Chip off the old block

I am very sensitive to music.  

Even when it is in the background of a crowded, noisy space it hits my nervous system.  I can NOT "tune it out" once I have identified it.  

This has led to some unusual situations in the past.  My pleasant vibe can be ruined just because someone chose to play Lionel Richie at the wrong bar or Jodi Watley at the wrong coffeehouse.  Things can get confrontational at the drop of a hat.  

This afternoon I was with my five year old son at a very crowded tap/grill room.  We were with family - a table of six children and five adults.  Most other tables were occupied by families with young kids as well. 

The place was loud - not obnoxious Chuck E. Cheese level loud - but loud enough that I was surprised when my son came up to me and said, "We know this song, daddy."

Until that moment I had not realized that any music had been playing.  I strained an ear - I still could not pick out a discernible tune.  I was about to tell him I couldn't hear any music when a snatch of it came through.

He was right - it was this track.  I put it on a mix cd for the car last year.

When I told my sweetheart about our kid's expert song identification above the restaurant din, she beamed: "Like Father, Like Son."

  

Firewater - October 5 - Lincoln Hall

This kind of crept up on me but I think I have to go see this.  Who is with me?

Friday, Oct. 5 at Lincoln Hall.  Gypsy punk rock.  

For proof positive of their genius I humbly submit the lyrics to Bourbon & Division. 

On the corner of Bourbon & Division
Crawling down the crooked streets at dawn
She said: don't come back, all is not forgiven
So you fall inside a bottle and a song
Splinters of thought dropping slowly
Snapping like branches in the wind
So you light a dog-end smoke
And you're laughing as you choke
And you give the wheel of fortune one more spin

Do you remember what you came here for?
Her words of wisdom scratched into the door
You can almost taste the emptiness
Hung inside her tallow dress
Can the darkness be as empty as it seems
When the factories of night hum with their dreams?
And you watch a skinny dog cut across that dusty lot
Like the surface of the moon

In the decompression chamber
Cooling in the conversation pit
Sleeping underneath yesterday's papers
And pretending the tsunami hasn't hit
Friday was the crucifixion
Saturday cremation under glass
The Resurrection was on Sunday
No, correction, make it Monday
'Cause Monday's when they come to take the trash

Hanging on the telephone...

This post is about THE CALL.  Whether or not you even get the call AND just as important, how you answer it. 

I am speaking, of course, of the call to Rock. 

This past Tuesday I texted my buddies Trocc, SD and Barsk at 5 pm. Quittin' Time.   See, SUN ARAW was playing at the Empty Bottle that very same night. I had a bit of a wild hair and I wondered if there were any takers.  

I dig what I have heard of Sun Araw but I have kept him somewhat at arm's length because of his prodigious recorded output which can sometimes be anathema to a collector like myself with a strong completist streak.  My wallet can only  withstand so many bands like White Hills at one time. 

The replies were swift and regretful.  No takers for the spontaneous rock out. 

I felt that weird mixture of "aw shucks" and relief.  I wouldn't be attending a concert tonight so my wild hair (in)groaned.  But my future Weds. morning self was just as expressive with gratitude.   

Much later that night, I was watching The Walking Dead with my sweetheart.    I get a call from my friend, Mr. Kite.  

It is 11:50 pm.  A pivotal scene is playing out and a herd of zombies are traipsing towards the farm.  There is no way I am gonna pause the program to answer what could be a butt dial.  A minute later my phone signals that a message has been left. 

12:30 pm.  I am have just climbed into bed.  I decide to listen to Mr. Kite's message before turning in.

It was a spontaneous call to rock out.  That night.  Starting at 2:30 am at the House of Blues - Prince was getting a do-over for his botched aftershow performance the night before.  Rahm Emmanuel had even given permission to the club to break curfew if necessary.  

Now, Mr. Kite is practically the Mayor of the House of Blues.  You roll in with him and You. Are. Set. Up.   Admission, Seating, Drinks - it all just happens without you ever having to dip into your wallet (except to tip your servers, of course).  

The offer is tempting.  It is just so crazy that I wonder what it kind of show it might be.  Mr. Kite lays out the rationale quickly in his voicemail; You see,  the newspaper reviews of his Monday night show at the United Center were none too kind.  Prince has something to prove tonight (which was actually technically going to be very early in the morning). 

