The Sleeping Bear

I just read the most depressing book ever. No, it wasn’t The Road. Or the latest 10-year Federal Government budget projections. Or the Bible. It was Linchpin: Are You Indispensable by Seth Godin.

For those of you who haven’t read it, essentially, Godin theorizes that in a post-industrial world, folks who aren’t “artists” are dispensable. Those who get caught up in busywork instead of “shipping” (finishing a project) are dispensable. Those who listen to their lizard brain and are afraid of change are dispensable. Artists – those who invest emotional energy in projects – are indispensable.

Shit. That’s depressing.

I’m guessing that’s not Godin’s intent, but the more I read, the more I realized I was dispensable. An interchangeable part. A cog in a machine that will spit me out as soon as it finds someone younger, cheaper, or more willing to kiss ass.

No longer can I perform busywork and expect to keep a job. Now I have to be an artist. I have to connect with people. I have to solve problems. There’s no more punching the clock, making an appearance, plowing through busywork and getting paid. Results are what matter.

Starting to see my point? Work shouldn’t be so damn much work.

I know, I know, that’s my lizard brain talking. Well guess what, that brain evolved for a reason – to save me from myself. If I told folks at work what I really thought of their crappy postcard, their utter inability to compose a coherent e-mail, their empty promises, I’d be on the first boat off the island.

Plus, Linchpins are dicks. Yeah, you heard me, dicks. I know a few at my current place of employment that are not afraid of change, and you know what? They complain about everything. Godin would say they thrive on change. I’d say they bitch more than J-Lo. If Apple only hired people that challenged the status quo, they’d be making porn instead of consumer devices. Cause that’s where the money is.

Or maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. According to Godin, if you do something you love and give it away. You’ll be rewarded. Hmmm. I love writing this blog about unimportant things. It’s free to read. So I’ll be rewarded. Fuck yeah, bitches. To quote the great Suicidal Tendencies, send me your money!

It’s time I come clean. I’m addicted. Addicted to H. What can I say? It is more addictive that crack, meth or ganja. No, I’m not talking heroin, I’m talking Local H, the Chicago area post-grunge rock machine that keeps on ticking while others in the genre fade away.

Last night I got a chance to see the two-piece live in person at the Rock in my hometown, Maplewood, MN. The wife and I arrived at 9, just in time to see the second half of a set by Apple Valley act The Soviet Machines. A high school punk band slightly reminiscent of Green Day, they were surprisingly good, surprisingly entertaining and as my wife pointed out, really small and wearing really tight pants. “Oh, they’re so small I could put them in my pocket.”

After that another Minnesota band, Santiago’s own Seazon of the Fly, took the stage. They reminded me of a cross between Alice and Chains and the Melvins. I like those two bands, but for some reason I wasn’t captivated by the fly. But you gotta give a band from the small oasis in the bowels of Sherburne County credit for being original – they had some solid guitar work layered in their songs. Plus, as a marketing guy, I was impressed by their post-show marketing efforts – they had folks wandering through the crowd trying to sign up for their mailing list and gave away their CD after the show. Heck, they probably have a more polished web site than Local H.

But enough about the opening acts. I was there for the H. I needed the H. I hadn’t seen the H live this millennium, so I had high expectations.

And the H didn’t disappoint. The frontman (literally, guitar, bass and vocal pretty much makes you the frontman) with two first names, Scott Lucas, and the patron saint of drummers (and birds), Brian St. Clair, started the show off with a bang, pounding out The One With ‘Kid’ and Michelle in quick succession. Touring behind their exceptional new album, 12 Angry Months, the band played with ferocity. Closing in on two decades of music-making, Lucas showed why Local H is considered one of the best live bands in the business by ripping up aggressive Local H staples like Fritz’s Corner and Bound for the Floor (with a brief segue to Britney Spears’ Toxic), slowing down for songs like 12 AMs Simple Pleas, and going tripping on Buffalo Trace from 2004’s Whatever Happened to PJ Soles.

