Last night, I caught the band Dub Trio at the Varsity Theater. I don’t wish to wreck any reps here, but Dub Trio have a profound fondness for Celine Dion and listen to her Canadian warbles backstage to prepare for shows. Take that however you will, but that is the case.

Their sound is far from that of the pop diva, but I was not actually terribly surprised by the band’s fondness. Dub Trio is indeed a trio who perform dub music, of sorts, but the amount of sounds stuffed into the band’s repertoire is such that there could be some Titanic soundtrack stuck way in there. A quick description of the group would be “dub meets metal”, and that’s accurate enough to prepare listeners for what they’re getting into. The three white Brooklynites have a deft command of dub style and do their name justice. But this grasp of Jamaican roots music is filtered through a plethora of other styles, from stoner metal to hardcore punk to Explosions In The Sky-styled post-rock to Slayer thrash to… well, you probably get the idea.

Actually, the only way to truly get the idea is to hear the group. It’s one thing to say that they fuse a great number of styles, but their method is one that defies easy categorization. Songs like “Casting Out The Nines” are pretty heavily dub-influenced, downplaying heavy guitar in favor of deep bass and echo effects, but upon hearing the distorted rock megablast “Not For Nothing”, you’ll start to see the range the group has. Dub Trio’s strength is in how fluid they are with the multiple styles they incorporate. A lesser band attempting to create a dub/metal hybrid would simply play open chords on the offbeat and leave it at that. The Trio have a real handle on the core ideas of dub and are able to embed them into their heavy guitar-driven sound rather seamlessly.

This particular set was quite heavy, not to mention loud. Each song was a Molotov cocktail of musical ideas which exploded into the audience with massive riffs and crunchy distortion. Those not paying close attention might have missed all that was going on underneath the onslaught of metal coming from the stage. Often times the Trio would hit you with a heavy bout of guitar only to abruptly remove it and shift the focus to the bass and drums as echos faded the heavy portion away. Each song kept me on my toes, not sure what to expect but ready for anything. I wonder what King Tubby (the band’s top friend on MySpace) would’ve thought of these guys: They seem too loud and rock-infused for dubheads, seemingly aimed to bring dub to metalheads rather than the other way around. All the songs were instrumentals; the band’s only vocal tracks are on album with fellow Ipecac artist Mike Patton, who usurped the band for his 2006 Peeping Tom project. If that doesn’t clue you in to the band’s grasp of varying styles, note that all three are seasoned studio musicians who’ve worked with a wide variety of artists: Guitarist DP Holmes has appeared on Mos Def and Common albums, bassist Stu Brooks has recorded with 50 Cent, 2Pac, Slick Rick and Tony Yayo, and Joe Tomino was the touring drummer with The Fugees. And they all like to play stoner metal too. It makes sense that these guys would create a project with so many influences that manages to remain justifiably headbang quality. Few groups I’ve ever seen so skillfully string together genres like this, and their solid performance at the Varsity proved their powerful command of musical languages.

Openers Hardcore Crayons are a local ska group, which reminded me of high school a little more than I was comfortable with. There are some hardcore and metal influences in there, which are for more interesting to me than the ska elements. Their set was heavier than their MySpace initially led me to believe, with distortion far heavier than that of your average ska band. They reminded me somewhat of bands like The Plastic Constellations, ie a high school band that stayed together and continued on in the same vein, progressing as they went but still sounding very high school. As far as ska groups go, there was a lot more innovation in this than many other groups I’ve seen. Skimmed down to just guitar, bass and drums, there was no obnoxious horn solo to sit through, just lyrics about cats and tacos.

Marvelle, the first opening act, seemed very well suited to the ambiance of the Varsity Theater. The baroque-rock style fit beautifully among the plush chairs and dim lights. The band consists of violin, bass, drums and live art, and brought as heavy a sound as anything else that night. I remain quite impressed with the painter, beset with the task of completing a painting by the time the set is over. Her colorful landscape painting was thrown onto canvas as the haunting sounds of violin and heavy bass riffs churned underneath. You can read my full review of the band here, because I don’t feel like writing much else.

Apparently, the appearance of a wordsmith was like the second coming of Christ. Susie didn’t rave about it on the bus ride over, yet Marnie could see anticipation in the way she sat upright and clinged to the handrail. All this for some guy who told tall tales while scamming people for food and money? He was probably homeless and his words were nothing more than the result of being beaten down for a lifetime. His sanity was cracked, she was sure of it; she was determined to think so. What was Marnie anticipating? A scraggly, rancid, plump old man who didn’t know up from down. She anticipated the hipsters who fancied themselves his disciples.

The bus hit a pothole, didn’t even bother to swerve out of the way. Marnie and Susie were shocked out of their seats with the other passengers; she could hear Susie curse in subdued tones.

“This better be damn good,” Marnie said, “You dragged me onto a bus during peak hours.”

“How stingy you are! It’s only two dollars,” said Susie as she aimed her bug eyed sunglasses towards Marnie.

“For a crazy who’s being touted as the messiah.”

“Why can’t you wait until after to spew your judgment?”

“It’s what I do,” Marnie said as she looked forward, “And you’ve no place to talk. Every other word coming out of your mouth is dripping with conceit.”

“‘Conceit’ and ‘judgment’ are two very different things.”

“Yet ‘bitch’ describes them both.”

