Not a bad weekend.

Another day at the office.

Some say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this case, it's also worth about 184 games.


Yesterday's game was notable for three reasons:

1. KC's Luke Hudson allowed seven runs before he recorded his first out and gave up 11 runs in 1/3 of an inning before being yanked. The last time something like that happened? September 21, 1897 when Brooklyn scored 12 off Boston and celebrated after the game by guzzling fire water and shooting buffalo.

2. CLE's Travis Hafner (often confused with Travis Foster) belted his sixth grand slam of the season, tying him with the great Donny Baseball (Don Mattingly) for the most in a single season.

3. We've totally given up on the Royals as a franchise—regardless of which young pitcher they finally signed or new GM they bribed out of Atlanta. Until you get an owner in there who actually wants to win (and not just receive MLB's version of corporate welfare known as a luxury tax), we're willing to say the brand died the day George Brett tipped his cap and walked off the field for the last time.

See what happens when the riff-raff leave?

Life is easier when you don't have many choices. Hungry? It's either cavatini from Pizza Hut or a double cheeseburger from Walt's. Thirsty? Either steal a six pack of Jolt Cola from F&FM or bribe Bupp to buy you beer at the liquor store. But now it appears the fine juvenile delinquents back home have more options to choose from. According to the most recent census numbers, Goddard is the fastest-growing city in the state of Kansas.

Guess word finally spread that those BDS troublemakers were no longer around to drop your property value.

The Wichita Eagle's article even mentions that over 200 kids visit the city pool near the old high school every day. That doesn't sound like population growth to us. It sounds like this generation has its own version of Missy Robinson sitting in a lifeguard chair looking way too built and too tan for junior high eyes.

Gods of Thunder

We've said it before. We love metal. It's the music that makes you drink a little faster, disobey the occasional traffic law and kick the neighbor's dog. That's why we were shocked, stunned and eventually forced to blog about a show we caught a few weeks ago on VH1. While that channel's usual fare typically represents the Very Hell One would find on TV when society eventually gets demoted into the sixth level of Dante's Inferno (The Surreal Life ring a bell with anyone?), this show was different. It had leather. Fire. Sixteenth notes played in rapid, machine gun-like succession and balls-out screaming in tune and on pitch.

It had the metal gods smiling.

It was the VH1 Rock Honors. And no, it wasn't all metal. The show opened with the Foo Fighters (those highly talented, EXTREMELY underrated guys from Seattle) paying homage to Queen. After warming up the crowd, the lads from England took center stage. Yeah, Freddie's dead but the very capable Paul Rodgers filled in nicely. Impossible, you say? Not when he purposefully made each song his own and wisely avoided imitating arguably one of the most charasmatic frontmen of all time. Roger, Brian and Paul all proved The Show Must Go On.

After that "holy crap that was great!" performance, Godsmack was up next to honor Judas Priest. To cover any Priest tune, you gotta be good. With the Metal Gods themselves sitting backstage watching, you gotta have balls of steel. Godsmack proceeded to demonstrate those balls by pulling off one of the best two-song covers in the history of history. Take a look through the Electric Eye and judge for yourself. You'll be hell bent for leather. Trust us. Disagree? I'm sure you'll then be excited to know Kelly Clarkson will be coming to a Six Flags near you soon.

The third band recognized in this audio-gasmic experience was Def Leppard. While High 'N Dry and On Through The Night are classic albums that conjure up Keystone Light days and Lake Afton nights, Joe Elliot is no longer the frontman he once was. His voice no longer has the range and it showed on anthems like Rock of Ages. We'll spare you the heartache of watching it here but trust us. It wasn't pretty.

So how do you wrap up an evening filled with superheroes like this? By forming a supergroup for the sole purpose of honoring a supergroup. Fronted by Rob Zombie, Slash, Scott Ian, Gilby Clark and Tommy Lee jumped on stage to sing the praises of the self-proclaimed Greatest Band In The World in the only way they knew how. Each one of them became a God of Thunder and left us scrambling for the remote to turn this fitting tribute to Kiss as loud as we could. And we dare you to watch the performance and not, at some point and in your own small way, bang your head just a bit.

We did.

Rest in Peace, Principal Vernon.

