I just finished listening to Guns N’ Roses newest album, Chinese Democracy.
For years…for over a decade, GnR fans have been awaiting the release of the elusive Chinese Democracyalbum. After alienating/firing all of the original members of the original Guns n’ Roses including the irreplaceable Slash and Duff McKagan, Axl started working on the GnR album that he said would end all Guns n’ Roses albums.
Did it work? Did it happen?
I don’t think so.
The opening song, ‘Chinese Democracy’ is awesome. The very first thing you hear is Axl’s signature shriek as the music starts to build. As a first single, I think it will really make GnR fans say, “Holy shit! Guns N’ Roses is still awesome!” Then, they will hear the next song, ‘Shackler’s Revenge’ and be weirded out. It’s a good song, and I’m not saying that bands can’t evolve and change their sound, but Industrial GnR? Ugh. It’s like mixing Coca-Cola with Orange Juice. I like both, but I don’t want them together. I don’t want Industrial rock blasting over Axl Rose.
Then there are a few piano ballads. I know the piano was a huge part of the Use Your Illusionalbums, and I understand that Axl loves playing that particular instrument. But at least on the Use Your Illusion albums, the piano was complimented by shredding guitars and heavy bass lines. On Chinese Democracy, there are some Electronica beats mixed into piano fellating that would make Elton John’s jams sound Heavy Metal. Ugh.
If this album were not released under the band name Guns N’ Roses and instead released as The Axl Rose Band, it would make a lot more sense.
I give this album a B- (and that is being generous)
There are some very good songs on the album. If you feel the need to get the whole album, you can get it on iTunes for $9.99. Or, if you just want the really good songs, here they are:
“Chinese Democracy”
“If the World”
“Catcher in the Rye”
“I.R.S”
“Madagascar”
That’s all you really need to hear. Again, the album is not bad, and I can’t complain since I kind of just ended up with a free copy of it a few days before it was released. Still, if you are a hardcore (or even casual) fan of GnR, don’t expect great things.
That being said, I am going to go listen to Use Your Illusion I and Appetite for Destruction – REAL Guns N’ Roses albums.
I just finished up a new chapter of THE BOOK. I was jamming to the Donnie Darko soundtrack, totally setting the mood for where I am in the story.
“Mad World” is an absolute tear-jerker of a song. Beautiful, and very apt for the part of the book I am writing. I implore you to push play on this video and listen to the song.
And my next post will have another snippet from the book. Maybe. If I feel like it. You have to beg. Listen to that song first.
If Guns n’ Roses’ website isn’t bullshitting us, then it is OFFICIAL. Chinese Democracy is coming out November 23. The new single, “Chinese Democracy” sounds fucking awesome. My eardrums are popping massive boners.
I’m back in a Rap/Hip-Hop mood. It comes and goes.
Today, as I hip-hopped it up to some sweet West Coast Gangsta Rap, I was once again reminded of this:
I.Am.Getting.Old.
The following series of events is 180% true and is not in any way exaggerated.
I was getting into the new Ice Cube album, Raw Footage, this afternoon. I was sitting at my desk being gangsta — throwing the West Coast gang sign, mouthing the chorus to “Gangsta Rap Made Me Do It,” and writing a report for a multi-million dollar healthcare organization — when one of our recently hired employees came into my office. Robyn is 19 years old, and when she stepped into my office to ask if she could borrow the hardcore gangsta book, Good Omens, she noticed my street-wise fortitude and ability to represent a concise report. She was immediatey awe-struck with my gangsta…um…ness that she was too awe-struck to inquire further into the book.
“Yo! Yo! Yo!, what’s up Robyn,” I asked in a hard-edge tone — but not too intense since Robyn is practically a minor, and I didn’t feel like scaring her. “I’m listening to the new Ice Cube album. It fu-. It effing rules.”
“Who’s that?” Robyn seemed confused.
Seriously? SERIOUSLY?
“You don’t know who Ice Cube is? You know, Ice Cube from N.W.A?” I went ahead and pushed pause on my iPod because Cube had just called someone a “mothafucka,” and I didn’t want to be responsible for corrupting the youth. That’s The Hills’ job.
“Nope. I’ve never heard of them. Wait…We learned about ice cubes and the freezing point for H2O in physics class the other day.”
