Rock and roll.

It’s always great to see a Cincinnati rock band getting some good mainstream press.

http://www.avclub.com/content/music/foxy_shazam

There’s dumb, and then there’s self-consciously stupid—a trait that can be endearing in the right hands (Beastie Boys, Andrew W.K., Spinal Tap) no matter how annoying it is coming out of the speakers. On the surface—and that’s really as deep as it gets—Introducing Foxy Shazam finds Cincinnati post-screamo quartet Foxy Shazam aiming for the latter. There’s the sheer dumbness of the band name, for one, but there’s also the intentionally ham-fisted cover art, the phony At Budokan-style applause that opens the album, and the fact that Introducing is actually album No. 2 for these guys. Irony died with grunge, sure, but we get it.

Umm….

Unfortunately, once the music kicks in, Introducing proves there’s more to nailing stupidity than simply wearing a dunce cap. Imagine, for instance, downloading a song like “The Rocketeer” or “Ghost Animals” (to name but two in an album where everything’s samey) without the benefit of context-through-packaging: Is this a weak Blood Brothers outtake (all tone-deaf vocals, angular rhythms, and piano-led racket) or, God forbid, Panic! At The Disco in hardcore mode? The short answer—”Who cares?”—is the only one that matters for those who actually want a connection between an album’s songs. Foxy Shazam’s shtick assumes that no one does, and the shallow, marketing-fueled approach to music-making ultimately reveals the group’s unamusing Emperor’s clothing.

Uhh….

A.V. Club Rating: D

Ouch.

Divisional playoffs.

Brief thoughts on this past weekend’s NFL playoff games:

- Brett Favre is magic. That falling-down pass he made to Donald Lee was amazing. Putting up 42 points in the snow is amazing. I don’t know how he keeps doing it, but he does. If Green Bay does indeed get to the Super Bowl, it will be interesting to see what Moss can accomplish against Al Harris and Charles Woodson.
- The Seahawks just don’t have the players to compete with the NFC elite (which I think are the Cowboys, Packers and Giants). They have a lot of solid players on defense, but as good as Hasselbeck is, that team is not going to do anything until they get some playmaking receivers, especially if Shaun Alexander can’t regain some semblance of his past form next season.
- The Pats look increasingly mortal in spite of what anyone says, but I really don’t think anyone is going to beat them. I can’t decide whether or I should think of their success as an amazing accomplishment or an unfortunate aberration. I love a dynasty, but like most American sports fans, the only thing I love more than a dynasty is watching that dynasty collapse.
- Jack Del Rio made a mistake in not going for it on fourth down on the second-to-last Jaguars possession. If he had, the Jags would have had the opportunity to tie on their final possession with a touchdown and an extra point. Kicking field goals in the playoffs is a good way to lose. The Jags, like the Seahawks, could use a playmaking receiver. And I wonder how much Fragile Fred has left in the tank.
- Peyton Manning did everything he could to win the game. Both of those interceptions were balls tipped by his own receivers, and only one of those came on an egregiously bad pass (considering the other one hit the receiver squarely in his hands). The ultimate reason the Colts lost was because the defense took a shit which was pretty surprising given that Rivers missed about a quarter and LT only played on two possessions.
- The Chargers defense is as dynamic as any I’ve seen this season. Merriman and Phillips are as dangerous as any linebackers in the league. And if the offense can do what they did today with Volek and Turner instead of Rivers and LT, just imagine what they could be capable of against the Pats at full-strength. Today had to have been a confidence booster for the Bolts. Rest assured they won’t allow a repeat of Week 2 to happen.
- The Cowboys offense was anemic in the second half. They simply could not protect Romo, and again, why can centers not handle the shotgun? And Marion Barber III is a brutal running back. How can you not love the guy? The Cowboys have some key free agents they need back for next season (Barber included), but the real concern this offseason for America’s team will be their coaching staff. Will Wade Phillips be back? Will Sparano take another job? Will Jason Garrett? Oh, it will be interesting.
- The Giants have a ton of momentum going into the NFC championship game, but you have to wonder regardless when the emotional well is going to run dry after three straight weeks of very tough games. And is the media ready to shut up yet about Eli Manning? The guy can play. The guy belongs. He’ll never be Peyton, but the football pundits seem to fail to realize that no one is, was or ever will be Peyton except the man himself.

