4/22 - Mix Tape Cafe - Grand Rapids, MI
4/23 - Radio Radio - Indianapolis, IL
4/24 - Magic Stick - Detroit, MI
4/25 - The Grog Shop - Cleveland Heights, OH
4/26 - Ottobar - Baltimore, MD
4/27 - Maxwell’s - Hoboken, NJ
4/28 - First Unitarian Church - Philadelphia, PA
4/29 - Smiling Moose - Pittsburg, PA
4/30 - Skull Alley - Louisville, KY
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
PARIA PREMIERE VIDEO “THE BARNACLE CORDIOUS” TODAY! ONLY ON METALINJECTION.NET!
Today marks the premiere of Paria’s newest video “The Barnacle Cordious” exclusively on MetalInjection.net.
“The Barnacle Cordious” is directed by Paria’s long time friend and videograher, Kyle Benecke, of the High Five Media Group. “The Barnacle Cordious” enhanced cd will feature a copy of the band’s first video. In addition, Kyle, who is the former vocalist of System Failure and Nodes of Ravier, lent his talents to several tracks on the record.
“The Barnacle Cordious” will be available in store March 17th. Pre-order the record now from the Black Market Activities webstore.
Don’t forget you can check out more music from “The Barnacle Cordious” on Paria's MySpace and the Black Market Activities MySpace.
“The Barnacle Cordious” is directed by Paria’s long time friend and videograher, Kyle Benecke, of the High Five Media Group. “The Barnacle Cordious” enhanced cd will feature a copy of the band’s first video. In addition, Kyle, who is the former vocalist of System Failure and Nodes of Ravier, lent his talents to several tracks on the record.
“The Barnacle Cordious” will be available in store March 17th. Pre-order the record now from the Black Market Activities webstore.
Don’t forget you can check out more music from “The Barnacle Cordious” on Paria's MySpace and the Black Market Activities MySpace.
The Fatasses of Metal Social Club: Cattle Decapitation, Psyopus and the 'mini' bar
Covering all of the major food groups is important, but the minor ones shouldn’t be pissed to the wind because they’re unfairly categorized by the FDA as a “minority” food group. It’s just fucking food racism.
While it seemed nearly impossible to top the disturbing display of competitive eating at D.Z. Akins, we will overcome – we will persevere. Because pickles and sandwiches are shits and giggles when compared to gorging on the purest forms of sugar, and still avoiding keeling over into an agonizing sugary seizure.
Nothing says Valentine’s Day quite like going to see Cattle Decapitation and Psyopus in the “barrio” of San Marcos, otherwise known as slums that surround one of the few legit North County venues, The Jumping Turtle.
But the only “I love you’s” on display weren’t from our devotion to spit baths paired with great groin-demolishing music, but rather the pre-gamed feast of gummy bears, washed down with chocolate liquor shots. Only Kindergartners dream of such indulgences – minus the “liquor shots,” we’re trying to keep it PC here, people.
Cracking open one of Michelle’s several enormous cases of Gummy Bears that she received for V-Day was like busting open a piñata at a non-Mexican friend’s birthday party – you know there’s a delicious reward waiting to be unleashed, so you ignore that fact that something isn’t right about the situation.
Three packets later, Michelle forgot we needed something to wash the multi-colored woodland creatures down.
Opening the liquor cabinet – or box in this case – revealed an alocholic’s taster’s choice of fine liquors. Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Grand Mariner, Cointreau, at this moment, I broke “edge.”
Two-or-three shots later, we headed out to The Jumping Turtle, arriving just in time to park ourselves by the heater. You may be thinking, “what the fuck is so amazing about standing next to a heater?” Well, given that I’ve got more dye in my hair than Wavy Gravy’s t-shirt collection, it’s a pretty dangerous feat to stand next to a flame-spitting heater.
Still danger was somewhat expected at this place, especially after Michelle, some of the Cattle significant others and I had to dodge just about every whirl-wind, preschooler’s shoving match coming our way. Or maybe it was the crazy heckler, who was told where to shove it, and later waited outside for a knife fight – good job remembering dude that it’s 2009, not 1955, put your switchblade away and all hair grease purchases are discontinued.
