Music

Under review

/ josephpatrickrichards / 3 Comments

22 February 2012: DC Exile Day 29

Regular and irregular readers of this blog will soon discover a new, recurring feature. Beginning this Friday, 24 February, I will launch a review section. In this section, I will review books, movies, music and more. Some of the reviews will be of current items, some will not. I do promise to do my best and offer productive and useful reviews. If I absolutely hate something, I will try to find a bit of positive and not rely upon overly clever put-downs.

When I lived in Salt Lake City a couple of years ago, I had a brief stint as a reviewer at Salt Lake Underground Magazine, SLUG. (The editor eventually fired me from this volunteer position when I refused to provide my mobile phone number even though they already had my home phone number. Consequently, the last several reviews I wrote never saw the light of day.) A friend suggested I apply for the position, so I did. I took a break from my day job to go down to the SLUG offices and interview with the staff. As I was going to the interview from work, I was formally dressed. I immediately felt out of place entering the high-ceilinged hip haven. The staff sported several tattoos and piercings and a superior air as to their role as arbiters of cool in a state that, for all intents and purposes, is extremely uncool.

Following the interview, I was to submit a couple of sample reviews so the SLUG higher-ups could judge my skill. I reviewed Let It Die by Feist and Masquerade by Fort Collins, CO band, Slow Crash. Somehow, I got the gig.

In my time with SLUG, I reviewed books, live shows, compact discs and DVDs. The biggest problem with my reviews? They absolutely suck.

My reviews were the worst kind of reviewing: clever (in my opinion at the time), vitriolic misuses of power. The best reviews point out the good and bad and take the art in question on its own terms, not necessarily as one dreadful consequence of dismal hipster culture. Unfortunately, my reviews reflected my desire to be clever in print and to denigrate perfectly good artists because I was overly disgusted with the “alternative” culture in Salt Lake City. So, I took out my anger in the magazine and tried to be cool by tearing down the work of others.

[But don’t take my word for it. For you, oh lovely reader of this blog, I offer up my published reviews for you to judge. Eventually, I may get around to posting the reviews I wrote that went unpublished when the editor fired me.]

I do not apologize, nor do I seek to vindicate my previous style. However, it is time for me to try again and see if I can’t learn a bit while I am at it. Cringingly Personal’s first review will appear this Friday and will cover the book Nation of Rebels: Why Counterculture Became Consumer Culture.  

Five Iron Frenzied

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Earlier today, I don’t even remember how, I learned that Five Iron Frenzy have reformed.

Holy fucking fuck.

Five Iron Frenzy’s first album came out in 1996, when I was deep into my evangelical period. (I knew I was rabidly Christian, but my best friend recently applied the “evangelical” descriptor to my behavior. I have no doubt that was accurate.) At some point before I found their music I found a renewed faith in that old scoundrel, Jesus. I decided I was going to purge evil music out of my ears (Metallica, Danzig, Megadeth, Tom Jones – although I did feel justified keeping Stevie Wonder’s Songs In The Key Of Life and U2’s The Joshua Tree.) So I dove into Christian rap, punk (what?) and ska. When I finally came upon Five Iron Frenzy’s Upbeats And Beatdowns I thought my heart was going to fucking blow up right out of my chest. I could barely drive away from the Christian bookstore (which was in Dublin, GA – home of the Redneck Games – and was probably called The Olive Branch or something of the sort) in my 1997 Pontiac Sunfire (four-door). I was bouncing in my car from the first yelp from Reese Roper’s throat. (Have no doubt that I tried to sing and dress exactly like Mr. Roper, especially in their video for “A Flowery Song.”)

Over the years I zealously purchased each Five Iron Frenzy album, saw them in concert several times (including during their tour of US roller rinks) and even had their bass player, Keith Hoerig, eat my french fries (that sounds dirty) at a Christian music festival in Stone Mountain, GA. I was in love with them. I wanted to be each one of them and I wanted to marry their saxophonist, Leanor “Jeff The Girl” Ortega.

Even when I walked away from Christianity, I still clung to Five Iron Frenzy. They were the music I got to keep when I broke up with Jesus.

In 2003, Five Iron Frenzy broke up. Occasionally, they still popped up when I was shuffling through music on my computer. Most people I met after high school had no idea of my complete devotion to and obsession with this Christian ska band from the 1990s.

Now they have returned and their new single, “It Was A Dark And Stormy Night,” jolts me to the past. I am back in that car, in that roller rink, near that smelly tent jumping like a fucking lunatic and screaming every lyric and skanking every limb. I no longer connect to their Christian message, but their music still gets to me.

A little West and relaxation

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26 January 2012

The sky is overcast and dull and snow is covering the entire ground. No, winter did not finally come to Northern Virginia. I’m sitting in a house in Ogden, Utah. How did I get here? You, David Byrne and I aren’t the only ones asking that same question.

As you, dear reader, know full well, I lived the last 18 months in Arlington, VA, just over the bridge from Washington, DC. During that time, I was working in a reproductive rights nonprofit covering the Commonwealth of Virginia.

As of January 13, 2012, my employment ended and I embarked on the next stage of my life – a stage that is currently nebulous and ill defined, but surprisingly not stressful.

