The 1970’s were the Golden Era of the rock t-shirt. Everybody got into the act, from artists such as R. Crumb to every band under the sun. You could have all the Led Zeppelin albums and posters you wanted, but the t-shirt was an integral part of any rocker’s uniform.
Worn Free is a company that absolutely gets this tradition, and has added its own twist. Instead of offering up the usual run of the mill band shirts, they got a little creative. They carry the tees that were actually worn by the artist.
It is a subtle, brilliant idea. Everyone has seen the iconic John Lennon picture of him wearing a shirt with old-school block lettering reading “Working Class Hero.” Worn Free carries an exact replica, authorized by the Lennon estate.
The company doesn't restrict itself to the Classic Rock era. A more recent example is the red Olympia Beer t-shirt Kurt Cobain was photographed wearing in Paris in 1994. The great back story is the fact that although Cobain spent a lot of time in Olympia, WA, he was not really into beer at all, especially not the Olympia brand. For anyone who knew him, seeing him wear that shirt was hilarious.
I liked Worn Free’s ideas enough to send off for a shirt, and when it arrived I was really impressed. Not only do you get a high quality tee, but it comes with a “backstage pass” -- a removable tag with a picture of the artist wearing the shirt, information about the origins of the photo, and any other relevant details. Also it is actually a sticker, should you choose to peel it off and wear it like a real backstage pass.
The shirt was extremely comfortable as well. Apparently they use an old-school method of silk-screening, or however they transfer the image, because the shirt is very cozy. After receiving a cheap, uncomfortable-as-hell Obama t-shirt recently, I was pleased that someone had taken the time to think about the transfer process, and how it feels when actually worn.
All in all, Worn Free is definitely a place to check out for some pretty cool rock t-shirts. They are also available in retail outlets such as Macy's and Nordstrom, with a brand new line debuting May 15. They are certainly worth a look.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Music Review: The Church - Untitled #23
Absolutely mesmerizing. I had no idea The Church still had a record like this in them. Untitled #23 is hands down their best since Heyday, and it gives that one a run for the money. I was so floored I began composing this review before the disc even ended.
One of the things that makes these songs so good is their textured sound. The majestic pop of “Already Yesterday” or “Under The Milky Way” was a thing of beauty, no question. But that style dated very quickly, which is one of the reasons they had such difficulty following up their early success.
The atmospheres The Church toyed with back in the day have now fully matured. Untitled #23 is a dark dream of a record, hypnotic almost. The opening track “Cobalt Blue” draws the listener in immediately. With Marty Willson-Piper’s chiming guitars framing Steve Kilbey’s haunting refrain “Let it go, let it go” the results are riveting.
“Pangaea” and “Space Saviour” continue the mood, but it is with “On Angel Street” that this record becomes triumphant. It is a film noir journey through Kilbey’s subconscious, as he ruminates on a relationship’s end. This is the most personal song I have heard in ages, an achingly beautiful piece of music.
“Anchorage” is another peak, the interplay between the band is just incredibly tight as the song builds to it’s climax. “Operetta” closes things out as they began, with swirling guitars framing stream of conscious lyrics, as only The Church can do.
Given the band’s spotty record since Starfish, I thought they might have front loaded the best tracks, and I kept waiting for the clunkers to appear. There are none on Untitled #23. To record what is quite possibly their best album ever after nearly 30 years together is an extraordinary achievement.
It is also one hell of a record. I wish I knew the significance of the title, but like everything else here, it really does not matter. All that matters is the music, and in that regard The Church have hit a home run.
One of the things that makes these songs so good is their textured sound. The majestic pop of “Already Yesterday” or “Under The Milky Way” was a thing of beauty, no question. But that style dated very quickly, which is one of the reasons they had such difficulty following up their early success.
