Bobby Lightfoot's New Home Truths

Punk rock is safe as milk and has been since 1979.

If you want to piss off your parents try picking up the fucking violin.

Punk rock sure does sound good in a Target ad. You know why?

Because your parents were 15 when this shit came out.

Let me say this one more time: Punk rock reminds your PARENTS OF THEIR FIRST DATE.

Come on, kids. Jesus Christ. Write a fucking piano concerto or something you want to be all scary.

Bobby Lightfoot Starving Musician Tips #12

Some girls will pay you good money to suck their dick!

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #11

Don't be a sucker! If it looks like the venue is going to stiff you, pick out some equipment there of similar value to lift.

Remember- similar value. This isn't stealing; it's "enforced compensation". They're the ones who are stealing.

Learn to read the first tell-tale sign that you're being fucked- a severe pounding sensation in the asshole.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #10

Some etiquette: if a girl lets you sleep in her bed after the show the polite thing is to fuck her.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #9

If you need a certain piece of gear for a show just buy it and then return it the next day in disgust.

This is called "own-to-rent".

Hee hee.


Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #8

Lodging is inexpensive and easy to locate when playing in Los Angeles.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #7

If you book the show, always tell your bandmates it's a "benefit". Make up a cause they won't question.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #6

Don't just sell weed- accessories provide another revenue base!

Add your band's logo for increased visibility!

Bobby Lightfoot Starving Musician Tips #5

Vehicle registration- strictly for straights and grandmas.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #4

In a pinch? Remember that you only need one kidney.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #3

Remember- a venue that provides accomodations for the night is a money saver!


Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #2

Pawn the stuff your girlfriend gives you right away so she can't try to get it back when she dumps your sorry ass.

Bobby Lightfoot's Starving Musician Tips #1

Just because you're broke doesn't mean you can't have impeccable personal grooming. Let's start with these costy little odor-neutralizing insoles. Fuckers cost like 10 bucks. Just get one pair and put them in whatever shoes you're wearing at the time. Works great.

His 'n' Hers.


Hot college chick shows up to paint the eaves, wearing overalls and not much else. After minimal flirting and a double entendre or two, the overalls come off and you go at it over the sawhorse. She comments favorably on your size.


Cute college guy shows up (wait, no- UPS guy. Wait, no- has to be college guy) to paint the eaves, wearing overalls and not much else. After minimal flirting and a double entendre or two, he does an excellent job at painting the eaves. He comments favorably on your thighs. You get a 15% discount on the painting.


While investigating an ancient burial site, you and Lara Croft wind up in a tight spot and the electricity is palpable as you brush up against her. She falls to her knees and pulls your pants down. She compliments your size.


Whilst sconce-shopping (sconce!) at Bed Bath & Beyond, you and Matthew McConaughey wind up in a tight spot and the electricity is palpable as he brushes up against you. He falls to his knees and the ring comes out. He complements your pantsuit (ha ha- you think I just mis-spelled "compliments"- he actually complements your pantsuit).


It's a redeye from New York to Miami. You sit next to a hot businesswoman (domestic engineer/ show girl) who gives you th' hairy eyeball. Over Georgia she gives you a professional-grade hand job under the blanket. She feigns reading. When you get to Miami you go to your hotel and order a steak the size of a terlet seat.


It's a redeye from New York to Miami. you sit next to a well-dressed businessman (doctor, internet zillionaire, architect) who casts admiring glances at your Dolce & Gabana purse. He asks you about yourself the whole flight and when you disembark he gives you a shy, adorable kiss on the cheek. When you get to Miami you go to your hotel and take a nice bath.

Pat Robertson Is Right

It is an excellent idea to cultivate other skills in the boudoir when one is in possession of a freakishly miniscule, wizened and odiferous cock.

Pat Robertson Is Right

Bobby Lightfoot is in a WORLD OF MOTHERFUCKING HURT.

Pat Robertson Is Right

A little hygiene goes a long way when trying to attract altarboys.

Pat Robertson Is Right

Life began in a multiplex in Dallas TX in 1986. It was a double feature: "Tootsie" and "Ghandi".

Pat Robertson Is Right

Ultimately, the fate of Iraq lies in the hands of the aliens from Fukon Nebula IV.

Pat Robertson Is Right

Ethiopians would be "stringy".


Pat Robertson Is Right

Selling crystal meth at grade schools is a great way to score a little "hooker money".