Susie huffed as she slapped Marnie on the arm. “Bitch is as bitch does.”

“Amen, sista.”

It was a short, steaming walk from the bus stop to Loring Park. The heat wafted up from the black tar and cooked them as sizzling raw meat. The thin sandals on Marnie’s feet were barely enough to protect her pumiced soles from the scorching street. They dared not link arms, fearing a sticky film of sweat would be born between them.

Marnie put on her own pair of sunglasses, not only to block the sun, but also to hide her scowl. It was reserved for those most deserving of her contempt. She was saving it for the wordsmith.

“Oh, my god,” she said.

A patch of Loring green was littered with people in tight jeans and terribly accessorized ears, necks, legs, etcetera. The hipsters had been let out.

“I don’t see him,” Susie said as she craned her neck.

They moved closer to the crowd, weaving in and out of the people. Marnie didn’t see any homeless man and the surrounding peoples gave no indication of whom the main event was to be. She frowned and made no apology as she jabbed her shoulder into a boney arm in her desire to move.

“Oh, hey, saying ‘sorry’ is only half of it. Nothing can be born unless you begin the saga.”

They stopped in their tracks, the feeling of an insect crawling up their spines shivered their shoulders. Misses Tillman and Williams turned their heads in what could only be seen as utter confusion.

“Huh?” said Marnie.

“Oh, that’s him,” Susie said. She pulled her sunglasses off and raked her eyes over the body.

Tall, slight and full of holes, he stood before them, neither smiling nor frowning. He was just…not staring either, gazing…perhaps. His nose was a little big, long and pointy, and his ears couldn’t compensate for the imbalance. He truly was full of holes; in his ears, lips, nose, and as she was soon to find out, his tongue. She wondered where else…

“S-so you’re the wordsmith?” Marnie said as she twitched uncontrollably.

“If that is the name you prefer,” he said without nodding or shaking his head.

“Well, then what is your name, the one people usually call you?”

“My name is the same as the world’s. It’s an alnomen, doncha know?”

“Wha….eh?”

“Excuse me.” And with that he walked off through the growing crowd.

Marnie looked on and couldn’t find the right word to spit her frustration.

“I don’t…what, what?”

“Oh my,” said Susie as she slinked in close. “You’ve just been mind-fucked.”

“No! What the hell was that? You can’t just go around making up words!”

“Ahh…I want to be mind-fucked.”

Susie ticked her head one way as she smiled a learned grin. She pulled on Marnie’s arm. Together, they filed in with the people gathering to listen to the word of the wordsmith. Some brought blankets to perch their derriere on while many sat on the lush grass. Others opted to stand. Marnie did whatever Susie directed her to. Poor girl was still trying to wrap her head around it all.

As he came in front of the crowd, people clapped, whistled, and shouted their support. A pin thin emo punk offered a folding chair, which was declined. The emo didn’t seem to mind much. Rather, he looked positively blessed. The wordsmith was quite a sight with his piercings and his plain button-down get-up. He did nothing to subdue the calls. He launched right into it.

“What were we conversing of last week?” he asked.

“Life,” said one young man to their left.

“Gettin’ some,” said another behind them. No one laughed.

“Just say anything, Wordsmith,” said a woman sitting front and center. Others nodded, voiced in agreement.

“Getting some can be deliciously repulsive, but what do you care? Does she care?” he aimed at a man, who seemed enraptured to be targeted by Wordsmith.

“I care, I care,” said the man.

“What do you think of today’s leaders?” shouted a man to the right.

Wordsmith raised his arms and laid them across his chest. He still didn’t frown.

“They are just as accountable as the rest of us. On this account, I must say that to stand high in the public’s account they must realize that the account of their actions are being accounted for and people will only accept the best.”

Marnie looked around. Jaws were dropped and eyes were popped out. The O faced populous of the crowd raised their hands and began to applaud. More questions cropped up faster than Wordsmith could answer them. As soon as he finished one sentence someone was jumping up to fill his mind with another. These people were lapping up his words and he kept feeding them with no show of annoyance. He never faltered and there was an answer to everything. As confusing and nonsensical as his words were, people crowed for more, were entranced for more.

She felt her chest swell and she almost blurted out a question of her own. Marnie gripped Susie’s hand and whimpered quite audibly.

“What the fuck is this!” she screeched.

All the hands in the air shot down. Glares were shot in her direction. Beside her, Susie sighed and put her sunglasses back on.

“What’s your problem?” snapped a woman sitting on a picnic rag.

“Ah, you’re the young hubbaloo from before,” said Wordsmith. Heads swiveled to him, then to Marnie, and back again. If she wasn’t mistaken, there were quite a few green tinted eyes slanting in her direction.

“What did he call me?” Marnie said, “Is he calling me fat?”

Susie shrugged her shoulders, “Sounds like a fat word to me.”

Wordsmith sliced his hand through the air as he took a step forward. Those in his way parted like the Red Sea. One woman was bold enough to reach out for his pant leg. He moved swiftly and was in front of Marnie and Susie before she could anticipate. Taking her hand in his, he smiled.

“Ninefivetwotwoonetwozerofiveeightseven,” he said before sticking out his tongue. Yep, pierced there too.

Marnie flinched and ripped her hand away. “D-don’t touch me,” she sputtered.

“You are very disgruntled. If you are ever in need of alayen or commiserari-miser, please do not hatly halt to dial this number: ninefivetwotwoonetwozerofiveeightseven.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Susie scribbling on a scrap piece of paper.

