Atlanta is a writhing beast that has no chain. It’s often been called the “New York of the South,” with its massive skyscrapers and endless, painless traffic. “Hotlanta” however takes on a completely different meaning when you’re 21 and a student at Georgia Tech. Suddenly this seemingly unbridled urban Mecca looks like one massive opportunity for cultural education. A baptism by fire; with holy water being replaced by Ice Tea and communion is served at our very own Tabernacle. My name is Jarrett Oakley and I’m a student. Of life. Of culture. Of experiences. I will be a sponge for you dear Atlanta. In the words of one sexy rocker babe, “hit me with your best shot.”

The Gwinnet Arena proved a more than adequate venue to see the versatility of Weezer, in all of their 50’s doo wap glory. Kind of like if the cast of Happy Days meets the Ramones, with a twist of the Beach Boys. 

After Tokyo Police Club and Angels and Airwaves played their set lists, Weezer donned the stage. In white HAZMAT jumpsuits, that looked like they were trying to clean up raw sewage instead of pummeling patrons with their iconic alternative beats and power chords. However it was the first strum of Rivers’ bridge to the famed hit “My Name is Jonas” that I knew it wasn’t going to be a sluggish show but a fiery example of an ear pleasing performance from a prominent practitioner of indie rock.

Oh how this show, just like other bands that finish a tour, are so incredibly amazing. Just to give you the John Madden play by plays of the quirky evening I will tell you that Weezer pulled out all of their trick plays in their goodie bag. A stunning performance of “Say It Ain’t So,” a duet with lead singer Tom Delonge from Airwaves on “Undone,” and teeth chattering pop riffs in their newer Red Album. These songs, which “Troublemaker” with its 4/4 bop pop drum and bass; and “the Greatest Man Ever Lived,” a song which included River rapping along to a soft, melodious piano with cop sirens blaring to rap bass lines truly showed the evolution of Weezer from their self titled 1994 album. More complex, artistic yet at the same time fresh and catchy. Nothing spells this out in ABC’s like “Pork and Beans.”

I’ve seen Weezer before, but this was a completely different band. Rivers seemed more relaxed and alert to the crowd. I enjoyed hearing their older stuff along with their new hits off Red, but the most impressive and enjoyable event of the concert was the encore. Que the alternative ho down.

As if I found the golden ticket to enter the Willy Wonka factory, Weezer paraded a myriad of instruments onto stage. From oboe to guitar, from bongos to bassoons. Interestingly enough, all of the musicians were locally procured. Rivers then proceeded to run through hits like “Island in the Sun” that featured the audience doing the “hip hip” chorus and a tap dancer heel toeing with Rivers. The last song was “Beverly Hills” that incorporated a beautifully hip solo by a cello!

Overall the show was entertaining and engaging and I strongly feel that we’ve just scratched the surface of what is to come from Weezer.

Sure I’ve heard some of their music humming in the background of a house party or melodic snippets over MTV, but my previous knowledge of My Morning Jacket was, to say the least, limited. I wanted my thought process to be an open page, an empty canvas upon which I could take in MMJ on a primal emotional level. What does that painting look like?

It looks like a Jackson Pollack production. An eerie tale from the depths of Edgar Allen Poe’s madness, but also the southern sentiments you feel in a rocking chair with a glass of sweet tea. Let’s just bluntly put it: complicated. Opening up with “Anytime,” from their 2005 album Z, I was seriously impressed with their initial intensity of Jim James’ crooning vocals and Bo Kostler’s wild caveman drums.

And then all of a sudden things started happening of which I had not anticipated. For their kickass performances of “Off the Record” and “Gideon,” a dazzling sequence of rainbow orbs and lights hit me in the face like LSD to the Beatles. I started getting frustrated. [NOTE: I was not upset with the music. IT was some of the best music I’ve ever heard played live and I’ll be getting to that…] When I go to a concert I want to be able to draw parallels and understand the emotions behind the music; like a mechanic understanding each intricate part of the engine to see how it purrs.

