Weekly Press Update:

So I pull up to Thundercloud Subs, a BLT hero on my mind. Austin's NPR affiliate, KUT, is playing on my radio as usual.
"Now we're going to be talking about Texas trios."
My ears perk up!
"A band from Fort Worth may be re-inventing rock as we know it.."
Neurons fire!
And sure enough:
Texas Music Matters review of Space Punk Starlet

Now, I must say- I was hoping for some real glowing reviews early on, and maybe that was a bit naive of me. For most people, this will be their first encounter with The Frontier Brothers and, yes, we are weird. We don't make scene music- no indie-dance, no indie-folk, and no nostalgia-doused-nouveau wave. And so maybe we should just give you earthlings a little time to digest.

Of course, The Houston Chronicle got it right off the bat:
Houston Chronicle reviews Space Punk Starlet, hurray!!!!

Those foppish texpatriots at the Dallas Observer seemed to have a good time as well.

A comparison to Malkmus will flatter us any day of the lunar month.

And finally, you delightful industry professionals, go pick up this months copy of Pro Sound News. Right next to Chris Martin. Was I the only one who thought Viva la Vida was sort of boring in a Sun King Louis XIV sort of way?



Yes Earthlings, The Frontier Brothers are taking over your planet.

- B

A Little Rant about Supermassive Blackholes; Explanations regarding TFB's landing on Earth; Various updates

The Discovery Channel is fantastic. Don't get me wrong about that. It's an island of good and righteous programming listing in a sea of filth and VH1. I don't have a television, so I don't tune in much, but from what I gather lying around at my parent's house and other tour stops where flatscreens are living room centerpieces, Discovery is becoming more a reality show network. Good reality shows, I guess. Science-based maybe. But where have the specials gone? Nova? UFO's? Cosmology? I lament their passing, but even those resources were fundamentally flawed in their approach to science. 

Recently, I looked up a dated video on super-massive black holes. Two of my astronomy professors were featured, so naturally I was interested. It's like a little piece of me was on screen with them. These men and women are the great minds forging ahead here on Earth, thirsty for knowledge, the best in their field. I had conversations with these people!

Anyway, to give a back story on our friend the supper-massive black hole. Up to 20 years ago, Black holes only existed in the mathematics of leading theoretical physicists like Steven Hawking and others. Recently, through spectral analysis of neighboring galaxies and the discovery of quasars and neutron stars, the existence of the Black Hole has been verified through direct observation. But supper-massive black holes and their relation to galaxy formation was still a contested theory. 

In this Discovery program, they document the labors of a group of physicists, the Nuker team. Kerl Gebhardt and John Kormendy, two of my professors at the University of Texas, were a part of this effort. They were basically trying to validate the theory of supper-massive black holes- objects of ridiculously high density, up to tens of billions solar masses. Big fucking "monsters". 

That's where I got pissed. For some reason, the media is still playing on this ludicrous stigma that black holes are some kind of demonic force hell bent on swallowing the universe, and most of all, our own precious asses here on Earth. The music throughout, ominous. At one point, the narrator describes the possibility of black hole at the center of our own galaxy as "disturbing".

WHAT THE FUCK! Please, will you media numb nuts stop attempting anthropomorphize this. The black hole, the singularity, are objects so astounding, beautiful, and baffling; to try and dress up this phenomena of the physical world in a Darth Vader costume only makes everyone watching a little bit more out of touch with the real world. 

Can the folks behind the tube not find physics interesting enough (after all, they are tuned into the DISCOVERY channel) to continue watching, without an apocalyptic back story? 

Now, when I write on this I try not to fall into the rant thing. I'm certainly not Maddox. That's not my style. But this needs to stop. Even at my favorite site, space.com, the shit persists. Every press release about black holes pushes the same bullshit. 

