Wednesday, February 28, 2007

The Slave is dead, long live The Nightwatchman


Audioslave is dead. That’s more a cause for celebration than mourning as far as most Rage fans are concerned.

Initially, the death of the odd mesh of Soundgarden lead singer Chris Cornell and Rage without vocalist Zack De La Rocha inspired hope that Rage Against the Machine would come back permanently. That may happen, they’ve already gone from a one and done at Coachella to three more shows with the Wu-Tang Clan on this summer’s Rock the Bells Tour.

But what is certain, is that Rage axe man Tom Morello, one of the most innovative and best in the business, has launched his own solo project. With a guttural singing voice backed up by nothing but his own masterful acoustic guitar playing, Morello becomes The Nightwatchman.

The Nightwatchman has to be hands down the coolest solo project name I’ve ever heard. More Morello, while succinct and right to the point and my chosen name for this endeavor, lacks the political flavor the act will intone.

I’ve listened to The Nightwatchman’s first single, Until the End. Sounds like Morello has gotten serious not just about music but about hammering home his politics. Morello, a Harvard graduate who went to high school a few towns north of my hometown, shows that Rage’s message comes from more than Zack De La Rocha’s Chicano experiences growing up in Southern California.

Cornell killed Audioslave because of differences with the rest of the band. I like to think Tom and the rest of the Machine got fed up with making music for money. Cornell, who never came across as the bastion of activism, balked at beefing up Audioslave’s lyrics. Besides, no one took them seriously anyway. So Audioslave imploded, Rage rose for a reunion and Morello went out on his own. Not the ideal scenario for long-suffering Rage fans, but a desirable one none the less.

Coachella has Morello scheduled to play Saturday. The Nightwatchman’s album drops the Tuesday before. You can bet we’ll blare it as the sun rises over New Mexico. Listen to the first single. It’s fitting enough.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Manu Chao may save my life


During a raucous, 2 a.m. on a Sunday night, two-man dance party hosted by the living room in my apartment, Tim and I recently rocketed Manu Chao to the top of acts we are excited about seeing at Coachella – excluding Rage.

I’m a firm believer in karma and coincidences for a reason, so when the Manu Chao song popped up on the bootlegged CD I bought at a street market in Mexico City for about 50 cents on Jan. 2, I instantly became excited about his presence at Coachella. Once I familiarized myself with his work and music, my antcipation intensified.

Forget about our outrageous free time for a moment, and indulge me. Tim and I browsed message boards for reviews of Manu Chao live shows and the phrase “that show changed my life” popped up frequently. One guy saw him in Amsterdam, another in New York City, but they all sung his praises loud.

Speaking of noise, Tim discovered this little anecdote. Kanye West stood to be the most high-powered show at Lollapalooza because the performance marked a hometown hero’s return. Yet West fizzled as 60,000 festival-goers looked on. Meanwhile, on a separate stage, Manu Chao rocked about 6,000 screaming fans. The anecdote Tim found pegs the noise level at six times that of the Kanye fans.

While we are fully prepared to spend most or all of Sunday entrenched in front of Coachella’s main stage, we will unhinge ourselves to catch Manu Chao. But what if his set time conflicts with that of Rage? A very real fear. I can only implore the same forces of karma and coincidence that brought the CD to me to keep the two acts chronologically separate. If my recent efforts to live a better, cleaner life have earned me anything, I would hope it would be to put Manu Chao on directly before Rage.

With a return trip to Mexico seeming less likely given my age and my friend’s attempts to immigrant before June, this could be my last shot at a meaningful, life changing experience for the time being. That may sound far fetched, but go to youtube.com and watch some videos of these guys performing live.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Tim or he who owns the Buick


Tim sparked this whole idea with one sentence: “Rage is playing a show.”

It took all of 24 hours for me and him to decide we had to go, anyway we could. Lucky for us Tim drives a big, old Buick with only about 60,000 miles on it. That beast should ferry us through the desert in comfort, given the enormity of its backseat and cool leather interior, which will probably become sticky as the desert sun does its work.

Like Wayne, Tim also knows a good deal more about these bands than Anthony or myself. He’s helped me become familiar with the Decemberists, Interpol and the New Pornographers. As per my demand, he will don khaki shorts, an Acapulco shirt and a floppy white hat each day during the festival. One’s concert going attire is very important.

