Ahh publicity stunts. This one kind of comes as a shocker, considering these guys are pretty much on the top of their commercial gain to begin with.

Our favorite trend setters Fall Out Boy are making an attempt to break the most worthless world record ever; playing a show in all 7 continents in a span of under 9 months. The big question on everyone’s mind is, of course, how well the Antarctica show is going to do. Do polar bears rock swooped bangs and scene jeans? I digress…

From their website:

Fall Out Boy To Play Antarctica/March 23 Venue Change

Fall Out Boy will be attempting to set a Guinness World Record for the first band to play all seven continents in a time frame under nine months. The band kicked off the record in Johannesburg, South Africa late last summer, then toured through Europe, Asia, Australia and North America last fall. The South American show will take place in Santiago Chile on March 23, followed up by King George Island in Antarctica on March 25, where they hope to receive the Guinness World Record. In addition to setting a world record, the band will be working closely with Greenpeace for the concert in Antarctica to raise awareness about global warming.

Famous

“Gee shucks, there sure is a lot of fam-ous people here in Austin for south by southwest!!!”

I know, I know, if you are reading this and you live in certain parts of the US (i.e. New York and Los Angeles) you’re probably thinking “yeah, yeah, yeah…” but when you live out in the cuts in a glorified truck stop / state school, you don’t often get to see in person the people you see on television, in movies or on album covers. For us yokels it’s usually kind of a thrill. A cheap thrill, but a thrill nonetheless.

But certainly there exists a healthy contingent of people who are decidedly not impressed, and seeing celebrities up and close is no big deal. I feel kinda caught in the middle. Most famous people, I’ve found, are very nice and appreciative of your attention (as long as you don’t push it and remain kinda mellow. No kissing Mike Patton on the hand or anything…), but there’s always the chance that someone you admire is in a bad mood and is being a total dick to you, Mr. Lou “jerkfacepoopyhead” Reed. And that can honestly ruin your love of their art a little.

But still, for the people who look down on the starstruck and make fun of gawkers, they can right fuck off. There is nothing wrong with showing gratitude to someone for them making art that you have enjoyed, or has influenced and inpired your life. That’s called respect. For some of them, that’s what keeps them going.

For me, I still get a little bit excited when I run into someone I know, famous or not. But honestly, it’s better running into someone you do know, especially when it’s unexpected. Like when I ran into Seattle’s Iceage Cobra on the street corner. On Friday, following my Joseph Arthur interview, I stopped for one second to get my bearings and remember where I was supposed to be going, and whamo! I run into two totally rad dudes, who lead me to another rad dude. I’d rather run into a bunch of excellent friends than Elijah Wood, Michael Stipe (who is apparently gay SURPRISE SURPRISE WOW I NEVER SAW THAT COMING…fucking christ, duh…) or Lou Reed any day of the week. Cheers! Oi! Oi!

Dude lived the dream, helping ABBA scan over 370 million records worldwide, but died in a pretty fucked up way:

A neighbor found the body of 62-year-old Ola Brunkert on Sunday evening at his house in a coastal area outside the eastern town of Arta, a Civil Guard spokesman told The Associated Press on condition of anonymity.He said an autopsy was carried out and confirmed initial investigations. “It was an accident,” he said.

The spokesman said Brunkert hit his head against a glass door in his dining room, shattering the glass and cutting himself in the neck. He managed to wrap a towel around his neck and left the house to seek help, but collapsed in the garden.

Fuck it.

Things are getting hectic in Tibet (not that they haven’t been for a long time). I just received this email from the Beastie Boys about the escalating situation:

17 March 2008

hey all,

hope you don’t mind me hitting you on the b-boys blast line, but things are really getting intense in tibet now. it’s coming to a head. i just hope that all of the suffering that the tibetan protesters are enduring leads to some positive change, hence this letter. we can push our governments to lean on the chinese government to stop the cultural genocide.

attached below is a news bulletin that i got this morning. if you are a US citizen please take the time to write to your local congress representative and ask them to get to work. if you are a citizen of another country, you can ask your government reps…

it would be sad if what is happening in tibet now had no constructive result.

thanks,
adam

Urgent Action: Tell your Congressional Representative to Support Tibet

In horrific late breaking news, Radio Free Asia is now reporting that up to 80 or more Tibetans have been killed in today’s violent clashes with Chinese military. Chinese authorities responded with brute force today to ongoing protests in Lhasa and across Tibet. Supported by tanks, thousands of armed troops have sealed off the three major monasteries where nonviolent protests were initiated on Monday. Chinese police have fired live ammunition into crowds of unarmed Tibetans and unconfirmed reports from eye-witnesses in Lhasa say that 26 Tibetans were gunned down outside Drapchi prison. While the international public and media have been appropriately horrified by China’s clampdown, the U.S. has made only very weak statements. White House Spokesman Tony Fratto said, “We believe Beijing needs to respect Tibetan culture. They need to respect multi-ethnicity in their society. We regret the tensions between ethnic groups and Beijing.”

Please contact your Congressional Representatives now and urge them to support Tibet by calling on the U.S Government to strongly condemn China’s actions.

FIND OUT WHO YOUR LOCAL MEMBER OF CONGRESS IS

TAKE ACTION
NY Times piece

I was pretty clear on what I was about to write until I got back on the dock and realized that my 24 hour $11 internet connection had prematurley expired, so we are free balling this one.

