Desert Pearl Union

Les Fat Jones have joined a collective. I initially thought that meant we were gonna sit around and smoke pot and have sex with naked hippies, but it turns out this is much better. More rock, less patchouli. 

We have joined forces with Desert Pearl Union, a collection of musicians and groups that have banded together for promotional purposes. The union acts as as an agent to secure shows, and as a publicist, sending out promo material to clubs and media outlets. 

We're psyched as we were starting to stagnate in our basement rehearsal space despite our best efforts. Granted, our best efforts were somewhat paltry because we are, after all, musicians. Getting the five of us to show up in the same place at the same time can take Operation Overlord levels of logistics. 

The decision has already reanimated the band. We have shows lining up over the fall, both in and out of town. More recording is scheduled. Hopefully, we will finish our aborted attempt at shooting a video. (It turns out shooting a video is hard. Like you need to know how the camera works and stuff. Sounds basic, I know, but so far we have had two separate shoots and have produced a fraction of the footage we intended to.) 

In short, you can expect a flurry of activity over the next couple of months. Check out the website. Like the Facebook page to keep abreast of what we, and a bunch of other artists from Barcelona, Spain and the UK are doing.

See you soon onstage!

Red Dawn. Or is it?

Hollywood is always being accused of being secretly, or not so secretly un-American, or even anti-American by people who regard such pinko concepts as independent women or pre-marital sex as proof of the end of days. Sure, cultural critics write thought pieces about how movies reenforce societal beliefs and set the paradigms of normalcy, but those assholes went to university, something Jesus never did, so you shouldn't trust them anyway. What are you even doing reading something other than the bible or a Waffle House menu? (Why are you even reading the Waffle House menu? It's smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped and topped. C'mon!)
Nevertheless, with the trailer for the Red Dawn remake (best remake ever until 2019's re-imagining of Battleship), I think they may be on to something.

I know, I know. The only images that don't actually have American flags have USA tattoos or football. But consider this: this movie is telling us that all it takes is a dedicated group of (very good looking) young people with some machine guns and grenade launchers to defeat a militarily superior invading power. Ahem... cough... Afghanistan? Sure, it seems pro-American, but I wouldn't be surprised if this movie was written, produced and directed by the Taliban. The call is coming from inside the house! Burn Hollywood, burn!

Robbed!

I saw Los Campesinos in concert last night. I've been a fan since Hold On Now, Youngster... and had never seen them despite multiple appearances in Barcelona. I like Gareth Campesino's songwriting, and left the show ready to pontificate discuss the performance. Then, at 1:30 in the morning, I got a call from my roommate.
"We've been robbed!"
I returned home to find this:

 

I'm not the neatest person in the world, but this is excessive even for me. This was a gift left by some visitors earlier in the evening, who also generously gifted us relief from owning computers. They made off with three of them, one belonging to each roommate. (Thanks Elise for the loan!) Considering the two Macs that got taken along with my shitty little laptop, I got off easiest. 

Two cops who looked like teenage girls were on the scene last night, filling out the first report. They concluded that the door had indeed been forced and advised us to go to the station to make a formal deposition. As it was after 2am by this point, we waited until this morning.

Bright and early we headed to the station and after a short wait, were escorted into a back room by a remarkably tall, square-jawed officer. He helpfully recorded our story and printed off a report for us to take to the insurance company.

"What usually happens in cases like these?" my roommate asked.

While maintaining an air of professional positivity, the cop explained to us that while there were different avenues of investigation, it was unlikely that anything would turn up soon, if at all.

"But you never know," he offered. "Maybe a neighbour saw something, like a Moroccan guy with a tattoo."

 Well, here's hoping that our neighbours' xenophobia matches that of the police force, and all dangerous looking foreigners (except this guy) have been duly noted and recorded. Our stuff should be back in no time!

