Hey folks! Long time no blog. As many of you know, this month saw me cramming for NAMM, as well as jumping straight onto a tour (leg 2 of Anthrax/Testament/Death Angel in the US). As I write this, I’m enjoying a rare day off in Tampa.

I’ve been receiving many requests for another ‘NAMM blog.’ I’d originally written ‘Wham Bam, Thank You NAMM,’ in 2010 to capture NAMM for the uninitiated. It was something I felt had never been adequately documented. Then, in 2011, NAMM was full of crazy situations (meeting Mike Huckabee, partying with Adrian Belew, appearing alongside the guitarist from Def Leppard etc…). It just had to be documented: ‘Post NAMM Prog-Nosis’ . However, a yearly ‘NAMM report’ was never the intention.

Though jam packed (pun not intended), this year’s trip lasted barely two days (half the time of last year). With appearances all day, performances by AS Trio and Testament on the same night and having to jump on a tour bus and leave in the midst of it all, there just weren’t as many stories. So while NAMM 2012 was very productive and one of the most enjoyable personally- it hasn’t triggered a blog post at this time.

I have, however, been hard at work on a something else: the latest in my blog series for Guitar Player Magazine. In the past, I’ve enjoyed using this platform to – among other things – reveal ‘lies’ by legendary bands (click here), expose the head of a major guitar company as a bit of a wack job (click here), and ask the following question: why are so many people who work in music stores (some- not all) complete pricks? (click here) Next to those blogs, this post is non-provocative and tame by comparison:
“TEN OVERLOOKED ESSENTIAL SOLOS OF THE ’70s”

Hopefully it is no less entertaining and informative. Enjoy!

Alex

PS By the way, since writing this, I’ve done further research into the one guitarist on this list who’s no longer with us: Steve Gaines (pictured). It turns out that there is much more to him than his work with Lynyrd Synyrd – he’d previously released a solo album ‘One In The Sun’ that while little known, is deeply valued by those who do. This clip ‘Give It To Get It’makes me realize where my favorite 90’s ‘jam band,’ Aquarium Rescue Unit, may have taken inspiration for its sound. I recommend that more guitarists look further into the work of this tragically overlooked player.

To kick things off for 2012, I’d like to share some words that I had the honor of contributing to a fascinating book: ‘Murder In The Front Row: Shots From The Bay Area Thrash Metal Epicenter’ (Bazillion Points).

A photographic collection by long time Bay Area metal photojournalists Brian Lew and Harold O, this just released book captures the commencement of the SF Bay Area metal scene. It is packed with never before seen shots of local bands including Exodus and Legacy (soon to be named Testament), along with frequent visitors from Southern California such as Slayer, Megadeth and that one band that relocated to the Bay just before taking over the world, Metallica.

In many cases, guys who’ve gone on to become household names are fresh-faced and barely recognizable (Kerry King-is that really you?). In others, guys who were an integral part of the scene but are no longer with us are immortalized, alive as ever (Cliff Burton, Paul Baloff and more).

For those who weren’t there, this book will be an entertaining and informative read. For those of us who were there, it is a vital document of a very different time. I was still in high school when most of the pics were shot.

Below is my take on legendary Bay Area venue The Omni. In the pic that accompanies the essay, Testament is finally on it’s way. I’m all of 19 yrs old.

For more information on the book (including samples and ordering info), click HERE.

Boxing followed by hockey? Skolnick, what’s gotten into you? Aren’t you the guy who wrote ‘It’s A Sports World (I Just Live In It)’ Part I, II and III?

Don’t worry, I haven’t gone ’sports-crazy.’ All will make sense in a moment…

This is something I’ve been meaning to place here for a few weeks, but an extremely busy period of musical activity-including the subject of this post- has cut into my blogging input. Apologies for the absence (although a devoted writer, my career as a musician often has to take precedence).

I first alluded to a recording project on Twitter in Mid- November. At the time, I was in a hotel room on the road with my portable studio set up. I only revealed that the project required me to swing by my apartment and grab my reissue ‘57 Fender Stratocaster as the Anthrax/Testament tour was swinging through the New York area (professionally, I’m a ‘Les Paul guy,’ but own a Strat and a Tele just to play for fun and in case of an ‘emergency’ such as this).

What I didn’t mention was that I’d just been hired by NBC to record the traditional New Year’s Melody “Auld Lang Syne” in a style reminiscent Jimi Hendrix’s famed 1969 performance of ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ at Woodstock. The solo performance is very short- the first half of a 30 sec. spot, which morphs into prerecorded music. But it was challenging to do, since it called for an ‘anthem’ feel and my guitar was exposed with no other instruments to hide behind.

As I looked outside the hotel room near Albany, New York), I saw American and Canadian flags blowing in the wind. These images helped provide inspiration for the performance, which is now being used to advertise the upcoming broadcast of the NHL/Bridgestone Winter Classic hockey game between the New York Rangers and the Philadelphia Flyers, immediately following New Years Day.

