Black Thursday

I was home when the lights went out, lost a little bit of work, but not a big deal. W. and I hung out by candlelight and listened to the transistor radio. It was pleasant and peaceful. Turns out we were fairly prepared. Lots of candles, lots of water, lots of batteries and flashlights and alternate sources of lighting. We even had internet. I have battery powered modem so, when W. went to bed, I watched Netflix on my iPhone. It was a thriller called House of 9 which I watched all the way up to the last 15 minutes of the dramatic conclusion, when the internet finally died.

So, there I was, awake and amped from the climax of a horror-thriller at about 10:30pm with nothing to do. So, I decided to take a walk down Newport Avenue just to see what was going on and maybe, with any luck, find a bar that was open.

It was an interesting stroll–fun and weird and dark and spooky. Lots of people hanging outside around fire rings, people throwing glow sticks around, some fireworks going off. People with flashlights going to and fro.

When I got to Newport I was delighted to see that the liquor store was open (those guys stay open no matter what). So I went in and bought myself a tall boy of Becks, and walked down to the end of Newport to sit on the seawall and watch the waves.

After about 15 minutes of blissful, Becks-fueled serenity, a drunk guy walked over and sat beside me, legs hanging on the sand-side.

I knew instantly this guy was trouble, mostly by his posture and the way he was dressed, which was kind of a faux-gangster style. He sat on the seawall, about five feet away, on my left, legs hanging over the sand, and slurred, “I’m sorry” to me. I told him he had nothing to apologize for and then, without a pause, he proceeded to go on a furious rant about some girl who had cheated on his friend, with another friend – in his apartment!

That was the part that really agitated him – he kept saying, “She fucked him in my apartment!”

Then he said, “sorry” again, and again I said, “No reason to apologize,” and then he slid over a bit closer. I thought, “Oh boy, this is not going to end well,” and proceeded to continue on his rant about the girl.

Now, here’s where it gets good.

He apologized again, and said, “I’m so mad, I think I’m going to have to punch you in the stomach!” He said it matter-of-factly, as though he were telling me he was going to get a donut. Then . . . he slid even closer! At that point we were side-by-side, so close we were almost touching shoulders.

I said, “You really don’t want to hit me, dude; I haven’t done anything to you.”

I said it calmly, but was fairly scared. Yeah, he was inebriated, which was advantage-Decker. But, you never know about what weapons these seawall kooks are carrying these days and if he was carrying a weapon, he was certainly drunk enough to not care about the repercussions of using it.

When I told my wife this story she asked why I didn’t just get up and walk away. The answer, I told her, is because I’m attracted and fascinated by bizarre people in bizarre situations. I can’t help but want to stick around – just to see where it all will lead. I guess that’s the journalist in me. A trait that has gotten me into, and out of, a lot of jams.

Anyway, he continued on the rant about the girl and, again, announced he is going to hit me in the gut, and this time, he actually delivered on his promise. In a near slow-motion attack, he hooked his left fist across his body, and toward my stomach.

Being that it was telegraphed, and not exactly at Sugar-Ray velocity, I easily deflected it.

But, I knew at that point he was capable and willing to make physical contact and that it was time to make an exit. A lot of guys would’ve knocked him out at that point, but I REALLY didn’t want to risk it, so I told him, “Don’t touch me again,” took a pull from my Becks, and pondered an exit strategy. I supposed I could have walked away, but was almost certain he was going to follow me, and, while pondering my next move, he again hollered something about that “Evil fucking bitch” and hauled off and punched me hard me on the arm.

It didn’t hurt much cuz it was just the arm, but it startled me and, in reflex, I shove-punched him with both hands so hard, it knocked him off the seawall and onto his back on the sand. Then I quickly stood up and started hoofing down the street.

The seawall was pretty high, he was very drunk, and I shoved him so hard that I doubt he was ever able to pull it together quickly enough to get up and follow me. But I did watch my back the whole way home as I huffed down Abbott, up the alley, and basically zigzagged back to my warm, dark house.

Crazy huh?

Well, it’s that time again – time for another vicious bloodletting known as a spoken word performance. Whose blood will be spilled is to be determined – could be yours, could be mine.

Regardless, it is my honor and pleasure to read at the fabulous Ducky Waddles Emporium, located at 414 N. Coast Highway 101 in Encinitas (760-632 0488). The show is part of the ”Poetry Ruckus” series sponsored by Ruthless Hippies. Open mike begins at 7:15pm and I go on at 9pm. Tickets are free if you purchase a book, but if you don’t, well, it’s still free. (Clearly I need a new marketing plan).