“No, Robyn. Wrong Ice Cube.” I gave a good raspy old-man chuckle and made sure my dentures were in place before continuing. “You see Robyn, back in my day, there was a rap group called N.W.A., which stood for ‘[African Americans] With Attitude.’ They rapped about shooting people and being awesome.” Robyn giggled. It was like last Christmas when she got that brand new Cabbage Patch Kid, except this was Christmas for her ears, and the gift was crude knowledge.
“Nope. I don’t know who Mr. Cube is. I like Miley Cyrus and still think the world is good.” Actually, all she said was “nope,” but I’m sure she likes Miley Cyrus and believes the world isn’t a filthy mud ball of hate and idiocy.
“Huh. Uuuum.” It seemed my Alzheimer’s was kicking in, and I briefly forgot where I was going with this. “Oh yeah. Well, you little whipper-snapper, Ice Cube, Eazy-E, MC Ren and Dr. Dre…”
“Oooo-ooooH! I know who Dr. Dre is. He’s famous. I can’t listen to his music though because mom and dad say he talks about pre-marital sex and marijuana cigarettes.”
“Yes, Robyn.” As you can tell, continuity played no part in this absolutely TRUE scenario, and I was no longer acting gangsta at all. In fact, I had aged about 50 years. “That is what Dr. Dre does. He makes whoopee with bad girls and smokes marijuana cigarettes. Here’s a little secret you can tell your buddies at the roller skating rink, though. Dr. Dre isn’t really a doctor.”
“Neato! I can’t wait to share this with my pals. Do you like The Jonas Brothers?”
“No, Robyn. The Jonas Brothers are fags.”
Pleased that Robyn at least knew who Dr. Dre was, I calmed down a bit. I went ahead and closed up the bottle of heart medication my physician gives me for my stress. “Go run along now, Robyn. Go play hop-scotch with your little friends.”
Again, continuity plays no part in this absolutely factual account. So, when Robyn left, I settled back into my rocking chair and flattened out the blanket on my lap. I was amazed by how the years had past me. I looked at the liver-spots on my hands and reminisced on VHS and cassette tapes. “That little kid had just been born when N.W.A. released ‘Straight Outta Compton.’” An old man tear of joy streamed down my cheek.
Then I died.*
———-
* At which point, Carl The Retard came and gobbled up my corpse.
It’s insane to think that some of the best hip-hop is being made by generally underground rappers like Jedi Mind Tricks and Immortal Technique.
You know what’s even more insane? White rappers making better music than roughneck over-produced stars like 50 Cent.
I just got the free legal download of High Risk Investment Planning by the Federal Moguls. Two white guys, DJ Q-Ball from the Bloodhound Gang and some other guy named Troy Walsh have made a great hip-hop album that makes me want to beat-box to unsuspecting coworkers writing reports at their desks.
Here’s a brief synopsis of what The Federal Moguls are all about:
It’s definitly got some Bloodhound Gang feel to it and is reminiscent of mid 1980s rap.
I’m not a fan of Kanye West, but I have had limited exposure to his music. Maybe I would have a greater appreciation for Kanye West if I made an effort to listen to more of his music. Unfortunately, I cannot separate Kanye West the person from Kanye West the performer.
The problem is not that Kanye West is opinionated, it’s that he expresses his opinions like whiny little girl. We all remember the Hurricane Katrina fundraiser when Kanye deviated from the script and let the nation know that “George Bush doesn’t care about black people.” Hey Kanye, you’re probably right, but Dubya doesn’t care about anyone you self-righteous bitch. Jesus.
Speaking of Jesus, nobody can pull off the role of martyr better than Kanye, and I think this is the real reason Mr. West makes my blood boil. I understand that a sense of entitlement is an occupational hazard/prerequisite for celebrities, but I can’t think of anyone in the current spotlight who is a bigger prima donna than Kanye West. In 2006, Kanye West proclaimed that he would “really have a problem” if he did not win the Grammy for Album of the Year. Then again, one can’t be shocked by a comment like this, considering it came from the mouth of a man who posed as the Son of God on the cover of Rolling Stone.