“One needs to take these things in inch by inch, little pikmin by little pikmin.”

Marnie’s mouth hung open. “Pik…w-wha…?”

With that, he turned and walked back towards the front, smiling at Susie as he went.

People nearby stared in awe and those lucid enough only asked more questions. The same emo from before crept up beside Marnie and reached out to touch her. She gasped and slapped his hand away. He still advanced.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just wanted to see, well, just to see.”

“Eh?”

Susie wrapped her arms around Marnie’s stomach and pulled her away from the commotion.

“You’ve been mind-fucked again,” she said.

Marnie snorted. “I…what a terrible person. What a gimmick. People are…ugh.”

Susie turned her chin up and looked to the sky.

“I wonder what he’s like in bed.”

As December approaches, it’s getting to Christmas special season. Last night I went to Bryant Lake Bowl to attend one of the most infamous Christmas specials of all time, the Star Wars Holiday Special. Technically, this is not a Christmas special, as it takes place a long time ago in a galaxy without a Jesus or a Santa Claus. This is a “Life Day” special, centering on the sacred Wookie Christmas equivalent which, from what I could tell, involves nothing other than being in a house and turning on devices. Oh, and dressing in robes and walking into the sun while singing. Uh, yeah. But this holiday is revered in Wookie culture, and the plot revolves around the intrepid quest to get Chewie back to his home planet in time for Life Day.

If you have never seen or heard of this film before, it is because no one wanted it to surface. This is, and I say this with little hesitation, the worst thing I have ever seen in my life. The special originally aired 30 years ago and has never seen release or been re-aired since. Rumor has it George Lucas did everything in his power to prevent the special from ever being seen again, and it’s understandable why. Having a certain propensity and even enjoyment of bad movies, I went to the screening last night expecting a low-budget travesty which would be so bad it’s funny. I’ve seen a good number of classic bad movies, from Manos: Hands of Fate to Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, and felt prepared for some unintentionally hilarious footage from this much-hyped cult classic. I was wrong. I did not respect just how terrible this movie was.

The opening sequence depicts Chewbacca’s family back on his home planet, awaiting his arrival for Life Day. The family are all creepy grunting squats who do not deserve as many close-ups as they receive. Chewbacca’s son Lumpy (yes, yes, I know) is an especially frightening hirsute imp who flits about making nightmarish grunts. After being in shock for a good ten minutes about what I was seeing, I began to realize that for these past ten minutes there had been no dialogue other than grunts and flailing pantomime. What in the hell is this?

And it only proceeded to get worse. All the original characters were there, with Harrison Ford putting in little to no effort, Carrie Fisher singing the theme song, and Mark Hammil looking like a coked-out Ken doll. The special was basically a bunch of different scenes which revolved, all painfully tangentially, around the central plot of Chewie’s return home. A rasher of guest stars made appearances, everyone from Jefferson Starship to Bea Arthur. Harvey Korman’s odd turn as a TV chef in blackface-Aunt-Jemimia-alien drag was… interesting… Diahann Carroll as the Wookie fantasy pleasure-machine clued me into something odd about the whole piece: How insanely sexual it all was. I was expecting this to be bad and have plenty of moment’s of unintentional hilarity, but with a scene of Diahann Carroll as the “holographic Wow” (“I am found in your eyes only eyes only – I am in your mind as you create me. Ohhh yes… I can feel my creation… Oh… oh… we are excited, aren’t we?”) singing in space as Chewie’s grandpa jerks wildly and grunts orgasmically, I stopped believing this could be unintentional. Um… Wookie masturbation? That didn’t get caught in the rewrite process? Jefferson Starship’s lead singer uses a light saber instead of a microphone when they perform, and let me tell you, that was not my first guess as to what it was. Yikes.

There was a strange little animated sequence in the middle which, for those of you trivia buffs out there, featured the first ever appearance of Bobo Fett. In it, Luke’s pupils dominate his whole face, Han looks like John Travolta if he had died in the 70′s, the planet they land is made of jello and R2-D2 wobbles like a dildo fresh off the conveyor belt. I don’t remember the plot. One of the biggest laughs came from the bumper in between commercials citing GM as a sponsor. Connecting themselves to this monstrosity appears to have been a bad omen.

I could go on, as the movie seemed to endlessly do, but in a nutshell, this was such a terrible movie that it exists on a separate plane from all other terrible movies. This is all-out ridiculous awful that probably counts as a torture device. Every two minutes I grabbed my hair and asked myself “Did that actually just happen? Am I really watching this right now? Somewhere along the line, someone somewhere felt that this needed to be captured on film?” I was simply in awe how god-awful this thing was. Eat your heart out, Jar-Jar: this is the fucking Citizen Kane of shit movies.

The event was hosted by The Minnesota Film and TV Board. This is their second year subjecting the masses to that which should not be seen, and this time they helped support Toys For Tots. It was free, and seeing the film in a bar with a crowd full of ironic appreciators turned what could have been an excruciating internet video into an enjoyable time despite itself. If you’re feeling brave, stupid, or suicidal, here is the Star Wars Holiday Special on Google Video, the whole two hours of non-stop decrepit garbage. Otherwise, you can join the Board next year as they show it again. Or, better yet, you can forget any of this ever existed and still pretend like the Star Wars franchise has some shred of dignity.

