Who is the 2011 Coachella NOS MONSTER!?!?!

NOS energy drinks hold 357 MG of caffeine. When microwaved, the liquid solution actually melts and destroyed ceramic plates! When consumed by a human, even just one can, you are committed to having an ulcer at some point in your life! Fortunately, for the 27 people residing at the Coachella NOS Estate in Palm Desert, California this past weekend, we had an unlimited supply, unlimited energy, unlimited drugs, and liquor! The effect of Fear and Loathing during our pot smoking adolescence has led us to a house of ultimate physical destruction and ultimate mental enlightenment. A place where masters of the silliness like the NOS Father could finally thrive as crazed loonies jabbering gibberish at the Statue of David’s dirty condom hanging from a limp stone wang!! This is not our first adventure of such desires. It was our sophomore year in such situations for my heterosexual life partner Julian Gavilanes and I, last year taking the word ‘Party’ to a new height. Yet, as true renaissance men we had to progress. On a level of 1-10, our goal this year was to reach a 13th level of rambunctiousness! Meaning that between Julian, Father NOS, and myself we would reach, yes, a 39!! We had to go further, harder, and sillier than ever before!


In the past year of 2010, a similar territory was created as a home when away from the Coachella Music Festival. Here I learned from ‘Father NOS’ the true effects of such a concoction. This energy drink does something beyond waking you up after your lunch break to make it through the rest of the work day. After consuming so much it changes you, it melts you, and births a new life form, an outcast, an alien, it transforms you into a ‘NOS Monster’! ‘Father NOS’ legally know as Aaron Glatzer, told us tales of years past, the mayhem he spread, and the powers that NOS can give you. Father NOS was the original NOS Monster, he has been so enlighten by NOS he doesn’t even drink it anymore… he eats it!! (http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1593652139#!/video/video.php?v=10150552432230467) In the year of 2010, I, Styles Bentley became the NOS monster during the traditional episode of Cribs Coachella. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63Da3uCR8Xg)  And now, 2011, a new NOS Monster must be crowned!! But who would reach the new heights of silliness, perhaps perform a 14 on the silliness scale? We could only wait and see who the NOS would choose to posses.




The NOS Father, Aaron Glatzer, at
our Coachella NOS Estate.

 Newly a single man, Julian Gavilanes (yes, he’s single ladies) had a raging boner from the time we took our first shot of Tequila in the Alaskan Lodge at the Sea-Tac Airport Thursday morning at 6am. New to sexuality in the 21 century, Julian forgot to bring any “protection”, and realized this at the first sight of a girl in a bikini at the pool. Luckily, a local Flamingo was in town and purchased him a variety pack of condoms from the convenience store. The first night was unsuccessfully sexy for him. After the high consumption of booze and NOS I’m positive his penis was inoperable and a quarter inch in length. Despite his kebbler elf sized wang, Julian finished the first night with an epic 720 gainer off the diving board completely naked! He was not in control. NOS was.


The weekend continued and Julian’s condoms had not even been opened!! The second day of the concert, while walking the half mile from the parking lot to the festival, Allen Stone, (yes, of ‘Allen Stone Makes Dreams Come True’) noticed Julian with his hands down his pants following the group in an awkward wiggle. He approached and inquired the situation;
“Julian! What the Fuck are you doing?!”
“I’m putting on a condom!!” He replied.
“What! A condom? It’s 97 degrees, you don’t have a bonesie, and are definitely not about to have sexual relations?!” Then repeats,
“What the Fuck are you doing?!”
In passionate defense Julian states,
“Look man, I got my pink fanny pack, I got my wrist band, I got my tequila water bottles, my Dr. Pepper lip smackers, and I got a fucking condom on my little wankis, I mean FUCK! You never know what’s going to happen at Coachella!!”



Julain after attaching his limped wang condom.



No Julian, you never do know what’s going to happen! Like you probably didn’t think you would have given out 738 hugs, primarily to other men, you probably didn’t think you were going to spill a bottle of Tequila on your bloody cut and cracked feet burning them to all extremes, and you probably after 2 hours of wearing your condom at Coachella didn’t think it would fall off in the middle of the dance party to Yelle at the Mohave tent. Once you realized that a condom slid off your dick and out the bottom of your board shorts you continued to pick it up in excitement thinking it was money. Suddenly turning disgusted realizing you were picking up a condom off the ground, yet instantly again realizing it was your condom that fell off your limp dick making you completely giddy with pride that it stayed on your wang the entire time!! Then you smelled it!? Needless to say the levels of silliness were definitely hitting a 13!!

