Response.

Well at least you're not Jewish. Christmas is literally the most boring day of the year. Everyone is busy with their families, every restaurant is closed, and there are only 10 songs on the radio. Bah humbug.

Explanation of Video

That's what they say when they get their presents. I like it. Think its funny. But I have to hear it a lot. At least it's not fuck you.

Merry Christmas

Holidays without getting fat. Still hitting the bag, pumping the rope. I'll be spending Christmas with my cousins from East Texas. Thank youuuu.

Performance Video: Starry Globes & Stereos

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Performance Video: How Do You Make Movies / Kickstand Woman

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Performance Video: Jump Blues

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Finished

I've finished our manifesto. It's called -
Mysteries of the Planet Kürr:
An Introduction to the Customs and People of the 8th planet
Orbiting the Great Star (Betelgeuse)

And it explains everything. Soon it will be up on the site. I transferred from hard copy and it took a long time. Suits, space travel, tess, the space punk starlet, home planet Kürr, and Betelgeuse. Everything.

Ushering in a new generation of rockstars.

- B

Drinking Problems and Gay Bar, Part 2

I can't remember the name. The place was loud and crowded. A lot of girls were there, and they didn't look like lesbians. Believe me, I can spot a lesbian. Or maybe I can't. I've had a lot of crushes on girls that look like lesbians. That one girl, she turned me onto Townes Van Zandt. Short hair but raging, shapely breasts. And she didn't even feel the need to advertise. I could've loved her. She was a lot of female.

A contest was going on. Guys were dancing around on stage, all with underwear on. The one with the most cheers and applause won, that's how it worked. I don't know what the prize was. I cheered for the short guy, the homely looking one. He looked nervous. I gave him huge applause, but he lost. The place was fun. The people weren't dull. They seemed to have guts and vigor.

By this point I was trashed. The perfect time to consume my tequila, my precious treasure and souvenir, had arrived. I still don't know why I showed it to the bartender. The impulse, a mystery. Maybe I was so proud and happy, I wanted to share my joy. The son of a bitch took it from me, but calmly. He just nodded and smiled and reached out and took it. I was fucking devastated. I thought about kneeling down below eye level and sneaking around the bar to get it, but the bar had a little door that was locked. The only way to retrieve it was to climb over the table.

After the bartender dissuaded me from fully  traversing the bar ( I was halfway), I got real mean, verbally so. He said he was gonna call the cops. I kept waiting about thirty seconds and then asking if I could buy a drink. He didn't forget like I thought. Insulting this prick, I didn't go for the typical stingers. He's been called every gay expletive in the book. That shit is useless. I called him all kinds of animals, like he was a damn hyena, a fucking poodle or smelly feral hog. I flicked him off. I called him over to flick him off. I said, fuck you!

The bouncer, who came up to about my chin, was called to kick me out. He said I needed to leave. I told them I wasn't leaving with him, he was ugly and scrawny and I wasn't interested. Then he said he was the bouncer. I laughed it up, right in his face. He went to grab my arm. I yielded. Perhaps in the back, there were large, ripped, mean, gay bouncers just waiting for me to give their little brother some shit.

He was a good door guy, I guess. At least he didn't beat me up. I was drunk. He probably could have. He was just firm with his intentions. I would have smashed him had I not been drunk and we had a suitable venue to do combat in. That will never happen. It was a fun night.

The Frontier Brothers on Rock Remedy: Part 5 (The Last Part)

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Drinking Problems and Gay Bar, Part 1

I need to cut down on drinking, just a little bit. Or maybe not drinking, but the circumstances which provide the impetus to drink. Like going out to bars- I realized why I drink a lot. Despite the fact that bars are for drinking, I had a moment of self-discovery today that clarified the situation for me. In public, I'm uncomfortable. The nagging horniness of unwanted celibacy and other things, they make me feel uncomfortable. So to cure that I drink. If the place sucks and the people are boring and they think I'm boring too, I'll drink. I just can't be in public anymore. I don't drink in my room, usually I read or fuck around on mma websites and noodle guitar.

