Renegade

Dear Tom Morello,

marry me.


love, rachel

Invisible

I'm still alive. Surprise! I've been so busy at school, trying to get my senior thesis proposal up to snuff. Getting there...I hope!

Communication

Back in the day, I couldn't do it; communication was as hard for me then as censoring myself is now. Where even finding the words to express feelings was a feat in itself. There's a word for this: Alexithymia... sounds like an eating disorder. But anyhow, through years of (really shitty) perseverance, I figured it out - and got significantly better at flirting in the process. I never really realized how incredibly important good communication is, until recently. Expressing your desires to those who have the power to bring them to fruition is critical.  Rarely do we get what we want without expressing that desire in the first place. Ask for it, work for it, take it. Being docile keeps you where you are, moving slowly, if not completely stagnant. 

 I got these tattoos to remind me of the aforementioned facts. And to all who are reading, know that you are in control of your fate, take everything into our own hands and do not expect anything to be given at random. Make your demands known, and stick to them. Don't back down for fear of antagonists, they exist everywhere and if they aren't fought, they win. Go forth, and use the voice you have before the smoker's cough takes over completely.

Genetics

See where I get it from?

Lies lies lies, oh, lies.

Everyone and their mom's need to watch this video. Get the facts, babes.

I'm not huge on runway shows

but i find this incredibly captivating.

Thanks Alexander McQueen.

Stay weird, friends.

I'm Back, and Angry!

...and its not just because of those god damned commercials on Pandora.

So here's round two on blogging. Why am I crawling back to an arena that I completely gave up on before? First: I've found that writing consistently makes me better at it. I learned this the hard way when I sat down to start writing my Senior Thesis paper a couple weeks ago and forgot how to begin typing words. Secondly, I'm working on a new, positive approach to life, and I believe that reflection is important for putting events in perspective and expressing gratitude for all that good shit that does exist.

With this being said, I'm as angry as ever, but, for a nice change of pace, its not directed at anyone who actually participates in my life. Right now, I'm mad at Obama, NYPD, and the mainstream media, just to name a few. You can probably guess whats up. Occupy Wall Street yo! I'm completely and totally bummed that I'm not in New York for this. If my school didn't have the strictest attendance policy in the world (and probably out of it,) I'd have bought a plane ticket and been there in a second. But hey, if they're still occupying when winter break comes around, I'm there. Yeah, we've got Occupy LA, but its a little, errr... disorganized. Also we can't chill outside Bernie Madoff's house.

This whole movement makes me so happy, and, dare I say it, hopeful.  For too long, the richest 1% of the country has controlled the majority of it's wealth. And I've had it. Whats awesome is that everyone's had it, and they're making their voices heard. Check out Global Revolution for streaming coverage of peaceful protests around the world. Fair warning, its inspiring at some points, and downright awful at others. Footage of NYPD officers punching girls in the face at random? check. But hey, the truth hurts, right?

Tomorrow, October 15th is being called the Global Day of Action. I can't wait to see what goes down on Wall Street, I have a feeling it'll be huge. Guess what, fellow 99%ers? We're the ones that are too big to fail.

Right Here All Over (Occupy Wall St.) from Alex Mallis on Vimeo.

Enraged.

'Ello Loves.

I know I've been absent from the blogging world for quite some time now. I tell you, summer and computers just don't mix; I've been too enthralled with the delightful weather to really want to sit down and write anything. That and I just turned 21.  I'm sure everyone has missed my bleeding heart liberal rants, but that's not to say my heart hasn't been bleeding. I realized recently that I differ from most young girls in the fact that all of the men who have broken my heart are politicians. Remember this? Yeah, I'm still crying over that one.  More recently, I've found myself lying face down, utterly defeated by the state of the debt ceiling negotiations. And you can bet your ass that I've got something mean to say about that sham of a deal. But for now, lets get mad about something a little more fun. Perhaps I should say, let's rage.

