Reverb Nation

It is not typically part of my M.O. to eschew kind praise on.................well anything really.

Be it a troubled upbringing, voices in my head, or just the sheer adrenaline rush that comes from sarcastic ravings, I really like to complain about stuff. To systematically dissemble an entity, be it thought sound or idea, find the inner workings of the beast, then destroy it with violent word. That's good times right there brother.

I've made reference in the past that positive praise is a dying art form. In my humblest of opinions, I feel we've maxed out the English language for words that favor optimism. We just can't get any happier. Or at the very least, we can't express said happiness to a roomful of people as well anymore. The words we're stuck with have been left in the chafing dish for far too long. "Great, " "Wonderful," "Amazing," all now bland and meaningless. When one sees them on paper, they must stop for a second to wonder if the words are being used in a proper, or a sarcastic context. It is that second glance that has made the words stale.

Now negativity on the other hand, never grows old. There's always interesting and fresh ways to bitch. And people hunt for those ways on a daily basis. Complaining is indeed our undiscovered country. And, I consider myself a pioneer of sorts. Probably not an innovator by any means, but I can pee in the formulas with the best of them. As such, I'm always on the hunt for the latest thing the bugs me, and I leave the things that make me smile to wallow in the darkest parts of my mental basement.

But today, I felt I must tip my hat to something that has actually done me some positive good. Something that educates me and makes a little better at the things I consider my strengths. Today I celebrate you, Reverb Nation.

Reverb Nation started as the alternative to Myspace, a place for musicians and fans of musicians to celebrate each other. Naturally, Myspace being the Studio 54 to Reverb Nation's CBGB's, the site's been pretty underground for the most part. Few artists use it, and fewer people know about it.

I'm a recent member to the site. Had a few nifty extras that I couldn't get on Mypace, and more exposure is a good thing for us starving musical types right? So I made the account, dropped some finely penned tuneage, and went about my way. Occasionally, I'd visit. Just to see if anything was happening. Nothing ever did, and I didn't expect anything to change. It and I had the relationship of a blind dating couple. We wanted to be interested in each other, but at the same time, figured we'd probably end up going home alone.

Naturally, my praise doesn't come from what it was, but what it became. You, Reverb Nation, have become the site that can actually make me a better businessman. And since most of what I create needs to be treated very business-like, this is a happy thing for me. And you have given me the very thing I need to be better at it: Information.

Your new setup allows me to see the statistics of every connection I have to your site. I know where most of my traffic is coming from, I know where I stand compared to other musical types of my ilk, I even know in what parts of the world where the music is popular. For hell's sake, I know the sex demographics of my listeners. Truly impressive.

Thanks to you, I have a better grasp on how to boost my work. I can make better decisions about how to invest my time, where I need to focus my efforts, if my music is even worth a second listen. Crucial information to know, when one starts to question oneself and ask, "Dear god, am I even any good at this?"

Places like Myspace don't provide that kind of information. All I know is a few people looked at my page, maybe somebody listened. Could have been a dedicated fan for all I know. Most likely it was some Webcam girls spam site with pictures of seedy women in tight clothes who, by sheer coincidence, happen to be named Godfrey or Earl. I am no wiser for my time there, get no sense of the effectiveness of my work, frankly I feel kind of second class. But not with you Reverb Nation. Nope, you make me feel like I'm top priority. A part of the team who has the information needed to operate effectively. And I appreciate that.

So here's to you Reverb Nation. Here's to a long and fruitful relationship. Cheers!

The President Says, "Happy 5th Anniversary!"

Today marks the fifth anniversary of the Iraq war: Take 2. Today the president extolled the triumphs of this engagement to an audience at the Pentagon. President Bush was quoted as saying, "The successes we are seeing in Iraq are undeniable, yet some in Washington still call for retreat," and refused to acknowledge that any setbacks had occurred since the order to start Operation: Iraqi Freedom began. Setbacks, for example, such as the 4000 soldiers who were killed in the line of fire, or the sectarian violence that has occurred in Iraq since 2002, or the state of our current national budget.

Bush also stated that, "War critics can no longer credibly argue that we're losing."

The man's consistent, I'll give him that.

P. Diddy: Criminal Mastermind

The Los Angeles times has reported that Sean "Puff Daddy" Combs, along with his manager and the late Biggie Smalls were responsible for the murder of one TuPac Shakur back in 1994. It is believed that Comb's label, Bad Boy entertainment, wanted Shakur to sign to the label, but were refused. In act of retaliation, they orchestrated the shooting that resulted in Shakur's death.

Alright...................

Let's forgo the fact that the police are not involved in this and treat it as something plausible for a second. Take a good look at who we're accusing in all this. Look deep people. Do you really think that this man is mentally capable of pulling off such an articulate plan?

The man has no skills for fuck's sake. We've all seen it. He dances like a circus dog, can barely string together words that end in rhymes. These are the basic requirements for being a rap star people. He obviously can't ride a motorcycle, and his music? Dear god. He doesn't sample the works of others, he plagiarizes it. No need for drum loops or sections of orchestra, not when you can lift several measures of someone else's blood and sweat in their entirety and claim it as your own. Lackluster performances over someone else's greatness, that is what the Puff is known for.