The atmospheres The Church toyed with back in the day have now fully matured. Untitled #23 is a dark dream of a record, hypnotic almost. The opening track “Cobalt Blue” draws the listener in immediately. With Marty Willson-Piper’s chiming guitars framing Steve Kilbey’s haunting refrain “Let it go, let it go” the results are riveting.
“Pangaea” and “Space Saviour” continue the mood, but it is with “On Angel Street” that this record becomes triumphant. It is a film noir journey through Kilbey’s subconscious, as he ruminates on a relationship’s end. This is the most personal song I have heard in ages, an achingly beautiful piece of music.
“Anchorage” is another peak, the interplay between the band is just incredibly tight as the song builds to it’s climax. “Operetta” closes things out as they began, with swirling guitars framing stream of conscious lyrics, as only The Church can do.
Given the band’s spotty record since Starfish, I thought they might have front loaded the best tracks, and I kept waiting for the clunkers to appear. There are none on Untitled #23. To record what is quite possibly their best album ever after nearly 30 years together is an extraordinary achievement.
It is also one hell of a record. I wish I knew the significance of the title, but like everything else here, it really does not matter. All that matters is the music, and in that regard The Church have hit a home run.
Music DVD Review: Dengue Fever - Sleepwalking Through The Mekong
Sleepwalking Through The Mekong is one of the most fascinating documentaries I have seen in a long time. The subject matter is fairly straightforward: Los Angeles band Dengue Fever recently toured Cambodia, and brought along some cameras. And if that were all there was to this film, it would be enough. But there is much more to this story than just a simple travelogue documentary.
Dengue Fever came together as a result of some L.A. musicians discovering their mutual passion for obscure Cambodian rock of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. Much of the original music appears on the soundtrack, and it is really quite extraordinary. When the five men found their sound, they realized they needed a Cambodian woman to sing their songs. Enter Chhom Nimol, who actually had a career as a pop singer in Cambodia, and had relocated to L.A. five years previously.
Dengue Fever’s music is a unique blend. One could call it a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. But unlike a tape or picture, there is no degradation of the sound. The original Cambodian rock music took contemporary American music, such as surf and psychedelic, and blended it with their own, traditional sounds. Dengue Fever took that mix to 2000’s era American music, and added a genuine Cambodian pop princess’ vocals. They then brought the whole thing back home.
The background is important in understanding the true depth of this film. When the band plays, they are met with a plethora of responses. Stares of disbelief are common, as is the way the music wins over seemingly everyone in the end.
There is a great scene when the band sits down to a traditional meal with Chhom Nimol’s family, and are somewhat overwhelmed by the situation. Probably my favorite spot is at the end, when they play in a literal shanty town. Old automobile headlights are used as the lighting rig, the speakers look as if they were exhumed from a time capsule, and the entire stage seems on the verge of falling down. But the crowd turns out in droves, and dances joyously to the songs.
When one thinks of the misery these people have suffered under over the years, under the regime of Pol Pot in particular, these scenes become all the more poignant. Despite all the visual reminders of the absolute devastation the Khmer Rouge inflicted, Sleepwalking Through The Mekong is a film of hope through music. It is a reminder that even in the midst of utter desperation, music still has the power to inspire.
Dengue Fever came together as a result of some L.A. musicians discovering their mutual passion for obscure Cambodian rock of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. Much of the original music appears on the soundtrack, and it is really quite extraordinary. When the five men found their sound, they realized they needed a Cambodian woman to sing their songs. Enter Chhom Nimol, who actually had a career as a pop singer in Cambodia, and had relocated to L.A. five years previously.
Dengue Fever’s music is a unique blend. One could call it a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. But unlike a tape or picture, there is no degradation of the sound. The original Cambodian rock music took contemporary American music, such as surf and psychedelic, and blended it with their own, traditional sounds. Dengue Fever took that mix to 2000’s era American music, and added a genuine Cambodian pop princess’ vocals. They then brought the whole thing back home.
