Wednesday, October 31, 2007

First Review of Eric's First Record!!!

When it comes to Eric's band, I honestly see myself as fan first, singer's wife second. I've thought he was an amazing tallent since the first time I saw The Adorkables in October of 2005. By October of 2006, still positive he would be a success, I asked him not to forget me when he hit it big... never thinking just a year later I would be in his life for good. I really believe in these boys and it is SO exciting to see other people... people that actually matter... do too!!! Here is the first review of The Adorkables' first record, "In The After Hours." Enjoy!!!

The Adorkables
In The After Hours 7"
(Devil's Hand Records)


I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for the up-and-coming bands that Jimmy Reject so fervently touted in his last years. The Adorkables were one such band. Jimmy sensed their promise from the first demo, and surely now he's looking down with great satisfaction as that promise is fulfilled. He's probably holding court with Stiv Bators and Darby Crash at this very moment, subjecting them to 101 reasons why they should open their minds and give The Adorkables a chance. I bet you he's already got G.G. Allin on board.

In what has been the best year for the genre in over a decade, The Adorkables' "Dance Class" just might be my favorite pop-punk song of 2007. And now we get a completely horror-themed EP from The Adorkables. It's a dandy! The first thing I noticed about this EP was that the opening guitar lines reminded me of the Parasites. It's hard to go wrong starting off like that - and the rest of In The After Hours does not disappoint. The Adorkables play pop-punk that leans hard to the pop side of the equation. The emphasis on melodies, harmonies, and production sets these guys apart from the purely formulaic practitioners of the pop-punk style. Perhaps because of Eric Gentry's vocal tone, Lillingtons comparisons will be unavoidable. There are other similarities too, like the catchy guitar leads and the pleasing contrast between upbeat melodies and sinister subject matter. And being that this is a horror-themed record, you had to know there would be some slight Danzig inflections in Gentry's delivery. Nothing wrong with that, and it all works like a charm for The Adorkables. The band's not trying to reinvent the wheel here - these are fun, Ramonesy pop-punk songs about zombies, mind control, and mannequins come to life. Yet The Adorkables bring in enough of their own style and personality to keep things sounding fresh. It's probably been said before, but In The After Hours is the perfect Halloween record. Buy it and ghoul out!

The Adorkables are recording an album this month at the famous Blasting Room in Fort Collins, Colorado. The working title is ...She Loves Me Not, which suggests that the group will be going back to songs about girls. And as much as I enjoy a good horror tune from time to time, love songs are way more up my alley. If The Adorkables have got a few more songs as good as "Dance Class", then ...She Loves Me Not will definitely be one of my most-highly anticipated releases of next year!

Lord Rutledge
October 4, 2007

Friday, October 26, 2007


I bought a book at the airport because the hard drive on my laptop crashed and I had nothing to do. I bought Middlesex, judged it by it's colorless cover of the silhouettes of two smoking girls, a smokey ship, and a smoking skyline that it was something I would like. The name intrigued me, and it was an Opera Book Club book so I knew it had to have some intellectual value. I am about 140 pages into the 530. I'm smitten, disgusted, confused... completely conflicted.

Author Jeffrey Eugenides writes like I write... a deliberate stream of consciousness in poetry... lines that seem to stream into each other on accident but each word is very purposefully placed. It's an interesting style for a novel. He goes on narrating the story of his ancestors, how he came to be in his present state... organizing the facts and dates and suddenly he drags you back into the purpose of the story, to drag you into his pain and explain who and why he is.

I love it... I love the story and the characters... but I feel completely guilty for doing so. The story is seeped in taboo. Full of incest, murder, homosexuality, and the more confusing topic of intersexuality (the narrator is a hermaphrodite that is raised a girl (decided by doctors) but is actually a boy). I don't enjoy anything shocking for pure shock value... honestly. I have traditional, conservative views, but somehow they fly out the window with this book. I can so deeply identify with Lefty... how he makes his decisions, his loneliness, his emotions, that I completely forget he fell in love with and married his sister. Cal is so masculine, so poetic and brilliant, you can't help but completely mourn the fact that he will never be able to settle down and be with a woman because of his embarrassment over his physical condition.

You forget what and who they are and love the character, but are continually snapped into the shock of it all. You are impressed with how beautifully Des responds to her husband... then suddenly you remember: Omg, this sex scene is between full siblings! But it's too late, you are already sucked in. Or you are deep into the thoughts of the 40 year old unmistakably male narrator and then suddenly he's recalling a scene from his childhood... dressed in pink tights and a skirt. He's not meaning to shock, he makes no outward recognition that this is odd... it's just his childhood, as a girl.

So, needless to say, I'm conflicted... by Cal, not so much, because his plight is the fault of his inbreeding grandparents and parents... but then THEY are such sympathetic characters that you don't want to blame them. You understand why they've done what they've done and you are almost rooting them on, until you recoil and wonder, what am I thinking??? I think I'm going to just love this book... unapologetically. It may be the most well written piece I have ever read, and I think just for that, it deserves my admiration and approbation.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The Gaps

I'm a girl, but I am not wholly retarded when it comes to building stuff. I was looking at a table that was made for me. It's a beautiful table, but with a good wiggle the back right leg comes off. The joints were not sanded enough first so they didn't properly bond when glued. Easily fixed, but easier still to just do it right at the beginning as there's no old glopply glue to work through.

As Eric and I merge our two worlds to one, there's undoubtedly a little glue to work though. As his and mine become ours there's more than enough that can't make the transition. Gifts, letters, pictures, both obvious as well as unexpected reminders of a past life that need sanding away. Most people in a frantic, superficial and emotionally driven attempt at healing, rip away at these right after a break-up, but Eric and I didn't...

Sitting on the floor of our living room I sorted through the memories... letters, pictures, strange little mementos... I know the stories behind them all, the gaps of time between the snap shots, the conversations between the letters... and I realized how poorly we represent our lives sometimes... and how deliberate the deception often is.

I found my old diary, every entry a love letter never sent. I poured over my words, completely impressed with their eloquence. I so passionately wanted to give my heart to someone who deserved it, and surprisingly, even at such a young age, I knew exactly what kind of man did. I realized that as I wrote, I made each man "that man" by wrongfully applying the attributes that even then I knew they didn't have, justifying each relationship to my paper... pen... and future self. Fortunately, as future me, I'm not so easily fooled.

I picked up a picture from my honeymoon, remembering how painfully hard it was to answer the question "How was the honeymoon?" afterwards, and thanking God for having lots of smiling pictures to lie for me. Sometimes in a smile you can see a shadow of pain, but not here. My smile is so bright, so perfect that you would never guess that only hours before I was curled tight into a ball of sheets and fury, crying my eyes out into a pillow, begging to know how I could be so heartlessly deceived, why I deserved so little love and so much rejection. One of the most painful days of my life, but what a brilliant liar a photo makes.

Perhaps stranger still was packing away Eric's memories. Knowing which unhappy gaps fit between which smiling photos, I fought that sick confusion that comes with knowing you've being so classically fooled, and trying to not take the deceptions personally... which I do all too often. I laid our pasts side by side. It was like a little double burial, only no one cried and no kind words were shared. Looking at Eric sleeping on the couch, looking down to our box, and back at him... I put the little liars to rest. They had done their jobs brilliantly, but would no longer be needed. I curled up on my groggy man's lap and rewarded myself with a much deserved rest... excited to have lots of empty albums to fill with our love and happiness... and perfectly sanded edges all ready to be glued for good :)