Intrepid Rock Journalism: Nero

Author's Note: The story below was published in the July 16, 2009 edition of Fredericksburg's monolith of news and information, The Free Lance-Star. To view the article on their site, visit this link. For more information about the artist Nero, visit his site here.

When Faisal Hasan walked into work at Merrill Lynch one morning last December, he could tell that something was wrong. As it turned out, layoffs were coming at noon, and everyone around him was panicked.

But Hasan saw the layoffs as a blessing in disguise, and spent his last morning at the financial giant sharing his plans with his closest colleagues.

"They all looked at me," Hasan recalled, "and said--pardon my language--'What the [expletive] are you doing here? Go away and do exactly that. I've never seen you so alive as you are right now."

He was alive, Hasan said, because he was taking the opportunity to devote himself to making music, a dream he had since he was a boy. Onstage, the Stafford County resident becomes "Nero," and will perform his personal, hyper-rhythmic style of rock this Sunday afternoon at Jammin' Java in Vienna.

While he independently released the album "Nine" in 2007, Nero became much more serious about his music after the layoffs. He's cranked up his output of songs, writing more in just a few months than ever before, and now sees performing as more than just something he loves to do.

"I'm trying to do this with more rigor," Nero said. "Each show for me is like, 'What if this is the only time I have onstage--the only thing I ever have to communicate?'"

What Nero communicates are personal, introspective lyrics on top of a hypnotic blend of Eastern rhythms (a Bangledeshi-American, he uses instruments like the tabla drum in his recordings), pulsating electronic drumbeats and solid guitar licks. This sound echoes the eclecticism of Talking Heads and Peter Gabriel--Nero lists both as influences and freely admits trying to capture the feel of their music.

"I'm trying my best to be like them, but in the process, I've created something that's different," Nero said. "It's like a catalog. You listen to whatever it is that you like, and you safely tuck it away in the back of your head."

He was introduced to bands like Talking Heads by his father, Nero, who instilled in his young son a love of music early in life. The elder Nero passed away 12 years ago this May. The younger remembers his father as someone whom people loved being around, and sees performing with his father's name as a tribute to him.

"When he passed away, I adopted that name, because that's how I want to remember him," Nero said.

Despite his inspiration and distinctive sound, the dreams of rock 'n' roll success have yet to be fully realized. With bills to be paid and no golden eggs filled with record deals and concert tours on his doorstep, Hasan has recently gone back to work at another financial planning firm in Northern Virginia, making the long drive up Interstate 95 each day to his office.

"I tried to hold out for as long as possible, but the music wasn't paying off as fast as I thought it would be," Hasan said.

Still, Hasan has seemingly been transformed by his experience in December. He has committed himself, he said, to making music the driving force in his life.

With hope in his voice, he continued, saying, "I'm still a financial adviser--but I hope not for long." [Click Here to Read More]

What I Learned from Generation Guru Anne Loehr

In a recent article in the Washington Post, "Generation Guru" (and 44-year-old former operator of safaris) Anne Loehr takes a group of 'boomers' through her course in "understanding generation Y." You see, Loehr's career--and mission in life--is to "touch as many people as possible" and explain how Generation Y thinks, works, talks, breaths, etc.

This is the part when you say "What? She's 44-years-old? What does she know about young people?" And to that I say, "You'd be surprised."

While the cynics might claim that Loehr reeks of the pseudo-scientific snake oil salesman plying her self-important wares, I tried to be open minded to her ideas. In doing so, I learned a great deal about myself, about my friends and--most importantly--about America.

Here's a list of just some of the things I learned from this article:

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I am constantly "jostling for hegemony" with the other people in my work place. Worse yet, sometimes this jostling turns into all-out rhetoric shoving matches, or worse, actual shoving matches.

Even though Survivor (the first really big reality show) didn't premiere until I was in high school, I apparently was raised on reality TV. Did you know that no one else watches or is influenced by reality TV but young people? Holy Moley!

I believe that fame and fortune will come easily. In fact, if you've seen my briefcase filled with diamonds and fame juice, I'd really appreciate you bringing out over to my office, which I call 'The Jostle-Dome.'

I got a trophy every time I had a soccer match. Not just at the end of the season, or when we won a tournament, BUT EVERY MATCH. After playing soccer every year from age 6 to 16, there's a room in my boyhood home that contains a massive pile of trophies.

I came of age during "kiddie dinosaur show 'Barney,' high-speed wireless Internet and Barack Obama," which is interesting because the last two have only happened during the last five years. So, apparently, I was in a pop-culture-less vat from age 0 until age 20, with only a constant stream of "I love you, you love me" pumping into said vat.

