A Complete Explanation Of Everything

Review: Audioslave - Live in Cuba DVD

So, following on, fresh from the break up of the band this month. It seemed like a good moment to take in the Live in Cuba DVD. Audioslave had just put the finishing touches to their second record, Out of Exile, when they became the first American rock band to play Havana. They produced one further record about a year down the line, the relatively unheralded, Revelations, and so, posthumously, this is probably what the fans are going to have to look to for their memories of Audioslave.

Certainly, the Chris Cornell variant anyway, there is a possibility that the former RATM members might take up arms with a different singer but I pray to whatever, the gods of rock'n'roll, that doesn't happen.

There's a decent setlist on this DVD and an accompanying documentary of the trip that was aired in a fairly clipped format on MTV a few years back. As expected, this trip highlighted all that was fraught at the centre of Audioslave. An easy musical marraige between a great rhythm section and one of rock's greatest vocal exponents, talent to burn on the songwriting front too.

But clearly, Cornell was never comfortable or at ease with the political leanings of the former RATM members. Morello was probably the instigator of the trip, allowed by the US Treasury on the grounds of cultural exchange. Morello still fronts up Axis of Justice with Serj Tankian from System of A Down, it's a fairly typical liberal leaning humanitarian, let's make things better by publicising things and asking nicely type of organisation.

With some hip members I guess.

Anyway, the 'Slave arrive in Cuba and they are taken to the equivalent of the glorious people's lightbulb factory, which in Cuba is a school of music predictably enough. A great time is had by all and the lads pledge to sent guitar and bass strings where they are most needed and in short supply because of the US continuing embargo on Cuba.

Frankly, Cornell looks like he's wandering around in a daze, conflicted between genuine sympathy and distaste for any form of political action. The other members are like worried parents, quick to neutralise the apparent political implications for fear of upsetting Cornell. It's all about the music they agree rather hastily at the press conference. Nothing else on the agenda here.

To the gig itself.

Cornell's voice takes a while to warm up but the band are in hot shit form and two / three songs in, everything is clicking. There's a small acoustic set which is apparently clipped out but we return with the band backing up on Chris on I am the Highway, which alongside Cochise and Like A Stone will probably be the songs, Audioslave are remembered for.

In essence, they were always punching with one hand tied behind their back. Cornell's unwillingness to examine the political, and the accommodating nature of the other three meant it was simpler to just head down the classic rock route. There were moments, probably more so on Out of Exile where things were clicking into place but the breakup singled this week was hardly unexpected.

In fact, I'd say it was surprising three records and a trip to Cuba even got done.

All the ingredients may have looked right and on paper, this band had such serious potential, it was kinda scary. But whatever way they attempted to blend it, it never came to a point where the whole became more than the sum of the parts.

Audioslave will be best remembered as a live band and this DVD is as good a place as anywhere to catch 'em. There are even nods to the old bands with Sleep now in the Fire (RATM) and Outshined (Soundgarden) getting airings.

But for now, Rage / Soundgarden / Audioslave have all left the scene, leaving it up to us, as Cornell would say:

"Go on and save yourself,

Take it out on me"

Aye.

A quick fit of bubble. Nearly waded in and bought an apartment up in Bettystown yesterday, really liked the look of the place, it's half an hour away from the airport and beside the beach.

In the end, I just felt like I couldn't afford it but I could I suppose.

I was just surprised how much I actually liked the place, I was going up expecting to be disappointed.

But in the end - €275,000 just felt like too much for a 2 bed apartment.

I'm going to park this looking at gaffs for a while and try and build up some further cash reserves.

Although, that's kinda difficult when I'm in charge of organising Leon's stag and I'm going to have to chase €44 from 22 buggers (at the very least) between now and May!

We're going to Galway by the way. Lock up your buskers.

Crikey.

Where have I been?

I just found out that Chris Cornell left Audioslave a couple of weeks back. Also, Rage Against the Machine are getting together to do a one off show in the States around August time.

Hints of a Soundgarden reunion mayhaps? Cornell hasn't said it's on but he hasn't ruled it out either.

I'd love a chance to go and see Soundgarden and Mansun if that were ever possible. I never caught Nirvana but I'd put Soundgarden at the head of the list.

But then again.

You're out of touch and I'm out of time.

... or, I have a headache.

Over on the 'pin (see sidebar), the uber bears are out in force and predicting all sorts of doomsday scenarios and while I agree that pain is on the way and that things aren't rosey in the garden for property in Ireland, I am still caught in two minds.