Pat Robertson Is Right

There's a certain position where you CAN get your whole index finger up your asshole.

Good Bloggin' Tonight

The Pat Robertson one was funny.


Lifetime: TV For Broads

Ah, the lovely, lissome Lori Lightfoot. Ah, woman- fealty is indeed thy name, to quote Alexandre Dumas wrongly.

Why such scant mention of lovely you, and less specifically of your fair gender in the testosterone-poisoned annals of the Orchestra Of Sweet Regret?

And what's that I hear? The strident complaints of Sal The Feist, the other female denizen of Doe Hollow? My own girl-child? Is that a tear in your feisty hazel eye? Have I ignored you, too?

What, indeed, the fuck is my problem? To bypass the concerns of you, Lori, my one and only, and of Sal?

Of femalekind in general? What kind of an a-hole am I anyway? I mean, really- the most important person to share my days. Jesus. Oh, God. Do I EVER stop blowing it? Aisumasen. Enshurligenzie mich bitte. Mea maximissima culpa.

Let's all take a deep breath. It's never too late for a man to change. I play with guys, I work with guys, I get in vans with guys for 4 months at a time. Which is probably just as well. It would be a hassle if I was in vans with girls for 4 months. Can you imagine how many times a day I'd have to call home, babe? And they'd be all fighting and talking and comparing their boyfriends. That could get rough. I'd want to talk about the right gauge of rifle for distance tequila bottle shooting or the pros and cons of liquor and hash and I'd be locked and loaded with no place to go.

So I've got guys making my amps. Guys rotating my tires. Guys rolling off the 6 Khz on my lead vocal in monitor number four. I'm guy-centric. I need to widen up this shit a little. I think The Orchestra Of Sweet Regret would be cooler if it wasn't such a salami fest. If you get my drift. I mean, I love all you guys. You know that. But you're all so hairy and....insensitive. Guys are great but they just lack intuition, you know?

I'm on it. I'm changing right now. Tomorrow I will start a series on women's issues and concerns. For Lori. For Sal The Feist. For every heroic female everywhere, trying to make their way in a man's world. THE Man's world.

Fuck The Man, my friends! Never stop saying Fuck The Man! He can take away our pride, but he can't take away our televisions.

And I'd like to thank my newest corporate caretakers (just while I'm at it):





I Can't Believe No One Has Thought Of This.

I'm going to start this big-ass company and I'll pay manufacturing workers in China 8 cents an hour instead of 7 and they'll all come work for me and these other chumpos will be F-F-FUCKED.

Actually, Pat Robertson Is Right

Farm animals ARE a lot more sexually responsive than children.


Meet Cleo.

So, I'm finally coming around to this internet thing. When this shit first came out I was skeptical, you'll be shocked and dismayed to learn.

It was just another in a long stream of disappointments for this sunny fella. I think the disappointment right before it was that crappy time five minutes before the internet came out.

read that again- trust me. It's funny.

I've met and corresponded with more intelligent, talented people than I've met in years, I've transmogrified two decades of regret into an ouvre of belligerent, funny crap that eases my mind no end, I've single-handedly created a Colombian coffee export boom, all this shit and more.

I think there should be urban legend-type things about the internet and I'm sure there are already or will be shortly. What I mean is, there'll be things that people do with it that no one has thought of, and people will have their secret, personal little things that they do. And I don't mean Farmlove.com. Although hey, better to have loved and eaten than to never have eaten at all.

My stupid thing is I like to enter my full name into a search and look at all the people with my exact name.

Better yet, I like to type in an interesting name, like "Imogene" or "Bartholomew" or something and just flip through pictures of faces and lives.

Sometimes someone has a really cute or funny dog, and you want to email them and tell them their dog fucking smokes. But that would be weird. Actually, they probably wouldn't mind but you'd feel sort of wet, wouldn't you?

"Hey, I'm some random fuck and I like your Rat Terrier."

"Hey, cool dog- see you never."

There's all these people out there who's paths you're never, ever going to cross.

You probably walked by someone today who'll be dead within a year.

I like looking at all the pictures of the people who occupy my era. It's like a big ball game and you're checking out your teammates.

And there are so many people and their lives are every bit as complex and conflicting and involving as yours and maybe that person you walked by on the street today was me.

Or maybe I walked by you.

Whistled by your grave.

