2008 International Songwriting Competition (ISC) Extends Deadline Until December 1, 2008

Legendary Music Artists Team Up With Record Label Executives To Judge ISC

October 18, 2008 -- The International Songwriting Competition (ISC) has extended its submission deadline until December 1, 2008. ISC will continue to take online, mail-in, and MySpace entries until this date. All entries must be postmarked or uploaded online on or before December 1, 2008. So, if you have not already entered ISC and wish to do so, you still have time to enter.

ISC gives away over $150,000 in cash and prizes to 62 winners in 20 categories. The Overall Grand Prize includes $25,000 (US) in cash - the largest cash Grand Prize of any songwriting competition in the world. ISC is open to all levels of amateur and professional songwriters throughout the world.

For more information and an entry form, go to www.songwritingcompetition.com.

A total of 55 high-profile music icons and industry executives have joined together to judge the 2008 ISC. Consistent in its tradition of having such esteemed judges, ISC continues to raise the bar for songwriting competitions. The opportunity to have these judges hear ISC entrants' songs offers an unprecedented chance to access these hard-to-reach, influential decision-makers - the movers and shakers in the music industry.

Candace Avery, Founder and Director of ISC, states, "ISC judges really enjoy discovering new talent and helping aspiring artists move to the next level in their career. Many of our judges have reached out to entrants and helped them to achieve their aspirations. Also, ISC is particularly excited about the recent signing of ISC's Grand Prize winner Gin Wigmore to Islands Records (in Australia and New Zealand) and Universal Records (in the USA). We are thrilled that Gin's success is a direct result of her winning ISC."

ISC judge Robert Smith, lead singer of The Cure, talks about his participation in the competition. "Judging the competition, I was astounded at the quality and range of abilities on show - the originality, honesty, and depth of so many of the words, the charm, vivacity, and catchiness of the tunes, and the often staggering energy, skill, and intensity of the performances - the talent left me at times breathless! Judging ISC was a real pleasure."

The complete ISC judging panel includes recording artists Rob Thomas (Matchbox 20); Chaka Khan; Tom Waits; KT Tunstall; Robert Smith (The Cure); Ricky Martin; Loretta Lynn; Neil Finn (Crowded House); Buckcherry; T-Pain; James Cotton; Jerry Lee Lewis; Craig Morgan; Ray Davies (The Kinks); McCoy Tyner; Darryl McDaniels (Run DMC); Michael W. Smith; Chris Hillman (The Byrds); John Scofield; Mario; Black Francis (The Pixies); Youssou N'Dour; John Mayall; DJ Tiësto; Paul Van Dyk; Jon Secada; Natalie Grant; Jeremy Camp; Matt Thiessen (Relient K); Pittbull; Angelique Kidjo; "Weird Al" Yankovic; Sandra Bernhard; and David Brenner.

Also judging are industry executives Monte Lipman (President, Universal Records); Nick Burgess (Head of A, Virgin Records UK); Angel Carrasco (Sr. VP of A, Latin America Sony BMG and President, Discos 605); Cameron Strang (President, New West Records); John Echevarria (President, Universal Music Latino); Rick Krim (Executive VP Talent and Programming, VH1); Amy Doyle (Sr. VP of Music and Talent, MTV); Kim Buie (VP of A, Lost Highway); Jon Pikus (Director of A, MySpace Records); Mitchell Cohen (VP of A, Verve Music Group); Bruce Iglauer (Founder/President, Alligator Records); Dan Storper (President, Putumayo World Music); Rene Bell (Executive VP A, Sony BMG Nashville); Peter Strickland (Senior VP, Jack Records/Warner Bros.); Steve Lillywhite (Producer - credits include U2, The Rolling Stones, Morrissey, Peter Gabriel, and more); Douglas C. Cohn (Sr. VP, Music Marketing Talent, Nickelodeon); Cory Robbins (Founder/President, Robbins Entertainment); Betty Pino (DJ, WAMR Miami); Paul Majors (CEO/Founder Majors Music); Leib Ostrow (CEO, Music for Little People); and Dr. Demento (Radio Host of The Dr. Demento Show).

