AntiCurrent Archive Vol 8: William Elliott Whitmore- The Death Valley Sessions

For the eighth edition of the "AntiCurrent.com Archives", a collection of rare albums I'm releasing through this blog, I'm releasing the third of three collections of demos for one of my FAVORITE artists of all time.  Click here to view all past AntiCurrent.com Archive Albums.

Whitmore Live in Australia

This is my third blog dedicated to the raw material of William Elliott Whitmore, and believe it or not, the well is still aplenty to draw from. The last time I saw WEW was in Sydney Australia at the Annondale Hotel. Now, for those of you who don't know, EVERYTHING is WAY more expensive in Australia. A bottle of whiskey at the store will run you around $80, and a 6-pack can run you into almost $20. No, this did not stop me from buying shots of Jameson at the bar before and during the gig, but it did definitely slow me down to the point of it being the most sober I have ever seen WEW.

Whitmore is famous for drinking with the audience at his gigs, this usually results in his taking multiple shots handed to him from the crowd. Unfortunately, either the crowd didn't know this or the cost of $15 a shot was too steep for them to care because he sat there basically sober the entire time. Whitmore sober is a fantastic player, but give him just a little booze and a little more of the Tom Waitsian emotion pours from his soul. As such, I passed him a few shots of Jameson from the crowd and he called me crazy for spending that much money on him and told me to wait around after the show and he'd buy me a few back. An incredibly sweet offer that I unfortunately didn't have time to take him up on.

If you recall my last blog on the subject of Whitmore, my good friend cried upon witnessing the depth and emotion of his performance, well this night was no different. During the time I my fiance was stranded out in Australia and the only way I could visit her until her K1 Fiance Visa went through was to come and visit, which I did several four times last year (our ordeal is detailed here). As I was set to leave for the States the next day, combined with his lyrics of love and lost, Liv began uncontrollably sobbing. That's how powerful this lone guy on a stage's presence is, he literally has the power to make people sob at his performances.

Front Cover

As to The Death Valley Sessions, once again, almost no information is available about the demo session past the point that he sold homemade copies of it on his 2002-2003 tour. There are a few websites reporting that he recorded this shortly after graduation High School while having a brief period living in San Francisco, but I have seen no real documentation as to this. Regardless, I believe it was indeed recorded in Death Valley. The album is far and away the best quality collection of demos that have leaked thus far from Whitmore, but I have been searching for a real copy of it for years so that I can make a high quality FLAC encode, and not listen to the low quality 128Kbps version that I am unfortunately supplying here.

On top of amazing early versions of what has become staples of his setlist, this album also features the swirling sounds of the desert itself. I highly doubt that such high quality versions of these songs were recorded outdoors, so more than likely someone recorded the exterior ambient sounds of the desert and laid them overtop of the recorded tracks, but I suppose anything is possible. The stand-out songs on this demo to me are the Old Lady Duet's Pt. 1 & 2. I left these titled as such due to my belief that this is how they were labeled on the original CD. Track one is a heartfelt, very melon-collie take on "My Old Kentucky Home" where the slight cracking in the old woman's vocals is as endearing as it is sad. The second is a take on "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" which is again as heartwarming as it is sad.

Back Cover

Once again, this demo album is yet another intimate look at the raw genius that is William Eliott Whitmore. Do yourself a favor and relisten to his song "Lift My Jug (Song for Hub Cale)" off of this demo, then off of the "Jarrett Mitchell Demos" (which I previously published here), and finally to the final version of the song on his studio album "Ashes to Dust". Doing this is an excellent way to watch WEW craft this song from a well written diamond in the rough, into an amazing, absolutely astounding song that is still manages to be rough around the edges in the best of ways.

As always, go and purchase his actual music, see him on tour, and meet the man himself. These releases are not meant to be the only material you take from the artists, but are intended to give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of some of the best talent that has ever been seen musically on this planet.

Download The Entire Album and Cover Art Here:
ZIP Archive

The tracklist is:
1:  Introduction
2:  Instrumental
3:  Does Me No Good
4:  Pine Box
5:  Lord Only Knows
6:  Old Lady Duet
7:  From the Cell Door to the Gallows
8:  Diggin' My Grave
9:  Lift My Jug
10: Old Lady Duet 2
11: Our Paths Will Cross Again
12: Instrumental 2

EDIT (8/18/14):
I was contacted by a nice lady named Bailey who shed some light on the sessions and where they're from. MANY THANKS!!!!

"I thought I would tell ya a little about the  WEW recording you posted on your blog. You can purchase that album. It is apart of a book called after the gold rush by Jeremy Deller. The woman you hear on a few of the tracks is Jennie Olson. You can also purchase the 9 picture disc album for 500€"-Bailey Fryschnormeier

EDIT (5/28/15):
I really dig how much love there is for Whitmore out there. I was recently contacted by a very nice man from London named Martin who further shined information on this session and provided a hand written letter from WEW:

Hand written letter & tracklist

"...I do have something concrete to add to the proceedings with regards to "The Death Valley Sessions", anticurrent vol 8.  As your other poster reported, the album is part of an art project put together by Jeremy Deller, check it out HERE.

Before i managed to source a copy of the book with CD I actually asked William if he could let me have a copy.  Generous as always he sent me a CDR with hand drawn artwork and a note giving track listing and explanation of the project's background.  I've scanned the relevant documents and attached them to this e-mail and I hope you find it of interest." -Martin Nisbet 

A Guaranteed Way to Get Around Local NHL (& Other Sports) Blackouts

I live in Los Angeles, work nights, and am an avid Anaheim Ducks fan. Due to the extreme hours that I keep at work, I am generally saddled behind a desk during damn near every NHL game. In addition to my normal job, when I'm not behind said desk I'm traveling around on shoots. This makes my ability of catching a Ducks game on a local broadcast nearly impossible. This also makes NHL Gamecenter an amazing alternative. For $20 a month, all games the NHL has to offer will be sent to the screen of my choice? I'm happy to pay to see my team, I'm not trying to cheat anyone... hell, sounds amazing! Well, amazing unless you happen to live next to the team you root for.