Six degrees of Bobby Lightfoot- it's like Six Degrees Of Kevin Bacon except you have to trace the line from one person to the other by people fucking each other over. "So, Kevin slept with this girl and never called her, and she jumped her lease on this landlord who fired this guy who ran into this other guy's car when he was parking and drove off, and the guy with the dented car cheated on his wife who then stole Bobby Lightfoot's Goliath III bass cabinets."

That happened. In California. Fuck. 2 grand worth of gear. I've never spent that much on a car.

Now, when my car got stolen that was fucked up. Although it wasn't worth as much as the bass cabs.

And then they got my fucking Visa gold. Back when I was in that shit.

And then they stole all of my illusions. Stole them and sold them for hip hop cds.

California. You're making a bittersweet post go bitter.

when i came to california i thanked my lucky stars and i dug in for ADVENTURE.

when I left i spray painted my name onto a blank star off hollywood blvd. There's side streets, man, where they have stars like, i don't know, wild man fischer and the guy with the walk-on on Gomer Pyle. 3 AM? Can of spray paint? It was a half block up from Sunset, actually. The first street east after SIR. They have like a farmer's market there on weekends. I never told anyone that. About the paint, not the farmer's market. I distinctly remember telling someone about the market. An old farmer in Illinois. I told him about the farmer's market in Hollywood and he told me about bayoneting Nazis. Not really. He told me about how Rislone is good when you have sticky lifters. In your engine.

I had to go there once and get some incense for Janes Addiction. Those guys. It has to be Nag Champa, man. One finger of soy milk in Perry's latte. Glad I never got that detail. That guy Perry used to ask me what my favorite records where and when I named one or the other he'd be like that's what the bass should sound like. That's what you should make the bass sound like.

Dude. You need to talk to the bass player? Not the guy who rolls his joints and changes his strings yo? I was never sure if I was supposed to tell Martyne about what Perry wanted from him. I didn't know if it would help the guy's career or whatever. If it was me, I'd be all over giving Perry what he wanted. Then I'd be the hired gun that Perry Ferrell is all into and I'd be working a lot.

LA is wack because it isn't really the sort of sincere, hardworking guys that get the gig. It's the guys like Vincent on Entourage that just sort of stumble around and shit falls in their lap and they act like it's their due. I love that show. Great show. Well, actually it's not that great a show but it really appeals to me because I know those fucking guys. Just surfing on this magical wave, the provenance of which they'll never have to question.

LA's funny. You tech for some band and you go to guitar center and you think they'll be all impressed because you're there to buy drum heads for Steve Perkins but then you're in the back of the line with Seal's monitor guy and the guy who plays bass on Leno.

I walked to guitar center a couple of times with the bass player from Smashmouth. He was a few years older than me, 38 or so. Paul de- something or other. I was impressed with that. A lot of those guys are old, like that, like a couple of those Sugar Ray guys. Stephan Jenkins from Third Eye Blind? Guy is ancient. Whatsisname from Everclear? Older than dirt.

This guy loved to walk down Sunset because he'd get recognized and shit and cars would pull over. Can you imagine? You're 38 and you've rented surfboards and played bars your whole life and suddenly people pull over in their cars to gawk at you. That is the Golden Motherfucking Ticket, my friend. The Golden Ticket. I've watched it happen. It's gotta be fun for the second-stringers in a band because they just cruise along without the writing pressure and the being charismatic pressure. Nice. Tour and record for 4 years? Maybe get a writing credit on a hit? Residuals and royalties on millions sold? Clear a couple mil clean worst case? Get a place in Palos Verdes or OC, bank it and waaaaatch it grow?

Oh- this is a picture of Cleo, by the way.

I don't know who Cleo is. The entirety of my knowledge on this being consists of knowing her name is Cleo.

"Hey, cool dog- see you never."

I love playing the fireworks thing in Jaffrey NH.

Man, I dig playing the fireworks extravaganza in Jaffree New Hampshire with the guys. Thousands of people, a great gig. Great gig. This is my third one and it never gets old. See? There's things I like.

I love a great end-of-summer gig. When it's cyclical. It's bittersweeter'n hell.

It's a reminder that it's basically good to be alive. Even if it's all a fucking shit hole it's a god damn beautiful one and it's O.K. being a polyp on it. Polyp wrote all the romantic songs and Johnip wrote the groundbreaking ones.