Last night I got kicked out of a gay bar. I don't feel like it was deserved. I had this mini bottle of tequila I bought in California on the last tour. I never drank it there, and since then I carried it with me all the time. I was waiting for the right time to drink it, a really special time. Everything had to be perfect. I decided that time was right last night. We went to this thing called Hillel, a jewish party where you could get free alcohol. I'm still not sure why they serve alcohol, being a religious organization, but fuck it, one more thing I like about jews.

Then we went to their bar tab at a bar called Peckerheads. Astoundingly, that was not the gay bar. It was lame. I talked infrequently to a nice girl. She moved on to some guy with a weird, pristine goatee. I'm positive he was ugly. Made me feel great. Naturally, I was wasted when we left that shit stain. The two other guys wanted to hit a gay club. I thought, why not. Maybe I'll get hit on there and it will improve my self-confidence.

The Frontier Brothers on Rock Remedy: Part 4 (Crotch Talk)

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Part 3, Wednesday

Part 3, Wednesday

The cake confidence and the time with Rob makes me want to talk to girl sitting ahead of me. I'm on the train from ft. worth to austin. Usually it's late. Today it was on time and I was surprised. It must have something to do with the recession. No one rides it anymore and the railways are empty of freight trains. The ride is a peach. I love junk and nasty parts that you try and pick up and when you can't lift them you take a step back and through a big rock at them. Out the windows are endless backyards, all shitted out, all maintained by poor people - spurned, dirty animals outside and little toys you can make out well, even as you pass by rather quickly.
The girl has the most white shoulders and they look soft. She seems absorbed in a book. She is missing the scenery. Also she has freckles around the back that I can make out in her reflection against the window, spots I might know were I to attempt a simple act of courage. I'm thinking about just touching her quickly; she would be angry. Doesn't she understand anything? Doesn't she know that I have a friend back home confined to bed and that many people showed up to a show where I played instruments and that I spilled lots of beer on stage. She should; it's a pity.

But I know she is kind, just looking at her. You can see that in some people right off the bat, like the air around them is warmer and the noises nice and soft on the ears and you want to be their friend. Standing beside them, nearness is like the heat of a fire. You want to huddle around them like you would a fire.

The Frontier Brothers on Rock Remedy: Part 3 (The One In Which We Talk Porn Star Names)

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The Frontier Brothers on Rock Remedy: Part 2

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Part 2, Monday and Tuesday

I spent most of my time back in Fort Worth shooting up shit at gun ranges and hanging out with my friend Rob. He got in nasty reck about four weeks back and is now in a wheel-chair, numb from about the top of the chest down. When I first saw him, his legs twitched and I was ready to call a miracle. Turns out it's just feedback loop of some sort. The signal goes back and forth between the injured chord and the legs, forever and seemingly at random. Rob says that eventually he'll be a able to predict when they spasm and it will help him move around better.

His hands work, though, his arms and everything above the chest. But the core is dead, unresponsive. Only his shoulders and arms heave all that bulk around. I asked him what he thought about his lower extremities atrophying, whether it was sad to him, like it was going away forever. But no, he said, it was better, the stuff was getting lighter and easier to move around. Rob sticks to practicalities because he has to. There's certainly time to reflect on the symbolism of atrophying legs and glutes, but no real reason. And I realized that none of this shit is me, not my legs or arms or balls - they're willing servants until they fall out of contact. Because Rob is quite the same, he is still here. It made me wonder, where exactly was he?
Anyway, he kicked my ass at Call of Duty 5 and we shot the shit. Rob is a calm soul enveloping like smoke a terrible luck and making it slowly disappear.