Because I saw Rage Against the Machine last weekend. Yeah, fucking Rage. At the Coliseum. And holy hell, the Coliseum is huge. I've never been surrounded by so many people in my life, thus adding to the reasons I'm not going to a rave with you. I'd been stoked for this show since May. I bought my ticket the day they went on sale, and if not for some bad judgement counting tequila shots the night before, I probably could've gotten a GA ticket on ticketmaster before they sold out. I only remembered to buy tickets 6 hours late, but fortunately, I was able to find one on StubHub for a decent-ish amount of money. General Admission is always worth the investment, can you even imagine going to see rage and sitting down for it? I sure hope not. But lets rewind this story about 2 hours.

Besides Rage, a ton of (shitty) bands were scheduled to play this event, aptly titled LA Rising. Since, as you all know, I'm a productive, full-time employed contributing member of society, I had work earlier in the day, and therefore took a nap before heading to an on-my-feet-for-hours-event; I missed Rise Against, and I think my life is better for it. The long walk from my car to the entrance was littered with people asking if I was selling tickets, because apparently going to shows on your own isn't normal. Segue: I paid all of $1 for parking, so suck it everyone who shelled out 25 for Coliseum event parking. As always, I am the most impatient motherfucker you'll see waiting in line for a show, or anything, for that matter. I waited watching people get awkwardly pat down, bags searched halfheartedly, until finally it was my turn. As much as I am always tempted to make a scene during pat downs, (remember that Amy Poehler TSA skit?) I behaved myself better than usual as I got to 2nd base with a stern female security guard. I presented my ticket to the next guard, eager to claim my spot in GA.

He scans, and I prepare to walk through. What? I can't? Have I been in before? Fuck no, I just got here! I'm redirected to the Will Call booth. I'm getting fucked, aren't I? I walked to the booth, in absolute disbelief that I might not see the show. The people at will call know nothing. Pretty sure I just got fucked. Enter iPhone. I open my email and search for the confirmation for the ticket. Call StubHub customer service. Annihilate the cheery woman who answers with a barrage of obscenities. Quickly transferred to head of customer service. Mike in the Rochester office tells me to calm down. I try. He's given me a full refund. He puts me on hold as he contacts sellers in the area. 10 minutes later. No one has tickets. Are they selling tickets at the event? Yeah, but GA's sold out. My ticket was GA. Fuck. Search through bag. Pick through the wad of cash I threw in with my ID. $81. Cheapest tickets: $71. Fine. About to sit in the goddamn nosebleeds during a Rage show. Fucking lame. But I'm seeing it. Small consolation, I guess.

Another slightly awkward pat down. Show my ticket, get let in. Ticket says Gate 19. I'm at Gate 4. Time to trek. I dodge people like a fucking acrobatic pro, weaving through the crowd to get to what will most certainly be a horrible seat. Approaching Gate 19, I think to myself, why not try to use this bunk ticket to get into GA? Its worth a shot. I ask the security guard if I can get to GA from this gate. Nope, Gate 11. Let's head back. Glad I didn't work out earlier, I'd be dead on my frustrated feet. Finally there. Gate 11 is a long tunnel down to the field. Anticipation mounts, I know I'm supposed to have a wristband to be here. I'll play the slightly attractive lost girl card now. I walk down the steps, approaching the final hurdle to my GA dreams. 2 guards. Now 3. Checking wristbands. Fuck. I've got this GA ticket, can I get in? Ok, where do I get a wristband? Back up there? Ah, I see. Perfect timing feakout dude. Yelling at the guards: No, seriously I have to see a medic! Your ailment has been significantly beneficial, I think, as I slip past security and bury myself within the crowd. Mission accomplished.

So, If reading's not your thing (why are you here?) and you skipped to the end of this, the moral of the story is as follows: Originally paid 185 for a ticket, ticket was a sham, got refunded said $185. Paid 71 and saw the show the exact same way I would've if my first ticket was legit. Hashem would be proud of that $114 I saved. Advantage: Ratchel.

All above photos via We Are Party Animals because I'm sure as shit not gonna take out my phone in the pit at RATM.

