my The Blog of Things To Have Come and Gone

One of the Many Functions of the DNA Vibrator: to relate experiences of life on the road, from the band that never really was.

Go To The Latest Blog entry:    3/28/07:   Super Double Kick Ass Top Secret Musical Project
Go To Any Of This Month's Blog Entries:
3/02/07:   Motivational Tweaker   3/03/07:   Auntie Em, Auntie em, It's a Review, It's a Review!!    3/04/07:   You Don't Call Him Crash Because He Likes Zildjians....    3/06/07:   I Believe In CRANK...   3/07/07:   Its The Little Things That Count....   3/08/07:   Band Name Do's and Dont's   3/09/07:   Band Name Do's and Dont's, Part Two   3/10/07:   What's In A Name?   3/11/07:    Here We Go Again!   3/13/07:   Song And Show News   3/14/07:   Deliver Content? What an interesting idea.   3/16/07:   The Uniform of Youth   3/23/07:   "Original" music...Please!  


DNA doesn't know if you noticed, BUT THE NEW RECORD IS DONE!!!! Listen to it, and if you likey, buy it safely, securely, RIGHT HERE!!! DNA is telling you, there are few deals better on the internet than this. 200 mpg carburetor plans? Who cares. Life-saving cancer treatment? Whatever. Cool new record? Now, that's like gravy for the potatoes that are your life. Fat. Lumpy. Salty. Necessary.





Go to the September 2006 archive:  The Beginning...   Go to the October 2006 archive:  The Continuing Saga   Go to the November 2006 archive:  The Next Chapter...   Go to the December 2006 archive:  Book One Closes...   Go to the January 2007 archive:  Have a Crappy New Year   Go to the February 2007 archive:  February is For Feebs

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February saw the birth of the new record, a near death experience for DNA, the promise of successful launch of the super double secret educational project, and the beginning of work on the new record. In other words, nothing new. As always, please take a moment to read the archived months missives. Hit the links at the top of the page. As the DNA Vibrator has indicated before, this blog page removes what others may consider certain expected blog features, but removing those extraneous bits makes the blog more conducive to reading through from start to end, like a book. It is stripped down to the essentials. The DNA Vibrator may provide links to other sites or information it references ONLY if it suits the purpose of The DNA Vibrator.

Best quote from the 2006 archives: "611 Pizza was like the bar, Cheers, except with a lot more tattoos, leather, black make-up, puking, pot smoking, and hardcore music." Look it up here.

January 2007 archive quote: "So, no one expected bands to be professional---they are full of musicians, for Christ's sake!" Look it up here.

February 2007 archive quote: "This is why the world fucking hates America's guts. We use technology that could literally be life saving in other situations, to redescribe the same shit to a guy we are now on the phone with that we just said to them in person 3 minutes ago." Look it up here.

Permanent Historical Record: 3/2/07


Motivational Tweaker....

Recently, on its trip to Chicago, DNA had to do a presentation in an educational setting. Yes, suit jacket, tie, big smile and a lie. Not DNA...no, DNA is a straight shooting son of a gun. However, most people are there to tell you how much better their school is than the other guy's school. DNA tells it like it is. It helps that DNA works for the best program of its kind in the country. So, everybody else is completely full of shit, but DNA delivers.

Sometimes, these events have complimentary dinners for the invited representatives. Sometimes, these people like to hear themselves talk, because they know what they have to say is important. These pre-show dinners are the perfect place for dirigibles to vent some hydrogen. So, you might be saying to yourself, "That is why DNA fits in so well in that situation." You'd be wrong. DNA doesn't say anything during these events. It just sits back and listens. Saying something might change a dynamic which is much better observed without distortion. DNA telling some windbag that he is completely full of shit, and that he makes bad puns and illogical nonsequitors, might change the mode of speech which is currently allowing his assholiness to be revered by all who care to smell the shit coming out of his mouth. So, no, DNA doesn't talk its own self up at these things. It waits until a few days later and preaches about what is wrong with the world from the safety of a wobbly chair in its bedroom, after all of the rest of its family unit have drifted into slumberland. It's the modern day equivalent of the hermit in a cave in the desert, except now the sands have been replaced by the phosphorescent streaks repeating 60 times a second on a computer monitor. I AM THE DNA VIBRATOR, AND I SPEAK FOR THE GEEKS!

Not really. Geeks are generally too cool to hang out with DNA. While DNA was quietly enjoying a pretty good buffet, it overheard this conversation---no, nobody else really talked, so it was more of a---lecture, for lack of a better term. No, it was like a sales pitch, like Greg Kinnear did in that movie, Little Miss Sunshine.

Fat Lady: (DNA is not being rude. She was fat, in the "skin stuffed like a polish sausage" way, and she had exceedingly good manners and grooming, hence, lady): She was addressing a group of colleagues at the same table, to whom it was apparent that she had not spoken to until that evening, "There's only one real difference between successful people and those who are not successful." She paused for dramatic effect, which worked, because most of the people at the table waited to hear what was coming next. "Do you think its money, or power, or position, status?" As a colleague began to speak, she said, "Then you would be wrong. I have a presentation I do about this. It's called the Wall." For some, this was about as interesting as watching snails fuck, because they could hear the sales pitch coming. DNA finds the next reaction it describes a uniquely human trait, and one that is always entertaining to watch. When people would rather gouge their own eyes out than hear another word a person says, people will find ways to appear politely interested while sending off palpable waves of disdain and disgust for a person. It's like heat radiating off of a blacktop, it's so thick sometimes. We have all witnessed this, we have exhibited this behavior ourselves, sometimes, in an attempt to be polite, yet DNA does not think this is a kindness. Since it is actually more cruel and harmful to allow someone to believe that what they say matters to us, when in fact what they say does not matter to us, that is some seriously fucked up interpersonal communications. So, the big question, to be left for another day, is, Why Do We Do That? That's Pretty Ugly.

"You see," she continued, unaware or unmoved by the roiling waves of disinterest, "Most people come upon a wall, and if they can't climb over the wall, they quit. The wall defeats them. They were unsuccessful in reaching their objective. But a successful person, if she comes up to the wall, if she tries to climb it, she doesn't stop there. This is the important part: she doesn't just see it as a wall. If she can't climb it, she'll look for a way around, or under it, or find something that she can climb which will transform that wall into a step. You see?" Some mumbled. They either said, "Wow, that's amazing," or they said, "What a bunch of Tony Robbins leftover feel good, mean nothing bullshit." "That's right," she said. "Successful people don't give up. Successful people don't fail in front of an obstacle. They keep trying and trying. That's the message I try to give to the young people: to keep trying, no matter what, because there is a way out there for them." There was a general malaise of complacency and agreement, a series of nods, and congratulatory hand jobs all around. Wasn't that just neat-o? She figured it out, after the rest of us book-learned doorknobs just didn't get it. Thank you, fat lady.

So, what was wrong with her premise? Well, everything that matters if you are attempting to define what makes a person successful. The biggest logical fallacy DNA would like to tackle is the one most success gurus spout off about: Never quit, don't give up on your dreams, make it happen, keep trying, no matter what, or whatever the fuck new phrase encapsulates this extremely subversive and wrongheaded sentiment. Successful people fail all the time. Successful people have to fail, and probably fail more than unsuccessful people fail. However, and this is the important distinction between successful and unsuccessful people, when successful people fail, they learn something from their mistakes, and build on the positive (and negative) things they accomplish to form a core of experience that won't fail them again in the same way. The premise of the fat lady assumes that success and failure are static goals to attain, like places, when in actuality, they are states of mind, based on expectations which change over time, more like journeys. Next, regarding this same fallacy, some people can try, try again, and will continue to fail. Perhaps the idea is bad. Perhaps they are limited in some way. Perhaps other forces undermine the value of the idea. Perhaps you are a dick, and pissed off everyone who might have invested in your great idea.

In particular, in this educational setting, the idea that success or continued failure rests solely in your control and is determined by your own motivation is simply and harmfully, WRONG. Imagine telling a dyslexic as a child that reading is their problem. They just aren't trying hard enough. They just must not want to read badly enough. They are approaching the wall, and wouldn't you know it, they just aren't turning it into a step. And, they continue to fail when they return to the same basic concepts taught last week. They must be dumb. Dumb little dyslexic kids...it just so happens that this particular population was one of the main populations at this event, and that she was one of the speakers the educational institution was excited about having as a speaker. Her message sounded great, but was counterproductive, and actually destructive to those she was attempting to empower. It's the Disney Fallacy at work: Just believe in yourself, and when you need it the most, MAGIC will happen! A dyslexic can believe all about spelling, but that will not change the fact that likely, something in the way different brain circuits process symbols causes those symbols to be perceived or retrieved poorly by dyslexics. There is no "fix dyslexia quick" scheme. There is no motivational speaker who can "show you the way." We do ourselves a disservice when we listen to that crap, because it distracts us from the real problems that real decisions have dropped in our laps. In fact, this kind of "belief=magic" "winners never quit" mentality in the face of a harder, but more accurate reality of "successful people fail," and "Sometimes no matter what, what you do will not be good enough," is the same kind of cruel trick the fat lady's colleagues played on her when they pretended to listen to her while they reviled her speech.

Other signs she was worthless: "I have a presentation about that...." It made DNA want to say, "Oh, I've got this dick you can suck..."

When she told her group of adult peers "Now this is the important part." Which you should translate as, "Since most of you fucksticks wouldn't know a point if I jabbed it in your temple, I am telling you now that what I say next is important. Write it down. It is better than the things you can think of by yourself." Look back in this very blog post to see when DNA did it to you. Here is DNA's quote: "However, and this is the important distinction between successful and unsuccessful people, when successful people fail, they learn something from their mistakes, and build on the positive (and negative) things they accomplish to form a core of experience that won't fail them again in the same way." Talking down to your audience is never a "winner," rhetorically, even when the source of the condescension is not a motivational speaker, but is only DNA.

This reminds DNA of a band-related incident in CRANK, but that will have to wait for another day. It's getting late. Remember, you control time. All you have to do is believe.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/3/07


Auntie Em, Auntie em, It's a Review, It's a Review!!


This scan is from the Carbondale Nightlife, March 1 2007 issue. Below is the exact text of the article. DNA wishes to state at the beginning, it doesn't know WHO this guy, Roger Pugh is, to whom the writer refers an embarrassingly 50 times or so. One might get the impression that Pugh is the tool of the DNA Vibrator if one wanted. Choose to make that assumption if you wish.