My Morning Jacket’s music seems so different, so unresponsive to normal cliché genres that you pigeon hole a band into. Like the clash that I saw in the wickedly haunting “Gideon” and its intensive inward looking vocals. It made me reflect on what you once were and what you’ve become. A question that is always there residing in us. Is this a rock band like I saw melt my face in “Anytime,” or is this a philosophical forum with musically literate professors? 

It was during “Touch Me part 1” that a lightning bolt shot through my body and it clicked. During a kicking bass line Two Tone Tommy, Jim James proceeded to cloak himself in a red and black cape as if he was some kind of night prowling vampire or Zorro’s maniacal Mr. Hyde side. Even more stunning was the illumination of a pair of eyes that pierced the reddish haze inside the Fox. Devilish disguise. Fiendish eyes. It’s the classic case of bipolarity! Eureka! It all made sense. There was no need to try and decipher each little song and find continuity. It was just THE MUSIC and that’s it.

I heard fireball songs like the Roy Orbison sounding diddy “Two Halves” and then I flat out break danced to the razor edge funk song “Highly Suspicious” with James singing falsetto. Seriously that song was the coolest shit I’ve ever heard live. At one point, in the midst of my head-banging jam session, I glanced back to the stage just in time to see Jim James cast off the cape ala Little Richard and power slide. Word.

Their consistent switch from country sounds to Alternative rock, with everything in the spectrum in between, was seamless but noticeable. When MMJ closed with hammering out a seismographic encore that featured no less than six battering ram beauties that chattered my teeth and loosened my cerebral cortex, I felt like a new born baby. A crisp hundred dollar bill. I’ve just seen the future of music in the green mystic crystal ball known as My Morning Jacket. I had this same feeling when I saw the Flaming Lips for the first time; that feeling of being astounded and educated, content and completely sublime.

And the beat goes on with My Morning Jacket.

In a word, frenzy, is how I would describe this weekend’s adrenaline charged Snoop Dogg and 311 performances at Lakewood Amphitheatre on July 26th 2008. Frenzy itself is a characteristic of most music journalists. Like doctors who are on call they wait by the phone to be buzzed regarding their next assignment. At roughly 6:30 p.m. I get a call from my editor, Pat the Bossman, informing me I had about an hour to make it to one of the hottest shows this summer. Instantly I moved to DEFCON 2 and proceeded to quickly chuck my personal affects as well as the cooler into a stick shift Honda.

While blistering down 85 south I slipped into one of my normal reflective stares, pondering what exactly I was about to witness. I’ve never been to a rap concert before. Would my Anglo Saxon self be capable of comprehending this different genre that I’m used to?

We arrive to the show with a mere ten minutes to spare and the arena is swinging. I’ve seen some pretty hairy crowds but nothing like this. It seemed like a motley crue of partiers who resembled the Panama City barbed wire tattoo crowd had descended upon Atlanta to drink alcohol and chew bubble gum: and they were all out of bubble gum… Once we were inside the gate pandemonium swept the crowd just as we meandered our way into the packed lawn area.

WARNING: THE NEXT SECTION IS NOT FOR YOUNGSTERS, FBI WATCHDOGS, AND FAINT HEARTED CONSERVATIVES

Snoop Dogg supplanted himself as a bad mutha. Shouting out adlibbed quips like “anybody smoke chronic?” (I have no idea what that means, like an illness?) and “give you some of my sticky icky” to “Mary Jane.” Delicious. Next Snoop Do double G raised a glass to the crowd, firing it up with a toast. To note: Snoop Dogg’s crunk microphone is legendary and at the show it was clad in jewels and bling to the hilt. It went great with his live band accompaniment, (remarkable), to “Gin and Juice,” “F—k the Police,” and a provocative “Sexual Seduction.” Aphrodisiac? Well red sky at night, sailors delight because a crimson ribbon streaks across the sun setting sky as “Drop it Like it’s Hot” really stared lighting things up.