Side Note: StubHub  Customer Service is home to some of the nicest, most helpful people I've ever spoken to. Despite the issues with the ticket, I will continue purchasing on StubHub because of how amazing they were to me during what I thought would become a truly horrific experience. This is my official recommendation for StubHub.com, they are truly fantastic and really understand the meaning of good customer service. 

A Really Wonderful Thing

If you've read this blog before, you'll know that I don't have much hope for this here world. Somehow, we're on this sort of spiraling coaster where we know what the problems are, we know ways that we can begin to mitigate them, but we refuse to take one step outside of our normal routines in order to save whats left of this planet. This makes me endlessly sad, and might be one of the biggest reasons that I hate people. (Especially you fuckers who ask for everything in a 'to go' cup).


Today, for once, I saw something that made me truly hopeful, with the tiny glimmer or an idea that perhaps someday, the earth won't have to be gang raped on a daily basis by people who think "bottled water is healthier."

FUCK YES! suckas better start bringing those bags in.  If looking at pictures just isn't your thing, let me tell you that starting in September, plastic bags are illegal in Santa Monica. Mother fucking illegal, yo. Now lets just get to the rest of LA.

Metal Galaxy

Metal and outer space... my favorite combination.

More than usual, I've been obsessing over the movie Heavy Metal. Perhaps because its no longer available to watch instantly on Netflix and so I'm longing for it. If you're reading this and you haven't seen Heavy Metal, run to your local video store (if they haven't already gone out of business) and watch this movie immediately. It will completely rock your world. Or maybe it just did to mine, as I really wish life could just be that film. Imagine killing aliens while Sabbath plays in the background; perfect world? I think yes.

images via tumblr, facebook, googleimages

Green & Wood

Last Friday, I ventured to the Dark Horse Saloon in downtown to see a pretty fantastic show. First off, this venue is amazing. Small, but amazing. The decor was a mix of gothic, burlesque, and over the top (glittery) dungeon, with a stage that I really should've taken a picture of.
Earthless, one of my favorite psychedelic metal bands, headlined that night, and, of course, their show was unreal. Over an hour long set comprised of four (yes, four) songs. Because Earthless rocks that hard.

But I knew that one was coming. What I didn't know, was that I would fall in love that night, with Magda, the insanely hot, talented, totally badass guitarist of Green & Wood, one of the bands that played before Earthless.

All images taken from Green & Wood Facebook Page

New girl crush? Check. Ozzy-esque Vocals? Check. Heavy psychedelic dronings? Check.

Might have a new band to adore...

Sleep @ the Wiltern 6/26/11 - A Review

"If they play Dopesmoker the whole way through... I'd die. And come. At the same time."

I guess, in retrospect, its good they didn't, since I'm still here. For those who aren't die-hard Sleep fans, let me enlighten you to the monolith that is Dopesmoker. This track, originally written in 1995, was released three years later as a more mainstream-appropriate song, cut 5 minutes short and titled "Jerusalum." In 2003, Sleep released the original Dopesmoker, 63 minutes of what is often regarded as the heaviest song ever. Lyrics are few and far between, and describe an epic pilgrimage through Israel for none other than weed. 

If you've got an hour to spare, (and you do, for this) lay back and listen to Dopesmoker, I guarantee it'll alter something in your musical world. After listening, try to imagine seeing it live. Obviously, as it was first played more than 15 years ago, the sound has changed a bit. All the instruments are just as heavy, and the drummer currently playing with Sleep, Jason Roeder of Neurosis, does a great job of recreating the original sound of this drum-lead track. The only thing that I think has changed significantly is Al Cisnero's voice. It'd have to be considered a true miracle if his voice was the same throughout decades of singing, drinking, and of course, takin' bong rips. The pure heavyness of the vocals in the recorded Dopesmoker is replaced by a wonderfully strange, syncopated, higher-ptiched voice of what might be considered pure evil. Both work for me, Al, so keep on with that crazy singing.