A manager at Panera Bread, Tim keeps Anthony and I fed most nights. He hauls home huge bags of pastries and bread. Anthony and I devour them nightly upon his arrival. Tim and I will also put aside a tremendously violent X-Box rivalry for the five days of the trip. No more shouting matches and animosity after heated games of Madden and NBA Street. Just the shared goal of navigating through the desert to arrive at the three days of excellent music that is Coachella.

Tim also has a race against the clock to wage as the date approaches. As per new American travel requirements, one must flash a passport to cross any border. Tim has applied for a passport renewal with plenty of time. His worst enemy now? Possible clerical error.

More on the car later.

Tiesto draws our ire


Tiesto, a dj from the Netherlands whose albums sell for a whopping $18 on half.com, boasts on his myspace page that his "career is punctuated by landmark achievements."

Tim and I immidiately hate him. He was on thin ice anyway after we saw his CD prices, the landmark bragging put him over the top. This guy is the antithesis of everything we stand for. He supports: -price gouging and -success followed by pointing out one's accomplishments. Not our type of guy.

Here's how it plays out. We line up early at Tiesto's set, mostly because we are spiteful individuals that prefer bringing others down to actually having a good time. As he comes out, most of the crowd starts cheering. Notice I said MOST of the crowd. Front and center, right before him, stand Tim and I, arms folded. So disgusted are the looks on our faces, that this dude can't even start to perform. So he engages us in conversation. Mistake.

Boastful, fan-exploiting, European disc jockey: "Vhat is urr provlem?"

Us: "Eightteen bucks? C'mon bro."

Tiesto: "I'm vorth it."

We launch into a deeply personal, explitive-laced attack on this guy. He refuses to perform until security removes the "guy in the red bandana and the other guy in the Acapolco shirt."

With conflict destined, Tim and I set about to research what sort of landmark achievements mark his career. Tiesto was the first dj in the world to sell out a solo stadium with an audience of more than 25,000 for two consecutive nights, he played in front of billions at the opening ceremony in the Olympics and according to his Web site, he "remains grounded about his acheivements and clearly loves making and playing music above the accolades it brings."

So he's humble AND talented? Not our type of guy. However, while researching how much we hate him on his own myspace page, we listened to a bunch of his work. Needless to say we will be front and center for his performance, but unfamiliar with his work given the $18 price tag his albums carry on half.com.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Rage to play three more shows


While we won't see Rage's only reunion show, we will see the first in nearly seven years.

The LA Times has reported that Rage's performance at Coachella will not be the one-and-done the band originally said it would be. Rage, which cited ruthless scalping prizes after Coachella sold out more than 80 days before the show, will play three more dates with the Wu-Tang Clan, which has its first album since 2001 dropping this summer.

That's the bad news. Our trip to Coachella will not culminate with Rage Against the Machine's only reunion show, which would have been infinitly more special than the first of four. These extra shows rob of us of saying we were there for the only. But we can still claim we were there for the first. The pent up aggression will be released upon us.

There is some good news to these added shows. They are in New York, southern California and San Fransisco through out the summer. The romance of ending my college career with an impractical, semi-impulsive road trip to see my favorite rock band lives on. In closing, uhh, no grand insights here. So in the words of Rage, f*ck you, I won't do what you tell me.

The rigors of Coachella


Don’t forget Gold Bond when you hit Coachella, it prevents chaffing and feels like hundreds of little angels blowing on your balls.

So goes the advice of one festival veteran who frequents the Coachella message board. We scoffed at first. I mean, Gold Bond? I’m the wrong age for that right? But who could resist such a choir of strong-lunged angels massaging afore mentioned area? Not us. The Gold Bond shall flow freely.

Before you judge, spend three days in the desert just as summer swings into gear and the sun starts baking the Earth like it means business.

That’s what we’re doing during Coachella. We will wander through the festival area, which lacks shade, averages a temperature more than 90 degrees during late April according to weather.com, and sells bottled water for $2. We will sleep nights under the cooler desert sky, but just the same, we’re going to bake.

The entire weekend stands to be a rigorous physical test. That’s the bad news. Good news is, we’ve identified that and are taking the proper precautions. Our hours funnel into the stair climber, the elevated track at Southern Illinois University’s Recreation Center and the weight room. We need to hold our own in the pit and during the hottest part of the day. We need to be fit.