ROGER PUGH: An Eminently Responsible (and still cool) DNA Vibrator

by Chris Wissmann

If it's possible to remain cool in one's forties, local musician Roger Pugh is reasonably sure it's not desirable. With his trademark wry wit, Pugh asks his children in "Hey Kids," the lead off cut on the new DNA Vibrator's CD, The Shape of Things to Have Come and Gone, "Could you imagine if your dad was still cool, how creepy that would be?/Hanging out with seventeen-year-olds, buying clothes at Hot Topic, even though he's forty?"

This writer has known Pugh since 1987, and can't imagine him lingering at a place as lame as a mall, even back in his youth, especially at a faux-alternative corporate chain store like Hot Topic. No, he was too busy playing in a band, recording independent releases, building his own instruments, doing sound for other groups, writing comic books that immortalized his exploits. You know: being cool.

A more recent example of Pugh's cool: The DNA Vibrators' disc shows that Pugh is as musically on the edge as ever, and while lyrically he often extols the virtues of family and maturity, he does so with an unflinching candor and dry humor that have always marked his work. He's not gone soft, even after forty---and to paraphrase the refrain of "Hey Kids," even after the bills and the family and the upkeep on the home, after the car and the school and the payment on the student loan.

Musically, Pugh, once an important and prolific fixture in Carbondale's scene, has been fairly quiet for about a decade. One of the area's best heavy-music and funk bassists and songwriters, he first burst onto the music scene playing bass and singing in the folk-funk band the Nightsoil Coolies. When that beloved group folded in the 1990's, Pugh went on to a pair of far louder bands, Monster Truck and Crank, which predated and anticipated current, not-quite-metal-but-still-heavy-genres like groove-core. And before the digital revolution, Pugh, along with Coolies'(and later Blue Meanies) drummer Tony Aimone and Crank guitarist (and SIU music-school instructor) Dave Stoecker issued two twisted collections of absurdist heavy funk under the nom-de-cassette the DNA Vibrators.

The Shape of Things to Have Come and Gone, Pugh tells Nightlife, came after the recent death of his mother. During a drive home from work (he's employed at SIU with Project Achieve), a tribute to his mother, "One More time," pretty much emerged from him fully written. "Everything else fell like an avalanche out of me," he says.

Rather quickly, Pugh not only wrote much of The Shape of Things---it contains a pair of covers and a few older songs---but about another fifteen songs as well.

The DNA Vibrators played a reunion show for the 2004 Celebrate the Strip festival, and Pugh says their set sparked in the band a realization that hey, they could still play, and that maybe they should do so more often.

Pugh's new songs were deep in the DNA Vibrators' style, so he called Stoecker, whom Pugh says played guitar solos and "all the really hard stuff." Aimone wasn't available, so Pugh sequenced drum tracks in the style in which Aimone plays, insisting that Aimone is very much a part of the spirit of the recording.

Initially, Pugh hoped to make The Shape of Things a double CD, but he decided to hold off on the unrecorded material and release what he and Stoecker had already finished. The whole project, from the writing of "One More Time," to the release of The Shape of Things, took about six months. The recording, mixing, and mastering all took place at Pugh's home using his Mac.

Pugh is obviously quite comfortable at home---about half of the CD's songs are about family. "I Wish I Would Have Listened To Him More" pays tribute to Pugh's late father, while the tender "Remember" is a sort of less-isolationist "In My Room," where the sanctuary isn't solitude but his wife Lara and their children.

Pugh, in fact, wrote and recorded the basic tracks for the latter about ten years ago for his son's baby shower. "There's nothing harder than to sing a song like that to your wife and a roomful of your best friends [when they're] crying," he beams. Pugh cleaned up the original recording and added some new harmonies for the version on The Shape of Things.

Pugh sounds especially proud of "Less Than One Percent," which was inspired when he saw an Arabic man and his son walk across campus, and wondered how it would feel to live in a potentially hostile post September 11 America.

Meanwhile, true to its title, the CD does offer some foreshadowing---Pugh is working on and educational project, similar in nature to Schoolhouse Rock but aimed at college students and in the heavy-groove musical style of the DNA Vibrators. The Shape of Things' "Plate Tectonic King," about the trials, tribulations, discoveries, and missteps of geologist Alfred Wegener, is an example of what that project will include, according to Pugh. It rhymes, it rocks, it's memorable, and educational...and, well, cool.

The Shape of Things will soon be available in local record stores, and online through CDBaby! and iTunes. CDBaby! will also distribute the disc on demand to record stores nationwide. Pugh is also hoping to support the CD with some live shows that include Aimone.

And Pugh is also publishing online. His website, at , features a combination of memoirs and hilarious but important advice to young musicians, as well as downloadable music, archived photos, and other local music esoterica.

But family remains the core of Pugh's life, even in music. To different extents all three of Pugh's kids are playing guitar or keyboard. With Pugh on bass, all he needs now for a family band is a drummer.

That, he agrees---with his usual sense of humor---is all he needs: "I'm okay with not having drums in the house right now, " he laughs.

End of review. In order to keep DNA humble, the tool's wife said, after reading the article, "Well, I guess Wissmann is STILL in love with you!" To which the tool responded, "Why shouldn't he be? I'm lovable."

DNA is sincerely happy that some other folks seem to like the CD. The best is yet to come.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/4/07


You Don't Call Him Crash Because He Likes Zildjians....

DNA has always been the "driver" in the band. DNA is a control freak, but, more importantly, gets a little carsick unless its behind the wheel. So, while others look on driving as a chore, DNA welcomes the chance because the other alternative is getting a headache and feeling like throwing up. Sure, that's fun for a while, but only if its preceded by a bottle of Southern Comfort and a half a dozen shots of Wild Turkey. DNA has had its share of close calls on the road, but is actually a safe driver. DNA has driven thousands of miles, to and from shows. So, statistically, it has probably had fewer accidents than you, but in actual numbers, DNA has probably had more accidents than you. Let's just talk about the ones that happened while driving to or from shows.

DNA doesn't think it could reconstruct a timeline, but the first one happened in the Ford Econoline Van the Nightsoil Coolies had purchased together. It was 1990, it was an outdoor show in Decatur. The band members drove up separately, and the tool and his girlfriend (later wife) had possession of the van. Right before the interchange in Decatur where 48 and 51 cross, DNA went to change lanes. It was sure the rearview mirrors were clear. They were. But any van driver knows there is a fairly large blind spot that blocks the immediate right and left of the van. DNA glided into the right lane and felt the unexpected crunch of Buick against the side door. For a brief moment, DNA hoped that maybe there was a large metal garbage can that it had simply missed seeing that had somehow blown onto the highway, but quickly realized that it had crunched a car. We pulled over, made sure the other driver was okay (she was, she was actually more scared of what she was going to say to her husband, which kind of creeped us out). We exchanged insurance information, because although DNA could not find a scratch on the van, the side of her car looked like a beat down pinata. NO COPS, NO BLOOD, NO BIG DEAL. We went on did the show, and DNA earned the nickname, "Crash."

Next, in the band Monster Truck, DNA owned a Chevy conversion van. At one time, it was the shit---moon roof, nice stereo, carpet from floor to ceiling. But when DNA finally owned it, large plates of the floorboard were missing, the heater didn't work, and it leaked around all the glass. DNA hit a stationary dumpster with that van, while it was backing up to get some band equipment. Again, NO COPS, NO BLOOD, NO BIG DEAL. No one could even tell where the crease in the back door started.

While in Crank, DNA had this awesome car, a 1982 Chrylser Cordoba. Mink, was the official color of the car. Nice rims, killer stereo, comfy seats, and although it was a car, it was the travel vehicle for the band. We would rent a U-Haul trailer for out of town shows, or sometimes would caravan several cars with equipment. It was big enough that 5 people could sit comfortably in it. We did a show in Chicago. It rocked. Like most of our memorable Chicago shows, it was 20 below zero, and treacherous on the roadways. Traffic had quickly turned ice into several inch thick corrugated ruts of slippery death after the sun went down. We survived that pretty easily. The next day, the weather had taken a turn for the better, and most of the ice had turned to grey slush that was overflowing the curbs. DNA is no big city boy, and although DNA had driven the streets of Chicago many times, it didn't (and still really doesn't)understand how busses slip in and out of traffic, grazing mirrors and pedestrians, to get to the designated stops. DNA was behind one of those big Grumman flexible middle busses, when, as DNA saw the 90/94 exit ahead, and had gotten into the appropriate lane, the bus in front slammed on its brakes. DNA means it, its part of the Chicago bus driving necessity, to drive like a bat out of hell, and then as fast as possible, decelerate into the bus stop. DNA applied the brakes to the Cordoba, but instantly recognized this equation: Braking Distance Necessary > Ability of car to decelerate mass of vehicle + people + fully loaded U-Haul trailer. In other words, we were fucked. DNA looked in the rearview to the folks in the back seat, and said "Hold on!" just as the Cordoba hit the bus. DNA remembers the tool hitting his head on the metal frame in which the windshield is seated. He remembered hearing a rush in his ears, and seeing (don't be grossed out) blood and hair in the chrome strip around the inside of the glass where his head hit. He rubbed his head and there was some blood on his hand. He asked the guys, and girl (Angie, our drummer's wife) if everyone was okay. Everyone else was. He remembers getting out of the car, and getting a handful of snow to rub on his head. He looked at the bumper of the car, where it had hit the bus. He thought he should see if anyone on the bus was hurt (now you know DNA hit his head pretty damn hard if he thought his car was going to cause anyone to even flinch on that bus!). As the tool approached the front of the bus, an irate bus driver practically launched herself at the tool. "Fool," she yelled, "What is wrong with you? Don't you know this is a bus stop? Why you goin to do somethin like run into My bus, to day of all days..." and she continued as she walked back to the back of the bus with the tool. Everything was moving in slow motion. The tool attempted to answer her questions: "Well, Ma'am, I think I hit my head, and I feel funny. No Ma'am, I didn't know this was a bus stop. I thought this was the lane for the 90/94 turn off" (which it was---it also happened to be the bus stop---and for those of you who have seen this---it IS NOT clearly marked---it is something that city people assume, and country fucks like DNA crash into busses because of). And finally, he responded, "I didn't mean to run into your bus. Sorry. Are you okay?" By the time he had begun to answer her first question, she had already finished the last and was shaking her head while looking at the back of the bus. "Oh, I don't know about this. I'm goin have to call this one in." Looking back, the tool thought she expected him to freak out, as if maybe the dumb white kid would simply pay the bus driver some money to forget the whole thing, but the dumb white kid was a little too, oh, CONCUSSED, to worry. "Okay," he said, like Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters when Egon wants a sample of his brain tissue. This did not sit well with the bus driver. She made a show of parading back up to her seat, and commanded the tool to follow her. She called her dispatcher. While she was doing that, the tool addressed the people in the bus. "Sorry about that." Then he realized, that half didn't understand what he had said, and the other half was pissed off that he had lengthened by one minute the time they had to stay on the bus. So, the tool simply shut up. Nobody noticed that several handfuls of snow had melted down his shirt and coat to form a pinkish ring of wetness around his neck. The tool listened to the driver. "No, the bus is still drivable. No, there doesn't appear to be any damage. Fine. No, that's fine, it will get me outta here quicker." Then, as if the tool just didn't hear this, she said, "I ain't got time to wait for the police to file an accident report. So, I just need your insurance information and then when they take the bus back to the shop, they will call your insurance and make any claims they need to." "What claims?" the tool asked. "You said yourself that there was no damage to the bus." "MMM-hmmm. No visible damage. But who knows what happened to the structural integrity of the bus when you hit it? They will check it out, yes they will." That was said with a hint of threat in it. Like, regardless of what they find, they will find something that the insurance company will pay for. "I would be surprised if something that caused no damage to my little Cordoba might damage your great big city bus." She smiled. "I wouldn't." The tool asked about her insurance information. She laughed. "You can tell your insurance company to expect a call from the CTA. That's all you need to know." The tool didn't even know what CTA stood for at the time.

