Missing the Big 4 at Yankee Stadium Sucks!10 Experiences that Help Ease My Pain...

I'm devastated to be missing the Big 4 at Yankee Stadium today. But to be perfectly honest, only because I'm missing Anthrax.

I've been a die-hard New York Yankees fan for as long as I can remember, and Anthrax are my favorite metal band. No disrespect to Megadeth, Slayer and Metallica, but I saw them all at the Southern California Big 4 - their Bronx experience will likely be the same.

But missing out on the opportunity to stand on the same Yankee Stadium infield as Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriquez, Robinson Cano and Mark Texiera and revel in the performance of a band that I'm blessed to call friends? A band that are excited beyond words to play on the hallowed ground of a team they love as much as I do, and in the city they call home? That's the type of once in a lifetime opportunity I'm fairly certain I'll never have a chance to experience again.

Which got me to thinking: while I am missing out on this epic afternoon, I have had my share of chances to experience pop-culture history firsthand - here are ten of my favorites...

10. Yankees vs Braves, Game 4 of 1996 World Series
Since we're talking Yankee Stadium, I'll start with the Yankees, who played the Braves in the 1996 World Series. My Bronx Bombers lost the first two games of the series at home, then won Game 3 in Atlanta. I was in Atlanta and had tickets to Game 4, and it was ugly, New York trailing 6-0 after five innings. They had narrowed the margin to 6-3 when Jim Leyritz came to bat in the eighth inning facing Braves closer Mark Wohlers with two runners on - he took him deep, hitting a three-run homer to tie the game. The Yankees would go on to win 8-6 in extra innings, and win the Series in six. One of the most memorable long-balls in Yankee history, and I was there!

9. Lions vs Packers, 1994 NFC Wildcard game
Staying on the sports tip, I had a field pass for the 1994 NFC Wildcard game, where the Green Bay Packers hosted the Detroit Lions in the first found of the NFL playoffs on December 31, 1994. I worked for the Associated Press and was assigned to pre-game coverage in the parking lot - no small feat at Lambeau Field, one of the world's most sacred stadiums and host to some of greatest fans in sports. I needed to file my story and notes when the game started, which took most of the first half - I spent the rest of the game standing on the Green Bay sideline watching the Packers defense dominate the Lions, holding Hall of Fame running back Barry Sanders to -1 yard, and the entire Detroit offense to -4 yards on the ground. Brett Favre ran out the clock by scrambling into his own end zone and giving up an intentional safety to seal the 16-12 Packers victory.

8. Anthrax, House of Blues Anaheim (October 27, 2004)
What was so special about this show? I'll tell you... Frank Bello had briefly left the band, and this tour featured Armored Saint's Joey Vera on bass for Anthrax. But here's where things get crazy - Frank joined Helmet, who also had a show in Anaheim, CA, this night. Helmet's show ended in time for Frank to attend the Anthrax show, and I sat in the front row of the balcony and watched Anthrax - sitting next to Frank Bello. How freaking surreal is that for a piece of Anthrax history that only about a half-dozen of us can share?

7. 2011 Sunset Strip Music Festival
I recently wrote a detailed review of this slice of history, which you can read here. In a nutshell? I experienced The Doors on Friday night at the legendary Whisky A Go Go, then saw Motley Crue headline the third annual street festival Saturday night, literally performing on the Sunset Strip. Two bands that made the Sunset Strip famous, back-to-back. It never happened before, and will likely never happen again.

6. VH1 Behind the Music - Megadeth
I'm no stranger to VH1, but there are a few appearances that stand out for me, including being a featured guest on The List and providing commentary for the Behind The Music on The Cult. But the appearance I'm most proud of? Being featured in the Megadeth Behind the Music. The band is in a dead heat with Anthrax as my favorite metal band, and this was an honor I will forever cherish. We did the interviews at the video shoot for "Motopsycho," and Dave Mustaine was apparently pretty nervous about what I'd say - I'd been a bit too honest about my feelings regarding the Risk album in Metal Edge, and he was worried those sentiments might roll over to the documentary. I'll never forget him coming up to me after reviewing the footage and thanking me for my support and friendship. He remains my favorite personality in metal, bar none.

5. Contributing to David Lee Roth's autobiography
From my favorite personality in metal, to my favorite personality in music - Diamond Dave! I reviewed his Crazy From The Heat autobiography for Metal Edge when it came out in 1998, and apparently Dave took a liking to what I wrote. I was sitting at my desk one morning (not early morning, trust me), and the phone rang - it was Eddie Anderson, David Lee Roth's right hand man. He said that David Lee Roth had a favor to ask (I still can't wrap my head around that, but those were his words!) - the man has been my muse for as long as I've known how to write a sentence, and he wanted to know if he could use part of my book review as the back cover of his softcover release. Ready for the kicker? Eddie proceeded to explain that Dave was not a fan of Metal Edge's history, but he was a fan of mine - would I mind if he just attributed the quote to me, and didn't acknowledge the magazine at all... I've had the pleasure of hanging with Dave many, many times - he even introduced me to John F. Kennedy Jr. - and as great as those memories are, nothing will top the honor of being immortalized on the back cover of his book.

