The Chop Blogs....

The Chop blog be moving on...

2009-01-12T14:37:00.000-08:00

here's the updated URL for the Chop Blog.

www.thechoprocks.blogspot.com

There's something new there right now!

Help us out. Go there. Write to us. Spread the word.

November happenings

2008-12-01T12:40:00.000-08:00

It's been busy and frenzied, my children...

At the beginning of the month, we debuted our new lineup and opened for The Spinto Band at Bottom of the Hill. It was awesome, as exhibited here:

The Chop was a vicious task-master of rock that eve I can pledge!

The boys of Spinto hopped up and helped us close the show with our whiskey-fueled anthem to Wilmington, Delaware. The Spintos are a killer band and awesome dudes to boot. Please send love/money their way whenever possible.

Also--HUGE NEWS:

"We Want It All" is available on iTunes, Amazon.com, Rhapsody and a host of other digital music vendors. Access! But here's the really big one.

The Chop's record slip-slithered its way into the Pandora database.

This is actually a monumentally awesome development in our world. If you don't know what Pandora is, please go check it out immediately. It's a terrificly easy-to-use resource for music, and it is 100% FREE. Now we spend all day listening to the other songs that the massive Music Genome Project deems similar to our own. You have no idea how rewarding experience this can be.

Coming soon for The Chop: new songs, new album, new outfits, new haircuts, and a new unquenchable lust for power!

Hurrah!

New song + New lineup + Album in stores + Help needed

2008-10-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

Dear constituents,

Many things have been happening here in the hearts and minds of The Chop. Here's a summary:

1. We are hard at work on our new lineup for the November 2nd gig with The Spinto Band. Tom has stepped forward and taken over the bass guitar. And with that change, we've also got a new drummer, Aaron. He's awesome. Check out his exploits/skills with his other band Pegataur, or with his old band BoyJazz.

2. Our album, We Want It All is now available at record stores across this great country! (literally, two stores that are at diametrically opposed spots of the continent).

Get it at:

Amoeba Records in San Francisco, California (1855 Haight Street)

Rainbow Records in Newark, Delaware (54 E Main Street)

Please please please go in and promptly fondle/buy it.

It's also available online now at CDBaby, and soon at various other digital outlets (updates to follow)

3. We have written and recorded a new song entitled "Born in Wilmington", a tribute to our hometown of Wilmington, Delaware. The song is in the form of a traditional Irish drinking song and is meant to be sung loudly, whilst drinking. Lyrics are here.

It is available for the listening/downloading on our various sites and also, here it be:

Fancy yourself a writer? "Born in Wilmington" is just begging to have more verses written.

We ourselves cut at least three from this recording. If you submit a verse that we like, we'll send you something cool (I swear) and maybe even sing it on stage. So submit one. Or just write us and tell us what you think. About anything.

Wondering how you can help us out?

Right now what we need is reviews, writeups or mentions of any kind. Please pass our info along to anyone who will listen. Download our songs (album here) (drinking song here) and pass them around as much as you can.

Thank you.

Led Zeppelin II "Heartbreaker" solos do not happen in a vaccuum,

robert

My Dogs are Tired: Part II of Rob's Reportage on the Treasure Island Festival

2008-09-23T13:58:00.003-07:00

Day 2: Sunday

I admit that I kinda didn't feel like going again on this day. This was partly based on weariness, as I'd gone out and drank a passel the evening before at Zeitgeist, and partly because I had a strong idea that I'd already had my peak experience with the festival (TV on the Radio the night before). But I dragged my ass there anyway, free ticket and all, because their were bands worth seeing for sure, and I figured I'd go for awhile and leave once it got old.

The highlight of the day (my day) was Okkervil River. The sound was good, the band was tight, and they played the songs I most wanted to hear (mainly the first two songs off The Stage Names). They can be a bit too melodramatic for my taste sometimes, and yes the lyrics are the sort written by a proud Bachelor of English, but fuck it, I like them anyway. As I garner from my friends, the lead singer Will Sheff may have come off a bit cheesy in his stage antics and crowd banter had I not been right up front and sort of into it. Again we see an example of how proximity has an almost eerily mathemathical relationship with fun times had. Okkervil barely edged out the boys in (my other favorite act) Dr. Dog primarily by performing on the big stage (with bigger, better sound) and having lots of energy.

On to the Dog...

They sounded awesome. My brief history with this band: About 4 years ago, their record Easy Beat reached my hands (via fellow Chopsman Philby, then living in the Eastern lands) and quickly attained classic status in my mind. The entire Chop geeked out on this record months on end, and I went to see Dr Dog everytime they came through SF in the last few years and even a few times in their hometown of Philadelphia while I was in the Tri-State Mother-Area for Christmas. During this period, they toured incessantly, released another record (great, but not quite as classic), and I saw them like 6 times in 3 years. After this, I admit I was slightly burned out on them...still thinking they were cool as shit, but ready for a break from their stylings. I guess they made at least a little (read: very very little, like close to zero) money because they were able to stop touring for a few months to record yet another record (Fate) which just came out.

Anyway, it had been awhile since seeing this perennial favorite of mine, and I was excited to hear the new songs performed. They were boss. The songs sounded great. The harmonies were tight. The drummer, in particular, sounded awesome. We all agreed that he was either really on that night or took a couple steps up in ability or just maybe wrote way sicker parts for himself for all the newer arrangements. Anyway you slice it, he hit hard.

I guess the only drawback was they looked kinda tired. Minus the drummer, the dudes looked worn out and not quite their usual, bouncy selves. At least one person completely disagreed with me on this point, so, maybe I'm tripping. Either way--they really rock the new songs and are definitely maturing as a band. More good shit to come, for sure.

I also saw Spiritualized...who everyone (including Eric, who I took with me) was raving about beforehand. The performance, to me, was extremely boring and too damn loud. The lead singer stood facing at a right angle to the audience, never said a word, and wanked philosophic on hella long noise solos. The band didn't move at all or look like they were having fun. Drag. Also--the show really was wicked loud and on top of that, during one song, the soundguy fell asleep on the slider or something because it cranked the band up to painful, Master D-in-the-end-sequence-of-Bionic-Commando-head-exploding volume. Extra lame, to my mind.

I watched some of The Dodos, who around these parts are being heralded as pop music saviors with wine in hand, and they were definitely good. Their drummer is really really talented. Best part of their set is they had a third guy (there are technically only two Dodos) on a riser in the back who would occasionally pop up from under a table to play xylophone. When he was waiting for his parts, he'd be hiding under this table, and then when it came he'd pop up to play and be really energetic. He really reminded me of a Muppet.

I skipped Vampire Weekend--who were maybe the biggest draw that day--because I saw them for free at Amoeba around a year ago. This was, I'd say, directly before the hype machine throttled them fully (out here, at least). I had not heard their music at that point, and was taken by Eric (the same who attended Treasure Island with me) who is infinitely more ahead of the curve then I am on any given Tuesday. I think they have a cool sound but nothing spectacular going on in the way of performance, so saved myself the trouble and sat listening from afar while waiting for Dr. Dog to play.

I got tired and left before The Raconteurs, who I would have liked to see (I'm a big Jack White fan, and I've never seen him live) but honestly who look better on paper than they actually are. If it had been the Stripes instead--I would have made it work, but instead I went home and considered my opinions.

What's sort of interesting is that the festival organizers divided the two days' lineup at least partially by genre (loading up Saturday with more electro-dancey stuff, and Sunday with the scruffily bearded gems of modern indie rock) so you might assume a Chopster like me would go in more for the latter of the two days. Not so. In quick summary, the first day had lower expectations and more surprises, while the second day was sort of opposite.

I await your call,

rob

The Three Keyboard Minimum is Strictly Enforced: Part 1

2008-09-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

I attended the Treasure Island music festival this weekend, saw lots of cool bands, and have lots of highly informed and sophisticated opinions for the proffering. Behold!

