62 replies to this topic

[AxlsMainMan]

From an interview with Duff in Rolling Stone yesterday:

What is the status of Velvet Revolver, and the singer search?

There is no status. I was just in the U.K., so I'm painfully aware of Corey Taylor - I was asked about one thousand times about it [Slipknot's singer was recently rumored to have tried out]. There is no status - Slash has been on tour, I'm starting a tour. We played with some really good guys, and I do think Corey Taylor is probably the brightest dude that has been in front of a mic for a long time. But saying all that, no, there is no Velvet Revolver singer.

http://www.rollingst...eunite-20110310

[lynn]

Writing a Great Song Is No Longer Enough
By Duff McKagan
Thurs, March 17, 2011 @ 9:44 am

As I write this, I'm sitting in the exit-row seat of a Southwest Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Austin, Texas. Thursday afternoon I will be speaking about the business of music to musicians and perhaps some industry types who are maybe interested in what I have to say, and the angle in which I shall try to deliver it all. But the real reason for my trip is that I will be playing my first public gig with my band Loaded since December 19, 2009.
The South-by-Southwest Music Festival (SXSW) started in 1987, and used to be primarily ALL about unsigned bands making their way to Austin in hopes of securing a record deal with the many labels who would also flock to that city hoping to catch a rising star. That made a bunch of sense for the music-business model that was in place at the time.

These days, the whole scope and breadth of the commercial side of music has observed a radical sea change. SXSW has changed along with it, and now the focus down there seems to be on news frontiers in digital music, film, and all things Information Age. The subject that I will be speaking on is the ever-changing field which a touring and recording band must adapt to. Most of the younger bands I know about have become mini-geniuses at things like inventory control, Tune-Core, and the price of gasoline in different regions of the country. You have to be smart and have the ability to adapt quickly these days, as WELL as write a great song.

Back in the 1980s, when I got my first major-label deal, I simply couldn't have cared less about how everything worked in a business sense. It all seemed so massive and beyond my scope of knowledge that I just sort of shut down intellectually and turned a blind eye to some really important things. I didn't realize that, as a principal business owner in GNR Inc., I was paying everyone who worked for us, and that they should have provided me with sober and clear-cut reportage of our growing empire. Luckily--and it was only by the fact that we sort of ruled by fear--no one really ripped us off. Sure, we overspent and were not that smart about our personal dough--but in the end, no one who worked for us blatantly stole. They could have.

Our Loaded gig Friday at the Austin Music Hall is a perfect example of how things are changing in my industry. Partnerships with outside sources are now just a personally agreeable way to make touring affordable. Monster Energy Drink is sponsoring the gig, and also sponsoring a bunch of our tour. It was mutually agreeable to me because Monster just wants to be associated with certain rock bands. They don't want you to overtly advertise or publicly pimp their product. It is just more of a word-of-mouth thing that seems to work.

Monster is by no means the only company doing this sort of thing. Chevy and Ford support a lot of country acts. Toyota and Coca-Cola are behind a ton of the larger rock and pop artists. Clothing companies are in on this thing too, and as long as it doesn't rub the fan in some sort of cheesy sales pitch, I certainly don't see the harm for a number of reasons:

1. Artists aren't making the money from records any more. Period.

2. Fans have less money to spend on T-shirts and such these days (hence, artists are not able to use that income to help offset tour costs).

3. I drink the SHIT out of energy drinks, so what the hell. Monster is a PERFECT partner for my band.

AxlReznor (a constant, if not sometimes cynical, commenter to this column) and I got into a fairly lengthy conversation about this stuff when he and I met in the UK a couple of weeks back. He was dead-set against this sort of tour-sponsorship thing. When I started to explain to him how much it costs to tour, and the dwindling revenue streams, he suddenly rose in his seat and partially saw the light. Even the most ardent "anti-corporation" fan like him understands the economics, and suddenly things just seem less offensive and crass. It's not as if I or my band is out there suddenly hawking condoms or jeans.

