Part 2: Well they really make me flip

The Suburbs doing their classic Girlfriend in 1981.

Part 1: "An irresistible and eccentric rock & roll combo"

The Suburbs on KTCA-Channel 2's Night Times Variety in 1981. Here's Cigarette In Backwards.

Dig the hostess shaking her jumpsuit-clad booty after the introduction!

Why May is my favorite month

The place: somewhere in south Minneapolis.



The setting: Someone's back yard. Outdoor sculpture. Peonies ready to bust open. Other lush vegetation. Blossoms beaming and fluorescing in the fading light. A hot charcoal grill.



The menu: Grass-fed ribeyes. Fresh morels sauteed in butter. A delicious pasta salad. Roasted rosemary potatoes. Strawberries that explode in your mouth. Stella Artois. Summit Pale Ale. Some kinda red wine.



Activities: Forgetting about the previous 12 hours. Sidewalk chalk. Blowing off Art-A-Whirl parties to play tag with little girls. A jump rope for three. Discussing effective methods of squirrel control. Pro Tools in the basement studio. Crashing the neighbor's barbecue. Just Be-ing. A head full of fuzz. Big smiling. Big Fun.

Hotel Haiku VIII

Between Fargo and
Minneapolis -- yay! Here
comes a new supply!

Photo: Spotted on I94: the Bimbo Truck.

Resistance is futile

I'm sitting with some of the Abernathys at the Ridgewood Club in Minneapolis. I have a dime-sized chemical blister on the center of my tongue courtesy of an extra-large Thai Chicken from Uptown Pizza. My nose is running uncontrollably. (Yes, I tipped Mr. Pizza Guy large to prevent a derogatory blog entry about the pizzavores here at Ridgewood.)

While the other two Abernathys are surfing the web and arguing about tile selections for their new bathroom, I stumbled across this.



I know I will not get a wink of sleep tonight after reading it. Go ahead -- I dare you.

Pigs...

A police officer in Michigan and his wife made pot brownies with some confiscated doop and ate the whole pan. They got so paranoid they thought they were dying, and called 911. From a transcript:

Sanchez:I think I'm having an overdose. and so is my wife.
911: Overdose of what?
Sanchez: Marijuana...
Sanchez: We made brownies. and I think we're dead. I really do...
Sanchez: Time is going by really, really, really slow...
Sanchez: What's the score in the Red Wings game?
911: I've got no clue, i don't watch the Red Wings.
Sanchez: I just wanted to make sure this isn't some kind of hallucination I'm having.

You can read the AP article here, and hear the actual call here.

Wak!

Did you ever wonder about Donald Duck?

He appeared to be a sailor who ran around without any pants on. Those two characteristics always made me wonder what he was like when he wasn't entertaining us children in comics and cartoons, and why in the world Daisy let those three nephews hang around him.

Now we have even more evidence of his sailor man activities -- here's an anti-VD poster of him upset because he has no condom. You can bid on this piece of art here.

Must be nice to have a rich uncle.

You know you want one.

The special limited edition, complete 2-season box set of LAND OF THE GIANTS is heading our way this summer (24th July 2007). "Only" two Benjamins, but on sale for a buck fitty! Back in those days, two seasons were good for 51 episodes. I kinda gotta think that Sopranos or Entourage wouldn't be nearly as half as good as they are if they had to crank out an episode a week for half a year.

I don't remember much about LAND OF THE GIANTS, other than that it was always fun to see the characters climbing up a giant phone cord, or getting trapped beneath a giant thimble, or being harassed by a gargantuan cat. Oh, and "Valerie" gave me a giant something when I'd see her giant something elses. OK, so I was a pervy kindergartner.

Bonus! if you want to be a member of the Giants family, you can get a free membership here.

Postscript: my friend Kevin sent me this. I know if *I* was going on a spaceship, I'd bring my bathing suit, too.

Laff Riot

The Perry Bible Fellowship is the best comic running. There's little else that makes me spit so much coffee (or bits of Twizzlers or Cheese Nips or Swedish Fish, or even Summit) all over my keyboard.

Here's a sample:
(Click to enlarge)

Scarlett Johansson Why Don't You Love Me?

That's the best song title of the year, so far! And the song itself is pretty catchy, too.

Jai-Alai Savant is a local Chicago band, and you can listen to Scarlett Johansson... here. Ain't the internets a great thing?