That's the last time, Bender. That's the last time you ever make me look bad in front of those kids, you hear me? I make $31,000 a year and I have a home and I'm not throwing it all away on some punk like you. But someday when you're outta here and forgotten about this place and they've forgotten about you, and you're wrapped up in your own pathetic life, I'm gonna be right there. That's right. And I'm gonna kick the living shit out of you."

Admit it. When you read those lines just now, you could almost hear Principal Vernon speaking them aloud as he jabbed his finger into Judd Nelson's chest. See, that's what a good actor does—he perfects his craft to the point where his character leaps off the written page and straight into your past.

So it seems another childhood hero has fallen. First it was Dean Wormer. Now it's Principal Vernon. Paul Gleason, the man who took playing a prick to new heights in such gems as The Breakfast Club, Trading Places and Die Hard did just that over Memorial Day weekend. A talented actor who starred in countless movies, TV shows and broadway plays, he will forever be linked with the brat pack-laced movie that defined our generation.

He was The Man Who Raided Barry Manilow's Wardrobe and gave us the answers to That Question next Saturday during detention. He was right outside those doors ready to come in here and crack skulls. He also learned that it was physically impossible for Bender's pot to catch on fire because it was in Johnson's underwear.

So as the curtain closes on a brilliant career, we're left with the indelible image of Principal Vernon holding a scribbled note left on the desk of an empty library. And we pause to remember what it was like to laugh during high school.

Dear Mr. Vernon,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you're crazy for making us write an esay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basketcase, a princess and a criminal. Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,

The BDS

P.S. Thanks for the laughs

From Black Mountain to your patio.

Take a look around. Chances are good you'll see something fake. Or cheap. But there's one thing you can't fake. And it's anything but cheap. That's good music—the type that strikes a cord deep inside by nailing the perfect one on a Les Paul or Fender. It's a lyric that connects with you; a guitar riff or drum beat that seeps into your head and won't leave for days. Good music is the type you enjoy while sitting in the backyard and the only other sound heard is that of a cooler opening to refill an empty koozie. It's so good, in fact, that you swear the band is actually there on your patio performing.

Live.

The numbers speak for themselves. Over 20 million records sold. Two Billboard Top 200 #1 albums (Throwing Copper and Secret Samadhi). Five #1 singles and nine Top 10 singles to boot. Flash in the pan? Hardly. Numbers like that are almost enough to restore our faith in humanity. Then we see the latest ratings for American Idol and revert back to thinking this country is full of fuckin' idiots.



Ed and his cohorts are back and will be adding to their legacy soon enough. Next week, the boys from Live will be releasing their latest album Songs from Black Mountain. While it won't be in stores until June 6th, here's your chance to sneak a peek into the genius that is Live.

Songs from Black Mountain

Love Shines

Mystery

The River

P.S. Save your "but Live was recently on American Idol so you can't slam the show" comments, emails and opinions to yourself. Every band makes silly decisions now and then. Just ask Van Halen.

It ain't fun if it's work.

It's been a while now since we first plugged your computer into the BDS WHOPPER and asked, in that synthesized voice right out of 1983, "would you like to play a game?" And oh, the games we've played. From tracking down the elusive recipe for Pizza Hut Cavatini to the far-fetched stories of time travel, we've done our best to keep the place lively. Hell, we even tossed in the occasional history lesson. Sure the bar floor usually had that familiar spilt-beer stick to it and, on occasion, the dancers had to borrow money for the juke box to keep the music flowing while swinging from that pole over there in the corner yet, on average, this blog wasn't so bad.

But damn if it didn't get boring being the only one who brought beer to the party.

Now before Craig, or Jeff or even Sex fly off the handle here at the thought that their contributions to the greater blog are being brushed aside, know that you all have earned permanent barstools around here for actions unbecoming an adult. It was always nice knowing that someone was keeping the lights on around here besides us. Your dedication to the cause has not gone unnoticed and is appreciated more than you probably know.

Yet towards the end of last year, we got tired and it showed. In both the quality and quantity of our posts. Long days at the office, a new title on the business card, fun nights wrasslin' with the kid and loaded weekends filled with quail, beer, bass, football, family and holidays took their toll. Unfortunately for our loving public, it was at your expense. And for that we apologize.

But while we'll gladly shoulder most of the blame for our recent hiatus, many of you should, too. You who lurk in the shadows; who watch the game without ever stepping up to the plate or even onto the field. Short of the above-mentioned Superheroes vainly attempting to keep this blog a two-way conversation (and we'll even toss Loch in there as well), the rest of you have fallen asleep at the mouse and have just as much bloody mary mix on your hands as we do.

