Putting up with all the headaches of promoting shows would be far more tolerable if the kids today actually cared.  Far too few care enough to actually leave the safety of the mall where they just picked up designer bondage pants with their parents instead of going to live shows and actually supporting something.  The “mallternatives” can be quite amusing to watch, but it can get old quickly, more on that species later.  Then there are those who quickly do a search on My Space for bands who are playing locally.  After checking out some recordings and conferring with their friends to see if the band passes muster, they either go to the show en masse or support the “parent approved punk scene” otherwise known as staying home.  So-called punks who follow that scene should be referred “paps” instead of punks as its an insult to those of us who actually spent years of getting crap from just about everyone on the face of the earth so these paps could stay at home judging the scene from the outside, because they’re certainly not in it as far as I’m concerned.  It’s better to do what your friends do so you remain cool instead of going to the show.

When I first got into seeing live bands, I would go regardless of the bands playing.  If I had the same lazy attitude as many of the paps and mallternatives, I would’ve missed Gang of Four, Dead Milkmen, Husker Du, Oi Polloi, Sonic Youth, Die Kreuzen, Laughing Hyenas, Nausea, Warzone, Jawbreaker, Gorilla Biscuits, GWAR, Citizens Arrest, Youth Gone Mad, Blanks ’77, fIREHOSE, Billy Bragg, Butthole Surfers, The Replacements, Alien Sex Fiend, Naked Raygun, False Prophets, The Meices, The Skulls, The Radicts and many many more.  Looking back on the bands I’ve seen throughout my life, I’d be really angry if I missed any of them because I felt it was more important to be cool than check out some bands.  We’re not even remotely close to being a minor metropolitan area where kids are spoiled by the weekly show, we don’t have them frequently enough, I just don’t get the attitude of laziness, its weird.

I wouldn’t think twice about driving to NYC, Albany, Northampton or Boston and then driving back after a show.  When I lived in NYC, I’d often have to take a cab to a ferry to a subway and then walk endless blocks only to do it all backwards a few hours later.  These late nights were a pain in the ass, but I’m so happy I was able to experience what I’ve been able to in the punk rock world.  If the paps stopped listening to their stolen Casualties MP3s and the mallternatives stopped looking ridiculous pretending to have a clue as to what emo really is, then the Berkshire County scene would probably be better off.  You never know when a band you don’t know could turn out to be your next favorite band.

Dealing with club and venue owners will never be easy if shows aren’t drawing the numbers.  We will always be a thorn in their sides unless we have the numbers to back our arguments up.  Recently, both Project 413 and I tried to hold events at the Econo Lodge in Lenox and the results have always been disastrous.  We’re not allowed to hold events in the restaurant as they can only be 21 and over.  The days of punk appealing to the hip arts crowd are long gone.  Punk now appeals to teenagers in the heat of rebellion, so promoters are relegated to throwing all-ages shows while hoping for the best turnout possible.  When the venues or adjoining venues (such as the case at the Econo Lodge) have an event abutting your event, it’s not going to run smoothly whatsoever.  You’ll get complaints about everything from what door to use to collect admission to people congregating in the appropriate smoking area outside to the door to the room being closed to the level of volume of your event while their thug-rap-hip hop night is as loud as hell, but that’s okay to them.  Your crowd isn’t buying drinks.  The bar crowd is as the male patrons attempt to buy willing girls drinks in order to get them drunk enough to look good to them before last call.  Have you seen some of these losers at that bar?  Any woman in her right mind would have to either be on pills, serious drugs or drunk beyond her wildest nightmares to go home with some of those “Berksha gangstas”.  It’s quite perplexing.

The most recent show had so many problems; they’re too boring to list.  I was excited thinking the Berkshire underground would come out to support Millions Dead, The Poncherellos and touring bands GDP and Dirty Money.  Was I ever wrong.  I was able to pay the bands their guarantee, but the show turnout was dismal.  Fewer than 25 paid and most of the kids I didn’t know had actually come to see GDP, an underground punk hip-hop act from New Jersey.  You’d think the thugs would come in to check out this exciting performer, but instead they stayed in the bar trying to be “playas”.  Before Dirty Money took the stage, I knew we’d have problems.  The Poncherellos were told to turn down several times because the bar hag said we were too loud.  Well, yeah, we’re loud, we’re a punk rock band and we’ve played there a few times before without problems.  Millions Dead opened without incident.

Dirty Money thought they might have issues because they’re extremely loud to begin with.  Needless to say they were, but they were incredible!  Everyone stayed to see this great band from Florida play…two goddamn songs!  The idiot noise police from the front desk had his handy decibel meter and kept telling us to turn down while he was standing directly next to the speakers instead of being outside the room.  The bar hag kept running in and telling us to turn down all the while we could her their thug crap coming through the walls.  Dirty Money got pissed at the noise police and the bar hag so they wrapped it up after just two songs.  The songs were great and the band is amazing, but I was really upset.  My money is just as good as the thug crowd.  The punk money is just as good as the thug money but between the two Econo idiots, it’s time to find an alternate venue, a sane person cannot deal with the insane.  The fight in the parking lot where the 6 foot tall guy kneed and proceeded to repeatedly pummel this woman in the face was rather fun to see at 1:30 AM.  It’s to know the punk shows bring in all the problems and the thug crowd is so well behaved.  “Look out your windows Econo Lodge guests and see the stupid thug bar fight go awry.”

