Posts Tagged Atlanta
National Guard Called In As Protests Rock Atlanta’s Prog Power Festival
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness on September 6, 2013
Brandishing signs saying “Better Pay, Shorter Solos” and “No Arpeggios, No Peace” musicians from The People For The Ethical Treatment of Power Metal Inspired Guitarists (PETPIG) clashed with the National Guard at Atlanta’s Prog Power festival on Thursday. Many of the guitarists are angry about the difficult working conditions they face trying to play so-called “power metal”.
“You have no idea what it’s like,” said Bjorn Amadeus Mozart, guitarist from the band Frodo Baggins, “we are exposed to hours of high-pitched male falsetto vocals, often have to play complicated 25 minute solos, dress in tight pants regardless of our weight and spend hours of our free time reading obscure Robert Jordan novels in order to come up with lyrics to appeal to our audience. We are tired of it.”
The big issue, according to PETPIG President and Samwise Gamgee guitarist Thor von Wagner, is pay. “We are expected to carry the band with our classically-influenced, innovative riffing techniques and, yet, when we get our paychecks they are often similar to that of bass players, who basically stand there and “look metal” without exerting much effort. You could hang a coat on a power metal bassist and they’d be just as useful.”
Power Metal Guitarists Threaten Good, Upstanding Americans With The Use of Dangerous “Pollen Baring Devices” At Prog Power
In spite of what seem to be a reasonable set of grievances, Georgia governor Nathan Deal has taken a strong stand against PETPIG, ordering the entire National Guard to Atlanta to stop the seven protestors from picketing in front of the event. Citing Georgia’s strict “no public assembly if it in any way interferes with commerce” policy, Deal approved the use of tear gas and rubber bullets to break up the demonstration.
“The people won’t stand for a bunch of Sabaton listening hippie foreigners coming over here and causing a ruckus. We barely survived influx of peace freak ‘community organizers’ in the 1960s. It’s time we let them know that Woodstock is over!” screeched Deal into a megaphone from the steps of the Barrow County Elementary School to a bloodthirsty crowd of patriotic Americans.
Many members of the National Guard seemed confused by the sudden use of violence against protestors. However, others seemed to understand that this sort of display of fascist brutality is simply away for Deal to appeal to his party’s base in his attempt to be reelected governor in 2014. Still others relished the opportunity to engage in a rampage against people with long hair.
“I’ve always looked back on my father’s generation and thought they were the lucky ones. They got to fight the battle for freedom right here within our borders back in the days before America became a Kenyan communist dictatorship. Where is our Kent State? This is the sort of thing we need to do to take back our country from the power metal hippies who are currently taking people’s right to consume jumbo sodas in New York and preventing the children of Georgia from possessing the latest in military-grade weaponry!”
Help Us Raise $250,000 Dollars For Bolt Thrower to Play My Daughter’s Birthday Party
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness on August 5, 2013
We have always been a Bolt Thrower family. Many of our happiest, most memorable times have been spent listening to their music. Whether it was me soothing my son on his first trip to the dentist by playing him all of “In Battle There Is No Law” or my wife and I making the long car trips from Atlanta to Minnesota go by quicker by singing “Cenotaph” with them, Bolt Thrower have almost been like relatives. This is why, on my daughter Jo-Anne Bench Spillett’s sixth birthday, we’d like to hire Bolt Thrower to play the party.
However, as you probably have figured out, hiring a death metal band to fly from England to Atlanta to play can be expensive. My wife and I talked about how to make it happen financially, but short of working nine more jobs and selling the platinum grill I had made during my brief rap career, it didn’t seem affordable. Enter the miracle that is Kickstarter! We have seen several projects from a Veronica Mars movie to an Obituary album to a nose job for Sebastian Bach all get funded this way. Why couldn’t our dreams come true as well?
Therefore, I am proud to announce that The Tyranny of Tradition will be starting its first Kickstarter campaign to raise $250,000 dollars to get Bolt Thrower to play my daughter’s 6th birthday party on November 22nd. Sure, $250,000 is a lot of money, but I want to assure each and every one of you that each and every penny will be put to good use. In the spirit of transparency, here is an itemized list of what the money will be used for.
