The Morning Routine

Dearest American Public,

A recent poll shows that approximately every last one of you is quite curious about the day-in day-out of being in an awesome Rock band. With those stats in mind we, The Chop, would like to allow you a small window into our ever-so-busy lives, beginning, as most days do, with The Morning Routine.

Just like you fantasize, The Chop all live, work, and play together. We begin our Saturday morning with popsicles in a grossly undersized bed.


Next, we recover our senses slowly by relaxing in the glow of our beloved television, whilst reclining on our vintage, 1970's era sofa.


Quite appropriately, we are watching Hanna Barbera's "Wacky Races". Dick Dastardly and Muttley are winning.



That trickerous pooch!!

After sucking down a few more frozen treats and recounting the previous nights' grandiose schemes, it's finally time to wash away the grime of Friday's hard drinking with a trip to the bathroom.
With our first record so close to being done (a couple more weeks, America!) The Chop doesn't have time to take turns. We all go in at once!


But let me stress, friends: We are not all business. We too enjoy life, and although we have been known to manufacture laughter for our own sinister purposes, we sometimes do it without provocation!


Now that we're showered, shaved, brushed and scrubbed we launch into our day of unbridled, unparalleled, Rock-band fun. Isn't it just as you imagined?

Hoping to erase my most grievous errors with the help of a Wayback Machine,

Rob

Bomberos, and Other Stuff I Found

I'm standing there in Buenos Aires, purporting to know Spanish, and having no clue what is underneath this metal cover. For 8 days, I was carted around this sweltering little metropolis to awesome restaurant after awesome restaurant, then typically back to the first awesome restaurant for a third or fourth meal that day. The Italian food, particularly, was great. Everything was mind-bogglingly cheap, with the exchange rate being something in the neighborhood of 3.2 to 1. Cab rides typically cost 2 dollars or less.

Turns out "Bomberos" means Fire Department or, alternately (and awesomely as only an online translator would put it) Fire Brigade. At the time I just figured this would make for an awesome album cover.

Like Rio, they don't really start the night until about 2AM, and have little to no interest in punctuality or rushing anything. Unlike Rio, they have a great subway system, and no beach. No beach means no breeze, which means it was really hot there. It was hot enough at midnight for us to unabashedly rub ice on each others chests in public. We documented it. Ice Chests.







This is the back of a cigarette pack from Brasil. There's a whole series of them, with pictures of blackened lungs, people breathing through respirators, and all other nature of effed-up shit. This was easily the best though. I wonder when this trend of really sticking it to cigarette smokers with full color photos of their imminent pain and suffering will make it to America. It can't be far off.





Also note: Counterfeiting abounds!!

Isn't is funny how counterfeit is a word that originally meant "a really good facsimile" (and maintained a positive connotation) and now means something fake and even slightly sinister? Anyway, I hadn't been in Argentina more than 4 hours before being slipped a counterfiet bill by a cab driver. I kept it as a souvenir. It's actually a really good facsimile (!), complete with watermarks and holograms, and it's only failing is the paper it's printed on.


Apparently it is commonly known not to try to give 100 peso notes to cab drivers because always they're waiting for this opportunity to pass off a fake 50 to you, the foolish tourist. This can be tricky though because 100 peso notes are all one gets from ATMs. Naturally, I received this sage advice approxiamtely 1 hour too late. Drag. It's only the equivalent of about 17 USD, so no big loss. More interestingly, it sparked a pretty serious discussion about the place of counterfeit currency in the economy, and the nature of good and bad deeds. There was a contingent voting that I pass the bill off on someone else, based on the theory that money only has the value we assign it and that therefore a counterfeit bill is worth at least a part, if not all of it's implied value. I agreed in theory, but felt that it was inherently evil to pass on this bill to someone else, having them (eventually) feel the same sting that I did upon discovery of the ruse. Fascinating, yes?

Attention Loyal Reader:
I now vow to update this beast of words at least once a week. Get ready, America.

With my cadre of fanatics, consolidating power as we speak,

Rob

Sub-Equatorial Chop!

Hola El Mundo!

This Christmas, approximately 20% of The Chop flew south to escape the hurricane-like winter winds of San Francisco.

Yes it's true, I spent a full 15 days on that deviously hot continent that shares our namesake, South America.
Let me debrief you on my adventures:

I flew first to Rio de Janeiro, to spend New Year's Eve on the beach.
Despite the somewhat startling lack of English-speaking in Brazil, they retained a sharp handle on our style of Chop-related wordplay.




