Search Results for: Как понять что девушка нравится парню больше в insta---batmanapollo

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Filmmakers from all over Georgia and the Southeast will be given the opportunity to make comedy shorts and have them screened live at the Plaza Theater in Atlanta. Contestants will register for the event. On the Thursday start day at midnight, we email all registered teams the mystery prop & line of dialogue that must be included in each submission. Videos are due back by Sunday at 9pm (69 hours later) in digital form. Submissions shall not exceed 3 minutes in length. Videos are judged primarily on comedy, so don’t freak out if your video quality isn’t through the roof. Hell, shoot it on an iPhone, just make it hilarious. Pack these videos with as much funny as you can, and you may just win! Registration is $69 per team, and no limit to team members.

Judges for 2013:

Dave Willis started his career in 1996 as a producer on Space Ghost Coast to Coast. In 2000, he co-created Aqua Teen Hunger Force and provided the voice of Meatwad and the irascible next-door neighbor, Carl. Willis is also executive producer of Squidbillies and co-created and co-directed the live-action series, Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell.

Jim Fortier is an executive producer and writer for Adult Swim’s Squidbillies. He was also a writer & producer for The Brak Show, Brak Presents the Brak Show Starring Brak, Adult Swim Eyewitness Nightbeat, and Space Ghost Coast to Coast.

Casper Kelly is co-creator, writer, and director of Adult Swim’s TV show Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell. He has also written for Squidbillies, Stroker & Hoop, Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law, and Aqua Teen Hunger Force and is author of the book, “More Stories About Spaceships and Cancer”.

Austin L. Ray has covered pop culture for the likes of Rolling Stone, The A.V. Club, Creative Loafing, and one terrible gas station periodical. He’s interviewed countless comedians, including Louis CK, Patton Oswalt, David Cross, Marc Maron, and Kyle Kinane. One time at Bonnaroo, Zach Galifiankis screamed in his face.

Lucky Yates is from Detroit. He plays Dr. Krieger on Archer and was a bunch of different characters on Good Eats. He works at Dad’s Garage Theatre Co.

Links

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Bio

Iron Jayne is a supergroup of the Atlanta underground. Hailing from one of the most vibrant music scenes in the country, this danceable new post-punk-inflected indie pop band is comprised of members from four of the city’s most beloved, buzz-worthy projects—bizarro art-punk collective The Back Pockets, junkyard carnival rockers Gun Party, instrumental noise progsters Vegan Coke and the shoegazey Cassandras.

Chad LeBlanc (Vegan Coke), hails originally from Houma, La., (swampland) and nestles comfortably inside his 10th band as Iron Jayne’s bassist. Born to tour, Chad already has his name embroidered on a seat in the mini-van—the front seat of course.

Ryan Odom (Cassandras), the only Northerner in the band, spawns from Bow, N.H. Self- proclaimed “bedroom guitarist” since he was a wee lad of 13, Odom now heads up lead guitar in Iron Jayne. Ryan is the cutest person on the face of the planet, and wore matching white polar bear hats with his girlfriend this past Halloween. He works at a local restaurant across the street from his lovely, over priced apartment and considers himself “domesticated as fuck.”

Garrett Goss (Gun Party) holds down the rhythm fort in Iron Jayne with his focused, inventive drum patterns. Goss spends his days teaching pre-school, but reserves his nights and weekends for breaking hearts & epic partying. He hails from Stone Mountain, Ga., and is the hottest member of the band.

Iron Jayne is now Pyramyds.

Links

Facebook / Pyramyds

Powerkompany | It’s Not the Last (Official Video) from Landon Donoho on Vimeo.

Bio

Clad in black, red hair tousling in the wind, Powerkompany’s Marie Davon is a pixie engulfed by emerald waters and ancient mountains. The deep thrum of her baritone ukulele vibrates back and forth through time. She’s dreaming. She’s awake. She’s on an ivy-choked front porch in Athens, Ga., bandmate Andrew Heaton at her side. Shazzan! He is the gleaming other half of that golden Arabian ring, the missing piece to her creative jigsaw puzzle—towering, dusky, his leather boots stomping between guitar strums while cicadas and surging electricity create a hypnotic rhythm track.

For the band’s debut LP, I Am More Than This, Powerkompany has channeled a brand new set of songs… futuristic, nostalgic, electric—high-voltage ghosts flailing in the current. Davon’s voice cascades like a waterfall over them one minute and the next punctures eardrums as if Cupid’s arrow to an unsuspecting heart. It is Dolly Parton’s frail warble filtered through Warhol’s Factory, the sound of tiny incandescent angels trapped like butterflies in a moonshine mason jar. On the new record, Davon’s inventive melodies are draped by sonic tapestries that unfurl in Fibonacci spirals, as if the band had just peeled 1960s Phil Spector from a tinfoil time capsule, held a gun to his head and demanded he update the Wall of Sound for a new generation.

