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i need someone to read three articles and write 200 words for each one, please follow the instructions in the attachment. delivery time is 6 hours. Thanks.
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The Pretenders ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………2
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The Pretenders
Magazine Desk; Section 6
The Pretenders
By Chuck Klosterman
3,493 words
17 March 2002
The New York Times
NYTF
Page 54, Column 1
English
c. 2002 New York Times Company
Randy Trask’s hair is naturally blond. He likes it that color, and it looks just fine. It’s what his hair is supposed to
look like. But in his line of work, blond hair is a problem, and he knows it.
”I am going to dye my hair red,” he assures me. ”That is definitely in the works. It’s just that the last time I tried, it
turned sort of pink. And for some reason, people get scared of you when you have red hair. I don’t know why that
is, but it’s true. They just don’t warm up to you the way they do if you’re blond.”
Trask is telling me this at 10 minutes to midnight. We are sitting in his 1997 extended-cab Ford Ranger pickup,
which we will soon be driving from Cincinnati to Harrisonburg, Va., for his gig tomorrow night. Trask is the lead
singer in a band called Paradise City, and like any frontman, he cares about his image. But Trask has a whole set
of concerns — like the specific tint of his hair — that most singers don’t need to worry about. He doesn’t just want
to look good; he wants to look exactly like W. Axl Rose, the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses, the late-80’s pop-metal
band that Paradise City imitates, as precisely as possible, in every show it plays.
It’s roughly a 10-hour drive to Harrisonburg, so leaving in the middle of the night should get us to town just in time
to check into the Hampton Inn and take an afternoon nap. There is some concern about this trip, because the last
time the band stayed in Harrisonburg, they were banned for life from the Econo Lodge. They need to make sure
things go smoothly at the Hampton Inn this weekend; there just aren’t that many hotels in Harrisonburg to choose
from.
Our pickup is idling outside the home of Paul Dischner, Trask’s bandmate, who is inside, still packing for our
voyage. Our conversation moves on from Trask’s hair issues to larger questions. ”I initially had a problem with the
idea of doing a Guns N’ Roses tribute, because I didn’t want anyone to think I was discrediting Axl,” Trask says.
”That was always my main concern. If Axl was somehow against this, I’d straight-up quit. I would never do this if
he disapproved. But I really think we can do his songs justice. People constantly tell me, ‘You sound better than
Axl,’ but I always say, ‘Whoa now, slow down.’ Because I like the way I sing Axl’s songs, but I love the way Axl
sings them. That’s the main thing I’m concerned about with this article: I do not want this to say anything negative
about Guns N’ Roses. That’s all I ask.”
I am the first reporter who has ever done a story on Paradise City. This is less a commentary on Paradise City —
named after one of Guns N’ Roses’ biggest hits — and more a commentary on the phenomenon of tribute bands,
arguably the most universally maligned sector of rock ‘n’ roll. These are bands mired in obscurity and engaged in
a bizarre zero-sum game: if a tribute band were to succeed completely, its members would essentially cease to
exist. Their goal is not to be somebody; their goal is to be somebody else.
Though the Beatles and Elvis Presley were the first artists to spawn impersonators, the modern tribute template
was set by groups like Strutter, Hotter Than Hell and Cold Gin, all of which found success in the early 90’s by
looking, acting and singing like the 1978 version of Kiss. It turned out that people would sooner pay $10 to see
four guys pretending to be Kiss than $5 to see four guys playing original songs nobody had ever heard before.
There are now hundreds — probably thousands — of rock bands who make a living by method acting. There’s the
Atomic Punks, a Van Halen tribute that celebrates the David Lee Roth era. Planet Earth are L.A.-based Duran
Duran clones. Bjorn Again claims to be Australia’s finest ABBA tribute. AC/DShe is an all-female AC/DC cover
group from San Francisco. There are tributes to groups that weren’t that popular to begin with (Badfinger, Thin
Lizzy), and there are tributes to bands who are not altogether difficult to see for real (Dave Matthews Band,
Creed). And though rock critics deride Stone Temple Pilots and Oasis for ripping off other artists, people pay
good money to watch tribute bands rip off Stone Temple Pilots and Oasis.
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Being consciously derivative is not simple; Trask and Dischner can talk for hours about the complexity of feeding
their appetite for replication. There are countless qualifications that must be considered when auditioning potential
members in a tribute. This was especially obvious when Paradise City had to find a new person to play Slash,
GN’R’s unforgettable lead guitarist. It is not enough to find a guy who plays guitar well; your Slash needs to play
guitar like Slash. He needs to play a Les Paul, and he needs to tune it like Slash. He needs to have long black
hair that hangs in his face. Preferably, he should have a dark complexion, an emaciated physique and a
willingness to play shirtless. And if possible, he should drink Jack Daniel’s.