ISC Sponsors include: Luna Guitars, Berklee College Of Music, Shure, D'Addario, M-Audio, Griffin Technology, Hear Technologies, Po Boy Drums, Thayers, Disc Makers, ASCAP, Phase One Studios, Stuph Merch, Sonicbids, Sam Ash, Alphabet Arm Design, Shari's Berries, Taxi, George Stein, Esq., The Music Business Registry, SongU.com, Sibelius, and Onlinegigs.

THE BLACK ANGELS ARE COMING TO THE FOX THEATRE ON OCT. 22.

Never have I published a substantial article on a band (*
http://www.boulderweekly.com/20080612/overtones.html*) and then felt
compelled to write about them again after seeing the show in question. But
someone needed to rise above the neo-jamband, hippie-clamor and show the
world that "psychedelia" does not just mean shallow bliss, and the Black
Angels are inspiring many music lovers around this country by doing just
that. Their music has been a healthy shock to my system lately, and in
concert it was transcendent. I talked so much in Boulder Weekly about the
Velvet Underground and Syd Barrett and proving that some of the best, most
enduring music of the 1960's – the music that so deeply influences the Black
Angels – was not flower-powered at all, but in fact deep and dark. And the
real point is what's happening at this moment: a young band that just put
out their second album is improving beyond belief and becoming one of the
most honest and important American groups to come around in a long time.

To be sure, last night I felt like my heart was on fire, standing a few feet
from the band in the midst of one of those rare sustained series of
unforgettable moments where you feel like an artist is singing to you, even
through you, staring into your vulnerable soul with music and lyrics that
very hauntingly, very realistically say, by chance, "this is exactly what
you've been feeling lately; this is what you're feeling right now; and this
is what we have to tell you about it." Maybe I felt like singer Alex Maas
was taking the part of Indiana Jones at the end of *Temple of Doom*,
exclaiming "you betray Shiva!" and pulling my heart out with his bare hands.
I'm not sure, but the music was great.

It was one of those precious, unpredictable experiences where you lose and
find yourself many times in a span of an hour or so, with ears bleeding and
soul humming, body bouncing to what was once called rock n' roll: a
treacherous din infatuating all within ear's range and mesmerizing, slaying,
even metamorphosizing those close enough to be sprayed with the singer's
sweat as he prowls about the stage slamming a tambourine off either wrist in
his moments of genuine ecstasy. No other concert I've seen – and I've been
to maybe a thousand and performed hundreds more – has ever captured a
feeling, a series of current, personal events, an explosion of the honesty
within me, taken hold of it and taken an electric *shock* to it, like the
Black Angels did in Denver last night. It was like all the music and all the
emotion I know and love, and continue to identify with for better or worse
as I age, was wrapped up in a ball of sound and thrown back at me in one
dark star-burst of an hour-and-a-half set of rock music.

If *Time Out of Mind* had not been released in 1997 but instead in 2001,
when I was heartbroken with open wounds and surrounded by negativity, and
I'd somehow seen Dylan perform those songs at a small club in Pittsburgh
like Metropol, it may have matched the relevance of last night. But then
again, the execution, intensity and aggressive release of such a young,
vital band as the Black Angels would not have been there for Dylan in his
old age. And the Black Angels' music is not sad; it's a barrage of brutal
truth. Last night vaguely reminded me of seeing Arcade Fire at Shoreline
Amphitheatre on their second tour after Neon Bible came out – those songs
had become much stronger in concert and had begun to come alive and not pale
in comparison to songs from Funeral but instead compliment them. But Arcade
Fire's songs are eventually about hope, whereas the Black Angels' message is
something akin to a Bill Hicks routine: "we are all one/nothing exists
except this moment/and there is no such thing as death." I'm especially
reminded of those philosophies during "Sniper At the Gates of Heaven," when
Maas sings "what do you do when Hell surrounds you?/how hot does it get?/I
think I've already felt it," and in that cliff-hanger moment in "Young Men
Dead" the audience loves so much, when Maas cries out "we can live if we're
too afraid to die."

