HI-WATT-cha doing?

The Twit Has Hit the Fan

2009-03-07T19:53:00.006-05:00

I am now on Twitter. I am now on the crack cocaine of the internet.

Feed my habit. Be an enabler.

www.twitter.com/eepalmer

Currently listening to: Blitzen Trapper, Furr

I Just Want The Fuckin' Free TULL Poster, Man.

2009-03-04T19:08:00.024-05:00

I've been a-go-go-going though a big Buddy Miles kick (drum) lately. Who can't relate to "Well, my mind is goin' through them changes" ? - I ask you all knowingly without a hint of concern, cause change just broadens the range, y'all. Amen.

So the Buddy love is hot and heavy right now, and I'm ready to lay my bets that if he and Billy Preston had ever engaged in a full fathom afro-turf war, my man Buddy would have emerged victorious. It's an easier and quicker ambush to pick up, aim and javelin-toss a coupla drum sticks than it is a Hammond B3. I know this from experience.

Years back, I can remember my Dad mentioning he had jammed with Buddy after Monterey. Here Bruce was go-fishin' with major musical history, and all I probably asked him was "do you have any eights and why was your solo album so weird?" Regrets. Regrets.

So here comes vintage Circus to pick up my disrespectful slack. Shit man, feel-good from the Circus magazine? Who would have thunk it? To me Circus will always be Creem Magazine's stupid, horny, jerking off-in-the-backyard tree house younger brother. I close my eyes and just see glossy Circus centerfolds of Maiden, Priest, Crue, and somehow the images just instantly, and as if on cue, morph into a 14 year old with bad skin and a paper route. And I love it. Nuture your inner 14 year metal kid. He is a do-gooder. He fights off those times you find yourself about to toe tap to Yanni at the dentist office.

Anyway, so in the above issue of Circus came some deets I liked to read. I needed to read.

Cool. I'm pretty sure the uber-jam was LSD fuelled. Playing for 14 hours straight? Correction on the straight part. Playing for 14 hours wired and high as fuck. Cool.

Today at work I was staccato headbanging to my dearest Jaco (GENIUS) and a straight co-worker said, "Erin, your parents must have done some serious drugs".

Yeah. The male parental. But he jammed with Buddy Miles.

Life's little trade-offs.

Currently listening to: Fleet Foxes, S/T

Mitch Kramer FOUND at Starfleet (foxes) Command

2009-01-14T19:31:00.001-05:00

You remember the end. Wooderson, Pink, Slater and Simone are cruising down the long stretch of road towards Aerosmith tickets and towards their individual fates. With "Slow Ride" blasting. Perfection. I tip my (fog)hat to director Richard Linklater for such fantastically soundtracked symbolism.

To paraphrase the famous Wooderson quote, that's what I love about the characters of "Dazed and Confused", I get older, they stay the same age.

Forever frozen on celluloid, the embodiment of fresh faced freshman, Mitch Kramer wore an ADIDAS (All Day I Dream About Sex) logo and a curious expression that hinted that the freshness wouldn't last long. Fake wood panelled rec room walls obscured by clouds of thick pot smoke were gonna figure pretty heavy in Mitch's future. As was an impeccable record collection where I'm convinced, Jeff Lynne figured prominently. I ELOve it.

Mitch Kramer, the official pinup of Sassy Magazine (RIP)

Hell, let's go one further and say Mitch became a successful musician; successful in that he avoided a Yamaha DX-7 and a Flock of Seagulls haircut.

Hell, let's go another one further and say Mitch found a time machine in the same vacant field were the infamous all night kegger was held and fast forwarded, guitar in hand, and became the lead singer of Fleet Foxes, Robin Pecknold. When Fleet Foxes are on SNL this weekend, I'm gonna just see my beloved Mitch all grown up and delivering us from the evils of Miley Cyrus and an Up the Creek Without an Auto-Tune Kanye.

So there. I ELOve it.

Robin Pecknold, the official pinup of Pitchfork Journos and asexual indie record shop clerks scouring eBay for first generation Sub Pop LOSER t-shirts

Currently listening to: Bon Iver, Blood Bank EP

My Two Santas

2008-12-24T09:34:00.012-05:00

Happy Holidays one and all!

Two of my favourite "Santas" of all time:

1. Santa Reed

This is quite possibly the best clip on YouTube so I hardcore encourage you to watch it in its entirety. I'm convinced that half of the view hits are from me as I worship at the altar of Ollie, and can never get enough.

2. Santa Mascis

People would say that J looks more like a Gandalf the White doused in a vat of Essence du Thrift Store, but since he has been gifting the world with quality music for what seems like an eon, I think the Santa comparison is more apropos. Now if I could just get someone to gift me with J's signature model Jazzmaster...did you hear that? That's the sound of a hint dropping.

Hell, at this point, I'll take the girlie-gurl Daisy Rock bass that lovely Lou is hawt-rawkin' in the above pic...I'm sure Thurston M. is mad he didn't think of this first. The race to transform something from lame-o to primo is a competitive one indeed.

J Mascis Signature Model Jazzmaster, unveiled Summer 2007

They need to make a stocking big enough to fit a guitar in. I'm sick as fuck of the yearly Lifesavers Sweet Storybook.

Season's Greetings!

Currently listening to/watching: The Dusty Towne Christmas Special, SCTV

You Disappoint, Urban Outhouse Shitters

2008-12-21T22:47:00.014-05:00

If the Monopoly man was a hipster dude, he would jampack hipster hotels and Urban Outfitters on Boardwalk. The hipster market would feel quite at home at this most prestigious bit of real estate, as there doesn't seem to be an issue with accepting a $50.00 price tag on a cheap, cotton, and mass-manufactured T-shirt featuring Jimmie Walker exclaiming "Dynamite!"

No. "Dyna-rip-off!"

Who needs anymore Indiana Jones sequels when one can walk into a real live Temple of Doom seven days a week, shopping hours permitting? Urban Oufitters is fucked up like Jerry's kids, where you can buy a book that will tell you that saying fucked up like Jerry's kids is awesome for shawsome (that's in there too).

Fuck. The joy of being a pop culture junkie is in the unique, individual, and often accidental ways we stumble upon really fascinating stuff. Here the Indiana Jones parallel comes into positive play...you feel like an archaeologist...you can almost feel like you've discovered something put on this earth solely for you. Foolish and misguided thoughts indeed, but the fun is in the denial that millions of people already caught and sailed the boat long before you got there...

I don't want shit laid out for me by some dickwad buyer or merchandiser who is working towards a degree in media studies, and working their way through the White Album, wondering where the hit singles are. I don't want my tastes to be dictated by the iPod shuffle generation, thanks very much, and no, I won't be taking that $100 book that tells me I need to listen to Burt Bacharach before I die. Me and Burt are already good and firm, thanks to the vinyl bins at Goodwill.

So why this rant? One of the oldest reasons in the book. A glimmer of hope extinguished. I went in there to find some tube sox (I figured they would be a shoo-in for the long ones with retro racing stripes) and while I was browsing, some pretty incredible music came on. Wow, cool, maybe I will take away something infinitely more substantial than a pair of socks. So I asked the saleshipster what was playing. She gave me a dumbfounded look and said she would check. I was pretty baffled, I thought that was part of the gig, as a representative of hipsterdom, she would be required to know. Long story short, she didn't know. She came back and said that she couldn't find the CD cover and that the CDs were just blank-labeled company burned copies. Well, yeah, I felt burned by the company alright, and by the blank-label of a facial expression worn by their employee.

Damn. So I never got to find out which band was making this great music. I'm not about to go into a music store and ask the clerk, "you know this song? It goes...la la la la la shoo bee doo, etc." I've been on the receiving end of those requests, and after I Shawshanked my way outta record retail I vowed I would never subject that sort of torture on those still in the record racket. Feigning excitement day after day over those creepy Jonas Brothers (Jonai?) must be torture enough.

The Judas Brothers... selling out and wiping out the momentum of 50 years of pop music for a bag of 30 million pieces of silver, a bag made out of a pair of girl knickers tied up with a scrunchie.

The power of the scrunchie and it's impact upon culture and society cannot be underestimated. Go to Urban Outfitters. There's a whole book that will tell you so. For $35.95.

Currently listening to: International Velvet Soundtrack, Francis Lai

4.5 Outta 5 Panamas

2008-12-18T22:01:00.020-05:00

Thanks Clint, for giving the majesty known as the Gran Torino back its dignity and its hip as fuck cachet. Who needs an everlasting image of David Soul doin' a tuck and roll across the hood of the red Torino in a gawd-awful cop/buddy tv shit-fest. That shit doesn't even rate on the "so good it's bad" scale. I'd rather listen to a scratched up 45 of "Don't Give Up On Us Baby" a thousand times, and played on a crappy '70's Radio Shack turntable with lint on the stylus than watch an epi of S&H. S and H and...I...T.

So Clint's movie was aces. How a man who sounds like he masticates on sandpaper 24/7 can play so smooth and rocksteady is beyond me.

So I give "Gran Torino" 4.5 Panamas outta 5.

Fuck the thumbs up or thumbs down system. I'm for permanent closure of the balcony on that one. The uber fan from the "Panama" vid mouthin' "AW-RITE" whilst swimming in a sea of Halenheads is my fuckin' rating system. I wonder where this guy is now? He's probably at some bar called Snoozy McDoozy's or some shit like that, figuring out how to steer the conversation around to how he and a renegade hairdryer were once featured players in the greatest rock video ever made.

Good for him; in this great big, overcrowded world, everyone deserves to be a "Where's Waldo" at least once.

Shine on Waldo of Halen World. (Not to be confused with the Waldo from the "Hot for Teacher" vid.) Maybe I'll just call him 2 minute, 55 guy and leave it at that.

Currently listening to: Under the Western Freeway, Grandaddy

Bettie Page 1923-2008

2008-12-11T22:59:00.007-05:00

RIP Bettie.

Happy Birthday Buck Henry!

2008-12-09T20:31:00.035-05:00

Holy fuck, do I love Buck. The great man turned 78 today, and like a stack of 78 rpm records at a Shriner's rummage sale, his housing may be old, but man, the grooves and the melodies contained within are pure legend and without a doubt stand the tests of time and trend. (Don't underestimate the musical tastes of the Shriners, yo.)

Buck is bar none my favourite screenwriter. His screenplays translate to me like great pieces of music...tempo, timing, flow, crescendo build up to big bang payoff...it's all there. And fuck if you don't laugh until yer gut hurts like a sumbitch.

If you love "The Graduate", you gotta love Buck. His screenplay for "To Die For", is well, just that, and "What's Up, Doc?" is so flawless that it makes me weep for the young and short set who are unaware of it, and think comic genius begins and ends with a SNL Digital Short. Fools! Kids, Trix ain't for you anymore, they're being played on ya! Twilight=great literature...HA HA HA...good one...it worked!!!

Here's a short slice of the magic that happens when great comedic writing glides good, well, and properly improper with great comedic performance. If Eunice Burns (Madeline Kahn, RIP) were real I'd want to be her best friend, try on her wig, go shopping for some Spanx, and ask her to organize my schedule.

Yes Eunice, there is a Buck Henry. Thank God.

currently listening to: Spoon, Gimme Fiction (but just not the Twilight Series)

Dig the Chuzz...Becuzz

2008-12-08T19:19:00.027-05:00

'Tis the season to sign yer name. Sign the visa slips thrown at you by surly cashiers, and sign the stack o' company Xmas cards. This year I have the extra bonus of signing a multitude of paperwork related to medical/legal issues regarding my accident. Damn, so sick of it...I am on the verge of signing the next thing foisted upon me with the old tried and true "Heywood Jablome". I think John Hancock should step aside and let Heywood come out from the seedy world of crank calls and into the bright light of the popular lexicon.

Hey, Heywood wouldn't be that bad of a guy, just an unfortunate victim of both inbreeding and of his extensive collection of Jackyl records. Immature and slightly perverted, but surely a misunderstood Boo Radley minus the nobility? I would be happy to share with him a bottle of Spamante Bambino taken from his cinderblock winerack anytime. Just wouldn't be able to condone his inbreeding is all.

I do condone The Inbreds however. A stellar duo that showed us the power of two long before the White Stripes came along to paint the town red...and white...and black, and whatever colour Mondrian was splashin' around.

Big diff tho'...The Inbreds were a drum and bass combo, and they didn't see the absence of a guitar as a problem, rather as a challenge. Challenge met. Exceeded. Brilliance. Chuzz.

Chuzz is the glorious mixture of chunk and fuzz. Mike the bassist, wisely chose a Music Man StingRay for good, hefty, and fat bottom and dressed that chunky junk in the trunk in gigantic granny pants of buzz. The sound, the tone...oh man...I'm getting excited... aroused...Heywood Jablome?

No? Fine then. Just watch "Sense of Time" okay? Jeeze.

currently listening to: The Inbreds, Kombinator

We Were Young, We Were Golden, We Were Late Nite Record Retail

2008-12-05T13:08:00.010-05:00

Dave, Cheryl, Rockerchick Heather, Joanne (VINNIE!), Derek, Jen, Scott, Ryan, Sean, Shelley...

Love and respect to you all.

"Sweet little baby, she's my hot dog bun"

Sweet memories turn spandex trash into timeless treasure. FACT.

currently listening to: The Smithereens, 11

Your WTF Moment for Today

2008-11-27T21:03:00.012-05:00

Maybe you have already had yer "what the fuck?" moment for today...sorry if I'm adding to the pile but that particular in-tray was made for over-flowin' as long as the world continues its game of suck and blowin'.

Anyweird, if one is interested in history, one knows the name Josef Mengele. According to the oh so reliable wiki, the DJ Doctor of Death had a son who had a son. The grandson has a youtube channel where he chronicles his experiences with being a fattie. Let the Battle of the Bulge jokes begin, sometimes history charts itself with such finesse and irony that jokes are not only appreciated, they are a solid given.

I'm not gonna link to his youtube channel, get on the googletreadmill yourself, do a finger sprint and cross the finish line into the happy go lucky, fit and trim world of the spawn of Mengele. Unlike his grandpappy after the war, Mengele v3.0 is quite easy to find. But the find makes me personally uneasy, and a tad kinda queasy.

The comment section is the best.

I think "your grandpa sucks." was my favourite.

currently listening to: L'Affaire Dumoutier, The Box

Thinking Inside the Box

2008-11-27T19:49:00.017-05:00

How great is this vid? How great is this song? How great are French Canadian accents? How great is the crazy dude who, on his way to a bank heist with his other Reservoir Dog palsy-walsies, somehow got lost and ended up somewhere in rural Quebec? Mon dieu!

The police chief dude is pretty rite-on as well. He's got that great combo of beard, 'stache, and cascading waterfall hair that one would expect a man of great judicial power to have. Too bad half that sandwich he was scarfin' down in the police car ended up in said beard. Dude looks like Godley from Godley and Cream. Or does he look like Cream? Which one is which? Shit man, who knows?

Is this Godley, or is it Cream...and really does anybody care anymore? It makes me wanna CRY!!!!

This man cracked open two cases in one day, a murder case and a Celine Dion CD case...HERO!!!

currently listening to: Rene Simard on youtube ("L'Oiseau")

"It's Been A Long Time Since I Rock 'N Rolled"

2008-06-27T20:19:00.014-05:00

Classic. Thanks Robert Plant for the lyric...perfectly sums up the state of my blogging habits at the moment. You can always count on Zep cuz they give/gave good lyric. My sixth grade teacher was no fool...he pulled out "Stairway" to give us an exercise in recognizing verbs, nouns, adjectives, and adverbs. I have fond memories of the kid who drank glue asking, "Teacher, what's a hedgerow?" Holy fuck, I just realized that an eon later I still don't fuckin' know. But props to Plant for gettin' us all thinking. It may have been the last time the glue-drinker could conjure up thought...soon enough he had progressed to sniffing it. Classic.

The glue kid's best friend (besides that damn cow on the Elmer's), was this miracle of genetics, that when reading aloud in biology pronounced "organism" as "orgasm". Seriously. Little dude didn't realize what he was saying. Years later I figured out why the teacher was smirking, and it creeped me out that the effin' perv didn't bother to correct him. Fuckin' biology teachers, peeking into microscopes by day, peeking into college dorm windows by night. Not so classic.

You know what's classic? This is random but I just watched the original "The Postman Always Rings Twice". The embodiment of classic is Lana Turner in that fetch, fetch, fetching white getup that starts up one of the best pussy whips in cinema history. Poor John Garfield's character, brother didn't stand a chance.

At first glance, you are saying, "What is UP with that headgear, Lana?" I mean, who other, than Madame the puppet rocks that sort of look effectively?

Lana, baby. Lana.

In tribute to Lana, here is one fabulous Ewe-Toobe featuring the legendary (as in "WHO??") Eric Root. Lana's personal hair stylist, as well as stylist to many other kings and queens of the wood we call Holly.

It's....you guessed it...classic.

Currently listening to: Eric Root confessing that Lana herself killed Stompanato, not her daughter, Cheryl...WHOAH!!!

Yeah, Yeah, I Know...

2008-04-22T22:11:00.005-05:00

F to the U to the C to the K...

FUCK!

I know...I've been away far too long, and reneging bigtime on my vow to blog to the max.

'Stead I've blogged to the min, and that's even overestimating, isn't it?

I deserve a big kick in the arse, a kick delivered by a leg with a foot sharp and dangerous strapped in tight by a "Joan Crawford Fuck Me Platform Shoe".

In fact, I think I deserve the whole Crawford treatment, complete with the "no wire hangers" action.

"Oh Mommie Dearest, I'll try to blog more often!"

Much love to Allan, Faerie, and Froggie!

Currently listening to: The Cars, Best Of

"Hey Mr. DJ, Put these Handcuffs On..."

2008-02-29T22:05:00.012-05:00

I finally seized those reins of terror and yanked and pulled until I steered them back in the right direction. The direction that leads to the land of peace and quiet. Serenity City, sweetheart, let me move back in and let's get reacquainted.

Let's take a look at Serenity City's landscape shall we?

You will immediately notice there is no hint of DJs in either sight or in sound. They have all been exiled to the land of Disrespect and Inconsideration, keeping the Jackhammers At Dawn company. The official newspaper of this land is called "The Daily Asshole", and trust me, in a place like this they never, ever run out of stories.

But in Serenity City, news of the world is carried by a whisper, by a flutter of butterfly wings or by a gentle sound source of one's own choosing.

A slow-leak sigh of sheer heaven.

While my guitar gently sleeps...so now can I.

This all may not make much sense to y'all.

So in plain English:

The fucking DJ down the hall was shut down. Put the needle on the record. Put the pen on the $300 noise disturbance ticket.

Last nite a DJ left my life...YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Currently listening to: a slow-leak sigh of sheer heaven

In Space No One Can Hear You (Ibanez) Tube Scream(er)

2008-02-17T20:27:00.003-05:00

--And you'll believe you're loving the alien
(Believing the strangest things, loving the alien)
--Bowie, "Loving the Alien", from "Tonight", released 1984

Yes David. I'm loving the Alien. Perhaps not the one you had in mind, but one definitely worthy of the modern love. I love, have loved, and will love until the end of my days and daze, this Ridley Scott masterpiece. Flawless. Gimme gimme a nasty, beastly, acid spewing xenomorph and a reason to say the name Yaphet Kotto out loud a few times.

