Things that make Longmont better: Oskar Blues

(This is more than a bit late, but at least I am doing SOMETHING with my free time, right?) I returned to my hometown, Longmont, CO last fall for Thanksgiving. There is way more to it than that, as anyone who has ever left home and gone back knows, but right now I want to talk about one thing: Beer.

Longmont is a pretty run of the mill western town. Surrounded by farmland, about 15 miles from Boulder and about 35 from Denver, most of Longmont's 85,000 (as of 2008) residents commute to work and then come home to live in their more or less identical pre-fab homes in one of the multi-acre subdivisions that popped up during the housing boom we all know so much about. Without going into details, let's just say that Longmont was a dull town to grow up in, and an even duller town to visit in your 20s.

All of this changed for me when Oskar Blues opened a taproom in Longmont. Originally established in nearby Lyons, CO, OB is famous, not only for delicious beer for being the first microbrewery to offer is beers in cans.


Between good beer and memorable packaging, OB carved out a nice slice of the microbrew pie, first in Colorado and then across the country. The most tangible manifestation of this success, at least for us Longmonsters, is the new OB brewing facility. This new south Longmont location is larger than the original Lyons operation, albeit less that a mile from my elementary school. Nearby, in a converted barn, OB opened it's taproom and restaurant, promising live music on weekends and "home made liquids and solids." The old silo that sits adjacent to the restaurant (namesake of the building's previous occupant, a shitty sports bar called The Silo) has been repainted to look like the signature Oskar Blues can.

Without a return visit, I can't say I feel too qualified to comment on the restaurant, but I will say that their vegetarian/vegan options are few, and the Hippie Sandwich I tried left a bit to be desired. Oh, and all of their employees look like they should hang up their aprons and go back to homeroom. Good for them I guess, though I don't know how you can work in a bar and serve booze if you can't legally drive by yourself.

Really though, we didn't go there for the food. In addition to offering all of their regular brews on tap, the Longmont location offers a few special edition beers that are not being bottled or distributed. I opted for the Oaked Chub, a batch of standard OB Old Chub (a delicious Scottish Ale) that had been aged in used oak casks purchased from Stranahan's distillery, Colorado's first whiskey distillery. It was fucking delicious. The whiskey and oak were undeniable but not overpowering, and the full malt flavor of the Old Chub mixed perfectly with the liquory sweetness of the aging. I had two, which is about all anyone should need, since Old Chub starts out pretty high octane, even before the barrel.

I wouldn't run out and start bidding on houses in Longtucky just yet, but at least now there is somewhere for an honest drink.

-OSB

Anti-Pregnancy Gnome

This is an open call for all designers and ad people out there: We are launching a new campaign against unprotected sex and unwanted pregnancy. We need you to design the new face of birth control, which will appear in print ads, TV spots and also in person at the bedsides of those irresponsibly engaging in unprotected coitus. We imagine the gnome to be about six foot three or four, bearded or not, about 250 lbs. He needs a memorable face and a booming voice with which to discourage irresponsible sexual practice, and to threaten youngsters who do not heed his warnings. He need to be strong enough to follow through with these threats and able to tie even the smallest penis into a full hitch knot. More elaborate knot work is encouraged for use on the more handsomely endowed.

Submit all designs to OSB for immediate consideration. That is all.

-OSB

Three Things

1.) Townes van Zandt. Just wiped my kitchen floor with Converge (sorry Deathwish) for the title of Best-Jams-To-Kitchenize-By. Even if Rico didn't have a Townes tattoo, motherfucker loved Colorado and did not generally fuck around when it can to a.) music and b.) the party. Bottoms up to you, TvZ.