Since atmosphere is everything..let me briefly sum up my some very general experiences with the concert, as all my opinions are beholden to it.

Firstly: I won tickets to both days!

The free-ness of this (for me) event affected my opinions (positively, I think) throughout the weekend. Like many frugal young men, I'm usually conscious of trying to get my money's worth out of a ticket purchase. After a couple of the sets I'd be thinking, "damn, that one totally made it worth the money," then I'd remind myself that I paid exactly zero and think, "man, that was definitely worth leaving the comfort of my apartment for" and so on.

Second thing you should know--I did not see all the bands or even try to. I was definitely of the mind that in order to "hear every note" of music at the 2-day affair (very possible) one would be compromising any real ability to see actual "shows." Basically, it's the idea that if you're not close to the stage or as I like to say "up in the mix" you're not really at the show. If you're way back in a field you're more of a casual observer and to my mind are not having "the full experience." For some reason that paragraph was laden with "quotation marks" denoting "specific phraseology" that seemed to "require it" at the time.

On to the show:

The best set that I saw was without a doubt TV on the Radio. These guys brought it hard and distorted. I had been geeking out to their records for the last few months, so I was primed for a good time, and so we staked a spot early (forgoing some other decent acts) and were right in front for the set. A good performance should do (at least) one of two things: 1. Hook you into liking songs (or the band itself) that you've never heard before or 2. significantly enhance the songs you already know from the record, adding to and expanding what the recording has to offer. TVOTR did both, but particularly the latter of the two. They were the complete opposite of boring. They had energy, they had horns (courtesy of Antibalas), they had shitloads of soul, and their guitar player had chimes hanging from the headstock of his Telecaster. And also Kyp was really really awesome.

They played some songs from their new record (which is out Tuesday and which, I heard from my friends who are significantly more download-savvy, is great) but also killed the first three songs off Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes. "Wolf Like Me" off Return to Cookie Mountain was also a fuzzed out highlight. On their records, they use this technique where they augment the lead vocal with another that's an octave above on a lot of the tracks. It creates a very distinctive sound and is awesome. Even awesomer was (after seeing photos of the band) realizing that Kyp (see above) does this vocal. Both him and Tunde are bad ass singers, and the whole band just rocks really effing hard.

I saw Hot Chip on Saturday, and I really dug them. This was a band I hadn't really heard much of...and based on what I knew didn't think they'd work so well playing at 3PM in a not super crowded field. But they sounded great with like four keyboards and lots of percussive stuff going on and people on stage running around and switching it up. They were a nice surprise, because their records sound like straight synthed-out dance music, so when they had a drummer and full rock-a-thon band going, it was cool. I was a bit farther back for this one, but close enough to feel good about it.

I was front and center for Goldfrapp as well, mainly because I was saving an awesome spot for TVOTR who were up after them. My friend described them to me before the show as "music that a girl listens to while cleaning her bedroom." I found that description to be really vivid and fairly accurate. Not my style at all. Euro-scenesters who wore all white and rocked (at one point) two keytars simultaneously.

CSS seemed like they could be cool at one of their regular shows (i.e. a packed and sweaty club with tons of dancing), but by this point in the night I was kinda zonked and didn't feel much like pushing into the fray near the stage. I watched most of the set, but from afar, so I can't really count this one. LoveFoxxx looked cool though.

The aspect of these festivals that makes all my friends (and often me) cringe is that you can't help but get a diluted version of these bands, and it's not really the same as seeing their proper show. Because of the stage proximity problem, you have to pick and choose a few solid experiences...but truthfully, even if I could have an easy shot at seeing 10 awesome bands in a row right up front under the best possible conditions, I simply couldn't handle it. I mean, my aged feet and back couldn't handle it, but also my mind couldn't hang. After a couple, my senses are overloaded. I need to go home, digest and analyze, and reboot the machine.

ready to roll,

rob

Prattletoads

2008-09-08T13:16:00.001-07:00

No news. The Dark Queen haunts my waking life.

This game is ridiculous.

Must prioritize my life.

B-Toads Update

2008-08-27T14:46:00.001-07:00

Day 3: Last night I played through the Elevator Shaft and on into the Gargantuan Ducts...where I promptly withered and died. I had been playing a decent but not stellar game, and this fact may have helped. Forward progress in the game is becoming increasingly based on memorization

I was confused on this point but now I feel sure: I have never seen the level beyond this one. This means I'm back at my 12-year old ability level after three days of playing. Onward!

Also--check this out:

http://www.battletoadsmovie.com/

Must be fake, right?

Join Me in My (Eventual) TRIUMPH!

2008-08-26T13:54:00.001-07:00

Dear NightMarchers,

I really want to keep you updated as to what's going on in my life these days. Something really quite big has come up:

Check it!

When my friend forwarded this to me, I went through a range of emotions. Naturally, I immediately called the rankings of "Most Difficult VideoGame Ever" into question. I mean...it was total popularity contest, with no mention of such ridiculously difficult games (from my own experience) such as Kid Chameleon, Gauntlet, Snake Rattle and Roll, or Hudson's Adventure Island. But these arguments are a trifle, and we all know it. Once my initial ire had calmed, I immediately knew what my path would be. Spurred on by this far-from-definitive Internet list, I set my sights on the game in the top spot. Lucky for me, it was one I knew well and still owned in its original format. If you made it through the video, you know I am referring to Battletoads for NES.

Each level is like a different game. You only get three measly continues. The Wikipedia article even acknowledges how tough the damn game is.

A little background on my relationship with the Toads of Battle: like many games I've played and/or owned I've always harbored a lust to conquer it completely, and I've made several earnest attempts throughout the years to do so (alas, in vain!). Even while my brain was disputing it's newly given rank of "most difficult" I knew from experience that it was, at the very least, extremely difficult and therefore worth my renewed attention and vigor. In addition to that, I was already well-trained in the nuances of the game, so I wouldn't be starting from scratch at all, simply building on an already impressive skill set. Furthermore, when I've "re-attacked" these old games in my "adult" life, I like to think that my general skills have improved and that my age and experience has produced a sort of "wisdom" that allows me to reach my goals a bit easier. Unlike my life-defining experience with Snake Rattle and Roll in 2003 (a game that was made impossible to beat without a simultaneously playing partner) Battletoads, while having a two player option, is actually (appearing to be) significantly easier with one player. With no liege to train, I begin.

Day 1 (Sunday):

Played for a couple hours, where it was quickly determined that a. 2-players simultaneous is significantly more difficult to manage (reasons of friendly fire primarily) and b. James is not nearly as well-versed in the game after several attempts as I am at baseline.

Achieved level 6 (Snake level) fairly easily but this presented the first significant hurdle.

Conquered and moved on to the Fire Pit area, and subsequently the Elevator Shaft. Got stuck there.

Day 2 (Monday): Blew through all previously defeated levels, made it to the Elevator Shaft (level 8) with multiple lives and zero continues wasted. I got all the way to the boss and blew it. I was so disgusted with myself and did not wish to continue the game. Must remember to be watchful for this phenomenon. In retrospect, I should have played through my allotted continues for the practice.

I will keep you updated on my progress so that you may share in this wonder of Nintendo prowess and/or marvel at my life's lack of significance in this arena.

rob

Where Did the Time Go?

2008-08-07T14:46:00.000-07:00

Dear Future Celebrities,

Having plumbed the depths of description for The Chop's everyday life and times, I've decided to delve a bit deeper and start looking at the root causes and themes recurrent in The Chop mythology. Here I refer (quite pretentiously) to video games.

Video games were always a huge part of all our lives. But there's a few in particular that I myself played incessantly: for hours, days, months, and in some cases years on end. These select few games got played into the ground, forever imprinting themselves on my (and in most cases our) collective psyche, and will now be discussed in a segment I'm calling "Where Did The Time Go?"