Yaphet Kotto, as "Parker". Yaphet Kotto. Yaphet Kotto. Say it! It's fun! Yaphet is hard-rockin' the Mike Reno of Loverboy headband action!

Thanks to Alien, I like many other sci-fi geeks, became fascinated with H.R. Giger, the dude who designed the nasty beast. I think folk who count themselves as fans of the great man should be called "GigerCounters".

Gigercounters come from all walks of life, but I have discovered that a great many of them of are guitar players. A particular sort of guitar player. The precious sort. The hammer ons and pull offs and practicing scales for three hours type of guitar player. A bachelor type of dude who lives in a basement apartment, listens to technical players like Malmsteen, and has framed Giger prints on his wall. Maybe an Escher print. Definitely a print of a Patrick Nagel lady.

Patrick Nagel, Rio album cover for Duran Duran, 1982

Poor Patrick Nagel. Brother did a 15 minute celebrity aerobic workout for charity, went to his car, got in, and had a heart attack. He was 38.

But back to Giger. It came as no surprise that the famous "Giger Aesthetic" would inevitably find itself expressed in the world of things six-string.

Thanks Ibanez, for bringing that to task.

currently listening to: Roller Boogie, Original Sdtk

New Post This Weekend...Stand by

2008-02-13T20:51:00.001-05:00

man...so much for resolutions...will write this weekend...

My New Year's Resolution...Evolution

2007-12-31T00:06:00.000-05:00

I am slowly evolving back into a physically healthy individual. Balancing a full time gig and full time physio has taken me away from the blogsphere for what now seems an eternity!

Gonna try to blog at least once a week from now on. Thanks again to all who have left gorgeous comments, will try to get caught up with you all soon! Sending good vibes to ya and if hugs were chords, know that all the ones I am sending you are MAJORS!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Currently listening to: Into the Wild Soundtrack, RIP Christopher McCandless

The Ultimate Workout for Workin' it Out

2007-09-02T23:16:00.001-05:00

"To Air is human, to Air Guitar...divine."
----Bjorn Turoque, Air Guitarist Extraordinaire

Fuckin' A.

On the Mend, Thanks Dear Friends!

2007-08-30T17:45:00.001-05:00

It's been a bumpy bumpy coupla months...thanks to all who have left messages and beautiful words of support and encouragement...I've had to take a step back from the blog sphere for a bit and concentrate on gettin' back to the feel good. Not quite there yet, but hopefully someday soon I'll be rockin' the blog hardcore once again! Being hit by a car sucks. Being taken out by a VW Golf sucks even more. I would have preferred being propelled up up and away by one of those SA-WEET '70's muscle cars that handle like a dream and are driven by dudes with handlebar pornstaches.

Somewhere out there, right now, this shirt...exists.

But no...I was treated to a nice road rash facial courtesy of some lady singing along with Celine's Titanic torture theme, who when makin' the high note O-face, didn't see me in the crosswalk. Cross hairs more like it...

But c'est la vie as Robbie Neville once said, and continues to say in song, as the rest of him idles away with Terence Trent D'Arby in the files of, ya, you know..."where are they now". Hot damn, those files just keep gettin' bigger and bigger as music sees less and less of bands with real staying power. Those "where are they now files" are gonna need housing much like the airplane hangar size storage bunker seen at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

So thank, thank you to all who have left truly beautiful comments...you are so key in the recovery process...thanks for all your positive medicine!

Be back soon. With bells and muscle cars on.

currently listening to: The Thrills, Let's Bottle Bohemia

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEWART COPELAND!!!

2007-07-16T23:22:00.000-05:00

HAPPY 55TH STEWART!!!

I hear Klark Kent turns 55 today too! (hardcore Police fans laugh now)

currently listening to: The Police, Regatta de Blanc

Let Me Level (42) With Ya

2007-07-16T22:29:00.000-05:00

I've taken a wee bit of a hiatus...Hi! Don't-hate-us 'cuz we've been gone so long...I suppose it's time to level with ya all. Saying that I suddenly hear Mark King's monster bass lines when Level 42 were king and that brother slapped and whacked that instrument sumthun silly. Dude played his axe at too high a level for my liking...armpit playahs just do not look cool; if they are gonna slap and whack at underarm level they should at least give us something lowbrow amongst all that sophisticated technique, and rip off a few hand in the underarm fart noises. And just for the record, I don't think mighty Jaco ever, ever held his bass that high (surely dangerously close), yet ironically enough, it was the waistband of Jaco's pants that was cause for worry.

Jaco pulled down some killer chops, but felt no need to pull down his pants to normal level.

Level. Right. I was gonna level with ya. The reason I have been away for a bit stems from needing time to get well. On Xmas Eve of last year I was hit by a car and landed very badly on my head. My head swelled to Elephant Man proportions and quite frankly, I was messed. Messed up badly. Black eyes, stitches, fractured leg...a full artist's palate of bruisey-bad colours. Purples, reds and greens and yellows and you get the picture. Nasty bit of bizness. Part of my therapy was to start this blog to get my brain kick started again, and happily, it has worked. Unhappily, I get tired really easy, and my week is chock full of trips to the old physiotherapist's office. I call it the physiothera-I'm-pist-I-have-to-be-here office. My leg is still effed-up royally and although I am off the cane, I still walk with a limp that makes me feel like some method actor in search of a stage. I just wish I could be at the end of my own personal "Triumph Against Adversity" movie of the week montage with the Rocky theme music playing. Strike that, I'd prefer my treadmill chronicles to be soundtracked by fuckin' Faltermeyer. Fuckin' Faltermeyer. Catchy name that. An indie rawk band coming to an itune nearest you. One good thing is massage therapy. Except the music is crap, and I can't do a damn thing to change it...what can I do? Bring my Uriah Heep Cds and say, "Hey Sister Knead and Rub, slap this shit in, and let yer magic fingers gliiiiiiiiiiide..."

Thank god she doesn't play Enya and that gawdawful "Orinoco Flow". I call that track "Orinoco Menstrual Flow" cuz it is the theme song of women, sorry, womyn, who go to New Age discussion groups and discuss how their cycles make them feel dizzy with the powers of the Goddess. Actually, ladies, that's called PMS.

Actually, a good massage song would be "Stranglehold", despite the title. And definitely "Because" by The Beatles. Massage therapists really need to broaden their musical arsenal. I, and my traumatized muscles would be super appreciative.

So there, I'm on the level. Thanks for reading. Thanks also to the wonderful, wonderful group of peeps who continue to inspire, amuse, delight, educate, and encourage me...Allan, Miss Viz, GW, Todd, Aaron, Erik, AC, Dave, Scott, Harbinger, and Pajo. If I have missed anyone, I just gotta blame it on the memory loss that I have incurred as a result of kissin' the pavement.

I did the kissin', and now I'm doing the tellin'. Again, thanks for readin'.

currently listening to: Pavement, Slanted and Enchanted

Mem'ries, Misty Water-Coloured Fashion Friday

2007-07-06T22:19:00.000-05:00

For this week's installment of Fashion Friday, I would like to pay tribute to Dwight Turner. The man! The myth! The Broadway musical! That's right, Dwight. Dwight Turner.

By now you are no doubt confused and are searching your brain filing cabinet for your file on this very person, and your inner dialogue is goin' "Who the eff is Dwight Turner?"

Well, I'll tell ya. Dwight is very much a real person, but to me he will always be that archetype, that concept, that Big Man on Campus who ruled da skool. The one who peaked in high school. The one who stood golden on top of the pyramid of social hierarchy, the one for which it was considered to have his locker and favourite cafeteria table bronzed after he graduated.

Yep, he graduated all right. But it took him a few extra years to do it. When I was in grade nine he was two years ahead of me, and yet there he was collecting his high school diploma the same year that I did.

I think he failed on purpose, and that he was trying desperately hard to stave off the inevitability of entering a world where he could not be David Lee Roth anymore. Or King of the Airband Competition. Dwight and his entourage took the Airband thang mega seriously; the year they won with Twisted Sister, they even had roadies with homemade laminates, wearing their mothers' old wigs; minions who were on constant standby in the wings to assist in case those cardboard guitars broke a fishing wire string, or needed a scotch tape repair.

Here's Dwight's yearbook picture, which is a true testament to his teenage power. No one else got to wear sunglasses or get a cool pseudonym.

Dwight, as A. Ferrari

In addition to being King of the Airband, Dwight was King Rock N Roll. He would often come to school wearing most excellent concert T-shirts, garments that made it pretty damn clear that he was rockin' it large on a school nite at all the best shows in the big city. I looked on with envy, looked on from my safe little world full of safe little decisions, like deciding "is it gonna be the Beatles Red or Blue album tonight?"

Here's Dwight's prom ensemble, that today would make a great Halloween costume. I call it a "Fuxedo", cuz it's a super formal tux on top and a Fuckin' A party all the way on the bottom.

*snakeskin spandex pants? CHECK.
*fedora? CHECK.
*white hightop sneakers? CHECK.
*Dwight's dignity 20 years later, looking back at this photo? That seems to suddenly have gone missing.

Incidently the blonde haired pretty boy in the photo to the right of righteous Dwight is Andy Stronach. Now the name Stronach may not resonate strongly beyond Canadian borders, but that name holds good or bad significance, depending on the average Canadian's political affliliation.

Andy is Belinda Stronach's little bro'; both she and Andy went to my high school. My public high school. Props to the Stronach parents for sending their kids to a free-for-all educational institution even when they could have carted them off to some elitist, super rich private academy catering to the schooling of the Roman Numeral Kids. Tyson Bennington-Howard IV. Spencer Cavendish-Huntley III. These names are made up. It's fun to make up Roman Numeral Kids names. My fave name-maker-upper is director/writer Wes Anderson. Raleigh St. Clair, Eli Cash, Pagoda, Steve Zissou, Royal Tenebaum...amazing.

Anyway, in high school Belinda gave no indication of an interest in politics. Hell, I don't even think she was on our student council. I do remember that she drove a pretty hot silver Z-28 and had perfectly feathered hair. She, like Dwight, wore cool rock t-shirts and was a couple of years ahead of me. But unlike Dwight, she graduated successfully on schedule. Many would say her failings would come years later.

Whatevs. She certainly knew her way around a curling iron.

currently listening to: Archer Prewitt, White Sky ( a top five, desert island disc...go find it NOW!)

Hello, It is the Clay Bust I'm Looking For

2007-07-05T23:16:00.000-05:00

Like most music freaks I tend to wonder what has happened to certain items or artifacts that contributed to iconic musical moments and movements. I'm a freak that way. If someone held out King Tut's jeweled sceptre in their right hand and THE unused Kotex maxi pad that a blitzed Lennon apparently stuck to his head during his "Lost Weekend" in their left hand, I would be grabbing for that feminine product. Yeah, I know. I'm a freak.

Actually by now, like most peeps I am super tired of "LOST". They should do a series called "LOST WEEKEND" and have a bunch of rock gods stranded on a desert island, rock gods that curiously resemble Lennon, Nilsson, Moon, Ringo, Phil Spector and all of the smacked out session musicians that were hanging around during that crazy period of John's life. Oh, and have a May Pang-ish character too. Now that would be a show worth watchin'.

But back to the artifacts...if you are still with me, I ask you...

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO:
**the bitchin' SG Townshend threw out in the audience at Woodstock?
**Moon's "Pictures of Lily" drum kit?
**Morrison's stinky rank leather trousers that he supposedly never got cleaned but got creamed aplenty?
**Dylan's lyric cue cards from the "Subterranean Homesick Blues" clip? (I want the ones that say "Fleet Foot" and "The Vandals Took All the Handles")
**the crazy ass mic stand Julian Cope was ridin', and climbin' over like it wuz a set of monkey bars in the "World Shut Your Mouth" clip. That boom stand was a work of art, a marvel of ergonomics and I am shocked that there ain't more like 'em out there today...
**the clay bust of the teacher/stalker of blind chick character Lionel Richie played in the "Hello" video. Man, that thing is boss, applesauce. I would place it in a Radio Flyer and pull it all around town so that everyone could have a chance to see and enjoy its brilliance. Then I would have smaller replicas made and put on key chains and hand 'em out for free. That's what I would do. But obviously that ain't gonna happen. Surely the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Smithsonian are in a bidding war for the fuckin' thing. Aw, hell put it the Louvre, right across from the Mona Lisa. Give the old broad a real reason to smile.

"Hello, it is me you're looking for?" --"HELL YEAH it is!"

currently listening to: Nancy Sinatra, Greatest Hits

American Beauty, Mad Beauty

2007-07-04T23:09:00.000-05:00

Hendrix's version of "The Star-Spangled Banner" was the best thing at Woodstock, natch. The fringe was good; you could drive yer vehicle under his arm and get a good quality carwash.

Hendrix was one of the best guests Dick Cavett ever had and certainly one of the most lively, unlike a certain Jerome Irving Rodale, who just sat there and did nothing. Okay, if you click the link you will see that old Jerome had a good reason for being somewhat less than entertaining.

I love the way Jimi defended his "unorthodox" interpretation of the anthem by stating simply, "I thought it was beautiful." Equally stellar was Hendrix's mad freak out all over Dickie, givin' the oh so perfectly coiffed talk show host a much needed dose of "mad beauty".

Happy 4th of July!

currently listening to: American Beauty Soundtrack

Caught By the Fuzz

2007-07-02T00:17:00.000-05:00

I finally called the cops on the assholes down the hall who play godawful, repetitive, tailor-made-for meth heads, "music" at heavy high volume at all hours of the night and day. I had had enough. Telling them politely to turn it down wasn't so effective. I had considered knocking one more time to ask them:

"Hey you fuckin' E-tards, do ya take requests? If ya do, have you heard that supah-dope deep house cut called "If ya don't turn that souless shit down I'll have ya kicked out of the building?"

Imagine, for just a moment, the shittiest dance music you have ever heard and then multiply the shitty factor by a thousand. That would get you right there, right at the sort of aural punishment I have been subjected to for months. At high volume. Manufactured bass and drum pulse and pound like continuous boots to the head at 180 BPM.

What kind of fucking drugs to you have to be on that makes that music sound good? Oh right, chemical kinds that fuck up your perceptions so much that some woman's shrieking vocals streamed through a vocoder suddenly sounds as gorgeous as Maria Callas doing Madame Butterfly. Riiiiight.

The Vocoder, astounding effect either used brilliantly, or abused horribly depending on the genre

The police did a good job. It's silent now.

But for how long?

currently listening to: SILENCE

Happy Canada Day, Happy Memories of America

2007-07-01T22:40:00.000-05:00

Last week I was slipped a copy of SiCKO. I waited until Canada Day to watch it, knowing full well that it shone a light quite favorably upon the Great White North, and upon the universal health care that our government provides. I waited until Canada Day to watch it so I could feel doubleplus proud of my home and native land.

It's somewhat tough to digest when your patriotism flows from a place of comparative analysis; when you are moved to think and then conclude, "God, I am so glad to live here and not there." It's a natural reaction, but an altogether unfair one, if you just leave it at that and don't explore the issue further. It would be unrealistic to suppose that there isn't a least one Canadian out there who derives their pleasure from being Canadian on the basis that they aren't American.

This is the Canadian who delights in telling the stories of Americans who sew Canadian flags on their backpacks while travelling abroad, in order to have an easier, more welcoming journey. This is the Canadian who somehow blames the whole of the U.S for seductively luring the brightest lights of Canada south of the border into permanent American residency and citizenship, like anybody could force Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, or that whole whack of brilliant Canuck comedians to do anything against their free will. It's called a career move, idiot, not a political statement.

Frankly, what I gotta say about that sort of issue is, thanks America for taking "Now lives in L.A.vril L.A.Vigne" off of hands, we owe ya one large! In exchange, we'll be happy to take "The Nuge" off your hands and throw him up to the Yukon Territory, under the proviso that he doesn't hunt and kill any of our wildlife.

But seriously, Canada would be worthy of all the accolades that we receive for being the kindest nation, if a certain percentage of our citizens would wise the fuck up and not buy into the effed-up notion that feeling pro-Canadian comes solely from feeling anti-American.

I think for this Canada day, I wish to celebrate Americans. Because they are us and we are them. Yes, our money here in Canada is colourful and apparently worth a little less than the boring, not-colourful-at-all U.S. dollar, but at the end of a hard day we all just want to feel like we have lived and that we have loved and have been loved.

I can remember going to down to Memphis back in '97 a couple of weeks after Jeff Buckley died to pay my respects. I didn't have much of a plan, I just needed to get there to "deal" with his death and grieve in my own way. I just threw some clothes in a bag, and went.

To make a long story short, once I got off the train in Memphis, I met an American who took me into his family home, where I was warmly received by his wonderful wife and daughter. They fed me, let me take a bath, drove me everywhere I needed to go, and because the gentleman knew the history of this glorious city so well, I received a first rate guided tour, complete with a stop at Graceland. Talk about grace. This American family personified the word.

Grace.
Kindness.
Generosity.

Thank you America.

currently listening to: Jeff Buckley, Grace

Table Cloths and Toques, Worn with Verve

2007-06-29T23:11:00.000-05:00

Oh glorious day! The Verve are gonna call a truce and reunite for another album! That's the word on the street, and let's hope the music originates from that same great place of clever, streetwise cynicism and from that same sort of street Ashcroft walked down while singing those unforgettable lyrics from "Bittersweet Symphony". Yep, singing and aggressively body checkin' anyone who got in his way. Ya rude bastard, workin' out yer probs while workin' it out on the sidewalk catwalk. Nice one.

I adore Ashcroft. I feel for Ashcroft the same warm and squishy that spotty gamer nerds feel for Lara Croft. You look and you think, "Yeah, that's perfection." Ashcroft is real and Croft isn't, but Richard does have that surreal, almost cartoonish quality to him, as if someone asked a illustrator to design a "quintessential British pop star", and whiz bang, Richard appeared on the easel perfectly rendered and easy on the eyes. What a face the man has...all angles and sharp turns, pouty Jagger lips with a softer/easier vibe of Keith Richards damage.

Ashcroft's first solo album, "Alone With Everybody" was the first CD I purchased when I moved to Europe, and now every time I listen to it, I am transported back to breakfasts in Milan, lunches in London, dinners in Paris, and late night snack attacks in Amsterdam.

Alas, it was hard to readjust to the partaking of sustenance in Toronto, where you are often served your meal with a "healthy" dose of Bryan Adams with a side of Nickelback.

If you haven't heard Ashcroft's solo stuff, go on, get to that particular music buffet table and load up. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Richard, baby, and wife Kate (formerly of the band Spiritualized), photo from liner notes, "Alone with Everybody", 2000

Check it, brother is wearing a Monkees T-shirt. Fookin' brilliant. The man gets it. The Monkees are totally underrated as a band. Particularly Mike Nesmith. Man, you need only listen to trax like "Love is Only Sleeping", and "Door Into Summer" to be convinced that the Monkees, once they took the musical reins, and cut the puppet strings, deserved some heavy props.

Plus Nesmith was hip to the power of the toque years and years before Seattle claimed it as the official headgear of the sludge and grudge, flannel shirt tied around the waist and wasted on Mudhoney and Pabst Blue Ribbon set.