A scene.

Based on a very true story.

(Son stands in a kitchen in bedclothes making breakfast quietly. Father enters from stage right in work clothes, hands dirty, face greasy, slightly out-of-breath.)

Father: I cut down some more trees this morning.
Son: I heard you. (glancing briefly at Father) It woke me up.
Father: You aren’t going to like this, but we’re going to gather all of that wood when it gets really cold.
(Son stares at him in a combination of amusement and disgust.)
Son: And why is that?
Father: Well, it’s too wet right now. I need the ground to be frozen solid so I can pull the trailer back there on the Bronco to load up. Make sense?
(A brief silence.)
Son: What would make sense would be to wait until spring when the ground is dry and the weather is warmer.
Father: The ground will still be wet in the spring and I need to get all of that out of the way so I can mow.
Son: If the ground is too wet to pull a truck across it, what makes you think that same ground won’t be too wet to mow with your large tractor?
(Both are silent. Son continues making breakfast. Father stands still.)
Son: Listen, I’m going to make it easy for you. The wood is not going to up and disappear between now and the spring thus we’re not moving the wood until the air is warm and the ground is dry.
(Father stands silently for another moment before leaving the stage to the right. Son continues making breakfast.)

End scene.

The world’s most dangerous band.

Few national acts will make me crawl out of my hole these days and lay down my not-so-hard-earned dollar to see them play. I saw one of those bands play earlier tonight. They’ve been called The World’s Most Dangerous Band. After tonight, I have no doubt that they should have that label attached to every mention of their name.

I got off of work at four o’clock this afternoon and came straight home after plowing through some inexplicable Saturday afternoon traffic on the interstates. I picked up some dinner (some Donatos, not exactly a healthy dinner) but didn’t eat much because I was already getting very fucking stoked.

Tonight’s lineup at Bogarts (also known as Shitgarts, Purgatory, and That Fucking Hellhole) was a pretty good one with The Dillinger Escape Plan playing in between Every Time I Die and Killswitch Engage. I have a couple of ETID albums I’ve burned from a friend, and I like them all right. I have the last two KSE albums, and I like them quite a bit as well. But as I was eating my pizza, nerves-on-end like the fucking geek I am, I made the decision that this was to be a Dillinger Escape Plan night. I was going to go to Bogarts, a terrible, claustrophobic place to have to go under any circumstances, see DEP and hit the road and not bother sticking around to see the other inferior bands and to suffocate in the unventilated furnace room. I didn’t need to see any cock rock. I didn’t need to see any Dio covers. What I need was some fucking chaos. And that’s what DEP brings every damn time.

The show started at 7:30 according to my overpriced ticket so I left my house at 7:45 knowing that I could go the long way to Bogarts (which is the more enjoyable drive) and be in Clifton by 8:30. I figured that’d put me in the venue around halfway into ETID’s set.

The devil fools with the best laid plan.

People have been bitching about the parking situation downtown for ages, but they should really bitch about the parking in Clifton. There is no fucking parking around Short Vine. Small wonder all of the clubs on Short Vine are closed. In defense of the neighborhood, had I gotten to Clifton at 6:30 instead of 8:30, I would have probably found a parking spot. By the time I got there, every spot on the street and in the lots within three blocks of the venue was taken. I was completely blown away because this had NEVER happened to me before going to Bogarts. In desperation, I called my sister who lives in Clifton hoping for guidance on where to park. No answer. So I called a friend who lives in Clifton. No answer. So I called another friend who lives in Clifton whose boyfriend picked up and very kindly guided me to somewhere I hadn’t looked. It was a sound suggestion that will probably serve me well in the future, but it was no dice tonight.