The Moon, Saturday, and Rock and Knowing how far

Part 1, Saturday

Saturday was one of the those moments that appear like sign posts telling you you've gotten somewhere. For most of my life, I've been in the band next door, getting claps from only my close friends and going on early, barely filling up the floors of a venue too large for us. That's the worst feeling, almost as depressing as huge, new stores with plenty of employees standing empty, everybody with nothing to do. And you get a needle in the chest, of sympathy, when an employee eagerly seeks you out, desperate.

But that was not The Frontier Brothers saturday, not at all. We were the band on the other side of the divide, that, although seemingly miniscule to most, is extremely difficult to pass successfully. We were the guys with the crowd, the kind that piss you off when you first start a band - how did they get there?
The Moon, respectable and medium sized. Fitted probably 120 people. We had lines out the door. Some of our friends had to wait thirty minutes in the cold. I regret that. But it sure did make me feel good. This pride was like my first slice of cake and I always want more when dealing with real cake, it's so good, but mostly I prefer pies, like pecan, pumpkin, and apple cinnamon pie. The only cake I enjoy is black forest cake from Swiss Pastry Shop on vickery. Soon it will be gone. They're building a highway. The reason I don't like much cake is because of the icing, it's piled on too thickly. At birthday parties when I was younger I'd end up with big globs of icing on my plate because I scraped it off to get to the cooked batter part.
So I'll get more of this pride cake and for that we must play more shows, more and more and more and more shows, everywhere.

The Frontier Brothers on Rock Remedy: Part 1

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Doug The Space Turkey

Staff Machine Gun Shoot: It Gets Better as the Video Progresses

Wall-E, Sick for cigarettes

Last week, I came home very drunk after seeing Collin Herring perform at Aces. I got real drunk real fast like I typically do nowadays. I was bored and a little sad after the set, especially when I finally got home. I did something radical and visited iTunes. There, I found Wall-E for digital sale. I bought it immediately.

 

I'd heard about Wall-E way before its release and knew it was a movie tailor-made for me:

Seeing as that is the most accurate portrayal of how I feel on a regular basis. 

Initially, and after watching the movie five times in a row, I felt a little irritated when I discovered that others shared a similar love for Wall-E. Encountering their banal discussion and talking points, I felt robbed of my unique and beautiful experience behind the computer screen with Wall-E and his aloneness on that other world. I wanted it to be mine and no one else's. It was like hearing someone discuss my own music or writing, totally repulsive. 

I share a deep kinship with Wall-E. Our days are the same. It was like watching myself, only more sympathetic and well, cute. But it's not "cute." I would use that adjective with other characters, though I dislike hearing the word I won't deny certain things are undeniably "cute," and can only be described as "cute." Wall-E is not that. He's something else. Just look into his eyes, just look right above the text at the picture. I haven't been able to pin point what it is, and I've given it a lot of thought over the last few days. 

I love Wall-E, I think. Not just him, though. The mystery behind it is hard to pin down. Maybe that's because Wall-E is the first on-screen non-humanoid robot that has displayed facial features, real feelings as vivid as day and real life. Still, the peculiar feeling evades my self-analysis. 

I'm sure it sounds ridiculous, but the experience of Wall-E is very emotionally intense for me, particularly the first twenty minutes. 

Recent Press Roundup: It's Hip To B Square

Weekly LA magazine CityBeat calls us for what we are, "sweaty, spandex-suited, intergalactic-romance geeks."

Los Angeles music bloggers, Classical Geek Theater (ha!), gives The Frontier Brothers a glowing live review. Did I mention how nice you're looking tonight, Classical Geek Theater? Your manners are so nice, you must have had a terrific mother.

Eenie Meenie Records digs on "How Do You Make Movies When You're Under The Sea." Hey Eenie Meenie, gives us a call. (You can reach me at 8179943131- I'll pretend I'm my secretary too.)

LA scenester, Feed Your Head, commands our attention and lists Space Punk Starlet in his top ten.

