4.12.2010
Moving
Due primarily to mounting dissatisfaction with blogger, Sick As is moving to somekindofcosmonaut.tumblr.com. Just click here. Anyway, I'm still learning the ropes over there, so if anything is really messed up let me know. Also, this site will continue to be here, as an archive of sorts, though there shant be any new posts. Thank you for the presumed cooperation, all five of you who come here.
4.11.2010
A Day With Skeeter
Saturday the forecast for Red Feather Lakes called for sunshine and temps above 40 for probably the first time this year, and I was excited to try some projects in non-miserable conditions. The two other days I've been to Red Feather this year involved post-holing along frozen-tundra approaches to climb poorly on icy boulders. Saturday, though, the sun was shining and the air was fresh. Birds were chirping and there was a distinct lack of bone-chilling breezes. Spring was upon us.
4.08.2010
4.07.2010
4.06.2010
Top Ten Albums: Houdini
Almost as good as Joe's Valley is the classic Houdini, by the Melvins.
Despite being a somewhat legendary act and being listed as an influence by nearly every band I liked when I was in high school, I didn't get into the Melvins until college. I distinctly remember hearing Honey Bucket for the first time, riding to class in a friend's car. The song came on randomly and I had no idea what it was or who it was by, but it was so unbelievably heavy that I had to ask. He told me and I stopped by a record store on my way home and bought Houdini having not heard any other song from the album. I was not disappointed.
Expecting to hear heavy, fast songs along the lines of Honey Bucket, I was surprised with how slow the other songs were. Furthermore, I was surprised by how heavy they were. I mean, shit, these songs are heavy. The guitars are tuned low, the bass is cranked, and the distortion on both is so thick you could spread it on a bagel like cream cheese. Cream cheese made from the milk of this goat, probably. And the drums, good lord the drums. Dale Crover is a beast, and his power behind the kit is readily apparent throughout the album. What impressed me the most was how the band managed to play really slow while somehow keeping the songs interesting. Joan of Arc crushes along at a glacial pace while the verses of Hag Me are so slow it feels like the song is falling apart. But the band always seems to come together in the nick of time to move the song forward. Most of this is due to Crover's uncanny ability to keep even the most lethargic beats on time and his knack for entering and exiting a song at all the right moments.
Houdini got me psyched on the Melvins, who in turn opened the door for me to many other bands, like Fantomas, Baroness, Jellow Biafra and the Melvins, ISIS, and Sunn 0))), to name a few.
Anyway, I listened to Houdini all summer, windows rolled down on I-25 in a car with no air conditioning, speakers crackling King Buzzo's demented growl, smashing imaginary drums on the steering wheel to Night Goat. Years later, I can listen to Houdini and feel the same way I did the first time I heard it; confused, excited, and fired up. Be sure to play it loud.
Expecting to hear heavy, fast songs along the lines of Honey Bucket, I was surprised with how slow the other songs were. Furthermore, I was surprised by how heavy they were. I mean, shit, these songs are heavy. The guitars are tuned low, the bass is cranked, and the distortion on both is so thick you could spread it on a bagel like cream cheese. Cream cheese made from the milk of this goat, probably. And the drums, good lord the drums. Dale Crover is a beast, and his power behind the kit is readily apparent throughout the album. What impressed me the most was how the band managed to play really slow while somehow keeping the songs interesting. Joan of Arc crushes along at a glacial pace while the verses of Hag Me are so slow it feels like the song is falling apart. But the band always seems to come together in the nick of time to move the song forward. Most of this is due to Crover's uncanny ability to keep even the most lethargic beats on time and his knack for entering and exiting a song at all the right moments.
Houdini got me psyched on the Melvins, who in turn opened the door for me to many other bands, like Fantomas, Baroness, Jellow Biafra and the Melvins, ISIS, and Sunn 0))), to name a few.
Anyway, I listened to Houdini all summer, windows rolled down on I-25 in a car with no air conditioning, speakers crackling King Buzzo's demented growl, smashing imaginary drums on the steering wheel to Night Goat. Years later, I can listen to Houdini and feel the same way I did the first time I heard it; confused, excited, and fired up. Be sure to play it loud.
