The Remix That Is Kat Stacks

Long ago, Prince Campbell had a blog. Then he didn't. Then he did again. He's like that. He shocks, and makes you think. Unpredictable.

Just like his punchlines.

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I want to first thank Daniel for the chance to write something for his cool and diverse audience.

So what could I write about that would be interesting and informative?

I know.

Kat Stacks

Now you probably never heard of Kat Stacks.

No matter.

Everyone hates her.

Which is kind of a shame seeing that she is following a long tradition of a certain type of female music fan. I mean, not a fan like you who just loves music, but more of the type of fan that loves the musician enough to suck his dick.


Pamela Des Barres was the first groupie to actually become famous without actually putting out any music.

She wrote a book about her sexual exploits with famous musicians. A very popular book that HBO (years after its publication) is trying to make into a television series.




The difference between Pamela and Kat Stacks is that Kat has a blog, a bunch of YouTube videos, and a twitterfeed.

I'm sure her book deal is coming.

Now I could use the space from Daniel (and the time you've given me) to tell you how offensive Kat Stacks is.

Join the chorus of people who spend time putting her down, talking about her dangerous lifestyle, and how she's such a bad example to her son.

But I won't.

Cuz one day I might start a band.

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See?

Peace.

Imagination Monster

Another terrific post from Zane Ewton. I love the creativity I'm getting to share with these guest posts! Reading the music. Hearing the art.

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I did it all wrong. REM is the quintessential college band. You are supposed to discover "Document" in some dorm room during your sophomore year. Then you get to complain that no record that came after that was as good.

I did it wrong. I found "Monster" when I was in junior high school. The stamp is on my forehead. It reads: Not Cool.

"Monster" was my first REM record and it remains my favorite. There is someone in Georgia with long gray hair and an old copy of "Murmur" who wants to stab me right now.

Those classic REM records are timeless. Given their career, the quality control is exceptional in that band. It would be tough to put "Monster" in the list of top five REM albums.

It doesn’t matter to me. I love it when Peter Buck turns his jangly guitars all the way up for the riff on “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?” I love the weird, murky, muddled mess of the whole record.

But that’s just me. I like it when emotional, articulate bands leave their subtlety at home. I like it when they sound like a rock band banging away in a basement. I am sure instead of KISS posters; REM has William S. Burroughs posters on their basement walls. Then Michael Stipe roller skates while Mike Mills plays “Let Me In” on the Farfisa organ and a lurking Peter Buck smokes a cigarette. Bill Berry grows beets.

It must have happened something like that. At least in my imagination.
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And "Monster" is my favorite too.

Peace.

The Doors

Douglas McDunna is a long-time friend of my wife's, and now mine. Along with my wife, he's one of the few who have a hard time really talking about music because it means so much to them. To get him to write this about one of his favorite bands, his favorite gods of music, is pretty cool.

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When I first started listening to the Doors 22 years ago, I was amazed at their ability to transport you to a foreign land or a scene from celtic mythology or maybe a murder. No other band has the power to give me such feelings of inescapable sorrow, unhinged debauchery or the fundamentals of love. The Doors make me want to sit in a car with strangers and drink. They make me want to go to Portugal or sit outside a strange woman's house and wait to watch her. To break free of the bonds we place on ourselves or more importantly the ones other people put on us. To forget everything we've been taught up to now and to start anew for yourself. The Doors have given me ideas to question family, friends and lovers. They are a real american experience, based on a true american invention, the blues. Something so true that there's no question as to what it means to you. WAKE UP ! you can't remember where it was had this dream stopped ?
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Peace.

Isn't It About Ti(me)?

Neither.

I'm just glad that my pieces finally are up in the Mesa Bookmans and can hopefully bring in more for Ear Candy Charity.

Yes it took a long time for them to finish the cafe and to plan a grand opening that would include my work. Yes I hope it increases my exposure locally.

But, my main joy is sharing my passion for music. What better place to do it? What better time?

Our state is gutting education funding, practically broke. Music education for kids? Not likely. So Nate Anderson and Ear Candy are doing their best to keep music alive, right here right now.

So, on June 15th there will be a media night at Bookmans in Mesa, AZ to share both the new cafe and my art. Thus, as of right now, if you're interested in a commission and mention this post, I'll paint the piece for you at the old $175 price with $50 going to Ear Candy.

It isn't about me.

P.S. I've created a new Twitter account, @dedlen. It'll be private and focus on good stuff, not just me broadcasting about my art. So, like with the guest posts here on this blog, I'm trying again to share my love for our culture. Join me if you'd like.

Again, it isn't about me.

Peace.

In(significant)

Here's another beautiful post from Zane Ewton. Having just watched "I'm Not There", this captures Dylan perfectly. Better than the movie I think.

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In a famous 1965 press conference, a young man asked Bob Dylan about the significance of a t-shirt he wore on an album cover. The young man was visibly dismayed to learn the t-shirt was just a t-shirt.

This is the same press conference where Dylan joked about using a song to sell ladies undergarments – about 40 years before his starring role in a Victoria’s Secret commercial.

As remarkable as Bob Dylan’s music is, it has never been enough for his most ardent fans. Every inch of his being must be embroiled in some deeper significance – even his t-shirt.

The folkies described him as a prophet. At least until he went electric. His early monumental works gave him free rein to do whatever he wanted for the next 30 years – whether it was good or not.

Dylan lives outside the realm of popular music culture. Due in part to his musical output as well as his iconoclastic image. It would be unfair to lump him in with rock stars. He isn’t a rock star; he is an artist. More in tune with the creative impulses of Picasso than top 40 radio. Yet he is ingrained into music at a level few people can claim. It’s impossible to pin down Bob Dylan.

Everything about Bob Dylan means something. Nothing about Bob Dylan means anything. It’s all in how you, the listener, take it.

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Peace.