I want to be connected all the time, but I don't want to go crazy, which is why I use Facebook. I can't remember how many times I was hanging out with my friends in high school saying "man, I enjoy being connected, but what's an Internet site that will help me NOT go crazy?"

I value making a difference--being green and correct and all that stuff--which is why I won't buy Nike. Bastards.

Both my parents have MBAs. A little known fact is that everyone in America between the ages of 45 and 60 is required to have an MBA--we fed the MBA-less boomers to the shark pit years ago.

I had a nanny. And "The Nanny."

I use words like "cool" and "sucks," and will trust anyone--regardless of age and disposition--who also uses these words.

When I was a baby, I had a trust fund, but due to my years spent on Facebook and not buying Nikes, I need a financial advisor.

I travel and am not risky with money, particularly when I'm traveling, which I do without risking money.

While many people don't understand me, the only person who can really understand my generation "spent the 1990s in Africa running safari and hotel operations." Elephants and I actually share a lot of common traits, including a sense of self-entitlement, saying "cool" a lot, having a ton of trophies and a constant need to jostle.

I don't like to fly because of carbon emissions (when I travel, I take my zero-emission hydrogen jet pack), bungee jump of the Eiffel Tower(I prefer to hang glide through the Grand Canyon) or "work hard to play hard."

My dream--in the deepest part of my heart--is to move to France and work "in the local schools, teaching French to the poor elementary school kids." [Click Here to Read More]

Expert Predictions on the Future of Journalism

If you follow me on Twitter, then you know that I've staked my claim Tom-Cruise-in-Far-and-Away-like to a big old chunk of the "new media guru" wilderness. For the low, low price of a suitcase filled with money, I've begun to offer smart-sounding "Expert Predictions" into the future of journalism and intelligent "newstimates" at what media outlets must do to prepare.

For those who've unfollowed me after my "Mr. Mister is the best band in history" tweet-bacle, enjoy an archived collection of my Expert Predictions completely out of order:

Expert Prediction #3: From Podcasts will come "Flatu-Casts," combining hard-hitting news and commentary with sophomoric sound effects.

Expert Prediction 43: To create more revenue, local newspapers will cross-train deliverymen to sell Cutco knives door to door.

Expert Prediction #1: The next newspaper to fail will be the Arizona Republic. It will do so four weeks from this moment exactly.

Expert Prediction #29: Due to extensive budget cutbacks, "U.S. News and World Report" and "The Atlantic" will change their names to "Events that Happen within Earshot Weekly"and "News from the Drainpipe Behind Our Dumpster."

Expert Prediction 67-a: The Huffington Post and the Daily Beast will soon merge to form "Arianna Huffington Swallows a Whale."

Expert Prediction 20-b: This whole "internets" thing is just a fad. Everyone will go back to telegraph-driven news soon.

Expert Prediction 128-a: "Fire David Letterman" campaign will be dubbed the "Pepsi Clear" of politically-motivated social movements.

Expert Prediction 9: The newspapers to survive will attract corporate sponsors, e.g., The Mike's Hard Lemonade Miami Herald.

Expert Prediction #11-b: In the future, All newspapers will be named after David Bowie songs. The most popular? "Changes."

Expert Prediction #2: Papers will begin converting elephant dung and expired milk into ink in an effort to decrease printing costs.

Expert Prediction #1012: Google will buy one newspaper next year--The Fancy News and Hippo of Spokane, Washington.

Expert Prediction #91. After running out of mildly interesting people to publicly confront, Bill O'Relly will begin harassing children.

Expert Prediction #27: WaPo's Dana Millbank will be consumed by his own smugness by 2012, creating a 90-ft high Smugasaurus Rex that will consume parts of Tawain and all of Wales.

Expert Prediction #71: As papers die, WaPo's Howard Kurtz will be forced to report on himself, thereby tearing a hole in the space-time continuum.

Expert Prediction #6: Wreckx-n-Effect wants to do more than zooma zoom zoom zoom in your boom boom--they also want to remake journalism.

Expert Prediction #59: To save space, news outlets will discontinue the use of articles (e.g., a, an, and the) in their stories.

Expert Prediction #4: Howard Kurtz will soon address the increased use of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" in 2010 campaign coverage. [Click Here to Read More]

Circus Freak to Troubled Megastar: The Jarring Shift in Michael Jackson Coverage

With the sudden passing of pop star Michael Jackson, newspapers across the country jumped into action, devoting hours of coverage and acres of newsprint to put the musician’s life in context.