Marshall Galactic asks Go!Chicago, "How does it feel to get you’re a-s kicked by a dude in a shiny spandex suit?"

The Pasadena Weekly think they have us figure out. They don't.

Musicologist Everything Is Pop, Pop Is Everything posts a terrific article about The Kinks and gives us a name drop.

The Run-Off Groove calls our brand of rock'n'roll a "rugged one." Uh... hell yes!

Thank you world.
- Brett

Show Diary: Orange, CA

The Lightyear Saloon - Orange, CA
pictures by David Hall

If we blog, they will read.

Looks like traffic is increasing. Keep blogging. Keep blogging. Keep blogging.

Also, found during a frequent star-crossed "frontier brothers" google search:
Some guy's favorite bands listed in alphabetical order. It's like a poem.

an excerpt:
"Elvis
Eric Clapton
Franz Ferdinand
The Fray
Frontier Brothers
Hellogoodbye
The High Llamas
The Hives
Iron & Wine
Jay-Z
Jimi Hendrix
Jimmy Eat World
Joe Louis Walker
John Mayer"

reminds me of that old coca-cola christmas song, "we are the world." blacks, whites, greens, tall people all holding hands.

Visualizations From Recent Times

Segment for KTCU

Party in the sky - on set for Jump Blues video

Travis prepares for a show

The Pacific

A big tour bus and a good parking spot


Los Angeles at vlaze tv or crotches

Finding gold in LA

A capable rifle shot

Still a rifle shot

House party played in front of Hindu Temple

Big mexican dish in LA


Wedding party

Coming back through the west, the gold and rotten vegas, and shows from the bottom of L.A. clubs with hidden handles of liquor behind the amp

The West was a wild ride, as usual. I had this picture in my room, from the first house to the second and final one, always there on the wall. A strange painting of a distorted southwest desert-scape filled all over the brims of the hills with little shrubs that looked like sprouts of broccoli and a sky behind with red and blue and a thin light edged to the horizon. That pushed me into a love of the west, the southwest more closely, and all the expanse. Perhaps my desert obsession was a bizarre meme implanted long ago or maybe I feel a likeness in the landscape, a proud mind that this brain of mine is not too cluttered and I like to rest and stay cold and have good things come and go and mysterious places beneath rocks that shimmy out at night under the stars.
Driving out there, through Arizona and New Mexico, and West Texas I thought a great deal about the geography and the past places, the eastern cities packed and noisy with street cars, with smog that make plants seem sad and homeless. I thought about my brief love affair with The Last of the Mohicans and a love affair with a girl in New York, New York and the desert.
The desert at night is not lonely. Not like that melancholic feeling you got when you were a kid, and the friends are sitting beside the lake or whatever nice, starry scattered place and one says he wishes he had a girl with him right now. Because the older you get, you look back and you think that the entire thing was a tragedy: a woman there would chip the fantasy down to nothing and take away that nice serenity and when the woman was gone the same odd melancholy would roll right back in; the situation was hopeless, neither would work, and you might as well retire to whatever guest bed and have a hot dog.



No it was not a loneliness or anything. Nothing really but the sight of the mountains dunked in moonlight, frosted up with the stuff and scattered about in random mounds.

Now I had plenty of time to think. Plenty, hours. And I entertained the vision of indians racing boldly across these places, breaking upon one another in the broad big daylight of the west and the desert: combat better than the forests of Virginia, where killers moved quiet and loose through the crowded branches, pushing out knives towards one another at random in the dark.



Las Vegas was a strange place. Stranger than this particular post. The place is a joke. And if the money flows from your pockets and you laugh at the men and women with skin pulled tight around their faces and you gamble and hire pussy and leave, there is no mystery. But if you don't have the money and the women ask you to move your beer from their private tables, the joke seems to be on you and you feel like a rube with scuffed shoes who doesn't belong. I could only afford one dance at the strip club, but I can't keep her out of mind. I told her I was a writer and real genius and she seemed to believe that. I did not feel dirty because no part of me was exchanged for anything else. I got to say something like that, something Arturo Bandini of Ask the Dust would say, and she was nice. But I hope never to go back. Still, we might go through again. I don't mind. Next time, I'd like to see a magician or an aquarium and then get drunk and get in a fight. That would be nice.