4. Working with the original lineup of KISS
I grew up on KISS, and Alive II was the first record I ever bought. I'll never forget walking out of Caldors with the album... Who knew that someday I'd make KISStory? To the best of my knowledge, there's not another person on this planet that has interviewed all four original members of KISS, done a band photo shoot with all four original members, and photographed an entire live show featuring all four original members. I can literally write a book of my KISS experiences, and have the photos to document them all - who knows, maybe someday. An honor and a privilege that I don't take for granted.

3. Ozzy Osbourne plays me Under Cover
I've had countless bands play me their new music before it's been released (or even completed, for that matter), but never quite like this... I was invited to the Osbourne house to interview Ozzy in summer 2005, and when we were done with the interview he asked me if I wanted to hear some of the songs he mentioned while we were talking - uhm, hell yeah! Ozzy leads me into his study and proceeds to play me selections from the Under Cover album on his stereo, with stories and explanations of each. I had tears in my eyes as he played me John Lennon's "Woman" after explaining how he recorded it for Sharon... Yeah, I wiped tears from eyes in front of Ozzy - what's more metal than that? Ozzy fucking rules. Period.

2. Paul McCartney & Roger Waters at Coachella
These shows were the perfect storms. I was raised on oldies, not the Beatles, so I discovered the Fab Four late in life - but when I fell, I fell hard and fast (I swear I appreciate them more as a result). A friend asked me to see McCartney at the Staples Center with him several years ago, and I was an instant convert. The Beatles are my wife's favorite band, and I absorbed the inner depths of their catalog like a sponge. Being able to see McCartney headline Coachella in 2009 with my wife and some of our closest friends was a celebration I'll never forget and one of the greatest concert experiences of my life. Roger Waters headlined Coachella on his Dark Side of the Moon tour the following year, and that was a much more personal experience for me - Pink Floyd are one of my favorite bands of all-time, and the set was an epiphany. Practically a religious experience...

1. Pope Benedict XVI leading mass at the Vatican
Yes, I realize I just called Roger Waters a religious experience - but music means that much to me. My wife and I went to Italy for our honeymoon and our time in Rome coincided with a mass Pope Benedict was celebrating at St. Peter's Basilica on October 9, 2008, commemorating the 50th anniversary of Pope Pius XII's death. We didn't expect to be able to attend, but we wanted to try... We found ourselves in a Vatican line that we assumed was for sightseeing, and when we passed through security and got to the front they told us we couldn't go further unless we were attending the mass. We said we were - and it was really that simple! It was literally a religious experience - Pope Benedict passed within a few feet of us, and people reacted as you'd expect, but also as you could never imagine. Think of the biggest celebrity in the world - this was a hundred times that. This topped anything I've ever experienced in music.

September 11, 2001 - Never Forget!We the People Need to Remember 9/11

I'll never forget the events of 9/11.

I was staying at the W hotel in Chicago, where I had flown in for the band Soil's CD release party for the album Scars, one of several great records that was to be released that day.

My college roommate and his girlfriend had driven down from Milwaukee the night before and spent the night in the room, and our cellphones started ringing shortly after 7:45 am - and we ignored them. But Christian's mother is persistent. He finally answered, half asleep, and I heard, "yes mother, we'll turn on the news when we wake up..." He then mumbled something about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center, which we all assumed was a prop plane or twin engine... We commented on the tragedy, but weren't awake enough to really grasp the potential gravity of the situation.

Then my girlfriend called from Los Angeles, and considering it was barely sunrise there, I knew I had to answer - she told me to turn on CNN. At this point, it was about ten minutes after American Airlines Flight 11 had impacted the World Trade Center North Tower.

My college roommate and I were political nuts and news junkies - and we, like most Americans, never even thought to imagine that the first crash was a terrorist attack.

Then we watched United Airlines Flight 175 fly into the World Trade Center South Tower live.

How much have the events of that morning changed our lives? When we went to bed on September 10, 2011, we lived in a country where terrorism wasn't even a consideration. When we woke up the next morning, terrorism became the new assumption.

From the moment that second plane impacted the World Trade Center, every horrific act of the next decade has been a suspected act of terrorism until proven otherwise.

So there we sat for the next several hours, sitting in the hotel room glued to CNN in awe of the events unfolding before us.



For me it hit even closer to home - I'm New York at heart, and was raised an hour north of the city. I had moved from Manhattan to Los Angeles a few months earlier, and watching the chaos that enveloped what I still consider home, I felt paralyzed by despair and hopelessness.

Then the Pentagon was hit by American Airlines Flight 77, and the rumors started - the next plane is heading for the Capitol... The White House... The Sears Tower... The Sears Tower was located only a few blocks from our hotel in downtown Chicago, and our lobby became something of an evacuation hotbed.

Soil were flying home from Florida for the night's release party at the time of the attacks, and it took us the better part of the morning to confirm they were alive and well. We were lucky to even find out - it seemed like everyone I knew on the East Coast had a personal connection to the attacks, and very few people had answers.

Cell phones weren't working in Manhattan, and those who were safe had virtually no way to communicate with their loved ones. I had an acquaintance who, for three days, we thought died in one of the towers - it took him that long to start reaching out to people after the initial shock of the day's events had subsided and he'd finally been reunited with his wife and children in New Jersey.

Streets and highways were closed. Mass transit shut down. It was a war zone in lower Manhattan, and New York was bracing itself for any potential attacks that might come next.

