Part 1 of the Mushroomhead Interview, for part 2, see the bottom of the post
Good evening children, I come to you yet again blathering however it’s not complete nonsense, this one actually has some thought behind it that doesn’t involve tearing out the asshole of a pop culture icon (since most of the opening acts nobody knows.) A couple weeks ago I contacted Sir Jeffery Nothing from the masked Ohio metal band Mushroomhead for two purposes — for him to take a small part in my short film, and to do an interview promoting their new DVD Mushroomhead, Vol. 2
due out October 28th. And instead of saying “Ew, no, queer. Hurry up, the wife’s coming home soon,” he said that he would take part. The interview was a concept that came later, I figured since the segment for the film wouldn’t take very long (recorded two shots collectively spanning just under 10 minutes) why not a little bump for something they got coming out. Plus I have my system all worked out where this time I can actually interview him on camera and publish the footage. I had interviewed him about a year and half before at their show in Portland, Maine but I couldn’t extract the footage from the DVD where I burned it. Now I can do it but damn it takes a long time.
So I truck out an hour and a half away from home for day two of the Rock & Shock Festival, a three day event that compiles two things that work together beautifully — balls to the wall metal and pure unadulterated violence. The headlining acts for the second day were Mushroomhead (who got second billing, they were on before the main act) and Gwar. However before they took stage I realized something, opening acts are kinda like sex — in that you start out dry jerking, then next time you do it with lube, then you cum, then head, go through a couple skanks just to grease the wheels further and then finally you’re in a broom closet with Heidi Klum or Margaret Cho because you’ve had about six scotches and can barely operate without causing harm to yourself. The first band was a complete scream band, basically taking heavy double-bass drums and doing a shitty Dr. Claw impersonation to it. Second band was a bit better, still in the vein of screaming surpassing actual music all while the vocalist had a very Vince Neil/Nikki Sixx rip-off kinda hair-do. Let this be a lesson to you kids, an aggressive voice isn’t the focal point when it comes to metal music. Any 14 year-old girl with a vocal box can make that guttural sound no problem, but those who can balance between that and singing, more respect to them than anything.
Skip a band or two later a band called Kingdom of Sorrow takes over which is more or less a super-group featuring a bassist who did a tour with Black Label Society, a guitarist from Type O Negative, and I believe the vocalist from Hatebreed with two other guys. In comparison to the acts before Mushroomhead and Gwar these guys were actually good since they did balance the music well, the vocals were mostly screams but they were coherent and had a range in sounds. Also one thing I tip my hat to about them was the fact that the vocalist had showmanship, interacted with the crowd whereas the prior acts were like, “Fuck it, we only get 30 minutes and you probably won’t remember our names after because we didn’t actually say it.” Now the band that went on before Mushroomhead and after Kingdom of Sorrow, I gotta tell you, FUCKING SUCKED!! Imagine if you will a skinny Hot Topic kid with gauges, skin tight clothing over his skeleton-like body, and nose length hair dancing like a constipated gorilla while screaming high pitched sounds that would make a bat want to slit it’s wings open and attempt to fly through the air with the wind gliding into the wound so as to nose dive into a vat of salt, all of which is considered a blessing than to rather listen to one of Suicide Silence’s “songs.” (Damn, that was verbose.) I had never heard them before then and I don’t intended to listen to them ever again unless I’m getting a full frontal lobotomy without anesthesia, in which case I’ll blast that shit that way it numbs my brain right up. To those of you who liked Suicide Silence, please consult an abortionist immediately for your future hell spawn just to cover yourself.
