In which I respond directly to some of the hate thrown at the Throwdowns

So, you know how much I enjoyed the Throwdowns show on the 28th of August and saw it as a huge step forward for the local rock scene.  Then imagine my surprise when I opened the following week’s issue of Maui Time Weekly to find the following in the Editor’s inbox section:

I was at the show last night and it was a great turnout.  Today, I listened to the CD and was waiting for the “wow” factor.  It never came for me.  Although each song has a distinct sound, it still all sounds like something I’ve heard somewhere else–and not on Maui.  One last thought: I would have to say that Erin needs a vocal coach to help carry some of the key notes of certain areas of her music.  They are rough, but with time and practice, who knows?

Kava, posted at mauitime.com

The Throwdowns?  More like The Throwups!  Not impressed at all.  They really have nothing new to offer, and what they do offer has been done better.

Henry, posted at mauitime.com

To be fair, these were sandwiched in between to very encouraging comments.  But these particular responses hit a nerve with me because of a lot of hate-filled comments made during the Battle of the Bands just over a year ago in which the Throwdowns won the chance to open up for 311 and NOFX.  It seems that no matter what this band has to offer a local scene that is sorely in need of some more consistent rock and roll they catch vitriol.  I mean, vocal coach?  nothing new to offer?  Do these people have any idea what rock and roll actually is?  It sounds to me like these are either people who have moved here from somewhere else and are used to listening to auto tuned tracks and being snobs about our little scene, or they’re Maui lifer’s who only listen to Jawaiian and reggae.  If there were two comments that could be more wrong about the Throwdowns I have yet to hear them.  Absolutely ridiculous.  The Throwdowns are the flagship band that the local rock scene can and must rally around if we hope to gain any ground.  I know this doesn’t make for the most well-reasoned argument, and I’m not suggesting that everyone has to like the Throwdowns, but I just don’t understand the hate.

Throwing Moldy Oranges

I’ll be the first to admit that my attendance to this blog has been what most would call *ahem* less than good, but for some reason I feel truly compelled to give this particular thought a place in this particular continuum.

Two days ago I got out of my car after arriving home from work.  I usually tuck my bag behind the driver’s seat when I get in, so I opened my rear door to retrieve it.  Underneath my bag I saw an orange that had rolled out of my lunch probably two to three weeks previously.  It wasn’t rotten or broken, it was just really soft.  Being that I was at my car side and not in my kitchen when I discovered this piece of fruit on it’s way toward bad I had the urge to just huck it.  Now, I grew up in the farmlands of Pennsylvania where a good thick patch of woods, thicker than my deep ball anyway, was never far off.  I currently live on the island of Maui, and looking around my I realized that there were no appropriate thickets for me to chuck said piece of soft fruit into.  When I started to mull over where I could have had enough woods to be able to launch an orange into I realized that woods even that plentiful are extremely rare in my wanderings around this island so far.  I’m sure the Iao Valley and of course around the back side of Haleakala there are such things, but here in the middle of the island, across the isthmus and as far as my eye can see…there’s no stand of trees that I couldn’t completely clear with one good throw.

It just makes me sad, is all.

Margaret Atwood’s writing quote:

I mentioned this in my very first blog post and thought it only fair to go back and actually quote the woman. It is a quote from The Blind Assassin:

The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you get down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself. You must see the writing as emerging like a long scroll of ink from the index finger of your right hand; you must see your left hand erasing it.

Impossible, of course.

I pay out my line, I pay out my line, this black thread I’m spinning across the page.