So like many alpha males, I must find ways to excercise and burn off the excess energy that would enable me to conquer your village back during a time when there were no rock venues or recording studios to occupy my time.

One of my friends is a UFC fighter, and he told me that one of his friends started running on the beach, barefoot. So I tried it, and I love it! My first day I ran four miles and I felt awsome aferwards. So now I can get out of the studio, get a good workout, and I don't get any of the foot/ankle/knee pain that plagues so many runners.

So went down to the beach today, and I did my whole run and then some, and I was totally winded after. I was reeling from the exhaustion and endorphin rush when I noticed a man, a random tool really, sitting in a folding chair next to an RV. Now that itself would not be strange, but instead of being near the water enjoying the view, he was hanging our in the parking lot, right by the restrooms. Something was not right here...

Many years ago, I was taught to notice details on every stranger I encounter. I could already 'read' people, having proved my abilty to my mentor. But he would take it a step further. "Notice what is there.... now notice what is NOT there...." esoteric yes, but a substantial technique, and considering the skill of this master I was eager to adopt any trick he was willing to share. He once got through the JFK Airport with over two hundred pounds of fine green Mexican love, and the punchline was, the cops had been tipped off, and he STILL got away.

'Yes', I slowly recovered from my workout high. 'this is mighty strange'.
Then my rusty old instincts kicked in; "HE IS A COP"

Just then the man stood and faced me "Hey bro, you got a peice?" 

"No, I don't mess with that" He ignored me after I said that.
I looked to my left, a large black curtain hiding the posse of cops hiding in the RV.

I am the gingerbread man you stupid little man, I thought, you will NEVER catch me.

Pandas are smarter than pigs. And if you are at the beach, watch out for the tool next to the RV. 

 They got their fave seats, second row of tables in the middle. The stage was in front of a large poly-titanium bulkhead which amplified the bass frequencies, and made the experience even more intense. She passed him the micro-vape, and he took a long hard draw. This was the best smoke in the galaxy, when Europe sank into the sea in 2997 many citizens of Holland went straight to the greenhouses of Mars, and their inherent growing skills were then passed along through the entire Mars starcruiser line. When Mars blew up in 3015, the Starcruisers were already legend with their prime nightlife and top grade buds. Tonight's selection was particularly potent, due to the special event.

 An archaeologist exploring the remains of Earth had discovered an underground bunker designed for nuclear survival. Some of the electronic devices in the bunker  actually survived the asteroid impact, and one in particular had caught his attention. The data was indeed intact, and the first name on the playlist took his breath away. Some of their music had survived, for they were the roots of all interstellar nightclub bands. But here it was, the entire discography, even pictures, video files, info on each member. The data was retrieved and tonight it would debut, right here.

 Some of the opening acts were decent, even good. Each one did a cover of the ancient legends, some were actually very nice. But everyone was getting restless, they wanted to hear the new found mix of the masters, for tonight, here on the best soundsystem in the largest starcruiser in the galaxy, the entire collection would be played. 

 The room went dark. Everyone was still. A massive wave of bass warped across the floor, and hard snares began to smash out of the speakers. She passed him the micro-vape and he took another drag. They held their glasses of Centaurian wine and toasted. They finally got to hear all of it, every last bit. For the first time in over a thousand years, Dead Panda was rocking........

 Greeting, true believers! It's time for more Panda chat with the electro-dub renegades that keep all the 'indie' rock bands nervous, Dead Panda!  

Ok- we said we'd play some all ages type stuff, we did, so alright. 

Yeah, we played a Hot Topic. One kid made a beeline for us, and his mom tackled him.
(Too late lady, he is hooked now, and in a band he will be.) We started with a small crowd, when we finished the place was packed wall 2 wall. 

 Nobody holds up lighters at shows anymore, they hold up cellphones. So many people took pics of us at HT it should be licensed. We had a blast, we did NOT expect such a strong reaction. You might think that groupies would not be attacking at a shopping mall, but you would be mistaken. Flattered but frightened, we managed to nicely escape from the parking lot.

 We played CIA, it was fun. The place looks like my brother's house (even had some dead gators and shrunken heads! All it needed was The Cramps). We did our own sound (natch, and we were glad we did). Not the crowd we expected (does Sunset have us spoiled?) but still a great evening. 