Tulsa awaits in three days. January calls us once more into the crowded east. But fuck it, it's all great. And more songs are coming, violent ones and pretty ones you can cuddle in front of the heater in your car and like. They're coming.

-M. Galactic

just checking in

we tasted american hedonism in los angeles and it wasn't enough, so we set off to las vegas for a weekends' worth of party. the frontier brothers like it out west. i'm thinking that the final frontier and the western one share the same adventurous heart. more rock and roll, a long drive, and then i'll fill you guys in on all the gory details.

- b (gambling away all the band's money)

Object is 5 light years in diameter. A planetary nebula, Abell 39

Tour Beginnings: Part 1, Night Before

You know you have been too long without a hot shower, without a run in clean air, without a good diet and good shows when things start jiggle as you brush your teeth. Now, I'm not talking about women. They move naturally. But personally, I feel that no part of myself should move in coordination with the strokes of my toothbrush. I notice these things. I notice them because not enough time has passed between tours. The tour is still all over me, like an extra layer I can't scrub off. 

I was jiggling when this idea came to me: To write here about jiggling. It wasn't my balls. My stomach moved. My chest moved. My face, too, seemed in motion. This tour, I think, will be a lean tour. Not a party or celebration where the face puffs up bright and pink and I get happy. 

A new sense of purpose has arisen from the ashes of the Tahoe. The winebago stands ready for the test. At the helm of the RV I'm a grizzled veteran, a trucker with a stash of porn and methamphetamines beating the road down into its grave like a dirty animal. I want to tip my hat to the truckers at gas stops; pick up a conversation like old friends. When some little toyota cuts you off and the wind is howling and almost tips your rig over, you understand why truckers are so goddamned angry all the time. Maybe it's the feeling of riding over everybody and controlling a machine of such bulk that instills such a deep disgust for lesser motor pedestrians. But Camrys and Tundras come across as persistent automatons. They are bent on disturbing the path of the real motor-vehicle, the RV. And that makes me angry and gets my temperature up.

The outing is short one; we've been prudent with scheduling. Nonetheless, the material voyage is a vast one, through miles of empty and full places. But we don't mind, because we're the best band in the world. If you like our music, thank you. If you don't, then fuck you. 

The Frontier Brothers on Fox Good Day Austin

The Frontier Brothers Perform Jump Blues For Fox Good Day Austin


- B

Got a new keyboard.

Old Letter

I found this the other day. I wrote this in 2006, clinically depressed and hating Austin. It's funny. I forgot about the apes.





Jon,


I'm going insane, writer style. Short summary: Outcast here. No friends. Hate everyone and everything. I need your help. I want to write a novel so badly that...(reference first sentence). Poetry is still coming, but I've developed a style that is getting a little stale and hard to work with ( can't stress enough, I'm still going with it) The problem with prose is its lack of concentration. I want to express things directly; it's hard to indulge every expressive whim in a novel.

It's funny that your diagnosis of UT played out to be the exact opposite of reality. Right now, there are no distractions. No parties. Nothing to disturb me. Besides, of course, my fat fuck roommate who plays videogames and watches football all day and generally plays the part of making me a dumber human-being. I had a dream the other night. I was walking behind a small country home and in the brown field behind it and over the hills behind the field, a giant rank and file of apes were plodding along in single file: a big block of them, row upon row of these apes parallel to each other. They all seemed to notice me at once. They turned to their right and began walking straight for me. Sinister-like.

The dream dips into absurdity when I jump into my mother's old minivan and run them down. Dead to the last dirty ape! I've conjectured that these apes are really my perception of the people around me. Therefore, you can understand what kind of dire social situation I'm in.

