Project: Echo Log, Day 6.

What had intended to be a swift 6 day affair has instead turned into a monumental undertaking. Today we finished some bass tracks, bounced tracks, and did some organizational planning for the completion of the record after the semester is over. The idea was tossed about to head down to Medicine Lodge to finish the album, and the more I think about it the more attractive an option it becomes. The album is still a distance away folks, but we are going to keep on top of it. Scout's Honor.

The results really are astonishing. The album has taken a life of its own completely independent, though built on, the efforts of myself and the other fine men involved. All hype aside, this CD is really going to make you happy.

I was introduced to Atom and His Package by the same guy who took all the new pictures in the photo gallery. I definitely recommend his song "Upside Down From Here;" inspiring and fun. I also recommend the pictures... We had a lot of fun in this last week. Now it's time for the final push to graduation; finally, I'll be able to get some sleep.

Project: Echo Log, Day 5.

Desperation begins to change to resignation as the Shaft resolves itself to the very cold hard fact that the record is going to take a lot more time than previously anticipated. Howie, Scott, and I are, by now, very mortally attached to "Fireflies" and the standard that has been set requires an amazing amount of effort and time to get right. This is good, because the record will be quite excellent... But, unfortunately, I'm a graduating senior and Howie has a recording Inbox stacked a mile high even before he begins to consider howie&scott.

The master list has been made of all the parts that need to be recorded. We put a reasonably large sized dent in said list today with 12 string recording and basswork. We are on track for yesterday's goal of getting the 12 and bass tracks laid before departing and spending a whole lot of time away from the record, unfortunately more by necessity than choice. The semester is only going to get worse, so I fear I won't be able to touch the record again until school is over.

In other news, I am now a faithfully converted disciple of Blacklight Sunshine. Howie and Scott have sang their praises for almost a year now, but I have failed to see them until tonight with Scott and a few of his friends. Man, they are certainly not lacking in the rock department. Or the professionalism department. Or the chick-getting department. Or any department really; these fuckers bought up the entire rock n' roll mall. Amazing, amazing instrumentation in the strangest, yet catchiest time signatures... Tons of polished breaks all over this angst-filled rock that makes metal fun again. Top this off with top notch *performances* by all involved, this band is as much fun to watch as they are to listen to. There's a reason why they are one of the biggest names on the scene.

Project: Echo Log, Day 4.

Thanks for sticking through all the site problems. They should be resolved now. For the full skinny on the situation, the folks at Spooky will let you know what has been happening and what they did to resolve it. On the stick, as always.

The dark demon of despair fell upon our heroes as the immensity of the task that lay ahead of them becomes fully realized. The kit is now, thankfully, officially done but more important done extraordinarily well. The percussion on this record is far better than it has any rightful business being, and due solely to the three full days we've dedicated to it. We captured some very fine performances by Howie and laid the foundations for what is going to be a great, not good, record.

However, we now realize it is not at all going to be complete with the 2 days we have left. In fact, it is very clear we are very embarassingly behind. The goal now is to have the 12-string and bass finished by Sunday night and hopefully leave time to do some lead work and/or possibly finally laying down some rhythm. The logic employed is sound and I believe this is the most efficient use of our time. My bass playing has long since dwindled since the days of Emotional Feedback, but my music knowledge has increased greatly. The combination effect is something that does sound quite good, but also something that cannot be rushed under any circumstances. For this reason, we have selected to prioritize the bass as rhythm guitar will require a much smaller time allotment, giving me the needed cushion to fuck up.

I would type more, but I'm afraid my hands are beat to absolute hell. I played with howie&scott versus DJ Crampton in 3 long hours of hand percussion playing to a DJ spinning records. It was a real pleasure to participate in the project, made all the better by Scott's swooning of a jazz-lovin' lady at the end of the show. Ladies and gentlemen, yes, he got her phone number. w00t!

Project: Echo Log, Day 3.

The day that followed disaster found the Shaft working diligently and now productively towards the end goal of carefully crafted, yet hard thumping rock. Verily, we have faced much frustration and the seemingly inconquerable quandries of tone and micing, but the demos are getting fleshed into album-worthy tracks.

Howie has almost completed all the kit tracking for the album, while I've been occupying myself crafting bass lines and doing sampler work. "Still a Princess" is kicking the both of us in the head, the speed too great for Howie's sticks or my fingers. Tomorrow bodes well for heavy rock, so it is likely that we will blast those out and get to guitar and vocal work as the weekend approaches.

