My forays into boutiquedom have not been good – except monetarily (for which I should probably be grateful). I had a wonderful Clark Tyger that I should have kept. I just never felt worthy. I had another fancy little tweed that was all the rage when I bought it. I won’t mention the name of the amp, but suffice it to say that I couldn’t get rid of it quicker.

It’s with great trepidation that I enter into this new quest. I’m vulnerable and hopeful. I’m ever the more hopeful due to the Tone King Metropolitan. Hopefully, I’ll be writing a review and posting sound clips here in a few months. In the meantime, I decided to dress the amp up a little in some different color combinations.

For your perusal, and probably to Mr. Bartel’s chagrin, the Tone King Metropolitan in several different colors:

The album, touted as a song cycle about the life of Imelda Marcos, was originally conceived as a musical. I can’t even get into the specifics, but suffice it to say that it is an outrageous and ostentatious undertaking.

Being the extremely judgmental person I am, I approached the album with a wall of dubiousness. I mean, if you have to include a 16-page booklet with your album just to explain what the hell it is you are doing, then maybe you’ve gone just a little too far with your creative liberty. There is also, of course, the question of, “Why Imelda Marcos?”

I thought maybe that Byrne was attempting to establish a new gay icon, like Liza, Madonna, Cher, etc. Imelda could fit the bill. She was a bit of a paparazzi target, and she was, excuse the phrase, pretty fabulous. (I apologize to my gay readers…this is my weak attempt to read between the lines). It just smacked of publicity stunt.

What I failed to see was the most obvious character: we’re talking about David Byrne. No one in the music business has been able to pull off outrageous creative concepts like Byrne (well, maybe Prince, but that’s a whole new topic).

In the late 70s and throughout the 80s, David Byrne and the Talking Heads created something completely new. And they did it with integrity. Byrne’s importance is that he is able to bring avant guard visual/performance art to troglodytes like me. God bless him.

The music on this album isn’t for everyone. To be honest, it’s not my cup of tea. But when you hear it as the whole package it’s goose bump inducing.

So I was looking for some YouTube videos of Rufus this evening and came across an absolute gem: Nataly Dawn doing Rufus’s “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk.” A quick search on the old interwebz revealed that Ms. Dawn has several projects. I don’t know about her other work, but her version of “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” is a “…a little bit sweeter  /  a little bit fatter…”

Brilliant. Your welcome reader:

I’ve posted about this band before (see: http://www.jdclements.com/blog/2008/06/25/lucero-creepy-crawl-stl/), and I thought that that was it. They are a great band and that show was amazing; it was perfect. There would be no need to retread that ground.

You see, I’m a jaded guy. I’ve tried to recreate perfection and it always falls short. Once something works perfectly, I nary return to the scene; I can’t tolerate the disappointment. For example, I’ll never see the Black Crowes in concert again: the Pageant 2001 was supreme – it would be impossible to surpass. I also refuse to pay the ticket price to see a near geriatric Springsteen (Oh Heavenly Father please forgive my blasphemy).

Fear and jadedness.

I just want to remember them as they were when their greatness was 100%; anything less would be soul crushing.

Regarding Lucero, I was certain of three things:

1. They might play larger establishments in the future, but their steady diet of exhaust, whiskey and roadhouses meant that the odds were against them.
2. They probably had new music in them, but it would probably be more of the same (which…who could complain?), or it would fall short.
3. They would simmer away into indie music myth, beloved by an ardent but withering fan base. Best case scenario, they could survive like the SuperSuckers: Respected, getting paid and still having fun.

I was wrong on all three points. Thank you almighty God of Rock n Roll. You gave us another for the ages. Check out Lucero’s new album: “1372 Overton Park.”

Marah’s 2008 album, “Angels of Destruction” is my new, ultra drug. The entire album revolves around an apocalyptic theme; it is all spiritual warfare waged in the souls of tireless troubadours: in their hears, in their souls, in back rooms and back seats.

Brothers Dave and Serge Bielanko conjure Old Testament lyrical intensity with images of desperation in the desert, prophesy in the Midwest and spiritual malaise in the greatest city man has ever created: NYC.