Need further proof that the man is inept? One word: Mase. 'Nuff said.

So a man who has proudly bumbled his way into a functional career somehow has the faculties to mastermind an execution? I seriously doubt it. The man is brain lard. Even if his plan was to simply, "Drive past the big black car and shoot at it," I'm still gonna say it's beyond his scope. Murder takes some pretty intense thought processes, the likes of which I'm going to gamble the "Diddy" has not the wherewithal to consider. Time may prove me wrong, but until something more substantial than a news article based on an, "unnamed source" comes around, I'm sticking with my current, "He's dumb as hell" theory.

Now, if you really must know who killed Tupac...........Enter if you dare.

The Inner War

Here I stand alone.

Alone in this empty hallway, where all doors are closed to me. My shadow is my only company. Behind those doors I know they're watching me. Bureaucrats, businessmen, and the regular haunts that run this place. Their watch through the peepholes built into those well-secured doors, waiting to see what I'll do next.

I've knocked on all of those doors. I've seeked out opportunity and admission into the realms they've made for themselves. I've never asked much. Just a reason to wake up in the mornings. Maybe some finance for food and debts. I've been reasonable and I've been polite. No handouts, not my style. Just a job. The door slams in my face, over and over again. "Not in this lifetime freako!" laugh out the catcalls behind the door. "You're too strange and too angry. Your brand of nonsense corrupts."

I'm a threat to them. Something unusual and different. Too outspoken for my own good. Speak too quick, defend myself too hard. That kind of behavior can be imitable. No good when you're relying solely on the blank stares of burned out people to stay wealthy. I just might have what it takes to open a few minds. An outcast without ever coming in.

They keep me crippled and distant. Tucked away like some dirty secret. Locked in that hallway, they wait for me to grow old. They'll wait until I die.

I'm not one to go that easy.

I've still got weapons after all. I'm a determined S.O.B. Hard to crack harder to break. And I have my voice. I have every word, every memory, and every emotion at my disposal. And I will use them. Through speech and hand, spoken and written, I will have the last say. My voice will carry beyond those guarded doors, and lodge themselves into the ears of those poor blank souls, waiting on the other side. The venom they carry will provide something their hearts have not felt for eons: hope.

They will know that they've been done wrong. That the creatures that sustain them will use them up and suck them dry. That there is more to their lives than the walls surrounded by partitions and fiber optics. My song will reanimate dead tissue, as they stand for the first time in decades and find the strength to say, "Dammit, this isn't right."

They will turn on their masters, who with blood-stained suits and horrified glances, will know they've been beaten. I won over the people without even having to walk through the precious doors. Deny one person, you deny them all. And for souls looking for nothing more than acceptance and purpose, this is one denial too many. The revolution moves quickly. From the hallway, I can hear the overthrown be quartered and ceremoniously flushed down the low-flows. A sigh of relief fills the lungs of the victorious. Their destiny is their own again. As the doors open, me and my new comrades leave that godforsaken hallway and walk into the sunlight.

Years from now, I will sit in a rocking chair, gray and aged. I'll watch the world I was a participant in making. Children will scurry through the ancient mausoleums we made for ourselves in days gone by, and talk of one day achieving their dreams. Their parents, founders of this new time, will have pursued their passions to the fullest and live a life without regret. I close my eyes and smile. For the first time in my days, I feel like I've accomplished my tasks. Like I'm truly accepted.

...This is just a sample of the bullshit world I live in.

Robert Irvine And The Truth

As many people have probably figured out, I am enamored with the Food Network. When I'm not writing mean things in the heat of anger, or strapped to an instrument making my latest masterpiece, I'm in the kitchen cooking. It's a great passion of mine, and when I'm in need of ideas, or some all-important understanding of what I'm throwing in the pan, you know where my cable box will be set. There are lazy days in front of the TV where I can watch a solid ten hours of cooking programs, fine dining experiences, and competitive culinary greatness.

For those who don't care much for the culinary arts, I would invite you to take in a little Food Network yourselves. It makes for an interesting case study in something we haven't seen on television in a long time: honesty. Yep, these people who provide entertainment and recipes are very honest. Hell, they have to be. People might actually cook this shit you know? Can't have things like bleach and motor oil on a recipe if it isn't going to enhance the flavor. Might kill someone if the doses aren't right.

So, the Food Network has earned quite the reputation with me for being straight and true. I respect their opinions and trust their word. Even when it comes to something so obviously asinine like putting tomato sauce on a pot roast (which works surprisingly well I might add,) I trust in the word. And they have yet to let me down.

Which makes a recent Food Network announcement that much harder to deal with. For they have decided to fire one of my all-time favorite chefs: Robert Irvine.

Yep, the host of Dinner: Impossible, one of the more interesting Food Network programs has been terminated. And why this outrage? Because the man lied. He falsified things on his resume to make it look more impressive, and got caught in the lie.

