By Ed Hamell, a/k/a Hamell on Trial

When I'm on the road I like to nap in my car. People think it's weird. (At least G-Love did, but...um...who cares?) But it's nice in there. You're getting rested up for the gig. You turn off the cell phone, nobody bothers you, out like a light.

Occasionally somebody will rap on the window. “Are you okay?” I like to scream back at them, “I'm trying to kill myself! Could you leave me alone?!”

I'm good at scouting a place off the beaten track that is inconspicuous. I'll even pay to park in a parking garage, (well, not in Manhattan, Jesus, you might as well get a hotel room at those prices), but I learned the hard way that are some parking lot security guys that take their job very, very seriously. At least in Toronto.

I was napping, out like a light, and it was hot so I had the air conditioner running and sure enough, three, you saw it right, three cop cars came with their lights on wanting to know just what the hell I was doing.

I don't know how many of my readership has been on the show Cops, but I suspect a large percentage and you know how when you just wake up and there's a cop in your trailer and you don't remember what you did to get him (or her, as in my case there were two male cops and a female) there, and you're kinda mumbling sleepy-eyed, reaching for your gun?

Well, one cop was pissed! So I got pissed back. Bad move.

We worked it out. I promised never to do it again. Of course when they left I fell back to sleep.

Overzealous employees always get my goat. It's just a job, for chrissake. And in light of the current economy, you're probably not gonna have it for very much longer anyway, so relax wouldja?

There's only two states that you can't pump your own gas. Jersey and Oregon. I didn't know about Oregon. So I got out of the car and started pumping my gas and the attendant charged out of his little room and yanked the hose out of my hand.

I don't like people yanking shit from me.

Ask politely. I would.

So I had to ask him, “Why can't you pump your own gas? Why is there a law?!” And he told me straight-faced, “People blow up.”

Now, I travel a great deal people. All over the world. And I'm usually driving. I've been to a lot of gas stations. I've slept in a lot of gas stations. Rarely, like so rarely, never, have I seen anybody blow up. Never ever. Never even on the horizon do I see a torch-like glow and think, “Yep, there goes another pumper. Bet his fried ass wishes he had been in Oregon or Jersey.”

Now I know many are thinking, “Hamell sure is confrontational, he's got no one to blame if people are afraid to come to his show.” Well, let me tell you about a positive run-in I had.

It was an Arab taxi driver taking me from my hotel in London to Heathrow airport. True story. I really, really like taxi drivers. 99% of the time they're amazingly cool. I've had some of my best conversations with taxi drivers.

It's a cinch. Wanna try it?

Just go like this, “How long you been driving today?” Typically they'll say, “Since 4 a.m.” And it's like noon, then. So you ask, “How much longer you gonna drive today?” And they'll say, “Until midnight.”

That's 20 hours, people. Then you ask, “How many days a week do you do that?” And they'll say, “Seven.”

And you ask if they have a family, and they invariably do, and then you ask, “Doesn't your wife mind?” And they'll respond, “She drives a cab, too!”

That's a tough gig, I think. More often than not they're working their butts off, when they used to work as a doctor in Africa, or India, or Saudi Arabia.

You get the idea.

Anyway, I can't remember what we talked about, this Arab cab driver and me. I mean, I'm sure it was world politics, but I really don't remember specifically what was said.

I was riding in the front. I do remember that.

When I got out, not only did he hug me but he gave me the ride for free. C'mon, cool or what?

So you see, I'm not such a bad guy. Remember, an indictment is not a conviction.

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborhoods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.

YAP: NEW YEAR'S REVOLUTIONS

1. Don't Drop My Cell Phone In The Toilet (Anymore)

There's a lot of reasons you might want to adhere to this resolution. Let's say hypothetically that it was in your sweatshirt pocket and you were standing up taking a pee. (Ladies, you might want to skip this unless you're Melissa Ferrick fans. In that you might stand up to pee. I love Melissa Ferrick, she's wonderful but her audience prides itself on being bull dykes. Many of them are reading this now and saying,

"How did he know I like to stand up and pee? How did he know I dropped my cellphone in the toilet?")*

(BTW: See Milk, it's incredible.)

