THE WAAHMBULANCE by JASON PETTIGREW

JOHNNY DEPP, YOUR HARD DRIVE & ME

A few weeks ago, I went to see Public Enemies, the crime drama film starring Johnny Depp as the legendary John Dillinger, America's bank-robbing folk hero, public enemy No. 1 and poster boy for all things (allegedly) evil in 1930s America. There have been plenty of mixed reviews about the movie, but I enjoyed seeing Depp and Christian Bale as these vicious mortal combatants who have their own take on what they feel is morally just. But I'm not here to give you my incisive thoughts on a major motion picture. I didn't go to film school (like this dude) so I'm not going to front on my personal bold new visionin cinema. No, I'm going to tell you about my hate/love relationship with Johnny Depp.

Truth be told, I have never met, nor have ever been in the same restaurant, theater, shooting range, opium den, bake sale, craft show or church bazaar at the same time as Depp during my tenure on the planet. I do know that the first time I ever saw him professionally, I wanted to douse him in turpentine and roast marshmallows over his carcass. Yep, it was the late-'80s, and everyone I was working with at the dreaded mall record store was raving about the dreamy dude who played detective Tom Hanson on the FOX television series 21 Jump Street. I watched one episode to see what the panty-moistening fuss was about, and by the end of it, I cursed the gods for making me lose an hour of my life I would rather have spent cleaning litter boxes with my hair. If I had created a drinking game in which I would down a shot every time I wanted to slap that unctuous prick in the face with a piece of garden hose packed with sand, I would've broken John Bonham's record for vodka consumption.

When Jump Street got the axe, I couldn't have cared less. And when Depp made the jump to motion pictures, I cringed. But when Edward Scissorhands came out a few years later, I was impressed as hell. In the last 20 years, Depp has created characters in classic vehicles that have been joyful, insane and compelling. And yes, he's probably one of a handful of guys that sexually frustrated moms and their coming-of-age daughters can unhealthily bond over. "You dottering d-nozzle," I hear you sigh. "What's this got to do with anything in my world? Captain Jack Sparrow for the win, whatever."

Some of you are well aware of how the AP editors are always slamming each other's musical tastes (publicly exemplified by Scott and I on episodes of The AP Show podcast). So it was as if the planets aligned when we all agreed that Taking Back Sunday's New Again was one of the best records of the year, hands down. After we did the cover, we got a fair share of hate mail from assorted phucktards saying it wasn't as good as their first album and both TBS and AP have totally lost it blah, fugging blah. And all I could think of was what may have happened had Depp decided to stay on Jump Street solely to make bank and wring any sense of credibility out of his life just so frumpy housewives and their unattractive children could watch something on TV while eating shoebox-sized containers of Reese's Pieces. There would be no Jack Sparrow, Wade Walker, Roux or Willy Wonka. No stellar adaptations of Hunter S. Thompson or John Dillinger. Just that gay-prostitute-looking prick Tom Hanson.

I have heard the impending releases by Thrice and Brand New. Barring detailed reviews, I can tell you both albums are polarizing and pretty damned great. They are records that have been created solely by the virtue of what was going on in each band members' respective minds and their interpersonal connections with each other, and nothing to do with achieving huge SoundScan numbers, getting on good tours, securing numerous spins on radio stations, placing songs on episodes of Gossip Girl or reaffirming anybody's concept of what constitutes "the Scene." From what I've experienced by the TBS eye-rollers out there, both Beggars and Daisy are going to bodycheck some folks out of their comfort zones. I'll go as far as to say I'll probably never listen to The Illusion Of Safety, Tell All Your Friends or Deja Entendu again. It's a trend I can totally get behind. -- Jason Pettigrew

And now, an apology: On behalf of all the AP editors, I hereby apologize about all of us being incommunicado in the blogosphere. Between the 24th anniversary issue, the mini-mag project we worked on with RED Distribution, the Vans Warped Tour program, our 15th Anniversary of Warped issue and now the AP Fall Ball, we've been stressed 'n' strapped for time. I would like to personally give shout outs to Mike Usinger, Joe Milne, DX Ferris, Annie Zaleski and Twitter denizens Brad Perala and Brad Michelson for their words of interest, encouragement and threats to stick dynamite under my cellulite-laden carcass if I didn't start spewing again. Blame them. They're probably used to it.

