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Arguing Oxford commas with WeAreJackStrong
IB’s Salty Frog still haunted by the ghosts of sailors on shore leave
WeAreJackStrong: no-frills classic rock, few covers, and plenty of camaraderie.
Video:
GONZO: Arguing Oxford commas with WeAreJackStrong
“I’d lose that if I were you,” WeAreJackStrong bassist/vocalist Gregg Oliver advises me. He’s referring to my faith in humanity, specifically, the place of creators in a world where Artificial Intelligence has evolved from pervasive to invasive. I’m amused by the contradiction: such a pessimistic view for a man who created a band that references a fictional character who is meant to be all of us, writing songs about dealing with the stressors of life and, with support, emerging stronger. Then again, he thinks the Oxford comma is cool. It is not. Neither is it hip, bitchin, or useful.
I’m mulling over all this at The Salty Frog in Imperial Beach, where the band has started their set. To my ears, the sound is perfectly balanced. (Not surprising, given the combined experience of house soundman Chris and drummer Mitch Grant, the founder of SEAS Productions, a full-service audio/visual company based in Oceanside.) The place is situated in a quiet area; many of the surrounding stores and eateries are closed, either because of the late hour or the latest economy. The bar’s clientele has changed over the years, from a Navy SEAL hangout, suitable for sailors on shore leave, to non-military locals who come to hear live music and grab a drink. But the interior still retains signs of its former military focus: a wall painting depicts three muscular anthropomorphic frogs in Navy gear, seated around a table and drinking. No amphibians are drinking tonight, so I check out the back part of the bar, where two humans are playing pool. I wait to see if they transform or maybe let a little “ribbit” escape their mouths, but they just keep playing.
I grab some pics and footage before stepping outside again, where I’m still able to hear the music while I get my nicotine fix and chat with Jacob, the doorman for tonight. He tells me that patrons are always respectful; they come here for the music and to socialize. There’s an immediate connection as we dive into punk rock history and discuss our favorite bands. His friend is looking at my arms, checking out my ink, studying the lines and shading. He’s an artist named Chris, and we bond over my KISS tattoo, discussing the finer points of their second release, Hotter Than Hell. He shows me a comic he’s drawing for his son: a story of Superman vs. The Hulk that visually samples several styles of the icons’ renderings through the ages. They’re battling through their own histories.
Jacob tells me I have to check out bartender Brandy’s 3D tattoo, and I belly up to the bar to do so over a Diet Coke. The body art doesn’t have its full effect without 3D glasses, however, and I suggest she carry some around for dorks like me who want to see the alien pop out of her skin instead of a red and blue image. It’s a cool tat, though, and it leads to an impromptu education on all things extra-terrestrial. Brandy is well-versed, and I tell her that I’m skeptical, but want to believe, because, when I look around at the carbon-based life forms around me who were the fastest swimmers, I figure there’s got to be more intelligence out there.
As WeAreJackStrong winds up their first of two sets, I grab Oliver for a video interview. We play a game called “Justify” — the musician is challenged with something and has to justify it. Jaco Pastorius needing only four strings when Oliver uses five and the second “g” in his first name elicit matter-of-fact answers. It’s only when the Oxford comma gets brought up and he justifies it with “bacon, and eggs” as opposed to “bacon and eggs” that things get more animated.
Following the interview, Oliver introduces me to several members of bands such as Birds Kill Bugs, hyping up the others in the musical community that make nights like this possible. Soon Oliver and his group (drummer Grant, guitarist/ vocalist Dan Scott and sax/flute/ keyboardist Jay McGuerty) are set to play another set of no-frills classic rock. And though they “threatened” a night of all original music, a cover of Nick Lowe’s “Peace Love and Understanding” done Elvis Costello-style breaks that streak. Before they play, a man named David, carrying his dog Lola, stops the band and thanks them for playing live music, and he also thanks Jacob for having a place where original artists can play.
There are few things better than a night filled with music, great conversation, three-dimensional aliens, art, and a friendly dog. Whatever their relative intelligence vis-a-vis aliens, I’m glad the people I interacted with won the swimming race when they were sperm. And fuck the Oxford comma.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Arguing Oxford commas with WeAreJackStrong
IB’s Salty Frog still haunted by the ghosts of sailors on shore leave
Arguing Oxford commas with WeAreJackStrong
IB’s Salty Frog still haunted by the ghosts of sailors on shore leave
WeAreJackStrong: no-frills classic rock, few covers, and plenty of camaraderie.