Micky should also be afforded some deep 'spect for having the cajones to wear a table cloth. True story. Good idea actually, I hear ponchos are making a come back. Why spend mega bux on a ready made version, when all you need to do is cut a hole-for-the head in a table cloth from Target? Crafty!

Micky, in addition to being resourceful fashion-wise, was also pretty hip gear-wise. He was one of the first owners of the Moog Synthesizer, and the track "Daily Nightly" was one of the first songs to feature this revolutionary piece of gear.

"You have reached the Moog Switchboard, how may I connect you?"

Yep, the Monkees were boss. Plus Nesmith's mom invented liquid paper. Again, true story.

Tablecloths, liquid paper, Moogs and toques. Bittersweet symphonies. Just another Fashion Friday, here at HIWATT central.

currently listening to: Nino Rota, Original Score, Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet

Attention Readers from the UK!

2007-06-27T00:51:00.000-05:00

How lucky are you in Britain? You get a Big Brother contestant like raver TRACEY. I don't watch TV, but I happened upon clips from the eighth season of Big Brother UK. I'm officially obsessed. Expect regular Tracey updates.

GO TRACEY! Please don't vote her off!

currently listening to: The Stone Roses, S/T

I'm Trying to Get Past My "Bono is a Dick" Phase

2007-06-26T22:15:00.000-05:00

I loved me some U2 and Bono...and then it all went horribly wrong.

Cuz I'm a slacker baby my "Spring Cleaning" usually gets underway later in the hottie hot months. So just yesterday, I'm cleaning my drawers (the ones with handles, and not the ones for wearing) and I find an old ticket stub for seeing "Rattle and Hum" in the movie theatre. Hot damn, why do I insist on keeping such things? Of course, I have managed to fuckin' lose stuff of true value, items I would kill to have once again (whoever ended up with my "Ghost in the Machine" 3/4 sleeve and my "Synchronicity" sleeveless tour t-shirts, Eff you and don't have a nice day.)

Man, I saw "R&H" three times on da big screen. Jesus, I think that was the first time I saw the whole "group walking side by side in slo-mo" money shot. You know the kind of shot I mean. The kind of technique that when applied, renders the subjects deep and poignant because it's all done in artsy slow motion. Shit, I think the savvy bastard who filmed the opening credits of "Melrose Place" pulled this action, because suddenly all those airhead/fuckwit characters looked heavy, man. I swear to Goddess, you could film The Pussycat Dolls walking side by side in slo-mo, add some Pachelbel's Canon in D for music and you could almost believe the skags discuss Sartre and Camus in between pole rides.

Mr. Bono Vox peaked in '88, with "Rattle and Hum". The hum then seemed to mutate into an annoying buzz that seemed most appropriate, as he donned the dark bug glasses and "The Fly" persona. Not to mention tacky PVC.

Aw... fuck the Fly. Shoo fly don't bother me. I swatted my copy of "Achtung Baby" in the direction of the second hand CD store and didn't look back. Actually, I did look back. To Bono and the boys' back catalogue pre-Achtung, which to this day, I treasure most deeply, and admire most fervently.

So as it stands now, if Bono were to say yet again, "Am I buggin' you? I don't mean to bug ya", I would have to answer with a qualified "Yes you are, and because you DO mean to bug us all again and again, I'm outta here!" I would like to leave on a positive note however.

Bye Bono. Thanks for "The Unforgettable Fire" and for U2's stage stealing coming out like a beautiful debutante performance at the original Live Aid.

This time I'm waving the white flag, Bono. No harm no foul. Peace out.

currently listening to: Ryan Adams, Easy Tiger

It's a Braid New World for Fashion Friday

2007-06-22T23:50:00.000-05:00

I would like to see more men sporting braids. No no no, not the single, hanging-down-the-back braid...that one is too too typical, and can be too easily seen swingin' to and fro', keepin' time like a metronome, on the heads of guitarists givin'er on the chicken wing circuit at a roadhouse near you. You want a single braid and a CCR hit single? Go to the roadhouse, children. No cover charge and always a cover band. A fantastic cover band on stage and an elastic band around the old single braid.

I would like to see more double duty braids. Two braids all Swiss-Missy, and worn with pride, by a man who gets and understands the beauty and intrigue behind the concept of androgyny. But really, when did the whole rockin' the dualbraid action become the sole domain of women? Anyone familiar with North American Native history could easily pose this question.

This installment of Fashion Friday will pay tribute to a a few notable dualbraid do-ers that have carried on this beautiful and bold "men with two braids" tradition.

Willie, you and your strands are FINE!

Dave Grohl, I loved your "Everlong" locks!

Shannon Hoon, so very sorry you and your braids didn't stick around longer.

I was never a Blind Melon fan. That fuckin' Bee Girl shit played a bad game of fingernails on the chalkboard with my head. But Shannon seemed like a decent, open, and nice person. I have a pleasant memory of him loping over to me and saying that he liked the sheepskin coat I was wearing. He was wearing a lovely pair of cords the most gorgeous shade of Kelly green and I complimented him on them. A few years later he took a swan dive into the great "Needle and the Damage Done" swimming pool, a scary place where there never seems to be any lifeguards on duty. Sad.

Darn, and this was supposed to be a fun, uplifting post! From light to heavy in just a few paragraphs.

But life's like that.

currently listening to: Beck, Sea Change

Thanks to A. for the inspiration!

Reel to Reelly Cool

2007-06-21T22:43:00.000-05:00

Danish Composer Else Marie Pade

Okay, I was meant to find this pic on the net. How cool was this woman? So I looked her up.

Eighty-two-year-old composer Else Marie Pade is a phenomenon in the history of Danish music. As a child she was often ill and bedridden. She would listen to the sounds around her... on the stairs, from the yard and the room next to hers. This is where her audio universe began. During the Second World War, she was arrested by the Gestapo and placed in solitary confinement. Rather than despair, she began composing music on the bare prison walls, where she scratched the notes with the fasteners on her garters. After the war and her discovery of the concrete music of Pierre Schaeffer and the French avant-garde, she realized that the sounds resembled those she had heard in childhood, and that this was the music she really wanted to compose. She became the first Dane to devote her life to concrete music-and to electronic music-but had to wait fifty years to be "discovered."
--from the International Festival of Films on Art website

Wow. That's inspiring. The next time I read some sob story from some current twenty something, upper middle class born, emo troubadour who claims he/she went through hell and its hand basket to get their music written, recorded and heard, I think I'm gonna shed a single tear. Not for them. For the mere thought they can't see past their own level of "comfortable suffering" to realize that there exists pretty substantial history of musicians before them who genuinely had to struggle to make it through.

I dunno. Maybe I'm being unfair. A bit bit-chay. But maybe "I wrote this number one emo hit to deal with a breakup" just pales in comparison to "I wrote my music on a prison wall to avoid a mental breakdown".

Anyway, I got some heavy home work to do on this great Dane of a dame, Else Marie Pade. Inspiration is best enjoyed when it is discovered by accident. Funny, I was just googling "pastries", and she was the Danish to emerge. Kidding. But you knew that. I had meant to type in "pasties".

A more current pic of Else Marie, from the documentary, "Sound On Life"

currently listening to: Wendy Carlos, A Clockwork Orange, the Complete Original Score

"YOU SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!"

2007-06-18T21:53:00.000-05:00

Paul and precious baby Mary

Happy 65th Birthday Paul!

He was the considered the most beautiful Beatle. He wrote the prettiest songs, but blew us all away when he ruffed and gruffed it up for "Why Don't We Do It In The Road". He spun killer yarns about raccoons, and the beginning segment of "Band on the Run", is still one of my fave Paul moments.

He can be forgiven for his gawdawful mullet circa 1972 (Lord love Linda for getting a matching she-mullet) and for the "Give My Regards to Broadstreet" movie debacle, because, well...he's Paul. And because the beautiful brilliance of "Mother Nature's Son", "Blackbird", and "I Will" together will cancel out any ickiness and syrupy sentimental rubbish he has thrown our way ("Michelle, ma belle, sont les mots..." EWWWWWWWWWWWWW).

But then again, that sweet and sappy McCartney-esque approach was such perfect foil for the more caustic and cynical twists of Lennon.

Damn, it's so hard to find fault with our doe-eyed Macca.

Well.. Heather Mills. Not such a good move, Paul. The one-legged gold-diggah tried to sully your forty-five year legacy.

The Maharishi may have been disingenuous, but unlike Mizz Hussy-on-a-Stick, he didn't do a press tour when Paul left him.

Many happy returns Paul, thank you for reminding me everyday:

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make"

Sigh.

currently listening to: Paul McCartney, Ram

1946-2004

2007-06-17T21:48:00.000-05:00

This is one of my fave pictures of my Dad. He's second from the left, rockin' da hood over da head look. He's 20 years old, happy, and digging on hanging with his homies.

Dad passed away a few years ago. I miss him madly.

currently listening to: Nick Drake, Pink Moon

quiet LOUD quiet LOUD

2007-06-12T20:54:00.000-05:00

---photo taken by me, outside Abbey Road Studios, Summer 2001

I continue to wonder daily, if Kim said "Yes". I'm sure she did, Larry is probably one hep, Beatle-lovin' cat.

Remember the whole quiet-loud-quiet-loud song dynamic that was all the rage? (Whoa...it suddenly smells like teen spirit around here...) I'm just going through my quiet part right now. Will be back louder and more obnoxious than ever.

Catch ya on the flip side, y'all! Be back in a few days!

currently listening to: The Beatles, Revolver

K.I.S.S. and a Little KISS for Fashion Friday

2007-06-08T21:49:00.000-05:00

David Gilmour, Rocking the T to a T

I love the saying "Keep It Simple Stupid". As much as I get a kick out of elaborate stage costumes and makeup, I much prefer the simple T-shirt and jeans look. This laissez-faire attitude is always a sure sign that a player will pull out complex, intricate, and well thought out licks that will surely devastate in that good way. K.I.S.S. stylers have more important things to do like invent new musical direction, experiment with new gear, redefine the term "production", and most importantly, continue to learn and evolve into exceptional musicians. I mean, how can one possibly contribute towards the creation of a great concept album if one is more concerned about matching their Hannibal Lecter mask to their Texas Chainsaw jumpsuit? How 'bout the next Thomas Harris installment be entitled "Silence of the Slipknot"? Yep, that works for me.

It's not like we are going to look back and rave, "Yes, the band Slipknot, and the whole Nu-Metal scene was perhaps the best thing ever to happen to music." If there is someone out there that would be comfortable saying this, I would suggest a self-imposed exile into a room with a turntable and every Pink Floyd and Who album within easy reach. Oh, and bringing in a monster truck size bag of Cheetos is acceptable since you are used to digesting fake, processed and poisonous crud, empty and devoid of anything slightly enriching.

Don't get me wrong. Theatrics and pyrotechnics, and suits of armour or chainmail can be very entertaining. But if a band relies only on these to sell records then this is the music that should be deposited immediately into the delete and garbage bins, like a spent down to the nub stick 'o greaspaint.

At least KISS had the chops and the killer riffs behind the Schtick. Like any good grunge girl, I carried a lunchbox in lieu of a purse, and yep, you guessed it, it was a KISS pail. Still have it too, although it now serves as a great storage bin for all my ticket stubs, laminates, passes and important guitar picks. The picks I don't wanna lose...I have 3 Dava picks that I am holding on to for dear life, as I don't think they sell them up here in the Toronto tundra.

Pete, Hip and Hot in the T-Zone

Just one more thang...please indulge me here, a girl has got to gush every so often. This is perhaps the most beautiful portrait in the history of the rock.

David Gilmour, 1975

This is damn near as beauteous.

HIWATT DG103 Head, The David Gilmour Signature Model, based on the original Custom 100W

Hella pricey. I could never afford something like this. Even when I worked in the gearshop, the staff discount wouldn't have made any dif. "I worked in a Gear Shop and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."

One more little T note:

In my T, I'll take Cream (Clapton and Co.), Sugar (Bob Mould and Co.) and a whole lotta Floyd.

currently listening to: The Sea and Cake, Everybody

More Weebles...and a Dazzling Pearl

2007-06-07T21:14:00.000-05:00

Two more Weebles for two more hardcore wobblers. I hate to say it, but drawing these have been really fun. Good times. Recent events in the life of Lohan have forced me to depict her double fisting a couple of Ginsu knives. And Britney, what could be better than a price tag still attached to the wig; a tribute of sorts to Minnie Pearl, who unlike fellow Southerner Ms. Spears, proudly embraced her country bumpkin status. Minnie also didn't try to gloss her hickness over and disguise it after one hot and heavy round with a Bedazzler. Britney? Girl was born to Dazzle to the Be. And Dazzle to the Re. Re-hab that is.

Rest in Peace Minnie, I'm sure your tag actually read "PRICELESS".

currently listening to: Dusty Springfield, Dusty in Memphis

Weebles, The New Breed

2007-06-06T23:03:00.000-05:00

Weebles are such a bitchin' toy. Egg shaped little peeps who break it down and wobble to and fro, but never, ever fall down. Wheeeeee...such fun! Such plastic innocence, just waiting to be corrupted!

There are a lot of real live people out there who are doing their fair share of wobbling back and forth, but as long as they have a captive audience, they will never really take a fall. The world watches, fascinated, as certain individuals weave an unsteady path towards self destruction. The media loves their playthings, proving that no matter how old we get, we still love our toys. And we love to deny that our constant invasion of their privacy has something to do with playing a hand in pushing them back and forth.

I decided that it was time to offer up a new set of Weebles that will be considered the most unsteady of the bunch, and will feature media darlings that have been known to wobble bigtime if the toy chest is stocked plenty large with plenty of party favours.

I'm in the process of designing Weebles-The Fuckup Collection. I'd like to have half a dozen, so any suggestions would be much appreciated. The Amy Winehouse one will be double the size of a standard Weeble in order to accomodate the beehive. The Pete Doherty and Kate Moss ones will have magnets so they will be inseparable. However, every Weeble will have an unscrewable top which will reveal a secret compartment for concealing stashes of all kind. Hell, would airport security even think to look inside a harmless looking toy? I think not.

I'd like to keep the Weeble roster to musicians (Kate qualifies as a musician's muse and accessory). I guess this means that I can't do the queen of wobblers, Lindsay Lohan. Wait, didn't she release an album? A highly forgettable, and a highly stanky one I'm sure, but hey...that means she qualifies.

Back to the drawing board! Suggestions please!

currently listening to: The Monkees, Headquarters

An Open Letter to Those Who Rule Muppet World

2007-06-05T14:56:00.000-05:00

I think it's about time The Muppets Empire created a new superstar band. C'mon, Henson puppet people, as much as I adore Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, it's time for y'all to design and execute a more contemporary bunch of music stylin' puppets that are more about the guitar rawk and less about Zoot's saxophone squawk. And, give Animal a break. He and I would both appreciate it if he was sent to the Island of Misfit Toys for an extended vacay. Send Teeth downtown for a more updated grill while yer at it.

In choosing a band to model these new puppets after, look no further than the incredible Swedish outfit The Soundtrack of Our Lives. This group is absolutely the best gift Sweden has given to me, even above and beyond that Ikea lamp that has somehow stayed with me throughout 8 moves of house. The lead singer, Ebbot Lundberg, sort of reminds me of Dr. Teeth, except for the gold tooth...Ebbot doesn't have one, but bass player Kalle certainly does. Check out TSOOL's vid for "Sister Surround" to see for yourself. Make sure you pay attention around the 1:31 mark where Ebbot takes a kick right in the Swedish Meatballs. Ouch.

If I were to hand a shopping list worth of perfect qualities to the deity on high workin' it out on music's Mount Olympus and were to say "Make it So...once you are finished destroying Britney", the band eventually delivered to my doorstep would be, without a doubt, The Soundtrack of Our Lives.

Sheer perfection of song and of style. So what if the one guitarist is cribbin' from Townshend right down to the windmill? So what if the lead singer is wearing a crazy Sherwani and looking slightly Brian Wilson "The Stay in Bed Years"? At least he knows that slimming black hides a multitude of sins. So what if the drummer is pulling trix with stix bigtime so as to draw attention away from his comb-over? These are the very things that make this band Muppet Worthy. Look at the gear! An SG, a Ricky and a Firebird V? Get outta town! White amps? It doesn't get much better than this, folks. Such energy, such animation, with loads of personality. And fuckin' top haircuts. The bass player is the first dude who can play his axe propped up at nipple height and still look cool. Each band member has got his own thang goin on. Sweden definitely has got it goin' on too. Obviously.

So please, rulers of the domain known as Muppetworld, please use TSOOL as your prototype for your next puppet music group.

The Swedish Chef would be down with his fellow countrymen joining the ranks.

"TSOOL? Ja, ja! Bork! Bork! Bork!"

currently listening to: TSOOL, A Present from the Past. Obviously.

My Top Ten at 10

2007-06-03T23:32:00.000-05:00

My dear and charmingly deviant partner in pop culture crime, Mr. Samurai Frog Esquire, tagged me for a music meme that involved picking the top 5 toonz (according to chart action) from the year that you turned 18. You then were to offer commentary and critique, some yay or nay, some boo or wahoo! Then you could choose 5 of your own faves from that same year, and go crazy with some personal anecdotes that were soundtracked by these very selections. "This is Your Life" with a locked and loaded jukebox.

Of course I have to change the rules. Please forgive me SF; sometimes a sistah just has to mix things up. There's a reason why most of my report cards stated, "Very creative, but appears to have trouble following instructions." It wasn't that I had trouble following, I just didn't want to. The "problem" still plagues me today. But being the rad individual that he is, I am confident that SF will not be giving me an "F" on this particular project.

I've decided to do my top ten when I was 10. As a way of introduction, here is my class photo when I was a ten year old tomboy, surrounded by my posse of little men who let me play their reindeer and rainy day games. I'm in the front row, second from the left, sandwiched between ma man Jamie with the rad motobike shirt and between the naughty naughty Steven, who as you can see was more than happy to give his opinion on class photos. Stevie's Inverted Flippin' the Bird action had many horrified parents calling the school. Of course he became hero of the playground, and the favoured boytoy of the one girl in our class who actually needed a bra, f'real.

So here we gooooooooo...
1. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Refugee. I also had the version recorded by Alvin, Theo, and Simon Seville. Which was awesome.

2. Pink Floyd. Another Brick in the Wall Part Two. THE anthem to sing when you are ten years old and facing detention.
3. Styx. Babe. I hated that tinkly keyboard intro, but it was the song for Moonlight Skates for Couples Only at the rollerama.
4. M. Pop Muzik. "Boogie With a Suitcase". What a lyric. I laughed then. I laugh now.
5. Paul McCartney. Coming Up. This was released around the time Paul and Linda were busted for dope. I had the 45 and I remember my sister drew joints hanging out of Paul's mouth on the picture on the sleeve.
6. Pretenders. Brass in Pocket. I idolized Chrissie. Twenty odd years later face to face, she broke my heart...but ahhh...that's another story for another time...
7. Fleetwood Mac. Sara. Still in heavy rotation on my ipod. The drums just kill me.
8. The Rolling Stones. Emotional Rescue. Every year in class we had to do a speech in front of everyone for a public speaking project. This girl named Krissi did one on Mick Jagger. It was horrible and she probably just copied all that she recited from Creem Magazine. She should have just recited the lyrics from this particular song. "I WILL BE YOUR KNIGHT IN SHINING AHHH-MOUR". That shit is hot.
9. Olivia Newton John. Magic. Man, sweet innocent Sandy from Grease totally Ho-ed out. Every girl in my school wanted a pair of those black spandex Sandy-Slut pants. I didn't. I was more into kickin' it Kenickie style.
10. The Sugar Hill Gang. Rapper's Delight. I had this entire "rapic" (rap+epic) memorized. I would say I have managed to retain about 54.8% of it. The balance was kicked out of my headspace by years of listening to Sabbath hardcore. Something had to give over and make room for War Pigs.