But Lucas wasn’t the only star of this show. St. Clair is a maniac behind the kit, as close to Animal as you’ll find. He’s a mesh of long, stringy, sweaty hair, flailing limbs and hard-hitting menace. His drums take a pounding night in and night out, as he mashes drumsticks into toothpicks. How he managed to survive the week-long residency at Chicago’s Beat Kitchen that coincided with the release of 12AM I’ll never know, but I’m glad he did because his all-out drum assault is a sight to behold. To call Scott lucky to have found someone capable of filling Joe Daniels’ shoes is an understatement.

After ripping through nearly 90 minutes of their own material, including nearly half of 12AM (Taxi-Cabs may be my new favorite live H song) they closed with a roaring cover of TV on the Radio’s Wolf Like Me, including an incredible closing drum flourish by Brian St. Clair. The complete setlist:

The One With Kid
Michelle
Lovey Dovey
California Songs
White Belt Boys
Simple Pleas
Hands on the Bible
Buffalo Trace
Taxi-Cabs
Half-Life
Cooler Heads
24 Hour Breakup Session
How’s the Weather Down There?
All the Kids are Right
Fritz’s Corner

Encore:
No Problem
Bound for the Floor (with Toxic in the middle)
Wolf Like Me

After the set, Lucas exited stage right and walked through the crowd to the merchandise booth to chat with his adoring fans. Which leads me to my soapbox: If the music industry wants a shining example of a band that gets it right, they should look to Local H. They’ve built up one of the most loyal (and possibly dysfunctional, but that’s for another soapbox) fan bases in the industry because they make music by themselves, for themselves and their fans. Name me another band that would (or even could) play their entire catalogue live in a 7 day span – and do it for $10 a show. They aren’t in it for the money, or the women or the booze (well, the money, women and booze are nice perks), but the music. It’s the old-fashioned rock ethic of hard work, long bus rides, small bars and loud music. It’s uncommonly good music for the common person. And it’s why I have the utmost respect for them – music is about the live experience and Local H does it better than most.

That’s my review. The best part of the concert experience: watching the crowd. Random concert anecdotes:

Elaine – Seriously, I had a Seinfeld flashback watching this chick strut her stuff on the dance floor. For her sake, I hope she was tripping on something, because she was quite possibly the worst dancer I’ve ever seen live and in person. If she wasn’t high, she must suffer from a the worst case of the white person’s lack of rhythm disease ever diagnosed. She’d move fast during the slow parts, slow during the fast parts and accent during the unaccented parts.

Mohawk – My wife was enthralled with the mohawk next to us. “He had the most perfect mohawk I’ve ever seen. It was perfect.” I think she spent more time watching the mohawk to see if it would fall (it didn’t) than watching the concert. I gotta admit, mohawk man, it was pretty impressive. Nice work.

Tall, older guy who randomly wandered into the mosh pit at the end of the set – So Local H is pounding through Wolf Like Me, the 10 person mosh pit is going strong and suddenly, out of nowhere, some tall guy in his 30s wanders into the pit, as if in a daze. Just sort of saunters on in with a “This is pretty neat. I have the munchies” look on his face. He’s not bouncing up and down or flailing his limbs like the regulars, just going for a leisurely stroll through the pit. Guys hit him and he bounces softly for 1 or 2 beats and then continues on at a leisurely pace, oblivious to the craziness around him.

The Barber – The dude next to me shouting “I love your haircut, Scott” repeatedly. Sure, that’s an odd thing to say once. But when you say it 60 times in rapid succession, sometimes saying “Fucking love it!” while shaking your head in wonderment, it gets a little creepy. Maybe it was some kind of inside joke that I don’t get, but it was odd to say the least.

A great show by a great band ended with my wife and I in complete agreement. “I’d like to just follow them across the country and watch all their shows.” Couldn’t have said it better myself.

We’ve all had tough breakups. Unless you’re a really ugly dude, or a fat whale with your dead twin still hanging off your back, you’ve been in a relationship when it turned sour. When it’s done, you run the gamut of emotions: angry, sad, desperate, drunk and disorderly. If you’re lucky, you’ve survived and gone on to a girl with bigger cans who can suck better than a Dyson. Or, if you’re a chick, you get a guy with a big Johnson who likes to watch Sex in the City, drink wine and cuddle.