This gig is a little early for an end-of-summer gig. Maybe the TransPerformance at Look Park in Florence is the end-of-summer gig, on August 30. That's also a fantastic gig and this'll be my third one.

What would I be doing in Los Angeles? Well, I'll tell you. I'd be trying to sell tickets to get 50 people in to my gig at the Troubador. Doesn't that sound fun? Doesn't that sound musical?

You know what I think? I think mixing music and promotion makes about as much sense as mixing love and finances. It's a sublime/ridiculous proposition. It's boring to bug people to come see your show. It makes you feel like such an amateur. Such an amateur.

You should have little elves that do that. Or promo people. Same thing.

Our press agent in LA was so bad that our guitarist joked that she must have saved our manager's husband's life in 'Nam. That's some funny shit.

This guitarist once took a hundred tiny scraps of paper in the recording studio and wrote "only bad people do compulsive things" on each of them and spread them throughout the place.

He used to make real-ish looking 7-11 coupons for free "testicle rubs". He would write to General Mills and other food companies and compliment them on their products. And he'd get free shit for it.

He made a little guitar effect box with a switch on it where you could toggle between "i wish to offend" and "i do not wish to offend". Oh, that's great. It was on the cover of our record. We decided to set it to "i do not wish to offend" after much thought.

He was pretty much way up in the crystal meth, if you hadn't realized it already.

Music and drugs. Music and promotion. Love and finances.

The TransPerformance in Look Park is great because it's a big benefit for something and they get like the 10 most happening bands and artists to pay tribute to classic bands in a sort of theme. Like, last year it was "The Birds and The Bees" or some shit and they had bands that were all animals. I played with King Radio as the Bee Gees. Crazy. "Lonely Days", "Massachusetts", "You Should Be Dancing", "To Love Somebody". They had The Monkees, T-Rex, all that. Hundreds and hundreds of people.

Jesus Christ, the Bee Gees were pretty fantastic there in the '60's. I don't know if you realize just what ultra-professional career dudes these guys were.

This year is "New York". I'm doing Steely Dan on bass with King Radio and playing keys for Dad Come Home as The Talking Heads. Sweent. Steely Dan- "Peg", "Kid Charlemagne", "Dirty Work", "Bodhisattva", "Reeling In The Years". Nice.

Tell ya, on those recordings- that bass player never stops playing. I play along with the cuts and I try to leave spaces and whenever I do...there's bass going. Like '70's Roxy Music. The bass is like ultra-busy and driving.

I like it. Because I'm the bass player.

What I don't know is how I should dress to look like Steely Dan's bass player. I don't even know who it was. There was all these "tasty" guys playing that shit. Slick Marotto and them. And Sal Mineo on Cor Anglaise. Didn't the junkie dude, Becker, play a lot of that bass? I can just look like him. All high.

I'll miss summer a lot this time. I'll spend more time wondering how many more I get.

How many more summers. Each year it dawns on me that it ends. I wish I didn't have to think about it. But so many people have died, you know? I always look at a group of strangers and wonder if any of them will die in the next couple of years. I do this thing in my mind where I "disappear" some of them like a T.V. public service ad. That is sort of fucked up that I do that. Probably other people do that and I'm one of the faders, you know? That's messed up, man.

Maybe the fact that I'm not one out of the small segment that gets to be stars means I won't be one out of the small segment that croaks young. That's a decent trade. I'd still take 40 John Lennon years over 70 not-John-Lennon years though, but it's too late for that. I might as well stick around. I beat John Lennon's time-on-planet figure last March. He beat my highest chart placing in 1963.

I'll do my utmost. I gotta drop the fags and get more than 5 hours of sleep a night. That's my best bet. So much about living longer means getting more boring.

The fireworks thing rocked though. We did "Let It Be" and "Tiny Dancer" and they fucking slew. "Hard To Handle" blazed even though I left out a verse. I always tell the band "I'm tailoring it to the concert" when I do that crap. Yeah, tailoring it. All those people are in the market for a big fat clam right there.

A clam is a musical error.

Great system they bring in there. Huge-ass line-array concert speakers blaring at thousands of people. The fireworks are synched to music and they have this state-of-the-art line array crap. Thousands upon thousands of watts. 90 percent of them for stuff under 80 Hz. That's working with headroom, boy. You'll have people's spleens erupting before distortion. Floop.

"Summer Breeze" by Seals & Crofts: consummate soft rock craftsmanship.




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