Band Compensation $25,000
Bolt Thrower is a legendary band and they won’t come cheap. Being metal legends, they deserve to be well compensated for their time. They will, of course, be responsible for their own airfare.
Hotel: $3,000
While we’d love to have them in our home for a one-time, special birthday concert, the wife and I are not particularly keen on letting them stay in our house overnight. We live in a gated community with an extremely active homeowners association. I’m not sure they would be willing to tolerate Baz Thomson walking out at 7 o’clock in the morning holding a Miller Lite and wearing nothing but his boxer shorts to get the newspaper. Let’s face it, they are kind of, well, dirty looking. Not any more than most metal bands, but certainly not the type of people we necessarily want the neighbors to see us with. They’ll fit in fine at the Super 8 motel out in Snellville.
Permits: $20,000
According to the City of Atlanta, I’m not technically allowed to have a death metal band play in my backyard without a permit. Because of the potential noise and disruption, several local city officials have told me that it will be impossible to get a permit for the event. The $20,000 will be used to bribe the necessary City Council Members needed to get us the permit or, in case they are unwilling to be bribed, to hire a private investigator to dig up humiliating blackmail information on them.
Security: $10,000
Instead of hiring one of those costly, pretentious professional security companies, I have contacted a local motorcycle gang, known as The Disciples of Satan, to make sure that things don’t get out of control. Not only will they be tasked with crowd control, they will need to go door to door in the days leading up to the concert and threaten my neighbors with violence or the potential kidnapping of their children should they complain to the police about the noise or lack of available parking. The Rolling Stones used a similar approach to security with great success.
Home Renovations: $80,000
Our home is simply not ready for a concert of this magnitude. The backyard will need to be equipped with arena style seating, a stage and adequate bathroom facilities for the 10 or 20 children that will be attending. Also, a hot tub will need to be added overlooking the backyard in order to allow me to help loosen up my back from moving furniture to ensure the children don’t break anything if they wander into the living room. We will also need to add marble countertops in the kitchen and a new family room in order for us to spend quality time together.
Opening Bands: $10,000
Bolt Thrower is an older band who probably can only do a one hour set without risking collapse. Most parents expect these parties to go 2 to 3 hours. So, the show will feature several talented local bands including Spectrecide, Butter Knife Appendectomy, and Dysrythmic Sphincter Valve who will perform while the kids are playing party games like Pin the Murder Rap on Randy Blythe.
Live Pokémon Characters: $5,000
Besides old school death metal, both of my young children love Pokémon. What would make them happier than if people dressed in Pokémon suits came out during Bolt Thrower’s set to really get the pit moving? We’d have Snorelax, Charazard and even, during the encore, a visit from the one and only Pikachu.
Incidentals: $10,000
It’s amazing how many things need to be rented or purchased outright in order to make something like this work. Lights, speakers, smoke machines, animal parts to be tossed into the crowd, a cake, and goodie bags filled with Bolt Thrower merchandise can really add up.
Remaining Money For Personal Compensation: $87,000
This is America. No one works for free. My wife and I plan on working hard to make this day very special for our little girl. Thusly, our effort should be rewarded in the form of monetary compensation for our time and labor.
Hopefully, this campaign will raise the funding necessary to make my daughter’s birthday a day to remember. If it is successful, this is only the beginning. I am already in the planning stages of several possible Kickstarter campaigns including a $300,000 campaign to stop Megadeth from making another album, a $5 million dollar drive reanimate Dio and a $250 million dollar fundraiser to take over the nation of Botswana and declare it a Heavy Metal Republic. So, take a moment of your time and help us to make November 22 the best 6-year-old birthday party ever. You’ll be glad you did.
852 Fascinating Words With “A Tale of Two Maidens” Writer Anne Echols
Posted by Keith Spillett in People Who Were Willing To Speak To Me on June 3, 2013
Anne Echols is an amazingly talented writer from Atlanta who has just released her third book, A Tale of Two Maidens. She is a brilliant teacher and a wonderful human being. I was honored to get a chance to talk to her last week about her new book, Joan of Arc and, of course, Iron Maiden.
