Carthedic Writer's BD Rant

Songwriting, when done correctly, should conjure some sort of emotional reaction. It's the reason people listen in the first place. The fancy of the listener is subjective to the sort of reaction desired.

 

Case in point, I have a friend who works out to classical symphonic music. Personally, I prefer light NYC Hardcore (Propain), but that's what gets my "Ra, Ra, Fight, Fight," juices flowing. I don't work out as hard or as often as my friend, so maybe she knows something I don't.

 

When songwriting, the intention of the writer is less subjective. We typically know exactly what we are burying in metaphor. However, even though a writer can choose topic, when in full writing swing, the control of the process can get meditative pretty easily. I am a big supporter of letting it, for the sake of the song, the integrity of the process, and the honesty of the moment. Anyone who has written numerous works knows exactly what I am speaking of. I hear writers say it all the dayum time: the universe gifts them the song, they are only channeling it.

 

That is exactly how I feel when writing. It is an experience in creativity I would not trade for anything.

 

The issue, after the fact, is perception of the listener. I want to always remain fearless in creativity. Nay, I will always remain fearless and unapologetic. I'd rather be accused of being an honest asshole than a vanilla fluff artist. It's the reason I name drop. It's the reason I anything drop. It's the reason why my guts are left wide open for everyone to see. Let's be honest about it, anything I write might as well be about my life experiences, as I have no illusions or delusions about millions of fans or listeners. It's my story told the way I see fit. If one person gets it, that's good enough.

 

Understanding that we are not as important as maybe our fragile egos believe us to be is a hard lesson in humility, and one I find myself having to take forced refresher courses on frequently. I smh at others that don't. Arrogance can lead to greatness, but also isolation from reality. Humility may be a more enlightened path, but definitely less traveled. Hopefully there is a balance.

 

My karma seems to be a bit more instant lately. If I wrong someone, I am wronged in return 10 fold. If I force myself onto others with no regard to their piece of mind, someone is always in line to return the favor with passion.  Mostly: every time I find myself tearing others down to build myself up, I can't hide from the barrage of ignorant judgments flung back at me.

 

As I round the corner into my 42nd year on this planet, I hope to maybe rise above bad karma. Maybe judge a bit less? In the end, everything is happening exactly the way it should. Why shouldn't my impact be positive? On the same line, why shouldn't I expect positive impact from others?

 

In the middle of a bad night, I received a message on Words With Friends (a minor addiction lately) saying: "Thankful for you, my friend." Exactly what the doctor ordered and a perfect example of the little things in life that can lift someone up with no solicitation. Muy Bueno, AshAnne7. Selfless and beautiful.

 

One thing is definitely for sure, I will continue to write, that much is not up to me at all. What is up to me is what I write about, and the honesty of the process. By demons be driven on both fronts. I know no other way. Word.

 

Happy Thanksgiving. If you see me today, buy me a coffee.

 

Nago

Uber to see Iggy.

Last night I went to see the movie "Gimme Danger" at the small indie Harris Theater in downtown Pittsburgh. For a few blessed hours, shit didn't matter. That's how I know I liked the flick. The small screen and low sound volume was a plus, as all 20 people in the seats (capacity of 200) shared intimate moments of laughter together. Kinda rad.

I went alone, and in my life, that's not unusual. Not too many "vanillas" are in the know on things I may find mint. I got the feeling that the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust struggles to keep places like this alive. With 20 people at $8.00 a clip on a Friday night, how does one afford prime real-estate in Downtown Pittsburgh?

The movie itself was basically an extended "Behind the Music" chronicling Iggy and the Stooges from its 1967 conception to the Coachella reunion of '03 (and beyond). The art house treatment of the story sets it apart from the flare of an overproduced, hour long TV bit, which speaks perfectly for the band that influenced all that followed.

Iggy Pop has a flare for summoning great stories. His ability to recreate moments with words are equal parts funny and graceful. He is a true individual spirit on this planet of sheep. 10 minutes into the Stooges story, Iggy throws out a reference to the songwriting process that hit me hard. He says his lyrical approach was meant to be the opposite of Bob Dylan's "blah, blah, blah." His approach was 25 words or less for each Stooges song. The "Keep It Simple, Stupid" rule in its purest form.

As a songwriter, I never paid attention to word count. I know me, and now and forever, I will. That doesn't mean I will adjust the count, but I'll always count.

Ok, the fun takeaway.  You know the pic of Iggy standing on the crowd from the late '60's (see above pic)? As I watched the footage, iconic rock images popped into my head. I've decided to hunt them down and make a Rock wall in my game room. A few early contenders for the Nago Icon wall:

I'm sure there's more... I'm open to suggestions. The Joan Jett pic is an old favorite I'm putting back into rotation, stat.

Support underground stuff, please. True art is not some manufactured Idol rubbish mass produced and fed to the population at large. If you are reading this, you already know that.

May all your favorite bands stay together. - Dawes

Nago

Grace is gone...

A week ago, I was sent a link to a Dave Mathews song that I was unaware of. The song is beautiful, and I was moved by the emotion in the vocal. It's a song about dying I think, but metaphorically I find a complete other meaning in it's lyric. In my mind, it’s a place I have been, and it’s definitely relatable, even more recently than I care to admit to the world. It’s funny how impactful brief moments can be, and how much regret can be stirred up in short amounts of time. Dave captured the sadness in a very eloquent way, even though I don’t necessarily subscribe to drinking away a problem (in my experience, I’ve never solved a single issue drinking, only created more… I digress), it's the romanticism of the theme that makes the message powerful.

Interestingly enough, had it not been recommended to me, I never would have heard it. I basically don’t follow Dave Mathews at all for the most part. It’s nothing personal, and I know he is great, it’s just never been my cup of tea. However, I do have a Dave Mathews story:

On June 2^rd of 2015. I was sitting at an Outback with a (former) co-worker just south of Montgomery, Alabama. It was early, like 5:00 PM or so, we were bored, and still had two nights to go on the work trip.