The situation was even more disappointing because kids don’t go to live shows anymore to check out bands, they just use My Space.  If they don’t like the sound (on the very inferior My Space player and with crappy computer speakers), they’ll stay home missing out on the fun social activity of going to a punk show and seeing live music.  It’s a different time and these kids are from a different generation.  I need to keep reminding myself about this.

After getting the energy kicked out of me at the Econo, I have moved on setting my sites on other alternative venues with varying degrees of success.  The Eagle certainly has avoided what I’ve been up to like the plague, so stay tuned to Project 413.  It’s still a pain in the ass to promote all-ages shows, but it’s getting a little less painful so to speak.

The first show I produced happened after I finished school in New York City.  I’d started my zine, Rebel Sound a year earlier and wanted to have a show to celebrate the first year.  The options of clubs in the area was worse than it is now, if you can believe that.  The early 1990s was a dark time for music, punk was still a threat in these here parts and no one knew what a Hot Topic was.  The now-defunct Woody’s Roadhouse agreed to let me do the show.  Throughout our negotiations, the stage was almost pulled out from under us.  The ad in the Berkshire Eagle simply read “Benefit Concert”.  Benefit Concert?  Why do these things always have to be a benefit?  It should’ve read “Concert to Benefit Clubowner’s Wallet”.  Woody booked another event on the night of my show and we needed to be done and packed up by a certain time to make matters even worse.

Sound Bite House provided the PA (which the club was going to charge me $200.00 to rent) all the way from Long Island and because of their generosity, we were able to host some bands who went on to punk rock fame including Blanks ’77, Submachine, Aus-Rotten and The Casualties along with 9 other bands.  It was crazy, but a total blast.  Woody made it really difficult because he wouldn’t let me control the door and had his thug bouncer ID everyone and charge people over 21 less and under 21 more.  The money that could’ve been paid to the bands went to the club who made money off drinks anyway.  Woody’s was in the middle of nowhere so where else were people going to drink?

The fact that Woody’s was in Washington, made me really nervous, but in the end, a large group of local punks showed up in addition to people from throughout New England who made the trek for this unique show.  It seemed like everyone worked together for the good of the show.  Isaiah made a kick-ass flyer, a bunch of us made food for the bands so they wouldn’t be hungry, people didn’t try to sneak in and everyone had a great time.

I was still left with a rotten taste in my mouth when it came time to divide up the money.  Woody completely ripped me off, as their count of over and unders didn’t match mine, but what was I to do?  I had no back up and that guy was most likely packing some guns.

Welcome to the world of DIY productions kid.

I didn’t give up, even though any sane person wouldn’t have gotten involved with this nightmare to begin with.  My next show of a semi-large scale was at Brannigan’s, which is now Asters in Pittsfield.  The owner and his wife were somewhat cool.  They really only wanted a percentage of the door and sold soft drinks to cover their time.  Alcohol wasn’t to be served, but at the time, it wasn’t an issue.  People snuck in, but all in all, it was a successful event.  For whatever reason, they didn’t welcome us back.  After shows in Adams at the Armory, the Dalton American Legion and Club Carol in Pittsfield, I was exhausted and done.  I moved.  I needed to get out of town for some time.  Well, that was twelve years ago.

Moving back to the Berkshires was something I had in my mind for almost eight years.  I was in Los Angeles and had gained an insurmountable amount of experience booking a punk club called Bollocks.  Working with the owner of Bollocks was excellent!  He owned the building and opened the club in literally one of the worst neighborhoods in Los Angeles.  Years after we closed, actress Daryl Hannah tied herself to a tree in the public garden across the street, but that’s another story.  Bollocks was a true success in an unforgiving world.  Kids came from across Los Angeles and beyond to see bands like Citizen Fish, Total Chaos, The Generators, Jon Cougar Concentration Camp, Final Conflict, The Casualties and Stratford Mercenaries (CRASS) in a real punk club with a stage.  There was one bathroom, no soap, basically nothing to drink or eat and we did gangbusters business!  Kids walked to this dirty and gross bodega with 2” thick bulletproof glass and surly bums begging for change to buy drinks and snacks.

Needless to say, the environment to promoting DIY concerts in the Berkshires has changed and it’s not for the better.  Kids who took the cue from the shows produced, took the lead but something was missing from their equation and it was completely detrimental to the cause.  Concerts at the Girl’s Club were stopped after one person trashed a bathroom.  A couple of genius minds trashed personal property in the Howard Building (where the Cyberian Café once was) and therefore, all underground music activities were stopped indefinitely.  Other businesses did become open to the idea of holding shows, but the end result was always the same:  some jackass or jackasses ruined it for everyone else.  Source of the Nile was the last hope for shows here and because the appropriate permits were never pulled and the shop was a cluttered mess, the police shut it down and Source eventually closed for good.

