driving with music on

we took off after breakfast which slid gently into lunch under a canopy in Santa Monica, crab and mango terrine with coffee that was no quite strong or hot enough, but freely refilled, which made up for a lot. so we took off then after our goodbyes along a freeway studded with silver gleaming in the noonish sun.

at first it was talking, because we are talkers, and we had been immersed all week in the medium of which we most like to talk. so there was much energy expended in reviewing, planning, plotting; in dreaming and arguing the finer points and sketching the future, spinning tales.

and then we passed over the rust-colored hills into the heat of the afternoon, and the land rolled past us in rhythm to the humming of the engine, and we stopped talking and listened. listened to the music on the stereo, to the road beneath, to the wind outside the window, all forming some grand design which we were still trying to figure out.

and the landscape made the music make more sense, and the music rocked the landscape gently to rise and fall with its beats and soar in melodies...

...just driving with music on.

friday night rock

we played a show at Slim's with AC Newman. Slim's is an incredibly well-oiled machine where everything happens properly and on time. it's quite comforting, actually. there's nothing worse than going to a club and finding that there's no sound person, no one seems to know the set times, and the first band, told to go on at 9:30, don't start until 11, pushing back the headlining band to playing at one a.m., meaning that they play their last few songs as patrons are being hustled out. i hate that. Slim's is not like that.

AC Newman is Carl Newman, from the New Pornographers. i've always liked the NPs because of their verve and contrapuntal harmonies. his stuff last night exhibited much of the same qualities, but i'd say it was overall more deliberate, less of the bouncy energy of the NPs and more like - focused rock. anyway they were awesome.

when you play on a stage like that, where you have a sound mix person in the house and one who just takes care of your monitor mix, it's impossible not to feel confident and excited. when you can hear yourself and everything going on around you, crystal clear, it's relaxing. jesse said our vocals sounded so confident, so relaxed that night - because we knew we didn't need to strain to be heard. i had a little trouble with my guitar tone - maybe it was just me on stage but it sounded super bass-heavy - but i turned up the treble some and that seemed okay. i should really raise the amp next time, i think it makes a big difference.

also, i'm dreaming of a multi-instrumentalist. AC Newman had a melodica player (he played trumpet and stuff too).

thanks to eric for the name of that instrument. eric and i talked about music a little during the AC Newman set. i'm very impressed with the way Carl constructs melodies and harmonies - they are so distinctive, somewhat whimsical and yet solid. eric said he wants to have a multi-instrumentalist in his band, too.

lulu and robin were also there, a really nice surprise. that's the thing about being depressed, it turns you into a complete narcissist, and you forget that other people don't lead these static lives. robin's in town for Thanksgiving. duh! Thanksgiving! i forgot...

speaking of Thanksgiving, i attended a dinner at the Mile High. i made baked yams, which were just okay, and a flan, from souris's recipe, which was FLANTASTIC. seriously. even better the day after, for breakfast. after dinner jess and i took the stage and played a few acoustic songs... that was fun. two were covers, one an original that we've been working on. we had a couple others prepared, but we chickened out.

it's strange how days can be so good and so bad. sometimes it's awkward to go out in public because i feel as though i'm faking it. eric and i talked a little about the need for a persona on stage, someone else's skin to inhabit to free yourself from having to be yourself. sometimes i feel like i need that just to leave the house to get cigarettes.

by the way, i'm totally quitting at the end of this month. good luck to me. and i hope relatively happy holidays were had by all whom i love.

Sunday plans

What are you doing Sunday? We'll be back from the tour by then, and filming a video with Jason (Citizens and Her Space Holiday) Koxvold.

That's where you come in. We need extras for the shoot! So if you're free Sunday evening and want to welcome us back to the Bay Area after our trip by shaking it in a friendly fashion, please come by the Mile High Club Sunday evening. For more details, write me or dealership or Jason Koxvold.

Hope to see you there.

Day Twelve

Wilmington, North Carolina.

The last few days have been hard. So hard. Once we get to a place and we start having something to do, it's fine. I can operate. I can load equiptment and even be social, polite, friendly. There's much to appreciate on the trip - the shifting landscapes, the generous people, the voyaging. But tomorrow will be the anniversary of the day my mother died. And the closer the day gets the more my heart constricts.

