02.13: What a year, 1961. For Henry Rollins, at least. You see, that year saw Henry Lawrence Garfield take his first breath, and music gained a unique individual. Well, it took a good twenty years for this unique individual to make his mark, but believe us, he definitely did. Rollins joined California punk pioneers Black Flag, who'd gone through a steady stream of singers in its already-four-year career before Rollins joined the band for an impromptu song at one of their shows in New York. In Rollins, who was a huge fan of the group prior to his singing duties (ha, we said duties), they found an intense poetic sensibility uncommon in punk and the stage demeanor of a caged animal, pacing back and forth, waiting to pounce as soon as the music charged up behind him. From 1981 to 1986, Rollins stint in Black Flag tore through every bar, club, and theater they entered, sometimes ending with Henry in a fistfight with one or more audience members. Did we mention he was intense? After Black Flag disbanded, Rollins leapt into a very diverse career, from publisher to actor, from author to activist. He formed his own band, Henry Rollins Band, which recorded and toured from 1987 through 2003, when Henry decided to concentrate on his spoken-word career. Huh, you say? Yeah, Henry's spoken-word routines kill. They are always a weird, amazingly vital and vitriolic hybrid of stand-up comedy and Shakespearian soliloquies, regaling his audiences with tales from the road and tales from the street. Henry Rollins is truly one of a kind.

02.13: Okay, so, many of you kids out there may only know the group Genesis from Phil Collins' frontman stint (he was already the drummer) with the band, which proved very fruitful thanks to the monster pop hits "Invisible Touch" and "Land Of Confusion." And many of you may only know Peter Gabriel from his ubiquitous '80s video for "Sledghammer" (which is still pretty awesoem, btw) or his catchy chorus to "Shock The Monkey," but his music-life goes back much further than that. So, let's hop in the Way-Back Machine and go all the way back to 1967. That's right, rock children, the genesis of Genesis begins in the late '60s, as a group of young lads decided to join forces, forming a little pop band interested in playing simple, original music. Here's where we tie our ramblings together. Peter Gabriel helmed the vocal duties for this first incarnation of the band, taking them from a late '60s pop whatever to an early '70s prog-rock, theatrical, multi-media monster, complete with masks, props, and visual framing devices to accompany Gabriel's increasingly complex lyrics and song structures. Why do we bring this up today? Well, it's Pete's birthday, as, on this day in 1961, he joined us for the first jaunt on this journey's we call "life," and we just wanted to point out that Mr. Gabriel career is much more than goofy videos and is, indeed, attached to one of the most successful bands of all time. Nice work, Peter, and happy birthday, sir.

02.13: A prominent "outlaw country" performer left this world on this day in 2002, when Waylon Jennings died in his sleep from complications brought on by diabetes. What's "outlaw country," you ask? Think Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson and Hank Williams, Jr. Think rebellion against the white-washed "Nashville sound" that dominated country music through much of the '60s and '70s. Think long hair, jeans, raw lyrics about drinking, women, and bar fights (not necessarily in that order, but, often, that's the way it would go). Many credit Waylon with being the originator of the outlaw tag, with his album Ladies Love Outlaws in 1972. Though outlaw country was birthed in Texas and Oklahoma by local performers before Waylon got hold of the sound, it was the use of its tenants by Jennings and Nelson that pushed it into the world at large. At the time, Jennings also managed to wrangle of control of his music from the entrenched record company system that'd been in place for decades, which freed up the artistic process of making records and allowed other performers to write, produce, and record what they wanted, when they wanted. More rock attitude than traditional country, outlaw country and Jennings' work paved the way for many performers today, including Robert Earle Keen, Hank Williams III, Lucinda Williams, Jenning's son Shooter, and has given rise to "alternative country," which is more of a rebranding of "outlaw country" than a new genre unto itself. But that's just semantics, kids. We're here to sing the praises of Mr. Waylon Jennings, who escaped death on "The Day The Music Died" when he gave his seat on the ill-fated flight, which also killed Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly (for whom Waylon played bass), to the flu-stricken Big Bopper, and went on to one of the biggest music careers in the latter-half of the 20th century. We miss him, but, as always, are insanely happy to go home tonight, crack open a beer, and listen to "Lonesome, On'ry and Mean."

02.15: One of the most amazingly smooth voices in music was silenced on this day in 1965, when Nat King Cole died from lung cancer, at the much-too-early age of 45. Not only did Cole sing on over 100 charting singles and more than 20 charting albums throughout his 20-year pop career, but he also led a venerable jazz trio, held dear by many jazz aficionados, during the late '30s and early '40s. His switch from jazz pianist to silken-voiced pop singer caused much consternation in the tight-knit jazz circles of the era, a time when jazz was coming off the high of the swing era and sliding back into the underground, as former swing era singers (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin) also abandoned their roots and headed into the wide-open waters of the pop world. Nat King Cole, however, was not a jazz singer, having cut his teeth in smoky jazz clubs, tickling 88 keys every night, years before he ever let a song escape from his lungs. His switch from jazz to pop was different than the singers who'd done the same because many considered him a leader in the transition from swing to small-band jazz to bebop. They felt his abandonment of that world a slap in the face, but Nat's success in the world of pop and popular culture proved he was meant for much greater things. From his hit singles to his hit radio and television show, Cole showed Americans a man who transcended the racial divides of the time, showed Americans that people can live in the same neighborhoods, can perform together, can sit and watch a singer together, no matter the color of their skin. Though, even then, he was criticized by some in the civil rights movement for not doing enough for the cause, for not throwing his weight around as much as they perceived he could have. It seems no matter what he did, someone would find a way to criticize his actions. All we know is that this is both a sad and a happy day. As always, we are sad to remember someone on the day of their death, but we are happy for what they've left behind. And Nat King Cole left an amazing legacy. Do some research. Explore his catalog. You will not be disappointed. Nat King Cole is truly unforgettable.