So there it is. My top ten at 10, when I caught my pre-teen buzz droppin' da needle on da record.

Hey wanna have some fun? Try this. Find a know-it-all ten year old and ask them what THIS is...

It's nice to know that in this one respect, I am smarter than a fifth grader.

currently listening to: Nik Freitas, Voicing the Hammers

I Just Can't Forgive You Carl!

2007-06-02T00:21:00.000-05:00

Thank you Allan for sending this. Tell Carl it's not gonna happen.

currently listening to: Son Volt, Wide Swing Tremolo

Attila, the Funny

2007-06-01T22:40:00.000-05:00

Earlier this week I had professed a bit of concern that Dylan was morphing into Captain Morgan.

Apparently, Sportin' a Morgan has proved to be a bit more common that I had previously suspected.

Does the Morgan clone on the left look a bit familiar? Before he started crashing into supermodels and poor defenseless trees, Billy Joel was crashing jazz and heavy metal dramatically together as part of a duo known as Attila. Sorry...ATTILA!! (I hear a big gong crash in my head after I say the name.)

I definitely hear a drum roll in my head as I present to you the incredible front cover of the Attila album....

TA-DA! It's like The Beatle's "Butcher Cover" meets Frank Frazetta meets Conan the Barbarian meets yes, Captain Morgan. There's something so low rent about it as well, like Billy stole his granny's old fur coat from her apartment in the Bronx and cut it up and added it for extra flourish to his "Crazy Al's Costume Rental" getup. I'll bet Billy had a buddy who worked down in the meat packing district who probably said, "Yeah man, come down around 3 in the morning and I'll sneak you guys and your photo guy in."

Bet those helmets are cheap plastic too.

Atilla didn't last long. Their album bombed bigger than Hiroshima and legend has it Billy started a fire in the skirt of his band member's wife, running off with her after shouting "ME, TAKE YOUR WOMAN!"

Joel of course made leaps and bounds musically, and moved up the evolution scale to suit wearing sophisticate who defined the New York 1970's soft rock sound. You know the sound...just picture a New York street at midnight, steam escaping from a manhole, and in the distance, comes a tinkling of a Fender Rhodes 73...GOD, I HATE THAT SOUND! I hear the introduction of "Just the Way You Are" and I instinctively do the bite into a lemon face. I'm a big Joel fan, but this particular piano sound is just a slab of Velveeta, and a sound that when manufacturers program this patch into the brain of Casio portable keyboards, it automatically depreciates the instruments' value 30%.

I also have a hard time digesting sonically the New York sax sound, Clarence Clemons be damned. Gimme Springsteen stripped down; gimme Springsteen alone and with his guitar. Gimme Nebraska, you can have New York.

But only in this case. I will take Manhattan in a New York minute. The New York City of Woody Allen wanderings and of Warhol happenings. Of Lou Reed's brilliant lyrical meanderings and of Jackson Pollock's method to the madness splashings.

But I digress, this is supposed to be a Fashion Friday installment. Let me make it up to you. In tribute to the bands that have thrilled us all with their roguish and swashbuckler fashion, I give you now the best of the best.

Don't say I never gave you anything.

currently listening to: Marianne Faithfull, Broken English

A Ray of Sunshine

2007-05-30T23:38:00.000-05:00

One fine day I decided to move to Italy. Once I had secured a paying gig over there in the land of Michelangelo and gelato, I knew I had to start saving the scratch bigtime. I decided that in addition to working full time at the gear shop, I had to secure a weekend part time gig that would pad the bank account.

But what to do? Where would I fit in? Here I was, working 40 hours a week with a staff 90% male, a staff that was comprised of peeps that like myself, lived and breathed the dirty rawk.

So what did I end up doing part time?

Selling makeup and beauty products. Yes. Working alongside the kind of females that defined the term girlie-girl. The shop was also located in the snooty part of town, Toronto's answer to Rodeo Drive. If indeed the Devil wears Prada, he/she definitely shopped in this area when spending time in the Great White North.

So here I was working seven days a week, living a double life that soon screamed, "Identity Crisis"! You try selling a Boss Metal Zone pedal to a rank smelling guy named Rufus with stains of dubious origin on his Celtic Frost t-shirt and then shifting over to selling matte foundation #3 in ivory to an over perfumed trophy wife who considered shopping a recreational sport. About as easy as playing "Stairway to Heaven" while wearing glamour length Lee Press On Nails. My life soon became "Hairway to Heaven". Overpriced shampoos and conditioners on Saturday and Sunday. Overrated effects pedals that looked cool but offered little sonic versatility on Monday to Friday.

But I did adapt. In fact I soon got a kick out of dealing with such a wide and diverse range of customer profile and personality.

One Saturday at the beauty shop I helped this very cool guy buy some aromatherapy oils. The kind you put in an oil burner and light up. He had an accent and a very dynamic and charismatic way about him. And he was buff. Not extraordinarily tall but solid. Pleasant and well mannered. The kind of dream customer that makes your day.

I rang him up and bid him a great day. I liked the fact that he was a gent into the whole scented oil deal. Real men like aromatherapy. Fact.

After he had left, my manager came over and asked, "You know who that was don't you?"

I laughed and said, "The man who got away". I think I sighed for effect.

She grinned and identified the hot guy, who had with his oil fetish, slippity-slipped through my fingers.

"Darth Maul".

Yep. The Maulster. Ray Park. He was in town filming X-Men. Was apparently a regular customer who normally came in during the week days to secure his hit of fragrance.

Aha! Suddenly the beauty gig had redeemed itself.

For all you Canadians out there, I just would like to say I sold some big bottles of body wash to Tie Domi, retired enforcer and fighting machine for the Toronto Maple Leafs. He had big scars running through both of his eyebrows and he bought, what I thought was the perfect scent for him.

Oceanus. Oce-ANUS.

Just kidding, Tie...

currently listening to: Archer Prewitt, White Sky

Darth Maul and the Women Who Love Him

2007-05-29T23:33:00.000-05:00

Many gear slutz feel Star Wars love. A schematic of the Millennium Falcon can inspire as many a tech boner as a schematic mapping out the inner gizzards of say, a Theremin (an crazy electronic box with oscillators and antennae played by moving hands around to control the volume and pitch, yada yada look it up yada yada it's wicked yada yada).

So therefore it is essential to mention on this blog, the 30th anniversary of Star Wars' first theatrical release on May 25, 1977.

Yeah, yeah, I'm four whole days late on this but cut me some slack, I am after all, a card carrying Gen-X slacker baby who not only contributed to the raised profile of procrastination; but defended it on the basis that it contained the prefix pro, so therefore there had to be something positive about it.

Yep. I'm definitely PRO procrastination. I'll read "The Hobbit" when I get around to it.
Yep. I'm definitely PRO castration. If John Bobbitt hadn't had his mishap, would the straight to video magic that is "Frankenpenis" ever have been made?

Hobbits and Bobbit...Jokin' with Tolkien, it never gets old. Have you seen "The Lord of the Cockrings"?

Actually Star Wars has proven to be pornish in it's own special way. Check out this actual Lucasfilm dialogue:
*Luke, at that speed do you think you'll be able to pull out in time?
*You're all clear, kid! Now lets blow this thing and get outta here!
*Pull out Wedge, you can't do any more good back there!

Like most sensible people I absolutely love Star Wars, and Empire. Jedi? Good, but not great. Don't get me started on the other three. The one amazing thing about Phantom Menace was Darth Maul. Chicks dig on the Maul. I used to think I was totally alone in my girl hardon for Maul. Wrong. If you see the internet as a big rack of professional looking three piece business suits, you will find that with some time and effort you can rustle around and explore all the pockets only to discover all the badass weirdness that hides deep within 'em.

Finding The Darth Maul Estrogen Brigade 2 (one was not enough apparently) was like discovering a roll of five flavor Lifesavers in the bottom of a jacket pocket with all the pineapple ones removed. Yesssss!

It's all Maul. Girlstyle. They wonder how Maul would sound having an orgasm. I personally think that Maul has a Prince Albert piercing but I don't think I'm ready to share that with their class just yet. They also encourage readers to submit their Darth Maul encounters to the site, and many have, telling stories of meeting Ray Park (the actor who in body played the supervillian, some other dude did the voice) at SciFi nerd conventions. I would only go to these things if there were more seminars and workshops on "Filking", which is SciFi Folk Singing. It is an exciting notion indeed to know that there is at this very moment, some dude out there that looks and sings like a young Donovan but is singing about flux capacitors and shit. Dreamy.

I myself did have a Darth Maul encounter. I will save that story for the next post. Although they are loathe to admit it, everyone enjoys a good cliff hanger. Look at the ending of The Empire Strikes Back. Major cliffer there. So I will save my Maul tale 'till tomorrow. My Maul tale ain't a tall tale, it's little and short, but hey, it's mine.

...to be continued, in a blog not far, far away at all.

Darth Maul, Too Sexy for his Starsystem

currently listening to: Meco, Disco Star Wars Theme

Bobby D BD Fashion Friday

2007-05-25T22:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Dylan's 66th birthday. The great man was born in 1941. Man, that's hella old. Dag yo, World War II was still raging. Oh, and to put the old factor into even more perspective, in 1941, first base mitts, push button phones and Velcro were all invented. Oh, and the first programmable calculator. Of course it was the size of a dictionary and needed two sumo wrestlers to lift it, and a team of 18 wonder nerds just to turn it on. Shit, and I thought the first Atari game console was ancient. Compared to Bob however, those little space invader creatures are as new as Phil Spector's recent realization of "Hey, I may actually be convicted here!". Have fun Phil, plotting out how to make your Wall of Soundproof Glass in the Clink's Visitation Room work for ya.

And Phil, that scary AHHHHHH!!!-fro is gawdawful. Cut your hair along with your losses and just go forth and be someone's little baby in the cooler. Karma will dictate that it will be some huge mutha with arms like cultured hams and no teeth named "Ronnie".

As for Dylan's afro-action...never a misstep. Ever. Even when it was outta control and looked pan-fried it rawked the casbah.

But really, his hair wasn't really an afro proper, just a great, glorious and big 'o mess of unruly curls and swirls. 'Tastic with a capital Fan.

Dylan should get more props for his contribution to style. His rep as a genius musician which is of course well deserved, completely over shadows his knack for the dress up, the dress down, and the dress just right.

Just check out his "Last Waltz Beauty Period". Faye Dunaway just called, Bob, and she wants her '70's glamour and her hat back. Delish.

Lately though I'm starting to worry about the old man. Worried about him musically? Um, no. 2006's "Modern Times" is an award winning masterpiece. Self-produced to boot. A boot of Spanish leather that is.

Style wise, I'm concerned that Bobby D is just one case of rum away from pimpin' a Captain Morgan.

I would be both shaken and stirred if this happened. Rumtini anyone?

currently listening to: Oasis, Definitely Maybe

Turn Up the Smash, Turn Down the Suck

2007-05-24T20:49:00.000-05:00

This Les Paul sure lived the good life before its righteous-noble passing on to the great guitar case in the sky.

This Strat definitely went out in style at Monterey in '67. It got humped and pumped and set on fire by some guy named Jimi with an "i" who definitely had an eye for the foxy ladies.

This guitar suffered instantaneous death the second this guy picked it up.

Death was sweet alternative to years spent being fingered by Mr. Marx.

Never has a world tour been so appropriately named.

currently listening to: Tarwater, Spider Smile

I Suddenly Feel Real Sick...

2007-05-23T13:49:00.000-05:00

Doc Marten Ad

...to be continued, too angry to write anything extensive. Poor Kurt. Fuck you Courtney if you signed off on this...

Joe Strummer, Sid Vicious and Joey Ramone were all "treated" to similar advertising/marketing treatment for this particular Doc Marten campaign. Those pics are searchable if ya wanna see. I don't want to post them here. Fuckin' shameful.

Actually, I haven't a lot more to say. I'll let the late great Bill Hicks say exactly what I feel. Bill was good like that. Nope, he was GREAT like that. He was hip to the "rebel sell" before some quasi-bohemian with yuppie ambition coined that very term whilst slumming down his brand spanking new "artist's loft". The "slumming down decorating procedure" just means you beat your just purchased print of the Pixies "Surfer Rosa" album cover with a meat tenderizer and throw some vinegar and water on it before you frame and mount it on the wall. That way it will look "dirtay-vintay"(dirty vintage). Let's see how long it takes before that phrase gets around.

BTW, I have many dear friends in the marketing/advertising racket. I love them dearly. My hate on is in no way near Bill's, but I do feel a "Wrath Against the Advertising Con" (my version of "The Wrath of Khan" but with no Ricardo Montalban) that every so often I have to vent out. Vent. Venti. Italian for twenty. Also the fancy name for Starbucks largest coffee size (twenty ounces). There's marketing mindfuck at work. Giving something fairly ordinary and commonplace a fancy name to justify overcharging.

Guess I had more to say after all.

currently listening to: too mad to listen to anything

The Snap! The Crackle! The Pop! The Hiss! The History of Popular Music

2007-05-21T20:53:00.000-05:00

Noel Gallagher is a pretty fascinating guy. Instead of going into the studio to try to recreate the magic that was the first two Oasis albums, brother should just stay at home with his Benson & Hedges and write a book called, "The History of Music According to Me". A sort of music from A to Z as told by Noelly G. No ghost writer. No fuckin' editor. No outside interference, just Noel's thoughts and opinions straight from his brain to the written page. The tome would be a massive best seller and Noel could go on on a spoken word/stand up tour a la Henry Rollins and make the kind of folding green his bank account has not built up since he constructed the mighty "Wonderwall". I personally could listen to him speak for hours and love the way he is completely oblivious to the fact that he not only blurs the lines between music and stand up comedy, he continues to decimate them with every interview he gives.

I've read a story that when Noel first moved to London from Manchester he had to either walk or take cabs to get around because he couldn't figure out how to get around via the London Underground. Not only did he "Mind the Gap", he avoided it all together. True enough, when I was in London, I found the task challenging but, it was do-able. I'm sorry Noel, but you figured out how to brilliantly navigate your way around music history enough to steal, use, disguise and pass off as your own many killer riffs that had been already recorded, and yet when it came to workin' the Tube you were a complete boob?

Dumb uni-brower.

I recently stumbled upon a neat-o reworking of the fabled London Underground map, revamped to illustrate the history of popular music; how bands can be grouped and catagorized and how they connect and relate to one another. Each line, or subway route becomes a genre in the map, a map designed by one of those hard working, detail obsessed British music scribes. Not hard to figure why British music rags take a month and a day to read cover to cover, and often contain the sort of elaborate text, that like the amazing photo spreads, are of a quality that make them suitable for framing.

If you would like to download your own cool copy, click here for a P to the D to the F file. Print it off, tack it up somewhere and every day make a point to pick out a band that you haven't heard of before and make your aquaintance in whatever way ya roll. MP3's? Google? YouTube? Discovering new to you music has never been so easy. Easy like a Sunday...yeah, you know.

When one is discussing visual presentation of the history of music, one cannot help but mention the genius that is Peter Frame. He is the master behind all those great Music History Trees, the ones that break down in meticulous detail, the movements and the memberships of popular music groups. Pete's design style has become his trademark, much in the way that guy from Pearl Jam established his style with his distinctive, trademark handwriting. His flair with the free hand font went on to become the official font indentified with the grunge movement. Fontastic!

--Jeff Ament, design/handwriting, Temple of the Dog

--Peter Frame, Collection, Rock Family Trees

They have expanded upon Pete's Trees by creating some great biography programs about bands that Pete has mapped out. The Black Sabbath one is really great. Check it out at: http://www.veoh.com/videos/v491717kmcSKyEz

It's pretty lengthy, but save it for a rainy day, when the lightning is flashing, and the thunder is rolling and you are ready and willing to enslave yourself to the Evil Tritone!

To anyone out there currently in the seed stage of their music career...keep going! Learn and flourish and get your tree growin'! Oh, and if you ever get to a stage where you meet Noel Gallagher, encourage him to get to the Laff Resort STAT. And whatever you do, don't ask him for subway directions.

currently listening to: Stereolab, Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage in the Milky Night

A Little Sumthun Sumthun with Duds and the BGs

2007-05-20T23:12:00.000-05:00

Most people find, when they hear the Bee Gee's classic "Staying Alive", a vision of a slim John Travolta all hot and sweaty with a 103 degree disco fever on a Saturday night, will pop into their heads. Fair enough. Good for them.

I just see Dudley Moore. Gettin' his preeeee-verted groove on.

Watch and bust a move along with Dudley as you enjoy this clip from "Foul Play". The scene is built around a misunderstanding, a plotline tool that when used effectively, can anchor an entire 7 seasons of an otherwise crap TV show. I'm talking to you, Furley! The only props I can give to you is on your classic polyester but made to look like real denim leisure suit.

I loved this stretchy, faux-denim fabric. It should have been crowned the official "Home-Ec. Project" fabric for the '70's. But I digress, back to Duds. From tacky poly blend duds to Duds. What a segue.

In this clip, Goldie Hawn's character is trying to escape a guy who looks like the Glad Man. Or the Man from Glad. Whatevs. She comes to Dudley's character's swingin' batch-pad to hide but dude thinks she is looking for a little sumthun-sumthun.

"Hidden speakers! Quadraphonic!"

In addition to tickling funny bones the world over, Duds also tickled the ivories sumthun wicked. A mean piano player, who displayed his talent most prominently in the flick "10", which in my opinion, on a scale of "one to", is just that.

currently listening to: Cat Power, You are Free

Awww...Eff Off Brangelina! It's Fashion Friday!

2007-05-18T20:50:00.000-05:00

Before show-biz power couples started adopting babies, there were some twosomes who liked to adopt drug dealers. And judging by the amount of pills and maryjane thrills this historic power couple did, no doubt their dealer became such a fixture in their household that he was considered family.

Before there was Brangelina, there was Branita.

Brian Jones and Anita Pallenberg

She swung it in Mary Quant minis. He slung 'n hung it in trousers from the hip boutique to the stars, Granny Takes a Trip.

Granny Takes a Trip boutique, the King's Road, Chelsea, London

Boy, were these two mod and stylish! Boy, were these two the fashion trend setters of Swingin' London! Boy, were these two considered rock 'n roll royalty! Boy, were these two royally messed up!

These beautiful doppelgangers would frug the night away at sweet hot spots from London to Marrakesh in their velvets and silks, playing a mad game of dysfunctional-co dependence-a-go-go while sitars and pushers loomed in the background. And Keith. Keith loomed too. Bided his time. His patience paid off, and Branita soon became...

Keith An' Pal

In the beginning of his deathly pallor stage, Keith managed to swipe Pallenberg off her platformed feet and became head pallbearer for the Branita funeral.