Sheena Hamilton is publicity assistant for BMA and a cynic who doesn't discriminate against minority food groups.
While it seemed nearly impossible to top the disturbing display of competitive eating at D.Z. Akins, we will overcome – we will persevere. Because pickles and sandwiches are shits and giggles when compared to gorging on the purest forms of sugar, and still avoiding keeling over into an agonizing sugary seizure.
Nothing says Valentine’s Day quite like going to see Cattle Decapitation and Psyopus in the “barrio” of San Marcos, otherwise known as slums that surround one of the few legit North County venues, The Jumping Turtle.
But the only “I love you’s” on display weren’t from our devotion to spit baths paired with great groin-demolishing music, but rather the pre-gamed feast of gummy bears, washed down with chocolate liquor shots. Only Kindergartners dream of such indulgences – minus the “liquor shots,” we’re trying to keep it PC here, people.
Cracking open one of Michelle’s several enormous cases of Gummy Bears that she received for V-Day was like busting open a piñata at a non-Mexican friend’s birthday party – you know there’s a delicious reward waiting to be unleashed, so you ignore that fact that something isn’t right about the situation.
Three packets later, Michelle forgot we needed something to wash the multi-colored woodland creatures down.
Opening the liquor cabinet – or box in this case – revealed an alocholic’s taster’s choice of fine liquors. Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Grand Mariner, Cointreau, at this moment, I broke “edge.”
Two-or-three shots later, we headed out to The Jumping Turtle, arriving just in time to park ourselves by the heater. You may be thinking, “what the fuck is so amazing about standing next to a heater?” Well, given that I’ve got more dye in my hair than Wavy Gravy’s t-shirt collection, it’s a pretty dangerous feat to stand next to a flame-spitting heater.
Still danger was somewhat expected at this place, especially after Michelle, some of the Cattle significant others and I had to dodge just about every whirl-wind, preschooler’s shoving match coming our way. Or maybe it was the crazy heckler, who was told where to shove it, and later waited outside for a knife fight – good job remembering dude that it’s 2009, not 1955, put your switchblade away and all hair grease purchases are discontinued.
Sheena Hamilton is publicity assistant for BMA and a cynic who doesn't discriminate against minority food groups.
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Fat Asses of Metal Social Club: The Graf Orlock installment
It’s not too often that you hear from the staff at BMA. I decided it was time to write a blog entry because I labor under the illusion that you give enough of a shit about me actually read this.
So Sheena and I - the only other two people who actually work for BMA - decided to form a social club: The Fat Asses of Metal Social Club. For those of you unfamiliar with social clubs, it’s kind of like the Buena Vista Social Club, except we aren’t a large group of middle-aged men who gather to make sweet jazz music. We are two (yes, only two) twenty-something broads who get together to eat like lumberjacks before wandering into the B.O. and stale beer stench of a club or bar to get punched in the gut by sweaty 19-year-old dudes.
The first and quite impromptu meeting of the Fat Asses of Metal took place at an establishment that sits in the shadow of my house and right next to an audio book rental store (yes!): D.Z. Atkins. This palace of pastries and pastrami features all the best of what Jew food has to offer and Sheena and I were ready to indulge like we hadn’t eaten in weeks. Our first mission was to empty the crock of dill pickles that sits on the table. Less than 10 minutes later, mission fucking accomplished. A heaping mound of tuna salad, a mountain of fries, a mile-high pastrami sandwich and enough challah bread to feed a Sudanese family for a month, Sheena and I were onto bigger an better things (the bakery). We loaded up a box with $20 worth of enough chocolate and sugar to give us both diabetes.
Not wanting to make anyone jealous of our gastronomical potential, we headed back to the house to polish off this box of treats. The fistfight that ensued over the last chocolate covered macaroon was hardly the end of this night. We still had a show to attend. So, we rolled ourselves out to the car and advanced into the rain and the dark to the night’s event: a Graf Orlock house show in Escondido.