With thoughtful reverence, the obituaries and stories across the media spectrum discussed the impact of “Thriller” and swooned over his dance moves and showmanship. They also lamented how the bright lights of the media imprisoned Jackson, dignifiedly alluding to the court trials and erratic behavior that had landed him on the front page so many times.

But it wasn’t always this way. During Jackson’s 5-month trial for child molestation in 2005, these same outlets were covering the pop star with none of the dignity or calm respect of the obituaries, and their shift of Jackson from tabloid fodder to troubled pop icon has been jarring.

Today, they write that Jackson was both a “moonwalking megastar” and “one of show business's legendary oddities” (Washington Post), leading “a life of triumph and torment” (USA Today). While both obituaries touch on his darker elements, they present the pop star as brilliant but troubled.

Back in 2005, reporters covering the trial and aftershocks called him “ghoulish” and a “fleshless old [star]” (New York Times, June 15, 2005), questioning if the trial of “world's weirdest pop star” had “been one freak show too many” (USA Today, June 14, 2005). The latter story, written by Elysa Gardner, also quotes CNN legal analyst Jeffrey Toobin as saying that “[Jackson’s] image as a freak unhealthily obsessed with children is a permanent one."

With caustic words and slimey tone, the reporting and commentary from 2005 danced freely into the realm of tabloids, effectively blurring the line between where the Times stopped and the Enquirer began. But the even larger gap between the reporting lies in the respect for its subject—namely, that unlike the positive, almost awed coverage of his death, major news outlets showed a breathy disdain for Jackson during his trial.

On last Friday’s broadcast of NBC Nightly News, for example, anchor Brian Williams covered the pop star’s death extensively, interviewing producer Quincy Jones and running a story on how his music would “live on for so many years to come.” He opened the broadcast by saying that Jackson “is being mourned at the White House, from coast to coast in this country and around the planet.”

But during the 2005 trial, Williams openly turned his nose down at the trial and the coverage that his and other networks had given it. In a June 14, 2005 USA Today article about the trial’s relentless coverage (“Media go into MJ overdrive”), Williams is quoted as ending his June 13 broadcast with this caveat:

“A lot of people, especially those who write to and e-mail us, have wondered about the importance of covering the molestation trial of a 46-year-old pop star, whose best professional moments may well be behind him,” Williams said. “We have tried very hard to limit coverage of the Jackson trial to the most newsworthy days in the proceedings.”

Williams ended his thought by saying, “Tonight, at long last, it is time to move on."

By and large, the major media outlets did move on from the business of Michael Jackson, leaving the tabloids, the fame-obsessed bloggers and the news magazine shows to maintain the glaring media coverage of Jackson until his death on Thursday. This makes sense from a journalistic perspective, as the major story—the trial of a famous musician—had come and gone.

But what’s more difficult to grasp is why those reporters shifted from Michael Jackson as the pale-faced punch line to Michael Jackson as the tortured artist, a man whose musical accomplishments outshone his self-destruction.

Maybe the untimely death of a pop star allowed them to grasp fully the enormity of his success. Maybe the norms and standards of obituaries required a stoic, even tone devoid of the tabloid language that had dominated stories before.

Maybe, just maybe, Jackson’s death reminded reporters that Jackson was a human being, just as vulnerable to the barbs and bashes as city councilmen and single moms. Maybe, in their last full measure of journalistic responsibility, they thought that Jackson deserved a proper sendoff. [Click Here to Read More]

4 Things Battletoads Tells Us About the Future of Journalism

Much like this recent post on the lessons taught by the quaint pro-vandalism game Paperboy, a host of ideas about the news industry can be found by digging into classic video games and pulling out juicy nuggets of inspiration.

But why just focus on games involving papers, boys or neither of the two? Great lessons can be learned from titles involving aliens or other non-human lifeforms, particularly Battletoads, released in 1991 for Nintendo.

The game features Rash and Pimple fighting various creatures through 12 controller-throwingly difficult levels, and while it was lauded by video game critics at the time, it has not received its due credit as the prescient source of journalism wisdom until now. Here are 4 things Battletoads tell us about the future of journalism:

1. When things look difficult, warp to the future.

In level 3 (Turbo Tunnel), the game requires you to mount speedbikes and guide the Battletoads through an increasingly difficult slalom course. The obstacles come at you fast and furious, but if you can hang on until the fifth series of obstacles, you can hit a warp that will take you to level 5 (Surf City).

Level 3 is the current crisis facing newspapers--relentlessly fast, obstacles flying at us, and a fair chance that many won't have a chance to continue--because they slammed into a "wall" known as a failing business model and the rise of the internet.