One of my newfound heroes is gone, and my Wednesdays are now empty and cold.

Make no mistake, the man was an ass. He had a major arrogant streak, was smug, and had no problem running over and stomping on anyone who caused him problems. I've never held it against him, frankly I think it's why I enjoyed the program so much. Watching him maintain his composure and not strangle Neil Patrick Harris definitely made for good television. Still, I never guessed he would forge anything to get ahead. The man's always seemed very capable and competent, and making stuff up to get ahead seemed ludicrous.

And I find myself conflicted in this. I mean, I agree with Food Network's decision. Having someone claim to do some amazing things only to find out they didn't actually do them would piss anyone off. Remember, Food Network thrives on honesty, half the reason I watch it. Keeping someone dishonest around goes against the very foundation of the station.

On the other hand, I like the program. And I like the guy. He's a complete prick, but an entertaining prick is never unequaled. And I know the nature our current economy. It's not always easy to get ahead in the world. Sometimes over-exaggerating things to get ahead turns out to be the name of the game. Hell, I know my resume tends to emphasize a few things that were minor in the grand scheme of things. And I do it without regret, hoping that said skill will result in opportunity. The man got opportunities, and did well with them. I'm not sure what he lied about, nor do I care all that much. The man put on a hell of a show. Whipped up some fantastic looking eats in ridiculous conditions, and did it without ever losing his cool (much to my dismay.)
I certainly was a fan, and can almost sympathize with his transgressions. I dare say, most of us have been there. Irvine did it, and got so big that there was no way he could back down. Nope, someone had to pop the bubble for him.

Would the show have been entertaining without the forgery? Damn right it would've. Would he be the host of said show without the forgery? I don't know. That's not for me to even speculate on.

In the end, I guess that the Food Network made the necessary decision given the circumstances. Irvine came out and admitted his fault, and acknowledged the actions of the station. There is no blame game here, no passing the buck. Simply a guy getting caught with the things he was trying to hide. The decision has its valid points, even if it does ruin Wednesday nights for me. So, I will stand by one of my favorite stations, and hope that when the steam dies down, they can cut my man Robert some slack.

However, if they screw with Alton Brown, violence will ensue.

Plastic Singers And The Fools Who Create Them

Take a look at this would you?

Some may call it cute. Others a new renaissance in what is capable with modern technology. I, on the other hand, opt for a different word set.

This shit is scary.

We're at a very interesting apex point in the social pangs of our musical development. The power of technology has acted as the great equalizer, putting the common man face to face with the tigers of business. The record industry is slowly beginning to realize that they are indeed, the legion of doom. The age old tactics of strong arming the artist and squeezing every possible cent out of selling other people's wares has lost it's efficacy in this day and age. The masses have seen the potential, and the dark guerrilla tactics that the record industry will employ to cease it.

And we have seen that the power of determined people actually has the fortitude to win a war against overpriced lawyers and the demons they represent. It's the closest we've come to winning a battle in a long time.

The artist has the opportunity to control where and what his music does, and never has to sell off more than he wants to. The music listener can be selective in what they hear, and where they hear it. No more Pepsi-endorsed, so-called music stations squeezing the latest thing between pop sensationalism and bad reality. The fruits of revolution are indeed sweet.

And we can thank the advances in computers and what it's made the internet into for our success. But be warned, the very technology that once liberated can now become a tool of the enemy.

In recent skirmishes, legitimate, blood and sweat artists have long been trampled on, in favor of pretty women who had no business being in front of a microphone. "Boss, the girl with the big breasts can't sing in key. No qualms there sonny-boy, we can fix it all in the mix." Fantastic, high memory applications that can take any fool's voice, and make it sound tolerable. Squeeze in some sonic beeps and bloops, one can cut a record in a single afternoon. Short skirts and sleazy publishers will do the job of selling it.

And now, with an application like this, the basic ability to even sing is no longer necessary. "Let the computer do it," they will say, "it'll sound better and give us less attitude. " Entire catalogs of artists a few clicks away, all within reach. These fools are crazy enough to do it.

Need a face to go along with all that plastic? Just pick them up off the street. Find some vixen with huge mammaries and a short attention span to lip sync to your creation. If she looks great, no one will ever notice her lips rarely move.

"You contemptible bastard," you may scream, "there's no way something like that could be successful in this day and age." Ah, you poor naive soul. It's been been happening this whole time. Pick any music station and watch for twelve minutes. These people are making money. Certainly not from me. And not from you, my loyal readers, for I have no doubt you have quality tastes. But somebody is buying it. A lot of somebodies.

And these somebodies have no regard for things like purity and honesty. A well-dressed, positively perky lip syncing gelatin mold can ultimately be successful. Ashlee Simpson has driven that point home quite well. Caught lip syncing on a national program should have surmounted into sheer destruction and exile. And yet, to this day, her needs for plastic surgery get far more press than all the talented musicians on Myspace combined. It is clear that even from a wounded state, the industry still exerts great power.

Artist and fan alike, take a good look at this. This may soon be the new enemy. This may be what we need to overcome next.