Review: Erykah Badu - New Amerykah Part Two: Return Of The Ankh

(Click Here To Stream The Whole Album)
Listening to Erykah Badu is so 90s. Her easy listening sensibilities belong on VH1 right next to Sade and Janet Jackson. Too bad VH1, and most of the world, stopped caring about Badu when Bush took office. It's hard to take a neo-hippie soul woman seriously when a Republican occupies the White House - too much real world pessimism on the nightly news. Her usually calm demeanor disappeared  on her 2008  album, New Amerykah Part One: (Fourth World War), a heavy handed affair full of political preachings and forebodings of war.


Badu's latest effort New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh, is a return to her more earnest, soul jam roots. A companion  album to the abrasive and confrontational (Fourth World War), Return of the Ankh is filled with mellow tunes about love that radiate with low-fi warmth.

Her current single, "Window Seat", has recently received much attention for its controversial video (watch below) which depicts Badu stripping to the nude before being shot in public. But without the distraction the song more than stands on it's own. It's the best song offered and finds her relaxed croon doing just enough to give the song a direction. Let the music to the rest right?

"Gone Baby, Don't Be Long" is an upbeat tune where Miss Badu waits for that special touch from that special someone. "I can't wait to see what you do" she moans longingly (dirty girl). Sure it's not something new and revolutionary, but when the mood is this thick with sexy goodness, just emulate her and go with the flow.

Yet all the best ideas are presented at the first half of the album making Return of the Ankh a rather front loaded affair. In the final five tracks, three contain "love" in the title. Badu simply under cooks her ambitions and delivers flat songs that work better as mood molders than a cohesive unit. "Fall In Love (Your Funeral)" comes off an extended jam that runs on for an unnecessary three minutes.

The final track, "Out Of My Mind, Just In Time" is a sprawling 10 minute opus divided into three separate parts. Though a surprisingly well thought out effort,the whole thing falls apart under its own weight. While each part works on its own, together the whole meaning is lost. And besides, who said we needed a soul version of "Jesus Of  Suburbia"?

In the grand scheme of things there is more good than bland here. Badu fans of old will happily welcome her return to subtle soul grooves while "Window Seat" - and her knack for stirring the pot - will hopefully introduce her to some new ears. And besides, even if some tunes are undeveloped, just turn out the lights and get close to your lady friend or dude buddy. Only then will you get as lost into this record as Badu herself seems to be.

Grade: B-

Key Tracks: "Window Seat" "Gone Baby, Don't Be Long"

The Who Play Quadrophenia - Video

The Who took to the stage in, what looked to be, quite grandiose fashion last night at The Royal Albert Hall as they played their classic rock opera Quadrophenia in its entirety.

Many questions swirled around this gig concerning Pete Townshend's tinnitus and whether or not The Who would be able to carry on. From reviews written, it appears the show went off without a relative hitch.

Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam and Tom Meighan of Kasabian each gave excellent cameos. Watch, what is essentially, the entire show below.

"I Am The Sea" / "The Real Me"

"Cut My Hair"

"The Punk & The Godfather"

"I'm One"

"Helpless Dancer"

"I've Had Enough"


"5:15"

"Bell Boy"

"Doctor Jimmy"

"The Rock"

"Love Reign O'er Me"

The Who's "Quadrophenia" - Can You Say "Masterpiece"?

Yes. It Really Is That Good.

When The Who take to the stage tonight at The Royal Albert Hall in London, it may very well be their final performance. Thanks to guitarist, singer-song writer, Pete Townshend's ever worsening tinnitus ( a condition that causes a constant ringing of the ears) a legendary band may go out on a relative whimper.

But if tonight were to be the final chapter, it would, in some strange way, seem almost natural. For the first time since 1997, the band will play their sprawling, and often times challenging, rock opera Quadrophenia in its entirety. If you're gonna go out, might as well celebrate your crowning achievement as a band right?