Apocalyptic prophesy doesn’t belong in rock n’ roll, but when you hear it playing in Marah’s heart, as interpreted through their road-worn souls, you can’t help but feel a tangible authenticity.

Marah’s “If You Didn’t Laugh You’d Cry” was a perfect fit for most of 2005, and now I’m kicking myself for coming late to the “Angels of Destruction” show, because Marah are no more. Could it be? That’s what I’m reading.

Apparently Serge had a kid and decided to stay off the road (understandable…a great loss to rock n’ roll’s ruthless heart, but understandable none-the-less). Serge Beilanko’s departure was proceeded by an exodus from the Marah rhythm section, a team so perfectly able to transition from studio to road that one wonders how the lone Marah-ster Dave Bielanko will manage without them. Apparently, not so well.

As I rolled through my fifth straight listen to “Angels of Destruction” I was suddenly struck with a desperate desire to contact the band. My old band, The Trailer Park Travoltas, had worked with Marah a couple times in the past, and I still had their YepRock rep in my rolodex. Sadly (and kind of expectantly), calls were not returned. I went back to square one – sifting through the disintegration trail of data leftovers found on the old Interwebz. I found several email addresses to reps and etc., but alas alack, nothing came back.

Dave’s abandonment really hit home with me. About two years before my old band, The Trailer Park Travoltas, did our own dance of disintegration, my entire band left me: from the drummer to the lead guitarist. I was left with nothing. The sad part is that I didn’t blame them. But I had a lot of money socked into equipment, and six half finished songs at VanderPluym studios. Eventually, the universe smiled on us and beset me with a group of players whose worth far outsold my own.

But here’s Dave and Serge, two men who are very, very, very (did I say “very”?) talented. The Travoltas had about 10 songs that were worthy of a listen. Contrasted with Marah, The Travoltas aren’t even a pimple on the ass of the least caste beggar hobbling beneath the deadly hot sun of Marah. And yet, somehow their star burned out. It doesn’t make sense.

In fact, it makes so little sense that I am sincerely holding out for their triumphant return. And if you’re listening boys, you know that I’m not the only one.

Today, you can purchase Fender tweed reproductions from hundreds of small shop manufacturers. Most of these shops produce accurate reproductions using kits purchased from Mojotone, Weber, or others. But a select few have risen to the top of the tweed reproduction business: Collins, Victoria, Clark. Each of these top-shelf manufacturers have unique facets that have put them above the rest, but they all have one unifying characteristic: quality builds.

In searching for my tweed dream, I spoke with the owners of each of the aforementioned shops: Mark at Victoria, Craig at Collins, and Mike at Clark. This, in and of itself, is quite telling. In total, these shops might produce 500 amplifies a year – and that’s not just tweeds. That’s their entire line of silver face, black face, Marshall repros, their own custom models, etc. These are busy men. Surely, they have crews working on their products, but it’s nothing like what you’d see in a Fender or Mesa Boogie factory. These are small shops, yet each man was easy to get a hold of. Each man returned my emails, took my calls, spent time and energy answering my questions and helping me learn more about my eventual purchase.

Craig Collins is here to build you the amp you want. He’s not interested in churning out clones, unless of course, that’s what you want. Rather, he wants to know what your tone dream is. If you want that low powered sag, with the ability to bring some high wattage headroom, Craig is up to the challenge.

Mark Baier at Victoria builds clones. If you want historically accurate components, built by artisans whose attention to detail rivals that of NASA space ship builders, talk to Mark Baier. Victoria has built their business on quality, accurate reproductions and the finest customer service in the business. While Victoria will honor custom requests, it’s not their bread and butter – read: you will pay for it.

Michael Clark of Clark Amplification began with a desire to build the ultimate clone. Like Collins and Victoria, Clark Amplification begins with only the best components: copper foil paper and oil capacitors, Sprague Atoms, Switchcraft jacks, Weber speakers, solid pine, finger-joined cabinets, NOS tubes and tube plugs. But after building a couple, he noticed what he perceived to be a significant flaw in the clone build: power. U.S. power supplies have greatly increased since the 1950s, and throwing a vintage power transformer on these amps was inefficient: the amp would be swamped with too much power, capacitors would run hot and full on the time. Basically, if the power wasn’t conditioned correctly to handle the new voltage, the vintage components would be working twice as hard and twice as hot.