Being about 30 miles from Anaheim and living deep in Kings territory means that anything actually broadcast can't make it to me. However, I live so close that I still fall into the "local blackout zone" for the Anaheim Ducks. This makes it impossible for me to legally view a game without visiting a local bar that will allow a Ducks fan to watch a non-Kings game, a heavy task to say the least. This has forced my hand to view games at any cost... even if it is... well it's NOT illegal, but it's against certain BS "Terms and Conditions".

Enter Port-Forwarding. Port-Forwarding allows you to take your computers IP address (the service that tells the provider where your computer is physically connected) and push your signal to anywhere in the world. To put this in layman's terms, you could be sitting outside of the local sports arena and they would think you are coming from Hawaii, Canada, New Zealand, etc. This tells your internet-sports provider that you are outside of the blackout zone and allows you to watch to your hearts desire.

Now there ARE port forwarding programs that are free. In my experience they work like shit. The interface is horrible, you get kicked off connections every few minutes, and the list of available connections is miniscule. I've dabbled with a few of the paid ones as well and they greatly vary in quality as well. The best of these, thus far, is a program called "Hide My Ass" or known by its kinder, gentler title, "HMA". For a $60 flat rate you can get 6 months of their kick-ass service, just enough to get you through your season. (This service can also be used to download things untraceably for those of you who are unscrupulous enough to do such things ;-) ) Additional uses for port-forwarding also allow you to browse different store-fronts to purchase material from places like I-Tunes or watch things on Netflix that haven't yet came out in your country.

If you do INSIST on free port-forwarding, I have heard DECENT things about the Google Chrome Add-On "Hola Better Internet". Simply download it from Hola.org and install it into Chrome. I have had little time to mess with this program, but to me it appears slow and clunky. Connections don't last, speed is sluggish, and it is based on ad-generated revenue which I find fucking annoying. Take my advice, spend the money and purchase an actual service.

So there you go, just connect to HMA, open up your normal web-browser, and the program will forward your signal to anywhere you desire. As of now, I have not had any trouble with GameCenter "Locking me out". I assume that not only do they monitor where your signal is coming from, but they probably keep a log of it. If they so desired, they COULD lock you out if your connections are "suspicious". So perhaps its better to always log on to one location. Just food for thought....

AntiCurrent Archive Vol 6: William Elliott Whitmore- Legalize Freedom Demos

For the sixth edition of the "AntiCurrent.com Archives", a collection of rare albums I'm releasing through this blog, I'm releasing the first of three collections of demos for one of my FAVORITE artists of all time.  Click here to view all past AntiCurrent.com Archive Albums.

There are only a few select bands that I have ever discovered organically. I define that term "organically" as coming across music you have never heard nor been shown by your friends, but that you actually discover in its native environment. It's like they did back in the day, you show up to a gig for a certain type of music, and you experience it for the first time in the real world, rather than via the internet or word of mouth. William Elliott Whitmore is the best example of this for me.

I went to a Pogues show in Anaheim on October 28th of 2007 and the beginning act wasn't stellar, I had expected quite a punch from anyone opening for the Pogues and that band (I shall not name) did NOT deliver. So I sat in the back, ordered a drink at the bar and was prepared to be disappointed when the next guy went on, some dude with just a banjo. Before the end of the first song I was in front of the pit watching this guy work and yes, it was WEW. After what was easily one of the top 10 performances I have ever seen in my life, I ran back, ordered another drink and approached his merch table (of which he was splitting with the other said band). Unfortunately he only had a few pins so I purchased those immediately and went and watched the Pogues knock it out of the park. When I got home, I went straight to the internet, got on some file sharing site, and downloaded everything I could find of WEW.

I have since seen him live 8 times (Hell, I even made it plan a trip to Australia once and see him), and since I have 3 albums of his demos I am planning on releasing here, I will relive one of those amazing stories in each of the coming WEW AntiCurrent.com Archives I publish. Go and see this man. Purchase his actual albums. Buy him a shot of whiskey and give it to him on stage (he will drink it, trust me) Purchase his merch. After you do this, walk up to him after the show and thank him. The dude is salt-of-the-earth and is one of the most grateful people I have ever met. I have seen him 8 times, I have shook his hand 8 times.

Not much is known about Whitmore's demo albums (at least not that I've found) but the next time I see him, I will ask him and post the results here. I believe this to be the first... I'll let you investigate this album yourself as I believe most of his music begs, but I will leave you with this: "Legalize Freedom" has what is one of my top songs he has ever done. "Trespassers Will Be Eaten" is fucking genius. A slow melt banjo jam that explodes into energy, coupled with aggressive lyrics talking cruel threats to anyone that approaches a man's property without authorization. I love this track and it summarizes everything about his amazing presence perfectly.

Download The Entire Album and Cover Art Here:
MP3 Zip Archive

The tracklist is:
1: Old 49
2: Trespassers Will Be Eaten
3: Forgive me
4: Diamond In Your Pocket
5: Lonely Walk
6: Run Johnny Run
7: Shogun
8: Whatll You Do
9: Oh Susanna
10:  One Glass At a Time
11: Evening

Breaking Down the Age Old Argument: Analog VS Digitaly Encoded Music

I've done a few blogs now on how to make a DIY Hi-Fi system, and adjusting a lower end record player, so I thought I should also break down the in's and out's of Analog VS Digital Media.

The argument of digital vs analogue sound has been around since Phillips and Sony debuted the Compact Disc format back in 1982. The core arguments of both sides are still very similar and it all ultimately boils down to this down to this: quality of product VS ease of accessibility. Vinyl (analogue) offers a 100% accurate reproduction of the original sound recorded, but is big and bulky while the digital market offers music that can be stored as data, but loses much of the source quality through the encoding process and as a result of what is being called the “loudness wars” plaguing digital media. This issue of low quality sound and high portability has been exponentially exacerbated with the advent of the internet and mp3s.  In this article, I will boil down the pro’s and con’s of the analogue vs digital debate not in an attempt to uncover the preferable format, but to allow the reader to decide where they fall on this issue.