Now, I have been known to go out on occasion, and when traveling I have my Song Kick app on standby just in case. I pop the app open, and it turns out that Dave Mathews is playing 2 hours away in Tuscaloosa the next night. We buy tickets and go… Dave Mathews just happened to be one of his favorite artists, and I figured “why not?”

So, 26 hours later I find myself at an outdoor amphitheater watching Dave Mathews play 2 sets. 1 acoustic, and one electric. Right away I was stoked because Emma Lou Harris was there that night, and came out with Dave during both sets, beyond that, I knew basically nothing they played.

It was a “deep cut” tour for the hardcore fans (I’m paraphrasing here), but definitely not designed for the fair weather. Keep in mind I was at this show with a huge fanboy. He wanted to be in the mix on the floor as close as possible. I didn’t last down there long.

So I wandered. I met a few people, had some interesting conversations and just generally enjoyed the Alabama late spring night with Dave Mathews blaring in the background. I may have actually blogged about the Misfits while in attendance at the show (ok, I absolutely blogged about the Misfits while attending the show – here is the link: http://nerdyrocksnob.blogspot.com/2015/06/island-of-misfit-toys.html )

From there the story gets dumb. I dropped my wallet in the parking lot. I have been using a front pocket wallet for a few years now, and this one had a broken clip. I realized that I dropped it when we got back to Montgomery, and made my co-worker drive back to the venue (over 2 hours away) to fetch it. He reluctantly did so, and I found it. By the time we got back to Montgomery, it was well after 4AM.

Getting back to the song. It’s moving and lyrically perfect. On first listen I felt my chest sink. That’s a good sign (being a big damn softie most of the time and all). The third time I heard it, the song was played for me solo by a new (and already dear) friend, and her delivery broke my heart. The intimacy of the song cut right through me. Again, the theme of the song is a familiar place better left behind when interpreted a certain way.

There is a grace in life. Sometimes people have an impact beyond their intention, even if the impact is taking away grace for a moment. I've regrettably done it to others as well. Life isn't perfect, I hope to give more than I take daily. That's the target condition. 

Nago

80's is Crazies

Allow me to explain and indulge my crazy for a minute.

I struggle with 80's music, not because I don't love it, because there's too much to love.

Growing up, Heavy Metal was my muse. First show was Bon Jovi in 1986. I was 11. It all went down hill from there. Hair led to Thrash and eventually to a 41 year old man heavily spinning Allegaeon like he discovered something all his own. It's the curse of growing up Metal, its not too far away at any given time, and deservingly so.

BUT, as an child of the 80's, and a argumentatively intelligent adult, I appreciate much more of the decade than just the \,,/ obsession of my youth. From early Rap, Brit Pop, Alternative, Hardcore, Top 40, Dance Music, etc... The decade was pretty badass.

Now, as a guy who plays and sings, something I've always struggled with is finding a perfect cover song from the 80's. I would have loved to have found some magic bullet song for my band, Domicile, to cover, even though we definitely did "Ace of Spades" justice, I wanted to find that diamond in the rough song to blow people away. Case in point, years before Disturbed covered "Land of Confusion," a local Cleveland band did it during a sound check at a Domicile show they were booked to open, and we stood in awe. We also stood in fear of having to follow a band that good. I don't remember their name... Sorry (not sorry), I'm sure Louie has their name locked into his head. I digress.

Recently, I've been playing some acoustic stuff with very talented people here in Pittsburgh, and my mind is headed back to that same old "gotta find something special from the 80's" way of thinking. I have a few I'm messing with, but they are relative cheese meant to only entertain. "Stray Cat Strut," "8675309 Jenny" and possibly a few others are easy enough and probably crowd pleasers, but wouldn't it be cool to play something like "Mad World" to a group of people that never heard it before? Maybe get one of those percussion boxes, a looper pedal and figure out a rudimentary version of a New Order tune?

That's indulging my inner nerd. Let's get back to my crazy 80's:

First #1 song of the decade: KC and the Sunshine Band / Please Don't Go (Jan 5th 1980)

Last #1 song of the decade: Phil Collins / Another Day in Paradise (Dec 30th 1989)

Wow, that's pathetic. What a shite way to begin and end the decade. Let me pic another song from each year that better reps the street, yo:

#1 Song on my Birthday, 1980: Lady / Kenny Rogers

#1 Song on my Birthday, 1989: Blame it on the Rain / Milli Vanilli 

WORD UP!!! Much better. That is a good representation of a crazy time on this planet. 

A Jazz Singer, turned country, singing a song about being a "knight in shining armor" (cliche) to the object of his obsession. This song (penned by Lionel Richie) was so good and destined for greatness, Kenny released it off his "Greatest Hits" LP as a single that never did appear on any actual LP before it. 

AND

A fake band, stripped of Grammy's, ridiculed, tarred and feathered by the masses.

Yup, that's my '80's, and the end of this nonsensical blog. I'm going to nuke a Micro Magic Milkshake and cry over Heart's "Alone."

Forgive those who trespass against you, especially if its me.

Nago

Do you have a friend called "Drugs?"

I find amusement in the things that stick with me for no reason at all. 25 year old stuff that matters to no one. Please allow me to explain.

This evening, I sent my dear friend a picture of me flipping off a baseball player's water color portrait in the exercise room at the Holiday Inn Express in Raleigh, NC. I have no idea who the player is, and I mean no particular offense to him or his chosen profession. The pic was for my friend who hates baseball, and equally for me who has grown to dislike the game with authority. She laughed, mission accomplished.

With that in mind, I was reminded of a recent purchase.

One of the scourges of my short life is finding a baseball cap that works for me. I have been blessed with very few that I actually like, and the minute I get one that works, I lose it, leave it or wear it the hell out. Hence, the search is evergreen and continues year after bloody year.

I was at Target a few weeks ago, looking to replace a few items I lost in the (almost famous) chicken fire. Of course I stopped and looked at hats. Basically, unless I wanted to advertise Corona or Ford, it was No Bueno on the cool kid side of the French Walmart.

After stopping and looking at children's books (yeah, that's me), I noticed a Pittsburgh Fan Athletic Wear section close to the limited selection of automobile accessories. Of course they had hats. Of course I tried them on.