The final evening was upon us! To ensure our silliness level had hit a 13, the NOS Father, Julain, and I did the only thing we knew could spill us over the top. We started a skinny dipping swim session in our NOS Coachella Estate pool, the largest residential pool in the Palm Springs area!! We all jumped in with nothing but birthday suits, NOS, and booze! Feeling the water flow over our bodies was such relief after a treacherous weekend of molly, sassafras, cs2g5 or some crazy shit like that, cocaine, NOS, Don Q, Bud Light, marijuana cigarettes, Tequila, Vodka, laced sweet tarts, and some acid. As we all surfaced from our inaugural skinny dip jump, we realized that no others had followed. We were 3 silly boys, naked, in the poosie. Yes, my friends we had all reached a 13!! The rest of the night went as most do, sleepless, naked dance parties, the filming of the traditional cribs episode, drugs, liquor, NOS, NOS, NOS!!! At the end of the evening it was 7:20 in the morning. The sun was fully up in the sky as NOS Father, Julian, myself, Blakely, Deltron 3000, and some crazy chick Pierce brought over caught the first rays. Julian looked as though he was relieved. I asked him;
“Julian! What the Fuck are you doing?!”
He says,
“I was wearing my condom, and I had to pee… so I started peeing… then it filled up the condom until it exploded on my tummy all warm.” He replied in delighted abandon.
At that point it was clear and evident, that the Coachella NOS Estate would crown this year’s NOS Monster as JULIAN GAVILANES!!!! Congrats my heterosexual life partner, I love you, welcome once again to insanity!!

Kanye West finished the festival weekend with one of the most amazing live performances of all time, just as Julian performed with his highest levels of silliness at a 13!! “Can we get much higher” Kanye asks?! Yes, Mr. West , we can with the power of NOS, friends, love, and music…. So high. I will leave you all with the inspiration behind Julian’s condom wearing. Gabriel and Julian’s father Diego Gavilanes always told them as children…
“Boys! Muchachos! Remember to always wear protection, I’m wearing one right now!”
So let us all strap condoms on our limp penises and rejoice in the glory that is the 2011 NOS MONSTER, Julian Paul Gavilanes!
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Allen Stone Makes Dreams Come True

A furiously crowded Nuemos rambled with anticipation. Allen Stone, a singer song writer, from the oh so rural Chewelah, Wa is achieving the American dream. Not to be confused with the other American dream that was sought out by millions immigrating to the new western land, but the small droplet of hope and passion that some people actually still have! The people who are not subsiding to society, who are following a talent, a skill, a passion just as so many artists have before. But this ain’t no game like our daddies played, this shit here is new, it’s different, and Allonious Funk (as I like to call him) is playin, and damn boi, he’s good! Like so many country boys with a dream, Allen packed up his handkerchief and walking stick traveling outward to the biggest and closet city, Spokane. No, no no, only an idiot would do that, he moved to Seattle! From than he played cafes, house parties, and any gig a man could get. The struggle of every local musician, except Allen’s raw talent slowly started making a local impact. In the last 2 years he has progressed from playing the Q Café, to selling out the High Dive, than the Tractor, and to what belief, a boy may believe his dreams to come true when he sold out the historic Crocodile! But now, after continuously touring the states, hot off of playing multiple SXSW showcases, Allen Stone is on the headlining bill at Nuemos. Excitement is happening, hard work is paying off, I am getting completely drunk and having a great time! Then the house lights drop.

A sound begins to grow from the speakers, though through the darkness, there was light. A glowing halo of wavy blonde locks flows to center stage. The crowd chants in rhythm with the band, “Allen Stone, Allen Stone, Allen Stone”! He had the people, wild, at “hello”!  He began to sing, what I and most Seattleites are cursing about this time of the year, “I can’t stand the rain”. Smooth, sexual, fucking groovy baby. The band was in instant synchronicity, Allen’s voice, smooth and gritty, cheerful and soulful, warm, the party rages! Strung together by Allonious himself a band of local players was highlighted by Sharief Hobley on lead guitar, a musician from NYC who’s played with big soul sound hitters like John Legend. To Al’s left, BGP front man Brandon Ghorley kept the keys and harmonies kickin, along with Andrew Vait from Eternal Fair tootin on that saxophone, and superior booms and blaps thumped by Tyler Carrol, a UW student with fucking skills. On the sticks, Nick Molenda was steady, smooth, and striking side by side with Greg Ehrlich on the organ pushin in the funk with a goal to unload the soul. “3 TIMES”… BAM BAM BAM, Allen shouts and the band delivers. Right on righteous brother of bravery! All the while, mayhem is happening, an overjoyed lad in the crowd simultaneously was dancing vigorously with four ladies of lush and singing lyric for lyric every cut. Slowly he pushed the females off one by one, to put his full energy into the music, and perhaps save the ladies for later. Needless to say Allen Stone on stage is a tractor beam of attention! His flailing hands and grandpa thick spectacles leaves most newcomers in awkward belief that the voice they are hearing is… that guy?! Note by note, he guides you with a sound and tone of a soulful brotha with lyrical content that is deep, emotional, and even at times political. Somewhere in the middle of the set, it seemed that an elf princess hovered to center stage as Allonious Funk took a seat at the keys. This was no elf, but perhaps a princess as her voice was perfection for the song “Reality” arranged tonight as a duet. Her name is Alessandra Rose.  Her and Allen’s voices were a blessing to experience together and needs to be laid down on some wax stat. The moment of mellow was quickly changed up to a power house ending with cuts like “Vibe With You”, “Push, Pull, Tear”, and “Not Another Break Up Song”. We danced and drank, cheered with joys, and even sang Happy Birthday to one of Allen’s high school teachers who was in attendance! A thanks is given, but the crowd pounded for more, when moments later Allen returned to stage with his guitar. The crowded and inebriated Nuemos populous went silent as “Last to Speak” resonated the rafters with righteous glory. A dream that we all were watching unfold before our eyes was making the dreams that we have seem possible in an impossible world of hurdles and bounds. Allen Stone has landed on the other side and is lighting the way for all believers to follow in sound and soul. Go into the light, and find Allen Stone.