Never has a soap opera of this magnitude been so well costumed. When she wasn't busy casting spells and putting curses on people who got in her way, Anita managed to be one of the most stylish women of the '60's. Unfortunately her next great romance would be her undoing. Anita's famous coupling with Mr. Brownstone could easily have been called...

Ah-Need-A Fix, Now!

But not to worry too much. Anita is still alive and relatively well. Brian? Not so much. Keith? The jury is still out on that one.

currently listening to: Neil Young, Trans

Waitin' with Waits

2007-05-17T21:35:00.000-05:00

Been feelin' a little under the weather lately. Waitin' for the energy to kick back to eleven. Alas, waitin' with a little Waits eases the whole process.

Q: Do you collect anything?
Tom Waits: Like little ceramic dogs? I collect instruments. It's ongoing.

Q: Do you have a favorite sound?
Tom Waits: Bacon. In a frying pan. If you record the sound of bacon in a frying pan and play it back it sounds like the pops and cracks on an old 33 1/3 recording. Almost exactly like that. You could substitute it for that sound.

---excerpt from Pitchfork interview, 2006

I love Tom. Although there is some dispute over whether he said this first, I consider this one of his best quotes:

“Champagne for my real friends and real pain for my sham friends.”

I raise a glass to all my new, fabulous, and brilliant friends in the blogsphere. You know who you are.

currently listening to: Tom Waits, Closing Time

All Philler, and Hopefully a Killer Post

2007-05-15T16:33:00.000-05:00

Many times my focus and affections are saved for that of the less obvious choice. You know, in a kind of "watch all the the roadies and the techs dart around and stand on the sidelines rather than watch the center stage action in The Last Waltz" kinda way.
-or-
In a "watch and wonder at the fate of the red shirts standing in the background by paper mache rocks in Star Trek and feel genuine concern" kinda way.
-or-
In a "look at the cover of AC/DC's Highway to Hell and wonder just why in the hell is Phil Rudd exiled to the back in such a way that he looks like a gawking fan rather than a band member" kinda way.

I'm sorry, but Phil deserved better...if drumming is a vocabulary, Phil uses good solid no-nonsense words. Stated with a primal tone of caveman like authority, but with a clever and knowing wink that more than indicates that the stix are being well manned by a sophisticate possessive of opposable thumbs.

Let's continue on with this Phil-ness shall we?

As we near the end of May, may we take this moment to remember Phil Hartman? Almost a decade ago, on May 28, Phil was taken away in horrific manner, a manner that one simply cannot wrap one's head around given Phil's history of bringing so much joy and laughter to the world while he was here.

He also brought skilled graphic design talent to the music table; those talents are best reflected in two album covers:

Steely Dan, aja, 1977

Poco, Legend, 1978

I wonder how much Phil got paid for designing these? Let's hope it was a bit more than the 35 bucks that University of Oregon design student, Carolyn Davidson received for designing the original Nike "swoop" in 1971.

In keeping with this post's Phil-ness let's call out Nike's main man, Phil Knight for what he is. Oh wait, Michael Moore already did in his book "Downsize This" and in his documentary "The Big One". Check 'em both out. They will make you angry, but the good kind of angry that comes with the knowledge that you are well aware of the bullshit that goes on in the name of progress. The good kind of angry that stops you from purchasing a $200 pair of shoes that were made in a far away land and under cruel conditions.

It's hard to segue back into lighter fare so bear with me, or bare with me, whichever you prefer.

The following clip is perhaps my favorite of all in SNL history. Why? Certainly it is incredible because of Dana Carvey. But again, I will take the less obvious choice and say that Phil Hartman nails it completely for me. His expression is by far my favourite part of the skit. Enjoy!

I think this song would sell. The word broccoli is rad. Having the name Broccoli is even better.

"Broccoli. Cubby. Broccoli." AKA Albert R. Broccoli, uber producer of most of the Bond films (the ones worth seeing). Cubby will always be a legend.

The wonderful thing about people who create wonderful things is that they will live on through their art.

RIP Phil Hartman.

The wonderful thing about people who destroy wonderful things is that eventually, if karma lays a trump card, the jig and the over-paid gig is up and over.

If the shoe fits, Phil Knight.

currently listening to: David Pajo, Pajo

Motherfucker! Foodeater!

2007-05-13T01:22:00.000-05:00

Matt: The only reason you stay here is so you can fuck my mother and eat her food. MOTHERFUCKER! FOOD EATER! --River's Edge, 1986

Possibly the best quote in cinematic history. After "I love the smell of napalm in the morning" and "Rosebud!" of course.

Try as I might, I couldn't find a clip of the scene anywhere. Dammit, YouTube has clips of fuckin' every "Saved By the Bell" episode but not this? Sometimes the world is so out of whack I have to listen to some calming Elliott Smith just to see/feel some balance. Ironically and tragically enough, wonderful and beautiful Elliott could not find that sweet spot of contentment for any extended period. I dearly wish he could have sustained and maintained. I think of him every day. My one regret is never seeing him play live.

Another punishing example of world-out-of-whackness is that I missed the opportunity to see Elliott, but somehow managed to catch Keanu Reeves, the star of "River's Edge", play with his band Dogstar. But then again, I also went to see Mark Wahlberg at the height of his Marky Markiness. I was the Life Cereal Mikey kid of record store employees...

Scene: Record Store Counter
First hipster: What's this stuff? (looking at a pack of comp. concert tix)
Second hipster: Some free tickets for that new teen band. (wrinkles nose) Supposed to be good. (snickers sarcastically)
First hipster: I'm not gonna go. (pushes the tickets towards the second hipster in disgust)
Second hipster: Let's get E.!
First hipster: Yeah!
Second hipster: She won't go...she hates everything! (throws the tix over to E., standing by the racks. She looks at the tix and breaks out into a huge grin)
First hipster: She likes it! Hey E.!

In other words I soon became the last frontier for crap ticket disposal before management donated them to the squeegee kids. I just couldn't resist seeing what I considered to be sure thing one hit wonders. I just figured ya gotta see a hell of a lot of the bad to have the wherewith all to appreciate and understand the good. It was Disposable Teen Music 101 with screaming 14 year old girls waving homemade Bristol board signs with "I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABY" scribbled in crayon.

So yes, I saw Marky before Dirk Diggler swept in to add new length to his career and 13 inches of new length into his Calvin Kleins.

But back to Keanu and Dogstar. The free tickets actually came when I was working at the gear shop. The band's drum tech came in, and offered to put a few of us on the list. Extremely nice guy. Jared Leto and entourage, take note.

We go to the Will Call window and find out in addition to tickets, drum tech has left backstage passes. Extremely nice guy. The show was okay, and as expected girls screamed every time the spotlight settled on Keanu. Fascinating.

As expected again, the groupie contingent backstage was at fever pitch level; the one benefit it provided in the stifling hot room was that with the amount of hair flippage goin' down, a sort of breezy wind effect was generated. Some of the women looked fresh off the conveyor belt at the Groupie Inc. manufacturing plant. Can you imagine?

"Ah, we need more bustiers in sector eight, Ralph. Can you get the forklift and truck another skid on over? The Shawna Model 12 is due in Boise tomorrow, Aerosmith are doing a gig and expecting a least 4 of 'em."

I looked down at my dirty, dusty jeans stained with Finger Ease and orange oil, well aware that after a day of crawling around under amps to fish out stray patch cords and picks, I wasn't going to win any best dressed accolades. Maybe with Popular Mechanics mag...

Then all of a sudden, Keanu swept into the room. I swear, these girls had little electronic devices hidden somewhere amongst their straps and sequins because without any obvious or discernible movement, their skirts suddenly shimmied up a bit higher and the necklines plunged deeper as if suddenly triggered by a garage door opener. Man, these women have a CIA-like network of secret procedure that only they (and maybe Mick Jagger) know about. And Weapons of Massive-Yet-Fake Proportions.

So Keanu swept in one door, swept right by the fancy girls, completely ignoring them and then exited out door number two.

But as he crossed over he gave me a grin.

Score one for the dirty girl.

currently listening to: Tipsy, Remix Party

Debbie Does Da Gear Slut for Fashion Friday

2007-05-11T17:01:00.000-05:00

Some may call it smut. I call it the Mona Lisa of the CBGB/Max's Kansas City glory days. A "Birth of Venus" for the original New York punk/new wave scene, a scene that didn't see many trust fund babies gettin' their kicks and Strokes while waiting for those Rolling Stone love letters to filter in.

A Venus on a Half a Gram. Not that I condone Deb's drug dalliances, but the woman had incredible presence, and the sort of style that never seemed forced or merely the result of eight stylists working overtime on ego, greed, and Starbucks with a cocaine chaser.

Debbie was one of the first musicians to get the ironic T-shirt bang on. You just knew she and Chris Stein were hip to crazy wrestler shit and could probably tell you that Doctor X's real name was Dick Beyer. I once wore a Koko Beware t-shirt, and even though I was laughed at I was okay 'cause Debbie would have understood.

currently listening to: Television, Marquee Moon

A Preface---Fashion Fridays with Da Slut

2007-05-11T13:41:00.000-05:00

Obviously I love the gear. I do. But, I have decided to do a weekly post devoted to another kind of gear in the world of rawk. IN NO WAY as important as the Rolands or Gibsons or Hiwatts or Fenders or Tamas or DODs or Marshalls. But nonetheless an element of music that offers great springboard for fascinating discussion and debate. An element that depending upon the individual, either has front and center importance or merely carries more peripheral value, a value enjoyed purely on the fringes. A fringe benefit. A whole whack 'o fringe. Like fringe on an awesome cowboy shirt designed by Nudie, the Rodeo Tailor.

Nudie Western Shirt, ca. 1950, Autry National Center, Museum of the American West, Gift of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans

So starting this week, every Friday will be Da Slut's Fashion Friday. I'm gonna save the stellar story of fabulous Nudie for another time. But here he is with perhaps his most famous client:

Sweet Gram, you are so very missed. Your music and style were second to none.

So comin' up I will post the first object of Fashion Friday's affection. Just a warning...will feature nudity and may offend some. But the photo is classic. Iconic. And hot damn, defines an era style-wise. Will cement and bring an end to the great "Let's Be Offensive" week. Sorry Karen Carpenter, Sorry plastic Jon Bon Jovi. Sorry Barney, the town drunk.

Stay tuned!

currently listening to: Spiritualized, Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space

Death Valley of the Jon Doll

2007-05-09T21:14:00.000-05:00

T-minus 2 months until the Jon Bon Jovi doll hits the streets. And oh lord, once I get my hands on the plastic replica of the rather plastic rocker, hittin' the streets with it is just one of the many projects I have planned. I will also hit the mailbox with it. And the ice that needs to be crushed for my lemonade. Why knock and bruise my knuckles when I can just whip out Jonny-boy and alert people to my arrival by pounding on the door with his head? I'm tired of using that same boring stick that I use every morning to poke old Barney, the neighbourhood rummy, to check to see if he is still alive. I'm going to attach Bon Jovi to the end of said stick so that when Barney wakes up he'll think he's front and centre at the "Slippery When Wet" tour. But then again, the doll appears more "Have a Nice Day" era. No matter. Barney will break into a rousing chorus of "Wanted Dead or Alive" anyway. Like he always does.

I won't tie a fishing line around his neck and drag him from a bus. That's just too Napoleon Dynamite. But the dynamite motif intrigues me. I think what I'll do is replace the tiny plastic microphone that Jon doll is holding with one of those tiny little fire crackers that are like little mini h'orderves of TNT. And then, like at any concert worth it's salt, flic my bic.

Now that's what I call going out in a 'Blaze of Glory".

Serves you right Jon, for not fighting harder to have the company issue a Tico Torres doll.

Tico...denied!

currently listening to: Fugazi, 13 Songs

Vistalite Hi-lites of My Life

2007-05-08T18:14:00.000-05:00

As much as I love guitars, my favourite instrument to play are the drums. I can say with complete and shiny penny pride that Karen Carpenter was and remains a strong influence. Oh sweet, angel-voiced Karen, where did it all go wrong? Did you one day become completely mesmerized by your slender drum stick mid paradiddle and think "Now, that's a good look".

Karen was a solid drummer. She topped the 1975 Playboy Reader Poll for Best Drummer, much to the dismay of the fatter number two choice, John Bonham. As much as I love Bonzo it was good and fair karma for the beast to be knocked down a peg or twelve. Sort of payback for his noted "entourage abuse" which in one disgusting example saw an inebriated Bonham offer to trade his luxurious first class plane seat with one of his crew. The happy and pleasantly surprised roadie stayed that way until after he had settled in and realized Bonzo had wee-wee'd all over the seat.

Niiiiiiiiice. Guess the stairway to bathroom had too many steps.

Karen and Bonzo were indeed as opposite as opposites can be. He obviously avoided toilets, she spent most of her adult life with her head buried in one. And yet there was one common factor between them; they both were players noted for their use of Vistalites, Ludwig's line of acrylic drum kits that were introduced in the '70's.

Beautiful, no? Called the "Tequila Sunrise" kit, and surely now worth a whole lotta moolah on ebay. The Vistalites were slowly phased out due to bad sales and a marketplace that seemed to prefer wood based shells to plastic. Ludwig reintroduced them in 2001 with a replica amber coloured Bonham set that had a 14X26" bass drum. For extra authenticity, Ludwig included a urine soaked drum stool as part of the package.

Nahhhh...course not.

Just as if they choose to reissue a Keith Moon Vistalite, it won't come with goldfish included.

For a performance on the "Midnight Special" rock show, Moonie filled his Vistalite floor tom with water and some fishies...

Perhaps my fondest memory of a Vistalite is from a really bad/good, cheesy '70's TV movie called "Cotton Candy" which I loved so very dearly and for years guarded like Fort Knox my taped from the tube VHS copy. As a joke I lent this saccharine sweet goodness to my skinhead punk rock friend Christian and much to my amazement, he not only loved it, but became obsessed with it. I decided he had to have it. He was so overjoyed at the gift he cried. Punks have strange tear-triggers. Anyway, it's the tale of two rival high school bands who go on to duke it out at a mall sponsored "Battle of the Bands". The girl drummer in the "Cotton Candy" band plays a set of Vistalites.
This was Ron Howard's first film. He completely disowns it. Shame. I consider it his best flick. Check it out...it's rather long, but let it play out...trust me it's worth it.

currently listening to: Rapid Fire, "I Shot the Sheriff"

UPDATE!! My wonderful friend Samurai Frog over at Electronic Cerebrectomy informed me that Cotton Candy was Howard's second film, the first being "Grand Theft Auto". I'm sure this one is genius as well. Please take a trip on over to SamuraiFrog's blog, his is in my opinion, THE best pop culture blog on the net.

Forget The 12 Steps...Here's A 1 Step Scare Into Sober

2007-05-06T19:05:00.000-05:00

I have an alternate solution to the much touted 12 Steps plan for putting down the bottle. My program involves 1 Step and 1 Step only. Here we go...y'all ready?

STEP ONE:

Watch this video.

Thankfully our buddy Chris is still alive, producing albums and still playing...hopefully he has gotten past the whole self-diss habit and has stopped calling himself "a piece of crap". Buddy shredded awesome on W.A.S.P.'s "Animal(F*ck Like a Beast), a song that got the right wingers all offended and agitated way before NIN's lyric "I wanna f*ck you like an animal" from the track "Closer". Even offensiveness needs its ground breakers. And if you don't like it, don't listen. I'm sure Creed will come around again soon to keep you safe and warm. Or Stryper, if you like your hard rock with a halo.

Chris also lent his Ibanez Destroyer to Eddie Van Halen to record "Women and Children First". So he must be given props for lending his toys, fuckup or not.

I'm not trying to make light of what a terrible disease alcoholism is. Far from it. The world of Rawk can be big, dumb and stupid. A gifted musician doesn't have to be. All I can say is to anyone reading who is traveling the long hard road of rock right now, stuck somewhere between a blazing fire in Tonawanda and Timbuktu, is this--

"Rise above, rise above."

AND... while on tour, turning already-worn underwear inside out does qualify as clean underwear.

But only then.

currently listening to: Slint, Spiderland (again and again...it just never gets old)

Parker Fly Me to the Moon

2007-05-05T19:01:00.000-05:00

I just finished watching Spiderman 3. Pretty bad. I had to pull the screen of my laptop quickly up and down a few times just to air it out and get that there stank on outta 'dere. But the third installment of Spiderman should do well with the set that go to Blockbuster, find Shakespeare's "Richard III", and ask if the first two parts are available for rent as well. The movie did little for me other than to further solidify my opinion that the movie's co-star, James Franco (whom I adored in TV's "Freaks and Geeks") should be cast when they make the Jeff Buckley bio pic.

Franco, with his love

Buckley, with his love

Am I right or am I right-er? The resemblance is uncanny.

So Spiderman 3 sucked and "Toe-be anything but a superhero please!" Maguire contributed heavily to the stink, stank, and stunkage of the flick.

But then, I am way more interested in Parker Flys than watching Peter Parker fly.

Gorgeous guitars that carry a high price tag, but well worth the bux. Extremely light, and just conquer when it comes to diversity of tone. They offer a dual pickup system that allows the player to deliver acoustic tone, full on electric, or a mix of both. That's some sweetness there. Guitars like these really allow a player to find their unique voice and flava. And it can never hurt the reputation of a guitar manufacturer when dude who started the company paid his dues as a luthier (the creators and the medics of all da strings 'n things). Ken Parker's guitars are full of feature and complex of construction, but dude keeps his credo simple:

"I love music, and I love guitars." ---Ken Parker on the Parker website.

Amen Ken!

Incidentally, Joni Mitchell has been known to use a Parker, along with a Roland VG-8 system ("The Virtual Guitar"), a waysmart processor that can electronically recreate all those whack yet genius tunings that she is celebrated for.

Just for the record, to the guy I used to work with at the gear shop-- No, that WAS NOT funny when you told the story about your Chinese customer who asked if he could demo a "Parka Fry". This is the guy who could make you cry when he played; his feel for the instrument and his tone were both absolutely heartbreakingly good, but as far as playing at being a decent human being...well, he played that action just about as well as George W. Bush dances. And thanks to that recent video, we all know that just ain't good.

currently listening to: Joni Mitchell, Blue

The Depeche Mode Hijack at Hiwatt

2007-05-03T14:55:00.000-05:00

Sad to say some of my fave flicks hoover way high in the worst movie cosmos. In cosmos far far away from those that can be found housing more universally applauded and celebrated movies, those found only "in a galaxy far far away..." (click link... you'll find you can almost smell popcorn, and your shoes will suddenly feel like they are sticking to the floor).

In the worst part of the cinema solar system one can locate Saturn 3. Hell, if Richard Branson had the good sense with his mega dollars and cents to charter a craft goin' this way, move over Lance Bass and Steven the Hawkin' MachineBuzz Talkin'...I'm space bound!

You figure with the stellar cast it couldn't go wrong. It did. Harvey Keitel as the bad guy's body, but voice overdubbed by some other dude. Kirk Douglas as the old, naked guy as you will soon see in the clip. And Fa-Fa-Fa-Farrah-ah-ah Fawcett (I think she was still a Majors here)hot off the original Charlie's Angels and wearing her original face. Hollywood insiders say Farrah is not only crazy but snarky and two-faced(and three and four-faced, and booked for a fifth one this summer).

