Metallica: The Complete Illustrated History

“In this book, the first complete illustrated treatment of the band, acclaimed heavy metal journalist Martin Popoff leads a roster of respected heavy metal writers to take on Metallica’s entire history, analyzing each of the group’s ten studio albums (including 2011’s LuLu collaboration with Lou Reed) and providing a complete discography.”

While this is nothing less than intensely-flattering, this credit is courtesy of someone else, as I’d like to think that I’ll never be a true expert so long as the energetic curiosity accompanies the writing endeavors.

Nirvana: The Complete Illustrated History

The description text avoids mentioning the writer element at work with this and every other book in existence, but this Amazon listing does have my name on the “marquee” so that means it comes back for round 2 in the form of a bio-blurb bringing up the bottom of the page. All of this would be splendid if I wasn’t the type to totally fixate on grammatical errors/typos in this context.

Andrew Earles (Memphis, TN) has written for Vice, Spin, Magnet, The Onion A/V Club, Paste, and Decibel. The author of Husker Du: The Story of the Noise-Pop Pioneers Who Invented Modern Rock (Voyageur Press), lives in Memphis, Tennessee.”

…would be a lot cooler if it read like this:

“Andrew Earles (Memphis, TN) has written for Vice, Spin, Magnet, The Onion A/V Club, Paste, and Decibel. The author of Husker Du: The Story of the Noise-Pop Pioneers Who Invented Modern Rock (Voyageur Press), Mr. Earles lives in Memphis, Tennessee.”

Rush: The Illustrated History

“The authoritative text is complemented by album reviews written by well-known music journalists from around the globe, commentary from fellow musicians, a discography, and hundreds of photographs and pieces of memorabilia, including picture sleeves, gig posters, rare vinyl, handbills, ticket stubs, and much more.”

April 25, 2013

editorial changes…seemed appropriate now that we’re all post-RSD 2013…

Vinyl & eBay…A Fascinating Relationship of Our

Times: N.J.F.B.I.A.Q.

I glanced at a F.A.Q. page for the first time within the last two years. Arrogance is the motive behind my resistance to this omnipresent form of online assistance, as I felt that any “frequently asked question” must be the noise of nimrods, a tiny sound-bite from the mass-mantra. While I am smarter than most people, it did come as a surprise that some sites featured F.A.Q. pages that were actually helpful, or rather, I could tell that they’d be really beneficial to dimmer bulbs, if you get my drift. It only made sense to parlay this influence of enlightenment into Vinyl & eBay…A Fascinating Relationship of Our Times Vol. 3: Not Just Frequently But Incessantly Asked Questions. Enjoy!

“While all of the other people in the store are trying to listen to my randomly-assembled, half-shouted bullshit about each record that I pick up, the owner of the place always interrupts by saying ‘that one goes for a lot more than that on the ‘net’…what is this guy’s fucking problem? What does that have to do with my friend who rode the elevator with Man Man at SXSW last year?”

The proprietor of the store is a classic example of the “Doin’ You A Favor” record-peddler. His one party-line is of maddening simplicity, and it can be triggered by an act of nonchalant discontent or little more than the handling of a particular piece of inventory. Like anyone who can squeeze a goddamned foam ball with his/her left hand, I would hope that you’d never react or reply as if an altruistic saint had chosen to throw a financial bone at your feet. Furthermore, this behavior is based NOT on the historical performance of the record in an online setting (meaning, any avenue that offers a look at completed sales/auctions), but on stagnate set sale prices that the store-keep came across while perusing Amazon or other vast frontlines of delusional pricing practices.

As for your buddy and his SXSW experience; I’d really love to hear that one, and will be in touch. I’ll even let you tell me in a rad public environment, so you can get the added benefit of an audience of complete strangers.

“So, what is the deal with records pressed in the 1990’s? Why are they worth so much money?”