I may not speak for everyone, but I ask a favor just the same. If you see one of us wandering campus, visiting the Chicago-area or any other random locale, bump us with force, as the crowds at Coachella will. Spill a drink on us, yell in our ear. We will retaliate with malice during the moment, but rest assured, we’ll thank you for it later.

Some of the festival hoopla may catch us off guard –message board vets tell of portable toilets being tipped, crowds smashing fences and festival attendees defecating near the stage in lieu of giving up a spot before an anticipated act – but we will do all we can. Your help is much appreciated.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

'California? I'm in. When?'


Anthony Soufflé decided he was going to Coachella after he heard it involved an impromptu 27-hour drive to the west coast. The conversation died quickly.

“Hey, we’re going to California in April.” – me.

“Ok, I’m in.” –Anthony SoufflĂ©.

Excitement built for him after he learned the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Willie Nelson and Damien Rice planned to perform, but at the heart of his decision to drop more than $300 on tickets and forfeit four days of class for a massive road trip was the adventure.

A big fan of Manu Chao’s aforementioned “Welcome to Tijuana,” Anthony also speaks often of our day trip to Mexico, though I’ve had to assure him that staying in the border city past sundown will not mean instant robbery. We will walk the beach, see some sights, grab a street taco and steer clear of the seedy underbelly. As long as we avoid cheating the narcos or smuggling illegal immigrants, we should return problem-free. That much won Anthony over.

Anthony, who has interned as a photojournalist with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and the Naples Daily News, will also document our trip in a more concrete way than this daily blog. He will photograph.

For a man who often sleeps on our Goodwill couch at any and all times of day, he is also far too concerned with whether our group will get the needed sleep in the sure-to-be raucous camping ground. I plan to drag him into the pit during Rage.

The day of D.W. and flamenco


This man has driven a blue Nissan with no driver’s side window and a busted starter that lets anyone turn the car on, key or no. This man has forgotten his wallet and keys at our apartment and lived his life for a week without.

With a hermit-looking beard that makes one think he’s a second away from pulling the Ten Commandments out from somewhere, this man loves Rodrigo y Gabriela, a duet that covers classic rock with the Spanish guitar music stylings of flamenco. Wait, what?

After I publicized our planned trip to Coachella, I began to learn more about my friends' tastes in music. Many of them scoped the line up, and called or wrote to say “dude, check out X band, they rock.”

My younger brother likes Something Corporate side project Jack’s Mannequin. Interesting. A former co-worker likes the mellow tunes of Air. Not too unexpected. My roommate enjoys the catchy, pop tracks of the New Pornographers. Good, he can burn that for me. D.W. Norris, a sportswriter I once worked with who spouts always interesting and occasionally offensive, outrageous claims as he works, loves Rodrigo y Gabriela, the group that covers “Stairway to Heaven” with flamenco. Wow.

When I watch Rodrigo y Gabriela amazing the Coachella crowd with a Spanish guitar cover of a Metallica song, I will envision D.W. cruising through Carbondale in his busted up Nissan, garbage bag in place of window, blasting flamenco for all to hear.

“I don’t know what it is about that kind of guitar but I really dig it,” he wrote in a myspace message to me.

Don’t we all, my friend. Don’t we all…

Friday, February 23, 2007

Unable to go to Coachella? Wayne laughs at you


Wayne Utterback became the trip’s final addition, though perhaps its most logical. Of the four of us making the trip, none claim as much familiarity with the festival’s line up as he does.

Calling Wayne an educated and passionate music fan sounds accurate but would also make anyone that has met Wayne laugh at the formal description. Wayne, while tapped into most modern music, also owns a flame-patterned hat embroidered with the phrase “this hat has flames on it.”

Wayne, a Sparta native who currently works as editor of entertainment news at Southern Illinois University’s student newspaper, jumped on board the trip last. With our tickets already bought, we set about finding a fourth person to raise spirits and lower gas costs. I convinced Wayne to go with a myspace comment about the power of Rage’s reunion and an instant message conversation detailing the many perks aside from the excellent line up.