Snoop Dogg is just an amazing performer and musician and I was an instant fan. His ability to arouse excitement and participation in the audience, and a testament to broad reaching fan base, was his “peace, love and soul” shout out to the unified, diverse crowd.

The heat didn’t stop when 311 jumps on stage and immediately started belting powerhouse songs. Opening with “Beautiful Disaster”, 311 rumbled through the songs bob and weave jive bass line with piercing vibrant colors from the strobe lights dancing around. One thing that 311 is famous for, besides their unique way of combining a Southern California street beat with an tenor rap bruiser, is their throttled energy. This reached a crescendo at the famous “Applied Science” drum solo and “Come Original.” Also 311 played off their greatest hits like “Amber,” “Come Original,” and “Do You Right”; however I have to say though my favorite part of the evening was when 311 performed “Love Song.” As if you were in a junk ship on the yellow sea amidst the soft glow of other ship’s lanterns, an undulating body of lighters and phones moved together in this hauntingly romantic song. This was a beautiful sight, with all those lights illuminating the entire amphitheatre. 

 It was a rush to get there, but the Snoop Dogg/311 Summer Unity Concert at Lakewood Amphitheatre was everything I thought I’d see (311’s rawness), and something I didn’t (Snoop Dogg’s amazing stage presence). A testament to spur of the moment, if something comes along at the last minute you’ve gotta run with it; maybe, just maybe, you’ll be blown away. 

This is where I was with Geoffrey Parmet, a Savannah College of Art and Design student and local Pop Culture Artist here in Atlanta.

With pre-plastic surgery Michael Jackson playing softly in the background of the dimly lit dining room I got to talking with Geoff Parmet. The topics of discussion: life, art, and what that all means…

Born here in Atlanta, Geoff attended the North Gwinnett High School where at an early age he took to painting like Joan Rivers to collagen injections. “My mother was an artist when she was younger and it definitely was passed onto me,” Geoff explains. “I think the capability of really being able to express oneself in a non-traditional way was the reason why I was interested in art early in my life.” Listing the CF painting technique, named after a famous illustrator, as his favorite process of producing artwork, Geoff incorporates a system of layering thin washes of different paints. Finally to finish off the piece, he will add detail with acrylics and other colors to add vibrancy to his paintings.

However his artistic spectrum doesn’t stop at just one technique. Geoff describes his works as being “Mixed Media Pop Art,” often incorporating sculpture, collages, digital painting, illustrations, oils and acrylics. As Geoff explains, “artists like Roy Lichtenstein, Ralph Stedman, Jenny Seville and old time illustrator Alphonse Mucha did things their own way. They painted and produced art with an edge of satire that almost brings society full tilt back to reality. In my artwork I try to do the same thing: incorporate modern satire and put my own twist on it.”

As I walked through his gallery I saw some visually stunning paintings. One is a parody on Godzilla, where instead of the monstrous lizard is obliterating a town there’s a detailed tree frog. Another which I found interesting is a portrait of the brutish Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) with a myriad of Swiss Army knife accessories instead of his sharpened blades. Humorous and extremely well done, I was to say the least, impressed.

Well, judging by his latest marvels, Geoffrey Parmet has captured today’s vogue subjects and idols and has uniquely painted his own wit to them. Regarding business, Parmet says he’s “comfortable working as both an illustrator for businesses as well as a freelance artist for private artwork.” Currently, Geoff is working on a portrait of Lil’ Wayne, a local comedian’s T-Shirt and some private contracts for personal artwork. I’m a gambling man. And judging by this up and comer in the art world, Geoffrey Parmet’s unique ability to satirically paint today’s issues into tangible artwork is a hand I’d bet on.

Check out the website:
www.drawordieillustration.com

A horrid mob of dispossessed youngsters donning wildly colored Ray Ban sunglasses, tight jeans and raccoon or skunk tail hair. My preconceptions were shattered by the psychotic shock therapy I received at the 2008 Vans Warped Tour at Lakewood Amphitheatre.

