Layne Staley, lead singer for the pivotal grunge band Alice in Chains, was discovered dead last Friday by in his Seattle apartment, after authorities responded to a call from an anonymous friend . While the cause of death has not been determined, a Seattle police spokesman has reported that it might be a possible drug overdose. Alice in Chains disbanded in 1996 after the success of two number one albums and numerous hit singles like Heaven Beside You, Rooster and Dirt. Staley’s publicized heroin addiction, the inspiration for many of the group’s songs, ultimately played a significant role in the band’s demise. He was 34.

In other music news… Ex-Van Halen singers David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar are teaming up for a tour that will kick off May 29 and reportedly will feature numerous Van Halen covers. Recent UM musical guest Afu Ra will release his second album, Life Force Radio, on May 21. It will feature production by DJ Premier, among others and guest appearances by RZA, M.O.P and Big Daddy Kane. The Red Hot Chili Peppers are still working on their next album, By the Way. Chili Pepper guitarist John Frusciante said the album, scheduled to drop in June, is much deeper than the mutli-platinum Californication. A sign of what you’ll be seeing on MTV for the next year – Eminem dressed up as Osama bin Laden for the shoot of his new video Without Me, set to premiere in May.
The Rock is now a movie star. The Scorpion King, the new action movie from the WWF wrestler and member of UM’s 1990 champion football team, grossed an estimated $36.2 million over the weekend, making it the largest April opening in film history. The movie is a spin-off of the lucrative The Mummy franchise and had a modest budget that was just over $60 million. Changing Lanes starring Samuel L. Jackson and Ben Affleck slipped to number two and grossed a solid $11.1 million, to bring its two-week total to $32.8 million.
In film news… Playwright Reginald Rose, best known his acclaimed screenplay for the 1957 film Twelve Angry Men, and his Emmy-award winning work on the television show The Defenders, has died at the age of 81. Director David Fincher, with his film Panic Room still going strong in theatres, is in final talks to helm Mission Impossible 3 with Tom Cruise returning in the lead role. The last film in the spy franchise, MI:2, was directed by director John Woo and went on to gross $546 million worldwide.

Do rock gods still exist?

Name a band that you have seen in the last five years that secretly erased your independent, punk, boy band or hip-hop preferences as soon as you fell victim to the sheer power of their presence. A band that you yearned to trade your life with because you knew they were experiencing things you could not and would not try in your lifetime; a band that embodied the true American dream: To live a short, indulgent life free from the workforce, politics, consequences, and cares of ordinary life and full of the music, sin, religion, and alcohol that helps you get by every year. A band with a front man who will quite possibly be worshipped forever as a primal legend in times of increasing rules and regulations?

There are young cynics and bitter middle aged critics who will argue that such bands never existed and simply cannot, because in the end it’s all image, money and superficiality. Those people are jaded and perhaps overly caught up in the holsters of the 9 to 5 reality. Members of earlier generations were lucky enough to witness a couple of musicians with such charismatic force: Jimi Hendrix was a radical thinker and spiritual seeker who connected with electricity in ways no text book can describe. Led Zeppelin simply lived the life, and classic rock stations are still mining away hourly at the bottomless supply of mysticism inside Stairway to Heaven. There are other bands that might do it for you. The Doors, the Beatles, Pink Floyd with Roger Waters, perhaps even Nirvana. Add on if you wish.

If the credibility of music critics was not at stake, band breakers and journalists to search endlessly for the holy grail of rock in obscure, undiscovered acts while remaining loyal to certain cutthroat genres, maybe people would take the time to make a similar consideration for the Stone Temple Pilots. Note a “similar consideration,” meaning a comparison that is alike but not identical.

With the exception of Nirvana, it takes particular gusto to proclaim that STP are in the same league with any of the bands listed above, and it is not even worth visualizing the repercussions that would inevitably arise in using the word “all.”

This article doesn’t have, nor want that gusto. However, the band’s performance two Saturdays ago at the under attended Beyond 2002 Super Festival (of all places), hints that STP’s members possess such a trait and are willing to use the stage to carry out their debate for this elite recognition. Hindered throughout the last decade by Scott Weiland’s heroin addiction, it is a debate that can now hopefully stay on the progressive track.