Kanye Christ’s recent bitch fit is just another example of the delusional world the man lives in. CNN posted an article regarding Kanye’s June 15 Bonnaroo Music & Arts Festival outburst when everything didn’t go exactly the way it was planned and his little show was postponed, much to the dismay of festival-goers who began chanting “Kanye sucks!” and hurling bottles and garbage at the stage. In response, Kanye posted a blog, almost entirely in ALL CAPS (you know, like when a spoiled girl is mad at her parents for not getting her a pony AND EXPRESSES HER ANGER ON MYSPACE. OMG!!). Regarding the mishap at the festival, and the attendees’ response to his delayed performance, Kanye wrote “This Bonnaroo thing is the worst insult I’ve ever had in my life…This is the most offended I’ve ever been … this is the maddest I ever will be.” Really, Kanye? Even more mad than when that plastic surgeon botched your mother’s surgery? Kanye went on to explain that the preparations at the festival did not go over well because he was “dealing with … idiots who didn’t really have the capacity to really put on this show properly.”
The album is currently rocking my face off. Motley Crue is just as badass as they were 20 years ago — more badass maybe. It has a more current sound but it incorporates the heavy bass and pounding drums that made Girls, Girls, Girls such an amazing album.
If you are a Motley Crue fan but were disappointed (like I was) with Generation Swine and New Tattoo, grab S.O.L.A. It will make up for those last two albums.
I’ve been waiting for a month go download the new Motley Crue album, Saints of Los Angeles. It finally came out today. The minute I came to work, I logged into my Rhapsody account and downloaded the album. I was all psyched to have my eardrums annihilated by SOLA. Rhapsody sucks, but MyCokeRewards.com has a deal with them, so that’s where I have to go to download free albums.
For the past few hours, I have been trying to burn a copy of my download to a CD so that I can put it into my iTunes library. I am not sure if it is my work computer or if there is a problem with Rhapsody, but everything I do results in one error message or another.
All I wanted to do was listen to my goddamned SOLA album.
I’m going to try and do this from my personal computer after work. If it doesn’t work, I expect you will see something about me on the news.
When I was a kid, I would spend the summers at my grandma’s house in Douglas, AZ, a small border town literally a stone’s throw away from Mexico. With not much to do, I would watch a lot of TV. In between episodes of Nickelodeon’s You Can’t Do That on Television and Double Dare, I would switch back to MTV hoping to see a music video called “Epic” by a band named Faith No More. The video was so neat, and the music was even cooler. At the time, my musical tastes were still being shaped. I was not aware that groups like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Anthrax and Run DMC were experimenting with rock n’ roll and rap fusion, so when I first heard “Epic,” I was blown away. The guitars were heavy and rhythmic and were complimented amazingly by the lead singer’s fusion of rapping and singing. I loved that song, and when it aired, I would plop down in front of the television and not blink until it ended.
(FNM - “Epic” - The Real Thing)
When I moved to Uruguay, I was still in love with “Epic.” I had no idea who Faith No More were or what other songs they had made. All I knew was that I needed a copy of that song. When I finally got a copy of FNM’s The Real Thing, I crammed it into my Walkman and fast-forwarded to “Epic.” It was just as cool without the video. I eventually memorized the lyrics to the song and decided to give the rest of the album a shot. I enjoyed the song “Surprise! You’re Dead!” because it was heavy, had fast guitars and the insane screaming seemed to be on par with what I thought all good rock and roll was: loud fast and almost inaudible. The rest of the songs were kind of cool, but they weren’t load enough, they seemed to have too much piano, and they didn’t have the same rock/rap assault as “Epic.” Eventually I grew tired of listening to the same two songs, and The Real Thing found its place on the shelf next to my Huey Lewis and The News tape and The Fat Boys.
Fast-forward a few years later. I was living in Caracas, Venezuela. I was beginning to rock out to Alice in Chains and Slayer. White Zombie’s La Sexorcista: Devil Music Volume 1 and Pantera’s Far Beyond Driven were in heavy rotation in my CD player and I had just gotten my hands on Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. Musically, I was set, but I kept my eyes peeled for new music. As I looked through a SPIN Magazine one day, I decided that I would take advantage of one of the BMG or Columbia House “buy a zillion CDs for just a penny” offers. I ordered some standard albums that I needed for the collection: Tool’s Undertow, Pearl Jam’s Vs., Green Jelly’s The Cereal Killer Soundtrack. I also noticed that Faith No More had put out a new album, Angel Dust. What the heck. I liked Epic, and The Real Thing had some cool jams. Maybe Angel Dust is worth a shot.