The bus left. Bandmates asked if DNA was okay. Ralph and Angie were watching DNA carefully. The blood looked yucky, but it was a surface wound. It had already stopped bleeding. However, DNA's headache had not stopped. DNA thought he had a concussion, but knew he had to be back at work that evening in Carbondale. Unless the tool passed out, there was no stopping. "Are you okay to drive? Is your vision blurry? Do you feel tired?" In the tool's head, it said, "No, yes, yes," but outside, it said, "Yes, no, no." We checked the vehicle, and DNA is proud of this car to this day, it had a feature called low impact bumpers which are bumpers built on airbags which are designed to take a small shock in accidents like these. They worked perfectly. The only damage to the car was that the bumper was pushed into the airbag cylinders during the impact. From the outside, unless you knew what to look for, you didn't see any damage (the bumper looked pushed into its housing on one side a little). The bus suffered absolutely no damage, not even a smudge of the salty grime built up on the rubber where the vehicles touched. NO COPS, ONLY A LITTLE BLOOD, NO BIG DEAL, right? WRONG.

DNA drove home, went to work, and laughed over the whole stupid event after the headache subsided. When DNA got home, it called the insurance company, and explained the whole accident. The insurance man said not to worry, but that he would mail down an accident report for the tool to fill out (our insurance was through a family friend in Springfield, even though we lived in Carondale). All routine, don't worry, that's what we're here for, etc. About three weeks later, DNA received a bill from the CTA for a replacement bumper on the Grumman or Metro, DNA doesn't recall which bus manufacturer, for about $1800.00 for the part alone. For all the financial geeks, that's in 1993 dollars. DNA contacted the insurance guy again, and he said that he has dealt with this kind of thing before. DNA's jaw hit the ground, as DNA thought, "Really? You have heard the one about the guy who hit a Chicago bus, didn't even scratch his car, but caused the bus two grand in damage?" but it guessed that insurance guys who have been in business for awhile probably do hear everything. Apparently, this was not the first time that a claim of outlandish proportions had been made in which someone was attempting to get the money for a new bumper which we knew wasn't going to be replaced. Amazingly, the insurance guy took care of it. We didn't pay a dime. Our rates didn't go up. This is why, (shameless plug here) we have and always will, insure our vehicles with Allstate. That may be a shameless plug, but note, DNA did not link to them. DNA is no whore.

Lastly, on the way to the second DNA Vibrators gig, a Christmas party at the offices of the Carbondale Nightlife, the winter of 1996, DNA was driving up to meet everyone else there. Traveling down the Strip, DNA approached the intersection of 51 and 13. The light was green. As DNA entered the intersection, there was a blur, a horn, a desperate attempt to turn and brake, a terrific crash, the feeling of the tool's head busting out the window glass, and then the aftermath, as the car gently rolled to a stop on the newly finished sidewalk of the downtown convention center. DNA felt oddly calm. The kids in the other car appeared to be fine, but one young man jumped out screaming, "Oh no, you fucking didn't!" over and over again. For a minute, the tool thought that he was going to get his ass beat for getting smashed in an intersection. The absurdity of it made him smile a little. As the tool got out of the car, the door, at first hesitant, dropped unnaturally down in a way the hinge just shouldn't move. The world wobbled a bit, and DNA realized that the Cordoba, the car that earlier that month, the tool and the wife decided that they would keep and instead of buying a new car, really "fix up," was totalled. Destroyed. Even so, with its lifeblood spilling out on the pavement, with its radiator having a hole punched through its middle by the fan blade, its beautiful 318 powerplant was still humming along smoothly. DNA reached back in and turned the car off. The steering wheel was bent.

DNA made his way slowly over to the curb and sat down. This time, the blow to the head was a little too strong to ignore. As he lay down and looked at the beautiful stars in the sky, he vaguely heard some commotion about calling an ambulance. It didn't seem like it took too long before some nice people in official looking winter coats came up to DNA and started asking lots of questions. "Sir, what is your name? Did you hit your head? Do you know what happened?" DNA tried to answer, but felt compelled to ask, "Is anyone hurt?" The look on the EMT's face was, "Yes, moron, you," but she said, "You let us worry about that." They put the tool in a neck brace, loaded him up, and took him to the hospital.

Don't worry reader, DNA was okay. Just another blow to the head, which the tool hadn't used for awhile, anyway. But, put yourself in the shoes of the wife, for a second. She gets a call about 15 minutes after DNA leaves. Sherriff: "Is this Mrs. So and so?" Wife: "Yes?" Sheriff: "This is officer Brown with the Carbondale Police Department. Your husband was involved in an accident." What follows was a stream of almost hysterical how bad, is he dead, what happened, and the officer could only say, "I do not have the details. He has been taken to the emergency room at Carbondale Memorial. Have a nice day." (Okay, DNA added the last part---cops don't really say that. It was however, printed on doors of all the police cruisers in Carbondale).

To paraphrase Morgan Freeman from the Shawshank Redemption, "Oh, Lara---that was the longest night of your life." You see, this day was not only a momentous occasion because The DNA Vibrators were playing. It was also the birthday celebration of the tool's one year old son, Carl, and of the tool's birthday too. AfroDJYak and his family, and many other friends were at the birthday party held at the tool's trailer. It was this party that the tool had left a few minutes ago. So, in a period of a few minutes, she went from joyous celebration of the life of their son and her husband, party with best friends, to contemplating being a widow with a young child to raise by herself. Life can punch you right in the uterus like that.

When she came through the emergency room doors, the tool tried to smile, and she was crying for 10 different reasons, but mainly because DNA looked okay. "You nearly lost me tonight," the tool said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Oh, shut up," she said back. Everybody had lots of questions, which DNA tried to answer. A nice policeman came while she was there. He asked some preliminary questions about the accident scene. He asked, "Were you wearing your seatbelt?" "No, I don't think so." "Are you sure?" he asked again. "Umm, nope. Not wearing it." "Listen," he said. "I appreciate your honesty, really, but when a police officer gives you an option to recall if your seat belt was on, you should consider if your seat belt was on. Now, was your seatbelt on?" The tool was more than a little addled. "Thanks, officer. Nope, my seat belt was not..." The tool's wife said, "I don't think he heard you correctly, right?" She eyed the tool, and then nodded affirmatively. "Yes," the tool said. "I did have my seat belt on." "Good," said the police officer. "Otherwise I would have had to ticket you." LIFE LESSON LEARNED: When a cop asks you to lie, it's okay to lie. It's like the priest telling the altar boy God wants him to show the boy why masturbation is so very, very wrong. Like the altar boy, DNA felt kind of dirty about the whole thing, but what was it supposed to do? Tell the truth? Which is why the whole event has bothered DNA to this day. The other people involved in the accident claimed to have a green light. DNA thought it had a green light. Clearly we both could not have had a green light. The police officer asked DNA details about the accident. "Are you sure the light was green?" DNA's response: "I thought so." "What do you mean?" "Well, I was for sure the light was green, but if they were for sure the light was green, maybe I made a mistake." DNA was willing to concede that after a day of great emotion, practice, cake and anticipation of blowing the doors off the Christmas party at the Nightlife, that maybe its head wasn't in the right place while it was driving. Apparently there are no grey areas of reality between a red light and a green light. The police officer asked again. "Was the light red or green?" Lara looked at the tool, the police officer gave him the same look as he did a few moments before...and the tool said, "Green?" "Good enough for me," said the cop. COPS, SOME BLOOD, SOME X-RAYS, A COUPLE OF DESTROYED CARS, BUT THANKFULLY, NO ONE PERMANENTLY HURT. Notice a pattern? One wreck in each band, the shit continuing to get worse, and more morally ambiguous with each accident---for this reason, The DNA Vibrators will be the last band DNA is in.

DNA still doesn't know, for sure, if the light was red or green. That has never sat well with an entity like DNA which believes that underneath all perceptions lie fundamental actions. DNA will never know the fundamental action of that moment. In how many other moments is the fundamental action missed? DNA is just glad it doesn't have to crash another car to find out.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/6/07


I Believe In CRANK...

Once, while in the band Crank, we stayed at a friend’s house in the St. Louis area. We played at a club in the University City area of St. Louis. It’s a great part of town. The show was terrific. We played with a band from Texas called Ed Hall. Ed Hall was a turning point for Crank. During that show, we realized that rock and roll was equal parts theater, music, shock, and overpowering amounts of noise, more noise than you could imagine that only three or four people can make.

Later that evening, as we were enjoying the after the show wind down, the Reverend Scotch got into a heated debate about what it takes to be successful. DNA was reminded of this exchange after its recent trip to Chicago (blog post 3/2/07). The Reverend’s argument went kind of like this: Girl We Were Staying With (GWWSW): “Sure, you guys are playing out all the time, and you sound good, but you gotta believe in what you are doing. In fact, that’s all you need to do.” The Reverend: “Have you ever been in a band? Do you think any of us are doing this if we didn’t believe that what we were doing was worth doing?” GWWSW: “No, you might believe in it, but you don’t really BELIEVE in it.” The Reverend: “Right. Exactly what the fuck does that mean? Regardless, your argument is false. Belief in yourself is probably the least important component of success. Bands like O-Town (remember, this was from several years ago---so to make this allusion relevant, put in any manufactured band you are more familiar with) are not assembled because of their belief in each other. They are corporate creations, designed to meet certain expectations we have, and certain formulas that record companies know works, and we, stupid sheep that we are, validate their methods by buying crap like that. Outside of that, looking only at those bands that actually do slog it out in the trenches, they all believe in themselves. What they don’t have is the same group of support people, agents, the contacts on such and such record label, the same ‘in’ at the influential club. That’s what is different between them. That, and the quality of their music. After all that, THEN, belief in what you do adds into the equation.” GWWSW: “You say stuff like that because your belief in what you do is not what would allow you to make the sacrifices and accept and recognize the opportunities that would come your way if you really did believe the way I’m talking about believing.” The Reverend: “Why aren’t you making a million dollars then? Why couldn’t Einstein unite gravity with the other forces of nature, relativity and quantum mechanics? Accomplishments are not caused by belief. Belief may be necessary, but belief is not dedication, hard work, luck, networking, skill and talent. Belief may be a personal motivator, but come on. Are you telling me that Michael Bolton believed in himself more than Ray Charles? Is that what you are seriously trying to argue, because Bolton may have sold more records (again, DNA doesn’t believe this is the case, but imagine yourself several years ago, as Bolton was tearing up the charts, making people who actually enjoy music wonder how the soundtrack to George Orwell’s vision of the future could have taken over our airwaves against our wills). Is this what you are saying?”

