By Jeffrey McClellan

Skinny Puppy have never made easy music. Their arrangements are often atypical and atonal, and provide a harsh, unyielding bed out of which their lyrics are made to grow and fester. From their earliest album, the group has confronted head-on the issues of the day, speaking on topics as diverse as animal rights, deforestation, chemical warfare, and addiction. This propensity as a “thinking man’s” band has earned them a solidly entrenched fanbase, as well as virtually guaranteeing their music rarely if ever sees radio airplay. Their latest release, Weapon (out May 28th on Metropolis Records), remains true to form; tackling gun culture and the surveillance state while sonically hearkening back to the band’s early days of electronic devastation.

Skinny Puppy’s current lineup consists of founding members niVek ohGr and cEvin Key, along with studio contributor Mark Walk. ohGr and Key began the band in 1982 in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Early on, they established themselves on the forefront of the nascent electronic music scene with their experimental techniques and brittle, hard-edged synthesizers. Over the years, Puppy have continued to push the envelope, going through various evolutions while still always staying true to their electro-industrial roots.

Weapon is in many ways a throwback record. The band is still very much riding the leading edge of technology and arrangement; however, their most recent effort is structurally very much reminiscent of early works such as Too Dark Park and VIVIsectVI. Sonically, it sounds as though they have dusted off a number of the old synths and racks as well, using modern studio techniques as a whetting stone for these gritty analog tones. ohGr’s vocals as well recall the mutated sprechstimme which became his signature in the band’s early days.

The album begins with “wornin’”, a track that feels like being pursued by an old 8-bit arcade game which has come to life with murderous intentions. Instantly, the album establishes its tone of cold, mechanized self destruction within the first minutes; the stilted digital beats simulating gunfire in binary as the vocals seethe on above. The classic days of new wave are thoroughly entwined, but mangled; especially the track “saLvo”, which sounds roughly analogous to Gary Numan performing inside a giant broken blender. Throughout the mayhem though, there lies an almost sing-song undertone. This may recall ohGr’s recent stage and screen work on dark musicals such as The Devil’s Carnival and Repo! The Genetic Opera.  “gLowbeL” in particular uses its meaty analog tones to conjure an almost calliope-esque effect. Tracks like this and the mid-tempo mechanical stutter of “solvent” only prove the genius of ohGr and Key’s work; they are perfectly capable of maintaining their artistry in the context of honest melodic hooks, they just generally choose not to.

If such a band is even capable of a “radio single”, “paragUn” would have to be the chosen track. Featuring a positively bangin’ club beat and downright hooky chorus, this song’s relentless drive makes the listener want to shove their head in the speaker and never come out again, and will doubtlessly become the battle hymn of many a young rivethead for years to come.

Speaking of bespiked whipper snappers, for a new generation of listener certain tunes on the album may evoke a knee-jerk reaction of “they’re just ripping off (Ministry, Nine Inch Nails, etc.)”. Indeed, the layered and heavily processed beats of “tsudanama” in particular demonstrate quite effectively just how much the entire post-Trent Reznor generation learned while worshipping at the paws of Puppy. Hell, were it not for Key and ohGr’s groundbreaking efforts, my entire generation may not have had the pantheon of subsequent bands to serve as the soundtrack to our personal rebellions.

All of this sonic devilry makes for a suitable backdrop for some truly challenging lyrical content. From challenging notions of gun ownership and control to casting a darkly analytical eye on pro-lobbyist energy programs, Weapon is an intellectual deep sea dive into a post-modern culture seemingly hell bent on destruction in the eyes of the performers. To quote ohGr’s final thoughts on the album’s press release,  “To maim, sicken and control, by genetically radiating and bombing populations back to the Stone Age; then manage the mutations through new medicines while claiming the race for a cure of this self-inflicted environmental disease is right around the corner… Weapons then procure the evolutionary next step. We are weapons.”

By Jeffrey McClellan      Photography – Carissa Russell

Progressive rock is often viewed as something of a dinosaur, a relic of an era marked by dated synthesizers, sprawling arrangements, and lyrics which often required footnotes to be properly understood. Albums were often three or four sides in length, and concerts were bombastic, theatrical affairs. As punk music began its ascendancy, prog pioneers were often sneered at as a sort of class warfare began to assert itself; the punk rock proletariat going to often absurd lengths to confront and rebel against the practices of their bourgeois prog forebears. Unlike the denizens of many a deposed genre however, most of the prog rock pantheon soldiered on, continuing to make music and inspiring a new generation.

Enter Steven Wilson. Largely self-educated, Wilson developed an early and long-lasting love for all things prog, a thread which can be traced from the early days of his flagship band Porcupine Tree, through various side projects and production credits and into his own current solo project, which this current tour is in support of. It is well worth mentioning that Wilson has not only paid tribute to his musical ancestry, but has undertaken a massive project to remaster and remix for 5.1 surround some of the great albums of their heyday, breathing new life into such seminal recordings as Jethro Tull’s Aqualung and the King Crimson opus Lark’s Tongues in Aspic.

Currently though, it is his latest solo album, The Raven That Refused to Sing (And Other Stories). Wilson played a number of tunes from the disc during Thursday night’s set, and assuming they comprised a representative sample set, the album is very much in a ‘70s progressive vein. Musically, they recalled vintage Yes and King Crimson perhaps even more than previous efforts, with conspicuous use of vintage Moog and Mellotron synths, intricately layered structures, and woodwind parts which were very much reminiscent of the work of Ian Anderson, all wrapped in Steven’s unique ear and wit.

One aspect of Steven Wilson’s music which definitely strays outside the mold of vintage prog is his lyrical content. The genre is known for a mix of high-minded introversion and grand mythology on its sleeve backs, to the point that Wilson himself was led to joke that one of his songs’ protagonists would “perhaps do battle with a troll”. By contrast, SW’s work deals with far more dark and personalized subject matter, from relationships and lost love to serial killers and ghost stories. No trolls allowed.

At the House of Blues on Thursday, Wilson eschewed any kind of opening act, beginning instead with a soundscape produced on the fly using nothing but a guitar and strategic implementation of virtual tape loops, along the lines of Robert Fripp’s early experiments. While most crowds would find a half hour of this confusing at best, Steven’s fans ate up every note, most being fully aware of the roots of the technique.

After a while, the show proper began. Steven Wilson is able to play a staggering number of instruments, and this talent was thoroughly on display during the evening’s event as he jumped fluidly from guitar to keys to bass, all the while handling vocal duties and inter-song banter. While a great deal of his following stems from the guitar crowd, Wilson himself is quick to remind interviewers that he does not consider himself strictly a guitarist, but rather a producer who happens to play guitar.

This is not to say that the entire evening was nothing more than an ego trip vehicle. Throughout the evening, Wilson seemed more than happy to simply lay back and let his bandmates stretch out. Steven’s touring band is the same group he brought into the studio (along with legendary producer Alan Parsons), and their time spent together has really cemented them as a group, making even the most off-timed, aharmonic runs seem effortless. The group consisted of Nick Beggs on bass and Chapman Stick, Guthrie Govan on guitar, Theo Travis handling woodwinds, Adam Holzman on keys, and drummer Marco Minnemann, and while each was given plenty of room to exercise their chops, some of their most epic moments highlighted the interplay between these fine musicians.

Steven Wilson may on the surface to have an extremely difficult task ahead of him; his entire career is built on lending authenticity and soul to a genre derided (often unfairly) for lacking both. With a crowd which prior to the doors opening stretched well past East 4th however, it is clear that there is a significant chunk of the music listening population which really couldn’t care what the music press and purveyors of popular culture have to say. This crowd spanned generations as well as demographics (thanks in no small part to the relative affordability of tickets compared to a lot of notable acts playing at the same level), brought together by a shared respect for intelligent art and the promise of an awesome night of entertainment. Given the talent onstage on Thursday, they got a bargain and then some.

By Pete Roche

It’d be easier—and flashier—to say Fitz & The Tantrums’ rise to fame has been fast, meteoric, and blinding.

The reality is that the indie soul band from L.A. have been working hard nearly every day since its 2009 inception, taking their delirious organ-drums ‘n’ bass brouhaha to whatever venues would have them and converting unsuspecting spectators with a sensational live act.  It’s not disingenuous to say they made a huge splash with their Dangerbird Records debut, Pickin’ Up the Pieces; the Chris Seefried-produced disc eventually landed at the top of Billboard’s Heatseekers chart on the strength of gloriously retro rockers like “Breakin’ the Chains of Love.”  They’ve done the Conan O’Brien, Jay Leno, and Jimmy Kimmel shows.  Singer Michael Fitzpatrick and sexy co-vocalist Noelle Scaggs were guests on Daryl Hall’s popular internet program Live From Daryl’s House, and their songs were featured on TV’s Criminal Minds and Desperate Housewives.  The stylish group appeared twice at SXSW, and in July 2011 they played a memorable “Summer in the City” outside in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame front plaza.