So, to keep from falling by the wayside, newspapers need to hit a metaphorical "warp," becoming first adopters and pushing technological and web-based approaches and thereby jumping ahead with their technology and approach to journalism.

It will be scary--the warp requires that you drive straight into a wall--but if you pick the right “wall” to “slam into,” you'll survive to thrive into the future.

2. If you need to smash something, press against the wall, turn into a wrecking ball, and unleash fury.

In Level 2 (Wookie Hole), the brothers descend down a huge hole via rappelling lines (the B'Toads, as well all know, are avid spelunkers), fighting off a myriad of flying and floating enemies along the way until they fight what looks to be a giant AM Radio at the end of the level.

To stop these enemies, a player can press and hold their Toad against the wall of the shaft, wait until he turns into a wrecking ball, and then watch as flies violently across the screen, splattering all who dare stand (or, rather, float) in his way.

Much like the lesson of Level 3, “the Wrecking Ball approach” speaks again to how media outlets can survive: patience. When you press up against a wall, you don’t instantly turn into a wrecking ball, just as you can’t flip the switch overnight from “newsasaurus rex” to “George Jetson Journalist.”

It will take time, but with the right approach, your patience and perseverance for a new adaptive strategy will work, and allow you to “smash” into an “AM Radio,” which in this case represents not only an actual AM Radio but also all other old-timey sources of news.

3. Repeatedly kicking something against a wall gives you more lives.

Level 2 is a gold mine for extra lives—manage to bounce a Razor Raven off the wall enough times, you start racking up extra lives, which will pay big dividends as you progress in the game. The challenge is hitting the bird enough times (you only start getting 1-Ups after the 8th kick) to rack up enough lives to make it worth it.

Just like repeatedly kicking something against a wall, this brave new world requires focus, and for journalists, this means focusing on one “razor raven” or specific subject and “kicking it against a wall” by covering every facet of it. The days of cops/courts beats are over, as one reporter/blogger/newsonator will soon relentlessly cover small claims court cases involving meat. Behold the emergence of the microbeat.

4. If you're playing in 2 player mode, punching your partner is counter-productive

One short coming of Battletoads is that, in 2 player mode, an ill-timed punch, head-butt, or stick swing toward a pig creature can land squarely on the chin of your partner. In its heyday, statistics that I just made up show that more video game arguments were launched because of this “feature” than any other in video games (the unstoppable bicycle kick in World Cup Soccer was a close 2nd).

For journalists, “not punching your partner” means staying true to quality instead of competition. If you write for the Funkytown Observer, and you beat the Funkytown Herald on a story, that’s great—until the next week when you both fold because you don’t have a solid web presence and no one under 60 reads your paper.

Rather, news outlets need to measure themselves not against local competition but against everything on the Web, and figure out what they can offer that no one else can. They should focus on creating their own real estate--finding their own respective "pig creature" to "punch"--rather than fighting it out with their metaphorical Rash or Pimple to punch theirs.

This is the most important lesson we can learn from BattleToads. You should probably print this part out, cut out this passage, and tape it to your monitor. [Click Here to Read More]

The History of Cross Town Rival. Chapter 10

When we left our heroes, they have driven themselves to heretofore unknown depths of the rock and roll lifestyle in order to connect with the mythical "Dr. Feelgood," who they believed would connect them with their missing bassist Mick. We join the boys laying half-catatonic on a sidewalk in Toledo....

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After months of dedication to inebriation, copulation and conflagration, Pat and Murph were shells of human existence—both of their livers resembled bags of week-old bacon—but they believed that the man who stood before them was Dr. Feelgood, the one person who could bring their selectively-mute bassist Mick back from a pan-dimensional limbo. Unfortunately for them, all was not as it seemed.

Pat: “It was rather cloudy that day in Toledo. Then again, everyday in Toledo is cloudy, but that’s neither here nor there. But we see this guy—well, I see this guy, because Mick is still muttering to himself in what I think was an ant-induced stupor. But, we see this guy who we think is Dr. Feelgood coming toward us. He was wearing a giant foam cowboy hat, a throwback 49ers jersey, and a pair of MC Hammer’s parachute pants. I thought it was a bit ridiculous, but when your name is Dr. Feelgood, your expectations are rather vague.”

Pat continues: “So he’s coming toward us, slowly, and he takes off the giant cowboy hat. And then he takes off a wig. And all of a sudden it dons on me—that’s Montana Slim! And I peed myself. I’m not proud of it. But it happened. Awkward.”