Wanting to enjoy Saturn 3's cinematic brilliance, I did a search on Ewe-toobe. Bingo! Great clip...but it just didn't hit home like it should of. So I decided to fuck with it. For the better. And then repost it to the site. The scene needed some bonus good tunage to give it some ram-a-lam and je ne sais quoi. I thought about it for maybe 2 minutes before I chose "Never Let Me Down" by Depeche Mode. "The Aggro Mix". And there is definitely some aggro goin' on here amongst the "We gotta copy Alien but at half the budget" sets. Check it!

Damn! That shit is so good it shouldn't be legal. Keitel taking a whole pharmacy of space drugs and gettin' the drop kick from the Wilt Chamberlain of robots (what is it with hand loss and sci-fi, Obi-wan? What? Ask Yoda? No...I'm fuckin' sick of all his "there is no try there is only do" shit). And Farrah, in perhaps her greatest career move, covering up the thing that gave us all...Michael Douglas. Thanks for that Kirk. I can say with full confidence that I am a better person for seeing Michael Douglas doing the swingin'bachelor dance in not one flick but 3 - Basic Instinct, Fatal Attraction, and Romancing the Stone. Yep, Kirk thanks a lot for that. Yes, you truly are inadequate in every area.

I find it good and fascinating also, that Farrah loves facelifts so much that she decides to pull Kirk's head 'n hair to try and give him one too.

So I hope whoever posted the original clip won't be mad at me for highjackin' and giving it some bonus good musical accompaniment. I think it works. Makes it better. But I am offering an apology to them just the same, just as I am apologizing to you for the irreparable damage I may have caused in contributing to the image of a naked Kirk Douglas permanently seared onto your retinas.

Sorry.

Not sorry.

currently listening to: Ida, Tales of Brave Ida

This Was My Day

2007-05-02T21:20:00.000-05:00

Some days ya just pull a Bjork. Well, mentally anyway.

Apparently she apologized for the attack. We are still on standby for the "Sorry I wore a swan to the Oscars".

currently listening to: Nancy Sinatra, Greatest Hits (to go along with Bjork's greatest hits on display right here)

Will Work For Scorpions Vinyl (MUST BE MINT)

2007-05-01T19:12:00.000-05:00

Looking to remedy the "Dough-Rei-Me is Broke" sitch. I have some awesome Quiet Riot picture discs to sell or a whole whack of those square mirrors with band logos to unload (a Halen and a ZoSo one amongst the booty of shiny beauty) for some spare scratch. I just have to get some extra bread so I can afford to buy some mint condition Scorpion albums. Or, if anybody does indeed have 'em, maybe we can work it out in trade. I can do some odd jobs around yer homestead---

For this I will clean your basement and/or garage:

For this I will rake your leaves and make nice your backyard:

...gawd, don't ya hate when this happens? The fourth time I finally just said, "Buy the sugarless kind , it ain't as sticky."

For this I will definitely do fuckin' windows:

Oh man! That's hot! It's the patented Scorpions Reverse Bowie/Ronson Guit-oral! Note the higher degree of difficulty.

Fuckin' brill.

Any interested parties with the vinyl just email E. at whitenikehightopsandbandana@hi-wattcha.com

OOOOOOoooo can't wait!

currently listening to: Modest Mouse, The Moon and Antarctica

We're All Adults Here, Let's Just Get Thru This 2-Gether

2007-04-30T18:59:00.000-05:00

Bon Scott, vocalist, AC/DC (b.1946-d.1980)

"Ahem, thank you all for coming to my lecture, "The History of AC/DC" parts 1 through 25, this will include an extensive discussion of source material and will include a reading of a transcribed interview that I conducted with head professor of Musical Theory at the Unive...excuse me, yes you...please pay attention. Thank you. As I was saying, now, where was I? Oh yes. Part one.

Post World War II Australia presented an ethnically diverse population, due in part to massive volume immigration, and indeed, the influx contributed heavily to pushing Australia into an economic boom and...EXCUSE ME! I'm talking here, whatever in the world are you finding much more engaging? YOU! Yes, you, Miss Invisible, if you would at least afford me the simple courtesy of looking at me when I'm talking to you I would very much appreciate it. Whatever your eyes seem to be trained upon over my head surely cannot be more engrossing than the wonderful knowledge that I am imparting to you, can it? Ahem, that's better. Now let's continue.

Hmmmmm...right. Economic boom and prosperity. The rate of home ownership rose dramatically from barely 40 per cent in 1947 to more than 70 per cent by 1960. Many of these new home owners were Scottish born...OKAY! THAT'S IT! Everyone show a little decorum, stop giggling at whatever in the world you find so funny and, excuse me, why are all the gentlemen in the room now making a mass exodus? Was it something I said?

To continue, one of these Scottish families, The Scotts, took the long journey from Kirriemuir to settle in Sunshine, Melbourne. Isabelle Scott, a hardy of physique yet soft spoken...ahem,...sorry...woman who took delight in...ahem...again sorry...

Fuck this action.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Oh my god!! HAAAAAHAAAAAHAAA. Oh my eyes! Check it. Bon is packin' a "Whole Lotta Garden Hosie".

Okay. Let the discussion begin. Every good lecture has one. Or in this case, two.

currently listening to: AC/DC, Flick of the Switch...and to the sound of my own hysterical laughter. Apologies to anyone who took offense, this blog will now return to regularly scheduled PG rated programming. But remember, I've got big blog, I've got big blog, I've got the biggest blog of them all!

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

I left "MY LOVE" blank cuz that picture, as you know is right up there at the top of the post. Thanks to Miss I. for making me do this!

I've Been Burned...AND I LOVE IT!

2007-04-29T14:05:00.000-05:00

THIS IS PERHAPS THE GREATEST ROCK PHOTO EVER.

"It's better to burn out than to fade away." Talk to me Neil, I couldn't agree more. But let us for just one, brief, fleeting moment take the heavy weight from off that ubiquitous, but none the less history-making lyric. Let me pull ya over just momentarily to the lighter side, to a place or parallel universe, where that lyric reads "It's better to side-burn out than to shave clean". After we're done here, the lyric can return to its original content and context, to the place where rock journos dissect and debate its meaning using thousand dollar words, and where Cobain used it to say Adios world, I'm outta here.

I cannot thank Allan over at CamelsbackandForth enough for sending me this bad-ass pick of Ray Manzarek in all his side burned glory. Allan's a kindred spirit who just knew I would love it. And he was right. Fuckin'A. I can never resist a big ole serving of obscure solo album with a side dish heavy on the mutton chops. The pic is from the back of Ray's 1974 album called, get this action, "The Whole Thing Started With Rock & Roll And Now It's Out of Control". Including the length of that title, Ray...easy, easy, brother, stop in the name of Sharpie-ing all that to fit when writing onto a just burned CD.

But then again, fuck the burned CD, this is the kind of music made to be listened to on vinyl. Fuck the CD burn, but glorious big ups to the sideburns! And to the high-heeled, "what-R-U high?" choice of sandals! WTF? But when brother Ray is backdropped by stax of mighty ampage and fronted by a sweeping tidal wave of genius known as MOOG (pronounced to rhyme with vogue, please!)you ain't gonna question his choice of footwear.

Allan played a track on his too-cool-for school radio show, a track called "Wake Up Screaming" which features a pre-Horses era Patti Smith reading a Mr. Mojo Risin' poem and a post-guesting on a crappy REO Speedwagon album era Joe Walsh on guitar.

I had the happy occasion of telling Mr. Manzarek just how boss his burns were. Dude did a signing of his "Light My Fire" book at the gear shop where I worked. He signed it "Sideburns 'R Us" and I think he was rather amused that I appeared to value his contribution to style above the musical offerings of the Doors. He then did a short private concert for the few employees hangin' round in the keys department. I think the keyboard he used appreciated being expertedly handled by someone who didn't immediatedly break into "Music Box Dancer". Ray then glided through a three hour rock-talk for the Learning Annex the next day. So it was a Learn and Sideburn trip-out all round.

I hope y'all enjoy the pic as much as Allan and myself. It's one of those rock thangs that just makes me feel so joyous in being a music fan. Like the time I heard the story of another famous "Rockin' the Muttonchops" performer, George Jones. Tammy Wynette took dude's car keys away so he couldn't go get more booze. So what does Jones do? Cruises and boozes his way to the liquor store on the motorized lawnmower. John Deere became George Needs Beer. Shit man, those are the stories I live for.

George Jones, country superstar, and what a guy would look like if transformation from man to wolfman stopped and stayed at mid-metamorphisis.

One more sideburn shoutout goes to the incredible and most compelling Anton Newcombe of The Brian Jonestown Massacre. His music is hellagood and his history with the burnage cannot be denied. Check out the phenomenal doc DIG! to see what I mean!

Dig it indeed! AND burn, baby burn, Sideburn Infern-o yeah!

currently listening to: Elliott Smith, From a Basement on the Hill

Six Degrees of Rawk seasoned with Bacon bits

2007-04-27T20:31:00.000-05:00

I've decided for this post to do a little variation upon theme with the parlor game "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon". Oh, don't worry Kev ain't going any place. I'll keep him as close as a Cougar keeps her personal teen-age memories of her at the drive-in bow-chika-bow-wows that went down during first run showings of Footloose and Dirty Dancing. Footloose. Let's start there. Released in...

1984
****
Pigs of 1984 (oh Orwell...oh Eric Blair, a Blair of the UK that actually has my deep respect.)

****
Pignose of Footloose, 1984 (god I hate this part, where Kev shouts, "Let's Dance!" and all this sparkly twinkly shit comes out of nowhere. Plus, am I the only one who digs on the fact that a guy with the piggiest nose has Bacon for a last name?

****
Pignose Amps
(the little amp that could, and would and does rock all the houses that you can carry it to, along with carrying a large pizza, a sixer, a boomstand, a SM58, and your axe. The legendary 7-100 snorts good and loud. Buskers everywhere agree.)
****
Pignose Travel Guitars (just pull the little piggy snout which activates the onboard amp and yer ready to rock the elderly guests at your backyard BBQ rite outta retirement. No one can resist War Pigs if it's rocked right. Not even crotchety, cantankerous Uncle Joe who sits alone in his junky, fraying lawnchair and plays pocket pool all afternoon, pulling his own little piggy.)

Wow, these Pignoses sure are little, compact guitars!
****
Eddie VanHalen Rawkin' "Little Guitars" from Diver Down (c'mon, you knew that was coming! "Senorita, I'm in trouble again..." No shit, Ed, your relapse is destined, your ex-wife is shilling Jenny Craig, and it has just been discovered that yes indeed, you and Val are indeed brother and sister! C'mon again, don't tell me you never thought that they looked alike!)

****
and finally, by Eddie and the boyz, the hottest album of 1984, 1984.

And so we are right back at the beginning again, with 1984. Whew! Lather, rinse, repeat. Get good and clean! All this talk of pigs and pocket pool must have made ya feel dirty!

currently listening to: My Morning Jacket, Z

I Wanna Hold Your Jazz Hands!

2007-04-26T17:37:00.000-05:00

Mizz Liza M may be all about the Jazz hands in movies, but ma man Clint Eastwood is all about the Jazz Hands-on approach in his flicks. Well before he was master at the helm of the great Jazz bio pick "Bird", Clint-o-rama directed a way-nifty flick called "Play Misty for Me". Those rough and tumble hands that had previously steered horses' reins for those incredible spaghetti westerns, were put to use most majestically in "Misty", a flick that he guided so tightly that it was finished under budget, and four days ahead of schedule. But like many great, well sculpted Jazz pieces, the end result plays loose, fast, improv-ish, and supremely hip. Eastwood waived his usual acting fee in exchange for the go-ahead to direct the film, and as a result this tale of obsession gone wrong became stamped with Clint's jazz-love flava. Which is awesome. He threw in a scene of the Monterey Jazz Festival which may come across as a personal indulgence and may seem entirely out of context, but to me it simply fleshes out the coolness and desirability of the main protagonist (Clint, as hip-as-fuck late nite DJ Dave), who, like his favourite jazz music, is full of the free and full of the flow, muthafuckah (as Miles would say).

Even the love montage(I usually loathe LM's), is decent. Clint and his gal(who sports a saaa-weeet two-tier shag cut)get it on backed by a pastoral landscape and some melodramatic, shed-a-single tear Roberta Flack.

Check out the trailer. It's "Supermurgitroid"! Which is Jazz slang for really cool. For more funky Jazz slang go here.

Can someone please tell me if that dude from Magnum P.I. did the voice over for this trailer? Help, its gonna hang around, annoy,and bug me like a Murray the K around the Beatles until I find out.

One last thing while we are doing the slo-hang and rappin' about Jazz flicks. Make sure you watch the Jazz Singer with Neil Diamond. It is super boss. It's not really about Jazz, but whatevs. Watch the flick that almost caused Sir Larry Olivier's knighthood to be revoked, and where Mr. Diamond completely choked.

Catch ya on the flipside, hepcats!

currently listening to: Coltrane, A Love Supreme

Meet "Reign", a Band from Holla! Holla! Holland!

2007-04-25T21:23:00.000-05:00

I don't know about y'all out there, but I now got all the sexual fantasy material I'll ever need! Fuckin-A and YowzA!

...if I ever do need some back-up I'll just go here. Or maybe just pull out my Canned Heat albums. It's hard to believe that all that hotness could be contained within a simple tin receptacle.

Sweet Dreams are definitely made of THIS.

G'night all!

currently listening to: Pulp Fiction SDTX, "Royale with Cheese"

The Devil and Robert Johnson, and the Guv'nor, and the Photo Booth

2007-04-24T18:02:00.000-05:00

Photo booths. Lord love them. But only the old skool ones that deal exclusively in the lovely realm of black and white. Talkin' the original picture spitout machines that drop da four-shot strips of ebony and ivory, hazy-sweet with all gorgeous softness of the shades of grey that lay in-between. Unfortunately, much like the penultimate version of the ipod, the Black and White Booth is now considered obsolete.

Fuckit. Gonna miss those suckers like I miss my first distortion/overdrive pedal, the original Marshall Guv'nor(which was named by Jim Marshall himself, holla holla!)with the black housing, that somehow walked away from my own housing during an all night "Let's Just Play Appetite for Destruction Over and Over Again" throwdown. In other words, I have a Chinese Democracy's Chance in a Record Store of getting the wicked good pedal back.

I miss you...please come home . Life has not been the same without you Guv, my luv.

But fret not(gear slut pun)about the booths. The incredible folks at www.photobooth.net have gotcha covered if ya care. They have a photobooth locator that will direct you to the nearest booth in which you can diva it up, divy it up with friends(who's gonna spring for the first strip?), and capture for all eternity those vibrant, fleeting moments of life that make you think you can rock this planet-joint 4-evah.

So let's do a four shot strip o' tribute to the B&W Photo booth, shall we? Hell, ya don't even have to drop down the 25 cent coins for this set! "No Quarter(s)" required. Just shout a few "Hail Zeppelin!"s and we'll call it even.

Jandek, recluse. genius. the godfather of outsider music. bitchin' caesar haircut.

Robert Johnson, the greatest blues artist of all time, refused to sell his soul to the devil at the Crossroads in Mississippi, unlike Britney Spears who sold her soul at the 7:30 showing of Crossroads at every damn movie theatre in America.

Edie Sedgwick, '60's IT Girl, muse to Dylan and Reed, crashed and burned...but with such style!

Gear slut, no fixed ability, former owner of bad bangs n'crimp long hair-don't, and currently short one beloved Marshall Guv'nor.

Notice how the last picture is just a wee bit bigger than the rest? Purely intentional! 15 minutes baby, I'm entitled just like everyone else!

currently listening to R.E.M., Life's Rich Pageant

It's A Family Un-fair

2007-04-23T13:20:00.000-05:00

I caught a bit of Glengarry Glen Ross on the idiot box this weekend. It was the scene where Alec Baldwin just kills it. What a performance. There is no doubt that he is a spectacular talent. It's the role of Dad that he sucks at. And now the web is rife with Baldwin hate. His wiki page as of this writing, calls him "emofag". Wow. Charming. That's a new one. Thank god, we were all getting so tired of "eurofag". And "alt.countryfag" is so 2001...or whichever year Wilco released Yankee Hotel Foxtrot...

Speaking of emo, let us not forget that emo spelled backwards is ome. As in O, me. "OHHHHHHHHHH ME ME ME ME. It's all about ME. And MY personal pain." Let us not forget either that in the current edition of The Emo Guys Guide to Picking Up Females the most oft used pick-up line is "Your dark, aching, downward spiraling abyss-pit or mine?" The guide also recommends that emo boys put a copy of Bukowski's "Women" in the back pocket of their lowslung emopantz, and wear it like a cowboy would pocket-display a red handkerchief. The smart-in-the-school but dumb-in-the-love girls with vintage cocktail dresses and cats-eye glasses will come a-running. Trust me. I know this, from personal exp... ahem, from a story a girlfriend told me. Yeah.

But back to Mr. Baldwin. Will someone alert me when somebody adds some sweet beats on top of Alec's tirade? It's inevitable really. Some cool old-skool Grandmaster Flash beats and scratches mashed up with Baldwin's freak out would serve nicely. Thanks in advance. I'm still waiting for Buddy Rich's infamous freak out on his band members to be set to music. "The Bus Tapes" as they have come to be known, feature the deliciously gifted yet deliriously effed up drummer giving his long-suffering band the what's for on their tour bus. Let's just say that Buddy didn't have many buddies after this one. What Rich needed was the old Calm the inner Frances Farmer, the ice pick under the eyelid and into the frontal lobe Treatment. But then again, would his drumming be as stellar? That's the problem with tempermental, spaz-prone artists. They are invariably excused from a plethora of social sins and from committing dead-rotten behavior because that fiery, passionate personality that on occasion offends, is also responsible for fueling the creation of great art.

Bullshit. Rotten is rotten. Paint it or play it as dynamic and enthralling as you like, but rotten conduct is rotten conduct and certainly deserves to be called as such when on the receiving end of spite and malice is one's own pre-teen daughter. Shame on you Alec. Pick on someone your own size, which I realize is becoming increasingly difficult as you continue to leave your Beetlejuice-era slimness behind, ballooning and bloating into a un-bluish/purplish version of Violet Beauregarde.

If ya feel like listenin' to the Buddy Rich "Bus Tapes", you can find 'em here.

currently listening to: Klark Kent, various righteous trax on itunes

Beauty Part 4

2007-04-21T12:33:00.000-05:00

Wow. I just re-read my last post. Wow. Lemmy...beautiful? EEEEKKK! Actually, I stand by my statement. When in doubt, drop an old adage. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

As a beholder, my tastes run from the very normal, very traditional (I, like millions of soccer moms, find Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" simply gorgeous) to the very bizarre. I look at Salvador Dali's work and find it equally beautiful, and I am in no way rendered nonplussed at his visual assault.

What can I say? I am the product of a shy, librarian mother who gardens and once played the autoharp, and of a crazy, rocker-guy dad who started gigging at 17 and once played with names you wouldn't recognize and with some you definitely would.

I think if I were a cereal, I would be one of those well balanced yuppie ones. But sugarcoated all kiddie style. And I'd have the really cool prize that would require you to construct it yourself, like a sci-fi toy. Like a robot.