Half hour after the sonic rapists leave the stage Mushroomhead takes a hold of The Palladium, which from where I was premium. For those who have never been to The Palladium, let me give you a lay of the land. Imagine the store from Empire Records if it was slightly more broken down, featured a bar and was retrofitted as a theater. So it has a very interesting design which given the event seems both juxtaposed and also disturbingly appropriate. If it were being filmed for a DVD I’d almost think that David Fincher was making it since it has quite the similar tones to it’s lighting and architecture. Prior to Mushroomhead taking the stage I went to see them across the street at the DCU center where the other half of the Rock & Shock event took place, with many booths with lovely schwag such as bootleg DVDs (there wasn’t a single DVD that didn’t look like a bootleg), shirts, patches (I picked up a Stark Industries patch, one for S.H.I.E.L.D. and one for Blue Sun which is featured in the realm of Firefly and Serenity), and anything your heart could desire. They were there at 7:00 to do a signing for fans, and hearing about it I jumped right into line and managed to make it back to the venue with time to spare. For things to get autographed I brought a poster I made almost a year or two ago which has the members of the band rotoscoped and they all loved it. One of the singers, Waylon, virtually froze upon seeing it he liked it. If it weren’t for the contacts he was wearing I would’ve thought his eyes went white naturally. Got a couple pictures from the signing, some schwag then cut back to two and half hours later they take charge of the stage.
This is the third time I’ve seen Mushroomhead perform live, first in late October of ‘06 at Mark’s Show Place near Manchester, NH, then in February ‘07 at The Station in Portland, ME. Both really small venues and both purely great shows. As I told Jeff in our first interview in Portland, they’re a band who can make a closet-sized place like The Station (which it very much was) and make it seem as if the crowd was never-ending. This time it was almost the opposite, while the venue was considerably larger than the previous two it actually felt a whole lot smaller. Maybe due to the mass chaos and six foot males gently gliding near my head toward the stage. Starting off with a heavy hitter “12 Hundred” the audience is immediately whipped into a frenzy as the band creates fire and sweat while they play. Shortly before Jeffery Nothing’s part kicks in he arrives on stage with a new type of make-up that is a hybrid of his long-going outfit known as The Butcher with this Butcher-Devil-Heath Ledger Joker type of deal. And it looked gorgeous. Periodically throughout the show I would watch Jeff virtually transform himself into the character he was on stage, as if he was channeling the presence of Ledger’s Joker through him. As I said, it was pure serenity. And with the benefits of a larger venue come little games like stage diving and moshing, both which took place from the crowd and members of the band. They did a couple songs I’ve never heard them play live such as “Xeroxed” and their cover of “When Doves Cry” by Prince. Closing out with “Solitaire Unraveling” the show was an overall powerhouse as expected. Unfortunately I didn’t get to see Gwar (probably good because from my understanding everyone in the crowd got spewed with movie blood and fake semen. Yummy.) After I got out me and my co-conspirator Some Guy Named Al trekked over to the bus area, interviewed Jeff and filmed his segment for my short film. The events that unfolded from the interview follow in the video below. The events from the film will come later. Enjoy, and until next time, I’m Sketch E Whiteface reminding you to control the overpopulation, kick a skater in the balls.
=Sketch/Ed
Mushroomhead signing at the DCU Center
Mushroomhead autographing my self-made poster. They loved it.
Screen capture from my interview with Jeffery Nothing. There are several moments like this. Not sure what we were looking at.
Jeffery Nothing in a promo pic for the upcoming short "This Side Up: Omerganite."
A clear and flagrant disrespect for all things was extruded from the two young men chatting back and forth on the mostly empty train car and left the air palpably unclean. Crisp suits, slick and greasy hair, shifty bright eyes, and utter animal stupidity were readily apparent upon a quick glance. Typical upper-class white boys with no sense of purpose beyond where their dicks will be by the end of the night or who they can roll under the bus to get the next raise. No love except the long-since-abandoned love for mother, and a lust for money and the status associated with it that they assume is love. Read the rest of this entry »
Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!
Mark was a willowy, handsome young lad, with shoulder length flaxen hair which he brushed into his pale, rosy-cheeked face often to cover his sparkling, glassy blue eyes in impish defiance of social mores.