Now, as we waddled out the door, my roommate (always playing the mom) warned us of the presence of “party gangs”, groups of hooligans who travel to house parties only to start fights and fuck up unsuspecting and highly intoxicated partygoers. If only she understood where Sheena and I were headed, she would have known the worst thing that could have happened to us was that we were would be subjected to the minuscule anatomy of boys making a tiny bump in the crotch of their three sizes too small jeans, and maybe, getting a stinky armpit to the face.
We arrive and our lowest of expectations were met. No more than three-dozen people, including the performing bands, cram into a two-car garage in the middle of Esco’s oldest and trashiest suburban piece of heaven. With the hum of amps and the drone of a movie sample, the garage door closes. Immediately, the few kids there launch into a mechanical response so predictable it can hardly be seen as subversive anymore. You know what I’m talking about. Moshing, dancing, aerobics, whatever. As predictable as the pushing and shoving was the 17-year-old elitist heckling, the verbatim mouthing of the movie samples, the girls with straw hair and shitty haircuts, the tight pants and the shouting of inside jokes among the friends of the crowd.
Remaining on the outskirts of the shoving match, I try my best to stand still, arms crossed to prevent the occasional elbow, foot and butt from pushing into my gut and causing me to vomit $30 worth of cookies and pastrami onto the unsuspecting victim in front of me. I look over to see Sheena standing victoriously on top of an errant coffee table that had attempted to amputate her at the shins. By the end of the show I was overcome with nostalgia. I hadn’t been to a house show in probably nearly ten years. These were the kinds of shows that I miss the most.
Despite the pushing and shouting, the stupid drunk girl’s feeble (and failed) attempt to participate the conversations of four college educated metal nerds, and overwhelming sleepiness that hit us promptly at 11pm, Graf Orlock proved that even playing in mom and dad’s garage, they are still the best cinema gore has to offer.
Michelle Ferraro is the Head of Publicity for BMA and can't deny a stacked pastrami on rye with a chocolate macaroon on the side.
So Sheena and I - the only other two people who actually work for BMA - decided to form a social club: The Fat Asses of Metal Social Club. For those of you unfamiliar with social clubs, it’s kind of like the Buena Vista Social Club, except we aren’t a large group of middle-aged men who gather to make sweet jazz music. We are two (yes, only two) twenty-something broads who get together to eat like lumberjacks before wandering into the B.O. and stale beer stench of a club or bar to get punched in the gut by sweaty 19-year-old dudes.
The first and quite impromptu meeting of the Fat Asses of Metal took place at an establishment that sits in the shadow of my house and right next to an audio book rental store (yes!): D.Z. Atkins. This palace of pastries and pastrami features all the best of what Jew food has to offer and Sheena and I were ready to indulge like we hadn’t eaten in weeks. Our first mission was to empty the crock of dill pickles that sits on the table. Less than 10 minutes later, mission fucking accomplished. A heaping mound of tuna salad, a mountain of fries, a mile-high pastrami sandwich and enough challah bread to feed a Sudanese family for a month, Sheena and I were onto bigger an better things (the bakery). We loaded up a box with $20 worth of enough chocolate and sugar to give us both diabetes.
Not wanting to make anyone jealous of our gastronomical potential, we headed back to the house to polish off this box of treats. The fistfight that ensued over the last chocolate covered macaroon was hardly the end of this night. We still had a show to attend. So, we rolled ourselves out to the car and advanced into the rain and the dark to the night’s event: a Graf Orlock house show in Escondido.
Now, as we waddled out the door, my roommate (always playing the mom) warned us of the presence of “party gangs”, groups of hooligans who travel to house parties only to start fights and fuck up unsuspecting and highly intoxicated partygoers. If only she understood where Sheena and I were headed, she would have known the worst thing that could have happened to us was that we were would be subjected to the minuscule anatomy of boys making a tiny bump in the crotch of their three sizes too small jeans, and maybe, getting a stinky armpit to the face.
We arrive and our lowest of expectations were met. No more than three-dozen people, including the performing bands, cram into a two-car garage in the middle of Esco’s oldest and trashiest suburban piece of heaven. With the hum of amps and the drone of a movie sample, the garage door closes. Immediately, the few kids there launch into a mechanical response so predictable it can hardly be seen as subversive anymore. You know what I’m talking about. Moshing, dancing, aerobics, whatever. As predictable as the pushing and shoving was the 17-year-old elitist heckling, the verbatim mouthing of the movie samples, the girls with straw hair and shitty haircuts, the tight pants and the shouting of inside jokes among the friends of the crowd.