But lets get back to the original point of this post: the show. It begins, as always, with Al and Matt on stage, tuning guitars, practicing riffs, and then just droning, easing in to the first song of the show: Dopesmoker. Needless to say, I'm beyond stoked, especially when they keep playing past the part they would usually end a segmented version of this song. The hypnotic power this song has over fans in incredible, everyone's in a trance, bangin' heads at exactly the same time, knowing without question the next riff, anticipating that awesome moment where drums come in and the song gets really fucking heavy. From my not so reliable calculations, the marijuanauts, as they refer to themselves, played the first 20 minutes of dopesmoker before moving on to the rest of the set. 

1 - Dopesmoker

2 - Holy Mountain

3 - Dragonaut

4 - Antarcticus Thawed

5 - Aquarian

6 - From Beyond

7 - Nain's Baptism

8 - Sonic Titan

9 - The Druid

10 - Dopesmoker

I couldn't have imagined a better set, unless they decided to play their Sabbath covers, which, fun fact, Ozzy once commended as the best Black Sabbath covers released, particularly Snowblind. Holy Mountain was amazing, and, at both Sleep shows I've been to, you can tell who doesn't really know Sleep, as they'll start cheering 3 minutes into the song, when it appears to be over, only to come back slowly and heavily, until the epic climax. Dragonaut might be Sleep's most popular song, with its catchy opening riff and satisfying conclusion. The crowd went wild for this song, leading someone to scream "play it again motherfuckers" afterward. Good thing they didn't play it again, since they left time for so many more awesome songs, which I could continue to verbally (typographically?) fellate, but instead I'll leave you with the knowledge that they were all amazing, especially Sonic Titan and The Druid, which just fucking own me musically.

The thing I loved most about this show was the amazing Dopesmoker sandwich they had going, starting with the first 20-ish minutes of the song, and ending the show with the last 5 minutes of it. Truly awesome riff-age, more than worth the fact that I couldn't hear for a while after.

And since I'm just a whore for merch, I had to pick up a poster and some stickers, one of which will soon by adorning the back end of my dinged-up civic.

Lastly, to give you a little taste of the legend that is Sleep, and to make Steve Jobs proud of the mic quality of the iphone:

 

I never would've imagined, when I first started listening to Sleep, that I would've been able to see them live, not once, but twice. Hopefully this trend continues, and my favorite dirtbags return to LA again next year. Thanks, guys, for the two best shows I've ever seen, and keep on going hard.

A Challenge thats Only Hard for Me.

As a few people know, I just had a little birthday happen to me. This shouldn't mean anything, and really, it doesn't. Everyone you know was born, so is there a reason to celebrate something that isn't special at all? Perhaps the specialness (didn't think that was a word, but spellcheck is down with that shit) of birthdays lies in the fact that they are the single thing everyone, fucking everyone, has in common. Philosophy on your ass, and you weren't even expecting it.

Beyond my feelings about birthdays, I've decided this milestone is an opportunity to change my life up a bit, so I guess I'll take it. Let me preface this insignificant change of pace with this: I LOVE MEAT. So much. I am almost positive that at one point I said I'd like to lay in a pile of ground up bacon. This still might be true, although I don't really want to fuck with PETA over that. But all joking aside, I am a voracious carnivore. And never have I even considered limiting my meat intake, as I once considered it the bane of my existence.

To most, what I plan on doing is easy, and really nothing to write about, but moderation isn't by best skill, so this is a big deal for me. As of yesterday, I will only be consuming meat at a maximum rate of once per week. Fish doesn't count, obviously, gotta get them Omega-3s. Most likely, this dose of meat will either be brisket from my work, or a double double at In N Out.

This isn't about the animals, and its not about any retarded weight-loss bullshit. For a week last december, my roommate challenged me to go vegan. This wasn't the most pleasant experience, as I struggled to consume enough calories every day, but the absence of meat made me feel significantly lighter, higher energy, and healthier. (oddly enough). So here goes some good old discipline, not entirely cutting something out of my life, but learning to enjoy it only in moderation, like a healthy fuckin adult.


Holy hell.

DIY Dip Dyed Tights

Wanna get all Martha Stewart with me? I did this little project a few weeks ago, so I guess its about time to share it.