Chopp is slang for beer in Brazil (eerie, no?), and establishments that serve beer (read: all establishments) are known as "Chopperias". This place was approximately 20 steps outside my door, and provided an encouraging start to the trip.

Rio de Janeiro is a hectic town where red lights and turn signals are invariably disregarded, street-meat is prevalent (beware, fellows, beware), and lime is added to everything (including aforementioned street-meat).
It's definitely a beach town, complete with the intense sunshine, wanton shirtlessness, and public consumption of alcohol one would expect. On the other hand, a standard police pat-down involves a drawn weapon pointed at your back at all times, and they sure as shit aren't afraid to shoot at Santa Claus (click the picture to read). Don't worry...the image is a little misleading...Santa pulled through.




Also in Rio, and also Chop-related, stands Christ the Redeemer (Christo Redentor). Located high atop Corcovado, a huge mountain within the city, the soapstone for this thing was imported from Sweden and then hauled up this mountain piece by piece on a steep-ass railway built at the whim of some rich Carioca who wanted an easy picnic spot.




Iconic image, yes?

But now let's look just a bit closer as this truly revolutionary Jesus:




The Redeemer's Chop-hand is strong!
Catholicism has never seemed so appealing as when JC himself gives a shoutout to one's American ROCK and ROLL band.

Anyway, America, the rest of my time in Rio was spent watching fireworks go off for forty-five minutes while swimming in the ocean at midnight, panhandling with 'Janko' for a few Real, trying my damnedest to get a tan (no avail), and drinking from coconuts. It was truly an awesome time. Perhaps I will write and post more pictures in a couple of days detailing my subsequent adventures in Buenos Aires once I've compiled more stuff and gotten my head straight. In the meantime, Jennifer Sung (early Chop supporter/Yoshi/un-official band photographer) is still down there, and updating a blog regularly...so check that by clicking here:




I can say I am glad to be back.

in a Jefferies Tube of love,
Roberto

The Chop makes plans

Hello Universe,

Last day/Yesternight, The Chop slaved away as usual on our ever-so-close-to-being-approximately-70%-completed first record. Highlights included the audio recording of the following: some craptastic Walkie Talkies, a Chop-wide staring contest, and also cheap champagne.

Everything's going great though, America. We've set our minds to exploding the Hotel Utah next weekend (December 14th) with our good friends The Dont's. We've even written a Christmas song for the occasion! In preparation for so-called "Christmas writing", we took it upon our backs to painstakingly study the annals of Christmas music (american, european, and "other"), therein systematically analyzing melodic motifs, lyrical themes, and chordal cadences for that "Christmas Sound." Only after this extensive bout of research on the essence of Christmas music were we then brave enough to disregard all that bullshit and write a really simple song in Gmajor!

The song promises to be available (for your home listening pleasure) shortly.

Up ahead for this week:

Tonite: Recording in the Sunset and even more file management in Potrero Hill!
Tuesday: Practice
Wednesday: CD screening with a Print Gocco, and more than likely file management also!
Thursday: Practice
Friday: Recording! A Christmas song!
Saturday: Panhandling in San Francisco! We now must beg for change!
Sunday: More recording, more file management, and James' brain to explode at 11:30PM!

His Benevolence,
Robbie Kassees

Up all Night With The Chop!

How does the Chop manage to stay up all night recording timelessly classic tracks of shimmeringly golden timelessness? Well, it's not as terribly easy as you might think. To keep our spirits afloat, and our high-fiving hands strong, The Chop turns to Howling Monkey Energy Drink:

Howling Monkey keeps the The Chop thirsting for the sweet kiss of perfection from their tracking sessions!



Don't believe it?!?!

See how Jimmy Southbound is TRANSFORMED in this dramatization of last nights' events!
..........................................................
..........................................................
..........................................................
..........................................................

BEFORE the Monkey (2:30AM):
Lifeless, Drowsy, Uninspired---It seems completely unlikely that he is about lay down synth takes which will transcend time:



AFTER the Monkey (2:45AM):
Blisteringly awesome! Ready for blood! And timelessness!



Howling Monkey Energy Drink helps The Chop spring into action to re-re-record their timeless songs again and again and again!
Forever!!
Throughout time!!
We seriously won't ever stop!!!
EVER!!!!
Strange Taste of Wood in the Bars!!!!! ahhhh!!!!!!!!

at work, in a sleep-deprived daze,
thRob-ert

Halloween 2007 in San Francisco!