It's the driving that's the worst. Hours of sitting still. I can only read for so long in the car before I feel ill. After that I can only stare at the road. I turn my face to the window and the tears just keep flowing and I cry as quietly as I can.

So far no one has asked me how I am, or even what's wrong, and I can't bring myself to talk to them. I can't imagine sitting down in a diner over eggs and saying, "By the way, my mom died on this day last year." I mean, they should know - they were with me. But I feel utterly alone. The people I would normally talk to about this are far away. I feel lost. I can't talk on the phone to my friends, because I'm in a car with three other people. I am too self-conscious to break down in front of them. I don't know what to do.

And I feel waves of panic. It's as if I expect something terrible to happen while I am gone. I have nightmares when I sleep.

I wish I could put all this aside for now and concentrate on enjoying and appreciating this tour. I've never crossed the US in a car before, and it's beautiful. I wish I could love what's happening. But I don't know what to do with all this pain. I don't know how to handle it. It spills over everywhere making a big mess. I'm falling apart.

I just have to keep going. Maybe if I pretend I'm handling it it will just pass. Maybe I should talk to the others. What should I do?

Day Five

August 17, Tuesday

I slept in until 10 am in preparation my date with Chris Groves. He was already up and waiting for me, fashionably attired in short red shorts, a blue t-shirt, and a sweatband. "Feel free to leave me behind," I said.

"Of course not!" he said kindly, but that's not what I wanted to hear. If he stayed with me, I'd have to run the whole way. It's a point of pride. I'm deeply competitive, even in games where my skills don't give me any reason to be. The last time I ran seriously and consistently was probably a decade ago and here was Chris, who'd run a half-marathon a couple months ago, and was training to run another next week.

I thought I would die. Well, not actually fall down dead, but it my runner's fever delerium I began wondering what, exactly, would happen if I kept going beyond my ability. Would my legs simply collapse from under me? Or would the oxygen flow to my brain be strangled enough to make me faint? Really, how do we know the limit of the endurance of the human body?

Our reward was to be coffee at the Starbucks a few blocks from home. But as we neared it Chris discovered that the ten-dollar-bill he'd stuffed securely in his socks was missing. This presented a very serious blow to morale. What was the point of running anyway, when there was no coffee to be had at the end??

But, desperate, we went into the Starbucks anyway. "What if I gave you my credit card number?" Chris asked. No, we couldn't do that, because they required a picture ID. "For your security," the coffee jockey said with an apologetic smile. Fuck security! But I controlled myself and instead channeled my caffeine-deprivation rage into looking as charmingly sad as I could. "Well, how about if we just pay you later?" Chris pressed, smiling.

"Ahhhh." The clerk looked pained. He glanced over at the woman working behind him. She gave a brief nod without looking over at us. "Sure, go ahead."

"Okay. You can pay later."

"THAT IS SO SWEET!!! Thank you!!" My relief was, I'm sure, audible.

Ah, but you don't want to hear about all that. I bet you want to hear about res at the Egyptian Theatre. We went because it's a cool event, but also because Jason Koxvold was getting his new video for Citizens Here and Abroad screened there.

We drank the sponsorship drink S Guaro. Some kind of "beyond vodka" distilled from sugar cane. It was foul. But free. I had two glasses.

It was impossible not to smoke with Jason Koxvold around. But he had these strange cigarettes from Philippines which were branded Marlboro Lights but tasted and looked like... Winstons or something. Well, quitters can't be choosers.

Jason was staying at the Standard so we headed over there to have one more drink on the rooftop. It was a chilly night for Los Angeles, the air fresh and cool. The drinks were horrifyingly expensive. I passed and instead occupied myself with amateur photography.

Next up: Tucson, Arizona. But first: another 8-hour drive. Whoo-hoo!

Day Four

August 16
Monday
(on tour with dealership)

The Casbah is a good club, with a pretty outdoor area and a back room for game-players. Although there are some apartments around, I guess the noise isn't really a problem, and it's very pleasant to stand outside in the patio in the warm evening and listen to the music through the open double doors. The airport is very close, so every thirty seconds a jet passes directly overhead, punctuating the music. Last night the jet sounds seemed appropriate.

I was strangely cold, probably from being tired. The night before I'd had a cigarette, and I was really feeling it. Really. I mean, down to my tingling fingertips. It was slightly easier than the day before, but everytime I went outside I wanted a cigarette. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask the friendly, laid-back staff if I could bum one. They were lounging outside, happily smoking. Greedily smoking, I thought. Damn lucky bastards.

