SXSW '08: Day 3

[Music Festing] Sometimes you have to travel out of state to discover what you missed you in your own backyard. Friday's SXSW experience reinforced my belief in Salt Lake City's music scene as local trio Iota emerged as one of the week's standout acts during a showcase for their label Small Stone Records.

While familiar with their recorded material, I’m now pretty embarrassed to admit I’d never seen them live before two-thirds of the group took the stage at Austin’s Room 710 for an 8 p.m. time slot. I say two-thirds because current drummer Andy Patterson ran into a bit of random legal trouble traveling back to Utah from a Denver show earlier this week. Unable to join the rest of his band mates in Texas, Patterson sent warm wishes via text while Iota’s Joey and Oz recruited label mate Sasquatch’s drummer to fill in at the last minute. He practiced with them for the first time about six hours before their SXSW gig, which in most scenarios would result in one hell of a sloppy set. Iota proved themselves to be pros, easily adapting to the unexpected lineup shift with impressive ease.

They ripped through a handful of extended stoner-rock jams with bluesy overtones while a crowd half-filled with Salt Lake City locals (it was a small audience—8 p.m. isn’t the most coveted time slot, unfortunately), cheered, nodded their heads and, in the case of one Xur member, raised his PBR can like a fist of solidarity. Iota succeeded largely by avoiding masturbatory noodling, showing off their killer skills without too much noodling around. In fact, Joey and Oz evidenced tremendous chemistry, playing off each other, at times facing off with dueling bass/guitar.

At the show, I met up with former SLC musician Mike Incze (Sherlock, Victrola, V-Vast) who now lives in Brooklyn. He came to SXSW to play pedal-steel with NY band The End of the World whose final showcase goes off tonight at BD Riley’s. Mike and I left Iota for Bourbon Rocks to check out the Sub Pop showcase. We arrived just in time for Pissed Jeans, a Portland trio with destructive and deconstructive punk leanings. The lead singer lived up to his reputation for not giving a good goddamn about appearances or socially appropriate behavior—a welcome stance after a long day of standing around with one too many pretentious, self-absorbed hipsters, heads up their asses and Blackberries.

Canada’s Handsome Furs performed next and made good on their stunning debut Plague Park. The husband-wife duo (Wolf Parade’s Dan Boeckner and wife/artist Alexei Perry) threw themselves into every pulsating number, with Perry navigating the sprawling mass of drum machinery and Boeckner reclaiming his throne as one of today’s most compelling vocalists. Sounding both hollow and passionate, he smeared a thick layer of romantic gloom over tales of decaying cities and greed (dedicating “Legal Tender” to current buzz band Vampire Weekend. Hmm …). Handsome Furs killed with cunning wit and searing passion, tossing out several new and improved songs off their forthcoming follow-up to Park.

After that rush, we ran to Red 7 for the tail-end of hyped underground emcee Dalek whose industrial beats carried the same eerie vibe of a Doomtree track. The night topped off at the Billions Booking showcase with Devotchka and Constantines. Devotchka, currently riding a wave of overdue critical acclaim, maintained the lively gypsy roots that have always helped them stand out. Only these days the multi-instrumentalists—several audience members marveled at what they now know is a theremin—are much more polished (though not at all too slick). Nick Urata rummaged through the depths of his soul—and an onstage bottle of wine—to deliver material off their new Anti release and a few older numbers including a hit off Little Miss Sunshine in his haunting, sometimes anguished voice.

Canada’s Constantines (what did I tell you about this country? Love ‘em!) absolutely brought down the house and for the remaining few who managed to stay standing for the 1 a.m. set managed to raise the bar even higher than the one they set on stellar albums. Looking quite a bit younger than I expected—especially the singer whose voice can be hoarse and gruff with traces of a long storied life hanging to the chords like tough bits of grit—they ripped through songs off Tournament of Hearts and Shine a Light plus a few new tunes from a highly anticipated forthcoming release. They finished up with a cover of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck, which pretty much sums up how I felt as we cleared the bottle-strewn room. RAWK! (Jamie Gadette)

Cancer claims J.J.

[Police Dog Obit] J.J., the first bloodhound to work for the Salt Lake City Police Department, died early Thursday after a year-long fight against cancer.

