Cinemetal T-Shirts

cinemetal
The Rock File has featured this killer convergence of sound and vision before, but now they’ve got a new home on the interwebs, so we thought it’d be a good time to revisit this collaboration between New York artist Bob Bianchini and Los Angeles film guru Phil Anderson—the original Cinemetal T-shirt collection.
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Good Night Ian McLagan

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Good Night Bobby Keys

Made the Stones even better…
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The Metal Nap™

metal_nap2Rock File contributor Evil Kel catching some much needed rest at Roadburn 2014.
Sometimes, even the most seasoned metal vet needs a chance to recharge.
So don’t be afraid to take a Metal Nap™, fans of the hard stuff, because you never know when Sleep might bust out Dopesmoker.
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Real Life Rock Fans #1

who_kidsRock File contributors—and obsessive Who fans—recreate The Kids Are Alright photo shoot.
Being an obsessive music fan isn’t easy, nor is it glorious.
Sometimes you get labeled—Metalhead!
Sometimes you get painted into a corner—How can you like Hawkwind AND Hank Williams?
Sometimes your taste is considered uncool—Steely Dan? Really?
Oh well…
You may know some of the types mentioned below. You may be one yourself. The Rock File can neither confirm nor deny that any of these “types” represent actual Rock File contributors. Please feel free to add your own in the comments section, or defend your own characterization, as you see fit.
If you liked the Grateful Dead, nobody thought you were cool, except maybe that girl with the army jacket in drama class.
If you liked Judas Priest, you went around screaming “PRIEST” to noone in particular. Hardcore fans just mumbled “Judas.”
If you liked The Band, nobody knew who you were.
If you liked Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti, you jammed it into your car’s cassette deck on purpose, hoping it would get stuck. And it did.
If you thought Iron Butterfly was better than Deep Purple, you were tripping on bad acid.
If you liked The Velvet Underground, you thought you were too cool for everybody else. You were probably right.
If you liked ZZ Top, you liked American beer. Cheap, American beer. In cans.
If you joined the KIZZ Army, you liked drawing furry animals getting blown up.
If you liked Van Halen, you spent hours making detailed models, only to light them on fire in your garage.
If you liked solo Ozzy, but not Black Sabbath, you were drinking cheap vodka. You were also just wrong.
If you were into Frank Zappa, you were also into the girls lacrosse team.
If you came out as a Steely Dan fan, you risked losing friends.
If you thought Warren Zevon was hip, you were born in the wrong decade.
If you liked Iron Maiden, you drove a 280z from New York to Florida in February, straight through, without heat, in like 10 hours.
If you liked The Doobie Brothers, your favorite sandwich was American cheese on white bread with lots of mayo.
If you liked Styx, you were from Buffalo.
If you liked Molly Hatchet, you drove your beater into that moat that surrounded the Hollywood Sportatorium in Hollywood, Florida. Twice.
If you liked Circle Jerks, you risked getting arrested.
If you liked Lynyrd Skynyrd, you played air guitar with a tennis racket.
If you liked Melvins, you were moving backwards through space and time and somehow arriving in the future.
If you liked Metallica, you made clay sculptures of naked girls in high school art class.
If you like Sepultura, you were most likely fucking bat-shit crazy.
If you didn’t like Styx, you were from Jacksonville.
If you liked Slayer, you were just a fucking bad-ass. Period.
If you liked Emerson, Lake & Palmer, you spent hours copying Emerson, Lake & Palmer album covers.
If you liked Peter Gabriel era Genesis, you drew trippy psychedelic landscapes within other trippy psychedelic landscapes.
If you liked Phil Collins era Genesis, you were watching too much Miami Vice.
If you liked Rush, you were in a Rush cover band. They may have been called Power Windows.
If you liked Yes, you tie-dyed your jeans in your bathtub.
If you liked Camper Van Beethoven, you were high. You also played Hacky Sack, most likely high.
If you liked King Crimson, you were from the future.
If you thought Pearl Jam was better than Nirvana, you had too many beers. And you were also wrong. Very wrong.
If you were into Mudhoney, you were ahead of your time.
If you liked Dwight Yoakam, you liked that whole Americana scene before it became cool, or annoying.
If you dragged your friends to a Phish concert, you were most likely going home alone. And possibly drugged.
If you went with friends to a Red Hot Chili Peppers show in a college gymnasium somewhere in New England, somebody was going home with a broken nose, and not realizing it until after they got home. Maybe because everybody was tripping on mushrooms.
If you were into TAD, you liked everything louder than everything else.
If you liked Jane’s Addiction, River’s Edge was your favorite movie.
If you liked…
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Cream, Live in New York City, 2005

