It's been a bit over a month to the day now but I've got plenty of excuses, the main one being that this was a show that I was meant to enjoy and not "work at." But now that I've got all the photos uploaded, it's time to hop to it. Here now, I present:

THE RAKES @ The Troubadour, 7/17/06

So it was late afternoon when I arrived at the ol' Trou. with my camera slung 'round me shoulder as always. This was all I had, my Canon and my wits. I was here on a whim and a prayer. See, I made a few press requests but none had yet to go through. I would find out later that none of them ever went through. So at the very least, I figured I could catch the band during soundcheck...which I did.

I was about to step in when out walk Matthew (guitarist) and Lasse (drummer). Ooh shit! Heart pounding, I approached them and chatted them up. Nice guys!

"Who's the story for?" asked Matt (he was now Matt at this point because we're cool like that, boo-ya-kasha!)

"Depends on who wants to pick it up but probably Modern Fix, The Rockit or People's Dance Party."

Guess who got the short straw...anyway, sound check arrives...and oh how glorious it sounded! I savored every second of it like a death row inmate eating his last meal.

Sound check ended and the band walked out where we had an impromptu photo session:

Alan (vocalist) and Matt. "We want the drummer and bassist to think we don't want them in the photos." HAHAHAHA!!!!

James (bassist) and Matt showing off a fans' homemade shirt.

Lasse (drummer) wants one in pink.

It just so happens to come in his size!

A few fans.

The band leaves with a few members of Dim Mak Records, who brought the band's EP stateside last year, for dinner and I'm still left without a ticket in. I speak to some other folks involved with openers Protokoll and Every Move A Picture about the situation.

Yes, they received the e-mail request (hurrah!).

Unfortunately there are no more spots on the guest list (DASH IT ALL!).

Right about now is when they clear out the venue. Anyone without a black artist wristband has to leave. Oh shit that's me!

You can just imagine the sight: me with my camera, led out by a large angry-looking black man, as I hold my camera in hand. OH, THE SHAME!

My friend Johnny pulls up in his car and realize that we have only one option: liquor round-up at the nearby 7-11.

We find a parking spot (not saying where because it's free and it's close by and I don't want you fools ruining my spot!!!) and concoct a plan: FIND TICKETS! Yeah, duh!

So we make our (slightly) drunken walk back to the venue. We ask around a bit...when Johnny bumps into some people I know.

"Actually, a friend of ours has two tickets he needs to sell. His other friends couldn't make it."

SUCCESS!!! You see kids...liquor solves everything!

Tickets in hand, we waltzed inside with a light, springy gait. We walked in during the end of Every Move A Picture's set. It was ok.

Then The Rakes came on.

• 22 Grand Job


• We Are All Animals


• Down With Moonlight (new)


• Work Work Work (Pub Club Sleep)


• I'm On A Mission (new)


• The Guilt


• T-Bone


• Open Book


• Binary Love


• Dark Cloudz


• Terror!


• Violent


• Ausland Mission (new w/ Matt on vocals)


• Retreat


• All Too Human (slow intro)


• The World Was A Mess But His Hair Was Perfect


• Strasbourg

Oh hell...how amazing. Put simply, this is a rock 'n roll band. I mean, yea, they've got a post-punk vibe but they sure aren't Joy Division. And yea, you could say they're Brit-rock but they're nothing like Oasis either.

The album tracks sound better live which is a lot to say since they already sound damn great on record (just my bias speaking? Eh, who gives a fuck!). Album tracks that really stood out moreso live: "We Are All Animals," "T-Bone" and "Violent."

The new songs sounded great, a definite continuation of their debut Capture/Release. Matt sang the vocals on new track "Ausland Mission." He's got some good pipes!

The lack of "Something Clicked And I Fell Off The Edge" on the setlist made me sad. :(

We left almost immediately to the afterparty at Star Shoes in Hollywood!

