SNIPER GLUE 10
�Scars are stories, history written on the body� � Kathryn Harrison
17th September 2004, 8.15pm
Just back from seeing BBC war correspondent and former Breakfast News presenter Jeremy Bowen doing a talk in Borders to plug his new book on the Israel/Palestine conflict. I stayed for the whole hour, despite giving less than a rabbit�s turd about the topic of discussion. Y�see, Jeremy Bowen is a bit of a legend to me, for a couple of sad reasons:
1. He did a 3 part series on BBC1 called �Booze�, the best part of which was when he downed 2 bottles of wine in front of the cameras as �an experiment� to see what excess alcohol does to the body (ANYONE who can think up an idea like that � where you�re PAID to get sloshed � is a GENIUS as far as I�m concerned) and:
2. When he presented the Breakfast News he very often looked and sounded as if he was in a state of inebriation (and I�m not the only one who noticed this � one viewer wrote in to say how they admired his �relaxed presenting style�, which is a good term for it.) It became a ritual for me in 2002, when I had to be up early for work anyway, to tune into BBC1 to see if Jeremy was �on one�. I even wrote for a signed photo which hangs on my wall to this day!
Strangely ironic, then, that today Borders were giving out free glasses of wine to customers to celebrate their �bigger, better� Glasgow store. It felt appropriate to be quaffing wine while Jeremy spoke about war and shit. Dressed in a bright pink shirt, blue suit and minus his usual moustache, he casually told us all the facts we didn�t realise we needed to know and then he did a question and answer session. Seemed like EVERYONE in the crowd except me and the bored kids holding balloon animals knew LOADS about the Middle East but, oddly, most of the questioners left before JB finished his �set�. No staying power, I thought, as I finished my wine. Jeremy looked sober and masterful as he stood with one hand in pocket and the other clutching a pint of what LOOKED like water (..) Then he did a signing session but that�s when I left, �cos I�d only had 4 pints (plus the wine) and it IS Friday night in the city, babies.. So, um, I came home via the Griffin Bar and wrote this. Pity me.
TAPE REVIEWS
THE SMIRKING HERBERT � PAPOOSE (MUMBLE MUMBLE MUSIC, 7806 S. KILPATRICK, CHICAGO, IL 60652, USA)
A 23 track, nearly 90 minute long cassette release from the Smirking Herbert (alias Chicago home-taping veteran Dan Susnara and friends). Previous releases under this incarnation have taught me to expect the unexpected then to expect even MORE unexpected stuff, sooooo, with that firmly in mind.. first track, �Frankfurters�, resembles woozy fairground ride music or a drunk man playing the theme to a kid�s TV show with some slightly disturbing/disturbed children�s gurglings thrown in for good measure. �Clouds/Sun� mixes gentle ambience with jaunty keyboards to wistful effect. �Grumbling Snarling Little Bastards� incorporates samples of the late, great Peter Cook and Dudley Moore while �Theme from an Imaginary Best Western� is just seriously fucking weird.. electronic beeps, burps and farts combine to form a cacophony of epic proportions then it switches back to a lazy lounge music style but the sampled and distorted voice of one Charlie Manson is there to remind you that there�s always SOMETHING sinister and dark and odd just around the corner.. in life as well as on this tape. �Brother� is a poem by Greg Stomberg which has some quite funky musical backing going on. �When the Levity Breaks� has the voice of Arnie Schwarte-Nazi, although I�m not sure if it�s been sampled from a film or one of his hilarious and scary political speeches. Fact and fiction are SO hard to separate these days, aren�t they kids? �Do You Believe in Lobsters?� is yet more high weirdness � a faraway flute, some bint singing something or other and other looped voices from talk-shows and TV ads. It�s kind of like being on drugs and tuning in and out of various short-wave radio stations. Side one ends with the freaky chantings, evil laughter, robotic �Metal Micky�-esque voices and hypnotic beats of �Cool Out in Our Space Room/This is the Age of Speed�. Side two starts off quiet but pretty soon turns the corner straight into the path of the almost hip-hop driven beats of �Daylite Carton O� Naturals�, which has what sounds like some clapped-out old Brit rock star talking about dope on it. About now is where I start to get completely lost in this tape and don�t know which track is which � maybe that�s the intention, what with so many tracks merging in and out of each other and the fact that it�s on cassette rather than CD, etc. My only reference point is the voice of legendary underground DJ and home-taper Don Campau who, the sleeve-notes inform me, adds some spoken-word action to track 19 (but which track is THAT?!?) It�s all so confusing.. a giant patchwork sound collage. The overall effect is odd and disorienting, like being lost in a maze or a nightmare which has both pleasant bits and scary bits. After a little light techno, some owl hootings, Moby/Fatboy Slim style sampled blues vocals and a cheery tale of attempted suicide and demonic possession (voiced by Dan Nordquist) it�s all over. Phew! This tape has enough ideas and varieties of sounds and styles to hold your attention all the way through and that isn�t something I imagine would be easy to achieve. That�s possibly why it took 15 months to assemble. Overall, a commendable, fascinating piece of work.
