CHRIS WALKER VS. VALENTINE’S DAY 2007

Everyone hates Valentine’s Day. People say the same things every year: “It’s a ‘Hallmark holiday’”; “Why do I have to show you how much I love you on one day out of the year? I should do it everyday.” The blog world is saturated with “Valentine’s Day sucks” posts, including one from my good friend Ruckus Maximus. So, for a change of pace, I present a Valentine’s Day story with a happy ending.

My Mexican Distributor (from various Chris Walker Versus) and his friend “Nacho” were in town so I took them – along with two, attractive lady friends – to my favorite Italian restaurant in Reno: La Famiglia. We had great conversation, drank a lot of wine, ate great food. Then we drank grappa.

If you’ve never had grappa you need to. You probably won’t like it but at least you can say you’ve tried it. It’s gasoline you can drink, essentially. Italian moonshine. Only the manliest of men can appreciate its ruthlessness; only the burliest of women can consume it and not die. Italians drink it after dinner because it aids in your digestion and by ‘aids in your digestion’ I mean it eats a hole through your stomach lining. Grappa can remove paint from a car. It can cure and cause cancer, simultaneously. It will make your teeth three shades whiter while decimating your taste buds. In other words: it’s magical.

Grappa is made from the grape skins, seeds, stems, and other by-products of the wine making process. Wine-makers take the leftovers, add a dash of pure evil, distill it, and wa-la, grappa is born. I drink grappa frequently and alone (since no one else will touch it), unless I’m with “The Bosses.” There was a time The Boss (from previous Chris Walker Versus, not to be confused with Big Boss) and I killed a bottle and a half of grappa in Wiesbaden, Germany. I felt like death until I drank more that following night.

I made Nacho drink grappa the first time I met him, in Chicago, so he knew what he was up against. He was a good sport though, and drank one glass before switching to cognac and Coke. I, on the other hand, drank four grappi. My Mexican Distributor drank zero, he knows better. The girls hadn’t heard of grappa so I explained it to them and told them to try it. They were willing until the rubbing-alcohol smell hit their noses, then they politely declined. What can I say? They’re smart.

Nacho wanted to go to a strip club after dinner. I’ve never been inside a Reno strip club. I’ve never had the desire; I hate strip clubs and I hate strippers. Need proof? Here’s proof. Despite my disdain for all things stripper related, I wanted to show the guys a good time so I took them to The Men’s Club.

To Men’s Club credit, it’s a pretty classy joint – for Reno. They have a sushi bar and a “four-star restaurant”; drinks are reasonably priced, and the bathroom attendant listens to John Coltrane. The strippers however, were not so great. There was this one – a platinum blonde with gigantic tits – I found out when she isn’t stripping she’s actually in the National Guard – as a tank. This bitch was HUGE. Like wooly-mammoth huge. A couple more beers and I would’ve tried to play real-life Shadow of the Colossus, scaling her massive frame so I could slay her (if you’re not a video-game nerd that joke holds no weight).

As bad as the strippers were, I was determined to buy Nacho a dance. I told him, “Any girl you want, you let me know and I’ll pay for it.” We drank beer and made fun of strippers until Nacho could find one adequate enough for me to waste $20 on. Eventually, Nacho found one but I was in the bathroom when he did, so Nacho bought his own dance. I died a little inside.

12:00 AM was quickly approaching and I knew we had to leave the club. I was ready to go until another stripper took the stage and suddenly, “Hello little boys, little toys…” blared over the sound system. It was “Le Disko” by Shiny Toy Guns. I told the guys, “I have to get a dance from this chick, my friends will totally get a kick out of this.” I still haven’t lived down the whole Shiny Toy Guns thing down since I wrote about it (here); my friends hit me with the occasional, “Hey, have you heard of Shiny Toy Guns?” and I call them ‘assholes’ for it. Then we laugh and hi-five each other.

This stripper was not attractive. She was like six foot (at least), no boobs, and fucked up teeth but it didn’t matter. I was taking one for the team so I could tell this Valentine’s Day story-of-love for you all today. The whole time she was grinding into my crotch I was laughing; I told her why I was getting a dance from her and she said, “Well, I hope that’s not the only reason.” Trust me you horse-faced hooker, there was no ulterior motive – comedic value was the only purpose, you are a soulless stripper.

Near the end of the dance it dawned on her I said I write a music site, our conversation went like so:
Dumb Stripper: “So, you’re in the music industry.”
Me: “Yeah, I am.”
Dumb Stripper: “What do you do?”
Me: “I write for the music publication and produce records.”
Dumb Stripper: “Really? You produce?”
Me: “Yeah, that’s why it’s so funny, I actually produced that Shiny Toy Guns track.”
I love lying to strippers.
Dumb Stripper: “So, you want me to dance for another song?”
Me: “No, that’s cool.”