Well, because they are so much better than the bullshit that you and your friends make today. Just kidding. Sort of. The idea presented in the question is partial myth, and is fueled by the major-label/indie-label dichotomy of that specific era. When I first became hypnotized by uncontrolled intake of music, vinyl was the cheapest way to go. The first album  I ever mail-ordered with my own money, back in the 11^th grade, was Polvo’s classic debut, Cor-Crane Secret. Because I had allotted $10 for the order, I got the brand new record for $7 and a Merge Records t-shirt for $3, and I got them within two weeks of having sent off my well-concealed cash. When I wanted to replace my factory-cassette of Dinosuar Jr.’s You’re Living All Over Me with a proper vinyl copy (it being my favorite album of all time…to this day), I sent SST a fiver and two ones folded up in a piece of notebook paper. Anyone want to wager a quick guess as to how long it took to get the record? I will soon reveal the answer.

The point is this: Indie labels released vinyl versions of a title at prices that beat the shit out of the $12+ you’d pay for the album on CD. But when major labels started snapping up great bands, the vinyl versions of their albums were either released through an agreement with the band’s former indie label home, through a fake indie, or by the major itself. An example of the first situation is Amphetamine Reptile handling the vinyl concerns of the bands Helmet and the Melvins, while each band navigated a relationship with a major label. The second situation is exemplified by Steel Pole Bath Tub’s Scars From Falling Down being released by “Genius Records”, a sub-label created and owned by Slash Records. But when a major got into the vinyl game with a band, it almost always had some serious drawbacks. Titles were automatically limited because the majors remained in the dark about the early-90’s/mid-90’s consumption of vinyl, therefore saw it as a vanity write-off. And for some reason, the majors had a habit of issuing poor-quality vinyl, or import-only vinyl, or both. One common denominator across the entire spectrum of major-label issued vinyl in the 90’s is that it usually in limited editions, and this had nothing to do with the traditional promotional push that comes along with publically announcing a record’s limited edition status, and everything to do with the major label’s regard for what they saw as a dead format. The notion that an established band, like for instance, Stereolab or The Jesus Lizard might have a more grassroots following that bought vinyl, due to early albums on independent labels, was either totally lost or simply dismissed by the major labels. Still, many great albums were released on CD only, even by indie labels. The first Built to Spill album, Ultimate Alternative Wavers and Silkworm’s In the West are two albums that desperately need a deluxe vinyl makeover, but that’s a crusade for another time and writer.

The limited and shitty nature of major label vinyl in the 90’s was not limited to credible, name-droppable indie rock. Godawful alt-rock, mainstream and post-Y2K-cool artists all have vinyl representation from the 90’s that is now worth a considerable amount of money: Filter, Soundgarden, Smashing Pumpkins, Neil Young, Tom Petty, the Boss, Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, Candlebox, Paul McCartney, Alice In Chains…you name it, if it was pressed by a major label on vinyl in the 90’s, that edition (otherwise known as “the first edition”) will still command the stuff that makes the world go round, regardless of how many reissues exist in more recent times.

Concerning more mainstream realms, by 1990 or 1991, CD’s had completely overtaken vinyl in the retail arena and pushed the elder format into collector and underground/indie niches. When I first began to seriously buy music in my mid-to-late teens, vinyl was almost exclusive to indie labels and it was a way to save money on a desired album. Through mail order and up until the mid-to-late 90’s, Merge Records sold their new vinyl for $7. SST the same. CD’s were always priced at least $10. But major labels executed a drastic drop in vinyl production, and reserved the format for alternative, pop-punk, grunge or metal artists. As such, an original copy of Monster Magnet’s Dopes to Infinity, Tad’s Inhaler, Stereolab’s Transient Random-Noise Bursts With Announcements, Slayer’s Divine Intervention, or Mercury Rev’s Boces was sure to be pressed on thin, shitty vinyl and packaged in the least expensive manner possible. 2LP sets were RARELY afforded gatefold treatment. Much major label was imported from the UK, as that area of the world wasn’t as quick to abandon the format, but this didn’t increase the quality at all.

The point is this: Because the pressing amounts were lowered to unknown but paltry #’s, original major label vinyl from the 1990’s is eBAIT all the way. Of course, it helps if the band or album in question has at least a small fan following, due to this being the era of the last great major label feeding frenzy. Post a bunch of LP’s by The Miss Alans, Big Chief, Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine, Candy Skins, Green Apple Quick Step, Dig, Nudeswirl,  Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, Poi Dog Pondering, Shirk Circus or Silverfish and you’ll be walking those records into a store within two weeks.

