Fear not, fair 520! This looks like a job for Strapping Young Lad!

Well, I am a little behind in my entries as of late, but I had many obstacles to face in the last few days. Being a courageous defender of hope, justice, and the Knoxville way pits many adversaries in my way. Fending off these baddy bads sometimes eats up my schedule. I hope you haven’t missed me.

Wednesday night I was never aware that one of my long time allies was going to betray me. Companion to me on many a fair evening, a tender and saucy friend stealthily poisoned me. One single, luke warm buffalo wing I had slid down my gullet began the process that would eventually bring me to my knees come Thursday evening. It was a terribly gory affair that involves things best left undescribed. How one of my most trusted comfort foods could stoop so low, it was betrayal at it’s spiciest. It was well into the wee hours of Friday morning before I stopped howling ‘et tu, chicken wing?” into the toilet.

Luckily I had managed to gather most of my strength come night fall. Using my identity as blackmail, the infamous Thirteen had called me out. So in true superhero/villain style we met at midnight, high above the metro-Knoxville streets. Unfortunately, K-town seems to have only two buildings close to being skyscrapers. It was awkward at first as I stood on top of the BB&T building, craning my super ears to hear the nefarious Thirteen yell his evil plot from the acme of the First Tennessee. We quickly semaphored an agreement to meet halfway. So in the covered pedestrian bridge, tens of feet above Main Street, we finally met face to face. My nemesis at last before me, clad in a form fitting black on black ensemble complete with mask and sword, left but one lingering thought in my head. Man, those cats in the SCA sure can sew a mean costume. I was starting to feel a little showed up in my bath towel cape and underoos.
“So we finally meet, Thirteen” I said.
“Indeed, Young Lad. It will be an honor to bring the high and mighty Straps to his DOOM!!! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” the dark one cackled.

Then like for the next thirty minutes or so, dude starts going into how he’s got this big ole plan for ruling the world. I mean, it was interesting for a minute, but then he’s all ‘death beams’, blah blah, ‘evil army of do-ers’, blah blah, showing me pictures of his ‘mind control quiche’, re-enactments involving action figures, flow charts...

Finally, I was just like, “Dude, it’s the middle of the night and I am standing downtown in my underwear, freezing my f@#$ing little lads off. Let’s do dis already.”

And it was off to the races. Bam, slam, kapowey, zoing, zip, zap, slap, say I won’t, gitcher filthy paws offa, eat this, try that, how ya like me now, et cetera, until a standstill felt inevitable. As the moonlight basked down upon our battered and bloody bodies, I suddenly could feel the strength of hundreds of Knoxville scensters swell up in me, the taste of Miller High Life in my sweat, the faint echos of Umphrey's McGee’s coming from the Bijou playing in my ears, throngs of smiling happy people out at the bars and I could see each and every one of their sloppy grinned faces. “NOT IN MY TOWN, BUDDY” I bellowed as I wiped a trickle of crimson from the corner of my mouth.

Then, because we had previously agreed to keep everything PG-13, I chucked him off of something high onto something pointy. Funny thing is, apparently Thirteen is all sorts of into full spinal piercing. He just totally pulls himself off of this rusty piece of re-bar and pops in a super-duper gauge stainless steel barbell. Oh, we just laughed and laughed. Then we went and got waffles. Man, I like waffles.

At least that’s how I recall how Friday went down. Mind you, I did keep intermittently blacking out and then finding myself on my couch sweating out a food poison induced fever. My memory of the events could be a little suspect, to say the least.

With all nasty bouts with bacteria coming to a close come Saturday, I finally did get to be a superhero of sorts. Saturday evening I was honored and privileged to be an honorary member of The Bearded for the night. Even though I only managed to get up two day’s growth on my chin before the show, the wonderful fellows in the band still let me up on stage with them for a great show at the Laurel Theater. It was part of the ongoing concerts put on by Jubilee Community Arts and it was a humdinger to be sure. The band was hot, the crowd was awesome, and even local harmonica legend Mike Crawley got up on stage for a kickin rendition of "If I Should Fall From the Grace of God". I highly recommend catching these gentlemen some time if you haven’t already, and not just because I'm on their washboard sub-list. They got all your old time fun lovin jug bandy goodness joneses covered.

TONIGHT'S PICKS: I can't get enough Portuguese, so I guess I need to get down to the Preservation Pub tonight for the Nova Delinquents.

Until the next episode, true believers,
This is Strapping Young Lad, over and out.

p.s. All in good fun, Thirteen.

Posted by the 520 gang at 11:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Greetings 520, Strapping Young Lad here, thanks for having me.

I am an easily amused sort of fellow. This has come as a blessing to me many times in my life, especially at times and places of prolonged waiting (doctors’ offices, department of vehicles, principal’s lobby, corner of North Shore and Kingston Pike). I believe it is one of the more treasured traits that somehow my blood line preserved over the last hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. Ever seen a bored chimp? Me neither.