Looking forward to drawing blood. Hope to see you there.

Ed

Barzilla image by David Lonteen

For those who have been following the House of Blues New Music Nights competition (powered by Sonicbids), the results are in: L.A.’s Brian Buckley Band took the most pledges. Congrats to them. All that’s left now is the best part – the showcase. Each of the participating House of Blues Venues (L.A., Las Vegas and San Diego) are showcasing three local bands followed by the Brian Buckley Band as a reward for receiving the most pledges. The San Diego showcase is going to be spectacular. It’s on July 11. We’ve got three excellent bands, hand-picked by the organizers of San Diego IndieFest, and me.

Here is my impression of each, based on their Sonicbids electronic press kits (EPKs).

theBREAX

San Diego is not really known for its hip-hop scene, but believe me, there is vibrant one bubbling just beneath the surface. And rising to the top of that scene is hip-hop and spoken word specialists, theBREAX, which has a sound, style and quality of production that set them above the rest.

Consisting of two former Baltimoreans and an Armenian refugee, theBREAX is instantly identifiable as the real deal. I couldn’t tell you who their influences are since I’m not—you know—them, but atop the ice cream sundae that is their music I hear plentiful sprinkles of Jurassic 5, Saul Williams, Black Sheep, Boogie Down Productions and Michael Franti.

What I like best about theBREAX—aside from their incandescent beats and the different cadences of the various lead vocalists— are the lyrics, which are smart and genuine and range between funny, serious, uplifting and angry–sometimes all in the same song (though not in the bad way).

On their EPK, they write that they, “decided to make music that could help change the world.” I find that choice of words to be refreshing because, unlike many hip-hop bands with “socially conscious content,” theBREAX are not so full of themselves as to believe their music will change the world, only that it could “help” change it, that it is part of a movement toward change and not the movement itself. I like that: high goals, moderate ego. I don’t often make lofty predictions, but I think these guys might go big, as in nationally big, which would be excellent because it would finally put San Diego hip-hop on the map.

P.S. The spoken word is kickass too!

The Inheritance

It’s a good thing the band doesn’t play like they write press kits. “Look no further for a Powerful Rock/Pop band that has a totally unique sound!!” says the opening sentence of the bio. “Finally, a Band that can DELIVER!!! No one sounds like this Period!”

That’s a total of six exclamation points and 12 grammatically unnecessary capital letters in a three-sentence paragraph.

HOLY FREAKING CRAP!!!!!!!

It’s as if they’re yelling at us to like them. Gratefully, their music doesn’t do that. Oh, they know how to mount a crescendo and break it back down in a fury of guitars, drums and vocal caterwauling—but it’s precise, and appropriate. And when the music does reach the point of poetic bellowing, it’s not like they are bellowing at us, rather, to us—as if calling for assistance from the bottom of a canyon. I can’t say what their influences are, but I hear abundant doses of Gwen Stefani, Pink, The Pretty Reckless, and even Avril Lavigne (not in the bad way).

The Inheritance was founded by brother and sister team, Ian and April Hoey, who gathered some friends to make what they call, “Power-Pop Experimental Rock” music. I’m not really hearing the “experimental” part so much, but Power and Rock? Hell yeah!

The Soup

Goose pimples formed on my arms when the first acoustic notes of “Enemy” trickled from my speakers, as if the notes were clearing a small forest foot path for the singer to follow. “Enemy” is a soft but ballsy breakup ballad with the mood of Morphine and the styles of Wilco, Stones, Beatles (circa “Blackbird”) and Ween (circa “Japanese Cowboy”).

The EP immediately takes a musical U-turn before arriving at track two, “Down Hill March,” which is appropriately named for the way it struts, and conjures the tex-mex style of Stan Ridgeway and the delicious sarcasm of Warren Zevon.

“Cope,” is a paranoid bi-polar romp (Modest Mouse meets The National), “Postcard” and “5^th of May,” smolder in a completely different manner than the first two, as much as they differ from each other, and ditto how they differ from the last two: “The Great Awakening” and “No Worries,” all of which make for an EP as schizophrenic as any of my imaginary alter egos (though not in the bad way).

So there you have it, three great San Diego bands jockeying for your love and appreciation. Why not show them a little and pledge in their favor. Then come hang out the IndieFest hotties and me at House of Blues on July 11 for a night of kickass local music. Oh and don’t forget to “share” and / or invite your friends to the Facebook app.