I also wanted to address some particular circumstances regarding our landing on this planet. I was recently ridiculed. This interviewer asks, well why did you crash? How hard is it to land when you can make a trip of roughly 427 million light years in six years, while still aging? Well, what most don't realize is that the space around Earth, where satellites orbit and where the international space station heaves its final gasps, is a fucking dirty crowded shit hole. Just like we have filled our planet up with trash, we have littered space with fragments of space shuttles, dead satellites, lost tools and general debris. Space agencies like Nasa have specific groups to chart these objects. They make sure satellites and astronauts don't get pelted with stuff. We were not so lucky. When we began our descent we were hit by two objects. The first, I swear on my grave, was a damned lug nut. Probably 5-6 centimeters wide. It ripped through the engine compartments and damaged a crucial component, our directional thrusters. Unlike our main engine (similar to an ion thruster, look it up) these high powered thrusters running on a fossil fuel were designed to stabilize the craft once we entered the atmosphere. 

So maybe we did smack into the hill country of Texas and tear down a few native trees. Maybe we did run over a feral hog. It's regrettable. It simply wasn't our fault. And it's a testament to Travis's ability to handle adversity with a clear head.

If anyone has any more questions, technical or otherwise, please leave a comment. I'll answer to the best of my ability. Thank you.

I kind of like the Think Big! photo. They seem to be having a good time. The guitarist especially. I wonder if that was the one shot that was just magic.

Design

I'm fooling around with the design of our website. Leave me a comment and let me know how you like this new look.

Unwinding.

It's been one hell of an October. I get back from the East Coast tour and not three days later my sister is getting married. It was a beautiful wedding- short, classy, and optimistic. I was one of Blake's (the groom's) groomsmen. Hours of photographs, shoddy Men's Warehouse tuxedos, and frequent alcohol consumption.

At 10:15, Think Big! and the Bulletproof Brass took a break, the cake was cut, and The Frontier Brothers stepped on stage for a few moments of rock.


This was my gift for Alyson and Blake and I didn't want to let them down. Being in a rock band is the only thing I'm good at, so I felt like this was the perfect way to show how much I care for them.

But. . .

I don't think Think Big! and the Bulletproof Brass like sharing the stage. Our mix was ludicrous- no drums, no lead vocals- just keys and backups. In fact, the lead vocal mic didn't even function during Starry Globes and Stereos. We begged the sound-guy to fix our mix and received all the assistance of an icy glare. Brent, the band leader, even threatened to take us off the stage if we couldn't "get it together." Of course, we're professionals- we play over a hundred shows a year- I've NEVER dealt with a more difficult mix / stage setup. In other words, it wasn't really our fault. Thankfully- we got into the groove after the first 2 songs. I kept rhythm to the vibrations of Travis' kick drum and Marshall kept an eye on my hands. By the end of the set, we had the entire reception (300+) rocking out to Jump Blues. Even my grandmother, ladies and gentlemen. The post-show reviews revealed the fact that we actually sounded good to the crowd. In fact, I may go so far as to say we sounded fantastic. All this touring has gotten us in good shape and we are prepared to rock even in the rockiest of settings.

And what about that tour?
I'll be back with a post-tour round-up tomorrow. Stay tuned.

- Brett

ADDENDUM: I don't necessarily want to indite Brent's wedding band. They are VERY good at what they do. I just feel that they weren't even a little bit helpful when it came time to share the stage. I had a conversation with someone this morning who has worked with Think Big! in the past- he expressed a similar level of discomfort with the band (in terms of helpfulness).

Something I wrote about Burt, range attendant

You can never make ammunition for lever action rifles quite the same as regular ones. This is because all the bullets are lined up in the chamber, when you fire one round, the explosion and resulting shock cause all the other waiting rounds to discharge, and you blow your shit all to hell. Most lever action rounds have blunted, flat tips. That way they don't push against the center of the cartridge in front of them. But at the range today, Burt showed me these new rounds; they get the distance and the accuracy of point tip rounds because they are pointed. The point is rubber. Burt rubbed it across the table and I watched the little thing bend back and forth against the fiber glass. Burt said the round will hit about six inches higher than normal rounds at about 100 yards. I bought one case, and two cases of the regulars for simple target practice. The pointed types were for the straight killing of beasts.