Fortunately, my genetic make up has naturally selected to replace eating nits off my brothers back and flinging poop with reading the funny pages and doing sudokus (to be fair, though, I have never really given the first two a chance and my brothers back hair infestation could use some attention). The art of distraction has evolved faster than any other human want. We have taken the idea of smooth pebbles and interestingly shaped sticks and expounded on them million fold. We have the internet, tabloids, radio, satellites, cable, cell phones, even good old fashioned papers and magazines providing us with more wonderful, useless, fluffy information than we could ever consume in ten lifetimes. All of which leaves us quite the gaggle of confused monkeys when we try to decide what to be distracted by and what to be distracted from.

Pop star shows off vertical grin or people trying to cure cancer? Teen actor shows off his hairy potter on stage in London or ice caps getting worrisomely thin? Texas stripper buys boobs and gets them published in national boob magazine, the boobs get a sudden rise to fame and they marry a billionaire corpse, boobs start to lose popularity, boobs hit the Ben & Jerry’s and get a reality show, boobs shed the pounds with a cocktail of over the counter diet crank mixed with antidepressants, boobs barely stand up at an award presentation, boobs get in decade long legal fight for billionaire corpses money, boobs have daughter, boobs lose son, boobs die leaving the boobs genetic material donors to duke it out with every man who had ever played with the boobs over what to do with the boobs, judge cries as medical examiner calls in to say “um, we need to do something about the boobs, they are starting to ‘turn’”, but oh what is to happen to the boobies’ poor motherless million dollar baby? or the ever growing amount of not rich children that are losing their mommies and daddies to a couple of wars that have been going on for quite some time now. So many choices.

It’s like we are magpies thrown into a room full of broken mirrors. We all just strut around trying to decide which piece of shiny glass we want to take. They all look so pretty.

Now, I am not shaking my finger from an ivory tower, mind you. We need distractions, for example like this here blog, because we need to care about things that don’t need caring about. We’d go crazy with out this stuff. It’s just odd, is all, when you take that step back and decided what you want to and don’t want to give a fart about. I was thrilled when the AP made an announcement that they would stop caring about a certain talentless hotel empire heiress. I smuggly agreed with myself that there were more important things to read about. I mean, holy hot buttered dammit, there is a new Star Trek movie in the works.

Well, I have ranted long enough. Point is, being a funny monkey ain’t such a bad thing.

Now, as for current distractions:

Tonight’s Picks: Brent Thompson & His Wandering Circus at the Preservation Pub. Those guys can keep my simian entertainment desires in check.

And as always, stay beautiful Knoxville.

Strapping -ooh what was that?-Young Lad

Posted by the 520 gang at 02:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hello, all my 520 comrades, it's Strapping Young Lad again,

It’s the 4th Tuesday of February and that can only mean one thing. I’m late paying my car insurance again! Woohoo! Actually I kid, what I really mean to say is Happy National Spay Day, Knoxville!

Gosh, has it been a whole year already?

Today’s the day to raise national awareness for the ever present problem of animal overpopulation. You are encouraged to take at least one of your pets in for spaying or neutering. And you were worried you would have nothing to do on your lunch break. But seriously, the local animal shelter euthanizes around 10,000 unwanted animals a year. You can help be part of the solution. Think of all the puppies and kitties. Especially the kitties. Especially the kitties that think the crawlspace under my house is their own after hours feline boudoir of love. I think there may be a kitty porn ring being run from down there. Ever heard a tom and tabby in the throws of passion (like maybe from under my living room)? It never sounds like either party is very happy about their participation. I think spaying and neutering would be doing these cats a favor.

Also, it's a little known fact that Bob Barker takes a shot to the crotch every time an unwanted pet is put to sleep (it's all starting to make sense now, isn't it?). So, if not for all the little cute and fuzzies out there, do it for an 83 year old man's dangly bits.

And moving on:

What happens when you combine a couple of MacBooks, some Ableton Live software, half a dozen midi control switches and keyboards, a rack case full of blinking lights and knobs, a couple of stringed instruments, a drum kit, some bongos, and two members of a big draw jam band? Very confused hippies. Actually what you get is Eoto.

Eoto is the brainchild of Jason Hann and Michael Travis from the very popular String Cheese Incident. They just so happened to be playing a show last night at the World Grotto. I have a bit of fascination for the art of real time musical loop creation and went to see how the big boys do it. And do it they did. As local electronic musicians G-Roc played their opening set, I was trying to gather if everyone else in the place knew what was going to happen here. I had visited Eoto's Myspace earlier in the afternoon and was well pleased that what these guys were pulling off was nothing like SCI. It was refreshing to hear a definite tangent being taken in a side project as opposed to a ‘more of the same, just different’ approach. I almost got a word in with Travis, who manned most of the technical gadgets that evening, and he almost got to talking about the ease of using Ableton Live when some guy cut me off and began asking what the Cheese was doing in the summer. Although it sort of grated my glutes a little, the musician just rolled with it and kindly exchanged words with the obvious fan. With a huge jam fan base, I imagine smiling and saying the same things over and over again with an honest grin in your cheeks is just a necessary skill. Both Hann and Travis were very accessible to all the crowds well wishes and conversation, most of which had nothing to do with what I was interested in hearing them talk about, but that was my problem and not anyone else’s.

When the show started, it was easy to see why these two excellent musicians decided to take on this left field-ish electronic musical endeavor of theirs. They were having a ball. The format is one of total improvisation. The music is just pure never heard before dance beat, made hot and fresh while you watch. I overheard a fan ask if they were going to play a track off of Eoto’s album, to which the reply was no. Neither would be able to remember how to play it.