The Slash in Paradise City fulfills about half of those requirements.
”Bobby is on thin ice right now, and he knows he’s on thin ice,” says Trask, referring to lead guitarist Bobby
Young. ”I mean, he’s an O.K. guy, and he’s a good guitar player. But we have ads out right now for a new Slash,
and he knows that. I want someone who is transfixed with being Slash. We want someone who is as sick about
Slash as I am about Axl.”
What is odd about Young’s shortcomings as Slash is that in a traditional band, his job would likely be the most
secure: he is clearly the most skilled musician in Paradise City, with a degree from Cincinnati’s conservatory of
music. ”I was classically trained, so I’m used to everything being built around minor chords,” he tells me. ”But
Slash plays almost everything in a major chord, and his soloing is very different than mine. It’s all in chromatic
keys. I really thought I could learn all of these Guns N’ Roses songs in two days, but it took me almost two
weeks.”
Unfortunately, Young can’t learn how to look like a mulatto former heroin addict, and he holds the only position in
America for which that is a job requirement. He only vaguely resembles Slash, and his bandmates tell him he
looks like an Oompa-Loompa from ”Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” There’s a similar problem with
Paradise City’s bassist, an affable, laid-back blond named Spike. Spike is built a little too much like a farmer. His
shoulders are broad, and he actually looks more like Larry Bird than Duff McKagan, the bassist in Guns N’ Roses.
Spike is also partly deaf from playing heavy metal for so many years (he can’t hear certain frequencies, including
high-end feedback), but — amazingly — this doesn’t seem to pose a problem.
Visually, the rest of Paradise City succeeds to varying degrees. Rob (the Monster) Pohlman, the drummer, could
pass perfectly for Steven Adler — if Pohlman hadn’t just shaved his head and dyed the remaining bristles orange.
(Dischner is upset about Pohlman’s new haircut; a few days earlier, he had explained to me proudly that ”what
sets us apart from the 22 other Guns N’ Roses tribute bands in America is that we don’t wear wigs.”) Trask is
eight inches too tall to be Axl Rose, but he has the voice and — more important — the desire. He wills himself into
Axlocity.
Dischner is the only Paradise City member who naturally looks like his assigned doppelg* nger, Izzy Stradlin’,
Guns N’ Roses’ original rhythm guitarist. He’s also the guy who makes the trains run on time: he handles the
cash, coordinates schedules and keeps his bandmates from killing one another. Before Paradise City, Dischner
played in an Yngwie Malmsteen-influenced heavy metal band called Premonition, a group whose entire existence
was based on the premise that Juan Carlos, the king of Spain, is in fact the Antichrist. To this day, Dischner
adheres to this theory and insists it can be proved through Biblical prophecy. He lives with his wife, Kristi (an
aspiring vampire novelist), in a small suburb of Cincinnati, and he peppers his conversation with a high-pitched,
two-note laugh that sounds like ”wee hee!” Over the next 36 hours, he will make that sound approximately 400
times.
By the time we pull out of Dischner’s driveway at 12:30 a.m., it has already been an incredibly long day for Trask.
He awoke at 2 a.m. at his home in Ravenna, Ohio, and immediately drove four hours to the outskirts of Cincinnati,
where he spent the day cutting down a troublesome tree in Dischner’s yard. After a brief nap, the band hooked up
for a few hours of rehearsal before supper. Now Trask is about to drive the entire way to Virginia, nonstop. He
almost never sleeps. Trask once drove 22 straight hours to Hayes, Kan., and played a show immediately on
arrival. If the real Axl Rose had Trask’s focus, Guns N’ Roses would have released two albums a year.
There was a time when Paradise City had a tour bus, but they lost it last summer. This is not a euphemism; they
literally can’t find it. It broke down on a trip to Kansas City, and they had to leave it in a Missouri garage to make it
to the club on time. Somehow, they lost the business card of the garage and have never been able to find their
way back. Dischner tells me this story three times before I realize he’s completely serious.
”We drove back through Missouri a bunch of times, we put up a picture on our Web site and we even called the
highway patrol,” Dischner says. ”But we lost the bus. And I guess there’s some law that states you only have 30
days to find your bus.”
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The band is now traveling in two vehicles. Randy/Axl will use his truck to pull the Haulmark trailer that holds their
gear; he’ll drive, I’ll ride shotgun and Paul/Izzy will curl up in the extended cab. A friend of the band — some dude
named Teddy — will follow in his Ford Mustang, which will also carry Bobby/Slash and Rob/Steven. The pickup
box is covered with a topper, so Spike/Duff will lie back there with Punky.