SLPD spokesman Det. Jeff Bedard announced J.J.'s death earlier today in a news release to local media. J.J. was diagnosed with a malignant cancerous growth in his mouth one year ago, and had undergone aggressive treatment in New York City.

J.J.'s handler was K9 Officer Mike Serio, who worked with the dog for almost nine years.

J.J. and Serio are responsible for the apprehension of nearly 300 suspects during the dog's long career. Even after his cancer diagnosis, J.J. apprehended some 50 suspects, Bedard said.

Serio, along with J.J. and two other bloodhounds, pioneered the bloodhound urban tracking program in Utah. Other Salt Lake Valley police agencies have since added bloodhounds to their established K9 programs.

J.J.'s superior record includes his longest track in following a supect: three miles.

Rest in peace, J.J. (Holly Mullen)

Hammond Making a Change (Really)

Gloria Hammond, co-founder of Sisterhood for Peace, has a commanding presence onstage. When she greeted the audience gathered recently at the Utah Museum of Fine Arts auditorium, she obviously was displeased with the lack of unified response. In Baptist preacher-style, she again said hello to the audience and this time was greeted in return with a rousing collective, “Hi, Dr. Hammond!” Hammond came to present a documentary film about humanitarian relief in Sudan's decimated Darfur region, efforts that included building new schools, medical facilities and homes for the displaced. Hammond’s take-charge approach is refreshing. There are still those willing to take the bull by the horns and truly fight for social justice. Finally, here's someone who preaches “change” and actually delivers. Check out Hammond's inspirational story here. (Tom Nelson)

SXSW '08: Day 2

[Musicfesting] "We are family!" Sister Sledge's hottest hit ran through my head last night as Doomtree brought the noise to SXSW. The Minneapolis hip-hop collective--entire crew assembled out of state for the first time ever—is the very definition of family. Watching them perform, you understand they’ve got each other’s backs. They’d throw down for each other. Die for each other. At Austin’s Marq Cocktail Lounge, they delivered beats and rhymes for each other. Fab Five Freddy (!) randomly stopped by and asked Doomtree if he could introduce them. What?! Like any self-respecting hip-hop head would turn him down!

Mike Mictlan (with Paper Tiger) then kicked things off a little after 7 p.m. with a lively set of tight tracks from his forthcoming album Hand Over Fist, trying his best to warm up the crowd—still frigid from too little liquid courage. Mictlan repeatedly encouraged his timid audience to show some love by flashing the Doomtree sign—hands spread, crossed like wings. Broken wings. Cecil Otter followed, looking all dapper in a black fedora and cuffed jeans. A smooth operator, no doubt, his flow had an enticing and unsettling effect—like you’d take him home but sleep with one eye open.

Dessa stepped up after Otter and absolutely blew away the now-ample Marq audience. Tall and striking with skills to burn, the sole female Doomtree member exercised impressive control and restraint with material that could very easily spin out of control and over the top. Her set proved that, above all else, Doomtree are survivors. They’ve clearly seen hard times and are all the stronger for it. Even though Dessa probably could have beat down any one in the crowd, she revealed past weaknesses and insecurities. She confessed a need to use the mic stand as crutch when singing (not rhyming or slamming poetry), and hopped up on the bar to sit down for an absolutely gorgeous ballad.

Sims successfully bridged the audience/performer gap by forming a circle around him in the middle of the room. Suddenly wallflowers found their groove, started to bounce and throw their hands in the air “like we don’t care anymore.” His best number was a little ditty he once wrote in 10 minutes and initially deemed sub par before friends proclaimed it solid gold. P.O.S. took Sims’ lead, reforming a circle. By now the crowd was pumped and completely stoked on Doomtree.

Since the showcase was open to the public and not well publicized (apparently added to the festival at the last minute), the majority of the crowd was made up of Austin locals who likely learned about the event on MySpace. Gotta love the Internet. Or not. It’s kind of a double-edged sword. P.O.S. started with a disclaimer: “Most of these songs are new ones” off the forthcoming album (highly anticipated follow up to 2005’s Audition) tentatively (hopefully) coming out this Fall. “So if these songs end up on YouTube tomorrow … ah, I probably won’t do anything.” But the implication was clear—leaking material is not cool, man.