First off, I think there are things happening here that are beyond the bubble, I'm convinced that the 2x salary multiple has had and will have a lasting effect on the price of semi-ds / detached properties in Dublin. Poor quality, crap location will fare badly for a time but I just get to thinking that places on the metro and with good transport links (or rather just better than one donkey every three days) will fare ok.

Sure, a contraction in price but I'm not seeing the return to 2002 levels that some people are speculating. I think we'll be lucky to reverse the 50% House Price Inflation on new builds that occurred over the past 16 months in the Dublin area. That would be a return to value for me.

Ireland is a strange and wonderful place and it's done some strange and wonderful things to us. Basically, we're masochists on a level. We live in a crap climate unless you're farming, and consequently we've signed ourselves up to the social ills that are likely when half the day is in darkness. Then we've excacerbated that by failing to create community spaces, a terrible approach to planning and infrastructure at almost every juncture, whether it's Luas or the M50 or housing and yet, despite all that.

I'm still contemplating getting a place and settling in for the long haul.

What on earth is wrong with me?

Maybe I lack guts, the guts to go and try in Canada or New Zealand but the prospect of turning up with a backpack, a suit and a CV and starting over sure doesn't thrill me.

And so, I'm caught in the old bind.

I want to get my own place.

But it doesn't thrill me when people say you'd be mad to buy anything property wise right now.

To me, they're ignoring a fundamental reality of living in Ireland.

Mortgages always, always were a burden until relatively recently (and only for a short holiday in the sun period as we're now learning) and people used to scrape by, with crazy interest rate hikes and all that.

I think it's always been difficult and it's unlikely to be utopian in the future.

Waiting around, as people have pointed out, means you get cut by the other side of the double edged sword.

Declining affordability.

ECB rates rises projected for March and a possible further fall in June will hit borrowing capacity.

So caught twixt momentum and gravity, you're faced with a choice of biting now and holding on for all your worth or letting that hook disappear upstream, possibly forever.

Fine, I'm headed for the catch net and a descaling and a gutting and I'll be the bank's dinner.

But maybe that's just life.

The two googles for my full real name return two results that are down to me.

I only get like 7-8 results overall.

I'm down for:

- Antiviolence

- HandsoffVenezuela

I have views.

I got a voucher for car valet.

Premium job.

A new car stereo. CD Player and AUX in for my MP3.

And a voucher for clothes.

I also got des crepes and cidre.

I'm going to have to stick with the Mazda so. I'll take a photo of her, once she get's valeted and you won't be seeing her: "In all her sins"...

Disbelief.

Keith (<- See Music Part 2) couldn't take it in. He'd just booked us to play as a strictly comedy entrant at some country festival in the back arse of nowhere.

But no, I gotten tired of our strictly amateur hour efforts and had begun keenly screening the musicians classified ads at the back of the music magazines. I was only 17 at the time, I was in college and not legal for drinking in this country (18 being the age) so my life was complicated on many fronts.

Anyway, I made the calls and suddenly I was meeting this female drummer at the front of Kevin Street to listen to a tape. The band was called Gigantic and were named and principally inspired by The Pixies, it was all lost on me at the time I'm afraid, my musical education was taking off though and a year down the line I would have been sufficiently versed. We went and jammed it out one night down in Apple Rock studios beside the North Star Hotel. Dingy, cold grey night in October / November as I recall, it went ok but the message coming back was you're too young mate.

Undeterred, I carried on and on a visit to Musicmaker (one of the only two genuinely decent music shops in Dublin in the late 90s) I spied a notice upon my exit. It was an impassioned plea, crying out for real commitment to actually getting a project up and running. There was something in it, the neat scrawl, that got to me. I'm not sure if influences were mentioned but if they were it would have been benign sort of stuff. Maybe U2, Beatles, that kinda thing.

Anyway I called and next thing I had Peter in my life. And Karl. And Crumlin. And a circuitous bus route.

Crumlin is a long way from where I lived, and less than salubrious. It's probably a pretty decent area these days but back then it was regarded as bandit country as much as Crumlin people used to think of my part of Dublin as bandit country. Anyway, Peter was the singer and Karl would play lead guitar, with myself backing up on bass. At least that was the plan, one thing Peter had about him was drive. A desire to get things done, he certainly wasn't talented that's for damn sure but he was passionate about actually being in a band and not in the let's sit around and do nothing type of way, his enthusiasm was infectious. Later, I would be bouncing around Dublin, thrusting demos at bewildered bar owners, carried away by it all.