These are indeed changing times in my industry, and everywhere for that matter. I love to tour and play music live. There are people who still love to see live music as much as they can. More and more, there will be new ways for different industries to marry and help each other. The ultimate winner, I believe, will be the fan.

http://blogs.seattle...n_sxsw.php#more

[lynn]

Try, a Short Story By Duff McKagan

By Duff McKagan
Thu., Mars. 24 2011 @ 9:02 AM


I have yet to write a fictional short story for Seattle Weekly. But in my quest for new and interesting ways to engage readers, I thought it would be sort of different to start a story, and see where it leads. I never know ahead of time what might come out when I write from week-to-week, and my editor, Chris Kornelis, encouraged this latest idea. If some of you want to take a stab at trying to add to this piece, please do.
* * * * *
She sensed that this was the point . . . the very stark moment that she had lost him. He hadn't come home for three days. The sheriff had stopped coming by to check for news.

His drunken yet cheerful voice gone--a drunk who was dampening down his intellect from the outside world--James was too smart for this place and its noise.

James had crossed the river bridge to the other side of town, a crossing he made to escape into a seedier life. It was a place where few would inquire about his intentions in this life, where no one cared what he was going to do with all of his credentials and intellect. No, the people on this side of the tracks would leave him be with his drink; unquestioned and intoxicated.

He would bring extra bottles over that river bridge, and sometimes buy folks at the bar a shot of their poison. He had no interest in making friends. But he knew this was the kind of favor that kept a mouth from wagging. The locals obliged, and the sight of James passed out in the gutter, or in the corner of the last watering hole of his evening, was met without even a whisper.

His liver would not work so well anymore, and his kidneys rebelled--causing his back to ache when he pissed. When the chance came to puke, and there was scant booze around, James would drink back up the fleeing fluid from his belly. He convinced himself that made sense.

Melanie wanted James to change his ways. To redirect his downward spiral into an abyss that would surely end with an early grave. Melanie knew James long before the problem had grown this bad. Sure, he drank then too--but not with the bad intention that it now had. He loved her, there was no doubt of that. But he couldn't say the same about himself. All that everyone else had expected of him was never attained. And he never wanted it. Ever. Any of it.

James was once a good-looking man, and he and Melanie were a couple whom others envied. They had the world in their back pocket, and youth was rarely better served. Melanie kept her beauty, but lines now appeared prematurely on her face, and her neck was habitually arched forward from worry and stress and heartache. James hated himself even more for this fact.

He had tried to quit many times. The shakes and panic would come in waves when he tried. His bowels would loosen and his skin would crawl as if a fire lay just beneath the surface. He had no one to go to for help. By now all of his friends had either died from the sickness or moved far, far away. Melanie and James had no family that they knew of. They were alone. He was alone. She was alone. They never thought that it would get this far. Those who had expected so much of James early on had long since abandoned all hope and fellowship.

They tried everything. In those days, a doctor would simply suggest sending James to an institution for the mentally infirm. James would not. Melanie too tried with the traveling salesmen of potions and medicinal elixirs. They, in their one-horse-drawn buggy, with gaudy signs telling of "cure-alls" and opium for "frontier boredom" and sunburn.

Melanie was a good customer, and salesmen sought her out. They kept coming well after James had given up on their snake oil.

The footbridge across the river was new. On one side lay the fertile fruit-crop fields fed by melted snow from the mountains 20 miles west. But on the east side of the river, the desert crept all the way to its edge, choking all hope of a crop or shade. It was a good place to put all of the saloons that were recently banned by the civic community in the west-side town of Natachee. The saloons were the perfect place for James to push back on his gift. He was too smart for this life, his mind and soul were just too aware of the dark things that man was capable of. He felt he could no longer do anything to protect Melanie from the evils.

Melanie slept with another man just after she and James were married; just after she lost her baby in its second term; just after they had to cut her inside, to save her life, but ending her ability to ever give one again herself.