Anyway, your cell phone goes down in the water, you got to fish it out and then:

voilà, no more light-up, no more speed dial, no more communication. The thing is, not dropping your cell phone in the toilet is a lot easier to resolve than losing weight. Or quitting smoking.

2. Grow A Lot Of Hair

This is going to be troublesome. But I'm tired of too few options. I'd like to look like Christopher Walken. Or Maybe Mickey Rourke in The Pope Of Greenwich Village. Or Joe Strummer circa 1979. Elvis, for God's sake. It's too late for Rogaine, and wigs look bad.

3. Keep My Car Clean

My wife won't ride in it anymore. Very few people will. I'm turning over a new leaf. The only thing is, in my defense, is that I have to live in it, kinda, when I'm gigging. And you know how it is, you're late for the soundcheck, you drink a cup of coffee, you down a Red Bull, you eat a protein bar, you do an espresso, you chew some caffeine gum, you do your last few pep pills, you got to put the wrappers and empty cups somewhere, right? So you toss them on the floor. Then you get to the club and you gotta run in do the check, blast through the gig, drink six or seven more cups of coffee, get back in the car and drive six hours, drinking seven or eight Red Bulls. Okay, you got a bit of a pile on the floor.

But when you pull over to sleep, whaddaya gonna use for a pillow? Isn't the trash ideal?

I rest my case. And I rest my head on the comfy junk.

But I'm turning over a new leaf. Some of those leaves are on the floor of my car.

4. Stop Screaming At the Audience

No one enjoys this. It isn't helping. Who do I think I am? I've tried to get out but they keep pulling me back in. Some audiences are getting hip to my idiosyncrasies and when they see my threshold clearly on the horizon they stand up and scream. "INCOMING!"

This is doing no one any good.

5. Stop Reading The Comments Under My Favorite You Tube Music Or Comedy Videos

People have too much time. And the ones that do are usually young, I know, and they write stuff under videos about say, Bill Hicks or Jack White or Burroughs or anybody but Gene Vincent and it's adolescent or asinine or something so off the mark that I think "Geez, this depresses me."

That's not why I watched the video. It was to entertain, or inspire or study. And it's like messing with a bad tooth. I can't not look.

No more scrolling down on '09.

6. Fun! Fun! Fun!

Let's face it. These are tough times. The economy sucks and it affects all of us. It's hard to keep a brave face and a stiff upper lip. But Gosh darn it, life's too short. Unemployment is up. And this new administration isn't going to help certain vocations. For instance: torturers.

What's an unemployed waterboarder going to do in this new administration? I guess they could get a job at the DMV. Now that I think about it, I've often waited in line three hours to be told that I didn't have the right paperwork and it felt like somebody had attached wires to my testicles.

But I digress.

I think that I forgot to have fun. So... I'm going to make a effort to seek it out. Tonight I'm going to a nightclub in Manhattan to check out some live Brazilian music. I'll let you know. I might ride around in the car with a Beach Boy, maybe Brian or Al. Certainly not Mike.

Anyway thank God 2008 is behind us. That goes double for the last eight years. (Hey, was it my imagination or did Obama absolutely refuse to play the lowest common denominator card? Was his whole platform, "I know you're better than this? I'm going to appeal to your intellect and compassion? Your greater humanity. Not just as Americans, but people. Oh, you know he did.)

Anyway, that's it for now...until next time I think I'll listen to my Beatles Live At The BBC. Fun, see?

I realize that you can't see the twinkle in my eye when I write this stuff. It's a joke. Don't write me. See #5.

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborhoods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.

While Mrs. Hamell is away, Ed and his son Detroit play.

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborhoods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.

HAMELL CON CARNY

Join Hamell on Trial at Field Day in Ireland, where he watches Gary Busey and Jodie Foster in Carny, then goes to the carnival, where he declares that one ride is "fuckin' goin' down tonight."

