New Maximum Donkey Two Ways
I’ve decided to try something a bit different this week. I’m going to write an overview of the New Maximum Donkey show I saw at the Scene last Friday (two Fridays ago, by the time you read this). But as an experiment, I’m going to do it two different ways: first the way I’d normally write something, and second in the manner of a “regular” rock writer/blogger. Who knows? Maybe the way they write things is just more effective at conveying this sort of thing, so I’m willing to try it out. Here goes: (more…)
Classical YouTube Fun
OK, it’s time to unwind a little after the heady soapboxing of last week. I feel like I need to get back to my acerbic roots a little bit after all the preaching.
Now, YouTube comments usually piss me off. But you know what’s even worse than YouTube comments? YouTube comments on classical music! These people are a whole different kind of obnoxious.
It’s good to be moved by music. That’s what it’s there for. But the average classical aficionado who comments on YouTube videos isn’t satisfied by just being moved. He wants everybody to know that he’s more moved and more knowledgeable than you. The typical comment falls into one of two categories: “The Gush” (“This is the most blindingly brilliant thing anyone has ever heard since the invention of ears, and my soul is elevated to the greatest heights of high heaven above, and this piece is why I know for certain there must be a god) and “The Slam” (“Bernstein clearly had no business conducting this piece. The cellos are too loud in measures 34-48, and that tempo he’s pretending is andante con moto needs far less andante and a soupcon more moto”). So I’m going to pick some of my favorite pieces and look them up, and then single out my favorite comments for criticism and the making of fun. Of course, I haven’t corrected any of their typos, because that’s half the enjoyment right there!
Richard Strauss, Ein Heldenleben (Berlin Philharmonic/Simon Rattle)
Comment: “I LOVE this piece. Some of the greatest horn parts written in the orchestral repertoire!!!! I love the Berlin Philharmonic Horn Section, they do such a great job, and I spotted the ever so famous/dredged Wagner Tuba that horn players get to play too at 04:49! 
“
I have no idea what a “dredged Wagner Tuba” is, but I hope I never have to hear one. I’m assuming it’s a Wagner tuba that’s been dragged through the ocean to catch tuna or something. Or maybe a Wagner tuba that’s coated in flour before it’s sautéed or fried. Yum! (more…)
Fetch Me My Box of Soap!
A year or two, back when Myspace was still the place hip young trendsetters went to look at grainy webcam pictures of girls in bikinis, Get Set Go had a pretty sizeable presence on that quintessence of social networking. More than “pretty sizeable,” actually–it was huge for an indie rock band without the backing of empty business suits stuffed with money and cocaine (I guess the technical term is “A&R people). We had fifty thousand friends (only about 25% of whom were robots made of spam and pictures of boobs) and well over a million plays on our little embedded jukebox thingy. Hell, if we’d lived in Myspace instead of the real world, we’d've been hand-fed bitmapped pictures of grapes by callipygian spambots all day, and slept on .gifs of posturepedic adjustable mattresses lined with paypal account numbers. (more…)
Eric’s Favorite Pieces: Prokofiev’s Lieutenant Kije Suite
If movies and literature are any indication, high school is one of the easiest times in a person’s life. Friends are made, everyone looks great all the time, parties involving making out occur with staggering regularity, and occasional vampire attacks keep everyone cheerfully on their toes. This was, it may surprise you to know, not the case at all for me. I was confused! I looked terrible all the time! Girls were far more frightening than vampires (the vampires at my high school were usually stoned, and didn’t pose much of a threat)! I had crippled myself socially by electing to play viola in the school orchestra (who would’ve thought membership in the high school orchestra didn’t come with a lifetime membership in the Playboy Mansion Free Handjob Club and the adoration of all who dared look upon me?)! Life was baffling and tumultuous!
Meanwhile, almost a century earlier, Sergei Prokofiev had written his first opera when he was frigging nine years old. Good thing one of us had things figured out, because as it turned out, Prokofiev helped me through all the tumultuity and bebafflement—possibly without even knowing he was doing it! In fact, I used to listen to the entirety of Abbey Road every morning (while eating crumpets, wondering what it was like to be all cultured and British) and fell asleep listening to Prokofiev’s suite from Lieutenant Kije. (more…)
The War for Independence – Don Hertzfeldt
The War for Independence – Chapter 7: Don Hertzfeldt
This one is almost topical, because I had a birthday a little over a week ago. No, it’s OK, don’t feel bad if you didn’t get me anything; I’m not a big birthday-celebrator. In fact, all I did that day was buy some comic books and barricade myself in my apartment. But it turns out that one of my favorite animators, Don Hertzfeldt, has the same birthday as I do! What are the odds? (Answer: appx. 1 in 365) But wait, it gets even stranger. Don Hertzfeldt has the audacity, the sheer nerve, to have been born exactly one year after I was. In case your brain is too numbed and/or blown to decipher the consequences of that degree of ballsiness, it means that Don Hertzfeldt is precisely one year younger than I am.
