Sadly, Beat Union were stranded in Canada last week because some asshole had stolen their van and trailer.
Fortunately, a few days and a cop chase later, the cops found and returned their van.
Cop dog puts Brit band back on the road
Missing from the trailer were two passports, a motor scooter, a few cameras and a guitar.
Thieves replaced those items with used condom wrappers and crack pipes, Warsop said.
Yes, the situation sucks... But my god, if that's not funny in a totally absurd way at a time like this (when things could be MUCH worse), then I don't know what is.
In other news, my favorite band, Punchline, are releasing their new record in less than 2 weeks. I'm ECSTATIC and can't wait for the pre-order to show up.
Go check them out, and go order a copy for yourself!!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
What kind of lifestyle is this when it's killing me and you?
You're working for the man now,
You're working day and night.
You left school with such high hopes,
They said your future looked so bright.
University if over,
The weekdays are a coma,
And then you can't stay sober.
There must be more to life.
It's hard to breathe,
Another loan on your own.
It's a machine, the Pressure Zone, Pressure Zone.
Wheels keep on turning,
You owe more than you're earning,
But money keeps on burning.
Your dreams go up in flames.
Don't say you're ready to explode.
I know you're in the Pressure Zone.
You know you're not alone.
We can't afford a future,
There's no credit for me and you.
Just keep your nose pressed to the grindstone,
There's nothing you can do!
Just go about your business,
And keep on paying interest.
What kind of lifestyle is this when it's killing me and you?
Don't say you're ready to explode.
I know you're in The Pressure Zone.
You know you're not alone.
It's alright, you're not alone.
Do you feel alright? The Pressure Zone...
It's alright, you're not alone.
Do you feel alright? The Pressure Zone...
Don't say you're ready to explode.
Don't say it, don't tell me. Let it go!
I know you're in the Pressure Zone.
You know you're not alone.
You're working day and night.
You left school with such high hopes,
They said your future looked so bright.
University if over,
The weekdays are a coma,
And then you can't stay sober.
There must be more to life.
It's hard to breathe,
Another loan on your own.
It's a machine, the Pressure Zone, Pressure Zone.
Wheels keep on turning,
You owe more than you're earning,
But money keeps on burning.
Your dreams go up in flames.
Don't say you're ready to explode.
I know you're in the Pressure Zone.
You know you're not alone.
We can't afford a future,
There's no credit for me and you.
Just keep your nose pressed to the grindstone,
There's nothing you can do!
Just go about your business,
And keep on paying interest.
What kind of lifestyle is this when it's killing me and you?
Don't say you're ready to explode.
I know you're in The Pressure Zone.
You know you're not alone.
It's alright, you're not alone.
Do you feel alright? The Pressure Zone...
It's alright, you're not alone.
Do you feel alright? The Pressure Zone...
Don't say you're ready to explode.
Don't say it, don't tell me. Let it go!
I know you're in the Pressure Zone.
You know you're not alone.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
She is the one he wants, but still she won't be pleased...
Ladies and gentlemen, the advice I stood by for years...
And have, within the past few years, made too many exceptions to. ::sigh::
It's funny how, a few years ago, I could honestly say I wasn't attracted to guys in bands. It wasn't about that for me. It's just about the music, it's always been about the music.
But when your life suddenly becomes JUST music. When you're living and breathing it, and 95% of your near and distant social circle is tied to connections you've made with others over music, it's inevitable.
He's entirely too right. Why won't my heart accept that when my brain knows it?
Why do I keep falling for guys who live a world away, or are permanently on tour?
Oh yeah. That's right.
Because I don't know anything else, anymore. Because that's my world now and as weird as it is for 99% of the population of this planet, it's NORMAL for me.
It's normal for me that my friends are all covered in tattoos.
It's normal for me that I feel more comfortable at a packed in show, screaming my lungs out and having 37 other peoples' sweat on me than I do at any bar.
It's normal for me that guys in bands give THE best hugs ever, even when they're drenched in their own sweat after a set.
And it's normal for me that I only see my closest friends these days, the people I relate to more than the people I see every day, once every few months if I'm lucky.
It has nothing to do with sex. It has everything to do with where I spend my nights out, where I still prefer to be sober.
::sigh::
Why You Shouldn't Date A Musician
Ladies, there are a million well-known reasons why you shouldn't date a musician. We're self-obsessed, we're flaky, we're hot-tempered, we're unreliable, and we're always broke, so you'll have to pay for everything. We're imperious, impenetrable, and impractical, and, let's face it ? we ain't usually the cleanest of folk. Nonetheless, you keep falling for us. The only reason I can surmise is this: our faults are of exactly the type that get mistaken for virtues in the confusing tumult of love. Our brand of crazy is precisely the kind that can appear sexy under the weird lights of romance.