For most of the 20th century, LP’s were the predominant way to distribute music to the home consumer. Originally formed out of shellac, and now polyvinyl chloride, people took great care of their music collections and spent tons of money on record players. However, in the late 1980’s the compact disc made it’s debut and within a few years became the new vehicle in which people enjoyed their music at home. Cassettes came and went, but were largely regarded as merely a way to enjoy music on the go, not for normal household enjoyment. This lasted until the late 1990’s when a hacker bought encoding software with a stolen credit card, widely spread it as freeware, and began the popularization of the MP3.

Before we compare and contrast the various mediums of audio delivery, it is first key to understand a few terms. The most important of which when speaking about digital music is the bit-rate. Essentially this is the quality of compressed digital audio. In digital, the analogue signal is sampled, taking bits and pieces of the audio rather than the entirety of it as a whole. The bitrate is the amount of data that is captured at any one second of the audio. These can range anywhere from low level MP3 encodes that start at 128 kilobits per second to 1,411.2 kilobits per second on CDs. With this, more data produces a better sound, but also produces larger file sizes. A standard 128KBPs encode will take up only a few megabytes of space, while a lossless cd track will take up between 30-50 megabytes. Lossless digital audio exists, but is accompanied by large file sizes. Analogue sound on the other hand, due to it being a complete reproduction of the source cannot be quantitated like this in regards to bit-rate.

Records, or LP’s, contain grooves in which a physical waveform (a direct reproduction of the source sound) is contained within the formed plastic. This waveform has a needle ran overtop of it in which a barely audible, completely authentic reproduction of the sound is played. The sound then transfers into an amplifier and out of the speakers generating a 100% authentic reproduction of the source material. This is lack of encoding and sampling the music is the prefered way to listen to music by “audiophiles”. The argument being that something sampled can never sound as good as an original reproduction.

However, vinyl has negative sides as well. It is big, bulky, and easily breakable. Also, although technology is readily available to have an amazing experience playing vinyl, due to it’s lack of popularity it is expensive to purchase the technology to properly utilize the format. There is also an audible sound with the needle dragging over the crevice, if a record is not completely clean, it will be filled with hisses and pops. This becomes even more of an issue due to the fact that you are essentially dragging a sharp instrument over a delicate surface. This means each time you play it, though it may be by an incredibly insignificant and minute amount, you are causing damage to the record. Additionally, a true hi-fi setup includes needle priced anywhere from $80-$5,000, direct drive motor, tube preamplifier, amplifier, and speakers. This can quickly total alot of money and is not a likely purchase for your typical consumer.

On the opposite end of the spectrum of vinyl are MP3’s. The average MP3 ranges in quality from 128 kbit/s to 320 kbit/s. While a 320 kbit/s is listenable to the normal everyday consumer, even the least trained ears can hear the obvious difference between the two extremes on the scale. MP3’s only take up a few megabytes of space on a hard drive, are quickly ripped (encoded) from a CD using the even the most primitive of computer systems, are easily shared, and contain the information about the artist, album, and even a small thumbnail of the artwork within them. This is the highest quality of portable music for the smallest amount of size. These are also largely popular with the public due to the fact that most online stores sell them for .99 cents a piece.

One of the major problems that stems from the popularization of MP3’s is the multiple-encoding that sometimes arises from them. Basically, this is the unfortunately popular practice of taking an encoded MP3, burning it to a disc, giving it to a friend, and having them re-rip (encode) it to their system, resulting in a complete and total fidelity loss for no reason whatsoever. Although an MP3’s file size is incredibly small, so is the quality of the sound. Despite these drawbacks, the consumers have spoken and ease of use and portability are what today’s general customer crave the most.

This huge cost and lack of portability is what largely drove consumers to CD’s in the first place. CD’s offer a mid to high quality level of sound while providing a very small delivery vessel. CD’s are also harder to damage than the traditional LP, and most of the time the damage is able to be repaired. Being a physical format it is immune to hard drive crashes, and unlike records it causes zero wear and tear when you use it each time. CD’s have a relatively high bit-rate of 1,411.2 KBPs, meaning that they have much more depth and clarity than MP3’s, but oddly enough, CD’s greatest asset is not being utilized in the least...

Technically speaking, a CD’s low-end dynamic-range is greater than that of the LP. This means that a CD can technically produce more low end frequencies than that of even a vinyl. Now on the outset, discovering that CD’s have a lower potential dynamic range, but they are in fact inferior to a wave-form may seem complicated, but it’s not. Yes, a CD designed directly from a professional mixer can in fact have audio levels that are not possible with an LP. However, due to what are being called the “loudness wars”.

The record labels are understandably in a competition to have their music heard over those of their competitors. This has resulted in labels pushing CD producing plants and digital distributors to make their music as loud as possible through what is defined by  Scott Metcalfe, the director of recording arts and sciences at the Peabody Institute of Johns Hopkins University as “the range from the loudest notes being played to the softest notes being played”.

This practice effectively removes the peaks and valleys of a waveform making the entirety of it to sound as if it is louder as a whole. Unfortunately, this removes much of the character and subtlety of music, or as Bob Dylan puts it “You listen to these modern records, they're atrocious, they have sound all over them. There's no definition of nothing, no vocal, no nothing, just like—static.” Although this affects CD’s and MP3’s, this is one of vinyl’s main draws for many people as record producing plants are not able to perform excessive compression with vinyl due to its physical constraints.

Based on all of the positives and negatives of each of these formats, the consumer seems to want portability and ease first, and quality second. Enter the FLAC file. FLAC is an acronym for Free Lossless Audio Codec. FLAC encodes at the maximum data rate of which humans can hear, but does not compress the audio, it compresses it as a file. For instance, with zero quality loss, FLAC zips the file to make 40-60% smaller with absolutely no quality degradation. The file size ends up being around 40 megabytes, more than small enough to fit on today’s 8, 16, or 32 gigabyte phones/players.

FLAC has a lot going for it. You can create a FLAC file out of your CD with just a burner. With just a little experience with audio, you can even rip a copy of your favorite LP’s and output an identical FLAC file that is just as clean as the original vinyl. This allows the portability of a vinyl collection and the ability to create a backup of any of your audio to keep for years to come. Most importantly, FLAC has one thing going for it that other lossless formats do not: It is entirely free to use. Is FLAC for everyone? No. Many people cannot differentiate the difference between a 320kbps MP3 encode and a CD, for them, they will go with MP3. But for those who care about audio quality AND portability, FLAC seems to be the best option around.