On the night of December 4th, during Sunday Night Football, the Winter Classic Ad Campaign debuted on NBC. During kickoff, I told everyone to keep an ear out for the ad, revealing that the guitarist is yours truly.

In the days that followed, I got word that as a result of the 2012 Winter Classic Ad campaign, my name was being mentioned all over pro- sports news websites (how’s that for irony?). Here’s one sports new site, appropriately entitled ‘The Big Lead’ (see 8th paragraph down).

What a nice example of me finally finding a place in this ‘Sports World’ of which I spoke in those earlier posts! I’m grateful to NBC, the NHL and the Winter Classic for providing such a unique and fun opportunity. The Winter Classic ad has been airing during NBC sports events ever since and will continue through New Years. Here is a direct video Link, courtesy of MSNBC

And speaking of winter and New Years, next week, I’ll be busy with the ‘Skolnick & Broderick Winter Guitar Retreat‘ This means that this will be the final blog post of 2011 (I can think of no more fitting way to wrap things up than this post). 2011 has been an incredible year for me, with many exciting professional and personal developments, many of which I’m sure will be reflected upon in future posts.

Wishing everyone all the best for 2012 and thanks for your readership!

Alex

PS Today being Christmas and Chanukah, happy holidays to all celebrating. And here are a couple fun links for you. The first is courtesy of NBC (coincidentally), who aired a great scene involving the music of a project I’m associated with via their hit comedy ‘The Office’ The second is of me in concert playing with said project, performing O Holy Night Enjoy!

Long time readers, especially those who know me as an admitted ‘non-sports fan,’ are probably a bit perplexed to see a boxing photo on this blog. Allow me to explain….

Reading this, it is easy to imagine what if might have happened if Charles Bukowski or Hunter S. Thompson had been a fight fan who spent his life as a member of the road crew, doing lights for word’s fastest heavy metal bands. And just as a great fight movie like ‘Rocky,’ or ‘The Fighter’ reaches out like a left hook and draws in viewers who are not necessarily fans of boxing, the same can be said of “Arturo Gatti—The Thunder Up Above.” Enjoy! – AS

ARTURO GATTI—THE THUNDER UP ABOVE by Mark Workman

On June 11, 2005 I looked on in sadness as I witnessed the end of a career that I had followed intensely for twenty years. A few too many drinks in me, I sat down after the fight and poured my despair into my computer. Early the next morning, I woke up and found “Iron Mike Tyson—The Death of a Killing Machine” on my laptop screen.

Extremely hung over, I proceeded to read an article that I had little recollection of writing. I sat there staring at my computer screen wondering if the legendary “Iron” Mike Tyson had truly quit on his stool against the unknown journeyman, Kevin McBride.

The fight was also a blur to me.

The writing had been smeared on the arena walls for years but many of us refused to even try to decipher it. We didn’t want to see it end. But the crystal floor beneath Iron Mike’s throne had been cracking for a long time.

Then it finally collapsed.

Was the legend vanquished for the final time? I had to go online and read the news at BoxingScene to see if it was actually true.

It was over.

Then it hit me like a Mack truck running down mangy stray dogs on the highway: I had actually been drunk enough to send “Iron Mike Tyson—The Death of a Killing Machine” to many of the top boxing news sites.

Drunken delusions of grandeur.

I began to wonder if I could have a straight razor, cyanide and a thick rope delivered from the local liquor store with another bottle of fine French vodka. A noble end, I felt at the time. The wave of embarrassment drowned me like a roaring tsunami. I poured another stiff drink hoping to end my humiliation and stop the incessant throbbing of the alien organism dying on my shoulders: my aching head.

That drink made E.T. call home but he didn’t get off my shoulders and fly away.

I quickly signed into my email account worried that I had also done a “drink-and-email” to my ex- wife and old girlfriends, offering useless advice and other things that they didn’t need or desire. But to my complete and utter shock there was an email from BoxingScene, among others, asking me to submit more articles. I immediately wondered if they loved French vodka as much as I did. Crazy.

Perplexed, I sobered up immediately, wondering what I had done. I didn’t know how to write but I loved boxing, the noblest sport in the world.

The next big fight was Floyd Mayweather versus the blood and guts warrior, Arturo “Thunder” Gatti. Frightened to death, I devoured two pots of coffee, a bowl of canned chili drowned in hot sauce and a grilled cheese sandwich. Then I wrote “Arturo Gatti—The Last Warhorse.” Writing without the detriment of another extraterrestrial crash landing painfully on my shoulders, I surprised myself with something readable.

My battered head started to feel better.

I loved Arturo Gatti. He stood tall on my personal boxing pedestal alongside Mike Tyson and Tommy Morrison, new-era fighters that I admired because they gave the fans all they had even when they had little left to give.