'Cause robots are beautiful.

Have a wonderful weekend all!

currently listening to: Silversun Pickups, Carnavas

Beauty Part 3 (Ugly to Some, Simply Resplendent to Me)

2007-04-20T16:27:00.000-05:00

Some will question my judgement (and certainly my eyesight), but Lemmy and Motorhead giving the audience an "Orgasmatron" at their 25th Anniversary show at Brixton Academy in 2000...is beautiful. But then again, dramatic lighting and a good quality wind machine will flatter just about anybody. But really, it's all about the song, which has more forward drive, push, and charge than the bullrun at Pamplona.

Say what you will about Lemmy, but he looks far better bathed in green light than that walking petri-dish Paris Herpes, who when even somewhat obscured by her porno night-vision green lighting, still looks like hell. And...(this is a big AND), at least Lemmy came by his warts naturally; his warts result from genetic code (I think, I hope!) and are on his face, unlike Miss Collector-of-Greek Shipping-Heir-Twerps and Spreader of Herps Hilton who got her hussy card stamped enough times to qualify for a free set of warts which are now located south of her equator.

Love you, Lemmy! Warts and all.

currently listening to: Kyuss, Blues for the Red Sun

Beauty Part 2

2007-04-20T13:47:00.000-05:00

...even The White Uni-suit was beautiful.

currently listening to: Sonic Youth, Rather Ripped

A Day in the Life (of Flat Stanley). Beauty Part 1

2007-04-20T08:01:00.000-05:00

I read the news today, oh boy.

I've had a hard time processing the recent stream of horrible and tragic news stories. Harder time still expressing my grief and sadness over the loss of lives that were so full of potential and promise.

Allan comes to the rescue. Allan has dedicated a blog post to his take on the Flat Stanley Project. The project was started by a Canadian teacher and soon became a fun, interesting, and valued program that allowed students from all over the world to contact each other and in essence, to learn all about different cultures and traditions.

Thanks to the efforts of students and teachers, the Flat Stanley Project is now enjoyed and recognized in over 47 countries. Thanks to the participating students and teachers, the world seems a closer, more harmonious place.

Thanks to students and teachers. You remind us every day of the beauty of life through learning. And growing. And experiencing. And then using all that beautiful knowledge to make the world a better place.

http://www.vt.edu/

"I have a crush on EVERY boy!"

2007-04-19T07:58:00.000-05:00

www.homestarrunner.com
One of my fave sites ever. One cannot explain in words the genius that is Strong Bad. I also have a personal hardon for Teen Girl Squad. Just go to the site. EXPLORE!

This post..."IT'S OVER!"

currently listening to: Danielson, Ships

Blackie and The Red Special

2007-04-18T12:09:00.000-05:00

After "Blackie" was auctioned off for a stunning $959,000, Clapton's iconic axe travelled to the Fender Custom shop to be studied, analyzed, and probed. Only cigarette burns on the headstock gave any hint of the debauchery seen by this most revered Strat. Although... when air hosing the deeply embedded dust from around the single coils, The Rawkin' The Labcoat team found that the particles gleaned had a white, crystalline appearance. Strangely, the lab then remained locked from the inside for the rest of the day and night. Sniffity Sniff!

Here's the thing about Clapton. Amongst his many virtues, loyalty and good sportsmanship can be counted high on that list. Evidence of these wonderful character traits are clearly illustrated when one views the 1969 footage of Slowhand guesting with the Plastic Ono Band at the "Live Peace in Toronto" gig at Varsity Stadium(13 hours! 18 bands! $6.00 bucks!). There's Yoko wailing away, doing her avant-garde thang and...hmmm...how does one say this gracefully...sucking bigtime and there's Clapton hammering away, supporting and by the very token of his appearance on that stage, endorsing and lending his cred to the woman his buddy John was absolutely entranced with. You can almost read his mind, "John, dude. You owe me one." Not to in any way undermine Lennon's sincerity and commitment to the peace movement, but often I tend to wonder if there was not a stronger,way more personally motivated subtext to his philanthropy. Like, every time he was singing his famous anti-war anthem he was pleading concurrently "All I am saying, is give Yoko a chance...she gives me great sex."

Here's the other thing about Clapton. The general consensus is that dude is God in guitar circles, but never has such a hero to the masses had such an air of non-descriptiveness to his person(more so in his early days). He just appeared sort of generic next to the more flashy turnout of his contemporaries.
Would you have been able to in-a-flash identify Clapton in this pic if it wasn't labelled? I wouldn't. Not right away. It's the, what I like to call, The Steve Miller Complex. Everyone and his uncle owns Miller's "Greatest Hits 74-78". For camping excursions here's the dealio-unpack the car, fire up the Steve Miller, start drinking the Miller and then fire up the outdoor Griller. And yet, how many people really know what dude looks like? That's right. 86. Not counting the gangster o' love, the space cowboy, and wait for it...so obvious...Maurice. Steve's like the Unknown Comic of the music world. What a Joker.

On the other end of the scale,everyone recognizes Brian May. Instantly. Must be the hair, which of course hasn't really changed since he first started comin' round. His current complex is one I like to call the Oldguyface/Youngdudehair Complex. But Brian wears it well, unlike that dickhead Don Imus.

Brian's Red Special guitar deserves special mention because it was completely handcrafted by Brian and his hip dad, Harold. Legend has it Brian spent a grand total of 17 and a half British pounds to make it. I think he made a return on his original investment. It is also quite interesting to note that May has been known to use a sixpence coin as a pick. Facts like this thrill me. I need to get out more.

The final complex I want to discuss is my own Giant Complex. I don't mean that I have a huge complex towards something. I simply mean that I have a fear of giants. The Godzillas, and the Goliaths. Gentle Giant is rad, but evil giants scare the shit out of me. My nightmares almost always involve being chased down by a giant. I completely blame Queen for this. As a little girl I would freak out whenever I saw this album.

EWWWWW....I still have trouble lookin' at it...I feel a freak out comin' on...gotz ta get! Bye!

currently listening to: DJ Champion, Chill 'Em All

TShirt from Heaven

2007-04-16T17:00:00.000-05:00

If I stare too long at this t-shirt I just may be overwhelmed by its awesomeness. I was slum-dining at the old Taco Hell when I first spotted this heavenly garment. I was right in the middle of apologizing to my digestive system, using future promises of home-cooked organic somethingorother with beanspouts and tofu to counteract the spectacular stomach-ular abuse I was about to commit. I looked up from the Formica and there it was. Worn by the archetypal, party down at the roadhouse, blues and classic rock dude. The kinda guy for whom radio stations with the letter Q prefacing the numbers were invented, and for whom the "Hells Bells" tolls. And I'm talkin' the kind of radio stations that have fan bases whose main duty in the world is to register vanity license plates spelling out their fave band's name and then go hold them up during that band's coliseum gig.

I love classic rock guy. You can use the "Hello Cleveland!" line a million times and in all different ways and brother still laughs like its the first time he's heard it.

So rather than staring at my unappetizing mess 'o food, I found myself mesmerized by the back artwork of this guy's t-shirt, as he stood in line waiting for his turn to ring the death knell that is Taco Bell. I was also a bit amused by his fried-by-peroxide ponytail sticking out through the back loop of his baseball hat. I think this is urban myth, but I heard that there is somewhere(maybe on the midway at travelling carnivals)where balding guys, who still have the rock itch in their pants, can buy baseball hats with a fake pony tail tacked on. If this is true, somebody send me the deets; I gotta a little blackmarket/urban myth sideline going, and the bounty from Spanish Fly sales can only go so far...

I couldn't make out all the fine print but I certainly recognized most of the Famous Guitars pictured. Curiousity piqued, I actually followed dude out on the street and walked behind him, reading at barely a pace away. I could actually smell the HI-KARATE, or was it Designer-Imposter Dakkar Noir? I couldn't quite tell. But it was something mixed with a topnote of Player's Plain, I can tell you that much. I can also tell you he turned around just as my nose was practically buried in his back as I was leaning in to marvel the Jimmy Page Gibson EDS 1275 guitar. I tried to cover it up by leaning down to tie my shoe, but seeing as I was wearing sandals it didn't exactly work. Oh well, it wasn't the first time I had been Led-astray by the Zep. And it won't be the last either.

For any of ya fellow gear sluts, here's a breakdown! Break it down! Cue the Funky Drummer, and like usual, the dude won't get paid.

Prince's "Yellow Cloud"(currently livin' in the Smithsonian, y'all!)
Eddie Van Halen's "Frankenstein", drill not pictured.
Jimmy's aforementioned double-neck Gibson
SRV's "Lenny". Stevie's high E was a .013! OUCH!!!
Steve Vai- the infamous floral pattern JEM Ibanez(the floral pattern modeled after the floral curtains in Vai's studio!) Perhaps the most unattractive guitar ever. What the 'eff was up with the handle-hole anyway?
Hendrix's "Flaming Strat"
B.B. King's "Lucille"
Bo Diddley's 'The Twang Machine"
Kurt Cobain's Fender Mustang (Cobain's "Jagstang" turned out a bit of an Edsel for Fender unfortunately)
Roger McGuinn's 12string Ricky (Jingle Jangle Mornin')
Randy Rhoads "Polka Dot Flying V" (used when "Flying" was considered a good thing for Randy)

I will not rest until I have this t-shirt. I will not rest until I have found that classic rock dude again. Must have been the HI-Karate.

currently listening to: Tool, Undertow

Fruit Loops

2007-04-13T17:40:00.001-05:00

I had no time to compose a post today. The following reflects that very fact. Regularly scheduled quality posts will resume shortly. I apologize for the David Hasselhoff level lack of quality. But then again, maybe someone in Germany will appreciate it...

currently listening to: The Runaways, Best of

Good House Weeping

2007-04-11T08:36:00.000-05:00

Some say houses have souls. Or manitous. Or whatever that weird lady named Abigail who works in the New Age Emporium kiosk in the mall calls that which defines unseen, spiritual manifest of a chosen person or object. Whew! I'm the sort that just shuts down when that type of talk is brought forth. I'm like, take your crystals and pyramid hat and lavender stink the heck out of here, and oh, turn up the Pantera on the way out, will you? SEE YA!

Hey, I'm spiritual. One viewing of Floyd's transcendent "Live at Pompeii" and I firmly believed that I saw God, or David Gilmour, at the height of his guitar prowess. Same dif'.

I do believe that a house inhabited by truly compelling individuals has the potential to become a character in it's own right. "If these wall could talk", indeed! Explains why people flock to absorb the kitchy mojo of the Graceland manse, or why in an effort to erase a horrible, Helter Skelter past, the original house at 10050 Cielo Drive was razed. Shit, even the original "devil windows" on the Amityville Horror house were changed to non threatening looking square ones that in no way resemble "blazing eyes of fury straight from HELL!"

And so it comes with great sadness, the news that Johnny Cash's lakeside home was completely destroyed by fire. The very house where he wrote the kind of tunes that define the term instant classic and the very house that bore witness to the legendary love story of June 'n Johnny. The video for Johnny's incredible cover of TroutRezzie's and the Nine Inch Nails "Hurt" was filmed within the walls of what was surely an incredible piece of real-cool estate. Bet the thermostat even read "COOL" and "COOLER".

I find it interesting that Barry Gibb was planning on moving in once renovations (a new disco room and one gigantic empty room just to accommodate his ego) were completed. Apparently, Barry planned to write a new slew of stellar songs that would bring him into the good graces of the Billboard charts once again. I want Barry to have a new album. That means a whole bunch of new promotional appearances and interviews for him to freak out over and storm out of! YEESSSSSSSSSS!

But I think the Cash house thought differently. In an act of great defiance, the house self destructed, horrified that all the impending Gibb-ish-ness would ruin its cool and hip cachet.

Everything went up in smoke, leaving only the chimney intact, and that certainly is a "Tra-ge-ge-dee"(hey, at least I haven't resorted to a "Ring of Fire" joke).

It could be worse, I suppose. The estate could have been turned into a tacky Cash museum. I've seen what horrors have resulted when tourist commerce and country collide. If you are ever in Nashville head on over, y'all, to Demonbreun Street in the Music Row district. I headed on over. Boy, what a mistake. Starting off at Gilley's I was treated to a Garth Brooks clone doing karaoke, who looked like he stuffed the front of his pants with sport socks. He was aping Brooks during Garth's bright shirts and super tight black jeans era so it was not a good thing to see, trust me. Then it was on over to the Conway Twitty Country Store. It had an extremely cheap dollar store vibe to it and the souvenirs were the tackiest things ever. A lipstick case with Twitty's face on it. One of those porcelain bells with Twitty's face on it. Everything had Twitty's face on it, the same photo stamped on just mass produced QVC junk and generic household product. Sad. And I love Conway! Have you ever heard his fab duet(one of the many many!) with Loretta called "You're the Reason Our Kids Are Ugly"? It's pretty hot.

So farewell Johnny and June Carter's House. May your smouldering ashes avoid an ebay afterlife.

currently listening to: Beastie Boys, Paul's Boutique

Spacehoppers, Screws and the So-called Death of Jimmy

2007-04-09T13:53:00.000-05:00

I love the movie Quadrophenia. Of anybody who has seen it, who the frick doesn't love it? But just to clarify, Jimmy does NOT bite it at the end, okay? Gosh darn it, I have had heated arguments with people who were absolutely iron resolute in their conviction that Jimmy went over them peachy keen Beachy Head cliffs along with Aceface's jackedup, silver scooter. This is what I have had to endure on such an occasion:

"Man, he like, was too pure for either the mod or rocker life-style and chose an afterlife existence that went beyond labels and categories."

Holy fuck, send me the tear-stained thesis when you're done. I have just the place for it...right beside my specially bound dissertation entitled, "Just Why Joanie Loved Chachi".

The entire 2 hours of Quadrophenia is Jimmy's flashback which starts immediately after we see him walking away from the lip of the cliff. It's really that simple. Sorry if I've spoiled the movie for you if you haven't seen it, but then again everybody knew how fuckin' Titanic ended and still people went in droves. Just 'cause you can see the top and bottom slices of bread doesn't mean you can't enjoy the meaty middle fabulous-ness. If you don't dig on the meat analogy, don't worry, it's good fun for vegans too. Hell, this flick has something for everyone, even for handymen/women and for carpenters 'cause there is a wicked good scene of a screw in an alleyway(nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more...)

Here's a little clip of the mods and rockers thrashin' it out. Imagine a whole posse of Fonzies (when he was actually cool in the first and second seasons) versus a gang of "Parklife" era Damon Albarn(was he ever cool, or merely a fantastic mimic?).

Who remembers Spacehoppers? I do! I do! Apparently Townshend loved this bouncy joust at the Quadrophenia legacy:

Don't let the fact that Sting is in Quadrophenia dissuade you from seeing it. He has hardly any lines.

Thank god.

currently listening to: The Stooges, S/T

Bob Clark 1941-2007

2007-04-07T13:08:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl my superhip and supercool Mom told me the scariest story. It was Christmas Eve and sitting in a cozy dark room with only the Christmas tree lights for illumination, Mom wove the scariest ghost story that I had ever heard. Only it wasn't really a ghost story per se, it was the plot line of the 1974 horror classic, the original slasher film, the mother of all boogeyman flicks, Bob Clark's "Black Christmas". Now some may question why would a mother tell her kid a creepy, violent story on such a festive occasion? Where the hell were "It's a Wonderful Life" or all those cutesy Rankin and Bass claymation extravaganzahhhhhhs? Or even Mr. Clark's much lauded Christmas classic "A Christmas Story"? Well, my family didn't roll that way; my Mom was and continues to be a true original, and if anything, I'd like to think that I turned out not necessarily the better for it, but the more unique for it.

Years later I saw "Black Christmas" for myself, and hot-diggity, it didn't disappoint. If anything it surpassed my expectations a thousand fold and then some. One must keep in mind that it came before Halloween, and Friday the 13th and all those crazy holiday based horror franchises that litter the pop culture landscape like discarded blankets on Max Yasgur's farm after Woodstock. Made in 1974 in Toronto, "Black Christmas" created the very template upon which many, many future horror flicks would be based. It also the film that first introduced all those tricks of cinematography and of key plot features that have since become cliches of the genre. Seeing everything from the visual perspective of the killer? That was Bob Clark's creation. Using the telephone to terrorize? That was Bob Clark's. Infusing great comedy into an otherwise macabre scenario? That again, was Bob Clark's.

What was not within Bob Clark's control(as it is not with most of us),was the way in which he would exit this world. Although, some bastard chose to drink and drive, and in effect caused the tragic death of Bob and of his 22 year old son Ariel, early Wednesday on the Pacific Coast Highway. This bastard chose to get in his car after consuming enough alcohol to put him 3 times the legal limit for driving.

I choose now to forgo launching into a tirade that will really, in the end, serve no greater good. Instead, I encourage you to watch the opening scene of "Black Christmas." Turn the lights down low, get cozy and enjoy what I think, is the greatest horror film ever made. If you like what you see, rent or net-huntandcapture the entire flick. You won't be disappointed! And that is both great and good.

RIP Bob. You will be missed.

Congratulations Avril, You've Done It!

2007-04-05T15:32:00.000-05:00

Kudos, Kiddo. Oh Avril, you've made it! You finally, finally look exactly like a Barbie Doll. This calls for heaps of gratitude, and on behalf of female musicians everywhere I would like to thank you profusely for all that you have done to push the stature and the credibility of all us she-rockers up and forward! Let the big ups commence:
*******
Thank you for further cementing the notion that we must look plasticized perfect to have hit records!
Thank you for perpetuating the popularity of Girl on Girl Hate with your current, and most brilliant single "Girlfriend". How do I love thee? Let me quote the way:
Hey hey, you you
I don't like your girlfriend
No way no way
I think you need a new one
Such articulate lyrics! Here's your finest moment:
She's like so whatever
You can do so much better
Like, amazing! Dylan better watch his ass, that's all I got to, like, say! Oh wait, you will probably be meeting him soon backstage at the next Victoria's Secret Fashion Show when you rawk the runway for their upcoming RockSlut line.
Thank you for the stellar entertainment you provide in spitting at photographers, flipping the bird and hoisting the devil horn salute. You make those gestures seem so fresh, helping us to forget all the millions of musicians who did those, like, gnarly moves before you. Darn that PJ Harvey! She doesn't entertain us in such a thrilling way, guess she's too busy making incredible records and being classy.
Thank you for ditching that silly Les Paul in favour of having the freedom to do a dance routine for your latest video. Guitars are soooooo 2002, and get in the way of carrying the latest fashion accessories, a teacup puppy, or a tattoo poseur boyfriend. I will miss all those rippin' good and "Complicated" (oh,ha ha) solos you used to do, however. Let some other girl inspire the first LadyHendrix, Avril, you have much other important stuff to do!
Finally, thank you in advance for the happy satisfaction I will feel when a year from now, you will be collecting numerous hardware from numerous award shows that will reward and celebrate your obvious gifts to female musicianship. I have begun preparations for a tickertape parade, Girlfriend!

currently listening to: Polly Jean Harvey, To Bring You My Love...gee, I'm like, so whatever!

Irish Prog Rock at its Finest!