Released in November of 1973, the album is set in 60s era Britain. Here we meet our young anti-hero, Jimmy, who has a knack for pills, American R&B and causing mischief around town while riding on his trusty scooter. His relationship with his parents is "meh" at best, and he's always afraid of the day he has to grow up.

But the biggest conundrum facing Jimmy is his quadrophonic personality. His four distinct emotional states reflect each member of The Who. A tough guy (vocalist Roger Daltrey), a hopeless romantic ( bassist John Entwistle), a lunatic (drummer Keith Moon) and a hypocrite (Townshend).

The story's climax comes when the dreaded day of maturation arrives. Jimmy doesn't know how to function so he decides to do something he's never done before. I won't give away the ending, just do yourself a favor a listen to it!

Time has been good to Quadrophenia. Upon its initial release it was given decent to mediocre reviews. Critics praised Townshend's ability to perfectly translate teenage angst and self loathing into the best lyrics he ever wrote. Yet the album was marked down for being long (a double album with a running time of 82 minutes), over dramatic and the story too scatter shot to fully understand.

Now, almost four decades, after the fact the album has gotten the praise it deserves. WhenQuadrophenia was remastered in 1996, Rolling Stone's review said:

Quadrophenia is the Who at their most symmetrical, their most cinematic, ultimately their most maddening. Captained by Pete Townshend, they have put together a beautifully performed and magnificently recorded essay of a British youth mentality in which they played no little part, lushly endowed with black and white visuals and a heavy sensibility of the wet-suffused air of 1965.

Yes. He's Just that Awesome.

I suppose the initial mixed reactions were caused mostly in part by The Who themselves. As a live piece, the album was a disaster. The floating, intricate synthesizers that served as backing tracks often skipped or came in out of sequence with the rest of the band. Also The Who thought their audience too stupid to fully grasp the story of Quadrophenia. So between each song Daltrey and Townshend wouldl describe the story in detail killing whatever momentum they had built up to that point.

Though it sold well, the band quickly retired the album playing only a a few tracks at gigs for the next 30 years. This obviously never set well with the band because they spent 2 years in the 90s playing the album straight through - only this time it took The Who plus a horn section, two keyboard players, a second percussionist and back up singers to get the job done.

For all of it's chaotic, maddening and complex nature, Quadrophenia will always remain timeless because it deals with basic and universal themes - growing up, fitting in and belonging. When haven't you "worked yourself to death to fit in" at one point in your life?

Jimmy claims to never be able to "get that even tanned look on my face", his "fingers are clumsy" his voice "too loud", yet his "ill fitting clothes" help him to "blend in the crowd". He may not like the fashion or the time frame in which he lives iin, but he goes along with it to get the girl and be accepted.

He's (almost) always high, paranoid, angst ridden, filled with hate, love and incredibly sensitive at the same time. He's an outsider by nature who does whatever it takes to find a home - regardless of where it is.

And it's these basic longings expressed in Quadrophenia that make the album, and The Who themselves, timeless.

Be Jealous. Be VERY Jealous.

The Challenge Of The Album

What's your favorite album? Is it filled with a lot of songs you really like individually, or is it a total musical narrative only to be consumed in its entirety? If the latter, could you really not do without track 4? You know, the one where the basist gets to "ruminate" with little to no assistance for a good six and a half minutes, probably because the band felt bad for him after 3 CD's of relative obscurity. I'm not saying track four isn't "a compendum of rhetorical longing" and everything, but is it really an essential step in the listening process? Do you never get 3 minutes into track four and consider skipping it? Ever?

Track 4 could be ANYWHERE!

If not, I don't understand you. Really. I respect your artistic satisfaction, and I believe that you really do want to hear every second of track 4, but I'll be honest: I think the CD would be just fine without it. Not that I've encountered many track 4's. I don't have enough whole albums I know of that I'd like to listen to all the way through (which, I guess, could mean I've encountered countless track 4's in disguise) but on the one's I have enjoyed start to finish, there are always things that lose me. And by lose I mean I would be fine listening to Marky Mark instead of what's happening at a certain moment on one of my favorite CD's.