“I walked into a record store the other day, and a middle-aged customer was trying to sell a stack of records, but he was very upset over the offer made by the store’s owner. He exited in a huff after refusing to sell his badly-beaten copies of Three Dog Night’s Greatest Hits and Billy Thorpe’s Children of the Sun. It was then that the store proprietor turned to me and said, ‘That’s what happens when you’re at the bottom of the record-hustling food chain, you know what I mean?’ I replied, ‘Yeah, totally’ but he immediately shot back with ‘No you don’t, shit-for-brains, because you’ve been waffling between Ponytail and Youth Lagoon records for half-an-hour. Get out of my sight and don’t come back until you can recite the principals of the Record-Hustling Food Chain!’ Can you help me?”

Really? The store’s proprietor said that? Very odd story you have there. I was certain that the “Record-Hustling Food Chain” was something I coined and assembled, in private, about a month ago for the express purpose of using it in this series of writings. That’s unsettling news, to say the least, but since you’re here, I give you…

The Record-Hustling Food Chain:

TOP:                                                               EBAY

MIDDLE:                                                      Discogs, Gemm, etc

Message Board Sales

Flea-Market, Record-Swap & Consignment Bin

Sales to One’s Contemporaries

BOTTOM:                                                     Yard or Stoop Sales

Walking records into a brick-and-mortar establishment

“I really don’t like to spend time in the type of record store known as ‘a digger’ because there’s never any cool people hanging around, or cool looking people hanging around. It’s always just me and some old man behind the counter, and no one to hear the jokes and rad stories I like to blurt out at top volume. Is there any way for me to flip records without leaving the house?

I will touch on a certain big-box store that has quite an odd way of pricing its used vinyl, but only if it means you’ll never leave the house again. Ever sniped new listings on eBay? It’s a skill that might prove useful in this situation. Lucky for you (and for those of us who have to come up with content for a F.A.Q. spoof), they leave the “out-of-stock” items up for weeks after they have left the building. Realizing that you missed out on some STUPID deals can be character building. What store is it? Here’s a hint: Think 4^th tier, disorganized and already closed in more than half of their original locations. What do you call an event organized around the sampling of different wines? “Wine ______” It rhymes with the missing word. Here are some recent deals that someone else is bragging about…

(All used vinyl. Store price is followed by approximated high-end eBay worth)

Liz Phair “Whip Smart” LP for $1.99 ($35.00)

Lush “Split” LP for $2.99 ($50.00)

R.E.M. “Automatic For The People” LP for $2.99 ($90.00 – $100.00)

Morrissey “Maladjusted” LP for $2.99 ($75.00)

Interpol “Our Love To Admire” LP for $2.99 ($45 – $60)

We Are Scientists “With Love and Squalor” LP for $2.99 ($85.00 – $100.00)

AC/DC “Ballbreaker” LP for $2.99 ($75 – $125)

Bruce Springsteen “Rising” LP for $3.99 ($225 – $275)

Faith No More “King For A Day” LP for $3.99 ($50 – $75)

Blood Ceremony s/t LP for $4.99 ($40 – $75)

Velvet Revolver “Contraband” LP for $4.99 ($50)

Paramore “Riot” for $4.99 ($50 – $100)

Grinderman “Grinderman 2” for $4.99 ($30 – $50)

R.E.M. “Out of Time” for $4.99 ($50 – $75)

“So what’s the deal with white-label promos?”

White Label Promos, also known as ‘WLP’ or ‘WHT LBL PROMO’ in many title lines, are exactly that: The limited, often higher-quality vinyl pressings sent to radio stations, magazine editors and whoever else got promos in the late-60’s until the mid-80’s, when most promos ceased to actually have white labels. Many folks starting out in the record-flipping hustle operate behind the misconception that all promos are worth more than their proper, store-sold counterparts. That is, until they post a WLP version of the Shoes’ Tongue Twisted LP eight times and can’t sell the thing for $2. The promo equation is a very simple one: A white-label promo of, a record that went on to sell innumerable copies is going to be a white-label promo that brings the good stuff, ESPECIALLY if the band is already established, and obscurity brings the pain.

