Archive for August, 2010

Up until recently, I’ve been of the mindset that running is something you only do when being chased by a tiger. And, to some extent, I still believe that our bodies aren’t designed for the impact of shoe-covered feet smacking down on a hard surface. None of that has stopped me from starting a Couch to 5k regimen last week.

There are a number of variations on this approximately 10-week program to get a relative newcomer to jogging/running (i.e., me) up to shape by slightly increasing speeds and distances of jogs in intervals with walks over each week of the program. Pretty straightforward. The one I’m using — because the chart breaks down suggestions into easy-to-digest minutes — is this one, but they’re all about the same in that they provide a structured, but customizable, approach to starting on the road to running.

I started on my birthday last week (Aug. 4), and as of this morning, finished the third run of the second week. It’s hard, I’m not going to lie. In the first place, I hadn’t been to the gym in about two months (vacations, work, blah blah blah), though that’s the other thing I started in tandem with this C25K thing — regular gym visits again. But even when I normally did cardio activity at the gym, it would be about 30 minutes on an elliptical or 20 minutes on the treadmill, so 15 to 20 minutes running/walking didn’t sound so much of a challenge. Oh boy, was I wrong. Even though up to this point, the longest jog has been four minutes (this morning, buffered by about five minutes of walking on either side), it’s taken everything I have to keep my chest from exploding. As I write this, half an hour after finishing, I’m still a little wheezy. Dealing with things like wind resistance, hard running surfaces and — if you believe my GPS-based running software — elevation variations of up to 60 feet provide a much harsher experience than gliding along on a stationary elliptical trainer watching episodes of House.

But that’s good. I needed a challenge, a shake-up, a new routine to break the old routine of letting myself go. It’s forcing me to wake up before 6 a.m. every running day, even when I have nowhere else to be that day (much to the shock of my girlfriend, who is used to me sleeping in until about 10 a.m. on Sundays, and now I’m awake for hours before she is). It has me back on pace for the gym, where I can now focus more time on weight training, because I’m doing my cardio-intensive activity in the morning instead of cramming everything into one session. And I feel pretty good so far, no shin splints or knee pain or anything of the sort. My back is sore right now, but I think that’s a combination of the hard breathing and residual soreness from the back and shoulder work I did at the gym two days ago (my lower back is just fine). I’m even considering a half-marathon, something I’ve been talking about for years but never got around to doing.

Of course, this is only week two. When I get to the point where my plan has me trying to do 15 to 20 minutes of straight running, I’ll be easy to find: Just look for the guy lying down on the side of the road, crying.

We’re going to get darker and spookier than any of the previous four entries in this series exploring the trials, tribulations and sheer wackness that has been my fully unsuccessful-but-vaguely interesting musical non-career, for today we discuss a band whose mere mention sends shivers up the spines of the unwashed masses: Morgana Athena.

Morgana Athena (or “MA” as I’ll lazily refer to it eventually) was one of the preeminent Gothic rock bands of the Southwest. Mind you, that’s not saying much as the goth scene wasn’t quite huge in the 1990s or anything, but MA made the rounds for long enough in the early-to-late 1990s that sheer staying power propelled it above the rest of the fly-by-night trench coat musicians.

I was aware of the band through friends and fliers during high school. The band’s bassist, Chris Jensen, worked with me at the Torrey Pines Discount Cinema, and I attended a New Year’s Eve party at singer/guitarist Chris Naser’s house a year or so later. But I’d never seen the band perform, and it had been through multiple line-up changes when I finally encountered the group in full early in 1996. By then, it was just the two aforementioned Chrises, who would perform live augmented by rhythm tracks prerecorded on DATs (digital audio tapes). If you’ll recall, this was the same live set-up my band at the time, Rahne, was using, as well as other Las Vegas Gothic and industrial acts such as Corinthian Flux (then known as Rosemary’s Baby).

After Rahne broke up in April 1997, drummer Brian Pfiefer and guitarist Ryan Couevas joined Morgana, on drums and keyboards, respectively. By this time, Chris Jensen had left, replaced on bass by another friend (and sometimes stand-in Rahne bassist), Dru Broils, so Morgana effectively absorbed Rahne. Meanwhile, I spent about six months huddled in my studio apartment near UNLV, writing and recording all sorts of music, experimenting with different styles such as funk, jazz, dance, soul and noise.  I even brought some of my new jazz-rock songs to jam with a friend’s jazz band, spending some time at their rehearsal space off Tropicana and Valley View (this will be important later), but nothing came out of it.

At some point in the fall of 1997, I found out while hanging with Ryan that Morgana was looking for another guitarist, someone who eventually could take over from Chris Naser so he could focus on singing. For whatever reason, I decided to audition — the first time I had to do so, since all my other musical projects up ’til then had been self-started. I showed up at Chris’ house one chilly night. The only other person auditioning was another pal, Scott Hill. Scott was a good guitarist, likely much better than me technically, but I remember his sound being all wrong for Morgana — too much metal, not enough nuance. Apparently, Chris and company agreed, because they ended up liking what I brought to the band, though I’m sure the fact we had all played together for years already didn’t hurt.