For those folks out there who haven’t read it, tell us a bit about what A Tale 0f Two Maidens is about…
The book is about a fifteen-year-old Felise who is an apprentice scribe in medieval France. She dreams of escaping her cruel guardian, who plots an arranged marriage for her. She dreams of being a writer and a book shop owner. The Hundred Years War rages all around her, even spilling into her town. This takes place at the time that Joan of Arc blazes onto the scene as a teenage girl who claims God-given powers to change the fate of France. Joan inspires Felise to run away and embark on a daring adventure of her own.
Every day draws her further into the underbelly of a life she has never known — a world of lepers and vagabonds, brawling men and loose women. Burning villages and terrified peasants are left behind in the path of war as Joan tries to free France from the English. When a young suitor from home pursues her, Felise finds herself drawn to him despite her quest for freedom and her distrust of men.
Following after the army, Felise meets Joan face to face and soon finds herself torn between Joan’s single-minded sense of purpose and her own desire for love and personal fulfillment.
Lepers and vagabonds! Sounds like she went to a Poison concert. What was the inspiration for writing A Tale of Two Maidens?
I wrote two other books (both non-fiction) about women in the Middle Ages. Joan of Arc has always fascinated me since I read saint’s tales about her and I wanted to understand the truth about her. I researched her life and found out that there were Joan imitators both before and after her death — false Joans who went around pretending to be her. That gave an idea for my book — to see how she influenced ordinary women of her time.
Joan of Arc figures prominently in your book. What do you think she was like in real life?
Blunt; down to earth; practical; bad-tempered; pious and celibate; fiercely loyal to the Dauphin (deposed prince); illiterate. Didn’t like dressing as a guy at first but I think she kind of got into it after a while. She would hear the sound of church bells and lapse into a vision of her saints but then snap out of it and go off and lead her men into battle. I don’t think she liked the adulation of the crowds and certainly didn’t believe that she could perform miracles. I think she truly cared about her soldiers — almost like a big sister.
If Joan of Arc were alive today, what do you think she’d be up to?
She’d be attached to a ruler who had been has been unjustly deposed (or unjustly lost an election) and exiled and she’d be the star military genius helping him or her get back in power. Maybe Radonski in Venezuela. She’d be an indigenous peasant from a small village in Venezuela with undiagnosed schizophrenia and hear voices to help him contest the election or stage a coup. I picture her in a Rambo style bandana driving around Venezuela in a tank — with a tatoo of her beloved saints and lots of groupies. They would use her name to market clothing products, t shirts, berets, and of course Joan of Arc goat cheese (I really saw this product at my local grocery store!)
Earlier I could have seen her as a female Che Guevarra.
Many of the readers are metalheads, so I want to make it clear, A Tale of Two Maidens is not a comparison between Iron Maiden with Bruce Dickinson and Paul Di’anno. But, in your opinion, who is the better frontman for the band?
Both are great singers, but I’d pick Di’anno for being raw and real — I believed that he was actually feeling the emotions as he sang. Dickinson was more theatrical and was having more fun performing but I didn’t believe him as much as I believed Di’anno. I think Joan would have liked the first singer better too.
Who was “more metal” Shakespeare or Chaucer?
This is a tough question…Chaucer came to mind first because I could really see someone doing a metal style Pardoner’s Tale in Middle English. Also I think the earthy, bawdy exterior of the tales (but often with a melancholy but truthful interior) lend themselves well to the metal blend (at least in my mind) of raucous exterior but often emotionally charged, compelling interior. And the ‘on the road’ setting definitely applies to both.
Shakespeare’s play have already been done in so many styles from the Luhrmann Romeo and Juliet, to a stage interpretation of Julius Caesar done in Star Trek style sci fi, so why not metal?
I’m Pretty Sure One of The Guys From Mastodon Lives on My Block
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness on February 27, 2013
It’s one of these guys. I’m not sure which. Most white people in their 30s look alike to me.