James didn't give up. He said there were plenty of babies that they could give a home to, babies whose parents had perished in a mountain pass crossing, perhaps, or the unmentionable, a baby whose mother had become pregnant out of wedlock. Shame was too oppressive back then.

But Melanie couldn't bring herself to think of not having a baby of her own. And by the time the idea did start to come around to her, James was too far gone.

James kept thinking of the story his mother used to tell him as a child about a frog who lived at the bottom of a well. The frog was so very happy with life, what with plenty of water, just enough bugs, and a little bit of sunlight each day. A few times a day, a bucket would come down, but other than that, life was divine for this frog. But one day he was scooped up by this bucket. When he got to the top, the frog was dumped out gently onto the ground. "Oh, my!" said the frog. He did not realize that up here there was sunshine ALL the day long, and more bugs than he could ever want, and other frogs to talk with.

James crossed the river again to the east.

She would mutter to herself until she was hoarse: "Try, James. Try. Try. Just try," until she cried herself to sleep.

A frog croaked out in the moonlight. Tomorrow there could be sun. If it is not too late.






http://blogs.seattle...f_mcka.php#more


A few people have posted comments, adding to the story. Anyone brave enough or write well enough to try? Lynn

[TAP]

I like Duff's columns a lot, but that's awful.

[lynn]

Ha! Ha! That's not what the people who post regularly in the comment section had to say! The story's segued a few times now, as people have added to it.

[TAP]

Well, good for him - I'm thinking Duff's one of the coolest rock stars of all time. Did the total debauch/huge band thing in his 20s , then did the family/healthy lifestyle/business thing but with hot wife and still kept rocking....honestly I'd love his life (though mine's pretty cool too) but he's not a writer.

[TAP]

http://www.celebrity...w/00019535.html

[lynn]

Ooh......another one, Tap.....

Come Forth, a Short Story by Duff McKagan

By Duff McKagan
Thu., Mar. 31 2011 @ 9:42AM


James was born into the famine. The blight on the potato crop--while affecting all of Europe in an economic fashion--laid waste to Ireland and its inhabitants.
James' dad left his mother to fend for herself and the five hungry children, none older than 12 years. As her physical health started to fade, her mental stability began to slip. Slowly at first, and somehow in check. When she started to put glue in the children's nose to "keep out the devil," the orphanage came. James' mother leapt from the cliffs above Belfast soon after.

The children were spread out all across Ireland, and instantly lost all contact. James' soul ached and his heart was broken into a seemingly unmendable state. He couldn't keep down any food. Well, what food there was anyway. The orphanage he was sent to--while probably doing their best--could only manage a thin soup and stale bread twice a day. It was all that charity could afford. So many broken homes. So much hunger. So much death. Despair, to the breaking point.

A story began to spread around those orphanages, about boats that could take you to America. There was plenty of food and sun, and no blight on any crop. There was gold in the mountains, and silver in the streams. A land teeming with anything and everything. James was not immune to these stories, and soon he began a plot with another boy to forge a check from the Church. James was too smart, even at the age of 13, to ever get caught.

James devised a plan whereas at night he would sneak into the office of the orphanage and copy a check out of the book of debt notes made for the bank. He knew that he had a steady hand. He also had heard of pubs down in town that would cash checks with no proof or documentation of their validity. The pub-owners would simply take a cut.

James' knowledge of the outside world was informed by jeers of "CAT-LICKER" from the vacationing English kids, and bullies at school calling him unwanted. He would day-dream of one day having a big family of his own, and he would NEVER leave them... never EVER leave.

He grew to despise something called the "Church of England." They seemed to be the ones behind the growing discontent with Catholics like him. But James was not a large boy, and instead, would win his daily battles by outsmarting the bullies and blowhards. When they yelled and jeered he would silently plot. One day, before the town was awake, he went to every house and put finely crushed glass into the milk bottles that sat on their porches. James had kept a watchful eye of who lived where. Those bully-boys didn't come around for more than a week. Nothing could be proved. No one took a fall for it. James picked up steam.

