2003-12 Vital Source Mag – December 2003
The Fags
By Brian Barney THE FAGSThe FagsIdol Recordswww.thefagsmusic.com Stumbling across the vast wasteland of CD wreckage that has become my desk as a music writer, I happened upon a true gem. The cover of The Fags self-titled freshman effort on Idol Records sports a fashionably androgynous being smoking a cigarette (or fag) that would prompt an “I gotta hear this one” out of almost anyone. And, after a good couple dozen listens, I’ll wager this: if they are not drowned in the sea of anonymity, or ultimately eaten alive by the monster that is the record business, The Fags could be pop rock’s next big thing. From the first cut, “Truly, Truly,” the listener is drawn in by hooks that embed themselves in the brain. Standout tracks include “Hitman” and “List” (the record’s definite high point), where soaring vocals, hard-barking guitars and smart harmonies show incredible depth in what might normally be considered shallow waters. Love songs about girls unobtainable, viable or no longer wanted have broken no new lyrical ground since “Maybelline,” but it’s hard not to hum along and reminisce with chorus lines that are the crux of every teenager (or teenager at heart)’s lost logic defined in these three minute diddies. The only shortcoming here is… it’s too damn short! Being an EP with eyes no doubt trained on landing the big deal, the Detroit trio has obviously put their best foot forward. If you don’t reside in the Motor City, where The Fags are still pounding it out as local heroes (this applies to most of you), your best device to put yourself behind the wheel of this little beauty is to cruise online to www.thefagsmusic.com and place your order. ‘Cuz you won’t find it around here.
Dec 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
We Laughed, We Cried
Brainstorming December story ideas in a recent Vital staff meeting, one person told a story about a holiday moment that stayed with him. Eventually, almost everyone took a turn. As the saying goes, we laughed, we cried. It occurred to us that most folks have at least one stand-out moment from the time of year dubbed simply “the holidays.” At some point (no doubt after at least two adult beverages), someone suggested we put our memories down on paper and share them with our readers. “Over-sharing violation!” cried one man. “What if we don’t have a happy/childhood/holiday memory?” queried others. But in the end, we decided that if one story could spark a dozen more, then perhaps a dozen could be a catalyst for thought, if not conversation, about this most auspicious (or at least emotionally charged) time of the year. So here they are. Some are nostalgic, some warm and fuzzy. Others are sad. But all are personal and, in that sense, universal. Happy holidays and hope for peace in the New Year. From all of us. Alex — Writer Every spring my Father, my sister and I would drive down to Chicago to celebrate Passover at my grandparents’ house. They would take out the extra extensions to the table so it could fit 17 people around. What I remember most was the break after the first part of the service. All the kids would scram off to the bedrooms. Like a football team at kick-off, we would jump on my grandparents’ bed and tackle the pillows. I think you know the rest. The adults stayed at the table leaning on the back two legs of their chairs, talking politics. The more they would drink, the further they would lean back, and the redder their faces would get. Erin — Sales Assistant I’ll always remember spending the day of Christmas Eve with my ten cousins at my grandparents’ home. As the youngest, I was the official household pet. Amy and Lisa brushed my hair until my four-year-old impatience made me run to find grandpa, slouched in his brown rocking chair, with a can of Schlitz and a cousin settled in his lap. My brother Jeremy and cousin Andy would give me noogies and grandma let me mash the potatoes before dinner — made by a woman who never counted calories and based food’s worthiness on taste alone. We still gather for Christmas Eve, but after twenty years the cousins are scattered, flying in from Los Angeles, Vermont, and even Taiwan. Two are married, one is lost to suicide and grandpa is no longer in his brown rocking chair. When we meet, there are so many hugs and kisses, so many “guess what’s?” and pictures shared, that the distance between us the other 364 days of the year seems insignificant. The best present I could ask for is the indelible bond of my family. Frizell — Staff Writer A Christmas memory that stands out in my mind was the year […]
Dec 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
December 2003
Dear Readers, This is such an emotionally charged time of year. Colder weather, increased contact with family, insane schedules, and the pressures of our consumer economy settle themselves like a weight onto the shoulders of many. Depending on who you are, and/or where you are in your life, you might be heading towards a rush of anticipation, reflection, hope, stress, financial worry, love, antipathy or dread as the holidays approach. Or maybe all of them together. This is the season when I most wish I was a kid again. I grew up three decades ago in a small town in Iowa. Most of the year, we were the least conventional family in town. My mom was a divorced woman who owned her home, which she bought herself, even though it meant she made most of our clothes and doomed us to subsidized hot lunch at school. True to our activist roots, we were part of the “underground railroad” for objectors fleeing to Canada to avoid going to Viet Nam. Behind the water heater in the basement was a cot with a trunk next to it, on which sat a small lamp and an alarm clock. It wasn’t unusual for me as a five year old to enter the kitchen in the morning to find a tired-looking young man I’d never seen gulping coffee and eggs, on his way to the next place. The neighbors thought horrible things about my mom and her cavalcade of “male friends.” But what could she say in her own defense? It was from her example that I learned to keep secrets. At Christmas time, however, you’d have thought we sprang straight from a Rockwell postcard. Some of my dearest childhood memories are of painting wooden ornaments for our tree, making paper chains and listening to holiday music before bed, curled up on the couch with a cup of eggnog, the room illuminated only by the lights on the tree. I remember the thrill of opening the door to carolers, neighbors come to call. Despite their year-long suspicion of us, they didn’t skip our house, and we invited them in for chocolate and cookies, with something stronger for the grownups. Even as a kid, I could sense something about people getting along because of the holiday. I hope I can pass that on to my son, not just at the holidays, but all the time. In truth, people have more in common than in difference. And while I try to live and work according to my beliefs, I am not a friend of meaningless divisiveness. It’s such a waste of energy, and you miss out on the caroling. Speaking of memories, we all got to yakking at a recent staff meeting, and ended up spinning our own holiday/family yarns for each other. We ended up deciding to share them with everyone in this issue, and we hope you like them. On the other hand, you can skip over that piece if it’s not your cup of […]
Dec 1st, 2003 by Jon Anne Willow
