What does Steven Seagal have to do with rock 'n' roll? Everything. After putting on 7,000 pounds and assembling a lite-rock troupe that makes Jimmy Buffett look like GG Allin, the world's ex-greatest living action hero is supposedly aching to put a Jimi Hendrix biopic together, starring not Lenny Kravitz in the title role but . . . Steven Seagal. Holy Ted Danson at the fuckin' Friar's Club, next thing you know, Sly "Jiggaman" Stallone will be writing and directing a big-screen take on the Tupac and Biggie slayings. Oh shit, um, actually, that's likely on the docket, too. The once and future Rocky Balboa is reportedly torn between starring as pivotal, whistle- blowing L.A.P.D. detective Russell Poole . . . or Mase. . . . Speaking of hip-hoppin', hard-rockin', and more people who shouldn't be performing either, Summer Sanitarium, the SKULL-CRUSHINGEST tour since Journey, REO, and Styx forged their broadswords in goat blood, is ripe with newsmakers. Metallica, who temporarily ruined the lives of file-sharing freaks who took joy in ripping off shitty bands and shittier record labels, is un- unforgiven. Their depressing ProTooled attempt at punk-thrash legitimacy, St. Anger, was No. 1 with a gold bullet on Billboard last week, keeping another pathetic reinvention (Jewel "I have tits! And an ass! Check 'em out" Kilcher) out of the top slot. More Sanitarium, um, "dope": Limp Bizkit's latest treatise on poopers and wee-wees, Panty Sniffer, was rejected by Interscope, ostensibly because it didn't expound upon the landmark geopolitical sagacity of Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water. Further down the lineup, Chester Bennington, co-frontman of the undisputed greatest literacy-challenged rap-rock sextet ever, Linkin Park, was released from a hospital last Wednesday after suffering a mysterious stomach ailment,
redundantly vowing: "I plan on ripping everyone's face off this summer on Summer Sanitarium." 2 LEGIT 2 QUIT! Finally, SS opener Deftones bailed on Saturday's EndFest at the Gorge, not because they collectively realized the staggering ghastliness of everyone they tour with, but for mysterious unspecified reasons. . . . In other what-and-why-the-hell show cancellation madness, all on the evidently cursed date of Wed., June 25, Hidden Cameras will live up to their covert moniker instead of playing the Croc, while Meat Loaf's faulty meat loaf (aka "intestinal outpatient surgery" for you accuracy-in-journalism psychos) will postpone his huge farewell stop at Marymoor Park, and Jah Wobble will call his Chop Suey gig quits due to no-dough issues following the cancellation of Matt Groening's All Tomorrow's Parties blowout in L.A. Small consolation: ATP had a slightly longer shelf run than Futurama. SNAP! . . . In other ancient denim-fest news that doesn't remotely affect us, New York's on-again, off-again Field Day ensued on June 9 at Giants Stadium, allowing East Coast hipsters the chance to see Radiohead play in an end zone (lucky fucking us: The instruments of God will grace the White River Amphitheatre on Sunday, Aug. 31). One such potentially fortunate ex-Seattleite is former headmistress of this column, Leah Greenblatt, who reported face time with ex-Smashing Pumpkins guitarist James Iha at a Brendan Benson party in the Big Apple. I shall take this opportunity to report face time at Greenblatt's going-away party with two members of Minus the Bear, who invited me to 'shroom at Pacific Science Center's Laser Zeppelin show. . . . While the worlds of sex and indie rock should never meet, let it be gossiped that the White Stripes' Jack White is getting his scissorhands all over Renée Zellweger's melon-suckin' mug and more. Dude, keep it
real. Meg is hotterrelated or notand Karen O, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' bangs-happy frontlady, is the hottest, because Playboy offered her cover action (so much for the blondes-with-big-tits concept that's sold a trillion copies) and she amazingly declined, keeping said sex and indie-rock divide alive. . . . A similarly unnecessary screw job ensued in Michigan, where oft shat-upon rap god Ludacris canceled an August county fair gig following concerns that his cameo in 2 Fast 2 Furiousum, I mean, his lyricswere unsuitable for mass consumption. Call me what you will, but when I think of Tilt-A-Whirls and pie-eating contests, I think, "I wanna get you in the back seat, windows up. That's the way you like to fuck." . . . OK, enough with the quasi-legit, mainstream hip-hop; on to the fake-ass, ironic, white, yet damn fine hip-hop. Gold Chains played one of the most memorably, lovably wack in-stores ever at Sonic Boom on Wednesday, as cane-sporting emcee Topher LaFata treated a sparse crowd of midday shoppers to mike-free renditions of his newest sex jams, while the ladies in his live band languidly robo-posed onstage. The Chain gang later joined the Dismemberment Plan at Graceland for an underwhelming first of two final shows ever, which at least boasted cameos from Ben Gibbard and Cex, who trolled around in the crowd taking requests from disarmingly polite, hand-raising youth. (P.S. to Ben: This column could stand to be a little more localized, so drop me an e-mail next time Death Cab for Cutie hooks up with some geishas and smack.) . . . Thursday found Le Tigre taking the Showbox stage in glow-in- the-dark Betty Rubble gowns, opening with a gnarly electro take of the Pointer Sisters' "I'm So Excited," basically performing the same set that they did last March, yet effortlessly astounding and inspiring hundreds of proactive, pogoing, feminist enthusiasts. Saturday's Blood
Brothers-headlined Dungeons & Dragons prom at Graceland was best encapsulated onstage by co-frontman Johnny Whitney: "So, um, why are none of you dressed up like Dungeons & Dragons characters?" Decidedly older nerds had their plates full at the Showbox on Friday, where New Zealand's the Clean demurely dirtied up psych-garage selections from Anthology, opening for always affable headliners Yo La Tengo. . . . From there, it was a mirthful jaywalk back to Graceland for a most unmirthful event: a benefit for the family of Whip/Karp drummer Scotty Jernigan, who passed away in a boating accident on June 10. Hastily added headliners Pretty Girls Make Graves gamely attempted to rile a morose, half-full room, but to paraphrase the Whip's Jared Warren: The place was tired of crying and clearly affected by the loss of a respected, beloved friend. Our sincerest condolences.
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