When originally hearing the lineup for this year’s annual Warped Tour, my first thoughts were one of disappointment and lethargic anticipation. It will be another cry fest like the O.C. TV show, except the beautiful young actors shop at Hot Topic instead of the Gap. Well the days of the bullied, brooding romantics listening to Air Supply has gone the way of the dodo. The music has changed into a shotgun blasting, rebellious Alternative Punk Rock genre that smelts romantic emotion with pure adrenaline. God help us.

Take for instance the band Every Time I Die; these cats from Buffalo NY were an open sore of a band, bleeding unsettled romanticism incased in pill form with similar affects as speed. As they played a blistering “Werewolf,” the pack of hungry juniors transfigured themselves into something more menacing; a gaggle of the troubled closely resembling the kids in A Clockwork Orange. And Monster energy drinks were giving out their liquefied cocaine product! Forget the Hitler Youth; these kids up on caffeine are going to tear this place up and eat it like savages raised by wolves…

Yet strangely I was getting attuned to this precarious situation. Maybe it was the intense furnace of the sun’s harmful UV rays, (remember dear festival goers wear sunscreen or pay for it), or maybe it was the memories when I was 15 or 16 and all the shit I went through. As Say Anything mounted the stage I was overcome with flashback nostalgia: emotional déjà vu. Their fast riffing and overly emo vocals blended brilliantly as the band played “Wild Yet Sexual Too.” Finally, to the surprise and admiration of the masses, Say Anything performed a spectacular “What Say You.”

When Story of the Year suited up I was in my element, disregarding the salty sweat burning my eyes and obvious age differences. There was seething, brooding cauldrons of fifteen year olds mosh pitting to some damn hard metal mayhem; swinging arms, flailing legs, and head banging fifteen deep with only one head wound treated. A true blessing… Story of the Year capped off my, albeit limited understanding, enjoyment of the bruising and cutting music I heard that day.

Then Angels and Airwaves started playing. With all respect to the visionary prophet Tom Delonge and the band, the Angels and Airwaves performance was similar to a fart in church: inappropriate and ill planned. Their acoustics were muffled and the instruments subdued as they flat lined through one of their better hits like “Everything’s Magic.” In comparison to other bands like the intensely frenzied Dillinger Escape Plan or Every Time I Die, their show lacked the forceful elocution that was the true spirit of the Warped Tour this year.*

Overall, this year’s Warped Tour was a pleasant surprise. Also the blend of bigger headliners like Matisyahu, Relient K, As I Lay Dying and Against Me! (awesome) with smaller bands was a perfect mixture of tomorrow’s music and today’s crooners. Let’s face it: 2008 Vans Warped Tour has become somewhat of an institution here in Atlanta. Talking with others at the event all of them said they enjoyed past experiences at the Warped Tour, and this time it was no different.

*Writer’s Note: I do not speak for anyone but myself. My experiences and critiques are personal and do not reflect the sentiments of 99x.com.

We arrived early at the venue amidst a sea of three inch black leather lace up boots, heavily applied eyeliner, and black t-shirt clad fans eager to see The Cure Sunday June 15th. It was at this time, when I was afraid of getting brutalized by a pack of emo- enraged Goth teenagers (I was wearing a Bruce Springsteen Magic Tour Shirt), that I decided to be honest with myself: I don’t exactly know the Cure! I masked my ignorance with a 32 oz. beer and a pen. Here’s how those awkward conversations went.

The Cure originated in the foreboding township of Crawley England in 1976. Their first album, Three Imaginary Boys was released in 1979; an era when Disco was dead and rock was making a glorious, phoenix rebirth into something known as Post Punk/New Wave. When I think of punk music I see a Sex Pistols concert that is a reminiscent mix of a middle school rock band and a trauma burn ward. However The Cure resides in a darker, deeper corridor of human emotion known as the Goth Rock subgenre. Buckle up I told myself, this might get nasty.