Tonight, Shacker plays in Lincoln and I'm tagging along roadie-style to get terribly soaked in Knickerbockers filth. I must remember plugs to preserve my ears for the rest of the weekend's recording; the idiot sound guy they always seem to have down there could blow the rest of this record's tracking into a tonedeaf land of broken promises.

Project: Echo Log, Day 2.

Our first full day of recording began with a chilly, mostly cloudy March 9am with plenty of promise and hope. However, things were not destined to go well this first day. With a new hard drive to install and drum micing not completely tested, technical problems plagued the hardworking men of the Geek Rock Revolution.

Howie quickly was met with much consternation as he suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous snare tone, while I attempted to forge ahead despite heart-stopping ProTools failures and a reinstall. I seem to be taking the nonproductive day a bit easier than Howie, though my only troubles today were technical rather than musical. I suppose if my guitar was giving out hosed tone, I'd be a little more pissed off.

After some potato soup and card playing at Katie's, it is my sincere hope that tomorrow will meet early success to carry us through the rest of the day with much ease. Also, we'll have some pictures to put up and some mp3 snippets for you crazy .plan fans only.

Hang on to your pants people, this .plan entry is coming from the Project: Echo G4 Mac. Yes, this is still Rob typing and, yes, I feel very dirty. I'm planning on immediately submursing myself in a gigantic vat of boiling canola oil so that not only would the filth be off me, but I will also be delectable and tasty with ranch dressing.

Bottom line: this place is crazy. We have more gear, more equipment, and more instruments strewn about this little room that ever previously witnessed, arguably in the history of the home. To give you an idea about where "Fireflies" is being recorded, it is a studio secreted deep within the dark, innermost sanctum of the Howard Family abode. A smallish room marked with sinister, foreboding grandmother clocks and landscape oils providing antithesis to the mess of bastardized and conglomerated technologies employed specifically for the purpose of making this record rock harder.

Even the Man is on to our revolution. The moment I pulled up to Howie's place, I was getting ready to hop out when I noticed immediately that their was a Crete City police car lights twirling behind me. Naturally, I was less than pleased. Here I am, with Mama Howard waiting up for me... getting pulled over by the cops in front of her goddamned house. Not precisely the most opportune moment. And on pullover numer 34 I finally got my first ticket: a fix-it for a left taillight. If the fuzz is on me just as I pull up to begin the record, we're probably going to have the National Guard send in a unit by the end of this week. However, it is our rock and this Revolution shall prevail!

Quick stats update on the show last night:

250 people paid the cover for food before 9pm. Attendance thereafter can only be indicated through beer consumption. Sources for the unit statistics are Mike Lynch, proprietor of Mike's Sports Bar (the venue we played) and volume statistics and methodology is gleaned from this excellent, unbiased research project.

Units:
7 kegs, domestic. 90+% Budweiser or Bud Light.
37 cases, domestic. 85% Budweiser or Bud Light.

Volume:
196.73 gallons of beer.
10.23 gallons of ethyl alcohol (active ingredient in beer).

Intoxicating Capability:
Off of beer sales alone, enough alcohol was distributed to intoxicate 569 adult males beyond the legal driving limit in the State of Kansas.

The night becomes crazier and crazier as you keep doing the math.

Phew. They told me rock n' roll was tough, but I'm wondering if country isn't tougher.

I played a country show with my uncle tonight down in my hometown of Medicine Lodge. It is the first time I've performed music around my hometown area without Aaron so, naturally, I wasn't a little anxious about it. This was, however, totally countermanded by the fact that I was playing with my uncle, which is an opportunity that is rare enough that I look forward to it muchly. We played for 5 hours (!) with only a few breaks to use the restroom here and there, and largely met great success. We only had perhaps a half-hour of rehearsal, so I think Roy was pretty scared of sounding like dogshit... But in true family fashion, showmanship is half the contest.

Follow it up with a wonderful mom-made breakfast, and I'm really not sure how life can be much better. I think when I go on my first national tour, I'm going to employ her to cater breakfast after all the shows.

So, it should be said that with my car, I am used to get passed alot. I have a small 6 cylinder engine in a bigass Ford two-door from the 70s; I should not expect to go over 70 often. I've accepted this. But, though I have whole heartedly embrace the stylish slowness of my car, every so often my male instincts rise up against reason and I find myself humiliated. One such case was today, when I actually got passed by a bus.
A short bus. The kind they put retards on. And it gets worse: it was for a Methodist Church.

In Oklahoma.