2.) The new Doomriders album, Darkness Come Alive. This shit kills (see, Deathwish, you get yours...) Part tragedy, part Danzig, part High On Fire, this tickles every dysfunctional, grumpy, pissed off fiber in my being. If winter had not recently descended on LA, this album could have taken over my soul and sent me on a violent dancing/maiming spree down Hollywood Blvd. Fortunately, it is cooling off here, so all that Nate and the boys are making me do is "drink" and "dance" and "blog". I am indeed the modern man. "Bloodsucker" gives me hope for 20/30 something assholes like myself who just don't have the good sense to give it up. Bottoms up to you, Doomriders.



3.)The Albertson's bathroom. Seriously, this was the craziest thing I have seen in a while. Yesterday found me (don't ask why) in the restroom at my local Albertson's, where, little did I know, I was about to get my shit rocked. Aside from the Sharpie drawing of a hairy penis/scrotum combo with the caption Vons= Rape ( talk about brand loyalty, fuck...) there was an extra seat. That's right, not only did the stall contain the obligatory lidless porcelain throne, there was another chair. It was about 8 inches by 8 inches, made of plastic, and folded down from the wall, "flight attendants prepare for landing" style. It had a built in carseat/fighterpilot harness, and was placed directly above the drain, which, might I add, gurgled every time someone flushed in the ladies' room next door. It befuddles me to no end, but thankfully it had label to explain its purpose. While I cannot recite its contents verbatim, I will do my best to paraphrase:

Dear Supermarket Shitter,

Thank you for choosing to move your bowels in our store. We value your patronage, and would like to remind you that rump roast, no pun intended, is on special right now in the butcher section. Should you find that you have neglected to leave you adventurous yet troublesome rugrat at home while you shop today, do not despair. We know how trying it can be to pop into the grocery john for a quick depth charge, only to emerge and find that not only has Junior eaten half a bag of marshmallows and broken three or four dozen votive candles, but has also pulled the fire alarm. To this end, we have installed this microbiotic plastic seat for you to strap you noisome child into while you purge your colon. The nylon straps are kid tested, parent approved, so poop away, assured he is going nowhere.

Thanks,
Albertson's

Now tell me that ain't birth control... Bottoms up to you Albertson's!

-OSB

Stew on this...

Horribly unoriginal pun, I know, but why not right? We made this Ethiopian Stew last night, from a post punk kitcken recipe. Do it. It is fucking good. That is all.

-OSB

Sleep Deprivation, Overwork and the Rock Show, Part the Last

To round out last weekend, once everyone was thoroughly wiped, we headed west to the Troubadour to see our good friend Tiffer McFunpants who is currently taking in the sights across the country as tour manager/logistician/manhandler/merch girl/general road dog for Austin Lucas. They are on tour with Dawes, and Langhorne Slim, both bands I do not particularly care for and did not see.

Aside from seeing Chris, which is always a pleasure, Austin played a very fine set, including some new songs that hint at more goodness to come. It would indeed have been fun to see him as part of the Revival hug-fest, but his particular brand of bluegrass-country-folk, and his outstanding voice are best appreciated as a solo performer. He held the attention of a rapidly filling house, and this is LA, where we notoriously don't give a fuck.

Then, finally, we got some sleep, woke up, and started all over again. Then Peter Carlson took a shit on my parade, but that is a whole different story...

-OSB

Sleep Deprivation, Overwork and the Rock Show, Part the Second

Even though I am now fully a week behind in writing anything I am still going to try and cover the events of last week, which were without a doubt more interesting than anything that has gone down since. (Two thirds of the title still apply though, can you guess which? Hate.)

The Revival Tour rolled through LA last weekend, back no track after missing a few dates due to actual winter in the Rocky Mountain states. Last year's all star lineup,(Ragan, Barry, Nichols) seemed pretty tough to top, but I think they pulled it off. I love each of last years acts individually, but their collaborations were minimal and predictable. With a year to plan and the experience of the first tour, Ragan and Co. put together a pretty killer show. The LA lineup was pretty ideal, though catching Austin and/or Bob Lucas doing Bristle Ridge songs would have been pretty great.