About the novel, I've grudgingly accepted the necessity of a story outline, and maybe even character situations. Please send me some tips about getting started. I figured you already spent so much time with me, it would be foolish to abandon your investment at this point. Anyway, hope things are going great at CD. Kelly says she really likes the imaginative writing class. I heard you used one of my poems in class. Always flattering.


-Marshall

Girl Buys AK-47, Other relevant stories

Last night we rented The Neverending Story. It was the first time I'd seen it. I avoided it in the past because for some reason I thought the main character was Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I refuse to watch him on screen. 

But the movie was beautiful and I almost cried during the part, 

Bastian: How many wishes do I get?

Empress Moonchild: As many as you want, and the more wishes you make, the more magnificent Fantasia will become. 

For some reason I choked up a bit there. You really have to see it on screen. I love books or movies that go straight to the imagination sentiment. Because it really is true. It's one of the few reasons to keep living. As for the crying, I experienced the same thing at the end of Last of the Mohicans, a pretty crappy movie. If I get into an idea I really work myself up about it. Plus, my med schedule is spotty, and I get hyper-emotional if I don't take them on time. 

A few days ago I visited a local gun show in Fort Worth. I taking a look at this gun behind the counter when I noticed two short, fat mexican girls inspecting an AK-47. They thought I was employee and they asked, "Sir, would this be considered a pistol grip." I felt cool for a second, but had to reveal that I was just a random guy. Anyway, the real owner told the two girls that the rifle (which definitely had a pistol grip) was meant to be shouldered, meaning they could purchase the firearm as long as they were eighteen. I watched as the sale was finalized. The girls didn't seem well acquainted with the weapon; they barely touched it, held it at a distance like some alien specimen. Five minutes later they were walking away with it, out the doors and into the parking lot.

Now I know a lot of people would find this disturbing. It's really not. A civilian Ak-47 is really just a semi-automatic rifle. However, a few years ago a republican legislature halted the ban on over-sized magazines and banana magazines. These hold a shit-load of ammunition and make even crappy gun show Ak's deadly weapons. I've thought about it. Maybe she just wanted a cool gun. Maybe she was buying it for her criminal boyfriend. Who knows. I don't care. If she attacked me, I'd shoot first.

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

Tour - Part 3 - Marshall Galactic

The space parties came and went blindingly. The beer, copious and clean. The women, befuddling. It goes this way. The air is hot in these places and the guitars are loud. My gibson has been showered with coors light two nights in a row. Afterwards, for a few minutes maybe, I was indignant. But looking into the sweet drunk faces of men and women I came to love and forgive them. Space is dangerous. But these people were soft. And they came for our music. 

The tour is incredible. I feel like a king and a hero everywhere. It's one thing to be in a band. Another thing to be in a touring band. To think of myself and brett and travis as the last guard of a dying breed makes the itchy crotches, hunger, hangovers, long drives, equipment malfunctions, and all of the combined torturous shit -- seem to be truly divine acts. Still, other bands have worked harder and longer. Support them. 

We've been through slums in baltimore. Everywhere. It's a damn crusade. A crusade! crusade! All joyous and full of celebration. 

The Deli across the street, here around 49th street in Manhattan, is delicious. Just like I've done in the past - remind myself, when breathing cool and clean air through clear nostrils, to appreciate that sensation so that someday when the cold moves through again and light hurts and the nose is stuffed tightly, I will know that I never took the simple act of breathing for granted. Just like I've done with similar things, I savor those peppered turkey sandwiches. Love em good and long like the last night with a special woman. 

Now tonight I met a woman. Good and right like clean soil. I did not kiss her. Many times there is no need. The seat of the cab was comfortable. Then I called my friend Alyssa and told her I missed her. Sparks and bowling await in Austin. And truth be told that's all that good friends need. 

