So there's a movie coming out about The Runaways, where my favorite lady in rock, Joan Jett, got her start. I'm excited to have a movie about the Runaways, but supremely worried that it's starring Kristen Stewart whose acting career so far has proven that a cucumber has enough charisma to make it in Hollywood. Also, Dakota Fanning is in it and the way she looks is making me feel confused in my pants.
Oh, and by the way- if you like all this, you'd more than likely be a fan of Young Liars. The design of this cover (on the left) should be enough to make you curious. It's an insane comic about young people being awful. Like It's Always Sunny, but with more genital mutilation and cool listening suggestions at the beginning of each issue.
If you're enjoying the blog but want to see me fag out about rock fashion and old bands more often, I invite you to follow my tumblr, which is updated often enough that you'll soon be insisting that I either get a job or see a doctor.
Additionally,if you somehow found your way to this blog but don't know me personally- welcome! That's me, over on the right. I like to rock. I think this is mainly a blog about music, but I could see it becoming a pop culture blog just as quickly.
I am never going to stop hating the word "blog," or stop being embarassed that I have to use that word to describe what I like to write in.
I have a band, and we are Big Damn Heroes. I play with three of my best friends and we make music that is fun. If you're wondering what we sound like, I'm going to try to post a file every once in a while on the tumblr. Dylan, who you should bug to start writing again at his blog Top 5 Everything. If you're lucky, he'll come here and do an entry because he is also a bangarang writer, musician and source of trivia for all things popcultural.
But really. Hawkins is a wonder. A genuine wonder. Not only a fucking incredible guitarist (I dare you to listen to ANY of his guitar solos and not have to collect dripping bits of your face afterward) but he's got a great story. Why don't I tell you what Wikipedia and other internet trawling told me:
Justin Hawkins and The Darkness started playing together in 2000. You probably know them best for their Glam Rock classic, I Believe in a Thing Called Love. It's not exactly hard to understand why I love them, especially when you watch this video.
God, look at that. Sci-fi. Pagaentry. Glam rock. Look at those fucking glorious men. Just when you think Radiohead and Coldplay and Nickelback can't make Rock any less fun, this fucking song busted up the charts. I mean honestly, if the climax of that video didn't make you stand up and put the horns in the air, you are a terminator. The Darkness's premier album, Permission to Land, shot to number one and went quintuple platinum. That album had a MEEELYUN hits on it, I work hard to get them in rotation at parties because nobody ever dances to rock anymore, despite the fact that a lot of it is preposterously danceable.
Okay, so after fucking conquering the world with Permission to Land, they released a christmas single called Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End). If you've ever wondered what it would be like if Queen recorded the greatest christmas song in history, it sounds like this.
It almost made number one until it was overtaken by something else that was not as awesome.
So yeah, they were pretty good band.
"WERE?" You're saying, spitting out 20 year scotch onto the arm of your manservant, Ruprecht. "You mean I can no longer have my brain fucked out by those blazing guitars and completely inescapable choruses which leave one singing in falsetto for the rest of the day?" You signal for Ruprecht to fetch you some aspirin. "But... why?"
The Darkness were on top of the world, and that's when the trouble started. Hawkins' cocaine habit reached new highs as they went into the studio for their second album, One Way Ticket to Hell... And Back. The new album featured more synths, a bigger sound... and a new bass player, since the last one (Frankie Poullain) was forced out of the band/left due to "Musical Differences." Even before its release, it had all the characteristics of a troubled production. It came two and a half years after the release of Permission to Land, there were personnel changes, Hawkins' addiction had reached a fever pitch- things looked a little rough. The album was released to mixed reviews and during the supporting tour, Justin went into rehab in august of 06. The Darkness tried to stay together but instead reformed as Stone Gods, a hard rock band helmed by Justin's brother Dan Hawkins.
Justin came out clean and has stayed that way to this day (Bless his cheeky face. Look at him up there. We're with you, big guy.).
The healing done and feeling all squeaky clean, hawkins came back to the music that he loved. He did a duets with beverlei brown, sang backup for def leppard, wrote a BALLER pro-green song called Do It In the Dark that has just rocketed to the top of the "Music to bone to" charts- He is a man who TRULY loves making music. And he's very very good at it. Even after he made it all the way to the top and fell all the way to the bottom, he is still making classics. He didn't miss a beat.