I was lucky enough to go to perform at Source on one of their final nights.  The store was packed and it really seemed like Pittsfield had finally built a scene that could sustain all-ages shows.  After Source closed, the scene was gone in an instant.  It’s so disjointed and it’s almost like Los Angeles in a way, but on a much smaller scale.  People are lazy in LA because they’re spoiled, but in the Berkshires they’re just lazy.  In the past year since the end of Source, I’ve produced several concerts, as has Berkshire Sound in Adams and Project 413 in Lenox.  Attendance for most of these concerts has been good collectively, but we can all count our financial losses before we can count our financial gains.  This isn’t about making money, but hell, we’d all like to cover our expenses and pay the bands at the very least.

For years, the Berkshires have been ignored by most nationally touring bands appealing to those under the age of 40 who aren’t into James Taylor.  Cover bands that play the same songs as other cover bands continue to thrive for some illogical reason.  These glorified karaoke acts are jobbers:  they play for the pay and then go home.  Writing something original, presenting it and performing it live is something they can’t comprehend.  They laugh at us behind our backs and to our faces.

This is just the beginning of the battle of trying to take something back from those who ruined it for everyone else.  Part 2 will be posted shortly.

Of course, that’s not the case at all. The way the town tells the tale is that South Street has become inefficient and needs to be improved. What?!!?!?!?!? This country road, like many country roads throughout New England is just that: a country road! I concede the intersection at Hubbard, Dalton Division, East and South Streets still manages to confuse lifelong residents of Dalton and Pittsfield, but to destroy property and nature- not to mention claiming homes through eminent domain- is a bit much, don’t you think? Kenneth Walto says it’s a safety issue, and while it is, to some extent, how is the remainder of South Street a safety issue to the current traffic state?

The current state of traffic is just fine. Hubbard Avenue lies right in a flood plain- that is why it has been known to flood over the years- but South Street in Dalton isn’t.

Crane & Company, the town’s biggest employer, made plans a couple of years ago, albeit quietly, to construct (yet another) industrial park on land they currently own. This will be good for Dalton they say. It’s no surprise that since the deaths of all the old major Crane players, the children and relatives couldn’t figure out how to run a company, which essentially runs itself. Mansions and land were sold off for neighborhood residential development, nursing homes and other “cash generators” for a company who claimed financial distress. The kids couldn’t run a lawn mower properly; let alone a company who relies so heavily on government contracts. One of the greatest Crane errors was when they opened a chain of high-end paper retail outlets within the past decade only to close them because consumers were sending more e-mail instead of writing letters. Consumers had no need or understanding of fine paper products; Crane missed that gravy train by bout 40 years.

The industrial park plan is kind of foggy, as the exact location is rather vague, but take one drive along South Street and it all comes together. People are losing land and more importantly driveways (some already frighteningly close into road as it is), glorious maple trees are going to be destroyed and the Berkshire County charm that has existed on South Street for decades will be gone sooner than you can think. Construction rigs are already littered throughout South Street under the auspice of “making the street safer.” Safer for whom? Idiots who can’t maneuver a very well marked intersection with more traffic lights than a Christmas tree? No, not even close.

The intersection and the entire stretch are being made “safer” for the heavy tractor-trailer traffic Crane and the town expects to have once the industrial park is a reality. The low hanging train trestle, for years jokingly referred to as the “Callahan Memorial,” will be rebuilt to allow for tractor trailers to safely pass underneath instead of getting their tops sheared off, which was always cool to see. The flood plain of Hubbard Avenue is just that, a flood plain, and there must have been some reason as to why that trestle couldn’t have been expanded to accommodate the new amounts of traffic. Maybe it would’ve required the creation of a new road through barren land that might’ve caused a furor within the private landowners? Isn’t the Wal-Mart Bridge sturdy enough to handle all the additional traffic? South Street isn’t even a state route, yet somehow this has become state priority. At least Mitt Romey halted the funds for the project, but everyone’s favorite devil approved it, which is of little surprise.

It is going to be a sad day when the grand re-opening of South Street in Dalton occurs. I think people are going to miss what they had once it’s gone. The song “Big Yellow Taxi” is so very typical of the Berkshires. Listen to it and think of the grand structures we once had in Pittsfield, or the field, which is littered with the Berkshire Mall, or the country road, which was once South Street in Dalton. Unfortunately, this isn’t the beginning, nor is it the end, of ruining something that is irreplaceable in the beautiful Berkshires.

It finally broke. The sun is out, the air is warm, and the birds are singing in the trees. And dammit, wouldn’t you know all the fine folks that sit inside and pass around cool stuff on the internet have pretty much disappeared. But not to worry, I still have a few gems for this installment of the tubes!