On the night of April 13, when Weiland walked onto the festival’s main stage shaking maracas, wearing a black suit and white tie, his eyes highlighted with black eyeliner and his hair punked out in whitish blonde, he wasn’t just a glam-rock posterboy. The crowd viewed him with a little more awe, trying to remember why they had abandoned this band for Limp Bizkit, Nickelback or whatever disposable debris Zeta is now playing on the radio. People began to realize that this s.o.b. was possibly the last true rock star for Generations X and Y- and it was pretty clear that he was thinking the exact same thing. With the death of Alice in Chains front man Layne Staley last week, his role is even more solidified.

As bassist Robert DeLeo, decked out in a long sleeve 1970s style silk shirt, and his brother, guitarist Dean DeLeo, formed a gradual ambience around Weiland’s calm, fluid movements, it conjured images of early Pink Floyd and in fact it was. The band members teased the audience with their untapped potential as they nailed a flawless cover of Floyd’s Shine on You Crazy Diamond. They played the song as if it were their own, and it fit like a glove.

The dark-pop calling of Vasoline from 1994’s Purple followed. Weiland ran up and away from the crowd drenched in purple and white lights, distorting his expansive voice through a megaphone. This old technique didn’t resurrect the age of grunge; it simply quenched the thirst for rock by adding a sense of urgent nostalgia.

By the third song, Weiland had lost his tie and was enlightening far far away in his own musical bliss. He swayed serpent-like as Eric Kretz’s incredible drumming took control during the dark confessional tone of Big Empty. A kid in the audience sitting on his mother’s shoulders began throwing his hands out at the singer for whatever reason. Would he fondly recollect this memory to his friends 15 years from now at a house party or at a school lunch table, or perhaps even tell his own kids about the experience?

One thing that separated STP’s performance from newer rock groups was the feeling that Weiland has sacrificed himself for rock ‘n’ roll. He sang and contorted his body with unrestrained freedom and lust, and the apparent physical and emotional wear and tear from years spent in the rock life almost gave the performance a dangerous quality.

All of the drug busts and bad publicity are just part of his journey, not unlike Jim Morrison’s own obsession with death and celebrity. Weiland knows his role and has equally succumbed to and perfected it. Why deny that we want this from our rock idols, especially when they willingly want to become them? There is even less guilt and more viewer satisfaction, when, like Weiland, they simply are them.

Down from number four was soaked in such loud, climaxing hedonism that it catalyzed an undertow of beta endorphins. Girls in the audience yelled things like “yummy,” (seriously) and screamed in realization that this was the real rock experience, the one they needed to utterly seduce them. DeLeo threw out a black towel to an exhilirated topless chick, and told to their roadie that it was a backstage pass. Most rock bands and rappers are now prone to merely talking about such traditional acts of indulgence, instead of just living it out like the Rolling Stones.

Yet, the most pleasing aspects to observe were the people crowd surfing with authentic smiles on their faces and the way the audience sang along to all of STP’s songs.

Custom likes fast cars, rock music, hot chicks, doing things his way, and pissing dads off. That’s the impression that one gets when listening to Fast, Custom’s edgy and sonically eclectic debut album from ARTISTDirect Records.

Custom, known to his parents as their beloved “6’8” classically trained musician Duane Lavold, recorded his album in a family-built studio in his New York City loft with a posse of close musician friends that included Duncan Sheik. The album’s amalgamation of alternative acoustic rock, punk, muffled hip-hop, and pop is backed with lyrics that range from aggressive and biting to juvenile humor.

Custom’s first single, Hey Mister, has been a hit on modern rock radio stations across the country. The single caught the ears of South Florida’s own rock station, Zeta (94.9 FM). Custom will be joining a lineup that includes Rob Zombie, Kid Rock, and Adema for Zeta’s Bonzai Festival on April 26 at Bicentennial Park.

The chorus and school girl na na na chant to the single is a prime example of the sly erotic and tongue-in-cheek matter that makes up Fast: Hey mister/I really like your daughter/I’d like to eat her like ice cream/maybe dip her in chocolate.