DJ'ing couresy of Kid Jeans, a.k.a. Danny Masterson and Kid Millionaire/Steve Aoki

What the cats saw from the second floor smoking lounge

The top of Dan's head as he films the set for Dim Mak's imeem

Cobrasnake doing his thing

Clifton (right), bassist for L.A. mod-rock band The Mojo Filters, kickin' it with some big dude

Stripoes = never out of fashion!

Twin-sies Two-sies

Lasse shows us Americans how a drink gets drunk in the UK

Har Mar Superstar leads James and Alan in a dance

This guy has a great review of the show. Suggest you read it as well.

And that's that...the night ended with waves, smiles and some late-night pizza. Now allow me to end on a self-indulgent note:

Until the next tour!

Megan and I were standing around Sunset Strip tonight as part of what she has called "our summer of $5 non-alcoholic drinks." (I'd like to point out that it's also the summer of paying way to much too park, including a $10 faux-valet tonight where the dude pulled my parking break all the way back and I had to drive around the lot to try and get it down.) We had just seen some band whose name escapes me at the moment, mostly because we didn't see them listed on the bill beforehand, and were waiting for New Skin, The Spores and Arugula (forgive the lack of umlauts, I'm tired and can't find the character keys on here). I told her that I just can't feel anything for punk anymore. She mentioned maybe listening to some Black Flag, but, the thing is, I have a hard time listening even to the old stuff at this point. In fact, outside of The Clash and early Siouxsie and the Banshees, I haven't willingly put on a punk album in years.
To be truthful, I've never considered myself "punk" in the slightest, not even when I was at an age where everyone was punk. I prefer PIL to Sex Pistols, Robert Smith-era Siouxsie and the Banshees and disco Clash songs (Mick Jones had it all over Joe Strummer, imho, and Big Audio Dynamite and BAD II will always make me dance). That isn't to say that I didn't like punk music at all (I did and still maintain the collection to prove it), it just wasn't me.
Now, when I hear stuff that falls into that punk category (and you can argue all you want about what is or isn't punk on that website with the message boards where people take pot shots at bands all day) I feel nothing but ambivalence. Even at its best, I can't muster up any sort of enthusiasm. It feels like I really have heard it all before. Now, all music is derivative of something, but let's just call that statement a moot point because I really don't feel like going on some French philosophical route. Nothing, however, can possibly be as derivative as punk. Sometimes, I swear I'm actually hearing cover songs because the lyrics are nearly identical from band catalogue to band catalogue. Rebellion and some vague "they" who say "we" can't do something or are lying to us about something and I'm never really sure if that vague "they" is the government or parents. Come on, kids, all you wanted was a Pepsi, right? Just a Pepsi.
::: feel free to start singing Suicidal Tendencies "Institutionalized" right around now:::
I try. I really try to give the music a shot, but it's like a constant game where I tell myself exactly where Misfits-style chants are going to come in, when the guitars are going to get all Black Flag-like and when the singer is going to go on some Jello Biafra ranting. At the same time, though, I can't hate it. The music is just sort of there filtering through the background at shows or on the radio simply existing and failing to provoke any sort of intense reaction, at least from me.

Mary emailed me yesterday to say that NY Post was running a story on Ruined Music on the FRONT PAGE of the entertainment section. Now that alone was exciting, given that Mary is my friend, one of the few writer friends I have, and getting to see her written up in the pages of a major paper is nothing short of exciting. Then I got to the second line of her email "I think that they are excerpting your story in the final draft." I couldn't breathe for half-a-second. I mean, I've never even been able to get a letter printed in the LA Times (to be fair, I only wrote once, about Live 8 and they probably didn't appreciate my blunt but apt assessment of Linkin Park's set). I didn't even tell anyone what Mary had said just because, well, what if it didn't happen?

Long story shorter, I woke up at 6 a.m. to check the newspaper's website and there it was, an excerpt of my story from Ruined Music alongside an excerpt from a story by my illustrious peer Mary and quotes from such famed folks as Moby. This is seriously cool.

Here's the story.

