I’ve been in the business of writing about the beers I drink for almost four months now. In truth, I’ve really enjoyed doing the Friday Brew Review as it gives me an excuse to  find new elixirs (and, of course, a justification for drinking at least once a week). Thus far, I feel as though my quest to avoid the big-name, low-quality beers of the average drinker has been successful. Unfortunately, in my attempt to steer clear of the kings of drunkenness and the swill they serve at their banquets, I have neglected to feature some of the more reputable local craft brews. This is a terrible habit, conducting a sort of total war on all the names I’ve heard of just to ensure that I sample something fresh.

It ends tonight.

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For the second week in a row I headed to the package store hoping to find a brew based in coffee or espresso. And for the second time in two weeks, my hopes were powerbombed. Am I asking for too much? Is it unreasonable to think that I deserve a beer that tastes of coffee? Hell, I’ve dreamed of drinking such a liquid since 1996 and I’ll be damned if this fight is over.

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Not only is it Friday, but it’s the Friday after Thanksgiving. As such, there are certain expectations to be fulfilled — specifically, the eating of leftovers and the continued consumption of alcohol. Starting with a hearty bowl of stuffing for breakfast, I’ve made sure to eat something at every opportunity, paying special attention to desserts. More than content with my gorging, I really wanted to find a good brew for the review.

Therefore, I made sure to not rush through the weekly process of beer-searching. I took my time at the store, actually reading labels and trying to figure just what type of beverage I’d want to drink. My first inclination was to find some sort of coffee/espresso based lager; however, the staff informed me that such a product was not stocked and I was therefore SOL. Resolved to find something tasty, I continued the quest.

I then remembered that today marks the first day of the Christmas Season: “A holiday-brew will do,” I bellowed in Seuss-mimicry, “but how to pick a drink that’s sick?” Again, I wanted to be levelheaded about this decision, not jumping at the first six-pack with clever packaging.

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I like stories.

Maybe that’s a nonsensical thing to write — not worth the energy required to move my fingers onto the keyboard. After all, who doesn’t love a good yarn? The sharing of narratives is one of the few (virtually) universal aspects of humanity. Even through differing perspectives, goals and messages, all tribes of Planet Earth are united by a proclivity for storytelling.

The thing is – I really like stories. If I’ve enjoyed something I’ve read, it’s only a matter of time before I revisit the pages. I’ve spent countless hours (probably days, at this point) discussing and debating movies with my friends. And I’m currently toying with the idea of teaching high school English not because of a fondness for grammar, but because of a genuine belief in the power of narrative.

Some stories are so affective that they keep me up at night, warding off the sandman until I’ve scribbled some quasi-coherent notes. And these are the tales I like best — the ones that want you to keep working, peeling away a bit of skin before getting to taste the fruit. I don’t consider myself a snob and definitely think there’s something to be said for straight-forward stories told in a straight-forward manner; but who doesn’t like finding a prize at the bottom of the cereal box?

With this stance in mind, it is no mystery as to why I’ve always been a fan of the concept album. First and foremost, the product is a musical collection and therefore is designed for audio-pleasure. But unlike “standard” albums, the listener may then elect to dig deeper, using the lyrics, booklet and artwork to reveal a story. While this format is a staple of the prog-rock world I once swore allegiance to (Hey, we all make mistakes), it is hardly confined to a single genre.

Finally getting to the matter at hand, I present Defeater’s Lost Ground — a refutation the concept album as it has come to be known. There are no synthesizers, ballads about dark wizards, or masturbatory instrumental sections that make you scream “THIS SONG HAS BEEN ON FOR THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES WHEN THE FUCK DOES IT END?!?!” While my favorite album of all-time may very well be a fair target for such criticism, Defeater manages to avoid the pitfalls. So whereas double-lengths like  The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway and Quadrophenia popularized the concept album, Lost Ground reimagines its purpose.