A few days after I submitted “Arturo Gatti—The Last Warhorse” to BoxingScene, I went online to read boxing news and was super-stunned to see it on BoxingScene and Fox Sports. I thought I was tipsy again but I was still in the evil grips of abstinence.

I went on to write two dozen features for BoxingScene that included “60’s Thad Spencer—Battered From Grace” and “Tommy Morrison—Still Walking Tall,” both articles based upon interviews that I conducted with the two fighters.

Those audio tapes will be in my casket when I’m finally buried one day.

After “Tommy Morrison—Still Walking Tall” ran on BoxingScene and Fox Sports—and made national headlines—I seriously injured my back in an accident, spent a few months knocked out on painkillers and booze, in and out of the hospital, and lost my writing momentum. When I was finally able to stand up again, I went back on the road working as a road manager and lighting designer in the music business, my career for twenty-two years at the time.

Heavy metal never dies.

I was doing a show at the Knockout Festival in Krakow, Poland with the famous heavy metal band, Testament, when I received a phone call from my old friend, Camilo, in America telling me that Arturo Gatti had been found dead in a hotel suite in Porto de Galihnas, Brazil. I’ve never boxed before—well, not in an organized fashion—but that moment made me realize what it must be like for a fighter to get hit with a brutal body shot to the liver.

It hurt a lot.

Shocked, I walked aimlessly around the parking lot of the Wisla Hall in Krakow surrounded by luxury rock and roll tour buses and beautiful Polish girls trolling the backstage area, reaching deep into their sexy little wells for their best attempt at English trying to communicate enough to earn a backstage pass and do what they do. I couldn’t have cared less about their sweet music that night, and that’s saying something.

It was a bad night for me.

I sat down on a broken concrete parking lot, staring at a dark cloudy sky, slowly sipping a bottle of Jack Daniels, tears in my eyes, refusing to believe that another one of my legends had been beaten down once and for all. But this time it was not in the ring, it was in the worst manner imaginable: suicide.

Or was it murder?

I followed Arturo Gatti since he first began fighting on television years ago. I wouldn’t have missed a single fight for anything. If my firstborn—I don’t have kids—was delivered on the night of a Gatti fight, my ex-wife would’ve pushed and screamed in front of a television in the delivery room, my hand in hers and the other thrust in the air cheering that relentless, non-stoppable warrior on to victory or defeat. It didn’t matter which one. He gave his blood, guts, heart, soul and nearly his life in every fight he fought.

That was Arturo “Thunder” Gatti. There will never be another one like him.

Watching the episode of “48 Hours” about Arturo Gatti’s death, I saw the ugliness of what’s happened to this great fighter by his hand or others. And while all sides of his family fight over his fortune and attempt to find truth, peace and solace, I will never believe that Arturo killed himself. That wasn’t in his DNA. Arturo “Thunder” Gatti fought until the end. He always did.

But we often fight our demons in the dark. And in the darkness, the truth may forever hide.

We may never know how Arturo Gatti really died. But I find comfort in knowing that he’s up there above, training on a square ring of white clouds, waiting for his friend, “Irish” Micky Ward, to join him again one day and thrill the heavens with Gatti/Ward 4 and more.

The thunder up above.

-Mark Workman

www.markworkman.com
© 2011 Mark Workman

I’ve finally checked out Lou Lou, Loutallica, or whatever you want to call it (actual title: ‘Lulu’)- the ’stranger than fiction’ collaboration between Metallica and Lou Reed. I’ve been hearing what everyone’s been saying about the album- they don’t like it.

Myself? With the exception of a few parts (the riff on track 2, ‘The View,’ for example), upon first listen, I don’t really like it either. But I confess to being fascinated by it.

Now before we go any further, let me just say how much respect I have for the members of Metallica, despite not always agreeing with every group decision. My public comments on the band do not always go over well with their fans, who tend to only see me as a guy from another metal band. But I’m honestly trying to speak purely as a listener and observer, so pretend I’m a journalist for one moment.

Here is one way to view ‘Lulu:’ as an experiment in ‘phenomenology’ much like the Andre The Giant sticker campaign by artist Shepard Fairey. It leaves you asking questions like What is it? Is it cool? Are we just not getting it? Who knows? Either way, it’s got everyone talking and challenging their thinking.

Another way to view Lulu is the type of album that very few musical acts get to do- the 1% or less who reach that highest level, commercially and financially. These albums can only be done by acts who maintain their own creative control and feel the artistic impulses to challenge the very system that put them where they are. With Metallica’s legacy secured, you can say they’ve earned the right to have a little fun and prove that they can do whatever the fuck they want to, as long as it’s done strategically (very wise that an ‘official’ Metallica album is planned, soon to follow).

And now I’ll speak as a fellow musician: As part of the other 99% – far from wealthy, but grateful to have carved out a comfortable living based solely on playing and composing- I honestly don’t know what it’s like to be in that kind of top tier position. I can only imagine the artistic inclinations I might feel if I were. So it feels only fair to withhold judgement as a musician and place ‘Lulu’ in a proper historical context, with other iconic artists who have thrown their fans for a loop (in some cases, quite literally, as you’ll see).