In wake of the three successful attacks, when United Airlines Flight 93 did a nosedive into a desolate field near Shanksville, PA, instantly killing everyone on board, its passengers became instant heroes, sacrificing themselves to spare America yet another symbolic battle scar on the most horrific day of our young country's history.

Realizing that I wouldn't be returning to L.A. anytime soon, I drove back to Milwaukee with my roommate that afternoon on what was the emptiest I94 I've ever experienced. We went to grab a few drinks that night, and the feeling in the off-the-beaten-path Milwaukee bar couldn't be more somber.

New York was attacked, but America felt the pain. People who knew New York from little more than Friends and Seinfeld episodes felt united as a people. I'm not talking about me and my roommate, who had eaten in the World Trade Center Windows on the World restaurant a few years earlier with his grandmother - I'm talking about people who had never left a two hour radius of their Midwest home, but suddenly felt a patriotism like never before.

If there was good to come from the attacks, that was it - America was united in tragedy. We weren't Democrats and Republicans, we were Americans. We weren't an East Coast and West Coast looking down our noses at each other with superiority complexes, we were bookends of a great nation standing united, tall, proud and together. In the weeks that followed, all the political bullshit that tears our country apart was nothing but a hazy mist in our rear view mirror.

We were Americans, and we were one people. We believed in our government, and we believed in each other. We embraced the freedom that makes our country great, and we understood what that freedom meant to the rest of the world. We weren't afraid to be strong, because we had no other option.

For the first time, my generation had to be strong because my generation couldn't be weak. We were raised soft, but now we knew what it meant to live hard... Not as hard as our ancestors, but this was our test, and we would rise from the ashes.

Or so we thought.

In time, America forgot. Republicans returned to their role as boogeyman, and Democrats returned to their pulpits, preaching that the only way to be a country again is to change the very principals our nation was built upon.

Americans soon forgot what it was like to be one nation under God (whoever that God may be), because it is easier to be a nation divided. It is easier to blame the other side than it is to fight for change, and it is easier to live in the now than it is to learn from our past and build for a better future.

9/11 changed America - but we live in a country with Attention Deficit Disorder. We live in a land where it is easier to read the headline than it is to understand the story. And we live in a country where it is easier to make excuses than it is to hunker down and get the job done.

America changed, but it didn't take long for America to change back.

America forgot.

America needs to remember - and America needs to never forget what happened on September 11, 2001.

Happy Fourth of July!

Freedom doesn't come without a price - as we celebrate our independence, let's take a moment to remember the price we've paid and the responsibilities we have... Happy fourth of July!

Jon Stewart, Donald Trump, Sarah Palin & pizza? This... This is some good stuff...

'DAVE MUSTAINE: A Heavy Metal Memoir'(file under 'Hidden Treasures')

I've been catching up on long-overdue reading lately, and took advantage of the Memorial Day weekend to read Megadeth mastermind Dave Mustaine's aptly titled autobiography Mustaine: A Heavy Metal Memoir. I loved the book, and mentioned on Twitter yesterday that it was the best rock bio I've ever read, and a must-read for anyone with even a passing interest in mainstream metal.

A friend of mine - a New York Times bestselling author in his own right - asked me what made it my favorite rock bio, and I told him my answer was too long for a text message. Here's my response...

Truth be told, rock bios aren't my favorite books to read, typically because I fear for the impact they may have on my relationship with an artist's art. Sound confusing? I can explain.

I love music because of the way it makes me feel, not because of the way the artists that perform it make me feel. When I was introduced to Megadeth, it wasn't Dave Mustaine that I developed a relationship with, it was his band's music. Maybe I felt a connection to a lyric. Maybe I was driven by the energy of the song. Maybe it was a combination of both, or maybe it was something altogether different. But it was the music that moved me, and it was my interpretation and response to that music that was (and remains) alive inside me.

Yes, I understand that by getting closer to the artist, you can get closer to their art - but after two decades of interviewing artists for a living, I have found that quite often the opposite proves true. The more I learn about an artist, the more distant I sometimes start to feel from their music - their music becomes more about their story, and less about my story with the music. And that is why I tend to not appreciate rock bios as much as other fans might...

Which brings us to this memoir.

My two favorite metal bands are Anthrax and Megadeth (consider them tied, I do), and my favorite metal personality is Dave Mustaine. Yes, he's a rock star, but I also see a lot of similarities between our personalities - from hearty cynicism and a dry sense of humor, to an outspoken personality and oft-misunderstood private nature.

I've interviewed Mustaine countless times, and being asked to appear in the Megadeth Behind the Music and on the band's Rude Awakening DVD are career highlights for me. After twenty years, I'd safely consider us friendly... friends, but not particularly close.

So it is with both thirst and trepidation that I picked up this book. I honor Mustaine's mystique as much as anyone's in metal, and while I'd love the opportunity to better understand him, the last thing I would ever want is for that understanding to sour one of my favorite bands, and favorite frontman.

But this book was remarkable. Mustaine's personality and spirit echo throughout, only enhancing what just may be the most fascinating story in heavy metal history. The underbelly of the book is Mustaine's place as an original member and principal songwriter of Metallica. Yes, this is only his side of the much-publicized rift between him and his former bandmates, but if you've seen Metallica's Some Kind Of Monster, you know that there aren't many, if any, discrepancies.