And so on. Again, this argument has surfaced around DNA so many times past and present. It is the same argument that the fundamentalist person on the plane presented to DNA (10/15/06), the argument that DNA heard from a motivational speaker just last month (3/2/07) and from a spirited conversation with a co-worker about creationism compared to evolution at about the same time. DNA is going to formulate a lengthier response to the question of how belief, or more accurately, a person’s belief in belief, changes how they approach a situation. But the short form, which DNA is going to crap out right now, is this: When belief becomes an answer to a problem, and not a means to help you understand your place in the universe, or when belief becomes embodied in a thing, and is not the conceptual road your theology follows, then belief limits you. Belief, which normally is a blanket, or a shield when you tread in unfamiliar moral territory, can become a barrier to an open mind, or to experience which may in the end strengthen your belief and your understanding of your place in the universe.

Here’s an example of what I am talking about: A person recently argued with DNA that because dinosaurs are not mentioned in the Bible, they didn’t exist. That is, a person who believes that every word in the Bible is literally true, and that since dinosaurs were not mentioned in the Bible as a concept, they have to be false, they believe that millions of years of fossil records, and an unimpeachable record of at least two hundred of years of scientific research, and even recent tests which show actual recoverable DNA (don’t be confused, here “DNA” is not this writer, it is deoxyribonucleic acid) within the fossilized bones of dinosaurs, all of this is a trick, it is Satan attempting to delude us, to make us doubt the veracity of the Bible. This is an example of how belief in a thing (a book) overrides common sense, research, and plain, obvious natural processes, that are fairly easily understood with a small amount of reading, and a little bit of experience in the REAL WORLD. However, the mere fact that DNA (the writer, here) espouses a belief that dinosaurs are the remains of creatures from millions of years ago has damned DNA in this other person’s eyes. Because one aspect of DNA’s belief does not match with a literal interpretation of the Bible, in that person’s eyes, NO aspect of DNA’s belief can match with any interpretation of the Bible. Hence, DNA’s belief is limited, and its intelligence is actually only aiding in its self delusion. DNA is Godless, and is going to Hell.

Years ago, when DNA was forced to endure this kind of blind belief, it made DNA mad, because somehow that other person was judging DNA to be less able to believe something, and so, to be less in all aspects of life. Seriously. A person who is blind in belief sees another through that myopic point of view. DNA believes this is why a fundamentalist is more able to blow up abortion clinics, or strap a bomb to his chest and blow up a bus or police station. Inherent in their beliefs is that because you don’t believe like them, you are less than them, and certainly, will not occupy a seat in Heaven on judgment day.

Unfortunately, arguing with this kind of person is pointless, because God is certainly a higher authority then DNA on any subject brought up. Makes DNA wonder though, why is this person, or any fundamentalist, for that matter, concerned about going to college? Learning anything? Why do they use any technology, all of which is based solely on the same scientific principles which scientists are now using to try to probe the beginnings of the universe? DNA will tell you: because, their belief isn’t convenient if they really stick to the tenets of their philosophy. So, if they use a remote control, it damn well better be a remote control powered by the commands of God, and not by a flow of electrons and an infrared eye. Otherwise, DNA thinks they are all hypocrites.

Most fundamentalists DNA know seem to think that the pursuit of empirical knowledge somehow invalidates spiritual truth. Why can’t evolution and a belief in creation exist simultaneously? Why don't most fundamentalists see that the spiritual realm is based on faith, while the scientific realm is based on fact, and that one does not threaten the other? Why does embracing our God-given intelligence to try to understand and attempt to gain insight into our universe invalidate our own spiritual understanding of the universe? It is this same close-minded approach to the world that kept the catholic church and generations of dead WRONG christians preaching and believing that the world was flat when insurmountable evidence pointed otherwise, in order to protect a point of religious "understanding of God's word." Answer these questions if you can, fundamentalist. When DNA engages a fundamentalist in debate, at some point, the fundamentalist loses, or quits. So far, the record is: Fundamentalists: 0; DNA: Infinity. DNA is clearing out a hard drive just for the hate mail. Bring it on. God is on DNA's side. He and DNA have been friends, well, since before this universe was created.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/7/07


Its The Little Things That Count....

Today was mostly a straightening and streamlining day on the website. DNA increased the size of some fonts, thinking of you, as always, changed some margins to take advantage of the full size of the page your monitor can display, and altered text on most of the pages to simplify, refresh, and make a little bit funnier some shit that was funny already.

An update regarding the band: The DNA Vibrators will play out to support the CD, at least in a limited way. A couple of gigs are lined up. As soon as they are finalized, you will know it.

Next, good news from CD Baby! The first shipment of CD's sold out! More is on the way. Also, they have delivered online content to several online sources including iTunes. However, the iTunes link is not yet active. Please give it about a month. However, you can bet DNA is trying that link out every day. As soon as it is active, DNA will let you know.

Even though DNA is old, and tired, today, DNA felt bold and wired. Today reminded DNA of the first day DNA made $1000 at the door of a club (playing in a band, not down on its knees, you little bastard). If this happens to you, it occurs to you that now the band has made more than the soundguy, and you might actually be able to support yourself as a musician if things continue to go right. It is a terrific affirmation to reach a milestone like that. But alas, success like that is fleeting, and though feels good, is ultimately not as important as doing what you want. So, DNA was happy to be in the retail moment today, and looks forward to playing out. But, in the end, its just happy making some music that its kids will listen to and think doesn't suck.

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/8/07


Band Name Do's and Dont's

DNA has been waiting a while for this topic, and it is one that will likely make it to the TIPS for bands page. In past posts, DNA has explained how its first band, the Nightsoil Coolies was named. It has also described the circumstances around naming the band CRANK. It seems time to complete the quarto, and describe how Monster Truck and the eponymous DNA Vibrators were named.

Originally, Monster Truck was called Satan's Monster Truck. So let's start with the question, "Why the fuck would you choose a retarded name like that?" Well, after the Coolies broke up, and Ralph had played drums for us kind of on an interim basis, we decided that the chemistry between Ralph, DNA, Fish and Gone Brian Vaughan was good, maybe not moonshine in the basement good, but certainly vodka from potatoes good. The name you choose for the band, the process you go through to attempt to describe your collective identity, is, some say, of paramount importance. Others say it means shit. DNA is of the opinion that a name is important. It's what you hang your reputation on, its the ease that your sick little brand of music slides off the tongue and into the ear of unsuspecting listeners, it's the name that's thought-provoking, but not pretentious, simple yet profound, fun and socially conscious, at once, YOU, but nothing like who you really are. It's either the name you can imagine a radio DJ saying in between bands like the Screaming Trees and Moorcheeba, or it's the name which gets your demo dumped in the trash bin faster than three day old guacomole. "What's the name of that group? 'Branded?' Cool." Or, "What's the name of that group? 'The Leotard Penguins?' Who'd they lose a bet with?"

(Okay. This always happens. When you attempt to give an example of how not cool something can be, it always works against you. For example, DNA would much rather see the 'Leotard Penguins' than 'Branded.' 'Branded' sounds cliche already--fightin' the corporate man, but commercialized no matter what. Now, the 'Leotard Penguins,' they are cool, cuz, you see, normal penguins wear tuxedos.) By the way, both of those names are now officially licensed as DNA Vibrator creations. Please contact Brainmilk Publishing for the rights to those hot pieces of property.

DNA has always viewed naming a band as one of the more important things the three, or four, or however many of you there are, will do as a group. Group identity ties into the whole tribal thing that being in a band represents. The best part of the Coolies, Monster Truck, CRANK, and the DNA Vibrators is that each group represented a unique experience that only we band members shared. No matter how lame we might have been, no one else did what we did. Band of brothers, man, band of brothers.

For whatever reason, naming ultimately fell to DNA each time. Everybody had their say, but the last straw was always DNA's to add or remove. (more to come---DNA is taking a break to watch the new South Park and Sarah Silverman shows)

Which were great, BTW. Anyway, the members of Monster Truck were sitting around the House on Forest Street, after the time that the Coolies knew they were over, but before we all split. We were in the living room, discussing band names. Several choices were nixxed right away. (here's some of those TIPS DNA was talking about) Personal Preference: Nothing with "the" in the title: The Bolshoi, for example. Nothing with alliteration: Screaming Mimi's, for example. DNA knows that every example it gives is already used. And some of you will like them. That's okay. It's okay to like retarded stuff. DNA likes retarded stuff too. Nothing that cashes in on somebody else's cultural cache: The Timothy Learys, for example. Stay away from words or phrases coined or made famous by someone else: Nerf Herder, for example. If they are going to rip from Star Wars, then why didn't they just call themselves Darth Vader, for fuck's sake? DNA would have respected that, at least. Again, don't get DNA wrong. DNA liked Nerf Herder. By the way, how did George Lucas get away with that? Nerf is a trademarked term, which he used as an epithet from Leia to Han in the second movie. Nerf should be making dough from that. He also fell in to the alliteration trap---NERf--HERder---to give a sing-song-y feel to something nonsensical. The alliteration is a thin veil of what on the surface sounds interesting, but is actually verbal buffoonery.

DNA is climbing off of its high horse now. Back to band name no-no's. There's another: Doubling a word for effect: Talk Talk, Mister Mister, DURAN DURAN. What the fuck ever. Again, you may like those bands, but the names suck. However, it is important to remember that for every rule, there are always exceptions. In fact, it is exceptions that really fuck up using that convention for anyone else. For example, The The: Breaks three rules: No "the," no alliteration, and no doubling up words. However, The The was cool. Too cool.