But I am in my pajamas.  Teeth have been brushed.  The choice was set before I even knew that there was a decision to be made.  

It was truly an honor just to get the call.  That has got to be a rarefied list of people that you will call at midnight to say "Hey! Do you wanna come on into the city and rock until DAWN?"   

Help Me Jack Pepsi!

So for the past week I have been driving around with a HUGE bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor of my passenger side.  I meant to return it to my brother but forgot (along with a half a box of Fruity Pebbles).  

Today, I fished Tad's "8-Way Santa" out of the shoebox of cassettes sitting on the passenger seat (another story).  On the way home from work I played "Jack Pepsi." 

This is a song that sticks with you.  Both because of the vivid imagery and Tad Doyle's plaintive blood curdling howl.

I used to scream "Help Me, Jack Pepsi!  Help Me, Jack Pepsi!" back in college whenever me and the crew were about to embark on some risky behavior.  It seemed as good a prayer as any. 

I remember that the booklet for the album had a comic strip by Peter Bagge.  It was my introduction to his art. 

  

The song is pretty grim to be sure, but you gotta remember that it is being told in the past tense so somehow the narrator (and hopefully his buddy Jack Helton from Nampa, Idaho) survived right?  

How did they pull through? We are not told.  But it had to have been nothing short of miraculous.  

I did some research on the Patron Saint of Drunks and there are at least seven possibilities.  So again, pleading to Jack Pepsi makes about as much sense as anything.   

My buddy RW

Up to this point, I have neglected the most essential fodder for an active blog; plugging your friend's creative work. 

RW and I go way back.  He has a pretty cool serialized fiction online called Swift Arrow that you should follow.  It is a hardboiled take on superheros that is TOUGH.   

But RW is all about crossing things off his bucket list and another thing he is trying out at this very moment is making a gig poster.  

Since I am a casual collector of gig posters he asked for my opinion on this work in progress.  I think Jack Kirby would be flattered. 

RW can't afford to silkscreen it but I do hope that he finds a way to inject the necessary color in it to make it POP.  

I knew nothing about the Frode Gjerstad Trio but if I lived in Cleveland this poster would get me to the show.  Nice work!

Mix for my Bro

Hey there!  

Yeah, I know - you thought I had given up.  Well, for a while I had but now I am back.  Hopefully for good. 

One thing that has been occupying a lot of my time lately is making a gazillion mix cds for folks that contributed to my 5K run back in April.  

So far I have only delivered three.  I need to step it up! 

This is the playlist for my brother's mix that I just delivered to him this past weekend.  He called me tonight and gave it a pretty good rating.  However his friend Joel Frieders made off with it, saying "Good luck getting this back!"  

That is how you know you have made a good impression on Joel, he steals it outright. 

So, I leave it to you to tell me if this was worthy of theft.  I was pretty proud of the flow...

"DON'T GO DOWN THERE, SNAKE!"


1) "Don't Go Down There!" - Ernest Borgnine as "Cabbie" in Escape from NY
2) 4h30 - Danger
3) Let Your Love Grow Moderate (Featuring Paul St.Hilaire) - Modeselektor
4) Kowboyz And Indians - Gonjasufi
5) Wanna Know - Obie Trice
6) Goin' In - Birdy Nam Nam
7) Body Heat (Original Recording) - Plus Device
8) Help Me - Guillamino, Coco Solid & Violet
9) The Duke Arrives / The Barricade - John Carpenter
10) See What It's About - Eliot Lipp
11) Hyph Mngo - Joy Orbison
12) Monoliths - Maserati
13) Contrails (feat. Tegan Quin) - Astronautalis
14) Keep Me There - Nicolas Jaar
15) Sunday Bloody Sunday - Saul Williams
16) Bumper (Live on Pitchfork City Of Music) - P.O.S

This mix was fun to make because my brother and I don't get many opportunities to discuss music so I wasn't too hung up on whether a track was  "current" or not.  

Credits:
Thanks to Mike Mitchell for introducing me to the Obie Trice track.  He put it on his best of 2007 mix that got me through some long work nights the following year.  

You can follow his exploits on Twitter - @spargomitchell