Cousins

Is there anything cooler than primates? Nepotism is of course a factor, but I really cannot think of a cooler set of creatures. And this time we have two examples of ridiculous primate behavior. As is usual with the animal videos in this series, if you don’t like what you see, head on back to the second Plucked from the Tubes and contact the fine folks who do something about it. Complaining to me is pointless.

I shudder to think what would be possible if I had a monkey sidekick who not only could ride a motorcycle, but fully understood traffic patterns.

Speed Demon

In case you think primates only do stupid shit when a human teaches them, I present the following. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

…a tiger by the tail…

I could probably do some research, and some translation to find out (and thereby inform you, the reader) as to why these fine French folks decided to make a cardboard stop-motion animation remake of the Light Cycle scene from Tron.

But why bother… You are already interested enough to click the link. Right?

Wheeeeeeeee

Aside… Someone fund them to do the rest of the film please.

Dude, do you want to watch Point Break?

Neither do I. But even if the urge to torture myself comes up, I don’t want to have to go to the video store and pay some clerk $5 to do so. That’s where this site comes in. They have a bunch of full length (and some clips, highlights, and trailers of) feature films.

And they have some that are much better than Point Break. I promise.

Hulu

Chris Nopper actually did pull his bike out of storage. He gave it a good washing. He left it in the sun to dry. And once dry, he put it right back into the garage and went to get ice cream. He does things like that.

Here we are. Smack dab in the middle of the winter doldrums. The time of year where we all start getting just a little crazy with the thoughts of spring. Wonderful warm sunny days start popping up just a little more frequently. Only to be followed by blizzards and freezing rain. Sapping our hope and reminding us just how much more “winter” we have left to endure.

Here are just a few more fun links to help you pass the time until we can all start leaving the house without fear of falling on our ass on the ice…

Enjoy!

No one’s gonna eat your eyes…

Singer/songwriter Jonathan Coulton has recently made his mark on pop culture by penning the song that made us all finally know that the cake was, in fact, a lie. The surprise success of the game Portal shocked everyone. It was included as a bonus in the Orange Box, a collectors edition of the huge hit Half-Life 2. The little add-in bonus game then went on to win several awards including some game of the year honors. If you haven’t played it yet, please do. A simple little puzzle game that becomes so much more than the sum of its parts. But what really stands out is the music. One simple song that plays during the closing credits was so much fun that it caused all of us video game geeks to go out and find out who wrote it.

And upon finding him, we found joy. Jonathan Coulton has been writing songs for geeks for quite a while. Simple little folky numbers with him and a guitar which contain some of the funniest, catchiest lyrics and hooks since TMBG. What makes Coulton really special is his absolute understanding of how geeks get music. Anyone semiliterate with a PC can find music for free. Coulton gets that, and he is cool with it. Just understand that writing songs is how this guy eats.

Check out his music and videos here: Jonathan Coulton

My highlights include: “Re:Your Brains” and his cover of “Baby Got Back”

Note: Jonathan Coulton will be in the area on April 3rd.  He will be performing at the Iron Horse Music Hall in Northampton MA. Tickets

Face it. You like watching stuff blow up. You like watching stuff melt. You like watching stuff burn.

Good. Now that we’re all on the same page. Here is an entire website dedicated to doing all of those things and more. This site is like taking all of the “Cool” days in chemistry class and condensing them down to one spectacularly dangerous and entertaining sitting.

Kent’s Video Chemical Demonstrations

I will admit it. Unless you really, really like Daft Punk, the first half of this video is going to be supremely boring. The second half will blow your mind.

I cannot even imagine how long it took the star of the video to get this right in one take.

Watch and be impressed.

Daft Hands

Chris Nopper is tired of the weather. He wants nothing more than to be able to take his bike out of storage, give it a good tune-up, and start working off the beer gut he has aquired over the winter.

Round 1…

Continuing in our series of questionable treatment of animals, this month we move to Japan. Ever wonder who would win in a battle between a giant scorpion and a crayfish? So did these guys. Right up until they found out. Warning: This is not animated. This is not faked. So the squeamish may not want to follow the link. In fact, I’m so sure this is going to bother some people, I have included a second link to go along with the first one.

Japanese Bug Fights

Humane Society International

I for one, fully support our…

…biomech overlords. Utah based research firm Sargos has developed the latest in mechanical fashion. This exoskeleton can assist the wearer in lifting, running, and tip-toeing their way across a battlefield. As you watch, remember that this is developed for military applications. But remember also, so was the Hummer. Visions of soccer moms battling their way through Price Chopper, lifting entire rows of shelves to get to that one last sale item… Beautiful!

Mech Suit

Nothing like a nice hot steaming cup of… Shit?!?

Yum! If you or someone you know are avid coffee aficionados, or at least you thought you were, I have something for you to try. Kopi Luwak is a rare, super expensive, coffee from Indonesia and Vietnam. The beans roasted to make this delicacy are first “processed” by the civet. A small relative of the weasel. These civets eat the ripest, juiciest berries on the coffee plants. Then as they are digested, the fleshy part of the berry is consumed. The woody “bean” passes through the animal “mostly” unharmed, then is “eliminated” only to be gathered up by local farmers. It is said that the digestive enzymes of the Civet impart an earthy, musky flavor to the resulting brew. For the coffee drinker that simply must try everything, the following links can tell you more. I think I’ll stick to Dunkin Donuts.