Absolutely no "z's" or "x's" or "y's" in place of the actual letters that spell a word. Unless your band name is XXYZZXX, or ZZAZZAXX, or something like that.

Please reject out of hand those names that always come up, but thankfully are always shot down by someone in the band whose IQ is greater than 60: No band names like "Free Beer," or "Naked Girls." You see, wouldn't it be funny if, huh huh, we were called "Free Beer," and like, the bar owner had to put our name up on their sign, and huh huh, everybody would come because they were advertising Free Beer. Yes, uninitiated, this kind of name comes up at least once in every serious conversation about band names. Musicians are simple people, in the main.

No acronyms, or letters strung together to spell a word, like in code: U2, INXS, UTFO!!! DNA is only slightly ashamed to admit it likes all three. But that's enough. What you string together will not be as cool. So stop yourself now.

Finally, no machismo or shock value names: "Harder Than You," "Septic Death," or "Cannibal Corpse," for example. Please. Again, DNA finds some of their music interesting, but DNA has never understood this trend for band names. "Our music is EXTREME!!" Okay. We got it. Guess what? If follows the same basic structure and pattern as all Western music. You use the commonly accepted instruments to convey the same banal message, "nobody understands me," or "fear me, because I am an individual too strong to be tamed by society." One band DNA really liked, "Devastation." Their album was called "A Creation of Ripping Death." DNA always thought, "Really? Cool songs, but no ripping death here." Once DNA heard the band name Devastation, it always thought Devastation Wagon would have been so much better. So now, you see the avenue down which DNA treads with band names.

Satan's Monster Truck. Brian and Ralph had the most qualms about it, but DNA explained: "You see, imagine that since you have bodybuilders for Jesus, and rock groups for Jesus, and everything else for Jesus, then surely Satan would latch on to some cultural icon, too. Imagine just what Satan's Monster Truck would be like. Not just flames on the sides, but real fire, with the souls of the damned being burned into the finish of the truck, so when you look at it in the right light, you can see the outlines of the damned in the flames. For every toothpick sucking Billy Joe Bob who wears the WWJD belt and hat, and is a good ol country boy, there is another Billy Joe Bob harassing minorities, fucking his sister, and hurting animals for fun. Problem is, they're all the same guy. They don't go to see monster truck races, they go to see cars flip, engines explode, and crankshaft gears lobotomize grandpas sitting in the 32nd row. As a spectacle, monster truck shows are really a measure of how much like animals we are, and how little of the divine is truly left in us. Hence, Satan's Monster Truck, here to send other monster trucks to hell. Satan's Monster Truck, demanding your adoration and fear, knowing that you will be inexorably drawn into the belly of the beast. Satan's Monster Truck, as ludicrous and stupid as assigning any personality to a car: "Gravedigger," or "Bigfoot." Please. All ultra gay. Satan's Monster Truck was just obviously ultra gay. Which made it a perfect candiate for a band name.

Ultimately, the real concerns of Brian and Ralph won DNA over. "Some people just might not get it, and think that maybe somehow we are endorsing Satan, or something," Said Brian. "We are," said DNA. "If you think that by calling our selves Satan's Monster Truck we are somehow risking retribution, then I think we should just cut to the chase and call oursleves Satan." The other guys impressed upon DNA how likely it would be that some big shit kicking guys might actually take offense and beat the crap out of us with that name. DNA finally relented, and agreed to call the band Monster Truck. However, the deific irony was now missing, and it felt more like we were endorsing the sport rather than pointing out how ludicrous it is to anthropomorphize a vehicle. DNA thinks that one of the reasons Monster Truck didn't have the cohesion of the other bands it has been part of was tied directly to the split we had right at the beginning. We would have been better off with a different name entirely, rather than compromise on the one we started with.

DNA will have to save the story of the DNA Vibrators' name for another day. It's getting late, and DNA has a real job to get up for tomorrow.


As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/9/07


Band Name Do's and Dont's, Part Two

Naming Your Band, and Other Unimportant Details....

FIRST, the LINK for the DNA VIBRATORS is now active at iTunes. Check it out and see for yourself.

Or, while at iTunes, simply type in The DNA Vibrators in the search box.

Or if you don't have iTunes, wait just a little bit longer, and check the release out at these other music download sites: AudioLunchbox, MusicIsHere, Goodstorm, USEN, PayPlay, BuyMusic, Inprodicon, MP3-Extension, MusicNow, Tradebit, Bitmunk, Daiki, Interia, MP3tunes, and Rhapsody, to name a few.

Of course, you don't have to wait. You can by the CD, now at CD Baby!

Next, you may have noticed, or not, but now there is a link at the top of the blog page, which will allow you to skip down to the most recent blog post, a suggestion which certainly makes this blog run smoother for the return reader, but still maintains chronological order for a new reader. As always, DNA is looking out for you. Thanks to AfroDJYak for recommending this change.

Now, to business. In the last post, DNA described the mechanism by which it named bands, specifically Monster Truck, and in the course of doing so, listed several things NOT to do when naming a band. For every exception you can name to one of the rules listed, DNA can think of 10 suck ass names that support the rules. Test DNA, it's ready.

So far, all the rules have been don'ts, but there are certainly some do's to take into account, too. DO find something relevant which means something to you and your band. Do anticipate what people will think when they hear your name, and capitalize on that perception. If you are really good, you will create a name which resonates with a large group of people. One thing to remember, if you are good, and you “miss” with your name, even a suck ass name will not sink your group. Nirvana, great name, captured the zeitgeist of a generation. Pearl Jam, name sucks donkey balls, was perceived as too pretentious and derivative for their own good. However, this name did not kill them. They backed off from the press, gained a little dignity and respect, and commenced to make some pretty good songs on their own terms.

On a trip to Chicago, in 1993, DNA and family were staying with AfroDJYak and family. AfroDJYak and DNA were shooting the shit, and walking out in the neighborhood. “Hey,” said DNA, I’ve got a bunch of songs that just don’t fit in CRANK. I’d like to record them, and I’d like you to do the drumming. Cool?” With his usual aplomb, meaning that AfroDJYak was well aware that every word coming out of DNA’s mouth was the sincerest bullshit that anyone could utter, said, “Sure.” He made DNA happy, and in the end, if it didn’t pan out, he didn’t commit to anything, anyway.

DNA said, “I’ve been trying to think of a name. It needs to be weird, something that throws you off kilter, and something that means something different the more you think about it.” Because the first song that became a DNA song was God Made Us Funky, and it originally had a very mechanical, industrial feel, DNA leaned towards names that incorporated mechanical and biological functions, or some twisted, mutated function. So the first names were ones that had been circulating in DNA’s head for some time. “What do you think of Brainmilk?”

AfroDJYak was pretty noncommittal. “Uh,” but “uh" said volumes. DNA continued. “You know, like if they squeezed some brains, and you caught the juice in a cup, that would be Brainmilk.” AfroDJYak suggested, “How about Circle of Willis?” “Interesting…" DNA said, "brain related (look it up), but I just don’t know.” “How about the Hard-ons?” “Already a band.” “The Eyelobes?” “Weird!”

DNA had another one waiting. “How about DNA Vibrators?” AfroDJYak asked, “What is that supposed to mean?” “Well,” DNA said, “I have been thinking, you know how a vibrator, well vibrates? And is a substitute for a dick? We need something like that for the gene pool. Something that would fuck us right in the genes, and revitalize us in every way. But, we can’t depend on ourselves to do it. Devo was right. (this was the second song DNA wrote) The fittest shall survive, yet the unfit may live.”

And so the name was born. Since then, scientists have actually coined several terms which use the words dna and vibrator together. There is a dna vibrator table, there is a vibrator mutation in a certain gene. Which brings us to an important DO for band names: Do coin a name which will be adopted by others in the same community which inspired you to begin with.

Here are a couple of more band name DONT'S:

Don’t use a sex toy in the name of your band. The Strap-Ons may be good, but DNA just doesn’t want to listen to them.

Don’t use scientific terms in your band name: Polymorphism, for example, will never be cool. However, if they changed their name to Polly Morphism, now that would be the shit.

Do not combine sex toys and scientific terminology together in your band’s name.

Finally, NEVER be hypocritical. Don’t tell people one thing and do something else in your band’s name. Nobody will respect you for that. They will see right through you. The exception to these last few rules? Why, THE DNA VIBRATORS OF COURSE!!!!

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/10/07


What's In A Name?

DNA just received this comment from AfroDJYak apparently after AfroDJYak read the last post about how DNA named the band the DNA Vibrators:

Name you wish to be referred to:    afro dj yak - soon to be changed

URL or email:    xxxxxxxxx.com (email changed to protect the completely WRONG)

Comment:    I came up with The Name and you know it. I come up with all the good stuff. And you always claim it. You're a bastard. That's why I love you. And I'd like to change my name to Mr. Kamikaze.

Thank you, Mr. Kamikaze



Well,(be back in a minute---making dinner....)Ahh, DNA made Quizno's. It was MMMM MMMM MMMM MMMM MMMM...toasty!

Dear AfroDJYak,

Remember that movie Working Girl, with Melanie Griffith and Sigourney Weaver? Remember how Tess (Melanie) worked her ass off, exploited a little white lie, and then got her shot to really show what she could do? Remember how Katherine (Sigourney) used Tess' good ideas and tried to pass them off as her own, and in the end, when she had to try to tell the big business owner how she came up with the idea, and she couldn't? Remember that scene where Tess is in her underwear? Well, that is DNA! DNA is Tess McGill!! Prove that you are not Katherine Parker, the snarky evil one that takes all the credit for the ideas that are not hers. DNA has the origin story, its DNA's namesake, for Christ's sake! Next, you'll be telling DNA that you came up with the nicknames for AfroDJYak and the Hand of God Attachment, too. DNA shouldn't have said that. As sure as DNA has wrote it, it knows that now, you think that you came up with those names, even though DNA absofuckinglutely KNOWS for crystal clear unequivocal fact that you did not. But if it makes you feel better to think that you did, go ahead and be wrong. The pursuit of Truth is its own reward, and DNA got a plenty big reward waiting for it, while you got a city bus sized box of scorn waiting for you! DNA does not have to convince anyone ANYTHING, expecially those who wish they had the cool nicknaming ability of DNA. Does DNA have to remind you that it nicknamed the girl from the dorms "Snoopy," and it stuck forever, that he nicknamed the wife, "Hun," as in short for "Lara the Hun," Attilla's really mean sister?

Technically, DNA is not a bastard. It was created ex nihilo. Nothingness was its father, the Void its mother. Chaos was its brother. Disorder was its sister. Really Cloudy and Humid was its cousin. And,...wait for it...AfroDJYak was its bestest ever friend. Ahhhh, how gay!