 So, we got some remixes a'coming... Taylor from Romak & The Space Pirates as well
as Frail Limb Purity from Phoenix are both producing Dead Panda remixes soon. There is also a Saint-produced remix coming too, a dancehall mix for the LSP purists. 

 And right after that happens, there will be another Dead Panda CD.

And yes, that song you all keep bugging me about will be on it. We hear you...
In fact, the whole damn thing will be called "SMOKES LIKE DRAGON, DRINKS LIKE FISH".... I am personally excited because I get to play piano on this new disc, and we'll also be featuring Mary Panda on her new Theremin (she built her own Theremin) as well as C-Los on some new percussive orchestration.

All the new tracks will be available online through Oseao Media Group at all online sites.

Until next week, same Panda time, same Panda channel!

...and be careful what music you release, you never know where it may get played in a thousand years :)    - - -  Saint







 

Dead Panda is a featured Underexposed Artist on MONKEYBOXING.COM
http://monkeyboxing. com/content/underexposed%E2%80%A6dead-panda-interview
Read all about the Dead Panda misadventures! Monkeyboxing is a top UK webzine, if you haven't seen it yet go see it now!

Dead Panda is playing Viper Room again, on Sunday 01/25/09. This is a very special event, there is NO COVER and Viper will be serving pitchers! (a true rarity in Hollywood) This is a crucial Dead Panda show, we are getting ready to do something very big in music globally, and we need ALL OUR FANS to go to this show! DO NOT MISS THIS EVENT-(Seriously, if you ever missed a Dead Panda show do not let it be this one! This is where and when we'll be 'taking it to the next level', so please come support us!)

And in case you didn't hear, Dead Panda packed the Viper last time, so get there early and get yourself a table! Dead Panda plays at 10pm. Voices Voices, Pop Noir and others will be performing as well.

Oh yeah, one last thing, we found a couple fake Dead Panda sites, fools try to bite us, but the Panda bites back. I want to give a shout out to the fan who told us about the fakes, and a word of advice for anyone trying to start a band and think they will steal someone's name because it sounds cool- "Don't be a punk- make up your own damn name- and then Google it to make certain you're not stealing from another artist!"

"For the introduction of a new kind of music must be shunned as
imperiling the whole state; since styles of music are never disturbed
without affecting the most important political institutions." — Plato

Fk Yeah, Plato, Fk yeah. And if they can't handle Dead Panda, then they fail to
realize that Dead Panda, in a rare and unique approach in this dire age of novelty,
actually love MUSIC, not 'being in a band' or or some 'scene', and they realize the
responsibility of the artist to help progress culture, not follow well-worn paths or
tread familiar waters. Dead Panda is for your ears, and for your brain.

with love, The Saint

(from the OC Weekly - May 9-15 2008 article by Music Editor Dave Segal)

"Dub Ya"

Long Beach's Dead Panda- Mary Rubalcava (synths, beats), Box Carlos (beats),
Saint Brendan (synths,beats,vocals)- purvey a laid-back dub indiciative of voluminous
ganja consumption, if one can be so bold to speculate. (it's one of the universe's
ironclad laws that dub/reggae musicians are fond of the herb. Show me one who isn't,
and I'll show you a supermodel who doesn't do coke.)

Regardless of inherent 420ness, Dead Panda have made a wholly (if not Holy)
pleasant, self-released ep titled "Million Dollar Gun". Some modern dub is dissonant
and disorienting, particularly that which springs from the OnU Sound roster, while
another branch of modern dub stems from the short-lived ill-bient movement of the
mid/late '90s. By contrast, Dead Panda's mellow brand of the genre seems to be as
informed by shoegazer rock and the somber 4AD aesthetic as it is by Lee "Scratch"
Perry. This is some blissful, heavy-lidded Jah-liness. For more information visit
www.myspace.com/deadpandasoundsystem.

dsegal@ocweekly.com

(the following is for entertainment purposes only. don't try this at home.)