Installment 1: Street Fighter II: The World Warrior

Street Fighter II changed my life. There is absolutely no denying this fact. I was probably about 10 or 11 when a console got installed into my local foodery, and Street Fighter II entered my life. The Newport, DE 7-11 (which comes up a lot in Chop lore) is a 20 minute walk from my parents house. This walk, which is easily and often made, became all the more appealing with roll of quarters in my fist and the promise of hand to hand (or in this case hand to button) competitive fighting. I played a lot of this game.

The appreciation of video games, particularly those that are chronologically and graphically outdated, is something all Chop brothers share. There's something about when a game, or more accurately a style of game, hits the crest of a wave and reaches a golden moment of perfect form. For one-on-one fighting games, Street Fighter II was this moment. I seized this moment (as well as thousands of other moments) to stand in front of this machine and play the shit out of this game.

The premise of the game is simple. Fighters from around the world fly in private jets to fight each other on Russian factory floors, in the crowded streets of Hong Kong, or in the large private bathrooms of the Japanese aristocracy. The gameplay is also pretty straightforward: 3 kick options and 3 punch options and really only a small number of combinational moves somehow translated to (seemingly) limitless hours of entertainment. This was a game where the natural inclination to mash buttons was rewarded in spades, but to chalk up SFII as a "button masher" is not doing it justice. It was just sophisticated enough to capture the nation's minds and just universal enough to simultaneously set our hearts aflame! All this led directly me to play the living crap out of this game.

The Stats:

Favorite character: although I eventually migrated over to using Chun-Li, I gotta go with Blanka on this. His ferocity and overall yellowness wins out.

Total amount of time squandered/cherished: At least a full week's worth of my life

Readiness to take on a new challenger: Super-fucking ready (bring it!)

The Gil Reunion Tour: Recap!

2008-07-21T15:34:00.000-07:00

Here's a few choice moments, captured on film this past weekend as The Chop headed Eastward, over treacherous mountains, through Reno backalleys, across the Salt Flats, and into the sparkling sprawl of Salt Lake City:

Reno Party Time!

James before he "does his face"

Our name on the marquee in SLC!

A summary of what we ate and/or almost ate on this trip:

Arby's (almost! Tom's Arb-dar was on the fritz for the first couple of hours), In and Out, Arby's, Broasted Chicken (almost! It would have been an extra 45 minutes!), Arby's, $0.75 tacos, Dum Dums, lots of Michelob and some desert-heated whiskey straight from the bottle.

The Chop needs vegetables.

Download The Chop's New Record FREE!

2008-07-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Everyone,

It's been a long road. There were many setbacks, many triumphs, and many lessons learned. It is here:

Please download it, enjoy it, and share it with everyone you know.

Thank you,

The Chop

No, no, don't worry! I have a Ding King!

2008-06-17T09:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Chumleys,

When I returned home from a short vacation two weeks ago, I went out to check on my car (my beloved 1998 Honda Civic) which had been parked outside my apartment for the duration of the trip. I was less than pleased to learn that someone had kicked it. Just kicked it, for no reason. Some jerk was walking by and just decided to give it a boot. I came home to a huge dent (on the sidewalk side of the car) and a visible boot print in the accumulated car-dirt. The car is getting on in years, and I'm no longer able to concern myself with every small dent or scratch that it incurs, but this was a particularly well-aimed tolchock which connected with "Vickie" at a sweet spot directly in front of the passenger side door, rendering the door unopenable. Well actually, to be fair, the door was openable, but not all the way, and opening it more than 6 inches caused the dent to get even denty-er. I was disheartened but not un-optimistic when I biked over to the Kragen Auto Parts store later that week, fully believing that if I could only obtain the right caliber of "As-Seen-On-TV" product, I could make an easy fix of this problem. This is when the "Ding King" entered my life.

At first I was a little skeptical. The DIY dent fix kit I had envisioned involved a high-powered magnet. The Ding King uses hot glue instead, but not that wuss-level, fashion-design-school-dropout, high-energy-Surprise-Rock-band-makes-their-own-T-shirts-style opaquely white glue...the Ding King hot glue gun uses balls-to-the-wall black glue. The glue of Hades! I figured it'd be worth a try. One thing that slowed up my use of the system was the fact that I needed an outlet (to heat the glue gun) within reach of my car. This is an impossibility at my apartment, and so the job waited another week before I took it over to Phil's place, where he, Jimbo and I finally got to it this Sunday late afternoon.

Amazingly, the Ding King worked!

Yeah it took some figuring out, and yeah we had to use it repeatedly, and yeah we finished the job with Philby's silverware sub'd as a makeshift crowbar, but it must be noted: the task was accomplished in huge part due to the design and execution of the Ding King DIY dent removal kit.

Also--though the instructional video (above) makes no mention of removing the black glue spots from your car, we were able to do it with boiling water and a small plastic scraper! Yes!

Just before we got done with it, I did manage to give myself probably the worst burn I've ever had (hot glue really really really hurts).

And only hours after a manicure!

Once the passenger side door became fully functional again shortly thereafter, I considered the "thumb slug" a fairly reasonable downside to what was actually a financially triumphant situation (a $20 fix for a $300+ problem!).

Damn was I ever proud of myself and my friends for being so resourceful and frugal and even innovative. And as a patted myself on the back for a job well done, I scoffed at my own skepticism about an awesome product like the Ding King. Billy Mays: Rock Onward, my friend.

If you have a "ding" that needs some "kinging" you should definitely talk to me.

Then last night after the Islands show up in North Beach and some pretty killer Indian food in the Tenderloin, as I'm driving Jimmy and Ariana back to Potrero, some guy broadsides us at a four way stop and manages to hit the exact spot of the original boot-induced ding. Everyone's OK, but the car is hurting bad. The Ding King definitely cannot handle this one.

Owner of a lonely heart,

robbie "my fleet of cars is dwindling" kassees

Best of Tour Photo!

2008-06-12T15:19:00.000-07:00

Patriots of the Mark,

Finally---I present to you The Chop's long-awaited "best of tour" picture:

This gem was taken in Dunsmuir California, up past Mount Shasta somewhere on the way to Portland. We played at a bar in Sacramento, and drove about 3 hours north to camp on a Thursday night. We were able to close our eyes for approximately 2.5 hours before Jimmy Southbound's ringing phone woke me up at 6AM Friday and I kicked the C-Team into action. We ate a sweet breakfast here in Dunsmuir, cursing and sniping at each other (but polite, always polite America) across our eggs. We did garner some stares. The waitress, for her part, was able to deduce that we were in a band, and once our cover was blown--we headed out.

Apparently, Dunsmuir (the town) is a pioneer in the civically-minded technique of "Organized Stalking." It's their way to get undesirables to leave town, most notably vagrants, sex-offenders, and scruffy-looking city-kids with gleams of hope in their eyes. They employ a nonviolent (aka "softball") form of harassment to methodically purge their peaceful hamlet (population: ~2000) so as to keep their streets clean and their children pure. Seriously, this is taken directly from the Wikipedia article on Dunsmuir. I'm sure if we had stuck around a little longer we could have gotten some better sense of these techniques, but alas the gods of Rock urged us northward!

We pulled into Marty's house in Portland that Friday afternoon and staked our claim to his land.

Marty is an awesome guy who I'm sure will someday have a big, beat-up, blue van, but fuck that! We managed to get one first!

That's right! In case you did not know--we bought a van!

Hooray for us!!!

It didn't end there, friends...no it did not! But I grow weary of typing.

Apoplecticly yours,
rob-otic hand is playing oboe like a champ!

5 Simple Steps For Playing The Worst Gig Ever

2008-04-29T12:04:00.000-07:00

We at The Chop do not believe in self-deprecation. We feel it is unbecoming and anti-productive for any rock band to hold their own music in anything but the highest regard. That said we all encounter trials in our lives and can, from time to time, learn from these sub-optimal experiences. It is with that in mind that we at The Chop bring to you five simple steps for playing the worst gig ever. This list works as both a "how to" and a "things to avoid" list for all you budding rock bands out there...good luck.

