Cute: This Session Musician Is Acting Like He’s in the Fucking Band

Posted on by Tyler Roland

Following his recording of three drum tracks for local pop-punk group Exploding Eye Sockets, drummer and session musician Jim Friedman was reportedly acting all cute, like he was in the goddamn band or some shit. The following are excerpts from our in-depth conversation with those involved.

Guitarist Rick Pinkerton: We only needed him to punch in one or two fills. After the session, we thought he would leave.

Singer, Nikky Bernhardt: I said from the very beginning we should use a drum machine. Or just do really bad beatboxing and claim it’s ironic. Unless The Needle Drop misunderstands and calls it groundbreaking, in which case we did it on purpose and we’re musical pioneers. But instead, they didn’t go with my idea and now we’re dealing with this stick-head.

Jim Friedman: The way I see it, I’ve done as much live playing on this record as anyone else in the band. I’ll even get one of those dumb haircuts and some weird shoes so I look the part in promo pics. They’re gonna be hitting me up for their next five gigs, anyway. Just let me tag along!

David Schneider, Band Researcher at University of California, Berkeley: Friedman’s behavior is becoming more common lately. Session players feel threatened by music technology that is making them obsolete. It’s perfectly normal for them to grasp onto any band that hires them, refusing to let go until being allowed to write some liner notes.

Recent reports confirm that Friedman snuck his signature onto a few Exploding Eye Sockets vinyl sleeves before being forcefully escorted out of their practice space.

Late Touring Band Texts Booker “OMW” While Still 600 Miles From Venue

Posted on by James Knapp

SPARKS, Nev. — Post-grunge band Stunch Bunch recently informed the booker for one of their West coast tour dates that they were “on the way” despite having the span of nearly two states between them and the venue, sources who clarified that they “aren’t technically lying” confirmed.

“I know this probably seems like something that could have been avoided. We’re usually so punctual for our shows every once in a while, it just so happens that we wait around an extra three hours at the venue for them to start,” explained Stunch Bunch guitarist Bredan Waye. “I swear this isn’t our fault. Shit just happens on tour, you know. Like sometimes your van breaks down or you make a 300-mile detour to see the World’s Largest Fork roadside attraction. But at least we gave the booker a heads up, even though we’ve still got the better part of Utah to drive through.”

Venue owner Tarry Carmichael was less hopeful of the band making it to the venue until sometime the next afternoon.

“I can’t believe those fuckers left me hanging like this. To believe I was actually considering paying them for this show,” stated Carmichael while pacing and muttering to himself outside the green room. “The bartender has been bugging me to do an acoustic set of Goo Goo Dolls covers for months, and if the band doesn’t get here soon I have no choice but to put him on. Unfortunately, he showed up for his job on time.”

Renee Clemens, server at the Waffle House in Boulder, Colorado, detailed how the band came to be so far behind schedule.

“Man, I fucking hate touring bands. Those assholes spent four hours taking up two booths and drinking nothing but free coffee refills without leaving a tip,” said Clemens. “And then of course they had the nerve to bitch that I was making them late when they asked for their check finally. Still can’t believe they asked me to split $8.25 four ways. Fuck, I’m just glad I was able to spit in all their drinks before they left.”

At press time, Stunch Bunch had just made it onto the interstate before realizing they still needed to stop for gas.

Punk House Ghost Not Moving Anymore Shit Until They Clean This Place Up

Posted on by Ryan Danley

BOSTON — Local ghost Beatrice Ledbetter vowed to abstain from haunting until the punk tenets living in her ancestral home deal with even the most basic of household chores, fed-up sources report.

“I’ve loved every minute of haunting this house for over a century. I’ve flicked lights on and off, stomped on the stairs, and moved furniture in the middle of the night to the horror of many residents. But since these assholes showed up, I’m done. Expecting me to step over a pile of old skateboards magazines and bags of empty beer cans to cause a few scares is beyond my ghastly payscale,” said Ledbetter. “This place is so dusty and gross that I long for the days when I was dying of consumption. I’m not even entirely sure what would scare them. I would make the walls bleed, but all the grime would make it barely noticeable.”

House resident and only person on the lease, Mark ‘Bones” Samuelson, is oblivious to the unusual events occurring inside his home.

“When the band and myself moved in, this place was super spooky. We would hear voices, things would go missing, and we always felt like we were being watched. It was sick. But then after my 17th friend moved in, it all just seemed to stop,” said Samuelson while sitting on a pile of dirty black band t-shirts. “Our drummer is dating this goth, so she brought over a Ouija board, and all that we were able to read was the words ‘broom’ and ‘start a fucking chore wheel.’ I’m not even sure what that means.”