Anyway, they started in total darkness, Stephanie Bailey pounding away as if
she were the only drummer on Earth and if she let up for just a second the
world would stop turning. I can't think of another female drummer who is
such an impressive, perfect fit for a heavy rock band, although the way the
Black Angels gradually swap instruments as their set goes along is priceless
and adds to the ceremonial feeling of their shows. And the lights were so
low you could barely make out their faces as guitarist Christian Bland and
Mass sung the back-and-forth, call-and-response love-sick romp that is
"Manipulation" together: "watch out for her dark side/soon you'll figure
out/she's training you/and she's got you, don't she?" And then, with an
insane howl from Maas, who was clearly ready to take the night over, they
dove into "You On The Run" and "Black Grease" back-to-back and the show
really started, with the audience flipping out as one and a sudden burst of
projections flashing behind the band, including footage of Native American
ceremonies, real war film, pill popping, mass meat production, boxing, even
images of young female gymnasts spliced with pictures of huge black crosses.
Somehow it all made sense.

The music veered from their signature bluesy, super-charged tribal stomps to
long Eastern-influenced V.U.-style jams to slow, maniacal explosions (like
the San Francisco-inspired "Mission District," which hits so close to home
with me) that gradually and powerfully bring the crowd to a boiled-over,
wailing frenzy and directly blur the line between audience and artist in a
way that just doesn't happen anymore at rock shows.

But the Black Angels, in their current state of evolution, essentially
perform a thrilling mix of pain and pleasure, bound together in a huge sonic
blast of unconditional love without fear or mercy. Alex Maas kicks and
screams before, during and after their songs not because he is complaining
or attempting to escape from something: he is celebrating freedom from guilt
and corruption and thrusting a rusty dagger into the heart of what America
has become. Christian Bland plays a 12-string electric with so many effects
and so much volume that it literally hurts to listen, but you identify with
and embrace the pain. And the rest of the band is just so *into it* that you
can't help matching their rapture.

The funny thing I realized while walking out onto the streets of Denver
after midnight was that they didn't play my three or four favorite songs
("18 Years," "First Vietnamese War," "The Prodigal Son," etc.) and I didn't
notice or care, although I did leave wanting to hear "Doves."

And yes, I had seen the Black Angels before, in San Francisco, two years
ago…around the time their debut album (*Passover*) came out, and that show
was good. I was with a pack of friends from the TLXN crew, and Jesse had
just come down from Seattle and moved in with me. We brought a bottle of
Jameson into the Independent and killed it during the opening bands, and
when the Black Angels came out it was enjoyable…but just so much of the same
feeling and the same sound throughout their set. *Passover* is one of my
favorite albums of the past few years and I visit it weekly like an old
friend who really understands me, but its only weakness is that all the
songs sort of melt into one. The new album, *Directions to See a Ghost*, is
an animal of evolution and diversity, spanning many influences and emotions,
and a statement to the growth of a great young band.

That night at the Independent, I was busy chasing Angela's craziness around
the club, dreading the inevitable disconnection but loving the friendship
(and intoxication) all around. The Black Angels did not pull me, or us, in;
we left early, complaining that it was too much of the same. But last night
at the Bluebird Theater, in all honesty, might have been the single most
memorable night of music in my life, for sheer power and relevance for me
personally – surpassing even my experience seeing the Pogues and Sinead
O'Connor in Dublin, Ireland on Christmas Eve, although that was powerful for
completely different reasons, so I won't compare.

In essence, I felt like Lester Bangs at a *Funhouse*-era Stooges show, when
corporate rock was just beginning to show its ugly face and the primordial
thump of Iggy and his young Detroit troops showed the faithful what rock was
really about. The Black Angels are very young, too – and getting better.

Adam Perry

There's a new comedy show coming to Albums on the Hill. The crotch bandit, Greg Baumhauer, is the host, and rumor has it that he's bringing in the big bear himself, Chuck Roy, along with Roy's personal ball-waxer, Mr. Adam Cayton-Holland.

You won't find a better lineup than this anywhere in Colorado outside of the Pueblo Police Department.

When: Thursdays at 9 p.m.
Where: We already told you. Albums. Jesus Christ, crap-wad, pay attention.
Cover: $5 (or if you have a puka-shell necklace, you can massage Roy's prostate and get in for free)

Also, cheap beer.

If you have a sense of humor, you should come. If not, you should stay home and have a nice b.m.