Not band for a band that eschewed a full-time guitarist in favor of Fitz’s $50 church organ.

You can reacquaint yourself with The Tantrums by checking out Pete Roche’s exclusive interview with Fitzpatrick here http://www.theclevelandsound.com/?p=6989 and Scaggs here http://www.theclevelandsound.com/?p=13588 , or visit Michael Sawyer’s superlative photo gallery of the Rock Hall event here http://www.theclevelandsound.com/?p=7327 .

Playing 2010’s Pickin’ Up the Pieces, one is transported back to the days when Stax and Motown ruled the airwaves.  The Tantrums’ sturdy rhythms and soulful, call-and-response vocals recalled classic hits by Marvin Gaye, Dionne Warwick, The Ronettes, The Temptations, and The Spinners.  The grooves laid by bassist Joseph Barnes and drummer John Wicks could be easily mistaken for the work of Detroit’s Funk Brothers.  Songs like “Moneygrabber” and “Don’t Gotta Work It Out” sound as if they were committed to tape three or four decades ago, yet have an indelible immediacy about them—a vivaciousness that gets the heart pumping and feet shuffling.

Following months of touring, the six-piece soul troupe has returned (finally) with a second CD (and Elektra Records debut), More Than Just a Dream—and it’s everything your typical sophomore slump album isn’t.  The group continues to combine seemingly disparate elements, like fizzy drum samples and analog organ, into a seamless mix that acknowledges old-school soul and funk while keeping one Converse rooted in the here-and-now.  The juxtaposition of a pink neon heart and gloomy deciduous forest on the record sleeve provides a visual representation of The Tantrum’s stone soup M.O.

The disc—co-produced by Tony Hoffer (Beck, Depeche Mode) at Sound Factory in Los Angeles—has The Tantrums expanding their mix, reaching into the ‘80s and ‘90s to incorporate a little trip-hop and techno—just bits, mind you—to update their sound in a way that lets them grow naturally.  The resulting styles laid across these twelve combustible tracks will lure new listeners like honey without alienating the diehards who’ve been paying attention all along.  The band’s beefy, neo-soul essence is intact, but here it’s augmented by pastiches of the same cerebral synth pop popularized by early MTV darlings like Joe Jackson, Human League, Tears for Fears, and ABC.  It’s an irresistibly potent concoction.  It’s an uncle’s playful shoulder-nudge at a wedding reception, urging you to get off your duff and dance, already.

The difference—the evolution—is immediately apparent on opener (and lead-off single) “Out of My League,” which finds Fitz’ fortunate infatuate pinching himself after nabbing his dream girl.  It’s a case of revenge of the nerd set to bright piano chords, winding bass, and dancehall drums:  Resilience finally pays off for a lovelorn geek, who’s been ignoring naysayers and shunting other romantic prospects, braving loneliness until the right woman turned up.  He’s so blown away he becomes convinced his new trophy girl has mistaken him for someone else:

“You were more than just a dream,” declares Fitz, echoing the album title.  “Got my heartbeat racing—if I die, don’t wake me!”

Of course, it’s Scaggs’ infectious ooh-ooh hook that’ll snag FM listeners as much as her partner’s powerful lead vocal and the tune’s accessible, handclap-adorned chorus.  It is the perfect example of how The Tantrums embrace electronica and pop rock on their second full-length LP without forsaking their soulful roots; they couldn’t have created a better calling card.

“Break the Walls” celebrates the group’s willingness to work outside its comfort zone (even if doing so involves some musical demolition and reconstruction) because they regard creativity a fundamental freedom—a truth worth fighting for.  The track fades in with a peculiar bphzzzt! before Fitz & Co. let loose with a collective Hey! as tinkling piano bounces between left and right channels.  “Give me a sledgehammer, give me strength,” sings Scaggs.  “Watch the world come crumbling down.”

The band pays tribute to Dr. Marc Abrams with the appropriately upbeat ambulation tune “The Walker,” whose carefree, Boy Scout-like whistling and pumping organ whirl over a ticka-tick rhythmic pedometer in a frothy new wave soul smoothie.  A wonderfully eccentric figure for years in the City of Angels, Abrams achieved cult status with his marathon daily walks around Silverlake in mint green shorts.  The 58-year old died in July 2010 but would likely throw Fitz a thumbs-up (without breaking stride) for this brisk, horn-laden memorial, whose treadmill tempo eventually sputters with a synthesizer arpeggio and cascade of watery, computer sounds.

A couple new tracks bemoan the band’s rigorous schedule while celebrating just how far they’ve come in three years.  “Spark” shakes speakers with its throwback ‘70s funk bass, Stevie Wonder (“Master Blaster”) boogie and Fitz / Scaggs’ tag-team vocal.  All the concerts, TV appearances, in-stores, and studio sessions have led to this moment, this logical, well-earned thrust into the mainstream of  The Tantrums’ rep as a good-time sextet who kill it live, every time.

“Three years of digging holes, been burning through our souls,” Fitz recalls the taxing road itinerary.  “You can’t touch us now…our hearts are dynamite.”

“Merry Go Round” likens the group’s nonstop travels to a runaway carnival carousel they can’t step off.  Fitz imagines himself “tied to the wings of a plane…spinning on my last leg, turning till the wheels break” as Ruzumna’s cutesy keys coalesce over Scaggs’ sweet ooh-oohs, Wicks’ pneumatic percussion, and Karnes’ sinewy bass.

The disc’s midsection is devoted to matters of love, devotion…and separation.  Fitz’ narrator braves insomnia after his girl kicks him to the curb on “6 AM.”  Wicks shatters the silence with a snare thwack then yields to Karnes, whose super-funky bass line weaves in and out of Fitz’ lament (and Scaggs’ confession) like a student driver negotiating orange pylons in a parking lot.  King contributes horns to the track’s fade-out, gracing Scaggs’ ooh-wee-oohs and wailing outro.  Ruzumna drizzles decorative keys over the final measures as the tambourine shuffle slowly dissipates.  On “Fool’s Gold” Fitz realizes perhaps he wasn’t good enough to blow his partner’s mind.  Here the rhythm section exercises restraint while the singers have their dialogue and achieve toe-curling harmonies, Scaggs scaling to her uppermost register.

Summer gives way to winter on the seasonal “Last Raindrop,” wherein love’s colors have faded and a couple’s affections have gone cold.  Unlike archetypal “missing you” ballads, however, The Tantrums shift into second gear with hi-hat, cymbals, and persistent kick-drum, maintaining velocity as Fitz and Scaggs double up for another impressive lead.  “The End” uses the same approach, fueling the story of a rocky relationship with big beats, pounding piano, and shouted group refrain that’ll come off terrific live when Scaggs assigns the part to concertgoers.  “House on Fire” finds Fitz recovering from emotional burns inflicted by an ex-lover.  Ruzumna dishes a bit of reggae and dark gospel with his keyboard punctuations, achieving a creepy haunted house vibe as Fitz toys with the lexicon of photography to recreate the flashes and flames that scorched him.

Tucked near disc’s end is the festive “Get Away,” a drum-driven anthem whereon Fitz, Scaggs, and the gang revel in the rapport they’ve built with fans around the world.  Anointed by wacky organ jabs, rumbling bass, and a Whoa, yeah! refrain, the tune becomes the proverbial wax sealing the deal between performing artist and paying audience.  There’s even some flute in the second verse—and we swear we heard some rambunctious guitar in the background during the climax.

“I get a hit off, I get a kick off being here with you,” proclaims a jubilant Fitz.

With More Than Just a Dream, the feeling’s mutual.

www.fitzandthetantrums.com

By Pete Roche       Photography – Michael Sawyer

Not since Sammy Hagar has a pop-rock star been this much into the color red.

Taylor Swift’s sold-out concert at Quicken Loans Arena last Thursday night saw America’s crossover-country sweetheart playing a red guitar while singing into a ruby-bedazzled microphone that matched her lipstick.  She also wore scarlet and strutted with her band—The Agency—beneath crimson lights.

The color scheme is based on Swift’s latest album, Red, whose songs mostly concern affairs of the heart.  Even those in the know when it comes to all things Taylor concede the petite pop songstress is given to penning paeans to current and former boyfriends.

Swift performed nearly every song on the disc to the delight of the capacity crowd, which consisted primarily of young girls, tween girls, and their soccer moms.   Swift took the stage promptly at 8:30 as Lenny Kravitz’s cover of “American Woman” blasted through The Q and the starlet made a grand entrance down a staircase towards the back of the stage.  The arena erupted as Taylor and co. opened with “State of Grace” and established momentum with “Holy Ground” and the inevitable “Red.”  Then Swift mixed it up a little, reaching back to 2008—five years probably seems like an eternity to a 13-year old fan—for “You Belong With Me” and dipped into the 2010 smash Speak Now with the chart-topping “Mean.”  It was a pretty good barometer of things to come with the stage, dancers, costumes, and backup singers lending the feel of a spectacular Vegas show with pyrotechnics, amazing lights, and dancers suspended by wires.