After much debate, I opted for the option I normally would never do. I bought the Pirates Hat. Why? It was an impulse and the best on the rack. I am not very fond of the mustard yellow the Pens have adopted, and most of the Steelers gear is marketed toward Affliction wanna-be city hicks.

Still, I questioned the purchase immediately. After a V8 head slap, I reminded myself of some half assed life advice someone had told me many years ago.

Back in the day, on Peach Street, across from Fred Biletnikoff Field, in the heart of Erie, PA, lived a local pot dealer named Sam. A 14 year old Nago (along with his click of Hessian ruffians) would walk this route each and every day to get between cribs. He lived around the corner from Shane, and just a few block from Roger.

I remember being in Sam's apartment on a few occasions, of course we were scoring weed. I guess he saw enough of us to let us be cool with him. He may have been a friend of Roger's brother, I don't remember, honestly, it doesn't really matter.

Sam used to walk around town in a "Just Say No" ball cap. No one seemed to bat an eye at this. At 14, my posse' understood irony on a basic level, so one afternoon, one of us asked him while passing on the street:

"Sam, what's with the hat, dude?"
Sam didn't bat an eye with his response: "It don't pay to advertise."

Drawing a conclusion on the pirates cap? I do live in Pittsburgh, and when in Rome, bathe in public bath houses.

That's it for tonight, kids. Love each other equally, and do things unexpected.

Nago.

Scooby-Dad and the Guitar Wax Box

I received a list of items deemed "non-restorable" by the company handling the fire clean-up. Some things are silly things, other things are less so, all of it is replaceable, so NBD.

However, on this list, buried 35 lines down on page 4, a mystery item appears: Guitar Wax Box. What in the seven rings is a guitar wax box?

Now, I'm aware guitar wax is a thing, and it's safe to assume it comes in a box of some sort, but I don't purchase Guitar Wax, my son has no clue what it is, and why would anyone outside an OCD professional waste time or money on such an item?

This had me perplexed, so I checked the Google box for more info: 

Plenty of Guitar Wax, right? Free Shipping!!!!!! Hell yes, but it comes in a bottle or can. Neither Mocha or I actually use any guitar wax, so why is it listed here on this sheet?

Now I'm bummed. I want my guitar wax box back so I can unravel this mystery. I'd very much like to say things like "Zoinks!" and pull the mask off the Guitar Wax Box to reveal Don Knots screwing with me. Maybe I just don't remember buying Guitar Wax, but if this is just a box the said wax product came in, then it’s safe to assume I bought it, took it out of the box, misplaced it, and left the box out to be non-restorable in a chicken fire? Too many random acts for me. Strange things are afoot at the Casa Nago.


In an unrelated story, yesterday, my buddy at work told me he was going to hire a camera crew to follow me around. He thinks the chicken fire episode would do well in his imaginary Nelson ratings. I had to remind him that the last time we hung out, he damn near lost an eyebrow from falling (Nestea Plunge) into the key hook board at the valet outside of Nakama. This was after the Budos Band tore up the Rex Theater in Pittsburgh last year. According to him, it was still my fault, because he was hanging around with me. That's right, the DD who ended up at UPMC getting a friend’s eyebrow sewn back on, after god knows how many pollutants said friend ingested, was to blame. I guess I do live an interesting life. Bring on the camera crew (but not all the time, I like to introvert on occasion).

Standing down.


Nago

La Cervesa Mas Fina

Last night, I attended an open mic locally here in Pittsburgh. It's always bitchin to see the level of talent that comes out and shares their eclectic skill set with friends and strangers. I dig the vibe. 

I got up on stage early and played a few originals. I also worked in a cover mash-up of Hungry Heart/Runaway Sue (they’re basically the same chord progression, and some other guys wanted to play along, so eff it). I'm getting a little more comfortable with playing acoustic live music, but I have a long way to go before I'm rad enough to feel like a boss.

Despite my insecurity, it's always a good time. I drank enough Pepsi to cause a diabetes crash. I had to cut off the bartender from re-filling me for the 6th time, which she found quite funny. I listened as the crowd drowned their sorrows, celebrated joys and bitched about problems. I can't say if anyone else stopped to just genuinely enjoy the vibe as I did, I certainly hope someone did. Beer was flowing in every direction but mine, and I felt the room get liquidly wiser. I almost regret leaving, but duty calls, and being a mess in the morning is not an option, even if it would be a sugar crash.

On my way out the door, the last guy I saw play was killing it with covers of Talking Heads, Dire Straits and Men at Work. I believe he pulled out a Wings cover also. Super cool stuff from a talented local guy.

Pittsburgh still has a '70's/80's vibe to it under the surface. A black drop ceiling with gold walls? Check. Pure Prairie League on rotation? Check. Donnie Iris? Check. It's a vibe I hope stays for a while longer. It's a city where they re-run nostalgic shows on PBS older than the local history covered in the documentary. A 35-year-old documentary on closing West View park? Do the math. I'm right.

So now I'm lying in my hotel (still camped out from the protein fire fiasco for at least another week) thinking about how good yesterday was. Great weather, work, friends and music. I want to bookmark it mentally. For a minute, I felt better than just existing. Ups and downs, good stuff.

Watching people do their thing tonight brought and old lyric back to the surface. It's a song about working, faith (or lack thereof), love and loss. It's a D, A, G song, and attempt at country from someone who knows nothing about country.

https://youtu.be/_xBg4IICNhY

Enjoy, or don't. 

Nago 

Silly Love Blogs...

I had a conversation last night regarding how crazy it is the Beatles still fascinate and inspire the hearts and minds of the masses. So much so, to this day, anyone can write a book, movie or article about anything related to the topic, and actually profit from it. It's been 46 years, and we still gobble up "new information." (Insert irony, it's a blog about the B...... Never mind).

I'm not going to tear down any of these works. I do consume with caution when the sources pull out 50 year old memories, especially during a cash grab. They have a tendency to rely heavily on refined opinion. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but a person can create 50 years of separation from the actual event while over emphasizing the importance of their own contribution. Call it human nature.

