Music

I’m tired, folks. I don’t know how else to put it. I mean, yeah, the last few months have been a bit hectic, with curating and installing multiple gallery exhibits, co-organizing a comic book festival, editing and publishing a new anthology comic, doing the usual writing, social media-ing and illustrating to keep food on the table, and training for a half-marathon for which I haven’t even registered yet. But to push myself just one step further over the edge, my band and I inexplicably agreed to schedule the release of our new album, Unknown, for this week.

I still owe you the second part of the history of As Yet Unbroken (part eight of the cumbersome but mildly informative “Magical Musical Mystery Tour“), but I can comfortably jump ahead  to the last six months without spoiling anything: Basically, we’ve been flying as a trio — the core of singer Tim Beck, bassist Mark Zeilman, and me — since last fall, when guitarist Peter Stauber left. We decided to use that to our advantage, by really focusing on just writing and recording (with Mark and I splitting guitar duties on record). We did play one gig in the spring with former guitarist Rick Espe, but he wasn’t interested in re-joining long-term (but we still love ya, Rick!). We did finally finish recording about 10 songs (well, really nine songs, one track was from recording sessions with Rick almost three years ago) at the beginning of the summer, and after going through mastering, sequencing, package design and internal logistical debates, we finally have something approximating a new CD for you to enjoy:

The last few weeks have been spent sending out press releases, newsletters, radio packages, and media kits, and basically scrambling somewhat to regain the traction we lost by being relatively inactive for almost a year. And now we’re in the process of carefully auditioning musicians to fill that fourth position in the band so we can actually bring this album LIVE to the masses again, assuming the masses want it (at least one or two of you do).

Until then, however, if you’re looking to pick up some new rock music, you could do worse than to buy/download/steal Unknown. It’s a pretty decent document of As Yet Unbroken’s existence up to now, featuring new takes on some of our oldest songs, and brand-new stuff we haven’t even played live yet (i.e., no one has heard). And you get to hear how equally bad I am at drums AND guitar, which is always impressive. You can get the full digital album for about $5 at Bandcamp or Amazon MP3; it’s on iTunes, but the whole album will cost you about $10. Or, if you’re one of those CD collectors, we have those for sale for only $5 too.

If you want to just buy individual songs, my personal favorites are “Post-Life Society” (in which I sneak some chilling synths), “Bad Blood” (think Alice In Chains’ “Rooster” with less war imagery), “Wasted Time” (pretty much our most radio-friendly song ever), or “Pseudo Angel” (it’s an oldie, but this new version is pretty rawkin’).

Hopefully, we’ll have a new line-up nailed down by the end of the month, and possibly even play a CD release show before the end of 2011. But that’s only if you want it, of course.

As Yet Unbroken, Part One

We have come to the beginning of the end (for now) of the Magical (Musical) Mystery Tour, and what a long, strange trip it’s been. In our previous episode, the mythic bedroom/MySpace act Side Project 7 had fizzled out. A few months later, I moved out of Scott’s house and into a mid-rise apartment, which meant my drums didn’t get much attention (read: none) anymore, and at this point I was editing a new magazine (Racket) and didn’t have much time for musical frivolities anyway. It took almost a year before the next musical project would accidentally come my way.

I was at my pal Mark T. Zeilman‘s (now-defunct) art gallery, MTZC, in December, 2007. It may have been First Friday, it may not have been, but it was definitely during some reception or event. I may have been drinking. Mark introduced me to a guy with Wolverine sideburns he called his “singer.” Now, at this point, I had known Mark for about seven or eight years, but for most of that time, only casually through the art scene, but I had no idea he played music, and I expressed as much to Mark that night.

I learned that he and this spiky-haired guy Tim Beck were writing songs and jamming with various people (Mark on bass guitar). So of course I jumped in and said, “If you guys need a shitty drummer, let me know.” Turns out, they did. That was the one portion of the band they couldn’t nail down, and it seems they were less concerned about my skills as my availability/commitment. I was available Sundays, and that’s all that mattered. So we made plans to meet at Tim’s house to jam with the rest of the loose group.

Let’s recall that at this point, I hadn’t played drums AT ALL in about a year. I was still occasionally recording music by myself at home, but it was all sampled/programmed beats with me on guitar and keyboards, and I had only recorded two or three songs during that entire period, under the project name “Nomashok,” which was kind-of a catch-all name for any quasi-electronic, unreleased material I’d recorded over the years. But I was badly out of practice on the drums, and the last band in which I’d played, I did so playing along to a click track, basically. Playing in a live, hard rock band with four or five live human beings? Gah!