To accompany me on this crafty adventure, you'll need the following:

1 pair of light colored tights
Black dye (I used iDye Poly, which is all special for polyester and nylon)
1 pot or sauce pan
2 clothespins
A kitchen
Good music

Oh look, I'm taking process pictures, making all of this hella (yes, hella) easy for you.

Start by filling yo' pot with water. Add dye. I used probably 1/4 of the packet, which worked well.  

Now use the clothespins to mark dem tights where you'd like the dip dye effect to occur. Mine is about halfway up the thigh.
 

Tights, meet dye. Put them in until just below the clothespins, as the dye will bleed upwards a bit. Important: don't let the tights touch the outside of the pot, it is hot and they will burn.

Let the water boil for about 30 minutes. The wait is kind of a bitch, so turn on an episode of South Park to pass the time. (This step is absolutely required). After the times up, remove tights from dye and rinse thoroughly.

 

Let those babies dry, then wear the shit out of them.

Perhaps at some point, I'll take a better picture of these, but this was the least skanky way I could figure to take a picture of my legs. But hey, its for learning, yo.

Anthony's _________

If you live around televisions, newspapers, or other human beings, you already know: the Weiner got fucked. Well, actually, the Weiner repeatedly fucked himself. Which Weiner do I speak of? Anthony Weiner, of course, who, up until the past few weeks, was one of my favorite people that I don't actually know. (And I hate pretty much all famous people, excluding musicians, so this is a high honor in my book.)  I can't begin to express the deep, unrelenting disappointment I've felt because of Anthony Weiner's actions. But let me try.

First off: WHAT THE FUCK WEINER? what. the. fuck. you were awesome, you were a fucking hero. You were championing the fight against republican bullshit, and I loved you. We liberals loved you. You could've been it, you could've been the person to take this battle to where it needs to go, but no, you had to put a picture of your cock on TWITTER, of all fucking places.
I have many issues with this, but lets start with the obvious. You're a public figure, meaning, more than any other person's, your privates are just that, fucking private. What were you thinking? (In a Chris Hansen voice, of course). You were a congressman, you should've thought twice, thrice, and a fourth god damn time about putting a picture of your junk anywhere near the internet. Didn't you learn that already? Also, twitter? Come on, man, if you were really trying to direct message someone on twitter, just get the lady's email, like the gentleman you should've been.
Secondly, at what point did you assume that anyone would want to see a picture of your dick? And I'm not talking shit here, really, I loved you. If you didn't have a wife, you'd be on my politicians to do list. But back to the point, and I'd like to take this time to make an announcement to every male reading this. Get ready, because your world will be rocked.

YOUR DICK DOESN'T LOOK GOOD IN PICTURES.

And before we begin to conclude that perhaps only Weiner's weiner doesn't photograph well, let me tell you a brief anecdote. Last fall, I was on the losing side of a prank war. (If you're reading this, Max, well, I just admitted defeat.) The concluding prank in said war was actually a fluke on my part. As revenge for saran wrapping my car, I decided to post an ad for my rival on the "casual encounters" section of craigslist. As those who have posted here before know, you cannot type a phone number in posts under this section. I, not being very craigslist-savvy, didn't know how to get around this and instead, entered Max's email, thinking that at least his email would blow up with men wanting to get in on that action. Instead, Max was emailed a confirmation of the post, thus foiling my plot, and letting him know exactly my next move in our epic battle. I was completely fucked, except I didn't know it until the middle of the night, when I awoke to the sound of my phone, and a text that read: "hey cutie, you still looking for that late night fun?" Immediately, I knew what happened. In the following 24 hours, I received over a hundred texts, a several missed calls, and a couple dozen pictures. Pictures of, you guessed it, dicks. Up until a couple months ago, I was still sporadically receiving dick pictures. In total, I think it was nearly 100 of them, so I can tell you, without hesitation, that the cock is the least photogenic part of your body.  Regardless of how it looks in person, it'll look fucked up in photograph form, so just don't fucking do it. I'll repeat myself, yet again, in hopes that this message is thouroughly drilled into your minds. Do not, under any circumstances, take a picture of your cock, and send it to a member of the opposite (fairer, perhaps) sex. Thanks.