THE SMIRKING HERBERT � PAPOOSE reviewed by Gary Simmons
Cassettes! They�re great, aren�t they?! It�s just so much easier to form a lasting relationship with these cute little plastic shells than to do so with those cold logical and remote cyberman-silver and unfathomably alien CD diskies. Speaking, as I do, like an old bastard from thee age of vinyl and compact cassettes and Betamax and Video 2000 and SONY �El-Cassette� (or did I dream that one up?) and 8-track cartridge� an old git, I say, weaned and suckled on such voluptuous antiques, causes me to wonder if this is why I still find a warm and snug cosiness within such old formats even when it�s obviously so much easier to use the new fangled CD/CD-R/SACD/DVD-A etc, etc, and so on and so forth, er� thing.
Cassette labels are becoming scarcer as one�s years speed by. I can think of only two just now: Sniper Glue�s very own KAW label (a multi-billion dollar organisation, I can ass-your-you) and Matching Head Tapes (eyeing KAW with predatory corporate contemplation) �oh, and there�s that Finnish tape label, what�s it called, Runny Shite Cassettes or something? (10 minutes of searching through the �subversive literature� foolscap folders later) SHIT SUCK TAPES! Yeah, that was it!! If THEY�RE still going?
So here I am, on Tuesday 28th of wrecked-bender 2004 at 4.01pm, staring at this cassette in front of me�this AMERICAN cassette in front of me, the recording of which was only completed last month, which makes it bang up to date and I�m thinking; �But I thought Americans were WAY ahead of us Blitish and that these audio cassettes were long ago put out into the YARD in TRASH CANS for the GARBAGE COLLECTOR?!� Looks like I thought wrong. Maybe. The label appears to be called Mumble Mumble Music, the cassette is, for all you crumbling cassette spotter creeps, a Maxell C90 XLII (find yourselves sexual partners before your parents start to suspect the truth�) and it really is nice to see some effort made courtesy of a full colour cover, plus there�s a very informative little two-page insert with all sorts of info about the recording, samples used (Cook and Moore, C. Manson, Schwarzenegger, radio talk shows, Stockhausen, Deep Purple��You know, stuff like that�), a thanks list and a �Dump Bush. Now� jibe. Seem like a decent bunch of chaps to me. Drink? Cherry. Cherry? Cherry. The Smirking Herbert.
I wonder what they sound like?
�Silly� is the first word that comes to mind. A daft and gentle synth that could have come out of a Cbeebies TV show! Completely inoffensive Tony-Hart-makes-nice-art-out-of-common-household-items accompaniment music. There�s asinine bleeps and beeps (isn�t there always?), Manson blabbing on to a space-age bachelor pad over-easylistening conglomeration. It�s all very slow, very mulled over, fairly clever but exceedingly dull, dull and DULL. Dull� DULL AS FUCK is thee expression I�m looking for!! 15 minutes in and I�M already getting bored and impatient. Are YOU bored and impatient yet? Yawn. Another three minutes has passed. Three minutes less life to live. Three minutes closer to the grave. Schwarzenegger barks a bit. Should I look to do something else? Dye my hair with blue highlights perhaps? Fuck. And MARK, your hot sex ghaard of an editor, recommended this to me!! A double review, he says. Or DID he say? I don�t know. I can�t re-mem-blur. I feel sleepy. I wanted this to be good. It�s smart. It�s worked on. It�s honed and crafted� but it is just sooooo downright fucking boring!!! I see the red light has just come on my digi-box, it�s HDD is recording �My Parents are Aliens� for a possible late night onanie session. I record �Coronation Street� too lately, for the schoolgirl wankfest I can sometimes WRING out of it. I bet the producers of �Corrie� realise this. I mean, I�m sure the cunts do this themselves when their stuck-up bitch of an overpaid and shit-boss-laid project manager girlfriend�s aren�t about. Or maybe the girlfriend�s are in on it too�in on the ACT. Yeah, they�re in on it alright. How could they? How COULD they? Dirty, dirty, dirty scum.