P.O.S. (with Turbo Nemesis on beats) tossed in a fair share of older favorites including “Stand Up (Let’s Get Murdered),” “Paul Kersey to Jack Kimball” and “”Half-Cocked Concepts.” Staying true to his genre-bending style, P.O.S. just keeps getting faster, stronger—deftly manipulating whiplash tongue and wit. I checked out three hours into the showcase—hunger and metal called—but I can safely say Doomtree’s producers (including Lazerbeak and, I think, MK Larada) continued to blow away their diehard fans (old and new). Do yourself a favor and look them up.

I met up with SLUG queens Angela Brown and Rebecca Vernon for some metal action at Emo’s Annex. Richmond, Virginia’s Municipal Waste made good on nearly every metal cliché, with a man dressed as a wizard—pointy hat, fake long beard, wooden staff—who occasionally came onstage with the band’s “Inebriator”—a tricked-out beer bong with a grisly skull cup—to quench worthy fans’ thirst. Another member of the band’s entourage climbed up on a raised speaker, shimmied into a plastic garbage can and threw himself onto the crowd. But the thrashing mosh pit wasn’t enough for Municipal Waste’s lead singer who demanded the crowd form a “death wall” and charge at each other from both ends. They, of course, complied. Top that off with songs about terror sharks and “beer” pressure and what else do you need? The best part about metal—besides the noise—is its exaggerated theatrics. You’ve got to love the drama.

Oakland’s High on Fire wrapped up my evening with some of the loudest shit I’ve ever heard (besides, strangely, Jeff Beck at Kingsbury Hall!). The shirt-less lead singer/guitarist summoned Luficer for killer beastly vocals that sounded otherworldly from the sidelines. Then again, perhaps I wasn’t the best judge of sound quality at the point. I left before their last song and realized too late that I should have worn earplugs. It’s not a good sign when you can still hear the band loud and clear four blocks away from the venue.

Here’s to more metal (with Salt Lake City’s Iota!) and other assorted musical shenanigans today/tonight! Stay tuned … (Jamie Gadettte)

15 Seconds of Basic Cable Fame

[TV] This screen capture (courtesy of Gavin's Underground) is from a currently running Comedy Central promo for Lewis Black's Root of All Evil, which I reviewed in City Weekly's March 6 issue. A couple of years ago, I had a review quote on Spike for The Ultimate Fighter. Someday, Satan willing ... TNT!

(Bill Frost)

Color Me Impressed!

[Stuff We Get] Today we received a nice PR package for a Pittsburgh outfit known as Porter Paints.

It came in one of those LittleEarth photo albums made from recycled license plates, and contains materials promoting Porter's "personal home paint color selection system" called "The Voice of Color."

Normally, things called "personal [fill in the blank] systems" make my eyes roll back into my skull with great force, but when I realized what they were actually up to, I decided I love it. Basically, they take combinations of five colors and establish an ethos for each one.

Now, for all I know, these combinations could be generated randomly. What do I know from modern decorating tastes?

I would never have dreamed, for instance, that mint blue goes with dark brown before Martha Stewart declared that it is so.

So if someone were to tell me, for instance, that an acid green goes with slate-y gray if you mix it up with a little pink, red and white, I'd be saying, "Oh, go on witcha." But, when confronted with the argument that those colors, in a precise 60-30-10 ratio, represent a "strong belief in the capacity of the human mind to create change," well, who could argue with that?

Suddenly, the combination, which The Voice of Color calls "Ecoloco," makes sense to me. Something about the adjectives "audacious," "humorous" and "exuberant at heart" make me realize that Auntie Mame would have had her apartment done in precisely this color scheme after her Yul Ulu phase, but before her Maharajah kick. And, once I get my hands on some black, melty-looking surrealist sculpture, I could easily live with it for awhile.

The Voice of Color speaks with a near-supernatural authority and establishes an ethos--not merely a justification, but authenticity and virtuousness--for the combinations it favors. And, suddenly, there are a whole lot of new ways to combine color. Very cool.

Jerre Wroble and I had fun calculating our own color personalities--it's kind of like Myers-Briggs, but for paint--by answering a series of questions online. And we feel that our combinations are, really, the very best two in the bunch.

Turns out Jerre's "Desert Spice." I'm "Al Fresco."

Hey, with names like those, we could put together a Flamenco act!