Obama’s cabinet appointments are going to be very important. After running on a platform of change of leadership, integrity, and political reconciliation between warring factions, Obama needs to be very careful that his cabinet picks represent these values. This is why Obama’s first round of probable picks worries me: two of three are firm, long-time Obama backers, all three are democrats, all three are long term Washington insiders, and is not quite a lobbyist, but not quite free of the appearance of being one. Not exactly a recipe for change.

Obama’s man for Secretary of Health and Human Services, Former Senator Tom Daschle, served as Senator for South Dakota for 26 years, was the Democratic senate leader for 10, and, as far as I can tell, has very little in his resume that is specifically relevant to the position of Health Secretary. Additionally, he has worked since leaving the senate as a “consultant” for the law firm Alston and Bird, providing strategic consulting on issues of health care, energy, and taxes. While this doesn’t immediately make him a lobbyist, the appearance of close ties between a cabinet member and a law firm that has represented mortgage companies and commercial airlines is not something Obama can ill afford in light of his public criticism of lobbyists and the economic situation that involves both mortage giants and airlines. Obama is just rewarding a supporter here, which I can understand, but he shouldn’t be doing this with his first appointment

My choice for Secretary of Health would have been Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton herself. This way, Obama could have extended an olive branch to Hillary and allowed her to oversee health care reform, something she is highly knowledgeable and highly concerned with. Picking Clinton would also have allowed him to shore up his position with certain sectors of the Democratic party that backed Clinton.

Unfortunately it looks that Clinton is bound instead for the position of Secretary of State. I give it 7 to 3 for. This is a major mistake. With the Secretary of State position, one of the most important in the cabinet, Obama needs to send a clear message to the Republican party that he wants them in the tent. To this end, I believe there is a clear choice for Sec of State who already has experience in the job: Colin Powell. Powell is a universally respected Republican statesman who knows international diplomacy and knows world leaders. Powell is also a man who strikes me as very noble and patriotic; he puts the country before his own ambition, which is something I can’t be sure of from Hillary Clinton. The trick would be to convince him to take the position after getting thrown in the path of a torpedo by the Bush Administration over WMDs in Iraq.

This brings us to Obama’s probable Attorney General, Eric H. Holder Jr. Holder is the one of the three appointments that I like the best; he served as deputy attorney general in the Clinton administration under Janet Reno, and has a wealth of pertinent legal experience, including 12 years in the Justice Department’s Public Integrity section prosecuting misconduct by state officials. He also served on the District of Columbia Superior Court, and was appointed to this position by the conservative demigod Ronald Reagan, which is a good indication that he might gain approval from Republicans. Still, Holder is Democrat who has been on the Hill longer than i’ve been alive, which could generate backlash in light of Obama’s promise to shake things up.

That’s it for this round of picks. Keep an eye out here for my comments on future appointments. In closing, here’s a list of my suggestions for a few other cabinet positions.

Secretary of Energy – Vice President Al Fucking Gore.
He is undoubtedly one of the country’s primary authorities on green technology and understanding and controlling climate change, both of which Obama has made centerpieces of his energy policy. Our nation needs to dramatically rethink the way we power our shit, and who better to have at the helm than the eco-crusader and elder statesman behind “An Inconvenient Truth.”

Secretary of Defense -General Wesley Clark
Remember him? He ran in the 2004 presidential primary. He’s a smart, tough career soldier who graduated at the top of his class from West Point and served with distinction in Vietnam and was a top commander during the Kosovo conflict. Like Obama, he supported the U.S. response to 9/11 in Afghanistan but was against the war in Iraq, and he opposes using force in Iran. He endorsed Hillary Clinton in the primary, which would make his appointment another olive branch to the Clinton camp.

Secretary of Transportation – Jim Oberstar
As chair man of House Committee on Transportation and Infrastructure, Minnesota’s Oberstar has experience and knowledge in the area. And as a Minnesotan, he knows firsthand the consequences that our neglect of our transportation infrastructure can have.

Life has always been easy for Marnie Williams. Her mother was never a crack whore and her father never hit anyone nor anything in his life. Both her parents were relatively no-fuss kinda people. Their home was in a quiet suburb and had a good sized lawn and patio adorned with an oversized chrome “hungry man” grill out back. The refrigerator was always stocked with healthy and meaty options, and the kitchen was neither too dirty nor freakishly clean. The walls were painted up and down with creamish colors and hung with an odd mix of modern art and homey Rockwell prints. Sometimes her mother went crazy and gorged herself on fake flower arrangements. There was a lived-in clutter to the house; anyone would have called cozy and comfortable. To Marnie, however, it was far too Betty Crocker for her tastes.

There was no filth and grime, no visceral reality to that house. Her parents were nothing to scrunch her undies over either. Her father was under the impression that everything would happen in due course. In other words, he was always waiting and never getting angry. Waiting in line at the bank, listening to people rage about their taxes or some such shit; or waiting in traffic, letting one pretentious gasoline whore after another to cut in front of him. Whata sissy.

Marnie’s mother was much the same. She took her time with everything as well. She took the time to scrutinize her flower arrangements and pluck away any plastic leaf which stuck out of the idea as a whole. She inspected the dishes that came out of the washer, then hand-scrubbed them with soap and pad anyway. It took a fucking hour for her to do anything. Whata kook.

Imagine Marnie’s frustration. Nothing ever got to them.