About two weeks ago, the house up the street had a moving van in front of it. At first, I didn’t think much of it. After all, I live in Atlanta and people are always moving around in order to avoid the rampaging hordes of flesh-eating reptiles that roam the streets at night. Had I not built a Y2K shelter some years back, I would have probably been devoured myself. My family and I hide there during the evenings, watching old VHS copies of The Young and The Restless until the wee hours of the morning with shotguns in our hands. My 4-year-old is particularly skilled at shooting the beasts when they try to overpower the deadbolt. She’s a great shot for 4. I’m hoping that one day she can lead the humans as we rise up and try to take back control of our cities from the robot overlords. Maybe she won’t. We all grow up thinking we are going to be something special. Sometimes, we just end up working in retail.
The fellow coming in and out of the moving van seemed nice enough. He had longish hair and a mustache that made him look something like either Ron Kovic or a relief pitcher for the Brewers in the mid-70s. I greeted him with my usual Sufi chant and politely asked if he minded if I took a lock of his hair in order to fuse his DNA with a water buffalo. He looked a bit shocked, so I put my shirt back on. That way he would not have to stare at the eyes that had begun to grow out of my stomach.
Suddenly, a feeling of recognition overwhelmed me. I knew this fellow. He was in the band Mastodon. I don’t know how I knew, I just knew. I immediately asked him to autograph my copy of .38 Special’s “Wild-Eyed Boys of The South”. I had been carrying this copy of the album with me for months asking celebrities to sign it. So far, I had gotten Rick Wakeman, the former Yes keyboard player who currently works at the Publix deli counter in Decatur, and Jerry Mumphrey, the former Yankees outfielder who lives inside of my right kidney, to put their names on it. Had this Mastodon guy signed it, it would have completed my collection and allowed me to pass into the cosmic netherworld of alien dwarves. But he refused.
He broke my heart. As a fan, all I ask is for a little acknowledgement. After all, I’ve spent hours of my life listening to that album with the whale on the cover of it. Is a signature too much to ask for?
It’s like the time I broke into Cal Ripken’s home and demanded that he sing all of the lyrics to “Covered With Sores” by Cannibal Corpse at gunpoint. I wasn’t asking a lot. My request certainly didn’t warrant the two and a half years I served in the Allenwood Federal Correctional Facility. Or the removal of all of my teeth at the hands of some hired goon named Vito. But the Ripkens can be brutal when you cross them. I learned that the hard way.
So here I am. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon. I am covered in honey and ox blood from head to toe. Waiting. Hoping. I’ve been in the guy from Mastodon’s living room for 3 hours now playing Black Ops 2 on his Xbox. I wonder if he’s at the supermarket. Or collecting and trading pig exoskeletons with his church group. Or meditating at an ashram in Utah. Or at the park reading his dog-eared copy of V.C .Andrews’ masterpiece “Flowers in the Attic”. He has to come home at some point. Doesn’t he?
Watching Ghost From The Masquerade Parking Lot
Posted by Keith Spillett in Pointless Music Reviews on May 14, 2012
A wise man once told me not to pay for what you can get for free. He’s currently doing a stretch of 2 to 5 years at Rikers Island for passing bad checks, but his point was well taken. After my ticket for Saturday night’s Ghost, Opeth, Mastodon show at The Masquearde in balmy Atlanta, Georgia fell through, I was faced with two possible futures. One involved me jumping in my car, heading over to The Varsity and drowing my sorrows in 12 pimento cheese sandwiches and the other involved me standing out in the parking lot and craning my neck around some light poles to get a glimpse of Ghost, the current greatest band in the history of the universe. The choice was obvious.
By the time I got to a spot that allowed me to view 1/12th of the stage, they had already launched into a rip-roaring version of their Mercyful Fate tinged masterpiece “Elizabeth”. Apparently, I was not the only person leery of actually paying to see a concert. There were two 15-year-olds staring over the fence with expressions of cold, awe-struck horror. One of them had his “throwback” Bullet For My Valentine “Scream, Aim, Fire” shirt on and the other one looked like he was dressed for the eventual random onset of a golf match. They clearly were in the wrong place:
Metal Kid #1: Why is the singer of Mastodon wearing a Pope hat?
Metal Kid #2: I don’t think that’s Mastodon. That’s probably Opeth.