In 1968, John Lennon, still a Beatle and arguably the most towering figure in popular music and culture, collaborated with avant-garde conceptual artist Yoko Ono (his future wife) to release ‘Unfinished Music No.1: Two Virgins.‘ The album was unlike any other by a rock artist at the time: it consisted of tape loops, instrumental noises, random conversation and other indecipherable sounds, almost tribal in nature, with no song structure, chords or melody; a pure sonic collage. The album’s shock value was enhanced by its cover art, which included full frontal photos of John and Yoko, stark naked.

In the mid-70’s, a similarly defiant recording- Lou Reed’s own feedback fest, a loop layered, distorted enhanced by various tape speeds, brought to mind a traffic jam on mars. It was entitled “Metal Machine Music.” This album cost Reed, the leader of the hugely successful Velvet Underground, many fans and much of his credibility. Decades later, ‘Metal Machine Music’ would be considered groundbreaking and influential, especially among more ambient, noise influenced musicians such as Sonic Youth and Nine Inch Nails .

One of the most influential, respected and commercially successful jazz guitarists of our time (and a personal hero of mine), Pat Metheny, did his own aggressive, loop-driven ‘noise’ album in the mid- 90’s, one which critics have demolished and fans have begged him to disown: ‘Zero Tolerance For Silence.’ In fairness, this album is not without its share of discernible melodies, but they are far from what fans had come to know from Pat Metheny’s albums- flawlessly executed and polished- it sounds more like something you’d expect from Keith Richards on acid.

Before all of that, a similar statement had been made in the classical world, using the complete opposite approach. It was famously created by composer/pianist John Cage (a frequent collaborator of Yoko Ono’s), who released “4:33,” a ‘piece’ which consists of nothing but four minutes and thirty three seconds of silence. That’s right- a musical composition that consists of no music.

Obviously, Lulu differs from these earlier projects in a couple senses: 1 it consists of distinguishable musical compositions. 2 It is not a revolt against the artist’s established sound- Metallica is playing riffs that are ‘Metallica’ like (at least in the post-thrash ‘millennial’ Metallica sense), and Lou Reed’s Shatner-esque recitations of lyrics inspired by a 19th century German impressionistic play sound Lou Reed-like enough. But compared to what fans expect from a recording with the name ‘Metallica’ on the cover, it’s as radical a departure as any of these other albums.

Lulu is to be taken as a modern art project, not a ‘Metallica album.’ And while it is difficult to find two entities with less in common than heavy metal and modern art, there is a member of Metallica who clearly defies this, who represents a common link between Motorhead and MOMA: Lars Ulrich.

An art based conversation I had with Lars backstage at VH1Classic’s That Metal Show, where I had the honor to appear with him as guest guitarist on the season 8 Finale, (Full Episode Here) confirmed something I’ve long suspected: Lars Ulrich is first and foremost, an artist. Although his public persona focuses on him being the drummer/founder of the mighty metal titans, offstage, he exists as much in the art world as the metal world; an expert with a keen eye, knowledge and awareness that would rival more stereotypical connoisseurs of paint and sculpture. That Lars would be interested in a collaboration with Lou Reed is not surprising in the least. Lars made headlines for amassing a healthy collection of paintings by the late Jean-Michel Basquiat, a protege of pop-art pioneer Andy Warhol. Lou Reed, as the leader of the Velvet Underground, was managed by none other than Warhol himself.

Lulu, in a strange way, represents Metallica’s own version of ‘Metal Machine Music,’ the title of which is a link in the puzzle, only enhancing the art factor of the whole project.

I predict the next Metallica record will be a big sigh of relief to fans, just as Lennon, Reed and Metheny all returned to a sound that was more familiar to their fans and Cage returned to creating actual sound. No, it won’t be the return of their ‘Master Of Puppets’ era sound that some are always clamering for, but it will be along the lines of the acceptable ‘Death Magnetic’ perhaps even stronger, as the band is building off a very healthy period in its career.

Projects like ‘Lulu’ exist to challenge the norm and can only be pulled off by mega-successful acts at the top of their genre with a heightened artistic awareness. The are enjoyable and admirable purely as phenomena to be pondered, observed and discussed rather than listened to. They leave hardcore fans horrified at worst, scratching their heads at best.

‘Two Virgins,’ ‘Metal Machine Music,’ ‘Zero Tolerance For Silence,’ ‘4:33′ and now ‘Lulu.’ Important career milestones? Absolutely. Must have recordings for hardcore collectors? Without a doubt. Worth repeating listenings? Absolutely not.

So is Lulu a success? That depends how you define it.