 

Questions about Prometheus

I'd been warned, but it was a cloudy day, I was hungover and curious, so I forked over the dough to finally see Prometheus. Everybody's already seen it, right? There were only 2 other people in the cinema, so now that's everybody, right? Good, cuz I have a couple of questions.
Where was the alien in the opening scene? Which planet is that supposed to be? The one that turns up later? How come? Why did he kill himself so horribly? Even if he was going to kill himself, why drink DNA mutating kool-aid and disintegrate off a waterfall?
Why show Dr Lisbeth Salander finding her space invitation in a cave when you're going to explain it again in the blatant exposition segment of the movie a quarter of an hour later, considering I'll never get those five minutes of my life back? Why is her bf such a douche?
Why didn't Ridley Scott start the movie with Michael Fassbender alone on the ship, easily the coolest (the only cool?) part of the whole thing? (Until he starts listening to Dr Salander's dreams, thus commencing the blatant exposition part of the movie, which leads to my next question: has anybody anywhere ever actually had a dream about a real conversation they had with their father as a child? Also, what happened to Dr Salander that she had a British accent as a dream baby, but a TBD accent as a real grown-up scientist? Is that a side effect of second hand Ebola?)
Why cast Guy Pearce as a hundred year old man? You could at least cast a 70 year old as a hundred year old man - was Harrison Ford busy? If you are spending a bazillion dollars on your space movie, can't you dedicate a little more of your budget to better old man make-up? Did the waterfall disintegration eat up all your extra old man make up money?
Are we sure these people are scientists? My mother worked for the Geological Survey of Canada and nobody there had a mohawk or face tattoos. If they are scientists, shouldn't they be interested in their field of study during the expedition and not only when it's a convenient plot device? Does anyone really pussy out in the middle of a space mission and get lost in a cave?
What's up with Fassbender? How did he know stuff that humanity was encountering for the first time ever? I know he read a lot on the flight over, but did he read tarot cards? How did he know?
Even in the middle of a storm, how does a (granted seemingly omniscient) robot sneak an oozing tube of black slime past quarantine?
If you are stuck in the tunnels of an alien world because of a storm, do you stick your face next to the pulsating snake emerging from the black slime that wasn't there before but is probably nothing don't worry about it? Again, are we sure these people are scientists?
Why does Fassbender want to poison Dr Douche? (Perhaps the least pressing question. I wanted to poison Dr Douche.) Does he know it will create an alien if Dr Douche gets busy with Dr Salander before he turns into a gross goo monster himself? Again, how does he know?
If you had worms in your eyeballs, wouldn't you mention it to your scientist girlfriend? (Something like Honey, I'm not feeling so hot and there are WORMS IN MY EYEBALLS! could work.) If you do decide to end it all cuz being a gross goo monster is maybe worse than being Dr Douche, wouldn't you prefer to take your helmet off in the unbreathable atmosphere than to be burned alive by a flame thrower?
A space zombie? Really?
A DIY space abortion? Really? (Is that even legal? Do Republicans legislate in space?)
Why make Guy Pearce be Charlize Theron's father? (On a more fundamental level, why string together a bunch of irrelevant cliches and pointless characters that make your movie both eye-rollingly random and eye-rollingly predictable?) (Side question: Can you damage your eyes by rolling them too much? Should I contact a lawyer? A doctor? A space abortion machine?)
If you decide to destroy a race you've created but then were in stasis for thousands of years, wouldn't you check first that the mission is still a go? Maybe things have changed a little? Like maybe your creations have invented awesome 3D space movies that are totally worth preserving? How long would it take just to make a quick call to your boss to find out? Three minutes? You've been asleep for millenniums - what's the rush?
Why run along the exact same axis as the crashing giant circular spaceship? In space no-one can hear you basic physics?
Why drag your already excessive movie out to a third and fourth anti-climax? Why set up a sequel for this steaming pile? Why end with a reminder that you once made a simpler, far superior movie when you just made one that is even worse than Alien Resurrection? Why does anyone consider Ridley Scott a good director anymore? Have they not IMDBed him recently? Were there not responsible adults present at some point in the process of putting this mess together? Did it not occur to any of them that maybe they should get a better script or just make a completely different movie? (Like for example about a president who fights the undead or a hunted super spy who it turns out was there all along while evil government agents were so busy hunting the other super spy and never mentioned this possible superer spy?)
In summary: WTF Prometheus?