Chuck Ragan, Frank Turner, Jim Ward, Audra Mae, Joey Cape, Possessed by Paul James, Jon Gaunt and Digger Barnes all played on the gang vocal opener, Frank Turner's "The Road." From there, the night wound its way through their individual sets, bottoming out on Joey Cape's abortive Lagwagon sing along, and peaking with Turner's solo set.

There were too many great songs to cover, but hearing Chuck do "Bloody Shells" live was excellent, as well as "The Boat" with two fiddles. I was also pleasantly surprised by Jim Wards solo sound, I will have to look into his album. I was hoping Frank Turner would bust out "Sons of Liberty" for the dueling fiddles, but even without his set was spot on, with all the jams and some deep cuts too.

The night ended with everyone on stage again, for the tour anthem, "Revival Road" and what must have been about a nine minute version of "Let The Circle Be Unbroken" that saw Jim Ward and Frank Turner in the middle of the floor leading the crowd through the chorus. I guess Frank Turner really liked At The Drive In, and so was grinning like an idiot the whole time. Fanboyism=awesome.

So much more happened, but you get the idea. Go next year, everyone. And to the drunk kid in the Yankee hat, I don't give a good god damn if is your birthday, you have no rhythm and you sing worse than me (that's bad). Get the fuck off stage.

Crime: A Brief Interlude

Imagine for a minute that you are sitting down at the table, about to enjoy a delicious grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup, when some asshole runs up and not only throws your soup in your face but also punches, (yes, punches) your sandwich, leaving a nice fist size imprint and squeezing out all of the cheese. Doesn't feel awesome does it? If you are the guy who broke into my car and stole both of our bikes out of it, you best watch your sandwich, motherfucker, because I will go all kinds of WWF cage match on your shit. That is all.

-OSB

Sleep Deprivation, Overwork, and the Rock Show, Part the first.

In addition to the usual 56 hour work week, this week has held some pretty good live music for those Angelinos who are partial to old sad bastardry, that is, gruffish vocals, occasional harmony, a little bit of twang and a lotta bit of whiskey. Couple three shows with an epic birthday/housewarming of Friday and you have the perfect recipe for sleep deprivation. But fuck it, right? You are only young once...

Tuesday night found us, along with the rest of the beard and flannel crowd, waiting in line at the Echoplex to see Lucero. The line ran down the street, right next to their shiny, huge tour bus which idled all night long. I am sure that with a new horn section and ever growing support team, the bus is packed full, but it is sure a far cry from "Dreaming in America." Both openers were entertaining, part 60's rockabilly, part straight up Memphis, part garage whatever, but neither was really my thing. Lucero played pretty well to a painfully sober weeknight crowd, though it was not the best I've seen (also the fifth time this year...no more, please!) The horn sections on songs from 1372 Overton Park was awesome, but it ws even more fun to hear some old tunes filled up with brass, "That Much Further West" in particular. So yeah, overall fun times.

Up next, why gang vocals rule and Joey Cape makes me sleep...

Shit or get off the pot.

...is the theme for the day, thanks to an pretty solid carpool conversation today. Not only do we get tailed by the fuzz but we also tackle crippling insecurity and paralyzing self-doubt! Everyone should get a carpool. Hug a tree, save on therapy. Now if only Wheels could write prescriptions for something other than cowbell.

Today was 90 degrees. Fail. Tonight is Lucero's LA show. Victory. We'll see how tomorrow goes, since we all know that its nights like these...

-OSB

Dear Life

Dear Life,

Thank you for sending me media theory. Now I know how meta everything is. And postmodern. Also pre-subextrusionalist, with references to protoinversionalism and multifractaphemaral discourse. See, I can make up words too.

Never change, have a great summer.

-OSB

Yeah, that happened.

Even I have to dress up sometimes. The Molter Outlaws keeping it dour in Tucson.