“The limping man-mound that runs a “digger” store in my town always mentions how much a record is ‘in the book’ because the prices on the old-ass stickers were valid back when alphabetical organization was used in the store. Plus, he doesn’t seem to have or know how to use a computer. Sometimes, he says ‘check back on this one…I need to research it’ and doesn’t let me buy it! I forgot what my question was…”

Learn to love “the book”…it is your best friend. Even the most recent Goldmine guides are grossly inaccurate when assessing the REAL VALUE of many records, namely those released since 1990. And by “REAL VALUE” I mean one thing: What eBay dictates as worth. These types are terminally paranoid about customers ripping them off, and nowadays, “ripping them off” means flipping that business for a serious profit margin on “the eBays” or “inter-web” or whatever term is used for that wasteland that populates his nightmares.

And this is an excellent piece of music-writing by my colleague, Doug Mosurock. (for Dusted Magazine)…

Dusted Reviews Artist: Iceage Album: You’re Nothing Label: Matador Review date: Apr. 10, 2013

Iceage – “Ecstasy”

Like about half of the people who heard Iceage’s debut LP New Brigade around the beginning of 2011, my head spun ‘round like it was mounted on a swivel. I was counting down the last days of a job I didn’t like, and I didn’t know what would happen next. Life changing, slowing down, and the same activities that brought me joy just a year earlier were empty gestures. I felt my age. New Brigade reminded me of what once lie ahead, in a vocabulary not entirely unfamiliar, but revised by kids half my age and from another country. They had gotten post-punk beyond “right,” beyond the dress-up historical re-enactments that pockmarked the complexion of the decade prior, and started to piece things together on their own terms: a stormy blend of lockstep depression a la Joy Division, the blur of hardcore/grindcore, the ceaseless downpour of black metal. Some songs sounded like tantrums, others like prayers to any superior being out there who could understand. Iceage had given one or two extensive interviews to the first few people who asked, then decided that what they’d said need not be repeated. To all but their friends and a few journalists and industry people in Denmark, they remained a young mystery.

At some point, not long after, I decided to figure out the mystery for myself. In America, Iceage had already been passed from one friend’s label to another, and hearing about it from both ends had caused a bit of a stir, but not enough of one for me to lose my curiosity. Records like New Brigade didn’t come around all too often, no matter how large the pile of Still Single vinyl and tape submissions grows. I was offered the chance to help chaperone the band around on a few East Coast dates, and as my work would allow it, I decided to go. I sold all of their T-shirts in Philadelphia. I tried to defuse a situation where some drunk stumbled into their Pittsburgh show and threatened to “come back here and murder all of you motherfuckers,” and pausing to point at Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, “… including you, Justin Beaver!” I never wrote about it because I went for fun, to get out of the city for a few days, and didn’t want to tell this story any way other than how I saw it, and how I felt Iceage would want it to be told. But mainly, I needed to know what kind of people would create a work like New Brigade.

By the time Iceage made it to America, the rumor mill had started to grind. I chose not to trust any of the accusations thrown at Iceage about use of runic imagery or whatever surreptitious photos their members might’ve included in a zine, and I’m smart enough to know that if someone is acting out in the crowd at a punk show in Europe in a manner befitting a fascist, that they’d have been dealt with. If there were anything they wanted the public to know about them, they’d have told it, and if you didn’t have it in you to ask the right questions, you weren’t going to get the answers you were hoping for. I didn’t see this as an issue of anyone in the band being willfully obtuse – more or less all of the questions fell on Rønnenfelt, their singer, with the rest of the guys just trying to have fun. Rather I took it as them being tired of repeating themselves.