So what does this mean for the future of the record industry?  Which format will prevail? Well, records and vinyl have been steadily selling more each year since 1998 and appear to be on an upswing that is not going away anytime soon. CD’s certainly are suffering dimension sales and do not appear to be a long term solution as they are quickly falling out of popularity. MP3’s are still reigning supreme at the moment, but with the cost of affordable, high quality audio equipment coming down each year, that may not last. One amazing idea that has been prevailing among indie record labels is selling vinyl copies with a CD or download voucher with it. Sometimes even both. This allows the user to choose their experience and how they want their media, essentially taking the power out of the hands of the labels, and putting it where it truly belongs…. in the users hands.

The Gunpowder and Acid Incident (Part 1 of the Josh was Dumb in School Saga)

In the course of my so-called academic career at Madison Public Schools, I learned something at a very young age: It doesn't fucking matter. Until the 6th grade, I worked my ass of and several times was vocally refereed to as the "head of my class" by authority figures who cared to measure such things. However, with a school-system that was hesitant to teach evolution, and only did so as one of "multiple options you can go into yourself", 90% of what they taught was either bullshit, or far, far below anyone with a brain. As a result, I grew tired of their system and began to rebel against it (I went into detail some of the schools issues in this blog). For what it's worth, my grandfather (father's father), the once superintendent of the school system attempted to make this broken mess into something. This story is the first of three blogs I will be publishing about my major dealings with the powers that be during my Middle to High-school years.

Personal issues at home that I have spoke at length about in other blog posts combined with my having zero respect for such a laughable fucking school resulted in a heavy amount of early, outward rebellion from myself. Many people in these days were shocked by my disregard for the establishments rules and regulations, I however then and now, maintained that I was just ahead of the curve.. an early bloomer if you will. Anyway, this lead me to be very "experimental" at a young age, hence some of my many adventures.  One of the first major things my group of friends and I (more about them here) got into were explosives. We, as many other teenage boys at this age, greatly enjoyed occasionally blowing the shit out of stuff. Some of the gang would steal bottle rockets and such, but I always brought the gold as my Grandpa (Moms Dad) was a bit of a gun nut and thus, had plenty of artillery.

My Grandpa and I never had much in common. He drank alot and occasionally just wanted to argue about meaningless shit. He did love me, but being a battle-hardened, slightly crazy war vet, we really had fuckall in common. That is until the day I watched him blow up an old stuffed rabbit with a homemade artillery shell. Instantly we had what would be a lasting mutual interest in something... blowing shit the fuck up. Nearly every weekend we would cram some innocent toy and stuff it full of highly explosive materials hooked to some sort of detonation device and blammo! It was launched into a fiery oblivion. He introduced me to bottle-rockets, M-80's, black-cap, fuse, and most importantly... black powder.

Of all of the shady people I knew, James was the only one of them seemed as if he wasn't a total piece of shit (again, went into detail about him on this blog). James often bragged about his exploits with the older kids and one day in music class he made the mistake of talking about his experiences with acid. As soon as I caught wind of this, Nash and I immediately hit him up to get some. He quoted me a figure of way more money than I had access to at the time, but then asked me what I had to trade. The M-80's I had immediately came to mind. Unfortunately, he had a few already... but he did want something bigger. That's when I remembered my Grandpa's stash of black powder in the back of his closet. Nash and I then bartered 4 hits of acid (one for each of my friends and I) off of James for one full cup of pure black powder, and the exchange was set to take place the next week.

That weekend, I went to my Grandparents house with a much different plan than usual. Normally on these weekends I would wait till they were asleep and steal a few Miller Genuine Drafts from my Grandpa's drawer in his fridge, this time however, was different. I went to the cupboard to find a container with a top so as not to spill any in transport, but all I could find was my little cousin's sippy-cup. So making do, I grabbed it, went into his closet, filled it halfway up with black powder, and hid it away in my bag.

Seeing as how I lived in the country, did not have transportation, and lived 10 miles from him, I took the sippy-cup filled with gunpowder to school that Monday morning. In the middle of the day I quietly gave it to James and he hid it in his locker, promising to bring me acid the next day. As far as I was concerned that was the end of my involvement with it. It had left my hands and I assumed that he was smart enough to handle himself with it... boy was I wrong. What I didn't know was happening on his return from school would drastically change my life.

Somehow, the seemingly street smart dude dropped this container on the floor of the bus on his way home. Furthermore, he must have told at least a handful of people as to exactly what it was, but not necessarily what it was capable of. As the story from him goes, when it hit the floor on his bus trip home, a decent amount of it spilled out and a mutual friend of ours, Shawn, gathered it in a piece of paper and folded it up. Although I trusted James with this powder, I knew better than to give it to anyone with Shawns reputation, and he should have too. As soon as he got off the bus, a few of the "bad kids" all gathered round as Shawn put his face a foot above it and lit the paper.... thus igniting it directly in his eyes.

Now Shawn didn't sustain any permanent damage due to this, but he burned the shit out of himself and it effectively removed any and all hair he had on his face. To make a long story short, the ambulance came and treated him, the cops at the hospital made inquiries, Shawn rolled on James, James rolled on me, and the investigation officially began. Drug dogs made a sweep of the bus and positively identified there being residue of explosives. The cops intercepted James at school, made their formal arrest, put him in the car, and then came looking for me, ironically enough, in music class where the whole damn thing started.

They interrogated me for two hours with the assistance of the principle, the whole time of which I denied it... until they brought James out. James walked into the room, eyes swollen with tears, and he told me that it was over and that they knew nearly everything. The cops gave me one last chance to come clean, and in return, they would let my family collect me and not pull me out of the building and book me for the entire weekend. Fine, fuck it, I did it, I confessed. But with James standing there, I figured I'd do us both a solid and alter the storyline while I had him in the room. I explained to them how I sold the gunpowder to him for $20, and I saw him nod in approval, after all, why complicate this situation with the unnecessary addition of drugs.