From a heavy metal perspective, that alone makes the book required reading. Even if taken with a grain of salt, you can't help but raise an eyebrow at the history Mega-Dave and Metallica shared.

From there, Mustaine's inner turmoil is the backbone of the book, and Megadeth is the spinal fluid that fills it - what I found most compelling about both is that Mustaine never points a finger at anyone without similarly pointing one at himself. The book doesn't mince words, and the book doesn't tread lightly. It hits hard, and takes as many punches as it lands.

But the best part isn't the grit. The best part is the way that the grit sands Mustaine's character throughout, shaping him into a different person by the book's end. This isn't the story of drug use and rehabilitation, it's the story of standing toe to toe with one's demons and knowing that even if you can't win every battle, life is a war worth fighting.

While I can't relate to Dave Mustaine's lifetime of drug use, I can relate to the spiritual core that he discovers more than 300 pages later, and that is the type of revelation that makes this book a triumph to read - and Megadeth's music twice as triumphant to listen to after you've turned the final page.

Why is Dave Mustaine: A Heavy Metal Memoir my favorite rock bio? Because it did what I wish every rock bio could do - it offered me a profound insight into music I love, made me feel a heightened kinship with the artist behind the music, and it made me appreciate one of my favorite bands even more.


TWITTER: Dave Mustaine
TWITTER: Megadeth
TWITTER: Paul Gargano

Don't let Tommy Lee's penis scare you...Take a trip to 'Tommyland'

I honestly had no intention of reading Tommy Lee's book when it came out several years ago - not because I didn't care, but because when I heard it was co-written by his penis, well, yeah, then my interest admittedly faded.

I have a thing for Tommy Lee - not in a man-crush sort of way (not that there's anything wrong with that), but in a way where his passion for music resonates so much that it makes me feel a connection to him like I have with some of my best friends. I've got friends who I can talk about music with for hours on end - we don't even pause to refill our glasses, we just talk louder above the clinking ice and clanking bottles. Tommy seems like one of those guys.

The thing I like most is that Tommy isn't a stereotypical meat-head rocker who likes nothing that doesn't have screaming guitars and vocals that flirt with the stratosphere. No, he just loves music - and all kinds of it. Like me, he's drawn to anything that moves him, from Cheap Trick to Massive Attack to Daft Punk and beyond.

Music, to me, is about feeling a primal connection. It's about sparking that thing inside you that makes you feel like nothing else on the planet can make you feel in a given moment. It's spiritual, and it touches your soul.

And that's almost how I felt reading Tommyland, T-Lee's autobiography. I'm not getting Biblical or anything, I just really appreciate the man's zest for life.

I got a library card a few weeks ago, and Tommyland was the first book I saw when I walked over to the racks. It called out to me, and I grabbed it. Corny? Maybe. But it happens. Like I said, I never felt compelled to read a book narrated by a penis. And to be fair, since its release in 2004, not a single person has told me that this was a book I needed to read.

Which is why I'm telling you now - if you know how to read (which I think you've got covered if we made it this far) and have even a fleeting interest in the concepts of celebrity and pop culture, I highly recommend Tommyland.

Yes, I said highly.

To be clear, his penis only makes random commentary throughout (thankfully, less and less the further and better the book gets). And given that Motley Crue released their own band autobiography, The Dirt, in 2002, there's not even a lot of talk about Motley Crue.

Instead, it's an unflinching look inside the head of what makes one of music's biggest icons tick. The chapter about his meeting Pamela Anderson is literally laugh-out-loud funny, the two recounting their very different recollections of a weekend in Mexico that led to marriage. His discussions of his children are heartwarming, there is heartache in his divorce from Pamela, and we share heartbreak in the chapter that details the death of his son's 4-year-old friend in his Malibu swimming pool.

No, it's not Nobel Prize material, but Tommy Lee would never claim to be a budding laureate. It is raw emotion, and an honest and unwavering look at a side of celebrity that most people don't take the time to acknowledge - the human side. You sit right alongside Tommy Lee in his jail cell, and rant right alongside him at paparazzi.

And, in defense of his penis, as heavy as things do get (I'm talking about the subject matter, not... well, I'm sure you've heard the stories...), you can't blame the guy for trying to lighten the mood. I read a lot, and I'm partial to biographies and autobiographies - Tommyland is one of the more engaging bios I've read.

The book has its flaws, but don't we all? If you offend easily, it gets pretty raunchy, but in the end it's the passion and honesty of the writing that prevails.

I returned my copy to the library today, but I assure you I'll be buying a copy of my own. It's one of those books I want to be able to hand to someone, with the assurance that they'll come out with a whole new perspective on a person they thought they knew everything about.

It may have taken me 6 1/2 years to finally visit Tommyland, but it's a trip I'm glad I finally took.

RANDY "MACHO MAN" SAVAGE(November 15, 1952 - May 20, 2011)

Growing up, I can't remember not loving professional wrestling. It wasn't on every night of the week, there weren't monthly pay per views that cost more to watch than you'd make working two days at a part-time job, and it still embraced subtleties and nuances, rather than bombastic pomp and over-the-top circumstances.

Randy "Macho Man" Savage was instrumental in changing that.