One fine summer’s day he sat on his back porch, clad in his favorite jean shorts. This in and of itself was nothing significant. Yet the story behind his reason for sitting thus when there was action, adventure and, yes, even danger to be had out in the wide world is indeed a stirring tale.
Being as clever and crafty as he was, Mark had made these shorts himself when his favorite pants finally ripped so significantly that his girlfriend at the time had insisted with the venom only a lifelong student of modern fashions could that he do away with them. Yet young Mark would not be denied pants so well-worn that they had become something akin to a companion. Indeed, many was the week which had passed without him parting with them long enough even to wash them. He simply couldn’t bear to part with these pants! No, this was a man of deep concerns in his life who simply would not give up the familiar comforts of the threadbare pockets, nor the subtle sophistication which came with the various inked designs which turned the faded denim into a black and blue patina which echoed his triumphant past’s loves, hopes, and outstanding feats of stunning bravery. It was as grave a sin as asking an honored crusader to part with the finely wrought chain mail which had saved him from savage and ignominious death through countless battles with fierce and pitiless Moors and Turks!
So passionate had our young Mark been when confronted with the possibility of losing this treasure, he had snatched up a sizable blade from the kitchen counter in heated desire for swift yet just resolution to this disgraceful feud between aesthetic schools of thought, and with such fervor did he hack away at the offending lower portion of his beloved jeans that it caused him several injuries. Indeed, he was not mindful of such lacerations! An impassioned and bold man such as this could have no room for outward manifestations of pain when there was a battle of wit and craft at hand.
So deep was his anguish at the mutilation of this jewel of his possessions that he hurled the remnants of the pants - along with the now crimson-stained blade - as far as his slim, tight-muscled arms could manage with a pained howl escaping his chest. Regrettably his then-girlfriend hadn’t the presence of mind to clear herself from the path of the flying objects, and suffered a nasty shock as sharpened metal pierced the drywall beside her head.
What woman can understand the true nature of such manly displays, when the depth of feeling must manifest itself in a true man’s course of action? Few can, and alas this was the last he ever saw of or heard from that young lady. Indeed, though he had won a victory over an intractable situation, she simply couldn’t understand the depth of his sincere heartbreak, nor his truer, sentimental nature. In his woeful mourning over losing both his love interest and a significant portion of his most treasured pants, he neglected to care for himself and the injuries he sustained during the confrontation.
As a result, he found himself sitting on the back porch of his home in a grim and pensive state. He had moments before prepared himself for the task which lay before him in that golden afternoon. The slanting sunlight pierced the smoky air around him and cast a beam better than a surgeon’s lamp on the site of his concern. One of the the wounds he had sustained during his heart wrenching episode of confrontational tailoring had taken a turn for the worse. Such a strong believer in independence was he that Mark was not employed and could not provide the sum necessary to visit a trained medical professional. Nor did he believe in such ridiculousness. As a true student of manliness he felt strongly that anything which could be accomplished by his own hand should be! Oft was he praised for such, and oft chided by those who did not understand. Nevertheless he was prepared for the task ahead of him. His anesthetic of choice was taking hold, calming him adequately for the work ahead.
The wound in question was a clean slice whose depth had allowed all manner of dirt in, and despite having been liberally (albeit indirectly and not deliberately) splashed with cleansing alcohol during the last two weeks it was now a very angry shade of red. The protective layer of dried blood was flecked with dirt and a clear fluid leaked from beneath it with only the slightest pressure. If it was painful to look at, it was surely more painful to actually have and feel, yet young Mark showed no pain or fear. With a trusty pocket knife in hand, he paused only once to take a deep breath and hold it in before exhaling in a great rush. A sagely expression came over him, making his heavy-lidded eyes seem cloudy and distant. With a dazzling quickness he sliced open the hardened surface of his grave injury and Oh! what happened then! A rush of milky fluid rushed forth, gleaming wetly under the light of the afternoon sun. Unfazed by such Mark quickly wiped it away and proceeded to squeeze with the all the somber detachment of a true warrior. Once the rupture in his smooth skin was running with the pure crimson of a clean cut, he wiped his hands off on the comforting cloth of his shortened jeans and simply sat. Clearly this quiet contemplation was his way of cleansing his spirit as well as the site of his bodily harm.