Ed Decker

Hey all, good news regarding the House of Blues New Music Nights competition. As many of you know, House of Blues is running a three-city music showcase competition (If this is the first you are hearing about this, click here). What you didn’t know is that San Diego’s premier hip-hop outfit, theBREAX, is currently in first place, with Los Angeles’s Brian Buckley Band in hot pursuit at second.

So those of you who haven’t already, we implore you to jump over to the New Music Nights site and push theBREAX over the top with your pledge. They’re great and they deserve it. Deadline is June 8 so hip-hop to it.

Ed

Hey all! I’m happy to announce that Danielle, Alicia and I have selected the three bands for House of Blues New Music Nights and that the pledge drive for these bands has officially opened.

For those in the dark, last month, House of Blues issued a call for local bands to apply (using Sonicbids) for an upcoming concert series called New Music Nights.

This was done in three cities: Los Angeles, Las Vegas and San Diego. For the San Diego chapter, they charged Danielle LoPresti, Alicia Champion (of SD IndieFest fame)  and me to read and listen to the submitted press kits and choose the best three. Well that process has been completed and the three bands we selected are featured on the New Music Nights Website (along with the six bands from the other two markets).

Here’s where you come in. If you are a fan of any of these groups, or simply a fan of San Diego music in general, you can visit the website, listen to the three bands, and “pledge” to see them play at the House of Blues on July 11. By pledging, fans will receive a $5 coupon off the $10 show. The band with the most fan pledges wins the right to play at all three, previously mentioned HOB venues, plus a $1000 dollar travel stipend. The deadline for pledging is June 8 so hop-to-it. The more San Diegans we can inspire to pledge, the higher the chance a San Diego band will win. Deadline for pledging is June 8. As further incentive, Danielle, Alicia and I will be at the July 11 show giving away tickets to upcoming House of Blues shows.

Voting is simple. . .

1)      Click here.

2)      Click on the artist for whom you would like to pledge.

3)      Select “Pledge to see this artist.”

4)      Fill in the optional information and “Like” the FaceBook page.

5)      Hit continue, and you’re all set! You will receive a coupon for $5 off the event, which you can print from the confirmation page.

Below are the three San Diego bands we chose and my impression of each based on their Sonicbids electronic press kits (EPKs).

theBREAX

San Diego is not really known for its hip-hop scene, but believe me, there is vibrant one bubbling just beneath the surface. And rising to the top of that scene is hip-hop and spoken word specialists, theBREAX, which has a sound, style and quality of production that set them above the rest.

Consisting of two former Baltimoreans and an Armenian refugee, theBREAX is instantly identifiable as the real deal. I couldn’t tell you who their influences are since I’m not—you know—them, but atop the ice cream sundae that is their music I hear plentiful sprinkles of Jurassic 5, Saul Williams, Black Sheep, Boogie Down Productions and Michael Franti.

What I like best about theBREAX—aside from their incandescent beats and the different cadences of the various lead vocalists— are the lyrics, which are smart and genuine and range between funny, serious, uplifting and angry–sometimes all in the same song (though not in the bad way).

On their EPK, they write that they, “decided to make music that could help change the world.” I find that choice of words to be refreshing because, unlike many hip-hop bands with “socially conscious content,” theBREAX are not so full of themselves as to believe their music will change the world, only that it could “help” change it, that it is part of a movement toward change and not the movement itself. I like that: high goals, moderate ego. I don’t often make lofty predictions, but I think these guys might go big, as in nationally big, which would be excellent because it would finally put San Diego hip-hop on the map.

P.S. The spoken word is kickass too!

The Inheritance

It’s a good thing the band doesn’t play like they write press kits. “Look no further for a Powerful Rock/Pop band that has a totally unique sound!!” says the opening sentence of the bio. “Finally, a Band that can DELIVER!!! No one sounds like this Period!”

That’s a total of six exclamation points and 12 grammatically unnecessary capital letters in a three-sentence paragraph.

HOLY FREAKING CRAP!!!!!!!

It’s as if they’re yelling at us to like them. Gratefully, their music doesn’t do that. Oh, they know how to mount a crescendo and break it back down in a fury of guitars, drums and vocal caterwauling—but it’s precise, and appropriate. And when the music does reach the point of poetic bellowing, it’s not like they are bellowing at us, rather, to us—as if calling for assistance from the bottom of a canyon. I can’t say what their influences are, but I hear abundant doses of Gwen Stefani, Pink, The Pretty Reckless, and even Avril Lavigne (not in the bad way).

The Inheritance was founded by brother and sister team, Ian and April Hoey, who gathered some friends to make what they call, “Power-Pop Experimental Rock” music. I’m not really hearing the “experimental” part so much, but Power and Rock? Hell yeah!