My parents probably don't know this, but it was my grandmother who really got me into professional wrestling. She was Polish (the only of my four grandparents that wasn't Italian), and she loved Ivan "The Polish Hammer" Putski. As legend has it, she broke the arm off a chair watching him wrestle one time - because that's what wrestling meant in the '70s.

If you were Italian, Bruno Sammartino was to wrestling what Joe Dimaggio was to baseball. Pedro Morales was there for Latinos, and Bob Backlund was our squeaky clean, red-white-and-blue champion who would never cheat to win, and would never fight dirty until his opponents forced his hand. [Unrelated aside: I swam competitively against his daughter, with him sitting in the stands!] The Grand Wizard, Freddie Blassie and Captain Lou Albano were diabolical managers who represented everything bad in the world, while Arnold Skaaland was their baby-faced counterpart, crusading against their conniving, back-handed ways with a work ethic that epitomized the prevailing spirit of blue collar America.

The bad guys back then were truly bad guys, and you never cheered for them. It wasn't allowed. But today, "Magnificent" Don Muraco would be the people's hero with his smug arrogance and cocky swagger, and fans would give Blackjack Mulligan an ovation to see his leather claw turn an opponent's head into a bloody cheese grater. I remember crying when Superstar Billy Graham tore Bob Backlund's championship belt in half, and I can still remember the horror, shock and seething hatred I felt when Captain Lou Albano turned on his greatest heel, pulverizing Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka with his own South Pacific headband before Ray "The Crippler" Stevens piledrived him twice into the bloodied concrete floor.

At the time, wrestling was restricted to black and white televisions with bunny ear antennas. My parents didn't want me staying up until midnight to watch, but I watched anyway. Sometimes the reception was so bad all I could do was listen. Sometimes I had to watch with the volume off so my parents couldn't hear. But I always had to watch. I used to love when my grandmother would babysit because I could stay up late and watch with her in the living room.

That was before Randy Savage.

In my mind, he and Hulk Hogan represented the end of an era and the dawn of another. The Hulkster and Macho Man brought wrestling out of black and white and into color - off of local affiliate channel 9's overnight and onto NBC prime time. It was the vision of Vince McMahon Jr, carried out on the backs and charisma of his wrestlers.

And Macho Man was the manifestation of charisma. He was Gorgeous George, Superstar Billy Graham and an '80s rock star, all rolled into one. And when he anointed Miss Elizabeth his manager, the WWF's first Diva was born. That's what I love most about the clip above - it is everything Randy "Macho Man" Savage helped wrestling become.

It is not a barrage of coconuts to the head, it is three minutes of theater building to the Honky Tonk Man's guitar pop. Professional wrestling went from carnival attraction to three ring circus. From gray and grainy to neon technicolor. From Cold War simplicity to turn-of-the-millennium complexity. From sport to entertainment.

In my lifetime, professional wrestling has been a mirror of American culture - and today, with the passing of Randy "Macho Man" Savage, that mirror sustained a horrible crack.

Rest in peace, Randy...

SLASH AND BURN @ SUPER BOWL XLVBlack Eyed Peas pack serious halftime heat

The only thing I found annoying about the Black Eyed Peas halftime performance during yesterday's Super Bowl, was the outpouring of hyperbole and criticism that followed.

We live in a culture of hatred and entitlement, and I'm finding it harder and harder to disguise my disgust. It used to be you needed a modicum of training, etiquette and professionalism to be a critic. Now all you need is an internet connection.

Spelling, grammar and any hint of education are optional, and typically frowned upon.

Just because you and all of your like-minded friends may agree that you hate the Black Eyed Peas, does not mean that the Black Eyed Peas suck. It just means that you don't like the Black Eyed Peas. I follow a disproportional number of rock fans on Twitter, and I could have predicted their reaction before the halftime show even started. But that was tame compared to the reaction at the party I was at, where I was standing between members of the Guns N Roses camp.

The tough crowd got even tougher when the "Sweet Child O' Mine" cover started and Fergie delivered a little Axl Rose slither as she cozied up alongside Slash, GnR's iconic ex-guitarist.

I'm an Axl Rose loyalist to the core - but, admittedly, even that collaboration didn't bother me that much. The Super Bowl halftime show is arguably the biggest stage there is in music - can you blame the Black Eyed Peas for pulling out all the stops?

Unfortunately, they didn't sound great. But it's the halftime SHOW, not the halftime CONCERT. The spectacle was huge, and it delivered. No, maybe the performers didn't deliver as well as they - and others - may have liked, but if you are watching the Super Bowl with the sole intention of critiquing ads and the halftime show, you're part of today's problem, not part of the solution.

The Super Bowl is a worldwide institution and, in a lot of ways, its prevailing hooplah has come to represent everything that's wrong with America as we spiral through the 21st century as a culture of lemmings that care more about being heard, than about right, fair or even articulate.

I never got the guy's name, but I had a great conversation in the third quarter about how much money was spent on advertising, and where all that advertising money comes from... Us.

We're in a recession, but we're still fueling an economy that continues to cater to excess at a time when we should be dialing our habits down. I don't care how much money Budweiser pays to license a classic Elton John song, their product still tastes more like stale piss to me than it does beer.

Which brings me back to the Black Eyed Peas...

They are a pop music phenomenon, not a live music staple. Their songs are built around club beats and designed for dance floors, not live performances. And if you want to compare them musically to any other act that's performed halftime in recent memory, you're just advertising your own tunnel vision.