His phone rang and with all the unhurried grace of a seasoned general, Mark reached in his pocket, saw that the name on the phone simply said “Cunty Whore That Dumped Me” and thumbed the silencer with unperturbed ease.
This concludes our first installment of Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 1: Wound and Infection Treatment Stories! Won’t you join us next time for more thrilling, fascinating and stirring tales of manly men and their aplomb in the face of mortal wounding and dire infections?
It’s been a very Twitter-heavy weekend, as previous posts will demonstrate. I had a brief spat with some woman named Amanda Chapel because I had issues with the idea of arguing against the merits of internet culture on the internet. Particularly on such a limited platform such as Twitter. I really need to think and do some research before I discuss that whole situation at length. And I do want to discuss that at length. However, in the interest of being fair I intend to read more of Strumpette and see if I can get a proper bead on the philosophy at work here. At that time, I’ll share the archive of the Twitter conversation, and get into depth on what the internet means to me and what I feel it means to our culture as a whole. More on that later though.
One of the other Twitter discoveries I made this weekend was FlypeClub. I’d been followed (and followed them in return) a little while back, but it seemed to only produce an increased percentage of self-promotional fluff scrolling through my gTalk twitter window. This weekend however I got at least a minor peek behind the curtain and figured out that some other followers I’d picked up were authors and conspirators of this mysterious FlypeClub. For the record, I still have no idea what the deal is with it, but now I’m intrigued instead of annoyed by their updates.
A little basic reading, a little paying attention showed me who all is working on the FlypeClub project. (And I KNOW I’m breaking the first and only rule here, but I can’t help it. There is a reason why, you’ll see.) Not so mysterious after all on one hand, but more mysterious on the other. Who exactly are these guys? What was the draw to make something like this? Why the seemingly aggressive promotion when it appears they don’t really have anything to sell? They do claim to offer Alligator & Python swallowing courses for $20,000 a pop, but that doesn’t strike me as a business plan that would best be supported by intense social outreach. Yet there is something to this band of cheeky irreverents that has captured my attention, and gotten me to really thinking.
I have a love for the obscure, and for the obfuscated, for the inscrutable. Although I confess that this love does not extend to businesses who cannot be buggered to explain who they are and what their services entail. That is the exact opposite of good service and should be frowned upon. This is what got me to thinking when FlypeClub came on my radar. Who the hell are these guys? Were they a business or a set of individuals? What are the rules for marketing in the “social” world if they are a business?
Generally speaking, it is up to me to decide what a thing is, what it is worth, whether or not it is valuable or true. That was the challenge posed to me, more or less, by a mysterious Flyper - who I won’t name unless it’s approved - in regards to FlypeClub. That it is up to ME to decide what it is. I liked that. I appreciated greatly the direct outreach, and I appreciated more the admission that it is in fact up to me (and you, and you, and everybody who won’t read this) to decide “what is FlypeClub”.
Seems to me that this has always been the guiding principle of business, and of life. Experts, professionals, self-appointed social leaders can all tell me exactly what they want me to know. Media and corporations have the things which they feel will be liked by the largest amount of people. The great unwashed mobs of people I see on a day to day basis, and the scores of people who write opinions on the internet also provide information on what there is to like about this, that, and the other thing. That is all fine and dandy. I tend to prefer the opinion of someone experienced with a subject or a product to tell me about that subject or a product, and I always attempt to get opinions from other, ostensibly unbaised sources. Yet the thing that so many people do not seem to grasp is that ultimately it is absolutely, one hundred percent my decision (and yours, and yours, and everybody not reading this) as to what is hip, what is worth buying, and what is true.