Oh�the first side of this tape is fading. Ah�no it�s not. Oooh, now THIS sounds a bit better, it�s like sections of SPK�s Zamia Lehmanni album. Great! Some kind of Indian religious chant with a running beat and samples fading in and out. So, there is life in this disappointing release yet. But then it reverts back to demi-lackluster titting about experimentation. Again. I�m bored. Again. Yawning. Again. It ain�t Scott Bond, is it? But it would like to be. What do �reviewers� usually do when they�re waiting for the end�I mean waiting for stuff to run it�s course? I�M just a�sitting here at my desky, trying to think of something to write, something to say, something to�to�oh, it�s no good, I�m useless! You�re useless, they�re useless, thee editor�s useless, Paggie is useless, the word �useless� is useless. Useless, gooseless, mooseless, toothless, choose-less, booze-less.
Right, I�ll tell you all about the new electric typewriter I�m getting from Her Right Royal Majesty�s Government tomorrow. I�m on the job centre�s �New Deal� scheme, see. I�m entitled to up to �300 worth of equipment and shit, see. For �furthering� my job opportunities or somesuch Government instigated dumbfuck fanciful illusion, see. I said to the bloke (sorry, I mean my �personal advisor�) that I could do with a new typewriter and, lo and behold, he okayed it, just like that! I got my giro for a generous �99.49 this morning (YES!! �99.49!!!!) and so tomorrow, wad-of-cashy-wash handed, I�m going to risk life�n�limb and venture forth into the oh-so dreaded and despised Ilford shopping centre, to �The Exchange� MALL, as they call �em in the states (and now here, naturally)� Mall. Maul. Cool. Coo-ul. Ug� I need to sit down. Shit, I AM sitting down. Lie down then. John Lie-down. Yes, �The Exchange� and to ARGOS, to purchase this sexy beast of a machine. I really don�t want a PC�unless of course Her Majesty�s bla bla government decides in it�s unerring wisdom to BUY one for Bear and� oh, it�s side B now. More of the same. It�s not BAD, you understand, just seethingly drab, if that�s not TOO much of a con-tra-dick-shone. And, babies, I�m planning on typing this piece, this review, this text, out on my new toy and have it at Sniper Glue H.Q. before you can say �SUCK MY ASS IT SMELLS!! SUCK MY ASS IT SMELLS!!! SUMYASITMELS!!!!�
Maybe my noo GG Allin t-shirt will arrive tomorrow too? Who needs fuckin� Christmas?! It�s Christmas EVERYDAY at MY gaff!! Lovely, lovely gifties all sent by the one I love TO the one I love. Ain�t that fucking right, Mark? Course it is. He knows, he�s just gone all quiet and shy�your glorious editor, reduced to a blithering wreck at the power of Bear�s observations regarding these sublime acts of self gratification and indulgence.
Is this tape still on? Yes, it is. It�s all very slow, you know, very mulled over, fairly clever but exceedingly dull, dull and DULL. Dull� DULL AS FUCK. Right, I�ll tell you all about the new electric typewriter I�m getting�
CD REVIEWS
IRON & WINE � OUR ENDLESS NUMBERED DAYS (SUB POP) www.ironandwine.com
It�s �cool� to call your saddo solo �project� by a band name, isn�t it? Yes, it is! But it�s definitely NOT �cool� to have a dodgy beard like Sam Beam, aka Iron and Wine. But this LP, his 2nd, is �cool� as in iceberg that�s been left in a fridge for years (a really BIG fridge, obviously). It has gorgeous finger-picked lovelies like �Naked As We Came� and beauteous strummed delights such as �Free Until They Cut Me Down� and there�s an actual BAND playing on this too, so the guy�s obviously got SOME friends despite the beard (unless he paid them, of course, but aren�t ALL relationships a form of work?!) There�s slide guitar, drums.. y�know, fucking MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS! Do I have to spell EVERYTHING out for you losers? I�d quite like to see this lot live but they�re only playing in Edinburgh. This has been happening a lot lately. Let me set the record straight on this, OK? Edinburgh is TECHNICALLY the capital city of Scotland, but Glasgow is the CULTURAL capital. Forget the fact that Edinburgh has the largest annual arts festival in Europe � it�s Glasgow you wanna come to for the REAL 24/7 culture/art/drugs/drink/sex.