Me: No….that’s Ghost. Ever heard of them?
Both Kids at Once: No????
Me: They are completely crazy. Keep watching. You’ll see some terrible things.
Metal Kid #2: What do you mean?
Me: Well, first of all, you know where he got that hat from?
Metal Kid #1”: No.
Me: He stole it from the real Pope.
Metal Kid #1: No….No way! Is that true?!?!
Me: Oh yeah. These guys are pure evil. The drummer punched the Pope one time at an IKEA in Munich and the singer took the hat and ran. They mugged the Pope for Godsakes! They were supposed to play America a year ago but they were banned from the United States.
Metal Kid #2: Whoa! What for?
Me: They are into trafficking and selling animal organs. The singer got caught trying to sneak 150 sheep livers into his suitcase when they went through customs. It was a big international incident. That and the whole thing with the walrus got them into a bunch of trouble….
Metal Kid #1: (horrified) Walrus??? What happened with the walrus???
Me: Jesus, doesn’t anyone read the newspaper anymore!!!! They did a concert in Poland and at the end of the show they brought a walrus on stage and beat it to death with hammers. They cut it up and gave pieces to everyone in the audience. It was unbelievable. They put birthday candles in each of the pieces! People ate it completely raw and something like 46 people died of food poisoning. Horrible! That’s what got them on the FBI’s 12 Most Wanted List.
Metal Kid #2: Oh my god! Wow! These guys are awesome!
Metal Kid #1: Do you think they’ll kill a walrus tonight?
Me: God no! They found religion and recently became Jehovah’s Witnesses. They swore off all of that praising Satan and slaughtering animal stuff and now they go door to door preaching The Word. The guitarist, the one dressed like a Jawa from Star Wars, he sold me a copy of Watchtower magazine last month.
Metal Kid #1: Whoa!!!! That’s amazing!
I quickly tired of filling the minds of these kids with insidious poison and began to focus my attention onto the mellifluous tones of Ghost. The solo from Ritual was casacading to its nearly perfect peak when I became aware of a terrible presence only inches from my right arm. As the song ended, I turned and came face to face with The Hipster With the Glass Eye.
The fella was probably six foot three and 98 pounds soaking wet. Imagine your average beardo coffee shop barista decked out in his best Piggly Wiggly tee-shirt and you’ve basically got a mental image of the dude I was looking at. Except this person had a glass eye. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Did he have some terrible accident Vespa racing? Was this some kind of sadistic, post-ironic fashion statement? Did he pull the original eye out in frustration when he couldn’t find a copy of the new Band of Horses album? Do they sell glass eyes at Urban Outfitters now? This rare specimen of humanity had my interest for a full two minutes worth of conversation. Then, things got ugly.
Me: Nobody knows who Ghost is. They’ve only done two interviews. Both of them were in caves. The interviewers were blindfolded and driven hours away to a secure location. They did the interviews wearing hoods!
Hipster With The Glass Eye: So, no one knows who they are?
Me: No one!
Hipster With The Glass Eye: (excitedly) Wow, so they are kinda like Banksy??? That’s awesome!
I looked away and shook my head in horror. An uncomfortable, awkward silence fell over us both. He stood there waiting for a response that would never come. I decided that the night was officially over. I walked to my car filled with hopelessness and despair. At least the band was good.
A Sadomasochistic Review of Sigh “In Somniphobia”
Posted by Keith Spillett in Pointless Music Reviews, Uncategorized on March 2, 2012
All that is left in my world is Sigh’s new album “In Somniphobia”. I love it. I can’t stop playing it. Over and over and over and over again. I love it so much I want to rip off my shirt and paint the letters S-I-G-H across my chest and run around the local Walgreens screaming at the top of my lungs. I want to beat myself over the head repeatedly with a claw hammer until I do such severe damage to my hippocampus that I forget I’ve heard the album just so I can have the pleasure of experiencing it again for the first time. I long to leap off of a bell tower screaming the lyrics at the horrified spectators. I dream of ripping each of my teeth out and sending it to members of the band to thank them for all the joy they have brought to me.