Despite all this, I dragged my drums down the six stories to my car (in a shopping cart) and drove out to Tim’s house in North Las Vegas on a bright  Sunday afternoon. I set up my drums in his garage (something you can only do in winter here, lest you die of heat exposure), and met the two guitarists who were hanging around, Josh and Kyle. Josh was really young, maybe 19, and was one of those guys who could pull of metal riffs without appearing to put out any effort, but his songwriting was lacking. Kyle was a cowboy-type, not as technically proficient as Josh, but a bit older and more well-rounded, with more of a blues influence. I discovered Mark was a very good bassist, though it was obvious he was still getting comfortable with it (I later learned guitar is his first instrument), he plays a sick groove, plays with creative fills, and had a good sense of melody. Tim turned out to be an angry mix of Scott Weiland, Maynard James Keenan and Glenn Danzig. Now the sideburns made sense.

With beers and cigarettes being consumed in proper rock ‘n’ roll fashion, the garage door went down and we started jamming on songs they had already in mid-development. I think I kept up OK, but I was REALLY wobbly. Though the type of music (metal-tinged post-grunge) wasn’t my thing, some of the songs really caught me, especially “Alone,” driven by Mark’s Fugazi-like bass line (oddly, none of the other guys even listen to Fugazi). Others were a bit more grungy, or at least when I applied my rudimentary drums to them, they became so. We had a decent thing going, until the NLV police showed up, banging on the garage door. Apparently, a neighbor complained about the noise (I don’t blame ‘em).

Shockingly, the guys wanted me back again. Or at least, Mark and Tim did. Possibly more important than how we each played is how we got along together, and the chemistry was there, despite our own varied musical influences and interests. So we reconvened on a weekly basis, but moved venues to the second-floor loft inside Tim’s neighbor’s house. That neighbor, Kenny, had a teenage son, Zach, who was starting to play guitar, and Zach actually co-wrote one of our eventual mainstay songs, “My Reality.”

The time at Kenny’s house was productive: We wrote or fine-tuned several of what would become signature songs there: “Pseudo Angel,” “Shots Fired,” “Someday,” and jammed on a lot of the dozens of lyrics Tim brought in, but a lot of those songs (for good reason) didn’t stick, and the lyrics would be put to better use in later songs. However, one thing was certain: We were terrible. No, I mean, bad. Like, really bad. Individually, we were OK. Mark was solid. Tim could wail when he wanted to. Josh and Kyle were doing their respective things. Me? I was pretty rough. It’s not like I was practicing in between jams. I was ONLY playing when we got together. But I could still hold a beat.

Regardless, something wasn’t working. First, Josh was somewhat unreliable (he only showed up half the time) — and potentially leaving town soon. Plus, he was a one-trick pony. The term “dynamic” meant nothing to him. Kyle, well, he was a nice guy, but not really a good fit. It became obvious that Mark, Tim and I had formed a solid core, but we seemed to be in need of an older, more consistent, more experienced guitar player, if we were going to take this thing seriously.

Also, did I mention we were terrible? Seriously, I set up a YouTube account to post videos of our practices, and while there are some interesting historical pieces in there, such as early versions of the aforementioned stalwart songs, there are also some really horrendous clips, so bad that I took them all down publicly. One is so bad, that despite getting almost 500 views, it also got appropriately vile comments. It deserved them. We all sound terrible. Josh looks bored, Tim sounds like he’s in pain, no one is playing in step, it’s just … bad.  I won’t subject you to that, but I will link to a rarely seen early practice of “Alone,” with Kyle on guitar.

Next up: As Yet Unbroken, Part Two: The band gets a new home, a new name and a new guitarist.

It’s a testament to my loquaciousness that I’ve managed to squeeze seven long-winded blog posts out of the subject of my public/semi-public musical indulgences, considering that despite nearly 20 years of effort, any semblance of a viable musical career remains hopelessly lost to me. Not that I’ve actively chased after such a thing since the summer of 1996, mind you, but still: This is a lot of digital ink. But, persevere we shall …

Since last we left off in our tour of magical, musical mystery, I found myself divorced, with few possessions to my name save for a few pieces of office furniture, my laptop, and most importantly, my five-piece Ludwig drum set. But what I did have were friends, new and old, who not only supported my music-making tendencies, but actively engaged them.

