Search Episodes (All About Education)

Sacred Trust - Obama for America 2012 Television Ad

Added 05/23/12
0 Views

A 'Crazy' Relationship: MythBusters Savage and Hyneman

Added 05/21/12
0 Views

Making on a Budget: Adam Savage Goes Dumpster Diving

Added 05/21/12
0 Views

Adam Savage's Journey: From Making to 'MythBusters'

Added 05/21/12
0 Views

It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 1 - The New Los Angeles

Added 05/17/12
2 Views

It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 1 - The New Los Angeles

[LESS INFO] 2 VIEWS | ADDED 22:48:30 05/17/12
Part 1 of It's Casual performing live at Mevio Studios in San Francisco For the entire performance CLICK HERE WEBSITE FACEBOOK TWITTER MYSPACE YOUTUBE BIO: Like most Angelenos, Eddie Solis is pissed about the traffic on the 101. Unlike most Angelenos, Eddie Solis writes songs about being pissed about the traffic on the 101. Solis’ band, an impossibly loud punk/hardcore duo called It’s Casual, addresses transit issues with an urgency hitherto unmatched in the realm of urban planning. Imagine Henry Rollins at a City Council Transportation Committee meeting, all neck veins and municipal outrage, and you get the picture. Onstage, Solis’ eyes bulge amid a shock of curly hair, his throat emitting the collective war cry of a million frustrated commuters: “Los Angeles! There’s too many people! I want them to go away!” His isn’t the Los Angeles of Priuses, Pilates and brunch, but the L.A. of undocumented immigrants, hardcore music and bus-stop delays. After nearly 10 years of ceaseless yelling, It’s Casual have a busy year ahead of them, what with slots on Fu Manchu’s North American tour, a forthcoming sequel to their ’08 ode to the city, The New Los Angeles, and, maybe, a European tour. “We’ve been working at it and believing in this kind of music — which I call L.A. hardcore or L.A. skate rock — every day,” says Solis. His gaze is unflinching, and his voice is smog-raspened. He calls It’s Casual “L.A.’s only two-piece hardcore band” and is serious about his art. “I don’t take it lightly. It all comes from deep within.” It’s Casual formed in 2001, the name inspired by a line in Cameron Crowe’s obscure follow-up to Fast Times at Ridgemont High, called The Wild Life. In it, a character played by the late Christopher Penn replies with “It’s casual” every time he is asked a question. Solis currently has a similar relationship with drummers — he’s between them. As far as a third member? “We kept trying to find a bassist, and they kept flaking,” Solis says. The band’s sonic boom is amazing, considering there are only two of them. The secret to their sound is a unique pedal and mic’ing system. Solis’ guitar is actually wired to two amps for added punch. The results are so thunderous that fellow musicians have been known to come early to shows to watch him set up. (“There is a special formula with different pedals,” he explains of his sound. He’s trying to register it as intellectual property.) It’s Casual’s first record, The New Los Angeles, came out in fall 2007, and was inspired by Solis’ commute from Pico Rivera to Hollywood. Tracks include “EZ Pass,” about the public transit ticket, and “The Red Line” (the handy subway that connects North Hollywood to Union Station). Most of It’s Casual’s songs last around two minutes and contain no more than three or four lyrics, hammering home their message with a directness most public servants and council officials have yet to master. Even Councilman Bill Rosendahl, chair of Los Angeles’ Transportation Committee, is impressed. “Music is a good way to get transportation messages across,” he says during a recent phone call, adding that he hoped It’s Casual were aware that plans for the Purple Line are afoot. “They should write a song about the Purple Line!” he enthuses, suggesting possible lyrics, singing: “The Purple Line/In my lifetime!” It’s not all subways and off-ramps. Solis ventures into other matters. “Cholas Are Loyal,” for example, is all about the advantages of dating Latinas. And It’s Casual’s next album, The New Los Angeles II: Less Violence, More