In fact, Lost Ground is a six-song EP that comes into your room, tells you what’s up, and then gets out despite your pleading for more. Musically, I suppose the second release of the Boston-based group would be considered something along the lines of melodic hardcore. While there are definitely hard-hitting sections of soaring guitars and pounding drums, there are also many moments in which there is clarity, a refined levelheadedness. For instance, the introduction to The Bite and Sting sees an exchange of bass and guitar, a teasing that helps to build anticipation. This tension is furthered by the verses, in which soft staccato guitar is cleverly doubled over with a clicking on the rim of a drum. By the time the chorus hits, the listener feels liberation, a rejoicing at the prospect of open chords!

In terms of musical  narrativity, the EP is actually a complement to Defeater’s first effort, Travels. Summarily, the band’s debut    tells of one man’s journey away from life he hates and his unavoidable return home  for a final confrontation. One of the highlights of that disc is Prophet in Plain Clothes, a track about a bum who sings his songs of woe. Lost Ground, in turn, is actually an exploration of the Prophet –  chronicling his life as a young African American who decides to enlist in the Army for World War II. Horrors are witnessed, the post-war celebration is less-than-ideal, and we learn why it is that this man sleeps in barrooms.

Thematically, I think Lost Ground is an improvement over Travels. Maybe it’s because of the groundwork laid on the first album, but I find myself sympathizing much more with the narrator on this EP than I do with the one on the full-length. Furthermore,  Derek Archambault’s delivers his vocals in such a way as to actually convince the listener that he was in the trenches, fighting  Germans in the Second Big One. I think the artwork is a step above too, with the inclusion of a propaganda poster which depicts the misleading means by which blacks may have been enlisted. My only complaint about Lost Ground is that it isn’t a full-length, but I suppose a band can consider a release successful if it leaves people wanting more.

I’m not sure if Lost Ground is a World War II period piece that rocks my socks off or just an EP that happens to be historical fiction — but in either case, I’m better for having listened to it.

Give it a spin.

Yet another Friday is upon us and therefore it is the duty of OL to present a beverage with which you can forget the work week. While I normally revel in my Friday night ritual of drankin’n’writin’, I don’t think I’d bring my A-Game tonight. Truth be told, I’ve felt like caca ever since I got home and although I’m going to guzzle some smile-potions, I don’t think I have the heart to give an earnest review.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself in front of a pack of third-graders, “who the fuck is going to handle the task of the Friday Brew Review?” Initially, I thought about outsourcing the job to one of my high school students, offering extra-credit for a minimum of five-hundred words. But something told me that administration may frown on that (apparently extra-credit is a Big No-No). I then considered asking for Caffeine Powered’s assistance, but since that guy shoulders most of the writing burden at OL, I didn’t want to add to his workload. I felt lost.

And then it hit me: Mrs. Krueger

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Am I hippie? Short answer: No.

To be fair, I probably have some tendencies with which the average hippie could agree. I’m a big fan of questioning the man (whoever the fuck that is). I consume almond butter & Nutella sandwiches on a regular basis. I fucking love Les Claypool.

But the fact of the matter is that I’m not a hippie, as I think they invest a lot of their time in bullshit. Unless you’re playing in one or watching one of the best, jam bands are boring after about ten minutes. Smoking pot can lead to great, nearly spiritual experiences but definitely shouldn’t be an everyday activity. And while there may be something behind the arguments that organic foods are tastier and more environmentally friendly, I think it’s worthwhile to recognize that most are distributed by uber-mega-big-buck companies hoping to strike a profit.

With such an attitude about the world of organic foodstuffs, I’m not really sure why I chose this week’s prospective brew. Perhaps part of my decision rests in the fact that I’m purposely avoiding the winter seasonal beers until Thanksgiving. But getting closer to the heart of the beverage-choice, I think I may have been looking for a challenge. Something that, had I not made a pact to drink a new beer every week, I would never buy. A brew at which I normally just scoff; not scoff and then actually purchase.

