Music Review: Alejandro Escovedo - Real Animal

The latest offering from Alejandro Escovedo is a powerful musical diary entry. It is a quirky and catchy and completely pleasant album that is nicely polished – produced by old Escovedo friend Tony Visconti - and unique.

This is Escovedo’s 10th solo album and he continues to write charming, sharp, witty, touching songs each and every time. He is a master songwriter and touches souls in a way that never goes wrong, similar to Damien Jurado or Mark Kozelek of Red House Painters and Sun Kil Moon.

His sound is a mix of Elvis Costello, Billy Bragg, and Jurado. His background was in punk bands and he still rocks out, but the beauty of his songs is the musical texture, and the ebbs and flows.

Real Animal is a 13-track effort put out on Back Porch/Manhattan Records and is Escovedo at his finest. He is brash and beautiful on the album, plaintive and playful, alt-country, punk rocker, and troubadour. He always writes and sings in a straightforward way and the lyrics are personal stories from a private notebook. On “Sister Lost Soul” Escovedo sings about the sadness of losing loved ones “Nobody left here unbroken/Nobody left her unscarred/Nobody here is talking/That’s just the way things are/ You had to go without me/You wandered off alone/And all the neon light reflecting off the sidewalk/Only reminds me you’re not coming home.”

The song “Chelsea Hotel ‘78” tells the story of a man living in a rock 'n' roll hotel “And it makes no sense/And it makes perfect sense.” A couple songs just have feel good lyrics about friendship and goodwill “People (We’re only gonna live so long)” and “Always a Friend,” and “Swallows of San Juan,” and “Slow Down” are downbeat ballads. Every song is infused with Escovedo’s unique viewpoints, heartache, and joy.
The album feels so real because it covers the gamut of emotions and lets the listener in. It is easy to identify with Escovedo. His voice is sturdy but gloomy, then excited and then hopeful and he weaves all of it together nicely on Real Animal.

Escovedo’s band – David Pulkingham on guitar and keyboards, Chuck Prophet on guitar, Josh Gravelin on bass and keyboards, Hector Munoz on drums, Susan Voelz on violin, Brian Standler on cello - is a perfect unit. The drums and bass always keep the songs steady, the violin adds a wonderful layer of sadness but also a spastic layer, and the guitars guide the mood, staying low key sometimes and ratcheting it up on other songs. There are also some organs, and saxophones added in on the album the help it function on additional levels and brings out even more emotions.

This album is a lovely effort. It is paced nicely, has a good mixture of rockers and dusty lullabies and the track order keeps things very upbeat and interesting. “Real as an Animal” is a rocker and so is “Chelsea Hotel ‘78” and they are probably the most powerful songs on the album, along with the bouncy “Smoke.” Escovedo’s punk rock background keeps things pounding and joyful, the slow ballads keep things thoughtful and touching and, in the end, Real Animal keeps Escovedo firmly in place as one of the most wonderful songwriters of this era.

Music Review: Envy - Abyssal

Envy is a beast. A five-piece dynamic, hardcore band from Japan that deals screaming guitars, pummeling drums, and guttural screams straight to your chest. The band has been around for a while and continues to grow into an epic, rib cage vibrating, jolt of momentum.

In 2006 Envy released their most accomplished, surprising, beautiful, and intense album, Insomniac Doze on Temporary Residence. Abyssal is a 30-minute, 4-song EP that has flashes of some of the terrible beauty that was Insomniac Doze. It is an album that approaches quietly, then pounces on you and rides you up a mountain, down the other side and through a valley into a lush green meadow, that quickly turns to an empty field of burnt and smoldering dreams. However, Abyssal is a less focused album, although it still features some wonderfully accomplished atmospheric metal songs.

The 4 songs – "Road of Winds that Water Builds," "All That’s Left has Gone to Sleep," "Thousand Scars," and "Fading Vision" all share a driving and intense drumbeat from drummer Dairoku Seki and textured guitars from Nobukata Kawai and Masahiro Tobita. The two guitar players mash sounds together quiet well and they never seem to leave any empty space, or maybe they leave the perfect amount of empty space.


Envy has songs that are structured more like symphonies, with cues for when the drums should rise, the bass should dance, and the screaming should obliterate everything. The lyrics are all in Japanese, there is translation in the note sheet, although understanding the lyrics isn’t that important. It is the emotion forced out of lead singer Tetsuya Fukagawa that is.

Unfortunately the emotions can get old. Out of 30 minutes there are only about 6 or 7 minutes that are unique, undeniable, must-listen moments. The rest of the ep kinda blends together.

The tunes on Abyssal run from 4 minutes to 10 minutes long and it’s length is one of it’s downfalls, with more time Envy might have compiled another outstanding tour de force CD, but this effort feels abbreviated. Like there were only 10 or 15 minutes of polished material, but they had to stretch it out to put together this EP.