The background is important in understanding the true depth of this film. When the band plays, they are met with a plethora of responses. Stares of disbelief are common, as is the way the music wins over seemingly everyone in the end.
There is a great scene when the band sits down to a traditional meal with Chhom Nimol’s family, and are somewhat overwhelmed by the situation. Probably my favorite spot is at the end, when they play in a literal shanty town. Old automobile headlights are used as the lighting rig, the speakers look as if they were exhumed from a time capsule, and the entire stage seems on the verge of falling down. But the crowd turns out in droves, and dances joyously to the songs.
When one thinks of the misery these people have suffered under over the years, under the regime of Pol Pot in particular, these scenes become all the more poignant. Despite all the visual reminders of the absolute devastation the Khmer Rouge inflicted, Sleepwalking Through The Mekong is a film of hope through music. It is a reminder that even in the midst of utter desperation, music still has the power to inspire.
Book Review: Waiting For The Sun: A Rock 'N' Roll History Of Los Angeles by Barney Hoskyns
As one of Los Angeles’ most famous bands, The Doors once said: “People are strange.” The statement would be an apt subtitle for Barney Hoskyns’ excellent history of L.A. music: Waiting For The Sun. Many “scenes” have come and gone over the years: London, San Francisco, New York, and Seattle, just to name a few. But the power base, the hub of the industry has always been Los Angeles, California.
The combination of talent (genuine or not), opportunism, endless summer, greed, cocaine, and a host of other factors come together in a truly fascinating story here. Hoskyns is a self-described “Brit-in-exile,” and with that title comes a certain (welcome) distance. In Waiting For The Sun he notices things a little more clearly than others might.
Although the full title of this book is Waiting For The Sun: A Rock ‘N’ Roll History Of Los Angeles, Hoskyns spends the first couple of chapters discussing the scene from 1940 to the early 60’s. There is a sense of loss in these early years, as the city had every opportunity to support jazz and early R&B, but lost out due to institutionalized racism. It is a theme that resounds throughout this book, at least until the rise of Ice T and NWA in the late 1980’s.
The bulk of Waiting For The Sun covers a roughly 35 year period, from 1962 to 1997. From The Beach Boys to Beck, Hoskyns includes extensive chapters on each era. Surf, psychedelic, garage, country-rock, punk, metal, and rap are all represented here by iconic bands. The actual number of truly genre defining groups in each of these (and more) categories was kind of shocking to me at first. When you stack it up, side by side, there really has been a hell of a lot of excellent music released by L.A. bands over the years.
The reason Waiting For The Sun ends in 1997 is because it is a soft cover reprint with a new introduction. The twelve years from ‘97 to the present have seen the transfer of power in the music industry (L.A.) to the Internet (worldwide). While Hoskyns touches on the changes that have unfolded in the world since his original publication, a full update would necessitate a completely different book.
Waiting For The Sun is an outstanding history of an industry’s musical legacy that is now well and truly gone. Oddly enough, I found myself agreeing with one of Hoskyns' "outsiders," Randy Newman, in his ironic song "I Love L.A."
It is a city that describes the U.S. as any other, only through a weird filter.
The combination of talent (genuine or not), opportunism, endless summer, greed, cocaine, and a host of other factors come together in a truly fascinating story here. Hoskyns is a self-described “Brit-in-exile,” and with that title comes a certain (welcome) distance. In Waiting For The Sun he notices things a little more clearly than others might.
Although the full title of this book is Waiting For The Sun: A Rock ‘N’ Roll History Of Los Angeles, Hoskyns spends the first couple of chapters discussing the scene from 1940 to the early 60’s. There is a sense of loss in these early years, as the city had every opportunity to support jazz and early R&B, but lost out due to institutionalized racism. It is a theme that resounds throughout this book, at least until the rise of Ice T and NWA in the late 1980’s.