Questular - Esade event

It's been a crushingly hot summer in Barcelona, or so I've been told. I spent August in cooler, wetter climes, cursing the clouds as Catalunya sweltered in the sun. So yesterday's downpour was greeted with joy and relief by my friends. But not by me. I watched the falling drops with a growing sense of doom. Mother Nature was fucking with my plans.
And what great plans they were. Questular, the app I've spent the last three years helping to develop, was throwing an event for Esade, one of Barcelona's business schools. They have opened a new campus in Sant Cugat, a suburb, and our location-based game that has people running around the city looking for clues was the perfect fit to promote it. A couple hundred people were gathered at the university, ready to play, and it was raining for the first time in months.
We drove out there, looking despondently at the dark skies unleashing their payload on the earth. Spain is the sort of place that cancels anything if the day gets partly cloudy, so we doubted whether it was even going to take place.
Then, as we pulled into the parking lot, things took a turn for the better. The day went from this:

to this:

We arrived to find an eager crowd snacking and drinking as they awaited us. They filed into a presentation room where we gave them an explanation of what lay in store.

Now, my job consists of getting up in front of people and talking, as does my hobby, so this should have been a cakewalk. But instead, after being handed the mic and making a brief introduction, I blanked. My lame jokes had gone over well but I was left standing on a dais in silent panic. Only a few sentences into a prepared presentation, I literally had no idea what to say next. Fortunately, Elise swooped in to the rescue and gracefully took up the relay. After righting the course, she passed it back to me and we were off.
The crowd was divided into teams, registered online and turned loose. The university had even provided rain jackets for the players. The groups set about solving their problems, which included answering questions about their environment and making videos.

Two teams trying to find the answer to a riddle

Players choreograph and film a dance routine

Elise stayed at the campus to monitor the clips and photos they were sending us, while I went to camp out in a bar in town to help with any problems in the field. It had been previously arranged that the bar would provide a refreshment to anyone who gave them an Esade drink ticket, but when I got there, the sullen staff was turning players away, denying any knowledge of this. A quick phone call was followed by a heated conversation between an annoyed Esade woman and a defensive bar manager and the problem was solved. Happy teams showed up intermittently, ordered a round and discussed the videos they had been making. First rounds were followed by second ones and soon the bar had turned into a party.

On second thought, maybe less free beer

A shuttle to take people back into Barcelona had been scheduled, so after a couple of hours, I nudged and prodded the groups to return to the campus to watch each other's creations, claim their prizes and get a lift home.
All in all, the day was a success. Both the players and university organizers were happy with the event which had gone off mostly hitch-free. The app performed as it should with multiple users logged in simultaneously. The questions were fun and challenging and the videos creative.
If this sounds like something you think your company could use, please get in touch with me at salient.green1@gmail.com. If this sounds like something I think your company could use, you will be hearing from me soon.

Holiday Rock Report

Let me begin at the end. I confess - guilty as charged.

I was meant to fly back from New York, catching a connecting flight in Montreal. However, my flight out of Laguardia was delayed, meaning I would miss the second one. I was afraid the Air Canada would put me on a plane to Amsterdam or Frankfurt with a third flight home, but instead, they put me on a direct flight to Barcelona landing almost an hour earlier than originally planned. Yay, right? Well, they switched carriers and I ended up on American Airlines which doesn't have touch screens on each seat, meaning I was stuck watching the crappy movie they chose (Tower Heist) on a screen in the middle of the cabin. What is this? the 90's? I demand that while stuffing my face with plastic wrapped cheese ravioli I be entitled to choose which crappy movie I stare at blankly.
Anyway, the awesome intercontinental caper that was my August was capped by a 2 Skinnee J's show at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. Having had so much fun in May, we decided to take advantage of my time in Brooklyn to do it again. Really, it was an excuse to hang out with each other once more, and a splendid time was had by all.
Opening for us were the Wau Wau Sisters, a singing acrobatic comedy burlesque show, if you have to label them, and I highly recommend checking them out if you ever get the chance. I'd caught their act a couple of years ago, so I knew what to expect, but it was hilarious watching the audience reaction go from confused to amused to OMFG I can't believe that shit as the two performers gradually ramped up the spectacle, culminating in a trapeze show that rocked the house.

There is talk of new music and further shows, and threats of no further shows without new music. We'll see how productive a part time band that stretches from the Pacific to the Mediterranean can be.

In the meantime, it's back to reality. Laundry and groceries followed by getting into shape after a month of gluttony and GETTING A JOB all lie in my immediate future. 

Hasta La Vista

My bags are packed and I'm about to embark on my transcontinental unemployment celebration (ie: vacation) so I'm not sure how much I'll be updating this.
Have a good month everybody, and if you're in New York on the 24th, drop by.