ROCK 'N' ROLL NEEDS TRAGEDY

A Flight and a Crash

2012-02-06T21:48:00.000-08:00

I can’t recall where it exactly the fascinating curiosity Ihave had towards abandoned amusement parks came from.

A cloudy memory often comes to mind when I’m traveling onI-4 towards Orlando. It’s quite hauntingto me.

About 15 minutes outside of Kissimmee, Florida near HainesCity I would recall seeing a ram shackled baseball stadium. Almost a half-mileoff the road it stood and I was never quite sure if the other memory of aroller coaster and a distant carousel were real or bits of a story many of myfriends would tell me about that property. Their insight would go somethinglike this:

“That was that Baseball City theme park. It was only openfor a year and they shut it down because the roller coaster derailed and killeda bunch of Swedish tourists.”

In actuality, it was called Boardwalk and Baseball. Anattempt by Harcourt, Brace and Jovanovich,a children’s book publisher to capture the essence of America’s Atlantic CityBoardwalk and combine it with our country’s favorite past time, opened in 1987 andclosed abruptly one day in January, 1990. Yes, abruptly as in an announcementhailing over the parks PA system informing the 1,000 visitors at the park thatthey would be closing a few hours early so round up the kids and Grandpa andleave. Refunds will be honored at the gate.

Here is a TV commercial for Boardwalk and Baseball thataired shortly after its opening

Its demise came from a financial blow it took defending ahostile takeover by a British publisher of which it never recovered from. Thereare no reports of Swedish fatalities or derailed rollercoasters, but there issomething definitely haunting about a theme park that existed for only 3 yearsthat lay in ruin once it closed.

Perhaps the only fatalities came from terrifying mascothospital visits by this goon so appropriately named Scooter:

The patient sort of resembles a Swede I suppose. Who intheir right minds would give Scooterhospital clearance is what I want to know.

Another abandoned park I encountered while studying in Spainduring my junior year of high school was L’Aquatic Paradis. Our shuttle bus had taken us through these hills outside of Barcelona wherewe were able to take pictures and stretch our legs for a bit. While walkingdown the paved sidewalk we noticed rusting metal tracks cutting through brushand graffiti riddled ticket booths also overgrown by foliage. Whatever funmemories had in that waterpark were a thing of the past and it is quite evidentsomething went awry. Upon further searching for this park I came to find thatit did in fact close because of a fatality. Here is a link to a blog thatshares pictures of the dilapidated water park.

There are some really interesting and yet frighteningwebsites that tell the story of theme parks of yesterday and those who met anuntimely end. Although it is interesting to read about what each park offeredits guests in the past, the pictures of where and how they stand today tell thetrue story. This may have trumped my fascinating fear of Bigfoot.

If you too have found yourself in awe of Florida’s themepark past, I strongly recommend visiting www.lostparks.com

Some other really interestingly creepy photos of Six FlagsNew Orleans post Katrina are up at

Love These Pics.

Am I the only one who finds these terrifying yet fascinating?

The Wayfarer

2012-02-02T20:42:00.000-08:00

Destiny is defined, as a predetermined future, and fate isdisastrous. Fate is the chain of events that befalls us. John Lennon sufferedhis fate in the years after the Beatles broke. David Gilmour of Pink Floyd onthe other hand overcame fate by living a life in which no deities exist topraise or fear. He creates music that defines infinity, eternity and moralityon his own terms, and considers himself lucky and grateful for the opportunityto do so.

Shane has found himself at the inevitable fork in the road oflife. At 23, a recent college graduate of USF, he hit the streets running underhis father’s advice to find a job or find someone else’s couch to sleep on. Hesoon discovered that he was one in many among the largest jobless force with acollege degree this world has seen in years, and it only made sense to fallback on what he has only really known.

Music.

“We need to f***ing get down there, is Mark meeting us here orat downtown?” Shane calls to his brother in the other room.