What's even more pathetic is that I tried to speed up to catch it... and failed miserably. Maybe I need a major Christian denomination to help me with my accelerator.

Let's talk smack for a little bit, shall we?

It's filling the consciousness of America. Every screen, sheet of paper, billboard, and tongue is talking about the upcoming war, only the masses seem to have a very interesting response: "We're sick of hearing about it!" Apparently this pivotal, history-changing conflict is now tired and uninteresting after hearing about its potential for three months. Why talk about it? There's nothing we can do, we should just suck it up, watch the Avelanche, and continue on our meandering lives with head firmly stuck in the sand.

Still more frequently I hear people say, "Our men and women are over there. They are defending your freedom. You have no right to complain."

Well, I have news on both counts: this war is unjust. It is unacceptable not to talk about a fundamental injustice that is occurring without proper mandate or consent, in our names. We are Americans. Those are our siblings sitting in Kuwait. And we should have no intention of keeping quiet when their lives are on the line for a questionable cause. Whether one agrees with military action or not, the Bush Administration has not made it expressly clear in its rhetoric what the fuck our men and women in uniform are going to die for.
First it was disarmament. However, immediately any signal of progress in weapons inspections was met with derisive dismissal by the White House. Then it was regime change. But, how can we set the precedent that the United States can impend on the sovereignty of another nation? Now it's Saddam Hussein, plain and simple. One guy and his sons getting the hell out of the country. But, what is missing is a plan for what to do with him once he is captured or where he is supposed to go? Even if he *wanted* to comply for the sake of his people, where would he go?

Now, we have a tyrant with his back against the wall and a "use-or-lose" alternative for weapons that supposedly exist. What a diplomatic disaster.

We are going to war on Wednesday. Robin Cook has a very cogent argument (RealAudio only) that sums up the liberal movement's position. But, one wonders if it is too late.

Two days to enjoy peace. Then, the next age of history begins. Hope you have a good seat.

This is Rob's barely contained sense of excitement.

"A Life Without Fireflies," the next record from Arturo Got The Shaft, began development today with a rehearsal over at Project: Echo. With H-dog on his Spartan but rockin' kit and I with the new axe jammed out on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon to prepare for next week's studio submersion. The results that he is pulling out with his Digidesign PC are very, very nice. Early samples of the craftsmanship behind "Fireflies" can be found with the upcoming EP from Blame the Game and the full length from Shacker. I've had the pleasure of a sneak peek at both, and with my prebuy tickets firmly within grasp I assure you these shows are worth the small price of admission.

The forecast calls for moderate to heavy bomb showers over Baghdad and neighboring cities in the next couple days. I hope you all brought your helmets, folks. This is, for better or worse, the beginning of a new age in history.

Destroying your credibility in a single sentence: it's not just for Republicans anymore.

Jammed out with Scott and Rust outside on a beautiful, beautiful evening. I can't wait for summer sidewalk jamming to come back. I confess even though tonight was hardly any huge success or triumph, I do miss the unique challenge of pleasing diverse crowds and remember tunes forgotten long ago. I never was the know-it-all cover band kind, but I suppose this is the closest I can get to it with real enjoyment.
An old woman came up and dropped a few singles into the case and said, "We need more soldiers like you."

I couldn't agree more.

If we forgive our fathers, what then?

A creative work really touched me tonight. I think that is why we are here; to touch other people, and be touched in return.

Posted for your complete disregard, my review of the latest Ramones' tribute record.

In an industry constantly perverting the sacred in the name of The Almighty Buck, those normally sacred grounds that indie music fans were formerly able to tread because casualties to the never-ceasing march of corporate rock. The day many had dreaded but wished against wish would never came finally arrived with "We're a Happy Family;" the mainstream Ramones tribute album. This album should be a complete heretical disaster with big, mainstream acts covering the band that defined what it means to be underground and punk. However, at the hands of Astrocreeping producer Rob Zombie, the album becomes a bit of a guilty pleasure. The punk record no punk would want to get caught with in his/her collection, "We're a Happy Family" is at best in the moments where new life is given to these foundation laying songs, though the low points are glaring and painful.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers open the album with a kinder, gentler rendition of "Havana Affair," but when one hears Producer Zombie's interpretation of Blitzkrieg Bop over unbelievably thick beats the theory behind the record becomes clear: this is no mere tribute album, but an interpretation of the early history of punk rock. Sadly, Zombie appears to be one of the few that got the memo, as Eddie Vedder and Zeke, Metallica, and Tom Waits fail at their given assignments with lackluster tracks that fall far short of quality, even as far as Ramones' songs go. However, the biggest bastard of the record is without a doubt Marilyn Manson who proves quite evidently in "The KKK Took My Baby Away" that even if Manson knew who his musical father was, he should consider himself immediately disowned. As with every Antichrist cover that came before it, Manson aims for shocking and avant-garde but lands somewhere between pathetic and irrelevant.