Local H’s new album, 12 Angry Months, chronicles the emotions you feel post-breakup. Using their trademark wit and a unique ability to craft albums that are at once diverse, catchy, insightful and, most importantly, rockin’, Local H’s follow-up to 2004’s Whatever Happened to PJ Soles is destined to be the best album of 2008.

From ballads like The Summer of Boats, to slabs of heaviness like Taxi-Cabs, to the haunting, orchestral closer Hand to Mouth, the two-piece that is Local H has crafted an album that meets or exceeds their finest efforts. There are some clunkers, but overall this is a well-crafted, excellently produced album that’s sure to get minimal publicity but is definitely worth shelling out your hard-earned cash to pick up.

Here’s the song-by-song breakdown:

1. January: The One with ‘Kid’

“Where’s my Pretenders record? You know the one – the one with ‘Kid'”

This song opens acoustic with some piano and a steel guitar. But like a limp dicked porn star, don’t let it’s soft beginning fool you – this song rocks and ends with a flourish of screaming, maniacal drumming and just plain awesomeness. Lyrically, the song asks all the important post-breakup questions: Who gets our friends? Which bars are we allowed to hang out at? And, most importantly, give me back my fucking music. Bitch.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

2. February: Michelle (Again)

“Everybody’s sad. Or everybody’s only acting sad when they hear about Michelle.”

Michelle (Again) is a short, catchy pop-punk song about the ex and about how we know we’ll find someone else. It’s fun, short and references some ex’s who appeared in other Local H songs, such as Rita.

Rating: 4 out of 5

3. March: BMW Man

“So you’re the boyfriend. Nice to meet you, is it Dustin? And did you say you are Republican? Can I get you another sloe gin fizz?”

Musically, this song is good, not great, but lyrically it’s pure genius. It’s about going to the bar and seeing your ex with their new boyfriend, who happens to be the polar opposite of you (and probably a lot richer than you) and drives a BMW. Yeah, in other words a big blur of jealous insecurity. But it’s also about realizing that the ex has found someone who loves his car more than the ex. So there’s a tinge of “In your face” in there, too.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

4. April: White Belt Boys

“Yeah, hope you have a lonely life.”

Probably my least favorite song on the album. Bores the heck out of me, to be honest. Starts off with what sounds to my untrained ear like background music to a porno, then progresses to what I’m going to call 80s party rock shouts. Not inventive musically, but it may have clever lyrics if I actually could make it through the whole song to hear them. I guess it’s just not my cup of tea.

Rating: 1.5 out of 5

5. May: The Summer of Boats

“You’re allowed to change. You have permission to try. You’re moving off to Salt Lake. And no one will ask why. Moving off in June. Not a day too soon. It’s all just so perfectly strange.”

Luckily the album’s clunker is followed by the genius of the ballady The Summer of Boats. The steel guitar, piano and acoustic guitar return along with Scott Lucas’ crooning about the ex moving away. Electric guitars and vocal punch fill the middle of the song, as a builds to a marvelous crescendo. An emotionally charged masterpiece.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

6. June: Taxi-Cabs

“The dark haired girls attack in threes. They cut your plays off at the knees. They meet you out at bars and draft you further from your home, your out alone, out of your depth, Satan laughed and Jesus wept.”

To my ears, songs just don’t get any better than this song about getting back into the dating scene. Rhythmic drumming, climbing guitars and shouts of “Yeah!” intersperse throughout the song before it really kicks into gear for a bone-crushing ending where drummer Brian St. Clair earns his keep. This song has it all – an impressive drumbeat, background violins and pianos, a repetitious guitar line that turns into a pure rock fury and a glass-breaking finish. I could listen to this song forever and never get bored.

Rating: 5 out of 5

July: 24-Hour Breakup Session

“It’s a 24 hour breakup session. Come on like an intervention.”