His newest project is Hot Leg, and I'm just bonkers for them. They're the same sort of glammy bluesy metal that The Darkness was, and I sure hope they're around for longer than one album. Their debut, Red Light Fever is BANGARANG. I played this album until everyone but me hated it. Jeeeezus, the man knows how to write a song. Here's Hot Leg in all their glory. This was their CHRISTMAS SINGLE, and it rocks ass.
But why do I love Justin Hawkins? Clearly, he's a stone-cold Hit Machine who oils his gears with the blood of lesser men. But my personal affinity for him comes from some very special places. First and foremost his voice- The "Truth Larynx"- Is inspiring. It's the sort of voice the entire world has been waiting for since freddy mercury died. I would literally roll a baby in a pita and eat it to have a voice like his. Second, and this goes with the first, the man has MOVES. Watch the video for Girlfriend again, which I posted in the first Front Men post. Watch some live videos. Come back, I'll wait.
That man is like some incredible MI6 experiment to breed all the best traits of David Lee Roth (Jumpsuits, acrobatics) with all the best parts of Freddy Mercury (Wailing voice, fist pumping songs, sometimes mustache) and then mixed glitter in the vat just to make sure that the glorious tub-child would never stop shining. He's a wonder. Definitely in my top five of dudes I'd like to see playing live, because he is just THE BEST.
By the way, the video for Panama has just come on the TV, and it is only reinforcing my stance on Hawkins both owing a lot to and being better than David Lee Roth. Yes, David's on a wire and swinging from the ceiling and it's all quite well and good. But in concert, Justin would fly through the air on a fucking white tiger while squealing out solos.
It is a fascinating fuck-up. There are some spots where it's really cool and interesting. I've always wondered what the world would be like if SRV and Bowie kept collaborating after Let's Dance. Would David have stayed straight Rock/Roll for a while, or at least the sort of pop that he had with Let's Dance?
Maybe no, it seems. This little version of LOM? is deese, but I like it better than some others for some retarded reasons:
Bowie forgets the lyrics. He dee dee dees it. I forget lyrics a lot. Points.
Then they disrupt the recording to "fix" it. No points.
SRV's guitar flourishes make the song rock a little hard, a little more Queen-y. Points.
But sometimes it's indulgent booshit. No points.
It's mostly just goofy and adorable. This is the equivalent of that time that David and I sang dental hygiene-related lyrics to Bang a Gong.
Steal the rest from the internet if you're that curious, but I'm not twisting your arm on this one.
Not as big an influence on me as I had previously thought he was, Marc Bolan still occupies a place in my mental pantheon that's not to be ignored. There's nothing in any of his songs I can really relate to, with the possible exception of 20th Century Boy. He knows how to put together words that don't make any fucking sense ("The President's weird- he's got a burgundy beard").But despite his shortcomings of being completely unable to write a bridge and adding so much echo it sounds like Batman was his producer, the music is so completely infectious that I am still taking antibiotics to stop it. He layers his fascinatingly inane rhymes and lyrics over a crunchy groove so tasty that the phrase "Mince pie dog-eye Eagle on the wind" seems profound. He's just this wild-haired elven god of dandyish pomp. I'm watching a video of him performing Get It On on VH1 classic right now and he makes me want to put on a satin tunic and frolic in the woods.
I learned about Marc Bolan in 10th grade while talking to my friend Dylan (A constant companion and wellspring of musical information due to the fact that his dad owns the largest independent record store on the east coast) about a new sensation I had just learned about from a girl that I was desperately trying to wife. The sensation was not Marc or his band T.Rex but was actually fiery androgyne David Bowie. Obviously I started talking about both the girl and David Bowie almost nonstop to Dylan. As usual, he knew more about music than me and as usual he gave me some other directions to branch out in. It was a momentous conversation that I still remember today, for a number of reasons. It went something like this:
"And she was like 'I'll put on a little space oddity.' and I pretended to know what she was talking about because she was really excited about it- and then the song started and it was SO COOL. So I said 'who is this' and she said 'HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW DAVID BOWIE?' (Extensive/boring recap of the rest of the quasi-date here, and then...) ...So anyway, it was real cool, I think I have to hang out with her again if only to listen to more Bowie."
"Yeah, Bowie's real good. But it was really T. Rex that started Glam Rock, they were the originals."