Step #1 - Forget Your Amp
Lou Reed said, "All you need is three chords and an attitude". He never said anything about the audience hearing those three chords.

Step #2 - If You Do Bring An Amp, Blow It Up 2 Songs Deep
The only thing cooler than not brining an amp at all is bringing a totally boss amp and then not being able to use it, because you blew it up.

Step #3 - Don't Sound Check; Not Even A Little Bit
Pussies check sound, men just roll with it. This goes back to Steps #1 and #2. Though it may seem counter-intuitive, sound quality and rock and roll are unrelated topics.

Step #4 - Set The Bar High, Really High!
By playing right after an awesome band you can make a lower quality performance come off as a downright awful performance. A good way to go about this is to play with a band you have gigged with before, but not in a long time. Through this you will know that your sounds are compatible (and therefore comparable), but you will have no clue how much better they have gotten. Hopefully for you they are WAY WAY WAY better than the last time you played with them.

Step #5 - Documentation
If you are going to follow the aforementioned steps to the worst gig ever why not take it to the next level and get that puppy on tape? Be a man, get audio and video. This is VERY important, if you get rock solid sound and video from the show so you can stew in your own suck for years to come.

- Philly "34 year old tube amps are totally legit gig amps" Matarese

Million Dollar Bash

2008-04-16T13:49:00.000-07:00

Hey Jealousies,

Thanks so much to anyone and everyone who trekked all the way out to The Retox Lounge last Friday night for The Chop show.
Who knew the 22 line went so damn far?

The stage at Retox is in the basement, which reminded us of Delaware since San Francisco doesn't really have basements. It felt very much like the basement in your parents' house; the one where your memories of playing Milan's Secret Castle on NES or watching hopelessly-scrambled softcore pornography occur. There was even a fridge in the back with a couple cases of Pabst, and some Hot Pockets in the freezer.

Goodbye Nautilus had their show debut and they killed it...nice style on these guys. Warren Teagarden was having a CD release and the night was going along smooth. Then The Chop came out and made a mess.

Then James got really somber and started feasting (somewhat insatiably) on the flesh of the living. It seemed a little out of character for him...but we all just went with it.

no pRoblem

History in the Making: Part 2

2008-04-07T09:40:00.000-07:00

DONE!!!!

We rolled into our makeshift studio for the week (Tom's room) and killed it dead.

Except it's ALIVE!

and also DONE!

The long months of recording in closets: done. Working around the noise of the N-Judah (every 10 minutes!): done. Crazy buzzing from the improper voltage in our bedrooms: done. Bemoaning the voodoo curses which periodically plague our gear: DUH-UNN. There'll be no more debating who gets kazoo credit, or which of the stereo glockenspiel tracks to use, or whether the black tambourine is better than the red tambourine (it is, by the way...don't ask me why). These things are FINISHED! Never again will we improvise harmonies on a whim and then fight tenaciously to keep them in because they've always been a part of our "vision" for the song. DONE! DOUBLE DONE!

Here's some pictures illustrating how fucking done we are:

Thanks to everyone who helped us out with this thing over the last 8 months...but particularly thanks to the girls (Jen, Ariana, Shannon, Nikki, Jade, and Jenny) who lent their voices to The Chop last Sunday for some timeless backgrounds.
We're gonna push it through the next two stages (mixing and mastering) as soon as possible, and have a finished product in about 5 weeks.

Commencing countdown, engines on....

Ashes to Ashes-era Rob

History in the Making: Part 1

2008-03-28T16:02:00.000-07:00

Dudes and Dudettes,

The Chop is (for real) one freaking day away from finishing our damn record.

We effing swear.

In conjunction with this impending, momentous occasion, and as a special treat for you, the rebellious youths who have so made us so popular, here is a brand new song. It's called The Pace. It's only a rough mix (courtesy of Hollywood P.) but hopefully that'll be enough for you to continue on for another day.

Sunday Sunday Sunday!

Rest assured all appropriate historic moments (I told you it would be momentous) will be photographed, analyzed, catalogued, and placed carefully inside an earth-orbiting pod known as "The Timeless Project" so that futuristic civilizations can learn about the legacy we have wrought.

be excellent to each other,

rob

The Pace:

Boosh for the masses

2008-03-11T14:41:00.001-07:00

This unsolicited tag has demonstrated to us, the men/boys of The Chop, that we are on the verge of a cultural revolution - Snoop Dogg-style.

While we cannot claim to have coined the phrase, The Chop definitely credits our own Jimmy Southbound with the introduction of the term to our group, the west coast, and the correct use of the term (according to the unwashed masses at Urban Dictionary - see definition 1).

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=boosh

It seems like only yesterday that I posted a cartoon to The Chop's MySpace page resulting in the evil, tyrannical, hateful, villain that is Johnny Bass Magrans trying in vain to end The Boosh Revolution. It was very frustrating. For weeks every time my ears would echo with the sweet sweet sound "boosh", John would say "boosh is dead, give it up", then he would blame me.... "you ruined it". Well Bass, you were wrong. Dead wrong. BOOSH!!!

- Philly Boosh Matarese

The DIY Aesthetic - A Cautionary Tale

2008-03-07T15:23:00.000-08:00

In December 2006, The Chop completed their first bit of recorded material, and decided to have it printed up under the name "Gold Stars". At the time we were, quite naturally, very excited. Over one year later and amidst the numerous emails that continue to flood our inboxes praising our unbelievable production value therein, we are able to look back on those days with at least some measure of wisdom and maturity. We've made some questionable decisions over these past two years, many of which have resulted in us spending lots of money on things we don't need (or that don't work) or us doing lots of work on stuff that no one cares about (or doesn't "work"). But today, amigitos, read the saga that is...(ominous music)

THE MAKING OF GOLD STARS

Now...before I go any further...I don't want to come off as bitter. Money was meant to be spent after all, and time was meant to be wasted, all in the name of fun. It just continually cracks me up the way The Chop tends to process its ideas. Please note: I am most certainly one of the biggest culprits of this, so I'm really just laughing at myself to take some of the immediate pain and tedium away from.....

THE MAKING OF GOLD STARS

Let me tell a bit about the saga of making these CD packages. We decided that it would be cool if each copy of the disc could be personalized, by us. This is not a completely original idea (as I've seen other bands execute it) so I have to wonder how their processes differed from ours, and if they went through the same range of emotions (from self-congratulatory happiness, to self-satisfied efficiency, to self-immolating hatred of this concept). The Chop may never know.

In any case--The Chop opted to purchase an inordinate amount of these printed discs (1000), and the printer forgot to turn off the machine in time, and therefore printed an extra 180 copies, which they gladly gave over to us. This means we set ourselves up to "decorate" (by sticker and sharpie marker) 1180 of these discs, front and back.

Like most grandiose schemes it was fun in the beginning. We all got together on a Friday night and worked for a few hours, drinking, laughing, and commending ourselves on our ingenuity. It really seemed like we made a whole bunch of them. Like, at the time, in my drunken state, having worked for around 3 hours with the entire Chop crew and others, I would have ventured to guess that we would have completed around 100, or maybe 150 of these things.

In fact--we made just over 50. 50 of 1188.

This was the first indication. The first indication of the true treacherousness of what we would come to know as...

THE FUCKING MAKING OF GOLD STARS

We got together a few more times like this, each subsequent meeting becoming less and less jolly...all for the purpose of manufacturing this CD package in droves. As our interest deteriorated, I came up with an idea. We distributed all necessary equipment to each Chopsman's apartment, and we made a little bet: Ten CDs a week were to be turned in by each man. The motivation? Not having the discs meant a 5 dollar (cash) contribution to a fund: a shot fund, for the purpose of buying shots of booze once the ordeal was over. Ingenious, yes? Using alcohol payment as punishment, yes? Despite an initial snag when Tommy "Lone Wolf" opted not to participate because "betting" for "alcohol" is "childish" and also "dumb" -- the plan worked smashingly and the CDs began to be churned out.