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborho ods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.

BLURTANNIA RULES THE WAVES

In the fourth installment of YAP, Hamell comes direct from the Ottawa Blues Festival, and live from the bathtub--where he sings of Blurt, WMDs and Detroit rock kiddies.

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborho ods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.

PLAYS WHAT HE THINKS

Hamell on Trial checks in from the road.

NUMERO DEUCE: MY FAVORITE MIX TAPE

Let me tell you this story...

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborho ods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.

A VOMIT-LIKE VIBE

What's in a name? Everything and nothing.

In the first installment of Hamell on Trial's YAP video blog, Ed Hamell riffs on King Riff: scruffy, venerated, dearly departed music scribe Lester Bangs.

BLURT knew a Hamell blog—initially meant to be text-only—would be something special: his own brand of blurt. His raucously intelligent songs and stage banter are uncommon, to be perfectly plain, and we knew he’d fit us like a new pair of socks. This was even clearer in our initial discussions about the blog, where Hamell inferred from the BLURT name that we’re going for a more honest, immediate take on the music magazine format. 

In the clip, Hamell characterizes this as a “vomit-like vibe.” We like that, ‘cause it’s what we aim to give you, chunks and all.

Isn’t that where quote-unquote music journalism is headed, into the hands of any chimp with a keyboard and the wherewithal to start a blog? It’s a return to the purest form, the junction of word-of-mouth and “influence.”

But what is influence, and what’s it worth? Back in Lester’s day, it was still pretty much (albeit decreasingly so) about that one guy in your circle of friends who had his ear to the ground, listening for the big sound. Lately, the “form” has devolved to something slightly better than catalog copy. Record reviews in some publications are as short as 40-50 words. What, really, can be said about the music in that much space? You can’t even read between the lines when reviews are reduced to “it sucks or it don’t.” (Either a record label’s wet dream or nightmare.) And frankly, some of it seems bought and paid for.

But then, should we be persuaded by long-stemmed, flowery prose like on some music blogs? Or the petulant, douchey ravings of one who thinks he’s fit to be a sweat stain on Lester Bangs’s T-shirt? Different strokes—you decide.

For our part, we’re gonna shoot for the sweet spot, split the difference between the two, and give you intelligent spew. Which, one supposes, is what Lester did—just on a plain that will forever remain just out of our reach, but thankfully not our comprehension. But while BLURT holds the Bangs canon in high esteem, and acknowledge his influence on music writers everywhere, we're not trying to cop his dope-ness. Who can?

Nobody. Lester Bangs was one of a kind, hatched from a broken mold.

And he sure wasn't Donald Trump. That is to say, we're pretty sure he'd be outraged at any attempt to copyright a word or phrase, even for his own use. Nor would he see a need to do so. Neither do we.

We’re just gonna be here doing our thing and hoping you dig it. And what, exactly, is our “thing?” Here’s a portion of a discussion we had with Hamell, where he explained his intended direction with this video blog, and it became clear that he gets BLURT.

“Why isn't there a rock mag that appeals to my demographic? Why were Creem, Uncut and Grand Royal “special,” at least initially? How [do we] not insult the readership's intellect? How do we differentiate the mag from the nine million other mags out there with a foot in the past, present and future? So... I've come up with something that appeals to me both on a creative and aesthetic level.”

Blurting is intrinsically human and non-exclusive. You are BLURT.

(BLURT lovingly dedicates this to Jeffrey Morgan and Steven Wells. Mwah!)

Ed Hamell picked up the guitar at age 7 and started writing songs not long after. In his early 20s, Mr. Hamell was the front man and writer for an original band, but local bands were a dime a dozen in the tough, working class neighborhoods in Syracuse, NY. So he launched a one-man act called Hamell on Trial. Six albums (plus a live one) and countless shows later, Hamell himself is one of a kind. Catch him on tour this summer in the U.S., Canada and Europe.