Let's Get Physics-cal!

I've been raving about Glasgow, Scotland's WE ARE THE PHYSICS to so many people, they either respond with "Okay, I get it, Jas," a quick kick to my crotch or both. The surname-deficient quartet of Michael, Michael, Michael and Chris have been plying their jittery, angular punk since 2005, releasing a handful of singles (starting with the frantic "Less Than Three") and culminating in We Are The Physics Are Okay At Music, their full-length for the British label This Is Fake DIY. WATP's aesthetic worships spiky guitars as much as it does analog-synthesizer abuse; factor in a grand sense of humor ("Drawing Anarchy Symbols On Your Pencil Case Is Redundant") and you have a band worthy of the contents of your wallet.

Things have been going well for the Physics-ians: They made heads swivel on their recent tour of Japan (the band share a mutual admiration society with the mighty Polysics), and have shared stages in Scotland with 30 Seconds To Mars and Shiny Toy Guns. I wrote about them in AP's 100 Bands You Need To Know In 2008 issue, but since they haven't made it to America, let alone have Radiohead and Green Day open for them, I figured I'd reintroduce them to all of you once again. Michael the singer (a.k.a. to me anyway as Michael BigGlassesBadHair) took some time from watching VHS tapes (blank ones, mostly) to answer some of my probing questions as to why his band are so fecking amazing.

When compared to a lot of the stuff emanating from the U.K., WATP are like tossing a boombox in the tub during bath time. Having established that, what's Glasgow like musically? Does everybody want to be the next Alex Kapranos, or is there an inspiring music scene happening right now?
Glasgow's a wee strange volcano of music. For a while, it'll be dormant and nothing much will happen, Then suddenly, there's billions of new bands all doing something new and interesting. The decent thing about the Glasgow music scene--as incestuous as it is--often all the bands are completely different. I didn't ever see a bunch of Franz Ferdinand or Glasvegas copycats; it doesn't seem to work like that here. The bands--the good bands at least--have a genuine sense of conviction and passion which, I think, is why Glasgow seems to have a thriving musical output. Not to mention that there's nothing else worth doing. Then again, I hardly go to any gigs anymore because it's like eating a sandwich when you work in a sandwich shop.

Who are the best five bands in the British Empire right now? I'll send an intern over to kick your ass if you say Razorlight.
Us, of course. There are no other bands. Except Victorian English Gentleman's Club, Untitled Musical Project, Art Brut, Gay Against You... There's a good few, it's not as dire as the press here likes to make out.

There are a lot of elements running through your music. Are there three bands that each band member agree are fabulous? Or do you take turns being fascists on the car stereo on the way to gigs?
We all like the obvious stuff: Polysics, the Skids, Ex Models... But generally we'll all listen to our own music on our personal music box machines that we take with us on tour. Sometimes we swap cassettes, but not often.

You have that great mix of jagged guitars, electronic flourishes, breakneck tempos and some decidedly hyper vocals. If you were going into the studio in three hours to create your next album, what direction would it go?
Three hours! That's quite a long time; I think we could fit in a couple of concept albums in that space. We might even have time for some overdubs. Wait, did you mean we're in the studio for three hours, or we're going into the studio IN three hours? I suppose we'd probably have some dinner before, then do some warm-up exercises before heading in.