I had moved in with my friend Scott, who generously not only put me up in a room at a bargain rate, but also housed my cumbersome drum set (which actually worked well with the house motif, as it was also filled with giant TVs, pinball machines and multiple video game systems). About the same time, my friend Brian (Henry, a well-regarded local artist) and I were having a lot of discussions about music, considering most of our public hanging out was at live music gigs.

I’m not sure when or how the discussions turned to us making our own music together, but the next thing I know, Brian, Scott and I (along with our respective social/life partners) were in Scott’s bedroom (not like that, you sick kids! My drums were in his room!), running Brian’s synthesizer through Scott’s stereo system, making a weird blend of electronic and organic instrumentation, Scott recording every session through his computer microphone. It was a delicious combination of low- and high-fidelity, mostly instrumental with the occasional vocal delivery by Scott (who otherwise alternated between Svengali and sample generator). And it became known as Side Project Seven.

Side Project Seven (SP7 from here on out) never really left Scott’s bedroom (well, not true — we migrated to the den eventually) — despite us making big plans for a ludicrous live show that would feature matching jumpsuits, masks and robots — but in the brief months of its existence, SP7 was pretty awesome. We basically recorded only three songs based on loops Brian wrote/programmed, which were posted to a MySpace account with various graphics, photos and videos from the bedroom sessions. People liked the danceable tunes, and we probably could have built a drunken cult following, but eventually Brian got distracted by other interests, Scott cracked open his skull, and I became the replacement for Charlie Sheen on Two and a Half Men.*

We did attempt a revival of SP7 (SP7.2) later in 2006, this time featuring my old pal Ryan Couevas (of Rahne & Morgana Athena) on guitar, but beyond one practice and one “show” during a Halloween party that year, it never went anywhere. (Not counting SP7.3, our Rock Band-competing offshoot.)

The SP7 page is still live on MySpace, so you can check out our music and photos there. The videos only seem to be  working intermittently, but if you’d like to watch a video of us covering LL Cool J’s “I Need Love” (featuring MC Pj on vocals), well, I got you covered. (And there is an alternate version, even!)

Next up: The tour ends (for now) with … As Yet Unbroken!

*Only two of these statements are true. You decide!

I know it’s been a while since we’ve boarded the bus for our Magical (Musical) Mystery Tour through my musical non-career, so let’s recap: We started with the origins of my interest in music and one of my first bands, moved on to mentally challenged shenanigans, looked behind the scenes at the life and death of Rahne, learned the secrets of the Still Hour Productions collective, and got spooky during my stint with local goth pioneers Morgana Athena. This time around, I’m going to pull back the veil on what the hell I was doing in between all these projects, from recording material that never left the living room to planning a Rahne comeback that never happened.

I mentioned briefly last time that after Rahne’s breakup in April 1997 and before joining Morgana Athena in the fall of that year, I was doing a lot of recording and writing in different styles. When Rahne was still going strong, I was already moving away from the goth-punk stuff, exploring more pop, funk and contemporary electronic sounds. But all the while, I was going even further into different musical realms on the side, recording a lot of jazz-influenced stuff that would never work for Rahne. When the band broke up, it was really just a natural progression for me.

There was also an upheaval in my personal life at the time, because shortly after Rahne dissolved, so did the relationship with my girlfriend at the time (I wasn’t the most fun to be around back in the day), and I moved out of her apartment and into my own place … for the first time ever. With no roommates and few distractions or obligations outside of my 9-to-5 job (I don’t think I even had a car), I had plenty of time to focus on creating music. Well, and on IRC chat, but that’s a story for another time. I bought a new keyboard (to complement my existing one), a new Mac (again, doubling my computing power) and spent many long days and late nights just being productive as hell.

Aside from an attempt to bring my jazz-pop compositions to life with a real, live jazz band (we had one unsuccessful jam), my main focus at the time was the new musical identity of The Dawn. While on paper, this wasn’t much different than Rahne (me writing, recording and playing everything in the studio), the tone of the music was quite different. I was done writing angry young man songs about racism, oppression and sadness. I was more focused on creating dynamic soundscapes, with lyrics coming secondary, and style or genre not being a restriction. Though my output was not as prolific as the period writing for Rahne, The Dawn produced some interesting recordings.