Violins, is inspired primarily by the California education budget deficit. “Do you think It’s Casual will translate in Europe?” he wonders, aware of his band’s distinctly local messages. But wherever there is a rush hour, there are people who identify with Eddie Solis. Born and raised in East Los Angeles County, Solis is “the result of basically growing up around a gang-infested area with lots of negativity.” He turned to music and skateboarding as an escape, and was 15 when he started his first band — a Ramones cover group called Endless Vacation, which played shows in his parents’ living room. He got “the heaviness” from his father, who used to carry his young son around the house on his shoulders while listening to Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and the Who. “They weren’t handing me money to buy me instruments,” Solis says, “but they were, like, ‘Hey, listen, we know you wanna do this, so here’s our backyard and here’s our living room.’ Which is pretty punk.” His parents let him build a halfpipe in the back, and Solis would “put Slayer on the radio superloud” and learn skateboarding tricks with his friends. “That would be Friday night, and then Saturday we would have a show on the ramp and take donations to keep it refurbished.” Skate videos informed his taste in music — the teenage Solis would grab a pen and paper and pause the VCR to jot down names of bands like Black Flag, Dinosaur Junior, Hüsker Dü, “… all the good stuff on SST.” Fast-forward to 1993, when Solis started interning at metal record label Century Media, which gave him a taste of hardcore commuting. Taking the bus from Pico Rivera to the label’s headquarters in Santa Monica every day was a formative experience, but he only lasted about a month (“Well, you know, it was a long trek”). That job led to a position at Priority Records, down the street in the CNN building. That’s where he learned how to sell records, a job he still does today as sales manager at doom-metal label Southern Lord. Solis also worked as a publicist for Black Flag at SST, under the label’s founder, Black Flag guitarist Greg Ginn. Basically it was the gig of Solis’ 15-year-old dreams. “I took the job because I thought it would be great to work for an icon, a legend,” he says. It was there that he learned the philosophy of DIY. Three years ago, while strolling down the road near the Southern Lord offices in East Hollywood, Solis came upon the Relax Bar, a 150-person capacity Thai karaoke bar with an orange awning. Solis has single-handedly transformed it into a hub for L.A.’s heavy music scene. He’s booked more than 400 thrash, doom, noise and punk bands there in the last three years. “I was going to lunch, walking past the Relax Bar and the door was open. I saw a stage and it had this dark, musty kind of vibe. Kind of grim in terms of the atmosphere but real positive in terms of what you could do there. I thought, if I could get these owners on the same page and book any format — whether it’s satanic black metal or really avant-garde stuff — that would be great.” The Relax Bar’s owners, despite not being fluent in English, supported Solis’ vision, prompting the most unlikely cultural union since Weezer recruited Kenny G. “They had a guy translating as I tried to describe the kinds of bands I wanted to book, using metal as my main focus. I said ‘Ozzfest, no — not those kinds of bands. Stuff that’s a little more creative, full of more soul, and more organic.” He played them some It’s Casual and High on Fire and a selection of punk and grindcore CDs, and they seemed to like it. Turns out the ballad-loving Thai karaoke bar owners, like Solis, possessed an unyielding passion for DIY. “They know how much work it is to bring your gear out, record your own stuff and self-release records,” says Solis. “They are all musicians themselves.” It’s been a happy union ever since, with some of the gnarliest underground bands in L.A., from Municipal Waste to Chingalera, rocking the Relax Bar’s tiny stage amid the perpetual aroma of green curry and ginger — and, when the door pops open, the faint smell of bus exhaust.