He parked the car six blocks away, then walked over to the house. Once he saw a
familar face, he walked back to his car & drove over using a different route. This was
the scariest part of the whole equation & he needed to be exact, to be absolutsly sure
about everything. This was not the first, or even the fifth time he had done this, but
the fear had never subsided, not one bit. And driving back to the city would not be
much more fun, every bronze he saw would be a tiny rollercoaster ride of paranoia
and terror, the whole time appearing relaxed as a casual traveler doing some random
sightseeing. That was a prime skill of the smuggler, to have a heart attack and not
show it.

He parked his car in the driveway. He took a deep breath & opened the car door.
He walked to the front door & knocked once, rang the bell once. The door opened
quickly & he stepped inside. The man behind the door closed it fast & silently.
He smiled at the man, the man smiled right back but gestured toward the kitchen.

Walking towards the kitchen, he smelled meat cooking. Two men were in the kitchen,
one was talking very loudly & earnestly, the other was listening and smiling.
The Loud One was cooking chorizo, the smiling one was weighing out fat green bundles on a large bakery scale. Behind him was a pile of similar bundles, probably a hundred or more. He greeted the two in the kitchen & the loud one punched him in the arm, then gave him a rough half-hug, half-shake. The loud man holds out his hand,
wiggling his fingers. The visitor digs his keys out of his pocket & drops them into his
hand. The Loud One turns and calls out a name, a thin teenager in black appears,
takes the keys and disappears again.

The Loud One led his visitor through the small house, past closed doors of tiny rooms,
to the end of a long hall. The Loud One produced a small silver key, then unlocked a brushed stainless steel deadbolt above the knob. This door was drab white with a brown frame like the others, but the others were old wood, this one was steel. They
entered the room & the Loud One locked the door behind them.

Inside the room were two pitbulls that looked like they ate some steroids, delivery boy
and all. And they were done eating steroids, & they wanted to eat their visitors. Both
dogs thrashed against their tethers, a heavy galvanized chain leading to large iron
eyebolts protruding from the wall. The beasts didn't bark, they seemed more hungry
than angry, which was odd because they sure looked well-fed.

The Loud One yelled a fierce order to the animals and after several tries they calmed
a bit, finally sulking off to a corner. Their chains were only long eneough for the pits to
reach the door. He noticed that one of the dogs had a splotch of white paint on it's
rump, he did not ask the Loud One why. These dogs had been chosen because they
were crazy, & there was no telling what mischief they produced when they weren't
protecting a gargantuan secret.

In the middle of the room was a square hatch, almost five feet across, rising from the
floor. Across the square metal door was a bar of plate steel. Anchoring the bar
through a hole on each end was a heavy black bicycle lock, the big "u" shaped locks,
these ran through eyebolts that were driven into the concrete floor.

A different key opened these locks. The hatch was opened, & cold air & the smell of
fresh concrete filled the room. The concrete was actually a couple years old, but still
retained it's cement smell. A light switch inside the hole lit up a ladder descending into
the ground. He spoke with the loud man for a moment, then climbed into the hole and
began to climb down the steel ladder, welded from plumbing pipes and rebar.

He got the end and dropped to the cement floor, igniting a cloud of stale dust.
He was twenty-five feet underground. He was in a narrow concrete tunnel, built as
quickly as a humans could possibly build a tunnel by hand, without the noise of
powertools to alarm people on the surface. This desire for a speedy construction and
a lack of safety was reflected in the quality of the tunnel's floor. It was not smooth.
It could not even be described as 'rough'. The results were almost cubist, a slapping
of trowel markings as varied as heiroglyphs across the subterranean floor. This very
uneven surface would be the least ideal place to push a shopping cart, barring deep
sand, but that was exactly what he was going to do.

There was a rusted shopping cart sitting there waiting for him. He stood up, the top
of his head only a couple inches from the ceiling, and looking down the tunnel, could
not see the end. There were lights strung along the path, but many were out & the
survivors were not bright enought to illuminate the destination. He pulled a pair of
foam earplugs from the front pocket of his pants, & inserted them into his ears.
He popped his knuckles, cracked his back, then grabbed the cart and began pushing.