I spent last week bouncing back and forth between the Boulder Theater and the Fox, costumed for my favorite holiday and holding a steady buzz (thank you Catacombs, for the best damned happy hour in town). While the majority of you fellow show-goers are just fine and don't need tips from a drunken Miss Manners (who, ironically, lacks basic social skills outside of the music and booze scene) there are a few of you out there that need to learn some common rules of show-going etiquette. Inspired by a handful of dirty hippies, cool hipsters, and the lovely "OH MY GOD! I KNOW I'M AT A SHOW, BUT HOW HAVE YOU BEEN? I LOVE THAT SWEATER ON YOU! THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND! WE LOVE THAT BAR ACROSS THE STREET, BUT MY FRIEND IS BEING SUCH A BITCH! BUT LET ME TELL YOU…WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" people that insist on stomping across rock and roll's grave, I have composed a simple list of some basics.

1. Do not spend the majority of the time conversing with your friends á la screaming at the top of your lungs over the music. I cannot stress this enough. It's fucking annoying. And not just because I don't care about your friendship recap (though this is a valid reason, also). Rather, it's just downright rude when you consider the circumstances: There is a band that patrons have paid monetary funds (or in some cases, beer) so that they will perform on a stage with microphones and amplifiers. No one put the spotlight on you. So please don't try and one-up the band by yelling your conversations while the rest of us are trying to enjoy the music.

2. If you are at a comedy show, do not yell "Freebird." It is not funny.

3. If you are at a music show, do not yell "Freebird." Lynyrd Skynyrd hates you.

4. Don't act like you are on the Real World. They stopped filming Real World Denver in like 2005. This rule was inspired by an incredibly annoying group of obnoxious people in front of me at Broken Social Scene. These folks might have been rolling (obsessed with their water bottles, constantly hugging each other), or on another sort of drug which made them think that everybody loved them when in fact everybody hated them. In any case, they were loud and obnoxious and making out with each other and not paying attention to the band, but would point out sporadically that the particular track playing was "their favorite." This just ruins the experience for everyone else.

5. Don't hug me if I don't know you. This rule only applies at hippie/newgrass shows.

6. Dance. Rock out. Tap your foot. Headbang. Shake your hips. Do the Macarena. But please, don't just stand their looking über-cool with your beverage in hand. Playing the blasé, passé hipster "please sign my vinyl" guy doesn't make you a bigger fan. It just makes you an asshole.


Ready to practice? Here's a few of chances this month:
*Nov. 15 — Boulder Theater — Old Crow Medicine Show. These Nashville boys sound a few generations older than they really are, and pile on the old-school charm. Definitely check out their "Wagon Wheel" video on YouTube. (http://youtube.com/watch?v=O2vJUadjdmo) Practice rule 5 (a lot of hippies are into these guys).

*Nov. 17 — Boulder Theater — Zach Galifinakis. One of the funniest guys out there. Go to this show. Practice rule 2.

*Nov. 27 — Fox Theatre — Buck 65. Canadian lyricist mastermind that's been touring with Sage Francis. One of the best performances I saw this summer. Practice rules 1 (He's a real sensitive kind of guy, so talking out of turn might upset him. Plus, you definitely want to hear what he's got to say.) and 4 (I don't think there's been a Real World Toronto for a reason).

*Nov. 8 (tonight!) — Albums on the Hill — Chuck Roy, Matt Need and Brent the Great. Practice all rules, unless you feel like getting ripped a new one by Chuck Roy. And if that's the case, feel free to fuel the funny fire.

That's my short list. If anyone else has some common annoyances, now is your time to vent and spread the word. Respond below. With your help, we can all step up Boulder's rock factor to at least an 8.4.
Thank you.
Erica.

OMG! You'll never guess what happened, Random-MySpace-Friends! So there's this amazing singer-songwriter named Jenny Owen Youngs and she's totally cool and totally awesome and totally cute and I, like, wrote her a MySpace message because I saw her on MySpace and I said to myself, "I should totally write Jenny Owen Youngs a MySpace message," and so I did...and then...and then...AND THEN...

She wrote me back.

Here's what I wrote:

Hello,

This is Dale Bridges, A&E editor of Boulder Weekly. I didn't know you were performing in town until today; otherwise, I definitely would have contacted you for an interview. Please let me know if you come through Boulder again. I totally have a music-reviewer-crush on Batten the Hatches.