Black Eyed Peas are a production team, not a rock band. And they're damn good at what they do. In fact, they are amongst the best. That show last night was visually stunning, even if the vocals fell a little flat. But you know what? At least they were singing (or trying, as the case may be) - I'd rather relish the effort amidst the spectacle, than watch a lip-sync laughathon.

It didn't take a sound engineer to know there were sound problems. All their mics cut out at one point or another, and that's not the band's fault. Who knows what they were actually hearing on stage? Am I making excuses? Yes, I am - but I tuned in to watch the Super Bowl, not play armchair quarterback and pass judgment on the bells and whistles that surrounded the game.

Last night's game was a phenomenal steak dinner. The Black Eyes Peas performance was akin to finding some wilted lettuce in a salad that is highlighted by some superb blue cheese dressing.

If you're tuning into the Super Bowl to get your music fix, I feel sorry for you - there's so much more out there, you just need to open your ears and listen. And if you're one of those people screaming that the Black Eyed Peas suck and are a musical travesty, maybe it's time to look beyond your own short-sightedness.

They don't suck,they're just not your thing. To the masses that are not metal fans, Slipknot suck so hard they should change their name to Hoover. That doesn't make me appreciate them any less. Green Day is the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to me - that doesn't mean that they suck, it just means that they're not my thing.

To each their own... But we live in America, where people are incapable of compromise. It's all or nothing, and our way or the highway.

If you're liberal, all conservatives are evil. Period.

And if you're a rock fan watching the Black Eyed Peas during the Super Bowl, you've judged them before you even stop to consider the very nature of what they do, or how they do it. Yes, their performance wasn't perfect, but they were playing the Super Bowl, not the Grammy Awards.

It was a football game, and they provided a halftime spectacle - and an excellent one at that. To say that Fergie can't sing is just flat-out wrong - she can sing, even if she wasn't in top form Sunday night.

If you would care to discuss how your definition of music is different than a Black Eyed Peas fan's definition of music, that's another story altogether - but, again, we are talking about opinions, not facts.

I just think back to how I felt growing up, being a fan of heavy metal and having people talk down to me because that wasn't what they consider "real" music.

I remember how it felt when people would tell me that Metallica sucked, when in fact they were just scared and intimidated of the band and what they stood for. They said they aren't music, they're noise. Those judgmental people helped shape me into the person I am today - and those memories are what make me want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.

As Dan Akroyd said in the cinematic opus Spies Like Us - we mock what we don't understand.

As for the Super Bowl? Don't hate the playas just cuz you don't like the game.

And as for me? I like the Black Eyed Peas, and all the boom boom pow they deliver.

Every time Michael Vick gets hit,an angel dog earns its wings...

I believe that Michael Vick deserves a second chance in life, I just don't believe that he deserves a second chance to play in the National Football League.

He facilitated and expedited the rape of dogs, where females were bound to poles so that they could be forcefully and violently impregnated. The puppies were then raised and trained to be fighters and killers, neglected to sharpen their survival instincts, and tortured to instill a horrifying sense of fear and tolerance of pain.

Then the dogs were pitted against each other for Michael Vick and his crew's sadistic pleasure and gambling enjoyment.

If the losing dogs were lucky, they'd be killed in cold blood.

The dogs that weren't killed, were left alive to be tortured and abused more, only to fight another day.

This wasn't a momentary lapse in judgment on Michael Vick's part, and it wasn't an accident. It was premeditated, callously calculated, and carried out with painstaking attention to every heinous detail.

Over, and over, and over again.

This isn't about what Michael Vick allegedly did, this is about what he confessed to doing. There's no grey area in what may or may not have happened - it happened, and he's not denying a single bit of it.

According to a court of law, he served his legal debt to society. But what about his moral debt to society? The debt that can't be paid off by a donation to the Humane Society, or by visiting a handful of inner-city schools and trying to explain why what he did was wrong, despite the fact that he still makes excuses for his behavior.

Because, in the end, it didn't matter that what he did was wrong - when the time came to be held accountable for deciding to embrace being a thug instead of a professional athlete and role model, the Philadelphia Eagles welcomed him back with opened arms.

And when that opportunity turned into one of the most remarkable physical comebacks in the history of professional sports, Barack Obama - the President of the United States, the leader of the free world, and the man that hung his election on a mantra of hope - called the Eagles' owner to commend the team for giving Michael Vick a second chance.

Because everybody deserves a second chance.

Bullshit.

Michael Vick has been coddled since the day his opportunistic handlers realized he was a goldmine of athletic potential.

Money. Gifts. Attention. Excuses.

All in abundance. All without accountability.

He received a scholarship to Virginia Tech, and every opportunity in the world to advance his lot in life. To improve the world of those around him. And to be an example for others to emulate.

Instead, he chose to remain a thug. A thug who could tuck a football under his arm and run - a thug with carte blanche to take his miscreant ways off the street, and behind closed doors.

Should Michael Vick get a second chance? Of course he should - in life. Not in the National Football League.

America is a country in crisis, and our youth need role models to emulate, not a path of excuses defined by moral cop-outs.

Michael Vick was given every opportunity to rise above the culture he claims dictated his behavior and handling of dogs. Yet he chose to defy those opportunities, and mock the establishment that presented him with a once-in-a-lifetime chance to cash in a golden ticket.