Remaining on the outskirts of the shoving match, I try my best to stand still, arms crossed to prevent the occasional elbow, foot and butt from pushing into my gut and causing me to vomit $30 worth of cookies and pastrami onto the unsuspecting victim in front of me. I look over to see Sheena standing victoriously on top of an errant coffee table that had attempted to amputate her at the shins. By the end of the show I was overcome with nostalgia. I hadn’t been to a house show in probably nearly ten years. These were the kinds of shows that I miss the most.
Despite the pushing and shouting, the stupid drunk girl’s feeble (and failed) attempt to participate the conversations of four college educated metal nerds, and overwhelming sleepiness that hit us promptly at 11pm, Graf Orlock proved that even playing in mom and dad’s garage, they are still the best cinema gore has to offer.
Michelle Ferraro is the Head of Publicity for BMA and can't deny a stacked pastrami on rye with a chocolate macaroon on the side.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
BMA News Update: Summer releases and regurgitation
There hasn't been a BMA News Update in a good minute, though a lot of news blurbs were posted in the past several weeks. Here's the lowdown of what's been posted, and hasn't, to keep you up-to-date on what's happenin' right now with the BMA family.
Despite the fact the_Network's April tour dates are already up in an earlier post, here's a listing of the confirmed dates and venues for the tour. the_Network will be joined by Aussie natives Robotosaurus.
The_Network (U.S) and Robotosaurus (A.U) Australian 2009 Tour
4/23 Adelaide, South Australia @ Adelaide Uni
4/24 Melbourne, Victoria @ Arthouse w/ The Abandonment
4/25 Melbourne, Victoria @ Pony
4/26 Melbourne, Victoria @ Catfood Press
4/28 Sydney, New South Wales @ Dirty Shirlows
4/29 Sydney, New South Wales @ Hermanns
5/1 Brisbane, Queensland @ Rosie’s live w/ a secret death
5/2 Brisbane, Queensland @ Ahimsa House w/ a secret death
Expect to see new releases from both the_Network and Utah's best oppressed secret, GAZA, out this summer.
The lone member of the BMA family playing New England Metal and Hardcore Festival is Syracuse, NY's Architect. The band will play Friday, April 17. Check the band's MySpace for more info - set time, stage, etc.
Scheduled to play the second day of LA Murderfest is Nor Cal natives The Abominable Iron Sloth. LA Murderfest is May 9 and 10 at the Knitting Factory.
The rumors are true. GAZA will be playing this year's Dudefest in Indianapolis. No specific dates have been announced, nor has the final lineup been released for the fest.
Despite the fact the_Network's April tour dates are already up in an earlier post, here's a listing of the confirmed dates and venues for the tour. the_Network will be joined by Aussie natives Robotosaurus.
The_Network (U.S) and Robotosaurus (A.U) Australian 2009 Tour
4/23 Adelaide, South Australia @ Adelaide Uni
4/24 Melbourne, Victoria @ Arthouse w/ The Abandonment
4/25 Melbourne, Victoria @ Pony
4/26 Melbourne, Victoria @ Catfood Press
4/28 Sydney, New South Wales @ Dirty Shirlows
4/29 Sydney, New South Wales @ Hermanns
5/1 Brisbane, Queensland @ Rosie’s live w/ a secret death
5/2 Brisbane, Queensland @ Ahimsa House w/ a secret death
Expect to see new releases from both the_Network and Utah's best oppressed secret, GAZA, out this summer.
The lone member of the BMA family playing New England Metal and Hardcore Festival is Syracuse, NY's Architect. The band will play Friday, April 17. Check the band's MySpace for more info - set time, stage, etc.
Scheduled to play the second day of LA Murderfest is Nor Cal natives The Abominable Iron Sloth. LA Murderfest is May 9 and 10 at the Knitting Factory.
The rumors are true. GAZA will be playing this year's Dudefest in Indianapolis. No specific dates have been announced, nor has the final lineup been released for the fest.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Artist Entry: Gaza guitarist Mike Mason ain't no Ricky Bobby
Im going to change the substance of these blogs and write about something better known to me.