So, he made his own power transformer. This worked so well, and was so widely accepted, that he started looking for additional “upgrades” to the clone model. He made his own reverb tank, made his own power attenuator, made his own overdrive. The resulting amps are brilliantly designed, but not quite authentic reproductions. Many owners actually prefer Michael Clark’s builds to the original tweeds. Personally, I’ve found that the essence of tweed is there 110%: that beautiful, sparkling, overdriven breakup made famous by countless musicians spanning from Muddy Waters to Pete Townsend to Noel Gallagher – that’s is there in spades. If given the choice to play my Clark Tyger or a vintage Bandmaster, I’d take my Tyger.

The add-ons that are offered by Clark Amplification: the Clark reverb tank and the Clark Regulator attenuator, are bonuses. The reverb is pro. It’s brighter than your standard silver face tone, so it compliments the tweed breakup perfectly. The attenuator doesn’t see any work in the studio or on the stage, but most definitely can be utilized in the home.

That’s why I bought the Clark Tyger. And I couldn’t be happier. I offer now to you, dear reader, an inside look at the Clark Tyger guitar amplifier, by Clark Amplification:

Thank goodness for artists like Amanda Palmer. Thank goodness for those bold souls who are willing to go out there for us. For if we can’t live the life; if we’re not strong enough or brave enough to be in it, then let us at least peer through the window a bit. Which is exactly what Ms. Palmer so graciously does in these seven videos. Though I understand that the images and themes portrayed in these videos are fiction; they are fantasy, we’re not really looking through a window, I don’t know if my mind really accepts the difference. I want the pictures and sounds to be true, and so they are…if only for the span of seven short videos.

INTRO

ASTRONAUT

AMPERSAND

RUNS IN THE FAMILY

THE POINT OF IT ALL

STRENGTH THROUGH MUSIC

GUITAR HERO

CREDITS/ANOTHER YEAR

At first listen, they felt like a polished version of Lucero: a downright honest, knock-about rock band, hell bent on giving their audiences their best. After spending time with “The 59 Sound,” their latest LP, I’ve come to hear so much more.

Raw and delicious, serving-up re-purposed lyrics from benefactors such as Counting Crows and Springsteen, the music is sharp, fun, well produced and above all: authentic.

I must say, I was a bit suspect about Sarah Bareilles. True, I’m a sucker for a bad ass chick singer (I’ve seen Ani three or four times, I love the Be Good Tanyas, and I had a secret mad crush on Tiffany in 4th grade), but it’s hard to trust anything popular these days (see: Britney Spears).

Yet, two songs into Bareilles’s album, Small Voice, I was hooked. The second half of the album kind of flails, but the first half is grrrrrreat. I want to date her and take her to Paris where we would eat strawberries with ghosts and heroine addicts, then drive our scooter around at top speed at 3 a.m. (of course, my wife’d be on my scooter, Sarah’d have her own).

See for yourself. Bareilles’s Love Song:

Of course, we shouldn’t confuse Bareilles’s Love Song with the original, one and only, Love Song, by the seminal 80s band, Tesla.

The Creepy Crawl was an excellent choice of venue for Lucero – who are the most perfect knock-about rock band I’ve seen in years. It was dark, hot, loud, woozy, boozy and teetering on the edge of calamity all night.

The crowd was wonderful. The room was filled with true fans – evident by their chanting nearly every lyric. There were a couple of fun bastards jumping around, attempting to start a mosh.

One little guy, this little rat faced, college dude, kept pushing the bigger guys into the smaller guys and chickas. This pissed me off; voyeurs are drips. I spit my gum across the room and smacked the rat right in the face! Ha! Lucky shot.

This was acceptable behavior. I felt right at home.

About the music…well, go see them. In my opinion, this is the most honest band to come around since Metallica , circa 1982. What’s better is that their lyrics are Faulkner-esque. Just wonderful southern gothic stories about small towns like the one you grew up in.

If you like Lucero, you should try to get a hold of a Jackhead CD. They’re a local band, very much the same feel.