Pissed as hell at this point (I’d been driving in circles for 20 minutes), I decided to park in the garage below my sister’s dorm on the UC campus in spite of its distance from the venue. I called my cousin who lives with my sister in the dorm to make sure I wouldn’t get stuck in the garage if I stayed late at the show (which I knew wasn’t likely), but my cousin didn’t pick up either. As I stalked through the garage, utterly sure the entire world hated me and no longer had a moment to spare to acknowledge my existence, I realized that I was walking literally into a dead end, a solid concrete wall, and had to turn around in the opposite direction to get out of the building. Utterly sure now that God, Allah, Buddha and Zeus all hated me as well, I turned around and began dragging my feet towards what I hoped would be an accept. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t begin to think I had either found myself trapped in a space-time continuum or in a Twilight Zone episode. But a ray of light shone down upon me when my phone rang. It was my cousin calling back. The light quickly dimmed and then disappeared when I heard her “why the hell are you calling me?” tone of voice. I can take a hint so I asked my question quickly and then got my response even more quickly. I hung up just as I was walking out of the garage, a nice three-to-four block walk in my future. At this point, the eye-on-the-prize delusional thinking method wasn’t working: “But you’re almost there, your goal nearly reached!” I didn’t give a fuck about any band, even the World’s Most Dangerous Band.

I was cold and muttering bitterly to myself as I emptied my pockets at the Bogarts door in preparation for getting my balls cupped by the security guard, a real highlight of any concert-going experience. He even checked the hood on my jacket for contraband which made me think, “Do I really look like someone who would carry a weapon in his hood?” This made me ask the question of myself, “What does the sort of person who would indeed carry a weapon in his/her hood look like?” At that point, I didn’t have the answer.

Then I got inside and had the answer. Nothing beats the metal crowd. Now I love metal, and I love people who love metal, but the metalhead is one of the most strange of all the beasts. Required of the metalhead:

- black T-shirt (Usually with an evil-looking design that either covers only the left breast OR the entire front of the T-shirt. The design almost always looks like it could have been a shitty, uncreative tattoo or taken from a card used in a Rorschach test, and The design is almost always in solid white (sometimes silver).)
- black hair (This is interesting because I can’t figure out if black-haired people have a genetic predisposition to liking loud awful music or if there really are subliminal messages on those Priest albums except they aren’t telling you to kill your neighbor but to buy hair dye.)
- jeans (Usually well-worn and barely sitting on the ass. Boxers should be exposed.)
- half-sleeve tattoo (Getting your first poorly-done half-sleeve is an established rite-of-passage for any fan of metal.)
- sneakers (Usually old-school New Balance or Chuck Taylors or something of a similar style. No ironic colors like the punk crowd or indie crowd which is a key divider between the sects. Contrary to popular belief, most modern metalheads do not wear skull-stomping military boots. This view is, at worst, stereotypical or, at best, archaic. Come on, metal-ists, time to move with the rest of us into the 21st century!)
- studded belt (Except you can’t wear them into Bogarts because the security thinks you’re MacGyver and that you’re going to use it to kill someone or discharge/disarm a time bomb.)
- chain wallet (Except you can’t wear them into Bogarts because a streetfight might break out.)
- slouch (It’s no secret that if you like metal, you can’t stand up straight.)
- disinterested look/air (So I got to the show in the middle of the set break. I figured I should take the opportunity to go down on the floor. Once on the floor, I walked up to a random, average guy who was just standing by himself and asked, “Hey man, what band just played?” He said stupidly, “What?” I said, “What band just played?” He said, “I don’t know.” And he says it not in the “leave me alone, you bastard” way but the “I seriously don’t know, and by ‘I seriously don’t know,’ I mean ‘I seriously don’t know where I am right now’” way. I ask, “Was it Every Time I Die.” In a sudden flash of inspiration, he replies, “Yeah, that’s it. I think some Dillinger band is next.” Should it be so difficult to talk to people? Only if that person is a metalhead.)
- beard (The full beard is back, and you can thank Mastodon for that. Deal with it.)
- some facial piercing (Not just ears. Eyebrow, lip, nose, something like that. Usually the ring is black because dyed plastic is cheaper than metal (or at least something that looks metal if nothing else) which points out one of the great inherent contradictions of the metalhead breed.)
AND