For my entire life thus far, I have been involved with drag racing. It has been from the later years in the '90s since my father and grandpa moved into the "Nostalgia" top fuel dragster class. Yes, to my knowledge, this could be the most appreciated hereditary fortune that has been passed down - next to our patrimonial chance of heart disease.
With this blog, I'm going to relate the "Nostalgia" top fuel dragster, to the contemporary top fuel dragsters. For those who read this and have no idea what I am talking about, top fuel is the quickest and fastest class of the "sport."
These dragsters run on a fuel called Nitromethane, which is a cousin to the more familiar Nitroglycerin. The stoichiometric (chemically exact) air/fuel ratio of nitromethane is 1.7/1, which means with certain atmospheric conditions, Nitro needs 1.7 cubic inches of air to burn 1 cubic inch of fuel. Most unleaded gases are close to 14.6/1. Since Nitromethane already has an oxygen content in it, it can make a lot more power, due to the small portion of air that can be contained with each fire of a cylinder.
From what I have seen, the average person does not have an idea of how much money these cars require to run. To give you somewhat of an idea - to average out things - you're looking in the promised land of $1,000/second to run one.
The only reason they call them "Nostalgia" top fuel dragsters, is that the driver sits behind the engine. This is how they came to be in the late '50s and early '60s. Of course, there is nothing on these cars that are "nostalgic" in any sense of the word today.
There is still a huge difference between the two classes. I'll list a few: Lets start with the rear tires. On the "Nostalgia" top fuel cars, they are limited to a 12-inch rear tire. The contemporary top fuel cars have an 18-inch tire. The rear-end gear ratio is, at its lowest ratio of 3.90/1. Modern day is at 3.20/1. As far as the engines: The modern day are all in some way, a 500" c.i.d.
The NTF class has a variety of ways and set ups you can have. Whether its a donavan, a hemi, a small or a big block chevy. Now I believe the max C.I.D. you can have in the NTF is 450", but the weight of your car is determined by the cubic inch of your engine. Fuel pumps have become an issue in the NTF class the last couple years, but I'll perhaps talk about that another time.
They can now have a fuel pump that flows 22 gpm (gallons per minute) at 4500 rmp, (9,000 engine rpm). The modern day can have whatever will work. The fundamental idea is that the more fuel you can make the engine burn, the quicker and faster you will go.
Most of the modern day top fuel cars have double inlet pumps that can pump up to 106 g.p.m. To get and idea of how much fuel they are burning, think of two 55 gallon barrel's being burnt in one minute. Nitro is on average around $25/gallon right now. 11-14 gallons a run can already start to add up the costs.
The Clutch on the NTF is a centrifigal three-disc clutch. How aggressive you want the clutch to be is related to how much weight you put on it. The more weight, the faster/harder the clutch arms will open up (in theory). The modern day clutch set ups are usually a five/six disc clutch. everything is run on an air timed system, so you can specifically operate when and where you want the clutch to lock up. This is controlled by your right foot. Once you step on the throttle, it is activated. On modern day top fuel cars, this also controls the fuel, and the magnetos (spark).
Nothing on NTF's can be controlled by air except for the parachutes. Superchargers are also a difference. The NTF's are limited to a 6-71 blower. Where as the modern day are a 14-71, a decent amount bigger. Over the years they have gone from a cast casing/rotors ($1,900/6-71) to a cast casing/billet rotor ($2,800/6-71), to an even better cast casing/billet rotor ($5,000/6-71) To now a billet casing and a billet rotored blower (some PSI models are $20,000).
These are just some of the differences, and perhaps I'll continue with another writing about some of the issues these classes are having. But for a "Nostalgia" top fuel car to go in the 5.60's in a 1/4 mile well into the 250 mph range is at the least ubsurd. For the modern day dragsters to go 4.40's and over 330 mph is beyond me.
You need to see one of these in real life. T.V. does no justice. In Baskerfield, Calif, March 6-8, the March Meet is going on. So go to it if you're near that area. It will not disappoint you.
Mike/Gaza
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