Burt had a sticker and a picture of Obama. Instead of hope, it said nope. I thought that was funny and decided to play along. He said that as soon as that man gets in office you can kiss your guns goodbye. I held my 30-30 good and tight. Not mine, I said. I'd die before that. Me too, said Burt. And he meant it, for sure.

Burt was a hard, stupid son of a bitch. I hate everyone lately, besides him.

Returning, Short tour thoughts

Aww, I sincerely don't want to write anything but I guess I should. Maybe that will make me less nervous. In Fort Worth, I felt as if I were still moving somewhere. Things like doors and trees seemed too close, packed in, snug together and overly fragrant. I got drunk with my friend Tommy and we bowled; I did horribly and hit the inside of my ankle with my ball. Now, there is a large bruise there. It didn't hurt at the time. We played laser tag. The ref cheated, artificially boosting the other teams score because Tommy pushed him down during the game. Apparently, the referee was "all up in his shit." I understood. The ref was the type that would step into shit, be it yours or a random one on the sidewalk; the type of guy who's life was one big mistake, like he was stepping onto the sidewalk at the break of a beautiful morning and landed right in a huge pile and never got over it. I had the ruling overturned, citing the unusually high score that caused our loss. Besides the lying, dirty, cheating official, I scored the highest that game. The second game, my gun didn't work correctly, but we won anyway. 

I expected the pillows here in Austin to pull like magnets but no such comfort has greeted me. I ate a lot of food before I left, some pizza and a milkshake. I had trouble keeping awake on the drive down. I felt the true and lingering weight of the tour and all the girls on my face and all the accumulation swinging like a lead ball in my stomach. So, naturally I was in a terrible mood and was horrified when I returned home to a house full of people. I would be glad to see them regularly but I guess I'm just an old grouch. Still, I expect things, and by things I mean everything in the immediate vicinity, judging by time - to be fine. The tour was awesome. People ask for crazy things that happened and I tell them that if anything truly crazy had happened, I would most likely be in jail right now, not back in the dull heat of fat, normal life. 

There is a difference between a band and a touring band. One, I respect. The other, any collection of face and hands can muster. On our last stop, we serendipitously met with a band we will most likely play along side in L.A. in about a month or so. They'd been doing the exact same thing, the touring, the rough shit, for way longer than us. It was like coming across an old friend, but without any weirdness in adjusting to the new in them. Just sudden understanding. Good men, touring so long they looked like vampires. You could never imagine them playing tennis in shorts on a summer day. The toughness wasn't in the skin. 

You gotta realize that you are gonna be doing this for a long time. And that's a sweet thing. Because it's fucking fun, rough and sad. That's pretty much it. Worth it, worth it, worth it.  

Touring obama headquarters in Chicago.

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Memory from North Carolina - Dog

All Hail The Lyrics Engine!

Updated the lyrics engine.
Travis was reading me some of the bands we're going to be competing with in the Taco Bell Feed the Beat Contest:
Say Anything, Thursday, A Place To Bury Strangers, The Academy Is...
Woah- this should be a piece of cake.

- B

Tour Part 4 - The Tale End, the Home Stretch

First of all I want to say that if you have a problem with Third Eye Blind then never mention it around me, shit gets me VIOLENT!
Tour, going well, cleanliness...deteriorating. This is the final bound, the time when you can't quite push yourself to clean things or to brush your teeth or to throw away trash in the car. There has been a Hardee's cup marinating in the back for about three days. (By the way, the "red burrito" and other mexican food anywhere near the great lakes should be avoided at all costs)

Five days till completion. It is sweet but long. The last days are always the longest. Brett was saying last night, amidst the rain and high wind of chicago, as it stab us like pencils and when the wind came from behind soaked our calves, that this was hell. And yes it was, but only for a short time. Some of the most horrible moments of my life turn out to be my most beloved memories. I'm not talking about Uncle Ralph showing you his penis or your dog being killed by two other dogs- not that kind of horrible. More like, miserable. Like when you're cold and tired and digging back into the memory to find new and creative curse words.
ehh. I hesitate to sound like Mitch Albom, like memory is golden, write a poem about grandma.