Video:
GONZO: Arguing Oxford commas with WeAreJackStrong
“I’d lose that if I were you,” WeAreJackStrong bassist/vocalist Gregg Oliver advises me. He’s referring to my faith in humanity, specifically, the place of creators in a world where Artificial Intelligence has evolved from pervasive to invasive. I’m amused by the contradiction: such a pessimistic view for a man who created a band that references a fictional character who is meant to be all of us, writing songs about dealing with the stressors of life and, with support, emerging stronger. Then again, he thinks the Oxford comma is cool. It is not. Neither is it hip, bitchin, or useful.
I’m mulling over all this at The Salty Frog in Imperial Beach, where the band has started their set. To my ears, the sound is perfectly balanced. (Not surprising, given the combined experience of house soundman Chris and drummer Mitch Grant, the founder of SEAS Productions, a full-service audio/visual company based in Oceanside.) The place is situated in a quiet area; many of the surrounding stores and eateries are closed, either because of the late hour or the latest economy. The bar’s clientele has changed over the years, from a Navy SEAL hangout, suitable for sailors on shore leave, to non-military locals who come to hear live music and grab a drink. But the interior still retains signs of its former military focus: a wall painting depicts three muscular anthropomorphic frogs in Navy gear, seated around a table and drinking. No amphibians are drinking tonight, so I check out the back part of the bar, where two humans are playing pool. I wait to see if they transform or maybe let a little “ribbit” escape their mouths, but they just keep playing.
I grab some pics and footage before stepping outside again, where I’m still able to hear the music while I get my nicotine fix and chat with Jacob, the doorman for tonight. He tells me that patrons are always respectful; they come here for the music and to socialize. There’s an immediate connection as we dive into punk rock history and discuss our favorite bands. His friend is looking at my arms, checking out my ink, studying the lines and shading. He’s an artist named Chris, and we bond over my KISS tattoo, discussing the finer points of their second release, Hotter Than Hell. He shows me a comic he’s drawing for his son: a story of Superman vs. The Hulk that visually samples several styles of the icons’ renderings through the ages. They’re battling through their own histories.
Jacob tells me I have to check out bartender Brandy’s 3D tattoo, and I belly up to the bar to do so over a Diet Coke. The body art doesn’t have its full effect without 3D glasses, however, and I suggest she carry some around for dorks like me who want to see the alien pop out of her skin instead of a red and blue image. It’s a cool tat, though, and it leads to an impromptu education on all things extra-terrestrial. Brandy is well-versed, and I tell her that I’m skeptical, but want to believe, because, when I look around at the carbon-based life forms around me who were the fastest swimmers, I figure there’s got to be more intelligence out there.
As WeAreJackStrong winds up their first of two sets, I grab Oliver for a video interview. We play a game called “Justify” — the musician is challenged with something and has to justify it. Jaco Pastorius needing only four strings when Oliver uses five and the second “g” in his first name elicit matter-of-fact answers. It’s only when the Oxford comma gets brought up and he justifies it with “bacon, and eggs” as opposed to “bacon and eggs” that things get more animated.
Following the interview, Oliver introduces me to several members of bands such as Birds Kill Bugs, hyping up the others in the musical community that make nights like this possible. Soon Oliver and his group (drummer Grant, guitarist/ vocalist Dan Scott and sax/flute/ keyboardist Jay McGuerty) are set to play another set of no-frills classic rock. And though they “threatened” a night of all original music, a cover of Nick Lowe’s “Peace Love and Understanding” done Elvis Costello-style breaks that streak. Before they play, a man named David, carrying his dog Lola, stops the band and thanks them for playing live music, and he also thanks Jacob for having a place where original artists can play.
There are few things better than a night filled with music, great conversation, three-dimensional aliens, art, and a friendly dog. Whatever their relative intelligence vis-a-vis aliens, I’m glad the people I interacted with won the swimming race when they were sperm. And fuck the Oxford comma.
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