Everything was going great--we were nearing our goal, we were nearing our shots (the fund grew to 50 dollars)...then we hit a brick wall. We lost our rhythm, America. Our rhythm! The shot fund (which we all agreed could only be used once all Gold Stars discs were completed) reached an almost unfathomable 80 dollars. With only 200 or so left to go...a compromise was reached. I was paid a nominal fee to finish the damn things, once and for all.

A small sampling of some of the ones I made today:

It was long. It was hard. I laughed. I cried. I hurled. But now, friends...it is done!

DONE!

Bring on the shots!

don't i know you from the cinematographer's party?,
rob

Straight out of New Castle

2008-02-29T13:21:00.000-08:00

Vintage:

Modern:

Great taste! Nothing has changed! Tom still thinks Pink Floyd is "dank!"

Brasilians love Antonio Carlos Jobim (and other news)

2008-02-19T09:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Loyalists,

Apart from The Chop having had a hell of a weekend, things are sluggish at best on this post-President's Day Tuesday afternoon in rainy old San Francisco. Over the hoilday we managed to rock Davis and Bottom of the Hill (both) with a little hard drinking at a skeevy, subterranean, motown-jukebox-having Japantown bar in between. With few to no pictures back yet from either gig, I will speak of them only briefly, in hopes that the events will be much better immortalized with clever captions and pedantic sentence structures at some future date.

The G Street Pub in Davis was great. We did not receive any bar napkin hatemail or anti-beard rhetoric this time, but managed to retain our ability to impress the UC Davis crowd with our big-city born, Arby's-induced melodies. We played with Sacramento band Pets who we all agreed were great, so please check them out.
The Bottom of the Hill show on Sunday night was truly awesome. It was hands down the best night of music we've ever been a part of. The crowd was great, The Chop was in stride, and the headliners were amazing. Sugar and Gold went on after us. They have that fine tuned sense of fun that we Delawareans always admire. Grand Ole Party played last and, seriously, if you have chance to see these guys on tours up and coming, please do. They were a commanding presence on the stage, with killer rhythm, vocals...you name it. They deserve the accolades they've been receiving in full.

That all aside, I thought I'd mention one other thing that's been on my mind. Brasilians love Antonio Carlos Jobim.

It is February, and I suppose I've finally gotten back into the swing of things here in California (as have my innards). I'm thinking one more post on my alt-hemispherical vacation ought to take care of things nicely. There's just more I want to say...namely, that Brasilians love Antonio Carlos Jobim.

And I mean, who wouldn't? But they really love him. They give him a bear hug everytime he comes over, (even though they see him all the time), and then they hold on a little too long and let their hands wander a little too far and it's sort of uncomfortable for all involved. Prove it, you say?

First piece of evidence: They named their international airport after him! The audacity!

El Segundo!
They named a street after him in Rio. This doesn't seem like much, right? The street is called Presidente Antonio Carlos. Amazing! This type of subtle "art-meets-politics" social commentary stuff doesn't get past the bumper sticker phase stateside. Kinda makes you jealous there's no "Senators Bacharach and David St." in Kansas City.

And as if that weren't enough...here's the most fiendish display of their affection: They opted to shorten him name significantly, arbitrarily cutting 5 syllables from it to call him "Tom". This mod makes it all the easier for people to name their children after him, chant his name at a soccer match, or pretend they overheard his name on a crowded street. Friends, this is a truly subversive act of devotion. Like spiking the water with smooth jazz and inflecting it with Latin flavor.

Don't say you hadn't heard. They love him. And you should too.

Alone again (naturally),

Rob

Epic Sesh!

2008-02-11T16:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Global Martketplace,

This weekend The Chop was at it again recording ever-so-timeless drum and bass tracks for our upcoming (first, full-length) album, which we've decided to call "We Want It All". We all agree that this sentiment aptly describes our lusty ambition for, well, everything.

On Saturday, we went into the studio for the old 8PM to 4AM graveyard shift. We layed down the bass and drum tracks for four songs...two old ones we re-arranged and made way better (these were called "Falling Asleep" and "Five Points") and two brand new songs called "Signs" and "The Pace'. We're pretty excited about all of them, and we're going back in there to do the overdubs (i.e. piano, guitars and all the vocals) on Tuesday night. We probably won't 100% finish any the songs, and we'll end up finishing the tracks at home sometime in the next couple weeks, putting in some instruments we either don't play or own or both (cello maybe?), refining our takes, and also adding weird shit like we do.

Here's how it looked on Saturday:

Now here's the exciting news...this was the stated "last" tracking session for "We Want It All". We've now recorded 15 tracks for this thing, so we'll be able to cut 3 or 4 or 5 out of the final product--which means better songs for you!

We're expecting it all to be done (like done done) in about 6 weeks. We're excited about this. You should be excited about this. Are you getting excited about all this?

rob

Beardist Thought is Alive and Well

2008-02-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

America,

There's something troubling me. As a free and extremely diverse society, we face many challenges regarding tolerance and understanding of differences. No matter how enlightened you see yourself, you are instinctually driven to make judgements about other people based on their looks alone. I'm referring, of course, to Beardism.

Many of us (Freedom Fighters) have long purported that these stereotypes are being bolstered and supported by the entertainment media. The evidence is overwhelming. One can't help but notice that there's a strong and forceful campaign (of late) to portray facial hair as a the equivalent to a fringe lifestyle akin to junk addiction and eventual depressive suicide.

When the producers of ABC's LOST wanted to convey the idea that (normally ethically impeccable) Jack Shepard was sinking in the bog of an alcoholic stupor...did they brainstorm for hours on the proper story arc of his drug-addled descent? Do you think they factored in the timing of their revelations throughout the episode to maximize his character development as a hopeless wino? Did the director coach actor Matthew Fox endlessly on the Jack-curate facial expressions that would convey a sense of longing, loss, and seething anger from beneath an ocean of booze? No. They slapped a big beard on him and figured we'd get the gist.

ABC Audience: "Whoa. Check out that grizzly beard...this cat must be hitting it pretty hard to forget to shave that long."

Or,

"Holy shit, he's totally lost all will to live and has probably been doing some "Leaving Las Vegas"-style boozing to the death while eating Vicoden like they were Pez and oh what the hell let's throw some depraved hookers into this fanciful orgy of self-loathing while we're at it"

All as indicated by a relatively trim beard!

One of my other favorites is the all too blatant "shaving as redemption" plot point. Once they've carefully established a character as bat-shit insane on a liquor binge (see above) there's usually a scene where this character is confronted openly about how batshit insane they've become, and are instructed to "pull it together!" The character then responds by shaving his face, which indicates to the audience not only that he's kicked his alcohol/drug/gambling addiction, but that he's managed to slough off the inner turmoil/regret/longing that's been plaguing him (a nightmarish, spectral remorse which haunts his days and prohibits shaving) like the superficial weight that it is.

The writers/producers of NBC's Heroes pulled this one on us in the first half of the show's second season. In case you missed it, here's a picture:

Nathan Petrelli, a normally clean cut politician wallowing in regret and sorrow over his brother's untimely death...and sweating alcohol from the exertion of turning his head slightly...

who thens "cleans up his act," and shaves away his depression! A True Leader!

Beardist nonsense!
For shame, Media Conglomerates!

Beards are nothing to be feared! The Bearded live and work among you! Please don't stare at us on the bus! We are simply asserting our right to be lazy when it comes to one small aspect of personal hygiene. I am not drunk, crazed, or addicted to precription drugs. I have a job, a girlfriend and a family!

Stroking my chin,
Red Robbie

Post Script: Abraham Lincoln has a great, bolshy beard. So did U.S. Grant. Leaders among men and trendsetters of their respective eras, one marvels at what a beard heyday that must have been.

The Morning Routine

2008-01-28T10:32:00.000-08:00

Dearest American Public,

A recent poll shows that approximately every last one of you is quite curious about the day-in day-out of being in an awesome Rock band. With those stats in mind we, The Chop, would like to allow you a small window into our ever-so-busy lives, beginning, as most days do, with The Morning Routine.