Let's say you meet a cute guy, for instance. He's a little cocky, but you say you like some confidence in a man. He's a bit scatterbrained, but you think of it as creative. He's manic, but you call it passion. Perhaps he could shampoo a little more often; you say you like'em on the wild side. These charitable evaluations are the currency of love ? they're how you're supposed to feel when you're falling for someone ? but ladies, I'm warning you: you've got to stay away from the musicians.
The real reason we're unlovable has nothing to do with our big mouths or big egos. In fact, it's not a matter of emotional compatibility at all; it's a simple matter of practicality. We want precisely what you do not. You want a companion; we want to take our guitars and disappear into the gaping maw of the country. You want someone to eat meals with, someone to tell jokes to, someone to kiss. We want to be in a van somewhere between Minneapolis and Seattle, hopped up on Red Bull at four in the morning and speeding like hell to make it to the club by tomorrow afternoon. We run on endless newness, endless mania, and endless travel.
But wait, you say. The particular musician you are currently butterfly-stomached about doesn't go on tour; he's in high school, and his band has never played anything but house parties. He likes languid Sunday afternoons together even more than you do, and he's the one who's always perched and waiting at your locker. Rock n' roll is just something he does for fun. Ladies, don't be fooled! A shark in a cage is still a shark! The young Jeckyl of your fancy may not know the Hyde inside him, but it's there nonetheless.
The longer you spend with a musician, the more you will come to know the anxious discontentment at his core. If you are lucky, he will have great success, be swept off into the tempest of the music industry, and he will never bother you again. In most cases, though, you will find your heart tied to someone who is terminally unsatisfied ? someone who cannot ever get what he wants from the world. He will toil endlessly and fruitlessly at song after song, idea after idea, show after show. The only thing that could possibly fulfill him is the same success that would ruin your relationship. And even then, he would want more. Like I said, he wants exactly what you do not.
On top of it all, you're going to have lie to him, and maybe even to yourself. You'll have to tell him his band is good. You and I both know it's not true. Do you really want a boyfriend you have to lie to?
Listen, I know that creative people are sexy, and I know it's easy to fall for people with talent. But ladies, there are plenty of talented writers and engineers and architects out there. I'm telling you, for your own good: stay away from the musicians.
--Damian Kulash of OK Go, courtesy of ElleGirl Magazine
(I'm still a biology nerd at heart. I need to date a science teacher or something.)
And have, within the past few years, made too many exceptions to. ::sigh::
It's funny how, a few years ago, I could honestly say I wasn't attracted to guys in bands. It wasn't about that for me. It's just about the music, it's always been about the music.
But when your life suddenly becomes JUST music. When you're living and breathing it, and 95% of your near and distant social circle is tied to connections you've made with others over music, it's inevitable.
He's entirely too right. Why won't my heart accept that when my brain knows it?
Why do I keep falling for guys who live a world away, or are permanently on tour?
Oh yeah. That's right.
Because I don't know anything else, anymore. Because that's my world now and as weird as it is for 99% of the population of this planet, it's NORMAL for me.
It's normal for me that my friends are all covered in tattoos.
It's normal for me that I feel more comfortable at a packed in show, screaming my lungs out and having 37 other peoples' sweat on me than I do at any bar.
It's normal for me that guys in bands give THE best hugs ever, even when they're drenched in their own sweat after a set.
And it's normal for me that I only see my closest friends these days, the people I relate to more than the people I see every day, once every few months if I'm lucky.
It has nothing to do with sex. It has everything to do with where I spend my nights out, where I still prefer to be sober.
::sigh::
Why You Shouldn't Date A Musician
Ladies, there are a million well-known reasons why you shouldn't date a musician. We're self-obsessed, we're flaky, we're hot-tempered, we're unreliable, and we're always broke, so you'll have to pay for everything. We're imperious, impenetrable, and impractical, and, let's face it ? we ain't usually the cleanest of folk. Nonetheless, you keep falling for us. The only reason I can surmise is this: our faults are of exactly the type that get mistaken for virtues in the confusing tumult of love. Our brand of crazy is precisely the kind that can appear sexy under the weird lights of romance.
Let's say you meet a cute guy, for instance. He's a little cocky, but you say you like some confidence in a man. He's a bit scatterbrained, but you think of it as creative. He's manic, but you call it passion. Perhaps he could shampoo a little more often; you say you like'em on the wild side. These charitable evaluations are the currency of love ? they're how you're supposed to feel when you're falling for someone ? but ladies, I'm warning you: you've got to stay away from the musicians.