It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 2 - The Red Line

Added 05/17/12
0 Views

It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 2 - The Red Line

[LESS INFO] 0 VIEWS | ADDED 22:39:27 05/17/12
Part 2 of It's Casual performing live at Mevio Studios in San Francisco For the entire performance CLICK HERE WEBSITE FACEBOOK TWITTER MYSPACE YOUTUBE BIO: Like most Angelenos, Eddie Solis is pissed about the traffic on the 101. Unlike most Angelenos, Eddie Solis writes songs about being pissed about the traffic on the 101. Solis’ band, an impossibly loud punk/hardcore duo called It’s Casual, addresses transit issues with an urgency hitherto unmatched in the realm of urban planning. Imagine Henry Rollins at a City Council Transportation Committee meeting, all neck veins and municipal outrage, and you get the picture. Onstage, Solis’ eyes bulge amid a shock of curly hair, his throat emitting the collective war cry of a million frustrated commuters: “Los Angeles! There’s too many people! I want them to go away!” His isn’t the Los Angeles of Priuses, Pilates and brunch, but the L.A. of undocumented immigrants, hardcore music and bus-stop delays. After nearly 10 years of ceaseless yelling, It’s Casual have a busy year ahead of them, what with slots on Fu Manchu’s North American tour, a forthcoming sequel to their ’08 ode to the city, The New Los Angeles, and, maybe, a European tour. “We’ve been working at it and believing in this kind of music — which I call L.A. hardcore or L.A. skate rock — every day,” says Solis. His gaze is unflinching, and his voice is smog-raspened. He calls It’s Casual “L.A.’s only two-piece hardcore band” and is serious about his art. “I don’t take it lightly. It all comes from deep within.” It’s Casual formed in 2001, the name inspired by a line in Cameron Crowe’s obscure follow-up to Fast Times at Ridgemont High, called The Wild Life. In it, a character played by the late Christopher Penn replies with “It’s casual” every time he is asked a question. Solis currently has a similar relationship with drummers — he’s between them. As far as a third member? “We kept trying to find a bassist, and they kept flaking,” Solis says. The band’s sonic boom is amazing, considering there are only two of them. The secret to their sound is a unique pedal and mic’ing system. Solis’ guitar is actually wired to two amps for added punch. The results are so thunderous that fellow musicians have been known to come early to shows to watch him set up. (“There is a special formula with different pedals,” he explains of his sound. He’s trying to register it as intellectual property.) It’s Casual’s first record, The New Los Angeles, came out in fall 2007, and was inspired by Solis’ commute from Pico Rivera to Hollywood. Tracks include “EZ Pass,” about the public transit ticket, and “The Red Line” (the handy subway that connects North Hollywood to Union Station). Most of It’s Casual’s songs last around two minutes and contain no more than three or four lyrics, hammering home their message with a directness most public servants and council officials have yet to master. Even Councilman Bill Rosendahl, chair of Los Angeles’ Transportation Committee, is impressed. “Music is a good way to get transportation messages across,” he says during a recent phone call, adding that he hoped It’s Casual were aware that plans for the Purple Line are afoot. “They should write a song about the Purple Line!” he enthuses, suggesting possible lyrics, singing: “The Purple Line/In my lifetime!” It’s not all subways and off-ramps. Solis ventures into other matters. “Cholas Are Loyal,” for example, is all about the advantages of dating Latinas. And It’s Casual’s next album, The New Los Angeles II: Less Violence, More Violins, is inspired primarily by the California education budget deficit. “Do you think It’s Casual will translate in Europe?” he wonders, aware of his band’s distinctly local