Just like you fantasize, The Chop all live, work, and play together. We begin our Saturday morning with popsicles in a grossly undersized bed.

Next, we recover our senses slowly by relaxing in the glow of our beloved television, whilst reclining on our vintage, 1970's era sofa.

Quite appropriately, we are watching Hanna Barbera's "Wacky Races". Dick Dastardly and Muttley are winning.

That trickerous pooch!!

After sucking down a few more frozen treats and recounting the previous nights' grandiose schemes, it's finally time to wash away the grime of Friday's hard drinking with a trip to the bathroom.
With our first record so close to being done (a couple more weeks, America!) The Chop doesn't have time to take turns. We all go in at once!

But let me stress, friends: We are not all business. We too enjoy life, and although we have been known to manufacture laughter for our own sinister purposes, we sometimes do it without provocation!

Now that we're showered, shaved, brushed and scrubbed we launch into our day of unbridled, unparalleled, Rock-band fun. Isn't it just as you imagined?

Hoping to erase my most grievous errors with the help of a Wayback Machine,

Rob

Bomberos, and Other Stuff I Found

2008-01-22T11:05:00.000-08:00

I'm standing there in Buenos Aires, purporting to know Spanish, and having no clue what is underneath this metal cover. For 8 days, I was carted around this sweltering little metropolis to awesome restaurant after awesome restaurant, then typically back to the first awesome restaurant for a third or fourth meal that day. The Italian food, particularly, was great. Everything was mind-bogglingly cheap, with the exchange rate being something in the neighborhood of 3.2 to 1. Cab rides typically cost 2 dollars or less.

Turns out "Bomberos" means Fire Department or, alternately (and awesomely as only an online translator would put it) Fire Brigade. At the time I just figured this would make for an awesome album cover.

Like Rio, they don't really start the night until about 2AM, and have little to no interest in punctuality or rushing anything. Unlike Rio, they have a great subway system, and no beach. No beach means no breeze, which means it was really hot there. It was hot enough at midnight for us to unabashedly rub ice on each others chests in public. We documented it. Ice Chests.

This is the back of a cigarette pack from Brasil. There's a whole series of them, with pictures of blackened lungs, people breathing through respirators, and all other nature of effed-up shit. This was easily the best though. I wonder when this trend of really sticking it to cigarette smokers with full color photos of their imminent pain and suffering will make it to America. It can't be far off.

Also note: Counterfeiting abounds!!

Isn't is funny how counterfeit is a word that originally meant "a really good facsimile" (and maintained a positive connotation) and now means something fake and even slightly sinister? Anyway, I hadn't been in Argentina more than 4 hours before being slipped a counterfiet bill by a cab driver. I kept it as a souvenir. It's actually a really good facsimile (!), complete with watermarks and holograms, and it's only failing is the paper it's printed on.

Apparently it is commonly known not to try to give 100 peso notes to cab drivers because always they're waiting for this opportunity to pass off a fake 50 to you, the foolish tourist. This can be tricky though because 100 peso notes are all one gets from ATMs. Naturally, I received this sage advice approxiamtely 1 hour too late. Drag. It's only the equivalent of about 17 USD, so no big loss. More interestingly, it sparked a pretty serious discussion about the place of counterfeit currency in the economy, and the nature of good and bad deeds. There was a contingent voting that I pass the bill off on someone else, based on the theory that money only has the value we assign it and that therefore a counterfeit bill is worth at least a part, if not all of it's implied value. I agreed in theory, but felt that it was inherently evil to pass on this bill to someone else, having them (eventually) feel the same sting that I did upon discovery of the ruse. Fascinating, yes?

Attention Loyal Reader:
I now vow to update this beast of words at least once a week. Get ready, America.

With my cadre of fanatics, consolidating power as we speak,

Rob

Sub-Equatorial Chop!

2008-01-11T17:39:00.000-08:00

Hola El Mundo!

This Christmas, approximately 20% of The Chop flew south to escape the hurricane-like winter winds of San Francisco.

Yes it's true, I spent a full 15 days on that deviously hot continent that shares our namesake, South America.
Let me debrief you on my adventures:

I flew first to Rio de Janeiro, to spend New Year's Eve on the beach.
Despite the somewhat startling lack of English-speaking in Brazil, they retained a sharp handle on our style of Chop-related wordplay.

Chopp is slang for beer in Brazil (eerie, no?), and establishments that serve beer (read: all establishments) are known as "Chopperias". This place was approximately 20 steps outside my door, and provided an encouraging start to the trip.

Rio de Janeiro is a hectic town where red lights and turn signals are invariably disregarded, street-meat is prevalent (beware, fellows, beware), and lime is added to everything (including aforementioned street-meat).
It's definitely a beach town, complete with the intense sunshine, wanton shirtlessness, and public consumption of alcohol one would expect. On the other hand, a standard police pat-down involves a drawn weapon pointed at your back at all times, and they sure as shit aren't afraid to shoot at Santa Claus (click the picture to read). Don't worry...the image is a little misleading...Santa pulled through.

Also in Rio, and also Chop-related, stands Christ the Redeemer (Christo Redentor). Located high atop Corcovado, a huge mountain within the city, the soapstone for this thing was imported from Sweden and then hauled up this mountain piece by piece on a steep-ass railway built at the whim of some rich Carioca who wanted an easy picnic spot.

Iconic image, yes?

But now let's look just a bit closer as this truly revolutionary Jesus:

The Redeemer's Chop-hand is strong!
Catholicism has never seemed so appealing as when JC himself gives a shoutout to one's American ROCK and ROLL band.

Anyway, America, the rest of my time in Rio was spent watching fireworks go off for forty-five minutes while swimming in the ocean at midnight, panhandling with 'Janko' for a few Real, trying my damnedest to get a tan (no avail), and drinking from coconuts. It was truly an awesome time. Perhaps I will write and post more pictures in a couple of days detailing my subsequent adventures in Buenos Aires once I've compiled more stuff and gotten my head straight. In the meantime, Jennifer Sung (early Chop supporter/Yoshi/un-official band photographer) is still down there, and updating a blog regularly...so check that by clicking here:

I can say I am glad to be back.

in a Jefferies Tube of love,
Roberto

The Chop makes plans

2007-12-03T12:55:00.001-08:00

Hello Universe,

Last day/Yesternight, The Chop slaved away as usual on our ever-so-close-to-being-approximately-70%-completed first record. Highlights included the audio recording of the following: some craptastic Walkie Talkies, a Chop-wide staring contest, and also cheap champagne.

Everything's going great though, America. We've set our minds to exploding the Hotel Utah next weekend (December 14th) with our good friends The Dont's. We've even written a Christmas song for the occasion! In preparation for so-called "Christmas writing", we took it upon our backs to painstakingly study the annals of Christmas music (american, european, and "other"), therein systematically analyzing melodic motifs, lyrical themes, and chordal cadences for that "Christmas Sound." Only after this extensive bout of research on the essence of Christmas music were we then brave enough to disregard all that bullshit and write a really simple song in Gmajor!

The song promises to be available (for your home listening pleasure) shortly.

Up ahead for this week:

Tonite: Recording in the Sunset and even more file management in Potrero Hill!
Tuesday: Practice
Wednesday: CD screening with a Print Gocco, and more than likely file management also!
Thursday: Practice
Friday: Recording! A Christmas song!
Saturday: Panhandling in San Francisco! We now must beg for change!
Sunday: More recording, more file management, and James' brain to explode at 11:30PM!

His Benevolence,
Robbie Kassees

Up all Night With The Chop!

2007-11-14T10:31:00.000-08:00

How does the Chop manage to stay up all night recording timelessly classic tracks of shimmeringly golden timelessness? Well, it's not as terribly easy as you might think. To keep our spirits afloat, and our high-fiving hands strong, The Chop turns to Howling Monkey Energy Drink:

Howling Monkey keeps the The Chop thirsting for the sweet kiss of perfection from their tracking sessions!