It’s still a good effort, but not their most memorable and it doesn’t seem like they had to rush this release out. They should have taken their time and put together a proper full-length album, which they will hopefully do next time.

Music Review: Minus the Bear - They Make Beer Commercials Like This

hey Make Beer Commercials Like This is a remastered and enhanced version – with one song added - of a 2004 EP from this Seattle-based happy rock band, released here on Suicide Squeeze Records.

Featuring members of Botch and Sharks Keep Moving, among others, Minus The Bear is a fantastically catchy, indie-pop quintet that has always had the ability to get a listener’s attention with dance rhythms and powerful guitar work. The guitar is the basis of the band. It is neat and wildly expansive, it twists and turns, lays low and paints a beautiful unnoticed picture and then taps you on the shoulder to offer you a beer, before going back to work.

The band is more rockin version of Joan of Arc or a slightly laid back version of Radiohead.

“Hey, Is That A Ninja Up There,” the fifth of seven tracks on They Make Beer Commercials Like This is a perfect example of the grace and power of the band. The drumbeats are strong and never timid, riling things up at just the right time. The bass is a pleasant smokey scent in the background and the guitar is the great conductor – going from quiet to full force to gentle space monster and back again.

Most of the songs from Minus The Bear are this way. They are a spectacular band, and they have a great sense of humor – with song titles like “I’m Totally Not Down With Rob’s Alien” and “Houston, We Have Uh-Oh” – and tremendously fun vibe. Jake Snider’s lyrics are always half thoughtful and half fun and that is how life should be, I think.

A track from Minus the Bear never stops; it is constantly moving forward and dancing you around a gargantuan planetarium.

The only fault I can find with Minus The Bear, if it is a fault, is that all their songs are similar, similar pacing, similar lyrics, timing, and elements. They don’t spend a tremendous amount of time experimenting. They have 9 or 10 releases out now and they all follow the same formula. But, a lot of artists and bands – from The Grateful Dead to Ani Difranco – have made careers off releasing the same album over and over again, and Minus The Bear does it well. Since they formed in 2001 they have grown their fan base and they even hit late night TV – Jimmy Kimmel – in July of this year. They constantly put out quality releases and I guess that is the goal of any band.

Music Review: P.W. Long - God Bless The Drunkard’s Dog

“Come on come one and Shake what you got. Well easy does it, cause it looks like you got quite a lot.” - "Shake" by P.W. Long on God Bless The Drunkard’s Dog.

P.W. Long has been around the indie rock scene for years. In the early 90s he was lead man in the band Mule and after that he had a trio called P.W. Long’s Reelfoot that included the drummer from Jesus Lizard. However, for the past four or five years he has been doing the solo thing, and he definitely knows how to do that.

God Bless The Drunkard’s Dog is P.W. Long’s fourth solo album and is a catchy blues-fuelled rock CD. P.W. screeches out like a mixture of Joe Cocker and the Black Keys, playing catchy southern rock and blues, similar to Jon Spencer Blues Explosion with a bit of T Model Ford.

The album is full of jangly guitars, playing traditional blues licks filled with smoke. Drums lay down a solid base of despair as P.W. sings songs that he must have written on the roadside, near a garbage can fire, after a day of frustration. The spare instrumentation, the album is played almost exclusively with just guitar and drums, gives God Bless The Drunkard’s Dog an intimate feel. Because of the lack of layers it doesn’t take long to get to the core of the songs, to hit the point. And the point seems to be P.W. wants you to shake your butt a bit, bob your head, and sneer.

The lyrics are a bit Frank Zappa, a bit B.B. King and a bit Bruce Springsteen. According to the liner notes in the CD, P.W. wrote the lyrics and then had them translated to different languages by local college students, and then back to English by other students. The translations revealed differences in wording and emotion and P.W. kept some of the translated words in the songs and changed some of the titles around. The songs get better with repeated listens to the album. You get caught up in the dirty groove and backwoods preaching. The album takes you to that place where you embrace your sorrow and revel in it, play the foil perfectly and mess with everybody else, cause you got a little bit of heartbreak inside that you need to hide.

The best tracks on the disc are “Crazy Tonight” and “(Let ’em) Roll” because they are just pure hook. Stripped down rock and roll that beats on your chest, pumps you up and puts that stone cold stare in your eye so you will go one-on-one with any one in the room. The next best songs are “Sweetest Weirdo” a quirky love ballad from your local coffee shop troubadour and “Owed (To The Next Life),” which is probably the most traditional bleeding heart, blues, love song on the disc.

The delivery of the 13 songs on God Bless The Drunkard’s Dog doesn’t change much, but it’s really effective when it does. I could definitely see some hotties dancing and getting it on to this album, so it’s effective that way too. But, mostly, the album is a straightforward rock/blues swaggerfest that is tough but likeable.