She was just that, a girl who was bored out of her overactive, hypercritical, almost ADD (but not ADD, because her parents were always sooooo patient) mind. She never tried to understand where she came from. She knew she was most definitely the product of her parents’ coitus, but the mannerisms grew out of nowhere. It was around middle school when she first noticed.

It’s that tender age when everything pisses a kid off. The only logical thing to do is listen as skinny boys sing pseudo-punk music and slit one’s wrists. At first she thought it was a fashion norm, but then the years went on and the emo turned into frustration turned into hate. Her parents never got angry with her, only disappointed. Yeah, she was deprived of a cellular phone and money when she was naughty, but they never yelled at her. Never.

“I don’t know why you do this, Marnie dear, it disappoints us so much.” Then they would dip their faces and peer at her over a pair of spectacles sitting low on their noses. It was the worst. If they had gotten angry and shouted curses and threatened some sort of harm to her ass then there would be something to brag about, like a merit badge for all the troubles she went through; a solid base for a good reputation. But they did nothing, only looks and verbal hints that made her feel guilty enough to do what they implied they wanted. Damn them.

So she did the only thing she could do: provoke them. For several looooong years she tried all sorts of things to provoke them into anger. She almost had it, once, when she told her parents she was pregnant with a syphilis riddled baby. Her mother was almost hysterical. Her voice had reached the precipice of shrill and her chest was heaving breaths while she lectured Marnie on the procedures of safe sex and responsibility. But she never quite got there, not all the way to screaming and crying and calling her daughter all sorts of names like “slut” and “whore”. Her father…got the car keys and said he was taking her to the hospital.

Of course she fessed up, and lost her phone and TV privileges for many months. Marnie had never seen the inside of a library so many times in such a short span of time. She also became very well acquainted with the corner pay phone. Its grey grubby booth was a second home. The dirteous prints from her sneakers pressing up against the inside glass were still there. No one cared about the phone box enough to clean it, and she wasn’t going to erase her claim of existence there. It was just another crap merit badge.

It wasn’t long after she met Susie. Susan Tillman: another knackered lady who’s shame and regret had taken a flying leap out the window. Her parents were something of a fiction mixed with half-true legends and fact. Susie could never, or would never keep her stories straight. She mixed the names of her extended family members all the time and meshed different instances with one another. A story of a ruined turkey at Christmas collided with someone, either Cousin Joe or George, dropping someone’s baby during the Easter service. The girl had no patience for details, which was why she apparently let her boyfriend wear her panties as he pleased.

But Marnie didn’t care. She rather liked Susie’s attitude and the inconceivable gaps in her stories. They were two girls so jaded it seemed like a waste to expect much else. Whether it was wacked-out boyfriends, fights with greedy hoes, or dealing with bull shit they just didn’t like, they took it all in. Hell, most of the time they chased it. Why else would Susie turn a blind eye to a man wearing her panties? When life is boring as fuck, you gotta do something about it.

They took everything at face value, and made up all the rest. It was much more fun like that anyway, making your own events and stories. Susie, in all her melodramatic glory, called it liberating. No false hope and no holding out for a damn idiot who said he wanted you and did another. In charge of their own lives and emotions, Susie and Marnie thought of things only through an idea of what they wanted. Selfish bitches they were, but what the hell. Young bitches were more socially acceptable then old bitches. And they were only young once.

“Come with me to Loring Park,” Susie said to Marnie one day in the cool confines of the Williams household.

Marnie was looking through the refrigerator. Sighing to herself, she shoved a fluffy loaf of white bread to the back. This eating disorder study was harder keep up with than she originally thought.

“Loring Park?” she said, “What’s going on there?” She was kind of hoping for a hipster showdown.

Susie watched her from the dining room table with an unconcerned eye. With her lids flying at half mast, her face looked quite uninterested and bored. She sighed over and over again as if it was the only thing she could do.

“There’s this guy there, he goes every Saturday at noon and kind of talks.”

“Talks? About what?” Marnie said as she slammed the refrigerator door shut. She walked to the table and plopped down next to Susie.

“He just, I don’t know, kind of like, preaches to people,” Susie said as she shrugged shoulders and rubbed her arm.

“Oh God, he’s not one of those Jesus freaks, is he?” Marnie said, her face curling in disgust. “Why the hell would you want to go see that cheap spectacle?”

“No,” Susie sighed, “I mean that he just talks and tells stories, nothing biblical or epic like.”

“He stands there and tells stories? It’s nothing special. Fuck, I could do that.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Susie said as she slapped Marnie’s knee. “People say his words are like something out of a different time, like they don’t belong. The way he talks isn’t normal.”

“He’s a nutter, that’s why,” said Marnie.

“No, he’s a Wordsmith.”

When I ran into Military Special for this interview, they were in the midst of an argument over aesthetic. Short songs versus false endings? Are the beats to be hard and heavy or do they just come off as sad bastard music? How much minor key is too much? “I wanted this song like a drunken anthem,” said guitarist Peter Blomgren, “but [keyboardist] Danell wants it to be a serious happy song with a melody,”. The band bandied back and forth their ideas over cigarettes and PBR at their practice space in downtown St. Paul. The space, adorned with posters that “nobody wanted to put up in their own house”, was well-stocked with beer and a range of instruments. The six-piece dance-rock band uses keyboards, vocoder effects and programmed drums intertwined with guitar, bass and live drums to bring the sensibilities of live rock and roll to electronic dance music. The result is a sound which captures both the infectious energy of dance and the hard drive of rock without either side being buried in the other.