- black hooded sweatshirt or jacket (Wearing a real coat is completely unacceptable because being warm is for pussies, meaning the indie crowd.)
OR
- work jacket (I’m talking like those heavy-as-hell blue or tan Carhartt coats. If it’s got a patch on it with a name that isn’t yours, even better. Even metalheads are not immune to the taste for irony shared by the much-maligned indie crowd.)

AND

- biceps (I always read in the paper about how the youth is getting fat and lethargic, but any time I go to a metal show, I see some of the most ripped-out motherfuckers I see anywhere.)
OR
- gut (Because there are just as many people of the Henry Rollins/Greg Puciato school as there are of the Kirk Windstein.)

And I could go on, but you get the picture. 95% of the people there fit that description, and that 95% of the people includes every male in the place. If you like metal, you know damn well that every metal show is, and excuse my French, a fucking sausage party. Good news is that 95% of that 5% female population is scantily-clad. Bad news is that the skin of 95% of the 5% hasn’t seen the sun in years.

(Note: Metalheads, I love you. I’m just kidding. Please don’t beat me up. And ladies, don’t you hate either.)

After standing amidst these people and feeling completely out of place for about 20 minutes, The Dillinger Escape Plan finally took the stage and fucking destroyed. Greg literally was bouncing off of the walls as he sang like a banshee, and he took the time during a breakdown to climb one of the large PA speakers and nearly kill himself in the process. The cacophonous dissonance (phrase stolen from Pitchfork) from the guitars was jaw-dropping. Gil’s drumming was innovative and spot-on throughout the entire set. They tore through “43% Burnt,” no doubt one of their career highlights, as Ben swung his guitar in the air in one of the most frightening displays of guitar-related violence I have ever seen. They played “When Good Dogs Do Bad Things” from the seminal Irony is a Dead Scene EP (this live interpretation featuring a stunning drum solo from Gil) before bursting into a blinding rendition of “Sunshine the Werewolf” complete with Ben jumping into the crowd still wearing his guitar and Greg literally throwing a monitor off the front of the stage to close the set.

One of the greatest things about witnessing The Dillinger Escape Plan completely going the fuck off and setting the place on fire was watching the metalheads attempt to comprehend what was taking place on stage. The kids were almost completely unresponsive. I, of course, was fucking air drumming the entire time or at least air drumming the accents. (You know you’ve listen to too much DEP if you’ve got the time changes memorized, and you know you are insane if you actually try to air drum to those songs.). But the metalheads, they just stood there watching, and it wasn’t as if they were pissed or weren’t liking the band. They weren’t doing the muttering to each other between songs that people (myself included) often do when shitty opening bands play. They were just watching, I think, with respect. The Dillinger Escape Plan is one of the most talented bands to ever come out of the States, and I think the previously-unknowing kids at least somewhat understood that. They were just in shock at the true violence and brutality and disregard of convention demonstrated by the band’s live performance. There are only two ways to react to a band as insane as DEP anyhow: to stand and watch respectfully; or to just go the fuck off. There is no toe-tapping and head-bobbing to DEP. The ovations increased in the volume at the conclusion of each of the band’s songs as the set went perhaps confirming that people were getting it.

But I was the only person apparently who thought that after witnessing such a display or virtuosity and bedlam that there was no reason to stick around to watch metalcore. When you’ve just watched The Best Damn (Metal) Band in the Land, why bother watching any other band? You can only be disappointed by what comes next.

So I left, as planned, at the conclusion of DEP’s set and this time walked happily through the decayed urbania in which I’m supposed to feel safe. But I felt a lot better about it all though than I‘d felt just an hour earlier. Why? Because I’d seen The World’s Most Dangerous Band, and I knew it was a lot safer out there with the degenerates and deviants, a lot safer away from the what-the-hell-is-going-to-happen-next performance and, perhaps most of all, my jaded metalhead brethren.