Pat realized that they had been duped. Rather than the man who would free their band mate, in front of them stood their everpresent-yet-only-recently-mentioned roadie and substitute bassist Montana Slim.

Slim: “I couldn’t lie to those boys—I was like ‘straight up, I ain’t the doctor. I’m just your roadie in a wig.’ (When told about the moment, Murph exclaimed, “What? Slim had a wig? When did Slim find time to buy a wig? This is certainly news to me.”) Hell, I kinda sorta believed all that hooey about Dr. Feelgood when we started, but as the weeks went on, and more people started a-comin’ to the shows, I figured that this was my one chance to make my dream come true: opening a breakfast place called ‘Montana Slim’s Pancake Emporium.”

During the past months of depravity, it had been Slim who had pushed the band forward through their fudge-it list, laminating new assignments, setting up gigs and helping the band reach heretofore unknown levels of acclaim. Slim had done all this, in his mind, to bring them closer to his pancake dream—which would include, in his words, “an amazin’ variety of syrups.”

Slim: “You see, when you go to like a Waffle House or an IHOP, you get maybe one, two, four different types of syrups, tops. But at my place—The Pancake Emporium—fifty different kinds of syrup. Let that settle into you ol thinkin’ block for a second. 50. Five-Oh. Obviously your classic maple and butter pecan are gonna be there, but we’re gonna have all these flavors you ain’t never heard of before. Whiskey syrup. Cotton Candy syrup. Mango Habernaro. Pumpkin Mint. Pimento Ostrich. I could go on—I’ve thought of all of ‘em. Each an’ every single stinkin’ one more delicious than the last.”

Slim continued: “Since I was a little boy growing up in the Sasquatch Valley of Oklahoma, all I ever wanted to do was open a pancake emporium I could put my name on. I stayed up at night thinking about those syrups and the pancakes that I would pour them on. Maybe have a building that looked like a cowboy hat. You know, a niiiiiiccceee place. Somewhere you can take the kids. And I thought that if I could push these boys just a bit further on up the road, therr, I could open one up. I guess that’s what life’s all about then…dreaming, telling yer friends you’re a magical doctor, and pancakes.”

Pat and what remained of the functioning parts of Murph’s brain (at that moment, Murph’s gray matter had fallen into such disrepair that his bumbling, child-like existence would inspire the creation of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force character Meatwad) were devastated. They had spent the last eight months of their lives trying to get the bassist Mick back, and when they finally thought that they had reached rock bottom, they discover that they’ve been fooled all along.

Pat: “We needed Mick—without his interstellar grooves, our band would be forced to play Everclear covers until we were 60. And beyond Santa Monica, what could we really play? I’m not prepared to perform an hour’s worth of songs about my dad not being around. Just not my particular glass of merlot. I know we were getting bigger with Slim on bass, but it wasn’t the same. I had already broken every law I could think of short of clubbing children with baby seals, so I knew what I needed to do to set this right. I knew I had to see this thing through.”

Murph: “I gotta be honest, my memory of this whole thing is just a bit—uhhh—not there at all. I mean, it goes in and out. So, I remember waking up, and Slim’s standing there wearing parachute pants crying. And Pat’s crying. And I’m crying. And I’m wearing a wedding ring. And I’m really confused--that might have just been the gun powder—or ants. Again, not sure. But I thought—I really thought that this whole Dr. Feelgood thing was real. If Motley Crue says it, it should be real. Wait, I might have made that up. No, that’s real. Oh, yeah, back on track, Pat quit the band, and when he asked if I did too, I thought we were going to get breakfast, so I said yes. So that meant we both quit. In retrospect, I think it was the best decision I didn’t know I made.”

At that, Pat walked away, dragging a visibly incoherent and pants-full Murph with him. For the band, this unceremonious exit left the problem of gigs, namely, that for the first time in the history of Cross Town Rival, they actually had them. They were in demand across the Eastern seaboard, playing far larger shows than the outlet mall closings and Irish-themed speed dating events they had performed for most of their history.

With his dream seemingly falling through his grasp, even with the grip provided by the the syrup that was constantly smeared on his hands to remind him of said dream, Slim called Pat (Murph: “Pat had a phone? When did he find time to buy a phone? I missed so much!”) and asked for one more gig. After their years together, after all the shows, after all the times that Slim pulled Pat out of the belly of Blue Whale, Slim said that they owed it to each other.