I decided to get a drink instead. The bartender was sitting at the corner of the bar reading Thomas Pynchon's V. "I never could get through that book," I said.

He nodded. "I finished Gravity's Rainbow, finally. You just have to make yourself get through it."

I'm not that great at making myself get through anything. Not books, not exercise regimes, and certinaly not quitting smoking. I ordered a vodka tonic.

The drink calmed me down. I toyed with the idea of cultivating an alchohol addiction but rejected it. Drunks are not pretty. You get red-nosed and puffy-eyed and slurry, like you've been hit in the face. The thing about cigarettes is that most of the damage is on the inside, at least until you get older and start noticing those fine lines, those wrinkles, the nicotine stains on your teeth and fingers. Vanity is a powerful motivator. I kept that in mind as I stepped outside one more time to stare longingly at the carefree smokers laughing and waving their cigarettes in the air.

We played first, so we could relax and enjoy the rest of the show. We played pretty well, except that I stepped on my lead and pulled it out of my guitar in the middle of the song. Luckily, it was only a brief interruption of the rock.

SSI played next. I thought they might be from the Bay Area because one of the guys had a BART sticker on this laptop. I liked their set, although I think visuals might have been a good idea. It's hard to just sit and watch two guys on laptops bobbing their heads.

Next up: Cex. If you haven't seen them, it's hard to describe the energy they exude. Ryan, the singer, projects a sincerity that is electrifying, all the more so since sometimes he seems on the edge of sanity. He actually reminds me very strongly of Justin Hall - not just their physical aspects, which are remarkably similar, but in their hungry and all-accepting approach to life. They embrace life with all the warts and thorns.

Then we had a nice drive back up to LA, where we're staying at Casa Groves for one more night. I get my own bedroom and bathroom - it's pretty sweet. This'll be the last time for a couple weeks I'll get such luxury to myself!

travel on

it's hard to feel like i'm settling down here because i'll be going on tour with dealership this weekend. we've got a show at the gorgeous mile high club (run, incidentally, by my own dear lisa nola) on friday the 13th, a show at the venerable bottom of the hill on saturday the 14th. come by to say hello and support the local clubs which book so many great bands and keep indie music alive.

... and then we're off to LA on sunday the 15th. the compete tour dates are here.

in the meantime, i am just a little bit anxious. it's been five weeks since i've touched a keyboard ot an electric guitar!

get out the spunk

saturday: spunky brewster and the mothballs rocked the new mile high club. (the grand opening will be next tuesday, the 29th!). the brewster kids will be playing again - a much longer set - this weekend at Cloyne Court, although i can't go as i'll be out of town. sorry to miss you guys!

some photos i took are here.

happy graduation, heather!

haven't had enough

i'm going to the Citizens show tonight. they just got back from their whirlwind tour, which ended unfortunately with their van's being broken into at Coachella on Saturday night. boo. it'll be a sweet homecoming, though. yay.

a weekend of non-stop rock only whets my appetite for more. listened to rock all the way home, from 3 until 10 in the morning; woke up this morning with rock in my head. my body seems to pulse to a beat of its own accord, even when i'm walking down the street without any music. it's like my body has absorbed the rhythm of rock and incorporated it into my bones - i can hear it echo in my ears and beat in my breast.

more than anything i want to go to the studio, strap on my guitar, and play all the music that's spinning in my head.

god, it's great to be alive.

lyrics are for chumps

we've got a show tonight. and we've been working on a new song, which we call Epic because it builds into a massive rock block at the end - a Mozartian guitar solo overlaid with male vocals in harmony. oh my god it makes me quiver to think of it.

but the problem is, we have no lyrics. i mean, we sing words to it, sometimes, but they're random words generated by the programming in our brains that processes rock music. this happens often to our songs. one of us will get stuck on a phrase which will go with the music in one part, and upon those flimsy words we will build an entire concept, a meaning, and a theme for the song.

"what are you singing there?" chris groves asks me. i sing lead on a bulk of the song.