All and all the entire thing worked. The audience of mostly young neo-hippies, think homemade skirts, dreadlocks, faded Widespread Panic t-shirts, etc. did not seem disappointed at all at Eoto’s performance and danced like a bunch of club kidz. They even broke out the plastic glow jewelry. To me it makes perfect sense. If you can enjoy a good stomp to an extended twenty minute guitar solo, why wouldn’t you find your groove in a continuous wave of homemade house music? The point being: I dug it.

Tonight’s Picks: Scott McMahan sings a mighty pretty song. Check him out at the Downtown Grill and Brewery tonight.

Until next time, this is Strapping Young Lad, reminding you to have your pets spayed and neutered.

Posted by the 520 gang at 12:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

And now, for all of you down with the Five Two Oh, I give you Strapping Young Lad

Well, society has once again survived another Oscar weekend. I would like to tell you how the suspense and drama of Hollywood 's most anticipated night had me on an emotional roller coaster ride that left me guessing all night. How the glamour and glitz had me stunned, the speeches made me weep, and Ellen made me laugh. All of which did not happen. I pretty much had forgotten about the entire hubbaballoo until a commercial on a different station begged me to watch Simpsons and Family Guy re-runs instead of the Oscars. Which I did, for the most part, aside from a random channel surf here and there.

The Oscars are just my yearly reminder on all the movies I said I wanted to see but didn’t get around to. I like movies well enough, it’s just that if I am going to drop twenty bucks on a few hours of entertainment, I’d prefer that a band and a beer buzz be involved. Now, I have been to theaters in the past that offered beer and food at your seat during current blockbuster releases. This concept is not currently available in Knoxville, but in other parts of the country it’s not so alien. This is a wonderful idea except for one thing: in a two hour movie, the hour and fifteen minute mark is usually a crucial story apex, the transition from the meat of the story to the exciting conclusion. In a two hour beer drink, the hour and fifteen minute mark is fifteen minutes past the time when you really, really, had to pee. You can see the dilemma.

I did see one, and only one, movie that won a coveted statue, Little Miss Sunshine. I somehow managed to miraculously rent it in spite of the mind erase devices they install in all Blockbusters. I know you have always suspected the presence of secret government brain scramblers at the rental places (they have them at the CD stores as well). It’s the reason you wander aimlessly around, aisle after aisle, as the titles on your mental ‘must see’ list dissolve away like bubbles from an Alka-Seltzer. You try to focus on your favorite actors faces, who is it you like again? Pauly Shore? Yeah, I like him, right? Biodome was a classic, right? It’s the entire reason people ever rent things like or Leprechaun: Back to the Hood or anything starring Hillary Duff. I must have been wearing my tinfoil hat the day I rented LMS, cuz it was way above par.

One thing I always remember, however, is da funk, and da funk was in Atlanta Friday night. Me and the boys in artvandalay took a trip down to Little Five Points on Friday to play a show at a club called The Five Spot. Not only did we get to play a great show, we were then treated by the super sharp funky style of Cadillac Jones. I mention this to my fellow Knoxvillians because on Friday, March 23rd we are going to repeat the whole shebang right here in K-town, at The World Grotto. Mark you calendars now and get your dancing pants back from the dry cleaners. Then you can go to the show and say ‘Damn, that Straps fellow was on the money on this one’.

Tonight's Picks: Eoto at the Grotto sounds like a winner for all your improvised real time loopy dance music needs. You could take a break and check out Grandpa’s Stash at the Preservation Pub while you’re down at the Square anyhow. Those boys got a pretty good thing brewin'.

I’d like to thank all the little people that made this moment possible…

-Straps

Posted by the 520 gang at 11:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"'If calamari rings were made from the squid they would be the size of tractor tires', he added."

Salutations, People of 520, I am Strapping Young Lad, I Come in Peace,

You ever get the feeling you are looking at a sign? Maybe you are standing witness to something that your gut is just adamantly certain is a grand omen. The oracles of the universe are smacking you on the face, but you still can't seem to see what the big meaning might be. These are the heebies jeebies that boogie woogie up my spine when I read stories involving hugungous cephalopods. It seems weird to me that a creature that is usually right at home six thousand feet below, usually very happy being an elusive creature of the deep, makes a trip up to the world of us meddlesome monkeys. It seems darn right eerie that stuff like this is happening more and more often and feels strangely connected to those inconveniently truthful photos of polar bears stranded on ice cubes round the North Pole. I just gotta feel a little bad for that colossal squid, though. Dude decided to venture up to strange waters, I guess to finally try the Chilean sea bass, and the ends up yanked out of the water, frozen, and shipped off to a place called Te Papa. Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed when you’re a 900 pound invertebrate. Anyhow, the whole incident has got me feeling that some cosmic funkiness is afoot. That and we are gonna need one big ass bucket of marinara.