Civet Coffee

Wikipedia – Kopi Luwak

Tired of this Shit? Then send in your own links to the funniest, strangest, or most interesting things you have found on the interwebs. If we like them, we will add them to our next installment.

Chris Nopper has an obsession with the bizarre, but only if it is delivered to him in electronic formats. Seriously, you should hear him talk about his collection of “tree” sound files. He seems to think they are “amazing.“

Disclaimer: As of publication, all of the following links are valid. We take no responsibility for the content contained on the sites linked to. As with all sites, the shifting grains of sand that make up the internet have a way of moving things around. If you find that these links no longer work, you should have been here sooner. Google is your friend. If you find something you don’t like on any of the pages linked, find a tissue.

Shall we begin?

1. Animal Cruelty or funniest thing you have ever seen?

We will start you off with a double shot of videos that are sure to ellicit a responce. Both feature cats in human made contraptions. I will leave them up to you and your particular fondness for our feline friends to judge…

Auto-Wash?

Do cats always land on their feet? How about in zero-G?

2. Arrested?

“This is Michael Bluth.” And so begins a masterpiece of modern television. I know, that isn’t saying much is it? In a swamp of boring, rehashed jokes and worthless reality programming Arrested Development was a fan-boat skimming atop the muck. It was sometimes brilliant, sometimes slapstick, but always entertaining. And now season one is online and free to watch. Warning, you will get hooked.

Arrested Development Season 1

3. Window to the World’s Soul

Web 2.0 promised users something new, right? Sites like Myspace and facebook(however soul-stealing they may be) have fallen a little short of spectacular in my opinion. But occasionally, out of the “new” internet, up pops a site that really does push what a website can be. Flickervision is what I think of when someone mentions web 2.0. Using a mash up of Flicker.com and google earth, this app shows you every photo someone uploads to flicker, and where they are uploading it from. Hypnotic is the best word to describe this site. Never knowing what may pop up next, it is truly hard to pry yourself away.

Flickervision

4. Crazy Amazons

Amazon.com sells some weird stuff… Finding one of these bizarre items can be entertaining in itself. Then there comes the comment sections. Check out these gems…

Milk?

Uranium Ore?

Cottontail?

Well, I hope you have enjoyed this little look into what the editors here at Project 413 like to do to entertain ourselves. If you have any websites that you think we or others would enjoy just email them on over. If we like them, they could make it into the next installment. If we hate them, well, you just wasted your time didn’t you?

Chris Nopper spends way too much time on the internet. When a deadline looms, there is nothing he enjoys more than sending the other members of Project 413 a stupid, strange, or otherwise bizarre link that has nothing to do with his assignment. He is funny like that…

Everything in Vegas is designed for a purpose, and that purpose is to separate the average tourist from the memory that money is required for everyday living. Its flashing lights promise entertainment, riches, sex. Its streets promise the chance to run into the famous, or at least that they may run into you. Its buildings promise you your wildest dreams. And its drinks promise relief.

On my trip it was that last item that I was concerned with. In a city that has rapidly (on a global timeline) positioned itself at the pinnacle of cuisine and leisure pursuits, I realized that it would be a crime not to have some predetermined gastronomic goal for my trip. That goal, decided in a seat on the jet that was hurling my companion and me across the breadth of this country, was to drink mojitos.

First a little background on the drink that fueled my quest. A mojito is an alcoholic drink made of rum, sugar, lime juice, crushed mint leaves, soda water, and shaved ice. Originally a Cuban cocktail, the drink has seen a resurgence of popularity in America in recent years. It is a distant cousin of the Mint Julep, and of the British Navy’s “Grog.”

When properly prepared, it tastes like heaven. When improperly prepared, it tastes like toothpaste.

I had never tasted a mojito when I was sitting in that plane. I think that I had read about them in a magazine, or on some website. All I knew is that I liked lime, mint, and rum. So I decided to give them a shot. My goal was simple. Whenever they were available, I would drink a mojito. An accompanying glass of water would be asked for so that the desert didn’t make a scramble of my brain. As I sampled the wares of Vegas, I would keep simple notes. And hopefully I would come out at the end of the week with an appreciation for the nuances in what can only be described as a simple drink.

Mojito # 1 : The Awakening

After a wearying trans-continental flight, the usual scramble to gather up our luggage, catch our shuttle to the hotel, and check into our room, we of course decided to hit the strip. We were staying in what our (then) travel agent described as a “Classic” Vegas resort. After seeing the lobby, room, and casino floor, we decided to find a new travel agent. The Riviera was ancient. It may have been top of its class when the rat pack was hanging around town, but now it seemed like it was home to a different pack of rats. Ok, it wasn’t that bad. But it was not quite what we had hoped for in our Vegas experience.