As a ‘Metallica album,’ especially when compared to the classic ‘Ride The Lightning’ and ‘Master Of Puppets,’ it seems to be generally agreed upon that it doesn’t belong in the same bin. The sales figures already can’t compete with the rest of the catalog. In fact, as this is being written, there is news that Lulu has slipped off the Billboard 200 after just a few weeks- unheard of for Metallica.

But when compared to the work of artists like Warhol, Shepard Fairey and others, as well as the level of the aforementioned albums by Lennon/Ono, Reed, Metheny and Cage, Lulu makes sense; a work of to be appreciated like an odd installation in an art museum, one which you stop to look at but probably wouldn’t keep in your own house, unless you have eccentric tastes. It’s modern art removed from the museum and placed out in the world via a previously unimaginable combination of elements.

Think about it: Lou Reed and the world’s biggest heavy metal band get together, bond over German expressionism, create an album that is difficult to digest and release it to the world? If that’s not art, I don’t know what is.

There’s a great book called ‘The War Of Art’ (inspired by the ancient text by Sun Tzu ‘The Art Of War’), which focuses on the challenges of being creative. I first read it a couple years ago and glance at it regularly for inspiration. There are many examples within, including one description of a man having a terrible time on a golf course – his ball continues to get caught in the wind. He curses the wind and turns to the caddy for consoling. The caddy then tells him, in a Scottish accent, that he has to ‘play to the wind’ doesn’t he?

Brilliant observation. And that story, with its focus on changing direction, reminded me of a childhood memory.

When I was about eight or nine years old, my family went on a ski trip, where we stayed in a rented ski cabin. Shortly after arriving, my mother noticed a problem with the knob for the bathtub: it was stuck. No matter how hard you turned it in the direction of the arrow, it just wouldn’t go. My father, brother and I all tried it, none of us could get it to budge. Finally, my father irately looked up the number of a local plumbing and heating company, who promised to send someone over as soon as available.

Within the hour, a middle-aged man arrived, grimy tool box in hand. With a cigarette smell, cap, overalls, and his skin wrinkled and leathery, he looked as though he’d answered a casting call for a small town plumber. When asked what the problem was, my father told him we couldn’t turn on the water- the goddamn thing was stuck. The plumber surprised us all by asking: “Did ya try turnin’ it the other way?”

“Why the hell would we do that?” my father grumbled. “That makes no sense”

“Don’t be so sure ’bout that. That’s the first thing ya gotta do.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

This conversation caused me to take notice- I’d never seen anyone challenge my father’s authority before.

The plumber then went to work turning the knob. At first there was a mild struggle, then he effortlessly turned it in the opposite direction of the arrow. Water began pouring out like a mountain stream-the further you turned the knob, the hotter the water got. It was exactly what was supposed to happen, only to the left instead of the right. “There ya go” he said.

We were speechless.

The plumber got up to leave, picked up his still unopened toolbox, waved goodbye and headed towards the front door. Just before exiting, he turned around, looked straight at my father and said “If it don’t work one way, ya gotta try it the other way.” He shut the door behind him.

“The nerve of that guy!” my father exploded. It was the first of a series of rants to my mother about this ‘jerk.’ He remained in a foul mood for the rest of the day. It took hours before his temper went from ‘hot’ to ‘cold.’

With his Ivy League PhD and scores of scholastic honors bestowed upon him, my father always took pride in being ‘right.’ But he’d just been proven wrong by a bumpkinish plumber with a high school education (if that).

The plumber may have pissed off my father (something that admittedly wasn’t hard to do) and may have shown a bit of insensitivity. And it may have been irresponsible of the rental company to have a backwards shower knob in one of their properties. But that day, a valuable lesson had been learned: if moving in one direction isn’t working, try the opposite direction, even if it goes against conventional logic.

In the future, I’d encounter many other appliances and fixtures that had knobs, handles or levers installed backwards. But instead of getting mad, I’d simply think of this incident-it would be a big help in many tour buses, hotel rooms and dressing rooms. And this logic extends beyond showers, baths, sinks and light switches- it can be applied to life situations. For example, if you continue to reach out to someone for a job, a date, a gig, a favor etc…, and you’re not getting a response, try the opposite: let it go. If the situation is meant to happen, they’ll come to you. Similarly, if you’re unfulfilled in your day to day existence, try moving to a new city, one with a radically different culture and climate. You can always move back, but at least you’ll have tried something different.

Which brings us back to creativity: if your song isn’t working as an up-tempo tune, try it as a ballad (or vice versa); if the opening of your essay or chapter isn’t strong enough, try a completely different paragraph (maybe you’ve already written it further into your piece); if the rough cut of your film or documentary is getting jumbled, try shifting the entire storyline with a different focus. No matter what you do in life, you have to be open to the idea that what is being instructed to you or what seems the most obvious is not necessarily the right way.

What the plumber said that day may have been elementary in its simplicity and even grammatically incorrect. But it is timeless, invaluable wisdom. To this day I can hear his words in my head: “If it don’t work one way, ya gotta try it the other way.”