Murph: “So here’s where the memory starts coming back. Slim tells us to show up at this gig at—get this—an abandoned explosives factory on the docks in New York City—and I’m like ‘really? I don’t think so!’ I watched a lot of old Batman TV shows growing up, and every time the Joker or the Penguin or King Tut wanted to trap Batman, he lured him into an abandoned factory. Not necessarily explosives, mind you, but an abandoned factory nonetheless. And so I say to Pat—‘look, it’s a trap. He’s gonna put us inside a giant hour glass slowly filling with sand or something.’ And Pat’s all like ‘Noooooo…I’m too smart to be caught in a trip. I know French.’ Ask him. Seriously, ask him about this. Me—with the IQ of a panda bear—sniffed out the trap. How do you like that?”

Pat: “Oh that’s rich. He said that? That I didn’t see it coming? Let me ask you this. How many times in life do you think that an encyclopedic knowledge of vintage Batman episodes comes in handy? Once? Twice? At Most? Murph got this one, and I have to hand it to him—we came ready. Thanks to that Panda brain of his.”

And prepared they were—they packed their instrument cases as well as Murph’s entire bass drum with crude implements of destruction (Pat brought wet towels to snap, Murph brought fireworks and shovels) and two weeks after waking up in Toledo, the boys marched into the abandoned Veljohnson Munitions Factory in search of Slim.

They spotted Slim standing on a catwalk about twenty feet above the main floor of the factory, wearing an eye patch and holding a Soviet-era grenade launcher (Murph: “What? Slim had a grenade launcher? When did he go to Soviet Russia? Why won’t my memory rememorize these things?”). Thankfully for our purposes in this exhaustive history, a security camera captured the entire confrontation…

Pat: “Where are the people? I thought we were gonna play a show?”

Slim: “Of course not. You both knew it would come to this. You both knew that I couldn’t let you walk away. We were gonna make the big time! And now it’s all over.”

Murph: “What on earth are you talking about? Is that a grenade launcher?”

Slim: “You were the chosen ones! You were going to change everything! I had a dream, and now that dream is gone from me! Thousands of Syrups! You hear me? Thousands of syrups! It was going to happen! And you took that away from me! Now you’re gonna pay!

Pat: “So what now? Are you gonna kill us?”

Slim: “Ya know, I didn’t really think this here plan all the way through. Well, uhhh, hmmm. You know, I bought this grenade launcher and this eye patch, and that’s about as far as I got. Hell, why don’t we go to an IHOP and talk this thing through. Want a cigarette?”

Murph and Pat: “NOOOOOOO!”

At that moment, Slim, lighting his cigarette, casually tossed his match onto a pile of explosives, starting a chain reaction that began spreading throughout the entire factory.

Murph: “At first, it wasn’t too bad. Explosion here, fireball there, duck, dodge, you know, pretty standard. But then—it got bad, because the explosions started getting really close to this 200 lbs barrel of dynamite (Pat: “We didn’t know it was a barrel of dynamite until I said ‘look out! Oh no! it’s a barrel that’s conveniently labeled ‘200 lbs of dynamite.”). Pat and I threw a bunch of his wet towels on it, but it was too late. That thing went up—as Slim would say, like a jumping bean on an okee’s oven—and we were blasted straight through the roof.”

Unbelievable as his story may seem, Murph’s recollection is correct, as the security tape shows that Slim, Murph and Pat were flung skyward out of the now de-roofed abandoned explosives factory, destroying several nearby Quizno’s locations in the process (Murph: “What? We were near a Quizno’s? No! I was so hungry! Damn you memory!”). By absolute sheer happenstance, Slim had picked a factory located near the Statue of Liberty—which, it’s important to note, is a great destination for kids and history buffs alike—and the trio somehow landed atop the statue’s head.

Dazed, confused, and with a complexion similar to Daffy Duck when Bugs Bunny bends the rifle so that it’s pointing back at Daffy, Pat climbed to his feet, bent on throwing Slim--the currently unconscious drawl-talking pancake lover--off the top of Lady Liberty. As he lurched toward him, he was overcome by the appearance of a great light in the sky.

Pat: “It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen: a sea of colors cascading over one another, like a great symphony of magnificence dancing in the sky.”

Murph remembers the sight a bit differently: “It was like watching God make starburst candies. It was awesome.”

The light grew brighter and brighter until it ruptured into a cacophony of thunder and seal yelps. Then, from out of the depths came their missing bassist Mick, riding on a surfboard made of light, with what historians now agree was atomic bomb physicist and underground shaman J. Robert Oppenheimer—known as “Dr. Feelgood” to those who bought his home-made methamphetamines—following close behind on a golden hang glider.