In fact their emotional crooning has led to some meteoric hits and has influenced numerous bands. Their album, Disintegration (1989), rose to number 12 on the U.S. Billboard Charts that included mega blasts like “Friday I’m in Love” and “Pictures of You.” As to who have they influenced? This successful network of young, disturbed, narcissistically emotional musicians include: A.F.I., Razor light, the Deftones, and the ever shape changer and Goth god Marilyn Manson.

As I was mulling this gathered information over the opening band, 65 Days of Static mounted the stage with an air of radicalism. Their music incorporated very little vocals, probably because the lead singer’s hair, ala Kurt Cobain, was draped in front of his face. However if you poured two parts Dead Confederate, one part Nirvana and a splash of Umphrey McGee’s jam style into a blender you’d have this band. The hard hitting mixture of quick allegro riffs on the guitar and bass combined with the frantic paced drums beat was a shot of pure adrenaline. However it was the ebb and flow of soft and gradual intensity of their playing that was truly unique.

When the Cure finally came on my perceptions of what I was about to see completely changed. Surrounded by a cloak of celestial background and majestic strobe lights dancing up the walls of the arena, they ran through the stirring “Lovesong.” Its warming vibrations and iconic guitar riff put 311’s cover I saw at Langerado Music Festival to shame. In neat fashion, the band started jostling through edgy hit after hit. Mostly focusing on some of their earlier music, their performances of “Lullaby” and “Fascination Street” were my personal favorites. “Lullaby” encompassed that haunting, eerie phobia that many people have for spiders (“the Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight…”) or worries and integrated jarring bass playing by Simon Gallup. Robert Smith’s hunched over, gothic demeanor further fueled the worried, frightful emotions promulgated from “Fascination Street.” If you need a visual of Simon Gallup, he looked like an early David Hasselhoff in Night Rider or “the Fonzie” off of Happy Days. Plus he danced with his bass guitar like one of those extras in Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” music video. Just saying…

Never mind how they looked on Sunday night. They played old and new songs and their music was top notch because everything seamlessly flowed throughout the set list. The Cure was performing with the grace and stamina of most iron man endurance competitors. When I left they just performed a mojo touching, vibrant “Just like Heaven” that reminded me of the movie Say Anything where John Cusack holds his stereo above his head blaring Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.” Ahh memories of promised love during raging adolescence…

They played beautifully from start to finish, which this is where the Karma comes into play. After “Just like Heaven” I left the concert because it was a little past midnight and had to get home for classes in the morning. Some of the people, who I talked to for info on the Cure, saw me leave and I saw betrayal in their eyes. Ashamed, this pseudo Hell’s Angels tribe let me into their circle. I can only guess that when I left they held a private voodoo séance where they danced around gothic bones and cursed me of this betrayal. I say this because as I was travelling back home my convertible broke down in the middle of nowhere amidst an unholy wrath of thunderstorms. I did not get home until 3 a.m.

Nevertheless, all kidding aside, I met some wonderful people and heard some fantastic music. The Cure, where I come from, was never really that prominent and yet I’m intrigued. Some of the emotions displayed in their songs I felt that very night, and that’s what it’s all about bubba. Music reflects life. And I dig that.

Basically we are paupers until we get that little piece of parchment rolled up with a gold ribbon and throw those square black hats into the air. That is why I search for the deals. Thrifty? A cheap skate? Frugal? If any of these words perk you ears (or redden them because secretly you are a miser) then take note of these deals.

Alas you have defined yourself as the starving artist. You’re into the dark fragility of 1940’s southern surrealist photographer Clarence John Laughlin and the hipster, borderline egotistical brilliance of Chuck Close. The High Museum of Art is the place to wet your palate. Student tickets are relatively cheap ($15) for a day; however you should look into purchasing a year membership for just $35. This allows you to visit year round and also to sit on the patio for Friday Jazz. With wonderful exhibits from the Louve Paris and the Young Americans Photography currently at the High, you’re artistic education will be satisfied. Dark sunglasses not included.