I know. It’s tough to take. Just allow yourself a few minutes to gather your thoughts, catch your breath, and put down the butcher knife. We can continue whenever you’re ready. (more…)
The War For Independence – Mike Viola
Chapter 6: Mike Viola
A couple years ago, my bandmate Jim (AKA “Top Shelf”) and I were carpooling to a rehearsal (I used to really like carpooling because my car’s registration was expired for quite a while. I am a lawbreaker and a risk-taker, and, dare I say, a mischief-maker. Not much of a heartbreaker or love-taker, but don’t you mess around with me nonetheless). Jim’s iPod, instead of playing “More than a Feeling” by Boston or “Big Bottom” by Spinal Tap like it was supposed to, was playing something I didn’t recognize. So I asked him what it was. Following is a transcript of what that conversation probably sounded like, given the ultrageeky proclivities of both Jim and me (Jim has a tattoo of what it says on the One Ring, in the Black Speech of Mordor, on his arm):
Me: “What’s this? Star Wars Watchmen Buffy.”
Jim: “ It’s Mike Viola. He used to live in Boston where I used to live. Nightcrawler Wolverine Firefly Sam Adams Haaaavard.”
Me: “He’s good! I like it. Frodo Batman Shelob Rorschach Vader.”
Jim: “Yeah, he co-wrote and sang ‘That Thing You Do.’ Yoda Red Sox Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Nigel Tufnel.”
Me: “I’ll be damned! Gandalf Skywalker Nite Owl Preacher Cthulhu.”
That’s a pretty fair approximation, I think. Anyway, that was the last time I thought about Mike Viola until a couple years later. This year, to be precise. While I was looking at the schedule for Largo in preparation for my Jon Brion article, I saw that Mike Viola was playing a show a few weeks later in the “Little Room.” Cool!
So, later, I was having a drink in the Little Room before the Jon Brion show, and decided to ask the bartender if he’d seen Mike Viola play there before. Following is a transcript of what that conversation might have sounded like, taking into account the way I talk to people I don’t know:
Me: “Mumblemumble Mike Viola?”
Bartender: “Oh yeah, he’s playing here in a couple weeks. He’s really good.”
Me: (drinking beer): “Shlorp. Grumble. Hurm.”
Bartender: “Yeah, I usually see him when he plays here. I think he moved to LA a while ago. Here, have this copy of his newest album. It’s great.”
Me: “Gurgle. Grrrrr. Thanks. Hisssssssssss.”
Again, probably pretty accurate. Anyway, I took the album home (it was 2007’s Lurch), and damn if I didn’t listen to the whole thing in its entirety three times in a row. And I listened to the first track (“Maybe, Maybe Not”) by itself over and over. It made me happy instantly, which is not something I am accustomed to and which sometimes gives me acid reflux. The bartender was not wrong. Lurch is an immensely enjoyable album. Mike Viola’s songwriting is in the vein of what Jon Brion called “unpopular pop” (I really like that term and have co-opted it for my own use, sometimes shortening it to “unpop” to save valuable time and syllables): highly melodic, clever, and catchy, and there is no good or just reason why his songs aren’t more popular than they are.
It seems to me that irony is the main tool of the songwriter these days—I’m generalizing, of course, but it makes a sort of sense. Rejection in any form is easier to take if one appears uncaring and detached, and I’m as guilty as anyone of that little tendency. But in songs, I tend to find it off-putting. Mike Viola does not fall into this easy trap. His songs contain the sort of earnestness that makes you think you know the guy a little bit, or at least understand and sympathize when appropriate (I’m using the second person singular here. I don’t like doing that, but using the first person in that sentence didn’t feel near ironic or detached enough for my fragile psyche. A thousand apologies for foisting my opinions on you).
Anyway, after absorbing Lurch, I scoured Amoeba for the Mike Viola catalogue. All I came up with after hours of searching was an album by his previous band, Candy Butchers, called Play With Your Head. It was also great, with the same style of songwriting but slightly different instrumentation, but it made me think that this guy deserves much more exposure than he gets. Either that, or I should try buying things online once in a while instead of hunting around record stores like a caveman. Probably both.
So I continued my research by seeing Mike Viola’s live show at Largo. Let me begin by saying that the Little Room is a great place to see a singer-songwriter. It’s tiny and intimate, and the only amplification the performer needs is a microphone (probably not even that, but he had one).
Mr. Viola is an engaging and appealing performer. He switched between acoustic guitar and piano, with occasional assistance from a friend who played muted trumpet. His interactions with the audience were frequent, and frequently hilarious, especially during an improvised song he called “Childhood Trauma.” It’s always a great deal of fun to see a performer who seems to be having as much fun as the audience, and Mike Viola has exactly the same type of stage presence I’d hoped he had after hearing his songs. He mentioned doing a monthly residence of sorts at the Little Room, which I intend to see whenever possible. I recommend that everyone else in the world should do the same, although I have no idea how they’ll all fit into that room. Maybe if enough people get together, they can teach him to say his last name right. It’s supposed to be “Vee-ola,” like the instrument I play, but he inexplicably pronounces it “Vai-ola.” Clearly wrong.
Well, I’m off to find someplace “on-line,” as they say, where people can look for music and then buy it. If I can find that sort of website somewhere, I’m gonna find all the Mike Viola and Candy Butchers albums I can, and then listen to ‘em. In the meantime, why not make the trek over to www.mikeviola.com and buy Lurch? To whet the appetite, here’s “Maybe, Maybe Not” on youtube:
(Mike Viola photo originally published here)