So, You want to make up YOUR OWN nickname, instead of having DNA come up with it instead? Who writes the blog in this band anyway? Mr. Kamikaze? No. Mr. DNA does, that's who. Mr. Kamikaze. What kind of dumb old name is that? Mr. DNA can only imagine the exchange between us the next time we see each other:

"Mr. Kamikaze?" DNA inquires.

"Mr. DNA," you curtly reply. Then you look to your left, where the Hand of God Attachment is standing, point to DNA, and say: "He's an altruistic pervert."

The Hand of God Attachment is shocked to hear the hurtful tone in your voice, and rebukes you: "Mr. Kamikaze!"

But DNA doesn't deny it, and The Hand of God Attachment, friends with DNA for many years, questions your conclusion and says incredulously, "Mr. DNA?"

You respond matter-of-factly before DNA can: "He's here to spread some genes."

Its such hard concept for The Hand of God Attachment to wrap his mind around, the whole scene repeats: "Mr. Kamikaze." "Mr. DNA." "He's an altruistic pervert?" "Mr. Kamikaze!" "Mr. DNA, he's here to spread some genes now."

Then, The Hand of God Attachment says, "Wait a minute, something's wrong. He's the man from the past," pointing at DNA. "He's here to do us a favor, a little human sacrifice. It's just supply and demand!"

And so on. Finally, DNA has enough, and pulls Mr. Kamikaze aside: "This monkey wants a word with you!"

DNA is so pleased with you, Mr. Kamikaze. You have achieved a new level, grasshopper. AfroDJYak is officially no longer AfroDJYak. AfroDJYak is now Mr. Kamikaze. DNA is so pleased, that when we play this bitch out, the DNA Vibrators MUST play Smart Patrol/Mr. DNA by DEVO.

Also, via email, The Hand of God Attachment directed a lightning filled finger at DNA today. In reference to itself, it called itself HOG (Hand of God). Rightfully so. The attachment is actually the guitar. HOG is what plays it. So, from this moment on, AfroDJYak will be forever known as Mr. Kamikaze, baptized, as called for by the ritual, in the lyrics of the river DEVO, and The Hand of God Attachment is now HOG, sanctifying this change through its own divine will.

HOG, Mr. Kamikaze, welcome aboard.

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/11/07

Here We Go Again!

Let's see....busted ass on a record from November to February, got it distributed nationally, got in on iTunes and other digital retailers, sold some, got some great reviews, got some shows lined up. It's time to work on a new record.

Today, DNA had to go into work to get some work done, even though it was a Saturday. While it was there, it recorded the basic tracks for the first new song on the next project. It's called "Love Machine." No, it's not some metal parody or rip off. As soon as DNA gets a finished product, probably on Monday or so, DNA will link a snippet of it up on the website. There are about six other new songs waiting in the wings, so it is simply a matter of time to get them recorded.

For those of you who know DNA, and really, anybody who reads this blog knows DNA, (DNA is a fairly transparent entity), perhaps YOU can help DNA title the new release. Return of the Purple-Headed Stranger is still certainly high on the list, particularly if DNA does some more traditional country covers on the record. Email DNA, or post a comment in the Guestbook if you have a suggestion for a name for the new record.

Also, DNA is working on some stickers for the band. DNA will likely use the old, old logo (vibrators twisted into a helix with batteries connecting them), and the new green color and clean font for the band name. Help DNA out. If you are of an artistic bent, and you can draw, paint, or use a program like Illustrator, send DNA your artwork. If it's good, DNA might use it.

Some of you might be wondering, "Why in the hell are you working on a new album now? The old one is still brand new." The internet, digital recording, and the low price associated with doing this alone means that DNA does not have to adhere to any previously accepted paradigm for record releases. DNA is reminded of Aimee Mann, a terrific independent artist, who had a major label deal, lost it, and now does all of her stuff on her own. She records whenever she wants, and puts it our for sale, essentially, on demand (DNA follows a similar model, but on a much smaller scale).

Two or three years from now, will anyone who might actually be buying any of DNA's stuff even care if two records were released in one year? 10 years from now, will anyone care if DNA released 8 records in 3 years? Simple answer: NO.

Bottom line for DNA: Don't care what the paradigm is. Ain't doing this for no paradigm. DNA is doing this for the fun of it. If not now, when? If not DNA, then who? DNA sleeps about three hours a night. It feels an overwhelming urge to do this now, while it still has the faculty, the spark, the interest, and the physical ability to do it. Life is short, fragile, and unpredictable. Stability is an illusion. Don't count on things being the same tomorrow as they are today. Count on things changing. In fact, every day that things do not change surely increases the odds that today is the day they will. Tell your kids you love them again today. Do something special for the one you love. Call up your mom or dad and tell them you love them. Every minute lost is worth your life to have back if you have less than 60 seconds to live. That little bit of dimestore philosphy sounds kind of like that terrific Steven Wright line: "I'd give my right arm to be ambidextrous."

DNA hopes that when the tool is dead and gone, (let's hope a long time from now!) some little spark of its existence will continue in its children. Perhaps a song it writes today will be the vehicle needed for its own children, or for any of you crazy kids out there, to pursue a little of the music that sits in your own dna, waiting to be created.

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/13/07

Song And Show News

Today saw progress on two songs, I Can't Be Your Robot, and Big Black Cadillac, so far, both very different ventures than stuff on the previous records. HOG came by today (remember, the Hand of God Attachment prefers to be called HOG now), and we talked about the direction of this record, the educational project, and also about the current release. All in all, a good day. DNA's wife kept DNA's feet on the ground as she listened to the songs in progress: "Umm, that one just doesn't get me." "That one is too slow. Also, the keyboardy thing sounds like farts." "Lose that part." That kind of advice is sometimes hard to swallow, but ultimately DNA trusts her judgment. She has good taste in music, and is independent enough to tell DNA if she thinks something sucks.

We have a definite date for our CD release party. On June 23rd, at the Hangar 9 in Carbondale, Illinois, Triple Whip, from Champaign, Nonagon, a band, from Chicago, and the DNA Vibrators,(no linky---you already here) will be gracing the stage. It should be a fun time in the hot town that night!

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/14/07

Deliver Content? What an interesting idea.

First, DNA needs to acknowledge Peter the Great, local Carbondale smart guy for the straightforward way he has his comments request posted at the end of each blog. DNA took the phrase right from him.

Next, DNA wishes his smokin' hot wife a Happy Anniversary! We have been married 16 years today. Does that make DNA a trained man? Say what you will. Married men live longer than their unmarried peers.

Finally, DNA has posted the song, "I Can't Be Your Robot," to the web page. The song is not done, but DNA wanted to go ahead and put it our there. In fact, 12 years ago or so, when DNA worked for a record retailer, DNA managed a large profitable record store. DNA pitched this idea to the owner of the company:

"We should invest in delivering downloadable music thorugh kiosks in your stores. Have access through high speed networks to large servers which store millions of songs, and customers are levied a fee for each song they want to buy, and then we simply charge them for whatever it is they purchase. We win, because we don't have to have certain catalog product in the store taking up valuable space, customer wins because they only buy what they want, the record label wins because they don't have to supply physical product, and the artist wins, as new customers are exposed to their catalogs inexpensively. What do you think?" (Well, that was the abbreviated version)

He was an old brick and mortar guy, and didn't think that customers would want to buy music in that fashion. Hmmm. That chain of stores no longer exists. No, this isn't a sob story of "Oh look, he invented iTunes but nobody believed in him." No, DNA was saying what many in the industry were saying at the time. It's just, at that time, nobody was doing it inside brick and mortar stores. DNa has wondered what would have been different if the company prez had went with it.

Anyway, along with this idea, years ago, DNA always thought the internet would be a great way for bands to begin a process of feedback with fans, so that fans who really love the band, could have live web cam feeds of studio recording sessions, or could have access to outtakes, or versions in progres of songs. DNA could see how artists could use fans as an untapped resource for critical review. When DNA shared this idea with some bigwig music people, some told DNA that this would have a chilling effect on record sales. DNA knows the opposite would happen. Fans appreciate being needed. Not only would they download the unfinished version of studio outtake 3 of the song, they will download the 4 other versions, and then buy the album when it hits store shelves, so they could compare the differences and feel like they were part of, or at least privvy to, the process of creation. Artists would also have an opportunity to offer special things to those people who supported them through thick and thin. The best part of this situation is that it costs next to nothing to do. Alternate takes, song evolution, multiple versions, these are part of the recording process, anyway. Even though this is the case, few artists offer this kind of window into their process for their fans.

With that in mind, DNA offers the song "I Can't Be Your Robot," for your enjoyment. It is not done, but this gives you a window into the process of creation. When it is finished, DNA will post a new page, called, "A Song From Start To End," to document how this process typically goes for DNA. If you like it, DNA will discuss the evolution of other songs, too. This is YOUR CHANCE to effect the direction of how this song will be finished. So, offer constructive criticism. Not, "Get somebody better to sing it," or "You suck." If that's how you really feel, which certainly might be a legitimate point of view, then why the fuck you here to begin with? Go to the web page of another band with a better singer and a live drummer.

Notice, that this will be the only time DNA asks for your input. Don't waste your chance.

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/16/07

The Uniform of Youth

When the tool was a young pup, he didn’t know why he was style-less even among his peers in a tiny rural town in central Illinois. There were about 30 kids in his graduating class, and just about every one of them, even the camouflage wearing, John Deere Hat sporting country boys, understood style better than him. Don’t take anything away from those folks: they looked good in a suit on Prom night. A tee shirt with rolled up sleeves didn’t look gayer than Patrick Swazye in Road House when they did it.

It’s not that the tool didn’t understand style; it’s more that he understood the antithesis of style much, much better. He didn’t particularly care about wearing the coolest clothes, having a hair style, or having glasses that were from this century. He soon came to understand that there were others that seemed to have the same lack of interest in towing the line of style. In 1977, he saw DEVO on television. “Here are some guys who get it,” he thought. Artists have long challenged conventional ideas of what should be considered art, but artists also challenge the more mundane aspects of culture, too. What is considered beautiful? What is considered pleasing?

Many people are uncomfortable when they see others obviously adopting a look, a façade, a way of life that is counter to the dominant culture. Some become agitated, some become angry, a few become belligerent and abusive, and a small number are moved to violence and hatred simply because a person is or chooses to be different. Why is it that? Why are those in power and control worried or afraid of those who do not or choose not to look and act like them?