They hauled him to jail and my parents hauled me away to the house. I was expelled, but seeing as how there was only two weeks left in class and I had A's, they went ahead and passed me with a C+. At home I endured the entirety of my family railing on me about what I had done. My Mother’s side of the family were more disappointed that I stole from my Grandfather than anything else, a fact of which I agree and am ashamed of. What really sucked is hearing my Father and his side of the family preaching to me about destroying my Grandfather's legacy (he had long since passed) and "ruining" the good Roush name in town (something they repeatedly did WAY better than I ever could a few years down the line, but that story is for another time).

I got a call a few days later and the court date was set (about a week and a half after the incident). My mother and I agreed it was best if I was represented by a capable attorney, so much to my father's disappointment, she called up the man that had represented her in their divorce. The man was damn good, and based on their prior experience, even agreed to represent me for free. Even though this good show of faith, my father refused to speak to the man or shake his hand. That was my dad.

I arrived in court with lawyer in tow, and we sat down in the cramped waiting area. We noticed the other families that were involved with this incident present as well. I darted my eyes a few times to avoid Shawn's scorched face, but eventually got up the balls to go and awkwardly apologize to his family. James' family and lawyer were also in attendance, though he was oddly absent (I later learned he had been in custody the entire time). Also gathered in the all-too-small area were a handful of miscellaneous witnesses to various pieces of this incident and their families. After several intensely awkward hours, we were all finally put before the judge.

We all had our time in front of the judge, Shawn got off completely due to the fact the judge decided he had learned his lesson. When it was done, his family got up and walked directly out... that's when I witnessed something that made me cry. James was brought before the judge in cuffs, his mother wailing hysterically, and his father shooting me a look of death. It was a terrible, horrid sight, which was made worse when it was all said and done. See, this wasn't James first offense.... nor his second. James was then scolded and sentenced to two additional months in Juvenile Hall, and I broke down when I saw this tough man walk out sobbing.

Then came me. My name was called, I raised my head up high and sat down next to my lawyer. I wasn't a tough guy, at least not yet. But be damned if I was going to let them see MY emotions. I sat down like a man to that table and expected to be carted off right after James. My lawyer got up, made my argument, stated this was my first offense, and made one king hell of a noble effort. Between the good lawyer and my clean record I got dealt 400 hours of community service and yelled at by a judge. It could have been much worse.

The judge then asked me if I had anything I would like to say, so I did. "I deeply regret my actions, and shall not do them again." I honestly told him. Then I continued, this time lying through my teeth, "I now have one hurt friend, and one jailed directly due to my actions, for that, I am deeply sorry as well."

Now, why was I lying through my teeth? Was I not emotionally impacted by the things that had happened to these two boys? Of course I was, and I was damn sorry I had to go to court because I stole from my Grandfather. But MY actions did not put them in their predicament, my terrible judgement merely enabled them to make bad decisions. Shawn was a nice kid, but at the end of the day he stole something he knew was dangerous and used it in a retarded way. And James? Well to quote Quentin Tarrantino, "He should have fucking better known better." He rolled on me, and although I hated to see an otherwise alright guy be put away, at the end of the day he still turned me in. Hell, it didn't even take him much coercing and he still got busted for the same crime at the end of the day.

THAT is the lesson I took away from this situation: What little you gain by rolling on a friend is nothing in comparison to what you lose within yourself.

Next time, The Marijuana Incident (Part 2 of the Josh was Dumb in School Saga)

Small Town, Small Corupt Minds In Power

Alot of the stories I tell are about my raising hell as a teenager. I was never a "rebel without a cause", I had a cause and I was damn sure it was just. Perhaps some... ok, alot of the time I didn't channel my anger and rage toward the correct subjects, but I'm beginning to learn how to. This blog is a big part of that, I write not only in an attempt of exorcizing my demons, but also to point out the wrongs that I have long quietly sat back and dealt with.

I grew up in Madison Township, a little rural area right outside the City of Middletown Ohio otherwise known as "living in the country". Middletown is a small, shithole of a city so named due to its proximity between Cincinnati and Dayton, Ohio (the area had it's "15 minutes" when this appeared as a question on Jeopardy). It's one of the many cities in the United States that grew exponentially with the once prospourous paper and steel industries densely located in the area. However, as these companies prodominetly began to move overseas, the jobs went with them.

Whats left today is a battleworn shell of the area's former glory. An all but abandoned downtown sits largely vacant where the locals are more likely to rob or proposition you then they are to provide any legal service. Once upon a time these buildings were hot commodities and the entirety of the town came to the area to do their day to day business. Today, the local industry is mostly located outback of Central ave where the toothless, meth addled prostitutes service the town's men in the back of old rusted out pickup trucks. This begs the question, how do once prosperous towns get in this shape?

With small towns either everyone cares about the business of the city and perticipates in the local government, or no one does and leaves it up to the jackals that flock to the potential oppertunity that only being in power provides. Unfortunately, Middletown/Madison seemingly fell into the former category (although Madison wasn't big enough to be bothered with any real politics). There are many, many examples of this particular brand of small minded, self-entitled thinking to be spoke of, but due to the nature of the blog format, I will only list a few, particularly viscous cases.

The first is of local "entrepreneur" and "humanitarian" Perry Thatcher. While serving his elected duty heading the Middletown City Council, he owned about 112 acres of seemingly useless real estate. No one thought much of this until he and his partner received about 5.5 Million dollars in taxpayer income when the board he was member of voted to purchase the land and build the new city hospital there. Thatcher claimed to be "hands off" with the deal. Unfortunately that seemed enough to passify the public as he pocketed nearly 2.25 Million Dollars of their hard earned money without a conflicted-interest.Yes, a few people raised issue with this, but no one cared enough to be vocal on the subject.

Thatcher donated alot of money to local charities, many of which were designed to help the local economy and promote the growth of the local artistic community. That would seem to be completely contradictory to his position of removing the "punk rock element" that "plagued" a venue of which he owned. Enter, the Hoosegow, a local studio that hosted some of the hardest working local bands of the area. The place was located in a nearly abandoned area of downtown Middletown located next to the local homeless sanctuary and even the bank sharing its corner had shut down. This "detriment" of a musical showcase had both local and national acts that toured in it. However, Thatcher deemed it a public nuisance and successfully seeked to kick out the local inhabitants. After a brief and well deserved riot protesting the ending of the only local strictly musical venue happened, he had the property turned into a much more profitable endeavor. A parking lot. In an already vacant area. (One day, when certain unnamed statute of limitations run out, I will go more in depth on this event)

But Middletown wasn't the only source of corruption, it branched out into the country as well. Madison School system and the powers that helmed it for several years were just as corrupt.. Every 2 years the school begged the community for more money due to needing "increasing infrastructure, facilities, and faculty". Horseshit. I used to watch as the teachers would take publicity photo's of "overcrowded rooms" and not having enough desks for students. Do you know how these photo's were accomplished? Piling 3 different classes into one half vacant classroom. I was there, I saw it happen, and it wasn't just on one occasion.