How does a scrappy indie band from Scotland end up in Japan for a string of dates? Do they get it over there?
I have no idea. We got a lot of interest from Japanese labels from the get-go, we played with Polysics pretty early on and Hiroyuki Hayashi (Polysics founder) kindly wrote about us favourably in his blog, so I don't know if that had something to do with it. But we never wanted to put anything out over there unless we could go over to promote it and that's how we managed to swindle our way into Japan. They seemed to get it quicker than people in the U.K. did: Our album was only out in December and most of the venues were packed with voice-breaking, yelping, Japanese kids climbing the PA, wearing various wires and cabling as fashion accessories. Which is actually how we envision the future. I have no idea how they see us; we were lucky that our label was run by an amazing guy called Daichi, who also happened to be a huge part of the indie scene in Tokyo, so he dragged all his hipster buds to see us. For the first time in our lives, we had an iota of credibility. Hopefully we can achieve a same level of dishonest success in the USA.

WATP has opened for some American bands visiting your country. You also said that the bands you played with offered plenty of encouragement. Where there particular aspects of the show that the visiting Yanks were taken by?
We've opened for people like 30 Seconds To Mars, Gym Class Heroes, Shiny Toy Guns--a real bizarre assortment of bands that we don't sound anything like, but all of them have been really kind to us. Jared Leto told us we sounded like the Cars on speed. Is that a compliment? I have no idea what they enjoyed about us, but I've noticed a similar thing happening – when they watch us play, their faces will be confused and then halfway through the set, they'll be cheering and screaming with genuine fervor. I hope all Americans are similar, the only other crowd in the world like that is in Glasgow. When they like you, they will destroy the venue to prove it to you. The bassist from Shiny Toy Guns told us if we took the music to America, the kids would shit. Which is quite worrying, it sounds like we'd have some sort of laxative effect on the nation. Surely there has to be some sort of sponsorship involved in that.

You guys are serious about your music, but you don't take yourselves very seriously. What's the worst thing anyone has ever said about WATP? Conversely, what was the most nicest thing worthy of quoting?
The worst thing? That we were serious about our music, but didn't take ourselves very seriously! I imagine there's plenty of bad things people say about WATP, all of which are most likely justified; 90-percent we agree with. The nicest thing is probably that we'd make the kids shit if we went to America.

As a music fan, what do YOU expect from a new band in 2009?
There are no other bands, really. I know you think we're just joking, but our next album is going to be a self-replicating virus in mp3 form that will delete all other mp3s on your computer so that we're the only band left. Like digital cockroaches.

Where does America fit in the WATP universe? Between money, time and the fickle tastes of our INS department, it seems that coming over is a mammoth undertaking. Any plans to license your album to a sympathetic US label?
I think America would enjoy, nay, requires We Are The Physics. I think it's necessary for us to get there if only because it's so unlikely that we will. It's a risk putting out an album by a bunch of musically retarded unknown Scottish bams, but I know there are plenty of people in America with bigger wallets than business sense and we hope to appeal to them. Failing that, someone with a really good taste in music who is genuinely into our band. That combination is difficult to find, like Hall AND Oates.

What are the next plans for WATP? Have you written any new songs?
Aye, we've got hundreds of new songs! Are you accusing us of being lazy? I just wrote one while answering these questions. Our album isn't available in the U.S. We've had sobbing confessions from Americans who've downloaded the torrent though, those illegal swine. One even sent us $10 to make up for it. We didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't enough, but the thought was there and it touched us deeply. But you can get it on import from places like Amazon and our label would be more than happy to ship abroad (as they've had to do before, rubbing their hands together with postal fee glee), so you can buy it from their site. Still no word from American labels, although I've been trying to hunt a few out who might be daft enough to want to do something with us. I've also tried to get in touch with Star Crunch from Man Or Astroman to try and guilt him into releasing our record on his own label because he corrupted my youth.
Our video for "You Can Do Athletics, BTW" was nominated for a BAFTA, but it didn't win because it's basically four guys gassing each other in a big dark room. We've been doing secret gigs as clones of ourselves under the guise of a band called DVDs to try out new material. To hide our identities, we've been mummifying our faces with toilet paper. Given that most of the people at our gigs have no idea who We Are The Physics are anyway, some say it's a pointless activity.