jackbruce
In honor of the passing of the great Jack Bruce, The Rock File revisits its review of the 2005 Cream reunion concert at Madison Square Garden.
Cream
October 27, 2005
Madison Square Garden
New York City
The last time Cream played together was 1968, or 37 years ago.
I have friends that old (you know who you are).
The Royal Albert Hall shows this past spring have already passed into myth. The resurrected Cream, by all accounts, losing no steam, defying their age. The reviews were of a fiery, edgy band returning to form.
What to expect then from the New York City shows?
Getting tickets was a problem. American Express has this damn pre-sale policy that, well…
The three MSG shows were sold out in something like 11 minutes (said the nice Ticketmaster lady over the phone). Next stop, eBay. Too much money of course, but that wasn’t the point.
“Hey, what the fuck? It’s only money”
– Bill Durand
So we were psyched to get tickets at all. And they were good seats too.
I bought some hideous binoculars off the street for cheap. They were camo and covered in little army icons. I felt like an idiot hauling them into The Garden, but they paid off (I could see the boys on stage smile at each other when they nailed an ending…cool!)
Of course The Garden was filled with the old rock crowd. Of course they brought their kids to turn them on to “The Cream” (as they were originally known) and to cheer the return of their old heroes.
I brought my parents (and they brought me) cause they turned me on sometime in high school and I’ve been listening to Cream ever since.
Dad and I bought concert T’s, in the old tradition. I had that moment when I thought I should have bought option H, but realized option G was the better choice. I still owe my dad the 15 bucks he lent me to pay off the shirt (they are no longer just 15 bucks).
I of course wore mine the next day, and for most of the week. I’m still afraid to put it in the laundry.
We found our seats and wondered if the guy who sold them to us was sitting right next to us. We couldn’t really tell. It didn’t matter.
I told my mom that people were substituting cell phones for the Old Lighter Trick during last months McCartney show. In fact, the Old Lighter Trick was born during the original arena rock shows ushered in by Dylan and The Band on their ’74 tour, which made a stop at The Garden, and my folks were there. And so it goes.
And now…
So the house lights go down, the crowd goes up, and the band is on stage, after more than 3 decades.
Awesome.
The set list is classic Cream. Hell, they haven’t written a new song since 1968, so what else could it be? There wasn’t a song that was missing.
Not one.
Ginger Baker (drums) is somewhere in his mid-sixties (the far end), but he had no problem with a 20-minute drum solo. I’m not sure I’ve heard a drum solo in the past two decades. I say, bring ‘em back. It was cool. Bill was pissed we weren’t close enough to catch the sticks he threw out at the end of the solo. When he hobbled off the kit at the end of the show, his back was aching. You could tell.
There were two moments I noticed that he fucked up a break, which was hilarious. Ginger Baker fucking up a break. At a time in the mid sixties, the best damn rock drummer around, and I get to see him screw one up. Clapton looked back at him mid song and urged him on, getting the next verse right. At the end of the tune, he smiled and they all had a laugh.
Jack Bruce (bass, vocals, harp, main songwriter) looked like death. But his voice hit those “Strange Brew” highs with no problem, and his bass playing (fretted and fretless) was as agile as ever. Not a bad note to these 35 year-old ears. Instead of the requisite beers on top of his amp, he had a series of fruit juices. No shit, fruit juice. He also had an inhaler. The guy is not doing so well.
Eric Clapton (guitar, vocals, God) was simply amazing. I believe he gets better with age. He was all economy and tonal elegance. The brief pause during “Badge” (the song Clapton co-wrote with his buddy George Harrison – before stealing his wife) was so long that the audience HAD to stand and cheer and feel MOVED. It was an awesome moment.
There were moments like this throughout the whole show. Too numerous to count really. They played most of their recorded material (they were only around from ’66 to ’68) and everything sounded fresh.
The show ended with “Sunshine of Your Love” (which Clapton wrote after first hearing Hendrix) and it was raw and heavy. Everybody stood, sang, and got off on it.
Cool.
I almost forgot:
The pre-show entertainment was the house PA playing tracks exclusively from 1968; The Stones’ Beggars Banquet, the Beatles’ White Album, Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland, etc.
It was exactly what we were there for.
Setlist
I’m So Glad
Spoonful
Outside Woman Blues
Pressed Rat and Wart Hog
Sleepy Time Time
Tales of Brave Ulysses
N.S.U.
Badge
Politician
Sweet Wine
Rollin’ and Tumblin’
Call It Stormy Monday (But Tuesday Is Just as Bad)
Deserted Cities of the Heart
Born Under a Bad Sign
We’re Going Wrong
Cross Road Blues
Sitting on Top of the World
White Room
Toad
Sunshine of Your Love
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Good Night Jack Bruce

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