(Brandon Burt)

SXSW '08: Day 1

[Music Festing] Depending on whom you ask, City Weekly either came to its senses or lost its mind when the paper decided to send me to Austin, Texas for the annual South by Southwest music festival. Ace CW marketing director Annie Quan is here as well, scouting out the territory for reasons I’m not privy to disclose. Let your imagination run wild.

We arrived yesterday on Delta’s one direct flight to Austin. SLUG editor/publisher Angela Brown joined us on the cramped commuter plane as the ridiculously small vehicle floundered about through troubling turbulence. Paranoid and superstitious as always, I imagined the next day’s headlines describing the fiery plane crash that engulfed several young members of the Utah media. Fortunately, infamy escaped us and we landed just in time to grab a bite and hit downtown Austin for music, music and more music.

Wednesday was the only day I didn’t map out beforehand. With roughly 1,500 bands performing four days worth of showcases, it can be difficult to decide which one merits your attention. The sheer volume of festival-worthy acts necessitates a certain amount of humility on the part of featured musicians. Badge holders stand before the stage often with an almost confrontational look as if to say, “Show me why you matter.” This can be frustrating even to bystanders like myself who, during Hopewell’s set last night for example, have to put up with nerdy pricks leaning against the wall (arms folded of course) announcing that they are just “waiting for these guys to finish whacking off before Witch plays.” Of course, they were referring to the stoner metal band currently featuring J. Mascis on drums but judging by their posturing they probably only give a shit because some hip blogger told them that Dinosaur Jr. is God.

Hopewell ignored the crowd and got down to business. The seasoned Brooklyn professionals segued seamlessly from one Eastern-tinged rock number to the next, the guitarists thrusting their instruments in unison while the keyboardist tickled some classical shit on the ivories. Sure, the lead singer—dressed head to almost toe in bright white—looked like a tampon, but man he got killer tone out of his (what else) white guitar. And, dude knows how to work an effects pedal.

Speaking of effects, Wednesday’s absolute knockout, standout manipulated their instruments with a slew of pedals, boards and thingamabobs (hey, never claimed to be a techie). Brooklyn’s Dub Trio came to Salt Lake City on Feb. 19, but I missed them because I am lame. Someone up there must have my best interests in mind for a second live show to land in my lap—truly ear-splitting, mind-blowing greatness. Dub Trio is on Ipecac Recordings, home to the deliciously wicked musical misfit Mike Patton, and the next generation of forward-thinking label mates is doing him proud. Dub Trio is more metal, less dancehall reggae. They incorporate dub, using it to break up otherwise relentlessly driving riffs, letting it all hang out before snapping it shut, recoiling into precise rhythms. The band—robotic drummer and all—is a machine. A sex machine, that is. The whole experience honestly sort of turned me on.

The night ended with a set by San Francisco’s Von Iva, an all-female trio fusing organic and electronic elements into a—to copy a line from one of their songs—“soul-shaking, love-making, body-manipulating” blitz. Pulsing, throbbing, oozing sex, the lead singer Jillian Iva shimmied and strutted, climbed the walls and shouted to the rafters. It would have been a whole lot cooler without the pervy old dudes leering at her from the front row. One aqualung kept taking photos of the trio while they were setting up. Another almost lost his shit when Jillian stepped from the stage and straddled his shoulder, forcing him to carry her as long as his little limbs could hold up.

Tonight, I’ve got my sights set on Bon Iver, Black Mountain, El-P, Pink Nasty, Constantines, Ra Ra Riot…but who knows how the night will end? Stay tuned. (Jamie Gadette)

Shurtleff's a Stitch

[Loose Lips] Salt Lake Crawler Glen Warchol is blogging today about our comedic Attorney General Mark Shurtleff, who apparently thought no one from home would find out about his asinine shots at Barack Obama in a recent speech before the Clark County GOP Convention in Las Vegas.

You'd think the guy who's all over the Internet with his task forces and investigations would know you can't keep anything to yourself anymore--or among 3,000 of your close, personal friends. (Holly Mullen)

Avian Junk

[Bird Brains] Fighting what feels like round 3 of the later winter flu, I'm working at home today. I have a laptop at the kitchen counter, where I can perch on a bar stool at a window and watch avian gymnastics at three different bird feeders.

Damn. In the past few days, the big-assed bully starlings (at left) have discovered the suet block that hangs from the cherry tree. I'd counted our yard as fortunate because, though I see starlings by the hundreds in trees around the neighborhood, they had yet to figure out we had a plentiful food source. Now they know.