(H)A(te) List Celebrity

Reading face-in-sphincter posts by anonymous, dullard haters on the interweb is a waste of time. Now, if you're like me and you want some real entertainment, follow well-known folks who make their disdain for others public. Trent Reznor's Twitter-dis on Chris Cornell's latest disc inspired the best online April Fool's joke in a long time. Senses Fail's chief wiseguy Buddy Nielsen made his hatred of autism-crunk stuporstars (and tourmates) Brokencyde public to the applause of many. Recently, Underoath's fearless guitarist Tim McTague told a British rock mag that he thought Avenged Sevenfold were all kindsa lame. This is way more fun that reading missives from nouns with screen names like "Matsfan," "Matt Ramone" and "ArielleOfTheREL" who have the intellectual capacity of plankton. (Of course, we're talking rock music here, so the "intellectual capacity" concept I'm bringing up is dodgy to begin with.)

Granted, the hip hop community has made the concept of beef-keeping mandatory. Thing is, the disses are never as creative as the stuff you see on interviews before commercials during WWF matches. And reading the babble of anonymous posters is about as awe-inspiring as raking leaves. It's like the mailman running into me while I'm walking my dogs and telling me my coat is ugly: And his point is...?

Now when someone of reputable note decides he's going to drop science on a similarly public person, that shows some character. First, with the internet, the commentary will inevitably go viral, to the amassed cries of "No, he di'n't!" Second, it's obvious the blame-thrower is gearing up for a rebuttal. Third, the whole cycle is then reflected upon by the earth, after measuring the comments of the dueling parties. (As in, "Dude, that response was lame," "Pwned!" or "Meeeeeeeoooooowwwww!") But since it's all played out in public--by participants who know how to stir the fecal stew, so to speak--it's positively glorious.

Why? Well, for purposes of the Scene As We Know It®, such exchanges go far to incinerate any kind of delusions fans/listeners may have of a "punk utopia" where everyone loooooves each other and everything's cool. I've been in enough dressing rooms and backstage hangs to tell you how many bands compare everything from touring and press opportunities to the quality of their riders with their alleged bros. "How did THOSE DICKS get Leno? How did THEY get the cover of AP?" "Why is THAT guy schtupping my ex who told me she was entering the convent before I got back from Warped?" Hey, I love Every Time I Die, but nothing would make me smile for consecutive days (well, barring a weekend with Christina Hendricks at the Paramount Hotel) if, say, one of those myriad screamo bands with more than 2500 MySpace friends decided to publicly dis on ETID. Can you imagine the mother of all cauterizing retorts Keith Buckley would fire back? Damn, that's better than this season of House M.D.--and that's pretty fecking sublime.

So come on, bands! Turn this shit upside down! Wil Francis: Tell us whose merch guy needs a big old pentagram burned into his chest for being intolerant of non-Christians! Hey Gerard Way, who was that dickhead you got into a sold-out My Chem gig who later spent the night signing autographs for everyone backstage? Attention all bands far and wide: Tell us what you REALLY think of Jared Leto! The world is a much better place when guys with guitars duke it out, because it helps stem interest in the influx of useless opinions from faceless nobodies needing to be heard. Really. Come on, folks: Do you think anyone gives a molecule of spit about MY personal shitlist?

Black Circles (In And) Around My Eyes

Let's say you came to my house in a limousine driven by Hugh Laurie that was stocked with a kegger of Monty Python And The Holy Grail Ale. You hand me a briefcase of unmarked bills, under the condition I have to spend all the money during one of three trips: A tour of L.A. sushi bars, a circuit of record stores or an excursion to Sam's Club to buy cases of lemon Pledge to polish the stripper poles in Rock Of Love cast-off Farrah Sinclair's apartment... Well, that's a no-brainer: Tell Dr. House to step on it, we're going to Amoeba!

