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New Merch for the new tour w/Ill Nino! Check out her myspace.
http://www.myspace.com/otep

Oct 27 2008 8:00P
Bourbon Street New Port Richie, Florida
Oct 28 2008 8:00P
MASQUERADE Atlanta
Oct 30 2008 8:00P
GROUND ZERO Spartanburg, South Carolina
Oct 31 2008 8:00P
HOOLIGANS Jacksonville, North Carolina
Nov 1 2008 8:00P
JESTERS Fayetteville, North Carolina
Nov 2 2008 8:00P
STARLAND BALLROOM Sayreville, New Jersey
Nov 4 2008 8:00P
BLENDER @ Gramercy New York, New York
Nov 5 2008 8:00P
CROCODILE ROCK ALLENTOWN, Pennsylvania
Nov 6 2008 8:00P
WEBSTER THEATER HARTFORD, Connecticut
Nov 7 2008 8:00P
SONAR Baltimore, Maryland
Nov 8 2008 8:00P
AL ROSA VILLA Columbus, Ohio
Nov 9 2008 8:00P
HAYLOFT LIQUOR STAND Mt. Clemmens, Michigan
Nov 11 2008 8:00P
PEABODYS Cleveland, Ohio
Nov 12 2008 8:00P
PEARL ROOM Mokena, Illinois
Nov 14 2008 8:00P
PIERRE’S Fort Wayne, Indiana
Nov 15 2008 8:00P
INTERSECTION Grand Rapids, Michigan
Nov 16 2008 8:00P
POP’S Sauget, Illinois
Nov 17 2008 8:00P
VILLAGE Little Rock, Arkansas
Nov 18 2008 8:00P
SCOUT BAR Beaumont, Texas
Nov 20 2008 8:00P
SCOUT BAR San Antonio, Texas
Nov 21 2008 8:00P
SCOUT BAR Houston, Texas
Nov 22 2008 8:00P
RIDGLEA THEATER Dallas
Nov 23 2008 8:00P
TEQUILLA JUNGLE Lubbock, Texas
Nov 25 2008 8:00P
GATORS Farmington, New Mexico
Nov 26 2008 8:00P
BLACK SHEEP Colorado Springs, Colorado
Nov 28 2008 8:00P
JILLIANS Las Vegas, Nevada
Nov 29 2008 8:00P
BRICK BY BRICK San Diego, California
Nov 30 2008 8:00P
The KEY CLUB LOS ANGELES!!!, California

Otep ~ Crooked Spoons
Otep ~ Ghost Flowers Otep ~ Confrontation New OTEP video! I BURN!
NEW WRITINGS FROM OTEP. The Executive Suite On our last tour, as we were traveling through the dark heart and over the back roads of American Conservatism in a place (& state of mind) called Texas, I had the rare opportunity to meet some of the indigenous rogues rallying against the diminishing tide of the Bush Empire. Texas is a special place. It is a raw and wild frontier where some people still believe in dressing up (in full cowboy regalia) like stand-ins at a Dude Ranch. It never fails to jolt my system whenever I encounter someone walking through a store or restaurant dressed this way. I think, My God, am I going to be gunned down? Is this a sign of a lynch mob coming our way? Where's Clint Eastwood when you need him? Or are we interrupting a primitive ceremony that now requires our immediate sacrifice? But so it goes. The Strange & Insane (as I am often called) don't ferry well in these waters. It is always a risk to enter their domain but I believe it is one worth taking. These are some of the best people on the planet. Patriotism and pride run deep in these waters, as does an innate ability to sniff out bullshit. These rough and boastful people know the difference between a bird of prey and a peacock. But that is another matter. Today, I write of rumors and reality. Due to my dealings with certain propagandists, activists, and overall shit-starters from this area (it is Bush Country after all) I am privy to certain information that other artists and writers might be too afraid or too sane to believe.
It is thus ....

A pretty serious allegation has come to my attention that the Bush (mis)Administration is determined to remove all falsehoods and fakery from the remaining moments The Dick and Georgie Jr. have in office by renaming the Whitehouse to its more appropriate moniker, The Executive Suite, whereupon they will remain as host and guest.

Once the name-switch takes place they can abate any spirit of misconduct (regardless of how little it actually affects them) and fully enjoy all the perks and member rewards granted to the Almighty Commander (& his faithful few) by the sleeping and huddled masses he governs. Yes, while the rest of the world's people shred their Nationalism into evenly ripped rags and take their place in formation, on their knees, (with smiles in excess) to dutifully polish the growing talons of the mighty American Eagle (in all its red, white, & blue glory) Georgie Jr. and The Dick will be enjoying the splendor and spoils of pilfering the nations pocketbook and the crude treasures provided by their war profiteering.

Yes, no more secrecy, no more pretending to actually work! The new and improved Executive Suite will unleash a new era of full-disclosure.

Mid-afternoon massage? Cuban Cigar? Gin fizzies in the rose garden? Brunch on the East patio? Nepotism? Prayer-booths? Spa-jets in the bath? German mints placed perfectly on satin-covered goose-down pillows? You bet. The only difference between this Executive Suite and one that might be found in any number of 5 star hotels across the planet is the lack of a Wake-Up Call. No, no, Georgie Jr. and The Dick (and the rest of this pampered pack of toothless wolves) can rest well and sleep sound. Wake-up calls, I am told, will be absolutely forbidden. This group can't afford to have their delusions and dreams interrupted by the irritating alarm of reality the rest of us arise to every day.