As the tool began to play in bands, his role models and those whom he respected included some folks like the Clash, DEVO, the Sex Pistols, XTC, the Police, and many other early punk and new wave bands. Do an image search on Google to see that these two musical movements, and really, all musical movements, create and perpetuate their own costumes, their own uniforms, if you will. This is true not only of musical genres, but of most groups, whether they are biker gangs or boy scouts. People desperately need easily identifiable signs to be able to discriminate and assign meaning to the myriad of information we each assess about each person who comes within our field of experience. In our culture, we allow certain groups to express themselves in certain ways under certain conditions. It is okay for bikers to wear all leather at a biker bar. However, it is not okay to wear all leather to do your grocery shopping. So, it's okay for the rock and roll band to wear leather, have freaky haircuts, be dirty and have tattoos from head to foot. In fact, some looks have become expected, (so much for the counter culture) as long as they keep within their sphere. Because so much money is to be made from popular music, record companies, music TV, promoters, and consumers themselves perpetuate the bubble that allows artists to express themselves. How else could a person like Michael Jackson have actually lived the way he lived, in NEVERLAND, for Christ’s sake? Michael Jackson’s excesses are not just his. We all created the bubble which allowed his little world to develop. His life is a natural side effect and proof that the tenets of this argument here are basically sound. Only after several continued affronts to “normal” society did Jackson get into trouble. Counter culture is okay as long is it stays in its fucking place. You know, under the illusion that counter-culturalists are relevant. But when someone in the counter culture steps out of the role of “entertainer,” or "voice in the wilderness," then the latitude that person had before to dress and act outrageously quickly vanishes. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s political career was nearly derailed by his opponents dredging up his sexual exploits and commentary when he was being treated like a Greek god come to life in his youth. As his role changed, as he attempted to continue to cash in on his fame to fuel his political rise, society would have none of that. In effect, society demands that you can’t live a counter-culture life, and disagree with those in power unmolested, if you begin to actually wield cultural power yourself. In the end, Schwarzenegger had to disavow his counter-culture life. For most of the last 20 years, in order to move away from his “entertainer” role, he has had to abandon that life style. Dozens of more obvious choices exist, and hundreds of more important ones exist. But DNA hopes it made its point.

The tool noticed quickly that when he went to college, his little counter-culture was small potatoes compared to the counter-culture that existed at the university. In fact, he felt and acted like a wannabe. He tried “crazy” haircuts, which frankly looked stupid on him. He tried “wild” clothes, which didn’t fit right. After about a year or two, the tool began to realize that none of these “punks” he felt drawn to were really doing anything any differently than the clicks in high school did. That didn’t make what they did wrong, because in general, the punks were the “alternative” to the way most people on campus looked. The tool certainly wanted to be associated with the group “least likely to pledge a fraternity.” Still, the relevance of wearing ratty tee shirts, leather jackets and army boots wasn’t clear to the tool, until a couple of events happened.

While walking back to his dorm, he had to walk by the athlete’s dorm. One day, minding his own business, sporting a mohawk six inches high, a short-sleeved Ramones tee shirt, rotten blue jeans and army boots, a faceless assmunch from the third floor of the athlete’s dorm yelled, “FAGGOT!”

The tool was not accustomed to being yelled out by dumbfucks. Though he was frightened, (he didn’t want to get beat up by some Neanderthals) he decided the best course of action was to flip whoever it was off. The tool could hear the commotion upstairs, through some of the hall’s open windows. “Did that jagoff just flip you off? Let’s go fucking stomp a mudhole in his ass!” Then out the window: “Hey jagoff, you think you’re pretty funny, huh?” If he thought that the tool was going to engage in a conversation while his buddies hustled downstairs to ambush the tool, he was dead wrong. But the tool couldn’t resist a parting shot as he zipped back to his own dorm (not far away): “Not as funny as you saying faggot! How did you know? I mean, I could tell you were a faggot cuz I saw you sucking that guy’s dick, but how did you know about me?”

On several more occasions after this, shouts of “Faggot!” would ring out across the serenity of the lake in the cool evening air as the tool walked home. Once, someone threw food at the tool, like a watermelon rind or something. Classy. Things finally drew to a close when, in the cafeteria, a group of jocks ran into the tool. “Hey faggot,” said one football player type, as a couple more of his buddies started to come around. The tool recognized his voice, and cut the conversation short. “Listen, you guys want to beat me up, then do it. Right now. You win. Congratulations. But if you expect me to just fucking knuckle under to you or you or you because you are bigger than me, then forget it. So if fucking with me is the only way you get to feel like you're men, then I feel sorry for you.”

About this time, Ron came over. Ron was one of those few guys who looked like a bigger dick than these guys, but in reality was a corn-fed country boy who didn’t spend a day in the weight room but could bench press more than those clowns. Even though he thought the tool was a weirdo, he still laughed at the tool’s stupid jokes, and could relate to their shared rural upbringing. The football jocks knew Ron because despite his physical prowess, he thought most football players were stupid. He himself was an electrical engineer. As Ron approached, they gave him the nod of acknowledgement, and to their surprise, he said to the tool, “Hey, (XXXX), what’s up?” The tool responded, “Not much Ron. How are the Amish doing?” (The tool’s little joke, since Ron was from Arcola, Illinois). “Still no electricity,” he said. Then he asked, “Are these guys bothering you?” The tool must have looked pathetic, to spur Ron to come to his aid. To this day, DNA marvels at what was said next. It defies movie logic, that’s for damn sure. In the movies, when this kind of question is asked, the person always says, “No, we’re cool. We were just joking around.” But instead, the tool said, “Yeah, Ron. These dickheads have been fucking with me for weeks, and I was just telling them to put up or shut up.” Even the black jocks’ faces drained of color a bit. “Do you need any help with that?” Ron asked. Clearly, Ron had his own axe to grind. The tool said, “No, I think we just came to an understanding. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”

After that moment, the tool became more willing to adopt the uniform of the counter culture, for the same reasons that in the 2004 presidential election, he voted democrat: cuz even a stilted, wooden, puppet of a ketchup heiress was better than the alternative. The taunts came less and less from the athlete dorm. Believe it or not, there were even grudging nods of acknowledgement from time to time, like if a jock happened to see the tool at party at Lewis Park, or later, while he was playing up at the Hangar. That’s a whole other surreal experience, when a guy who a year ago was interested in humiliating you physically, was coming up to you after a show and saying, “Dude! You were that dude over at the dorms with that hair! Dude, that was fucking wild, man!” (Now, since the tool was in a band, it boosted the jock’s cool credibility to know him). “Oh, yeah," the tool would say. "Thanks for coming to the show.” (which was code for now you have to pay to talk to DNA, douchebag)

Then, during that semester, the tool was taking an educational psychology class. The instructor asked the tool if he could talk about the way the tool looked in class, as a way to discuss how culture informs the choices we make. At that point, the tool was galvanized to take any criticism, and this instructor was able to keep the discussion focused, and really make it mean something to some folks. It certainly set the tool to think about his own beliefs and motivations for looking different on purpose.

Most people initially thought it was a cry for attention, as in a sad attempt to be noticed.

Some said they didn’t understand why the tool would cut his hair like that.

Some said that some people crave or need attention, as in a mental illness or need which was being filled.

Others thought it was for shock value, but did not offer explanations as to what that actually meant.

Some felt it was done to purposely alienate, or to cause distrust or fear among others who don’t understand why some would want to make himself obviously not part of the group. Or, because the tool must not like the group.

Others said he must be doing it to fit in with his own group.

Or, perhaps he is an "artist," and this is supposed to be entertainment, or some kind of "statement" he is making.

Although some elements of those different reasons play a part, in some degree or another, which the tool won’t deny, and which, if any punk does deny, is lying to himself, no one stated the reason the tool knew in his heart was the truth:

The tool was testing their boundaries, and his own. He was conducting a social experiment, to see how quickly people discriminate and pass judgment on something as superficial as a haircut, to see what happens when you have to confront something that is outside of a person's "normal" experience. We all do it. The cheerleader, the jock, everybody, is testing his or her own hypothesis every time he or she walks out her door. The tool was not setting out a goal to shock anyone, but was very interested to understand why the way he looked seemed to be shocking to some others.”



People are worried and afraid, or more likely, threatened and unsure about a variety of groups in this country, because the dominant culture can’t readily assign meaning to the signs these groups present society with. What you don’t understand, you fear. When you don’t know what a person or group represents, you protectively shield yourself from potential harm by excluding the counter-culture group. Being counter to a culture is an implicit attack on the culture that represents the majority. People who dress or act counter to culture are challenging others’ notions about what is acceptable and why it is acceptable. Nobody really likes to be challenged. Some respond to a challenge with introspection, others, with knuckle sandwiches and contempt. When you are challenged, you may find that your rationale for doing or thinking something is flawed, or worse, WRONG, and nobody, even those who tell you they are open to discussion, likes to be shown they are wrong. So, to answer the question posed at the beginning of the post, “Why are those in power and control worried or afraid of those who do not or choose not to look and act like them?” Because nobody likes being wrong. Some people are so afraid of being wrong, or conversely, worried that you may be right, that they would rather mercilessly persecute you than tolerate your opinion. So the real question becomes why are people so afraid of being wrong that they are willing to lie, cheat, steal, humiliate, belittle, bully, demean, ridicule, marginalize, threaten, coerce, and kill to keep those who don’t agree with them silent? What are we really afraid of?

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/23/07

"Original music......please.

Just the other day, DNA was talking to a group of young pups, some grad students with whom he works. These are some fine young men and women, who haven't heard the stories of the glory days of DNA's musical mis-spent youth 50 times yet, so the varnish on some of the memories is still pretty glossy. While we were talking, one asked DNA if it knew the guys in the band the Jungle Dogs,(read about them in the Carbondale Nightlife's Best of Music Archive) and DNA said yeah, sure, DNA knew the guys in the Jungle Dogs. Bands DNA was in and the Jungle dogs played at about the same time, and though we did different things, we each were good in our own ways. "Different in what way?" said one of the grads. "Well," DNA said, the Dogs played mostly covers and party music, while we played mostly original music." "Oh, cool," responded the grads.

There is a conceit in that statement, "we played original music," which even the grads understood, which even DNA is ashamed to say it feels today: that playing "original" music was somehow artistically "better" than playing cover songs, or playing party music for the obviously traditionally drunk college-guy crowd. Of course, this conceit is bullshit. So, reread the title of this post now, but with the appropriate sarcasm: Original music........please! DNA is enough of an attention whore to let the grads continue to accept this fallacy, however.

