Fredericksburg - I had almost been disappointed by not being able to attend the Fredericksburg Diva Party that I heard about on the radio.  I then remembered I was going to see local rock bands at the Fredericksburg All Ages show at Eyeclopes.  Every young man in a rock band since 2001 has been prone to mood swings, has had a Justin Bieber haircut, and has used Baudrillard aphorisms desperately out of context - tonight’s show was going to be a diva party in it’s own right.  The only recourse I had left was to put on my lavender t-shirt, Italian leather jacket, Robert Pattinson haircut, and place Theodor Adorno’s Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life in my back pocket.  After spending half a decade at the University of Virginia writing arcane essays that philosophically justifying throwing spoons at the wall and screeching like a monkey as musical performance, it was time to return to rock ‘n’ roll.  Then again, rock ‘n’ roll may be nothing more than a screeching monkey’s temper tantrum.  Unfortunately, I ran out of mascara for my rock adventure after a disastrous weekend spent as a drag queen nurse somewhere at a Marine bar in Stafford.

We’re in a tight spot - tonight’s photographer bailed, and I have to capture this with the written word.  Perhaps it’s for the better.  Photographs are always better without humans.  However, the exception may be photographing musicians.  But even then, you’re not really photographing humans.  Musicians are animals.  For all the guys performing at the Fredericksburg All Ages show, allow your Uncle Mike to make some observations and express some ideas about age and music.

Other band members, please take no offense.  My mind works obsessively, and once I focus on the minutiae of one musician, I tend to cast aside what else is working around him.  This isn’t intended to slight the talents, work, and charisma of the artists that share the stage; more often than not I fixate.  Don’t be put off by my pretentious nature that I have acquired with age.  I have a habit of being snarky and self-indulgent and that’s why I don’t know your names....but I do find your musicianship fascinating.

Remember Those Words’ synth player tapping on the Alesis makes for an interesting starting point in my showcase of case studies.  Youth is on his side, and this goes one of two ways after thinking about the timbres, textures, and melodic motifs he has performed.  Actually, his playing, performance, and composition depends on his next three romantic relationships.  I appreciate the synth pads and new wave motifs he executed - there’s a groundwork for a sound that will evolve.  After the next three romantic relationships, if all is well, he will evolve toward a glistening warm aesthetic - optimistic and hopeful - channeling the works of playful synth pioneer Brian Eno.  But, at the same time as youthful innocence has it’s charms, some of the overtones in the timbres from his playing indicate, though undecided, the potential to take a darker turn.  Depending on how many Remember Those Words’ songs aren’t actually remembered by the ones they are written for, therein lies the potential to turn toward the dark and subtle aggression of Alessandro Cortini’s synth work.  All is fine and well and playful with MGMT and Passion Pit covers (these kids probably don’t know John Hughes movies or Simple Minds’ “Don’t You Forget About Me”), but if things fall apart, this kid will start wearing black and smashing the piss out of expensive synth equipment.  It is too soon to make any definitive statements about this kid’s future, but either path is a possibility.  Synth players are like sociopaths, no one quite knows what’s going on behind the eyes.  Pay more attention to the timbres and texture for insight into their inner workings.

Basic Needs’ guitar player, for your blues shuffle soloing, I implore you, pinch and squeal more notes.  The technique will evolve into you controlling chaos.  At that point, you get to play God.  Don’t fear misplaced notes, and don’t get overly comfortable going up and down blues rock scales.  When something wants to howl and screech, let it.  Untapped sonic beauty and potential resides in the "ugly" notes.  A couple notes were pinched in the soloing through the first two songs and it sounded exciting.  Stop taking private lessons, grow your hair even longer, and cop an over-sexed attitude like early Zeppelin.  Your Uncle Mike foresees great things.  Next time you need more level from the sound board and the technician is not giving you proper attention, make it an imperative and not a shy request.  You’re a rock star, and you’re supposed to always get what you want.