Let his second chance at success be outside the National Football League. Let him use the college education that he got for free... What? He didn't graduate? Maybe he should have thought of that before he entered the NFL following his sophomore year of college.

He strapped his entire future to a professional sport that, even in failure, could make him enough money to last a lifetime. Yet he respected that sport so little that he needed to raise, train, torture and kill dogs for personal fulfillment.

It doesn't matter how many schools he speaks to, the real message to those students is loud and clear - you can make a grave, calculated, callous and criminal mistake so heinous that the end result would make anyone with a conscience's stomach curdle, and as long as you can blame your upbringing, even the President of the United States will have your back.

America needs to stop making excuses, and America needs to stop accepting excuses.

America needs to stand for something, or we'll fall for anything.

And right now, we're falling hard.

I've boycotted the Philadelphia Eagles all season long, refusing to watch or support any team that would give an opportunity to a man that epitomizes everything I think is wrong with America today.

I have also boycotted Nike since they announced that they would again endorse Michael Vick. If Nike choose to make him a face of their company, Nike are making a bold statement that they don't want me buying their clothing.

I am breaking my Philadelphia Eagles boycott to watch my Green Bay Packers make the trip to the City of Brotherly Thugs for the opening round of the playoffs.

Not because I want to watch Michael Vick, but because I want to watch the Green Bay Packers - a team I grew to love as a college student in Milwaukee, where they played half their home games. And a team I learned to love even more when I covered them for the Associated Press in the mid-'90s.

Make no mistake, the game is about more than football for me - it is a battle for control of America's moral compass. A compass that may be cracked, but a compass that can still be repaired.

I am not, and will not, end my boycott of Nike.

We need to stand for something, or we'll fall for anything.

And America needs to stop falling.

Humanely raised and handled... then killed

I love meat. A lot.

You know what makes meat even better? More meat. What isn't better with bacon?

Meat is so good, they make fake meat for people who choose not to eat meat. I call it the comedy section at the grocery store - the part of the refrigerated/frozen food aisle where they have the chicken-flavored tofu, so that the people that are fundamentally opposed to eating meat, can still savor the taste of the thing they're opposed to eating, while they pretend to eat it.

If it bothers you so much to eat meat, shouldn't it bother you just as much to be reminded of eating meat while you're going out of your way to not eat meat? But I digress...

The Counter is a hamburger chain that's all the rage in Los Angeles, and they recently opened one a few blocks from our house. Knowing that I love me some bacon cheeseburger (the more animal products the better), my wife snapped up a Blackboard Eats discount they were running, and sent me a link to the menu that I copied above.

We've established that I don't have a problem eating meat, right? Even so, I had to laugh at the box boasting "Humanely Raised + Handled" Angus Beef.

That's right the beef at The Counter is HUMANELY raised and handled - then killed, for our eating pleasure.

After I take that first bite of medium-rare, humanely raised and handled, 100% Angus good eats, I'll let you know if I can taste the difference...

INVEST IN MUSIC A new year's resolution that pays dividends

(Published Dec. 27, 2010 by OurStage.com)


Standing on the Staples Center floor during Roger Waters’ first of five sold-out Southern California performances of The Wall this month, I marveled at how much music has changed since I first became a fan.

To call myself anything short of obsessive as a teenager would be an understatement – but I wasn’t alone, that was how music made a lot of us feel. It wasn’t enough to know everything about the bands we loved, we also wanted to know everything about the bands they loved. We wanted to know why they wore the shirts they wore, and who inspired the lyrics they wrote.

When Anthrax covered a Joe Jackson song, I had to go out and buy the album it was from. When Lars Ulrich talked about the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, I needed to know the bands he was championing. And when I discovered industrial music, I needed to also discover early innovators like Einstürzende Neubauten.

It was my responsibility as a fan, and I took that responsibility seriously. I went to record stores to find new music, read magazines to learn about inspiration and influence, and listened to the radio for news and information. The word fan is derived from the word fanatic for a reason – being a fan took effort, and our efforts were rewarded in kind.

Music wasn’t background noise then, it was the soundtrack to our lives. It meant something, because we needed it to mean something. Our favorite bands helped shape our identity, and that identity couldn’t be researched for free on the internet, bought for .99 on iTunes, and adorned for $19.99 at Hot Topic.

Today, there is no effort required...

(To continue reading, please click here to visit OurStage.com)

Remembering Dave Kirby

A week ago today, TKO [The Kirby Organization] founder and Chairman Dave Kirby lost his battle with prostate cancer. Dave was diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer in 2009 and, at that time, made the decision that he was going to devote the final months of his life to his wife and two teenage sons. Nobody outside his inner-most circle knew of his condition until he passed away Saturday in his Manhattan Beach home.

I first met Dave Kirby in New York in the mid-‘90s. I was Executive Editor of a rock magazine, and he was the agent for seemingly every band I covered. It was over our early and mutual belief in bands like Sevendust, Slipknot, Disturbed and Evanescence – bands whose careers he was instrumental in breaking – that we bonded over drinks at shows, standing in the back of venues like Roseland Ballroom, Coney Island High and Irving Plaza, comparing thoughts on the direction that heavy music was heading.

