Tuesday 24 April 2012

Kaboom! Go buy a Trans-Am.

If you can't get ahold of a Trans-Am, get a Firebird. Also not possible? Then chop the lid off your car, put this CD in the music thing, and crank that bitch until the knob falls off. Drive really damn fast and listen to Heaviside's new album, "Wasted Generation."

This thing reminded me of what music should be. The bass is fuzzed, the drums are fast, and lead singer Mitchell's vocal range can be described as nothing less than bitchin'. Johno's guitar solos sound like they were born from the song, not written. They are fluid and melodic and beautiful, and right where they need to be. The rhythm section smashes it up, blending together like gasoline and orange juice, creating a fiery napalm ocean that the guitars and vocals ride over on surfboards of iron and leather and electricity. This is a band to be reckoned with. And they're damn well ready to reckon.

We're stuck in a world of over-produced pop garbage, with layer upon layer of sound hiding what little musical value there is to be gained, and we're selling every single twelve-year-old as the next big thing, when all they're doing is rehashing the stuff that's come before them, with more sex and more technological advancement. Heaviside decided to keep the sex, and cut way back on the technology. This thing sounds like it could have travelled in a flux-capacitor-powered El Camino from 1977, bringing with it chicks in tiny jean-shorts and fluorescent bikini tops, drinking Michelob Lite out of their own cleavage with brightly-coloured twisty-straws.

Heaviside's not trying to sell you on any heavy message. They don't bog their music down with deep metaphors and soul-altering questions. They shoot you with a party gun, and bring you back to life with a rock 'n' roll defibrillator.

I had a blast listening to this album. It's the first time in years where I sat down to specifically listen to music, and I couldn't be more happy that I did. I also totally wrote about this before, see? I could hear fingers sliding on strings and breaths being taken and sticks clicking and clacking around, and it made the experience all the better for it.

I've only seen these guys live once, but they put on a hell of a show. And they get awfully sweaty. If the band you're watching doesn't get sweaty, they aren't performing right. Demand a refund immediately.

My favourite song on the album was Aurora, followed closely by Eva. The rest was all badass too. Listen to it. Do it.

Here's the website. Check 'em out. They're pretty. http://heaviside.ca/.

Saturday 21 April 2012

100 Word Story - Airplane Edition

Hiya folks!

This one is for Adrian. He wanted science, omelettes, and a crashing plane. I think I delivered juuuust fine.


“Hmm, interesting,” he said to himself, as the flames twisted over his head. “It appears that they've used real cheese, and yet they've sunk to the level of artificial bacon chunks.” The flight attendant slid by on the floor, chasing her legs, leaving a thick meaty paste behind her. “Awful!” he exclaimed, slicing through the omellette and breaking his plastic knife. “These plastic utensils simply will not do.” The plane cracked in half, and the people poured out of it, into the open air at 20 000 feet. “My God!” he whispered. “An eggshell!”

Hopefully you enjoyed this silliness at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. (Ed. Note - I didn't enjoy it. Too much violence.) Welp, send me your ideas and whatnots, and I'll make them shorter and more ridiculous than they need to be.

-V

Wednesday 18 April 2012

100 Word Story - Mullet Edition

Hi everyone! Thanks for the wonderful facebook suggestions. I'll do one for each of them, I think, in time. For this instalment, I wrote about one Kurtis Mullet, and I hope you all enjoy it.


Kurtis Mullet is a bad kind of guy. His eyes glow, but for all the wrong reasons. He stomps and clomps, ruining the economy with every footfall. Women tremble at the sight of his ankles. They can't see much higher up than that, with the clouds and all. There's only one man that can stop him. He's the same size as you or I, but as strong as all of us. His power comes from within us, and Kurtis can tell from the way he uses his walk that he is Woman's Man, and he's got no time to talk.

Excellent! References from before I was born.

Ok, that's all. Please keep making whatevers, and I'll whatever them.


Monday 2 April 2012

100 Word Story - Owl Edition

Okay, here's another one for you guys. This one is courtesy of Carrie's wild mind. It's about a lonely hooter.


Armand is a noble man. He hums and haws on his accordion all day, supporting his family with coins thrown by tourists. Others say he shouldn't be proud of being a tourist attraction, but Armand doesn't mind. His friend Louis, the Screeching Owl, sits nearby, singing along with Armand's graceful notes. The tourists come for Armand's songs, but they leave when Louis starts to sing. His high-pitched screeches are poison to the ears of tourists, and a precursor to death for small rodents. “Louis,” says Armand, “You may have wings, but tonight, I think I must fly solo!”

Ah hah! Poor Louis.

Well, as always, give me ideas, and I'll make itty bitty stories out of 'em.

-V