But back to el Weiner. Seriously, dude, just stop taking pictures of yourself. Remember that time when you took a picture of yourself in the mirror at the fucking congressional gym? Who does that? Oh yeah, you. Did you never have that moment where you thought, "Hey, what if these pictures get into the wrong hands?" or "Perhaps, as a member (hah) of congress, I should be a little more discerning with the content I decide to put on the internet." Apparently you didn't. And remember that time when you said that you couldn't say for certain whether the dick in the photo was yours or not? Really?

Honestly, (ex) Congressman Weiner, I hope that you bounce back from this. And theoretically, you should; many people have gotten caught doing worse things. Technically, you didn't even cheat on your wife. (If you were my husband, though, I'd have your fucking sac for this one). But lets be honest here, every republican is stoked on this, it's as if their biggest opponent just killed himself and they didn't even have to ask him to. So good job, ruining your chances at being that healthcare champion I thought you were. I'm not mad, I'm disappointed.


love, rachel


p.s. the gentleman is still correct in sitting.

a soundtrack of sorts

Fun fact: my mood is entirely dependent on the amount of exercise I get. Which means I've probably been quite cruel lately, as I've been completely slacking on the working out front. The past few days have seen me trying to get back into the habit of exercising regularly, which hopefully will continue tomorrow. This is one of the few times I've had trouble with discipline, but I want to blame it on the fact that the gym I've been going to recently sucks balls. big old balls. If only there were hiking spots close to where I live/If only I had enough time to take said hikes. Perhaps on one of these days off.

The key (for me) to a successful and enjoyable workout, minus the awesome people watching/bad tattoo spotting, is a good playlist. The gym is the one place that I won't listen to most of my favorite bands. Most doom is just too slow to try to work out to, I'd probably just be standing motionless on the elliptical if I was listening to sleep or earth. This being said: I present the tracks that are currently getting me to the shitty Santa Monica 24 hour fitness. Angry is really the only way to work out. hah, that's pretty funny (ironic perhaps?) in the context of the first line of this post.





Remember when I said I had a post with actual content coming? Yeah, this isn't it. I'm just too tired to formulate a good political argument right now, and I'd rather keep it trivial today. Boring, I know, but I'll get you riled up next time.

I promise.

hey vanity

In a break from my usual doom/sludge/stoner metal/drone routine, I've been listening to a ton of Deftones lately. Thanks to Melina for introducing me to them. In the past, I have resisted music in which the lead singer screams rather than sings, as often it is a cop out way to appear hard. Not Deftones though, their lead singer, Chino Moreno, has probably my favorite voice ever. In fact,  I'd be very down for him to sing me to sleep, then start screaming to wake me up. And then I'd be mad about being woken up, so he'd have to start singing with that sexy melodic voice again.

Also, I might be seeing them live next week! So stay tuned for some shitty iphone pictures of that. In addition, I'm working on a post with actual content, rather than fucking-with-photobooth-pictures and me talking about bands that everyone else discovered years ago.

Peace, loves

Of Cacti & Goblins

I am, without question, the worst blogger (yuck) of all time. I think I've neglected this thing for over a week now. no good, friends, no good at all. Despite my not writing anything for a while, I have been doing things. Actually, I've been busy as fuck. Because fuck is really a busy dude. Anyhow, my friend Shannon, also known as one of the few people from high school that I still communicate with, stayed at my house for the past week, while looking for a job and an apartment in LA. I am unbelievably stoked about the summer adventures that will ensue with her being here.  Mostly we've been drinking tea and going cactus shopping.

Yes, I've begun a cactus collection. Perhaps as a substitute for a pet. A little less cute, but significantly less cleanup required. Here are my super fucking adorable cacti.