The song’s subversive lyrics were so racy that MTV’s Standards and Practices department deemed them misogynistic. The video for the song was shot on a digital camera in Malibu and Las Vegas by Custom. Although it contains nothing dirtier than Custom writing on his bikini-clad girlfriend with a marker, and nothing racier than a Ferrari being driven at 180 m.p.h., the video was banned on MTV.

Custom called MTV’s decision “preposterous” in a recent interview with The Hurricane.

“I was in a bar with my sister and watching her get picked up by a guy. That brought out the protective brother in me,” Custom said. “Then I realized that I was doing the same thing to a girl, who probably has a brother and definitely has a father. I imagined how scary it must be to have a daughter and see her go off on her first date. So I wrote it from that perspective.”

Custom, 27, will be playing the guitar and performing live vocals at Bonzai along with the band he culled together for the tour. While the name Custom stems from a nickname for Lavold, he opted to use the name as an umbrella moniker for his act to facilitate easier future collaborations with musicians.

“We’re going to have a heavier sound than on the record,” he said. “While we’ve done our best to replicate big string sections, we can’t get a gospel choir out on tour with us just yet,” he added referring to one of Fast’s standout tracks, Daddy, which includes a crescendo of rousing choral voices. “We don’t like to have too many loops and samples,” he said. “We rather err on the side of freedom and to rock out.”

Custom’s biggest musical discoveries as a kid were The Sex Pistols, Pink Floyd, The Cure, and Prince. Seeing as these acts are rock-and-roll pioneers that put their rebellious music above all else, it is no wonder that Custom decided to use the money from his record advance on building his own recording studio rather than spending it on a professional studio.

He enjoys the spontaneity that the studio is able to capture.

“I like having the freedom to come into your home recording studio with a little buzz and make whatever you are feeling at that moment into music,” he said. “It ends up being fresher and cooler.”

The easy accessibility of Custom’s home studio came into use when he penned the autobiographical May 26 on the same day his girlfriend dumped him.

“The entire thing was pure inspiration. I tried to redo it later, but it wasn’t as real and emotional,” he said. “So I retained the first pass of vocals and some badly played stuff, but it feels right.”

Feeling right about his music seems to be what Custom is about. Fast is a testosterone-laden paean to good times with friends, beer, and girls. It might not last as long as a six-pack with friends, but it gives you that definite buzz.

OK, we’ve come across yet another band that wedges itself in the popular rap-rock genre. I know what you’re thinking; more Limp imitators, another kernel in the Korn field …enough friggin’ rap-rock already! But read on, we’ve found a jewel amongst the thorns.

On their self-titled debut, Canada’s Headstrong assaults listeners with some seriously muscular guitars, pensive yet aggressive lyrics while incorporating harmony into the equation. No, that wasn’t a typo: harmony.

Not your typical rap-rock band, Headstrong strives to be heavy, yet introspective. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? Not to worry, you won’t find any intolerable Creed-esqe religious overtones or Disturbed-like just plain stupidity here. These guys get their message home the old fashioned way: by enveloping it in a barrage of groove-oriented distortion.

To tell you the truth, I can’t really compare them to anyone else, each song on the album seems to be influenced by another band. Backlash, for instance, would fit perfectly on a Rage Against the Machine album; lofty social commentary layered upon infectious guitar riffs. Do What You Like sounds like something Scott Weiland would, or should for that matter, have written.

Not surprising as they cited STP as one of their major influences. Later in the record, Headstrong tosses a serious curve ball in I am for real by throwing in recycled Slayer riffs (You thought no one would notice?) over some angst-ridden lyrics. What’s all this anger about? Thankfully, it’s not about senseless violence (you hear that Mr. Durst?), but rather more poignant social issues ranging from corruption in the music industry to psychological trauma.

The remainder of the record, including the first single Adriana, could probably be most comparable to the Deftones; bludgeoning, de-tuned guitars mated to catchy lyrics and seriously melodic harmonies. Actually, Deftones fans would really like this album. As a matter of fact, the editors of Spin and Metal Edge think that a lot of people would really like this album; they cited Headstrong as one of the bands to watch in 2002.