Dr. Marie Bustamante, Professor of Supernatural Studies at Boston College, warns the modern world is becoming less hospitable to metaphysical beings.

“We can expect to see many changes with spectral interaction. In the past, a seance would be conducted by a qualified medium. Now every time a spirit is called it’s just a room full of Hot Topic coworkers. No person living or dead wants to deal with that,” said Dr. Bustamante. “Overall this may be a good thing. Perhaps those residing on the other side may finally get some rest instead of feeling compelled to haunt at all hours.”

Ledbetter was unavailable for further comment, as she was busy trying to float a can of Comet over to the toilet bowl.

Corporate Bullshit: The Vinyl Section at Target Only Had Stuff I Know and Like

Posted on by Eric Navarro

Look, I know it’s a big corporate chain, but the vinyl selection at this Target is complete bullshit. Where are all the old, weird albums no one’s touched for forty-plus years? Where are the obscure bands that are obscure for very good reason? Where is the art?! All I see is stuff I know and like!

I may be in my 30s with a career and a family and all that, but I’m still punk. Sure, I don’t have the time to drive into the city and flip through records for hours like I used to, but I still like to browse when I’m at Target picking up things for the house. And, yes, I’m grateful they even have a vinyl section. But if a Target employee doesn’t come over here in the next five seconds to judge me about what I’m looking at, I’m gonna have a full-on existential crisis.

Look at this selection. It’s nothing but bands I grew up listening to, classic albums from before my time, and some newer artists that were influenced by a lot of the alternative bands I love. Basically, it’s all stuff I’d actually pay money for. Talk about a cash grab.

This is so inauthentic. Where are the miles of obscure, terrible records that I feel stupid for not knowing and hating for the right reasons? Or liking, depending on what kind of “terrible” it is. Commercialism sucks.

The ambiance is all fucked up too. Look at this place. It’s bright and clean! Plus, there’s room to stand without constantly being in someone’s way despite the fact that there’s only ever one other customer.

I will hand it to them though, the music being played in the store is still just as obscure and unknown to me now that it’s zoomer pop. The music they played at REAL record stores was usually screeching vocals over what Pitchfork would describe as “minimalist” air ride sirens. But this zoomer shit is something I’d actually listen to so Target needs to fix that if they have any interest in having an authentic vinyl shop.

The Fuck?! My Favorite Band Changed Their Sound Without Consulting Me

Posted on by Yancy Lee Crawford

Guess who released just some goofy experimental horseshit? My ex-favorite band. And guess who they didn’t consult before changing their sound? Me. How the fuck dare they?!

This is a personal attack because being a fan is the basis of my entire personality. Who the fuck am I supposed to be after my favorite band changes its sound and starts headlining electronic music festivals? Can I still wear tight pants and zip-up hoodies that stop at the top of my belt like I have done for the last ten years?

I have their logo tattooed directly above both nipples and I’ve lost thousands of dollars on their NFTs, but I never agreed to support a new artistic direction without advanced written consent. I merely want a record that doesn’t sound like disco fucked shoegaze.

I am not interested in hearing their next album unless they ditch this electronic phase and come back looking like college professors that play barre chords and Telecasters. That’s an acceptable direction they can go in. See? I’m completely reasonable.

On second thought, even if they asked my permission to change their sound, I probably wouldn’t let them. Their singer’s original look is the whole reason I got my septum triple-pierced. Do you know how long it would take for those gaping holes to heal? How would I get a job?!

If it were up to me, these musicians would be trapped in a creative purgatory they never venture beyond. I was happier with the way things were.

As a Facebook Top Fan award recipient for 163 weeks running, I deserve to be treated as such. So if I’m such a “top fan” I deserve to be a part of the band’s decision-making going forward because clearly, I’m the only one looking out for the best interests of everyone involved.

Termite Infestation Making Acoustic Set a Real Race Against the Clock

Posted on by Joe Rumrill

CORAL GABLES, Fla — A rare acoustic set from surf-rock band Branch Manager was reportedly marred by the venue’s termite problem, causing the gradual destruction of their instruments, sources confirmed.

“Oh boy, it was a real photo finish in there, let me tell you. Those little bastards were devouring my new Martin D-28 so quickly, we had to play our songs faster and faster just to get our full setlist in,” said Branch Manager guitarist Tessa Brialto. “At one point, I had started a song with the regular guitar, but by the bridge they had shaved me down to a damn ukulele! It really fucked with our sound. No wood was safe. We’re never playing the Timbermill Pub ever again, even if they manage to rebuild it.”