The Protestant churches seemed to have more luster to them. The church-goers had fine horses and tailored clothes. James figured that this Church of England must have a whole lot of money, and surely wouldn't notice if a few hundred pounds went missing. Or at least he would be safely on a New York-bound boat by then. His forged check would have the carefully hand-stenciled "Bank of England - in trusted care and erstwhile prudence of the Church of England" emblazoned across it. Pub keepers wouldn't even blink twice at James' crafty hand.

James never let on to anyone, his brilliant plan. His mother once told, "Don't ever let your tongue cut your throat"...and as grand as a station that he held every word that he remembered her saying, James lived by this rule. He wrote the check for 200 British Pounds, and played a mute when he broke out of the orphanage, and made his way to the bustling town of Dublin.

The docks in Dublin were bustling with the hum of urgency, commerce, and thuggery. James had heard to be very careful down there when looking for a boat to buy fare to America. There were bands of roaming hulligans who would abscond with young men, to be slave deck-hands on sea-going ships.

He was going to find his boat, and then cash his check to buy the fare. He had forged a birth certificate that gave his age at seventeen. James Joseph Harrington cashed his check for a 10-Pound fee at the pub, and bought his ticket in steerage class for another 20 Pounds. He was on his way now. To the land of plenty, away from this nightmare of a life. He would come back rich, and find his brother and sister. The boat weighed anchor, and James' heart skipped a beat.
http://blogs.seattle..._by_du.php#more

[TAP]

ummm....no

[lynn]

Tap, was that you who posted the following, in the comment section of Duff's recent column?

"This is the most terrible, trite writing I have ever read. You people in the comments obviously read airport paperbacks. And what the hell is it doing in the music column? Please stop."

Shame on you!

[Mr. Roboto]

haha, 10 to 1 it was...

Although really, I'd imagine TAP would be a bigger dick than that, it's a little amateurish to be honest.

[TAP]

Wasn't me! Duff is great, huge respect for the guy - really think he has it together. Follow him on twitter, always worth a read unless it's novel writing.

[lynn]

Looks like we can skip the novels, for now:



The Seattle Sound(s)

By Duff McKagan, Thu., Apr. 7 2011

Leading up to next week's release of The Taking, the new record from my band, Loaded, I've been put once more through the endless gauntlet of music-press and rock-radio interviews. I'm not complaining. I suppose there would be a need for a modicum of worry if the interview requests suddenly waned.
Next week also brings to public display a new installment at the Experience Music Project here in Seattle, Nirvana: Taking Punk to the Masses. My editor here at the Weekly asked me if I could somehow tie these two things together in one single column (Nirvana/EMP, and Loaded/The Taking). I actually think I can. It goes like this:

In doing all of this press for my new record, one constant theme has arisen from almost every interviewer: "This new Loaded record sounds very Seattle." The interviewers then go on to ask me if, by my living back in Seattle, this has given the new Loaded song-making process a Northwest slant. "Uh, no," I answer. I've lived back in Seattle since '93.

One thing that has struck me as obvious ever since I started listening to the early punk-rock singles and records that were coming from places outside of Seattle is that it was totally evident that our wet and cold environs here in the Northwest totally influenced the sound of its rock bands. We play in cold basements with jackets and hats on. The strings are damp. The guitar and drums are made of wood, which is also damp. The paper-speakers in the amp-cabinets are damp. We are playing music with LAYERS on! This makes the actual act of playing much more uncomfortable and a lot less fluid. The "Seattle Sound" is a by-product of our environment. Literally.

When I moved to L.A in 1984, I noticed gear just plain sounded different. I'm not kidding.

Another big difference that I noticed outside of Seattle was a real sense of competition between bands that were playing on the same bill or in the same "scene." In Seattle, there was just really none of that. Bands would loan each other gear and the use of a rehearsal basement and van or pickup for getting to gigs. Musical ideas up here were thought to be a thing to share, not to closet. This really led to a identifiable "sound" of sorts.