But most of the time suffering is a joke. A big fucking joke.
(I actually do have a poem about my grandma! Oh no, Oh no! HEHE)

South Bend Bikes Thai Rocks

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Wrote this for Taco Bell.

You'll be hearing more about our Taco Bell endorsement soon, but I wanted to go ahead and post a biography I wrote for them. The Frontier Brothers will be eating for free on our upcoming tours, as long as it's Taco Bell.

Here's to the Taco Bell Diet:

The Frontier Brothers are all about Earth appreciation. We appreciate the relatively moderate climates here; the women that exist in bounty; the food; the short distances between stops. TFB is space rock. It's party punk. It's garage pop. Most importantly, the music is from space. My name is Marshall Galactic, and no, it's not a stage name. I came to spread our contagious brand of rock and roll across the stars.

Five years ago and 427 million light years distance away, we were touring the crowded confederation of planets that surround the great star Betelgeuse. Despite the gigs being on entirely different planets, they lacked the variety of spots like Baltimore, Chicago, or New York. All the planets were relatively safe, most with low crime rates. Sure, you might run a 15% chance of being vanquished by merely stepping onto the soil in Baltimore, but the city is unique. In the Confederation, all architecture is the same. The ceilings are low, each citizen is given a specific parcel of land to farm. Its public rock venues, controlled firmly by local government, stifled our creative passion. House music was horribly ubiquitous. We began to look elsewhere to showcase our quality tunes.

Earth's addiction to the strange and unique attracted our attention. People here want something interesting; they need it. That's why we've never compromised the truth. No, we might not be directly related to Dave Grohl, and we often choose to don regalia other than flannel. Space suits, ties, space goggles -all that stuff. We can't help it. Imploring us to dress regularly is pointless; it's like asking U2 to perform in beaver pelts. They wouldn't feel comfortable.

But, if we were forced, I suppose we might comply. Because for The Frontier Brothers - myself, Moses, and Groovemaster- it's all about the music. What can I say? In my humble opinion, the s*** rocks: Big percussion, nasty guitar, and bouncing piano that will find its way into your date's hips and keep you dancing all night long, with vocals that sound like a dryer full of cats compelling you to party. Then, later that night, you and the cabby can pop in the record and delve into some serious life questions. Our new album, Space Punk Starlet has that kind of range. What can I say, I'm proud of it. So far, our photos and music have been featured in Spin and The New York Times. I do believe a buzz is building. But the way we make music doesn't give us a clear and easy shot into the hierarchy of the entertainment industry. We put in the work, touring relentlessly.

Right now, driving long stretches of empty roads among the Appalachian mountains while chewing my Crunch Wrap Supreme, I mentally reaffirm the decision to leave the place I called home for so long, perhaps never to return. Here, the women are so warm, the beer so cold, the road so insane and new everyday, I cannot miss nor hardly remember that place so far beyond the stars. That is, until I pick up my guitar, Brett fires up the piano, and Travis takes a seat behind the drums. Then we become aliens again in this strange world and the only way to feel right again is that rock and roll.

Visuals. As. Seen. From. Space.

The Frontier Brothers played a family picnic in Spencer, North Carolina. Here, we exude country charm.

Marshall. Loves. Bowling. The only sport remotely like bowling on Betelgeuse involves a high speed laser and a pool of knives. Our new friends, this lovely couple, try bowling hand-in-hand. They actually got their highest score of the night this way. Double spares.

Space aliens always leave stickers in highly-visible places, like refrigerators. We made it to New York City and..well.. we never wanted to leave. We ended up invading Skiptronic's pad for a whole week.

Finally, a familiar species.

Travis led the brothers on a mission to analyze human art. Pretty terrible, huh?

I took some earth girls on an adventure in the rain. My skin is water-resistant. Theirs is not. What strange animals.

Travis and Kent, our ally from Three Leaf. Did I mention that Three Leaf is.... amazing?

New York was blissful. . .

Especially now that we are sleeping in the car in Gambier, OH. It's 40 degrees.



See you, humans.

Brett