"um. well, it depends..." the truth is, i hate the words i sing. they just rose, unbidden, to my mind, suggested by the bouncy beat of the first verse. "something about 'everyday i go out on the street, wave hello to everyone i meet...'"

chris looks nonplussed. "what about in the chorus?"

well, the chorus is harder, darker. so are my words: "and you can't fall back on your old strategies, your lies have caught you in pathology..." or whatever, i don't know.

and the third part - the chorus2 if you will - is darker yet. when i remember that i'm supposed to sing at all, i sing, "the night is deep, the stars asleep, the moon will weep, and you've got your secrets to keep."

chris wetherell asks, "so what's this song about?"

i shrug. "hero quest?" a lot of our songs lately have been about hero quests - it's in keeping with the whole video game theme that has reverberated through our music lately.

chris wetherell smiles. "i've got an idea. i think it should be about a woman who has to time-travel to find her lost daughter."

chris groves and i look at each other. "okay."

so that's what the song's about. Epic: the journey of a woman traveling through time to find her daughter.

and all i have to do between now and when we play tonight is come up with the words to explain that.

Touring Test

The days slip away into pleasantly blurred memories; the evenings are flushed with action, and then given over gently to a blissfully alcohol-fueled sleep. I have woken up every morning to stretch and look over the hazy shape of my day, no real plans except to feed my body and get it to the next club. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I shop. I try to do some yoga every morning, it makes me feel as if my body has been wound up like a clock, re-invigorated. And the sun shines every day.

If this is being on tour, then I want to do it all the time.

Tour 2

"You sang a song as you packed up your bags..." - a song we hardly ever perform anymore.

We're going on a trip to Los Angeles. We've got six shows, I think, in five days. We're supposedly playing Spaceland Tuesday night, but it hasn't been completely confirmed... maybe we'll just show up. It'll be hectic but good. We all have stuff to do, so we'll try to be online when we can.

Touring is interesting. Time seems to be in suspense, because all your daily routines are so different from your "real" life. You wake up in some stranger's house, you go get coffee, you get some food, and then you decide where to go that day - and you don't go to "work" until the evening. You show up at the club around 5 for soundcheck, you might grab some food, you sit around, you drink, you talk to people, and then you play. There's a massive adrenaline rush, and then it's all over. You pack up. Sometimes you hang out afterwards, usually at a very chill after-party; once in a while you get back in the van and drive on to your next destination. But you don't sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

And the next day you wake up and do it all over again, different club, different bands... it's a bit surreal.

Well, anyhow, see you soon.

unleashing the warlock

Elric of Melniboné and Stormbringer	Jane of Dealership and the Warlock

my new credo has inspired me to do something i've never tried before: rock the guitar solo.

i do not think this is entirely MY doing. i am not by nature a rocker. i have been a goth, a mod, a new waver, a euro-disco girl, a raver, a brit-popper, and a classicist, but the Rock has historically eluded me. now, however, the Warlock, long restive, yearns to be free, to sing, to call its minions forth. that is what it was forged to do. it is the Warlock's destiny to Rock.

in the past, i mocked the Rock. i derided the wankishness, the hair, the goofy machismo. i especially reviled the dreaded guitar solo, which i found to be the most boring aspect of a rock song. i thought it was so needless, so silly. i liked the angst bands. the bands who were in pain. bands too depressed to rock out. those were the bands that spoke to moody thirteen-year-old me. thirteen-year-old jane was too cool for rock, unless it was, like, rock with a message, like punk. yeah, punk was fine. or ironic rock. irony's cool.

also, i was not a good enough guitarist to play any kind of lead solo part. that probably had something to do with it too.

i came around to the Rock slowly. i covered The Scorpions at a benefit concert one year. i forgot all the words to Rock You Like a Hurricane but it was fun to make up growly, raucous parts. but i was still not taking it seriously. i was still ironic.

then i got The Warlock. or actually, it got me.

i think it was Guy Higbey's influence. Guy was our recording engineer. he used to be in the metal band Epidemic. he knew all about the Rock. he used to play CDs for us, i think to try to open our minds to the Rock. let the Rock slowly creep into our veins and spread like a virus through our organs. ahh... i can feel it working! i realize now that he must have be a High Priest of The Warlock.

so i found myself at Guitar Center, and this big black shiny thing just called to me. it was so not our musical aesthetic, so not my personality. but i had to get it.

then, how to explain? eldritch force, that's my guess.

when i first strapped on this thing, it felt awkward - far too heavy, unbalanced. it pulled at my neck and hurt my shoulder. i regretted my decision more than once as i struggled with the beast. what was i thinking? it's far too much guitar for me.