Philly, philly. Parking was difficult. We had to wake in shifts starting at 8 in the morning to refill the coins for two meters. I drew the straw for the 8' o clock shift. Strange, because I was absolutely fucking sure that was the right straw to pick. I ended up taking all three shifts in the morning. Only because I enjoyed it. Even that had a sense of purpose, part of the crusade. 

The Fire is now my favorite venue. Hell, they let you sleep above the place in their apartment and a faint smell of bud lingers on the floorboards, walls, and even around the sink. I found a frozen piece of pizza in the fridge. Brett advised me not to partake. Not because it might have been someone else's leftovers (the morsel was definitely forgotten for good), but because of the potential health hazards. I deliberated for about twenty seconds because I value his opinion and he's really good at keyboards. But, on the other hand, Brett seems to think that anything over a week old, no matter what the product, is probably no good. I decided to skip prudence and zapped the hell out of that piece of pie. It was delicious. 

Some side-effects followed, however, into the next couple of days. I thought about calling my doctor. Then I realized I don't have one. I also realized I have no personal medical insurance and all the bands prized possessions would be stored overnight in a dilapidated trailer. This life is a shaky one. Funny as hell. Rich as gold.

A Weekend of Space Parties

This was the big weekend- Boston and New York Space Parties.
Earthlings, let me tell you:
These shows were PHENOMENAL.
Michael the Robot and Skiptronica provided the hip spaces for our parties to go down. And our parties were PACKED. I'm going to try to get some video up from New York Space Party asap. These parties were the real testing grounds for our new DIY show equiptment. We bought some JBL's, a 12 channel xynx mixer, a compressor, and a power-amp right before the tour. Marshall has become quite the sound guy and, thanks to his efforts, we absolutely screamed in both tiny rooms.
The coolest part?
Everyone knew the lyrics! We're a young band working our asses off. It's beyond rewarding when you travel the country and find that your songs are sticking in people's heads. A room full of silly drunk girls screaming "I'll Take It For Love!"
Priceless.

- B

The Joys of Self-Googling

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON CHERSUUU ATTACKS - CHERSUU.BLOGSPOT.COM

Fanfuckingtastic party last night. O_O
Space Party for school of theatre (thank god i have friends in theatre right, those bitches are CLIQUEY)
and this band the frontier brothers played, and they had a bunch of hip hop/rap (which was much better when I was drunk)
YES SO BASICALLY IT WAS AMAZING. and we dressed up and i wore the shiny tights,a nd shiny booty shorts, and a funny tanktop and red boots. and when we were walking to the party this guy in a minivan (GIAMV) was like
GIAMV: HEY GIRLS WHERE'S THE PARTY?
Us: The moon!!! ::laughter::
GIAMV's friend: Hey, come with us baby!
Us: ::LAUGHTER:: No.
GIAMV: COME ON BABY. YEAH BLAHBLAHBLHA STUPID.
Lea: You're driving a minivan.
Me (in my head, and in hindsight) : Where does he expect this to go? Like his poetry will convince me to abandon a party in favor of his losermobile?

Baltimore.

According to Wikipedia, Baltimore has the second highest rate of homicides in the United States. There is a roughly 15% chance that you will be vanquished each time you set foot in Baltimore. Luckily, the Sidebar is a hearty bar and they're on our side. The side of good? Perhaps just the side of space. Heres to not getting involved in a Frontier Brothers gang war.

We play all sorts of places. In other words, we're not snobs. Posh clubs, frat parties, punky house parties, and dive bars- whatever. The Sidebar is a REAL dive- the type of crusty old rock club where diseases are born (and dreams are made). I have a sneaking suspicion that these Baltimorians aren't prepared for our brand of space-pop.

We'll see.
I'll be back with a post-show report.

Hopefully..

Early review for Space Punk Starlet.

It's not even released yet and the reviews have started to pour in. Check out this bit from Austin Daze Magazine and the ever fabulous reviews editor, Daisy Riprock.