The bulk of Waiting For The Sun covers a roughly 35 year period, from 1962 to 1997. From The Beach Boys to Beck, Hoskyns includes extensive chapters on each era. Surf, psychedelic, garage, country-rock, punk, metal, and rap are all represented here by iconic bands. The actual number of truly genre defining groups in each of these (and more) categories was kind of shocking to me at first. When you stack it up, side by side, there really has been a hell of a lot of excellent music released by L.A. bands over the years.
The reason Waiting For The Sun ends in 1997 is because it is a soft cover reprint with a new introduction. The twelve years from ‘97 to the present have seen the transfer of power in the music industry (L.A.) to the Internet (worldwide). While Hoskyns touches on the changes that have unfolded in the world since his original publication, a full update would necessitate a completely different book.
Waiting For The Sun is an outstanding history of an industry’s musical legacy that is now well and truly gone. Oddly enough, I found myself agreeing with one of Hoskyns' "outsiders," Randy Newman, in his ironic song "I Love L.A."
It is a city that describes the U.S. as any other, only through a weird filter.
Book Review: Seattle's Best Dive Bars: Drinking & Diving In The Emerald City by Mike Seely
Is this the greatest book ever written? As a native Seattlite, and long time connoisseur of dive bars, I would have to say yes. Mike Seely, who is managing editor of the Seattle Weekly, really gets it right about these places.
A good old fashioned dive is a dying breed these days, at least in ultra yuppie Seattle, so the newcomer needs a guide like this. I have been to probably 95 of the 100 bars listed here, but with this guide, I now know which ones I have missed on my own personal drunken quest.
I found myself laughing out loud at a lot of the descriptions, like this one of the Comet Tavern: “One of the city’s most bona fide dives, all piss odors, cigarette smoke, cheap beer and disheveled patrons. Puke rimming the toilet? Yep. Regulars nodding off before closing time? You bet.” My kind of place indeed.
Back in the Eighties, Joe Bob Briggs wrote a book about what he called “Bar bars.” Basically what he was describing were dives. He talked about favorites all over the US, and it was a great read. I think Seattle’s Best Dive Bars works the same way. Even if you have never been to Seattle before, you can relate to these watering holes where time just seemed to stop about 40 or 50 years ago.
Of course, actually having been to many of the places Seely talks about makes it all the more entertaining. He gets the details right too. The ratings system is one to five mugs of Rainier, and the cover is a great shot of the legendary Blue Moon Tavern.
Seely’s number one dive bar in Seattle is one of the few I have never been to, and plan on visiting very soon. It is the Rimrock Steakhouse in the Lake City neighborhood, and the bar is called The Stirrup Room. The current owner describes the legacy of The Stirrup Room: “Used to be, if you passed out on the floor with two dollars in your hand, they’d serve you another drink.”
Perfect. I’m about done here, and Lake City is not too far away, so we’ll see you there.
A good old fashioned dive is a dying breed these days, at least in ultra yuppie Seattle, so the newcomer needs a guide like this. I have been to probably 95 of the 100 bars listed here, but with this guide, I now know which ones I have missed on my own personal drunken quest.
I found myself laughing out loud at a lot of the descriptions, like this one of the Comet Tavern: “One of the city’s most bona fide dives, all piss odors, cigarette smoke, cheap beer and disheveled patrons. Puke rimming the toilet? Yep. Regulars nodding off before closing time? You bet.” My kind of place indeed.
Back in the Eighties, Joe Bob Briggs wrote a book about what he called “Bar bars.” Basically what he was describing were dives. He talked about favorites all over the US, and it was a great read. I think Seattle’s Best Dive Bars works the same way. Even if you have never been to Seattle before, you can relate to these watering holes where time just seemed to stop about 40 or 50 years ago.
Of course, actually having been to many of the places Seely talks about makes it all the more entertaining. He gets the details right too. The ratings system is one to five mugs of Rainier, and the cover is a great shot of the legendary Blue Moon Tavern.