To Victory,

Otep Shamaya, ESQ.


MORE DATES TO COME!!!

3/30/08 Farmington, NM – Gator’s 3/31/08 Salt Lake City, UT – The Outer Rim 4/1/08 Denver, CO – Cervantes Ballroom 4/2/08 Colorado Spings, CO – Black Sheep 4/4/08 Minneapolis, MN – The Rock 4/5/08 Cedar Falls, IA – The Reverb 4/7/08 Mokena, IL – The Pearl Room 4/8/08 Michigan Center, MI – Motorhead’s Bar + Grill 4/10/08 Cleveland, OH – Peabody’s 4/11/08 Columbus, OH – Al Rose Villa 4/12/08 Detroit, MI – Harpo’s 4/13/08 Toronto, ONT – The Opera House 4/18/08 Sayreville, NJ – Starland Ballroom 4/21/08 West Springfield, VA - Jaxx

MORE DATES TO COME!!!

OTEP ~ EMTEE NEW OTEP VIDEO! CONFRONTATION! http://www.mtv.com/overdrive/?vid=213222

An interview I found at http://headbangersblog.mtv.com/2008/01/04/might-makes-write-hbb-blog-columnist-otep-shamaya-musters-strength-through-song/ In the first of a series of guest columns from Otep frontwoman Otep Shamaya, the singer and poet discusses how music and poetry allow her to confront her demons and evolve as a person and performer. “Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence.” - Robert Fripp We stand on the edge of a luminous new year, armed with hope and lengthy dreams, and the desire to leave the mistakes of the past far, far behind us. Some wake to a blessed plague of amnesia hoping never to recover the damage that was done. Some keep marching forward feeling the heavy ache of everything they wish to change about themselves dragging behind them like a long, prolonged shadow. And still others shine above the sun, sparkling like raging cosmonauts, propelled by the strength and power of their pathological optimism. I tend to slingshot between all three of these distinct planets with unruly fortitude. This is where art comes in. It helps me deal with my compulsive randomness, and allows me to abate life’s repressions while exploring all possibilities of transformation and growth. For this I am eternally grateful. When I first began thinking of putting a band together, it was out of sheer panic. I was almost homeless, jobless, a sadistic scribbler, my life had no direction. And to top it off, the energies that had fed my hungry soul through illustration and poetry had all but dried up. I knew that without the magic of creativity, I would surely be lost. And then I rediscovered a band, The Velvet Underground, and was transformed. They were painting pictures on silence. They were writing poetry with sound. Then it hit me. Whatever I could create in prose, whatever I could lay down on paper in the form of a sketch or rambling tirade would come alive if shaped and remodeled into something hallowed… into song.
I am one of those insatiable heretics that believe art is sacred. For me, making music is not recreational. It is a powerful spiritual experience that permeates every atom of my being. Each note that we write, every syllable that slips from my lips, every riff change, bridge, intro, outro, chorus and interlude is as important to me as transcribing sacred verses was to the scribes of old. Through song, I am attempting to speak with forgotten gods and heroes, to uncover the great mysteries of existence, to seduce a lover, slay a tyrant, right a wrong, or unravel the hidden places of my being. In doing so, I can explore all of the spiritual, philosophical, sexual, and intellectual freedom that I secretly hunger for.

This is why celebutard plankton and the entire Slack Pack sicken me. Granted, collectively, these surface dwellers have sold more records worldwide than all the Mormons in Utah, but that does little to sway my opinion of these swine or their music. These plastic mammoths of industry prefabrication (and their handlers) have learned the lemming song and know just how to change it so it appears somewhat different on every lazy album that dribbles from their noses.

But I digress.

Music is the fluid in the spine of imagination. Its origin predates written history. Some believe the first songs were imitations of nature. Crude flutes and other wind instruments have been discovered at Paleolithic dig sites. The earliest written records of musical expression have been found in India, China, and Mesopotamia. I see music as the secret language of the soul. It transcends time. Empires may fall, but their music persists. It is the grand uniter. People from all
varieties of background, socioeconomic status, religion, race, sexual orientation can find solidarity in one piece of music. Throughout history, music has been used to strike the emotional chords needed to propagate revolutions, celebrate victories, commemorate tragedies, motivate, seduce and invigorate. It fortifies our films, it fills our homes with joy, rage and release. We play music to set the mood, to remember loved ones, to spice the atmospheres of our most intimate moments. A candle, a bottle of wine, two sets of eyes and lips, fingers and hips, all delicately massaged by a blessed rhythm of notes and melody that speak when words will not suffice. It seems, as a species, we have always needed music.

Many ask me for advice on how to write, how to start a band, how to kill the demon of writers block. I think the simplest and most powerful method is to begin with a foundation of immovable principles. One of my literary heroes, Charles Bukowski, wrote:

“if you’re doing it for the money or fame, don’t do it. if you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it….when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way and there never was.”

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