I suppose one of my problems may be that I tend to look at an album as a narrative. I am, for example, intensely confused when a closing credit song on a movie soundtrack winds up as track 7, meanwhile the one they played while everyone was trying to fix the protagonist's computer closes the album. Why? What in the foggy hell could be the reason? What alterior perspective could someone have, for example, on pieces of score written specifically for a motion picture? I don't care if Spielberg put it at the end, I say it's an interlude piece!

Why, on All That You Can't Leave Behind, one of U2's best CD's, do all the best, most absorbing songs come all at the beginning? Really. Like, start on Beautiful Day, sure, but don't you think saving "All That You Can't Leave" for later might have been a good idea? It's kind of elagic like that. Do you really think "Wild Honey" would be a good enough 2nd-half pick me up? U2 tends to do this kind of thing a lot, winding it down the whole album then tossing out some 2nd rate charger on the next to last track ("New York" sucked guys, I'm sorry) only to close on Bono mumbling about how love is blindness or your enemies will outlast your friends - the final words, in fact, on their most recent CD. Thanks guys. Awesome.

And lets be honest here, part of the task of making an album is keeping the beginning away from the end: you're trying to fill a track number or running length, even if you really do have things to say about the Chechnyan working class. There are songs the album is sold on, songs that are good anyway, and songs that...also come with the CD. I'm not accusing all artists of rubbishing it now and then, and I know an album needs high points and low points - that it can't just be a string of top 10's - but sometimes the best thing about a tune is that it comes after or before another tune. You squint through it and believe that there must be something important going on...somewhere. Be careful, this may mean that you've switched to AM radio on accident.

By Dave Beauchene

Review: Hot Tub Time Machine

Yeah...don't bother.

Hot Tub Time Machine is one of those rare films which has such a stupid name, you believe it must be better than it looks. It has to know what's up, to some degree, to give its self a title like that - since it's obviously not meant seriously. Not the case. The title is the best joke in the movie. I'm not exaggerating.

Cause there are no funny jokes. There are no unreasonably un-funny jokes either, just no good ones, and of course there could have been many. You'd expect at least a few, but all the movie knows how to do is be crude. I wish there was a more pointed way of saying that, but that's all there is to it. Squirrels get spewed at. Nudity occurs pointlessly. Instead of jokes there are swear words. I'm serious. Characters in comedies used to have to say things that amounted to punch-lines of sorts - in many cases they still do - but now they can get away with creatively lining together swear words and crude references in a nonchalant way. It's always good when the stupid, ugly guy in the scene shouts something profane about sex, right? You betcha.

No, its not. And it's not funny when Rob Cordery does it through out the entire length of Hot Tub Time Machine, either. He can be funny, but in this film he's atrocious. Terrible. Oh! He likes to drink and have sex! He's comically rude to people! What a characterization! And it doesn't get much better elsewhere. Craig Robinson, who plays Nick, is probably the clearest cut character as a man who's devoted to his allegedly fractured marriage. But he's not funny. Cusack isn't funny, and since we're watching Hot Tub Time Machine he can't deliver much depth either. There's a small, doughy fellow with them as well. He is not funny either.

No one is. No one in the entire movie is funny. Why? Why can't anyone be funny in a comedy? I'm not out for Groucho Marx or John Cleese, just someone funny - please. They can't even create an amusing prep-villain character despite having every chance in the world to. And, good lord, just one Better Off Dead or Say Anything jab, please? The movie takes place at a ski resort. The joke was practically written for you.

Chevy Chase is in this film. Guess how funny he is. Chevy Chase.

Yeah, remember when people dressed like that?

Even Charlie's Angels couldn't de-awesome Crispin.

Oh, but Crispin Glover is in it, too, and he's almost funny, for a minute, though this was probably an accident, as anytime Crispin Glover plays a bell-hop, you've got to at least smirk a little. Still, wasted otherwise. There's a gag where, having seen him one-armed in the future, the gang continues to wait for him to lose it in the past. I guaranty you this sounds about 10 times as funny as it actually is.