The "woodpecker treat" suet block used to be just that--attractive to downy woodpeckers and the occasional black-capped chickadee. Now those starlings have turned it into their own private Chuck-a-Rama. They've scared every other bird away and are attacking the suet three birds at a time.

Except for the resident red-shafted flicker (member of the woodpecker family, pictured below, right), who at this very moment is hanging upside down from the suet block and eating like there's no tomorrow. He's a gorgeous male with the characteristic red head and mustache and red flashing from the underwing. And he's huge--about eight inches high. A few minutes ago, the flicker was down but not out. He kicked ass, chased off a half-dozen starlings and for now, is holding his own in the cherry tree.

He isn't giving up. I would call him the Hillary Clinton of the backyard bird world.

Does anyone know how to get rid of starlings? Without violence, of course. (Holly Mullen)

Utah Gunlovers Next Project

[Guns] It turns out there's a new kind of pistol out there and we Americans can't get our hands on it! Well perhaps hand on it, that's because the worlds smallest pistol, the Swiss mini gun has recently been put on the market, but not in the U.S. where it is considered too small for sporting purposes and thus illegal. But hell, I don't know what else you would use to stop a cricket in mid-charge.

The pistol while looking like a toy, actually fires lethal 4.53mm bullets at a rate of about 300mph. Cute but deadly, and I'm sure it comes with just an adorable little holster.

Therefore I think Utah's gun-ho aficionados in the state legislature need to get this thing legal in Utah, consornit! Let's not forget that it is our god-given right to be able to own any and all adorable, miniature but still deadly firearms. (Eric S. Peterson)

Cost of Walking Your Dog? $75

[The Dogcatcher] I was recently walking my golden retriever Emma, after a particularly "Thursty Thursday" the night before. We were about a half a block away from my house when I came upon a parked animal-control vehicle. Thinking nothing of it, I walked by the four wheeled dog-soul snatcher and returned the friendly wave of the man sitting in the driver's seat. When he rolled down his window and began whistling at me, I realized that indeed he was not waving but summoning me to appear before him.

He asked me where my dog's leash was, to which I responded, “What leash?” During this exchange, my docile Emma sat at my feet, indifferent to her proceedings.

The man (appropriately named Mr. Bumstead) explained that it was illegal to walk my dog without a leash. I explained I lived half a block away and that my dog walks so close to my legs that she rubs her stink on me. My words fell on deaf ears.

When he radioed my name into headquarters and discovered my dog wasn't registered with the state, the real fun began. He launched into a tirade I don't remember—something about baby-eating dogs terrorizing our simple way of life—I'm really not sure, as I zoned out for most of what he was saying. He caught my attention, however, when he handed over a yellow ticket that carried a $75 price tag for what he described as “dog running at large.” Emma...the inbred golden retriever, half a block from my house, heeling obediently at my side, running at large.

When I stopped in to pay my fine at Animal Services on 3900 South hoping to leave word for Bumstead where he could shove the ticket, a very pleasant woman at the counter told me that there was a citywide crackdown on unleashed dogs, and officers would be ticketing any offenders. So beware, dog owners of Salt Lake City, your brazen disregard for leash laws will go unnoticed no more. (Tom Nelson)

Badgered!

[This Week's Issue] Every time I look at the cover, I think 4 things:

1. John Kilbourn's caricature of Mayor Ralph Becker looks not only like Becker, but also like former British Prime Minister Tony Blair and actor Paul Eddington, who played a prime minister in the British TV series Yes, Prime Minister.

Is Kilbourn trying to say that Becker is sort of the prime minister of Salt Lake City? I suppose, in a sense, Becker is.

2. The cop illustration looks like it was drawn by a completely different artist.

3. That font will be the Cooper Black of the next decade.

4. "Badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger ..."

(Brandon Burt)

Adventures in Hair

[Hair Hazards] I, for one, always appreciate news reports that work to suck you in through sheer titillation or the always dependable gross-out factor. Then they issue that stern warning of "graphic content," and kindly advise that you might want to turn your eyes away.

What, are you kidding?

This story, for instance. Aaack. (Holly Mullen)

Spitzer Swallows?