We hit the strip and headed toward the real resorts. We hadn’t really eaten since about 6:30 AM and it was rapidly getting dark. Food was a priority. Not quite enough of one to eat in our own glorious resort though. We flipped and flopped about what we wanted, and passed by at least 25 choices without making up our minds. Feeling like a starving person being shown a buffet table, we just couldn’t decide.

But of course, between our dinner and us, there were the distractions. We wandered first into Treasure Island. This was a true resort. After the Riviera, it looked like a palace. (Not Caesar’s though, that is a few doors down.) Wandering through the casino I spotted my first target. A Mexican restaurant cleverly disguised as a casino bar. It wasn’t until the next stop that I actually realized it was anything other than a bar. The sign (found upon later inspection) was approximately 6 inches wide.

The mojito. On first reaction, it tasted like a rum margarita. Really heavy lime. Barely any mint. Not spectacular, but what did I know? At that point it could have been the worlds greatest mojito. It just wasn’t what I was expecting. With a growling in my stomach I had to say goodbye to this place before I really understood what I had started.

Mojjito # 2: The Sating

Don’t let the stories of Vegas fool you. Things close. Including many of the restaurants in the casinos. Our indecision, combined with a spate of closed eateries kept us stumbling around half-asleep until about midnight. Finally, tired and about to give up our search for food, we found an acceptable place. The Grand Lux Cafe in the Venetian Hotel.

This is where I consider my Vegas experience to have truly started. Seated immediately, we found the menu full of enticing entrees, so much so that my companion actually found something that sounded good (you have to have traveled with her to understand just how much of a challenge this can sometimes be).

Our waiter didn’t even flinch when I ordered the mojito, which was not on the drink menu. The resulting drink was a polar opposite to my previous attempt. Landing firmly on the mint side. It appeared that the mint had been chopped in a food processor rather than the traditional muddling. The sugar and the lime were however in perfect balance with each other. The presentation made it seem much more of an after-diner dessert drink, than an old school cocktail.

With a full stomach and a solid start to my notes, I retired to the splendid Riviera for some much-needed rest.

Mojito # ?: The Mojito that wasn’t!

While wandering the strip on our second day in town we found ourselves in the Paris hotel and casino. Of all of the newly built super hotels on the strip, this place has the most “mouse loving” major-theme-park atmosphere. A replica of the base of the Eiffel tower sits astride the gaming floor. And as with all of the casinos, there is a convenient bar.

It was at this bar that I attempted to grab my first mojito of the day. When I asked the bartender, he replied that he couldn’t make them. No fresh mint. While I can respect that this place would rather not serve a drink than carry pre-made mix on hand, the bartender couldn’t leave it at that. No, he then decided to give me a lesson on the drink that I had ordered.

Here is a tip for all of the aspiring service workers out there. When a person asks for a drink/food item by name, they probably know what they are asking for. Trying to explain what it is to them is probably going to piss them off. Doing it in a condescending tone is definitely going to piss them off.

Now this fine young man told me that if he had mint on hand he could make one. After all, as he explained to me, “A mojito is just a mint julep with rum instead of bourbon.”

As I previously said, the drinks could be considered cousins. Even going as far as saying a mojito is a descendent of the julep. But for a bartender in the “City of Sin” to not understand the difference in two very standard drinks where (completely different) preparation is the key to both, well, that was unacceptable.

I ordered a Guinness and left.

Mojito # 3 : McMojito

No, I didn’t get my next mojito at McDonald’s.

Our next stop was at the New York, New York Hotel and Casino. At a restaurant called Nine Fine Irishmen. We took a break from sightseeing, and losing our cash out on the floor, to lose some cash for a good cause.

The restaurant is beautifully decorated with dark woods, shelves of books and statues of its namesakes, and a huge bar. After my failure earlier in the day, I was prepared for the inevitable Guinness. After all, this was obviously an Irish pub. There was no way they were going to prep a mojito, right? Wrong. There it was, staring at me from the menu. Simply labeled “mojito.” No funny flavors. No Irish Whiskey mojito. No Guinness mojito. This place just made a regular mojito. I was shocked.

So I ordered one. It came out in a teardrop goblet, and it looked beautiful. It tasted the same. Perfectly balanced mint and lime. My only complaint was that it could have used a tablespoon more simple syrup to suit my sweet tooth. But this was by far the best I had tried. To think, I had to go to an Irish pub to find a good Cuban cocktail.

Mojito # 4: A Taste of Heaven

Billboards from the airport to the strip advertise the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay resort and casino. So in our travels we decided to stop in and check it out. I am not ashamed to admit that I am a nature geek. I get giddy like a five-year-old at the thought of zoos, aquariums, and natural history museums. I watch a ton of nature shows. I love the stuff.

So I was really looking forward to this place. Sadly the excitement didn’t last very long. Getting in was expensive, required standing in a long line, and having our souvenir picture taken at the entrance in true theme park fashion. Once inside, we followed a winding walkway through several exhibits of various wildlife. Each exhibit was interesting, and the place showcased the animals beautifully. The problem was that it was over before it started. It took all of 15 minutes to walk through the entire place. Maybe I was expecting more than I should have been. But the cost and the hype led me to believe that I was in for a treat. I was pretty disappointed to say the least.