Don't believe it?!?!

See how Jimmy Southbound is TRANSFORMED in this dramatization of last nights' events!
..........................................................
..........................................................
..........................................................
..........................................................

BEFORE the Monkey (2:30AM):
Lifeless, Drowsy, Uninspired---It seems completely unlikely that he is about lay down synth takes which will transcend time:

AFTER the Monkey (2:45AM):
Blisteringly awesome! Ready for blood! And timelessness!

Howling Monkey Energy Drink helps The Chop spring into action to re-re-record their timeless songs again and again and again!
Forever!!
Throughout time!!
We seriously won't ever stop!!!
EVER!!!!
Strange Taste of Wood in the Bars!!!!! ahhhh!!!!!!!!

at work, in a sleep-deprived daze,
thRob-ert

Halloween 2007 in San Francisco!

2007-11-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

Dear America,

The Chop had a great Halloween this year. We played on an awesome bill over at ELBO Room with The May Fire, Countless Others, and A Pack of Wolves. Thanks to everyone came out to the show. Here's a look at the celebration:

I realize that your mind is already blown, but you can at least take some comfort in knowing that you are not alone. Over 200 people came out last Friday, and it was really a blast. The Chop executed a last-minute, backstage costume change to come out and play as Shaolin Tournament combatants Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kano, Goro, and Scorpion.

Phil scorched the earth with guitar-lightning, Tommy crushed the Bill Ward fills, and a shirtless Johnny Bass reveled in his own shirtlessness. Then James threw on the bone-splintering synth patch and someone's rib got broken by the resultant rock (for real).

Oh yeah, and I got down on the ground.

Thanks to all involved.

Flawless Fucking Victory.

in the process of 'finishing him,'
Robbie

Adventures in Davis (aka Dear Band, You Suck)

2007-10-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

Holy Crap, America. The Chop had a helluva time up in Davis this past weekend. Let me tell you all about it.

Part 1: Panhandling

We decided to head up in the mid-afternoon, in hopes of promoting the show that evening on the streets. The Chop had never been to Davis, and had no clue what type of situation we were walking into. We had been told that G-Street Pub was really small, but also about the only cool place to play, so we were unsure of what we'd find at the load-in, and we wanted to try and pull in a crowd on our first try in the town.

We brought about about 50 CDs to give away and our jank acoustic for street performance. This was something discussed and joked about at length, but not actually rehearsed or planned in anyway, and a first for The Chop in any case. At first we roamed the streets surrounding the bar, singing (whatever came to our heads, really), and banging on tambourines. The sweet thing about Janko (our guitar) is that it's so small, it does not require a strap, and one can easily navigate an unknown burg whilst strumming emphatically and belting out Weezer lyrics all at the same time.

We finally settled into a nice spot in front of what looked to be a cool record store (please note, America, we did not actually go into said record store). Stationary pan-handling turned out to be the way to go. Johnny and Phil bounced happily around on the streets, taking on the duel job of singing along and handing out the discs to promote our show. I think we impressed some newly-minted fans in the (highly sought after) 7-10 year old girl demographic. Once we got a little more settled in to a spot, we cranked through some classic Chop numbers like "Carry the Wood", "Life in the Bars", "Taste of Luxury", and the infamous "Reggae Taste of Luxury". Unfortunately, it was determined that upstrokes do not a reggae version make, and we resolved to only try that again with drum kit intact. But...we actually made some money! Phil music-talked a guy for awhile, and he gave us a sawbuck for the effort. Yes!

We sang some more, managed to give away all the CDs, and James toiled away at a small handout (the show was still a few hours away) while Tom gave a shot at some harmonica on "Oh Yoko". Finally, we decided to go wait at the bar for our slot to come up.

Part 2: The Bar

G Street Pub is a pretty cool place. There's a decent-sized stage, a backroom with pool and arcade games, a patio area, and they sell deuces of New Castle at the bar (for more on the phenomenon of deuces in Chop-culture see "The Use of 22oz New Castle Bottles as Currency, and Other Staples of Early Chop Behavior." McKinley, et al. 2005).

We rocked it. Hard.

Part 3: The Crowd

Was the most polarized we've seen. The folks in Davis were really split on The Chop. This was made particularly poignant by the fact that we all agree we played about the best we've ever played. In other words, remove any onstage flaws or fuckups from the equation, and you get a really intriguing look at how we were received solely on the basis of our songs and our style. The response was really strong in both directions. For instance...during the final bars of Walkie Talkie (our last song of the evening), a guy who was apparently displeased wrote his thoughts on a bar napkin and delivered it to the stage. We saved it as our very first Hate Mail...

Then, directly in opposition to that...we walked off stage and were immediately congratulated profusely by three girls (and a dude) who had heard us earlier on the streets (promotion pays off!) and had been prompted to come out for the set. They expressed how awesome they thought we were...then bought a bunch of our merch. Awesome. But that was not the end of the feedback dichotomy we took in, my friends. There were two (other) girls in the crowd dancing like mad and screaming for more. They even wrote our name across their stomachs. Later on, we went back to their hotel room to eat doritos and wrestle.

Then to cap it off, we were accosted by some old(er) woman who seemed obsessed with us shaving. She kept saying shit like "It's not the seventies anymore, stop pretending you're 22," "Why do you wear headbands?" and also, "Your songs are decent, but you really need to shave."

Davis---you really were an odd one.

With Clipboard in Hand,
Rob

The Joys of Data Entry

2007-10-09T11:15:00.000-07:00

You're probably wondering how the hell The Chop administration keeps up with the flood of data that is necessary to run a Rock and Roll band. Well I am going to explain it all to you, here, now. forever.

I, Throb Kassees, love data entry.

I've known this now for some time, but manage to keep rediscovering it within myself. It's a good thing too...how else could The Chop keep track of all the different outfit choices, rigorous pre-show calisthenic/alcohol regimens, or the vast number of choruses in every live version of Carry the Wood? The answer is simple: they could not. They would not.

I live to collect, accumulate, agreggate, archive, compile, consolidate, and extrapolate Chop-o-philic data sets.
My spreadsheet is formidable.

The Chop blesses your home,
Rob

Bad Luck for Robman

2007-06-18T16:24:00.000-07:00

Many of you out there are probably wondering….what’s the deal with Rob’s recent string of bad luck? I heard some whack shit has been happening to him lately. Quite lamentably my friends, this is true. Let me elaborate.

1. My iPod breaks:
Two Thursdays past, I’m sitting at my desk, merrily avoiding work and listening to my Ipod, when the damn thing freezes. Just stops, mid-song. Very anti-climactic, actually. I always assumed that my iPod would meet its end a bit more conclusively: in pieces on the pavement after a foolhardy drunken spill, or maybe in the depths of Spreckels Lake after a Christian Okoye-style fumble in the park. Instead, the damn thing stops what it’s doing, for no reason at all. What a piece.

2. My car gets busted into
It’s Saturday night and I’m out on the town with Jimmy “Southbound”, peeting, govreeting, and checking out newly purchased flying V’s until 4AM or so. Upon awakening the next afternoon, as we head to Potrero for breakfast I become aware of the fact that my car window has been smashed. Now…I fully understand the social context of this event. It’s part of our deal with the crackheads and degenerates that we get to live and park in areas of great consumer-based convenience, and they, in turn, occasionally break into our cars and throw the contents of the glove everywhere, while still managing to miss the stereo located therein. But---that being said….this was not what had occurred. This scoundrel didn’t even go inside my car. He apparently had no interest in ripping off my stereo, or even in snatching up my car-stored goodies (which include a multitude of CDs scratched into un-playability by my treatment of them as baseball cards, and various sweat-stained Chop accouterments left there by my considerate and tidy-minded bandmates). I’ve had my share of criminal urges but mindless destruction was never one of them. Fucking delinquents.