Really, it’s always been that way. Influence only goes so far. The task of a business, an organization, a person who wishes attention from many is to do this: provide the public with something they cannot get from anyone else. Or, if they can get the product/service/opinion from someone else, give them very good reason to embrace yours over someone else’s.
This is one of the reasons I signed on to be an affiliate of TorsoPants. Yes, they (technically) sell tshirts. Yes, there are dozens of “witty” tshirt companies abroad, particularly on the internet. But I saw these guys and immediately liked everything about their site and what they had to offer. (For the record I have not yet bought my very own pair of TorsoPants, but I am also pretty broke.) It’s something that everyone needs (clothing) and it’s got a shine to it that no one else really has.
Another fine example of providing something unique is Scarlet Imprint. I have purchased two books from them so far, The Red Goddess, and Howlings. They provide something that no one else does, and they do it well. Their books are well written, and well made (I was expecting much less from such a small press), and they are rare. Not only are they rare (very limited print runs), but they make it very clear that they take their work very seriously, and they are willing to communicate directly with those who would buy from them.
I am a decision making machine, and I am primed by the words and actions of others, but I don’t fire until my internal system of checks and balances has had its say. What kind of decision making machine are you?
I just want to apologize for any visitors who have actually gone to infinitedesu.com. While I feel as though I did provide fair warning when I originally linked it, I was looking at WPStats and couldn’t help but notice that people have actually clicked on that.
What you will find, upon visiting infinitedesu.com is the following: …nothing.
Apparently, I let the hosting or the domain or something expire. Could have sworn that auto-renewed. Well kids, looks like it’s technically up for grabs. If you buy it because you saw the name here, let me know so I can congratulate you on your refined tastes.
But if domain sniping isn’t your cup of tea, what you can do is visit RKNet’s new affiliate, TorsoPants. I came across their site earlier today and I was so impressed I decided that I had to be their friend. You can be their friend too, just tell them I sent you, ok?
There’s so much going for them: their site works in Opera without fuss, they’ve got all kinds of great design on the site, there are more hidden fun things than at a hidden fun thing convention, and I guess they’ve got good clothing, or something. I definitely spent a while at the site today, really just exploring all the things to see and do, and trying to decide whether or not I can afford to buy a pair of torsopants (which for those keeping score at home, is like a “shirt” only superior in every way) before I spend the money to renew Infinite Desu.
If I get the cash-money necessary to resurrect infinitedesu.com myself (hint), then I hope to achieve a similar standard of site awesomeness that I saw demonstrated by the proprietors of TorsoPants, instead of the old infinitedesu.com, which just had an annoying animated gif for a background, and the word “desu” over and over and over again.
I realize that some of my visitors may be coming here because they have no idea what the deal is with “desu”. I can appreciate being in the dark like that, and would like to take a minute (just sit right there) to explain a little more about what desu is and why I felt compelled to even buy infinitedesu.com in the first place.
Desu
Verb. Japanese form of the verb “to be”. Example: Watashi wa Amerika-jin desu. I am an American.
Exclamatory. Taking a cue from a character named Suiseiseki featured in the 2004 anime, Rozen Maiden, people on the internet have come to use desu in excess. This is most often found in the form of the “desu flood” where by a post or entire thread is comprised of ONLY the word desu, repeated over and over again. It is the determination of Encyclopedia Dramatica’s shadowy editors that Desu is a classic meme. No other sourcesseemed to refute this.
Into every life, a little ridiculous, standardized bureaucracy must fall. In the case of mine, I have encountered the insurmountable juggernaut that is “Dress Code”. This has come up about five or six times in my time here, but never really stuck before. Thank goodness. Working for an Internet company who doesn’t really handle walk-in business (with rare exception), I’m stunned and frustrated by this repeated insistence upon doing things the “meatspace” way. I’ve never been the best at maintaining a budget, a laundry schedule, or a steady weight. These powers combine to create a condition by which I rarely, if ever, have anything that will pass for “Business Appropriate”, whatever that means. As a result I typically make-do with jeans and some kind of shirt that doesn’t look too grubby or trashy. So far so good I wager.