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Warren Ellis is my goddamn hero.

In case you don’t have a clue, Warren Ellis is pretty much the comic industry’s best mad scientist. Not only is Ellis responsible for some of the best creator-owned properties of all time (Transmetropolitan & Doktor Sleepless come to mind), but he also pushes well-established properties into more compelling storylines. I’ve spent the last few years fawning over Ellis’ writing, going as far as to write a twenty-four page research paper exploring the implications of hyperreality in Doktor Sleepless.

But more than just the scribe behind some great funnybooks, Warren Ellis always has something interesting to say. Through his website, weekly columns and forum, the mad Englishman (aren’t they all?) offers a brand of insight that can only be understated as unique. Without reservation, Ellis tackles what he believes to be the trends/technologies/perspectives of the future while examining the precedents to which we so desperately cling.

For your pleasure, one of my favorite excerpts from Ellis’ 2001 collection of short essays/posts, Come in Alone:

Fuck superheroes, frankly. The notion that these things dominate an entire genre is absurd. It’s like every bookstore on the planet having ninety percent of its shelves filled by nurse novels. Imagine that. You want a new novel, but have to wade through three hundred new books about romances in the wards before you can get at any other genre. A medium where the relationship of fiction about nurses outweighs mainstream literary fiction by a ratio of one hundred to one. Superhero comics are like bloody creeping fungus, and they smother everything else. (p. 78)

Clearly, Warren Ellis is a creator devoted to the medium of comic books rather than the industry. And that’s a sentiment to which all artists should aspire.

Last week it was brought to my attention that pre-orders were being taken for Shivering Sands, Ellis’ new collection of essays, rants, reviews and other musings. At first glance, I figured that I would just snag the paperback at a bookstore; but then I realized that Shivering Sands is only available online. The author is experimenting with print-on-demand (yes, it is exactly what it sounds like) and therefore offering his newest compilation through Lulu. More than willing to give my (barely) hard-earned cash to Ellis, I ordered immediately and began anticipating the delivery.

My copy of Shivering Sands arrived last night. Despite being inundated with work, I have already blasted through the first sixty-some-odd pages. Seriously, I wish that I hadn’t already finished the media-component of my English degree because I would walk into the classroom wielding this book like Mjöllnir and smashing shit up with a ferocity that would make Thor piss his God-sized underoos. The examinations of technology and media are fucking mindblowing, delving into the notion (also found throughout Doktor Sleepless) that we are actually living in “the future,” but are incapable of recognizing it as such.

Another early highlight is found in Microcast, a January 2004 theorizing of why 2003 was an absolute dud in terms of mainstream entertainment/art. Ellis posits that niche broadcasting and narrowcasting in the digital era allows for the user to reverse the once unilateral transmission of information; in other words, users are now looking for what they want to find rather than accepting what they are given.

Ellis muses,

The mass audience is breaking down into smaller sets; and beyond that, into what Dr. Joshua Ellis (no relation) terms ‘taste tribes’ — people whose group status is defined by their particular cultural apprehension. Where one says, I know and interact with this person on the initial basis that we share tastes. Not that we all trade notes on Star Trek — not a fan thing — but that we share a cultural sphere. This creates and defines a loose community of its own, stitched together by cultural communication. And with the net in place, taste tribes are borderless. (p. 40)

I’m not even finished with Shivering Sands but I’m going to suggest that you purchase it. If you’re at all interested in comic books, media theory, chemically-induced diatribes, supporting great artists or just finding something with which to pass some time, check this book out.

Welcome to the weekend — let’s catch a buzz!

As I was driving home I remembered that a new liquor store had just opened in my suburb of origin. Maybe this isn’t a big deal to you but my hometown has been completely dry up until this point. Historically, residents always had to go one town over to snag a Friday-sixer, making for just enough of an inconvenience to warrant complaints.