It's aiming for Hangover territory, obviously, and I haven't seen that but I'll go out on a limb and say it fails miserably. It fails miserably because, really, this had the potential to be the better film, as far as I'm concerned. There's more obvious opportunities with a premise like this than something as broad as a hang over in Las Vegas. Especially when you've got John Cusak in the bloody cast. Instead, we get a live cover performance of The Black Eyed Peas' "Lets Get it Started". ...Uh huh.

3/10

By Dave Beauchene

CDs Vs. Ipods

Which do you prefer? Your Ipod or writable CD's? It's a joke question at face value, of course; yes, fumbling with easily abrased discs while weaving inadvertently between lanes just to play a song that doesn't even turn out to be on the damned CD in the first place - way better than all the music you've ever liked organized within a wafer sized hard-drive. Also, it's preferable that music skip when a car goes over bumps.

But then, I've never had all the music I've ever liked on my Ipod. Not ever. Even when I've got loads, I'm still missing loads more. This might be different for you, if you're big on bands and albums and consume your music in an organized, deliberate manner, but I've never had it that way. For one thing, I tend to like songs, and rarely have I acquired them by way of an album or artist. These things are just the liner notes to the tune - the credits. I tend to walk out during the credits.

And so whole collections of music that are favorites at one time become complete obscurities in another. For instance: I had forgotten right up until about noon today that I love the song "Dancing on The Ceiling" by Lionel Richey. Luckily I had burned it to a CD a year or so back, and it found its way into the visor sleeve in our Oldsmobile. The sleeve is kind of a relic, as Abbi insists I drive our new car while she drive the old one, and she has fully embraced the functionality of her Iphone at this point. Our visor sleeve is where our CD's go to die. But I had no music, using the car today, so I ressurected a few. I found the tune entirely on accident.

An Ipod is great, but it has no memory (heh). If your computer dies, you could possibly trick it into accepting your Ipod library back, and continuing. You could, of course, back up your files. You can maintain an mp3 library, but it is still an insubstantial thing. It can be ammended quicker and easier - things can be lost silently and forever. CD's remain, (scratched as they may become). Not only as carriers of music, but documentations of preference - desperation even.

I've burned hundreds and hundreds of CD's. Some are towering works of composition, spanning decades and genres and areas of interest and meaning - packed to the disc's capacity as though I might have been creating the one CD I'd use to sustain me in the event of total musical poverty. Others are two, sometimes one track - the CD I made 3 minutes before the bus came with that one tune I HAD to have on the bus. Most of them are rubbish now - scratched beyond readability, the foil pealed away, trashed - but some endure, clinging desperately to the memory of that one song that meant the world for all of 3 days. A song I might never think of again if I don't one day stumble across the disc and pop it in. 

I shutter to think of the friends I've left behind.

By Dave Beauchene

Skin Whitening Creams Discovered In Michael Jackson's Home

A new report by the AP has revealed new details into certain medical items obtained from investigators after the death of Michael Jackson last June.

Not only were 11 vials of propofol, the powerful sedative that killed Jackson, found, but close to 30 tubes of skin-whitening creams such as hydroquinone and Benoquin as well. 

The creams were most likely used to treat Jackson's vitiligo, a disease that causes patches of skin to lose pigmentation. While the validity of Jackson's claims of having the disease have long been subject of speculation, the medical examiner who performed the autopsy on Jackson said his skin showed symptoms of vitiligo. 

Conrad Murray, Jackson's personal physician, is currently waiting to stand trial in connection to the singer's death. Murray has pleaded not guilty to the charge of involuntary manslaughter.

Erykah Badu Strips For "Window Seat" Video

Erykah Badu has debuted the video for her latest singe, "Window Seat", which has stirred up much controversy on the web.

In the clip, Badu gradually sheds all of her clothing while walking down the street. The idea was inspired by Matt & Kim's video for "Lessons Learned". Yet Badu takes it the premise to a much more political, and head scratching, level.