Halloween

Oh yes. This weekend its nothing but Black Metal and the Misfits up in here. That and of course Razed In Black's club anthem "Oh My Goth." Good shit. It is almost autumnal outside, but all my weather bitching is causing me some moderate guilt as both Lucero and the Revival Tour have missed a few days of shows because winter actually happens in the Rocky Mountains. Longmont reported about a foot of snow a couple days ago, closing schools, roads and all that. Not gonna lie, I am pretty jealous, but bike riding on a "fall" night in LA is also pretty outstanding.

Last night we got ourselves all did up and rolled with the band+3 crowd to a rager in Highland Park. Some standout costumes were Wooly Willy, a crew of Merlotte's waitresses, and the creepy American Apparel boss guy. But I think that our gang brought the pain, especially Jason's Wierd Al and Anna's Pierrot the Clown.


Who knows what tomfoolery the rest of the weekend may hold, but if you need advice on what to do, I recommend watching The Crow. Dated perhaps, but the 90's nostalgia is awesome. And when he puts on the makeup for the first time and walks to his round window with the crow on his shoulder and the white cat and The Cure is playing... Yeah, thats why most of my clothes are black. RIP Brandon Lee.

And if we survive the weekend, its a pretty sure bet that by November 1st there will be egg nog on the shelves of a supermarket near you. Come ye winter!

Generation of Vipers

So there is this amazing metal band from Tennessee, (thanks Metal Jake) who never tour and don't ever seem to really do anything except play shows in Tennessee, and, apparently, craft epic doom oeuvres in what I can only picture as a shed built out of corrugated tin, soundproofed with dirt and lit only by one forty watt bulb which is half caked with smoke. Really though, they probably play in a clean suburban basement. What do I know? Either way, they have a new song up on their Myspace page and it is amazing. If you like slow, atmospheric, heavy and beautiful, check it out. Their full length too, get that.

But enough with the fan boy. It does make me miss the heavy music though. Maybe you don't outgrow that shit after all. God, the only thing worse that a bunch of aging dudes who won't let metal go must be a bunch of tattooed singers from punk bands who picked up acoustic guitars and grew beards. Oh wait... Don't know what's good, bad or even what's what at that, just know what I like, and today that is Generation of Vipers.

And what I don't like today is the cop who flipped a U-turn to follow us for blocks just because we were three guys in the same car. Carpooling is so foreign here the LAPD must assume that if you are not driving alone you must on your way to some unlawful fun. But, Wheels had nothing outstanding when they ran his tags (which we could see the cop doing on his laptop, while driving) so he turned off. Oh Johnny Law...

-OSB

Good shit.

Last night we saw William Elliot Whitmore at the Hotel Cafe. It made for a pretty swell saturday night, good venue, good sound, good show etc. The opening guy was just finishing when we got there, but he closed with "I'm on Fire,"a Springsteen song (also covered by Hawks and Doves, referenced in a Gaslight Anthem song and the inspiration a PMFS song title, Six Inch Valley). And the headliners, Hoots and Hellmouth brought their own hardwood floor, the better to stomp on. At first I thought it was about the most pretentious thing ever, and was sure that they must be from art school in Brooklyn, but as they played, it turned out they are from Philly and I concluded that, in fact, having your own stomping floor is pretty awesome.

Willy played a nice cross section of his catalogue, mostly just taking requests between Iowa dirt stories and odes to "party liquor." The dude certainly brings the pain for one guy and a banjo, something comforting to aspire to if/when geography, life and age finally render the rock band dalliance impossible.

Karaoke with band dudes and brunettes afterward. No, I didn't sing. Fresh dew on the bike seat when I came out. Veggie burrito for a nightcap. Nothing old or sad. Not having to work in the morning is fucking amazing. Six day work weeks? Not fucking amazing. Bottom line though, Saturday night is some good shit.

-OSB

Bus Damnit.