Furthermore, when ever it appeared that a new budget increase would not go through, the powers-that-be threatened to pull the only thing that the school had to offer, the football team. Now, the coach was a piece of shit as were most of the players, but to speak honestly, football was the only activity in Madison that MADE the school more money than it shelled out. Now, why would a school threaten to remove a program that actually benefitted it financially? Because they knew they had the community by the balls and there was no way they would let their prescious football program go by the wayside.

Worst place ever? Not by far. Middletown/Madison has plenty of amazing humans who care deeply about one another residing in it. These are but a few quick examples of the corruption that unfortunately plague the area. One is left to wonder if the area would be in the shitty mess that it is neck deep in at the moment if greed, power, and money weren't the primary concerns of those governing. Many of us are quick to blame the economy for the conditions of our beloved hometowns, but sometimes, you have to place the blame within yourself for not rising up and pointing out the corruption right underneath our noses. I for one am tired of sitting backseat as some greedy, cash obsessed asshole helms the wheel, only to tuck and roll as you are sent off of the edge of the cliff.

AntiCurrent Booze & Grub Review #1: The Record Crate Bar & Grill - Sydney

In an effort to diversify this blog beyond the occasional insane story about my life, how-to's, bootleg releases, and general absurdity, I am going to branch out and blog about my drinking/dining experiences as well. Now, for those of you that don't know me personally, I have quite diverse taste. For instance, last night I was at a hole in the wall pub with graffiti on the walls where the overwhelming stench of of feces was permeating the room, and tomorrow I am taking the love of my life for a 10 course meal with matching wines at an upscale French restaurant. So these posts will range from everything between gutter-punk places that may be completely and totally unsafe to visit, to upscale eateries I shouldn't be able to afford and everything in between.

With that said, The Record Crate, located in beautiful Sydney, Australia (specifically Glebe) is basically Disneyland for seasoned music affectionados such as myself. Under one roof you can watch amazing live music, stand up comedy, view experimental live art performances, browse amazing quality hard to find records, eat great food and drink amazing beer. I've visited there only a handful of times and have already added amazing condition, original pressings of Tom Waits, The Pogues, The Clash, and Nick Cave, just to name a few. Basically this is my favorite place in the world.

Neville & I

Now, every record store worth its salt usually has one amazingly well-rounded owner/operator in charge of the ship and this place is no different. His name is Neville, and like all record store owners, he is a wealth of knowledge. This dude can school even the best informed record collector and teach him a thing or two about what pressing was made where and how it differs to other pressings at the time.

First two Clash Albums in One Set

For instance, I recently was in the market to purchase an original pressing of The Clash's self-titled record. He asked me whether I was purchasing it to collect, or if i was just wanting to spin some amazing sounding vinyl. I answered that I wasn't overly in need of collectability, and he pulled out a gatefold  2-for-1 pressing released by CBS records in the mid 1980's that contained their first two records. The cover was beat, but the discs were in fine condition. He informed me that these were not very collectible but for the price, you couldn't beat the value as both records were struck from the same source as the original pressings. So instead of purchasing an OG copy of the first album that I was just going to spin and ruin for $100 or more dollars, I got the same quality recording, plus their second album "Give Em' Enough Rope" for $15. These are the kind of deals/experience that only a few people have access to.

Brekky Sandwich

Not only is this an amazing wealth of knowledge and records, the food too is quite spectacular, in particular the breakfast. I've had a nasty habit as of late of closing down the bar and upon waking up, stumbling back down the road to have The Record Crate's amazing Eggs Benedict (although this particular morning I had the breakfast sandwich). For under $20 you get a full two eggs poached, toast, and bacon (which is actually known as Canadian Bacon to this State-side guy). This and a little hair of the dog is my usual order and I can not overstate it's ability to battle even the worst hangovers you've encountered.

Speaking of hair of the dog, the booze here is great. They have liquor available to make any cocktail you desire, but what's even better than that is that they have Kingpin on tap for a reasonable price. Matter of fact, Kingpin is so popular here that they named their houseband The Kingpins after it (more on them later). There are also a selection of other taps and bottled beverages as well, but in my typical fashion, I found the one I like and refuse to touch anything else.... unless it's a extra-dry, dirty, uncouth, martini.;-)

As for the entertainment, it is quite diverse. They recently removed the majority of the CD's (which is sort of a shame as I hate to see CDs fall out of fashion) and put them behind the main counter. This opened up an area to have small bands play and every Thursday night they utilize this space to let their personal houseband The Kingpins play. The band is quite good, verging on a funk almost reggae beat with a wide assortment of sounds. If you're in Glebe on a Thursday night, they are not to be missed for at least a half hour of performing. Past this, Neville has recently began utilizing his top floor to all kinds of different acts. Some of these are comedians, but many of these are avant-garde live performances bordering on the insane. It's well worth looking into anyone he would book, but even if they are not your cup of tea, there is still the downstairs main are and the outdoor courtyard where you don't have to partake in the experience.

All in all I cannot say more positive things about The Record Crate. Everything from the building, to the staff, to the food, to the drink, and most importantly, the records, are of the highest caliber. When visiting Sydney, Glebe is a must-visit area. It is very art-centric, containing indie bookstores, art galleries, eateries, and most importantly, The Record Crate which is a must-visit when anywhere near the area. A+++

AntiCurrent Archive Vol 3: Rancid- Let's Go / Wolves Demos

Greetings, for the third edition of "AntiCurrent Archives", a collection of rare albums I'm releasing through this blog, I chose some seminal demo's from two of the biggest albums to ever hit the world of punkrock.  Click here to view all past AntiCurrent.com Archive Albums.