Even more Red followed, with Swift leading her backup musicians through “Stay Stay Stay” and latest hit “22”—but she separated the two with a cover of The Lumineers’ “Hey Ho” before making her way to a satellite stage.  There, Swift had a duet with opener Ed Sheeran for “Everything Has Changed.”  Speak Now’s upbeat ear-grabber “Sparks Fly” concluded Taylor’s business on the side stage.   Swift addressed Cleveland and came across as just kind of being there with a big group of friends, even introducing herself as ‘Taylor’ to audience and high-fiving a few lucky young onlookers.

The Red marathon continued with Swift’s latest anthem for the broken-hearted, “I Knew You Were Trouble” and “All Too Well.”  Only 2008’s quintuple-platinum single “Love Story” could halt the avalanche of Red, and even then it was only temporary: Swift encored with the disc’s “Treacherous” and Max Martin / Shellback collaboration “We Are Never Getting Back Together.”

Based on the shrieks shattering Quicken Loans, the fans enjoyed the concert despite (or perhaps because of) Swift’s overdosing on the new CD.  If we’re not mistaken, she didn’t touch on her self-titled Big Machine debut at all.

It’s worth mentioning Taylor’s trusty lead guitarist, Paul Sidoti, who provided cracking solos and held his band mates together with his professionalism is a former Clevelander. Sidoti toured with Eric Carmen and The Raspberries before teaming with Taylor in 2007.  He still participates in an Eagles cover group (Tequila Sunrise) that visits House of Blues at least once a year.

Sheeran—the 22-year old sensation from Suffolk—heated up Swift’s contingent with nine or ten tunes from his 2011 album Plus +, including “Drunk,” “Grade 8” and “Small Bump.”  The red-headed trip-hopping guitarist wove snippets of Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” into his own “You Need Me, I Don’t Need You,” keeping the kids waiting for his latest zinger, “A-Team.”  The drug-addict / street urchin epic probably had a lot of moms in the crowd going, “Oh—so he’s the one who does that.”

Sheeran appeared at the I Heart Radio studios in Independence earlier that afternoon for a Coffee Hour in-studio performance and Q&A.

Swift’s current tour kicked off March 13^th in Omaha and will culminate with three “homecoming” dates at Bridgestone arena in Nashville, Sept 19-23^rd.

By Pete Roche         Photography – Michael Sawyer

A penta-thrax of five ungodly loud, black-clad thrash bands besieged House of Blues April 16^{th ,} overtaking the intersection of Euclid and E. 4^th with its surplus of distorted decibels as another cold front wafted into downtown from over Lake Erie.

The 2013 Metal Alliance Tour brought headliners Anthrax to Northeast Ohio for the third time in less than two years.  The pioneering hardcore group from New York played HOB with Testament in November 2011 in support of its then-new Worship Music and bulldozed through Blossom Music Center in July 2012 as part of the day-long Rockstar Mayhem Festival.

The road-tested five-piece look and sound no worse for the wear.  On the contrary, the baby brother of metal’s “Big Four” distilled the extensive global mileage from its thirty-plus years into another rapid-fire, ninety-minute aural onslaught that had the audience chanting, moshing, and—at one point—dancing like a tribe of Native Americans.  Headlining a bill that also touted Exodus, Municipal Waste, Shadows Fall, and Holy Grail, the Bronx bashers proved once again why they belong at the top of the heavy metal heap with Metallica, Slayer, and Megadeth.

The band has rebounded from several line-up changes over the decades but retains its core contingent, with cofounders Scott Ian (rhythm guitar) and Charlie Benante (drums) anchoring the ensemble with long-timer Frank Bello (bass).  Anthrax parted ways with lead guitarist Danny Spitz eons ago and just recently bid adieu to shredder Rob Caggiano.  But prodigal singer Joey Belladonna returned for a second go-round in 2010 (Armored Saint’s John Bush supplanted him in the 90’s and early ‘00s) and has contributed some of  his best vocals ever since, coloring Worship Music and the new covers EP Anthems with his signature banshee wail.  Shadows Fall guitarist Jonathan Donais covered Caggiano’s leads at HOB and is filling in until a permanent string-picker is found.

Anthrax are once again playing their breakthrough 1987 Among the Living in its entirety —a daunting, pedal-to-the-metal (literally, in Benante’s case) performance feat they initiated during the 2005-06 reunion with Belladonna.  So after storming the Scene stage at 9:45 pm and barreling through ATL’s Stephen King-inspired title cut, Anthrax whipped a frenzy with the defiant “Caught in a Mosh” (Can’t stand it for another day, I ain’t gonna live my life this way!), the Judge Dredd-derived “I Am the Law” (Respect the man, fear the gun!), and the John Belushi homage “Efilnikufesin (N.F.L)” (So funny and smart and so talented, but success just couldn’t fit…wasting your life, no future’s bright.).

Barring a technical glitch that took mere seconds to resolve (the band’s stage monitors weren’t working for “ATL”), nothing slowed them down.

The guys diverted from ATL after “Skeleton in the Closet” to give the audience a taste of  both Worship and Anthems vis-à-vis the triumphant “In the End” and incendiary AC/DC hit “TNT.”  Belladonna dedicated the former to Ronnie James Dio and encouraged fans to join him in thrusting their “devil horns” skyward in tribute to the departed Rainbow / Sabbath singer, whose image graced the speaker cabinets behind Ian and Bello.  “Madhouse” saw the thrashers reaching even deeper into their ‘80’s oeuvre (1985’s Spreading the Disease, to be precise), with Benante throttling his custom “Metal Forever” drums with gloved hands and Ian—looking comfortable in camouflage cutoffs and a black work shirt—chugging away on his Jackson flying-V. Bello—back coiled and legs planted wide—maniacally thumped his Fender bass with his fingers, the instrument slung so low it practically rested on his right knee.

The bald but ample-bearded Ian halted the proceedings for a “moment of rage” (instead of silence) against the “heinous violence” in Boston the previous day, asking that they shout as loudly as they could for as long as they could.

And shout they did.

ATL’s second act consisted of protest song “Indians”—during which Belladonna (part Iroquois himself) incited a swirling war dance on the HOB floor—“One World,” and climactic “A.D.I. / Horror of It All.”  Although north of fifty, the raven-haired singer hasn’t lost any lungpower since the NOT! days.  Belladonna hit all his high notes and riled up the entire venue by marching to and fro with a half-mic stand (a la Testament’s Chuck Billy or Queen’s Freddie Mercury), proffering smiles, nods, and thumbs-up to fans eliciting extraordinary enthusiasm.

The band shoehorned their version of Joe Jackson’s “Got the Time” (from 1990’s Persistence of Time) in before the frantic ATL finale, “Imitation of Life,” and had Benante splashin’ and crashin’ his cymbals to the tick-tick-ticking refrain.  Encores included Anthax’s tongue-in-cheek rap-metal zinger “I’m the Man” and Trust cover “Antisocial” (from 1988’s State of Euphoria).

Anthrax buddy-band Exodus primed the HOB head-bangers with a 45-minute dose of pile-drivers that sampled from all points in the stalwart San Francisco outfit’s career.  New track “Ballad of Leonard and Charles” touched on the atrocities of the second Sino-Japanese War, while “Lesson in Violence” and “Strike of the Beast” stretched back to 1985’s Let There Be Blood.

“War Is My Shepherd” and “Blacklist” (from 2004’s Tempo of the Damned) found Exodus’ lone original member—guitarist Gary Holt—wielding his Schecter-V like some diabolical medieval weapon.  A master shredder, Holt demonstrated why Exodus has endured despite never quite breaking main-stream, and why Slayer summonsed him to fill in for an ailing Jeff Hanneman last year.  Wearing a black “Ruthie’s Inn” tee over his well-inked arms, Holt was a veritable riffs-and-scales machine who made the most intricate runs over the guitar neck look effortless.  He tag-teamed with co-guitarist Lee Altus on several solos as bassist Jack Gibson pounded out a consistent low end to drummer Tom Hunting’s double-kick Yamahas.

Goateed, bear-sized front man Rob Dukes didn’t appear satisfied with the crowd response early on and questioned whether the fans down front were “old—or just f#@ckin’ tired.”  When he wasn’t spewing vitriol, Dukes paced back between the guitarists and bobbed his shaved head to the galloping rhythms.  He eventually warmed to the crowd, engaging the throng with “Toxic Waltz” (from 1989’s Fabulous Disaster)—but he apparently hasn’t any sympathy for the stage crew techs and janitors who must mop up his countless spit-gobs each night.

Gross!

The Exodus set was marred only by the presence of a couple all-too visible young guys watching the band from back stage.  One said chap (wearing a “F#$k Racism” tee) spent a lot of time Tweeting on a mobile device and playing air guitar / drums.  He couldn’t seem to pick an “instrument,” so he combined the two and flailed accordingly.  Usually, this is accepted behavior for metal-heads, but this particular kid’s location just a few feet behind Holt meant his physical antics couldn’t not constitute a distraction from the guitarist proper.