The video was filmed in infamous Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas, the site of John F. Kennedy's assassination in November of 1963. Once Badu has reveals all to the world, a gun shot rings out as blue blood spills from her head as she lays lifeless in the approximate era JFK met his fate.

All this talk about Badu comes at a good time though. Her latest album, New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh, hits stores everywhere tomorrow.

Watch both Badu's and the video it was inspired by below.

Gorillaz Rehearse For Festival Shows- Video

In preparation for their upcoming gig at the Coachella Music Festival next month, Gorillaz invited members of their fan club to rehearsal shows throughout the U.K.While not the quite the visual treat one would expect for the real thing, the tunes appear to be solidly performed and well in tact. Watch videos of selected tunes below.

"Sweepstakes"

"Rhinestone Eyes"

"Empire Ants"

"El Manana"

"Melancholy Hill"

"O Green World"

Axl Rose - The Fall of the Rock Journeyman

Welcome To My Ego

Hearing news of Axl's recent escapades in South America (check out The Hanging Tree for what went down) got my noodle a' ponderin'. If history had been different for Guns N Roses, if all original members were still active, on good terms and making relevant music, would we still have the same "poor Axle" disposition that just comes natural to us? Most likely not but that's what speculation is for - speculation.

Axl Rose was poised to be the next great rock journeyman - even if he wasn't the smartest tool in the shed at times. When Appetite For Destruction took off at the end of the 80s, GNR became the most important American band since Aerosmith. They somehow managed a way to fit perfectly in the decadent "gllam rock" scene as well as the "classic rock scene". When I hear "Girls Girls Girls" by Motley Crue, I laugh. When I hear "Welcome to the Jungle" I turn the volume up and then I laugh.

But somewhere down the road the band self destructed. Axl's ego exploded prompting Slash and company to exit. Axl promised to continue and already named his latest Guns effort asChinese Democracy. But that was 1994.

Long story short: Guy tries to create a rock masterpiece, spends millions of dollars and more than a decade trying to do so. Then when all is said and done, his "masterwork" is outsold by Taylor Swift. No one cared and Axl's ego was dealt a heavy blow. Those close to the singer have said the he was so depressed by lackluster sales he spent weeks hold up in his room.

Yet the broader concept we can take away from Rose's infamous actions and stunning decline from the height of rock super stardom is the concept of the rock journeyman's death.

Elder statesmen in rock were essential 40 years ago. When Elvis burst on the scene in 1956 and changed the face of pop culture forever, weary Bible Thumpers and uppity critics scoffed at woogie boogie rock as nothing but 12 bar blues played fast for young trouble makers to dance or - even worse - kiss outside of marriage! Pop music needed a good PR guy to show that it was more than candy coated goodness. Rock had to mean something and someone had to prove it.

Enter the likes of John Lennon, Pete Townshend and Bob Dylan. They made music that still reverberates to this day as well as proved what kind of potential rock had. It was more than just songs of heart break or a good excuse to cut a rug. Townshend claimed he wanted to die before he got old. Dylan spoke to the American soul during the Civil Rights movement. Lennon gave hope to avant garde Asian groupies everywhere.

With rock n' roll long since established, the need and importance of the journeyman has slowly diminished. The only people who come to mind for this generation of rock stars is Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam and Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters. But what do they do besides churn out one consistent album after another? They don't stand for anything other than good music and awesome facial hair. Is that the only criteria needed to be be a professor in pop music?

The Greatest Monument To Ambitious Music Ever

Sure Jack White might come into the conversation but at this point it's too soon to judge his career. But the big question with him is - can you be progressive by being regressive? But if Vedder and Grohl can be counted simply for making good tunes for more than 10 years, so can White.

But the fall of Axl Rose marks the turning point. He possesses the same drive and ego of Lennon and other previously mentioned greats, but his desires and ambitions didn't reflect the times - which is surprising given the fact Republicans held control of the White House.

Since his public demise no other notable rocker has attempted to fill the void. Perhaps Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins but look what that got him. A dissolved band, hair line and a trophy on Jessica Simpson's mantle piece.