The real reason we're unlovable has nothing to do with our big mouths or big egos. In fact, it's not a matter of emotional compatibility at all; it's a simple matter of practicality. We want precisely what you do not. You want a companion; we want to take our guitars and disappear into the gaping maw of the country. You want someone to eat meals with, someone to tell jokes to, someone to kiss. We want to be in a van somewhere between Minneapolis and Seattle, hopped up on Red Bull at four in the morning and speeding like hell to make it to the club by tomorrow afternoon. We run on endless newness, endless mania, and endless travel.
But wait, you say. The particular musician you are currently butterfly-stomached about doesn't go on tour; he's in high school, and his band has never played anything but house parties. He likes languid Sunday afternoons together even more than you do, and he's the one who's always perched and waiting at your locker. Rock n' roll is just something he does for fun. Ladies, don't be fooled! A shark in a cage is still a shark! The young Jeckyl of your fancy may not know the Hyde inside him, but it's there nonetheless.
The longer you spend with a musician, the more you will come to know the anxious discontentment at his core. If you are lucky, he will have great success, be swept off into the tempest of the music industry, and he will never bother you again. In most cases, though, you will find your heart tied to someone who is terminally unsatisfied ? someone who cannot ever get what he wants from the world. He will toil endlessly and fruitlessly at song after song, idea after idea, show after show. The only thing that could possibly fulfill him is the same success that would ruin your relationship. And even then, he would want more. Like I said, he wants exactly what you do not.
On top of it all, you're going to have lie to him, and maybe even to yourself. You'll have to tell him his band is good. You and I both know it's not true. Do you really want a boyfriend you have to lie to?
Listen, I know that creative people are sexy, and I know it's easy to fall for people with talent. But ladies, there are plenty of talented writers and engineers and architects out there. I'm telling you, for your own good: stay away from the musicians.
--Damian Kulash of OK Go, courtesy of ElleGirl Magazine
(I'm still a biology nerd at heart. I need to date a science teacher or something.)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
We don't need another love song.
Where did the meaning and message go in the music?
When did bands stop caring about what’s going on in the world around them and when did the fans forget that there was a point in time when they expected to learn something from the voices in their headphones and the men and women on stage?
When did music stop being a medium for change?
Josie Outlaw made an interesting point this weekend when we were listening to the Dead Kennedys in the van. She said she learned more about history through Dead Kennedys lyrics than she did in her history class.
How many music fans today can say that? How many music fans can say they’re constantly learning through the music they choose to listen to? How many music fans can say they’re intrigued enough to pick up a non-fiction book? How many music fans can say they’re inspired to try out their voice in more than the literal sense? How many music fans can say that when their favorite band gets on stage, they’re encouraged to become a better person and to make the world around them just a little bit better?
How many music fans can say their favorite bands are completely unafraid to open their mouths and speak up about the problems they see in the world?
I feel like I’m in the very small minority of people who can say "aye" to those questions right now.
The more I listen to the new A.K.A.s album, the more motivated I am to fix things. The more motivated I am to weed out all the crap in my music collection. The music that doesn’t matter. The soulless music of the pop pagans. The music that exists solely for entertainment purposes. The music that exists solely to make money.
The more I listen to this album, the more inspired I am to dig even further and deeper into the history of punk rock and rock’n’roll, and pay more attention to bands who truly believed that a song could, if not change the world, at least get the gears going.
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s 2008.
Does anyone remember how loud and outspoken the punk community was 4 years ago about the election?
Where’s that community now?
Even when I disagreed, I was drawn to punk initially because punks weren’t afraid of sharing their opinions on politics, social, ethical, and personal issues. The punks I looked up to were outspoken and opinionated, something I was until a certain point in my life as well. Something I’m striving to be again. Yet I’m finding it harder and harder to find bands who aren’t afraid of their opinions.
What happened?
Can anyone tell me?
Demand a soundtrack that is fitting of the time in which we live. One that reflects the nature of who we want to be, what we want to do, and where we want to go from here. Call out to the sound man. Call out to the band. Call out to the audience... somebody, anybody, everybody! More fight in our hearts. More Party on the Dance floor. And for the love of life, more fuck in the monitors.
--Mike Ski (of The A.K.A.s)
When did bands stop caring about what’s going on in the world around them and when did the fans forget that there was a point in time when they expected to learn something from the voices in their headphones and the men and women on stage?
When did music stop being a medium for change?
Josie Outlaw made an interesting point this weekend when we were listening to the Dead Kennedys in the van. She said she learned more about history through Dead Kennedys lyrics than she did in her history class.
How many music fans today can say that? How many music fans can say they’re constantly learning through the music they choose to listen to? How many music fans can say they’re intrigued enough to pick up a non-fiction book? How many music fans can say they’re inspired to try out their voice in more than the literal sense? How many music fans can say that when their favorite band gets on stage, they’re encouraged to become a better person and to make the world around them just a little bit better?
How many music fans can say their favorite bands are completely unafraid to open their mouths and speak up about the problems they see in the world?
