I was driving into work on Morrison road to Alameda, listening to talk radio. The CBS newscast was running through the top headlines – then the announcer said “They called him ‘Strummer’….” followed by an announcement of the death of Joe Strummer. A hero of mine and an icon of strength that this soft generation of religious, bearded pseudo folk singers will never adopt nor replace – because, as a generation, they aren’t in touch with what their own strength and anger can do when combined together. When they’ve been systematically degraded, they choose to accept a stipend from their parents or work for pennies rather than demanding jobs and wages and a future that rewards them for contributing. Rather than fighting, they’ve chosen passive acceptance...Read More
The festival is the current rage. Big paydays for aging acts (some still stellar, some ragged and worth dismissing) with hipsters and hook-ups a plenty.
I recently sighed deeply at the sight of my inherited Lollapalooza (1st tour) shirt and it’s inability to be donned due to being completely worn out. While I’m no huge fan of Nine Inch Nails (to say the least) or Ice-T, seeing the likes of Lush, Siouxsee and the Banshees, Jane’s Addiction, and the Violent Femmes makes me wonder if more than two great acts are ever going to make it into a one day festival TOUR again. Not these disgusting one-offs of 200,000, but a proper tour with bands becoming aggravated with one another, and bringing some serious punch to whatever counter-culture indie movement is out there.
Here’s my attempt at putting...Read More
You know how every club always has that one complete dick? Well, follow these easy steps, and that dick can be you, my friend. And ladies, you don’t have to be a dude to be the biggest dick at the club. This simple guide can be applied to either gender for universal dickishness.
It’s Friday night. You’ve put up with bullshit at your job all week, and tonight you’re going out and getting hammered. You’re going to walk into that club like your daddy owns the place, get your dance on, and wake-up next to a poor judgment-call snoring in your bed.
1.) You’ll need to begin by suppressing all basic codes of social conduct. When you were a child, your mother worked hard to teach you manners...Read More
Preface: I DJ for a living, and have probably been guilty at one time or another of most of the things I will talk about in this ongoing series. Whether that gives me more or less right to bitch about them is not something I really give a shit about.
Stuff I Hate About DJs: Episode 1 “Musical Blue Balls”
Most of us have experienced it – you’re on the dance-floor getting down to a song you love, and right when it’s getting to the good part the DJ inexplicably mixes into a new song. You’re left standing there, the next words to the song you were dancing to a moment ago stillborn in your throat and that awesome dance move you were ready to make discarded like a two week old Top 40 hip-hop song...Read More
RIP, Barry Fey.
Fey always struck me as a “rock” guy. “Rock” as a general noun where anything that could be rock was a good thing – in the way non-music fans romanticized the word rock without any true context or scrutiny. I abhor that idea of “rock” because it’s akin to walking into a museum with your pants down and getting high-fives from other people who also have their pants down. But Fey was a fan of music. We know this. His fandom led to his rise and fame. His fandom led him to risks that are well beyond most of our comfort zones. The fan experience was clearly a major motivator for Fey and he was not above putting artists in harm’s way to deliver on that promised experience. While he was a rock guy, he also had everything in common with those of us buying tickets...Read More
For my birthday this past January, a friend bought me a book called Everybody Loves Our Town: An Oral History of Grunge by Mark Yarm. It’s a collection of stories told through interviews with the folks involved in the creation of the Seattle scene all those years ago. The stories come from band members, club owners, press members, booking agents, sound guys, and kids who just hung around the clubs. Mostly anecdotal stuff, stories about rock shows and getting high in the parking lot before hand.
Having entered adolescence in the early 90’s, the music of Seattle and Olympia played a huge role in the development of my musical tastes, so the book felt like a great chance for a stroll down memory lane...Read More
Are you kidding me? Someone (ok, I guess several of someones) thought enough of our show to nominate it for the best Podcast in Denver? Is this some sort of Carrie thing? Is there a bucket of pig’s blood in the rafters?
On a lighter note, as if public humiliation weren’t light enough for you, if you’ve never been here before – we keep an online archive of the last 10 episodes. That should fill up your workday and then some. If you look to the right, you’ll find a link to subscribe to this podcast in iTunes so you can keep listening beyond this visit – or I could just link to it… Subscribe to the Danger Radio Podcast on iTunesRead More
Since they reunited with guitarist Graham Coxon to play London’s Hyde Park in 2009, we have been eagerly awaiting the announcement of a US Tour…. which still has yet to come. The release of a new song. “Fool’s Day” for Record Store Day in 2010, hinted that Blur may be taking the idea of functioning like a band (studio albums, tours, etc.) seriously again.
Blur’s lead man, Damon Albarn, swung through Denver last year as part of the Gorillaz tour, which included Mick Jones (see Big Audio Dynamite below) and Paul Simonon of The Clash on guitar and bass, respectively. The show managed to put a lot of meat in the seats, showing that Albarn, at least in Gorillaz form, still has selling power in the Mile High.
Blur has always sold well in Denver’s medium venues, like The Ogden...Read More
One night as I was smoking just outside of Hi-Dive, I was approached by a drunk girl in a screen-print Clash T-shirt, ripped tights and one of those platinum blond, Tegan and Sara mullets. Struggling to focus, she read out loud the awesome advice my shirt presented to the world. “Listen to Brian Eno.” With a sarcastic, hiccup of a laugh she then asked me if I was being ironic wearing that shirt. Even though I should not have dignified such a stupid question with an answer, I looked at her with much disdain and replied “You really have no idea who Brian Eno is, do you?” I could see the sloshed, snobbery in her face slowly congeal into concern over having her limited appreciation of good music being called out. Did I relish in this come-uppance? Not at all...Read More