I suppose there is a greater lesson for the every man to be found. The best way to make it big now is simply to chug beer and grow a thick wolf man like patch of hair on your face. I've just got a soul patch.

Review: How To Train Your Dragon *Spoiler*

What I heard going into “How to train Your Dragon” was that it was technically superb and yet had surprising dramatic depth. It’s interesting what passes for “surprising dramatic depth” in some movies. I can’t see a whole lot of dramatic difference between Dragon and, say, Kung Fu Panda, to be honest, but I suppose the secret is fewer jokes. How to Train Your Dragon is certainly surprisingly baron of those.

It tells a story that you feel as though you might have seen 512 times already: a misfit from one world discovers purpose in another, and ends up reconciling their differences in one way or another. Hiccup, our misfit lead is the only Viking in the village who does not appear as an utter Viking caricature; he knows engineering, not blunt force, but of course no one sees any value in this what so ever. And of course it will actually play a big part in the film’s resolution. Are kids familiar as familiar with this formula as I feel? Perhaps some premises are just timeless.

Looks kind of like my cat, Lucy...

But even then, the narrative execution is lacking. There aren’t any good characters. Hiccup is basically linguini from “Ratouille” (note the similar kinds of names, the similar secretive companionship with a hated creature) but he’s neither as funny nor as genuinely emotive. I don’t really know what the kid wants, even when he does get into befriending Toothless, and the process of the two getting to know one another didn’t do much for me. There are, again, no real jokes, and nothing notable about the process otherwise. They simply begin to trust one another. Toothless, the titular dragon is a very neat little creation, but he has no real personality, and his face seems stuck in that classic DreamWorks raised eyebrow expression. I thought that was just a coincidence; perhaps it really is a trademark.

Hiccup’s father is voiced by Gerard Butler and, as the Viking King, and is everything you’d expect. Hiccup’s love interest is a bore. There is no looming villain but the possibility of un-necessary conflict. At any rate, we don’t want Toothless to be killed. He’s too cute and loyal. 

Oh boys and their dragons.

That’s the movies only real appeal, I thought. Toothless, however ill-defined his motivation and character, loves Hiccup, and Hiccup loves Toothless, and the scene in which they discover combined equilibrium in flight is thrilling – it’s one of the more exhilarating moments I’ve seen on screen in years and I’d love to see it again. The action sequences really are very cool to experience, and the CGI employed to create them is a definite stride forward. I saw it in 2D, but I’m willing to bet that this is one of the best examples of 3D cinema, if not the best. Let me know if I’m right.

But the story – they can simply do better than what they did (can’t they?). For instance, and this will contain a pair of mild spoilers (as there are no big ones): Hiccup engineers a replacement tail-fin for the one that Toothless lost which enables him to fly again when Hiccup controls it. In the end of the film, Hiccup loses his left foot, but the prosthetic he wears combines easily with his saddle/steering device for toothless. Why not have their mutual handicaps combine this way at the off set? It would have done wonders for their connection. It’s the kind of heart that will always keep DreamWorks behind Pixar, as long as DreamWorks believes it’s still second to the graphics. 

By Dave Beauchene

The Stupidest Fashion Reader Ever

In the Readers React section of a high-end fashion magazine, one reader writes:

Work it girl!

“I am so mad that (this magazine) put Megan Fox on the cover. I love (this magazine) because it is intelligent, sassy and a fantastic art and fashion magazine. But Fox is not fashionable, has a gigantic mouth that spews nothing but verbal diarrhea and is a flash in the pan. This magazine is one of the few that still put models and authentic movie stars on the cover. I would understand if you featured Lindsey Lohan, because she is a tragic character and an actor who obviously loves clothes. Fox is just a sorry excuse for some publicity to sell magazines.”

But back, for a second, to the more pressing matter: yes I was looking through a fashion magazine. They’re all over at my work and, honestly, the full page ads are always fairly amusing. You’d be amazed how far advertisers have to go to “stand out” in the world of fashion marketing. No, I’m not interested in the fashion; I have no idea what’s going on with any of it, as would be clear to anyone who’s ever looked at me. But anyway,

This woman is one of the dumbest, most awful people I’ve never met. It’s not Megan Fox that’s the issue. It’s her notion of what a merited cover subject is. Good Lord! Megan Fox?! This magazine normally features wafer thin, objectified, nameless young women! Megan Fox has often shared opinions! Where have the morals gone!?