One would expect the same from Kiss, but instead they deliver possibly the best track on the CD covering with no small sense of irony "Do You Remember Rock N' Roll Radio." Thumping and fun, the clearly corporate members of Kiss show a better understanding of the actual feeling behind the music of The Ramones than one would ever expect, especially when covering a song complaining about the sort of corporate music that Kiss is known for producing. Similarly, arena rockers U2 deliver "Beat on the Brat" faithfully and interestingly, showing that even the most sold of sell-outs can still be punk. The usual suspects Green Day, Rancid, and The Offspring fill out the album with genuine punk rock authenticity and Pete Yorn and The Pretenders give intriguing folkish performances to save the album from utter despair. Overall, Zombie's vision succeeds mostly because it excels in the most unlikely of places.

Who Should Listen: Avowed corporate listeners will get an inkling of what real punk is about with this album and can be used as a springboard to the era.
Who Should Buy: It will be a love/hate relationship not unlike the first punk you dated. But, if you remember, despite his/her failings he/she was still a lot of fun.
Where To Go: Major music retailers everywhere.
Grade: B-

I spent the day jealously admiring the gorgeous day Nebraska is having today. However, while the prospect of enjoy 60+ degree day in March was enticing, I took solace in the knowledge that I was far away from the danger of any bears.

In other news, it appears that the Nebraska Unicameral Legislature is fully prepared to give the public universities a decent ass-raping. Fortunately, I would never see these cuts even if I didn't go to a private college, but as soon as higher education starts becoming expendable, a very dangerous slippery slope awaits for Nebraska. Not that they weren't in one already. (post-script... in the research for links I came across a wonderfully helpful adult store for married Christian couples. Direct quoted from the site, "Please notice that we do not sell any electronic devices. We feel that those products would take a couple outside of the boundaries of marriage as designed by God." Which really is a shame.)

So yeah, I ate at the new Mexican restaurant of no small reknown in Hastings last night but I think it is the human equivalent of a NASCAR pit stop. We step into El Patio and there was a pretty significant line, but after about a ten minute wait we scored a booth seat in the somewhat tacky but clean restaurant. Immediately a polite waiter with a wireless communicator in his ear came over to ask for drinks.

"Uh... Coke for her... Mountain Dew for..."

BOOM! Humongous soft drinks sitting on the table before I could finish the sentence.

"Ready to order?"

"Uh... Sure... Chicken Chimichanga for her... Fajita Quesadilla for me. Oh... And some salsa con queso?"

45 seconds later a bowl of the *finest* cheese dip I have ever tasted was at our table. 4 minutes following that the waiter brought me a quesadilla the size of my goddamned arm. I wish I was exaggerating on this point. This quesadilla was, no hyperbole attached, the length of the top of my fist to the bottom of my elbow. And, as arms go, I'd like to think I have a pretty big one. Cheap, delicious, and preternaturally fast... I'm beginning to wonder where the catch at El Patio lies. Nothing can be that cheap, that good, and that incomprehensibly fast. I've come to the conclusion that they are either aliens or Communists, though I reserve the possibility that they might be both.

Colin's post sums up the show pretty well. Incredibly successful, even with fully three quarters of the usual gang doing donuts in Kearney to kick cancer in the ass. Lots of new stuff was introduced that will be developed further in the next few weeks. What If We Give It Away? received some very serious interest, so rest assured, I am going to be cranking out plenty more where that came from. There is, simply put, no place like home. A whole bunch of new faces were at the Blue Moon tonight, but it always seems easier to play there than anywhere else. Probably something they put in my coffee.

So, I was driving to get to the show, and found a fucking house parked in Mary Lanning Memorial Hospital's driveway. It was jacked up and attached to the back of a semi-truck, sure, but it was an honest-to-goodness, completely-put-together, goddamned *house* sitting in their driveway the way I'd park my Granada. Just sitting there.
Fortunately, a woman at the show worked there and informed me that it was there so that they could move it in the middle of the night when there was less traffic. Somehow, this didn't console me. I hope whoever owns that house knows somebody stashed it at the hospital.