Last night, the cosmically funkiest thing kicking was the film footage of William Tiberius Shatner reciting the lyrics to Elton John’s “Rocket Man”. I had seen this footage before, but it never ceases to confound at every viewing. This and many other video oddities were presented last night at Cocktails at the KMA: Addicted. On exhibit as well was half of local photographer Tovah Greenwood’s very well done series of photos, also themed on addiction. Apparently the other half of the exhibition they couldn’t show conjures up naughty thoughts and would have melted my cherubic like innocence I have been fighting tooth and nail to maintain all these years. I hear the series in its entirety will be on display somewhere soon. All in all, it was decent event. Personally, though, I would have liked to have seen more ‘art’ in the hall with all the drinks and people. I like schmoozing and I like art-ing, and history has shown that the two go together like smelly cheese and water crackers. More facilitation of the schmooze to art ratio would be welcome. Regardless, I would recommend catching the next one of these events. It was a great way to kick off a meandering night of mellow cavorting downtown.

This is exactly what my lovely companion and I did last night. It was a quick scoot from the KMA to downtown on a fairly easy going Wednesday evening. Had a few drinks at Pres Pub, listened to Big Bad Jukebox play “Kid Charlemagne”, cruised around in the freakishly pleasant weather and ended up at a fairly decently crowded Cabaret Night at Sapphire. It was a darn fine evening, I tell ya.

Oh, and if you are looking for a hot investment tip, there was a gentleman hanging around downtown last night selling 40 dollar winning lottery scratchers for only twenty bucks. All the signs say this is a winner, how can you lose?

TONIGHT’S PICKS: Normally I wouldn’t recommend the same act twice in one week, but Matt Urmy is playing a goodbye Knoxville/movin to Nashville show with his band of cohorts tonight at Barley’s. If nothing else you should go to check out the relatively new to the scene Hudson K open up the show.

Keep your eyes on the signs, fair readers, and until next time,

This is Straps, signing off.

Posted by the 520 gang at 03:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

“I’m going straight down to the Quarter, pour beer on myself and try to get on COPS, wearin chili pepper boxers and my Ray Charles shades” – from Fat Tuesday by Greg Horne.

Well hello there, my gracious 520-ites,

Isn’t it exciting? We’re only a few hours of editing away from the anticipated release of Girls Gone Wild Part 52, Ta-Tas of Mardi Gras 07!!! We can finally catch up with all the recent escapades of our favorite millionaire date rapist. The last one left so many unanswered questions.

Jackass perverts aside, I hope everybody enjoyed their Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, Pancake Day, Shrove Tuesday, or Carnival in an appropriate method: wandering in circles for miles while drinking yards of brightly colored libations, flashing flesh for plastic trinkets, getting pick-pocketed, relieving yourself in random street corners, throwing up king cake and muffaletta on a close friend. If you didn’t get to in reality, hopefully you did at least in spirit.

I hope you extracted all your ya-yas, cuz its time to kick it Lent style. It’s the perfect season to make all those personal improvements you’ve been slackin on since New Years. 40 days and nights to finally get rid of some of those nasty habits like smoking, drinking, swearing, eating oleo straight out the tub, puppy kicking, what have you. You can do it! If Reverend Ted Haggard can kick his nasty habit of snorting meth off of a rent-a-studs backside in only twenty one days, think what you can do with twice that much time!

Me? I’m gonna take one for the team by not participating in Lent this year (or next year, or ever) so that all you boozeless/meatless people can get your good times vicariously through me. All you have to do is find me out and about and ask me how much fun I’m having. Then you can watch me eat a burger, tilt back a glass of bitter, and I will tell you how friggin great I feel. It’s one of the many altruistic services I provide to the needing public.

Ok, I’ve got to put on my serious pants for a moment:

As of today, Knoxville is losing a couple of its best inspired creators, for the time being anyhow. Local musician, sound sculptor, artist, producer and engineer, Andre Hayter, and his wife, the gifted dancer, choreographer, performance artist and student of the healing arts, Angela Hill, probably right now enroute to their new home in Sydney, Australia.

Angela has danced just about everywhere a person can dance in this town. She taught dance and choreographed pieces for several studios around Knoxville, including UT, Go Contemporary Dance Works, and Circle Modern Dance, which she was a core member of for many years. She is a totally gifted mover and a bit of a poet as well. She is well known for her spoken word and dance solos she has performed over the years, often at Modern Dance Primitive Light, the annual holiday time performance of Circle Modern. To me she is always heavy in thought but light on the feet.

Like any good bass player, Andre was mostly heard and not seen around this town. His name may not ring a bell, but there is a good chance if you have been out and about in this town in the last decade or so, you have heard or seen his work. He has played in the scene with many bands, including Difficult Children, the Jodie Manross Band, Hummus, Mikel Grubb Band, and most recently, the short lived Teleskope. He is also a gifted engineer and producer that has worked on numerous local albums and demos. He, along with local Matt Roberts, created the interactive sculpture that surrounds the entrance to the KMA’s hands on children’s gallery. He also helped design one of the best backyard slip n’ slides the Bearden area of Knoxville has ever seen.