Sassy!

It’s adorable that being outspoken should count against someone’s qualification to appear on a fashion magazine. She would be fine with Lindsey Lohan, of course and however, because Lindsey is a train wreck of a human being who does drugs and drinks too much and will probably be dead soon, and if history has taught us anything, it’s that tragic beauties are totally sassy. Destroying yourself slowly in the public eye makes you a prime candidate for a fashion cover, but speaking your mind…ick! Oh, and Lindsey totally loves clothes more than Fox does. The distinction in character is profound.

And I love the way “actor” is slipped in there in a desperate attempt to subtly align with her original “authentic movie stars” gripe. Lady, Megan Fox may be a flash in the pan, but Lohan isn’t exactly cruising toward Streep status herself. And, again, the issue is not one girl against the other. I'm not trashing Lohan; the poor girl does it to herself enough it seems. The problem is the depraved, idiotic standards at hand here. I don’t know why I should care, and perhaps I shouldn’t, but I suppose that I at least try to believe that the fashion industry is not the pile of rubbish it always seems to be. People like this make it hard. 

By Dave Beauchene

Peru Goes Portugal On Guns N Roses - Video

Axl Rose was given an a lack luster welcome at a recent Guns N Roses gig in Peru.

As the band took the stage to "Chinese Democracy" a wayward object hit Rose who immediately stopped the performance. He spoke to the crowd through a translator.

"If you wanna throw shit, we will leave. We would like to stay and have fun with you for a long time tonight. So we're gonna have fun? Let's try that again."

The remainder of the gig continued without further disruption.

This incident is reminiscent of a Nickelback show in Portugal a few years back where the band was pelted with rock.

"You wanna hear some rock n' roll or ya wanna go home?" front man Chad Kroeger asked the audience. Their answer is clear. You can see both videos below.

LCD Soundsystem Debut "Drunk Girls"

LCD Soundsystem have leaked the first single, "Drunk Girls" from their as yet untitled third album. Listen below.

One of the most anticipated albums to be released this year, the band's latest effort, in stores May 17th, is to be the first release since 2007's Sound Of Silver (rated the 34th best album of the decade).

Ray Bradbury and the Greatest Anecdote Ever

I read an annecdote today that has kept me laughing off and on into the evening. It haunted me through French class, even, instigating that hands over mouth, intermittent, silent spurts kind of torture which would leave you in a moment if you could just let it all the way out. It kept hitting me again ang again. It went like this:

A man who believed himself to have discovered the greater meaning to "T'was The Night Before Christmas" as well as the key to its essential and lasting popularity went to see Ray Bradbury speak in L.A. If you don't know who Ray Bradbury is, he's...well, Ray Bradbury - one of the greatest living American authors who's written some of the coolest stories I've ever read. He's getting on, as the English would say, now in his late 80's, and so is something of a living legend. He is eccentric, but, as legen has it, an amiable fellow.

And this man wanted to share his discovery with Bradbury. Why not? Ray's nothing for formality as it is. He's a romantic, poetic spirit, and the man was going to wait in line a while to see him, and he was going to keep it short. Lets call him Eddie (as that's his name).

"Ray!" he said at the front of the line, finally. "I figured out why "The Night Before Christmas" is the most famous Christmas poem! I can tell it to you in less than a minute!!!"

<------At which point it should be known that Bradbury looks like this.

Bradbury stared angrily into the eyes of Eddie.
"Oh, you're a big man aren't you!? You know more than the rest of us don't you!? You're Mr. Bigshot aren't you!!!?? Everybody look out for Mr. Bigshot over here!!!"
He rang out. Eddie stood there, withering - his spirit shattering like a pocelain vase. Shocked confused and remorseful for no reason he had any idea of. Eddie turned and walked toward the exit and into the snow in silence with the feeling of Bradbury's eyes burning holes into his back.