Richmond rockers (and GWAR friends) Municipal Waste amused, enflamed, and entertained with ten tunes from 2005’s Hazardous Mutation, 2007’s Art of Partying, and 2012’s Fatal Feast.  “Unleash the Bastards” proved an appropriate opening number for the gutter gods, while “The Thrashin’ of the Christ” re-imagined the New Testament gospels as a liturgy of  loudness.  Mixing humor into its garbage (and alcohol)-centric speed-metal, the Tony Foresta-fronted foursome jack-hammered through “Sadistic Magician” and “Head Banger Face-Rip” with an abandon that caught on fast.  “You’re Cut Off” and “Beer Pressure” satirized sobriety and self-restraint, while “Terror Shark” indulged cartoon violence with puerile glee.

“I know, serious topics, right?” Foresta joked.

Beefy, headband-sporting Ryan Waste tortured his signature Fernandes V-Hawk and pushed its Seymour-Duncan pickups to their limits with a deft picking hand.  An estimable southpaw guitarist, Waste struck a nice visual symmetry with right-handed bassist Philip “Landphil” Hall at the opposite end of the stage, propping his foot on a monitor and alternate-picking as drummer Dave Witte invoked his junkyard thunder.

Shadows Fall took second shift (6:45-7:15 pm) with six or seven metal-core nuggets from 2002’s Art of Balance, 2004’s Weight of the World, and 2012’s Fire From the Sky.  Early arrivers reacted positively to the aggressive “Light That Binds” and “War Within” as singer Brian Fair whipped his prodigious (floor-length!) dreadlocks to the beat.  Dueling guitarists Matt Bachard and Jonathan Donais (who also performed with Anthrax) ground out furious riffs and hot licks over Paul Romanko’s rumbling bass and Jason Bittner’s stuttering percussion.  “Divide and Conquer” bore the band’s characteristic edge but packed a accessible, radio-worthy chorus that had folks singing.

“Come see us out in the lobby,” said Fair.  “All the merch you buy goes to the diaper fund…I’m gonna be a dad in a few months!  Yep—touring for pampers!”

The Springfield, Massachusetts band bid farewell with an adrenalized version of  Bob Marley’s “War,” from the reggae king’s 1976 LP Rastaman Vibration.

Nuclear Blast newcomers Holy Grail prepped the Scene Stage with a half-dozen hell-raisers from its two studio releases.  “Dark Passenger,” “Bleeding Stone,” and Crosswinds” gave the crowd a taste of the Pasadena quintet’s latest disc, Ride the Void, while “My Last Attack” and “Fight to Kill” harkened from their 2010 debut, Crisis in Utopia.

All told, it was a long night of brutal metal that left a near-capacity audience sweaty, sore-throated, and ready to consult a physician for tinnitus.

Some of the Anthrax guys got to Cleveland a night early, incidentally:  Bello was the featured artist at Guitar Center bass clinic in North Olmsted on Monday.  He was later spotted hanging with members of  local hardcore band Ringworm at Spitfire Saloon on W. 117^th.

Now that’s metal.

www.anthrax.com

www.exodusattack.com

www.facethewaste.com

www.shadowsfall.com

www.holygrailofficial.com

By Jeffrey McClellan     Photography – Carissa Russell

There’s nothing in this city that gets the blood pumping like a good metal show at Peabody’s. Whether it’s the grimy stage, the relatively low price of booze, or the general attitude of “Do what you want, just don’t break the law and don’t get us in trouble”, Peabody’s has a reputation as THE place to play for touring acts who are looking to give their fans a hell of a party without gouging them on tickets. Thursday night’s Otep show was a prime example of the breed of music this venue and it’s crowd live for.

First on the bill were Picture Me Broken. A melodic metal / screamo band from Hollywood, California. PMB came to Cleveland hungry to make an impact on the crowd (among other things, as evidenced by guitarist Dante Phoenix’s “Melt Army” t-shirt, referring to the local fried-stuff eatery). The group consists of Phoenix and co-guitarist Jimmy Strimpel, along with drummer Austin Dunn and vocalist Layla Brooklyn Allman. Their set was laser-precise, each member displaying an extremely high level of musicianship. Layla’s vocals were on point, and the dual lead guitar onslaught of Phoenix and Strimpel was beyond impressive; this group clearly spent a lot of hours in the rehearsal studio before hitting the road. A sizeable number of up and coming bands would do well to take note.

Next up to the stage were frequent Otep tourmates One-Eyed Doll, the brainchild of frontwoman Kimberly Freeman. Along with drummer “Junior”, One-Eyed Doll is easily one of the more entertaining acts in rock today. Their stage setup consisted of Junior’s drumset prominently displaying the band’s logo, some seriously funky looking black guitars, and a large plastic bin housing Kimberly’s “props” for the evening. From note one, Freeman dominated the venue with her manic, witty, and funny stage presence, relying on Junior (Jason Rufuss Sewell) to keep the beat grounded.

Throughout their set, One-Eyed Doll brought something that popular music, particularly the heavy genres, thoroughly lack in this day and age: fun. Kimberly has created an onstage persona best described as an overly caffeinated anime character loosely based on some fictional demon love-child of Courtney Love and Alice Cooper. She was utterly uncontrollable, even in the middle of the songs, performing ridiculously high kicks, bending every which way, jumping off the stage, and literally whipping audience members with her comically long pigtails.  Her inter-song ramblings bemused and confused the crowd, repeatedly affirming whether or not we in the audience were her friends, and telling fun little stories about religion, nudie bars, and propane tanks. Was it an act? Most definitely. Was it cheesy? Yeah, a little. But when, after the final song, Freeman beckoned the crowd to follow her back to the merch table most did, despite almost certainly giving up their spots to see the headliner; always a sign that a band is doing something right.

Finally, time came for the main attraction. After an intermission which left the crowd restless and eager, Otep came up and hit the stage like a ton of bricks. While a lot of heavy bands put a fair amount of time and effort into looking hard, Otep’s stage presence was downright intimidating. Early in the set, they dismissed the onsite security from the front of the stage, reasonably assuming they would be able to handle anyone in the audience mental enough to try to bumrush the stage. Brutal does not even begin to describe the sound of this band; songs like “Apex Predator” and “Warhead” to this band are not simple schtick, but a mission statement.

As insane as the band itself was though, they couldn’t beat the audience in terms of enthusiasm. Otep crowds are freaking nuts; shows are notoriously wild, often referred to as “riots” by the band itself. To the uninitiated, this may come off as violent for violence’s sake, but it serves as a catharsis for attendees, albeit one that requires a venue have medics on hand. And if the band’s stated philosophy both on and off stage is to be believed, this is just the way they like it.

On a bill with three female fronted groups, it would be easy to fall into the journalistic trap of turning a kickass show into some overblown commentary on gender and the music industry. Certainly, any female-forward act is going to endure pressures in the business that male groups simply don’t have to deal with. However, a truly great live show is a rare bird, doubly so in a smaller venue that doesn’t cater to the big draw, big money acts. The crowd at Peabody’s certainly didn’t have any high minded sociological debates in mind; they came for the promise of a crazy awesome show. And, on Thursday night, they got that and more.

Pete Roche

Anthrax may be considered one of the “Big 4” of thrash (along with Metallica, Slayer, and Megadeth)—but don’t be surprised to hear a little Journey or Cheap Trick when they play House of  Blues Cleveland on April 16.

That’s because the pioneering NYC bashers just released Anthems, a covers EP featuring revved-up versions of classic ‘70s tunes made famous by such hard rock stalwarts as Rush, Boston, AC/DC, and Thin Lizzy.  Conceived during sessions for 2011’s well-received Worship Music and recorded sporadically on the subsequent tour, the remakes allowed Anthrax to have a little fun while paying homage to some of their heroes.

The HOB show will mark the band’s third Northeast Ohio appearance in less than two years.  They played Cleveland in 2011 and conquered Mayhem Festival’s Jagermeister Stage at Blossom Music Center last summer.

Their new Megaforce EP disc kicks off with a turbocharged take on “Anthem” (from Rush’s 1975 album Fly By Night) and incendiary interpretation of “TNT” (from AC/DC’s second LP).  Also hailing from the year of America’s bicentennial are Anthra-cized versions of  Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak” and Boston’s “Smokin’.”  Cheap Trick track “Big Eyes” harkens to ’77, while “Keep on Runnin’” revisits Journey’s Escape.  All covers remain fairly true to the original recordings but benefit from a steroid shot of Anthrax’s indelible volume, aggression, and guitar finesse.