My love for it transcends all possible love I could experience. I want to go to a beautiful meadow, set out a picnic blanket and caress the album telling it all the things I know in my heart and have been afraid to say. I want to run through a field with it in my arms, laughing girlishly, dancing to the wonderful sounds of the wind whipping through the grass. I want to whisper lovingly into the albums ear, telling it my deepest secrets and most personal desires. Surrender unconditionally to its alluring charms. Bathe it in pure, unadulterated affection.
I feel jealous that others will have the chance to hear this album. When I think of others listening to this album I am filled with rage. I will kill them. I will grind their bones into dust. It is my album. Mine! Their love is cheap and tawdry while mine is filled with the sincerity and innocence of a child. They cannot feel what I feel for this album. They are mere mortals while I have been imbued with the gift of second sight by the god Amen-Ra. They live shallow, meaningless lives. Their love will flicker and fade the minute something else comes along. My attraction will never fade, no matter what happens. If nuclear bombs reign down on the city of Atlanta and all around me is melted and disintegrated, the only thing left will be my boney, skeletal fingers embracing the album, stroking its brow.
Don’t listen to the album. You and the mortals around you don’t deserve it. I’ll know if you are listening to it because I’m in front of your house right now. Watching you. I was at the supermarket yesterday when you bought two bags of pork rinds for 2 dollars and 28 cents. I saw you stop at the gas station and get approximately 8 gallons of gas. I know that you stopped in Hot Topic at 3:45 just to look around. You didn’t buy anything. I am watching you all the time. Even as you sleep. If you dare to listen to this album, I will tie you to a chair and feed you hundreds of pounds cheese dip until either your stomach bursts or your entire body explodes.
I’d give it a 2,389,124 out of 10. I am currently in the process of undergoing a medical procedure to add an additional thumb so I can give it 3 thumbs up. There will never be anything better. Music as we know it is over. People should not even bother to try to create anything else. This is the pinnacle, the zenith, the apogee, the climax of all civilization. It is the Hanging Gardens, the Taj Mahal, the Great Pyramid of Giza, the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. There is no future, there is no past, there is only Sigh’ “In Somniphobia”.
Desperately Seeking Stupid
Posted by Keith Spillett in Articles I Probably Shouldn't Have Bothered Writing on January 25, 2012
“Beware of the hobby that eats.” -Benjamin Franklin
The modern world can easily be a paradise for the highly committed and deeply disturbed among us. A person can amuse themselves endlessly with useless acts of rebellion meant to add luster to the dreary, humdrum, day-to-day flatness of life. Abbie Hoffman once figured out how to obtain a free buffalo from the Department of Interior. He was a bit more creative than I am. Having become sick of ending up with piles and piles of junk mail I set my sights on turning this annoyance into an affirmation of the uniquely twisted nature of today’s world.
It all started at Kroger on a rainy Friday afternoon many Octobers ago. Kroger is a supermarket chain that exists down here in Atlanta, Georgia so that people have a place to go if Publix is too crowded or closed.
I had recently been forcibly removed from the place for getting into a shouting match with three employees over my belief that they were intentionally overcharging me for the 35 boxes of store brand pudding I was trying to purchase. I was in the mood for mischief, but not the type that would again lead me to being tossed onto the ground and called a “pudding hoarder” by an overzealous store security guard.
At Kroger, you can get a card that, in exchange for surrendering loads of personal information, can help the cagier shoppers among us to save lots of money through special discounts. Of course, once your information is in their hands who knows where it ends up. They can sell it to anyone they want. They can give it to the KGB for all you know.
For fun, I decided that if they were going to get someone’s name, it ought to be The Boston Strangler’s. So, now when I look in my mailbox and some company is trying to send me coupons for, say, diapers, those coupons are addressed to Mr. Albert DeSalvo. Kroger and the other litany of corporate octopi that spend thousands of dollars to figure out whether I might buy more or less than 100 dollars worth of Kleenex per year are actually trying to appeal to a maniac who terrified the people of Boston for months on end. Cracks me up every time.
My fake criminal spree continued at CVS the next day where I signed up for their consumer rewards program as Dr. Jack Kevorkian. The following is a re-creation of an actual conversation that took place.