On the heels of releasing their debut album, Rancid recruited former U.K. Subs guitarist Lars Frederiksen and completed what is known as their classic lineup (one that would withstand the test of time until drummer Brett Reed's departure from the group in 2006). This was 1992, and the band was recording demos for an album titled "Let's Go" that they had no idea would get major nationwide airplay, ushering in the triumphant return of punkrock's spitting in the face of worldwide culture. Also included on this are the demos for "...And Out Come The Wolves" which showcased the bands ever-maturing style of blending punk and ska forming their trademark sound. If the Phil Spector sound can be best characterized as a "Wall of Sound", then Rancid's patented formula is the equivalent of a "Brick-To-The-Face of Sound".

These demo's are a little rough around the edges, just as punkrock is supposed to be. I actually prefer a few of these versions to the cuts that made it onto the album. Additionally, there are a few nearly lost treasures on here as well, like the song "Do You Wanna Dance With Me" that wouldn't resurface until Lars' solo band rerecorded it for the Viking album, retitling it "Little Rude Girl". This release documents a band that was still discovering exactly how to best utilize an amazing lineup of musicians that would take over and change the face of not only punkrock, but rock n'roll as well.

If you enjoy these, please purchase the album from the band via whatever format you prefer... personally I suggest buying it via their recently rereleased discography available on 7 Inch vinyl. Completely remastered, these records have NEVER sounded so good.

Download The Entire Album and Cover Art Here:
Mp3 Zip Archive

The tracklist is:
1. Tenderloin       
2. Ballad Of Jimmy & Johnny       
3. Dope Sick Girl       
4. Radio Radio Radio       
5. Just A Feeling       
6. Someones Going To Die Tonight       
7. Ghost Dance       
8. Roots Radicals       
9. Sabrina       
10. Do You Want To Dance With Me       
11. Sick Of It All       
12. The Way I Feel About You       
13. End Of The World Tonight       
14. Crucify Me       
15. Im Gonna Blast Em       
16. Leave It To Tomorrow

Booze, Guns, and Bombs

There we were, surrounded and out-numbered by four incredibly pissed off Butler County Sheriff Deputies, pointing their issued guns directly at our faces. I vaguely recall asking myself how I got into this mess, just as my thoughts then drifted back to the time shortly after all of the alcohol had been imbibed. When my then-girlfriend Chelsea, her 15-year old brother Curtis, his friend Blake and I made the conscious decision to have a mid-day bonfire for no reason whatsoever in semi-wet conditions.

But this was not designed to be your standard bonfire, in fact we had a dozen or so two-liter sized metal bottles of pressurized propane for what can only be assumed was our potential camping needs, and we planned on putting them to good use.

In the beginning, we were having great fun sitting in Chelsea’s backyard, watching Curtis chuck the propane bottles into the fire, and just as their casings began to hiss, shooting them with his father’s 44-magnum and exploding them into 20 foot tall, roaring fireball clouds. Judging by the time of the polices arrival, they must have been called shortly after the fourth mammoth explosion, just as the neighbor began to become frightened that we might next turn our drunken pyromaniacal gaze toward her house.

Mere seconds after we realized that they had arrived, one cop was aiming his weapon directly at my face and shouting unintelligible obscenities, while another attempted to apprehend Curtis, who was still holding the gun in question, and was vainly attempting to duck behind a half dead pine tree. At that moment, I was convinced that this was the last time I was going to see him alive, and looking back, I believe I made the correct assumption.

It wasn’t until the cop followed him around the tree, and threatened to bring his life to an abrupt stop that Curtis thought it wise to throw the gun to the ground. He was then immediately tackled by the bulbous pig, thrown into handcuffs, and stuck into the back of the cruiser before dialogue of any type could take place.

After the short interrogation in the back of the squad car, the shortest and stubbiest cop (from here on out I’ll just refer to him as “Stubby“) then focused his undivided attention upon me. “How old are ya boy?” He shouted in my face. Before I could even finish my sentence explaining that I had just turned 18 he interrupted me with more berating. “Ya know that makes you guilty of corruption of a minor? I could take put you in jail right now, but if you just be straight with me, I won‘t take ya in.” I then informed him that I had just arrived and was ignorant of any goings on, save for the fact that I heard an incredible roar that I believed to have been coming from somewhere down the road.

It soon became obvious during my grilling that this swine had not put together the fact that between the fire and the place where the gun had ultimately landed, sat a half used package of propane bottles. “Ah“, I thought to myself, “his powers of deduction are even below my wildest expectations.” He was obviously native to this region, he actually believed that only the gun was being shot, he had no clue to the mamoth explosions.

So after “Stubby” grilled Curtis’ friend, my girlfriend, and myself once again, the officer told us that there was no need to jail Curtis, because as he said, “Juevy is full.” Despite the fact that juenenelle hall was full, they would still bring him up on charges to which would require him to make a brief court appearance. “Thank god. I thought to myself. I won’t have to explain to his parents why they have to bail him out of jail.”

Before “Stubby” shifted his attention back to Curtis who was in one of the now three squad cars in the neighbor’s driveway, he told us (including Curtis’ mother on the telephone) in no uncertain terms that they were going to continue to scare the bejesus out of him, but that he would not be arrested. So, of course after he was out the front door, we did the only natural thing- we stared out the side window of their house and cackled like school girls about the fact that Curtis was clueless, scared shitless, and in no immediate threat of being jailed by the cops that were harassing him.

It is for this reason, we took many hilarious photos of the cops interrogating him. After all, what would be better than to sit back after this with a few beers and crack up over the photos of this fine incident after the pigs had left.

We were having an amazing time watching the cops barade Curtis. They put fingers in his face, waved their hands around in the air, yelled, preached… the whole bit. Then rather abruptly, they put him back into the car.

“Their really going all out, I said, must really be giving him a scare putting him back in the car like that….pulling out the drive way like that….down the road….oh hell.” Soon enough the car was out of sight, and “Stubby” was walking back to our house. “Their taking him in” he said.