Honestly, there was nothing there that really impressed me. I’ve heard all of this stuff before; albeit from different artists. That aside, these kids have talent. Check them out at 94.9’s Bonzai! music festival, April 26 at Bicentennial Park. With bands like Headstrong on tap, Canadians are slowly but surely making up for giving the world Bryan Adams. We haven’t forgiven them yet.

Director John Waters is synonymous with Baltimore, sleaze, and kitsch: the underlying themes of his talk last Thursday at UM’s Storer Auditorium.

If Waters ever quits his day job, he could certainly find good, consistent employment as a stand-up comedian.

For over an hour and a half Waters serenaded the packed auditorium with a hilariously raucous rundown of his love affair with the power of the cinema. He shared anecdotes about his time as a criminal trial groupie, his adolescent obsession with the electric chair, prodded listeners to touch themselves when they go into their voting booths come election day, and admitted that “Anna-Nicole Smith is tempting.”

Waters’s talk was peppered with plenty of the foul-mouthed language that fans have come to expect from his films. However, one joke that fell completely flat revolved around ebonics – a strange joke from the director of the 1988 campy anti-segregation film Hair Spray.

Waters’s films are marked not only by his sly, subversive writing and directing, but by the personalities that drive them- such as Traci Lords, Johnny Depp, Ricki Lake, Iggy Pop, Kim “Hatchet Face” McGuire, Deborah Harry, and the late Divine and Sonny Bono.

The most enjoyable sections of his talk were the behind-the-scenes stories he shared.

His first films were not just a crime against cinema, but also crimes plain and simple. The 8 mm film he used to make his first movie, 1964’s Hag in a Black Leather Jacket, was stolen by a girl who used to work in a film store.

Waters, innocent to the rules of the Screen Actors Guild and film permits, was arrested while filming a scene that featured a naked man and an apparition of the Virgin Mary for 1969’s Mondo Trasho. Interestingly enough, the 300-lb. transvestite Divine was able to drive away, leaving Waters and his crew behind bars.

Once Waters learned a thing or two about how to really make a film, he soon befriended Maryland’s film commission. Grateful for Waters’ insistence to always film in what he calls the crazy town of Baltimore, they regularly give him permits for any location.

With such prurient matter having been the bread and butter of his films, Waters hung his head in shame the day he found out that Hair Spray garnered a PG rating. A Broadway musical of the film is slated to premiere in Manhattan’s Neil Simon Theater this July, starring Harvey Fierstein in Divine’s role.

Subsequent films such as Cry Baby, Serial Mom, and Cecil B. Demented never reached the trashy level of Waters’ early films, but he likes it that way. During a Q&A session he told one fan that he doesn’t want to outdo himself and end up looking bad.

After families continuously call police to report him for obscenity after they rent Pink Flamingos, Waters accepts the fact that even if he finds the cure for cancer and dies the next day, that film will be in the first line of his obituary.

He also longed for the days of cinema terrorism when directors like William Castle would rig chairs in the movie theaters with electrical buzzards to give audiences a real shock, have skeletons fly over the audience, and have film-goers sign life-insurance policies before they watched his film in case they died from fright.

Waters attempted to revive this “celluloid anarchy” with 1981’s Polyester. Numbered scratch-and-sniff Odorama cards were issued to patrons. Each number accompanied a smell, such as a fart or the scent of glue, when it appeared on the screen.

“I am a carnie at heart,” Waters said.

The subversive and the bizarre are Waters’ territory. Butch strippers called Zorro that come out naked and scream obscenities to their patrons are the things Waters lives for. He admits he looks like a child-molester, and isn’t ashamed of his untimely cameo as a pedophile priest in the new Blood Feast 2: All U Can Eat.”

Besides sharing insider stories, Waters implored the audience to enjoy being poor, to be rebellious with their films, and to act more like juvenile delinquents.

While Waters’ powers to transform B-movies into A-movies may have dimmed a bit since the days he claims to have been on drugs while making films, he implores young filmmakers to continue the tradition and create something original and fun in their films.