With tickets purchased and the trip set, Wayne often wanders the student newspaper’s offices throwing down his three day passes to Coachella and taunting those unable to attend the now sold out event. He also occasionally visits our apartment along the main drag of Carbondale’s poor student apartment complex Lewis Park. When Wayne stops by, we cook steaks, share music and often watch kung fu movies while proclaiming things ranging from “this trip is going to be so awesome” to “dudes, we’re going to Coachella.”

California here we come


California has held an exotic appeal for me since high school when during the painful heart of the Chicago winter I would huddle around a television and watch rollerblading videos from Orange County.

I once aspired to attend the University of Southern California (out-of-state tuition equals down right impossible for me), I dreamed of moving to Los Angeles to try writing screen plays (I've worked in food service before and hope not to repeat it), and I still one day aspire to work in that state. So to say this trip means more to me than three days of music and a day trip to Tijuana seems inaccurate.

In high school, my friends and I spoke of a road trip to end all road trips. We planned to finish our academic careers and adventure across the country, winding our way to southern California. While the friends have changed – one engaged to be married, another mired in student teaching – and the purpose has shifted, the final destination remains the same. Southern California, where we will soak up Sun, revel in hip music and learn what it would be like to live as we've always dreamed.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Meet the Tijuana 3


Don't be surprised if during the first week of May, American news channels start running non-stop coverage of the "Tijuana 3 crisis." And don't be shocked if the mugs they shoot across your screen are those of myself, Anthony, Tim and Wayne.

With this sort of trip, the chance for a major international incident runs throughout. Even as the day trip to Tijuana was born, we joked of such an occurence. So how do we go down? Kidnapped by Narcos? Probably. In a four man brawl with a mob of street women? Less likely. In a blaze of glory that starts in foot chase and ends with one dead, and three of us bound for Mexican jail? For sure.

But before all of that, the logistics must be ironed out. Having paid a few hundred dollars for the three day pass to Coachella, we hope to avoid missing any of the show. The idea goes like this. We drive straight through, no stopping, maybe with diapers like some sort of crazy, love lorn astronaut. We arrive at Coachella on Thursday afternoon, nap for a few hours and head to Tijuana that night.

Ahh, Tijuana the savior of those looking for prescription meds over the counter and women that will laugh at jokes while a paying man puffs a huge cigar. What better way to kick off the festival? Rested, relaxed and with a pocket full of Xantax. International incident be damned, we're heading south of the border.

Also, in the coming days look for profiles of those making the trip.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

An open letter to Billy Corgan


Billy,

It's Zack. You know, Zack Quaintance of Glendale Heights. Yes, that Glendale Heights. We share the same hometown as I so liberally point out to anyone who mentions a love for Smashing Pumpkins or that so and so Joe Nobody is from their respective hometown. If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm very proud of you becoming an international celebrity and having grown up in the same five pawn shop, shit suburb I did. Kudos.

Enough formalities. Let's talk business. I submit that you should, nay, must reunite at this year's upcoming Coachella Arts and Music Festival. I see the Pumpkins are busy playing shows at festivals all across Europe. Bring it home Billy. Play Coachella. Did you ever play park district basketball at the Sports Hub? Or grab a hot dog at the second Portillos ever? You know, the little hut on North Avenue by the bowling alley. In case you haven't been home in a long while, that Portillos has since relocated to North Ave. and Bloomingdale Road. Check it out, same great food, new expanded aesthetics.

Oh yeah, and play Coachella, go Glenbard North and show some love for Glendale Heights.

Sincerely,

Zack Quaintance.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Money is no object


When I was on the fence about this trip, my friend Vince ripped me down with one arguement.

"I'll pay $400 to see Rage, I don't give a fuck," he said. And while not the most eloquent of statements, it was effective none the less. Sure, we plunked down about $330 for the ticket and four day camping pass. Of course we'll spend about $100 each on gas in transit. Then there's food costs plus whatever we rack up in Tijuana. By the end of this this, we'll have plunked down likely around or more than $500. Ouch.

But we get so much in return. Trip to Tijuana, awesome road trip through the southwest, dozens of bands live in concert, four crazy nights in the camping area and the coup de tat, if you will, the reunion of Rage. What kind of fan would I be if I bypassed that to save a few hundred dollars to fetter away at the Gap? Zack De La Rocha would have to kick me in the balls if I submitted to such a temptation.