If you're like me, you like your dub best served up on a hot summer day -- let it penetrate your bones and fog your melon. Drink a 12-cup pot of extra-strong coffee first, and you have an idea of the dub punk of Jai-Alai Savant.

Here comes the summer...

Two lost souls in a fish bowl

Rodrigo y Gabriela played an electrifying, sold-out show at Chicago's Vic Theatre in Lakeview last night.

I'd snagged a great seat: front row balcony, and being a total newb after hearing their album only once, wondered what kind of experience I was about to taste.

Describing Rodrigo y Gabriela's music is difficult enough. The act of describing it reminds me of the six blind guys trying to explain the elephant in the room. I've heard it called sensual, passionate, rhythmic, Jazz/Flamenco/Rock on acoustic guitars.

That's just one of the six blind guys describing what he felt of that elephant. I thought it sounded romantic and exciting and might make great dinner date music. To produce a better sonic picture, perhaps a little history is in order.

Rodrigo and Gabriela are originally from Mexico City, met as teenagers, and played in various thrash metal bands. A record label wanted them to record an album, so they talked the label into letting them record in Ixtapa, then did what any young band might do in such an environment: spend the time fucking off and partying. They parted ways with the label, and having no money, got some gigs playing in hotel bars for the tourist set. Not really knowing how to play the bossa nova that was expected of them, they fudged by playing acoustic guitar versions of Slayer, Metallica, and the like. When asked by vacationers, "What kind of music IS this?" they replied, "It's ancient Mexican music." One day they decided to up and go to Europe, so they flew to Paris, and then on to Dublin, arriving with $1,000 in their pockets. Not knowing much English, they soon burned through their money, and ended up busking. They built up their chops and reputation, and took off like a rocket from there. Their album was released last October in the US.

So, the description above of their music is only a sliver, and not accurate at all. The duo sauntered on stage, and the crowd went wild. The Vic holds 1,300 people, and it was the loudest noise I've ever heard 1,300 produce. They had no set list, instead preferring people to shout out songs Freebird-style, and they'd play them. Gabriela plays the percussive, rhythmic part on most songs, and Rodrigo usually does the finger-bleeding leads, though they traded off frequently. The stage banter was great, with Gabriela showing the devil rock horn sign after every song, and going off on long, hilarious stoner tangents while Rodrigo kicked around a soccer ball behind the stage. The F word was a frequent adjective, so one can tell they learned most of their English in Dublin.

And the covers they did were a lot of fun in this metal mariachi style. In an "I Can Name That Tune In One Note" moment, the crowd erupted, Rodrigo pointed to us, and we all sang along to Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here". I don't think I've ever sung along to that song in my life, but the words spewed from some unknown place inside me along with 1,299 other fans. And boy, were we good. Other covers included snatches of Smoke On the Water, Hotel California, Dave Brubeck's Take Five and a beautiful flamenco version of Stairway to Heaven with Gabriela on lead.

OK...I can see I'm just another blind guy in the room...best bet is to pick up this album. Or better yet: July 4th, Taste of Chicago, Grant Park.

Or even better yet: July 6th, Minneapolis, Basilica Block Party! :::making devil horn sign:::

4th Annual Codpiece Day

I could've sworn I read somewhere that the Preznit doesn't read email. But if one inspects closely above, it looks as if perhaps he read one of those penis enlargement ones that used to pile up in the junk drawer.

Either that, or they hired some intern at the White House who's handy with Photoshop. What else could explain the difference in the photo above?

The image on the left is from the official White House website. The image on the right is how it originally appeared.

And here's another interesting example of how history has been re-written -- this time with a doctored video:

Hotel Haiku VII

TV in my room
is so old, ESPN
scores are all cut off!

Quite possibly world's worst Holiday Inn (not counting Lexington or Miami), Indianapolis.

Photo: Drag.

Eh Toi!

Photo: Rosie Ledet, her awesome guitarist, and her 69-year-old father-in-law on washboard.

Just returned from the first weekend of the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival -- and what a great weekend it was. The weather cooperated: low to upper 80s and no rain all weekend.

Compared to last year, things are a bit different. Most of the watermarks have disappeared. Houses have been repainted or razed. Many buildings are boarded up, but the stinking heaps of detritus that were there last year are gone now. A few FEMA trailers squat in yards or driveways. In the Quarter, more than a few of the places I wandered past last year are now closed.