In Chinese history life existed as two polar opposites; the ying and the yang of balance. Where there is an artsy indie their ultimately is a sports jock with a foam finger and face paint. It is one of the simple blessings in this world that both types of people are covered here in Atlanta when it comes to pennywise spending. Phillips Arena holds some of our great cities most electrifying sporting events. Firstly, if you’re into hockey then, as a student, it’s one of the best deals in town. Usually running the thrasher’s fan $25 dollars, in some instances you can get them at the door for half price. Nothing is more exhilarating then seeing your home team Canadian born ice hockey bull open ice hit an opponent.

Yet one of the best deals for a student sports fan that has been overlooked over the past few years is the Atlanta Hawks basketball team. In the last decade the Hawks have treaded water with mostly lackluster seasons; however this year has seen a rebirth in the franchise. Now, with giving the Boston Celtics a run for their Irish money, we should see resurgence in attendance. Student tickets are just $20 for a pair, with college night falling usually on Thursday or Friday during the regular season.

Here are just a few recreational activities that are relatively cheap to attend. A movie currently is $8 a piece to go see a movie at Atlantic Station, and that’s not including the outrageous prices they charge for a bag of popcorn and a coke. Maybe you feel like an artistic experience, (or trying to impress a lady with charm, wit and culture). Or maybe you just want to get juiced up and do the guy thing and watch a b-ball game or hockey madness at Phillips. All that is important dear Tech students is that you get out of your cavernous dorm rooms.

More information see: http://www.cis.gvsu.edu/~kurmasz/Advice/cheapskateAtlanta.html

Georgia Tech students do not dabble in the treats that Atlanta has to offer. Most students sit in dorm rooms or fraternity domiciles clutching their phones eagerly awaiting Chinese food, Pizza, or Wingnuts’ half pound special. Or worse, they cross over 75/85 and entomb themselves in the cardiac disaster the Varsity. Don’t get me wrong, these comfort foods are just the ticket in times of stress or intoxication, however they are not a substitute for well prepared and nutritiously balanced meals. 

 Instead I’ve set a goal for my next academic calendar year to break away from the classic college food that has left young adults permanently scarred from grease pimples and the spare tire. Here are some suggestions that are extremely close to Georgia Tech’s campus:

Vickery’s is a little restaurant and bar nestled cozily among the skyscrapers on Crescent Ave. that offers a place that is both uniquely fashionable with its 1930’s red rap around booths and appetizing dishes. Ranging from a ribeye sandwich to bourbon shrimp and fried green tomatoes, the menu offers something for everyone that reasonably priced that works great with its drink list.

Marco’s Pitas is a place I stumbled upon on my way to the Blockbuster one day on Ponce Leon Ave. A stripped down café, this one room locale is the perfect locale to pick up a hearty lamb gyro or shrimp pita for lunch at a small price.

Jimmy Johns has become, among my close circle of friends, the cure all for hunger, hang overs and a quick bite to eat. Elements of success include phone in orders and delivery within 15 minutes. Nothing beats a #10 Hunters Club Roast Beef sandwich that is six bucks.

The Vortex is a renowned city establishment for the strange and deranged. Always a happening place filled with pre-rock show patrons clad in black and tight jeans, the Vortex is an excellent environment to meet friends for a few rounds of cocktails. Food for the indie masses that includes a no BS menu highlighted by beefy, original burgers garnished with salty tater tots. Enough said.

These are just snippets of some of what ATL has to offer in the food department. You don’t have to go to the lavish Oceanaire or Barronda to have great food: many places have delectable entries at a reasonable price. So Georgia Tech students I charge you; get out of the dorm food blues, crawl out of the sea of pizza boxes and “to go” menus and experience Atlanta food. You won’t be disappointed.

    Every seat of the huge Phillips Arena was filled with a kaleidoscope of generations. Just like what Bruce Springsteen represents: he’s your father, brother, sister, grandfather. Patriotism and poetry personified. A true Jersey boy, Springsteen’s voracious love for America that he displays with heartache ballads and social commentary rippled over the crowd like a wind blowing over our national flag. 
    