Poem published

old poem published at Lit Up Magazine
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Angel Cloud

Creative Writing Championships 2009
Flash Fiction

Challenge #3 assignment

GENRE - Fantasy

LOCATION - A playground

OBJECT - Binoculars

Angel Cloud

There was an older girl and two younger boys. They were really the same age, just the girl taller than the identical boys. They were beautiful children, gorgeous blond hair with dazzling smiles, and the gold tinted skin of an angel. The girl, Sarah, was the goalie in this ball kicking scenario, the boys were kicking a ball between them, running staggered toward the girl. One boy, Gunner, dribbled then kicked the ball to the other boy, Lincoln, and they moved across the whole cloud that way. They didn’t really touch the cloud – any of them – gliding inches above it, the ball floating between them, not really touching their feet. The boys both stopped - an arms-length apart, a dozen feet in front of the goal. Sarah clapped her hands together and shouted “Watch and Learn,” and she squinted in the hot sun looking slowly from boy to boy and put her hands on her skinny kneecaps. Gunner ran forward at Sarah, and Lincoln kicked the ball toward the far side of the goal, behind Gunner. The ball may have gone in the goal, Gunner may have interfered with Sarah as she lurched toward the ball, but the ball definitely rolled off the edge of the cloud, falling into the sky.
Lincoln ran toward the ball and dove to try to keep it from falling, but he reached over the edge and missed. Sarah and Gunner ran up behind him and they all looked down to see the ball bounce off an airplane and careen into a playground in Mandeville, Louisiana.
“Mooooooooooommm,” Sarah yelled and when she stood up and turned around her mother was standing in front of her.
“What did I tell you kids about playing down here? Is it really that hard to play over an ocean, really?”
“No mom” the kids replied in unison.
“Mom, we kicked the ball over the edge, can we go get it?” asked Lincoln.
“Fine. But dinner is in half an hour and you have to be there for the meal blessings.”
“OK,” the children yelled and they flew off the cloud, arms wide open, falling down toward the Gulf of Mexico.
The three angels leveled out and cruised at about 100 feet. Sarah wanted to splash in the water, go down and flop around with the dolphins, but she knew her mother wouldn’t like it – her brothers would just follow her and they’d all come back wet and have to change. Gunner tugged at Lincoln’s shoe, yelled to Sarah and pointed down to the playground where their ball had fallen. It was a large green field, enclosed by a fence. There was a jungle gym with grayish looking monkey bars and a slide and some see-saws. In the corner of the playground there was also a dirt baseball field and Gunner suggested a quick game of kickball but Lincoln said there was no time. As they flew over the playground a little girl looked up at them for a second then started spinning like a ballerina.
The angels landed a few dozen yards away from the girl and Lincoln ran and picked up the ball. It was an old ball, but still in perfect shape – so there was no reason to leave it on the surface. It would never get worn out, but it likely wouldn’t be appreciated if some child found it and took it home.
The little girl kept pointing up to the sky. Her mother crouched beside her and tried to hand her a pair of toy binoculars, but the little girl pushed them away.
“I see angels,” momma, she said.
“I told you, they are everywhere,” the mother said fighting back tears. “Especially on a wonderful day like this, with you and me under the sunshine. God is in the sunshine baby girl.”
The mother wrapped her arm around the little girl and they both smiled upward, the sun glistening off their skin. The girl told her mother something and they laughed, then the girl ran off toward their car and the mother followed with their picnic basket in hand, crying softly.
The three angels floated back up toward the clouds, hurrying so they wouldn’t miss the meal blessings.
As they sat down in the meal hall with their mother and grandparents and uncle, Sarah asked her mother why the little girl on the playground saw them.
“People don’t see angels, cause they don’t believe or they’re not thinking about angels and what’s above them, but sometimes they are thinking bout that stuff and they catch a glimpse of something divine.”
“The little girl was pointing at the clouds when we flew down,” Sarah told her mother. “Then when Lincoln was getting the ball I heard the little girl say she wanted to play on the clouds, because she thought they’d be super soft.”
“See,” Sarah’s mother said. “The little girl was thinking bout clouds and probably likes angels and when you three flew over she saw you for a second.”
“I felt bad though mommy,” Sarah said. “I wanted to let the girl come up and play with me and Lincoln and Gunner. We could use another soccer player.”
“Sarah I’m sure that little girl is practicing soccer right now and she will be up in Heaven with us pretty soon, and we will invite her over to our cloud.”
Sarah smiled.

