Archive for September, 2012

Sunday Music 9/30/12

Straight Satans-Wearing Greg’s Skin
The Straight Satans were a great, short lived and woefully under documented Long Branch NJ band featuring Jon Davies (Secret Syde) and Wayne Larsen (Laughing Soup Dish). I think this amazing psych nugget is from 1989 but I’m not sure. Thanks to Sean for turning me onto this. There was was some really exceptional psych coming out of the Long Branch area in the mid to late 80’s; Secret Syde, Laughing Soup Dish, and Watch Children being the main proponents .

Mike Love’s history of being a dick

Mike Love’s firing of the other surviving members of The Beach Boys for an upcoming tour is another in a long line of questionable moves he has made in his life, others include

*Investing all of The Beach Boys money in Mike Love’s Hats and Such. A failed chain of hat and hat accessory stores.

*Suggesting to Charles Manson that he should give up music and start a murderous cult.

*Replacing the members of The Beach Boys with the entire cast of Full House.

*Replacing the members of The Beach Boys with the entire cast of Barney Miller.

*Temporarily changing the name to The Beach Boyz, in an attempt to cash in with a hipper, urban audience.

*Tried to adopt Brian Wilson, twice.

*Attempted to set up a steel cage death match between Paul McCartney and Brian Wilson.

*Claiming to have written all of Brian Wilson’s songs but giving Wilson credit, because he felt bad for him.

I Hate Me, part 166,670 / I LIKE RECORDS 71

There’s a crazy old man who comes into the store, actually there are a lot of crazy old men who come into the store this is just about one of them. He’s there for hours and asks odd questions about books and DVD’s and ends up buying a couple of books. He could be described as eccentric by someone with a bigger heart, I’ll stay with crazy.

Old Man-Every time I come here, I gotta go to the bathroom.

[As I walked to the bathroom to unlock it for him.]

Me-(non committal grunt)

Old Man-YEAH, EVERY TIME I COME IN HERE I GOTTA GO TO THE BATHROOM

Me-yeah, huh

OLD MAN-I SAID! EVERY TIME I COME INTO THIS STORE I GOTTA GO TO THE BATHROOM!!

Me-yeah, this store’ll do that to you

Old Man-What?

Me- nothin’ I was joking

Old Man-This store will make you do what?!

Me-Make you go to the bathroom.
Old Man-Really?!

Me-No,I was joking

Old Man-Do you really think the store makes me go to the bathroom?!

Me- No…no I don’t

Old Man- Well I gotta go bad

[we got to the bathroom and I unlocked the door for him]

Me-Alright then, have at it

Old Man- (as the door was closing) What?!

I Hate Me, Part 245,005

As I’ve written in a previous missive about my near obsession with Jazz Apples (I Hate Me, Part 1,009,877,334 aka Showdown in Appletown), I have been going to Delicious Orchards to buy them as they’re the only place around that sells them. Delicious Orchards is an old, folksy produce market and bakery (“…and so much more”), it’s about twenty minutes away. I know driving that far for goddamned specific apples is ridiculous but I am ridiculous, so it makes sense. I went to pick up our weekly batch of apples and I went to the apple department and I didn’t see any Jazz apples. there were 1,000’s of apples; Red Delicious, Gala, Honey Crisp, Rome, Lumpy Joe, Pacific Rose, Balkan Cartilage, Golden Delicious, Nixon!, McIntosh, there were a lot of apples but no Jazz Apples. I asked the apple guy, who was unfortunately not dressed like an apple nor wearing an apple shaped hat:
Me-Where’s the Jazz….apples?
Apple Guy- We don’t have them now
Me-Isn’t it apple month? shouldn’t you guys have them, you usually have them.
Apple Guy-It’s not apple month, I’m not sure there is an apple month.
Somehow, I had convinced myself that it was Apple Month. I don’t even know what it means, I’m guessing a celebration of apples, if it existed.
So under protest, I filled a bag with Honey Crisp and Nixon! apples and trudged to the counter.

I Hate Me, part 153,091

[NOTE: I don’t think I’ve told this story before. If I have and it’s slightly different, I’m sorry. This is how I remember it today.]

By the time I was a senior in high school, my grades had gone to hell. I was making good money as a cook and I enjoyed getting fucked up. I had a paper due in english class, it was supposed to be a short story. Now at this time in my life I fancied myself a writer/reporter. Inspired in equal parts by Hunter Thompson, Woodward & Bernstein, and Kolchak the Night Stalker. I was completely full of shit. I ignored the upcoming due date for story and of course at zero hour, I had nothing. I was listening to a lot of Rush at the time (it was 1980) and then it hit me, I would write out the story of 2112. My teacher didn’t know who Rush was, it was perfect. Now my typewriter was broken and no one every used my mom’s good IBM Selectric, I’m sure she would have let me but that would have to involve actual interaction with my parents. So I wrote out this half-baked piece of shit that consisted mainly of me writing out the lyrics in paragraph form. My handwriting is at best unreadable and at worst looks like something that inspired the Necronomicon. I handed it in. A week later I got it back with UNREADABLE!!! scrawled on it in giant red letters. I was never sure if that was for the content or the presentation, it was probably both.

Sunday Music 9/16/12

The Spread Eagles-Up to High (Much too High)
These guys are (were?) from Kansas and this is the b-side from their 2007 single “Don’t Talk to the Narc” on Boom Chick. I don’t know much about them (or about anything else really), I have two singles by these guys, they seem to be working the same side of the street as the Black Lips, which isn’t such a bad thing.

REPRINT: My Presidential Hair

[NOTE: I’ve been really busy at work and haven’t been able to post as much as I’ve wanted, here’s an old one from 2009]

There’s an old saying that goes something along the lines of “Any little boy can grow up to be president of the United States”. Well my parents bought into that and I was going to be presidential material. Unfortunately at an early age my parents discovered they were wrong. My political speeches as a six year old were laughable, one memorable speech at the VFW hall comparing the escalation of the war in Viet-Nam to bad halloween candy (especially Bit-O-Honey) almost got us thrown out of our neighborhood. There was also the milk money scandal in third grade so my political future looked bleak. Then one day my mom noticed that my hair looked like Kennedy hair and there was still hope for their presidential aspirations for me. When I lost the election for class president in fifth grade to a portrait of Thomas Jefferson we all knew that politics were over for me. However, my parents continued to compare my hair to the presidents. “You’re looking a little James Polk-ish there, time for a haircut young man” my father told me once, and another time “Who do you think you are, Chester A. Arthur! Trim those side burns”. One time while taking acid I experimented with a stove pipe hat and a neck beard, I was thrown out of the house for a month. So today my wife suggested that maybe it was time to get a hair cut and when I looked in the mirror I realized that my presidential hair forefathers were Millard Filmore and Martin Van Buren

MIllard Fillmore

Martin Van Buren

my presidential hair