Yes, I know it's the modern world and we live in an internet culture where you can stay at home, park your carcass in front of your lappity-toppity box and grab music from sites all over the internet. But I simply cannot imagine a world without record stores. Period. I would rather have a universe without FOOD, if it meant I had to obtain/discover/enjoy music solely online. (Besides, I'm a morbidly obese jamoke; I could stand to lose 122 pounds.) If I hadn't become so utterly obsessed with music (and thereby record stores), my life would've turned out much differently. When I was in high school, I wanted to move to New York City and get in on the ground floor of punk. But I spent all my money buying the records made by all the bands I wanted to experience in the first place. In college, I relied on the kindness of strangers to foot the bill for assorted vices because I was too busy seeking out import LP pressings of the British bands kicking my ass at the time. On those days when my buds and I would plan a road trip to see the bands that made us thank Christ we were alive, we always, without fail, factored in a two-hour stopover to hit the local record emporiums.

Before there was an internet, the local Mom & Pop record stores were the only way punks/new wavers/alt-rockers could find about excellent new bands that weren't getting massive column inches in Rolling Stone, afternoon play on MTV or spins on radio between the Eagles and Journey. Local bands found a marketplace for their own DIY productions and if you were into discovering more, there would always be a stack of fanzines, small-run mags or British papers to help slake your thirst for more new stuff. You simply weren't going to immerse yourself into this culture by hanging out at corporate chains. The people who ran the stores were always into music and ready to recommend things to you. When he was working in the 7-inch vinyl department of the late great Rockville, Maryland-based store Yesterday & Today, Ian MacKaye played an old Hoodoo Gurus b-side, "Be My Guru," which I bought immediately. Hearing that track in a big store--surrounded by tons of vinyl, unpacked boxes, fliers for upcoming shows, promo posters for upcoming releases--makes mouse-clicking seem positively anti-climactic. I've been to stores all over the U.S., based my first trip to London on a story I read in a record-collecting magazine and have stuck my head inside shops in Denmark and Sweden. (Never enough time in Paris, though. That one still sets me off, 16 years after the fact...) I long to take eight weeks off and drive all over our great nation, rummaging through store bins and then reporting, cataloging and listening (duh) to my finds.

Because of the advent of technology, many record stores have closed up shop. This upsets me more than the deaths of some of my relatives. Indie record stores aren't just about commerce to me: They are about LIFE. I have made friendships with people I had met in record stores simply because they bought the same things I did or wore a badge or a t-shirt of a band I loved. I have memories of bored girlfriends holding stacks of wax while I scoured for more tunes, spending too much money and having to take them out for fast food (again). I don't own as many records as many collectors, but I'm pretty sure you can pull a record from my custom-built shelves and I can tell you where I got it.

Which brings me to today, three days before Record Store Day, a celebration of indie record hangouts happening this Saturday, April 18. This weekend, participating stores will be selling releases specially issued for the day, be they limited-edition vinyl (like that Gaslight Anthem live 10-inch Heisel's been clamoring for) or specially designed t-shirts sanctioned by the likes of Underoath and Paramore. Visit the RSD site and see what stores in your area are participating--if there are any left. And if there aren't, get your buddies in the car and take a road trip. Who knows what you'll find? Maybe it'll be something as cool as these sweet Clash platters I found in the used section of the store that's close to my house. (Seriously, "The Magnificent Seven" U.K. 12-inch with the original sticker set intact? Official Epic Records promo interview album? FTW!) Maybe it'll be the love of your life. (I met my wife at a wedding, but she prefers to see me hanging in a record store than a bar.) But really, friends, in my world, EVERY day is Record Store Day.