I feel like I’m in the very small minority of people who can say "aye" to those questions right now.
The more I listen to the new A.K.A.s album, the more motivated I am to fix things. The more motivated I am to weed out all the crap in my music collection. The music that doesn’t matter. The soulless music of the pop pagans. The music that exists solely for entertainment purposes. The music that exists solely to make money.
The more I listen to this album, the more inspired I am to dig even further and deeper into the history of punk rock and rock’n’roll, and pay more attention to bands who truly believed that a song could, if not change the world, at least get the gears going.
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s 2008.
Does anyone remember how loud and outspoken the punk community was 4 years ago about the election?
Where’s that community now?
Even when I disagreed, I was drawn to punk initially because punks weren’t afraid of sharing their opinions on politics, social, ethical, and personal issues. The punks I looked up to were outspoken and opinionated, something I was until a certain point in my life as well. Something I’m striving to be again. Yet I’m finding it harder and harder to find bands who aren’t afraid of their opinions.
What happened?
Can anyone tell me?
Demand a soundtrack that is fitting of the time in which we live. One that reflects the nature of who we want to be, what we want to do, and where we want to go from here. Call out to the sound man. Call out to the band. Call out to the audience... somebody, anybody, everybody! More fight in our hearts. More Party on the Dance floor. And for the love of life, more fuck in the monitors.
--Mike Ski (of The A.K.A.s)
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
I know you might roll your eyes at this, but I'm so glad that you exist...
The lights of an oncoming train flicker on the tracks,
While we watch from the platform, anxious and waiting for it to take us away,
Until the headlights' strobes show us that we're watching through the support beams separating us from each car we could never hope to enter.
One empty set of tracks and live rail between us.
Whether it's 10 miles or 2000, we'll continue to wait just the same.
Flip the lights, because I can taste the ozone on my tongue.
We're waiting for an approaching storm now, and it can't be far.
Lightning splits the sky and a thundercrack echoes between the tracks and your window,
Sirens wail past, but you're not conscious enough to imagine the destruction.
All you know is the chaos of flashes, sparks, crashes and screams have become a lullaby since you left home.
Well, my clothes still smell like you, and I'm sorry I couldn't be there.
I'm growing wings, because my tires have run flat, and I left them abandoned on the side of a deserted highway.
I knew they'd only ever get me so far, but now they've gotten me just far enough to escape and never to return.
Take away my wings, because I want to soar above the storm, and watch it from a distance.
It could be my compromise when you can't take me see the northern lights,
And the terror could calm me and let me sleep once again when all I want and will never get is to wake up in your arms.
All I want is a silence so deafening it rips the sound right from my lungs.
Take me away, please.
For tonight, all I want is to see the stars once more.
I seem to have forgotten each and every one.
Meet me at Rockaway Beach.
We'll get wasted and disappear forever in the ocean, drifting away with the current.
Instead, I live for those nights where an unfamiliar face, an unfamiliar voice, and a familiar feeling resonates deep enough in my chest to bring me to my knees,
Those nights when the combination can bring tears to my eyes and remind me I'm alive.
How long will it take you to realize this is exactly what you do to me?
While we watch from the platform, anxious and waiting for it to take us away,
Until the headlights' strobes show us that we're watching through the support beams separating us from each car we could never hope to enter.
One empty set of tracks and live rail between us.
Whether it's 10 miles or 2000, we'll continue to wait just the same.
Flip the lights, because I can taste the ozone on my tongue.
We're waiting for an approaching storm now, and it can't be far.
Lightning splits the sky and a thundercrack echoes between the tracks and your window,
Sirens wail past, but you're not conscious enough to imagine the destruction.
All you know is the chaos of flashes, sparks, crashes and screams have become a lullaby since you left home.
Well, my clothes still smell like you, and I'm sorry I couldn't be there.
I'm growing wings, because my tires have run flat, and I left them abandoned on the side of a deserted highway.
I knew they'd only ever get me so far, but now they've gotten me just far enough to escape and never to return.
Take away my wings, because I want to soar above the storm, and watch it from a distance.
It could be my compromise when you can't take me see the northern lights,
And the terror could calm me and let me sleep once again when all I want and will never get is to wake up in your arms.
All I want is a silence so deafening it rips the sound right from my lungs.
Take me away, please.
For tonight, all I want is to see the stars once more.
I seem to have forgotten each and every one.
Meet me at Rockaway Beach.
We'll get wasted and disappear forever in the ocean, drifting away with the current.
Instead, I live for those nights where an unfamiliar face, an unfamiliar voice, and a familiar feeling resonates deep enough in my chest to bring me to my knees,
Those nights when the combination can bring tears to my eyes and remind me I'm alive.
How long will it take you to realize this is exactly what you do to me?
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