While I Am More Than This scrolls, Davon and Heaton walk arm in arm through the blinking city, wooden hearts glued together at the seams, loping beats marching them past cinematic vistas of a New South. Theirs is a world of fragile, triumphant daydream pop, sips of Stoli, pale blue lights, never-ending goodbyes and fanciful Catherine-wheel anthems, the latter’s flaming pinwheels illuminating man, woman and machine—acoustic serenity, cacophonous synths. Davon’s verses seep like blood from a pinprick. She’s a medium, a vessel for these songs, which materialize for the prolific writer about as often as the sun rises. Some are terrible, she says, and some are good. She plays them for Andrew. She trusts his feedback. He is her mirror. He sculpts her ideas—twisting knobs, shifting chords, filling in plot holes between her cryptic lines. Together, they are scientists, alchemists, creative escapists, their buoyant soundscapes transporting them far from the pressures of now. Their music and lyrics are the dance of the corporeal and incorporeal—dualistic panoramas of truth, space-dark and earthbound, lush green and crumbling brown.

Once upon a time, before it was a band name, Powerkompany was Davon’s AIM handle and the main vehicle for communication between her and her musician brother, Paul. The two were close friends and constant collaborators. She loved him dearly. Nine years ago, when Paul was just 20, he committed suicide. The experience was earth-shattering for Davon, forever changing her life. All of the music she’s made since then—including Powerkompany’s new record—is dedicated to Paul. She sees her body of work as an ongoing conversation with him, a way of continuing their relationship, which—even these days—is far from one-sided. When she writes, Davon explains, something happens. Suddenly, a song is just there. She’s doesn’t know if it’s from her brother. She just feels very close to him when she creates and performs. And she thinks having that outlet, and being able to keep their connection alive, has kept her alive.

Before Powerkompany, Davon played pretty-as-a-picture orchestra pop with Venice Is Sinking, and Heaton double-stopped up a storm, fiddling bluegrass with the Packway Handle Band. On the precipice of the divergent worlds of indie rock and Americana, the two found each other, arms outstretched, muses in full astral synch. Their new band formed to play a birthday party. From there, it beat on, hastened by the current, borne forward ceaselessly into the future. Which is where one goes to find hope, freedom, possibility—something more than this.

For Heaton, his musical partnership with Davon has provided an outlet for his more serious, dramatic side. In 2011, they made a spontaneous EP called Comfort. It captures the band in zygote form, as it searches the recesses of outer and inner space for itself, settling on an ethereal black-and-white sound, the aural equivalent of Ansel Adams’ stark landscape photography. A set of daring remixes, Pulse, was released the following year. Now, I Am More Than This (out April 30), finds Powerkompany moving in a relatively terrestrial, sepia-toned direction. That said, the band’s eponymous studio, where they recorded the new album, is still an other place, somewhere between Twin Peaks’ Black Lodge, a Vegas casino and the bridge of starship. There are no windows. When you’re inside, you can’t really tell where you are, or whether it’s day or night. It’s new, sleek, clean, awash in tiny rows of flashing lights like a bustling metropolis on final descent from the night sky. You can hear it in the music.

The songs on I Am More Than This were written by Davon during a tumultuous three-month span, a period of motion and transition—moving to a different house, connecting with strange new people and processing all of the wild, perspective-shifting experiences. As a result, the record is frenetic—at times angry, blindsided and defiant, but also obsessed with freedom and new beginnings. It is the sound of turning a corner, of better things to come. When Powerkompany incorporates futuristic elements into its sound, or looks forward in its songs, Davon says, it’s because the future makes her feel hopeful. And if you’re making hopeful music, perhaps you can inspire other people to see the future as hopeful, too. It all goes back to her brother’s death, and a desire to give people in similarly bleak situations something to hold on to.

A lot of the songs on the new record were written to have an anthemic optimism, Heaton says. Lead single “Not the Last” is a perfect example. The song is in E flat major, a historically triumphant key—the key of love and devotion, of intimate conversation with God. From Beethoven’s Emeperor Concerto to Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony and Strauss’ Hero’s Life, the explosive “Not the Last” and its trumpet-like fanfare are tied to an ancient tradition of bold and courageous sounds.

It’s all of a piece with the record’s multi-layered, wide-open title. The phrase—I am more than this—popped into Davon’s head after seeing a friend’s gorgeous illustration of a sad panda bear. But it wasn’t the bear itself she was interested in, it was the intense emotion she felt while looking at the drawing. “You guys are treating me like shit!” it seemed to scream. “But I’m more than what I appear to be.” The whole record is tied together in that one line—I am more than this. Depending on context, it’s a  refusal to be casually filed away; aggression and anger at the world for not offering the benefit of the doubt, and at one’s self over perceived shortcomings and failures; it’s an aching, deeply sincere plea for human connection, acceptance and understanding; a cry of hope and determination, to carry on, to be a more complete version of one’s self.