CVS Customer Service Agent: Do you have a CVS card?
Me: Sure. Here it is.
Agent: (swiping card) You saved $3.52 on those cans of formaldehyde Dr. Kevorkian.
Me: Thanks!
Agent: Hey. You are not the famous Dr. Jack Kevorkian are you?
Me: No. That’s my brother.
Agent: Your parents named you both Jack.
Me: Yes. And we are both doctors.
Agent: Oh.
If you were to ravage my mailbox, you’d see a regular who’s who list of famed murderers. Target knows me as Ted Bundy, Hobby Lobby calls me Ed Gein, Iams Dog Food thinks I’m David Berkowitz and The Omaha Steak Company sends their annual Steak of the Month mailing to a connoisseur named Jeff Dahmer. It’s really rather a strange feeling to see pictures of smiling, deeply contented people in a Macy’s catalogue that has just been sent to Richard “The Night Stalker” Ramirez.
Why does this make me laugh? I’m not sure. It’s childish, insensitive and really asinine. Murder is certainly not funny, particularly the sheer perversity of the acts committed by my alter-mail-egos (except, of course, Kevorkian, who really doesn’t belong in this group of sickos). Maybe it’s a way of trying to make sense of the perpetual flow of slickly produced come-ons that follow me around where ever I look. Maybe it’s an indicator of my inability to understand the nature of evil. Maybe I just need another hobby. It’s hard to say.
83-Year-Old Ida Mae Thrasher Reviews In Solitude “The World, The Flesh, The Devil”
Posted by Keith Spillett in Articles I Probably Shouldn't Have Bothered Writing, General Weirdness on June 5, 2011
The new In Solitude album “The World. The Flesh. The Devil.” is simply remarkable. Since I first heard it, I have been on nearly a non-stop In Solitude binge. I’ve listened to it from beginning to end somewhere in the neighborhood of five times a day. Whether I’m vacuuming, making dinner, or putting all of my issues of Boys’ Life magazine in alphabetical order, the album has been my constant companion. I had a plan to review it, but I feel like I have lost all degree of journalistic objectivity. The only way to truly get a fair assessment of this album is to turn it over to a stranger and see what they think.
This was not a simple task. I live in the American South and, for the most part, strangers are to be feared. I spent all day Thursday walking around the North Dekalb Mall in Atlanta asking people to sit with me for an hour listen to the record and answer some questions but was refused over and over again. I even had a woman threaten to get her husband and have him “give me a beating”. Six hours of rejection and nothing to show for it. I needed a new plan.
Friday, I went to the park near the local Senior Center. I immediately descended on a seemingly good natured woman sitting on a park bench who looked like she needed company and, more importantly, seemed like she’d have difficulty getting away quickly. I spent 10 minutes talking to her about her life and her allergy to penicillin. Her name was Ida Mae Thrasher. It was too perfect! This had to be the one! I made the offer, but this time I had figured out how to seal the deal. I offered her a 50-dollar gift card to the local Rite Aid. All she had to do was listen to the album and answer my questions. She tentatively agreed to do it and I quickly slapped a pair of headphones on her.
Our conversation after listening to the album went like this:
Keith: Well…what did you think?
Ida Mae: It was…..ummmmmmmm…..it was good.
Keith: Good??? Okay. Can you be more specific?
Ida Mae: It was very good.
Keith: Ida, can you please give me something with a little more detail? I’m trying to write an article here.
Ida Mae: Well, I liked the first song.
Keith: If you want the gift card, you are going to have to give me something more to work with.
Ida Mae: Well, it was kind of….well….loud.
Keith: Do you mean the volume? I could have turned it down.
Ida Mae: No, it was just….you know….loud.
Keith: (sounding somewhat offended) Listen Ida, loud is a term that applies to volume. Loud is not a valid description. It tells me nothing. Tell me something about the amazing guitar solos, tell me something about the raw production style, tell me that you like the interplay between the drummer and bassist, tell me you appreciate that they have taken early 80s sounding British metal and put a fresh and unique spin on it. What the heck does “it was loud” tell me!?!?!?!