Yet I digress. Dress Code Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, has descended upon our merry band of rascals to lay some foxes in otherwise rather content hen houses. A condensed beam of sunlight seeking out worker ants whose exoskeleton is improperly decorated by worker ant standards as set out in Tomes of Olde. Presumably the goal is something of a mimicry of those who came before us. Even Jack Parsons wore a suit to work, and he was some kind of crazy-ass pagan/rocket scientist who did a lot of field work (in both areas of his life).
So let’s get down to the nitty gritty. The actual body of this extremely local legislation.
“Please use Dress Code Common Sense Law; If you aren’t sure, then don’t wear it!”
What if you’re a self-conscious person, or a fashion hound, or it’s early and you’re hung over and easily confused? Any of those three means that the odds are pretty good you aren’t sure about what you’re wearing for the day. What if you can’t decide what shirt to wear? Does that mean go without one? Technically that would follow that law to the letter. It’s a logistics nightmare. There’s also the believe that “common” sense is by no means common at all, but that’s another discussion altogether.
There’s a statement against wrinkles too. Wrinkles? Wear clothes without wrinkles? Whoever first decided that that was important needs to go right to hell. The individual who first decided that wrinkles were a detriment to one’s business ability doesn’t live in any reality I’ve ever been privy to where people wear clothes and they get wrinkled.
Casual Friday’s entry isn’t even complete in this official document. It’s both curious and a little frightening. As if to suggest the robot overlords terminated the author prior to their completion of the thought.
With the idea appearance directly affecting one’s worthiness as a business associate, or affecting the opinion of visitors so negatively as to be disgusted, I have come to the conclusion that the comedians are right: Business office atmospheres should be soul-crushing places, brimful of quiet desperation.
All employees should wear gray from fear of being offensive, except for the one guy whose wife makes him wear the pink shirt because Marie Claire Magazine told her that it would help him boost his confidence.
Everyone will spend all day whispering about him in lieu of anything worthwhile going on in their miserable lives, and smile really nicely when he shows up at the coffee pot to get his 80th cup of the morning.
In truth, this is just another way of burying his frustration at his utterly failed marriage, and dead-end job.
By the end of the week, he will be found hanging from his belt in the men’s room. No one will ever use the big stall ever again out of discomfort rather than respect and all silently curse their own fates, but express their misery just a little more openly.
But hey, at least they look business appropriate.
Why is this machination - this plot to undermine people’s abilities by overwhelming them with trivial appearance issues - desirable? I’m at an utter loss. Explain please!
“The belief that “order is true” and disorder is false or somehow wrong, is the Aneristic Illusion. To say the same of disorder, is the ERISTIC ILLUSION.”
Cumul.us is a cute little site that shows you the weather for your area, lets you and people in your area make predictions on what the weather is going to be like in the near future and declare how you intend to equip yourself (clothing-wise) for said weather.
It’s interesting, and does show the weather, but it’s clearly a marketing tool for their apparent affiliate: ShopStyle.com.
In a spirit similar to American Apparel's stalwart commitment to sweatshop free and wholesale clothing comes GoodStorm.
The impression I got from these guys is that they operate like a guilt-free, higher profit for the end user, version of CafePress and its ilk.
A lot of charity causes and non-profits have jumped all over this site and a lot of the prominent stores belong to various causes. However, there are a lot of small design studios and the like that are also offering some really interesting designs.
It's worth looking into. I know if I ever have cause to generate t-shirt type merchandise, this will very likely be the first place I look! What's not to love about keeping 70% of the profit on your merch?
Some kids play in the sandbox. We play in the.... litterbox??? The RKNet staff is pleased that you decided to stop by. Currently this is a multi-author project, with a rotating cast of totally kooky characters. Contact giania [at symbol] gmail [dot] com if you'd like to play here too.