The Soup

Goose pimples formed on my arms when the first acoustic notes of “Enemy” trickled from my speakers, as if the notes were clearing a small forest foot path for the singer to follow. “Enemy” is a soft but ballsy breakup ballad with the mood of Morphine and the styles of Wilco, Stones, Beatles (circa “Blackbird”) and Ween (circa “Japanese Cowboy”).

The EP immediately takes a musical U-turn before arriving at track two, “Down Hill March,” which is appropriately named for the way it struts, and conjures the tex-mex style of Stan Ridgeway and the delicious sarcasm of Warren Zevon.

“Cope,” is a paranoid bi-polar romp (Modest Mouse meets The National), “Postcard” and “5^th of May,” smolder in a completely different manner than the first two, as much as they differ from each other, and ditto how they differ from the last two: “The Great Awakening” and “No Worries,” all of which make for an EP as schizophrenic as any of my imaginary alter egos (though not in the bad way).

So there you have it, three great San Diego bands jockeying for your love and appreciation. Why not show them a little and pledge in their favor. Then come hang out the IndieFest hotties and me at House of Blues on July 11 for a night of kickass local music. Oh and don’t forget to “share” and / or invite your friends to the Facebook app.

Ed Decker

Attention San Diego, Los Angeles and Las Vegas musicians, it is your last chance to submit an electronic press kit (EPK) for the House of Blues New Music Nights presented by Live Nation and powered by Sonicbids.

In case you didn’t know, House of Blues is looking for hot, local bands to enroll in New Music Nights, a program that provides an opportunity for up-and-coming groups to rock-out in one of America’s most famous concert venues.

Consider it a contest of sorts, which works like this:

If you are a band, of any genre, that resides and regularly performs in (or within 50 miles of) San Diego, Los Angeles or Las Vegas, you may submit – entirely FREE of charge – an electronic press kit to Sonicbids. These submissions will be reviewed by members of their respective, local music communities and House of Blues booking agents, who will narrow the submissions down to three bands from each city.

These nine bands will then be prominently featured on the House of Blues New Music Nights website, where fans can logon and “pledge” to see their favorite band play at the House of Blues. By pledging, fans will recieve a coupon for $5 off their $10 ticket to the show. The band with the most fan pledges wins the right to play at all three, previously mentioned House of Blues locations sometime at the end of summer.

This is a golden opportunity to gain exposure in three big music markets. It is also a chance to embark on long-term relationship with House of Blues and Live Nation talent buyers. As I said, the EPK submission is free, just be sure to submit by April 29 and the rest… well the rest is up to the Rock Gods.

As for my involvement – well, I’m one of the people deciding which three San Diego bands advance. I’ll also be blogging about the process — you know, writing about why we chose the bands we chose, why we didn’t choose the bands we didn’t choose, and all that fun stuff in the middle — which is sure to please some bands and aggravate the rest. Stay tuned for that deliciousness. In the meantime, get those submissions in pronto! It won’t take but a minute to sign up, but a lifetime to regret you didn’t.

My wife, Willow, and I have been spending the holidays in New York where most of my family lives. Around the second day of the visit, my little nephew, James, (who is my sister Barbara’s youngest son) said that some of his friends at school were telling him there was no Santa Claus and he intended to prove they were wrong by providing video evidence.

I told him it was a swell idea, but that it was difficult to catch Santa on film because kids are always trying that sort of thing and he’s gotten pretty good at rooting out hidden cameras. My reasoning for crushing James’ dream like this was because I didn’t want his hopes to get too high, then shattered when no Santa appeared on camera.

However, the following day I got to thinking. Wouldn’t it be great if we staged a visit from old Kris Kringle, caught it on film, and then left it for James to find on Christmas morning?  I talked to Barb and Aunt Willow about it and  loved the idea so much they bought a Santa suit that same day.

Code Word Poop:

On Christmas Eve, James and I devised our master plan. It was his decree that only he, Uncle Mike and I could know where we were going to hide the camera (for fear that someone was going to mess with it). The plan was to call me when he was about to go to bed and provide the code word which, of course, was poop. Upon hearing the code word, I was to sneak over to his house, hide the camera, set it on a timer, and aim it at a plate of cookies which he had laid out for Santa for, as he called it, “bait.”

Of course, this is what he thought the plan was. The real plan was to receive the code word, wait a couple of hours for him to fall asleep, then sneak into the house with Aunt Willow and Uncle Mike and execute the operation.

Auntie Willow’s job was to man the “Santa Cam,” while Uncle Mike filmed the operation from a different camera to document what we were doing for the “Making of Operation Santa” documentary.