but i bonded with it. the tone is so clear, so rich. the action is fast. and it's damn good-looking, if you're into evil pointy things. i felt like a rock star with it strapped on. i mean, a fucking rock star, you know?

but The Warlock wasn't satisfied. it needed something else. i was playing sweet tunes on it, quiet tunes with lovely little melodies and twee sevenths. i started turning up the amp. i started using the Metal Zone effects pedal. i started casually dropping hints that we should play some of our old rock tunes that we ditched as being too simplistic, too primitive, to fast, too hard.

i can tell - The Warlock wants it. it whispers to me. "you've only got me turned up to four. i can go up to eleven." it seduces me, like a powerful engine. i know it's just raring to go. i haven't ever pushed it to the top range, driven it at full speed. and it urges me on. "louder, faster, harder," it says. "more!"

it demands the solo. and hence, it is transforming me into a rocker. i am a disciple of the Warlock. i have converted to the church of Rock. i want to give in to the power of the Warlock and let it take me to hair metal heights.

perhaps i will get a mullet.

i think that's what the Warlock wants. it's only a matter of time before it will have me, body and soul. and hair.

* photo of me by Darren. painting of Elric by Michael Whelan [thanks, adam!]

rock and the mullah

Pakistani rock star investigates Islamic ban on his music - story at the BBC. throws into relief the tensions between the hard line extremists and the modern moderates in Pakistan.

practice

sometimes we practice and i just want to play music all night long. i want to close my eyes and let the beats direct the movement of my body. i want the harmonies to spiral crazily out of control, adding sevenths and ninths and diminished fourths to build chords that should never enter human cochlea. i want to turn up the distortion as high as it will go and lose myself in the oscillating feedback that whines and sine curves between the amps. i want to collapse under my guitar with the strings still resonating, vibrating against my chest and fall asleep with my ears ringing. i want to give myself to music.

i haven't played in a long time, can you tell? GOD i've missed it.

tonight we revived a song we all love, but have never been able to arrange for a satisfactory live performance. it's such a catchy, rocking tune. i used to play guitar on it, but i switched to keyboards and added a Final Countdown-style riff to open it. oh my goodness i was fully channeling Andrew WK.

on a related note, Jesse introduced me to The Darkness recently. the lead vocalist, one Justin Hawkins, has a set of pipes like i've never heard on a guy. he reminds me of Freddie Mercury in the high range - such power and flexibility, such control. that's hard to get in falsetto.

we have a show on the 18th. think i can perfect my kicks and stage dives by then?

Sweet Music

I'm working here, listening to DNTL and the Postal Service. I never get tired of Ben Gibbard's voice. I swoon every time.

There are so many great shows this month, and I won't be able to go to many because my calendar fills up so quickly - and also, I do need to get some work done. On Thursday I have a writer's group meeting, but I may cut out to head over to the Hemlock with Adrienne around 11. Broken Social Scene is also playing that night at the Great American. But I don't think I'll make that this time....

Friday I'm meeting Heather for Matmos and Blevin and Lesser at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, part of the 10-year anniversary celebration for the institution. That's during the day from 2 to 5 pm. That night at Bottom of the Hill: Pretty Girls Make Graves - are tickets still available? I'm afraid it may be close to sold out, as they recently got signed to Matador. Also, they got their equipment stolen in Seattle!

And tomorrow, Jesse plays his debut in Hawaiian Getaway at the Stork Club! So you should all go and make faces or throw articles of clothing at him to make him nervous, because he's so cute when he's embarrassed. And then sit down for a drink with me at the fabulous bar, with its backdrop of collectible Barbie dolls. It's truly a bizarre and wonderful Oakland institution. And, it's Christmas all the year round at the Stork Club! So feel free to bring me a present.*

*Not really. I would have to carry it home and then find a place for it, so don't. Unless, maybe, it can be consumed on the spot.

Give them what they want

Chorus Chorus Chorus!

Epiphany

I realized something at the show last night. I'd rather make music that makes people's hips sway than their heads bang.

So It Is, After All

Playing rock shows is fun!

