tumblr?! i don't even KNOW her!
luthierie, orgcore, art nouveau, books, bourbon. jackass of all trades. the 21st century's excuse for a gentleman.request lines are open.
With great sadness in our hearts, the man we know as Bill Lawrence in the music industry passed away on November 2, 2013 at approximately 9:20AM.
Bill was a strong and courageous man. Even in his last few days, Bill fought to live. He’d talk about Music, Pickups & Guitars — and Life, and we, at his company, were still working because this is what Bill Lawrence wanted to know — that his company & legacy is carrying on as usual.
We will miss the Bill Lawrence Mighty Force. Bill brought so much, and he wanted to stay here on earth to keep giving. One thing, yesterday as preparing the necessary paperwork, required is Designation of Race. In Honor of Bill Lawrence and his wishes, we included Human.A Memorial Service will be held Friday 11/8/13 at 3:00PM Fairhaven Memorial Park 1702 Fairhaven Avenue Santa Ana, Orange County, CA 92705 — 714-633-1442
Love, Becky
lug: new rochester hardcore
click through for music
(Source: tumblridontevenknowher)
Becky Lee and Drunkfoot - Hip Kids
I’m so over that in-crowd scene. The boys are boring and the girls are mean, they never have any fun.
The Lawrence Arms - “Like A Record Player"
FEST
Since this is on my dash, here’s a story about it.
Maybe 3 months ago I was on the road with my pal Billy Wallace, and we found ourselves playing some midwestern dates. Booking at this point in my life is always kind of open-ended, which means that almost exactly nobody actually gives a shit whether or not I play in any given city. That said, I’m lucky enough to have some cool friends with cool friends who will often go out of their way to put shows together. There’s a lot of weird calling around to friends of friends to book gigs, but the upside of the whole thing is that it leads to meeting some really top-notch humans we wouldn’t normally encounter.
Anyway, Billy’s been on the road for about 10 years and has actual contacts. The second night of tour, he got us hooked up with a fun show with a guaranteed payout, maybe 2 hours outside of Chicago, in a place called Normal. Upon arriving in Normal, I found out that Billy’s friends with whom we were staying had a giant/totally awesome house, a giant/totally awesome dog, and a giant/totally awesome grill. They made a kickass dinner and there was much rejoicing.
We got to the gig to find out that the booking agent was away on business, and had also booked the local support act for the following evening. Nobody was coming. We played for one of Billy’s friends and the staff.
These shows are a lot of fun if everyone is cool, which they were. We were getting pizza, beer, and a considerable sum of money to play to nobody, so, we thought, let’s try some new stuff! Billy dusted off some deep cuts that he hadn’t done in a while, and I played a cover of “Like a Record Player” by the Lawrence Arms that I hadn’t subjected anyone to outside of basement shows up ‘til that point.*
Anyway, it went over pretty well, and we kept drinking beer and eating pizza and playing darts for a while. The next day we were playing in Chicago at a newer venue in Logan Square. Chicago author (and fellow tumblr-er) Chris Terry, whom I hadn’t actually ever met, got me in touch with a friend of his named Dave. Dave traveled the world in a relatively successful punk rock band, knew some folks, and was willing to put a show together based on the fact that I peripherally knew two of his friends. Pretty solid move, Dave.
So we make it to Chicago. It’s Monday and we figure it will be a relatively quiet night in Logan Square. We were mostly wrong about that. The show was well attended, friends of ours showed up, and we had a pretty good time. By the time Billy finished playing and it was time for my set, I was feeling great about this whole “traveling troubadour” career choice. I’m used to touring broke, and we were up a couple hundred dollars. I was playing on a Monday in a new city, but in a cool venue in front of a few dozen well-mannered and generally attractive young people. I had slept in a bed the previous night. Also, the bar next door had some sort beer+shot+pizza slice deal that we took full advantage of, and that did a lot for morale.
I played five or six songs, plugged the record, thanked Walker, Dave, and Chris for making everything possible, then went totally off-script. I said something along the lines of “so this next song is one I really like, it’s by a band from Chicago. I wasn’t going to do it here but I don’t think any of them are here tonight, and it went really well in Blo/No last night so here it is. Don’t tell Brendan.” People laughed. Okay, this might work.
I played the song, finished the set, and got off stage, feeling alright. Dave comes over to me.
“Great set, man. I liked the Larry Arms cover, but uh… you know Neil is here, right?”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No dude, he’s sitting over at he bar.”
So, if memory serves, we tore down and packed up our gear, then I bugged Dave til he introduced me.
Then I went full-on fanboy. It was rough. I did all the things you’re not supposed to do. I pulled out my flappy tattoo. I asked him about obscure bands he played with for like 5 minutes, several years ago. Did I mention I covered his band while he was there? Urg. To his credit, he was super cool about the whole thing, but I can’t remember many conversations I’ve walked away from cringing harder, like “come on, I just said that?" I gave him my cd, too. I kinda wonder if he ever listened to it. I bet he thinks I’m a dingus.
After that, Billy’s slightly insane librarian friend took us to a series of dive bars til we watched the sun come up from a private beach on Lake Michigan. That morning, I slept face-down with my head and shoulders on a chair and my knees and feet on an ottoman, body dangling between the two like a failing bridge. We had an authentic Ethiopian diner breakfast (bagels, I think?) and headed to the next day’s show, which was opening, last-minute, for the artist-in-residence at a pretty cool quasi-gay bar in Kentucky, but that’s another story entirely.
In other news, Chris, the catalyst for this whole series of events, is coming to Rochester in August. He’s a damn fine writer and will be doing some readings, so stay tuned for info and come hang out.
*There’s a kinda whack version of it here that sounds kinda flat and luded-out, but it’ll give you the general idea.
A song made me cry in Cleveland. My heart, filled with doubt. Would I die before New England? I guess we’ll all find out. Would you still love me if your world was passing me by? Do you still love me? Why? You’re so far away, a heart cast in plaster. We can feed our vices if they cure our cancers. We ask ugly questions and get ugly answers. Separate my body and tongue so they can’t be held accountable for one another. Separate my body and tongue as to not speak for weight on weathered shoulders with strange devotion. Still I would cling to this weight and sink down into the ocean. Wake up in a strange land. The ones who love us might say they understand… they won’t. They’re so far away, getting farther faster. We can feed our vices if they cure our cancers. We ask ugly questions and get ugly answers. I guess that’s us. Hey Mike, it’s me. Call the guys. Let’s get in the Hate Game and go far away from here.
I remember the “this can’t be real” feeling of having 15 extra minutes to drink coffee on the porch before work this morning the way most people remember the weekend’s crazy parties.