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
2008-10-09
2008-10-08
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)
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)
2008-10-06
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.
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.
2008-10-03
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
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
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