messages. But wherever there is a rush hour, there are people who identify with Eddie Solis. Born and raised in East Los Angeles County, Solis is “the result of basically growing up around a gang-infested area with lots of negativity.” He turned to music and skateboarding as an escape, and was 15 when he started his first band — a Ramones cover group called Endless Vacation, which played shows in his parents’ living room. He got “the heaviness” from his father, who used to carry his young son around the house on his shoulders while listening to Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and the Who. “They weren’t handing me money to buy me instruments,” Solis says, “but they were, like, ‘Hey, listen, we know you wanna do this, so here’s our backyard and here’s our living room.’ Which is pretty punk.” His parents let him build a halfpipe in the back, and Solis would “put Slayer on the radio superloud” and learn skateboarding tricks with his friends. “That would be Friday night, and then Saturday we would have a show on the ramp and take donations to keep it refurbished.” Skate videos informed his taste in music — the teenage Solis would grab a pen and paper and pause the VCR to jot down names of bands like Black Flag, Dinosaur Junior, Hüsker Dü, “… all the good stuff on SST.” Fast-forward to 1993, when Solis started interning at metal record label Century Media, which gave him a taste of hardcore commuting. Taking the bus from Pico Rivera to the label’s headquarters in Santa Monica every day was a formative experience, but he only lasted about a month (“Well, you know, it was a long trek”). That job led to a position at Priority Records, down the street in the CNN building. That’s where he learned how to sell records, a job he still does today as sales manager at doom-metal label Southern Lord. Solis also worked as a publicist for Black Flag at SST, under the label’s founder, Black Flag guitarist Greg Ginn. Basically it was the gig of Solis’ 15-year-old dreams. “I took the job because I thought it would be great to work for an icon, a legend,” he says. It was there that he learned the philosophy of DIY. Three years ago, while strolling down the road near the Southern Lord offices in East Hollywood, Solis came upon the Relax Bar, a 150-person capacity Thai karaoke bar with an orange awning. Solis has single-handedly transformed it into a hub for L.A.’s heavy music scene. He’s booked more than 400 thrash, doom, noise and punk bands there in the last three years. “I was going to lunch, walking past the Relax Bar and the door was open. I saw a stage and it had this dark, musty kind of vibe. Kind of grim in terms of the atmosphere but real positive in terms of what you could do there. I thought, if I could get these owners on the same page and book any format — whether it’s satanic black metal or really avant-garde stuff — that would be great.” The Relax Bar’s owners, despite not being fluent in English, supported Solis’ vision, prompting the most unlikely cultural union since Weezer recruited Kenny G. “They had a guy translating as I tried to describe the kinds of bands I wanted to book, using metal as my main focus. I said ‘Ozzfest, no — not those kinds of bands. Stuff that’s a little more creative, full of more soul, and more organic.” He played them some It’s Casual and High on Fire and a selection of punk and grindcore CDs, and they seemed to like it. Turns out the ballad-loving Thai karaoke bar owners, like Solis, possessed an unyielding passion for DIY. “They know how much work it is to bring your gear out, record your own stuff and self-release records,” says Solis. “They are all musicians themselves.” It’s been a happy union ever since, with some of the gnarliest underground bands in L.A., from Municipal Waste to Chingalera, rocking the Relax Bar’s tiny stage amid the perpetual aroma of green curry and ginger — and, when the door pops open, the faint smell of bus exhaust.