So we'll take an oath. We'll raise our right hand and place the left one on a crushed cardboard case of Fat Tire while repeating "we promise to be faithful to the Blog and keep her updated when possible". But you there, sitting behind the keyboard scared to show your words in public, must also agree to get involved. We know you read this thing. You told us yourself. So here's your chance to prove it.

Otherwise we'll redefine your definition of "hanging around" the Blog.

A collection of Little Dreamers

The cover band. Part punchline, part bad combover, this unique form of entertainment typically lives on the outer realms of an acceptable Saturday night. Either grasping for dreams best left unattained or simply looking to score with the chicks down at the local bowling alley, these bastard children of rock live off the lyrics of others. The good ones act, sing, play and dress like the heroes they mirror. The bad ones usually don't accomplish any of the four. While imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, it's also damn funny to watch online.

The following collection represents the best and worst "tribute" bands we could find (although a tribute to what we're usually not quite sure). Some of them actually pull it off. Others pull nothing but finger pointing and ridicule from drunks who you envision getting pissed at learning the real Sammy Hagar isn't up there playing in front of them for a $4 cover charge and all the free pretzels they can eat.

So with that, sit back, grab a cold one, turn up your speakers and take a magic carpet ride with us through the underbelly of roller-skating rink entertainment that is the Tribute Band. (Note: when your Windows Media player appears in a new window, resize it to make it a little smaller. This will cut down on pixelation and make your eye candy run smoother.)

Freebird. A Lynyrd Skynyrd experience you'd just as soon not.

Peace Frog. A Doors cover band complete with the "hold out the mic to let the crowd finish the lyric and then scream for no reason" gesture.

Hollyweird. A Poison cover band that sucks almost as much as the original one.

Iron Maidens. The only all-female Maiden tribute band. Sounds weird, we know, but the chick can freakin' play.

Rock of Ages. What can we say about this Def Leppard cover band. They're Canadian.

2U. One guess who this band dreams of being one day. They even swiped the band's music video intro.

The Boy George Experience. As gay as it sounds. Seriously. Sorry 'bout this.

Bad Medicine. Think Bon Jovi without, well, Bon Jovi.

Almost Queen. Almost is right. They guys aren't bad at all.

The Bryan Adams Experience. We'll admit it. We love this song. Too bad it only lasts 30 seconds.

Prophecy. Give this Queensryche cover band credit. Their lead guitarist looks like Geddy Lee and their singer looks like Meatloaf in sunglasses but he hits the first high note. Not well, but he hits it.

Frontiers. A Journey band that's not bad. Not good, mind you. But not bad.

Theater of Pain. Guess you play wherever you can, including the lobby of the local TV station.

Not Quite G'nR. Although we'll give 'em credit for being pretty damn good anyway.

The Atomic Punks. Not only are they pretty good, but you'll never guess who sits in with this Van Halen tribute band during a gig at the House of Blues...

But during our journey to county fairs, small-town fall festivals and trailer-park weddings across the country in search of the ultimate tribute band, we stumbled across something different. No, it's not a tribute band per se, but rather a tribute song to the greatest rock-and-roll tune ever written. Watch the whole thing and you'll agree that it's, hands down, the finest tribute on the planet.

And if you don't agree, you probably think Caddyshack is a waste of time, too, you poor bastard.

"Do you know how to play?"

Rock stars. They don't blink at charging $250 a ticket but freak out when approached for an autograph from an adoring fan. The only reason half of today's rock-and-roll assholes aren't punched in the face on principal alone is due to the Presidential security detail they typically employ when having to mix with us lowly surfs.

But then there's U2, the band that did more than just pose for a picture with a fan when they played here in Dallas last Saturday night. The actually dragged him up on stage and handed him a guitar.

Earlier this year, we told you about the Boys from Dublin and their well-deserved induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Apparently not satisfied with just giving one hell of a show, they took the concept of "Crowd Interaction" to an entirely new level.

Pulled from the Dallas Morning News:

UT student struck cord with Bono at U2's AAC concert
Playing quarterback for your favorite team. Rocking out with your favorite band. These are the dreams that fill a teenage boy's heart.

Of course, most boys don't think they'll ever actually realize those fantasies. But as 19-year-old Sunjay Devarajan strapped on a guitar next to Bono, The Edge and the rest of U2 on Saturday night in front of 20,000 screaming fans at American Airlines Center, his teen dream took life right before his eyes.