[Sex & Media] Hmm. Bet you can't top this Salt Lake Tribune headline regarding the Gov. Eliot Spitzer sex scandal!

But maybe you can? (Holly Mullen)

Make Quotes, Not War

[Books] Do you occasionally find yourself tongue-tied when trying to argue with your more hawkish family and acquaintances? You probably wish you had the perfect bon mot handy to skewer their world-view. And now you can have it.

An advance copy of The Anti-War Quote Book has made its way to our offices, and it contains some of the best things anyone has ever said about striving for peace, intermingled with classic anti-war images and graphic designs. Here's just a sample of the wisdom found therein:

"The cry has been that when war is declared, all opposition should therefore be hushed. A sentiment more unworthy of a free country could hardly be propagated. If the doctrine be admitted, rulers have only to declare war, and they are screened at once from scrutiny." -- William Ellery Channing
"The least pain in our little finger gives more concern and uneasiness than the destruction of millions of our fellow beings." -- William Hazlitt

"We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another." -- Jonathan Swift

"Our enemies' opinion of us comes closer to the truth than our own." -- Francois la Rouchefoucauld, 17th century French writer (Scott Renshaw)

Chick Week Celebration!

[Get Active] Sorry about the header there, just trying to get some attention. Any who, the U. is hosting a mess of fine discussions, movies and events in celebration of women's week. A few events have already taken place, but you can still swing by the Union Ballroom tomorrow, Wed. at 4 pm to hear keynote speaker Dolores Huerta. Huerta is a pillar in America's Chicana labor movement, and is co-founder and vice president of United Farm Workers, where she has worked for over 30 years advocating for the oft-marginalized women, men and children who toil in our country's produce fields.

While the event is geared towards encouraging women into shaping policy and politics by taking a greater role in it, with so much experience in the field of labor and social justice the message delivered is bound to be enlightening to all. (Eric S. Peterson)

Dead Zephyr: Week 226

(Bill Frost)

Blast From the Past

[Nostalgia] This letter from a former classmate of John Saltas came in along with a ticket (pictured) for the 1971 Bingham High School senior ball mentioned in Saltas' recent column:

John,

Just finished reading "Let David Sing." Great article as always. I also enjoy the nostalgia that was so big a part of our lives.

I still had a few of those prom tickets left over from when we printed them in Deca class. Thought you might enjoy one if you did not still have one. Keep up the great work.

Always,

Jimmy

A Demo in the Guv's Race?

[Utah Politics] According to rumors among Utah Democratic honchos, look for longtime Utah Democrat Bob Springmeyer to soon announce a run for governor. Depending on whether anyone else shakes out, he'll face Republican incumbent Gov. Jon Huntsman Jr. in November.

Yeah, I know. There's also that rumor that Huntsman may get the nod as John McCain's V.P. Right. Talk about a long shot. Two western U.S. politicians sharing the ticket? Don't think so. For one thing, McCain needs to shore up relations with the Bible Belt South, which considers the Arizona senator/war hero/geezer to be just left of Jane Fonda. A Southerner or urban Yankee is much more likely.

Anyway, Springmeyer, 64, will have his work cut out for him, not the least of which is gaining name recongnition. Owner of Bonneville Research, an economic consulting firm, Springmeyer ran unsuccessfully for the now-defunct Salt Lake County Commission back in the '70s ( the commission has since been replaced by the present-day mayor/council form of government).

Springmeyer has been active in consulting on redevelopment and other issues with many Northern Utah municipalities, including Riverton; Sandy; Holladay; Clearfield and Taylorsville. He lives in Salt Lake City's Avenues neighborhood and is an avid fly fisherman and supporter of U.S. Olympic Team luge and skeleton athletes. He is married to Gwen Springmeyer and is the father of four.

In recruiting him to take on Huntsman (who has approval ratings in the 75-percentile range) Utah Democratic Committee chairman Wayne Holland reportedly told the plucky Springmeyer it would clearly be a challenge, but that he'd have a lot of "fun." (Holly Mullen)

... Or "The You-Know-What"?

[The Gays] Rolly's got a funny bit about what Salt Lake City should call its domestic-partner registry, since the Legislature feared that calling it by its name would anger the gods.

How about "The 'I Can't Believe It's Not a Domestic Registry' Registry?" It just rolls off the tongue ... (Brandon Burt)