go with something twangy and rustic. Classic rock works too, particularly after every one’s been there long enough to drink a few beers. It’s with this in mind that I plan to add Pearlene to my next BBQ playlist. They started out back in Kentucky as an acoustic Delta Blues band, but quickly added sweat and electricity to their sound. What emerges on their latest album For Western Violence and Brief Sensuality is a smoky mix of stoner rock and hipster Americana. Granted, this kind of music would sound good in a lot places, but I’m willing to bet it satisfies my BBQ (mixtape) craving in particular.

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MP3: 'We All Get Off'

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MP3: 'Numbers'

By: Editor

06-06-2008

alt-country, BBQ, blues, Cincinnati, pyschedelic, rock

The Hands

The Hands totally gross band photo

I’m pretty squeamish. There are a lot of things that wouldn’t even rate a second look by most people, and yet those same things totally gross me out. Most of these things are pretty benign, it’s true. Certain activities that can barely be avoided in day-to-day life give me the shivers. As a result, I get accused of being a little OCD about all this gross-out business. I am often told that I should be able to watch someone brush their teeth without gagging. Sharing a bowl of cereal does not create the milky cauldron of saliva and backwash that I imagine. Rather it is a perfectly acceptable practice for brothers and sisters, boyfriends and girlfriends, or room mates. Not only that, but I should be able to watch doctors perform a pig valve transplant on a morbidly obese man on the Horrifically Graphic Surgery Channel…without having to cover my eyes and ears while humming the theme from The Daily Show.

My critics would also probably say that I should be able look at this photo of Seattle band The Hands without going, “Ewwwww! That’s nasty!” But I can’t. I mean, what is that he’s spitting into the other guy’s mouth? Mountain Dew? Urine? Sunny D? And not only is the one guy letting his band mate blow mouth-warmed, yellow-ish liquid at his face, but it also looks like just as much of it is going up his nose as is in his mouth. Ga-ross. Gross gross gross. That’s even more gross than the dude from The Black Lips spitting a loogie into the air and then gulping it back down mid-song – and that’s pretty fuckin gross.

Fortunately this is music we’re talking about. Until some mad scientist and/or Microsoft invents some kind of futuristic 3-D imaging brain implant software, music will remain an aural medium. So I can listen to The Hands with my eyes closed and focus only on what I hear. And what do I hear? A punkish blend of 70s riffage and indie rock song craft, plus a singer who sounds exactly like Mick Jagger. It is totally bad ass. And with my eyes closed I imagine that they’re playing in a hermetically sealed studio behind a thick pane of glass coated with anti-bacterial spray – which doesn’t bother me at all.

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MP3: 'Praying Hands Will Make Fists'

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MP3: 'Lies Lies Lies'

By: Editor

20-02-2008

indie, rock, Seattle

Tame Impala

Can we talk for a minute about bad band names? Choosing a band name is a delicate art. Besides writing a decent song and keeping the guitar player’s girlfriend from breaking up the group, choosing a cool name is the hardest thing a band has to do.

Some go with a name that’s bland or innocuous in a pre-emptive attempt to deflect criticism (see: The Shins, The Bees, The Cars, et al.). Others just try to put together a couple cool sounding words and hope that the resulting name will be twice as cool. This hardly ever works out (just ask Vertical Horizon). Still others go for something intentionally goofy, which is actually a pretty clever tactic. For example, what can a critic say about The Butthole Surfers? They call themselves The Butthole Surfers for chrissakes.

We’re guessing that Australia’s Tame Impala adheres to this latter school of thought. Originally traveling under the moniker The Dee Dee Dums, they recently changed their name to the even goofier, more obtuse Zulu antelope signifier. Given the band’s affinity for all things psychedelic, we can only guess that this came from some drug inspired walkabout through the Outback. They must have bonded with some huge amplifiers too, because in addition to the swirling psyche rhythms, Tame Impala lays down a good dose of classic heavy metal thunder. You can tell these kids also got their hands on a Cream record at some point in their adventures. In fact, Tame Impala are a bit like what that 60s super group might have sounded like if they had lesser musical chops but stayed together long enough to get more experience with LSD.