What I learned about Iceage is that they were really sweet young men, very close friends with one another, and were treating this whole thing like a great deal of fun. They spoke English rather well, and kept their native tongue between one another. The first thing they asked us for was to listen to “Strutter” by KISS. Then they asked us what a “strutter” was. From that point on, whenever we were getting into the van, one of them would ask if we could play it again. “Can vee listen to ‘Stvatta’ vonce ve get back in the ze van?” They were stoked to try every kind of fast food America had to offer. Some of them had spent a large chunk of their childhoods watching TV; bassist Jakob Tvilling Pless recounted to us the plot of the movie Stealth late one evening in a hotel room 50 miles outside of Baltimore. Only once did I have to turn around and see what was going on when they were punching each other in the back seat. They were really friendly and outgoing, and interesting to talk to. It was difficult to quantify their shows; some were a mess, some a lot less so. By the time I’d left them, they had tightened up to levels found on New Brigade, and had played four or five newer songs, all of which have ended up on its follow-up, You’re Nothing.

The day I was to see their last show of this first, short jaunt, I was preparing dinner and sliced open my thumb, enough to require stitches. The show I missed was in a sweltering warehouse space in Williamsburg, where one crowd member was injured by a firework discharged indoors, damaging his skull. The tide was already turning on them; any time a guitar went out of tune or the rhythm section slipped up, the community at large was notified. They played the same venue more recently, and again, someone had decided to launch a Roman candle, this one directly at Rønnenfelt, hitting the mic stand dead on and missing his eye by a matter of inches. A few weeks later, I saw a flyer circulated for a local hardcore band that depicted a crudely drawn skinhead getting fellated by a mulleted figure wearing an Iceage shirt. Punks of NYC are apparently upset with having to attend shows in certain places because they feel the hipsters are making fun of them, and Iceage (along with other bands to tumble out of hardcore’s closet, like Merchandise and The Men) are responsible for these scenes commingling.

This is the physical space which is now largely behind me. Life moves beyond it, and all I can do is laugh and shake my head. I met Iceage when their orbit was just beginning and mine was about to end. Roughly two years later, I can’t be everywhere I’d like to go anymore. Especially in these times, culture runs on a loop, which I’ve been running for 20 years – long enough to have seen the scenery pass by at least once, twice and now onto its third go-round. It’s not fun. However, Iceage, knowingly or not, draws a line from where they stand that connects to a past that eluded us both, more than most bands could fathom. That line seems to be the source of contention between participants of scenes.

For as strong as much of the material on You’re Nothing may be, it is an uneven record, without the focus or pacing of its predecessor. Its mix makes for an exhausting 29 minutes, with every instrument fighting to be in the front along with the vocals. You’re Nothing would benefit greatly from a re-sequencing, if for no other reason than to break up the monotony of its second half. It has a dirgelike “Interlude” that comes far too early in the record, and stacks the strongest material in the front. Opener “Ecstasy” marries the torment of black metal with a mostly discofied backbeat, breaking into a DC Hardcore-esque bridge and collapsing into a plodding chorus, Rønnenfelt screaming “PRESSURE PRESSURE, OH GOD NO.” Earlier on, it sounds like he’s rhyming the words “punk” and “funk.” What the hell? If the intent was to subvert expectations, it does so by trading the ultimately listenable qualities that marked New Brigade. It is a challenge to the listener for sure, but one that splits right down the middle between audacity and the mundane.

Really, this might be my problem, because I cannot get over the intro to “In Haze.” I’d heard them playing it at the shows I attended, and was really excited to find it on You’re Nothing. My listening experiences focus mostly on getting through the first four tracks, then playing “In Haze” over and over. Within about 10 seconds, Johan Surrballe Wieth kicks up this incredibly tight riff, over which Rønnenfelt then corrodes an open chord, and it’s like the ghosts of Hüsker Dü have risen once again. I saw them play this song and a few others from You’re Nothing several times over the course of the shows I caught, and the promise they revealed was big enough to fill any room. Iceage has an icon of sorts in Rønnenfelt, but the rest of the band is important in maintaining balance. Without the music behind him, the performance falls apart. People fixate on Rønnenfelt, with his offhanded bashing of the guitar and the baby Frankenstein vocals, when really it’s Wieth who is playing really fast, captivating leads, when it’s Pless and Dan Kjaer Nielsen locking down so hard on the rhythm section that even their off-kilter moments could have little miracles within them. “In Haze” is one, and the urgency over which it’s delivered to its final verse, when Rønnenfelt drops a sly reference to “California Dreaming,” might be all this band needs to do.