And that’s where my romance with the stripper who’d “heard of Shiny Toy Guns” ended. It didn’t blossom into a Valentine’s Day, boobless, mutual ability to identify mediocre music tryst. No, we paid our tab and left. I dropped the guys off at their hotel and made it home by 1:00 AM to wake up at 6:30 AM to get my windshield fixed, and take the guys to the airport at 8:00 AM.

The best part of it all was I kind of looked like I could’ve been a record producer. I was wearing a sports coat with jeans and a collared shirt and I’m a big enough asshole to play the role. Then again, what would a record producer be doing in a Reno strip club at 12:30 PM on Valentine’s Day? Then again, what was Ron Jeremy doing at the Reno/Tahoe International Airport this morning?

CHRIS WALKER VS. THE GREATEST VIDEO EVER MADE

Greatest. Video. Ever. Period.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHwlP0oEaF8]

Happy Post-Valentine’s Day. You’re welcome.

CHRIS WALKER VS. THE GREATEST BREAK-UP ALBUM EVER

Stars’ last album, Set Yourself On Fire, is not only the band’s finest effort it’s also a classic album. Released in 2005, it still sounds just as fresh, just as gorgeous – just as heartbreaking – in 2007. Two years may seem too soon to call an album ‘classic’ but trust me: Set Yourself On Fire will stand the test of time. It will go on to be considered one of the greatest break-up albums ever made.

I’ve had Set Yourself On Fire as part of my iPod shuffle (the only iPod I need, in my opinion) playlist for the past couple weeks and every time a song from the album comes on it just…digs into me. On every track the horns, violins, pianos, drums, guitars are all perfectly placed and the lyrics – oh, the lyrics – are almost too good. At the end of album opener, “Your Ex-Lover is Dead” when Amy Millan and Torquil Campbell both sing, “I’m not sorry I met you, I’m not sorry it’s over, I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save,” it’s evident you’re in for an emotional rollercoaster. And you most certainly are; from breaking up, to holding on, to letting go, to moving on, to remembering, to the sadness, to every convoluted emotion you go through after a serious relationship – Set Yourself On Fire captures it all, eloquently.

Lately, I find myself immersed in individual tracks from the album. For awhile, I’d been listening to “Reunion” on repeat when I accidentally let it carry into “The Big Fight”. Before I could switch back Amy’s voice had risen from the horn’s descent and I was hooked. I spent the rest of the night enthralled in Amy and Torquil’s exchanges:

A: The clothes in the wardrobe?
T: Just send them to me.
A: There are bills here for you.
T: That’s ‘cause nothing is free,

Later in the song:

A: Did I build you a prison?
T: Please don’t let me go.
A: I’ve unlocked the door,
A&T: but you can’t walk away from me.

The dialogue between the two – working through the aftermath of breaking up after living together – is so identifiable for anyone who’s done it. And the chorus, “He doesn’t want her but he just can’t let her go. She started breaking but she just won’t let it show,” – I’ve never heard it laid out as perfectly as the “The Big Fight” does it. Currently, “Celebration Guns” is the Set Yourself On Fire track to play over and over in my headphones. I seriously get chills every time I hear Amy sing, “So tomorrow there will be another number, for the one who had a name.”

Now, I could go on and on about how flawless and dead-on Set Yourself On Fire is but this isn’t an essay paper and I think you get my point: when it comes to capturing the aftermath of a failed relationship, Stars’ Set Yourself On Fire has no equal. You might argue another artist – like sensitive-songwriter Teitur – has better “oh, baby, I miss you,” tracks but do douchebag’s songs contain lyrics like, “I had six too many drinks last night, yes, and that’s why I made you stay,” or “when she’s breaking his heart she still fucks like a tease,”? I don’t think so. Nor do his songs present both sides of the coin – another reason Set Yourself On Fire is so much better than anything else(i.e. Stars provide both male and female perspectives on their tracks).

Damn it, I shouldn’t have mentioned Teitur – now I’ve got one of his shitty songs stuck in my head. “Something, something, something, to meet you…” No wonder he’s all alone, crying into his guitar – what a pussy. You know, for years I thought his name was pronounced ‘tet-ur’ only to find out it was ‘tite-er’. How about pronouncing it: ‘you suck’. God, I hate that fucking guy.

Teitur sucks. Picture taken by Lars Hoye Overland – altered by Me.

EDIT 1: It just dawned on me, you may not know who Teitur is. Here’s his official website.

EDIT 2: Oh yeah, forgot to mention – I tried to get Stars to do Bands and Booze and although they initially said yes, they have since fallen off the face of the earth. Or my earth, at least. Bummer.