Chris’ playing style was quite different from my own. He seemed to create his own, slightly atonal chords to give Morgana its distinctive, haunting sound. I don’t think he could identify a note or scale if asked, but he’s one of those people who just instinctively knows how to make instruments work together. I modified some of the guitar parts to add more heft or depth. Others, I scaled back. I even brought in a glass slide, something that became a key part of the guitar sound for my favorite MA song, “1942.”

(Play “1942” by Morgana Athena)

Actually, “1942″ was the song that made me want to join MA in the first place. Before auditioning for the band, I saw the beefed-up line-up perform for the first time since the last Rahne/MA show. And when I heard “1942,” I was floored. Unlike MA’s other songs, it wasn’t just synth swells and icy drum beats. It was raw, angry, floor-stomping — and I wanted to play it.

My first live show playing guitar solo (thanks for the reminder, Ryan) with Morgana (my first show with MA was at Enigma Garden Cafe, but Chris still played guitar on that one) was at SanctuaryDementia, a goth/industrial night held weekly in the back room of Angles, a gay club that resided where 8-1/2 Ultra Lounge now stands in the heart of Las Vegas’ “Fruit Loop.” Everyone wore all black, Ryan and Chris wore make-up, but I was still coming out of a rave-ish period, so I wore stovepipe jeans and a racing-striped knit fully representative of the late-1990s. Aside from that (and my semi-hollow-body jazz guitar), things went pretty well, and by the time we had a few shows under our belts, Chris felt comfortable enough with my playing of his songs that he pretty much stopped playing guitar at live shows.

Things were cramped at Chris’ parents house where we rehearsed, and coincidentally, my friend Anthony’s band — with whom I jammed on that jazz stuff earlier that year — wanted a co-renter for their rehearsal space, which was a double-sized room big enough for two bands. So we moved in, and I brought all of my recording equipment, including my Macintosh computer (a Performa 6360, if I recall).

This move was significant for more than the band. The rehearsal space became my office and studio as well. The band only practiced two or three days a week, but I was in there much more, coming in right after my day job slinging copies to work on recordings, design artwork, mess around on the drums (yes, kids, this is how I taught myself to play drums, which I did not do at the time), eat dinner and generally hang out. I even started to record other musicians, one of which was a rapper (I’d still love to produce a hip-hop album).

Of course, this all means I brought more to the band than just my iffy guitar-playing skills. Up until then, Chris had been responsible for whatever you heard or saw related to Morgana Athena. But I kind of became — shocking, I know — the producer/engineer/publicist/manager. I relaunched the band for the pre-Millennial era, aesthetically, redesigning the logo, building a new website and crafting the sound of our few recordings. I also brought up the level of professionalism, crafting press releases, opening a bank account, and building relationships with radio stations and the media.

But there was blow-back. Even now, archived on some sort of Vegas goth forums from more than a decade ago, you’ll find those hardcore trenchcoaters claiming I ruined Morgana Athena, that I somehow took over and destroyed the band. Never mind that when I joined the band, it was already changing into something different (hence why I joined), nor the fact that when Morgana finally did break up in the fall of 1998 — with gigs still booked, mind you — it was because Chris quit to focus on DJing. Nope, because I was always the scapegoat for all that was wrong and bad in the Vegas goth “scene,” because, um, I WASN’T GOTH.

(OK, to be fair, I was also a dick. But that should have mattered more to the people IN the band, not outside of it, and within the band, everything was mostly gravy. Except for that one time I leaped across a coffee bar at Dru. Or that other time when I smashed at stage lights at a warehouse show. But other than that …)

Anyway, it was an interesting and enjoyable ride. We played a bunch of shows, including the first one at which I ever played drums live, we put out some decent singles that people actually played on radio stations and bought in stores, and I signed my first record contract (sort of), even though I had nothing to do with the recording of “E.S.P.” found on Hollows Hill Recordings’ “Dim View of the Future” compilation and to this day, still haven’t seen any royalties (they may be out there!). But my name’s on it, so there you go.

Next up, I’ll reveal to the world the semi-interesting tale of what the hell I did musically during the “lost years” of the late ’90s and early 2000s. Stay tuned.

BONUS: Buy “E.S.P.” MP3 at Amazon

Yep, that’s me, approximately AHEM AHEM years ago at 19 or 20, playing guitar and singing with Rahne, my Nine Inch Nails-like musical project about which you’ve probably read too much here. I had no idea this photo existed until my old bass player, Brian “Sterling” Kirsch, posted it on Facebook somewhere.