It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 3 - EZ Pass

Added 05/17/12
0 Views

It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 3 - EZ Pass

[LESS INFO] 0 VIEWS | ADDED 22:21:27 05/17/12
Part 3 of It's Casual performing live at Mevio Studios in San Francisco For the entire performance CLICK HERE WEBSITE FACEBOOK TWITTER MYSPACE YOUTUBE BIO: Like most Angelenos, Eddie Solis is pissed about the traffic on the 101. Unlike most Angelenos, Eddie Solis writes songs about being pissed about the traffic on the 101. Solis’ band, an impossibly loud punk/hardcore duo called It’s Casual, addresses transit issues with an urgency hitherto unmatched in the realm of urban planning. Imagine Henry Rollins at a City Council Transportation Committee meeting, all neck veins and municipal outrage, and you get the picture. Onstage, Solis’ eyes bulge amid a shock of curly hair, his throat emitting the collective war cry of a million frustrated commuters: “Los Angeles! There’s too many people! I want them to go away!” His isn’t the Los Angeles of Priuses, Pilates and brunch, but the L.A. of undocumented immigrants, hardcore music and bus-stop delays. After nearly 10 years of ceaseless yelling, It’s Casual have a busy year ahead of them, what with slots on Fu Manchu’s North American tour, a forthcoming sequel to their ’08 ode to the city, The New Los Angeles, and, maybe, a European tour. “We’ve been working at it and believing in this kind of music — which I call L.A. hardcore or L.A. skate rock — every day,” says Solis. His gaze is unflinching, and his voice is smog-raspened. He calls It’s Casual “L.A.’s only two-piece hardcore band” and is serious about his art. “I don’t take it lightly. It all comes from deep within.” It’s Casual formed in 2001, the name inspired by a line in Cameron Crowe’s obscure follow-up to Fast Times at Ridgemont High, called The Wild Life. In it, a character played by the late Christopher Penn replies with “It’s casual” every time he is asked a question. Solis currently has a similar relationship with drummers — he’s between them. As far as a third member? “We kept trying to find a bassist, and they kept flaking,” Solis says. The band’s sonic boom is amazing, considering there are only two of them. The secret to their sound is a unique pedal and mic’ing system. Solis’ guitar is actually wired to two amps for added punch. The results are so thunderous that fellow musicians have been known to come early to shows to watch him set up. (“There is a special formula with different pedals,” he explains of his sound. He’s trying to register it as intellectual property.) It’s Casual’s first record, The New Los Angeles, came out in fall 2007, and was inspired by Solis’ commute from Pico Rivera to Hollywood. Tracks include “EZ Pass,” about the public transit ticket, and “The Red Line” (the handy subway that connects North Hollywood to Union Station). Most of It’s Casual’s songs last around two minutes and contain no more than three or four lyrics, hammering home their message with a directness most public servants and council officials have yet to master. Even Councilman Bill Rosendahl, chair of Los Angeles’ Transportation Committee, is impressed. “Music is a good way to get transportation messages across,” he says during a recent phone call, adding that he hoped It’s Casual were aware that plans for the Purple Line are afoot. “They should write a song about the Purple Line!” he enthuses, suggesting possible lyrics, singing: “The Purple Line/In my lifetime!” It’s not all subways and off-ramps. Solis ventures into other matters. “Cholas Are Loyal,” for example, is all about the advantages of dating Latinas. And It’s Casual’s next album, The New Los Angeles II: Less Violence, More Violins, is inspired primarily by the California education budget deficit. “Do you think It’s Casual will translate in Europe?” he wonders, aware of his band’s distinctly local messages. But