Writing about actual events, and trying to keep assumptions of the author out of it is difficult. In some cases it's impossible. I have heard about a published work on the moment John Lennon "discovered rock and roll." I have not read it, but assume it is a work of complete fiction. If I ever stumble across it, I'll read it. I reserve the right to "stick it to the man" by buying it at a second hand book store. Books like this may just deserve a "straight to paperback" download section (more irony?) on my Amazon Prime account. $0.98 purchase would motivate me to get it faster. 

Rock and Roll fan fiction isn't new. Most times, a fictional account of an event is better than the actual event. Last year in Las Vegas I saw the "Million Dollar Quartet" musical and loved it. I've always enjoyed the movie "Almost Famous," and I have several works of fan fiction on my own bookshelf. It's a fun way to pay tribute.

A romanticized version from a genuine place of admiration? What's wrong with that, I'd like to know, cause here I go, again....

That's me though. An odd duck leaning every direction but straight down the middle. I tend to look backward into nostalgia for some strange reason, and at the same time, I create grandiose plans for the future. Both burn me equally. I'm totally cool with that. Pessimistic attitudes bore me, even my own on occasion. 

This morning I'm spending a much needed (and long overdue) bonding moment with Paul McCartney's 1971 solo LP "Ram." I feel like Paul was in a similar mindset. The troubling past was sort of behind him, and the future was sort of in front of him. Not really a limbo moment, but not balls out living for the moment either. 

Here's a partial summary of the Wiki: 

1. Critics at the time hated it.
2. Legal BS surrounded him at the time
3. Credited to Paul and Linda
4. Lyrically and musically pissed off the other Beatles.

And so on. 

It's no Abby Road, but it's a good solo release completely on par with anything else of the day. There is a nice continuity to it. I wasn't there, but I can't imagine anyone on the street level hating it. It's not even remotely bad at all.

Maybe 45 years of musical hindsight skews any possibility of actually understanding what the issues were. I can cut through some of the crap and say that RAM isn't a Beatles record. Is it possible the critics expected Paul to run home and fix the issues? Like a musical equivalent to slut shaming? 

Who knows what the hell was going on in the moment except the moment itself? I am aware of the folklore surrounding the time, so no need to educate me on it. I wouldn't even trust Paul’s "PR" response today on the subject. He is very good at painting rosy pictures regarding tough questions. His hindsight is a positive force of nature.

It's enough for me to just enjoy his work on this October Sunday morning. It is a small moment in my life where the demons are a bit silent. The dark is not quite gone, and the light of day is not quite here. It looks to be overcast anyway and that's ok too. It's familiar ground.

Nago.

PS: sorry for 6 month break. I was reminded yesterday how much I love writing, and it motivated me. Thank you MAN.

 

Grandpap and those damn Beatles...

It's been a while since I've written about my Grandpap. I was reminded Sunday night about how opinionated he could be when he believed something to be right, and how funny he could be even when not trying.

In case you haven't followed this blog since its inception, I'll give a little background info: My Grandpap, Thomas J. Gannon JR was born in August of 1913. He lived to the ripe old age of 98. He was a very traditional Irish Catholic man and could be as stubborn as anyone I have ever met.

Not too long after my arrival on this earth, he was close to collecting his modest pension from the U.S. Postal Service and begin to enjoy retirement. Given the house on Oakwood St. had long since been paid for, he could afford himself a few perks in life. Every few years he would buy the latest Oldsmobile Cutlass. Tom always insisted he wanted a Cadillac, but in his mind he "settled" for an Olds.

He loved to drive. It was his freedom. He had been driving since the Great Depression, and as long as he had wheels, he was basically a happy old man.

I like to think it was apparent pretty early on in my life that I was going to be a music head. I'm sure Grandpap knew it. I think he got some enjoyment in introducing me to Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey and sometimes even the Rat Pack. He didn't stray much in his tastes musically, and the car stereo was always tuned in to some random Erie PA AM station playing "The Hits of Your Life." This channel was pretty progressive actually, they would spin "Puttin' on the Ritz" after a good turn of "Pennsylvania 6-5000."

One day fateful day in 1985, while riding shotgun with Grandpap on a weekend errand run, he changed the channel. He allowed 2 songs to play in their entirety on the JET top 40 radio station. Maybe it was an attempt to show his grandson how "with it" he was. Maybe it was a treat for the young music head. Who knows?

First song up was Mick Jagger's "Just Another Night." I was a little horrified sitting next to my elderly grandfather listening to Mick singing a plea for one more romp. To be fair, I was probably 10, but understood this was something I shouldn't be listening to with Mr. Gannon.

Next up: Animotion's "Obsession." That's right, another song that bluntly asks for sex. The horror of hearing the chorus sitting next to my 'pap is very memorable.

At this point, I'm sure the readers of this story are thinking "Mike, why are you so full of crap?" Look, as a writer, I take creative freedoms from time to time, but I really can't make this shit up.

Grandpap let the song finish, then turned off the radio. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke: "Everything was fine until those damn Beatles came along."

He was right.

I miss you G. I hope you're enjoying your rest.

Nago

Were the Oscars on or something?

The Oscars came and went, and the world moves on to the next thing to be mad about. I didn't watch the show. I am, however, watching the internet go guano loco regarding Leo's global warming speech. Nice job DiCaprio. Educate the masses (insert sarcasm). Not to say I don't think global warming is a thing, but I'm typing this on an airplane trip from Pittsburgh to Alabama. 

There is the rub. We live in a world where making a big change is uncomfortable and expensive. Most of us are just struggling to survive. I am working, and won't quit my job (neither will Leo, quite frankly) to curve global warming.

I am an optimist, however. I do believe that small changes make a large difference in our lives, and the betterment of this planet. I also believe the next generation will hold new solutions we haven't fathomed yet.

Do you think 100+ years ago anyone besides Nicola Tesla believed information could travel great distances without wires? He could not predict the way it changed us. People stay connected, stay disconnected, fall in love and cheat with a few taps on a screen. Who saw that coming even 20 years ago?