www.facebook.com/allenstone
                                                                                                                               

The Sexual Insanity that is ‘Sugar Skulls’

Two eyes, a lens, and a machine of power far beyond our universe took hold of my conscious being and melted it to the floor. Her stare pierced through each strings vibration, charming them to tingle in the tones of her soul. Vibrations were everywhere, and a taste for sin dove down my spinal cord and into my toes. These girls are sexy, sensual and divine, goddesses harvesting the fruit of my loins through electro keyed funk punk pendulum of poweress metal purities!  A symphony of strings struck from the violin player, her fingers moving as if not attached to her hand, audibly creating her hallucinations for all to hear. Her dress transparent in the stage light gave way to her stockings, dancing in synchronicity with the swaying of her arm, piecing together the woes and wants of the typical man fantasy.  Which most typical men aren’t quite typical at all. They’re filled with wild sex fantasies of multiple woman and snorting copious amounts of cocaine, at the same time! Watching the Sugar Skulls on stage made that all seem possible. A roaring stream of sexual insanity flourished by the thrilling echoes of “love me” or “fuck me” or maybe that’s just what I was hearing… ah, I ache for more. The tenderness of each face radiates the stage with awe as my head bounces to the drummer’s strikes. He pounds the rubble into a feminine ensemble and makes everyone want to say, “fuck yea”.  As each sight shares an epic beauty, your attention is not held for long as equivalent qualifications jive next door. From the violin player I move center stage and find Ursula. Stunning. I have never seen a female bass player pound the foundation of the civilization that is Sugar Skulls like I did that night. Her fingers where quick and nimble, powerful yet full of finesse. Talented and tantalizing! I gazed in with a blank stare, unexpected of wild desire. Her eyes move across the crowd as if they were a politely rolling wave gracing the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a rustic groove. They locked with mine. I was thrown into a contortion of, YYYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAA!! I rumbled with a furry that I hoped to be equivalent with the proportions of Sugar Skulls, and I believe it was. Answered by the drummer, I strode upon the blessed alter and proceeded to seduce and conduct the stimulation of sinful desire, of sexual destiny, of what the early believers called rock and roll. And yes, I rocked the fuck out to one nasty drum solo that my mind never fully comprehended in the first place. Nicely done. And yet, the light beams still reach beyond, further onto the stage to find behind a Motif which motive is to manipulate men into her malice and madness, the key player powered by the red vinyl tie strapped around her neck, holding on for safety as she shrills spoken words of acceptable insanity. Her left heel stomps in time as she simultaneously plays harmonies with crooked fingers of fantasy. At times pure punk was flowing, and at times the funk, at times the metal, at times Bob Ross’s scientifically experimental twin painted rainbows of sound waves overhead that dripped into the crowd and melted the wicked away. The Sugar Skulls finished and began to leave… but, they forgot about one thing, their promise! The promise of silly toys! Lighted gems and a model Chevy machine hung gracefully from my chain of glitter. Thank you key player’s mom, for the Marde Gras beads! They are hung in my home around the Buddha’s neck, in peaceful remembrance of the night I was saved, the night I found salvation. The night I saw the Sugar Skulls.
                                                                              