Neil arrived next. Neil was a workmate of Peter and was on vacation from his metal band.

So, we had Peter, a lead singer with a very short range, Karl, a genuine guy but he genuinely could not be described as a lead guitarist, certainly not for the stuff we were setting out to do and then Neil. Neil's a solid enough drummer, always has been but in those early days one or two of the fills might not have been quite on the money. And then me, on bass.

We had an innocent month or so of rehearsals and songwriting. Well, they were Peter's songs and they were essentially written. We had a month of myself and Neil grinning and bearing some songs, refining others and trying our damnedest to put a little bit more into the band. We also took the time to name ourselves, over a cup of tea in Peter's kitchen, listening to terrible tape recordings of sessions.

The Gents? Did I suggest that at the time? I think I did. I stand by it, I think it's a good name. Anyway, we ended up with The Panic. Which was ok, it was a live with it sort of name.

So, we had a name, the 4 piece and a bunch of tunes. Working out the setlist was a laugh. Great fun, I managed to get Peter to side with me on the suggestion that you always play your best song second and your second best song first. We agreed on that but things weren't altogether rosy in the garden. And we were rehearsing in the garden. Well, his brother's studio bunker apartment at the end of his garden.

Basically, we rubbed each other up the wrong way. Actually, I don't really recall him pissing me off all that much but he couldn't understand my sense of humour really. I don't attack people directly but sometimes my cynical nature can cause sparks to fly, he probably didn't enjoy the odd observation. Karl was silent, save for the regular anecdote of his latest fight at the weekend and Neil would play peacemaker between myself and Peter. Me and Neil were getting on like the proverbial house on fire and were really starting to enjoy the rhythm section. Maybe we were starting to enjoy it a little too much and that's what was grating on Peter.

Anyway to the great night.

We made our debut as support to Madame Blavatsky in Slatterys of Capel Street. A quite famous venue in it's own right, Thin Lizzy played there and a huge mirror Thin Lizzy sign adorned the backstage stair case. There was an actual back stage, a pleasant surprise, I thought that had only been a turn of phrase until that point.

So, we went out played and I really enjoyed it. Everybody seemed to.

We had more gigs booked and things were on the up.

Then, the bombshell. It actually all broke down after our best jam / practice session ever if you ask me. Karl had pissed off early to do something or other, so myself and Neil had persuaded Peter to try knocking on the distortion for once and play something approaching rocking. It was a really good session, by the end myself and Peter had between us knocked out a pretty passable tune. I must see if I can find the lyrics to it somewhere, I still remember the chords.

Anyway, we were packing up, balmy summer evening that it was and some remark hung in the air, left dangling by Peter and I bit. We went at it for a second and it basically boiled down to him saying that I wasn't, perhaps, the right fit for the band and that he, might, be on the look out for someone more in his line. Well, I kinda looked at Neil in disbelief, who was in the process of collecting his jaw from the floor, and I then calmly tendered my resignation.

I picked up my heavy gear about a week later and Neil left shortly after.

Once he got the video of our first gig.

Basically, it boiled down to this, Peter wanted automatons he could control who would play in a certain way, he wanted the band to correspond to each and every one of his exact wishes. It was laughable because the only good thing about The Panic at that time was the rhythm section and that was acknowledged and I think is born out by the fact that the only thing remaining of The Panic today is my friendship with Neil.

Peter had irresistible drive and that's what made me fall into line for a while, hell, they went on to do an audition for V2 records in London.

Suffice to say it didn't work out.

I think Peter's a garda today.

Next time out: Kitten (a very personal EP)

Another full calendar year of my existence has passed off.

Another year of mortality.

27 will be remembered as the year when I offered my physical being to whatever cosmic forces are in charge of this celestial crapshoot and my gambit was spat out with the violent rejection of a child's first swig of loving alcohol.

Whether it was the skydiving over Lake Taupo, the bungy jump in Queenstown or the whitewater rafting (including the 7 metre drop over the waterfall) on the Kaituna river, all in adrenaline fuelled New Zealand, nothing took.

And thus, I'm here, tapping and typing away on a drab February morn in the wilds of North County Dublin, gazing at airport tarmac and the sharklike tail fins of jet propelled craft performing elliptic ballet for mysterious reasons.

I'm also listening to Death Cab for Cutie because the office is strangely vacant this am. So, it's all good.

I shan't be doing too much tonight.

But Saturday.

Ho ho. Come Saturday.

Rivers of alcohol I await you.

And you await me.