At 11pm, the phone rang. I picked up, said, “Hello,” and James whispered, ever-so-softly into the mouthpiece, “Poop.”
“Poop,” I whispered back and hung up the phone.

Aunt Willow helped me put on the Santa suit at my parent’s house (leaving the headgear off because it’s freaking hot in that crap). While dressing, I began getting into my role as any method actor would. “What’s my motivation?” I asked my colleagues. Am I a Jolly Santa looking to bring cheer to the children of the world, or a bitter, exhausted Santa at the end of his rope? They wanted Jolly Santa, which was cool, but I wanted to add a touch of scary, Axe-Murderer Santa, creeping around the house acting weirdly.

Anyway,  we piled into the car, drove over to my sister’s house, parked down the road a bit, walked down the dark, quiet street, toward the house, up the driveway, through the gate, through the patio door, through the front door and, ever-so-carefully, slipped inside the house.

Keep in mind, it was utterly nerve-racking. We were sneaking around in this fairly small, old home, with James asleep directly above us. We were the Keystone Chumps to be sure, with floorboards squealing, random bursts of stifled laughter and the three of us (particularly me) bumping into walls and tables–basically running jackhammers in the place–despite being scared to death of waking James and destroying his faith in Santa, not to mention his faith in Uncles Ed and Mike and Aunt Willow to boot.

Did I mention Bianca? Bianca is a sweet little West Highland Terrier, who knows and loves all three of us and is not much of a barker anyway, so we did not foresee a problem. And it seemed we were right about that because we came into the living room, all stealthy and axe-murderer like, and Bianca just sat on the couch wagging her tail.

Willow and I went into the pantry where she put on my beard, hair and Santa hat. Then we exited the pantry, walked through the dining room and back into the living room where Bianca saw me and began freaking out. First it was a high pitched yelp, followed by another, then another. At the time, none of us knew WTF. We just froze in place, staring at each other in terror and hoping–the way you hope that the earthquake will stop rumbling–that Bianca would stop yipping. But it only got worse. And when she launched into a full blown barking attack, Willow and I raced through the kitchen, down the cellar, and shut the door behind us leaving Uncle Mike frozen in the living room, basically standing there waiting for little Jamesy-Lou Who to show up so he could spin some magnificent lie.

However, once in the cellar, Bianca stopped barking. We knew then it was the jagged Santa beard and hair that got her tits in a triangle. So, I removed the Santa headgear, walked into the living room, and let her re-smell me. Then I put her in my lap and whispered sweet nothings into her ear while Willow placed the white beard, hair and hat back on my head so Bianca could witness the transition. Once finished, Bianca did not start barking again. She was nervous, but ultimately seemed cool with it.

Santa calms piss-puppy

Then it was showtime. Willow pressed record on the cam and I did my little show, putting presents under the tree, sliding in and out of the camera’s view and eventually going for the cookies. After eating a couple, I kneeled to pretend to feed Bianca a cookie. She looked at me with wide, horrified eyes, wagging her tail with humming-bird-like speed, and proceeded to piss all over my sister’s couch. (Sorry Barb and Jim).

It was obviously time to go. We wrapped up the shoot, snuck out of the house, crept up the driveway, and ran down the cold, dark street laughing and snorting little chunks of ice-snot out of our noses.

The Reaction:

The following morning, before opening presents, we watched the videos. There were eight files. I told James I had set the camera up to record short, random increments to give the appearance of failure. The first seven files we looked at were nada. Just a view of the cookies and Christmas Tree with accompanying white noise. On the last file, when James had all but given up hope, Santa’s leg appeared on the screen. The fun began when James saw it and remarked, “Woah!” Then announced to the group, “We got something!”

Seriously, it was the best Christmas ever.

After we watched the video, like, 89 times, James began pacing the room as if shell shocked. At one point, he fell back onto the couch in the Jesus-Christ-Pose and said, “I’m stunned.” He also kept saying, “Now I have proof!” and asked if I would please post the video on YouTube to show his skeptical friends. (Keep this in mind if you plan on leaving any comments there). Oh, and by the way, friends and family: don’t get any ideas. That was my last Santa appearance. Being in a Santa suit blows pie. It’s hot and itchy and dogs hate you. Still, it was worth the effort. Here’s the video we showed to James. Enjoy!

Anyway, that’s our story. Hope you all had as good a Christmas as we did and have a great New Year’s Eve!

Uncle Ed
12.25.2010

(All video and stills provided by Uncle Mike)

Santa kisses the air above Mrs. Claus' head