4.05.2010
Wait, what?
This last week I was in Joe's Valley, climbing on fantastic boulders with great friends. Sobe's were drunk, shit was talked, whales were shallow, and less-than-spectacular food was consumed.
It's kind of ridiculous to think that I spent five days climbing on two boulder problems, but I seem to operate best when my focus is narrowed down to a few specific goals. In this case, those goals were Trent's Mom and The Ghost King. One of these goals was accomplished, and one was not, with Trent's Mom being the one that got away. I climbed on Trent's Mom four days last week and three days on a previous trip this year, and each day went about the same: hike to the boulder in the morning, warm up on the juggy moves, climb to the crux move from the start ten or so times, fail to lock down on the right hand and fall. My first day on the problem this trip I managed to latch the hold, but my hand exploded off as I was setting up to make the next move. The problem feels mechanically easy, but I've acquired such a mental block that execution remains elusive. I blame myself. Jamie suggested many times that I get pushed into the top so that I could figure out the finish and gain confidence, but I stubbornly (and prematurely) declared it "in the satch" and ignored his advice. Seriously, get a slight power spot through as many moves as possible before getting serious about trying from the start. And always, always, always do the topout first. I did Ghost King in a few tries after getting pushed into the top crux and doing the topout, and the confidence gained from doing so proved to be the key to success. But Trent's Mom, man, I've let that thing take over, and it's a complete mental battle to get psyched up for each attempt. Which isn't to say I'm not psyched. Indeed, psych couldn't be higher to finish this excellent boulder. I'm just sayin' that there is a strategy that works for sending projects, and ignoring that strategy usually doesn't pay off so well. Learn from my mistakes, children. Learn well.
Anyway, there will be future trips to Joe's, and many more chances to fall off the top of Trent's Mom. In the mean time, I hope to put some effort into lingering local projects before the alpine season opens up. The Trifecta awaits...
It's kind of ridiculous to think that I spent five days climbing on two boulder problems, but I seem to operate best when my focus is narrowed down to a few specific goals. In this case, those goals were Trent's Mom and The Ghost King. One of these goals was accomplished, and one was not, with Trent's Mom being the one that got away. I climbed on Trent's Mom four days last week and three days on a previous trip this year, and each day went about the same: hike to the boulder in the morning, warm up on the juggy moves, climb to the crux move from the start ten or so times, fail to lock down on the right hand and fall. My first day on the problem this trip I managed to latch the hold, but my hand exploded off as I was setting up to make the next move. The problem feels mechanically easy, but I've acquired such a mental block that execution remains elusive. I blame myself. Jamie suggested many times that I get pushed into the top so that I could figure out the finish and gain confidence, but I stubbornly (and prematurely) declared it "in the satch" and ignored his advice. Seriously, get a slight power spot through as many moves as possible before getting serious about trying from the start. And always, always, always do the topout first. I did Ghost King in a few tries after getting pushed into the top crux and doing the topout, and the confidence gained from doing so proved to be the key to success. But Trent's Mom, man, I've let that thing take over, and it's a complete mental battle to get psyched up for each attempt. Which isn't to say I'm not psyched. Indeed, psych couldn't be higher to finish this excellent boulder. I'm just sayin' that there is a strategy that works for sending projects, and ignoring that strategy usually doesn't pay off so well. Learn from my mistakes, children. Learn well.
Anyway, there will be future trips to Joe's, and many more chances to fall off the top of Trent's Mom. In the mean time, I hope to put some effort into lingering local projects before the alpine season opens up. The Trifecta awaits...
4.04.2010
3.23.2010
Top Ten Albums: Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
In lieu of climbing, I've decided to compile and review my top ten favorite albums in an effort to figure out why I like them so much. As they're finished I'll post them here, in no particular order. First up is Neil Young's classic, Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere.