Music lovers turned out in droves, and the place was packed all three days.

Day One. I arrived at the fairgrounds in time to see the last couple of Eddie Bo's songs, then wandered around, caught an amazing performance by the Creole Wild West Indians, a bit of the Amazones: Women Drummers of Guinea, and grabbed a bite to eat. Caught the last two songs by the Subdudes, and was too lazy to walk all the way across the grounds for Dr. John, so I stayed put at the Gentilly Stage for T-Bone Burnett. What a treat! His band included Marc Ribot on guitar and Jim Keltner on drums. They pretty much tore the place up. Next, I blew off Van Morrison in favor of Lucinda Williams, and didn't regret it one bit. Lucinda's show at the House of Blues in the Quarter the following night was sold out, so I'm glad I got to see her.

Day Two. More wandering around and eating to start, then a few songs by Cajun accordionist Ray Abshire. Hung around the same stage for the New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars. Scampered over the the Blues Tent to catch Tab Benoit, but couldn't even get near the place. Back to the Gentilly Stage for Calexico, and the best performance of the day. Calexico's mariachi-meets-Spaghetti Western sound had thousands smiling and dancing, and if they didn't know them, many new fans. Blew off Rod Stewart (thanks for the tip, Kev!) in favor of Norah Jones, who was mellow but superb. Unfortunately, she reminded me of my ex-wife. She was joined by local 21-year-old genius Trombone Shorty to join her on a song, and finished up with a Tom Waits song as I exited.

Day Three. Caught a couple of songs by local acts JD Hill & the Jammers and Vivaz (both excellent!), then saw Jean Knight & her Knights of Rhythm. Yes, that Jean Knight, who had a hit with "Mr. Big Stuff" back in '71. Then back to the Gentilly Stage for the New Orleans Social Club. The Social Club is a loose affiliation of New Orleans all stars, including keyboardist Ivan Neville (Cyril was a no-show), guitarist Leo Nocentelli, Meters bassist George Porter, Jr., pianist Henry Butler (a-farking-mazing), keyboardist Wilson "Willie Tee" Turbinton, vocalist John Boutte (who sang a blistering version of Annie Lennox's "Why"), and a host of guest stars, including Dr. John, Irma Thomas. Needless to say, this bunch was sizzling. They covered John Fogerty's "Fortunate Son" and the place went wild. Irma Thomas was up next on that stage, but I reluctantly left to get a bite to eat and satisfy my necrophiliac curiosity about Jerry Lee Lewis. The place was jammed, so I only got to see the Killer sing one line of "Whole Lotta Shakin' Going On", then set his bottom on the keyboard, and dodder offstage. Last Man (Barely) Standing, I guess. Hustled back over to the Fais Do Do stage to catch the last couple of Gillian Welch's numbers, which she performed with her partner, David Rawlings (and his 1935 Epiphone gee-tar). Standard Gillian faire (meaning really, really good) until they absolutely scorched the earth with a cover of "Jackson". Woo. Up next: Rosie Ledet & The Zydeco Playboys, and the highlight of the weekend for me. Rosie's a little spitfire who plays accordion, with her husband on bass, her nephew on drums, and her 69-year-old father-in-law on washboard. This guy is only three years younger than Jerry Lee Lewis, but it's obvious who is going to live longer. These guys literally ripped up the place and had the crowd going wild -- well worth missing Bonnie Raitt playing with her band and the New Orleans Social Club.

This morning. Was wandering around the Quarter and saw Keith Streng of the Fleshtones with his wife shopping for souvenirs on Decatur Street. Chaaaa!

Laissez les bon temps rouler

Not to taunt or anything, but I'm off to Nawlins for three days of the Jazz & Heritage Festival.

I hope I make my 5:45 am flight.

I will eat crawfish, étouffée, and pretty much whatever else is placed in front of me. I will get my haircut at that barbershop in the Quarter (if he's still open), and see scads of good music performances, including Eddie Bo, Dr. John, Van Morrison or Lucinda Williams (flip a coin, they are playing at the same damn time), Rod Stewart or Nora Jones (same damn "problem"), Calexico (yessss), Bonnie Raitt or Jill Scott (again, overlapping), Jerry Lee Lewis or Gillian Welch (same deal), some of the Nevilles and dozens of other acts. On Sunday morning, I will be at the Gospel tent in a futile attempt to let Jesus back into my heart.