But the failed endeavor led me to what I believe is the jewel of the city. To get to the aquarium from the front door of the resort, you must walk through the gaming floor, a shopping mall, and what seems to be a never-ending corridor. It was in this corridor that I found a treasure. The Border Grill. A Mexican theme restaurant and bar. On the outside there was a to-go menu. And the word mojito seared itself into my brain. We stopped in and took a seat at the bar. And I opened up their menu. I found not one mojito, but half a page of them. They had variations on the choice of rum, additional fruit choices, and all were still respectful of the classic drink.

Thinking I had finally found a base of operations to continue my research I decided to throw caution (and my wallet) to the wind and go for the most expensive mojito on the menu. A traditional made with 12 year old Montecristo rum.

The bartender made the drink with care and precision. Using an actual muddler to blend the sugar and mint, adding the limes just before the end. Letting the rum soak up the flavors for a while before adding the soda. I watched and waited with anticipation.

It was perfect.

The four flavors were all in absolute balance. All were playing their part exquisitely. The first sip told me what I had been waiting to hear. The reason expats like Hemingway decided to stay once they got there. This was what a mojito should taste like.

Realizing that there was more of the town to see, I had to leave the Border Grill’s other mojito choices behind. But I made a note to return.

Mojito # 5-8.5: Variations on a Theme

On our last full day in Vegas I had to say goodbye to my companion for a while. To be honest, the real reason we were in town was for her to work. Vegas may very well be the conference capital of the country these days. She was there for a dental conference, and today was the day.

We took the monorail from the Hilton next door to our hotel down to the lower end of the strip and we parted ways at the conference center stop.

Now I was going to be alone in Vegas for at least 6 hours. Whatever shall I do? So many choices. But knowing many of them would end up with me flying back home alone, I decided to do what any good boy would have.

Get stinking drunk and lose the last of my money.

And if I was going to get drunk, I knew exactly where I was going to do it. At the bar of the Border Grill.

After swapping from the city based monorail, to the hotel owned one across the street, I finally ended up at Mandalay Bay. Sadly it was about 9am by this point. And though I had no problem staring my day that early, the Border Grill wasn’t going to help me. They didn’t open for two more hours.

But the great thing about Vegas is that you can always kill time. If you have the money that is.

Flash forward two hours. I had lost quite a bit at the Bellagio, tried and failed to ride the roller coaster at the NY, NY, and wandered the Luxor and Excaliber’s gaming floors without managing to lose my shirt.

I arrived at the Border Grill as they were opening the roll doors. I took a stool at the bar and prepared for a good day.

The best news I had received that morning was that it was May 6^th. I had lost track of the days, as I often do on vacations. Realizing that I had all afternoon to sit at the bar and watch TV, I was happy to find out that it was Kentucky Derby day. Not a horse racing fan, but big spectacles of any genre always interest me.

Bonus – As I started watching the event coverage, they gave a demonstration on how to make a Mint Julep. Ha! Take that, bad bartender guy!

I ordered an early lunch and my first cocktail. Having tried what I considered to be the best mojito I was going to get outside of Havana, I decided that the day would be spent trying variations of the drink. And the bartender was more than happy to help me out.

The night before, the bartenders had decided to mess around. They soaked an entire pitcher full of sliced cucumbers in vodka overnight. And their special of the day was, you guessed it, Cucumber Mojitos. After my initial revulsion, I settled into the thought. The fact that they used vodka instead of rum was a smart choice. I rolled the thought of cucumber and mint around my head. I added in some lime. The more I thought about it, the better the idea seemed. I went for it.

My imagination was working pretty well that day. The drink tasted pretty much exactly as I had envisioned. They went light on the sugar, letting the crispness of the cucumber carry the drink. It was a drink that I would keep in the back of my mind, ready to break out for a summer cookout. Light, crisp, cool. Not a “mojito,” per se, but a damn fine drink nonetheless.

As I enjoyed my fajitas, I began chatting with the bartender. I explained my research and she told me flat out, she makes the best mojitos in Las Vegas. She said her secret was that she loved to drink them. Hence, she made little else for herself when she was drinking.

For my next choice I had the house mojito. Made with Cruzan rum. Nothing special. It was better than any of the non-Border Grill mojitos I had sampled. But still not spectacular.

Buy this point people were starting to flow into the bar and restaurant. The interesting dynamic that I had not noticed up until this point is that Vegas’ lack of open container laws make bartenders very lonely people. I saw at least 10 people come in one after the other and grab their drinks to go. No chatting, little tips, and a lot of rudeness.

So I made a point to chat as much as I could. I am a bit of an introvert, so this didn’t come easy. But with two drinks and a belly full of lunch in me, I was in an especially good mood this morning. I decided to let the bartender play. I seen her talk a patron out of spending $40 on a shot of top shelf tequila, instead giving them one half the price and much better quality, explaining that it should be sipped, not slammed. So I knew I was in good hands.