2007-04-04T15:40:00.000-05:00

Wow, another Prog rock band of the '70's to love. And Irish to boot. Breaking attendance records around the world, The Mystical Golden Gates of Billy By-the-By was a frequent tour partner to Fairport Convention and Clannad. Pictured here with their back- up singers Fornee 'n Kate, and with the fabled German roadie Hans-Joachim (bottom right corner), The Gates were known to trash hotel rooms with vigor and zest although curiously, instead of throwing TVs out the window, they simply took them apart piece by piece.

AWWWWW...okay okay OKAY! I know this is actually the first staff photo for Microsoft way back in '78!

...can't put anything past you guys, can I?

currently listening to: Lick the Harp, The Mystical Golden Gates of Billy By-the-By

"Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb"

2007-04-04T09:47:00.000-05:00

Let's play a game. Let's test your attention to detail. What do these two videos have in common?

First up, a clip from the Propellerheads' "Decksanddrumsandrockandroll" (what a great title!) featuring the one and only Mizz Shirley Bassey . It's called "History Repeating" (this one's fer you, GW!)

Okay. Now up we have "And I Love Her" from the movie "A Hard Day's Night" starring 4 guys that other than building the foundation upon which all that modern pop music(and culture, and super dope haircuts)rests, they didn't really amount to much. I like "A Hard Day's Night". I always remember it as the one where the boys pretty much kept to the script and didn't mumble "Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb" in between giggles. "A Hard Day's Night" was shot BBD. Meaning Before Bob Dylan. Meaning before the boys met Bob Dylan. When they met, Bob gave them...er...a present. If you want to know what that present was, just watch "Help!" which was made ABD(After Bob Dylan)and it will become abundantly clear what Mr. Zimmerman gifted them with(other than with profound musical inspiration).

Don't just say "the videos are both in black and white". That's lame. Sorta DDVS lame. Dylan Does Victoria's Secret lame.

currently listening to: Gomez, Bring it On

Gallo(n) of Cool

2007-04-03T09:25:00.000-05:00

I love Vincent Gallo. I love Buffalo 66. I love The Brown Bunny...yeah, that was me. The one person is the world who absolutely loved it. Other than Vincent himself. Vincent loves Vincent. In fact, if Vincent could go down on himself, he would never feel the need to write any female characters into his flicks. They could be just as he wants them...ALL ABOUT HIM. Which is okay. I'm on permanent standby with this guy and follow his career with a mixture of awe, envy, fascination, and that good kind of disgust where you pretend to be offended but secretly you are wickedly thrilled.

Vincent has a studio. The studio is called THE UNIVERSITY FOR THE DEVELOPMENT AND THEORY OF MAGNETIC TAPE RECORDED MUSIC STUDIOS. If there is one thing I can't stand is a vague title; the implied meaning of which is shrouded in a cloud of complete mystery. All joking aside, it becomes pretty obvious pretty quick to any potential Gallo-vers that the man's artistic profile illustrates a gorgeous balance between a place of austere, clinical, sterile educational film-like manufacture with a place of warm, analogue-based, get your hands dirty, gold halo-glow and meter in the bright red type of creation. Check out his music related website here, and make sure you click on his studio link. It provides an amazing visual tour highlighting the gear and studio sundry of chez/studio Gallo. Brother likes the Rickys. And his gear manuals and reference material are meticulously organized.

Another reason why Gallo ranks super high with me is his collaboration with guitar genius and enigma that is John Frusciante. I would say he is with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but I would prefer to phrase it thusly, The Red Hot Chili Peppers are with him. I like the Peppers okay, but I love Frusciante's guitar work. His solo work is stunning and inspiring. There is something so "Grade Nine" about the Peppers, like if you polled a thousand Grade Nines, 985 would confirm the Chilis as their favorite band. My guess is that Flea and the boys tickle that age of hormonal mix with just the right feather.

So check out the Frusciante/Gallo fuse for "Going Inside". Check it while you can, Gallo is notorious for finding and pulling stuff he didn't have a hand in putting up.
What a control freak(this has at times been his very strength)!

Now if you will excuse me, I have to go "Span some time".

currently listening to: Shirley Bassey, The Remix Album

I'm Like, A-Bored.

2007-04-02T10:34:00.000-05:00

Last night I watched the Nelly Furtado Variety Special on TV. Nelly, suited up in a spectacular array of kicky-cute, up to the minute fashion hotrags, entertained and charmed the audience and her guests with her hallmark sassy'n snappy...Ewwww can I throw up now at my lousy attempt at a press release? May I also backpedal and call last night's Nellyfest by its proper title?

The Junos. Now, The Awards Formerly Known as the The Junos. Last night it was made abundantly clear, in a whisper with all the subtlety of Tara Reid at an open bar, that until further notice, the Junos will now be referred to as the Nelly's. Sistah hosted, sistah performed, sistah won all five of the awards she was up for (OOOOOOOOOoooooo surprise! Didn't see that coming!). Sistah probably wrote all her copy for her little skits and sketches 'cause they were about as funny as a knock knock joke told by Carlos Mencia after he stole it from some five year old.

But the night wasn't a total loss. At the very end there was an incredible performance by Montreal's own (take that, Arcade Fire!) DJ Champion, that kicked my Toronto-jaded ass awake and appreciative of Canada's latest rising talent.

Band had 4, yes, four guitarists thrashing good, bad and ugly. Hello! Here's the vid clip of the song, "No Heaven". Loud volume is recommended.

The live version was amazing. Unbelievable actually. Until, fuckin' Nelly just couldn't stand that a potential upstaging was occurring, and so swept out her divass to crash the rawkin'. Sorry Nelly, you looked stupid givin' it in a tissue paper ball gown and an upswept hair-don't.

Years ago I went to the Junos. The music management company that I interned for was kind enough to get me a ticket so I felt it only fair and respectful to wear a, ahem..."frock" for the event. So I wore a lousy dress, but kept it me-real by wearing my Docs. I ended up having better seats than, get this, Rush. In fact they were sitting directly behind me. All during the borefest, I had to resist the temptation to turn around and ask Geddy just how heavy was that double neck Ricky, and hot damn, did I ever have to fight the urge to ask Neil just how many pieces went into his entire drum set up.

I think I was the only one in the first five rows who had neither a business card nor a networking agenda. I only had Tom Sawyer on a constant loop inside my head.

It helped block out Celine Dion performance.

currently listening to: Slint, Spiderland

It's Tool Time!

2007-03-30T16:12:00.000-05:00

GOOD HAMMER

BAD HAMMER

GOOD HAMMER

BAD HAMMER

HAVE A SLAMMIN' GOOD WEEKEND! Here's to hittin' every nail on the head!

currently listening to: The Hammer Film Music Collection, Volume 2...hey, it inspired this post!

Let's Get This Over With, Shall We?

2007-03-30T08:05:00.000-05:00

Here it is (collective intake of breath, I'm sure). The book art for the upcoming and final installment of the Harry Potter series. For the next 6 months at least, this is what we all will be hearing about. Get used to it, this is what will be staring you in the face during your morning and evening subway/train/bus commute. Make peace with it now.

I've skim read the whole damn series. It's really the best way. I know enough to ascertain that Hogwart's has a revolving door of Dark Arts professors. They should just get Jimmy Page in there. He's upper-snot British, and could teach the brats a thing or two about the evil; he could start off with a nice seminar about Aleister Crowley, then move onto a lesson in how to sell one's soul for limos, learjets and lines. He could introduce them to his Black Dog and his weird friend the Hermit, who in my opinion, has always looked suspect. And, with a simple, yet commanding flourish of his enchanted violin bow, Jimmy would cast a seductive spell over all his young charges (especially the young, female ones, 'cause let's face it, that's where Page has always been at)leaving them breathless in the wake of his Kashmir assault.

But with all due respect to Mr. Page, his production is MAGIC and continues to thrill and enchant me on a daily basis.

As for Harry, I'll bet he's a Smiths fan. Boy reeks of Morrissey style angst.

currently listening to: Devo, Q: Are We Not Men?

Help Me if you Can...

2007-03-29T09:26:00.000-05:00

I found this album at the Annual Mothers Against Meth Face(MAMF) Bazaar and Rummage Sale. Paid nothing, just gave a solemn promise never to tweak. Does anybody know if it's worth anything? Thanks in advance.

currently listening to: John Vanderslice, Cellar Door

Answered Prayers

2007-03-28T12:54:00.000-05:00

In lieu of a "proper" post, I am submitting for your consideration one quite incredible mini-documentary. My 9to5'er is keeping me crazy busy today...please forgive the "blogcheat". But I assure you it is 18 minutes of radness that I could never, ever even hope to equal entertainment wise. Enjoy!

Amen, Brother! Pass that collection plate! That sermon definitely delivered!

From Russia with Low Bottom Love

2007-03-27T11:44:00.000-05:00

Today is officially "Russian Appreciation Day" here at HIWATT Central. Join me in celebrating Baryshnikov, Olga Korbut(that one's for you, Weiss!), Dostyevski, Marc Chagall, and Boney M. What? Boney M? Hey, they did that righteous tune "Rasputin", okay? That qualifies. Did you know that dude who created Boney M went on to commit an even more heinous act when he chose to orchestrate the whole Milli Vanilli debacle? Well, because of my love of useless information, now you do know. I would say "No thanks necessary", but I'm pretty sure based on the content of the given information, no thanks will be forthcoming.

My favorite Russian shoutout will go to Sovtek. The Brand 'o Tubes that Marlon would love. Marlon was fat. These tubes give amps fat, warm tone. 12AX7 is to me what THX1138 is to sci-fi geeks. The company that manufactures Sovtek product is owned by Mike Matthews who just happened to create the monster of distortion pedals, the famed Big Muff. The earliest issues of the Big Muff were manufactured in Russia. Different versions of the pedal are still Russian made, but manufacturing chores for other Muff models are also being shouldered by Matthew's other company, Electro-Harmonix.

I love this pedal. The day I found out it works marvelously and maliciously with a bass was a banner day. I have often wondered what crazy sonic brew would have erupted had Jaco Pastorius added a Big Muff to his arsenal. I have the army green Pi. Such a fitting chassis colour for such a swampy, sludgy, gooey beast.

The Big Muff wiki link gives a great list of songs where the pedal was used. Check it out. A great read, indeed.

I better not get any pervert traffic due to my first label...

currently listening to: Smog, The Doctor Came at Dawn

Teeth Clenching Goodness

2007-03-26T14:19:00.000-05:00

Thanks once again to Todd for inspiring a post. Have you ever just been so emotionally overwhelmed when hearing a song that your face goes all crazy? Call it "Pulling a Hopper." I do. It's way more sophisticated than just doing the predictable "bite your lower lip and nod in time at a tasty guitar solo".

I Pull a Hopper whenever I listen to "The Concept" by Teenage Fanclub.
I Pull a Hopper at the whirling dervish that is "Tomorrow Never Knows" by them Beatles.
I Pull a Hopper whenever I watch and listen to this clip of "Money City Maniacs" by Canadian legends and heroes, SLOAN:

Check it! The opening pan across the logoplate of my beloved HIWATT inspires a Hopper moment onto itself. I think the siren going off increases the drama. Now everytime I hear a fire engine I find myself listening for powerchords that never seem to come.

currently listening to: Grandaddy, Under the Western Freeway, (Happy Birthday J-Ly! Miss ya, brother!)

April, Come She Will

2007-03-26T09:40:00.000-05:00

Is it really almost April? I love the Spring. I love the Fall. I particularly love the month of September. Earth, Wind and Fire asks, "do you remember the 21st night of September?" in one of their fab-tastic groovefests. I would much rather remember the 19th night of September, 1981, if that's okay with all concerned.

Art did have Earth, Wind and Fire member-approved hair. The 'fro worked...for a time. But neither earth, wind or fire could have stopped the afro erosion. The "Afrosion". A receding hairline can be devasting, but a retreating afro is the worst kind of horrible as one cannot even do a combover to camouflage.

currently listening to: The Secret Machines, Now Here is Nowhere (sweet, sweet production! Glorious!)

It's Good to be Canadian!

2007-03-23T08:25:00.000-05:00

Open my wallet and after the moths fly out of the paper money compartment one can see that's its contents are fairly standard. Credit cards, debit card, social insurance card, KISS Army membership card, library card, semi-naked snapshots of Patrick Swayze circa "Roadhouse"...wait how'd they get in there? Not mine, I assure you. I'm more a "Point Break" kinda gal.
One of the most important things in my wallet has got to be my OHIP card. "Ontario Health Insurance Plan" that is. OHIP. And Oh, it is indeed hip. So hip that if I somehow manage to break a hip, all necessary medical attention to remedy it is free of charge. F.O.C. 'Cause in Canada we have free medical coverage. Not everything is covered, but let's just say that most Canadians rushed into emergency rooms will be exempt from shouldering the financial burden of such an unfortunate visit.
The guy who did much to put this whole wonderful health care system in effect was a legendary politician and gentleman named Tommy Douglas, who was recently voted our "Greatest Canadian" by a nation wide poll, a vox populi, if you will, spoken out all Canadian-style, eh?
Tommy passed away in 1986. His daughter Shirley, is quite the grande dame of Canadian theatre. Shirley's son, and Tommy's grandson, has been known to save the world in a 24hr time period on a regular basis. Fictiously of course, but nonetheless, hella convincingly.
C'mon you know I'm talkin' about Bauer. But really I'm not. Talkin' about Kiefer.
He just doesn't register as actor/Jack/star for me. He's all about the gear. Major guitar fanatic. That's how I enjoy him most.
Check out Kiefer's and partner Jude Cole's studio and independent record label collective known as Ironworks. Impressive!
Equally impressive is Kiefer's X-mas tree surfing. X-tacy to watch! What a rock star thing to do. He shouldn't be embarrassed of this. He should OWN it! AND, make it a yuletide tradition.

The catchy tune, "How Fast" is by one of Ironworks' artists, Rocco Deluca and The Burden. Most of the clips are culled from the documentary "I Trust You to Kill Me" which chronicles life on the road with Rocco and Co., and Kiefer working it as road manager (before the band fired him!) OOOooo the intrigue! But apparently Kiefer was cool about it.
Apparently, Kiefer is just that in general, cool. Classy and gracious.
Grandpa Tommy would be proud.

currently listening to: The Replacements, Pleased to Meet Me

A Reasonable Request

2007-03-22T08:20:00.000-05:00

DEBUNKED!
****************

DEBUNKED!
****************

...ahh...PENDING!
*****************

...can we just pretend that this didn't happen either? thanks.
*****************

currently listening to: Beatallica, A Garage Dayz Nite

The Spoils of Rotten

2007-03-20T12:38:00.000-05:00

Some people are horrified at the concept of nepotism. In theory, like any half-way decent person, I should be appalled at blatant favoritism that gives unfair advantage. In practice, I actually deee-lite in witnessing nepotism in action, especially in the field of entertainment. High rollers and playahs, who gift their untalented offspring with movie roles and record contracts should be given the highest of high fives, 'cause the rotten fruits of their kids' rotten labours can be a joy to behold. An Ironic-Hipster's Wet Dream. Spoiled rotten never looked so good!

The King Kid of Nepotism has to be Arch Hall Jr.. His dad, Arch Hall Sr. was a B-movie producer, who owned a fabulous company called Fairway Productions. Senior put Junior in a few of his films. He had high hopes for his son, hoping to turn him into the next big teen dream. Unfortunately, Junior looked like Elvis crossed with a cabbage patch doll.
Actually, Wild Guitar is a pretty great flick. Dude who eventually went on to do the cinematography for Close Encounters of the Third Kind (and win an Oscar for it) cut his teeth on this shit, as "Gee-tar's" director of photography. He also worked on Hall Jr.'s and Sr.'s crowning achievement in cinema, a tight little thriller called "The Sadist". Check out this flick. Junior actually shows sparks of true talent. It's about a psycho and his trashy skag terrorizing innocents, predating Brad Jolie's rip-off "Kalifornia" by exactly 30 years.
So whatever happened to Arch Jr.?
Went on to become a pilot. And a writer. And a cult hero to some. Personally, the guy fascinates me. He is also still rawkin' with his band The Archers. And...apparently there is a documentary in the works all about Fairway Productions and its place within the indie cinema scene at the time (think Ed Wood without all the cross dressing and cardboard cut out tombstones). Can't wait! Here's Arch in Action serenading his lucky, lucky gal. I won't hold it against ya if ya just can't make it through the entire clip. That's a perfectly normal reaction.

currently listening to: Built to Spill, Keep it Like a Secret

Talk to Me!

2007-03-19T12:30:00.000-05:00

For yesterday's post I shyly (or slyly) laid down a gauntlet that I was hoping to get challenged on. I stated that Judas Priest's "Unleashed in the East" was the definitive Live Album. Not one "No way man, Frampton Comes Alive! is, what, are you on drugs?"

MMMM...no. Maybe that's why all fourteen frickin' minutes of "Feel Like WE Do (It's "WE" not "I")doesn't quite rock my house as hard as it does my neighbours' joints, who like to spend many an idyllic hour in their great garden of green. Catch the pun in there? No? Jesus, you're more stoned than I thought.

The coolness of "Frampton Comes Alive!" comes from the Heil Talk Box. Pure and simple. Listen to the crowd on that album and hear them go batshit crazy everytime he uses the Heil. There should be some graph drawn where on the side you write "Audience Reaction" and on the bottom write all the songs on the album. You can be sure that whenever and wherever the Heil appears the graph line shoots up like Nico or like Google's stock charts.

Many a crude joke could be inserted here due to the appearance of the Heil's tubing mechanism and in the way ("Show me the Way!") that it is used to generate its effect.
I will resist the urge to go there as gear is way to sacred to be mocked in such a fashion! The only time smut and gear go together is porn and the wah wah, Okay?

Anyways...back to Live albums! Come forth, show yourselves and let me know your favourite live albums of all time! Budokan me!

currently listening to: my own weeping. Laptop bit the dust. Posts and return comments may be scarce due to technical difficulties!

Always a Crowd Pleaser...

2007-03-18T19:38:00.000-05:00

The following clip needs no introduction except to say that it needs no introduction.

To the saucy red head who is probably now receptionist at her local mall's GlamourShots--it wasn't gonna happen with Mr.Rob Halford that night darling, and it sure ain't gonna happen now. Unless you've changed your name to Bernard and your sex to male AND your acid wash jeans to buttless chaps. Then, maybe.

Before I saw the Priest reunion in 2005, I had high hopes that the Heavy Metal Parking Lot "je ne sais quoi" would experience a sort of reunion tour of it's own. People would just naturally do the hang out in tribute to the spirit of the crazy "little documentary that could". Didn't happen. At least not in Toronto. Nowadays, the minute you exit the car you are herded by some inexplicable force towards the $5.00 bottles of water and the $100.00 T-shirts, and the immediate need to capture every key moment on the $500.00 cell phone that takes kick ass photos.

One tip though, if Priest comes back (they are currently in the studio), and you have a desire to go see them, don't buy regular venue seating. Slum it in the general admission/lawn area at the back. It's the closest thing to a Heavy Metal Parking Lot that you're gonna get. Then you can say you were the cooler half of the classic mullet configuration-"Party in the Back". Who wants to join "Business Class Upfront"? Not me.

currently listening to: Judas Priest, Unleashed in the East (the definitive Live Album)