Murph: “I mean that was just awesome. Really. Mick’s back, and there’s that bomb guy, and there were seals and surfboards and hang glider. And they even brought me a sandwich. Best. Sandwich. Ever.”

Dr. Feelgood explained that the destruction of 14 Quiznos’ was the last task on the Fudge-It List—helping them finally hit Rock Bottom and leading to the reunification of the band.

With their bassist freed from pan-dimensional limbo, Pat and Murph were overjoyed. They were also very afraid, for they realized they were atop the Statue of Liberty and directly next to what they came to understand as a rip in the space-time continuum, which began to reverse itself, going—in the sophomoric parlance—from blow to suck.

Murph: “To keep ourselves from getting pulled into this vortex, we held on for dear life to those prong things on the top the statue’s head. You know, like Wolverine did in the first X-Men movie. Which was awesome by the way, as was the second, but let’s not talk about the 3rd one—so anyway, giant space hole thing, Dr. Feelgood flew back into the hole to close it up, leaving just us four to fly down on Mick’s surfboard, which, as we neared land, turned into a cloud. Like in Aladdin. It was awesome. I’m running out ways to say it was awesome, but really, the whole thing. Just awesome.”

All was right again. The band was reunited and, in an act of good faith, chose to keep Montana Slim as their roadie and manager.

Will Cross Town Rival achieve success with their original lineup? Will Montana Slim get his dream of opening a pancake Emporium? Will Batman and Robin escape from the Riddler’s clutches? Find out next time! Same Bat Time! Same Bat Channel! [Click Here to Read More]

Intrepid Rock Journalism: Toad the Wet Sprocket

Author's Note: This article appeared in the Thursday, May 21 edition of the Free Lance-Star, located in scenic Fredericksburg, Va. To read the article at the FLS site, click here. Otherwise, enjoy:

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In hundreds of years, when time capsules are dug up and historians search for artifacts from the early 1990s, they will invariably emerge with a Toad the Wet Sprocket cassette.

Through ubiquitous radio hits like "All I Want" and "Walk on the Ocean," Toad the Wet Sprocket created acoustic, melodic music that has come to epitomize what rock sounded like in that moment in time.

Twenty years since their first album, they're still performing together--and bassist Dean Dinning knows what keeps the fans coming back. "The only reason they show up is because of the music, and we know that," Dinning said in a recent phone interview.

"It's not because we're good-looking or because we're super-cool or anything."

The band will perform tonight at Washington's National Harbor and tomorrow night at Fredericksburg's Celebrate Virginia Live.

As Dinning remembers, Toad broke out when radio stations switched formats from '80s pop to '90s alternative rock. In search of music that could be considered "alternative" but wouldn't scare away pop listeners, stations put Toad into heavy rotation.

"I think radio kind of moved into the street where we already lived," Dinning said. "You can't ask for anything better than that."

From there, the band became a mainstay of pop culture, putting out hit albums of their own and having their songs featured on TV shows such as "Friends," "My So-Called Life" and "Party of Five."

As the '90s waned, though, so did the band--internal tensions broke them up in 1998, and they haven't released new material since. Older, wiser and with two subsequent breakups under their belts, the band has had to redefine itself to perform together again.

"We just decided, 'Enough with the breakups,'" Dinning said. "'Let's just never break up again. If we want to play, we'll play, and if we don't want to play, we won't. Simple.'"

Now self-managed, the band has less pressure to stay on the road for long stretches of time. Dinning said the group now tours for only a few weeks in one area of the country, flying home between stints on the road and staying closer to family and friends. "The only way my wife and daughter really know that I was gone is that the litter boxes don't get cleaned and the trash doesn't get taken out."

While they do play a good number of shows together, performing as Toad the Wet Sprocket has, in many ways, become each member's side project. Frontman Glen Phillips has become a successful folk artist, and is now collaborating with Nickel Creek veterans Sean and Sara Watkins in a group called the Works Progress Administration.

Drummer Randy Guss also plays with and manages several groups, and Dinning and guitarist Todd Nichols recently traveled to Nashville to work with veteran country songwriters. "It was terrifying at first, but once we figured out what was really going on--that we could hold our own with these pros--we got some of the best material we have ever gotten. We're really, really excited about it."

Dinning is also excited about where Toad is right now, and doesn't rule out putting together a new album. "I think as long as we can keep playing and as long as we are enjoying playing together, then hopefully when we do decide to make something new--if and when we decide to--it'll be for the right reasons."

New album or not, Dinning and the band seem content with the nice little spot they've made for themselves in music history.

"You know, I hope it's a little bit culturally significant," Dinning said. "It's always nice to leave your mark on the pop culture of the time." [Click Here to Read More]

Follow Me On Twitter. It'll Be Great.