Another slab of grungy-punk aggression, 24-Hour Breakup Session isn’t particularly great, but it will stick in your head. It starts with a “Don’t Fear the Reaper” intro before turning to a simple, catchy, chordy romp.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

August: Jesus Christ! Did you See the Size of That Sperm Whale?

“You’re not a junkie. You’re just a groupie. But only a groupie would ever want to love me.”

Quite possibly the greatest song title of the 21st century. This song reminds me of Bleach-era Nirvana that quickly turns into something with a syncopated beat from High-Pro Glo era Anthrax. Which means I love it.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

September: Simple Pleas

“Baby just don’t lie to me. You know I thrive on jealousies.”

Another beautiful ballad that shows the range and incredible song-writing ability of this band. Seriously. Try to find another band that can range from rock, to grunge to punk to ballad as easily as these guys can. The song really kicks into gear at around the 2:30 mark, with Lucas’ heartfelt”I can’t let go!” vaguely reminiscent of Tom Petty. In a world of Nickelback faux ballads and forced anger, the raw emotion of this song is a breath of fresh air.

Rating: 4 out of 5

October: Machine Shed Wrestling

“You ain’t a lover. You’ll never change. I’d rather wrestle my machine.”

Another song I’m not real fond of. Possibly because, like White Belt Boys, it’s sort of monotonous. Local H is all about catchy choruses and constant riff changing. This song just doesn’t have those. And I hate the annoying beeping that happens at the end of the song. But it does pick up after about the 3:30 mark, earning it a 2.5 rating.

Verdict: 2.5 out of 5

November: Blur

“You know this year was the worst. I only thought it was fun at first.”

Seems like filler, but good filler. The song has a catchy little feel, doesn’t last too long (just over 2 and a half minutes) and seems like a good intro to the next song, the fabulously crafted Hand to Mouth.

Verdict: 3.5 out of 5

December: Hand to Mouth

“To find just one unbroken stare. A space in time to share. We’re going to stop these lies of ours. About a hundred million hours. You’ll know what really matters. You’ll know what really counts.”

An incredible ending to an incredible album. Reconciliation has come in the form of a Radioheadesque piece of layered, subdued, haunting beauty. I can’t quite explain it, but this song explains the insignificance of our existence in a way that’s rarely been expressed in this genre of music.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5.

And that’s it. Twelve simple breakup songs. One incredible album.

Album verdict: 93 out of 100

Other Reviews:
Chicago Sun-Times
Some Blogger

What are some manufacturers thinking? My mother-in-law recently bought my wife a printer. A Hewlett Packard all-in-one printer. I was excited: I could print porn pictures from the Internet, fax bomb threats to people, and copy copyrighted documents with ease with this thing. Sweet.

So we opened the box to see what lurked within. Printer – check. Power cord – check. Paper samples – check. Ink – check. Installation CD – check. USB cable….USB cable….Where the F is the USB cable?

Look, this isn’t a real expensive printer. It’s probably the cheapest all-in-one in HP’s line. But why can’t you include a USB cable? They could probably get them in bulk for a couple bucks each. Double your cost and add to the price of the printer and you’re still one of the lowest priced all-in-one’s in the business. Plus, you’re making a few bucks more per printer. And most importantly, you aren’t pissing off a consumer – especially one who has had a spotty history at best with your products.

If you’re too cheap to include a USB cable in your box, what does that say about the build of your products? Enough for me to know that your product is probably going to break down in a year and three days, luckily enough for you, just after your warranty expires.

Even better, the box says “USB Cable Optional”. What the hell does that mean? The only way you can connect to a computer is via a USB cable. That makes it required. And that doesn’t even say it’s not included, just that it’s optional. Seriously – tell me it’s not there and that it’s required. Jesus Christ, this isn’t politics, it’s a fuckin’ printer.

Anyway, I think I’m going to take it back. I need a printer, but I don’t need cheap, lying bastards conning me into thinking their printer will work out of the box.

For that, the HP 3180 earns my shitty product of the week award.

Learn More About This Cheap Ass Printer