Key words have been emphasized, comic book style, to show you how momentous a conversation was. (If life were a comic book, this issue would be fetching high dollar amounts as the first appearance of several things that would become my trademark obsessions much later.) I sort of pushed T.Rex out of mind as I had no money and this was before I knew how to steal from the internet to get what I wanted- so purchasing music was not the most important thing on my shopping list (That spot continues to be occupied by "Ghostbusters Memoribilia").
Flash forward another year or so and I have been told by the cool people I know (At the time it is likely older women or the consistently hip/unhip fluxing Dylan Roth) that proper music listening is conducted using Vinyl Records- which my father has a proper stock of. So I head upstairs and sticking out of the record box like the sword in the stone (Or like the Lady of the Lake was holding it, if you prefer) is The Slider, T. Rex's second glam-era album and one of their top three, if not THE top. I remember looking at Marc being some confused Mad Hatter and deciding that nobody else has ever worn a top hat to rock and not looked like a tool. I still hold that opinion, actually. I listened to it and fell in love. I had been missing out. Again, though- didn't know how to steal from the internet. Wasn't using wikipedia for any/everything to find out which T.Rex albums I should be looking for. My parents bought me the album on CD for christmas my freshman year of college (Along with Hunky Dory, what a glammy christmas) and the tearing, echoing blues sound of it kept me going for months until I finally figured out how to steal from the internet and got the discography. That's when the obsession truly began.
I watched Born to Boogie at least five times (Along with Velvet Goldmine, of course) that summer and brought the gospel of Bolan back with me to my sophomore year of school. He was inspiring onstage. Bowie was a laser on stage, not doing one thing that he didn't intend. Marc was another story. He had a sloppy, churlish magnetism that was completely entrancing. Here's him performing Jeepster, from Born to Boogie.
I brought that churlish magnetism with me back to school and in the fall, T. Rex was the soundtrack to me being a proper twit. It fit the mood magnificently.
His style's a classic, of course. The top hat hasn't been done as well since. His first splashes of glitter on Top of the Pops are eternal. I love that he wore ballet shoes all the time. All of the glitter blazers with the huge lapels make him look like some woodland nymph devoted to rock and roll and making everybody feel cool.
That was longer than I intended it to be. here is my favorite picture of him. The guitar is his boner.
I'm celebrating by listening to all my favorites, and maybe persuading my lady to watch a Bowie-centric movie with me like Velvet Goldmine. Labyrinth, The Hunger and The Prestige are also all good, but those only HAVE Bowie- they're not really about him, you know?
A far as his birth, Bowie's probably been born six or seven times, really. Physically just once, but Ziggy, Aladdin, The Thin White Duke, The DJ, The... Dancer(?) are all really new people that share awesome, awesome music.
If you found this blog because you actually know me, you've heard me talk about David Bowie. It's just a fact. And even though I'm off the kick that I was around a year ago, I'm still all about Bowie. Let's get the basics out of the way:
Good, we're clear. I love all of that. I love everything from the laughing gnome to hang onto yourself and alllll the way through kraftwerkian Low and up to New Killer Star. The unimpeachable fashion. The totally obvious re-invention and self creation. Nobody figured out until way later that Bob Dylan was a big ole' mumbley fakey fake. But anybody who was anybody could see that Ziggy Stardust was a glittery plastic mask. The faux-bisexuality. The history of well-fitted suits.
And then there's the stage persona. It's surprising, you expect something crazy and explosive when you listen to the music but onstage it's less straightforward. He's doing all this complicated Mime and working with stage lighting before people knew how to make rock shows look good and at the end of the day he's just as alien today as he was in 73.
I can't say enough about this man to clarify exactly how much I love him. Every time I bend genders or write about space all i can think about is how badly I want to make an album that makes me as happy and speaks to me as much as Ziggy Stardust.
Here's a quick, handy guide to figure out if you're watching a video of David before or after he "sold out"(Even though I think he's as subversive as ever): If his teeth look like a pile of french fries, you are watching coke-addicted kabbalist pre-1980's bowie. You know, like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueUOTImKp0k
But if they're as straight as tombstones, you are watching the David Bowie that even middle aged moms love.
You know, this guy. But you know what? I love him, too. Mullet to platform boots.
(on the left) should be enough to make you curious. It's an insane comic about young people being awful. Like It's Always Sunny, but with more genital mutilation and cool listening suggestions at the beginning of each issue.