LSU/OSU

Unnecessary live blogging and essential irreverent commentary about the college national championship game which everyone is rightfully calling a joke but doing so for the wrong reason. Can we get a playoff already?

6:46 PM: One of the most important things about watching the big game is deciding what to watch BEFORE the game comes on. Do I keep watching this Law & Order: SVU rerun that I’ve amazingly enough never seen? Do I watch what’s on FOX right now which is a King of Queens rerun that I never want to see? What about the pregame show on ESPN? What about the pregame show on Fox Sports Net? What about more cable news election coverage? What about Ben Bailey on Cash Cab? I can’t imagine a better choice than Cash Cab personally. Best damn game show on television.

6:53 PM: Now the second-most important thing about watching the game: having a back-up plan. A lot of the college football talking heads are saying that this game is going to get out of hand quickly, and if things do indeed get ugly, then I’m going to have to find something else to watch because my old, feeble heart won’t be able to take it. Top options for alternate programming? Well, the Monday night standby is WWE Raw (they’re deciding matches by spinning a roulette wheel tonight which really highlights the desperation of company at this point), but I could always tune into the revitalized American Gladiators on NBC. Oh, the struggle.

7:26 PM: I’ve been informed that Thom Brennaman is calling the game for television, and that just makes me long for the start of spring training. I also want to acknowledge that this will be the fifth football game I’ve watched in three days, and I want to assure everyone that this usually is not how I spend my weekends and days off.

7:31 PM: I’m sure the video editors and so forth get paid a lot of money put together these pregame video montages of game clips, of players standing in their uniforms against ominous backgrounds and surrounded by smoke and twirling footballs in their hands, and of saying intimidating or impressive sounding things like, “This is what it’s all about, it’s time to put up or shut up,” or whatever the hell else, but I would love to never have to watch one of the stupid, cheesy things again. Anyhow, I guess Urban Meyer isn’t getting paid enough by Florida. I wonder how much FOX is paying him for this one-shot appearance.

7:38 PM: I need some snacks, but I have to hurry because they are going to talk about Road Warrior Animal in a second.

7:44 PM: Animal says that the WWE (Vince himself?) says that if the NFL doesn’t work out for James Laurinaitis, then he has a home in the WWE. Is it insane of me to hope that the NFL doesn’t work out for James?

7:47 PM: I can’t believe there’s a Joe Jackson song on a Taco Bell commercial. Damnit, this game is never going to start.

7:52 PM: Shaq talking up LSU. Liked it so much he left a year early. But at least he went back and finished up his degree. I’d say something smartalecky about Jack Nicklaus talking up OSU, but he’s even more irrelevant than The Diesel at this point. I appreciate the use of “Born on the Bayou” in the Glenn Dorsey segment which was othewise moronic. I swear, once the game starts, these updates will become far less frequent.

8:09 PM: A truly horrific performance of the anthem. The person who had the idea of setting Key’s poem to music with a range of one and a half octaves should have been shot on the spot. And is it time yet to look at Hurricane Katrina like 9/11 in terms of being fed up with all of the nonsense done in the name of Hurricane Katrina just as it was with 9/11? Just a thought. Maybe if everyone thought like that, I wouldn’t have had to sit through that terrible rendition of the anthem by a terrible jazz band.

8:20 PM: Nothing says “let’s waste even more time” quite like a ceremonial coin toss. Tony Dorsett showed good form on the toss. And nothing says “we don’t have confidence that we’ll be ahead at halftime” like deferring when winning the coin toss. Now is no time to be a coward, Les Miles.

8:24 PM: I thought I’d never have to hear Justin Zwick’s name again. Thanks, Thom.

8:26 PM: That’s how you start a damn ballgame. 65-yard touchdown run for Beanie. Then again, this is sort of how it started last year….