With the passing of Steve Jobs, we’ve lost one of the great ones.

Like many, I’ve spent thousands of dollars on Apple products and admit occasionally grumbling about the prices, the upgrades, the compatibility of Apple Products etc… But stop for one moment and consider the amount of human productivity, the advances in business, entertainment and communications, the enjoyment of these processes and the resulting higher quality of life (for both creator and consumer alike) that has been a direct result of Steve Jobs’ visions. When you put it in perspective, there is no comparison to the amount of personal dollars spent. So while there are going to be tributes from technological and cultural commentators far more qualified than myself, the least I can do is put in my proverbial two cents.

In my own case, this human productivity has included capturing music on digital software designed for the Macintosh computer. Often, the songs of which were fleshed out on a MacBook pro laptop and in many cases, the initial ideas were captured via the iPhone Voice Memo. Eventually these songs would be heard by many listeners via iTunes on computers, iPods and more recently something that I didn’t quite understand when it first came out: the iPad, as reflected in a blog post: Confessions Of A Reluctant iPad Owner.

There was one thing I hadn’t realized yet when I wrote that post: when you listen to music on the iPad- the cover art takes over the whole screen (unless you choose the option of opening up another iPad window while listening). Whether Jobs himself thought of this, or someone else at Apple (no doubt enabled and inspired by Jobs), it is a recapturing of something so precious: the appreciation of album cover art, a joy which got lost as the primary medium for music switched from vinyl records to CD’s and more recently, MP3’s. Clearly Steve Jobs was a true fan and connoisseur of music and art as well as computer nerd.

To me, that little touch with the album cover art, a minor detail compared to the iPad’s other features, captures the essence of what made Steve Jobs so special. Part of his genius was his ability to take very complex technology and make it palatable, even enjoyable, to non-technically minded people. Another good reflection of this can be seen in the way he introduced the iPad Nano onstage in 2005: rather than describing the intricacies of microcircuits and MP3 technology, he simply had a video camera do a close up of the coin pocket on his blue jeans and, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he introduced a tiny iPod, the likes of which had been previously unimaginable (as was the concept of the iPod itself about five years earlier): Ipad Nano Introduction Although he had numerous unique qualities- leadership skills, a keen business sense and a vigilant work ethic not the least of them-it was Jobs’ sense of presentation, whether himself onstage delivering a Keynote address, or in the sleek appearance of Apple’s products and retail stores, which set him apart from other technological innovators.

I can think of very few people in this world that I’ve never even met, yet have had such a profound influence on my own life and so many others. He has helped define the era in which we live; a shining light in the turbulent darkness. Indeed, as America has undergone so much embarrassment from leaders and citizens alike (from Dick Cheney to Casey Anthony, from the mortgage meltdown to chronic obesity), Steve Jobs has represented the potential of America and given us something we’re to share with the rest of the world. Steve Jobs is one of the few people for whom his passing causes this world to seem a little bit emptier.

As a remembrance, take a look at this Apple ad from 1997, in which Steve Jobs could unarguably be placed among these iconic figures: THINK DIFFERENT

And here is his compelling speech to the 2005 graduating class of Stanford University. Steve Job’s Stanford Speech This last line here is one I wish I’d heard when I was much, much younger: “Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice.”

Here’s one more great quote from the great Steve Jobs. He will be sorely missed:

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work & the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on.”
-Steve Jobs

I’m excited to announce a new endeavor- the Skolnick & Broderick Winter Guitar Retreat. It’s a bit like a Summer camp in the winter (which is more conducive to serious music practice). No it’s not ‘cheap,’ but for the price, you get high level lodging, food and other accommodations, not to mention several days of up close, personal study with myself and Chris Broderick. Although it’s only been a few years since Chris first joined Megadeth, in that time he’s quickly become one of those guitarists who causes others (myself included), to take notice and step up our own game. To borrow a quote I first heard spoken buy an unlikely purveyor of wise words- Bugs Bunny: “If ya can’t beat ‘em, join em!’

We hope to see some of you there. Full information is below.

We hope you’ll join us this winter at our first annual Skolnick & Broderick’s Winter Guitar Retreat. This unique experience will offer guitarists of all talent levels the opportunity to spend four days and five nights studying and jamming with us at Full Moon Resort in New York’s Catskill Mountains from December 26-30, 2011.

The week will include master classes, jam sessions, open mic nights and optional private lessons. You’re invited to expand your knowledge of lead guitar, rhythm guitar, music history, jazz theory, chord theory, harmony, improvisation, counterpoint, composition, chord voicings, improv (taught by Skolnick), classical fingerstyle technique (taught by Broderick), and of course heavy metal guitar. Guitarists will learn techniques to increase speed and improve tone, while hearing stories about life on the road, getting gear tips and much more. Nathan Peck (bass) and Matt “Zebar” Zebroski (drums/percussion) of the Alex Skolnick Trio will provide rhythm accompaniment for jam sessions throughout the week.