DNA remembers back then, how we thought we were so much cooler than the road house bands that played tired old covers of Hendrix and Van Halen, 38 Special and Bon Jovi. We didn't stoop to that level. No, we were creative fucking geniuses, we had our own songs, our own tales, our own voices which needed to be heard. If we were going to spend the time learning a song, it damn well better be one of our own. Of course, learning someone else's songs, and either making them your own, or playing them so well that you do them justice as an homage, well, that's really hard to do. Don't believe DNA? Pick any song you want, and with few exceptions, even the best bands' recordings do not sound "as good" as the original. DNA is well aware of this, which is why it chooses to record some covers on each of its new projects. It is important to not only stay grounded, and realize that other, better songwriters have written some truly inspiring music, but that there is something to be learned from figuring out how someone else played something, and part of the fun of playing is to attempt to make that song recognizable as your own. And if you fail to achieve these lofty goals? Who fucking cares? It's just a cover song. You're cashing in on someone else's talent, anyway.

Whether you wrote the song or not, as soon as you are performing it out live, or on a record, or anywhere outside the confines of your skull, you are now performing a cover song. There is no difference, creatively, from a musician's point of view, between performing a cover, and performing an "original." Each time you play "your" song, it is a different rendition. You just happen to be a little more personally invested in the song you wrote, at least, at first.

Also, let's blast a shotgun at the concept of "original" music once and for all. Once, while CRANK was playing a show in Matoon,IL, (can't remember the name of the club), we played with a metal band. They were "co-headliners" (in other words, they wanted everyone to know that their dicks were as big as ours---they weren't, of course, but when your dicks are as big as ours, it is actually amusing to see others attempt to scoot up alongside and whip it out). We were in a concrete block room, and as loud as were were, the sound pressure was murderous. It was the kind of loud that made your stomach upset and blurred your vision. We were lucky, because we wore earplugs, but it was impressive to watch even the hardest guys stare stupified by the noise. After we finished a scorching set, and everybody's teeth were rattling, we broke down our stuff to an awestruck crowd. After the other band finished shitting themselves, they limped about the stage, getting their stuff set up. Some of their roadies(read unemployable losers who bummed pot and road hags off of the band) were talking by the sound board. As we were readying ourselves for a long night of drinking, HOG and DNA asked one of the road crew, "So, what do these guys sound like?" The roadie obviously had practiced this line, and delivered it with relish: "Like nothing you have ever heard before." HOG actually laughed a little. What do you say back to that? We weren't suitably impressed, so the roadies moved on to other more stoned surroundings. As HOG and DNA talked, we started wondering just what "like nothing we have ever heard before" could possibly sound like.

DNA said, "I know. I bet they sound like dinosaurs. Nobody's ever heard dinosaurs before."

HOG said, "No, I bet it will be like the sound of one hand clapping."

DNA: "What if one of them plays a sweater like a banjo, another beats some roadkill with a bumper, while the other fucks a dog toy that's been miked up? I haven't heard that ever before."

This went on for quite some time, until HOG summed it up: "Well, they look like a typical metal band. What if they don't suck? That would be something I haven't heard before."

About two minutes into their set, needless to say, we were underwhelmed, and they were a bunch of fucking liars. They did sound like something we had heard before: It was the sound a vacuum makes, or the sound their moms made right before they got a load in the face: It was the sound of SUCK.

Like language, music is self-reflexive, relativistic, infinite in variation, yet finite in scope. The exact same piece of music listened to under exactly the same conditions will mean different things to each listener, each and every time it is heard. That kind of variation within easily understood, stylistic and cultural limits, means that just like the suck-ass metal band from the above paragraph, although DNA is writing "brand-new, all original songs" for the new album, it's not like you haven't heard this before. That is not the point. The musical tradition is what is understood or expected, like what you get from the hooker for your money. But, like a warm and sloppy mouth kiss from her, DNA hopes to surprise you a little on your trip around the world.

There is nothing new, especially in music, under the sun, so why listen to any of this derivative bullshit? It's the variation. As a species, humans thrive on variation. The big things are easily subsumed, but the little things, the little things make all the difference in the world. Even though it has taken science two thousand years of mathematical theorems to describe chaos, the human brain is designed to recognize it at birth. Repetition and variation. It's the ebb and flow of life, as a concept it is at the core of the replicating chain of dna, and it is an inherent aspect of what defines almost all processes in the universe. Music presents a sensory map the same way that mathematics presents a topological map of how we function. DNA can think of no better, more fundamental reason why we are inexplicably drawn to music, and why, despite everything we already know and expect from the music we like to hear, we are still endlessly entertained and surprised by "original" music.

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Permanent Historical Record: 3/28/07

Super Double Kick Ass Top Secret Musical Project

As always seems to happen, there will be little to note, and then, BAM!, a ton of shit comes down to talk about. For example, more sales of the CD, hooray, we finalized the date and the line up for the Hangar 9 show, hooray, DNA switched web browsers and is now using Sea Monkey, hooray, the website is getting lots of traffic, and some of it isn't DNA, hooray, the DNA Vibrators CD Baby! webpage has a new, short, but nice review of the CD, hooray, and DNA has discovered a terrific website called Lucid TV, which has one of the funniest comic strips DNA has read in a long time. Take 20 minutes of your time after you read the most current two or three panels, and read every single one from the beginning. Genius.

More importantly than that, in its real job, DNA had a meeting with the people at the University's Office of Research and Development, which sounds important, until you say the acronym: ORDA. Sounds like the Star Trek alien that digested rocks, and the occasional red-shirted away team member. DNA met with the folks at ORDA because DNA has been working on a super double top secret....okay, screw it, it don't need to be no secret no longer! Basically, DNA has been writing music to help college students learn their course material. Yes, DNA knows, it is sick and wrong. It hurts to admit, but it is liberating, too. DNA no longer has to hide. There is no secret shame. DNA wrote some music with an actual purpose. Music that is meant to educate. That sounds about as fun as being beat with socks full of nickels, but DNA doesn't care who knows anymore. DNA is old. It left its pride at the door 20 years ago when any kid off the street could do it longer, harder, faster, better, smarter, slicker, and look good the whole time. Being beat with nickels is something that perhaps DNA can do well. DNA has survived for years on the carefully cultivated impression that it wants people to think that it thinks it is still relevant and cool. DNA thinks writing educational music sucks balls. However, writing good music that might also be educational, without becoming a parody of itself, now that's the trick. That's what DNA is trying to do. So far, when people hear the idea for the project, they seem polite in their responses: "Oh, that sounds interesting." But they fully expect the music to suck, because, you see, they know DNA as Mr. "so and so," NOT as the DNA Vibrator. Every time DNA has played the stuff for someone, it has been very gratifying to see the expression on the person's face, register surprise that the song is actually "good."

So, DNA met with the folks at ORDA, and they let him know that the University is excited about the project, but that it does not have an interest in helping DNA develop it, which is a good and bad thing. On the one hand, it is good, because even though this project was developed in part at work (think about that sweet gig--being paid to write and record your own music---DNA couldn't ask for a better situation), the intellectual property is all DNA's. So, DNA is free to do with this stuff what it wills. Right on. On the other hand, it would have been great to have some University resources to help this little business venture get off the ground. However, having complete artistic control is worth the pain of going it alone.

So, the idea is "secret" no longer. Honestly, it never was "secret;" it's not like there is some proprietary device that DNA developed and was protecting. It was just a good idea that was being guarded until the time was right. Frankly, the idea is so good, it doesn't matter who knows about it, or if lots of people know about it. The idea is as follows: Create songs based on college course curriculum, and use that material as additional study guides or memory aids. In essence, it is School House Rock for college courses. The reason why it doesn't matter who knows about the idea is because the songs based on course content are being written by DNA. Anybody could write songs about the rock cycle, for example, but DNA hasn't heard them yet. Or for the educational music DNA has heard, it is directed at 7 year-olds. So go ahead, write better songs than DNA can about the properties of minerals if you want. What, no takers? Didn't think so. DNA welcomes a table full of competition, because DNA's shit rocks, literally and figuratively, and other people's attempts to steal this thunder will only make it sound more impressive. So, has DNA whet your appetite for a rock and roll primer on volcanoes and earthquakes? Bet you wish you were in college right now, don't you?

DNA works its real job in a program for students with learning disabilities. Some of these students are bright, genius level bright, but have specific learning disabilities like dyslexia, or dysgraphia, or attention deficit disorder. About 5 years ago, DNA was working with a student who was having difficulty memorizing terms for an Anthropolgy final. DNA noticed, like most people, that the student could remember songs lyrics verbatim. DNA suggested that it take the student's paper study guide and make it a song. DNA made this first musical study guide set to an instrumental version of "Firestarter" by The Prodigy. DNA just rhymed a bunch of words that ended in "ology." Wasn't hard. But the student loved it. Did it make a difference? The student thought so.

Since that time, off and on, DNA has worked on some songs for the introduction to Geology class, GEOL 111, at SIUC. Work on the album is what spurred DNA to write a new DNA Vibrators album. So, really, we are right here right now because of this educational project. Fucked up, huh? Well, about two years ago, DNA started work in earnest, and finished up most of the recording back in August of 2006. DNA developed 10 songs, and has about 10 more waiting since then, but mostly, DNA has been waiting on this project until it heard back from ORDA. Some songs, you have already heard, if you bought the DNA record: "Plate Tectonic King" is a sample of the educational project. The music for "Less Than 1%" is also the music for a song called "Rock Cycle." Frankly, DNA likes "Rock Cycle's" lyrics better, but didn't want to clobber people over the head with this Geology stuff on the current DNA Vibrators record. It was the continuing work on this educational project which inspired the song, "Hard Science" on the current DNA record.

Now, DNA has a direction. It is excited to talk to the folks over at the Geology department, in hopes of getting them interested in endorsing it as a helpful product for their students. DNA is excited about getting in contact with folks from the school of Music and the sound engineers over at the RT department on campus. This first project is the tip of the iceberg, DNA hopes. Ultimately, this whole website has been research and development to help facilitate a smooth launch for the educational project. DNA looks forward to very soon releasing the educational project, developing the website for it, creating new song books for other classes, and seeing it, like the DNA Vibrator's record, being bought on iTunes.

Potential "brand" names for the project: "Music Notes." "Musicology." "Music Ed." "Your Musical Study Guide." "Songcapades." "The Singing Songtacular Learn-o-rama." Please help DNA with your suggestions for a good name for this project.

Also, DNA has a name for the band which performs this material. Sure it's the same people DNA works with now, (it, itself, and It)but we can't very well convince some parent to buy a record made by guys named The DNA Vibrator, the HOG, and Mr. Kamikaze, can we? So, DNA is going to call the new band The Akkademics, and have as principle singer and songwriter, Dr. No, principle guitarist, Dr. Zhivago, principle, keyboardist, Dr. Zaius, principle bassist, Dr. Faust, and principle drummer, Dr. Feelgood. DNA will welcome your feedback about this as well, oh nameless internet lurker.

As always, your comments are welcome.

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Last updated on 3/28/07
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