The Realm Of The Proud Bedwetter

Strap in friends, we're gettin' in the Wayback Machine. Back when I was working for a mall-based chain of record stores (Tim Karan knows what I'm talking about), I had the great misfortune of waiting on one of the most heinous forms of music consumer: the audiophile. In a universe of computer-based entertainment, I don't even know if these kind of people still exist (Wait: They do! Beware The Raiders of the FLAC File Ark). But the audiophile fancies himself as an enthusiast of "true sound," therefore he will buy all of the most expensive pieces of gear to achieve "perfect sound forever." I'm talkin' stupid shit like turntables with five-figure price tags or limited-run stereo receivers made by boutique electronics companies in Japan or Russia. But it's not enough for these d-bags to just OWN this stuff; they have to TELL somebody all about it. They brag about everything from "phase correction" to "crossover slopes" to people who don't have any clue what the hell they are going on about.

In my case, this particular customer was going on about how expensive and pristine his stereo was. After 10 minutes of brand-name-dropping and meaningless hertz-response figures, I asked him if he needed any help finding something. He nodded his head and told me he was good. "I heard this was really well-recorded so I'm going to check it out." He was holding a copy of the debut album from ill-fated, manufactured musical duo, Milli Vanilli. "So," I responded, barely able to control my temper, yet putting on a jokey game-face, "what you've been telling me is that you have a solid gold septic tank at home. I mean, sure, you own a lot of precious gold, but you're covering it in crap." This resulted in the guy dropping the disc and leaving the store immediately. The next day, I got a call from the home office, reprimanding me about my "inappropriate customer interaction." I told my boss the guy was a tool, and I'll gladly buy $60 worth of stuff to make up the $15.99 the company lost to that idiot.

Fast-forward to this century, and the same kind of boorish behavior is even more rampant, thanks to the internet. Fortunately, I don't have to deal with audiophile vermin anymore. But they've been replaced by other kinds of folks. I guess the catch-all term would be "trolling," but the kind of nimrods I'm thinking about aren't in it to stir the fecal stew and log out of the kitchen fast. Nope. They just lurk in places where they feel they have some kind of moral or aesthetic superiority, when the truth of the matter is that they're just as lame as the stuff they put down. Like an old punk dude who holds court on message boards bragging about how all of the ethnic-infused rock music he's collected is vastly superior to whatever emo/screamo/pop-punk fave the community is embracing. Dude's gonna be heard, though: He's made over 5000 posts discussing his superiority, despite the fact the stuff he champions is really bad. Like dentist-office, new-age, bumper-music-between-segments-on-NPR BAD. Yet he'll tell you that you suck because you dare to profess your liking of Fall Out Boy's "I Don't Care." (5000 posts? You think somebody who claims to be into music would spend that kind of time LISTENING to the stuff, than preaching about it.)

The thing that usually draws these people out is our yearly 100 Bands issue. Most detractors get on their ideological hobby-horse because (everybody all at once, join me), "all the bands you put in there sound the same." The operative word in that sentence is "all." It's readily apparent to me they haven't heard every band on that list, because there's some pretty crazy shit in that issue. What makes me laugh (and want to set fire to said posters' homes) is when they write something like, "Whenever people get sick of this nu-hair band era crap, this band is going to be ready to blow up," and the stuff that they recommend is tragically generic. Most of your AP-sucks posters on other message boards are prone to this. AP blows for, say, putting the Maine on the cover, yet the people doing the bitching are the ones whose last.fm lists are riddled with bands cut from the exact same kind of pop-punk cloth. Sometimes, we get our wrists slapped by some harpy with limited cognitive skills whose self-proclaimed "fave band" is gaining notoriety with a "novelty" cover version a la Attack Attack or I Set My Friends On Fire. (Note to Connie: Go eat a cheesesteak and wise up, but not in that order, mmmkay?)