I have my straw boater to protect my noggin from the sun (weather forecast: low to mid 80s, no rain), some SPF 50, and a pocket full of dead presidents.

I'll try and report when I return, if I return.

Troglodyte

OK, that last post was rather low-forehead knuckle-draggin' and mean-spirited, despite being spot-on.

To atone for my sin, here's a little bit higher-minded faire, worth checking out for legal consciousness-expansion.



If you're really into it, you can find podcasts here (you'll need iTunes). Plus, lectures from UC Berkeley, Yale, Princeton and elsewhere, all for FREE.

Feed your head.

Real cool time

Can i come over tonight?
Can i come over tonight?
What do you think i wanna do?
That's right
Can i come over tonight?
I say we will have a real cool time tonight
-- Real Cool Time

Iggy & the Stooges came over on Sunday night -- to the Congress Theatre in Chicago, that is. And we all had a real cool time.

Mitigating factor? I had a 9 a.m. appointment the next day in Winona, MN, that I couldn't weasel out of. Did it deter me? Uhm, no.

The only deterrence to anyone's Fun Time was that Steve Albini's band Shellac opened. Not that they were horrible, but their minimalist brand of skronk didn't quite fit with what the crowd had in mind for all-out rock 'n' roll. Plus, they said "Three more!" when the crowd was getting antsy and then played like nine more. They got more than a few boos, and the snotty drummer (Minneapolis boy, Todd Trainer, who has a really bad precious black circa-1982 MCAD hair do) lipped off to everyone with "And what's YOUR band called? We're WORLD FAMOUS." I just knew that most of the older guys in black leather jackets around me wanted to take him outside and chain whip him. Plus, the Congress has this really tall cool domed ceiling with a glowy red lozenge at the top, which made it sound like all we could hear was the drummer wailing on his tom, and not Albini's angular Gang of Four-like guitar flangs. It was like being on the Screaming Kid flight ALL the way from ORD to Narita, or having the AA buffoons all wired on coffee and blowing up one firecracker every three seconds right below your bedroom window at 3 am on July 5th when you have to be up at 5 that morning. And then the cops show up, so they quit and get on their Harleys and rap those off for like 20 minutes before peeling out. Anyway. It was really annoying, and not in a rock 'n' roll piss-off-your-parents way.

But before we knew it, the Stooges rocketed onto the stage and began blowing us away. From where I stood, it looked like Iggy had the body of a 25-year old, and he made Mick Jagger look like a cripple. Iggy turns 60 this Saturday (Happy b-day Ig!), and if I have those moves at 60, I'll be pretty darn happy.

They played quite a bit from the first two Stooges albums, and a bunch from their new disc, The Weirdness, which I confess I haven't heard. My faves were "I Wanna Be Your Dog", "1969" (Ron Asheton proved that he is THEE Rock Guitar God of the Universe with that one -- my ears are still going 'WEEEEEEEEEEEE'), "Little Electric Chair" and "TV Eye".

Mike Watt (yeah, from the Minutemen!) has been playing bass with the Stooges. Mike's got a tour diary going here on his hootpage. Miguel? You can be assured that Sunday night you were in the hottest band on the planet. Steve Mackay (who also played on Funhouse) wailed on sax.

Lord See that cat
Yeah I do mean you
See that cat
Yeah I do mean you
She got a TV eye on me
She got a TV eye
She got a TV eye on me, oh

See that cat
Yeah I love her so
see that cat
Yeah I love her so
She got a TV eye on me
She got a TV eye
She got a TV eye on me, oh
Right on, right on, right on
-- TV Eye

*I* want a TV Eye on me!

I'm the type to never recognize a TV Eye when one is on me, though. Maybe I walk too quickly. Maybe I have poor peripheral vision. I never know when I am being checked out. Somehow I miss the obvious (to others) clues.

I wonder about my own TV Eye. I hope it is subtle as I cast it about. I hope it is not scorching that woman's bottom as she strolls by.

So what is a TV Eye?

You can read about it in Please Kill Me, Legs McNeill's history of punk music (a great read, by the way, if you fondly recall the Stooges, Ramones, Blondie, New York Dolls, et al):

Kathy Asheton, younger sister of Stooges members Ron and Scott Asheton, recalls at one point how she came up with the term as shorthand for a term involving a vulgar term for her anatomy: "Twat Vibe Eye."