    Wielding his trademark vintage yellow pine telecaster and raspy vocals, he leaped onto the stage and began the evening with “Blood Brothers.” A beautifully haunting and goose bump producing harmonica performance flowed well with a video montage flashed on large teleprompters of the bands historic past performances and younger years. “Blood Brothers” took on another meaning because Danny Federici, longtime friend and band organist, recently passed away from Melanoma cancer on April 17th this year. Bruce commented amongst screaming fans, “I want to thank you for all the prayers and condolences for Danny," and after reminiscing about the early days of the band said that “we've been digging into the 'old' box these last few nights.”

    Dig in the box indeed. Besides playing an expected “Radio Nowhere” and “Your Own Worst Enemy” off of his latest album Magic, Bruce and the E-Street band shuffled their playlist to the early days. They played the bursting classic “Blinded by the Light” and a choo choo shake down “Reason to Believe” which, combined with Clarence Clemons fierce Saxophone solos, was a tempting little devil to heat up the night. No worries because the Boss himself ordained himself the bishop of rock as he doused the crowd with a holy water cross during the religious “Reason to Believe.”

    He and the band continued to an unorthodox set list that also included “Trapped,” “She’s the One,” and “The Rising.” All were glorious. Especially during “Murder Incorporated” where Bruce and Stevie Van Zandt were like two desperados dueling on their guitars. However what was truly remarkable was seeing the Boss’s army worshiping every step of Bruce. Comparable to Arnold Palmer’s “Arnie’s Army” or the devotion of the painted KISS Army, Bruce Springsteen fans are the most loyal fans you’ll ever see shouting lyrics at a concert. And Bruce was eager to please the entire night. Springsteen did everything to light up the crowd: from bowing into them while hammering on his tele to playing requests via a sharpie sign “Bobby Jean” and a deafening “Rosalita.”

    The concert reached a fever zenith at “Badlands,” which carried on for roughly ten minutes because the devoted chorus in the arena chanted in unison “oh oh oh oh” while the band jammed out. All around, young and old, people fist pumped twice every time Bruce crooned “Badlands.” The song injected adrenaline and raw emotion into the crowd: cue up hoarse voice and sweaty t-shirt cause here comes the rock.

    The Encore was one for the record books. Again Bruce, being the king of crowd participation, brought up the house lights and illuminated every disheveled nirvana ridden face. He would leave everything on the stage on this night. No stopping the volcano that is Bruce Springsteen. All told he played a five song encore. “Born to Run,” “Thunder Road,” “Rosalita,” “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out,” and a new “American Land” was singularly the hardest I’ve ever rocked out in my entire life going to concerts. I feel confident that I speak for anyone that has seen Bruce Springsteen in concert and say this.

    I’m 21. Bruce Springsteen is a vintage 58. I was so exhausted after the concert from dancing and singing that I passed out immediately when I got home. He was in front of twenty thousand people jumping, swinging, and jiving for a solid two hours while hammering guitar licks and vocally preaching his lyrical sermon. I don’t know what they put in the water in New Jersey but it might as well be an endurance energy drink.    

    The night ended with me walking in a reflective daze. I just saw one of the great American Poets of our time. Slapping me on the back, my father and I just casually glided through the revolving doors of Phillips Arena with a fixed grin on our faces. The Springsteen concert meant so much to me because I could share it with my dad, whose been rocking to Bruce since his heyday in his red 1970’s Ford Mustang Mach 1. It’s a bond that every man wants with his son, and Springsteen’s music over the years brought my father closer to me; whether it is a discussion of the social dissatisfaction in “Ghost of Tom Joad” or growing up with that break away rebellion that is “Badlands.”

This year’s inaugural Sting Break 2008 on April 10th, designed to give the Georgia Tech student a brief hiatus from the rigors of studying, included performances from Cartel and OK Go was no different. In the sweltering humidity that filled the Burger Bowl on Georgia Tech campus, there were a maze of immense tents filled with flat screen tv’s blaring the latest in gaming technology. Off in the distance there was a looping carnival ride for the brave of heart. 