A licensed exterminator was promptly called by the Timbermill management, but problems arose before any work could be done.

“Ah, jeez, I’m so sorry. I meant to spray during their set, I really did. It’s just, I’d get caught up in their sweet sensual island rhythms and suddenly I’d be out of the drywall and out on the dancefloor,” said dismayed pest control technician Wyland Thorpe. “It’s that surf sound, baby! It just sends me through the roof, y’know! But, then that’s when the stage caved in and everyone else went through the floor. Again, I really do apologize.”

The swarm of termites notes that it was not even their intention to even begin to feed that day.

“We had just finished gorging ourselves across the street at the antique furniture warehouse and were just looking for a place to blow off steam,” the large group of termites spelled out, using their vast numbered bodies. “We didn’t eat their instruments because we were hungry…we ate their instruments because we thought they really, truly sucked as a band.”

“It made us sincerely thankful we don’t, as a species, have ears,” the swarm regrouped to add. “Hopefully they got the hint and will find other ways to express themselves. We suggest whittling.”

At press time, the now instrument-less Branch Manager was still determined to go on tour, with their first stop: the opening of the local zoo’s new free-range flesh-eating fire ant exhibit.

Animal Collective Making Hangover Much Worse

Posted on by Patrick Coyne

PROVIDENCE, R.I. — Severely hungover barista Carrie Potenza is in significantly more pain thanks to her manager’s insistence on playing Animal Collective, dehydrated sources confirmed.

“My friends convinced me to have ‘just one beer’ last night even though I worked the opening shift today. Needless to say I’m super hungover. I thought I could just guzzle some Pedialyte and barrel through until 1 p.m., but our manager Davey decided to play music that sounded like he force-fed his tabby cat salvia and let it take a nap on a Roland synthesizer,” said Potenza. “My head immediately started pounding like a drum machine. But then the singer began yelping about mildew on rice and rotten cherries, and I just about blew my partially digested dry toast all over an investment banker’s Americano.”

Coworker Ron Emmerich sympathized with Potenza’s early morning, freak-folk abetted crapulence.

“If you’ve ever been in a coffee shop before 9 a.m., there’s a 70% chance your barista is hungover and just one rude customer away from scalding a Karen and chugging a 200 tablet bottle of Ibuprofen,” said Emmerich. “But Carrie was looking really green around the gills today, and eight hours of noise pop was not conducive to a vomit-free workplace. I tried getting Davey to switch over to The Weather Station album and let Carrie wear sunglasses on the register, but he said Animal Collective was ‘good for the vibe,’ whatever that meant. Not being totally unsympathetic, he did allow her to barf out by the dumpster between breakfast sandwich orders.”

Although seemingly coincidental, a whistleblower codenamed “Not Panda Bear” claimed Animal Collective’s hangover advancing effect is not an accident.

“Of course Animal Collective isn’t real. You think any musicians would actually choose to sound like this? The whole ‘band’ was manufactured by Big Hangover to sell more Alka-Seltzer,” explained Not Panda Bear. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you guys about this. Apparently one of the members of Deerhoof tried to speak out before and some Bayer goons named ‘Fizz’ and ‘Plop’ showed up at his place and made him butt chug a whole bottle of Bankers Club vodka.”

At press time, Potenza has chosen the “nuclear” hangover cure option of stealing Kahlua from the cold storage and drinking it in the supply closet.

Review: Sex Pistols “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols”

Posted on by John Danek

Every Sunday, we peer into The Hard Times’ vast vinyl archives to review a classic album. This week, we attempt to decipher the Sex Pistols’ game-changing debut “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols.”

Historians debate whether or not the London quartet’s sole LP is the first punk album ever. But one thing is certain- it is written in a nearly indecipherable language called British English. Fear not! You are in luck. I studied this strange, archaic language by watching a few episodes of “The I.T. Crowd” repeatedly and thus can finally translate the record’s meaning to American audiences.

Let’s start with the title. “Bollocks” is a popular British English term for testicles, and it is wildly offensive. I apologize for typing the word in the previous sentence. “Sex” is some sort of ritualistic reproductive dance that I need to investigate further. “Pistols” is an American English loan word meaning “cute gun.” Put them all together, and what do you get? Actually, I haven’t quite cracked the code on that yet. But if you figure it out, please let me know.

The tracklist contains even more mystery. “Holidays in the Sun” conjures images of Christmas or Flag Day, but in England, the word “holiday” has a closer meaning to vacation. So it’s not about Halloween, you fucking dolt. It’s about being dragged by your parents to the beach for four days right in the middle of July. “Rubbish,” as the Brits (British people) would say.