I refer to this social condition as PBS or the Proud Bedwetter Syndrome: The person who has an incontinence problem thinks YOU are a loser because you DON'T have one. What can be done about it? Depends...

Killer Born Man: Jack Barnett

Jack Barnett is the frontman for THESE NEW PURITANS, a post-everything quartet from the United Kingdom whose debut disc, Beat Pyramid, was my favorite album of 2007. TNP's alloy of regimented drumming, alluring electronics and samples, jagged guitar lines and obtuse lyrics made it hard for me to catch up on the waves of new discs that flow into the AP Skyscraper. I am looking forward to their new record the way my dog barks incessantly for his breakfast at five in the morning.

In my "Killer Born Man" blogs, I take this space to interview someone in an new band, a visual artist/designer type or someone who falls outside the realm of what AP covers. As much as I wanted to probe Barnett for every piece of information about his band's latest activities, this time I had an agenda. The members of TNP are making music that falls outside the realm of various British music-mag flavors-of-the-month, yet they're all in their early twenties. Contrast that scenario with a previous blog entry I made about bands who fall in line with whatever conveyor-belt punk they choose to follow. ("Smash The Market Place" 8/29/08) I wondered if Barnett and his band were just steadfastly determined to leave their personal sonic breadcrumb trail of creativity or if they were just as pressured to "conform" artistically, socially or whatever.

The U.K. music press is big on creating 'movements' that don't really exist as a unified whole. I know TNP and Foals were part of some newspaper feature extolling the virtues of 'new eccentrics' or some such nonsense. In your own experience, have you seen more new, young bands obsessed with finding their own voice, or are they merely trying to follow the next trend, like being the next Razorlight or some such horror?
Yeah. I don't think that newspaper was really serious about that story! In terms of young bands that I half-know, I think most of them are very keen on playing shows and getting involved in all the mechanics of being in a band--rehearsing, venues, riders--and not all that interested in their music. Which is fair enough, as it's a different world (the 'scene' world) with it's own sensibility. But I can't understand it, myself.

Have you felt pressure from anyone (including yourself) to conform to a trend that's allegedly resonant in order to achieve any kind of success?
I just don't really feel that I have it in me to do that; I think I'd go mad. That's not because I have anything against pop or success--actually, I think a lot of the progress is being made in pop--it's just that I don't have that much control over myself. I think if you do your own thing, then there's more chance that a niche of people will enjoy your music, rather than flattening every sharp edge trying to compete in a flooded market. I've sort of assumed that the odder your music, the greatest the chance of success. If your band is called Sodomized Foetus or something, then that guarantees a segment of human beings who will definitely enjoy your music.

Point blank: Do you think that the non-conformist sensibilities of bands like TNP stem from an open-minded European worldview? Or is it based upon youth? It's not like anybody in your band is 36, had previously been in four other bands and didn't see anything come from their work. Does limited life experience trump jaded career musicianship?
It's really hard for me to say. Maybe it's true that there's more open-mindedness, but I think in somewhere like Brooklyn there's too much open-mindedness and the music becomes too self-consciously experimental. Also, if you go to certain cities in Europe, all they want is whatever's on the cover of the NME and they're very closed-minded etc. There's too much difference in Europe for me to say there's any one worldview. I suppose there's more respect for tradition in America.But I don't know whether that's good or bad.

Finally, something moves you.

Apologies for being late. I promise I will be back up to speed by next Wednesday. Seriously. ("I don't FEEL tardy." --D.L. Roth, 1984) I would've gotten to this earlier, but I was too busy getting dinner, playing records and going to see Converge and Ceremony throw it down at the cool Cle haunt, the Grog Shop. I had a blast watching the amount of girder monkeys scurrying over the members' of Ceremony's heads as they were grinding it out. (See, there's an exposed girder that runs perpendicular to the stage so the more athletically fit stage invaders can extend their narcissism a little longer than the length of your typical stage-dive.)