Rage broke up at the height of their popularity. They haven't played a show in seven years. Tom and the rest of the machine have toiled with Chris Cornell in the mediorcrity that is Audioslave. Zack has galavanted around with the Zapatistas and other causes. There's a bunch of store Rage ready to explode.

So I could Sleep Now in the Fire, or I could Wake Up and Testify. On April 29, Rage returns and hits America like a Bombtrack blasting across television, magazines and Guerrila Radio. With all the other Children of the Sun I'm going with the Bulls on Parade to Coachella.

On the road


Twenty-seven hours seperate Coachella from Carbondale, according to Mapquest, but we're embracing the opportunity to cruise through America's southwest in a nearly three-decades old American-made piece of engineering. We need to play this cool. We walk a fine line between gorgeous, scenic cruise and four sweaty dudes cramped in a Buick.

With more than 60 days ticking away, we have begun to carefully lay out our playlist. Mellow indie bands to ease us through the misery of Oklahoma. Rage Against the Machine as the Sun rises in Albuquerque. The Arcade Fire as the Sun sets in Texas. We stand to see some beautiful scenary.

The logistics scare us a bit. What are we to eat? How about a cooler of 40 sandwiches and fresh fruit? Sounds good to me. Here's some more stuff to be included: ear plugs for those who want sleep on this non-stop ride, bottles for the urine, Scattergories, an atlas, playing cards in the back and a foot massager. We already feel thankful we have this massive, maroon Buick to ferry us to our destination.

Monday, February 19, 2007

The Manu Chao coincidence


"Welcome to Tijuana, tequila, sexo, marijuana," so goes the chorus of the poorly-produced song I discovered on a pirated Bob Marley CD I bought a few days after New Year's at a street market in Mexico City. I learned few of the songs on said CD actually come from Bob Marley after I returned to the discomfort of my apartment in Carbondale, IL.

My roomates and I had a good laugh over the Tijuana song, especially given we had kicked around the idea of a trip south of the border during our upcoming voyage to Coachella. We listened to the track repeatedly during the next few days, until someone had the bright idea to look up the lyrics. That's when we discovered our garage-sounding, Tijuana theme was performed by Manu Chao, a name I swore I had seen before.

Where, oh where did I see that name? Bam! The Coachella poster! This guy will play at Coachella, where the organizers have enlarged his name on the promotional poster second only to Rage. Destiny wants us to take this trip, with a layover in Tijuana of course. I highly recommend checking out Manu Chao's performance of Welcome to Tijuana on YouTube. The guy is a gifted performer.

The plan calls for us to leave the confines of Southern Illinois University Wednesday afternoon, April 25. We drive without stop, arriving at Coachella Thursday around 5 or 6 p.m. We refuel with a few hours of sleep, and then we make the hours drive south for an evening in Tijuana. "Welcome to Tijuana, tequilla, sexo, marijuana."

Bienvenido a Tijuana! Bienvenido mi amor!

Sunday, February 18, 2007

The Plan


Some background seems to be in order. Picture this. It's January in the Midwest, cold sweeps the flat land, major entertainment acts stop in Chicago if at all, and people leave their homes to stop at the mall, a job or a stool in some bar with no dance floor and poor acoustics. You want out, especially if you've just spent three weeks around the holidays ridding your life of booze as you bum around Mexico.

You really want out after your roomate's cat has urinated on your bed for the second time in a week. Given that you have no energy to wash your sheets and your roomate spends most nights out, you settle in his room to read a bit of travel writing about the Caribean before bed. Bed, the stalwart of waking, which inevitably forces you to a high school in a rural community to report and write about wrestling.

The borrowed bedroom door opens and with it the chance for a story to tell grandchildren and the promise of a weekend to get you up and cleaning that cat piss-soaked bed. Rage Against the Machine, a reunion show, a late April festival in southern California. Your other roomate utters these words, after laughing about the cat urine of course.

Within 24 hours you have recruited a pair of friends and laid a plan. You will leave the Midwest. You will cover the hell out of high school wrestling if it brings the funds to run. And you will see Rage Against the Machine, the defining political rock band of your generation, play its first show in seven years. You will go to Coachella.

As the trip reaks of utter irresponsibility and implausability, a need to document seems crucial. This blog stands to do just that. Check back often for updates, pictures and randomness associated with this idea and this trip.