It's pretty rare that I wake up, start reading the paper and come across something that actually makes my day feel a whole lot better. In fact, I think reading about Sumner Redstone canning Tom Cruise today is the only time that has ever happened.
I'm one of those people that Redstone has finally realized exist across the U.S. I won't go to movies with Tom Cruise in it. This started way before his nutty talk show behavior. In fact, it goes back to Interview with a Vampire and culiminates with that time I spent three hours trying not to fall asleep during Magnolia when I realized that I could no longer handle another movie where Tom Cruise plays a cocky SOB who may or may not learn his lesson at the end. God, he sucks!
Are we watching the slow demise of media-sponsored celebrity worship? If so, I hope it means that the following things, aside from Tom Cruise's overhyped movie career, will cease to exist:
-- Fashion magazines with Gwyneth Paltrow on the cover accompanied by 5000+ word spreads about how boring, um, I mean, "ladylike," she is.
-- Best dressed lists featuring a slew of actors and actresses who pay people to get them designer clothes for free.
-- Award shows that force nearly all of Hollywood to shut down to make room for the red carpet, thus causing a major pain in the ass for those of us who have to go down to Hollywood at night for work.
-- The club columns in both LA Times and LA Weekly, which focus almost exclusively on clubs the vast majority of either's readership cannot enter.
-- DJ gigs where a really famous person gets someone else to cue the records and then takes credit for it.
-- Paris Hilton's new record.

This weekend, the majority of Angelenos are going to crawl over a chunk of Sunset Boulevard for the annual Sunset Junction Street Festival. This year, I say fuck all that noise and head over to the Museum of Contemporary Art for their weekly After Dark session.

Every Saturday during the summer, the MOCA hosts a different musical artist performance along with gallery tours, drinks and more.

This weeks musical guest:The Crystal Method

Click here for more info.

Driving in the car, I'm flipping through radio stations and finding nothing but commercials, so I head over to KCRW 89.9 and hear what I think might be the worst song I have heard. Dare I say, it was worse than both that steaming pile of dung Paris Hilton recently flung at the world and that Hole song about Malibu that sounded like a half-dead seal washed up on the beach. I don't know who did the song, nor do I care to find out. At this point, I hope I never hear it again.
What makes this song so miserable? First, there are the vocals that seem to be lost in a forest looking for a note. "Charmingly off-key" I'm sure someone will soon write. Then there is the piano that insists upon drastically changing tempos every eight bars leaving the vocalist, or shall I say "chanteuse" (again with the things you just know people will say) running after it like a New Yorker trying to chase a cab. Finally, there is the completely unnecessary drum machine, at least I think it's a drum machine, that fails to ever sync up with the melody causing a situation similar to those moments when the television host's voice and lips fail to match.
This is what I hate about radio in Los Angeles. I'm not sure what's worse, commercial stations with their complete lack of musical diversity or (relatively speaking) indie stations that play songs that shouldn't even be worthy of radio airplay just because they aren't mainstream.
Fortunately, after sixty seconds of aural pain, I flipped the preset back to Jack just in time to catch "Edge of Seventeen." Oh, Stevie Nicks, I'm so sorry that I didn't appreciate your work until now.

Droidbehavior posted photos of Robotnick's set from last week. Spotted my friend Dave thrice. Couldn't find the Usual Suspects in any of the crowd shots. Perhaps they were head-bobbing in the back somewhere. I don't know. I do know that those of us who didn't make it totally missed out and for that I will live in a sea of regret.

One more thing: Over the past two years, I've grown to hate movies. Thank you, George Lucas and a slew of Hollywood bigwigs who have been wasting my 2 hours and hard-earned $10-20 bucks (depending on whether or not I get thirsty or hungry while dying from boredom) with crap. Anyhow, yesterday I was perusing the September issue of Vogue for the first of what will undoubtedly be many, many times (let's give it up for the fashion world who seems to finally be sick of stiletto heels and Paris Hilton clothing) and read about Sofia Copolla's new film, Marie Antoinette. This might actually get me out to a theater sometime in the near future, not just for the movie but for the soundtrack.