After the set, I briefly spoke with Ryan from Ceremony who seemed positively sated with his band's performance. (The dudes work hard for their money, hell yeah!) But as I was chatting him up at the merch table, it seemed as though everyone wanting Ceremony swag just didn't want a shirt or a hoodie or a record. Of course, they did want to BUY something, but it seemed that more importantly, they wanted to give something to the band than some crumpled pit-sweat marinated dollars. Practically every person buying something greeted Ryan with a handshake, high-five or a vocal profession of how awesome his band were that evening. At points it seemed Ryan was getting a bit embarrassed by all the love, but always took time to show his appreciation. Whether it was some burly, neck-tatted fireplug, a green-haired girl (girls at hardcore shows are simply awesome, aren't they?) or some puny nerdy dude who's used to being slammed inside his school locker, everyone seemed righteously appreciative.

Then I got to wondering about the conversations I've experienced other people having on their way out of a gig. Like the white-trash tub of lard bitching about My Chemical Romance not playing an encore despite her paying $35 or whatever. When I asked her if the five-minute piano solo James DeWees was playing while the band rested was cooler than the band running back onstage like every other act in the history of rock-and-fuggin'-roll, she snapped. "That wasn't an encore. They owe me an encore for this ticket price!" She looked like a proud consumer; maybe MCR should've signed her up for Nutrisystem, as well. This past Sunday at the recent Les Claypool show, I heard a whining hippie who wanted to hear "at least one Primus tune, dude. Dubya tee eff?" Nevermind that Les and co.--along with members of Devotchka--pulled off a version c'est magnifique of Tom Waits' "Russian Dance" that the rest of the tour wasn't gonna see, since it was Devotchka's last night on the tour. I remembered a friend of mine telling me about the time he went to last year's AP tour and heard some guy pissing and moaning about the encore, when all the bands covered Blink-182's "Dammit." The dude's complaint? "Nobody was really into it." My buddy went up to the kid and told him he hoped his car flipped on the way home and an ambulance couldn't get to him for an hour.

What do people expect from their favorite bands in 2009? If the record is great and the shows are good, what more do you need? If the lead singer of the Dogcatchers isn't at the merch booth immediately after the set to sign the hoodie you made with your bedazzler, does his band suck? Why does anybody think they should get more than a great record and a decent show these days? Davey Havok doesn't have to leave a message on your sister's voicemail on his way to find a soy chai drink--she hasDecemberundergound. Leave him alone! I don't know if it's the manifestation of a sense of entitlement or part and parcel of how fans in this scene conduct themselves. Maybe the demands are greater simply because listeners have been marketed to death just to get them interested in things in the first place.

But now--without the aid of name-dropping--a little story from my back pages. The scene: A Western Pennsylvania skating rink-turned-venue in the late-'80s. A hardcore band drifting into metal acceptance has an opening slot for a popular metal act on the rise to bigger things. A punk-rock lifer approaches the punk band's merch booth:

PUNKER: How much are shirts?
MERCH DUDE: Ten bucks.
PUNKER: TEN BUCKS? Are you crazy? I saw you four years ago and your shirts were five! It cost me $10 to get in here! You guys are total fukkin' sell-outs! I used to be able to see you for a $4 cover, and your merch was cheap. I've supported you for years; I bought all of your records, drove up to 200 miles in any direction to see you and now... [trails off.] You know, screw you! In fact, you should GIVE me a shirt for all of the support I've given YOU in the past. You wanna come to my house and see all the fliers and set lists I've got from your gigs? You owe me this, you corporate, sell-out, capitalist-pig shysters...

And... SCENE!

Okay. Now, a couple minutes later, after proud punker leaves empty-handed and pissed off. The same show, same bands, same merch guy. Long-haired metal dude wearing a Slayer shirt walks up to the booth.

METALHEAD: How much are shirts?
MERCH DUDE: Ten bucks.
METALHEAD: Cool, what else do you got?