The EP ships with slipcases concealing digi-packs with variants on artwork (by Stephen Thompson) from the source albums.  For example, the Journey edition depicts the Anthrax “penta-thrax” logo blasting out from a shattered orb rather than Journey’s iconic space scarab.  The Cheap Trick sleeve utilizes the Illinois pop band’s familiar typeface, while the Thin Lizzy illustration shows Anthrax’s comic book doppelgangers fleeing an explosion in place of cartoon incarnations of Phil Lynott, Scott Gorham, and friends.

Issuing a covers EP is a bold move by a band whose lineup and label changes over its thirty-plus years often saw it thrust it behind the proverbial eight ball—like the one gracing the sleeve of their Volume 8: The Threat is Real album.  Few groups meet with critical praise when redressing music made famous by others (Metallica’s $5.98 EP Garage Days: Re-Revisited saw James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich successfully cross over from niche to mainstream with its cache of potent jams written by the group’s punk and NWOBHM progenitors).  Anthrax practically just welcomed singer Joey Belladonna back into the fold—regrouping with their former vocalist on Worship—and only recently they jettisoned Rob Caggiano, their lead guitarist for nearly a decade.

But Anthrax always preferred breaking rules instead of making them.  Along with their brethren in the Big 4, they practically reinvented metal for the Eighties on long-players like Spreading the Disease and State of Euphoria by pairing machine-gun tempos with searing leads and histrionic vocals.  They’ve always felt comfortable bucking trends, too:  Just when ripped jeans, denim jackets, and skull brooches became de rigueur heavy metal attire, Anthrax wore colorful “jams” beach shorts and adorned its flying-V guitars with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle appliqués.

They weren’t afraid to test their limits, either.  Founding member Scott Ian (rhythm guitar) and anchorman Charlie Benante (drums) dabbled in the hardcore side project Stormtroopers of Death in the late ‘80s, and Anthrax’s own 1987 EP I’m the Man is widely regarded as one of the first instances of a metal band venturing into rap territory (for comedy’s sake or otherwise).  The group teamed with hip-hoppers Public Enemy in 1991 on the runaway MTV hit “Bring the Noise” and survived the Nineties and Naughties by refining its sound with ex-Armored Saint howler John Bush.

We caught up with Bronx-bred bassist Frank Bello to discuss the new EP and tour.  The Anthrax anchorman was in the middle of a hectic press day in Minneapolis and was admittedly playing catch-up by phone from the back of his tour bus.

THE CLEVELAND SOUND:  We caught you in Cleveland with Testament a couple years ago, now you’re coming around for The Metal Alliance tour with another band that could vie for a spot in a hypothetical “Big 5,” Exodus.  What’s the tour been like so far?

FRANK BELLO:  Oh, it’s been great, man.  We’ve toured with all these guys before, Exodus and everyone.  So we’re all friends.  It’s like family.  Then know the deal.   And the crowds are just great—if the shows aren’t already sold out, they’re close, and there’s a terrific connection going on between us and the audience every night.

TCS:  How did the band decide which songs to cover on Anthems?  Was it all by committee, or did each guy have a favorite he wanted to include?

BELLO:  It was by committee.  We just kind of went over some favorite songs and put ‘em in a hat and pulled ‘em out and said, “Yeah—let’s do that one!”  Plus, these are songs we’d play at sound check anyway….

TCS:  Which explains why they’re all fairly tight.  Some casual fans might be surprised to find you guys doing Journey or Boston songs, but the covers definitely bear an Anthrax stamp as much as they pay tribute to the original versions.

BELLO:  Well, yeah.  Just because you’re in a metal band doesn’t mean you can’t like other music.  That’s sort of limiting.  I like other music, and we love all those other bands and grew up listening to them.  It’s about being a musician first and foremost—there’s things you can learn from them.

TCS:  Redesigning the covers of those old albums for different versions of the EP was a nice touch.  Will the different versions be available at the show?

BELLO:  Well, it’s the different versions of the T-shirts that are going like crazy at the show.  We have these Anthrax versions of the Boston, Journey, AC/DC covers, and the fans can’t get enough of those.  Which is great.  And that’s why we do it—it’s a way of thanking them.  The EP itself is available on iTunes and Amazon.

TCS:  A highlight of this year’s tour is the full Among the Living set.  That’s a nice treat, going back some twenty-five years to give people a full dose of classic material like “I Am the Law” and “Skeletons in the Closet” and mixing it up with newer stuff.  Can we still expect a bit of Worship Music to figure in the set?

BELLO:  We mix it up.  It’s a good mix of old and new.  There’ll be some Worship in there, yeah—but let’s just say it’s a good mix.  Everyone seems to be loving it.

TCS:  With Rob gone, who is filling in on lead guitar now?

BELLO:  You’ve heard of Jonathan Donais, from Shadows Fall?  We’ve been friends for a while and they’re on the tour anyway, so he fits right in.  Great chemistry.

TCS:  One final thing I wanted to ask about was your role in the upcoming film, Greetings from Tim Buckley.  How’d that come about?

BELLO:  Well, I’ve always done a little bit of acting.  I’m not into the whole fame thing—because it’s all bullshit, man.  So when I’m off tour at home I began taking some acting classes, doing some off-Broadway stuff.  It’s another aspect of performing, along with the music, another chance to get into a character.  And in the movie I play [cult punk musical figure] Richard Hell.  It was great.  We had a premiere at the Toronto Film Festival a couple months ago and it went over pretty well.  It’ll have some more screenings this Spring, at Tribeca Film Festival and other places.

Anthrax’s HOB set will feature a performance of their seminal 1987 platter Among the Living in its entirety, so fans can revel in classic cuts like “Caught in a Mosh,” “I Am the Law,” and “Indians” along with Worship entries like “Fight ‘em Til You Can’t,” “The Devil You Know,” and “I’m Alive.”  They’ll be supported by Exodus (featuring Gary Holt), Municipal Waste, Holy Grail, and Shadows Fall.  Tickets are on sale now at the link below, with VIP packages available at http://metalalliancetour.com and www.anthrax.com .

http://www.houseofblues.com/tickets/eventdetail.php?eventid=78733

By Pete Roche

When it comes to trend-setting in music, Sony Music chief creative officer Clive Davis has few rivals.

As head of Columbia Records in the early ‘70s and his own Arista label in the ‘80s and ‘90s, Davis introduced the world to Carlos Santana, Janis Joplin, Whitney Houston, and Alicia Keys.  He was implemental in resurrecting the flagging or stalled careers of such singers as Barry Manilow, Dionne Warwick, and Aretha Franklin—effectively doubling their shelf lives—and his acumen, savvy, and innovation forever changed how the industry records, markets, and distributes music. After fifty years in the game Davis is beloved by artists on and off his labels, admired by his peers, and is as familiar to listeners as most musicians.  His accomplishments earned him a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, to which he was inducted in 2000 as a non-performer.

Only Ahmet Ertegun (Atlantic) and David Geffen (DGC) boast similar musical Midas touches.  Davis himself admits such in his terrific new autobiography, The Soundtrack of My Life (Simon & Schuster, 586 pages), a whopper of a tome that takes readers on a chronological (more or less) journey through Clive’s remarkable career of crafting hits that matter and developing artists for the long-term.  A few tidbits about the man’s personal life are thrown in, but they almost seem like perfunctory afterthoughts compared with the exhaustive accounting of Davis’ work from the late ‘60s to mid-‘00s.

Well, except for the revelatory bombshell he drops at the end about his sex life.

The book’s main sequence begins and ends at one of Clive’s annual pre-Grammy parties.  It’s a lavish soiree where recording artists and celebrity friends convene for a bit of self-congratulatory back-patting—but it’s also a suitable occasion for Davis to take stock of the amazing road he travelled to get there.  The impresario recalls his childhood growing up Jewish in Brooklyn,New York, the youngest son of humble (but sociable and upwardly mobile) homemaker Florence and electrician / tie salesman Henry “Joe” Davis.  He visited Coney Island and ate lox bagels like other kids, was a model student at Erasmus, and enjoyed Chinese food with his family on Sundays (he still does).

But Davis’ parents died early (his mother of a cerebral hemorrhage and his father from a heart attack less than a year later) and he suffered anxiety attacks in college, where he had to maintain good grades to keep his scholarship.  The overwhelming sense of responsibility and watertight connection between cause-and-effect would become a permanent fixture in his psyche.

It’s hard to sympathize with someone for whom scoring high marks and winning elocution contests was routine, and who’s spent most of his life living in Fifth Avenue apartments and Beverly Hills bungalows.  Davis not only earns full rides to NYU and Harvard Law School but lands a perfectly good job after graduating Phi Beta Kappa.  Clive was a Sharpie salesman for a few months and was abandoned by his first wife, but soon enough he was poring over contracts at mid-sized law firms for Columbia Pictures, whose parent company (CBS) tapped him for job as chief counsel at Columbia Records.  Most Rock and Roll bios have their subjects slumming in the early chapters—penniless, hungry, and homeless—but by age 30 Clive Davis was in the enviable position of choosing which lucrative profession to pursue.