Trask and Dischner do not know who Punky is.
At departure time, only 40 percent of the band is not under the influence of some kind of chemical. Twenty
minutes into the trip, that percentage will fall to zero. Even before we get on the road, this Punky character looks
drunk enough to die; amazingly, he’s just getting started. They’re all just getting started. It remains to be seen if
these guys can sound like Guns N’ Roses, but they clearly have the self-destructive thing mastered.
Our vehicles barrel into the darkness of Kentucky. Spike and Punky are freezing in the box of the pickup, and
they try to stay warm by drinking Bud Light. Inside the toasty cab, faux Axl, faux Izzy and I discuss the question
most people have about tribute bands, which is ”Why on earth do you do this?” It seems antithetical to the whole
concept of art; the notion of creativity has been completely removed from the equation. Wouldn’t the members of
Paradise City be happier if they could write their own songs, dress however they want and — quite simply — be
themselves?
Not really.
”Obviously, being in an original band is the ultimate dream, but it mostly sucks,” Dischner says. ”You don’t get to
tour. You don’t get no money. You have to beg your own friends to come to the show. But being a mock star is
awesome.”
Paradise City will earn $1,100 for the Harrisonburg show. After their manager takes his 15 percent and they pay
for gas and promotions, they will be left with $655, which — split between five people — ends up being $131 each.
Obviously, this is almost nothing. But the operative word is ”almost.” If the same five guys in Paradise City
performed their own material, they would have to pay club owners for the chance to play; relatively speaking,
$1,100 is good money.
”The thing about being in a tribute band is that your fans already exist,” Trask says. ”You show up at the bar, and
there’s immediately a few hundred people who love Guns N’ Roses and therefore love you. We don’t think of
ourselves as Guns N’ Roses. But our fans are Guns N’ Roses fans — they’re not really fans of Paradise City.
We’re not deluding ourselves.”
This is true; no one in Paradise City seems confused about the social significance of the group. But they’re
obsessed with convincing themselves that it’s still worth it. They love talking about how ”life on the road” is a hard
yet satisfying experience. They make grand proclamations that sound like outtakes from VH1’s ”Behind the
Music”: it’s all about the fans, it’s all about the music, it’s all about the awe-inspiring majesty of rock; it’s all about
something, and then it’s all about something else entirely. But they’re never lying — when you’re in a tribute band,
all those cliches are true. Paradise City cares more about Guns N’ Roses than the actual members of Guns N’
Roses care about the song ”Paradise City.”
In fact, the guys in Paradise City care about all music with more enthusiasm than any group of musicians I’ve ever
encountered. The truck stereo never plays an artist they dislike. They have positive things to say about
Aerosmith, Nickelback, Celine Dion(!), Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd and Alabama. When Jewel’s ”You Were Meant
for Me” comes on the radio, Dischner mentions that the song always makes him wish it was raining; 10 minutes
later, he tells me that Rush is ”just about the greatest three-piece band ever,” and then gives a similar compliment
to the Rush tribute band 2112.
We hit the Virginia border around dawn. Trask begins scanning radio stations in the hope of hearing ”the
commercial.” This is a radio spot promoting Paradise City’s concert at the Mainstreet Bar and Grill in
Harrisonburg. The band gets excited about hearing ”the commercial” in the same way normal bands get excited
about hearing their first single on the radio. When we finally hear it, it refers to Paradise City’s ”triumphant return”
to Virginia. High-fives are exchanged all around.
For the next hour, Trask and I discuss the real Guns N’ Roses, a topic we are both obsessed with (albeit in very
different ways). Just like mine, Trask’s first musical love was Motley Crue (before Paradise City, he fronted a
Motley tribute called Bastard), but he slowly grew obsessed with the more combustible GN’R. Guns N’ Roses
made its debut in 1987 as L.A.’s most dangerous band, blowing the doors off pop-metal with ”Appetite for
Destruction,” arguably the strongest debut album ever. They followed with an EP titled ”GN’R Lies,” which is best
remembered for the ballad ”Patience” and the controversial song ”One in a Million,” a track that managed to be
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racist, homophobic and xenophobic all in just over six minutes. In 1991, Guns released two massive albums on
the same day, ”Use Your Illusion” I and II, cementing their place as the biggest band in the world. Yet by 1997, it
had all collapsed; one by one, every member — except the mercurial Axl Rose — either quit or was fired. Rose
became a virtual recluse, endlessly working on an alleged masterpiece, titled ”Chinese Democracy,” that may
never be released.