The first was a cassette E.P. called “Welcome 2 … The Dawn.” Yes, the Prince influence was there aesthetically, if not musically. The five songs ran the gamut, mashing up my musical interests, from the trip-hop-leaning, spoken word lead track, “Substance,” to the 10-minute, fully improvised, free-noise-jazz experiment “Blue in the Key of What,” anchored by a sample of Miles Davis’ “So What.” Hell, there was even a ballad, improbably named “Wham-Bam,” again, with improvised lyrics. Made available for order online and in one or two Vegas record stores, I think only five people have ever heard the songs from this tape. I’ve uploaded “Substance” for your listening pleasure.

After joining Morgana Athena as its guitarist, it didn’t take me long before I was also the acting manager/publicist/producer as well. After we moved into a shared rehearsal space with that jazz combo I mentioned earlier, I also moved my studio equipment into there, something also precipitated by getting back together — and moving in — with my ex-girlfriend (and future ex-wife). Though I obviously spent a lot of time working on Morgana-related stuff, I also continued writing and recording material for The Dawn, though at a stilted pace, as I was cramming what used to be nearly limitless time for such things into just a few hours a week spent at the studio between work, gigs and personal life stuff. Plus, I was running all my extracurricular activity from the studio, which included (this will come as a shock) a publishing company, record label and graphic design business.

Regardless, I managed to squeeze out another commercial release by The Dawn, a maxi-single called “Transcension.” I was really on this spiritual kick at the time, sort of the opposite of Rahne’s “there is no god” hard-line stance. It kind of started with “Welcome 2…,” with its breaking dawn cover imagery, but came to full bloom on “Transcension,” a blazing, big-beat exercise that might be one of the best things I’ve ever recorded, combining samples and live performance with multi-textural vocals (listen to it here). The lyrics basically denounce my previous blasphemous ways and declare, “I know I’ll never die because I’m learning how to fly,” a reference to my SOUL, y’all. The weird thing is, it’s not like I found Jesus or anything. It’s just, um, where my head was, I guess. This was probably about the same time as I got one of my first tattoos, which contains an allusion to Christ’s second coming or whatever.

The second song on that CD was a track called “Valley of Locusts,” literally written within a valley of locusts. Back in ’98, there was a weird mini-infestation of locusts (OK, maybe they were cicadas) in Las Vegas. At one point, they clogged some streets so much, you could not take a step without stepping on one. I was walking to the studio one day through this field of locusts, thinking about all the end-of-millennium stuff, and the lyrics just came to my head, which I then recorded with a slow, heavy drum beat, lingering bass line and dynamic guitars. And then, for some reason, I decided the already five-minute track needed a seven-minute techno-dance remix. So, here’s that. Lyrics complete with references to souls living forever, Nazareth (not the band) and other quasi-Biblical imagery. The “Transcension” single probably sold even fewer copies than “Welcome 2…,” so I doubt anyone has ever heard this stuff.

By the end of 1998, Morgana had broken up, my studio was dismantled, and I was rapidly on my way to being married … at 22. While I didn’t give up on music entirely, my new life left little room for it, literally, because there wasn’t a practical way to have a dedicated studio space in our cramped apartment with roommates. Eventually, we moved into an apartment with an extra bedroom that I tricked out as a wicked home office/studio, similar to what I have now (minus a full band’s worth of equipment). It afforded me the ability to not only increase my freelance design and writing projects (at this point, I was running multiple websites as well as a new multimedia production business called “The Studio,” doing CD mastering/duplication, graphic design & production, etc.), but also to start writing and recording music again in earnest.

For the most part, The Dawn was dead. I recorded a few more songs with the intention of putting out another single or EP — I have a fully-packaged CD single around my house somewhere — but it never left the bedroom. The music had evolved further (as had the technology with which to record it). I was doing a lot of sample and beat manipulation and very little actual playing. It was interesting, but never went anywhere.

Some of those tracks were held over for an idea I’d fomented, a Rahne concept album called “God, Sex and the Power to Fall.” It would have been a genre-spanning album of epic proportions … if I ever finished it. I’m pretty sure I did the package design (complete with full track listing) before even recording anything. Very few finished tracks exist from that period, at least that I can find. Mind you, I have books full of poorly labeled CD-Rs from that period, so there might be more out there than I realize. But all I know is I was vaguely falling under the sway of the pop music of the time — Backstreet Boys, Ricky Martin, etc. — and one of the demos for GS&TPTF includes a pretty terrible multi-part vocal harmony by yours truly.