The most exciting thing these two incredible souls have done in the last few years was to combine their powers WonderTwin style in the form of Ahsquared Productions. With Dre’s musical mad science and Angela’s gifts of movement, the two produce pieces where the lines between musician and dancer gets blurred through the use of motion sensors, computers, and other technological hoo doo. I have been assured that Ahsquared will continue to blossom in the land down under. We back on this side of the world can keep up with all their beautiful exploits at www.ahsquared.com, when they get around to updating the site. (They have been a little busy as of late, packing up everything they own and shipping it as far as one can possibly ship something). If a butterfly can flutter in Tunisia and cause a storm in Miami, you can bet good money that the storm that comes off of these two’s wings will be mind boggling. So, to Angela and Andre, I say on behalf of Knoxville, we love and miss you already, safe journeys.

Tonight’s Picks: Yonder Mountain String Band is the big ticket pick for this evening. Then go have a glass at Sapphire and do some crooning of your own, Cabaret style. I have also heard rumor that Ben Maney and the Countless Sheep will be performing tonight at the Grotto, but I can neither confirm or deny that at this time.

G’day Til the Next Soiree,

Strapping Young Lad

Posted by the 520 gang at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Distinguished 520 Readers, May I Present to You, Strapping Young Lad.

Well, I hope I haven't let the team down, but I didn't get out this weekend. I was too excited and busy putting up decorations and baking my Presidential Seal Cake. This magical day only comes but once a year! So hard not to get swept up in all the holiday spirit.

Not exactly true, mind you. In actuality I had to venture over the mountains to a quaint North Carolina village called Lewisville. I had a hot gig Sunday morning at Shallowford Presbyterian Church. It was their annual Jazz Service Sunday. I got to sit in with a great bunch of players and we played boppin' arrangements of some holy day standards. How they found 5 Presbyterians with enough rhythm to form a jazz group, I’ll never know. The day’s activities also got me way ahead in my church service attendances, having been to three in the last six months. The band was hot, the place was packed, and the cover was optional. Although the bar was a bit lacking, I put my stamp of approval on Jazz for Jezus Day. I sincerely thank those kind folks for letting me in on that.

Now, speaking of things presidentialish, today is a very important day for you to do your civic minded duty and vote. For me. For real. The first day of judgment is upon us. Having little to no shame, I feel no hesitation in begging for your vote. What does a vote for Straps get you, the mild mannered patron of the 520? Peace of mind and security. Imagine the horror of a Tuesday afternoon interweb surf turned ugly because, heavens forbid no post from the Lad. Have the terrorists won? What’s going on? I feel dizzy.

The power to prevent this is in your hands. What will you say to the children of tomorrow when they look up to you and ask “Mommy/Daddy, who was Strapping Young Lad?”

When you have to look into those little eyes, holding back your own tears, and explain the untimely demise of a blog that went before its time, you will have to think “I could have done something. Why didn’t I vote?” I wouldn’t wish the weight of that burden on anyone. Ask not what Straps can do for you, but what you can do for Straps.

Actually, in the honest spirit of Abe-y Baby that we celebrate today, I am sure all of the Ultimate Survivor folks appreciate everyone out in cyber-land that have taken the time to read our little entries. Please take the time to figure out how to vote for the one you like best.

Monday Night Picks: I think I’m going with Matt Urmy at the Preservation Pub for some introspective singer/songwriter goodness. If you can, check out Luminescent Orchestrii on WDVX’s Blue Plate Special today at noon. I am kicking myself for missing them last night, but at least I can enjoy a webcast of them today. I also think everyone that goes out tonight should sport beards and a stove pipe hat. It will look like the day the Phil Pollard clones took over K-town.

Til next time, My Fellow 520ers, I Am Not A Crook,
-The Occasionally Honorable Strapping Young Lad.

Posted by the 520 gang at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Good day to you, most distinguished 520 people,

Strapping Young Lad comin' atchya.

So I hope you survived your hump day holiday festivities and that love flittered and spread around freely through the streets of Knoxville like a bunch of sand fleas. Now that the last echoes of all those silly love songs are waning we can get back to our normal daily affairs.

And one of my new daily affairs just happens to be trying to make one of your new daily affairs a clickety-click over here to the 520 so you can read the on goings of my exciting daily affairs.

What a crazy world, huh, kid?

I would like to touch on a subject that as of late has been popping its head around my circle of folks. It was spurred on, most recently, by the rumored happenings at The World Grotto last weekend. Word is that some of the artists performing the night in question vandalized and stole from the establishment. This created a bit of hum around the local scene and forums earlier this week and by now is probably a bit of old news to most of you. Now, I have read the forums and talked to a few people and have come to the conclusion that I just don't know enough to point the finger of blame, name any names, pass out any shame to any alleged player in this game. I don't know the story, not sure that I want to, but it has brought forth the fact that certain people are doing ill advised things at shows around town and I think this needs to be addressed. That is why I, Strapping Young Lad, have decided to do something about it. Sherman, set the Way-Back Machine for 1989, cuz I am about to re-institute the gas-face.

