Search Episodes (Still the night)

Added 05/26/12
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Pots and Pans Protest in Québec

[LESS INFO] 0 VIEWS | ADDED 01:00:36 05/26/12
Each night in Montréal, and now in other cities and towns in Québec, the locals are treated to the loud din of thousands of protesters taking to the streets. The video above is from last night, and was relatively peaceful with only a handful of arrests but so far a staggering 2500 have been arrested in the standoff over student tuition and now draconian law enforcement. The Pots Protest ("Manif de casseroles") began earlier this month in response to the Student protests, which are now over 100 days old, see no sign of abating any time soon, and in fact are only growing in numbers -- and volume. via The Canadian Press > MONTREAL - The clanging pots of student unrest that have rattled Montreal and Quebec City for several nights are coming noisily to life in other parts of the province. People took up the percussive protest Thursday night in several towns and cities including Sorel, Longueuil, Chambly, Repentigny, Trois-Rivieres and even in Abitibi — several hundred kilometres away from the hot spot of Montreal. They were still loudest in Montreal, where a chorus of metallic clanks rang out in neighbourhoods around the city, spilling into the main demonstrations and sounding like aluminum symphonies. The pots-and-pans protest has its roots in Chile, where people have used it for years as an effective, peaceful tool to express civil disobedience. The noisy cacerolazo tradition actually predates the Pinochet regime in Chile, but has endured there and spread to other countries as a method of showing popular defiance. Thursday's protest in Montreal was immediately declared illegal by police, who said it violated a municipal bylaw because they hadn't been informed of the route. They allowed it to continue as long as it remained peaceful. Although there was a massive police presence throughout the evening with the roar of a provincial police helicopter competing with the banging of the pots, there was little if any tension reported between demonstrators and police. People tapped the pots as they walked, the sounds mingling with shouts and chants. Others leaned out of car windows to bang their pans and one protester smacked a pot right in front of one police officer who looked on indifferently. Usually the nightly street demonstrations, which have gone on for a month, have a couple of vigorous drummers to speed them along their route. At the very least, someone clangs a cow bell. But in the last few days, the pots and pans protest — dubbed the casseroles by observers — have acted like an alarm clock for the regular evening march, sounding at 8 p.m. on the nose in advance of the march's start. While thousands, including children, their parents, students and the elderly, packed the streets in support, the Twitterverse exploded with reactions and observations. "Spotted a man in an Armani suit banging a pot," tweeted Christina Stimpson on one of Thursday's participants. "Feel the love people."

ESO Eclipsed Moon, Striking Night Sky. Panoramic view of the n...

Added 05/20/12
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Facebook IPO raising billions for social media giant

Added 05/18/12
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It's Casual - Live in Studio B - Part 1 - The New Los Angeles

Added 05/17/12
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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
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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
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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.

Ban College Football: An Intelligence Squared U.S. Debate

Added 05/17/12
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Ban College Football: An Intelligence Squared U.S. Debate

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Corruption and a growing concern for head injury have put college football in the spotlight. Are football programs’ millions in profits exploitation? Or are they still a celebration of amateur sport? Does football’s inherent danger and violence have any place in institutions of higher learning? Or does it provide young men with educational opportunities they would not otherwise have? Complete video available for free at http://fora.tv/2012/05/08/Ban_College_Football Malcolm Gladwell has been a staff writer at The New Yorker since 1996. He is most recently the author of, What the Dog Saw: And Other Adventures, and the New York Times best-selling books, The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference, Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, and Outliers: The Story of Success. Former Atlanta Falcons star defensive end Tim Green has been hailed as the "Renaissance Man" of sports. Recently inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame, Green is a New York Times bestselling author, coach and lawyer, specializing in energy law. He played eight seasons with the Atlanta Falcons and has served as an NFL analyst for Fox Sports and a commentator for NPR and Good Morning America. H.G. "Buzz" Bissinger is among the nation's most honored and distinguished writers. A native of New York City, Bissinger is the winner of the Pulitzer Prize, the Livingston Award, the American Bar Association Silver Gavel Award and the National Headliners Award, among others. He also was a Nieman Fellow at Harvard University. He is the author of four highly acclaimed nonfiction books: Friday Night Lights, A Prayer for the City, Three Nights in August and Shooting Stars written with LeBron James. Jason Whitlock is a national columnist for FOXSports.com and an all-sports insider and contributor to FOX Sports Radio. Whitlock was an All-State offensive lineman in high school in Indianapolis and played college football at Ball State University, lettering as an offensive tackle in both 1987 and 1988. He graduated from Ball State in 1990 with a journalism degree. Whitlock's journalism career has had several stops, including the Bloomington Herald Times, The Charlotte Observer, Vibe Magazine, Playboy Magazine, and the Kansas City Star. In 2008, Whitlock was awarded the National Journalism Award from the Scripps Howard Foundation, the first sports writer to win the award.