I told her that I would try any mojito she wanted to make. As long as I got a glass of water with it. It was after all, just after noon.

As she was preparing my drink, the bartender was telling me that she had another mojito that she had always wanted to try, banana. I really dislike bananas. I haven’t eaten one since I was about ten. Rather than offend, I explained to the bartender that I would really need to drink the one she was making before she made me another. Hopefully she would forget before it came time for my next.

When she turned around and placed the glass in front of me, I was worried. It was orange.

She explained that she had never made an “Orange Creamsicle” mojito before now, but that she had always wanted to try. I am please to report that she did well. Made with orange and vanilla Cruzan rum, the drink mimicked its namesake surprisingly well.

As I took the first sip, a young lady sat at the other end of the bar. She told the bartender that she wanted something but didn’t know what. Seeing her opening, she offered this new patron her famous banana mojito. The unsuspecting young lady accepted graciously.

A half a minute later I found a rocks glass half full of banana mojito sitting next to my orange. Along with my new friend, the bartender, asking me if it needed anything. I had to say, it didn’t. In retrospect I have decided that a shot of pineapple rum could have made the drink something really special. But as it was, I was (drunk and) happy that I actually enjoyed something with bananas in it.

Taking my time with the two drinks in front of me, I tried to focus on the horse race. Anyone who has ever watched the Kentucky Derby knows that there are hours upon hours of pre-race coverage. And now that I had started, I was damn sure going to stick around for the race itself. The problem was, at the rate I was going I was never going to make it. So I ordered some chips and salsa, sat back, and relaxed my pace for a while.

Around 2pm I decided that I could only handle one more mojito for the day. The bartender took down the Montecristo, and made me yet another perfect drink.

I asked for the bill in order to make sure that I would’t decide to have another. Here is a little inside info. If you are ever in Vegas, talk to your bartenders. Lunch, 4.5 drinks (one top shelf), and chips and Salsa came to $30. My friend got a damn good tip.

I savored my last drink while watching the horses prepare for the race of their lives. I don’t have any idea which horse won the race. It didn’t really matter. I had found what I was looking for.

Chris Nopper is a world traveler and alcohol enthusiast with a tentative claim to a baronage under the Holy Roman Empire. His new goal in life is to visit Belgium to imbibe beer made by the Trappist monks at the Abbey of St Sixtus of Westlvleren.

While original bands write their own songs, may play the occasional cover for the hell of it, attempt to tour out of the Hills and basically bust their ass are ignored by both the press, potential fans and venue owners. How many different ways can cover bands play the same songs? Several apparently. There is even a band who goes through quite a bit of effort to dress up in lackluster fright-wigs and make-up to play 98% cover songs and 3 original songs. Why must people accept and put up with another “unique” rendition of Highway to Hell, Radar Love, Welcome to the Jungle or Another Thing Coming? Can these versions sound any better than the Southern Rock version (how Southern Rock is so popular here in the Northeast is beyond me) or the singer-songwriter acoustic version or the standard cover band version? They must sound better because this band continually packs the house wherever they play. It is bizarre! I think they are even my friend on My Space, but I am not really sure. I wish they were. From what I can gather, they are like a 10th rate GWAR, KISS, Sigue Sigue Sputnik or LA stalwarts Rebel Rebel, but far less interesting. If GWAR played Communication Breakdown instead of Saddam A Go-Go, they would be far less tolerable.

Perhaps the folks at Berkshire Sound will not burn out on promoting shows, because it would be a blow to the scene in northern Berkshire County. Pittsfield boasts several metal bands who have gone about doing it themselves because no one is certainly going to bend over backwards for punk rock show, let alone metal shows.

There are several bands out there performing their own music in a variety of genres, do not be afraid, definitely check them out if its something you might be interested in. If you like the Ramones, Black Flag, Alkaline Trio, Bad Brains, Green Day or even Blink-182 then definitely check out a Berkshire Sound or Rebel Sound Radio show. If you like any kind of metal, then look no further than Pittsfield for some loud sounds from Hung By the Hated or Warsynium! There is a lot more out there and if club owners see people in the clubs to see these bands, then there will be other shows. If no one comes, then it will only be harder the next time someone tries to book something other than the same old-same old cover band.

ENDNOTES:

> There is one band from town who is making it seem like it is the biggest deal in the world to not only record a CD, but to play shows out of town. Believe me, releasing a CD and going on a “tour” is done everyday, you are not special and please stop acting as if you are.

I have been getting a few messages from bands who are doing their own thing, look for them in an upcoming piece.

Lance Hahn of Cringer and J. Church died this past week, he was only 40. Cringer and J. Church were influential to a slew of East Bay bands including Green Day, Operation IVY and Jawbreaker.

Paul Fox of The Ruts also died this past week, he was 56. The Ruts recently reunited with Henry Rollins on vocals for a performance that will eventually be released on DVD.

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones tickets are going for $300.00 to over $1200.00 for their upcoming Boston reunion shows, now that is punk!