Also during Shannon's stay, she introduced me to the pure hilarity that is Wizard People, Dear Reader. The entirety of the first Harry Potter movie, narrated in the best possible way. Snape is always referred to as 'she,' while Ron the Bear and good old HP chill in class with 'what the fuck type expressions.' This blog won't allow me to embed an of the videos (copyright or some shit), but I highly reccomend watching this chapter. "Oh shit, nerding out on Harry Potter," you say. Yeah, I've got a fucking blog, which should act as definitive proof that I'm a huge nerd, even without that wizard reference.

Speaking of wizards, well, actually not really, because I'm speaking of Goblins. Orange Goblin to be exact. I saw Orange Goblin at the Troubadour the other night, along with some other sweet bands: Sasquatch, Naam, and The Gates of Slumber. The show was ridiculously good, especially Orange Goblin introducing themselves: "We're Orange Goblin, and we're here to play you some heavy fucking metal." (In a british accent, of course).

turns out the iphone isn't the best tool for pictures at shows, but it is by far the most convenient and will continue to be my go to. I cannot even begin to describe how sore my neck is from this show. Bangin' of the head is the only dancing I do sans two buck chuck.

And with that, I bid you adieu, and wish you all the heaviest wednesday night of your lives.

10 reasons (the) Melvins are the greatest band ever (even if you've never heard them)

They've been around forever
Almost 30 years, to be a little more precise. Especially in the today's music world, longevity is hard to come by; most bands on the radio now will be long forgotten in a year or two. Not (the) Melvins, though. Perhaps by never becoming popular in the mainstream music scene, they were able to avoid the path of musical obsolescence. And thank god for that, because 30 years of performing makes quite the discography.  

Nirvana wouldn't exist without them
Kurt Cobain and bassist Krist Novoselic decided to start a band together after both hanging out in (the) Melvins studio. It was Cobain's connection to (the) Melvins that gained him credibility with future bandmates and producers. In addition, Dale Crover played drums at the very beginning, and then again for a tour after drummer Chad Channing peaced out. Finally, it was King Buzzo himself who introduced Dave Grohl to a drummer-less Nirvana in 1990.

They have two drummers
And one of them is Dale Crover, a complete badass who also plays in Shrinebuilder, a band that could probably be described as 'varsity doom' because of their amazing roster. During shows Crover and Coady Willis, who also drums for Big Business with Melvins bassist Jared Warren, are positioned right next to each other and somewhat angled in, almost like an epic battle of drums.

King Buzzo
Everything about Buzzo is awesome. Except he's married. But even that's amazing because his wife does a ton of album/poster artwork for (the) Melvins. (more on that later) Buzzo, known also as Buzz Osborne, is one of the few people who actually earned the title of 'king.' The songs that Buzzo writes aren't just good, they're weird, heavy, and the lyrics mostly don't make sense. The range of this man is incredible, some songs will be slow, melodic lullabies of sorts, while others are straight up heavy, loud, soul crushers. Take a look at this interview he did with Ford Models for the best laugh you've heard in your life.

They're always making new music
Thus far, (the) Melvins have recorded 20 albums. That's one album for every year and a half of existence. Dear every other band out there: whats with the slacking? For a fan, this is pretty much all you can ask for. Since I first began liking (the) Melvins, approximately 2 years ago, they've recorded 2 albums, released a remix album, and are about to release a live album. Thanks for not getting bored of music, guys. 

They play a ton of shows
Seriously, a ton. Earlier this year, they played a show each Friday in January at Spaceland, and had I been 21, I would have gone to every one. (Wristbands, people, its too fucking easy.) Last year I saw (the) Melvins live, on two different tours, within 5 months of each other. Currently, (the) Melvins are touring, but, to my extreme sadness, they were in Seattle just days before I got there.  When you think about it, though, it really shouldn't be an anomaly, if you're a musician, don't you want to play music? (the) Melvins want to play music, and they'll rock your fucking face off.

They have great (and bountiful amounts of) merch
(the) Melvins like art. For their last album, they sold limited edition album artwork of 10 different artists. oh, the choices! If you watched the Buzz interview above, you'd know that (the) Melvins' gameplan is to create tangible products, un-downloadable experiences and items, to bring in revenue, and to create things that their fans actually want. I sure as shit do.