If you are playing a show and feel the need to get yer Pete Doherty on (btw, I don't think even Kate Moss likes Baby Shambles) by getting triznashed and tearing the place apart - you get the gas-face (strong language warning). It just so happens that I am a musician and I know a huge population of musicians in this town. Seems the consensus amongst my musical friends is we don’t like coming into a club to play our show and find that:

1. the once friendly management doesn’t trust us anymore and does nothing to provide a comfortable setting to play, i.e. no more green room, docked pay, no complimentary beverages and/or snacks.
2. the equipment doesn’t work properly anymore because some rockin rebel without a clue put his boot through a monitor wedge and yuked up his Jager on a couple of power amps.
3. the owner of the bar realizes that if his place is gonna get trashed, he might as well stop having bands and just hire a DJ and revitalize the foam dancing fad. Foam dancing, people. Do you really want to share the responsibility of rousing that beast back from the depths? A little social responsibility, please.

This disrespect for venues and bars isn’t just blood on the band's hands, now people. If you are attending a show and feel a need to break something – I got your gas face all warmed up and ready for you. For example, why is it when certain guys get to drinking, they feel the need to express violence on a bathroom? Go around town to any late night hang and look at the men’s loo. I can’t think of one that is not in a state of funky disrepair or full of makeshift patch jobs done by the management. What have bathrooms done to you? What is this repressed anger that Hulks out of you when you take a leak? Was your Aunt Myrtle slain by a raving urinal mint? What is it that you have against stall doors, mirrors, and toilet paper hangers?

And on a side note, what made you think the best place you could up-chuck was in the urinal? Commodes, sure but, I mean the urinal? The floor is a better receptacle than the urinal. At least the poor person that cleans your mess up won’t have to deal with your puke and all the normal pee butter, cigarette butts, and other nastitude. I mean come on, that’s just uncalled for.

Speaking of bathrooms, who are all these people that go to bars with Sharpies in their pocket? Now, I enjoy some water closet poetry from time to time, but seriously. When you were getting ready to go out, were you all like “Wallet, ID, credit card? Check, Check, and Check. Breath Mints? Check. Car Keys? Check. Permanent marker so I can finally make public to the peeing masses the great time that could be had if they would only call Sally? Check.”? I mean, for all the people that seem to go out well prepared to write something, you’d think there would be some writing on the wall that seemed, I don’t know, well prepared.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, could all listening patrons please keep your crap off of the stage? I was watching a terrific and super crowded Toubab Krewe show at the Grotto. All of a sudden, this dude that's, I don't know, like seven foot something tall comes in and stands in front of me. Now, I know it sucks to have a tall dude crowd out your sightline at a show, but I forgive these things. There is nowhere you can stand in elbow to elbow conditions where you won't stage block somebody. Now, I am not real short and I try not to do this to the less of stature, but it happens. What did torque my screws was that this guy proceeded to put his and his girlfriend’s jacket, her purse, and his and her drink ON STAGE, right next to the bass player’s feet. That is like uber disrespectful people. Dude might as well have popped a squat and took a steamy on that stage. Bands of any type size deserve and need what ever space they can get. That's why that space is set aside for them. They don't need to be dodging your beverages and personals while they are trying to get funky. I know, maybe nobody told you, and we will let slide this time, but consider yourself on gas-face review.

If you are attending a show and you feel the need to talk to somebody in the band while they are playing, sorry, you just got gas-faced. I know you want to feel connected to band, and those playing want to feel that connection with, but this is annoying. Musicians don’t want to hurt your feelings, but we would like it if you would just be a doll and shut the f*** up, at least until between songs. I don’t care if its just one cat on a patio playing covers on a thumb piano. Please wait until the song is over to request Brown Eyed Girl, or even better, write it down on a piece of paper (any odd piece of currency retains written requests best, I have been told) as this is one of the few exceptions to the putting stuff on stage rule. But for the love of Pete Townsend, do not start talking about your day and that terrible thing that happened to your hamster to a person trying to do his job of entertaining you. Oh, and under no circumstance should you ever, ever, ask the percussionist of the band whilst in the middle of a tune if the band knows the theme to The Dukes of Hazard. See that big black boxy thingy sitting next to his head? Yeah, it’s a fifteen inch speaker that is belching out the stylings of a six piece band, which, well lookie there, is sitting right behind him too. These are no conditions for a guy like me to try and decipher your screams of “C’mon, yeww know it, ‘Jus a gud ol bow-ee’. What makes you think I know what the hell you are trying to say? (True story, mind you)

There are some obvious gas faces that I don’t think I have to go into detail about, like anyone that came out to pick a fight or dudes that make continual bad passes at the cocktail waitresses (just leave now, you satchels of Masengill).

There are also things I wish I could put on the gas face list, but in reality there is no stopping them because you the people love them. Things like shouting "Freebird", requesting "Mustang Sally", and my personal least favorite, "We need more cowbell!" I realize that these things don't really hurt anybody or ruin anyone's good time; it’s just that they make me shudder. I would love to maybe suggest alternatives to these phrases such as, respectively, "Play some Sabbath!", requesting "Walking the Dog" or any other old funk R&B tune that is the same key and progression as Sally, and "The drummer is HOT!!". Alas, I am sure this is just a pipe dream.

Now, I don’t want it to be said that I don’t condone making an ass of yourself. Hell, half the reason I go to bars (or parties, or hockey games, or church services) is because they are openly accepting forums for asses. Inebriation and ass-issity go hand and hand, all part of the game, from the players on stage to the folks in line for the can. But remember, there is a difference between funny-jackass-ha-ha and scary-ass-please-call-the-cops. Please, ass responsibly.