Eddie did not give up. Months later Eddie went to see Bradbury speak again. He sat right in front and, when questions were opened, raised his hand during a patch of long empty silence. He raised it politely and held it. Bradbury refused to look at him.

Imagine an experience like this. Imagine someone you admire in the public sphere, who you'd wait an hour just to speak with for a moment, offering them something like a new take on a classic beatles somg, and them slamming down their pen, standing up, and shouting "WELL! Bill friggen shakespere! Glad to meet you! HEY EVERYBODY! GET A LOAD OF THIS! WE GOT A REAL DAMNED GENIUS IN OUR MIDST!"

Acutally, there's no replicating the brilliance of Bradbury's actual response to Eddie's actual introduction. He had a take on a classic Christmas poem, and he was excited to share it in brief, and Ray Bradbury is not simply annoyed, he is disgusted at Eddie's ego. It defies my discussion. It's just plain utterly hilarious to imagine this completely un-expected conflict taking place. Anyway, it'll make me laugh for days yet to come, I'm sure. For me, it'd be something like waving to Bono on the band's walk to the 360 stage, and watching Bono fly me the bird and say "Right there, buddy." and keep on going. Here's hoping I can avoid that this July.

By Dave Beauchene

Red in The Face

My whole life I've had a great propesnity for going red in the face. I don't know exactly why this is, whether my blood really pumps that fast, or if my lineage has failed to evolve past the instinct of immitating a tomatoe at signs of danger, but it happends remarkably easily. Often, in fact, it happens without my even knowing it. 

A victim of his own principles...

"Your face went SO RED!" Friends will say with a improportionate amount of glee, long after the instance has taken place - for instance: I borrowed a pen off someone. I had no idea this had occured. I hadn't felt nervous. So I can only imagine the colors I change when I actually am nervous. Plaid perhaps.

Which doesn't really help. The moment you know you've gone red, you are instantly emberassed about going red, which sends the signal to the brain "STOP GOING RED! OH MY GOD! STOP YOU FOOL! AHHHHH!!!" which, of course, leads to an increase of body temperature of approximately 9 hundred and ten degrees, which means you're now too red for people to be able to look directly at you. It's great. 

It'd take a secure man...

And the thing is that I can't remember the last time I was properly emberassed about anything other than going red. I don't mind talking in front of people. I don't mind if I drop something or trip. I'm not really bothered by mistakes, unless I one day mistakenly land in the middle of the Soldier Field at halftime in my underwear. Even then, though, I'd be more worried about going red than trotting off the field with a strained grin on my face. It's the feeling that you look emberassed that's emberassing. "I'm not emberassed!" You want to interject. "Really! I don't care at all! I'd have liked not to have done that, but it's fine! REALLY!" But then you'd look emberassed to look emberassed and...oh it's just this awful, viscious circle.

Like today, when one of our managers asked how I hurt my hand, and insinuated (quite unhumorously, if you think about it) that I had slugged my wife one. I stalled on a sarcastic reply, and instead resorted to mock emberassment in the form of silence which, of course, yielded the obvious response. "OH NO! THEY'RE GOING TO THINK YOU REALLY HIT ABBI! YOU ALWAYS HAVE JOKES AND NOW YOU HAVE NONE! STOP GOING RED! SAY SOMETHING FUNNY!" No dice. Redder and redder I went. Thank God Abbi hasn't recently injured herself in any obvious way.

No, I don't think they could have concieved such a thing - knowing us as well as they do. Still, why, my dear blood-preassure? Why do you insist on sending all blood to my face the moment I worry that all blood has been sent to my face? Could you send it elsewhere? Over to the right hand, perhaps? That wouldn't be so hard to hide. Though I suppose I should be pleased I'm spared sweaty palms in the case of anxiety. I may look preposterous, but those hand-shakes'll be dry as a bone. You win some you lose some, I guess.

By Dave Beauchene