Celebrating Soul in the Silliest

A lighted way we follow. Towards a hill of sorts, with people superior from most upon it. This is only a quick stop on a journey to a time far beyond my generation. Proper credentials are required for such a place, so fetch them we do upon this, hill. A light on racism is granted from a humble colored man and his classical music. We follow their changes in a tortoise paced rhythm along twisted hills and lighted paths. We search out tonight in celebration, specific and metaphoric … to find release. A gangster from the east coast had reached another passage of life, which is rather odd, but worth applause. If you may, now clap in his rejoice, I would be thankful.
We found a point to go ashore and free ourselves from being stricken by restraint. The fresh air was exceptional and our fingertips ignited with flame.  “Ahh, just a short distance now,” he said as we approached an orderly waste! 11:15pm… wretched timing to travel to a time far beyond my generation! Must we stay in this dimension for much longer?! Our throats quenched the nectar of a new mind. The perimeter walls bowed convex from the capacity of similar thoughts as smiles and laughs smeared down the tinted windows. Fun was happening. The neighboring establishment gave us temporary shelter and nectars a’ plenty as our star gate to salvation slowly relieved itself of patrons! Our excitement was now growing like a beanstalk, passing the clouds, ready to climb! Action was taken. The cost of compliance with time travel was $10 a person. I paid and was tagged like the others with ink. Inside, a dim tunnel of bricks echoed with love, we knew that we must make it through and find our destination of destiny!
The vibrations grew more thunderous with each step. My toes started to tingle, then my legs and hips. My fingers felt electric, everything was changing, you could see beyond, you could feel the soul. Endless limbs flailed in discontent from the real world and journeyed into a world far beyond our minds, a world where you can watch the conception of all the sounds floating through the mainstream. We made it! So what now? What do we do with wealth of inspiration and desire, a time immortalized on vinyl, speaking to us face to face? We do the only thing such noble steeds as ourselves may, get completely shit faced and dance our asses off!! Hit me two times!! Soul Nite at the Lo-Fi, peep that shit fools.

Who is the Grinderman?

It’s almost as you can hear each tiny scale move individually within their mesh armored exterior. Warriors of passion, with a cause far beyond music, unpompously stiff with poise, icons of the other side.  These guys are cool. I mean James Dean cool. I mean James Dean cool plus they rock the fuck out! They make Ferris Bueller look like the home schooled kid who eats his boogers and pulls his pants down all the way to use the urinal! Yet, it’s got to be more than the classy vintage skinny suits and mustaches. The sweltering crunch of guitars swelling and sweeping through outrageously surreal and intensively real lyrics adds a jackpot of points to the cool scale.
Yes the music is all there, its great music. So great, they have headlined European festivals with the likes of Radiohead, Jay-Z, and Neil Young on stage in front of thousands upon thousands of fans. Fans that have supported the Bad Seeds through 14 albums, countless Cave projects, and now this, Grinderman. Playing a sold out show at the 1,500 capacity King Kat Theater Seattle, WA 98121 during the 2010 Thanksgiving weekend, one could only be stoked to have the opportunity to see Nick and the boys in a theater setting and not the arena sized venue they’re used to playing across the pond. Grinderman released their self-titled debut in 2007, the band consisting entirely of Bad Seed members including Warren Ellis, Martyn P. Casey, Jim Sclavunos, and naturally Nick Cave. 
A King of his own conquest, Nick Cave is by far not just an elite artist, but a performer that hypnotizes the crowed with the intensity of Zeus hurling lightning bolts from the heavens! He tramples the stage like a heard of rhinoceroses from one side to the other,  while sound engineers duck and jive to clear cables, he stairs into each set of eyes he can see from his stage. He embodies you for a moment before he continues on to the next lucky soul. For Mr. Cave must be the Grinderman!  Naturally superior from the world, theories and metaphors could be conducted to his Grinderman-ness.
Yet, I find myself veering sight while Nick tromps to the other side of the crowd, to see the fires of hell erupt from the stage. It was the devil himself, playing a fiddle.  And if this devil went down to Georgia, he would fuck Johnny up! The man named Warren Ellis is a possessed and crazed lunatic of genius proportions.  With a rack of at least ten guitars from electric mandolins, fiddles, 4 and 6 string guitars, and a pedal-tropolis of effects below, Satan erupted in flames from the beginning. My mind was ultimately perplexed at the sight, needless to say, it was awesome. Even Nick, after decades of friendship and work, gave Ellis a look of “what the fuck!?” during a few tripped out guitar solos, shredding his bow into strands of what must have been the mane of a unicorn. Seeing his face is like reading the deepest, most interesting, and insightful novel. He seeps passion. Yes, it is true; I believe Warren Ellis himself is the Grinderman.
Together all the boys played a show that was by far the most charismatic performance I have ever witnessed.  Luckily, Mr. Cave has a wonderfully obsessed cult following across the United States, with a large portion residing besides me here in Seattle, so the likelihood of seeing either the Bad Seeds or Grinderman in your northwest future seems promising. Unless of course the entire 2012 thing is correct then we’re all fucked. Well, except for Warren Ellis… he is the Grinderman!

Check out Grinderman.com for more!