Originally released in 1969, this album is one of the oldest on my list, but it sure doesn't sound that way. The production value is high, the vocals are clear, and the individual instruments are well separated in the mix. But there are still rough edges: the guitars are harsh on the higer notes, the bass gets muffled under the drums, and the cymbals wash out at points, and that's what gives the album authenticity. It feels like it was made by a band in a room, not, say, Billy Corgan by himself in a isolation chamber. Also, the album starts with Cinnamon Girl, which is one of the best songs ever written.
Everybody Knows alternates between being very tight and focused, as in the aforementioned Cinnamon Girl or the title track, and being loose and free, such as Down By The River or Cowgirl In The Sand. The latter two songs reach dangerously close to "jam territory," but the band never succumbs to full-on Phishdom. Instead of some idiots trading out extended, non-melodic solos, the band stays firm in the song's groove while Neil adds tasteful (side note: yes, sometimes Neil goes overboard with the whole one-note-solo thing, but whatever, I like it) noodling on the guitar. The point is that, even when jamming, the band keeps it simple and doesn't over-complicate the song. Nothing sounds busy because the band sits back and lets the song dictate where to go. The prime example of this is Cowgirl. The round, heavy bass line, full of pauses and breaths, counteracts the sharply accented rhythm guitar, while the drums keep the song moving forward at a steady pace. The guitars and bass bounce all over the place during the verses, but once the vocals come in for the chorus the whole band snaps back into rigid time, delivering a poppy, concise moment amidst the otherwise loose jam.
The album is stylistically diverse, with heavy, long jams (River, Cowgirl), straight-forward rockers (Cinnamon Girl), and even country-tinged front-porch jams (The Losing End, Everybody Knows). Even the slower, ballad-y songs (Round and Round, Running Dry), which usually put me to sleep, work to vary the pace of the album. And while those latter songs I don't cue up individually, I don't skip over them when I listen to the full album, which says something of their necessity to Everybody Knows.
As an added bonus, the record makes a great soundtrack for evening treks westward on I-70. Like to Joe's Valley, where I'm going Friday. Trent's Mom awaits...
Originally released in 1969, this album is one of the oldest on my list, but it sure doesn't sound that way. The production value is high, the vocals are clear, and the individual instruments are well separated in the mix. But there are still rough edges: the guitars are harsh on the higer notes, the bass gets muffled under the drums, and the cymbals wash out at points, and that's what gives the album authenticity. It feels like it was made by a band in a room, not, say, Billy Corgan by himself in a isolation chamber. Also, the album starts with Cinnamon Girl, which is one of the best songs ever written.
Everybody Knows alternates between being very tight and focused, as in the aforementioned Cinnamon Girl or the title track, and being loose and free, such as Down By The River or Cowgirl In The Sand. The latter two songs reach dangerously close to "jam territory," but the band never succumbs to full-on Phishdom. Instead of some idiots trading out extended, non-melodic solos, the band stays firm in the song's groove while Neil adds tasteful (side note: yes, sometimes Neil goes overboard with the whole one-note-solo thing, but whatever, I like it) noodling on the guitar. The point is that, even when jamming, the band keeps it simple and doesn't over-complicate the song. Nothing sounds busy because the band sits back and lets the song dictate where to go. The prime example of this is Cowgirl. The round, heavy bass line, full of pauses and breaths, counteracts the sharply accented rhythm guitar, while the drums keep the song moving forward at a steady pace. The guitars and bass bounce all over the place during the verses, but once the vocals come in for the chorus the whole band snaps back into rigid time, delivering a poppy, concise moment amidst the otherwise loose jam.
The album is stylistically diverse, with heavy, long jams (River, Cowgirl), straight-forward rockers (Cinnamon Girl), and even country-tinged front-porch jams (The Losing End, Everybody Knows). Even the slower, ballad-y songs (Round and Round, Running Dry), which usually put me to sleep, work to vary the pace of the album. And while those latter songs I don't cue up individually, I don't skip over them when I listen to the full album, which says something of their necessity to Everybody Knows.
As an added bonus, the record makes a great soundtrack for evening treks westward on I-70. Like to Joe's Valley, where I'm going Friday. Trent's Mom awaits...
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