It wouldn’t surprise me if they stop. You’re Nothing contains Iceage’s best songs to date, but the more times I listen to this record, the less special it sounds. Maybe that’s how memory works. I’m stuck thinking of the band I met in 2011, of their potential, how capably they dealt with the attention served to them. Maybe time causes us to refocus on the things that have more of a profound effect, and you savor those moments instead of finding new ones. It’s an underlying reason why people stop listening to new bands and buying new music: they’ve been there. You’re Nothing recalls some of the earlier moments of Les Thugs and other bands of the ‘80s that had come through hardcore punk only to play against it, perhaps out of the need to do something less restrictive. Whatever Iceage does next is going to be met with equal amounts of praise and derision, the jeers canceling out the cheers, the band being measured from here on out by the size and shape of the roar. But they cannot, or maybe should not, make a third record in this vein.

By Doug Mosurock

Check it out…

http://www.nypost.com/p/news/business/earphone_earful_YXBRvJmJV1Auoro8ajmZ9I

More importantly, make sure to check the Walker Art Center (Minneapolis) site tomorrow, as a Husker Du feature (written by Jeff Severns Guntzel) will run and feature some photos from my book. Here’s a link to the site…

http://www.walkerart.org/

http://www.magnetmagazine.com/2009/01/28/wheres-the-street-team-2008-film-edition/

…and make sure to re-read the previous post if you noticed a handful of alarmingly-embarrassing grammatical errors…

[originally, and currently, published on the Still Single tumblr and at some point, Dusted Magazine's site]

Forward – “The Devil’s Cradle” b/w “What’s The Meaning Of Love” 7” (540)

I’ve been known to follow the blindfolded taste-test/invisible jukebox approach when the pending review pile gets out of hand. It’s a good way to wake up the creative juices and have some fun while weathering the occupational hazard of having to endure epically-shitty music. What I’m getting at is that I only knew a couple of things about Forward when I was just getting to know the record: They are Japanese, and that the label on the record isn’t exactly known for lacking quality control.

Now, before I’m buried under a terminal heap of misread or misunderstood wrong turns on my part, I will say that Forward, like an astonishing number of their fellow countrymen who also truck in hardcore, are better at it than the vast majority of collective hardcore endeavor from every other part of the globe. Of course, balancing this out is the Japanese tendency to get all Mr. Bungle on some hardcore/metal/grind/death/whatever, but you will hear no hints of Songwriting Escape Plan, iwrestledanurgetocalmthefuckdownonce, The [InsertIronicallyFunnyWashedUpActorThatWillBeProcessedAsPowerfulHumorByAllOfOurTargetAudience] Tap Dance Extravaganza or the many other magnificent failures that make this subgenre the second detrimental (an) albatross hanging around heavy music’s neck, right behind unwise vocalizing decisions. Parlaying the hardcore perfection of the member’s previous bands (Deathstrike, Systematic Death) into a melodic and slightly thrashy imperative, Forward make it feel as though the traditional aspect of their hardcore is the secret weapon. I’d say it’s similar to how Louie C.K. and Paul F. Tompkins take plain-as-day standup comedy and spin it into gold, though I found it impossible to back up the comparison beyond those surface commonalities. This 7” is good enough to now have me checking the Paypal balance and perusing the websites of a label that has released Forward’s full-length albums. (http://chaosintejas.bigcartel.com) (Andrew Earles)

1 week ago• 1 note

…plus…look who’s still the first and best:

YouTube newbie in the Husker Du sweepstakes for best archival footage of “Eight Miles High”…

Goin’ up against this old chestnut…

…and this one.

…but my favorite…(complete with appended Mary Tyler Moore theme song)…has to be this 1985 performance in an otherwise weird and unknown possible hellhole of a city:

Great live before bands were “great live”….

(catch Mould pointing at Hart for the “signs in the streets…say where you’re going…” line @ 2:04 the intensity that starts with the windmill at 3:13…and doesn’t let up)