Guitarists Joe Schweigert and Peter Blomgren originally played with current MS drummer Matt Robshaw in the band Look Down, and were looking to start another rock-oriented project. Joe and Peter were working on an album that was intended to as rock and roll, but Joe had also come into possession of a Juno keyboard. As the other band members (keyboardists Charles Smith and Danell Norby and bassist James Shaff) began to slowly flock into the fledgling group, the original concept of a rock album became an electro-rock album. The addition of electronic instrumentation to the band’s jam sessions led them to their current format for song-writing, and served well in getting the audience to dance. They let me play around with the vocal distortion they use to create the spacy robot voices incorporated into songs such as “1971″, and I saw why they felt they needed this in the band. I was also shocked they didn’t get caught up in the fun of messing around with these electronic goodie bags. I know I probably would waste a lot of time saying inane things into a distorted mic, but they manage to use the effects sparingly and when appropriate.

Military Special manage to come off as more than just electronic beats with guitar or rock and roll with synth, instead encompassing that center rung in the Venn Diagram of indie rock and dance music. It’s clear that the discussion I walked in on at the beginning is a necessary component to finding this stylistic middle ground. Each song is poured over, reconfigured, and removed of unnecessary or cluttering elements, until it becomes a final product. “Everybody comes up with their different parts, and after we figure out what parts we like, we start to scale back what isn’t necessary,” says Joe. The electronic beats are usually programmed first by Joe and Charles and brought into practices to begin writing live sections.

When asked if the band would ever delve more into the programmed side of their music, Joe responded that the band has more fun with the live element. “Our first album was lot more produced, and we’re trying to incorporate more of the live sound into our next album,” said Joe. “It seems like here in Minneapolis people are more about that then a couple of dudes with a bunch of computers,” The producer for their first album conceived of a band consisting solely of Joe and Peter and having the rest of the sound pre-programmed, but the group element and the performance element seems to be too important to the band’s sound to forgo the full lineup. Live, Military Special play off of the energy from bandmates and the crowd to bring the house to a frenzy. As a paired down, more electronically influenced band, I doubt they would have the same atmosphere of raucous abandon they have now. Without the rock element, the dance portion would not be as strong, and vice versa.

Military Special is currently working on a new album which is set for release early next year. Their current six-song EP can be purchased from their web site. If you require your legs to move and your head to nod, do yourself a favor and check out this band. Fans of dance music and indie rock will enjoy the bands melding of sounds, and everyone else will be too busy dancing to care. Check them out this Friday as they join Sleeping in the Aviary, Ouija Radio and Gospel Gossip at the Hex.

Military Special on MySpace
Official Page

Military Special with Sleeping in the Aviary, Ouija Radio and Gospel Gossip
Friday, November 21st
Hexagon Bar, 2600 27th Ave S
21+, FREE, 9PM

Barack Obama’s victory last week spread lots of optimism throughout the world, including the socialist countries of South and Latin America. Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, a leader widely hated by the U.S. government, released a statement after the victory:

“We are convinced that the time has come to establish new relations between our two countries and in our region, based on the principles of respect for sovereignty, equality and true co-operation. The historic election of an African descendant to the head of the most powerful nation in the world is a symptom of a change in the epoch, which has emanated from South America, and could now be touching the gates of the U.S. itself.”

Chavez expressed hope for future the U.S.’s future relationship with Venezuela:

“From the homeland of Simón Bolívar, we are convinced the time has come to establish new relations between our countries and in our region, based on the principles of respect for sovereignty, equality and true cooperation.”

Bolivian President Evo Morales, one of Chavez’s biggest allies, praised the historic nature of the election.

“Mr. Obama’s triumph is really historic. We congratulate him on that triumph and we await the improvement in our (bilateral) relations in the future.”

Morales also called on Obama to withdraw U.S. troops in foreign countries and stop the embargo on Cuba, the latter of which Obama said he’d continue.

Closer to home, the more socialist Cuba had generous but bittersweet comments on Obama. In
May, former President Fidel Castro called Obama “doubtless, from the social and human points of view, the most progressive candidate to the U.S. presidency.” Castro characterized one of Obama’s speeches that’s critical of U.S. globalization as “magnificent” and said “we ought to thank him for it.”

But after analyzing Obama’s comments portraying Cuba as a country that “hasn’t seen independence in a long time,” Castro wrote, “I feel no resentment towards him, for he is not responsible for the crimes perpetrated against Cuba and humanity,” but went on to criticize Obama’s decision to uphold the embargo.

Socialist parties also expressed general cheerfulness.

Socialist International warmly welcomed the Obama victory and wrote that it “sees in it the hope for a world community based more on cooperation, mutual understanding and respect rather than antagonism and discord.”

It continued:

“Today the entire worldwide social democratic movement looks forward to working with all those in the United States who represent this renewed spirit of multilateral cooperation, progressive thinking and concerted action, the only way the challenges we face can be overcome.”

Socialist Appeal, the newspaper of the Trotskyist Worker’s International League, had a more Castro-like analysis of the situation that’s again bittersweet:

“Illusions in Obama are high at the moment, but it’s no accident that he raised far more corporate money than John McCain or that world stock markets have risen on news of his victory. He is Big Businesses’ choice to get them through the tough times ahead. Nonetheless, within the confines of the current U.S. electoral setup, his decisive victory represents a significant and healthy shift to the left.”