GF and I began the transition into this new phase by selling all our furniture on Craigslist (where we met many interesting, yet dully un-sketchy characters), donating items to Goodwill and the local library and dealing with the various other interminable minutiae of moving.

Fortunately, with a three-month notice in to our employers, we had plenty of time to fit together the puzzle of relocating.

So, on January 13, 2012, I found myself unemployed with no employment prospects and no solid idea of where I would be within the next three months.

That is how GF and I ended up back in Utah (where I never thought I would return) living with her kind and generous parents in Ogden. Enough about us, let’s talk about me.

I was surprised how much I missed living in the West while back east. Looking out at the mountains and feeling the stresses of a fast pace dissipate remind me why I connected so much with Colorado and Utah. Speaking of Colorado, previous discussions set my sites on Denver as my next life location. As I am quickly learning with all decisions I declare, I must add the always-implied caveat, “We shall see.”

For now, I have mounting credit debt, no job, no job prospects, no clear sense of direction and no permanent home.

I have never felt more alive and free than at this exact moment.

Just over 18 months ago, I stood on the same porch I see to my right and talked to my best friend, JHP, about taking charge of my life and moving from Utah to find what is next for me. Now, I return to the porch with the knowledge and skills I acquired in DC and Virginia, fully seeing what it means to take charge of my life. It means accepting that my life can have no set pattern. That my life is my own and it will most likely not look like anyone else’s and will not fit into a certain mold.

Persons have asked me what I would like to do now that I am moving. The only response I can give is that I want to have a freelance lifestyle. I want to write songs, sitcoms, sketches and jokes and perform. I want the occasional odd job to help pay for my lifestyle. We’ll see what happens.

On a separate note, I realize I was a bit too harsh in my critiques of Utah while I lived here. Being back, I can see the allure of the place. Yes, I strongly disagree with the monolithic control of the Mormon Church and find the “alternative” scene lacking overall, but there is an appeal. As we drove in from the airport this past Tuesday, I realized that Salt Lake City (and much of Utah) is an isolated community, where you can ignore the outside world and build your own enclave. You can watch one of the worst (but my favorite) basketball teams, drink watered-down beer, eat surprisingly high-caliber food (some of the best in the country), see some incredible touring acts (like Centro-Matic, My Brightest Diamond, Built to Spill and Devotchka) and dig the outdoors. Yes, it was not for me and I cannot live here at this point in my life, but I can see the appeal, especially if you own a Subaru and like to ski.

I sit here, snow outside and warm coffee inside, with the sound of a hair dryer blowing in the background, content and anxious, completely free and unafraid. (I am referring, of course, to how I feel, not how the hair dryer feels. I cannot begin to speak for it.)

I have big plans for Cone Alone (my other blog), The Joseph Richards Show (my semi-regular podcast), Joey Cougar & The Starfish (my band) and JosephPatrickRichards.com in this coming year.

I will see more of my dreams come true before those damned Mayans destroy most of the planet and enslave all survivors.

Out of my Deppth

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19 September 2011

Good evening you wonderful loves of my life.

Has it only been a day since we last spoke? Or since I last spoke at you? Who knows?

I promise to punctuate tonight’s posts with the songs shuffling through my music player. It’ll be just like you’re here with me.

“Yes, I am blind.” -Morrissey

Mr. Steven Patrick Morrissey may be blind, but at least he never spoke like a swashbuckler. (As far as I know.)

Some of my astutest (most astute?) readers may be aware today is a day commemorating the verbalizing of vagrants del mar. Yes, today is talk like a pirate day.

“By the end of the evening I was saying no doubt.” -The Cribs

No doubt I cannot stand this day. Someone actually spoke at me as if they were a pirate today. If you are thinking this is a good idea, let me remind you why it is never a good idea to celebrate talk like a pirate day aloud.

  • You are not a pirate (my apologies to our pirate readers, especially Capt. Edward Trenchmouth)
  • I am not a pirate (my apologies to myself if I am, in fact, a pirate)

Get your booty out of my face

 I am currently listening to “Luzerne” by The Trolleyvox, which is an album I reviewed when I was a reviewer at SLUG Magazine in Salt Lake City, UT. (The curious reader can even see an example of one of my reviews here. I will neither defend nor deride my insufferable, hyperbolic prose. If this review whets your whistle just search the site for “Joey P. Richards” and find some more.) However, the song on repeat-peat-peat-peat in my brain all day is “Love You Like a Love Song” by Selena Gomez & The Scene.  

In summation, I hate talk like a pirate day (so much so I refuse to write it properly), love Selena Gomez and am “holding out for that teenage feeling.” (Neko Case)

"I don't care, if forever never comes."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I passed the flower shop. Lord knows I meant to stop.”

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11 September 2011

Good evening lovers.

If you have not heard Scott Walker’s “Mathilde,” do so right this moment.

Try not to be overwhelmed by the horns. Try not to get caught up in the swirling emotion.

That’s right, I’m giving my first listen to Scott Walker’s Scott.

Oh my non-existent deity. “Montague Terrace (In Blue).” My my my. I think my brain, heart and spleen are going to explode.

“The girl across the hall makes love. Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone.”