“I’m really looking forward to partnering with my friend Chris Broderick for our Winter Guitar Retreat,” says Skolnick. “Each of us has a unique, individual approach to guitar and it’s always fun to share one’s experience with deserving students. Therefore, we’ve decided to join forces and create the ultimate post-Christmas, pre-New Year’s getaway for amateur and pro guitarists alike.”

Broderick concurs: “Come join Alex and myself this winter for a comprehensive look at how we view the guitar. It will not only be insightful, but relaxed and fun as well. We will cover things such as stage performance, live jam sessions, and all kinds of helpful guitar playing tips that you can utilize. I look forward to seeing you at this incredible event.”

Skolnick & Broderick’s Winter Guitar Retreat will provide a full vacation experience, including gourmet meals from the in-house chef. In addition, Full Moon Resort is conveniently located close to a full array of winter activities including skiing and snowboarding.

A special 10% discount is also available if you register and pay in full before October 31, 2011.

For full details, go to: http://sbwinterguitarretreat.com/site/.

Here’s a video clip of us talking about the Winter Guitar Retreat here: [VIDEO].

www.fullmoonresort.com

The title of this post can be taken two ways. One is musician slang, as in the exclamation of a great performance- a phrase heard in the metal world (‘That was killer, dude’) and the jazz community (‘Man, you cats were killin’). The other is a literal killing- not of a living being, but of a non-breathing entity which gave birth to that which is causing a sonic ‘death.’ We’re talking musical matricide.

I started thinking about this the other day when a really great song came on the radio that I hadn’t heard. At first, I thought it might be REM.

Now, I’m not exactly the biggest REM fan- I’ve never owned one of their albums and was always a bit resentful, never of the band themselves, but of what their music represented. It’s hard not to think of those annoying 1990’s critics, pundits and others who considered REM to be music for ’smart’ people while those of us who liked and played heavy metal were automatically written off as being ‘dumb.’ Thankfully these critics and their ideas are no longer valid. Besides you can’t hold a band responsible for the stereotyping attitudes of some of their followers.

So I admit seriously liking a few of REM’s songs, especially the moody ones (‘Orange Crush’ and ‘Man On The Moon’ come to mind). And this song that I was hearing for the first time had everything I’d ever liked about them- a depth and longing that draws you in, puts you in touch with feelings of alienation you didn’t know you had, and cuts through the shallow surface of routine activity going on all around. But some quick online research showed that I was way off- the song wasn’t done by REM.

As it turned out, this track, ‘Mad World’ was recorded by someone I’d never heard of, Gary Jules, as part of the soundtrack to the 2003 film ‘Donnie Darko.’ I also noticed there was a version of the song by ‘Tears For Fears’ who, like REM, was an 80’s/90’s pop rock band whose albums I’d never bought, but who’d put out a couple songs I really liked (‘Shout,’ ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’).

So I checked out the Tears For Fears version, hoping for a cool interpretation of this great song. I was deeply let down. In fact, I was borderline insulted. Why? Three reasons:

1. The lead vocal, an exposed, reflective and intimate bearing of ones soul, had been replaced by a polished, perfected arena-pop croon.

2. The quiet palate of acoustic piano and cello had been swapped for a sonic jungle of synthesizers- string patches, synth bass and electronic drums.

3. The somber, melancholy mood behind the melody was gone, trumped by an uptempo industrial groove. In fact, the chorus of the song, which had conjured the image of one lonely man’s quiet, hidden despair, now brought to mind a crowded rave of goth kids jumping up and down in the strobe lights like a pack of intoxicated Hot Topic shoppers.

I was sure the Tears For Fears version had to be a strange experiment, a ‘misinterpretation’ of the song, an interesting idea, but one that was probably better left alone. How could they think of doing the song this way?!

Now here’s the really strange part which (and by now, you’ve probably guessed where this is going)…the version of ‘Mad World’ by Tears For Fears, the one which had made no sense to me whatsoever, was, in fact, none other than the original version of the song!

I’m completely baffled by this.

Hearing the ‘cover,’ I’d been convinced that it could be the only ‘true’ version of the song. The voice, the music, the inflection, the answer to the melody all had a sense of purpose- I could not imagine the song any other way. But it was an interpretation of another, pre-existing version. So what that means that this other track, the one I didn’t connect to at all, is technically the ‘true’ version! You can’t fault the song’s writers for their interpretation of their own composition. Of course, the Gary Jules ‘cover’ will forever be the definitive version of the song for me and, from comments I’ve seen, many others as well. But you have to respect the original version as well, even if you never desire to listen to it.

This is a great metaphor for life, whereas someone who interprets an event or situation completely differently than you is not necessarily wrong. And vice-versa.