A mumbled response from Stephen follows. Shane shakes his headin a confused frustration and finishes with a smirk. He sits shirtless on hisliving room floor with his back against the couch. Currently, he is more intenton his Atlanta Braves earning a “w” in his MLB 2K11 X Box game that illuminateshis television screen than carrying his amp and guitar downstairs and into hiscar. I push the subject a bit when I ask when he’s going to get off his can andhelp Stephen carry the snare and cymbals.

“Pat, that’s one of the stupidest things I have ever heard yousay. I feel sorry for you, bro.” he sighs.

Wearing nothing but faded cut off jean shorts and a pair ofblown out black Vans on his feet, it’s safe to assume that this guy isn’t goinganywhere any time soon. Nor are his Braves, apparently.

“Are we going shirts or skins tonight, Stephen?” Shane yells.

No answer.

“HEY!” he yells.

No answer

“Shteeeepheeeeeeeennnnnnn!!!!” he screeches louder this time.

“WHAT!” Stephen rips back.

“Shirts or skins, tonight?” Shane asks again.

“I’m not taking my shirt off tonight, I’ll let Mark carry thattorch.” Stephen insists.

Shane tosses his controller behind him onto the couch and fallslimp onto the carpet. His body lay face down, motionless with his arms to hisside. This lasts for at least 4 minutes as I help Stephen load his equipmentand Shane’s amp into the back of his truck outside.

We make it back upstairs assuming by now Shane’s body isencircled in a forensic chalk line, yet the body has been moved. In the nextroom we hear movement and a high pitch voice singing Natalie Imbruglia’s late90’s hit, “Torn” sung by the man of the hour.

“I’m a little late…and my jeans are tooorrrrrrnnnn.” singsShane.

Stephen grumbles, and leaves.

Shane now wearing a shirt, or what’s left of one, grabs his keysand his guitar, a toothbrush is jammed into the side of his mouth.

“Waiting on you, bro.” he exhales.

“Are you guys ever on time for shows?” I ask.

“We’re always on time. Punk time.” He replies.

Inside the shop, he enters and drops his parcel of recentlypurchased Pabst Blue Ribbon beer next to a stack of vintage Playboy magazines.He stares out the window, across Central Avenue for a moment and then scans theworking space.

“You want one? There’s only a few left.” he offers, as the fresh12-pack of lager is torn open by his eager hands.

“Whose are those?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. Mine I guess?” Shane suggests.

Two cans are fetched from the safety of their cardboard shelter.The first is flung over the drum set to Mark, and the other to Stephen. As Iturn to look back at Shane, the can, held a foot from his face hangs in hisgrasp, emptying its golden contents through his head into his gut.

“Did ya get it all?” I ask.

He struggles with the last gulp, holding back laughter andcontemplating a quick reply.

“Never.” He says laughing.

He wipes the sour froth from his beard, slings his guitar strapover his shoulder and begins to tune.

“I forgot to remind you to bring ear plugs. This place getsloud, man. Want me to run to my car and find you some?” he asks.

“Never.” I reply.

And so it begins.

Among a crowd of seventy to eighty sweaty and buzzing20-somethings, Set and Setting’s slow tempos of rolling beats synched betweenthe two drummers Mark and Stephen, make way for John’s bending bass strings.The moment of anticipation dissipates as Shane tears into a sonic distortion ofguitar riffs that echo from these concrete walls and cleave the staleair. His audience’s heads bob and sway, while the rest remain still,focusing on the reverberation that drones in a sullen tempo, only to gainmomentum and crash through the minds and senses that beckon for more. Shaneleads his band and their fans into a world outside of lyrics or choruses,relying solely on the resonance of psychedelic instrumental fury, not to beheard, only to be experienced. Shane becomes the puppeteer of the Set andSetting show. He dangles the strings of his post-rock collaboration and twiststhem into a harmonic symphony of guitar sound unlike anything St. Petersburghas heard in ages.