This is when Rahne was still just me and Sterling backed by a cassette player (fancy!), and our shows were more about dress-up than, um, music. I mean, the music was serious, but so was the planning that went into glamming up. This particular image was shot at Cyber-City Cafe, which was a gay-owned and very gay-friendly internet cafe at Flamingo and Maryland Parkway. And we were a gay-friendly band. That probably explains why this night, I wore a tight baby tee that read “SLUT” (now I remember!) on the front. I believe later I added the Rahne logo above it. And I think I still have it somewhere.

And yes, I was wearing sunglasses at night.

Somewhere, I have this show recorded on cassette. It includes a terrible cover of Prince’s “Darling Nikki,” long before everyone else covered “Darling Nikki.” If I find it, I’ll attempt to share a digital version with you. Because you’re full of self-loathing.

Illustration by Michael Todoran

Place Gallery is a scrappy, homespun art gallery and artist studio run by one of my oldest friends, the awesome Gina Quaranto. In recent months, Place, located on Main Street across from the S2 Art Center, has become a favorite among the local underground/low brow/outcast art scene, hosting multiple shows every month, with epic First Friday receptions including artisans, live music, libations and more. It’s technically the first gallery in which I’ve ever formally shown art (in the LVSK8 IV group show). And, sadly, it’s become a victim of multiple factors threatening to crush its already delicate existence.

This summer, the building housing Place has had power and air conditioning problems — not something that a business in the Las Vegas summer can endure. Then, a few weeks ago, an exploding electrical transformer rocked Main Street, damaging businesses for blocks, including Place, which is now missing several window and door panes. The gallery has been temporarily closed due to the conditions, and while insurance will cover replacement of the glass, it won’t do so without a steep $5,000 deductible, which Place just doesn’t have in pocket.

Art Renegades, the collective that organized LVSK8 IV, is moving the skateboard art show temporarily to Todd VonBaastian’s Alios Gallery, a few blocks south of Place at 1221 S. Main St., where a second reception for the group show will be held this Friday. At the same time, a fund-raising event is being held at Alios for Place, called “Picking Up The Pieces.” Details are still being worked out, but there will be some sort of art auction, raffle prizes, bake sale and other fun stuff to raise funds for Place — whether it’s to pay for repairs to the existing location, or help pay for the gallery to move somewhere less volatile.

I donated five of the Giant Robot prints (as seen in my online store) for the art auction, as well as a complete set of comics from Pop! Goes the Icon (including The Utopian #1-3 and Omega Comics Presents #1-2), and I’ll be down there for the benefit auction/reception as well. It starts at 6:30 p.m., and I highly recommend you come down and toss in a few bucks. Great deals on locally grown art can be had. And you can see the monstrosity I painted on a skateboard deck as well.

If you can’t make it to the event, donations are being accepted online as well.

The top panel on this page I’m working on has taken me about three days to just get that far in rendering. Obviously, not three days straight, but three days of about two hours at a stretch. It’s the last bit of inking I need to finish for my contribution to Tales from the Boneyard, the one-shot (well, possibly annually recurring) anthology comic book I volunteered to publish and edit for the 2010 Vegas Valley Comic Book Festival.

You can learn a heck more about the comic at the official website, which also features the first chapter of the anthology, an amazing story by newcomer Barret Thomson. He’s set the bar high, but that’s good, because it goes to prove the awesome collection of homespun talent we have here in Las Vegas (though, sadly, Barret is moving to South Korea to teach for an undetermined amount of time). This project has sucked up a good amount of my time lately, between wrangling freelancers, building the website, doing public relations and marketing, editing and, as evidenced above (and in previous posts), completing my own eight-page tale, which will make its web debut on Aug. 15.

At the same time, the band has started recording tracks for our forthcoming debut EP, the Utopian is careening headlong into its final chapter, and as soon as I finish the Tales from the Boneyard story, I have to dive back into finishing the third chapter of “Omega” for Omega Comics Presents #3, which is supposed to be released this fall, assuming my head doesn’t implode by then. Oh, on top of that, TV and comic book writer Mark Guggenheim went off and announced a new comic book he’s created for release this November, coincidentally titled Utopian. So as you might imagine, I’ve spent some time talking to lawyers the last week as well.

It’s all a bit overwhelming, but at the very least, most of these projects have termination dates in the foreseeable future. The Utopian (erm, mine, not the Johnny-come-lately) will finish its year-and-a-half web run in September or October, just in time for a fourth and final print issue to make its appearance, and then — assuming I still have the rights to that name by then — fully collected as one complete work in a trade paperback collection in the winter, hopefully in time for Christmakwanukah. At which time all of you who have been holding out on reading The Utopian (yes, I’m looking at you, Sara) will have no excuse not to enjoy 100-plus pages of all the teen dramatic fantasy you can handle, in full blazing color.

Whew. I’m kind of tired just typing all this. Or maybe I’m tired from working on that stupid, overly detailed panel above for the last few hours. More soon.