After that, I spent the rest of the early-2000s diddling around, just experimenting with different styles and sounds: hip-hop, world, dance, pop and, oh yeah, lilting guitar ballads. Tia (my then-wife) and I tried starting a band together, writing a few songs and coming up with a name (“Hesperia”), but it didn’t get very far. We had, um, issues collaborating, which probably explains the eventual divorce thing (it all worked out in the end), but oddly enough, the ONLY TIME I have played the main stage at the House of Blues Las Vegas was during our brief collaboration, playing a few songs (just me on guitar and Tia on vocals) for a friend’s benefit show. One was a cover of PJ Harvey’s “C’mon Billy,” and the other was (I think) an original we wrote, but don’t ask me what it was called or how it went. We never recorded anything.

Despite all that, weirdly, the one thing that enabled my musical revival in the late-2000s was an anniversary present from Tia: A Ludwig five-piece drum set. Yes, the same, sparkly silver one I play to this day. She knew I had a hard-on for the drums, but I hadn’t been able to play them much since Morgana broke up (I used to come to rehearsals early just to get in jam time on the skins), aside from occasional djembe jamming at drum circles (don’t ask). We bought a house, which meant I not only had room for them, but a cushion of space between neighbors to enable hitting them loudly. I spent as much time as I could practicing, just plugging headphones into a CD player and teaching myself as I played along. And yes, kids, that’s why I am such a terrible drummer still. Never learned to play properly.

Which brings us to … the end of this overly long chapter. Next time, with my new drum skills and sudden bachelorhood, we look at how I wasted little time getting right back on the band horse … even if that horse never left the stable.

The boys are back in town. Actually, we didn’t quite leave town. But it has been since November that the band in which I bang on drums, As Yet Unbroken, has graced a stage to perform live. If you follow us on Facebook (and, um, you should), you’d know that’s because we’ve been hunkering down in my home studio, recording new (and old) songs for our forthcoming debut album. But we’re venturing back into the Las Vegas live music scene for one night because we were asked to play a benefit show for the non-profit co-op preschool our lead singer’s kid attends, and aside from being a good cause, it gives us an excuse to stretch our musical muscles once again.

So it would be lovely to see your faces at Las Vegas Country Saloon (425 Fremont St., above Mickey Finnz) at 8 p.m. this Thursday, Feb. 24 as we join fellow local bands Pigasus and Viva Valhalla for a night of fund-raising rock ‘n’ roll. If you’re over 21, you’re in like Flynn, and there’s technically no cover charge, but of course, any donation amount for Kids’ Co-Op is appreciated. We’re going to be playing new stuff, old favorites and maybe even toss in a surprise or two, so come on down. It’s a school night, yes, but it shouldn’t be too late for you sensitive types.

Discussing the art and business of self-publishing with Keith Knight and Ryan Claytor. (Photo by Katrina Miller)

Well, I did it. I broke myself. I kind of knew it would happen, but I was hoping it wouldn’t: I managed to pull through the last few weeks of whirlwind activity and then my body finally gave out upon waking Sunday morning. It’s my usual change-of-season cold (because, of course, the temperature dropped drastically on Sunday as well), but I’m sure it also had something to do with the self-abuse of this past weekend’s shenanigans. But everything went spectacularly well, and despite the stress, it was about as fun as it comes.

Friday — after running around all day with last-minute prep for the weekend’s festivities — we opened the “Inside the Boneyard” original art exhibit at Blackbird Studios during First Friday. It was also the first chance anyone had to get their hands on a physical copy of Tales from the Boneyard. The turnout was great, both for our show, and for the Day of the Dead exhibit in the front of the gallery (in which I also have a terrible piece of art). We sold a bunch of comics, and I sold at least a few pieces of original art. Very exciting! Both shows will be on display through the end of November, so I suggest you waste no time and head to 1551 S. Commerce St. to check them out!

I cut out of the reception early to run over to the Double Down Saloon (OK, so I drove, whatever) to talk comics, music and other shenanigans on Double Down Radio. It’s a pretty impressive set-up they have over there. I expected one dude with a laptop and Radio Shack microphone. But there are actually producers, hosts, call-in lines and all sorts of other fancy broadcasting things going on. Of course, it’s all done while downing shots and beer, but still, impressive. Self-described Star Wars fanatic Dave Prophet hosts the Friday night live shows, and I had a great time just hanging out and talking smack. If you want to hear the program, you can get the full, two-hour episode here, though I don’t come on until about 1:21 (that’s an hour twenty-one).