That's not to say we shouldn't be responsible humans about safeguarding the world we live in. I've never seen anyone have a meltdown because they couldn't find a recycle bin, but I have seen people lecture others for not recycling. The stewardess on this flight just announced "We here at Southwest do recycle," and that's a good thing. Almost makes me feel better about the pollution spewing form of mass transit I choose to use today.

What is the alternative? Driving there? That seems like a huge waste. Train? Diesel engines and long trip times aren't very practicle either. The truth is: I have no idea how to navigate the world I live in other than guzzle petrol and heat up the planet.

Most people are the same as me. We aren't formally educated in the science, our leaders profit from not doing anything, and when they do, entire communities are laid to waste because of regulations and global outsourcing. Plants and factories close forcing people to just simply survive.

As a society, we have road blocks to achieving enlightenment. I hear a lot about the kind of world we are leaving behind for our children. Our grandparents probably didn't focus on it as much as we do, but it is all part of the progression of the human race. We rely heavily on the tools available to us. You don't drive nails with a butter knife, you use a hammer. If you're like me, a cheap hammer will do just fine. After all, I'm not building a house. I have no idea the conditions of the factory my cheap hammer was manufactured in, or the location of said factory. It was the cheap option at Home Depot. It looked cool. It gets the job done.

We are a society obsessed with cool, flashy things. We want a "nice car." We want a "nice house." Both of which are powered by fossil fuels. If it's cold, you kick up the heat, and if you are going to the store, you drive.

Even the television we watch the stupid Oscars on is made up of parts from a foreign factory and is powered by electricity generated by Coal, Gas or Bio Fuels. 

So if Leo flys to St Bart's on a private jet, takes a stretch limo to the "Model of the Week" store, entertains his Model on his private Yaht and decks himself out in diamonds mined using child slave labor, it's just the tools available to him, and I'm not mad...

I do wish he would not preach however. A little "shut the hell up" is in order. Go on Internet, be mad at Mr. Dicaprio. He seems to forget the people that pay hard earned money to see him "suffer" for his art do not have the luxury to follow the pretentious.

My podium: Walk some, and for Christ sake people, recycle. It's the little things. You have control over that.

Nago

Old Guy Drama III. Anselmo v Flynn (v Bach) (v Rita)

Last week, the Metal community became Springer.

I have been avoiding saying anything about the stupid comments made by Anselmo at Dimebash. His words and actions offended me, as did his appearance and lack of professionalism. To see a grown ass man act out in such blatant stupidity is just sad. I won't post the YouTube link here.

Phil is not the elder statesmen of his generation. He could have been, but his ego and trashy demeanor prevent him from being anything more than a beer gutted, blown voice, has-been, one generation removed from Deliverance. 

We all say (and do) dumb shit from time to time, but Nazi symbolism and hate speech on a stage at a charity benefit? Monumental atomic mitt. Phil deserves to be severely beaten (in the press).

Enter the windbag known as Rob Flynn, the vocalist of Machine Head. Thanks for giving us 11 minutes of justification hate babble on youtube. I felt like I was listening to my Grandpap tell me why water is wet. Of course we are all outraged, Rob. Go sing a song.

Enter Rita, who's only claim to fame is dating Darrell Abbott, (AKA, the woman Dimebag wouldn't marry). Rita opens her lips about Rob being on a soapbox and says (in a not-so eloquent way) that Rob was just as bad as Anselmo. Thanks for the weigh in, Rita. Who in the hell are you again? Did she just name drop Doug Pinnick? Wow.

Enter Sebastian Bach. Seriously? Does anyone give an actual damn about what Seb thinks about it? He believes we all should be more outraged because he is outraged. Like, yeah dude, far out.

Enter every other d-list celebrity opinion and click bait headline. Yawn.

Rob, Seb and anyone else who feels the need to tell us why Phil is a racist, we already know... Save your breath. His actions speak louder than your words.  

The saddest part is still the arrogance and ignorance of Anselmo's actions, without a doubt. He is owning it, but to say the "mighty hath fallen" is an understatement. The rest is just fun to watch. What a bunch of self absorbed clowns. Every one of them. 

According to (the hugely unreliable) celebrity net worth, Phil is still worth around 8 million USD. Maybe some high profile charity work is in order? Press pictures of Phil cleaning oil soaked seagulls next to Harry Connick JR on some rocky beach in NOLA? He is going to need some good PR and this will still haunt him forever. 

We should always demand more from our celebrities. We should hold them to a high standard. They chose to be in a position of higher profile, and with that comes some social responsibility. We pay them to entertain us. In this case, "me too" mud slinging is all we are getting at best, and bigotry at it's worst. I say to them all: "go home, you're drunk."

Thus concludes my own self absorbed babble for this early morning. My insomnia descends the shades of night, and leaves me in a morning mood. Please enjoy some Greig:

Nago

Nostalgia in Musica

As a fan of many styles of music, I often lose countless hours searching for material that moves me. It could be a blistering metal jam, a classical score, a hip-hop beat or a power ballad. Regardless of the genre, music with an "it" appeal tends to be hooky and palatable for me.

In my taste, more often than not, it has to be smart also. You will never watch me Whip or Nea Nea. I'm just not built for it, and have no interest in the dumbing down of culture. I know I am in the minority, and I'm fine with it. No bueno.

This past week I have been listening to a large amount of nostalgic (for me) music. In particular, honest music. I found some new favorites along the journey.

Let me start with a song that tears at my artist soul. It's a bit cliche, but I can listen to Thunder Road on repeat fortnightly. The poetry of the lyric, in its simplistic honesty, is a guilty pleasure. I relate to the idea of escapism, having escaped a few times in my own life story.

From there I am drawn to the Dawes song "All Your Favorite Bands." I get weepy when I hear it. I find myself being proud of strangers for writing such a simple, yet powerful message of hope. It's a lyric I wish I would have written.

I absolutely love that music can still have some effect on me. At 41, I am a little less connected to the "flavor of the month" music, and can cut straight through to what I enjoy. Trying to be cool carries little weight these days. It's liberating not caring what anyone thinks about my tastes.