wherever there is a rush hour, there are people who identify with Eddie Solis. Born and raised in East Los Angeles County, Solis is “the result of basically growing up around a gang-infested area with lots of negativity.” He turned to music and skateboarding as an escape, and was 15 when he started his first band — a Ramones cover group called Endless Vacation, which played shows in his parents’ living room. He got “the heaviness” from his father, who used to carry his young son around the house on his shoulders while listening to Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and the Who. “They weren’t handing me money to buy me instruments,” Solis says, “but they were, like, ‘Hey, listen, we know you wanna do this, so here’s our backyard and here’s our living room.’ Which is pretty punk.” His parents let him build a halfpipe in the back, and Solis would “put Slayer on the radio superloud” and learn skateboarding tricks with his friends. “That would be Friday night, and then Saturday we would have a show on the ramp and take donations to keep it refurbished.” Skate videos informed his taste in music — the teenage Solis would grab a pen and paper and pause the VCR to jot down names of bands like Black Flag, Dinosaur Junior, Hüsker Dü, “… all the good stuff on SST.” Fast-forward to 1993, when Solis started interning at metal record label Century Media, which gave him a taste of hardcore commuting. Taking the bus from Pico Rivera to the label’s headquarters in Santa Monica every day was a formative experience, but he only lasted about a month (“Well, you know, it was a long trek”). That job led to a position at Priority Records, down the street in the CNN building. That’s where he learned how to sell records, a job he still does today as sales manager at doom-metal label Southern Lord. Solis also worked as a publicist for Black Flag at SST, under the label’s founder, Black Flag guitarist Greg Ginn. Basically it was the gig of Solis’ 15-year-old dreams. “I took the job because I thought it would be great to work for an icon, a legend,” he says. It was there that he learned the philosophy of DIY. Three years ago, while strolling down the road near the Southern Lord offices in East Hollywood, Solis came upon the Relax Bar, a 150-person capacity Thai karaoke bar with an orange awning. Solis has single-handedly transformed it into a hub for L.A.’s heavy music scene. He’s booked more than 400 thrash, doom, noise and punk bands there in the last three years. “I was going to lunch, walking past the Relax Bar and the door was open. I saw a stage and it had this dark, musty kind of vibe. Kind of grim in terms of the atmosphere but real positive in terms of what you could do there. I thought, if I could get these owners on the same page and book any format — whether it’s satanic black metal or really avant-garde stuff — that would be great.” The Relax Bar’s owners, despite not being fluent in English, supported Solis’ vision, prompting the most unlikely cultural union since Weezer recruited Kenny G. “They had a guy translating as I tried to describe the kinds of bands I wanted to book, using metal as my main focus. I said ‘Ozzfest, no — not those kinds of bands. Stuff that’s a little more creative, full of more soul, and more organic.” He played them some It’s Casual and High on Fire and a selection of punk and grindcore CDs, and they seemed to like it. Turns out the ballad-loving Thai karaoke bar owners, like Solis, possessed an unyielding passion for DIY. “They know how much work it is to bring your gear out, record your own stuff and self-release records,” says Solis. “They are all musicians themselves.” It’s been a happy union ever since, with some of the gnarliest underground bands in L.A., from Municipal Waste to Chingalera, rocking the Relax Bar’s tiny stage amid the perpetual aroma of green curry and ginger — and, when the door pops open, the faint smell of bus exhaust.