First and foremost, however, BALLS. Bollocks, if you will.

Sadly, Jill (whom I mentioned from a previous post) never made it to the dock for our tentative cigarette/wine date. The pleasant news, however, is that following Saturday night’s Spin/American Spirit SXSW after party featuring my new band I’m in, Soundtrack of Our Lives (I hope to get more into that bit later…), I ran into Karen (formerly indifferent) and Al (formerly cunt-y) outside the venue. Karen was far more warm, and Al was absolutely chagrin about his behaviour the night prior (”U” intentional, they’re from the UK, after all). Al was sweet, sheepish and apologetic for his caustic discourse. I gave him a bit more good-natured ribbing and once Jill appeared from the closing venue, we all walked back to the hotel together, quickly figuring out we were staying on the same floor. I was drunk….very drunk….and decidedly less charming than the previous night. Still, Jill asked if I was married, so I took that optimistically as a good sign. We made tentative plans to repeat Friday’s late-nite dock circle.

I feel a bit sick at the moment. My Synthesis compatriots have left me by myself on the dock hours ago, a slave to insomnia and the hopes of a brief snogging encounter with one leggy British heart-thief. Regardless, I still just had a rather cathartic ending to my SXSW, 2008. No, not the bats underneath the bridge (though they were pretty spectacular), but the crashing destruction of a former life.

Way back when, I used to own and operate a car windshield repair service, GlassMan out of Sacramento, CA. I fixed rock chips and installed new windows on cars and trucks. As I lay on the hammock behind the 8.5 Weeks Hotel (formerly the 4 Seasons Hotel…we really trashed the joint and brought the place to an all new low) I watched on as a dozen men manipulated a 15′ x 12′ glass window to its new home. As I chatted with one of the glass workers operating away from the action, I heard the thunderous and sadly familiar roar of hundreds of pounds of glass shattering to the concrete. Though unfortunate for the glass company, that Shiva-approved demolition of clear, perfect glass proved to be the perfect capstone to the most prolific (personally) SXSW I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. And that shattering destruction wasn’t even caused by me, though I had momentarily considered launching my mostly empty bottle of Japanese plum wine through its flawless double-planed beauty.

Victory or Death my friends, victory or death. I am sure I had more to talk about, but the post is long and mainly without original pictures…fucking broken camera.

Oh, and for the record, Shannon at Touche bar on 6th street is the radest provider of libations I’ve ever met. Sorry Duffy’s, you’ve been served. /pun

OOOh, I just saw a bat………. And I just puked. First time during sxsw08. Glad Jill didn’t make it after all to see me in this state. Drunkorexia!!!!!!!!!!!!1!111!!!!danieltaylor!!!111!!!

For the second year in a row, Playboy and C3 put on a late night party at SXSW, and for the second year in a row, I was lucky enough to attend.

While last year, the party was housed in a giant warehouse-type thing in the middle of nowhere, this year’s event was right downtown at a giant warehouse-type thing at the corner of 3rd and San Jacinto. The line circled the block and even the media entrance was swarmed by 11 PM.

Inside, there seemed to be a new adventure tucked into every corner: free barbecue; free drinks; a room full of Port-A-Potties that also housed a Rock Band hooked up to a television the the back of a car and a well lit area with a backdrop for crucial drunken photo seshes. The people were fascinating to watch:

• There was a surly red-headed bartender. She admonished people for taking too long to order their drinks; allowed her “regulars” to skip in head of the line; and when a particularly douche-y party goer knocked over her stack of plastic cups, she fixed him with a steely glare and lectured, “Really dude? Really?” Yeah, dude. Really? One day I’m going to marry that girl.
• There was a couple–or just two like souls who found each other in an instance of pure serendipity–who boogied toward the back entrance. He was dressed in a low-cut, V-neck, red velour with white racing stripes. His humongous, curly hair was accented by a white headband, and his face wore one of the sweeter ironic moustaches I’ve seen during the trip. She was wearing skin-tight striped hot pants that could barely contain her luscious booty. Their choreography consisted of moves that my have been stolen from the Torrance Community Dance Group, and they were pretty darn fabulous.
• And I think I saw Elijah Wood.

There were bands, too. The Heavy played some songs, and they were kind of whatever. MGMT gave me a headache, but not in an awesome High on Fire sort of way. Justice started off at a throbbing cacophony and just started cranking shit louder and louder until brains started frying. That’s when shit really started going off. Moby played a DJ set, but I missed it (I’m kind of bummed about it now since we’re totally bros now), and by the time I got back (around 3:45 AM), the venue (slowly clearing out) was pumped so thick full of smoke (and I was so pumped thick full of whiskey) that my eyes started tearing. Cutting through the haze was difficult, but there were a ton of people on stage, how many, and who was actually DJing, I couldn’t tell. It looked like a lot, and they were back lit, which made it kind of creepy.

Luckily, they were still serving whiskey, and back by the photo sesh area, a woman with sweet guns (in addition to other things) interviewed Spencer. Swag included: a wristband, guitar pick, free magazine and a couple other things I’m not allowed to mention because they may be incriminating. Good time had? Oh yeah.