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Home  ACE Stories Music Writer Dude
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B. Noel Barr Features by the Music Dude
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Random Notes of the Music Writer Dude
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Wednesday, 12 March 2008 |
Knowing that sanpedrobands.com named Lucas Valenzuela of Somehow Still Alive as “one of the finest rock vocalists” performing out of San Pedro is amazing, given that Valenzuela started out trying to be a rap artist . But what the groups latest release, After All, shows is that broadening one's horizons is good for the soul. “On borrowed Time” and the title track are excellent examples of rock, but the strength in all this material is lyricism. The Last track, “Acceptance,” which is about Valenzuela’s grandmother is thoughtful and moving, not to mention a magnificent ending to a damn good CD.
The name “Somehow Still Alive” itself came from the title of Valenzuela’s first album. Inspired by his grandmother, he began to write the words for his raps that eventually turned into at least one song from the time of his initial recording. “I was writing about my grandmother, who eventually passed away, but she always wanted me to go back to school.”
Though her health eventually failed, he still dreamed of being a rap artist. Frustrated by constantly trying to find singers to sing the musical hook in the rap—“ I was a closet singer,” he says—he would finally just fill the sung parts himself.
It was only after he went back to school, fulfilling his grandmother's wish, that he met Nate Rock, the group's first guitarist. “I passed him my CD,” Valenzuela explained. “He thought they ought to be rock songs.” |
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Random Notes of the Music Writer Dude
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Saturday, 23 February 2008 |
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The Pastor's voice booms up and across the wooden floorboards to the rafters in a cadence punctuated with short bursts of upward inflected speech, infusing meaning into each syllable as he called out, “Give thanks to the Lord of hosts, for his steadfast love endures forever! And the church says Amen.” The standing congregation in a state reverie responds, “Amen!” Beads of sweat trickled down his warm, chestnut complected face, making his glasses slide down his nose, forcing him to constantly kept pushing them up. Worshipers clapped in syncopated rhythm to a five-piece band, all the while a small choir of voices rang out in joyful harmony, filling the church hall with music. Some, filled with the spirit, dance in the aisles and between the pews with raised hands waving to the heavens in gratitude for being delivered from the clutches of misfortune and difficult circumstances.
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Random Notes of the Music Writer Dude
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Friday, 08 February 2008 |
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A chill was blowing through the aged wood doorway of the Blue Café in the old coastal town of Long Beach, California a few days into the New Year. On the stage were The L.A. King Pins. In the back was a beautiful statuesque blond named Mel, in hip hugging pants playing a small rudimentary drum kit. Standing, balanced on his bass, was Rich, a young man in tight jeans and rolled tee shirt, while a stocky looking fellow with a greased up hairdo in a burgundy dinner jacket known as The Kid was on vocals and guitar. These twenty something rockers were playing with almost reckless abandon, music that had been displaced by five generations, was burning and coursing through their veins.
"We got into this by backing an Elvis singer, The Kid explained.
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