Bottom line: if you haven't seen Cowboy Bebop yet, you need to. I had the good fortune of watching the entire series and movie subtitled, which I believe is the preferable experience to fully understand just how good this series. Cartoon Network also cuts a lot of important stuff out, though it doesn't mutilate nearly as bad as with their showings of Dragonball Z. There has never been anything before or since that has been better on television. Period.

I may very well be the most accomplished man in the world today, but I tend to reserve judgment on such universal declarations. Played a show, wrote a paper, wrote an exam, fixed a major network issue, and, just because I thought I was slacking, set up a new show in Grand Island. Now I don't think this should be confused with some sort of time management skill. I really tend to have amazingly productive spurts where an absolutely inhuman amount of work gets accomplished in a short period of time, and punctuate said time by playing Natural Selection and sleeping a lot. I'm told this isn't healthy, but hey... what do they know?

Well, that's great. Protesting the war on a T-shirt is suddenly a crime. It's enough to make one wonder exactly which country we are still living in.

I feel somewhat obsessive for talking about the war so much, but the possibility seems so daunting and absurd it really does feel my consciousness. How can anyone living right now not be aware of the historical significance that these events will have for the future? Jonathan Schnell has a good essay on the subject in this month's Harper's. If anything the 20th Century could teach us, let alone the past 10,000 years of human civilization, is that war is inevitably a totally futile act. The measure of that futility is the only question we have with the Bush the Second's upcoming conflict. Will this be the moment the American Republic becomes the American Empire? Will historians call Bush the 21st Century Caesar one hundred years from now? We need to find a Cicero somewhere to warn of this coming, and as best I can tell, the only reasonable one we have is Michael Moore.

In lighter news, I will be distributing hugs for any who need them at the show tonight.

As if we needed more proof he was a goddamned weirdo.

Alright Nebraska. Any time you want to go, you and me are going to tango. You want to do the man dance? First dance is yours.
So yeah, yesterday I was cruising around in the Granada with the window down and 2 Skinnee J's playing. Today I walked out and my pleuritic chest got knocked with a 10 degree sledgehammer just as I was walking out the door, in the process of waking up for my class. Son of a bitch, that hurt.

In other news, the before-mentioned 2SJ have a new record, Sexy Karate, coming out 4 April. Be warned with that link, I have heard a lot of people talking smack about A&E Merchandise and how late they get stuff out. Personally, I'm just going to go to the 3 May show at Omaha's Ranch Bowl that has been confirmed by synthmaster Stevie Spice himself. Better enjoy them now folks; this is their last tour.

Man, what kind of world are we living in when Turkey are the ones preventing world war.

Long week of rocking ahead. Why not get it started off right with as little sleep as humanly possible? What I get for sleeping in late, I suppose. The weather this weekend (what little I saw of it) was absolutely dreadful and I'm told this week is going to be more of the same. The problem I've found with Nebraska is that just when people are wondering when winter is going to show up, it sits its ugly ass on our heads for five months. Wearing shorts in November and seeing snow in May is may indicate that there is a pretty serious problem afoot.

I wish I had a 20 foot Marshall stack with a head that turned to eleven.

Tonight I watched "This is Spinal Tap" for the first time in a very long time and I suddenly realized how much funnier all the visual jokes were now that I'm a rockstar. Sadly, most of the parody references are completely lost on me as I'm, ultimately, a child of the 90's.
I was born in 1980 but I don't believe I can duly claim any sort of cultural right with the era. For the earlier part of my childhood, my family went to a pretty guilt-heavy Pentecostal church that instilled complete fear of rock and roll so deeply that I couldn't even bring myself to listen to "Nature Trail to Hell." I didn't really listen to anything other than Weird Al until I was well into the 90's and, by then, most of the bands Spinal Tap refers to were, thankfully, ancient rock history. It was a rough time for rock and roll and I wonder if we don't need a new Spinal Tap to slap the music industry back into some (relative amount of) sense. I think these guys are the ones to do it.

Some recommended reading for the weekend. Excellent source of indie rock and an excellent columnist from SF Gate as well as the new 11th issue of Birkwell Street Diary from Chandra.

This seemingly endless waltz towards war seems to cast a pall on all other news. Stuff like 96 people dying at a Great White show and Mr. Roger dying somehow takes a perverse back seat in my mind when literally dozens of my friends and peers are receiving orders to contribute to the large buildup surrounding Iraq. I think everybody has resigned themselves to Bush's tyranny and are simply doing what they can to brace for the coming horrors that will be visited upon us all with this stupid invasion.

In the meantime, I just play a lot of Counter-Strike.