I guess the over all point is, if you can’t handle your poisons in public, stop using them or practice at home until you can. Break your own dang stuff. The rest of us would appreciate it.

Friday Night's Picks: Man, tonight’s a toughie. Try to start out with Mem Shannon at Alive at Five, should be a great show. Get your Nawlin's on. Then what? Mic Harrison & The Highscore at the Corner will be a great show and will more than likely be packed, easily worth seven bucks. I gotta say I am also torn between Jescoe at Pres Pub and The Coveralls at Barley's. I hope to see you all out and about and if you see me at a show, you can flash me your best g-f. You'll know who I am; I'll be the guy making an ass of himself.

Have a good weekend, Knoxville, and til next time,

Straps has left the building.

Posted by the 520 gang at 11:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

(editor's note: although Valentine's Day was yesterday, you can keep celebrating here with the Lad's winsome words!)

Bon Jour, My Sweet 520 readers, It Is I, Strapping Young Lad.

Today is a very special day, one we spend in celebration of a historical and mythical man. Of course I am talking about Ed Corts, the ever loved publican of The Corner Lounge. Happy Birthday, Ed!

But alas, Ed’s thunder has been all but quashed by a certain man that was either one of three fellas named Valentinus from either Rome , Interamna, or Africa around the year 270. Legend has it that an evil emperor handed this Valentinus fellow’s head to him because he wouldn't disavow the Holy Roman Church. Records of this time are all but non-existent. We will never now exactly who this fellow was and what he really did that was so great as to be sainted and all. But this much is known for (almost probably) sure about the Patron Saint of The Greeting Card Industry: he was all about spreadin some 3rd century love. Which time warps us thousands of years to the here and now, where you are reading this and thinking “Oh s***, that’s today!”

Now there are various camps of thought on this holiday. Many cherish the opportunity to sprinkle adoration on their lovey-dovies like rose petals from 75% cacao clouds. Others say that the day is bunk and that the entire muckety muck was created and hyped by Hallmark and FTD to crank out early year sales. Then there is the opinion, of which I understand is shared by most of the Knoxville520 staff, that all you non-single kissy kissy faced amorous monkeys can go choke on your bon-bons.

No matter what your opinion of the day, you’re stuck with it and here it is. What you gonna do now? Maybe I can help, because nothing solves problems like anonymous strangers on the internet. Any how, as promised, here is

Strapping Young Lad's Tips For Valentine’s Day

1) THE EASY WAY OUT: $$$
Look, you can’t buy love, but you sure as hell can buy a pretty friggin cool night. If you got the means, drop a bill on dinner and drinks and maybe catch a show. My favorite places to exchange a wad of cash for a couple hours of over indulgent eating? Everybody has different tastes, but on the rare special occasion I get to pretend I'm a money bag, Chesapeake’s or Baker Peters are my faves (Your significant other a vegetarian? Prove their mettle with a trip to BPs' and get the filet medium rare. If they can watch you nosh down one of the most delicious bloody messes in town and kiss you later, they must like you a lot. Seriously, though, best steak I have ever had). Point is, it’s hard to have a bad date if you throw a couple of hundred bucks at it (unless your date actually costs a couple of hundred bucks a night, which just means your a sad, sad, case this Valentine's). The bad thing about expensive gifts, nice restaurants, renting limos, getting the grill polished, etcetera, is that it takes forethought and a little planning and IT'S TODAY.

You probably should have made reservations because every swank eatery in town will be slammed to the gills with folks that remember this type of stuff. And gifts? Well, you can rush out to the jewelry store on the lunch break I suppose. They sell some pretty cute stuffed animals at Wal-greens. OR, you can mozey on down to plan #2.

2) THE “STILL SAYS I CARE BUT ON THE CHEAP AND QUICK” OPTION
So, the wallet is light or the clock is tickin, either way, its time to get on the ball, chump love sucker. It looks like its time to initiate an intimate evening at home.

Can you cook? If not, scoot on down to the Fresh Market pre-prepared deli case. Get a couple of fancy looking entrees and some vegetables to steam with – Oh, you're the can’t-boil-water REALLY can’t cook type person. Still, no fear, they got sides too. You can probably get a real nice dinner for two for under $20. Here’s the key. You gotta put it on a plate, genius. Eating out of plastic trays you microwaved is not gonna score you any suave points. Still got some cash? There are plenty of tasty wines for under a tenner. Set the table, use a cloth if you got one, light a candle.
Need atmosphere? Pop over to Pandora.com and start typing in Barry White, John Coltrane, System of a Down, whatever floats your mood boat. If you take about twenty minutes you can fine tune a custom romantic mix station that you can just let play whilst dinner is commencing.
Gift? Now this may take an hour or so. It’s a desperate play and takes a little mental conditioning to pull off, but I think given our options, we gotta go there. Break out the construction paper, glue, glitter, and macaroni. For realsies. Take an hour to revert back to third grade. Personalize a big, cheezy, lace and painted pasta heart for your lover. This is where you gotta believe, though. You think I’m joking around? YOU GOTTA BELIEVE IT, SOLDIER! While you are making this monstrous monument to your total lack of artistic talent, you must open your mind. You must imagine you ARE that third grader and you have just created your masterpiece. It took you all of art class and you went through two tubes of Elmers (well, the last one you drank and did that fake peeling skin on my hands thing with) but it is done, it is beautiful, and you are taking it home. You bust in the door and give to your mom. Keep focusing on the love on your mom’s face as she is beaming at this heartfelt creation. This is the commitment you must have for your other to not take this all as a terrible joke or a cheap excuse. No person with any kind of heart would dare shatter an honest stare of cutesy kiddy goody goodness conviction. If you bust out ninja strong focus while presenting this gift, grasshopper, I believe you can even pull some tears out of your love buddy. Now, there is one more important step in pulling this off, YOU MUST BE ABLE TO GET YOUR MOM BACK OUT OF YOUR HEAD. Otherwise, you might have just sabotaged any hope of the evenings grande finale. Candles, blanket, sappy movie, snuggles, and then whatever have you. Bam. Valentines for under thirty bucks and with all the smoochy woochy moments you can stomach.