But history is not an issue for Paradise City; for them, the past is no different than the present, and the future will
be identical. Every day, Axl Rose grows a little older, but Paradise City never ages beyond the summer of ’91.
There are no fashion don’ts inside the Mainstreet Bar and Grill in downtown Harrisonburg. You want to wear a
headband? Fine. You want to wear a Fubu sweatshirt and a baseball hat featuring the Confederate flag? No
problem. This is the kind of place where you will see a college girl trying to buy a $2.25 glass of Natural Light on
tap with her credit card — and have her card denied.
The Mainstreet is not trendy. But it’s still cool, or at least gritty, and Paradise City has sold it out. Almost 500
people (mostly kids from nearby James Madison University) have paid $12 each to get inside, which is as big an
audience as the Mainstreet will draw for next week’s show by Dokken, an 80’s metal act trying to make a
comeback. One can only wonder how the real guys in Dokken feel about being as popular as five fake guys in
Guns N’ Roses.
The opening act is a local collegiate jam band called Alpine Recess; they look as if they’d rather be opening for a
Phish tribute band, but the crowd is polite. Meanwhile, Paradise City is dressing downstairs in the basement,
drinking free beer in the storeroom and leaning against the water heater. They have decided to open with the
song ”Nightrain,” even though it includes an extended five-minute guitar solo that Young worries might
anesthetize the audience.
Unlike the real GN’R, Paradise City hits the stage on time. Trask moves his hips in Axl’s signature snakelike
sway, and the crowd sings along with everything. Paradise City may not always look like Guns N’ Roses, but they
certainly sound like them; when I go to the bathroom and hear the music through the door, it’s impossible not to
think that this is how it would have sounded to urinate on the Sunset Strip in 1986.
”This next song is dedicated to everybody who ever told you how to live,” Trask tells us as he prowls the 25-foot
stage. ”This is for everybody who told you not to smoke weed or not to drink beer every day.”
This soliloquy leads into the bubbling bass intro of ”It’s So Easy,” the angriest three minutes on ”Appetite for
Destruction.” Girls begin crawling onstage to dance on top of the amplifiers, and the band couldn’t be happier.
Ultimately, this is why they do this: onstage, they’re paying tribute to the music of Guns N’ Roses, but deep down
they’re paying tribute to the Guns N’ Roses lifestyle. They’re totally willing to become other people, just so long as
those other people party all the time, live like gypsies and have pretty girls dancing on their amplifiers. This is why
guys create rock bands; Paradise City just created somebody else’s.
After the show, a few girls (most of whom seem very young) accompany the band back to the Hampton, and the
frivolity lasts until dawn. The gig is an undeniable success. There is a casualty, however: the next morning,
something is clearly amiss with Punky. It turns out he fell down a flight of stairs before the concert and spent the
entire Paradise City set lying on the concrete floor of their basement dressing room. He still managed to party
with the band for most of the night, but in the morning — when the clarity of sobriety finally emerged — little Punky
realized his wrist was broken, and he had to be rushed to the hospital by ambulance.
Oddly (or perhaps predictably), the band simply drove back to Ohio. We left Punky with no car and no ride,
broken and battered, in a town where he knew absolutely no one. Axl would have completely approved.
Chuck Klosterman is the author of ”Fargo Rock City: A Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North Dakota.”
Photos: Mock stars (clockwise rom top left): Axl (Randy Trask), Slash (Bobby Young), Duff (Spike Rhizor), Izzy
(Paul Dischner) and Steven (Rob Pohlman).; Welcome to the jungle! (Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.) David
Yellen for The New York Times)
Document nytf000020020317dy3h00005
- The Pretenders
Over the course of the semester, you will write three reading responses. How you response to each work is up to you, but remember that I am not looking for a summary of the work. A couple examples for ways to respond are: A rhetorical analysis of the work (i.e. examining how the author addresses ethos, pathos, and logos), how you relate to the ideas in the article, etc. Reading responses are due on the day of each essay unit’s form discussion day.
· Wednesday, February 26 (Kevin Arnovitz, Chuck Klosterman, Jada Yuan)
· Stipulations
· 200 words per essay
· Times New Roman, 12 point font
· Double-spaced
· MLA Format
· x file format
Links for the reading:
Kevin Arnovitz
http://www.espn.com/espn/feature/story/_/id/17764735/nba-referee-bill-kennedy-long-coming-story
Jada Yuan
https://www.vulture.com/2012/09/mindy-kaling-mindy-project.html