"This is like a Make-a-Wish Foundation kind of dream," said Arlington native Sunjay, a day after Bono plucked him from the crowd to play the band's "Angel of Harlem." "I'm just so thrilled that they gave me that opportunity. That they were adventurous enough to actually pick somebody that they had no idea who he was from the audience and have him play guitar."

The dream started simply enough. Sunjay's older brother, Vijay, 23, had traveled to Chicago to see the band in May and got the idea after a woman was pulled from the crowd to attempt what he recalls was a rather unsuccessful version of the obscure "Party Girl." Vijay knew that his brother could play a handful of U2 songs, and after the pair and their sister, Veena, finally bought tickets to the Dallas show on eBay, the idea was hatched.

After traveling from Austin, where Sunjay, a pre-med student at the University of Texas, and Vijay live, they headed with their sister and some other friends to AAC at 10 a.m., hoping to get as close to the stage as they could. While waiting in line, they concocted a sign that Sunjay feels was the key to his success.

The sign, written in red ink on yellow poster board, simply said, "Angel of Harlem" on it with the progression of guitar chords in the song and a note saying, "In case you forgot," since the band had yet to play the song on this tour. During the first encore, Bono peered from the stage at Sunjay and asked, "Do you know how to play it?" To which Sunjay says he screamed back, "Yeah! Yeah, I can play it!"

A few minutes later, he was summoned to the stage, and a guitar tech was handing him an instrument.

"They were kind of hesitant to bring a person onstage who claimed to play the guitar. They didn't want someone screwing it up," Sunjay said, noting that the singer was checking his guitar strap to make sure it was on right and that he had to borrow a pick from The Edge.

"Bono was just sort of joking around. He was like, 'You've never done this before, have you?' And I said, 'Um, no, I've never done this before.' "

As his kid brother was about to begin, Vijay looked on in awe from the floor, hoping for the best.

"I was thinking, 'Ooh – that first chord is going to be crucial,' " Vijay said. "But then I was like, 'Wow.' He was so comfortable up there, just jamming and grooving."

And then they were off. The Edge played the intro, Bono came in with the familiar, "It was a cold and wet December day/When we touched the ground at JFK..." and Sunjay was playing right along with them.

"Once we started, I felt so much encouragement from the band. They were all smiling. I looked at each one of them. I had Bono on my left. He's smiling singing the first words to the song. I turned to my right and Edge, who's one of my inspirations, is sitting there smiling and playing with me. Adam Clayton is jamming with his bass, and Larry Mullen is having a great time. So I just felt this encouragement from the band, and that really allowed me to ease up and I really didn't feel frightened after that."

Sunjay says that Bono noticed him singing the words as he was playing and motioned for him to come up and share the mike with him during the next chorus. What followed was a scene many rock fans had seen from the greats: Paul and John, Mick and Keith. And now Bono and Sunjay.

"It almost seemed natural in the beginning. And once I finished it really hit me," Sunjay said. "And that's when I got on my knees and was doing the we're-not-worthy bow. Because, I'm not worthy. Let's get real here. I am not worthy of that."

As the song came to a close, following Sunjay's solo singing turn on the last chorus no less, there was just one last part of the mission to complete: Snag Bono's signature wrap-around shades to fulfill a promise he had made to his brother.

So after receiving a congratulatory hug from the singer, Sunjay asked him if he'd make the trade, which the singer obliged. Sunjay walked off with Bono's rose-tinted Armanis; Bono donned Sunjay's Eckerd sunglasses.

A perfect end to a perfect night. And a dream come true.

Take a trip down Highway 377.

June 2001. We'd just been chased out of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico by a band of crooked Federales looking to shake down a few filthly gringos when someone slammed this band into the truck's CD player. The air, only seconds earlier filled with the smell of cheap Tequila, heart-pumping adrenaline and palm-sweating fear from realizing just how close we came to a Mexican jail, was now filled with something else. It was the sound of a real band, making real music, that sounded real damn good.

There's a not-so-small band down here in the land of the Red River quickly making waves around the country. How? By doing something unheard of in today's music scene—by writing their own songs, singing from the heart and playing live in front of as many beer lovers as possible. No backing tracks. No elaborate stage production. Just a couple of guitars, a pair of drum sticks and a killer sound that sticks in your head for days.