It's Casual - Live in Studio B

Added 05/17/12
0 Views

It's Casual - Live in Studio B

[LESS INFO] 0 VIEWS | ADDED 21:54:59 05/17/12
It's Casual performs live at Mevio Studios in San Francisco BIO: Like most Angelenos, Eddie Solis is pissed about the traffic on the 101. Unlike most Angelenos, Eddie Solis writes songs about being pissed about the traffic on the 101. Solis’ band, an impossibly loud punk/hardcore duo called It’s Casual, addresses transit issues with an urgency hitherto unmatched in the realm of urban planning. Imagine Henry Rollins at a City Council Transportation Committee meeting, all neck veins and municipal outrage, and you get the picture. Onstage, Solis’ eyes bulge amid a shock of curly hair, his throat emitting the collective war cry of a million frustrated commuters: “Los Angeles! There’s too many people! I want them to go away!” His isn’t the Los Angeles of Priuses, Pilates and brunch, but the L.A. of undocumented immigrants, hardcore music and bus-stop delays. After nearly 10 years of ceaseless yelling, It’s Casual have a busy year ahead of them, what with slots on Fu Manchu’s North American tour, a forthcoming sequel to their ’08 ode to the city, The New Los Angeles, and, maybe, a European tour. “We’ve been working at it and believing in this kind of music — which I call L.A. hardcore or L.A. skate rock — every day,” says Solis. His gaze is unflinching, and his voice is smog-raspened. He calls It’s Casual “L.A.’s only two-piece hardcore band” and is serious about his art. “I don’t take it lightly. It all comes from deep within.” It’s Casual formed in 2001, the name inspired by a line in Cameron Crowe’s obscure follow-up to Fast Times at Ridgemont High, called The Wild Life. In it, a character played by the late Christopher Penn replies with “It’s casual” every time he is asked a question. Solis currently has a similar relationship with drummers — he’s between them. As far as a third member? “We kept trying to find a bassist, and they kept flaking,” Solis says. The band’s sonic boom is amazing, considering there are only two of them. The secret to their sound is a unique pedal and mic’ing system. Solis’ guitar is actually wired to two amps for added punch. The results are so thunderous that fellow musicians have been known to come early to shows to watch him set up. (“There is a special formula with different pedals,” he explains of his sound. He’s trying to register it as intellectual property.) It’s Casual’s first record, The New Los Angeles, came out in fall 2007, and was inspired by Solis’ commute from Pico Rivera to Hollywood. Tracks include “EZ Pass,” about the public transit ticket, and “The Red Line” (the handy subway that connects North Hollywood to Union Station). Most of It’s Casual’s songs last around two minutes and contain no more than three or four lyrics, hammering home their message with a directness most public servants and council officials have yet to master. Even Councilman Bill Rosendahl, chair of Los Angeles’ Transportation Committee, is impressed. “Music is a good way to get transportation messages across,” he says during a recent phone call, adding that he hoped It’s Casual were aware that plans for the Purple Line are afoot. “They should write a song about the Purple Line!” he enthuses, suggesting possible lyrics, singing: “The Purple Line/In my lifetime!” It’s not all subways and off-ramps. Solis ventures into other matters. “Cholas Are Loyal,” for example, is all about the advantages of dating Latinas. And It’s Casual’s next album, The New Los Angeles II: Less Violence, More Violins, is inspired primarily by the California education budget deficit. “Do you think It’s Casual will translate in Europe?” he wonders, aware of his band’s distinctly local messages. But wherever there is a rush hour, there are people who identify with Eddie Solis. Born and raised in East Los Angeles County, Solis is “the result of basically growing up around a gang-infested area with lots of negativity.” He turned to music and skateboarding as an escape, and was 15 when he started his first band — a Ramones cover group called Endless Vacation, which played shows in his parents’ living room. He got “the heaviness” from his father, who used to carry his young son around the house on his shoulders while listening to Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and the Who. “They weren’t handing me money to buy me instruments,” Solis says, “but they were, like, ‘Hey, listen, we know you wanna do this, so here’s our backyard and here’s our living room.’ Which is pretty punk.” His parents let him build a halfpipe in the back, and Solis would “put Slayer on the radio superloud” and learn skateboarding tricks with his friends. “That would be Friday night, and then Saturday we would have a show on the ramp and take donations to keep it refurbished.” Skate videos informed his taste in music — the teenage Solis would grab a pen and paper and pause the VCR to jot down names of bands like Black Flag, Dinosaur Junior, Hüsker Dü, “… all the good stuff on SST.” Fast-forward to 1993, when Solis started interning at metal record label Century Media, which gave him a taste of hardcore commuting. Taking the bus from Pico Rivera to the label’s headquarters in Santa Monica every day was a formative experience, but he only lasted about a month (“Well, you know, it was a long trek”). That job led to a position at Priority Records, down the street in the CNN building. That’s where he learned how to sell records, a job he still does today as sales manager at doom-metal label Southern Lord. Solis also worked as a publicist for Black Flag at SST, under the label’s founder, Black Flag guitarist Greg Ginn. Basically it was the gig of Solis’ 15-year-old dreams. “I took the job because I thought it would be great to work for an icon, a legend,” he says. It was there that he learned the philosophy of DIY. Three years ago, while strolling down the road near the Southern Lord offices in East Hollywood, Solis came upon the Relax Bar, a 150-person capacity Thai karaoke bar with an orange awning. Solis has single-handedly transformed it into a hub for L.A.’s heavy music scene. He’s booked more than 400 thrash, doom, noise and punk bands there in the last three years. “I was going to lunch, walking past the Relax Bar and the door was open. I saw a stage and it had this dark, musty kind of vibe. Kind of grim in terms of the atmosphere but real positive in terms of what you could do there. I thought, if I could get these owners on the same page and book any format — whether it’s satanic black metal or really avant-garde stuff — that would be great.” The Relax Bar’s owners, despite not being fluent in English, supported Solis’ vision, prompting the most unlikely cultural union since Weezer recruited Kenny G. “They had a guy translating as I tried to describe the kinds of bands I wanted to book, using metal as my main focus. I said ‘Ozzfest, no — not those kinds of bands. Stuff that’s a little more creative, full of more soul, and more organic.” He played them some It’s Casual and High on Fire and a selection of punk and grindcore CDs, and they seemed to like it. Turns out the ballad-loving Thai karaoke bar owners, like Solis, possessed an unyielding passion for DIY. “They know how much work it is to bring your gear out, record your own stuff and self-release records,” says Solis. “They are all musicians themselves.” It’s been a happy union ever since, with some of the gnarliest underground bands in L.A., from Municipal Waste to Chingalera, rocking the Relax Bar’s tiny stage amid the perpetual aroma of green curry and ginger — and, when the door pops open, the faint smell of bus exhaust.

Meet Pete Peterson, Architect of Social Security and Medicare ...