Dave viewed the road as not only the ultimate marketing tool, but also a key cog in the artist development wheel, and he was constantly applying that mindset to the bands on his roster, which now include Buckcherry, Anthrax, The Cult, Drowning Pool, Kittie, Hank III, Mudvayne and Motorhead. Over the years, I worked with him in several different capacities, from handling content for his website and press for his company, to even managing an act on his roster. Regardless of the project, Dave always had a vision.

Whether he was orchestrating packages for his largest clients, or plotting a road plan for an emerging artist, a meeting with Dave was like being in the midst of a chess game. It was actually an ongoing joke - if we had an 11am meeting, I could count on it being delayed until at least after lunch. Then I could expect to watch two CNN news cycles in his office while he seemed to take care of everything but our scheduled appointment.

If anyone else did that it would piss me off, but not Dave. The longer I'd sit in his office, the more I would learn - his people skills were epic. He could push buttons, then diffuse them a moment later. If it seemed like Dave was more interested in comparing Canadian and American politics, that's only because he was already two steps ahead of the meeting he was entertaining. And when there was a problem? Dave could mediate like no other.

As anyone that worked closely with Dave will attest, his greatest attribute was his loyalty. Once you earned Dave’s respect, you had it forever. And he always had your back. Was he outspoken? Of course he was. But like most successful businessmen, that became part of his charm. Dave Kirby defied the rules, abided by his instincts, and was beholden to nothing more than his gut.

And isn’t that what great music is all about? Great music, and great music executives. With the exception of maybe Sharon Osbourne, Dave did more for hard rock and heavy metal in the past fifteen years than anyone I can recall. And even OZZfest has Dave to thank - in 2001 alone, he represented eleven bands on the tour.

When I argued that we shouldn’t try and keep his cancer under wraps, suggesting that we should go public before rumors start to take on a life of their own, he just shook his head and said not to worry… And in typical Dave Kirby fashion, everything worked out. No, not for the best – we lost a great man to a crippling disease. But Dave Kirby had a plan, and he never strayed from it.

He died in his own bed, in the arms of his wife and the glow of his sons. He went out with dignity and pride, and he didn’t stress his friends and colleagues over worrying about how to act or how to feel. He didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him, he just wanted to cherish the time he had left with the people he loved most.

He left this life like he lived life – on his own terms. And in the end, just like the careers of the countless bands he launched, his plan was an unmitigated success. Right down to putting a team in place that he knew would not only carry TKO into the future, but also further his legacy of developing artists on the road and in front of fans, where their music means the most.

Dave believed that a major problem with today’s music industry is that too many people can’t see the proverbial forest through the trees. He knew that to have a forest, first you needed to grow the trees – and the stronger the trees, the stronger the forest.

If everyone in this business worried as much as Dave did about growing strong trees, I can only imagine how much stronger this industry would be…

Rest in peace, Dave, you’ve earned it!

DaveKirby.1000memories.com

LINKS:
TKO on Twitter
TKO on Tumblr
TKO on Facebook
Paul Gargano on Twitter

DAVE KIRBYJuly 10, 1954 - September 18, 2010

It is with deep sorrow that The Kirby Organization [TKO] announces the passing of their founder and Chairman, Dave Kirby, who succumbed Saturday to a prolonged battle with prostate cancer.

Dave was diagnosed in 2009, and upon receiving the news that his condition was inoperable and terminal, elected to take a backseat in the control of the company in order to spend his final months with his family – his wife Christine, and teenage sons David and Alex. While the cancer had taken a toll, he died in his own home, in his own bed, with dignity, and surrounded by love. He was 56 years old.

In lieu of flowers, it is requested that donations be made to the Prostate Cancer Foundation in Dave Kirby’s name. To share memories of Dave, please visit his online memorial at 1000memories.com. A public celebration of his life is planned for late October, with details to be forthcoming.

TKO will continue to flourish as a company as not only a legacy to Dave Kirby, but also as a tribute to his dedication and devotion to his employees and bands. The structure of the company will remain the same as it has since Dave appointed new titles and responsibilities more than a year ago:

Mike Monterulo - Chief Executive Officer (CEO)
Andrew Goodfriend - President
Dan DeVita - Sr. Vice President
Rika O'Connor-Gargano - Chief Operating Officer (COO)
Michael Ullman - Chief Financial Officer (CFO)

“Although we are very sad to lose a mentor, friend and family member, Dave made it very clear to us upon his diagnosis that he wanted TKO to thrive in his absence,” said Monterulo. “The company will not only thrive, but also grow, expanding its reach and continuing to further define our place as one of the music industry’s most respected boutique agencies.”

Since its inception in September 2005, TKO has grown into one of the music industry’s premier booking agencies, and was nominated for the esteemed Boutique Booking Agency of the Year award at the 2010 Pollstar Concert Industry Awards. With a roster of more than 100 artists, the company’s clients include Buckcherry, Papa Roach, Motorhead, Anthrax, Hellyeah, Mudvayne, The Cult, Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger of the Doors, Hank III and Drowning Pool.

“The one thing that Dave Kirby always instilled in us was to believe in the bands we work with, respect their music, and encourage their development,” said Goodfriend. “That is the foundation that this company is built on, and that is the foundation that this company will continue to build upon in the years to come.”

Those of you who know Dave, can picture him now – Heineken in one hand, Blackberry in the other, sailing into the sunset…

LINKS:
TKO on Twitter