When my albums arrived, I checked out the songs on Angel Dust. It had the infamous “Parental Advisory: Explicit Content” sticker on it, and at that time, that immediately scored the album a few extra points. With songs like “Malpractice,” “Be Aggressive,” “Malpractice,” Crack Hitler” and “Jizzlobber,” my adolescent mind was sure Angel Dust would rock my brains out of my skull. I popped the disc in my CD player and prepared for the noise fest that was about to assault my eardrums. To my disappointment, Angel Dust did not slice into my cranium and give me the metal-induced coma I was waiting for. Don’t get my wrong, I enjoyed the album. It had some pretty cool songs on it, but it was not what I was expecting. Really, the album was more weird than anything. At the time, I didn’t want weird — at least not the kind of weird Angel Dust was offering. I wanted to be lobotomized by music. I had hoped that Angel Dust would have a song on it that was as unique sounding as “Epic” had been. There was no such song. After several attempts to really get into Angel Dust, I just couldn’t do it. I appreciated it enough not to give away and just shelved it with my CDs thinking that someday I would get into it.
I was never a wine connoisseur. But I have heard that some vinos just get better with age. I think the same idea of refinement-through-aging formula can be applied to music. About eight years ago, I decided to give Angel Dust another shot. I remembered that some of the songs had been kind of cool, and I was in a nostalgic mood. I dusted off the album and stuck it in the CD player.
And Angel Dustwas amazing! I listened to the entire album in one sitting, and I wanted more. It was absolutely badass. Angel Dust had appeared during my Golden Age of Music. They had earned a rank of “acceptable” and even “sometimes cool” with “Epic.” Sadly, I shelved this album in favor of a band like Pearl Jam. But I had “rediscovered” Angel Dust. Banished during the Golden Age, the album had snuck back in.
Angel Dust is certainly nothing like The Real Thing was. It is considered to be Faith No More’s most experimental album. Unlike a lot of music that is “experimental,” there is some quality and worth to Angel Dust. The album is chaotic, inventive, soothing, unpredictable and energizing all at once, and no matter how many times I listen to it, I always want more.
(FNM – “Midlife Crisis” – Angel Dust)
After reconciling with Angel Dust, I went ahead and bought the band’s final album, Album of the Year. Just as Angel Dust was significantly different than The Real Thing, Album of the Year was unique in its own right.
It was my willingness to try Angel Dust out again that drove me to discover even more hidden jewels. If anyone in FNM had made more music, I wanted to know who was responsible for it and where I could find it. Unfortunately, most of the band faded into obscurity after Album of the Year — everyone except lead singer Mike Patton. When I found out that Mike Patton was responsible for more musical projects after FNM, I immediately set out on a quest to find them. Since then, I have developed what can at least be called a “man crush” on singer Mike Patton if not a flat out obsession.
To me, Mike Patton is like Frank Zappa — truly Avant-garde and progressive. After founding the Ipecac Records label, Patton fronted a series of his own bands, Tomahawk, Fantomas and Peeping Tom (prior to this and during the FNM years, Patton had been in Mr. Bungle). Once again, each album was its own unique, precious gem, completely different from the last.
(Peeping Tom – “Mojo” – Peeping Tom)
Nearly 20 years after hearing “Epic,” FNM has earned a special place in my heart. When I was younger, I often expected music to sound the same. I never wanted change and had a hard time appreciating a band whose music evolved or remotely deviated from what I had come to expect from them. Faith No More, and Mike Patton by extension, broke their own mold over and over and over again. Angel Dust remains one of my all time favorite bands. When it first debuted, the label “alternative” was being thrown around and assigned to bands like Nirvana, Sonic Youth and The Smashing Pumpkins. In my humble opinion, Angel Dust was truly alternative. If I had to select a “top 10,” Angel Dust would be somewhere in my “top 5.”
Rap/Hip-Hop has never really been my favorite music. I’ll take wailing guitars and harsh drum beats over scratching records and samples almost every time. However, when Rap is good, it is really good. There are about 5 million rappers out there, and a handful of them are excellent. If I get my hands on a genuinely good rap album, I will listen to it until my pants sag and I’m unconsciously throwing gang signs
My first rap album ever was the Fat Boys’ On and On. I thought the Fat Boys were fun, and this is what I thought fun music was supposed to be: fat guys rapping about food and dating and food. I loved the Fat Boys, and my parents didn’t mind buying their other albums for me. I eventually secured some harder stuff — Licensed to Ill (Beastie Boys) and Tougher than Leather (Run DMC). Despite the Beastie Boys’ and Run DMC’s harder edge, my parents were still content to let me jam to some good old American rap.