It’s 1am, and I accompany Shane on a walk down Central Avenuetowards my place. Walking past Daddy Kool Records I ask him about his recentventure in music promotion, Don’t Stop Collective. Don’t Stop Collective is acollaboration that he and a few friends started whose sole purpose is to marketbands, schedule shows and promote as much as they can for the eclectic musicscene in St. Pete and beyond. He reveals his frustration for local promotion,and hopes he can do a better job at helping those who have helped him along theway. He’s quite enthused in discussing the matter and the response they havereceived.

“I have always wished that there were more solid bands aroundhere. I know there are people with talent that just don’t follow throughwhether its laziness, lack of motivation, or lack of other motivated people toplay with. Whenever a new band appears, and it’s totally different fromeveryone else, it just widens the repertoire, and possibilities of the localmusic scene. There’s often an eclectic vibe with shows in St. Pete. Most bandsaround here have an original sound that stands out from other bands, but in oneform or another, it works together as a whole.” he explains.

Taking the initiative to promote bands and shows has revived hisfaith in music and opened his eyes to what he is truly capable of. If he putshis guitar aside (which he won’t, ever) and forgets all about his USF degree,he has that dream that no one can take from him. Whether it is on stage,plastering store windows with show posters, or setting up gigs for bands toplay in the Tampa Bay area, Shane has faith in music, that’s something he’s notwilling to cast aside.

nside my condominium, it’s now 1:13am. Shane sits at our pianoplaying around with a few keys. He reveals that he’s never been taught piano,nor was he formally taught how to play the guitar he has always played fromsound. A few moments later he wanders over to the cabinet to flip through myrecords, and jokingly quizzes me about my collection, as to which vinyls aremine and which are his sister’s. I sarcastically ask him if the music makes theman. Not expecting much of a reply he surprises me with something I’ll neverforget.

“I think that this is different for every person, even more sowith musicians. It’s hard not to constantly be thinking about music. Even whenI’m listening to music, I’m trying to learn from it for the better of myself asa musician and a person. It’s a constant thought that never really leaves,especially because we’re always surrounded by music, or the option to be. Musichas always defined different time periods of my life, and has influenced theway I have grown as a person. It’s the most important thing in my life, so Ithink that it does define who I am. I don’t know what I would be like if musicdidn’t exist. I don’t think that this holds true to everyone though. Maybe, inthe same sense though, the lack of music defines that person too though. I dothink music makes the man.”

Shaneis 23 years old. He sees life in a way that we can only catch rare glimpses of.Whether he knows it or not his destiny lies on those six strings and the heartthat bends them. In a world where nothing seems certain, and every decision hemakes comes as a roll of his dice, he is a wayfarer with a wish to stay alivefor a cause and for a dream of music.

Set and Setting

It's Better In The Wind

2012-01-23T20:52:00.000-08:00

Earlier this summer, PunkNews.org dropped a quick story of a soundtrack that Chuck Ragan contributed his songs to for a short film about cafe racers called "It's Better In The Wind". I know nothing about motorcycles. I've never been on one, and was actually opposed to their lifestyle until I got hooked on Sons of Anarchy this last year and started noticing some of the old road racers parked downtown. If I was to ever want a bike it would be the one Steve McQueen rode in "The Great Escape" but I think that would require a lot of balance and leather skin which I have neither of.

Either way, the short film follows a group of friends in California for rides all across the golden state, through deserts and mountains and lush forest. The cinematography is sick, the music is perfect, and I simply cannot stop watching this film...

It's Better In The Wind - Short Film from Scott Toepfer on Vimeo.

It's Better In The Wind

These words came too late.

2012-01-23T20:16:00.000-08:00

"There's not much you can do to try to make a child into something that he's not. But whatever he is, you can sure destroy it. Just be mean and cruel and you can destroy the best person. "

- Cormac McMcCarthy