Thanks
Dale

Batten the Hatches is her album and it's so hottt! You should really check it out and buy it and listen to it in your bedroom while you gaze at a poster of Jenny (we're BFFs now, so I can call her Jenny) on your ceiling.

Here's what Jenny wrote back to me:

Dale!

Thank you so much for saying hi. Hopefully next time we can make some interview magic??

Word?
Word.

Very best,
Jenny

It's not long, but I think we all know what she's trying to say. Some interview MAGIC... Please. It's so obvious. I heart you too, Jenny.

Boulder is a very serious city. There are a lot of active activists here who are actively pursuing active activities. If we're not trying to save the endangered farting slug worm, we're protesting the corporate villain of the month or plastering goddess bumper stickers all over our Subarus.

And that's all good, because the world needs people who care about something more than Dancing With The Stars (although, seriously, who knew A.C. Slater could shake it like that?). However, let's be honest; sometimes we need to loosen up and let the political correctness chips fall where they may.

There are a couple of great comedy events coming up in Boulder that shouldn't be missed. Brent "The Great" Gill hosts Jokes at Albums every Thursday night, which features outstanding local comedians from the Denver/Boulder area, and on Nov. 8, B to the G is bringing back the best lineup on the Front Range: Brent The Great, Matt Need, Hippieman, and Chuck Roy. The last time I saw them all together I peed a little bit in my pants. (The $2 New Belgium beer special might have had something to do with that, as well.)

Also, Zach Galifianakis is coming to the Boulder Theater on Nov. 17. If you don't know who he is, you should do two things: 1) hang your head in shame, and 2) check him out on YouTube or rent his Netflix DVD. This is seriously the funniest man in America right now, and if he doesn't sell out the Boulder Theater, I am personally going to go door to door in this town and slap everyone who didn't purchase a ticket. Don't try me, Boulder. I'll do it; I'll slap the sincerity right out of you.

Dale

I'll be honest; I was worried about you last night, Boulder. The Public Enemy concert was scheduled to start at 8pm, and when I showed up at 7:45, the Boulder Theater was dead. D-E-A-D. There were about 75 people — and most of them were sitting down sipping cocktails.

Now, I know that rap is not necessarily a Boulder thing. This town is more into reggae, bluegrass, afro-beat and jambands. And that's fine. But this is PUBLIC ENEMY! They are the Beatles of hip hop. Chuck D is like Elvis, Mick Jagger, and Kurt Cobain all rolled into one. I don't care if game two of the World Series was on TV; this concert should have been sold out as soon as the announcement was made. Who knows when PE is going to be on tour again. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event and you could still get tickets at the door.

The Flobots opened the show, and even though there were only about 14 of us on our feet, they tore up the house. They were fantastic. Smooth, intelligent, and much more political than I expected. They railed against the war and dropped more political knowledge on the crowd in 20 minutes than any of the protest marches I've seen around town. And they had a damn viola player. I mean, that's pretty fucking awesome.

By the time Public Enemy hit the stage, the room was finally starting to fill up. Chuck D is 47 years old, but he looked like he was about 22 when he came out, dressed in a sleeveless black T-shirt, baseball hat, and a pair of baggy basketball shorts. He was ready to work. He didn't talk about hos or pimps or grills; the man literally said "Fuck George Bush! Fuck Dick Cheney! Fuck Condoleezza!" Flavor Flav — still the best hype man on the planet — had the entire crowd chanting along. The room was filled with anger and purpose and a lot of heart. I can only imagine that this is what it must have felt like to watch Pete Seeger or Dylan during the Vietnam era. It wasn't the largest crowd I've ever seen at the Boulder Theater, but it was certainly one of the best. I have never seen a room full of white people more prepared to "fight the power."

Here's the thing: If Boulder is really serious about protesting this war and disrupting the status quo, there is really no excuse for missing a concert like this. Hip hop has been producing the soundtrack for upheaval in this country for two decades, and it's time that we all get on board with it. Chuck D has done more to change this country than all the Bonos and DiFrancos combined.

If you truly want a revolution, you have to show up for to the right meetings.

Dale