We immediately asked why they had the terrible change of heart, and he refused to respond. Having a somewhat short temper, I repeatedly asked him why such a thing would ever occur, and he danced around the question with multiple answers, all resembling- “It was up to the arresting officer”. With the same amount of skillful tact that they had used for this whole proceeding, the stubby bastard then reminded me of the “break” that they had given me and walked away.

Unfortunately, all of this occurred on a Friday, and juvenile court does not convene until Monday. Even worse yet, we later discovered that there is no bail system for minors in trouble with the law, and that poor Curtis would indeed be spending the weekend in Butler County Juvenile Hall.

Fortunately for Curtis, “Juevy was a walk in the park” as he put it. But perhaps even more fortunate for me, Chelsea’s parents immediately forgave me for not stopping a drunken 15 year old from wielding a firearm and blowing up what was essentially bombs in their backyard. Today Curtis and I still get together, and after a few rounds and shots, begin retelling the story for anyone (and usually no-one that cares) that will listen, and it always starts out the same way. “There we were, surrounded and out numbered”

I desperately worry about my heritage...

On November 2nd 1992, I alone bared witness as my Grandmother’s mind finally took the descent from being only slightly cracked, to becoming wholly fractured as my Grandfather lie dieing on their kitchen floor. As she whisked me off to his library amid the confusion of paramedics and family members, I remember being incredibly confused and frightened as she commanded me to pray to god and violently forced me onto my knees into the closet to do so. Upon retrospection of this evening, it was not her calling out to a god that I had never before heard her mention that foreshadowed the events of coming years, but rather the fact that that night, the spirits began to talk back to her.

My earliest memories of her begin as she babysat me on the weekends, when my parents needed “alone time“. My Grandmother has long been an undiagnosed obsessive compulsive, and at this point, she was captured in the depths of her vitamin craze stage. I remember well these days with her, but it is the days following those visits I remember with much more clarity. The day always consisted of taking the seven vitamins that she had set out for me beside each meal, while the days afterward consisted on the excruciating fecal ramifications of introducing foreign vitamins and minerals to an undeveloped six year old digestive system.

But these early memories were not all bad. Often at this age, as did my father, I would have terrible migraines, and she would hold my head in a dark room for hours at a time until they mostly passed. I remember being amazed during these times with her, when she seemed so genuinely loving and warm. But as soon as the headache was gone, she was immediately on the phone to my Mother, lecturing about the vitamin deficient causes of the pain.

The death of my Grandfather brought about an abrupt end to the vitamin stage, and ushered in a spiritual one. It was less than one business week after his death she began to claim that the dead were making contact with her. Eventually they were telling her things that my Grandfather had done to her, without her having known so. It is hard for any family to deal with the loss of a loved one, let alone a patriarchical figure that was the sole gatherer of families that rarely saw eye to eye. But when a Grandmother is telling her children, grandchild, and anyone who will listen (including the alleged mistresses husband and family) about the messages from beyond the dead of his extramarital affairs (with no physical shred of proof), it is damn near impossible for any rational mind to deal with.

It was for this reason that she basically became disowned from her family for nearly a decade. My Grandfather’s family abandoned her due to the smearing of his well known name, my father abandoned her for the obvious reason, my aunt good-heartedly attempted to include her in her young children’s lives, whilst wisely whispering words of psychiatric commitment. All of this while, I alone took the daunting task of visiting with her once a week, of enduring séances where she spoke ill of my Grandfather, of going out to dinner at the same salad buffet and having everyone watch as she loudly argued with spirits that no one could see, yet she could seemingly hear clear as day.

When finally feelings settled down, the family began to slowly learn to ignore her constant badgering about the spirit world, and for a time, people began to again see each other, albeit uneasily for the holidays. It was not many years into this time when my Aunt Tam succumbed to cancer after an arduous fight. How hard it obviously was on her kids, my younger cousins, I can not even imagine. I tried (as did others) whenever present to keep my Grandmother from attempting to make them contact their deceased mother, but it turned out to be an insurmountable task. I could not convince her that despite her beliefs, no one else in the family felt the same, and that no one wanted to hear what she believed Tam was saying. Incredibly, Tam’s husband begrudgingly dealt with it, and still willingly does to this day, in an effort to give their kids a grandmother.

When I finally decided I needed to leave Ohio in order to start my own life, and move to California with my now wife, my Grandmother was not happy. Her response came the day before I was to leave, by claiming to the family that I emptied her trash can onto her lawn, and broke her flag pole in half. My Father, in an amazing attempt to make things right before I left, went to investigate. He discovered her garbage had been gone through by raccoons, and that the .50 cent flag on a pole no bigger than a pencil had been knocked over in the process. When he asked how she knew it was me, she responded “Because the spirits told me so”. I then tearfully went to her place in an effort to talk her out of this notion, to no avail.

That following Christmas I was not able to return to Ohio, so I sent my wife with her present. Earlier that year I had a phone conversation with my Grandmother about a class I was taking, and I understood her to be genuinely interested in my class, Critical Thinking. So being a poor college student, I sent her my textbook as opposed to returning it for the $5.99 re-buy at the campus bookstore. Her response was to storm back to my wife’s mothers house the next day, throw the book at her, and demand back the $100.00 savings bond that she had given us for a Christmas present (which was purchased by my grandfather in an effort to provide me with a college education). When I called her to confront her on this situation, she then disowned me, saying that I had never been there for her, so her life would go on with little noticeable difference.

That next July I married my wife at a formal ceremony in Ohio. My family pushed me to invite her, again and again and again. I declined to the very end. It’s not that I had finally had enough of her, far from it. It’s that I would never let anyone treat the love of my life in that absurd, mean-spirited fashion. I was then informed that upon her finding out, I was fully disowned as she berated my father into returning the part of my inheritance that had already been disbursed, and was sitting in a bank lock box vault.

I do not hate my Grandmother, but I do pity her, and it would be more than a lie to say that I do harbor any ill feelings towards her. I still haven’t spoken to her since before the wedding. The last I heard from my father, she is nearing the end of her spiritual obsessive/compulsive phase. According to him, her new craze is that aliens have infiltrated the world and are currently living among humans. As little common sense as it makes, I look back and cherish those days of near vomit inducing migraines as some of my best fondest memories of being with her, as it is the only point in our relationship that I have ever felt unconditionally loved by her.