8:34 PM: LSU definitely didn’t look very good on that drive. A dropped pass and a bad snap. Why is it that the center and the quarterback are always on the same page with the normal snaps and the problems always come with the shotgun? Can the center just not hear the snap count? Anyhow, OSU didn’t end up with as good of field position as I figured they would after that beautiful 61-yard punt. I’m hoping that’s LSU’s only highlight.

8:40 PM: Would have been nice to get a touchdown there after the great connection from Todd Boeckman to Brandon Saine, but a field goal works. I liked Charles Davis’ point that the back of the end zone is sort of an “extra defender” in red zone and especially goal line situations. It’s an obvious point but a good one regardless, and those sorts of situations definitely show a weakness of the spread offense.

8:51 PM: One very quick and obvious fix for reducing the length of college football games is to not stop the clock after a team gets a first down.

8:56 PM: Holding LSU to a field goal is another victory for the Buckeyes. It’s very early, but they are looking very good.

9:03 PM: There was some damn good punting in the first quarter. Trivia: Scout.com says Todd Boeckman scores a 19 on the ACT. Todd might be able to throw a football 11 more yards than me using his left hand, but I cruised my way to an ACT score 11 points higher than Todd’s. Todd will also in his NFL rookie season earn 11 times more money than I will in my lifetime.

9:11 PM: I didn’t know Cameron Heyward was “Ironhead” Heyward’s son. Or that “Ironhead” Heyward was dead. And just like that the game is tied. Ohio State doesn’t get burned by these SEC teams because of speed. They get burnt because of defensive breakdowns.

9:16 PM: That’s probably the second-greatest stiff arm I’ve ever seen. The greatest was when Corey Dillon stiff-armed a cornerback, wrapped his hand around the player’s facemask and drug him about 15 yards until they were both out-of-bounds at which point Corey threw the player to the ground.

9:22 PM: Is there a more demoralizing play in football than the field goal block?

9:29 PM: When I played sports, what bothered me more than anything was not when I or my teammates were overpowered or outrun or anything of the sort. It was when there was poor execution. When Holliday breaks no less than three tackles on one run, that’s just bad execution. When the LSU tight ends are camping out in the middle of the field, that’s just bad execution. Ten unanswered followed by 17 unanswered. Talk about swinging momentum.

9:38 PM: Every game I watch, my father asks me, “Who is favored to win this game?” Do I look like a gambling addict? I don’t even understand how a spread works. Regardless, I can tell you who isn’t winning right now. Scoreboard. And what do you know? Another big play to a tight end.

9:42 PM: I admire your attempt at injecting drama into the game, Charles Davis, but Hester was in on the first effort.

9:48 PM: I think it’s a bad sign when it’s only the second quarter and your team gets a first down and it’s the best thing that’s happened in 45 minutes.

9:52 PM: One of FOX 19’s local news anchors did a quick promo for the late news during the last commercial break, and he said, “We hope you’re enjoying the game, but we certainly understand if you aren’t.” This might be Cincinnati, but even the morons at FOX 19 know this is Buckeye country.

10:20 PM: This has been the longest halftime in the history of halftimes.

10:32 PM: The game hinges on whether or not the Bucks can stop the Tigers here on 3rd & 23. And the Bucks come through. Actually, they don’t. Roughing the kicker. First down LSU.

10:34 PM: And another personal foul. I know these players are just kids, but it seems more and more like these college athletes possess less and less poise and self-control on the field.

10:37 PM: After no less than six tackles missed on the last two plays, and after yet another LSU touchdown, I think it’s time to find other programming.

10:45 PM: Mom says, “Talk about an implosion.” Pretty much.

10:54 PM: Malcolm Jenkins interception. Todd Boeckman throws for the touchdown on 4th & 4. “Some life pumped backed into this number one ranked Buckeyes team,” says Thom. We’ll see.

11:09 PM: All I’m hoping for at this point is a score that won’t look completely humiliating in the paper tomorrow.

11:18 PM: Well, that was fun while it lasted.