So often I forget that, especially lately. I'm so distracted, so anxious. Before we start playing I invariably run through scenarios in my head, starting with driving to the event. What if we get into a car accident? What if we forget something? What if we suck? That self-destructive line winds around my head, making it hard for me to think. But once we're actually on the stage and playing, I feel relaxed and happy. And afterwards, almost euphoric.

Thanks so much to you all for coming out. It was lovely to see you. Thanks for giving me a chance to do something I love to do. Sometimes I must believe that I do be the luckiest, luckiest girl, indeed I do.

A Shortened Tour

We had to cut the tour short, but we did have a good time up until then, playing in the "Asians in Rock" festival and playing at the beach and at karaoke with Scrabbel (they don't seem to have an active website anymore but you can get their stuff at kittnet).

We got some tattoos - here's Helen and Natalie, looking tough:

Chris and Chris, looking tuff:

and me:

We also wrote and recorded a song on the drive, which you can download from the Dealership website. It's called "In the Car", and it's a happy reminder of trouble-free times on the road.

Musical Travels!

Okay, so I'm going on tour with the band! It's only on the west coast, but here are some dates we know so far - if you live in the area and feel like coming out to see us, it would be great to meet you!

Some dates:
August 17th - Twiggs Coffeehouse (San Diego, CA)

August 18th - Espresso Cafe (Oceanside, CA)

August 19th - The Gypsy Lounge (Lake Forest, CA)

August 21st - Le Voyeur (Olympia, WA)

August 22nd - Graceland (Seattle, WA)

August 23rd - Bob's Java Jive (Tacoma, WA)

August 27th - Spaceland (Silverlake, CA)

mixing, part two, Menlo Park

conversation with cw on listening to the andrew w.k. ("awk") debut album I Get Wet for the first time while driving back from mixing in Menlo Park.

J: But do you know what I mean about their sounding "Swedish"?

CW: I think so - the music is so removed, it's like a detached appreciation for kitsch.

J: Yes, an un-ironic embrace of what they know is kitschy. Maybe because they are so detached.

CW: It's an appreciation for typical 80's signifiers - I mean what makes the 80s "the 80's" to us now. It's Wham, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Poison, Def Leppard... wait, this song ["I Love NYC"] - that piano part could be that Band-Aid song.

J: ????

CW: [singing] "Feed the world - let them know-"

J + CW: "- it's Christmas after all!"

J: I really think these songs are nihilist. I mean, "party on" is sort of a neo-nihilist ethic. It's like, we know the world is fucked up and we don't fucking care. When punk is nihilist they're angry, they're shouting "Fuck the world!" but these guys are like, "Ahh, forget it."

CW: Hey, this song ["She is Beautiful"] is a little Streets of Fire.

J: Yeah, with Diane Lane.

CW: This song could be one of her street rock chanteuse numbers, you know?

[Long time listening to tracks]

J: I can see why Guy [Higbey, our recording engineer] couldn't get through this album.

CW: It's relentless. [turns up the volume]

["Fun Night"]

J: It's about - not destruction, exactly, but obliteration. Self-obliteration. These lyrics are so simplistic, they're absurdist.

CW: The lyrics are the object.

J: They don't describe an object, they are the object.

CW: Yes, exactly. After a thousand repetitions that's all they can be. "Fun night" released in 1981 might have actually been about a fun night!

J: "We get off, we get off, we get what we want" - there's something so bleakly despairing, almost desperate about that.

CW: I like to imagine they sat down and said, "Hey, do you think we could write an album that's all anthems?" So every song ends up being about a good time.

J: Except the album isn't about that.

CW: No. There's nothing in the album art about having a good time. The cover is of a guy with a bloody nose -

J: There's not a single smile in any picture.

CW: And no big-haired poufy ladies.

J: You'd think ladies would be part of any party.

["I Get Wet"]

CW: It's "The Final Countdown"!

J: I admit I fucking _love_ it!

CW: What's that smell? I think I can smell what The Rock is cookin!!

J: I love these riffs, they're fucking great.

CW: Yeah, fat hooks. A lot of the hook is carried in the bass, in the chord motion. It contains all these references.

J: And the melody is in the same tradition as Weezer. I mean, I don't think they're trying to be like Weezer, but obviously they got the same idea from metal and 80's rock as Weezer did - maybe something we missed.

["Don't Stop Living in the Red" opens with soft keys]

CW: A ballad?

[the rock kicks in]

J: No way. No ballads on this album.

CW: It's all rock, all the time.