Davis realizes how lucky he was.  He also knew he’d entered the music business with very little applicable knowledge outside of the show tunes he’d grown up with, so he took night courses in copyright, trademark, and unfair business practices to familiarize himself with his new environs.  Before long he was Columbia’s Administrative Vice President, acting as A&R (artist and repertoire) guy for now-legends like Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel (his first signing was Scottish folk singer Donovan).  Other early clients included Paul Revere & The Raiders and The Dave Clark Five. Davis describes the Columbia headquarters building as a spirit-crushing “Black Rock” and its staff of executive officers as a veritable “murderer’s row” of cutthroat accountants and agents—but during the Summer of Love he had an epiphany that awakened his own inner artist and steeled his creative instincts to the unforgiving corporate world.

Bowled over by the music and camaraderie at the first Monterey International Pop Festivial in June 1967, Davis hustled to sign Janis Joplin to a roster whose top-sellers included The Animals, The Mamas and Papas, and Otis Redding.  In one of the first of many chapters devoted to specific artists, Davis tells of his time with the Southern Comfort-chugging “Pearl” and how she offered sex in thanks for his sponsorship (Clive politely declined).  The feisty female was the first artist whose growth and commercial success became a personal crusade for Clive, who nudged Janis to dump her band (Big Brother and The Holding Company) and permit his engineers to edit songs like “Piece of My Heart” to enhance their potential on radio. Davis also talks about diversifying Columbia with soul and funk groups like Blood, Sweat & Tears, Chicago, and Sly and The Family Stone.  He remembers arguing with jazz great Miles Davis, who bristled at the notion of co-headlining concerts with rockers like Steve Miller in order to widen his audience.

Davis also cross-pollinated musical styles and helped niche artists go mainstream by thinking outside the box (or LP sleeve, as it were).  Simon & Garfunkel were polishing their Bookends album for release when Clive suggested they contribute some of their new material to a soundtrack for the Mike Nichols film The Graduate.  Simon wasn’t keen on the idea, but Davis convinced the singer-songwriter that donating a couple tunes—including “Mrs. Robinson”—would drum up anticipation for Bookends.  The scheme worked wonders for both the movie soundtrack and the seminal Simon & Garfunkel album—not to mention the duo, who’d been experiencing a dry run.  It wasn’t the last time Davis would encourage an artist to take a chance, try something different, or withhold material from the market to whet audiences’ appetites.  Clive had similar episodes with Dylan, who scoffed at changing the titles of records like Nashville Skyline in order to boost sales or avoid genre confusion.

Other early coups:  bringing Neil Diamond and Earth, Wind & Fire, and Pink Floyd to Columbia via “talent raids” at other labels; teaming with Mike Appel to sign Bruce Springsteen in the early ‘70s; and inking deals with Billy Joel, Aerosmith, and Herbie Hancock. Davis was also instrumental in pairing Jim Messina (ex-Poco) with Kenny Loggins.  He’d repeat the trick decades later by playing matchmaker to country stars Kix Brooks and Ronnie Dunn.

Davis underwent a mid-career catharsis in 1974 after being fired unexpectedly by CBS higher-ups amidst charges of fraud and embezzlement.  Clive roundly denies accusations that he used company money to fund his son’s bar mitzvah and travel expenses and ascribes his poor treatment in the press to media bloodlust for stories on suspected payola and drug use in the record industry. Davis bravely suffered the indignity, bolstered by support from Columbia clients, until a judge dismissed five of six charges against him and he coughed up a few grand in taxes and fines just to settle the case.  But copping a plea resulted in a suspension of Davis’ law license; Clive had to retake the bar examination to be reinstated.  Meanwhile, he entertained job offers—and a partnership with Robert Stigwood (of RSO / Bee Gees fame)—while formulating plans for his own label.

Named after his college honors society, Davis launched Arista (meaning “excellent”) in the mid-70s and recruited Bell Records star Barry Manilow to be his poster boy.  Clive recalls frequent squabbles with Barry over creative direction (“two Jews from Brooklyn going at it”) but has fond memories working with the singer and retooling the Bette Midler sideman for fame.  Manilow fancied himself a composer first and performer second, but Davis convinced the pianist to accept material from outside songwriters.  Barry still resisted even when “Mandy” catapulted him to stardom, noting the inappropriateness of co-opting the Bruce Johnston (Beach Boys) tune “I Write the Songs.”  Clive prevailed, and Manilow enjoyed an unprecedented, fifteen year chart run (25 Top 40 singles) with multi-platinum albums whose hits were predominantly songs he didn’t write.

Davis observes that “self-contained” artists like Springsteen, Dylan, and Joel are rare; very few people can write smart, emotional songs and perform them with the charisma necessary to win listeners over for the long haul.  Accordingly, Clive continued his practice of pairing terrific performers with radio-ready material by ace authors like Diane Warren.  He’d often encounter resistance from artists with high self-opinions, like Laura Nyro and Eric Carmen (ex-Raspberries)—but the gambit usually paid off.  Air Supply guitarist Russell Graham got famous with his own song (“Lost in Love”), but the Australian wisely acquiesced to Davis’ “half and half” mandate and tracked a couple outside songs on each subsequent record (“Here I Am,” “Making Love Out of Nothing at All”).

The most engaging entries are case studies wherein Davis gambles on a long shot (Kenny G, Eurhythmics, Billy Ocean, Thompson Twins) or breathes new life into older acts who’ve fizzled out or lost step with the times.  Clive gave ‘60s songbird Dionne Warwick her second wind with the Barry Gibb-penned “Heartbreaker” and got Aretha Franklin back on track by nudging the Queen of Soul from gospel to pop.  He was on hand for the resurrection of The Grateful Dead in 1987 (Touch of Grey) and won a Grammy for his efforts on Santana’s Supernatural, which pit the Latino guitarist with contemporary vocalists like Rob Thomas (Matchbox 20) and Dave Matthews.  Clive was also responsible for rejuvenating Rod Stewart by selling the gravel-voiced pop singer on the concept of interpreting classics from The Great American Songbook.

Later chapters discuss how Arista evolved with the changing times, branching out to produce comedy records, soundtracks, country music, and hip-hop.  Davis likes tooting his own horn when a project yields huge dividends—but he’s not shy about discussing blown opportunities or speculating on why certain ventures (and artists) didn’t pan out.  Indeed, Davis is able to see the humor now in some of his (rare) missteps, like signing Dwight Twilley instead of Tom Petty.  He also goes out of his way to explain that such “failure” isn’t a slight against the musician; Davis is first and foremost a business man whose job is to “worry” for his clients and make every effort to keep them in the spotlight, striking while the iron’s hot, and selling, selling, selling.  If  keeping Kelly Clarkson or Taylor Dayne on a streak means talking them out of writing their own songs and encouraging them to record someone else’s, he does—and holds his ground when they whine about artistic freedom.

Clive gives the inside scoop on the Milli Vanilla phenomenon, explaining that—for once—he had little to do with the act, who were delivered to Arista ready-made by producer Frank Farian.  Davisre-sequenced the group’s Girl You Know It’s True for American release to maximize radio potential, completely unawares that the “faces” of the group (Rob and Fab) hadn’t sung a note on the album.  He was mortified when Farian revealed the truth—after the duo won a Grammy for the mega-hit album—and abided a court order to refund fans who returned the album (only a tiny fraction bothered; Davis believes listeners wanted to keep their “souvenirs” of the now out-of-print album).

The “most difficult chapter to write” for the music mogul is the mid-book entry covering his time discovering, grooming, and supporting Whitney Houston, who died during the book’s early stages.  Davis eulogizes the Grammy-winning chanteuse respectfully—and with the heavy heart of a surrogate father.  He talks of introducing Whitney to the world on the Merv Griffin Show, packing her early records with hits tailor-made for her powerful voice, and guiding her from obscurity to superstardom.  Clive writes how turned Houston’s interest in acting to his advantage by cutting the soundtracks for her movies, like The Bodyguard and The Preacher’s Wife, and of his concern for her substance abuse and tumultuous relationship with Bobby Brown.  The book even reprints three letters Davis wrote Houston to advise, warn, and reinvigorate the singer when her career took a slump in the ‘90s.

Some readers may get bleary-eyed from the sheer volume of mathematics presented—but the record business is about numbers if nothing else, and the salaries, sales figures, and market shares are key components of Clive’s storytelling.  However, Davis emphasizes that it’s the quality of music that matters most, and connecting artists with the largest possible audiences was always his main objective.  With an assist from co-author Anthony DeCurtis (Rolling Stone), Davis weaves compelling tales of bucking odds, breaking rules, and shirking convention to sign and showcase some of the biggest names in pop music in the latter half of the 20^th century.