Saturday morning was a bit of a rough start, as the Double Down was not my last stop the night before, and it got rougher when I failed to find an envelope holding about $125 in petty cash I needed for the Vegas Valley Comic Book Festival, where I needed to be set-up by about 10 a.m. Thankfully, because of sales the previous night at the gallery reception, there was enough cash in that box to get through the day, but misplacing that much cash wasn’t happy news either way (it eventually turned up, two days later).

The festival itself was awesome. We sold copies of Tales from the Boneyard like gangbusters — a feat I owe a lot of credit to the supportive local press, who have been promoting the anthology for almost two months — and my other Pop! Goes the Icon titles didn’t sell too shabbily either. I also sat on my first convention-style panel, a self-publishing discussion with the great Keith Knight and Ryan Claytor. The room was packed, and we must have talked for well over an hour, mostly answering dozens of questions from the crowd.

This year’s festival was packed with people, and felt way too short. I mean, it’s only five hours anyway, but those five hours went by insanely fast. Last year’s event was good, too, but I recall having a few more periods of downtime. Of course, I didn’t have two tables to run or panels on which to sit. It was great to connect with so many people, and I predict next year’s event will just be even more fun.

There was little time to breathe in between the end of the festival (from which I departed at 5 p.m.) and band rehearsal at 6 p.m. It was the first time we were able to practice with our singer Tim in almost a month, and also the first time he’d performed with our former/temporary guitarist Rick in more than a year. But Rick, Mark and I had been practicing nearly every other day, and Tim jumped right into the mix. We blazed through our set relatively error-free, and packed up to head for Brass Lounge downtown, where we were playing the release party for both the Boneyard comic and Dead Neon: Tales from Near-Future Las Vegas.

Despite fears that we’d clear out the room of Saturday night revelers whom Kirby Krackle (which was just a solo, acoustic Kyle Stevens) warmed up, getting them dancing, our performance actually went really well — maybe the best in years. I don’t know if it was Rick’s (temporary) return, the energy of the crowd, the free drinks, or what, but people were actually dancing to our rock-metal-punk attack, and inexplicably cheering. Of course, that was nothing compared to our follow-up act, Jarret Keene’s Dead Neon, which was the obvious main draw of the night. The trio’s post-apocalyptic sludge metal was strangely hypnotic, infectious and grooving, and some hardcore fans were actually hanging on every growling word from Jarret’s mouth.

The final band of the night, 11K, featured a few members from Dead Neon, but its sound was more indie-dream-rock than death metal. Still, it’s a shame so many people left after Dead Neon finished, because 11K put on a great set, and I was kind of sad to learn the band only reunited for that night’s performance (most of the same line-up appears in Minor Suns, who was supposed to play originally).

All in all, it was a good night. We sold a few more copies of Boneyard, and hopefully impressed the booking agent at Brass to invite As Yet Unbroken to perform in the future. Of course, we’re at another crux, as our full-time guitarist parted ways with the band a few weeks ago (hence Rick’s pinch-hitting appearance). Much as we did about this time last year, we’ll probably focus on recording before diving back into the search for a new guitar player. Or, you know, just build a guitar-playing robot. Hmm …

I’m taking it relatively easy this week, though this mild cold I have is also kind of forcing me to do so. I’ve been trying to plug away at my NaNoWriMo entry, but apparently, I’m a slow writer. Also: Brain borked the last few days. I do have one event to attend this week, but I’ll talk about that more tomorrow. Back to my headache and work …

I know this is coming sorta late, even though I’ve known about it for a while, but as we’re merely providing the soundtrack and aren’t really the main draw, I’ll forgive myself a little: My band, As Yet Unbroken, is playing for free tomorrow, Oct. 15, at Studio 8 Ten (810 Las Vegas Blvd. S. in downtown Las Vegas), for the gallery/store’s “Face to Facebook” art show.

Studio 8 Ten is a non-profit art studio and gift shop providing creative, business-based employment to people with disabilities. A percentage of proceeds from the art show will benefit Transition Services, Inc., which runs the studio. There will be works from 30 different artists on display, including AYU bassist Mark T. Zeilman.

Sursum, the electronic rock act featuring Mark and our guitar player Peter Stauber, will warm up the crowd at about 6:30, followed by the room-clearing aggro-rock of AYU at about 7:15. If you like art, music, booze, food and helping people with disabilities, you should totally be there.