Wait, we forgot a category of band names: punk band names. These are an art unto themselves. Somebody could devote an entire list or website to punk bands names. That would be awesome. Hey look! Somebody did – and it’s not only awesome, but disgusting too.

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MP3: 'Half Full Glass of Wine'

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MP3: 'Flow'

By: Editor

25-01-2008

Australia, indie, pyschedelic, rock

The Valley

There is a street in Seattle where you can stand on a corner and see nine different Starbucks. For many people this fact might illicit strong feelings about rampant consumerism/capitalism/coffee-ism. Whatever. Starbucks may rule over an evil corporate empire, but their coffee is pretty good. If you’re good at something then you should go with it. Besides, before Starbucks it used to be impossible to get a decent cup of coffee outside a major metropolitan city. Try driving all night across state lines with nothing but watered-down, warmed-over truck stop swill to keep you going. Fuck that shit. Give me a double Frappacino any day.

Speaking of driving across state lines, have you been to Seattle? It’s right on the water and it rains all the time. Flannel never went out of style there and if you don’t pay attention when you go to the market you might get hit in the head with a fish. Living in a place like that, you need a few things to help you get by: strong coffee, dark beer, and loud rock n roll. We’ve already covered Starbucks, so that’s coffee right there. As for beer, there are something like 26 brew pubs in downtown Seattle alone, and they host an annual beer festival there every summer. Plus, Washington is right in between Oregon and Canada, which means you can’t swing a dead hippie without hitting a bag of really strong weed. No matter what end of the stimulant/depressant spectrum you lean toward, Seattle’s got you covered.

This brings us to the third item on our list: loud rock n roll. As the city that put the “grrr” in “grunge” Seattle is no stranger to guitars and amplifiers. The newest axe-wielders to cull from this rich regional tradition are The Valley. Don’t let the definite article fool you. These guys don’t have expensive haircuts and their outfits don’t come from some boutique thrift store in Williamsburg. The Valley is all about big, fuzzy riffs and drums of thunder. Their music has enough balls to please even the most speed-addled lumberjack and enough wit to appeal to any mustachioed hipster. It’s big, loud rock n roll and The Valley is good at it.

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MP3: 'Cruiser'

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MP3: 'Come Down'

By: Editor

04-01-2008

indie, rock, Seattle

The Cops

At some point or another we’ve all seen an episode of the show “COPS.” Back in the days before reality TV programming ruled the airwaves, “COPS” was one of the few places you could get a voyeuristic glimpse into the lurid lives of speed freaks, wife beaters, and petty thieves – all from the comfort of your couch. However, it usually was just a glimpse, because most of the time the cop car with the camera in it showed up after the perp had already been cuffed and dragged out of the house. The bulk of the show consisted of interviews with patrol officers who used unnecessarily difficult (and often mispronounced) words to describe other cases they had worked on. “My fellow partner and me apprehended the suspected offender as he was exiting his vehicle in front of his place of residence.” As though these 8th grade vocabulary words would make the cop seem smarter/more righteous/less like a dick. Yeah right. I still remember that ticket your boys gave me for going 4 miles an hour over the speed limit back when I was delivering pizzas, just trying to make enough money to pay for college. Jerk.

So it would seem that all associations with the cops would be negative for us here at Tough Customer headquarters. And negative they would have remained if it weren’t for the Seattle band The Cops. Turns out when you capitalize the “T” and the “C” and add some loud guitars and irreverent lyrics, and remove the delusions of grandeur that come with being a keeper of the peace, you get a group of people you actually want to listen to. As evidence we submit a couple tracks from their new album “Free Electricity.” On these compositions of music the listener will recognize the alleged sounds of rocking out that reprobate youths are often found to be enjoying in western city-type locations. Yes officer, we understand. In other words, fuck the police, but The Cops are alright.

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Download 'It's Epidemic'

Download 'Terribly Empty Pockets'