3) THE “I DON’TS GOT NOBODY” PLAN OF ATTACK (Also known as the 520 special)
Take your damn self out to dinner. Go to a schnazzy restaurant and eat at the bar, you don't need a reservation. Buy those top shelf drinks (but apparently you better order in before DQ hits the bar and drinks the wells dry), eat the Mahi Mahi, get a bad ass desert (Oodles Noodle Bar on Market Square had a triple choclate mouse last time I ate there. Bring a helping of that home with you and your evening won't need a “grande finale”. The stuff is semi-solid ‘o’ face in a glass), go kick it at a show, treat yourself as good as you ought to be treated. But save those receipts. At the end of the night multiply the total tab by two and think of all those sappy suckers that didn’t qualify for the Valentine’s Half Off discount.

Now go out there and get your Happy Valentine’s Day on.

TONIGHTS PICS: Shows I’d recommend seeing tonight if I had a lovely other with me: Preservation Pub for Big Bad Jukebox or Barley’s for Christabel and the Jons. It all just depends on how fast you wanna dance. As for me and mine? I think my lovely and I might head down to the Corner Lounge, listen to a little Greg Horn, and watch Ed drink in another great year of Ed-ness.

Til Next Time, My Sweetest Adieus, to yieu and yieu and yieu,
-Le Strapster

Posted by the 520 gang at 10:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Hello You Gorgeous 520 Blog Readers. Straps here.

Well it has begun.

Yes, beautiful people, the gauntlets have been dropped, lots have been cast, and the pint glasses lifted. Seven have subscribed to this brave endeavor, willing to duke it out Royal Rumble style, taking on the competition mano-y-bloggo, all vying to be the last scenester standing. But there can be only one, my lovely reader, only one. Hold on to yer Bluetooth mouses, interweb-ites, this one could get ugly.

All hail 520!!! Those who are about to try –our darn tootenest to get our greasy hands on them 500 bones by assuming our lives our so cool that any given reasonable person would find grand amounts of entertainment in dilly-dallying their time on this hi tech highway reading our over exaggerated accounts of bar crawling, rock show going, restaurant eating, movie watching exploits and adventures and listening to our damn clever witticisms and opinions because I am one damn cool individual, for real, I AM cool, you're gonna wanna read all about my hip cooly coolness, I know it, I know it, gosh darn it, and mamma says I’m funny- We salute you!

And I give you my word, fair and just minded reader, I will reach deep into my ego, drawing on the power that my bratty child like need for your attention gives me, in order to provide you with nothing but the highest quality slacken-off-at-work-time. I know that in the time you spend reading my blog, you could have been reading Penny Arcade, or surfing AICN, or posting on your Friends of the River Otter forum, or playing Line Rider, or Googling yourself again, but you chose to burn that calorie in your little clickin finger by coming here. I know how valuable your wasted time is, and I thank you for sharing it with me.

As for my competitors in this little game, Dancing Queen, Thirteen, Joe Vegas, Tahlulah, and the oh so mysterious bloggers #1 and #2, it is go time. Win or lose, lets show this town what local scene rambling is all about. Let us not think of ourselves and of prizes. Instead, let us think of what we can do for Knoxville , nay I say, what we can do for the whole darn internet. Let the cyber yarns of our bacchanal night life shenanigans bring peace, humor, and enlightenment to this grand electric ether. Let us rise above the cyber slime layers of porn and Diet Coke and Mentos videos on YouTube. This is your chance to make a difference! United you can make the internet a better place. And the annals of history will say the revolution started right here in K-town. In the badly misquoted words of one time pop star Pat Benetar, “We blog, We blog, We blog together.”

We can make that brighter tomorrow … alright, I can’t type this crap with a straight face anymore. Bring on the hyper critical opinions, toilet humor, gossip, bad advice and scandal already! And give me my five hunion dollars, beyatches! Cuz as fun as this is gonna be, everybody knows its all about them five Franklins.

Let’s get this dance started shall we?

I’ll be talking to you real soon, beautiful Knox-town. Next up will be my tips for Valentine’s Day. Not to be missed, I tell ya. Till then, stay out of trouble, or if not, send me pics.

-Straps out.

Posted by the 520 gang at 02:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)