    Before I know it I’m hustled behind the towering stage filled with musical equipment I will never fully understand to a refreshingly cooled tour bus to interview OK Go’s lead Guitarist/Vocalist Damian Kulash and Bassist/Backing Vocalist Tim Nordwind. The topic of discussion moved from life on the road, the Bush debacle in New Orleans, success in the music business, and playing at our beloved North Avenue Nerd School.

    OK Go was originally formed in Chicago, which Damien Kulash described “had an instrumental Indie Rock scene that the band was drawn to.” In pursuit of a unique sound, Damien Kulash and Tim Nordwind stumbled upon the original disciple of Indie Rock: The Pixies. Damien details that “The Pixies had a profound influence on Ok Go’s sound.” So much so that in 2006 OK Go collaborated with the likes of The Rosebuds and They Might Be Giants to cut Dig for Fire, a Tribute to the Pixies. On the album, OK Go covers the Pixie original “Gigantic.” “Most of the conventional songs by the Pixies were already covered, however we decided to cover ‘Gigantic,’ which seemed at the time a daunting task but also appropriate” replied Damien. Its a fantastic version of the Pixies haunting, eclectic sound in “Gigantic,” with a twist of the sweet and sour Indie angst of Ok Go. 

    However Ok Go had bigger plans than just covering songs of others. During the same time period, a burst of creativity resulted in the smash hit “Here it Goes Again” off of OK No album in 2006. Its video, released later on July 31st, 2006, was a stratospheric viral success for OK Go; being seen over 27 million times on Youtube in the first days. Damien, with a grain of salt, replies that “the success has been a great eye opener. The Good side is that it gives you faith that all of this (musical arts) is not fully being controlled by middle men and the gatekeepers of the music business.” Furthermore, Tim Nordwind points to the unorthodox success to a growing trend of independent marketing; specifically how Radiohead’s “noble idea” of releasing their album on their website for donation downloading shows the growing trend of placing the control of music back into the hands of listening fans.

    The result of “Here It Goes Again” was a “Best Short Form Music Video” Grammy in 2007. Both Kulash and Nordwind describe winning as “all happening way too fast. It felt like we just sat down when we were quickly announced and shuffled onstage. It was an amazing experience, like being shot out of a joy gun.” Despite this success, OK Go is more proud of their philanthropy work as musicians. “Hurricane Katrina devastated the vibrant city of New Orleans. “Music in New Orleans is different. No other place can you see people taking to the streets and dancing, engaging in the music. This culture is endangered of becoming extinct. To see such culture rot is hard for us not to do something,” Damien earnestly responded. Their latest collaboration, with the Brassy Funk band Bonerama, is an EP redux of covers from Bob Dylan and David Bowie. All of the proceeds go to two charities: One to rebuild a home of legendary cornerstone of party funk music, Mr. Al “Carnival Time” Johnson. The other is Sweet Home New Orleans, which aims at reviving the traditions of New Orleans Music.

    When talking to both Damien and Tim about performing this year at Sting Break ’08 the both seemed excited. Both claim that there’s “a little nerd” in OK Go’s music; with their unorthodox Victorian period fashion sense and new wave style of Indie Rock. Cartel, whose local origins are Conyers, GA, opened up for OK Go to a swelling crowd of eventually four thousand people. To Tech students, the event was a great success from the less than satisfying performance of TI last year. The duo of Ok Go and Cartel produced highly energetic performances that overturned the doom and gloom students worried about finals.

    Both bands performed well over their contracted times which was greeted warmly by the audience. Known for their frequent use of visual effects, OK Go incorporated confetti, smoke, combined with dancing streamers to their last song. I enjoyed their acoustic performance of “A Million Ways” which all but the drummer of GO dismounted the stage, wandered through the crowd to a stage situated in the heart of the screaming masses. They then proceeded to entice the audience to sing the chorus of “A Million Ways” in, as best as overachievers could muster, perfect harmony.