At the moment, I can only think of a couple other examples of this- a cover song completely obliterating the original version, to my own ears (and others as well). In both cases, I heard the covers first, was very surprised that they were indeed ‘covers,’ and was a bit underwhelmed by the originals. It was almost as though the originals were created for the purpose of one day giving birth to these interpretations. Below you will find clips of ‘Mad World,’ the cover and the original, followed by the other two songs referred to above.

Can you think of any other ‘covers that kill?’

MAD WORLD (Gary Jules-Cover)
MAD WORLD (Tears For Fears-Original)

YOU REALLY GOT ME (Van Halen-Cover)
YOU REALLY GOT ME (The Kinks-Original)

ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER (Jimi Hendrix-Cover)
ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER (Bob Dylan-Original)

It was a fluke that I’d even been downtown. Jury Duty: 8:30am, Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

On the tenth floor of the Lower Manhattan courthouse, while watching an orientation film for prospective jurors, we’d heard a distant explosion. The rumble lasted a little too long.

A few among us had been disinterestedly ignoring the film. Like naughty schoolkids, they’d been listening to their portable radios with headphones, hoping not to get caught. These disobedient fellow jurors suddenly became ministers of information, whispering to those seated next to them that New York’s morning radio shows were being interrupted by breaking news. Soon, quiet murmurs had spread throughout the courtroom: a plane had crashed into World Trade Center.

Everyone figured it must be a small private plane.

When the film ended a few minutes later, a bailiff appeared and announced that we were all being released for the day. At first, we were happy about this. But soon, we’d wish we were back in that courtroom and for everything to be normal again. Nervously filing into elevators, it quickly dawned on us that this might be serious, especially if it had something to do with that explosion and those cryptic news reports.

Just how serious things were became apparent when the elevator doors opened to reveal an NYPD SWAT team who’d secured the premises. A police commander barked at us to evacuate immediately and head uptown. On the way out, someone said that while we’d been in the elevator and out of earshot, a second plane had crashed into the towers. These weren’t prop planes, single engines or Cessnas- they were jumbo jets.

Outside, chaotic dissonance: wailing sirens, car alarms, fire alarms, megaphones, walkie-talkies and bullhorns. Traffic was a gridlock of emergency vehicles, all heading downtown. No one could know at that moment how many of these rescue workers would never be seen again.

Back upstairs, I’d bumped into someone I knew: John, a youthful man in his early fifties who played classical guitar and world music professionally. One minute, we’d been high-fiving each other, overjoyed to have a buddy with whom to wile away the long hours of jury duty; the next, we were caught up in an unthinkable event; a real life disaster movie.

With no taxis available and the shutdown of the subways, John and I had no choice but to walk, joining the growing exodus of people on the streets, doing what we were instructed to do by police: head North. Along the way, we’d stop and join various small crowds gathered around parked cars, the doors open and the radio news coming out of the speakers. These impromptu community gatherings would give everyone within earshot a semblance of how things were being reported. It would still be unclear just what was happening. But by this time, there would be news of two more planes crashing: one in Pennsylvania and more chillingly, one in Washington DC, slamming into The Pentagon.

This was war.

Every time we heard a helicopter or other aircraft above there was a sense of fear, as though another attack could happen. Nothing was far fetched anymore.

Onward we’d walk.

We’d meet a lot of fellow New Yorkers along the way, everyone sharing stories. There was no pretense. Occupation, education, appearance or social status no longer mattered. We all needed each other now.

At one point, there would be pandemonium on the streets with everyone turning around, pointing fingers, gasping and weeping. We’d look behind and watch as miles in the distance, the first of our critically wounded landmarks crumbled to the ground. One could only faintly imagine what it must be like to be closer to the buildings or even worse, trapped inside. A little while later, the process would repeat itself as the beloved second tower fell. Each time, we’d hug- strangers and friends alike-then continue walking uptown.

John and I would walk as far as a coffeehouse near Union Square, where we’d seek refuge. Outside, where once there had been a perfect view of the Towers, would be two enormous smoldering billows of smoke and ash in the distance. Inside, three large, flat screen television sets would confirm that we weren’t imagining any of this. We’d now see how it looked to the rest of the world, who by now, had to be tuning in. The first TV would mirror the smoking ruins exactly as we could see them outside the cafe; the second TV would replay the footage of each plane crash at the Trade Center; the third would cut between live footage of the Pentagon in Washington-a section of which was still smoldering- and live updates from Pennsylvania. The cafe would be packed full of silent figures in wide eyed disbelief, glaring at the TVs.

After catching our breath, gathering our wits and receiving much needed refreshment from the cafe, John would head home in the East Village, nearby. I’d stick around a bit longer before continuing the long journey to the Upper 90’s, walking more than a hundred blocks. Much later it would occur to me that, despite moving from Northern California just three years earlier, I’d become a true New Yorker- not even an event like this would cause me to think twice about moving away.

We’d have our lives, but life would never be the same. For those of us lucky enough to be out of harm’s way, it was a journey uptown, into a changed world.