The Boys from Oklahoma now call Texas home, but their brand of alternative country has made Cross Canadian Ragweed one of the hottest bands around. And no, they're not from Canada. Grady Cross (guitar), Cody Canada (vocals, guitar), Randy Ragsdale (drums) and Jeremy Plato (bass) are from Yukon, Oklahoma. Writing songs about always being 17 in your home town, cold-hearted women and drinking more than fishing at the lake, they might as well be from Goddard, KS.

Just how big are they down here? Last summer over 25,000 fans saw them play in Dallas at Lone Star (the park, not the lake) shattering Willie Nelson's record-breaking attendence set in 2004. But unless you live in a few select Texas or Oklahoma markets, you probably haven't heard them on the radio. Why? Because they're good. Seriously. Rock stations won't play them because they're "too country", yet country stations won't play them because they've got just a little too much "long-haired hippy" rock and roll in 'em (to steal a line from our good friend Chris who knew cowboys loved to rock & roll). The confusion is somewhat understandable for a band that thanks Willie Nelson, Pat Green, Sammy Hagar and AC/DC at the same time in their liner notes.

It also doesn't help that, for the most part, CCR has completely turned its back on corporate music. Although the band is on a Nashville label, the band pulls no punches in its criticism of what Music City is force-feeding the masses.

"Country music has turned to pop crap," Canada recently told one reporter. "I don't think there's one damn thing that's country about Shania Twain. It's irritating to me that they market her as country because they just threw a fiddle and steel guitar on her records."

When asked if there's anyone left in the genre that he respects, Canada was quick to point out the limited few. "There are four people that are playing real country music today: Lee Anne Womack, George Strait, Dierks Bently and Gary Allen." He also tips his hat to the travelling troubadours of the new alternative country/Americana scene (guys like Pat Green, Jason Boland, Mike McClure and a bunch of other guys you'll never hear on the Clear Channel-owned airwaves). "They're not just guys in hats who won karaoke contests. They actually get up, write songs and be country, you know?"

After listening to CCR's newest release Garage, yeah. We know, Cody.

Their newest CD is quickly becoming a BDS favorite. From nailing a few killer cover songs like Scott Copeland's "Lighthouse Keeper" and Bo Diddley's "Who Do You Love?" to revealing a few new classics like "Fighting For" and "Breakdown", this CD continues to break the conventional mold of how a record should be produced and marketed. As long as CCR continues to stay true to themselves and the music, fans will continue to push them up the ladder. Just how high those fans push them is completely up to the band.

In an effort to spread the gospel, Cross Canadian has graciously agreed to play a few cuts exclusively for the BDS and its loving public courtesy of your local Windows Media Player. So sit back, relax, grab a cold one and don't forget to tip the stripper on your way out.

Garage
Dimebag ( the best tribute yet)
Sister (great first line)
Lighthouse Keeper (a killer cover)

Purple
Anywhere But Here (small-town dreams of the big city)
Carry You Home (big-city dreams of your small-town home)
17 (takes you back to '89)

Soul Gravey
Lonely Girl (we all know her)
Cold Hearted Woman (probably the Lonely Girl)
Alabama (our personal favorite)

Highway 377
Look At Me (another round, bartender)
Bang My Head (be warned: this cut will stick in your head)
Long Way home (for everyone Over There wanting to be Back Here)

And on that fateful night back in 2001 when El Capitan was looking to bring home a little extra bacon by cooking ours, Highway 377 was the song that got us over the Rio Grande in one piece. It's a tune about the Devil in his hot-rod Ford encountering Jesus in his cadillac.

Pretty fitting at the time if you ask us.

One man's journey to Mecca.

Harley riders. Sturgis.
Baseball fans. Cooperstown.
College basketball. Allen Field House.
Climbers. Denali.
Anglers. Table Rock.

Bird hunters named Chris. South Dakota.

Last year, Kansans harvested over 800,000 pheasants. Not bad, until you consider South Dakota took 2.1 million over the same period of time. Do the math, Einstein and that's almost three times the number found in the Sunflower State. When next year's count is released, one of our very own can claim a few of those several million as his own. And showing a deft talent for placing emotion felt into words expressed, he summed up the experience using prose Shakespeare would be proud to steal:

"It was f-ing incredible."

Throwing a few pictures like this our way for proof, looks like he is right.