3. I wreck on my bike
Well, actually, it wasn’t my bike. It was the company bike. People at my job complained enough about having to walk stuff to different buildings that they managed to commandeer themselves a bicycle. Its intended purpose is the work-related portage of tissue samples and lab supplies but at the time of my shit-eating, I was doing no such thing. Instead I was coasting around campus on a sunny afternoon (Monday) enjoying an abundantly tarnished view of the bay. Interesting thing is, I wasn’t even doing anything particularly foolish on the bike. You see, it’s one of those fold-it-up-and-take-it-on-the-train bikes. I have no doubt that when train-commuting from Vacaville (or some other God-forsakenly distant place that people still seem to commute from) having a bike which folds up to the size of a 486 computer tower is quite convenient, but the design’s utility eludes me when the handlebars opt to fold 90 degrees inward as I’m riding along at a reasonable clip on relatively flat ground. Luckily, I found the pavement to be warm and forgiving, and I made it away with a few minor scrapes. The worst of it was that my palm was all muffed up, which seriously inhibited my high-fiving ability for a week or so.

4. My guitar amp breaks
The day before we leave to gig up north, we’re at practice and my poor little amp is making this God-awful din up and above even Dr. Cock’s Pure Noise Machine Synth Monster 7000. A couple Fezzik-style jogs to the frame caused the noise to stop for a while, but it’s clearly getting worse as the night progresses. By the time Tits is polishing off his third Red Bull, the amp no longer responds to repeated pounding. It then also becomes clear that the speaker itself is ripped (a technically unrelated, though possibly correlated, problem). Some amply funded guitar players would revel at this chance, I’m sure. An excuse to purchase some piece of vintage wonderment they’d been eyeing for a year on eBay. Not me. I don’t know what to get. I haven’t been eyeing anything. But clearly, this problem needs a solution. I guess I’ll be keeping my ears peeled for that magic combination of growling midrange and super-70’s gain that made the Peavey so damn special.

Groin-grabbingly yours,
Rob

How To Cancel Band Practice: A Nine Step Program

2007-04-18T15:26:00.000-07:00

Hey boys and girls if you've ever wondered how to have a good time on a Friday night take a lesson from The Chop!

Step one: Before the party head to Chinatown with your favorite drinking buddy whose penchant for mischief and questionable judgment matches your own.
(Note: Chinatown is great because the Asians really like it when white people storm into their local bars and cause a ruckus whilst they are quietly trying to watch soap operas in their native tongue, with sub-titles in some other Asian country's native tongue.)
Step two: Before you go to the party make sure you bring enough champagne to make your fellow party goers say, "Damn, The Chop celebrates New Year's Eve every fucking night!"
Step Three: Now this is really important: Don't leave the party until there is absolutely no chance you could possibly get home without injuring yourself, or someone else, or at least some sort of public property.
(Note: After you have left the party make sure your trusted friend is with you. You're going to need him.)
Step Four: When you see a poorly lit piece of nicely manicured North Beach shrubbery DO NOT HESITATE! Jump right in that sucker.
Step Five: When you feel the blunt, rusty spike enter your thigh, ignore it. You can walk it off.
(Note: These spikes shouldn't be there in the first place. All they do is restrict plants in, forcing them to grow straight.)
Step Six: When your trusted friend shoves you to the ground and clamps his hands over your open wound (which is bleeding like a virgin in her first Ass to Mouth underground amateur porn video) make you sure you say something like, "Ambulance? I don't need an ambulance you pussy!" This probably isn't true but it makes you look tough.
Step Seven: As the cops roll up and shove said trusted friend against the wall yelling things like,"What the fuck did you stab him with!" make sure you laugh as loud as you can. DON'T say something like, "Hey, that guy just prevented me from bleeding to death on the street and indirectly ensured the greatest band in the world can continue its mission of spreading pure rock and true love."
Step Eight: Later, when the nurse asks which arm you want your tetanus shot, think hard. Not on which hand you write with, or even which hand you prefer to pleasure yourself with, but which hand you rock more with. (I went with the right because The Chop is not Danish Death Metal and fret work is more important than blind speed.)
Step Nine: When it’s all over and they release you from the Hospital six hours later as the sun begins to rise, call your local Chop brother. He'll be there, NO QUESTIONS ASKED!

Epilogue: All these events occurred as dictated from Buffalo Balls under oath to stenographer: Chuckley McGiggles.

-Johnny B.

Words to Describe Washington Mutual:

2007-03-05T15:39:00.000-08:00

bent, caught, corrupt, crooked, culpable, deplorable, dirty, felonious, hung up*, illegal, illegitimate, illicit, immoral, indictable, iniquitous, nefarious, peccant, racket, scandalous, senseless, shady*, smoking gun*, unlawful, unrighteous, vicious, villainous, wicked, wildcat*, wrong, blackmailer, blotto, con, convict, crook, culprit, delinquent, desperado, deuce, evildoer, felon, fugitive, gangster, guerilla, hatchet man, heavy*, hood*, hoodlum, hooligan*, hustler, inside man, jailbird, lawbreaker, malefactor, mobster, moll, mug, muscle man, offender, outlaw, racketeer, repeater, scofflaw, shylock, sinner, slippery eel*, thug*, transgressor, trespasser, wrongdoer, yard bird, bad at life, deceitful, devious, dishonest, dishonorable, double-dealing, dubious, fraudulent, indirect, knavish, lying, nefarious, questionable, ruthless, shady, shifty, treacherous, underhand, unlawful, unprincipled, unscrupulous, untruthful

You may be asking yourself, "Why and how can Phil (of The Chop) hate WaMu so much"?

I will tell you.

Yesterday (March 1st, 2007) at 5:15pm I received a cashier’s check from WaMu for $2,008 to pay my rent for March (My douche bag landlord will only accept cashier's checks). By the time I had gotten home at from work at 6:40pm the check was either lost or stolen. I proceeded to call the WaMu customer service center to have the check canceled. The 1st delightful sub-creature that I spoke too was somewhere between a chimp and a human with Down’s Syndrome (though she was quite good at saying “Sir” every seventh word (I assume that she was equally skilled at dropping out of middle school), so I asked to speak to her manager.

Now I used to work a customer service phone job, so I know that yelling and being mean does you no good, so I was quite cordial. The gentleman that I was transferred too (Nick) clearly had an IQ that cracked the ever important 100 point mark but was still mostly useless. He was a professional spin doctor and the conversation that we held focused on sayings like “at the branches digression”, “additional security holds”, “risk to the bank”, “Sir”, and “I can see how from the consumers point of view”. He was a worthless douche and should be doing brand marketing for Massengill, not customer service for WaMu. I pushed Nick to say anything committal, he declined.

There was one piece of advice from Nick that I did take to heart and that was, “wait until tomorrow, the branch can sort it out”. He was wrong!

Today (March 2nd, 2007) at 9:20 a.m. I walked in to the branch that issues the check with the receipt for the check in hand. The woman that I talked to today (Judy) was quite nice, but equally useless. To be fair to Judy I would call her powerless rather than useless. She explained that they can’t cancel I cashiers check. I said, “But the dude who cut the check yesterday made a mistake and made the check for too little money. He re-cut the check”. She said, “If you had come back yesterday or still had the check we could re-cut it” (way to go Nick / douche / I love to bathe myself in my own cum, where is your “chill out, they can take care of this tomorrow” bullshit now?). Now Judy, if I still had the check we wouldn’t have been holding this conversation would we? What kind of ass-backwards logic does your bank operate under? Given that the mean education of your work force hovers between GED and 11th grade it should come as no surprise. So I was left fully dissatisfied and still have no way to pay rent.

How it all ends:

Phil gets to cancel the check and wait 90 days (89 days since March 1st counts as a day) to get my $2,008 back. I get to transfer money out of personal saving to pay rent (4 days late at $10 a day late fee to me) and around the 1st of June I recover my cash from those blooding drinking, heartless, god-fearing, whores, know only as Washington Mutual.

Through Him, in Him, and with Him,
Phil (of The Chop)