But now those days are over, right? Well, sort of.

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I can’t spend much time on this post – Halloween is callin’ my name! But I just wanted to make sure that OL represented this video in some way. Truly the best Star Wars related happening since 1983.  Before watching, just realize that you will never see something as amazing afterward.

[(Ewoks+Alcohol) x (Karate+Moon Walk)] x Live Television=

So here it is, the Halloween Episode of OCTOBERFEAST. Rather than diving right into the concluding entry, I just want to wish everyone a Happy Halloween. For real — this holiday is such a blast and I really feel bad for anyone who can’t enjoy it. I just spent the afternoon at the Bruins/Oilers game with Caffeine Powered & our cousin, and I saw children and adults alike dressed in various costumes. Behind a Skrull mask, I realized that it really takes a true asshole to be against a day dedicated to dressing up, eating candy, and celebrating. While watching the Bruins emerge victorious was enjoyable, the real entertainment came from spotting Hulk Hogan, Darth Vader, the Super Mario Brothers and other heroes  in the crowd.

The occult, theatrics, and potentially subversive messages have weaved their way into the fabric of rock & roll. Heavy music seems to be one of the few venues in which it is not only accepted but expected that Satan is embraced in one form or another. Unfortunately, most of the well-known bearers of rock’s horror-torch are more style than substance.

KISS? Don’t even get me started on these guys. Any time that someone suggests that they even qualify as heavy metal, I get a stomach cramp and have to use the restroom. Knights In Satan’s Service? Heaven’s on Fire? Bah! Don’t make me puke. This guys are nothing more than merchandisers who use shitty music to push the product.

Alice Cooper? Marilyn Manson? Sorry, but since I’m not thirteen years old I’m not falling for your tricks. Yes, Alice, I know that singing about school being out forever is a great way to start summer vacation. But as far as being a dark shepherd of the underworld…something tells me that  he lacks credibility. And as far as Cooper’s successor/rival, Marilyn Manson — I just don’t buy it.

Amidst a slew of half-baked, barely worthwhile horror-themed rockers stands one man and his music. Yes, he certainly dabbles in supernatural themes such as witchcraft, ghosts, Satan, hauntings, religious corruption, madness, and the like. But this performer has always surrounded himself with excellent personnel, thereby backing up his ghoulish persona with legitimately rocking tunes. Really, if you consider yourself a fan of heavy metal you should probably own at least one of his records.

No, I’m not talking about Ozzy — the man of the hour is the one and only KING DIAMOND.

King Diamond is a goddamn force of nature. Shrouded by spooky black & white makeup, Diamond has commanded the stage for both his own eponymous band and its predecessor, Mercyful Fate. With these outfits, King Diamond takes the listener through twisting tales of depravity and terror, often requiring an entire album to do so. Take, for instance, King Diamond’s The Eye, which tells an interwoven tale of witch-hunts and sexual assault committed by Church officials. Thematically, there is no question that King Diamond is a champion of OCTOBERFEAST.

More importantly, though, is King Diamond’s vocal proficiency. The King assumes various roles throughout his songs, sometimes speaking as a creepy grandma, an executioner, a priest, or even a child. Although a master of this sort of performance-vocal, King Diamond also belts out a falsetto wail of which banshees can only dream. King Diamond has set a standard of screeching to metal that modern bands can only match with extensive assistance from Pro-Tools.

King Diamond’s influence on the world of heavy metal is undeniable. Anyone that believes King Diamond to be unappreciated within the metal world just needs to remember the showcase he was  given on 2005’s Roadrunner United. Injecting technicality into good songwriting and combining it with a thick slice of macabre, King Diamond has created an amazing body of work. I strongly suggest that you check out Abigail, “Them” and The Eye.

To rock out — watch the first video, a live rendition of the title track Abigail.

To be creeped out — watch the second video, King Diamond explaining a portion of The Puppet Master.