For the next several years, I hip-hopped it up with Run DMC, The Fat Boys and the Beasties. I remember going to a yard sale or swap meet at one point and looking at the cassettes some guy was selling. One of the tapes was N.W.A. I pointed it out to my dad. He said they were “bad guys.” Later, I would learn that one of N.W.A.’s singles, “Fuck Tha Police,” much like Ice-T’s “Cop Killer” didn’t really go over too well with law enforcement. No harm, no foul. I had recently secured a copy of Digital Underground’s single “The Humpty Dance,” so all was good in the world. I didn’t need N.W.A.
When I moved to Montevideo, Uruguay, one of my classmates gave me a copy of the 2 Live Crew’s As Nasty as They Want to Be. Before I had moved overseas, radios had been blasting “Me So Horny,” and the controversy surrounding these guys was palpable. Compared to rap now, the 2 Live Crew’s lyrics are relatively tame, but at the time, my innocent little brain had a field day. I had to hide the tape and listen to it in secret. It was the most perverse and exciting tape I had ever heard. After 2 Live Crew, I couldn’t listen to the Fat Boys anymore. The Fat Boys rapped about hoagies and pizza. The 2 Live Crew rapped about boobs and vaginas. My pre-pubescent mind had a choice to make, and the choice was clear. As Nasty as They Want to Be eventually got so worn down, I had a real hard time distinguishing the veritable tidal wave of curse words and anatomical references. I remember beating myself up for failing to make a copy of the tape. Oh well. I’d always have the memories, and the memories were deliciously filthy.
A few years went by, and I had almost exclusively dedicated myself to rock and roll and metal. I was just getting into Pantera and Nine Inch Nails when music was bitch-slapped and pistol-whipped by an infectious new kind of rap: Gangsta Rap.
Ice-T and N.W.A had been rapping about shooting rival gang members, peddling dope and slapping women for years, but they had a limited audience. Gangsta Rap had been growing in a filthy urban womb for years. But the foul-mouthed, hardcore, don’t-give-a-damn spawn had finally fully gestated and it was named Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dogg. Dre of N.W.A. notoriety and his protégé, Snoop shared what was once a predominantly inner-city phenomenon with the masses. Signed to Death Row Records, Dre and Snoop released The Chronic and Doggystyle, respectively. These little pre-packaged crime files single-handedly detroyed the fun-loving image rap had been deperately trying to maintain.
Dre and Snoop had vastly different styles. Dr. Dre was more in-your-face and blunt while Snoop Doggy Dogg flowed almost poetically. Although released as two separate albums by two separate rappers, I like to consider The Chronic and Doggystyle to both be albums co-authored by Dr. Dre and Snoop. Both albums are one in the same: Essential parts of the foundation of what I think modern rap is. Snoop and Dre incorporated amazing beats and production into their respective albums and rapped about issues far more real than any other rap I had ever heard. The Fat Boys rapped about romancing the ladies. Snoop and Dre had one night stands with the “bitches” and then slapped them. And everyone knows Snoop “don’t love them hoes.” The Beastie Boys talked about stealing your glasses and partying without their parents’ consent. Dr. Dre and Snoop shot you dead and then smoked a blunt in front of a cop. These guys were the real deal. With beats laced with tales of pot, booze, guns and multiple sex partners coupled with heavy use of the “N-word” innocent pedestrians likely ducked for cover when a low-rider drove by blasting Dre and Snoop.
Pop music is definitely tricky for musicians because their music may be widely sought after one day and then archived in the dreary vaults of “NOW That’s What I Call Music 125,” a few months later. The same rule applies even more harshly to rap. Rappers are more of an image. Their careers seem to be based on making hits to satisfy immediate needs rather making unforgettable music. Unlike half of the rap you hear today, The Chronic and Doggystyle are classics and will always be remembered as significant rap albums.
Dre and Snoop’s albums were released within months of each other, and were essential music in the early parts of my Golden Age of Music. I remember the East Coast-West Coast rap feud of the mid to late 1990s. Ultimately, I didn’t really care, but if I had been forced to choose a side, I would have aligned myself with the west coast gangsta rappers fronted by Dre and Snoop, rather than the east coast rappers fronted by Puff Daddy or Puffy or Diddy or Douchey or whatever you want to call him. Almost all of my rap tastes are heavily influenced by my memories of Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg’s original mainstream albums.