Which brings me to Big Wreck. My son loves this band as much as I do (more actually). Musically, the band is on another level. Lyrically, the band is metaphorically brilliant. "Albatross" is a song I carry with me daily. It's relate-able to my life, and how I feel most days. It's a classic "carry that weight" lyric. "It's OK, and I'm alright." Muy Bueno.

I'm getting a little off track here. However, if Big Wreck is amazing due to musicianship and traditional metaphor, Nahko and Medicine for the People are great for their musicianship and nontraditional metaphor. I was turned on to them by a friend I hold dear, even though we don't speak anymore. This song (and my friend) taught me about my ego, and how I really didn't understand it at all.

"Wash it Away" reminds me of the 90's. It has hints of Rusted Root minus the over the top delivery.

So concludes my gospel for this amazing Friday night. Stay safe. Love one another equally. Be a man among men, a women among women, be a guardian. I leave you with a song I wrote: Cold.

Nago

Glenn Frey, an interesting guy.

The Stars keep falling. It shouldn't come as a surprise, everyone dies. Time is the great equalizer.

I can't write anything about Glenn that is new news. Anyone who knows the Eagles (or at very least, has seen the 3 hour long documentary) knows about Glenn's legacy. I'm not even really a huge Eagles fan. Maybe I was at one point, but it was a right of passage thing versus actual lifelong fandom. I tend to gear my interests toward the underdog (Don Felder is my favorite Eagle), and the Eagles are not in any way underdogs.

So how do I write a tribute to a man who needs no introduction? The only way I know how I guess. With a story about an experience I had listening to the Eagles.

I was 2 when Hotel California was released. My earliest memories of music did not include Album Rock. Mom dug Disco. I don't remember Hotel California being on in the background at any point of my early childhood. My first memory of the song was 9 years (or so) later, watching the live video on MTV's Closet Classics.

I can't speak for modern 11 year old kids today, but in 1986, a video from 1977 might as well been from 1950. These guys looked ancient to me then.

The song speaks for itself. However, the coolest part of the song/video was Don Felder and Joe Walsh dueling leads in the last act. They looked to be having a blast and made a beautiful racket.

Being a bit nerdy even then, I knew the "You Belong to the City" guy was strumming an acoustic on the stage next to the other guys. It peaked my interest. I remember thinking "How do you go from a "Hotel California" dude to "Smugglers Blues" narc?"

This is in no way a diss on Glenn's solo work. My frontal lobe was still very detached at the time, and an underdeveloped brain in an over-analytical stage goes weird places. Yngwie Malmsteen was my favorite artist back then, so forgive me.

Glenn's career was full of twists. From background vocals on a Bob Seger tune, to Miami Vice, with a stop off to be a founding member of the Eagles machine, is pretty impressive. Dude made a boatload of cash and had a huge impact on this crazy American culture, how many people can say that? 

I had the Eagles song "Take it Easy" on my mind tonight. I tend to let the sound of my own wheels make me crazy. It's good advice (taking it easy). 

Glenn, I hope you have as much impact in the next life as you did here. Godspeed and thank you.

Nago

Slashing through the boundaries.

As according to Eddie Trunk, the Guns N'Roses camp has not officially called the upcoming shows with Slash and Duff a "reunion." He's absolutely right. It's not. In order for a true reunion to happen, Axl would have to make concessions to the other guys, right? Possibly even give up some control? Also, with the exclusion of Izzy or Steven, it's absolutely not a reunion.

Slash is once again a hired gun. He joined GN'R as a guitar player and is on Axl's payroll. I'm sure the tight lipped approach from all parties is a attempt to avoid a potential catastrophic scenario if things don't work out. I am equally sure he will be well compensated for his involvement.

In years past, a more opinionated Nago called Axl many a bad name. This is my public apology. I have no idea the amount of pressure he is under, or the amount of work it takes (and took) to keep the GN'R machine running for 20 years without the players that made the band great to begin with. No pressure there at all, right?

The eventual breakup of the last of the original lineup has been well documented. Slash was vocal about the bad vibes in the band and Axl's need to have control. In defense of Axl, can you imagine having to see your iconic partner suffering the dregs of alcoholism while trying to maintain a career? As fans, the collective opinion says Axl is a control freak. Maybe so, but Guns N' Roses survived the last 20 years somehow. The CEO of the brand kept the train a-rolling. If ego is the conductor, so be it.

Many fans (myself included) took serious issue with Axl's solo band called GN'R. Why?

If you're my age and grew up in a world that included the original Guns N' Roses, I don't need to explain any further. The following is for those that weren't there (physically or spiritually).

The Metal community was drenched in Glam. Poison and Def Leppard dominated the MTV generation. Thrash bands were the underground and top 40 radio made everyone soft and glossy. Hip-Hop was not dangerous at all yet. Even traditionally volatile bands from the '70's pumped out goofy rubbish (Dude Looks Like A Lady?) to the hairspray masses.

On the surface, 1987 looked like a fun time. It was all about the party. Pre-Internet, no cell phones, all frills. Bullies still bullied, and awards were given for actual achievement. If you took a knife to school it ended up in the Principals desk drawer, not the police station. Underage drinking got you a ride home in a cop car, not always a trip to court, and a "keg party" invite was brag worthy.

In my neck of the woods, guys had long hair and girls wore theirs high above their forehead. We all looked ridiculous. Our televisions tuned in to Alf, Cheers, Family Ties, Growing Pains and McGuyver. Again, all frills with not much substance. By the summer of 1988 pop culture needed a cleanse. Not the slow build up like the Thrash movement. Immediate culture colon cleansing.

Enter "Appetite for Destruction." It was a Hard Rock/Heavy Metal LP, but more Aerosmith than Van Halen. I can honestly say GN'R's first major label album is probably a point of source material I have heard more than any other in this crazy life of mine. Originally because it was everywhere: on every tape deck, turn table and television I walked past for 2 years straight. I know every note and nuance of that LP by heart. I've recently heard criticism regarding the piss poor timing of the LP. I'm nerdy, but not nerdy enough to actually set up a metronome to test the drummers time keeping ability. It's a perfect album. It took it a year to get over, but went on to sell over 30 Million copies.