So it turns out that the LA metro system is only friendly to weekend revelers. Wanna get home by bus after 11 on a weeknight? Joke's on you sucker, you are ass outta luck. You would think that after three and half years I would know these things, and maybe I did once, but having it shoved in my face again reminded me how nice it would be if you could get around LA on public transit. Oh well right? But, we made it home, after texting a taxi. Yeah, thats right. You can text a taxi. You never even have to speak to a person. Then the cab comes, and you only have to tell him the address, no further conversation required. Amazing, to be home safe, not a word wasted.

In other bastardry, I realized last night, as our friends kicked out what are apparently the "freshest jams," that I have lost any connection with pop music. I don't listen to the radio, and I don't "club." So while I have heard of Lady Gaga, I wouldn't know her songs if you stood outside my window and blasted them from an overhead boombox. Same goes for the other neon wearing scene mavens whose dance beats keep the kids skinny these days. Kinda sad to realize that I am finally out of touch, and even closer to being old and square. For now though, I am content with moderately grumpy, balding and really in touch with the music I like, even if it does all sound the same to you. I am off to convince myself that Borknagar, The Takers, MLIW and The E-Street Band are not just the same sour kooks in different suits.

-OSB

Ruido, Mucho Ruido

Because I carpooled to work today, and then interacted with people at work all day, and then carpooled home, I haven't listened to one second of music today, of my choosing or otherwise. This put so much pressure on my first selection once I was finally home that I just put it off and now am writing in silence. Or at least in the absence of music, since I can hear the neighbors loud and clear, as they discuss popcorn and soda in six-out-of-ten voices and call for their rat-dog "Sugarbear" in I-just-pushed-the-scale-to-fourteen kind of tones. Maybe that is why the stereo is always on, since between Sugarbear, the LAPD chopper, people honking for their kids outside the school across the street and upstairs neighbor doing tae-bo, I am about ready to ream my eardrums out with the immersion blender. Time for jams suckers!
Starting off with "Not Fucking Fodder" by Tragedy. Things better now...

-OSB

Fuck you summer, end already.

It was shit-ass hot in the valley again, with worse to come, they say. After the brief glimpse of autumn last week, this should be a treat. A treat like finding that your chocolate ice cream cone is actually filled with dogshit. Anyway, evenings are still livable, and nothing asks for rain like going for a bike ride, begging to get caught in a total fucking downpour. Then LA drivers drop their cell phones and their common sense and try to crash into each other as fast as they can, as if they could win a cookie, or some Pinkberry, or a new pair of Uggs. While they do this, I ride around skidding for fun on the nine plus months of oil that the rain brings up on the road. And I giggle like small child who has seen someone fall down for the first time. For the record, tonight shows zero chance of showers. Here's hoping though eh? Soundtrack for the ride: "Stop When the Rain Starts" by Signal to Noise. Soundtrack to my post-ride beverage: "Fall Motherfuckers Fall" by Josh Small.

-OSB

Feast

We made some awesome food last night, a sort of thanksgiving preview. Erik and Alexia brought the full brunt of their culinary might, and made a strong case for dropping everything and moving post-haste to PDX. Today's unseasonable heat helped that case. Before band practice, I leave these two take-aways from the weekend: 1) Even when things are good, life tends to dish you just a taste of what it could be... and 2) Most metal sentence ever-"If you need to remember, carve it on the antlers of the children." Say that out loud and tell me you don't just feel heavy!

-OSB

Ok, fine...

Since I am not at work (thanks Erik and Alexia,) I have to put my five year old paperweight of a laptop where my mouth is and start the blog I have been making snarky jokes about all weekend. Honestly though, I have better shit to do today. This thing is for when there is really nothing more productive to do with my six and a half minutes of internet time each day. Basically, shit don't suck right now, its pretty good. Good friends in town visiting, sun's coming up cool, monday off work, looking down the barrel of an only 46 hour workweek. And so, i am off to listen to some Daylight Dies and to clean my kitchen. It got the ugly end of the shotgun last night, and El Pastor kicked it while it was down. Thank god no one is stuck to the couch with peanut butter though, that shit would stain...