AMERICA WILL BLOW UP THE MOON

Paul Gilbert told me last week (reading it might be nice after all that your mother and I have done for you) that he wished rock musicians shared the tendency of their classical counterparts to like perform the classics. Hearing that, I began to imagine trying out for first guitar chair in the Los Angeles Metal Orchestra, but seriously, Gilbert presents a thrilling idea. Those clenched-cheeks violinist types don't write shit, don't create shit, can disguise crummy playing amid up to a half-dozen clones, and generally get tongue-bathed for their precious skill of mimicry. Meanwhile, cover bands are derisively spat upon, usually by bearded guys in unsuccessful ahem "original" bands, even though a good cover band is instant party and dour baldcore makes me want to punch babies. The shittiest "Electric Slide"-playing wedding band kicks the shit out of Pouty McBeardslacks & The Over-Its any day. But anyway, I guess in classical music(s), the music is king; in pop, performance and spectacle share a spine with composition. Too bad.

Gilbert later mentioned that Dream Theater drummer Mike Portnoy is the brains behind the tribute events in which Gilbert and others have rocked a setload of The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, or Rush. Sounds fun and hmm as it happens, the most recent words I exchanged with Portnoy were on the topic of San Francisco greats Jellyfish, and Gilbert's new record with Freddie Nelson is very Jellyfishy (above), and lastly any living being that's ever heard Jellyfish would give their eyes for loud, live Jellyfish, so count this as my unsubtle plea to the two handsome, stylish, virtuosos to put me on lead vocals for a Jellyfish tribute event on the fucking moon for all I care. The mic was just removed from James LaBrie's asscrack? No problem! I'll smash this chick like blammo! Call me, Mike!

BETWEEN THE BURIED AND ME AND A HARD PLACE

Though necessary improvements to the masterpiece that is 2007's Colors are few and obvious, the men of Between The Buried And Me (above, nerds grow your hair long please) still are in a unenviable position. The task of following that bastard would be intimidating to ANY musician. Shit they should've run a contest where any musician or collection thereof could attempt a logical second chapter in the BTBAM saga, which would be released secretly under the band's name like BTBAM presents Snake-Skolnick-Nergal-DiGiorgio-Hoglan's Colors II: Taste The Rainbow. The next volume in the series would be BTBAM presents Colors A Capella by the HooM!-MetalSucks-Metal Injection All-Stud Chorus.

Shit let's get back on topic. The last three songs on Colors are essentially perfect, but beyond that, my hopes for this October's new BTBAM record The Great Misdirect are centered around discipline: cut down on weak riffs (the tunes are nice and long already, no mediocre random shit should be making it past rehearsal); cut down on Patton-isms and Dream Theater-isms (dynamics good, ill-fitting whimsy and/or prog robotics bad); make more frequent use of gifted singer (and his keyboard) and that guitarist who is a surgeon with melodic soloing. And no current events shit. Looking at you, Queensryche and Winger.

The above are all so-called good problems; the band should consider themselves done with the hard part of developing into a real band. They've mastered dynamics and timing (though not arrangement), and their work has soul and identity. So yeah, BTBAM is a rare young band. I know everybody's pumping Suicide Silence down our throats, but this is the band that will blow open extreme music. Then again I've been on a losing streak with bands on the precipice; would-be genre leaders Lush and Monica both stepped back like chickenshits. And of course Metallica that was a heartbreaker. OoooWAFF ta nevuh nevuh la-yand!

HOLD IT NOW WAIT A MINUTE COME ON WHEWWW

Covers are corny and everything but if I didn't have thick, lustrous hair I'd wear hats and tip one to Dream Theater, whose pointless cover of epic-est song of all time "Stargazer" hits iTunes this week. The notesturbators break a sacred law by recording a version of the Rainbow classic (above, now with 20% more intro noodling/Dio outro caterwauling), but compensate by sparing Dixie Dregs' "Night Meets Light," instead opting for "Odyssey" from the same album. "Night Meets Light" is also off-limits as rock music's most refined, transportative (not a word) composition ever. Never thought I'd say this, but the song peaks with a keyboard solo followed by a keyboard/violin duet that makes my balls cry. I'm not sure what that means but the shit is beautiful. Actually the keys on "Stargazer" are pretty fresh too, but Ritchie Blackmore stomps their nuts with his uh generously-paced guitar solo, replete with tasteful slide (hitherto an oxymoron) and a nifty volume/delay trick for the money shot; you can tell that Dixie Dregs guitarist/songwriter Steve Morse isn't a Blackmore-style insecure egomaniac by his muscular but post-climactic solo to wrap "Night." And by the fact that he shot the shit with 15-year old me one Bastille Day. That asshole Blackmore hasn't spent a single Bastille Day with me.

THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS LOSE

Alright so president-elect Barack Obama didn't heed my calls to select not Joe Biden as his running mate but rather Detroit Pistons forward/center Rasheed Wallace. And sure, his victory speech included neither a guitar solo nor a 360 dunk, my two favorite things. Otherwise, good times people. Let us reflect on this new age with some fine uh new age Dream Theater, lyrics by bassist Dennis Myung. I mean John Myung. I was thinking Dennis DeYoung. That's embarrassing. OBAMA!