This photo has nothing to do with "Signal To Noise" Magazine, but it's kind of cool.
A bittersweet piece of news has befallen both Gumshoe and his beloved (by him) Grove: The last quarterly issue of Signal To Noise Magazine — for which I am a columnist — just came out. Yep, turns out yet another print mag has gone the way of the dead-ass buffalo (though StN will continue to publish once a year), and from what I hear it wasn’t even close — in fact the just-in-print final quarterly issue was delayed because several advertisers were delinquent on ad payments (grrrr!), which, as I hope you know, ultimately would spell the doom of even the sturdiest print publication.
So where to go from here? Well, The Wire appears to be doing OK, and Ghettoblaster is still in full flux, and … well, other than those two there’s really not much out there (Alarm looks good but I haven’t perused it closely yet; Under the Radar is too … god I don’t even have time to explain; Paste is either dead or dying; Maximum Rock n Roll just doesn’t do it for me; Big Takeover used to be a favorite but I feel like I’m reading about the same bands every issue — yes, you like Spoon and Wire, but C’MON, man!).
Call it the slimmest of already-slim pickins, the sort of bird feed that never would have satisfied indie-rock fans back in the day. It’s great that everything is migrating to online locations, but can I at least keep a FEW things to myself? I happen to LIKE turning pages and lying in bed with a big, fat bundle of paper (in fact I’m reading Slash‘s book right now). IS THAT SO VANE? DO I NOT DESERVE AT LEAST ONE PRINT PUBLICATION TO HELP ME PASS THE GAPING PROVERBIAL MAW THAT IS EACH DAY?
What’s an overweight white guy in his early thirties to do?
Since my beloved “Smokin’ That Rock” column for Signal To Noise is now going to be a once-a-year adventure, I figured I’d pull out a few of the juiciest/funniest quotes from the last half-dozen issues or so for you to check out … who knows, maybe a few of you will indulge in a back issue or three (which you can do HERE), or maybe even, god forbid, go ALL THE WAY to your local Barnes & Noble and pick up a copy of the latest ish?
And so I bequeath to you: Part 1 of The BEST of “Smokin’ That Rock,” starting with my unforgettable introductory column:
- “I’m excited and honored to carry on the rock-smokin’ legacy of ‘Smokin’ That Rock’ (and every unfortunate double-entendre that phrase entails), but don’t think I’m coming in with the ol’ reverential soft shoe; it’s time to, ahem, RAWK this shit, no?”
- “… [Josephine Foster] doesn’t need a psychedelic backing band of bearded minstrels to hold your attention, nor does she need to cross over into the weird weeds of the eternally wide-/red-/crazy-eyed.”
- [on Manual Zombie's Autumn CD-r]: “There’s a lot of experimentation going on here too, so the attendant drawbacks show up. Wires get crossed, circuits get blown, surgical tools get sewn inside patients and sometimes a riff will come straight from, say, Eddie Money‘s ‘Baby Hold On.’ … Manual Zombie come through in the clutch with a 17-track marathon that tests and teases in equal measure. Pass and you just might make it. To hell.”
- “Buon Giorno Luamada will be a good trip to take for the limited-edition-tape/lathe-cut-LP set, the people steeped in Gulcher, Soft Abuse, Release The Bats, Eric Alexandrakis‘ insane-O I.V. Catatonia, and other left-field labels/artists too obscure for me to be aware of. Satisfying and lawless.”
- “[Terry Adams Rock & Roll Quartet's Crazy 8's is] a little too hokey-pokey (sample song title: “Get Down Grandpa”), reliant on devices that have already been abused to death (roadhouse blues, anyone?) and too eager to fall back into a solo rather than let it happen naturally.”
- “Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, a band with more splits (releases, that is) than the seam on my Tupelo Honey LP, have made a career out of 100-run tapes and aural attacks that cause the brain to blister and boil. … There’s not a single thing holding these men back from living out all their sick, fetishist fantasies through this one-off project. Planned Obsolescence is only for the harshest in the no-fun realm: the noiseniks, the Prurient-is-for-pussies set (a joke, live a little), the folks who put on a Hair Police record on first thing in the morning and chase it with a Panicsville/Irr. App split.”
- “[Robert Pollard's] We All Got Out of the Army (Merge) starts with a Who-like bang, “Silk Rotor” begging for arena lights and patented Pollard jump-kicks. Then the album slips into that coma he’s been in, that mid-tempo loaf that pinches the life out of what could be punchy riffs. Frankly, “Uncle Bob” sorta sounds boozed up; more than usual, I mean.
- “[Eyes Like Saucer's Warrigal Part One] is alternately like Avarus with a new Casio, Harmonia with broken modules, Ethan Rose if he collaborated with Adam Forkner or Tim Hecker, Landing minus the structure, Cluster(fuck) + Brian Eno and No-Neck covered in sonic tattoos. You know, something like that (tee hee). … Eyes Like Saucers are sitting on the edge of the universe, dropping diamonds to see how far they’ll fall. If one hits you on the head you’ll bleed, but if you stand far-back enough you’ll be able to enjoy the sight of the sinking stones with them.”
