Well, obviously I think they suck. The only good thing I ever write about is music, right? Music Hath Charms That Sooth Mine Ass. Everything else? Blagh. Blertch. Splork. All varying gradations of shite. Except for MY GANG and MY KIN and for ROCKIN' PAISANO'S LAST FRIDAY WITH FRED AND MARK AND BRIAN THE ELDER AND BRIAN THE YOUNGER AND LORI AND ALL THAT GANG. Glad the gang got to see a show where I really put the screws to the front row. Entertainment is so passive now. There's always a screen between you and it. I'm not down with that. I like entertainment that sweats and moves and reaches out and grabs you by the ear and challenges you. And gets brought up on charges. And never drops a dime on it's buddy. And fucks really good. All grimacing and hootin' and cursin' and quoting D.H. Lawrence.
We used to use the old "I don't come to your
job and tell you
how to flip burgers" anti-heckling line and on the road it became a kind of game to make it as obscene and grossly insulting as possible until it was really just horrid.
People fucking loved it! There's always some disgruntled wang who resents that you told them that you don't come to their job and make lampshades out of orphans but hey, somebody's always gotta be a puss.
It's really easy to avoid a fight in a bar, too. It's done with alcohol. If I can get a rise outta the crowd it's easily worth twetny (you don't know twetny?) bucks in Snakebites to make friends with some excitable feed-cap wearer. The only people I've ever traded blows with in entertainment venues are bandmates, for chris's sake. Bing bam boom. It's in E. No it isn't you stupid fuck it's in C. Blang blang crash. We'll be back inna fiteen minutes good night cleveland.
It's always gotta be cleveland when I play somewhere. good night cleveland. What am i going to say in cleveland? Have I ever played Cleveland? I'm not getting anything. Played Saybrook Illinois. Played that Madison Wisconsin. Christ, the Mayflower Motel in Madison? Jesus. Played fuckin' someplace in Ohio. Um, some place. And up there in Manitowock Wisconsin. There's a Man's Town, right there. Manitowock? Want a fucking Venti Latte? Not in Manitowock, my dear francophile friends. That ain't Latte Country. That is fuckin' RUST country. It grows on the trees.
Played, oh, Kentucky. Bowlin' Green? Owensboro? Tennessee- Jackson? Nashville? That fuckin' place in Nashville that's all cool where the lady gave me a free glazed at the Krispy Creme? Ohhhhh. Fucking Atlanta Georgia? Where I almost got waxed when I crossed an invisible line into Not White Land? What was that place in Chicago.......they were having a big book convention and in our hotel room some mideastern bookseller dude had left a business card and i wrote on the back, "Abdul- this man has book how to make dirty bomb" and left it at a gas station. What was that club. Um, I can never remember. They had steak tips and dirty rice and there was these awesome hippies smoking pot in the dressing room all night. No, that was obviously in the South. That place in Iowa where we got so blorked and had the corn tasslin' hard drinkin' front row come over to our hotel room to break stuff?
We played with the new band of the dude from Superdrag in Atlanta and he had this Wurlitzer that'd he'd gotten from some ol' dude in Florida for 100 bucks that he let me play and he said he was glad someone had finally done it justice. They were good. Weird.
Um, I played in, um, fuckin' Montreal. Told you about that. Me and Lime Rickey the drummer slept in the van and in the morning some tosser opened the back and was trying to steal our shoes. That's when you're hurtin' for a skin pop right there gee. Burlington, Vermont. Portland Maine, Los Angeles, CA, Las Vegas NV, Douglas GA, Waterloo IA, Syracuse NY, Keene NH, Boston MA. OH, PA, RI, NY, SC, AL.
I've seen a hundred faces. AND I'VE ROCKED THEM ALL.
We always used to say "we put on the same show for 15 people as we do for 20". I fucking LOVE that. That's as funny as saying a car is "Pre-CBS".
Sorry. Musician humor.
Hey-what's the range on a fretless bass?
About 20 yards with a good arm.
How can you tell a drummer is at the door?
The knock speeds up.
Oh, yeah- tattoos. Um, I've trod the boards for a spell and I've never felt compelled to indulge in this particular boo-joah trend (that's not affect- I don't know how to spell bourgious). Here's the deal with a tattoo- a tattoo marks the wearer as someone who doesn't plan on changing enough to be someone who a tattoo wouldn't belong on.
Get me? I like when people change radically over the course of their life. I'd never put a mark on myself like that and advertise my immutability. The ones that women get above their ass? Jesus! Talk about painting a moustache on the Mona Lisa. Fucking weird. You'd be behind there and you'd be like, "it's not a sailor's forearm...it's not a sailor's forearm...". You'd be doing the opposite of playing baseball in your head. you'd be all trying to conjure up images of the mom in the Partridge Family. Or at least I would. That ages me right there. you'd prob'ly be working up a vision of Gwen Stefani or Mischa Barton or one of those children. Actually, Gwen Stefani is only 4 years younger than me. I guess I'm not really ALL that out to pasture. I should stop doing that. I've just waited so long to be Venerable.
Oh- NYC? Hoboken NJ? Rocked 'em. Who are we kidding? The Beaten Path? The Pyramid Club where the drag queen tried to kick my ass and Debbie Gibson's manager told us he wanted to sign us and we insulted him unequivocally?
Dude, that was fucking awesome. He was PISSED. We just wanted to make a nice little record at the Drive-In with Mitch Easter.
Mal Thursday threw some Malarians flyers onstage at the Agora Ballroom in 1984 when REM was playing there on the Reckoning
tour and Stipe read the whole thing.
I haven't the foggiest what kicks more ass than that. Not the foggiest.