The most infamous song from the album may be “God Save the Queen.” The titular Queen is the British rock band fronted by Freddie Mercury. The Sex Pistols could sense that they were ushering in a musical sea change with their anthems of punk rebellion, but didn’t want the public to forget their “mates” (friends) in another band. Musicologists call it “the greatest display of friendship in any art form ever.”

Lastly, the album’s cover features a stark yellow and pink design, though it is sometimes orange and green if you look at it between two and five in the morning. Yellow represents the rest of Europe, while pink symbolizes a pissed-off United Kingdom in the year 2020. The album cover accurately predicted Brexit to the exact year.

And what about the musical performances? I wouldn’t know. My record player is broken. Can I borrow yours so I can finish this review?

Score: 9.5 letter U’s in the word “colour” out of ten

/**/

Rest of Band Seriously Considers Helping Bassist Push Van

Posted on by Max Barth

EAST LANSING, Mich. — Members of local punk band Appeal To Hell are seriously considering getting out of their tour van to help their bassist push it, according to impatient sources.

“Kev is our fourth bassist. The first two quit and the third went to barber school, so we’re excited to have him join for this tour,” said one of Appeal To Hell’s three guitarists, granted anonymity because he hasn’t come up with a cool stage name yet. “It’s not like we hired Kevin just because he has rich parents who promised to pay for the vinyl run of our EP, it’s because of his ability to play root notes on his bass fairly quickly and his tree trunk legs. This van isn’t exactly reliable and we need someone that can move this thing even up hills. As such, we are definitely really thinking about helping him push the van these last four miles to the venue. We make all decisions as a group, though, so we gotta wait for Miranda to wake up and she’s super hungover.”

Bassist Kevin Koening, pausing to drink a can of warm beer passed to him through the rear window, was unbothered by the Sisyphean task and public humiliation.

“I just want to thank the guys and hopefully Miranda for considering coming out here and helping me haul this five thousand pound van full of sound equipment, Ramen noodles, and overpriced merch,” said Koening, whose hands had gone numb from the cold. “Even though I’m new, I’ve seen how hard this band works every night playing our fifteen-minute opening set on this house show tour. If the rest of the band decides to get out of the van and push with me, that’s awesome. If they just want to get out of the van to make it significantly lighter, I’d sure appreciate that too.”

Michigan State Highway Police were eventually called to the scene.

“We got a call from multiple concerned drivers who saw a scraggly young man attempting to singlehandedly push a van down the highway. We were concerned for his safety, but more so for the safety of any singers or–God forbid– lead guitarists that may have been on board the vehicle. Live music at nontraditional, all-ages venues plays such an important role in our community. Upon arriving on scene, our officers promptly pepper-sprayed the young man and gave the rest of the band a ride to their next gig. Mr. Koening even thanked us for our service.”

As of press time, other band members were playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who would tell Koening he is going to have to call his parents for bail money.

No, Please, Immediately Tell Me About the Plethora of Bands My New Song Reminds You Of

Posted on by Jay Wells L'Ecuyer

Another track in the bag! I worked my ass off writing and recording that stellar blend of original riffs and lyrics and I was so pumped to show it off, but you just had to immediately spout off every band that it reminded you of. Okay, you caught me, I have musical influences. Just like every other musician who wasn’t the first fucking human to start tapping a stick on a rock!

Ya know what? Those influences happen to pop up in my music because they’re my favorite styles of music. That’s how it fucking works! Are you new? Or maybe you’re just a compulsive gold-star-craving opinion dropper.

And please, tell me each band that you’re reminded of during every single riff of my song. I love hearing, “Ooh, that’s like how After The Burial builds to their breakdowns” and “Ooh, that’s like the Counterparts breakdown.” Guess what? There’s a build to every breakdown. That’s what you’re fucking breaking down!

I could’ve built it up to what you thought was a breakdown, then misdirected you with a quaint coffee house jazz riff. But that’s Between The Buried And Me’s thing and you would’ve just said, “Ooh, that’s like Between The Buried And Me.”

I just can’t win with you. Would you like me to create an entirely new genre? Even then you’d probably be like, “That’s like progressive post-hardcore with early technical deathcore influences” or some shit.

“Ooh, he expressed an emotion, better throw the word emo in there too.” That’s you.

I hate saying that it’s all been done before because innovative music comes out all the time. But those innovators have influences too. So let’s just agree that music has in fact existed before me and from now on when I’m all excited to show you my new song, please resist the urge to make me feel like a fucking plagiarist.

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