Dear America,

The Chop had a great Halloween this year. We played on an awesome bill over at ELBO Room with The May Fire, Countless Others, and A Pack of Wolves. Thanks to everyone came out to the show. Here's a look at the celebration:




I realize that your mind is already blown, but you can at least take some comfort in knowing that you are not alone. Over 200 people came out last Friday, and it was really a blast. The Chop executed a last-minute, backstage costume change to come out and play as Shaolin Tournament combatants Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kano, Goro, and Scorpion.

Phil scorched the earth with guitar-lightning, Tommy crushed the Bill Ward fills, and a shirtless Johnny Bass reveled in his own shirtlessness. Then James threw on the bone-splintering synth patch and someone's rib got broken by the resultant rock (for real).




Oh yeah, and I got down on the ground.




Thanks to all involved.

Flawless Fucking Victory.

in the process of 'finishing him,'
Robbie

(original post Friday, November 02, 2007)

Adventures in Davis (aka Dear Band, You Suck)

Holy Crap, America. The Chop had a helluva time up in Davis this past weekend. Let me tell you all about it.

Part 1: Panhandling

We decided to head up in the mid-afternoon, in hopes of promoting the show that evening on the streets. The Chop had never been to Davis, and had no clue what type of situation we were walking into. We had been told that G-Street Pub was really small, but also about the only cool place to play, so we were unsure of what we'd find at the load-in, and we wanted to try and pull in a crowd on our first try in the town.

We brought about about 50 CDs to give away and our jank acoustic for street performance. This was something discussed and joked about at length, but not actually rehearsed or planned in anyway, and a first for The Chop in any case. At first we roamed the streets surrounding the bar, singing (whatever came to our heads, really), and banging on tambourines. The sweet thing about Janko (our guitar) is that it's so small, it does not require a strap, and one can easily navigate an unknown burg whilst strumming emphatically and belting out Weezer lyrics all at the same time.

We finally settled into a nice spot in front of what looked to be a cool record store (please note, America, we did not actually go into said record store). Stationary pan-handling turned out to be the way to go. Johnny and Phil bounced happily around on the streets, taking on the duel job of singing along and handing out the discs to promote our show. I think we impressed some newly-minted fans in the (highly sought after) 7-10 year old girl demographic. Once we got a little more settled in to a spot, we cranked through some classic Chop numbers like "Carry the Wood", "Life in the Bars", "Taste of Luxury", and the infamous "Reggae Taste of Luxury". Unfortunately, it was determined that upstrokes do not a reggae version make, and we resolved to only try that again with drum kit intact. But...we actually made some money! Phil music-talked a guy for awhile, and he gave us a sawbuck for the effort. Yes!

We sang some more, managed to give away all the CDs, and James toiled away at a small handout (the show was still a few hours away) while Tom gave a shot at some harmonica on "Oh Yoko". Finally, we decided to go wait at the bar for our slot to come up.

Part 2: The Bar

G Street Pub is a pretty cool place. There's a decent-sized stage, a backroom with pool and arcade games, a patio area, and they sell deuces of New Castle at the bar (for more on the phenomenon of deuces in Chop-culture see "The Use of 22oz New Castle Bottles as Currency, and Other Staples of Early Chop Behavior." McKinley, et al. 2005).

We rocked it. Hard.

Part 3: The Crowd

Was the most polarized we've seen. The folks in Davis were really split on The Chop. This was made particularly poignant by the fact that we all agree we played about the best we've ever played. In other words, remove any onstage flaws or fuckups from the equation, and you get a really intriguing look at how we were received solely on the basis of our songs and our style. The response was really strong in both directions. For instance...during the final bars of Walkie Talkie (our last song of the evening), a guy who was apparently displeased wrote his thoughts on a bar napkin and delivered it to the stage. We saved it as our very first Hate Mail...



Then, directly in opposition to that...we walked off stage and were immediately congratulated profusely by three girls (and a dude) who had heard us earlier on the streets (promotion pays off!) and had been prompted to come out for the set. They expressed how awesome they thought we were...then bought a bunch of our merch. Awesome. But that was not the end of the feedback dichotomy we took in, my friends. There were two (other) girls in the crowd dancing like mad and screaming for more. They even wrote our name across their stomachs. Later on, we went back to their hotel room to eat doritos and wrestle.



Then to cap it off, we were accosted by some old(er) woman who seemed obsessed with us shaving. She kept saying shit like "It's not the seventies anymore, stop pretending you're 22," "Why do you wear headbands?" and also, "Your songs are decent, but you really need to shave."

Davis---you really were an odd one.

With Clipboard in Hand,
Rob

(Original post Tuesday, October 16, 2007)