The book features three glossy inserts with dozens of black & white and color photos showing Davis posing over the years with various stars.  The front and back inner flaps are each adorned by a recent shot of Davis in a nightclub setting, surrounded by various musical friends like Santana, Houston, Jamie Foxx, and Jon Bon Jovi.  Curiously, guitarist Slash is the only celeb appearing in both montages—but given a choice, we’d have him stand in twice, too.

http://books.simonandschuster.com/Soundtrack-of-My-Life/Clive-Davis/9781476714783

http://www.amazon.com/The-Soundtrack-Life-Clive-Davis/dp/1476714789/ref=rec_dp_0

By Pete Roche         Photography – Michael Sawyer

Okay, so Easter didn’t bring the warm temperatures Cleveland was hoping for—but it did give us a chance to bring in the Garbage.

Madison, Wisconsin alternative rockers Garbage took the Scene Stage at House of Blues at half past nine Sunday evening and took the near-capacity crowd on a hit parade dating back to their humble mid-‘90s beginnings.

Fronted by red-haired Scottish actress-model Shirley Manson, the quartet is on tour in support of its latest studio effort, Not Our Kind of People, available now on its own Stunvolume label.  Joining Manson were original guitarists Steve Marker and Duke Erikson, along with uber-producer / drummer Butch Vig.  Bassist Eric Avery—of Jane’s Addiction / Alanis Morissette fame—is filling the rhythm pockets on tour with his melodic low end.

The band is as visually impressive as they are sonically.  Despite the name, Garbage are a dapper-dressed crew.  Clad predominantly in black for the Cleveland show, they displayed a distinctly European flair for fashion.  Manson prowled like a panther in six-inch heels wearing a dark mini-dress and matching elbow and wristbands–an ensemble that accentuated her top knot and copper-colored hair.  Erikson, who looked like he’d be just as comfortable cross-examining the crowd or delivering a spiel on investment opportunities, sported his usual coat and tie.

The two-hour set touched on all points in the group’s eighteen-year career and included a majority of the classics appearing on 2007’s Absolute Garbage compilation.  They started the gears spinning with the recent “Automatic Systematic Habit” before venturing down memory lane for “I Think I’m Paranoid,” “Hammering in My Head” (both from Garbage Version 2.0), and “Why Do You Love Me” ( from 2005’s Bleed Like Me).

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” Manson greeted the audience four songs in, enchanting the club with her heavy Edinburgh brogue.

“We want to thank you for allowing us to take detours, make mistakes, and not be perfect.”

The sultry singer was probably referring to the band’s hiatus 2006-2011.  Garbage split up after touring the Bleed Like Me disc, allowing Manson to work on a solo project and dabble in acting.  Her planned record never materialized (apart from a handful of tracks posted on Facebook)—but she was a cool femme fatale on television’s Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles in 2008.  Meanwhile, Vig and Marker wrapped up their affairs at Smart Studios, where Butch presided over such seminal releases as Nirvana’s Nevermind and Smashing Pumpkins’ Gish.  When they reconvened at Red Razor Studios they were determined to create and promote the next record entirely on their own, free of the usual trappings of the business.

“Queer” hailed from the group’s double-platinum debut, while “#1 Crush” represented the band’s movie soundtrack material (in this case, Romeo + Juliet).  Manson introduced the raucous “I Hate Love” as her personal favorite from the new disc.  Vig and Avery locked in sync for the show’s midsection—which featured a pair of killer Y2K cuts in “Cup of Coffee” and “Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go)”—as Marker and Erikson slashed at their guitars or pounded out chords on keyboards at either end of the stage.  Manson vamped, slithered, primped and preened, oozing sex appeal with her moves and beguiling contralto on “The Trick is to Keep Breathing.”  The ex- Angelfish vocalist started singing “Battle in Me” on her knees then slowly, hypnotically worked her way to a crouch before regaining her feet, tossing in a tasteful, teasing crotch-grab for good measure.

“Let’s see which of us is going to last the night,” she cooed, as if daring the HOB contingent to match her stamina.

Shirley described her band mates as “brothers” when introducing them (with Vig receiving an especially enthusiastic ovation) and said there’s no one she loves more outside of family.  Her keen sense of humor and witty repartee complemented her powerful pipes.  During mid-song banter she discussed a “super f@ckin’ weird” email sent to her by—of all people—her father.  Later Manson talked about a young woman she overheard panicking at a recent dinner party.  She couldn’t believe how worked up the girl became over something so petty.

“We get dumber the older we get,” she surmised.  “Young people shouldn’t live in fear.  Don’t be afraid.  You can do whatever the f@ck you want!”

Garbage wrapped the main portion of the show with “When I Grow Up,” “Only Happy When It Rains,” “Vow,” and “Beloved Freak.”  When the musicians returned for an encore, Manson had some fun with a male fan down front who’d dressed for the concert in a full-body bunny costume.  Version 2.0’s “Special” was followed by an impromptu musical romp about the rabbit, with Manson stating she wished her husband would embrace the spirit of cos-play later that evening.

“Milk” and “Shut Your Mouth” didn’t make the cut, but few could complain after a 19-song Garbage marathon that effectively cemented the band’s return.  Even then, Manson and company dug deep for more, sending the Easter crowd home with “Stupid Girl” and “You Look So Fine.”

L.A.based art band IO Echo opened with several noise-scapes from their new Ministry of Love album and older EPs.  Featuring blonde model Ioanna Gika and English producer-guitarist Leopold Ross (and supplemented by another guitarist and drummer), the group combined the nihilism of Joy Division with the ‘80s quirk of Flock of Seagulls and Buggles into sample-powered snippets that had many scratching their heads early on.

Gika strode onstage in a Japanese kimono (under which she wore shorts and a T-shirt with happy faces) and twirled between a pair of strobe-lit shoji “rice paper” doors concealing the guitarists’ amplifiers.  Behind her, an eastern harisen fan adorned the drummer’s kick bass, completing the exotic Oriental look.

The guitarists initially seemed more concerned with how their hair looked while bouncing along to “Shanghai Girls” and “Tiananmen Square” than with actually playing their instruments.  Many of IO’s sounds were either canned recordings or musical pastiches triggered with the push of a single key—and the guitarists overacted, making it seem as if it took every ounce of strength to finger them.  And when they did pick at their guitar strings, it was to sculpt sounds and textures rather than evoke melodies.

The crowd might have connected sooner had they been able to actually see the band.  Alas, the only light available were the strobes emanating from either side of the drums, silhouetting Gika and the guitarists.  The bath of near-total darkness was underscored by a glance at any one of HOB’s TV monitors, on which the musicians were blacked out completely.  This didn’t stop Gika from asking the lightning tech to dim things even further for “I’m On Fire” so another strobe could project luminous “flames” on her robe’s prodigious sleeves.

IO Echo risked coming off as seeming dangerously pretentious when suddenly one of them accidentally toppled one of the paper door props.  To her credit, Gika righted the display—then turned and swatted the other one over on purpose.  The unscripted moment made all the difference—and the music serendipitously picked up thereafter, with Gika bouncing through “Doorway” and the giddy “When the Lillies Die.”

By Pete Roche

“I felt that the real story of this band—at least from where I was standing—needed to be told,” writes Rex Brown in his new memoir, Official Truth, 101 Proof: The Inside Story of Pantera (DaCapo, 320 pages).

Brown redefined heavy metal in the 1990s as bassist for Pantera, who ascended to the top of the thrash heap when Metallica commercialized its sound.  He went on further musical journeys with Down, releasing three bone-crushing discs with the super-group before leaving in 2011.  Now he’s the four-string anchor in Kill Devil Hill—and one of six nominated for Best Bassist in Revolver Magazine’s 2013 Guitar Gods awards.

But being a rock and roll titan hasn’t always been easy, as Brown’s book attests.  Hot-blooded Pantera singer Phil Anselmo exacerbated internal tension and drug problem, while drummer Vinnie Paul’s taste for celebrity excess often eclipsed the music.  Brown became reluctant mediator between Anselmo and Paul, his loyalty torn while acting as go-between for his argumentative brethren.

“Being the buffer—the guy in the middle of warring factions—was draining,” he writes.  “I’m not a saint, nor have I ever aspired to be one.  I’ve simply tried to shine some perspective and insight onto my life so far, and the many beautiful people that have surrounded it.”

Pantera disintegrated after an August 2001 concert in Yokohama, Japan.  Brown still played begrudging messenger for his mates—but all hopes for reconciliation were dashed when Paul’s brother, guitarist Daryl “Dime” Abbott, was gunned down during a concert in Columbus, Ohio in December 2004.

Official Truth features a flattering introduction by friend and colleague dUg Pinnick (bassist for prog-metal band King’s X), an afterword from coauthor Mark Eglinton and an acknowledgements section wherein Brown cites his reasons for spilling the truth on Pantera’s rise and fall.

The forty-nine year old bassist is quick to add the caveat that his book is less a memoir than a mid-career chronicle through the past.  After beating booze and stepping away from Down, Brown finally had an opportunity to take stock and exorcise a few demons.