“TV Eye” was my term. It was girl stuff. My girlfriends and I developed a code. It was a way for us to communicate with each other if we thought some guy was staring at us...

Like, ‘He’s got a TV Eye on you. And if we had it then we’d use “I have...”

Iggy overheard us and thought it was really funny. That’s when he wrote that song “TV Eye.”

Yeah...I want a TV Eye on me.



Photos: (Top) Iggy Pop at Soldier Field, July 18, 1970. (Bottom) Iggy Pop at Congress Theatre, April 15, 2007, during "Real Cool Time."

Oh! And I went over to celebmatch and it says that I am a 98% intellectual match with Mr. Pop. Not sure what that says about either of us...

So it goes.

Back in elementary school, we'd periodically get to order paperback books from Scholastic or some similar paperback book club. We were always excited on the day our books arrived -- we were on a first name basis with the UPS guy (Gus!) who delivered them, and we secretly felt sorry for those kids who didn't get any.

If we ordered enough books as a group, Scholastic (or whoever the company was) would throw in a few free books. Sometimes the freebies were pretty good; other times they were rather odd. In any case, our teacher would put the freebies on the shelf for anyone to read.

When I was in fifth grade, one of the freebies happened to be Slaughterhouse Five.

Now, keep in mind that this was a parochial school, where we had Bible study every day, tons of "memory work" (I can still recite entire Psalms and hymns and even a chapter or twelve from books of the Bible). Class sizes were small, and classrooms were shared by two grades.

So, one day while the teacher was out of the room, some of the naughtier sixth grade boys were huddled near the book shelf, whispering and giggling. Usually when they were doing this, a home-made stink bomb was on the verge of ignition, cleverly manufactured from a ballpoint pen, a farmer's match, and a bobby pin. This time, however, the wicked glee in their eyes was a little different.

One of them had Slaughterhouse Five open, and there was a page that contained reference to a photo of a naked woman, a Shetland pony, and something called deedle-balls. We snickered and then quickly stuffed the book back in the shelf before the teacher returned. If anyone (like our teacher, and hence, parents) ever found out about that book, it would surely be burned. And, we would surely spend eternity sizzling in Hell.

I suspect Slaughterhouse Five became the second-most read book in school that year, after the source of our memory work, of course.

The phrase, "So it goes," appeared in it often. It was used to downplay mortality in the story, in which Mr. Vonnegut had a knack for showing us how we turn the horrifying into the mundane.

A year later, I was scrounging for science fiction books at the public library. I was a geeky kid, and I'd read most of what the library contained already as far as sci fi (I was nearly bitch-slapped once, and corrected that it was properly called SF). I asked the librarian if she knew of anything else that I might like. She pointed me to something called Sirens of Titan. Hmmm...it had won a Hugo award.

I checked it out.

Sirens of Titan turned out to be nothing at all like Bradbury or Heinlein. But there were those Tralfamadorians that I'd read about in Slaughterhouse Five the previous year. Hmm.

I didn't revisit Mr. Vonnegut's writing again until I was 19. The object of my affections that summer was Tanqueray gin. My friends and I would play several hours of Ultimate Frisbee and then go drink Tanqueray & tonics on 2-for-1night for $1.10. One day, I stumbled across a copy of Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions at a rummage sale, and noticed that the title was a reference to a gin-based beverage. Awesome! I picked it up and took it home.

This time, Mr. Vonnegut's writing had a completely different effect on me. I sought out and read the rest of his output, and eagerly awaited his new novels as they arrived.

Mr. Vonnegut died Wednesday at age 84. He has been called the Mark Twain of our time. News of his death showed up in the "Entertainment" sections of many newspapers, while the death of Anna Nicole Smith made the front page.

So it goes.

My favorite short piece of his is available here.

Go read.

Hotel Haiku VI

Two Crown Royals and
prime rib. Must get up and do
one thousand sit-ups.

Or thereabouts.

Gotta crash.

Photo: There but for the grace of Zeus go I.

Hotel Haiku V

Tomorrow I go
from IN to MI. Crap! Naught but
Jesus radio.

Photo: So that's where they sell them! In Bay City, MI.