For those who enjoy periodically reading my work on CrossTown Rival and in such wonderful publications as The Free Lance-Star and the Prince George's Sentinel, you can now enjoy me in a brand new medium: Twitter.

Follow me @bobfrankpat, and I will give you insight and analysis into such wide-ranging topics as what I had for breakfast, what shoes I'm wearing, and what I'll be watching on TV this evening (today, those answers are cheerios, brown shoes, and NCIS reruns).

Just go here (http://twitter.com/bobfrankpat) and click "Follow." Thanks!
[Click Here to Read More]

Intrepid Rock Journalism: ShamRock Fest

Note: This article appears in the March 12 edition Fredericksburg's bastion of news and information, The Free Lance-Star. This marks the first time in my intrepid rock journalism career where I devoted multiple paragraphs to beer. Enjoy:

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This St. Patrick’s Day, all you need is some music, beer and 35,000 of your closest friends.

With more bands, more green and plenty of age-appropriate beverages, the ninth annual Shamrock Fest in Washington promises to be the biggest St. Pat’s celebration in the area. The one-day festival will be held this Saturday at the Metro-accessible RFK Stadium in downtown D.C.

“[Shamrock Fest] is probably the best Irish entertainment lineup in the country,” said event coordinator Mike Harrigan.

The festival will feature a cavalcade of Celtic-inspired entertainment throughout the day, from the melodic riffs of Carbon Leaf to the more traditional Irish music of the D.C. Fire Department’s Pipes and Drums Band.

Besides Irish music, Shamrock Fest will also host DJs spinning dance music, a carnival-style “sideshow,” Irish dancing, pub games, rides and a myriad of other attractions.

“It’s an overload for your senses,” Harrigan said, who added that 100 kegs of green-colored beer will be on hand just in case someone gets thirsty.

Headlining the show will be Irish rock stalwarts Flogging Molly, who return to the festival after appearing in 2007. Bob Schmidt, the group’s mandolin and banjo player, said that the band is able to bring the raucous fun of an intimate bar show to the big festival stage—with a little help

“I think at places like Shamrock Fest it’s a lot easier because there’s already an enormous amount of booze involved, which is probably the main ingredient to bringing the pub feeling to a large crowd,” Schmidt said. “By the time we get to them, they’re pretty well pickled. They’ve been drinking since noon.”

Since coming together at Molly Malone’s pub in Los Angeles in the late ’90s, Flogging Molly has risen to prominence with foot-pounding anthems and an earth-shaking live show as their calling card. While Schmidt said that Irish music by its nature is brimming with energy, he also feels lucky to have an energetic and supportive fan base at their concerts.

“They feed all this energy into us,” Schmidt said. “We’re able to play our songs, and it excites them, and their energy is contagious to us—it’s that communication going back and forth that keeps whipping everything into that higher and higher level of frenzy.”

Many bands at Shamrock Fest advertise themselves as high-octane live performers, including The Pubcrawlers, a Celtic punk band from Portland, Maine. Making their third appearance at the festival, the group integrates traditional music from across the Celtic landscape with aggressive rock elements, combining guitar and drums with tin whistle, fiddle and a bagpipe.

“The music itself is very fun, is very melodic, is very sing-along, and when you add the punk element to it, it just kind of naturally makes it very energetic,” said the group’s drummer “Andy Pubcrawler,” who added that many bands in his area take their band’s moniker as a quasi-last name.

Like many bands of their ilk, The Pubcrawlers also invite the audience to participate with the traditional call-and-response—in other words, encouraging the audience to give a timely shout or to sing along with the band.

“You throw that stuff in, and no one needs to know the words—they know when the “heys” and the “hoys” are coming, and everybody is singing along and chanting along,” Pubcrawler said. He added that when listeners don’t sing along, “I’ve been known to drag people up onstage and make them.”

Beyond the drinking and the shouting, Shamrock Fest, though, is more than just a day-long concert. Amidst the shared economic troubles, the festival is a celebration, a coming together to hear Irish music, which, in all of its forms, calls the listener to make the best of hard times.

In fact, Schmidt said that creating a sense of community—a sense of “we’re all in this together”—is ultimately what Flogging Molly tries to do on stage.

“Let’s forget about the hard stuff for a little while and remember that what you feel right now—with all these people around you who love the same things that you love—is what will get you through,” Schmidt said. [Click Here to Read More]

The Future of Journalism. DUN DUN DAH!

It's like the Jetsons or Something! Wow! [Click Here to Read More]