I Am More Than This—both the record and the idea behind it—is a challenge. It hurls a gauntlet at our feet, begging us see music and each other in a new, more open way.

Links

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Bio

Concord America’s story is a classic, archetypal rock & roll story. A story of restless youth, rebellion and the deep bond that forms between bandmates when they surrender themselves completely to the music.

Brothers John and Vinny Restivo had been playing in bands together since they were revved-up teens, ages 16 and 14, respectively. From the jump, they were a natural rhythm section. “John was already drumming and put the idea in my head to play bass,” says Vinny. “I was more into sports at the time, but baseball gave me really bad tendonitis in my throwing arm. After a while, I was like, ‘Fuck sports.’”

For several years, the Restivo brothers cut their teeth playing in the kind of ramshackle yet valiant bands you might find in any suburban garage across America. But then something happened. Something that changed their lives. They met future Concord America singer/guitarist Ben Presley. How? He and John started working at the same shitty, debauched pizza place. “The singer in our old band was the first to get a job there,” Vinny says. “He was like, ‘You have to work here. We can smoke weed and drink all we want and nobody gives a shit.’ I was like, ‘Hell yeah, sign me up.’”

At the time, though, 17-year-old Vinny wasn’t old enough to make the cut, so he talked his big brother into applying instead. John got the job, and before long, in a strange twist of fate, he and Vinny’s old singer was fired and replaced by Presley.

“What really made us want to start a band with Ben,” John says, “is that we saw him get past security at a Cage the Elephant show—he jumped on stage during ‘Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked’ in short shorts, suspenders, combat boots and a sailor hat and did a stage dive. It was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

When Ben started working at the pizza place, he and the Restivos were frustrated with their respective musical projects. “Finally,” Ben says, “it was just like, ‘What the fuck are we doing? Let’s start a real rock & roll band. Let’s lose our minds.’”

So they did. Unfortunately for their original lead guitarist—whom they’d met at a house party near the pizza joint—that last phrase turned out to be literal. “At first, we were a four-piece,” Ben explains. “Our old guitarist was living in Athens, and he was taking a lot of acid on top of his ADD medicine. Over six months, he just lost it. We couldn’t get shit done. At practice, he’d play the same three chords over and over again for an hour. He was a talented player, he’d had a music scholarship to University of Georgia, but he just couldn’t cut it anymore.”

They never officially kicked him out of the band; they didn’t have to. As if pulled from the pages of Pink Floyd’s sordid history, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia and committed. They didn’t see again him for months. “He’s doing a lot better, though” Vinny reports. “He’s on the proper medication now. He’s still a good friend, and he’s really supportive of us.”

After their lead guitarist became a temporary acid casualty, the band soldiered on as a power trio. With new space in the music, simpatico tastes and almost telepathic communication between Presley and the Restivo brothers, Concord America began to take flight. “Our chemistry was just amazing,” John says. “We fired off instantly, writing songs together that were better than anything any of us had done before.”

Which brings us to the band’s debut LP, Shag Nasty—a charming, lo-fi rock record that will leave you feeling like you’ve been shot from a cannon. From classic garage and late-’50s doo-wop ballads to proto grunge, power-pop and the modern surf revival, Concord America wears its influences on its sleeve.

“When the band started,” Ben says, “we were really into Cage the Elephant—just good-old weird-ass Pixies-style rock with some cool psychedelic tinges. That’s still there, but with Shag Nasty, we went in more of a beach-punk direction, trying to write more fun, upbeat songs we could rock out to. We were listening to a lot of Wavves, Sleeper Agent and this really cool record John has with The Hentchmen and Jack White. John got me into so much of what I’m into now—the Black Lips, Wavves. Totally changed my taste in music.”

Earlier this year, Concord America took a week off from its service-industry jobs to record Shag Nasty in the basement of its brokedown communal crash pad on the seedy outskirts of northeast Atlanta. “There’s not much to do out here most nights but play songs,” Ben says. “The rent is cheap, but the house is priceless because we can play late and the neighbors are shady enough to where they never call the cops. So we were able to make this record for free at home with our engineer buddy Trey Rosenkamppf.”

The band tracked everything live in one room, their amps separated from the drums by nothing more than a moldy secondhand mattress and a few tattered blankets, letting it bleed like the best, most raw rock & roll records. It’s an approach that suits Concord America’s aesthetic.

“Recording in our basement just gave us more creative options,” Ben says. “We weren’t on the clock—we were having fun, drinking, trying different shit. The record is a little loose, but that’s how it’s supposed to be heard.”

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