Added 05/17/12
0 Views

Meet Pete Peterson, Architect of Social Security and Medicare Cuts

[LESS INFO] 0 VIEWS | ADDED 17:00:23 05/17/12
enlarge Click for a larger idea of Peterson's world Just after the disastrous midterms in 2010, I wrote a lengthy post about who Pete Peterson was , and why he is exactly the wrong guy to be having a "bipartisan summit" on so-called "entitlement reform." Here's a snippet from back then: > The Peter G. Peterson foundation claims to be bipartisan, yet their former CEO is out pimping a book, a new advocacy group and a position . Peter G. Peterson served as Secretary of Commerce under Richard Nixon. He claims to be very, very, very concerned about our deficit, yet not one word is uttered in this report about Wall Street's contribution to the deficit, the collapse of our economy, or any responsibility on the part of the financial industry to help reduce the deficit they helped create . Ryan Grim at the Huffington Post has updated that information with some more current relevant facts and data: > According to a review of tax documents from 2007 through 2011, Peterson has personally contributed at least $458 million to the Peter G. Peterson Foundation to cast Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid and government spending as in a state of crisis, in desperate need of dramatic cuts. Peterson's millions have done next to nothing to change public opinion: In survey after survey, Americans reject the idea of cutting Social Security and Medicare. A recent national tour organized by AmericaSpeaks and largely funded by the Peter G. Peterson Foundation was met by audiences who rebuffed his proposals. But Peterson has been able to drive a major shift in elite consensus about government spending, with talk of "grand bargains" that would slash entitlements, cut corporate tax rates and end personal tax breaks, such as the mortgage deduction, that benefit the middle class. Peterson's deficit hawkery drives the narrative away from fairness right into the arms of willing Republicans. So this week, he held a "summit" of Washington elites to pearl-clutch over the deficit and debt in order to bolster their case. We can thank Bill Clinton for contributing to that narrative, too, since he was one of the featured speakers. The entire interview is at the end of this post. Thanks to Peter Peterson, we have a country full of people who actually believe the national debt is the single biggest issue this country faces, and because he's put a "bipartisan" face on the dialogue, he gives the appearance that Democrats and Republicans alike should abandon Social Security and Medicare because they are, in his opinion, the primary drivers of the deficit. Worse yet, he's pimping those ideas to kids in order to drive a wedge between generations in the hope of succeeding at eroding these fundamental safety nets. > Another effort to persuade America's youth about the shakiness of the entitlement programs is a joint venture between the Peterson Foundation and mtvU, the campus-based network created by MTV Networks, called Indebted . Peterson has already shelled out nearly $2 million to fund this effort to convince college students that Social Security won't be there for them, so therefore it should be slashed now -- a self-fulfilling policy prescription if ever there was one. The educational website for Indebted , which borrows its look of revolutionary activism from contemporary stencil-based art made famous by graffiti artists Banksy and Shepard Fairey, explains that the inevitable and unavoidable debt burden to be shouldered by college kids through student loans, credits cards and a poor job market make it all the more important to cut entitlements now. I like Seth Michaels' answer to that over at Working America : > Peterson—a billionaire—never has to worry about dignity in retirement, about choosing between food and medicine, about having to work even when your health won’t allow it. Nor do members of Congress with their taxpayer-funded pensions, or well-paid TV hosts, lobbyists and think-tank presidents. They also feel the pressure of paying into the system much less than the majority of working people, since they only pay Social Security tax on the first $110,100 of their income . So here’s a modest proposal for Peterson and the networks that advance his message. You can raise the retirement age to whatever you want—as long as, at age 65, every think-tanker, pundit and politician who pushes the fake crisis gets to swap places with a 65-year-old nurse, truck driver, hotel housekeeper or drill-press operator. Sound good? Better yet, any lawmaker who thinks it's a good idea to raise the Social Security retirement age and erode Medicare should agree to relinquish their federal pension and health insurance retroactive to the day they take office. If they can't do that, then they recuse themselves from any vote concerning Medicare or Social Security. Seems like a fair deal to me.