Seely’s number one dive bar in Seattle is one of the few I have never been to, and plan on visiting very soon. It is the Rimrock Steakhouse in the Lake City neighborhood, and the bar is called The Stirrup Room. The current owner describes the legacy of The Stirrup Room: “Used to be, if you passed out on the floor with two dollars in your hand, they’d serve you another drink.”
Perfect. I’m about done here, and Lake City is not too far away, so we’ll see you there.
Book Review: John Zorn: Tradition And Transgression by John Brackett
As a fan of the “downtown” New York music scene, I was very interested to read the first full-length biography of John Zorn: Tradition And Transgression by John Brackett. Zorn’s prolific output, controversial album art, and undeniable impact boded well for a fascinating story.That book remains to be written, for Tradition And Transgression is not it. This book is an extremely scholarly study of Zorn’s music, written by a professor of music. One has to wonder what percentage of Zorn’s audience actually have a degree in music theory. I do not, and for this admitted fan, Tradition And Transgression was a tough read at times.
The book starts off promisingly enough. The first chapter, “From The Fantastic To The Dangerously Real” discusses some of the controversial artwork Zorn has utilized on his recordings. Violent images of Sado-Masochism, and disturbing Japanese Manga stills have drawn the ire of critics, which is unsurprising. By reprinting some of the pictures, and quoting those offended by the images, Brackett illuminates the discussion quite effectively. He also refrains from editorializing on the situation, leaving the reader to decide for themselves the merits of each side.
Besides the Introduction, Epilogue, and extensive notes and discography, Tradition and Transgression consists of four extended essays. The remaining three are serious music theory discussions. I do not consider myself a “dummy” by any means, and even play a little guitar. But these essays left me lost in a world that seemed very far removed from the seedy downtown New York milieu that spawned the music in the first place.
“Magick And Mysticism in Zorn’s Recent Works” is a provocative title for the second chapter. And the manner in which Zorn utilizes ideas from HP Lovecraft to Aleister Crowley to numerology in his music is a curious subject. Brackett’s correlation of the music to the occult influences is enlightening as well. Again, it is when he gets down to the minutia of the notes and theories of the music that my eyes began to glaze
Music Review: Arvo Pärt - In Principio
Arvo Pärt is probably the most well known composer in minimalist music today, thanks largely to his association with ECM Records. His first recording for the label, Tabula Rasa was released in 1984, and was enormously influential. Celebrating his 25th anniversary with the label, ECM has just released In Principio, and it is a marvel.
In Principio consists of six compositions. They are: “In Principio,” “La Sindone,” “Cecilia Vergine Romana,” “Da Pacem Domine,” “Mein Weg” and “Für Lennart In Memoriam”. The titles are all in German, however this mostly instrumental work transcends nationalities. Literally “In principio” translates to “In the beginning” as the text for the piece is from the Gospel of John, 1 1:14.
Pärt is a deeply spiritual composer, and much of his work in informed by the early history of Christianity. “La Sindone” concerns the Shroud of Turin, “Cecilia Vergine Romana” refers to the Christian St. Cecilia, martyred for her devout belief, early in the second century A.D. Pärt composed “Für Lennart In Memoriam” for the burial service of his friend Lennart Meri. Meri was President of Pärt’s homeland, The Republic of Estonia from 1992 to 2001.
"Da Pacem Domine" is a prayer piece for the victims of the Madrid bombing of March 11, 2004. It is performed in Spain every year to commemorate the tragedy. "Mein Weg" was originally written in 1989 for organ. Pärt has revised it for 14 strings and percussion for inclusion here.
In Principio certainly conforms to the accepted notions of minimalist music, of which Pärt has been a pioneer.
With a mixture of Gregorian Chant, subtlety, and superior musicianship, In Principio is a fine addition to the canon of Arvo Pärt. The works are performed by the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Chor, and the Talinn Chamber Orchestra. Tõnu Kaljuste is the conductor.
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