Last year, I was at a BBQ in Sydney, Australia for Valentine's Day.

It was a birthday BBQ and not particularly connected to the day in question, which was a good thing.

Although Romance must have been in the air because Jim and one of the crazy Cork girls are now entangled, which is a good thing.

It's been a long time since I think I was in love, ok, I had some major crushes during the trip. Can't be helped in Argentina, I guess.

Anyhoo, I'm back in Ireland now and it would be lovely to love your lovin', whoever the hell you are.

*"Lovely to love your lovin'" was the third album by The Simpsons according to the Behind the Laughter special, alongside Simpson's Boogie & Simpson's Christmas Boogie.

Current Listenin'

The Magnetic Fields - "All my little words"

You are a splendid butterfly
It is your wings that make you beautiful
And I could make you fly away
But I could never make you stay
You said you were in love with me
Both of us know that that's impossible
And I could make you rue the day
But I could never make you stay

Not for all the tea in China
Not if I could sing like a bird
Not for all North Carolina
Not for all my little words
Not if I could write for you
The sweetest song you ever heard
It doesn't matter what I'll do
Not for all my little words

Now that you've made me want to die
You tell me that you're unboyfriendable
And I could make you pay in pain
But I could never make you stay

Not for all the tea in China
Not if I could sing like a bird
Not for all North Carolina
Not for all my little words
Not if I could write for you
The sweetest song you ever heard
It doesn't matter what I'll do
Not for all my little words

Off their opus, "69 Love Songs".

"I only smile in the dark

My only comfort is the night gone black"

Another blog I was casually glancing through just had it's main protagonist give out yards about Garbage and in lieu of actually finishing off my musings on my scrappy musical career to date, I thought.

I thought I'd treat you to a few lines why Garbage, outside of being a pretty decent musical outfit, also wrote the best rock single of all time to my mind.

"Only Happy When It Rains" was off the first eponymously (see this is a proper review!) titled record and it's a little belter. It was the third or fourth single, I can't quite remember, certainly "Queer" and "Stupid Girl" were released first and whilst they played heavily on the twee, here is Shirley Manson, isn't she a right little Scottish sex kitten angle, "Only Happy When It Rains" is a much more straight ahead affair.

It's strict Motown in a certain manner, a certain manner that comes replete with all manner of Butch Vig and other anonymous Garbage lads engineering all manner of screeches and sublime guitar effects, added to this, the lyrics follow the usual reverse psychology Alanis Morrisette's "Ironic" methodology but avoiding the suckiness of the former.

"I'm only happy when it rains

You want to hear about my new obsession

I'm riding high upon a deep depression"

Genius.

The video was a sort of dystopian warehouse fantasy (or maybe that was a utopian warehouse fantasy) but it featured Shirley in knee high boots and that's enough to recommend it.

So, there is no best is my final point.

I just love this single and I really don't think anybody who thrashes Garbage as unceremoniously as was occurring on this nameless blog has ever listened to this tune properly.

It's a slice of rockpop musical perfection.



EDIT: It was the second single! Imagine that.

Basically, the pre-election work has been a hard grind thus far.

And I've got questions.

The same old questions that I had from before Christmas and upon my return from travel.

So, I'm on hiatus from party work at the minute and honestly, it feels pretty good.

Because, I don't know if I can ring another doorbell or sit in another branch meeting at this point in time.

I still have great belief in alot of what the socialist party in Ireland does and obviously, the elected representatives like Clare Daly and Joe Higgins. But I just might not be the activist that the party seems to require.

This is a brief post and I might expound the full detail of my thoughts at a future point.

Courtesy of my efforts on Phantom FM before Christmas (despite not winning rather bizarrely), I got sent this ->



























Currently retailing on komplett.ie for €229, the Nokia 5300 Music Xpress is a handy little machine that comes complete with radio, plays MP3s, camera and all the usual jazz and is a more than suitable replacement for my last snazzy phone which met a horrible end in Santiago de Chile last April.

You can't argue with facts.

I win.

That means you lose.

A cold war? Did I say, a cold war?

Nothing of the sort, myself and my bro had our troubles growing up, the usual sibling rivalries I guess but we get on pretty well. I'm only a year older and I think the last time I beat him up must have been over 17 years ago. Although, he did hit me with a badminton racket a few years later (mental note: hit brother with badminton racket next time I see him).

Anyway, he taught me the rudiments (or as one of our primary school teachers used to say: "the rudy bits", nice guy that teacher, had a swastika on his shoulder and specialised in physical abuse) of reading music and the principle behind stringed instruments and basically that was it.