For the next few years, musically GN'R could do no wrong, but these guys were train wrecks in their personal lives. They fought, swore on live TV, used controversial lyrical content and reminded the world what a Bad Boy really was. They smoked, drank, took drugs and dressed like glam rock hobo thugs. 

Their stock rose high enough to be considered the biggest band in the world. Even after achieving legendary status, the controversy got worse. Inciting riots, pissing off fans, media verbal wars, physical confrontations with other musicians and insane behavior adding fuel to the nuclear bomb called Guns N' Roses.

There was a beauty in their madness. "Sweet Child of Mine" is one of the greatest rock recordings of all time. It's become a "Free Bird" over the course of the ages. It's still universally loved almost 30 years later.

OK, Enough with the generic "Behind the Music" chatter. They gave a type of gift to the world can't be understated. They surpassed all of their peers coming out of the LA Glam scene. They bridged gaps in music which needed bridged. They wrote their legacy on their own terms. It was a wonderful period in time to be a Rock fan.

"November Rain" holds a very large piece of my memory. It's a soundtrack to one of my most favorite periods of my young life. It's a time machine for me. We all have those songs that take us back to better times. "November Rain" makes me a 17 year old kid on a motorcycle in the rain, free, with young heart believing in something bigger than himself.

So even if this is not an official "reunion," it matters. I'd like to think that the last 20 years of shit throwing was all planned out leading up to this ginormous payday for the 3 guys taking the stage at Coachella. Wouldn't it be great if Slash, Axl, Duff and the boys all walked into MTV and exclaimed "GOT YA!!!!, We've been bro's the entire time, here's 3 LP's we recorded over the years!" As much as I'd love to think someone out there is Kaufman enough to pull off a 20 year joke (Dumb and Dumber 2?) none of them are smart funny. Smart? Sure. Funny? Absolutely! Not smart funny though.

It's still Axl's band. Slash and Duff are well paid, legacy players with name recognition. It adds to the nostalgic vibe of the band today. The thrill of seeing Axl and Slash together on a stage again reminds me of the ill fated Kiss reunion of the mid 90's, or maybe the Eagles on the "Hell Freezes Over Tour." It will be interesting to see what they name this Tour if it actually gets to that point.

People forgive each other. Time heals. It's a wonderful thing when high profile enemies make up. Even Waters and Gilmore shared a stage together after years of bashing each other. Over the last couple of years, Slash has been very complimentary toward Axl, and even Axl has loosened up. I agree with Slash, burying the hatchet was probably long overdue.

My questions:

• Where's Izzy?
• Does this mean The Replacements are getting back together?
• Will Axl buy a gold chain today (since he is all mind-changie and everything)?

One last note and I'm off this self serving rant: Izzy Stradlin played a huge part in the magic. After his departure, the band fell apart creatively. Here's some Ju Ju Hounds to make your day better:

Nago

Middle age gone wild.

In April of 2015, I wrote a blog calling out the Skid Row replacement singers. The root of it questioned why the band and Sebastian Bach won't reunite.

http://nerdyrocksnob.blogspot.com/2015/04/who-in-actual-f-is-jonny-solinger.html

However, I made a rookie mistake. Two actually. I blatantly insulted the post-Bach singers, and I posted the blog to a popular Heavy Metal fan site.

The result was a backlash. I had haters telling me I was retarded. I had a huge fan of the (then) new singer tell me I was wrong in questioning the relevance of his beloved icon. I even got bashed by a guy that had Stonehenge as his profile background pic (can't make this stuff up) calling me a Monkey or some such thing. He was butt-hurt about my statement "they are leaving Motley Crüe money on the table." Which I still believe.

It's my own fault. I built up the original line-up by tearing down the (then) current line-up, and floated it out there in the worst forum possible. The backlash was Karma 101.

I should apologize, I'd love to say Skid Row proved me wrong. But they didn't, so I won't.

After 8 months in the band, Tony Harnell, (the home wrecker that forced the other irrelevant replacement singer, Jonny Solinger out) quit Skid Row.

Skid Row should be playing sheds in the summer, theaters in the winter and ushering in a new genre of baby bands that pay homage to them. Sebastian Bach is the voice of Skid Row, Skid Row is muse of Sebastian Bach. The sum is greater than the parts.

So... let me look into my crystal ball once again. A Bach less Skid Row will hire some other singer, and put out a bullshit press release regarding destiny and how they've never sounded better. They'll state musical differences and wish Tony the best. They will fill their live commitments and sludge along playing the Bobby Blotzer's Ratt Experience circut, headlining half filled 300 capacity standing room clubs above Bang Tango.

OR

Get Bach back and get on the GnR Tour.

Given the history, I'd say the former, but I'm hopeful.

To my haters from 8 months ago, I'm smiling today. Go back to Stonehenge, asshat.

I leave you with one of my all time favorite Sebastian Bach quotes. After a failed 2014 attempt to get his former band to reunite with him, Bach made the following statement to the press regarding the reason Skid Row wouldn't play nice: "Nah, we're playing a bowling alley. We're happy. We don't care."

Nago

Bowie...

It's sad. I was just saying the other day how I didn't always understand Bowie. It was in response to seeing his new video, and like everyone else, had no idea he was leaving this earth.

I have had a few days to reflect on it, and even though I didn't always understand his art, the truth is some of his art has had a profound effect on me. I heard "Heroes" today, and got all choked up. It's a strange sensation when a song has that effect. It took me back to a different Mike Nagorsky, a more innocent version of myself, and just like that I was in a moment, in 1998, still in my hometown, still seeing the world through a young man's eyes. Unaware of the hard years ahead.

I came to a realization that an artist like Bowie can cause a ripple effect not completely understood until its gone. True art can absolutely sneak up on you and cause an unexpected emotion, much like music can transport you to another place and time when you least expect it..


Let's start from the beginning.