As soon as the wheels of the shopping cart moved, the tunnel was filled with the
chorus of a thousand steel roller-skates, the magnified sound of the clapped-out cart
resounding through the rough-shod chamber. He kept pushing the rattle basket until
he finally saw another patchy metal ladder up ahead. He had walked over half a mile.

He stopped the cart & removed the earplugs. Climbing up the ladder, he reached to
knock on the hatch at the top, but it suddenly swung wide open. A fat man with
glasses popped his head down the hatch, laughing. He rubs his vistor on the head and
greets him, but does not invite him up. Nor will he ever. And there are not two crazy
dogs in the room at this end of the tunnel, once he was helping lower a parcel & he
saw the folding stock of some exotic assault weapon next to a pair of boots. He never
wanted to meet the owner of those boots. The fat man asks him a question & the other
man hands him a thick fold of green bills. The fat man's eyes grow wide with surprise,
then nodding, he disappears from view.

After a very long five minutes, the fat man calls from above, & the hatch shakes with
a loud THUMP. The hatch is filled with a fat round shape in a burlap sack. He pulls the
parcel through the hatch as the fat man lowers it, then it finally breaks through like
a big lumpy bay fresh into the world. The shopping cart bounces from the impact.

He tucks the package into the cart as well as he can, it's too large for the cart & a bit
unwieldy. The fat man whistles from above. He walks over to the ladder and a cold
bottle of beer is dropped into his hands. The fat man says his goodbyes & the hatch
closes. He is alone in the tunnel again. He reinserts the ear plugs, pops open the beer.
He takes a long, long swig & starts pushing the now overloaded cart back across the
dark tunnel.

The journey is excruciating. Every chunk in the floor is larger now, sometimes stopping the momentum of the cart completely. He finishes the beer so all ten fingers
can grip the shopping cart.

He is relieved when he can see the first ladder. His body is worn out from shoving the
parcel across the rough floor, a two hundred pound nightmare of logistics gone wrong.
The Loud One is waiting for him, & lowers a rope to raise the huge lump up through
the hatch into the room of the two crazy dogs. He pulls out his earplugs, his head hurts
from the bone-rattling vibrations. Once back in the house, another shopping cart is
employed, this one much nicer than the one in the tunnel, he thinks.

The large mound is rolled up through the kitchen past the smiling man still weighing
his packages, & right up to the door leading to the carport. His car has already been
backed up for him, the trunk is already unlocked. Loud One looks out the door, looks
in every direction, then mutters "Go."

The cart is rolled right up to the bumper & the sack goes into the Caprice just like
that. The trunk closes & the thin teenager in black tosses him the keys.

"Vaya con dios"

"Gracias" He was back in his car again, he felt better already. The scariest part was
over. The fear that either place could get exposed while he was in the tunnel, the fear
that the whole mess could cave in around him, knowing that no one was going to call
for help. Sure, they would probably dig him out themselves, with the same skill that
made the damn place so inviting in the first place. But he was out, & now a ride back
to the city in rush hour traffic, blending in with the masses, not going too fast or too
slow. It was a lot of stress going down in the tunnel, but it was well worth the fear,
paranoia, & stomach-churning anxiety.

Their prices were un-believable.

He pulled out his phone and hit a number.

"Hello?"

"Hey! Listen for my car. As soon as I roll up, run outside & help me lift this
Dead Panda out of my trunk".

-click-

We had a hacker! Some no-good S.O.B. was trying to use our site to
promote his/her own b.s. We don't know who this loser is, but if we find
out who or what they were pushing we're gonna get mean & nasty them.

KNOW THIS: We will NEVER send you a lame message like "Check out my
buddies site, Blah Blah Blah" We are here for the sake of Dead Panda & the
fans of Dead Panda. Also, as legitimate artists we would not 'shill' to our fans!

If you get a SPAM from Dead Panda, PLEASE notify us ASAP.

We will block & report all spammers.

Love, Saint Brendan

If you'd like Dead Panda to perform at your club, venue, or event,
then please leave a message. Our myspace is the BEST way
to get ahold of us. Place the word 'BOOKING' in your subject line.

Also- Put your Phone Number in the message so we can respond faster.

(*In general we try to book shows at least 2 weeks in advance for proper
promotion & preparation, but if it's a last-minute thing go ahead & ask...)