Hokay, I just creamed my jeans. This is the best new band I've heard in a long time.
All youse guys on faceboo might be interested in giving these dudes some well deserved love, here.
credit this to the OFFICIAL Nick Koenig facebook page, as well as some humble hype from keyboardist\vocalist martin raboteau.
2009/03/06
The Hardest Thing ever I done
I have a theory that Tennessee Williams would probably like Bill Simmons; at least he might consider him a fellow writer. That said, T-Dubs would probably be appalled at the hyperbolic amount of analogies Simmons uses in comparing sports teams to marriages.
So, I know I said I wouldn't be posting any albums or writing this weekend, I was supposed to be on the road to partly sunny Lisbon, but plans change; Red's feeling under the weather and her 2 week paid vacation to Prague requires her full health. At least, if she wants to have a better time than Maurice in Albert Camus' "A Happy Death".
So, I want to talk more about Nick Koenig; who doesn't? Besides being my number one influence musically, Hot Sugar has always had the balls/confidence to understand that making beautiful/interesting/funny things will not captivate the minds of all who come across your creative work. It's good to start in 8th grade, because his star began its rapid ascent thanks to several pranks which will forever live in my head.
A group of 9th graders had started a mountain bike gang, just writing those words leads me to believe that I am a two bit hack (but you gotta fake it till you make it), that also occasionally sang unaccompanied renditions of RHCP tunes (namely, under the bridge); they all wore Hoagie Haven T-Shirts and talked shop on shocks, disc brakes and the like. Us outsiders, namely the chubby cum insecure underlings, were in awe of their brazen confidence and zen materialism. We all wanted fancy bikes too; we didn't care about the process back then, like a child in the CVS who sees the candy isle, and by that logic, in my case, didn't get the coolest bike in the world (in hindsight, I'm so fucking grateful that my dad bought me a bike, since our mini-mansion in the woods was a stones throw from some really lovely hills). I had befriended Koenig, so to speak, at a little league game at the tender age of 11; I was kind of a motherfucker on the diamond, to the extent that I was a big baby who could waddle around the bases with a cocky gracelessness. He was talking shit, and despite at first finding him unsavory, came to enjoy that someone without even a minimal knowledge of the admittedly complex rules of the game could heckle anything/anyone that he felt like.
It is also worth noting that DMX was HUGE amongst suburban boys and girls at this point; and that I paid out the ass for Capital Punishment and It's Dark and Hell is Hot second hand, thanks Zac Anglin.
One sunny spring morning, while the masses are gathered out on the northeastern entrance of John Witherspoon Middle School, the one that leads to the parking lot/cafeteria/basketball courts, a faint signal grew stronger and stronger. As, we all stood and waited, it became abundantly clear that it was "Party (up in here)". Slowly, but surely, Koenig arrives, flanked by two now anonymous counterparts blasting the music out of a shitty CD/Radio player that he has fastened to his handlebars. Noone could deny him, and rightly nobody did; I made some snide remarks, but the truth is that he had won everybody over with his winning confidence/remarkable lack of awkwardness.
Basically, pay this motherfucker.
Oh, and he put me on to this triumphant work of guitar great Ryland Cooder. Enjoy.
RC-BS
So, I know I said I wouldn't be posting any albums or writing this weekend, I was supposed to be on the road to partly sunny Lisbon, but plans change; Red's feeling under the weather and her 2 week paid vacation to Prague requires her full health. At least, if she wants to have a better time than Maurice in Albert Camus' "A Happy Death".
So, I want to talk more about Nick Koenig; who doesn't? Besides being my number one influence musically, Hot Sugar has always had the balls/confidence to understand that making beautiful/interesting/funny things will not captivate the minds of all who come across your creative work. It's good to start in 8th grade, because his star began its rapid ascent thanks to several pranks which will forever live in my head.
A group of 9th graders had started a mountain bike gang, just writing those words leads me to believe that I am a two bit hack (but you gotta fake it till you make it), that also occasionally sang unaccompanied renditions of RHCP tunes (namely, under the bridge); they all wore Hoagie Haven T-Shirts and talked shop on shocks, disc brakes and the like. Us outsiders, namely the chubby cum insecure underlings, were in awe of their brazen confidence and zen materialism. We all wanted fancy bikes too; we didn't care about the process back then, like a child in the CVS who sees the candy isle, and by that logic, in my case, didn't get the coolest bike in the world (in hindsight, I'm so fucking grateful that my dad bought me a bike, since our mini-mansion in the woods was a stones throw from some really lovely hills). I had befriended Koenig, so to speak, at a little league game at the tender age of 11; I was kind of a motherfucker on the diamond, to the extent that I was a big baby who could waddle around the bases with a cocky gracelessness. He was talking shit, and despite at first finding him unsavory, came to enjoy that someone without even a minimal knowledge of the admittedly complex rules of the game could heckle anything/anyone that he felt like.
It is also worth noting that DMX was HUGE amongst suburban boys and girls at this point; and that I paid out the ass for Capital Punishment and It's Dark and Hell is Hot second hand, thanks Zac Anglin.
One sunny spring morning, while the masses are gathered out on the northeastern entrance of John Witherspoon Middle School, the one that leads to the parking lot/cafeteria/basketball courts, a faint signal grew stronger and stronger. As, we all stood and waited, it became abundantly clear that it was "Party (up in here)". Slowly, but surely, Koenig arrives, flanked by two now anonymous counterparts blasting the music out of a shitty CD/Radio player that he has fastened to his handlebars. Noone could deny him, and rightly nobody did; I made some snide remarks, but the truth is that he had won everybody over with his winning confidence/remarkable lack of awkwardness.
Basically, pay this motherfucker.
Oh, and he put me on to this triumphant work of guitar great Ryland Cooder. Enjoy.
RC-BS
quick comment
I hope the music uploaded this week will tide you over for the weekend (which in my case is friday-sunday). I'll be running around the western coast of Iberia with Red & co.
If not, then oh well, but either way don't feel disappointed that I am lazy and selfish.
If not, then oh well, but either way don't feel disappointed that I am lazy and selfish.
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