02.16: One of the godfathers of gangsta rap joined us on this day in 1959, when Tracy Lauren Marrow, better known to us as Ice-T, was born in Newark, NJ. Yeah, you read that right. Ice isn't a South Central native, but that doesn't make his depictions of life on those streets any less important. He moved to Los Angeles in 7th grade, after his father passed away and three years after his mother had also passed away. Things just got worse when he moved in with an aunt in southern California, as she intended to provide him with structure, whether he wanted it or not. This, of course, didn't go down too well with Ice, who'd been without much parental guidance for quite a while. He rebelled and found inspiration in the burgeoning California rap scene, as well as the writings of Iceberg Slim, a pimp turned author. After a stint in the Army, Ice-T continued his pursuit of a career in rap, turning his experiences on the streets of South Central and his love of Iceberg Slim's rough and sobering stories of hustlers and pimps into his own tales of modern gangsters and street violence. That he walked the line between brilliant social commentary and exploitation isn't lost on us, but we love Ice-T for just being his own man. And for "Colors".  Whether he is acting on Law and Order: SVU or fronting Body Count (his metal band) or putting out one of the best gangsta rap albums of all time, Power, Ice has always done what he feels like doing and it don't get much more rock 'n' roll than that.

02.18: Another prominent figure in the L.A. gangsta rap scene joined us this week, on this day in 1965, when Andre "Dr. Dre" Young took his first breaths. Dre didn't begin his musical life with aspirations of being one of the biggest, most prescient hip-hop producers of all time, but that's what happened. His first taste of the music business came as a DJ and producer with World Class Wreckin' Cru, an electro group who, like other electro outfits, melded '70s funk with pronounced synthesizers and hip-hop beats (think Afrikaa Bambaataa's "Planet Rock" or Herbie Hancock's "Rockit"), unleashing a mini electro storm on L.A. in the mid-'80s, scoring a few local hits. At the same time, Dre began to make friends in the local hip-hop scene, most notably a rapper by the name of Ice Cube, with whom Dre started to write and record songs for Ruthless Records, a label owned by Eazy E. When one of the label's groups refused to record a Cube/Dre song, Eazy formed a group, called N.W.A., with the guys and they put out the song under that moniker. Yeah, that song was "Boyz 'N The Hood" and it forever changed the way middle America saw not only Southern California, but, for better or worse, hip-hop. From the album Straight Outta Compton, which received no radio play, to the incendiary song "F--- Tha Police," N.W.A. courted controversy, sold millions of albums, and shone a spotlight on the streets of South Central. After the dissolution of N.W.A., Dre didn't sit around crying, he set about honing a sound he'd spent years creating. With the release of his first solo album, The Chronic, at the end of 1992, Dre's "g-funk" sound melded unhurried electro with gangsta rap with Parliament-Funkadelic funk and topped it all off with some of the best production ever heard in hip-hop. For real, listen to "Nuthin' But A G Thing." So smooth and sonically amazing, it still gives us chills, and a broad smile, listening today. For years after The Chronic came out, from Snoop Dogg to Warren G to 2 Pac, the g-funk sound would rule the charts, and Dr. Dre would be king of the roost. That he's also responsible for bringing Eminem and, by proxy, 50 Cent to the world is a testament to Dre's superb tastes and his forward-thinking ways. This is a very long way of showing our appreciation and intense admiration for all aspects of Dr. Dre's career, and we just want to wish him a very happy birthday.

02.19: You may not know this, but the current lead singer for AC/DC, Brian Johnson, wasn't the group's first. Before Brian, Bon Scott fronted the band, leading them on a journey, alongside Angus Young's monster chords and Malcolm Young's rhythm guitar and behind-the-scenes stewardship, toward hard rock nirvana. Through six albums, Bon and the Brothers Young, accompanied by bass and drums, of course, tore up the hard rock world, never taking themselves seriously, always finding the fun and good times in life, continually sprinkling their songs with a healthy dose of juvenile sexual references and bar-fight reminiscences. From their debut, High Voltage to the breathtakingly loud and awesome Highway To Hell, AC/DC never let up, never stopped to take a breath, putting their heart and soul into their music, critics be damned. (Critics didn't really cotton to the sound, believe it or not.) In 1980, however, the ride came to a grinding halt when Bon Scott died on this day, at the much-too-young age of 33, choking on his vomit after a night of heavy drinking. Or as the coroner wrote as the official cause, "death by misadventure." Misadventure?! We're not sure exactly what that is, but we think Scott would've liked it. Not pretty, by any means, but it certainly fit in with the group's hard rock and hard ways. That the band emerged from this dark day, found a new lead singer in Brian Johnson, and put out Back In Black, one of the most iconic rock albums ever and a tribute, of sorts, to the dearly departed Bon, is a testament to exactly how resilient they are. Brian and the Brothers Young didn't lament Bon's passing with Back In Black (as much as some might have you believe), instead embracing his passion for life, rock, and shakin' it all night long. R.I.P., Bon. Thanks for "Highway To Hell".