This flies in the face of less hard-lined socialist groups, like the Democratic Socialists of America, who endorsed Obama in the general election, despite the other three socialist (Calero, La Riva and Moore) and two pseudo-socialist (McKinney and Nader) candidates.

But all-in-all, last Tuesday the international socialist movement made a step — a small step, mind you, but a relieving step — forward.

Fort Wilson Riot are stationing themselves at the Hexagon Bar tonight and next Thursday as part of a series of free shows. Though too busy getting fat and happy on Thanksgiving, every remaining Thursday in November belongs to FWR, as they bring along some of their friends to join them in bouts of old fashioned revelry. Riot brings a surprisingly unique sound to their conception of a rock band: Every song stands as an unexpected wonder, mixing a range of styles and never staying stagnant. As an outspoken fan of the rock opera, I was quite happy with their epic stage show Idigaragua, a full-scale album-length song which tells the story of murder, deceit and pirates, at the Bedlam Theatre, and chances are good they’ll bust out some favorites from that astounding piece. Expect a lot of new music, as their website (which also features a gang of free mp3s) tells us what to prepare for. Go see this band!

Fort Wilson Riot at the Hexagon Bar
Thursday, November 13th with Best Friends Forever, Chickadee Mountain Martyrs and Anders Ponders
Thursday, November 20th with Speed’s The Name, Plastic Chord and Lamb Lays With Lion
2600 27th Ave S
21+, FREE, 9 PM

Eyedea and Abilities play St. Paul for the first time in 5 years on Friday (what took you so long, guys? St. Paul don’t bite) at the Turf Club. The Rhymesayers duo pits Eyedea’s kinetic and energetic paranoid flow over Abilities’ masterful tracks and skill-laden cuts. About to drop their third album, E&A put on a killer live show that is not to be missed.

Eyedea and Abilities with Kristoff Krane, Abzorbr and Sector 7G
Friday, November 14
Turf Club, 1601 University Ave W in St. Paul
21+, 9 PM, $10

Other good shit going down:

Desdamona at the Dakota Jazz Club
Saturday, November 15
1010 Nicolett in Downtown Minneapolis
$5, 11:30 PM

The Original Truth Squad presents Pimps Up Hoedown
Cowboy & Pimp themed Dance Party
with I Am Break, He Is Beat, Rob Rob and Saund Waav, visuals by Time Squid
Friday, November 14th
7th St Entry, 701 1st Ave N
18+, $3 or $1 with student ID, 9 PM

Japanese Space Program CD Release with Red Pens, Dragons Power Up! and TEXAR
Friday, November 14
Eclipse Records, 1922 University Ave W in St. Paul
$5, AA, 7-10PM

After the election, my good Democrat demographic-mates, who were out “Barackin’ it for Obama” and drank “Jag-Obamas” upon his victory, are flush with happiness, hope, and idealism. For a week, I myself almost felt that our troubles were behind us and the best was yet to come.

Cut to Dateline – Washington. When I heard today Secretary of the Treasury Henry Paulson say on the radio today that there is still a very real danger of “systemic failures in the economy,” the peak-oil survivalist mentality that occasionally grips me like a fever took hold. My god, I thought. It’s going to happen here. This man was just handed a bag of money and carte blanche by Congress. He has all the resources of the United States Government at his disposal, and he is still saying we might end up like Argentina, toppled overnight from affluence by an economic time bomb. It’s time to buy food and water reserves and a solar clock-radio and moving to a farm–.”

Eventually my rational mind regained control, and I applied myself to calmy examining the situation at hand: we are still uncomfortably close to entering a period of marked decline in America, economically, politically, and socially. It happened with Rome: they became too powerful, too corrupt, too big, too bloated, and they fell for their arrogance. While things on Pennsylvania Avenue are looking up, things on Wall Street continue to rapidly disappear down the shitter. The Secretary of the Treasury with his big bag of money was basically saying that we’re still on the brink, despite efforts. Paulson constantly stresses that we are in for the long haul.

But the “long haul” is not something business in America has been considering for the past 25 years. Since Reagan flew in on a magic carpet of trickle-down economics and deregulation, America has, except for a few slumps, prospered. Everyone was encouraged to maximize on short-term gain and spend themselves into debt, because this drove the economy. Businesses got more profitable, people got more shit to buy and eventually more “entertainment” to give them quick pleasure, and for a time, it was good. Eventually we began to stop using business to build actual “things” altogether. It seemed as if the wizards on Wall Street could make money appear out of thin air, and everybody benefited: there was an SUV in every driveway and a PS2 in every family room. The rising tide really did raise all boats. It just raised some boats more than others, and those at the top of the trickledown pyramid had more money than they knew what to do with.

The age of prosperity was here to stay, of course. We were in the “information age” now; the times of actually having to build things were over, left to countries with cheaper, less educated work forces.

This brings us to today. Surprise! There really is no free lunch. All those complicated formulas and “market tools” that assholes at the top of the trickledown pyramid have been using to make themselves
and their buddies rich have failed, and we are all fucked because of their irresponsibility. So I think it is time for us to declare pretty overwhelmingly that trickledown economics doesn’t work, and an unregulated economy based entirely on short-term profit doesn’t work, and the “information age” economy fallacy that we don’t actually need to MAKE anything doesn’t work, and we need to figure something else out.