I first became aware of David Bowie at the age of 8 in 1983. "Let's Dance" was in heavy rotation on both the radio and MTV. It wasn't exactly my favorite song back then, but hindsight tells me that it was perfect for it's day. It fit so well in with the radio of that day I lump it in with other pieces from the era like Naked Eyes "Always Something There to Remind Me" and Eddie Grant's "Electric Avenue" as a soundtrack of sorts to a period of my life.

We lived on Baur Ave in Erie, PA at the time. It was the projects, but as far as projects go, it was decent living, low cost, safe and clean. I cannot vouch for them today, but back then they were probably as the government intended when the idea of a "project" first came up. I remember getting punched in the face by Michael Freed at one point, but basically they weren't bad. I digress.

My sisters and I found a bit of freedom in the Radio. In my faded memory, it was always on. One memory about the time that stands out: I was missing a lampshade on a lamp in my bedroom, and the glow of an unshaded light bulb hurt my eyes. I needed to do something. My eight year old brain got to work, and decided a pair of tighty-whitey Frooties would be a good solution to the problem. 15 minutes later, the underwear placed directly on the light bulb was smoldering and filling our home up with thick white smoke. I'm not positive, but I think "Let's Dance" was playing in the back-round while my step father flipped the hell out. Good times.

From there Bowie seemed to always be around. Weird videos, crazy outfits and a certain stylistic flare deemed completely uncool to a young headbanger in the 1980's.

One day however, David Bowie became very cool to me. My Mother, who in the years between 1983 and 1989 became a local Wedding DJ, received a promotional copy of a hugely underrated band called "Tin Machine." She would occasionally throw me copies of the more obscure or heavy music she knew she would never play. By 1989, my headbanger seeds were well sown, but "Tin Machine" threw off my equilibrium. This was Bowie?

Granted, there is nothing Metal about Tin Machine, but by 1989 I had been exposed to enough Punk, Album Rock and other genre's to understand Tin Machine was special. In a way, they were ahead of Grunge by a few years (with all due respect to Pixies).

The same month of 1989 saw the launch of Rock Radio into the Erie PA market. Rocket 101 became a mainstay in cars, shops and houses across Erie County. The format was fresh (to us) and catered to the blue collar crowd having grown up on the likes of 70's album rock. In it's regular rotation were "Space Oddity," "Rebel Rebel" and early Ziggy Stardust classics. Also included was Mott the Hoople's song "All the Young Dudes" which (of course) was penned by Bowie. It became over exposure eventually, but we all became (and still become) students of Bowie because of Rock Radio formats.

A few years later, Nirvana gave us their haunting rendition of 1970's "The Man Who Sold the World." It's definitely a favorite of mine as it's burned into my DNA now. I prefer the Nirvana version, but its a spot on acoustic nod to the original.

This brings me to my former favorite Bowie moment. In the early 2000's, I became a HUGE Queen fan. I consumed their greatest hits catalog with a hunger. Freddy is still my favorite vocalist of all time. However, their shining moment for me is the accident which became "Under Pressure."  This song is the true measure of David Bowie as a musician. To be able to not only hold a candle to the greatest rock vocalist to ever have lived, but to outshine him by being unafraid to shine for the sake of the song? That's a form of brilliance my friends. It still gives me chills:

To the end of this tribute to the fallen, I leave this Blog with a message of hope penned by David. This song truly touched me today, and I will forever hold it close for that reason. The world is better for having known you for a brief period. Safe Journey and Godspeed.

Nago

100th (sort of) Blog!

4 years and 100 Blogs later...

I look back at my own writing with a little humility. In the beginning, I sucked with words much worse than I do today. Now I am better, but still struggle with editing like a child learning how to ride a bike.

I used to spend countless hours researching like I was writing a thesis. I've learned over time Blogs write themselves, and the key to it is honesty. I still fact check, but this hobby is more to do with how I perceive the world versus how the world perceives my words.

It's a labor of love. I'm always surprised when people actually read my words. Especially when I dive into the obscure. 

I started this Blog off with a (since removed) VH article on how I prefer Sammy. I re-visited that topic later with less sarcasm, but it was VH that got me rolling. I then dove into KISS, and it was off to the races. I had caught the bug. 

Over the last 4 years, I have taken a few breaks. Some longer than others. It was those footprint moments when I needed carried, and couldn't focus much energy into creativity. We all have times when surviving is all we can do to survive. My breaks were due, I can assure you.

I also have many works that were fully developed, edited and ready. Unfortunately, after reading I decided for one reason or another not to post them. If the count seems off, there is the reason. I'm celebrating anyway. 100 times I dove into my inner nerd for your reading pleasure.

100 is a significant number. Ponder this rubbish: 

• 100 days is around how long it takes to develop a habit, and approximately how log it takes to break one as well. 

• 100 miles will take the average person 33-1/2 hours to walk without stopping.

• Adults have a resting heart beat of around 100 beats per minute.

• The Karman Line lies at an altitude of 100 Kilometers above Sea Level, and represents the boundary between Earths atmosphere and outer space.

• In the summer of 1972, Vicki Lawrence's "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia" debuted at #100 on the Billboard Charts. It reached #1 in April of the following year.

• In Roman times, a unit of 100 soldiers was called a Century.

• Sea Turtles can live 100 years or more.

• 100 pennies cost $1.70 to manufacture.

• 100 Pesos = $5.586 USD Today

• According to Urban Dictionary, a Centurion is a game where the player takes 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes. 

• 1 medium Banana contains about 100 Calories.

• On September 14th, 2011, Wichita Falls TX became the first Texas city to log 100 days of 100+ Degree weather.

• 100 years ago, the world was in the dregs of The Great War (WWI) which baptized the modern world in blood. 20 million souls were lost over 4 years. Today we barely even acknowledge it. It's overlooked due to the fanfare of WWII. The Great War ended after the final push from the Allies (The Hundred Days Offensive).

In honor of this milestone (and because I am a Billy Idol fan), I leave you with the following song by Generation X. Thank you for reading so far. Here's to 100 more.