Sweet Smelling Terrorism

Creative Writing Championships 2009
Flash Fiction

Challenge #2 assignment
GENRE - Political Satire
LOCATION - A perfume shop
OBJECT - A hamburger


An officer brought in the witness, sat him down at the booth and put a great American hamburger with the works in front of him. All the officers had hamburgers and a sergeant was handing out bibs. Detective Frinkle sat down across the table from the witness and took out a notebook and a pen to write down his statement.
“What’s your name and why did you call 911 this afternoon” asked Detective Frinkle.
“Bobby Monk is my name. I, um, I sit, on this corner, everyday and nobody looks, at me… but, this guy did,” Monk dribbled the words out like an ocean cruiser sinking.
“What did this guy look like, Mr. Monk. Think hard and tell me if he looked like he was of Middle Eastern descent and determined to destroy the United States of America.”
“Well, he looked straight at me, for like three minutes, and he seemed nervous,” Monk said. “He was tappin’ his foot and put his finger in his right ear like he was listening to an earpiece. He was holding a bag with his left hand and I definitely think he was of Middle Eastern descent and I’m almost entirely positive that he looked like he was determined to destroy the United States of America.”
Frinkle scribbled in the notebook, stood up, put the notebook and his pen back in his pocket and left the hamburger shop. Frinkle walked through the automatic sliding glass doors at the front of Harvey’s Great American Hamburgers and stopped on the sidewalk and stared straight ahead. The street in front of him was blocked off by police barricades and police cars and police officers, and SWAT vehicles - all in front of Lucky Lady Perfume Shop.
“What do we got?” asked Detective Elliott.
“It’s definitely a terrorist in there, probably a whole cell. The witness said the man was communicating with an earpiece and delivering a bag, most likely stolen C4 or radioactive carbon neutral…. Lizer, anthrax,” said Frinkle.
“Radio what?”
“It’s a terrorist cell. The building is probably a front. I gave a TV interview about it already. Thousands of people go in and out of here each day. Who, other than a terrorist, stares at a complete stranger for three minutes?” Frinkle said.
“It’s a terrorist for sure. One of them Jihad guys?” Elliot asked.
“Yep,” Frinkle responded, as the men walked toward their detective vehicle, parked at the curb a few feet away, and leaned against it. “The perfume shop is probably so they can buy a gift for their 44 virgins in heaven before they blow up and see Allah.”
“We haven’t talked to anyone inside yet, have we?” Elliott asked.
“I’m not gonna talk to them anyway,” Frinkle said. “Not unless they agree to our preconditions. Whoever it is, whatever they did, they gotta give up and be punished. Have the bomb squad rig up the outside of the building to blow, and collapse on itself so it kills anyone inside,” Frinkle ordered. “The chief and the mayor are on board. People are terrified at the information we are giving them and they want to be safe.
“Will do,” nodded Elliott, and he walked toward the hamburger shop command center.
Elliott walked inside, ordered a hamburger and asked the sergeant to bring the bomb squad captain to him. The captain came over carrying some grainy printouts and handed them to Elliott. They were blowups of surveillance satellite shots taken from two miles above the back of the perfume shop and they painted a grim picture. The pictures showed proof of WMDs (White Magic Diamonds), thought to be used by underground Middle Eastern witchdoctors, painted on the ground in the parking lot behind the perfume shop. Elliott told the captain to rig the building to explode. The ‘go’ order would come in 30 minutes or less, he said. The captain hustled off and the sergeant brought Elliott his hamburger and a stack of reports. Elliott looked over the reports, scarfed down the burger, then stood up with one sheet of paper in his hand and walked out front to Frinkle.
Elliott handed Frinkle the report and said, “The witness gave us a deposit sketch of the terrorist and we identified him in the system. He lives alone on the south side, works in construction, attends night school and has multiple unpaid parking tickets. And we have positively not ruled out WMDs in the back parking lot of the store.”
“How long before the bomb squad is set?”
“15 minutes,” answered Elliott.
“Did you have one of those burgers?” asked Frinkle.
“Yeah. It was definitely tasty,” Elliott said.
“How about the Freedom Fries?” Frinkle asked.
“They were probably the most beautiful thing I ever put in my mouth,” Elliott said.
Frinkle put two fingers up to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle, then stuck his hand in the air and waved his finger in a circle, like a baseball umpire making the sign for a home run.
All the personnel cleared the road and took cover inside the hamburger shop. Frinkle and Elliott strolled to the middle of the road and stood in front of the perfume shop. The captain came over to them, handed them each a grenade and assured them that casualties would be minor and the merchants and citizens on the block would welcome this action.
Frinkle nodded and tapped the captain on the shoulder sending him away.
“On three,” Frinkle said. “One, two, threeeeeeeee.”
As Frinkle yelled threeeeee the two men pulled the pins on their grenades, raised their arms and tossed the grenades through the display window of the perfume shop. As the grenades broke through the window the captain ordered his bomb squad to blow the exterior bombs.
Frinkle and Elliott were blown backward, the devil lovin’ perfume shop went up in a ball of flame. In the smoke above the store Frinkle swore he could read the words “Mission Accomplished.”