And that’s something that we, as the people of a democratic nation whose government is, at least in principle, supposed to answer to us, need to think about, as well as our leaders. We are at a crossroads. It is time, as a group of people, as a country, and as a nation, to make plans for the way one of the most important aspects of our country, the economy, is going to function into the future. We need to look ahead.

That’s how we draw a silver lining out of all of this. We have a chance here to rebuild our economy, from the ground up, on more sound and sustainable business practices. First, we need to recognize that we can’t fix the economy from the top down. President-Elect Obama has made a deal to push for aid for the suffocating American auto industry in exchange for the Big 4′s promise that they will ramp up production and research on fuel efficient and green cars. Revitalizing the auto industry to produce high-tech but affordable green cars would create thousands of jobs in a sector that has been hard by the recssion. But, even under pressure from Senate Democrats and Mister Obama, President Bush and Secretary Paulson are refusing to use any of the 700 billion dollar bailout to help auto makers, preferring instead to hand the money to banks run by the people who put us in this mess, who are just stuffing it away instead of spending it constructively anyway.

Second. we need to find a way to encourage financial institutions, businesses, and banks to make stable, sustainable, mid to long term investments instead of obsessing over maximizing risky profits in the short term. We need to do this through careful, well-designed, and robust regulation, and by giving making sure institutions such as the SEC have the power and will to enforce such regulations.

Even if Obama can take us in that direction, he’s not in office yet. There are still people in power that believe that the market will correct itself and everything will be hunky-dory again if we just rescue firms headed by stupid rich executives from their bad decisions. But top-down economic policy put us IN this spot, so it’s certainly not going to get us out. To borrow from a popular buzz-phrase, it’s time for a change.

P.S. As a side note, I actually respect Henry Paulson quite a bit. While I disagree with some of his decisions, I think he is doing his best in a very tough situation. Plus he looks like the main character from Hitman.

This past Saturday, the Sound Gallery Recording Studio and Warehouse held the Clapperclaw Festival, an independent music and arts festival showcasing a large array of local talent. I walked in just in time to catch the $5 ticket, as opposed to the $12 I would’ve had to pay after 7 PM. This was a pretty effective pricing technique, as it encouraged me to come early and take in the event in its entirety. As soon as I realized the promise of free drinks was not simply a marketing ploy, I proceeded to get in line for my first of (too) many of the night. The space was amazing, and reminded me a lot of the warehouse galleries and music venues I attended while living in Chicago. The event inspired much meandering, as there was a lot to see and do throughout the night. Oh, and again, there were free drinks. The event was in support of Free Arts Minnesota, which aims to mentor and empower youth through art programs. Some of the work of those within the program, all under age 13, was displayed and struck me as rather sophisticated for their age. I remember drawing giant turtles on Mars on my desk back then.

There were two floors which separated the music and fashion show area and the art instillations and film. A lot of the art was impressive, ranging from screenprints to paintings to graffiti using street signs for canvases. From Steve Lang’s intricate collage work to Shawn Dalsen’s graffiti-influenced pieces to Ema Cook’s vibrant and striking animal paintings, it was evident that there is some amazing artwork being produced in the Twin Cities. I caught a couple of the films that were playing throughout the night, though I am often pretty wary of amateur film. Brian Perkin’s We’re Anonym.us was an odd bout of short episodes where everyone wears masks in a supermarket, and then out of nowhere some cartoon figure rides a skateboard and screams or something. It was quite odd and quirky, and I couldn’t really decide it it was good odd or bad odd. I settled on just plain odd. I saw only a few episodes of it, the rest can be seen at the website. Melody Gilbert’s Married At The Mall was a mildly interesting account of couples who wed at the Mall of America. Containing intimate interviews with 8 different couples tying the knot at the mall, I made it through 3 before I moved on. Travis Lou Wavescorx‘s Clapperclaw commission Kissing With Teeth was my favorite of the films, a short centering on the relationship between a man and his dog. The thing that made this film great was the dog, who was a surprisingly good actor. The film was sweet, funny, and not afraid to depict a dog taking a crap on screen in the midst of all the cute footage. The dog made an appearance at the showing, basking in the admiration of his fans. Awwww.

Clapperclaw brought a whole night of great music, including rappers Cecil Otter and Big Quarters, rock bands XYZ Affair, Peter Adams and Speed’s The Name, plus DJ sets from DJ Real Talk Radio and Cool Money in between sets. I didn’t catch a lot of the music up til the end, because there was so much else to see and do, but I could sense some real great energy coming from the crowd. Being in a warehouse, there was no stage but a section of the floor with a carpet on it that acted as the stage. By the end of the night, this suggested barrier was not paid much mind by the droves of dancing drunk girls and hand-waving fans. Big Quarters brought the pandemonium as always, though didn’t get as much love from the audience as they deserved. With the energy this duo puts into their music, I expected nothing less than the entire crowd getting down, but that seems to be too much to expect from people. Cecil Otter, surprisingly not drunk, got the spot moving as the final act of the night, dropping introspective raps which culminated the night beautifully. Overall, this was a pretty amazing event; very cheap, free drinks, supported a good cause and exposed me to a huge amount of great local art. Hats off to you, Clapperclaw, and I can’t wait til next year.