Brown’s tale incorporates quotes from all the principals of Pantera’s reign, including band manager Walter O’Brien, tour manager Guy Sykes, producer Terry Date, and original singer Terry Glaze.  Each is allocated numerous asides, wherein he adds his two cents or simply offers a different perspective—even when it clashes with Brown’s own.  We get commentary from family members and intimates, like Rex’s ex-wife and sister.  Dime’s longtime partner Rita Haney and Phil’s girlfriend Kate Richardson also contribute a great deal, particularly on details surrounding the band breakup, subsequent tragedy in Columbus, and post-funeral fallout.

“For me, this was just too much,” says Brown, recalling Dime’s memorial service at Moore Funeral Home in Arlington.

“I simply kissed him on the forehead.  He was just so cold.  Right then I emotionally checked out.  Of course I was physically there but mentally I was gone.  I was just a shell and couldn’t feel anything.”

“I had been to way too many funerals here—my mom, my grandmother, my dad—all of them ended up in this same room but this particular one just shook me down to the core.”

But it’s always darkest before the dawn.  Despite his emotional catatonia, Brown was later able to appreciate the joy Dime had given others.

“The irony was just unfathomable.  A lot of these people hadn’t been in the same room together for years, so while the reason for being there was truly awful, there did seem to be a collective sense of solidarity that was celebratory and almost uplifting, which is something that Dime would have appreciated.”

Brown takes readers back to his early childhood in the “oil and cattle town” of Graham,Texas, where he was raised with an older sister.  His Presbyterian parents were both heavy drinkers, but he was too young to understand alcoholism at the time.  Cancer of the pharynx claimed Brown’s electrical engineer father by 1971, leaving him with his ailing mother.  Still, Rex has some fond memories of just being a kid, playing with his dog—Reddy Kilowatt—and basking in the benevolence of housekeeper Georgia.

After spending some time in DeLeon, the Browns relocated to Arlington.  Rex moved in with sister Cheryl and her husband, Buddy, who acted as surrogate father (and little league coach).  Having already been exposed to swing music by his Tommy Dorsey-doting mom, Rex took to FM radio with eager ears, latching onto ZZ Top’s “Tush.”

“[She] would pipe this stuff everyday through this annoying intercom we had in our house,” writes Brown.  “It was almost as if I was being force-fed music.  But ZZ Top was a new kind of stomp.  I really dug it.”

The teen experienced culture shock at a larger school but carved a niche for himself playing tuba in the jazz band.  He also took guitar lessons at the local YMCA.  Improbably, the future hard-rocker learned chords by strumming along with John Denver sheet music and broadening his taste with James Taylor, America, and Stevie Wonder.  Shortly after taking up bass guitar he came to appreciate the darker end of the spectrum:  Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and Jeff Beck were mandatory listening.

“I could already play piano, drums, and guitar pretty well, and my ability to read music was already off the map,” he recalls.

Brown writes of befriending Vinnie Paul and his brother, Daryl, whose father Jerry promoted local country acts.  Rex gigged in bar bands like Neck and The Brewheads while the Abbotts forged their own musical path—but Brown would often borrow their equipment.  Eventually, he became a “couch dweller” in the Abbott home and was the obvious choice for replacement when bassist Tommy Bradford left the early incarnation of Pantera.

“I brought much more experience to the table than they did in terms of musical ability, and certainly some much-needed street smarts,” says Brown.

“There was payback though.  They wanted me to play in spandex.”

Brown disappointed his family by dropping out of high school, forgoing a college scholarship secured by choir director Michael Kemp to pursue rock and roll with the Abbotts.  Managed by father Jerry, Pantera recorded a couple glam-metal records with vocalist Terry Glaze.  Dime could barely play guitar when the band started, observes the former singer.  But after sequestering himself in his room one summer with copies of Ozzy Osbourne’s Blizzard of Ozz and Diary of a Madman, Dime emerged a virtuoso who won so many talent shows with his blazing chops that he was ultimately banned from participating.

Brown chronicles the group’s evolution and slow rise to fame out of Pantego, Texas.  Influenced by the heavy-hitting albums of 1988—like Metallica’s Master of Puppets and Slayer’s Reign in Blood—Pantera honed its melodic metal sound and sold its own records at shows.  A voracious reader, Rex educated himself on the business end of things until he and Jerry no longer saw eye-to-eye.  Even after signing with Derek Shulman at ATCO Records the band had to maneuver behind the scenes to extricate itself from the elder Abbott.  O’Brien became Pantera’s new manager and Date their producer.  And when Glaze flew the coup, vocal help arrived in the form of a scrappy dude from The Big Easy.

Phil Anselmo could hit all the high notes required of Pantera’s slick sound—but he was also able to adapt when the band became more groove-oriented, switching his delivery to a guttural growl.  By 1991 the guys were opening for Judas Priest in Europe and Metallica in Moscow, playing to a 500,000-strong audience.

“We played the Bronco Bowl in Dallas one time and it just seemed like that was what we were supposed to do,” Rex says of his manifest destiny.

Brown guides readers through the makings of now-classic albums like Cowboys From Hell, Vulgar Display of Power, and Far Beyond Driven, revealing the stories behind songs like “Cemetery Gates,” “This Love,” “Hollow,” and “I’m Broken.”  It took a couple years for the money to start pouring in with the accolades, necessitating a few adjustments in lifestyle.  Brown had to teach himself to track and save his money, while Vinnie and Dime squandered their earnings at the bar—or on shady investments like tanning salons.  Fame took some getting used to, and even the fan-friendly Pantera had to establish boundaries.

“I don’t mind friendly fans and a few photos and the whole bit,” says Brown.  “It becomes an issue when people start wanting something from you because of who you are.”

The bassist isn’t above a little self-deprecation while recounting his Spinal Tap-like journey.  Indeed, it’s the rowdy road antics that humanize him and personalize an otherwise familiar tale.  We learn how Hurricane Hugo fortuitously grounded the boys in Texas one night in 1989, allowing them to be “discovered” by A&R man Mark Ross (another storm would see them stranded in Dublin years later).  We laugh as Rex and friends roll joints on Frisbees and hawk pills from a Fotomat kiosk.  We grimace as he and Vinnie are strip-searched in New Zealand and cheer when he wins back $20,000 lost in Vegas.  We ride shotgun with Dime and Rex as they spin out in Vinnie’s beloved ’69 Olds Cutlass and smile when the band stages a pellet gun fight at a hotel.  We recoil at David Allan Coe’s secret tattoo, wince at Anselmo’s descent into heroin addiction, and root for Rex when he addresses his own substance abuse problem (beer, whiskey, and red wine).

“Thank f#$@ TMZ wasn’t around back in those days, because I probably would have done myself in,” he quips.  “I couldn’t have coped with that level of privacy invasion.”

The book’s later chapters bring us up to speed with Brown’s sober, post-Down days.  Despite a strained marriage with longtime wife Belinda, Rex keeps his kids close (so profound is his paternal protection that he refrains from even naming them here) and safeguards himself from temptation.  Brown purged himself of booze with a 28-day stint at Promises rehab clinic in Pacific Palisades in 2008.  Horse therapy and self-realization classes helped the musician feel comfortable again in his own skin.  But even then he had to exercise caution when using prescription drugs—like during his recovery from acute pancreatitis in 2010, when doctors put Brown on powerful painkillers.

The rock star lifestyle became extremely hard for all of us in the later era,” Rex reflects, describing his apposite lifestyles as a light switch he couldn’t turn off so easily.

“My kids were so young and I was torn between home life and life on the road.”

Brown worked with Alice in Chains’ Jerry Cantrell in the late ‘90s and produced a Crowbar album in 2004 while moonlighting with Anselmo and Pepper Keenan (Corrosion of Conformity) in Down—thereby frustrating relations with the Abbotts. Having outgrown the L.A. scene, Brown moved back to Texas in the wake of Pantera’s breakup.  There, his story comes full circle as he’s placed in the unenviable position of arbitrating once again between Paul and Haney, who insists Anselmo not attend Dime’s funeral.

“I love Philip as a brother like I always have,” concludes Brown.  “We still speak on the phone and have agreed to not talk publicly about each other’s musical projects and that’s the best way our relationship can possibly be left.”

Official Truth, 101 Proof is a candid, unpretentious autobiography from one of rock’s modern day survivors—a southern-fried, fist-pumpingly fun read that underscores just how dicey things can get even between heavy metal step-brothers.  The well-grounded Brown reminds us that hey, Pantera were people, too, subject to the same foibles and flaws as everyone else.  It’s in conquering and coping with life’s many obstacles that heroes are distinguished from the hapless.

http://www.perseusbooksgroup.com/dacapo/book_detail.jsp?isbn=0306821370

http://www.killdevilhillmusic.com/2013/02/07/rex-brown-to-release-memoir-on-march-12/

https://www.facebook.com/rexbrown.com

http://www.amazon.com/Official-Truth-101-Proof-Pantera/dp/0306821370/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1361380803&sr=8-1&keywords=rex+bro