THE FRONTIER BROTHERS – Space Punk Starlet!

The Frontier Brothers are one of my favorite new bands, and their first full length CD did not disappoint.

Recorded with Stuart Sullivan (Okkervill River, Sublime, the Meat Puppets), Space Punk Starlet! has the characteristics of a group releasing their third or fourth album, as they have already crafted their own recognizable sound and feel. Combining honest to goodness fun with Bowie like musicality, the record goes from sounding big and happy to raw to downright luscious and beautiful. The added texture from the “Intergalactic Orchestra” is done tastefully and just not to say, “Hey man, we put a French horn on our album because we’re that cool.”

Their obvious enthusiasm is prevalent on the album, and the energy of their live shows comes through. I attended a recent show, shortly after their photo session with SPIN magazine, and the floor was shaking from the madness of the dancers. Quite a few people are becoming hip to this Austin trio, and my humble guess is many more will be after this release.

9.5 Daisy Stars

Daisy’s Favorite Lyric “I wish I could solve all the popular problems our day, so that you and I could waste away someplace nice”

Every time I wake up, I'm in North Carolina.

Maybe they should have called it "The Frontier Brothers big ole' Nort Carolina tour" because it seems like we've been here forever. Every morning I seem to wake up in North Carolina. Its beautiful, sure, but perhaps we should be moving on. For the sake of diversity, we played three distinct types of shows:

Durham - An official Duke sponsored gig at the campus grill marked by supportive students, and soggy tacos.

Winston-Salem - A Fraternity party at "Pig Pickins." The fraternity kept asking for Jessie's Girl. Sorry.

Spencer - An outdoor picnic at the Spencer Gazebo. Family fun.

The shows were, on the whole, quite successful. We just have to keep hitting this tour spots over and over again and we will build momentum. 

And as you know, "its all for the sake of momentum." Tomorrow we'll head out to Baltimore and then, the big weekend - New York and Boston.

Oh gosh, its going to be great. 

  

- B

Bowling on our night off

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Salsbury - The "Ball sack" of America - Marshall Galactic

A week into the tour, we arrived at a park in North Carolina to play a little outdoor gathering. But this isn't about the gig, it's about the time afterwards and where my insatiable need to bowl brought us in North Carolina.
We were drinking with our friend Andrew Joslin, with whom we were also staying with for the night, he and his mom. He had some friends over. We had discussed earlier the idea of bowling. One of his friends suppposedly managed some lanes in the Salsbury. Unfortunately, Andrew's good friend was opposed to the idea of leaving the camp fire for the musky scent of carpet and cigarrettes. Kurt said he would rather die than go bowling. It was an epic turnaround. Andrew's powers of persuasion over the period of twenty minutes saw Kurt agree. Now after intense discussion and planning, we needed a car. So I undertook the task of unhooking the trailer. That's how bad I wanted to bowl. It was safer to leave the trailer alone in a parking lot than take it, hitched and locked and all, to Woodleaf Lanes.
Woodleaf was the scariest bowling alley I have ever been to. And normally, fear and bowling have no common property on this earth. Bowling is a peaceful sport, a respectful sport. But not so in Salsbury. Two homicides had taken place in the bathroom since the place opened. Beatings were common.
But fuck it, you gotta bowl. When we entered Brett and I and the rest of our party (nearly seven) were scoped hard by the locals. The bathroom floor was wet and I looked over my shoulder when I pissed. Still, I came out with some decent scores for a beginner, 156 and the like. After the good American sporting, we headed out for some american grub. At Waffle House we ran into a group of thugs who had attacked Andrew in high school. That was eight years ago, but they recognized him. Still, we utilized the jukebox. A family sat behind us chain-smoking beside their new-born baby. Salsbury. Ballsack of America.

Winston Salem Space Party. . . Coming Soon

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Space breakfast 1

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One Must Practice

Arcade game post show

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