It all just got a little more surreal before Circus Circus.  A mustached, mod squad burglar-bandit donning patent leathers took the leap from a Pink Panther film and landed at the FAA show.  On to the next case study in this venue that has become Pee Wee’s schizophrenic nightmare playhouse....

Circus Circus’s guitar player dresses like David Byrne, and moves and navigates and manipulates the stage like Aaron North.  He sounds like the bastard child between Glenn Branca circa the ’77 loft solo and the Edge and his shimmer.  Gristled, distorted thumps juxtapose delicately crafted arpeggiations.  His sound represents all the heart, hate, and passion that should in fact come from a guitar.  Most pleased.  Trust your Uncle Mike on this one.  This kid needs to explore sonic possibilities.  I’d probably buy him a pack of cigarettes and pay him 20 bucks if he’d sit around with me and let me guide his mind to where his sound unfolds and touches on the logical conclusion of art, experimentalism, and rock; ethereal sounds, ambient space, texture.  No riff, no chord.  Sound, shimmer, space.  What an exciting young musician with potential.  In the future, his sound will warp and woof into the ether.

The last band to perform was the Trillions.  She loves you yeah yeah... yeah, yeah, yeah, we got the message 50 years ago.  For the Beatles hanger-ons, Depeche Mode was always cooler and means more anyway.  Trillions, you have grown too comfortable in your element.  The show was too safe for performer and audience alike.  Perhaps a few shows in Stafford having half-wit locals throw beer bottles at you will awaken the animal inside.  Your haircuts and harmonies are cute, but everything came off too complacent.  I want to see hunger in my performers.  I know a gig is a gig, but the audience was glazed over like it was a church barbeque.  Even Uncle Mike could act super cool DJing Sweet Sixteen parties (in fact, I have).  At least with the younger bands on the bill, when they botched a note, you could see internal conflict as to whether or not the unintentional improvisation was the right thing to do.  You weren’t hungry, and I like it when musicians are starving animals.  I’m goading you because I think you have talent.  Your songs are strong and your musicianship is superb.  I want you to see what’s out there on the periphery...your personal limits.  If you reach those limits, then you’re knocking on the door of finding a stronger voice for your aesthetic.  That’s when the music gets exciting for both performer and spectator.

If 30 is the new 20, we’re all going to be at this for a long time making a lot of noise and hopefully agitating a few people in the process.  Your Uncle Mike is 37 and still doing this.  Music writer Dan Kennedy laments, or is at least curious, why no one starts a band at 30.  I suppose since I’m 37 I must start my band before 40.  When did rock have an age restriction?  When did the "burdens of adulthood" come into play?  "Adulthood" is just as much a bullshit concept as "youth culture."  Children of feedback, keep slamming your heads against the wall.  Fredericksburg All Ages was a good show, and agelessness synthesized with a music culture is a concept that keeps people vital and sometimes sane.  (Sometimes we fall off the wagon - probably more than once. It’s devilish fun to keep sobriety and sanity tentative.)  I always thought the idea of a "youth culture" was a scam.  It ended up killing James Dean, and left us with the moronic apes from Jersey Shore.  All’s well that ends well in the land of jackals and honey - it’s good to be home in Virginia’s District 1 writing about music from the District 1 Center for Electronic Music.

By Correspondent: Mike Blackmore

Mike Blackmore, a Fredericksburg native and D.C. dadaist, is a graduate of the University of Virginia and is cultivating a career based upon Audio Culture.  He is specifically focusing on arts administration, writing, DJing, production, and photography.  When Mike Blackmore is not globe trotting or offending church elders, he is working on his campaigns for 2012 that are a tandem gonzo blitz for both House of Representatives Elect for District 1 and Miss Virginia (a very pretty girl from UVA ran for Miss Virginia and it made Mike jealous).  Mike Blackmore is allergic to church, children and commitment, but likes strong coffee and vodka.

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