I'm not quite sure just why Nirvana has become arguably the most beloved band from this era that made the "Seattle Sound" famous. Alice In Chains were among the first of that era, and have withstood the test of time (and . . . death). Soundgarden pushed the edges of musicianship to the edges of genius, and are seemingly back. Pearl Jam have been the clarion-steady thing--always selling out arenas everywhere they go (no matter if there is a current "radio song" or not). The Melvins? Mudhoney?

This Loaded effort can also be associated with the Seattle sound and some of the aforementioned bands in that it was produced by a fella by the name of Terry Date. Terry produced or recorded a whole slew of these early demos and records, and he produced our new Loaded record. The studio is the same, too (Studio X nee Bad Animals). The way he mikes-up drums and guitar cabinets is the same. The way he pushes a vocal through on his mixes is the same. Dry and hard and tough, and without bluster or shine. Just brutal. In other words: the same old Terry Date. He sorta rules.

So what does the "Seattle Sound" mean today? If you are over, say, 35 years old, well then you probably equate it to these bands above. But one of the great things that happens up here is a change of identity, a constant evolution. Today the "Seattle Sound" is being defined by alt-folks, the likes of Fleet Foxes and The Head and the Heart. And what about bands like Death Cab? They sort of scrubbed the "old guard" rock out of this town. Not in a bad way either. DCFC are fuckin' genius!

I know that I am bouncing around a bit here, and that's just the point. This town has really done a fine job of providing a variety of musical identities. And yes, I didn't even get to the Sonics, Hendrix, Heart, or Queensryche! . . . heh, heh . . or The Fartz.

The Nirvana exhibit is a fitting time capsule of one of the sounds that has defined Seattle. But there have been many sounds that have defined this great musical city.

Loaded will be playing two upcoming gigs in Seattle. At Easy Street Records on Mercer on National Record Store Day (April 16), and a record-release party at Neumos on April 23. The gig on the 23rd will include an auction of rock and sports and fishing items of greatness, to benefit the VA Puget Sound Health Care System.

http://blogs.seattle...ttle_sounds.php

[AxlsMainMan]

Slash: What happens is with Velvet Revolver, when we parted ways with Scott Weiland -- I was so frustrated because Scott was such a pain in the ass. And I thought ya know I just wanna sorta have some quiet time and just write some music -- and then the idea of writing the solo record came out. And in the mean time, no new singers for Velvet Revolver, that were really good enough for Velvet Revolver have popped up. So I just started working on the solo record and put it out and went on the road. But the whole time very conscious of who was going to sing for Velvet Revolver -- but know one has turned up. So in the mean time I just keep doing what it is that I do.

So ya know with Velvet Revolver, it's like Duffs got his own thing, I've got my thing, Matt's got his thing. If a great singer comes and says I want to sing for Velvet Revolver and we all go yeah, we'll make a Velvet record. But I can do my own thing -- I don't have to go back and do that. Unless it's good enough to do it, you know what I mean.

So next year I definitely will make another Slash record with Myles Kennedy -- and go on tour. So at least for the next couple of years nothing is going to be happening with Velvet Revolver -- that I can see because I'll be focused on this. And after that's over if something happens -- I'm not really concerning myself with it right now. We had all these different guys try out, all really good singers -- but nobody has fit the thing so, ya know, I have to move on.

[Regarding Corey Taylor] Because of the social networking, the way information gets out so quickly now. We did work with Corey Taylor, as soon as that rumor, next thing you know everybody is saying Corey's the new singer. All we were doing was just rehearsing with him, trying him out -- auditioning him so to speak. So in order to do that, our process is we take a lot of music we wrote and we give it to him, and he writes his lyrics and he comes in and we just perform it and record it. It's just an audition process. So he did come in and do all that. But I just wasn't -- it just didn't seem to fit right to me. And he's great and I love Corey, but it didn't seem like the answer the Velvet Revolver problem.

Video interview:

[lynn]

Nice, huh? We go from ready to make an announcement in the next month to it'll be a couple years. It's become a side project. Perhaps they should just give it up.