I was off really. I never had, probably never will have the ability that he has, the guy has perfect pitch for christ's sake. I'd kill for that, any person who loves music would.

But I like to think in the trade off, I got something he didn't and maybe that's bullshit but our musical tastes are very different. His, heavy on the over produced sometimes worthy, oftentimes not so, more mainstream stuff. I've always gravitated towards the edgier sort of stuff, rock, indie, alternative and all that, which for my brother has always held a distinctly mysterious attraction.

We have some common ground but for the majority of our musical existence, we've spent the time slating each other's taste. Which I suppose is par for the course for siblings.

So, bass guitar in hand, I retreated to the cold of the garage and learned bits'n'pieces of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, all the grunge classics. My favourite bassline to this very day is still probably Sliver by Nirvana. Although from a technical perspective, Boogie Wonderland is the all time best bassline in the world ever if you want my personal opinion on the subject, go on, go have a listen and tell me it doesn't fucking rock.

But I shy away from the funk and remain an aficionado of the Peter Hook - Joy Division, Krist Novoselic - Nirvana and Ben Shepherd - Soundgarden variety in bass terms.

Back to the garage, I was soon joined by friends from school and we took our fledging steps in attempting to knock tunes out, of course, no drummer. Drummers in Dublin being a commodity that is as rare and valuable as it gets. I've said of Dublin for many a year, Dublin the home of a 1000 rock bands, you could throw a rock down any main thoroughfare and hit a guitar player. Guitar players, singers, we have. Drummers, we don't. Especially at 15/16.

Anyway, it became abundantly clear within a couple of months that my comrades inability to keep basic rhythm was going to prove a stumbling block. The inability to remember chord changes and the tune was somewhat of a hindrance. I had graduated to a standard where I was looking to actually hear songs approaching full realisation.

I was just starting college at this point, we'd had a failed attempt at putting together a farewell to all that concert for secondary school in one of the local pubs, can't remember why it didn't go ahead in the end.

I was going to Kevin Street, DIT in the centre of town and outside of spending my time chasing after one particular black haired girl, I found time to hook up with a mate from secondary school who transferred in a month or two into first year. Keith played keyboards, or wanted to play keyboards. And more importantly, he had the idea of a band. He had the motivation and the blind faith required to do it.

We talked about it over a disgusting pint of Oyster guinness in the Porter House, in the aging computer lecture halls at the top of the old part of Kevin Street, in between his online harrassment of some female in administration in Trinity. Keith loved Faith No More and Mr. Bungle and all things therein related. Pretty soon, we were odysseying out into the green wilds of North County Dublin to join up with Willow and Tierney and it wasn't long before we were plucking out passable versions of Evidence by FNM.

Willow was a guy I worried about. I still do. I have no idea what he is at but he had the perfect makeup to be either a touring guitar player with Faith No More or a serial killer. He had an obsession with Sandra Bullock and an innate ability to replicate, note for note, on the shittiest of equipment, Jim Martin's solos off of Angeldust on other records with consumate ease. Over time, he began to morph into a clone of Mike Patton. Dyed his hair black, starting wearing the black suit, white shirt, skinny black tie. We were playing Ricochet with a dodgy trial drummer and I swear to whatever remains spiritually significant to me that the fucker actually did a somersault mid song.

Tierney was Tierney. A former secondary school acquaintance who was probably the only guy more cynical than myself. He never really made practice or whatever the hell we were doing.

We had a good stab at writing a couple of things but not despite Willow's unquestioned ability, he just didn't have it to write original music. Not then anyway. And Keith was still struggling with the black keys.

Probably the fullest tune we got done (notwithstanding Keith's lyrics for "Foetus Fetish") was a terrible tune called "Bon Jovi (the Patriot song)" which was thus entitled because the music was faux Bon Jovi, Slippery When Wet era and had Keith doing a whole skit on the 1916 rising over the top of it.

Time was dragging on. We were still auditioning for a real lead singer and a proper drummer, one with more than two brain cells and only platonic feelings for livestock. We put up ads across town as nascent bands are wont to do. I remember chatting to this 40 year old rocker who rang up, strangely he was more dissuaded than we were upon learning the collective age of the band, I still maintain to this day he should have given it a shot.

Anyway, I was growing disillusioned as time drew on. My musical biological clock was ticking and I felt the time was right.

I opened up the back of Hot Press and started circling the musicians wanted ads.

Next time out: Gigantic, The Panic & musical differences.