Poster by this guy

pretty much the best shirt you'll see in your life:

coabainbot killing (the) Melvins

They give awesome interviews
Just read this one for proof.

They perform in costume
I don't think I've ever seen members of (the) Melvins wearing pants.  At every show, they've got on the most magical, sparkly, velvet outfits that might best be described as nightgowns. Honestly, though, where'd Buzzo get that goat dress? I want one. Unfortunately, I don't have & couldn't find any pictures of Dale or Coady's outfits, but I can assure you, the sequin covered shoulder pads they wear are beyond epic.

taken at the Troubadour approximately 09/10

 

from here

When they collaborate, it's beautiful
(the) Melvins have collaborated with Jello Biafra and Lustmord, among others. Rather than their sound getting watered down by somewhat inferior musicians, the awesome is multiplied. (the) Melvins + Lustmord collaborative album, 'Pigs of the Roman Empire' is pure gold. Pure, evil, gold. As a testament to said gold, a track from it, which is one of my all time favorite Melvins songs.

And with that, I rest my case. (the) Melvins are the greatest band ever. If by some strange twist of fate, you end up reading this, Melvins, please play A History of Bad Men at your next Los Angeles show. It was the song that first made me love you, and I can only imagine the glory of its being played live.

love, rachel

The best music is free...not.

Good morning! I really haven't been in a writing mood lately, and i might be forcing it a little now, but lets see how this goes. Last few days have been a whole lotta work-sleep-work-sleep-work-work, with a few random fun things here and there. Example: I got my car washed the other day (and holy hell, its the cleanest its ever been) and got chatted up by a semi-strange man. Usually, I'd ignore or say fuck off, but for whatever reason, engaged in a conversation which ended with him giving me his CD, and a business card "so you can call me and tell me what you think of it."
 

This is the album, in all its glory. Kelly and I had a grand old time listening to this masterpiece. Actually we only listened to the first 30 seconds, until deciding that this was the worst decision ever. And so, with this experience in mind, I'll go back to my usual way of not speaking to people who approach me in public. especially at the gym.



Thats all for now, I've go to go to work, like the respectable member of society that I am. I'll leave you with the best thing to happen to newspaper since the printing press: dopeness at Arizona & 10th.

return of the road trip

better known as: the blog post that I actually put pictures in.

And we're back! A little too soon for my liking though, since Seattle was thoroughly awesome (as always). I know, there are quite a few animal pictures here. makes sense,  because my family's house is a bit of a zoo. (and I mean that in the best possible way) I really do miss all the animals up there, even my cat that seriously embodies evil itself. I'd like to think that its easy to tell from the photos which one that is.

If you couldn't guess from the pictures, a bar mitzvah was an integral part of this trip, in fact, it was the primary reason for taking it. Too bad I didn't get a picture of my brother's badass pinstripe pants, I wish I looked that baller at 13.

Pretty fuckin sweet trip, if I do say so myself. I picked up a sweet decal of the Seattle skyline (which will be adorning the back window of my car) and a copy of The Stranger. If you haven't heard of it, (which anyone outside of Seattle probably hasn't) go to the website and read it NOW. Especially the 'I saw U' section, its like craigslist's missed connections, but better. When I was 17 and working at Noah's Bagels, I received my first, and only (i think) I saw U, from a woman, also named Rachel, asking me out and complimenting my smile (and probably my bagel cutting skills, too). But ANYhow, since I've begun to ramble, check out The Stranger in all its wonderful, subculturey, awesome letters to the editor, sketchy personal ad glory. 

On the way back to LA, Kalin and I stopped at Voodoo Doughnut. Despite the array of delicious looking, slightly unheard of options like maple bacon (topped with bacon), or a doughnut with tang on top, I had to go with the awesomely shaped cream filled chocolate. It was pretty amazing, but nothing can ever top a glazed doughnut from Randy's.

And just like that, I made myself really fucking hungry. Fun how that happens. Soon enough, I'll have something more interesting to write about than my life. Something of substance, perhaps. Or maybe I'll just keep doing this for a little while. We'll see.

Peace out, my loves.