Ida Mae: (appearing nervous)It was fine.
Keith: Okay, maybe I need to be more specific. Did I remind you more of early Paul Di’Anno era Iron Maiden or Mercyful Fate?
Ida Mae: Yes.
Keith: WHICH IS IT?!?!?
Ida Mae: Both.
Keith: You are avoiding the question! I’m seriously starting to question your commitment to heavy metal!!!!!
Ida Mae: You said I’d get a gift card if I listened to the album and answered your questions. Well, I did both. Please give me my Rite Aid gift card and just leave me alone.
Keith: There is no gift card! Not for you. Not with answers like that. You just totally wasted my time.
Ida Mae: HELP!!! Someone get this maniac away from me!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!
I had a lot of time to reflect on things while I was waiting for my wife to arrange bail. This experience taught me a lot. Some people just aren’t in a position to appreciate great music. I’m just going to have to live with the fact that the Ida Maes of the world will have to live their lives shrouded in a veil of musical ignorance. That doesn’t mean you have to. Buy as many copies as you can of “The World, The Flesh, The Devil”. Quit your job and do nothing but listen to it. Make your kids memorize the lyrics and if they don’t, refuse to let them watch television and send them to their rooms without dinner. It is really that good.
Check out Serpents Are Rising from “The World. The Flesh. The Devil.” here. The song is 160 percent amazing!
Gucci Mane’s Original Version of Lemonade
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness on May 10, 2011
Probably my weirdest hobby is rifling through the trash of my neighbors. They seem to find it annoying and even frightening, but I think it’s important to get to know the people around you. One of my neighbors happens to be Radric “Gucci Mane” Davis. Mr. Zone 6 and I haven’t spoken much, although he once complemented me on the azaleas we are growing in our garden. He tends to like to keep to himself.
I have been going through his garbage regularly for about a year and a half. I haven’t found much worthwhile. I can tell you he eats a good amount of pimento cheese and is a regular user of Rogaine. Beyond that information, the only thing I ever found in there that was worthwhile was this copy of the original lyrics from his hit song “Lemonade”. I like this version much more than the original, but Gucci knows a lot more about making hit music than I do.
Anyway, here’s a Tyranny of Tradition exclusive! The original lyrics from Lemonade….
Lemonade
By Gucci Mane
Yellow eeerrrrything
Yellow Cars
Yellow Rims
Yellow Shirts
Patent Yellow Leather Garanimals
Yellow Teeth
Yellow Spleen
Yellow Orangutans
Yellow Baby Pandas
Yellow Dinosaurs
Yellow Fin Tuna
Bacon Lemonade in the Cheese Cup
Bag of Shoulder Blades in a Periodontal Disease Cup
Baking Lemonade in a Cheese Cup
Military Blockade of the Sleaze Pluck
The Romans invented Yellow
Yellow was a verb until 1943
Yellow is a mixture of blue and green
I painted my house Yellow
I painted my cat Yellow
My wife and I paint each other Yellow
I cleaned my sink with Yellow Drano
Donovan sang about Yellow
Bacon Flavored Waves in a Sneeze Cup
Feeling Vague Unease at Seeing My Wife’s Lung
Bag of Frozen Peas and a Pork Chop
Drinkin’ Mayonnaise from a Tea Cup
My uncle comes from a planet where all the women are Yellow (BURR)
They ride on Yellow hovercrafts that are made of Yellow Martian flesh (BURR)
The capital of Ottawa is Yellow (BURR)
I’ve seen the greatest minds of my generation destroyed by Yellow
What rough Yellow beast, it’s hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be Born
The square root of 27 is yellow
Yellow, a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar, bartender says “Is this some kind of joke?”
Lemon Yellow sun, arms raised in a V
Yellow was the reason they passed the 28th Amendment
If it weren’t for Yellow all the settlers at Jamestown would have died (BURR)
Yellow was the third Vice President of the United States and killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel (BURR)
15 General Lee’s in a Pigs Skull
I Feel No Burning Need for the Speeze Guck
Missed The NBA Because My Knees Suck
Boiling Bag of Fleas in A Pink Lung
The Tyranny of Tradition 