JOEL RL PHELPS & THE DOWNER TRIO � CUSTOMS (ROUGH TRADE) www.joelrlphelps.com
Starting off heavier than expected, Joel Phelps� new CD is an abrasive mixture of what he used to do in his old band Silkworm and the gentler, more countrified feel of his newer material. There are too many heavy guitars on this CD for my particular tastes and I don�t think they suit the songs very well, either. It�s only on tracks like �Darla Didn�t You Go� where Joel moves me like he did on his contribution to the Tom T. Hall tribute of a few years back. What a professional review, eh? Can I have a job, please, Uncut?
JOANNA NEWSOM � THE MILK-EYED MENDER (DRAG CITY) www.dragcity.com
Joanna Newsom is pals with Will Oldham and has a very, shall we say, �unique� singing voice. It sounds like she�s about 10 years old, a sort of indie rock Shirley Temple. I�m amazed to say that, after a couple of minutes, I actually got used to it and found myself being drawn into the stark beauty of the songs. Drawing on instruments like acoustic guitar, piano and harp, there is much to love here; from the pedal steel textures of �This Side of the Blue� to the splenetic wordplay of the witty �Inflammatory Writ�. There�s also a song - called �Three Little Babes� - which owes more than a passing nod to �Dirty Old Town� and off-beat titles like �Sprout and the Bean�, �The Book of Right-On� and �Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie�. Fans of Will Oldham, Edith Frost and Shirley Temple will love this!
PAUL WESTERBERG � FOLKER (VAGRANT) www.grandpaboy.com
Starting off your new CD with a JOKE song called �Jingle� (�buy it now, buy it now, buy it now, buy - this is my single, this is my jingle�) might seem like a good idea if you�re a 45 year-old reclusive rock legend like Paul Westerberg but for an unemployed loser like me who forked out 14 quid on this import disc, I�ll tell you, it�s not fucking funny. Thankfully, I �know� Paul and I trust him to deliver the goods, which he does a lot on this release. A lot of songs about death, lost love.. you know, the usual shit.. plus a sweet song about his dad (called, er, �My Dad�). If some of Westerberg�s recent output has seemed a tad disappointing, it�s only because the Replacements were so fucking great and a towering presence which looms large to this day. A lot of his recent recordings have sounded almost wilfully sloppy and obtuse but FUCK this review �cos Andrew�s just been on the phone for 1 � hours and he�s my best friend, my brother in life and talking to him means more to me than writing this fucking meaningless, trying to be a music journo CRAP. I really like this Paul Westerberg CD, though. It could change the life of 10 million cunts if they only had a little TASTE.
TOMMY STINSON � VILLAGE GORILLA HEAD (SANCTUARY) www.tommystinson.com
Another release from the land of people who used to be in the Replacements. Incredibly, this is Tommy Stinson�s debut solo CD. He should spend more time on his own stuff instead of farting about in Axl Rose�s shitty band �cos this is really good. There are uplifting pop moments like �Without a View� and �Not a Moment Too Soon� and lovely ballads like �Light of Day� and �Hey You�. It�s the kind of stuff you want to hear while driving fast down an empty motorway which makes sense when you consider it was recorded in LA. Makes me wanna get some new batteries for my walkman, in fact. It�s kind of feel good music but feel good music like Sugar or REM at their best � �cos it�s got substance and one song even mentions Bukowski and how fucking cool is that?! This is a nice companion piece to the Westerberg CD mentioned above.
AMERICAN MUSIC CLUB � LOVE SONGS FOR PATRIOTS (COOKING VINYL) www.american-music-club.com
Their first release in 10 years (they weren�t being lazy � they�d split up), this is another genius work from AMC. I could never have hoped it would be this good, even though I�ve been a huge fan for years. It�s just so unlikely that a band can recapture it�s old magic after years apart, but AMC have managed it in spades. There are instant classics here like �Another Morning� (which gives me goose-bumps every time I hear it), �Only Love Can Set You Free� (a beautiful, tear-inducing classic to rival anything in their back catalogue), �Song of the Rats Leaving the Sinking Ship� (possibly the greatest song Mark Eitzel has EVER written � and that�s saying something, believe me), �Love Is� (another epic weepie), the list goes on. Each one of these 13 tracks deserves a place in your heart, from the upbeat swing of �The Horseshoe Wreath in Bloom� to the tragicomedy that is �Patriot�s Heart� (where Eitzel�s lyrics and emotional delivery soar higher than you�d think a human being could ever go). I�ve just read a biography on Bill Hicks and I was drawing parallels between him and Eitzel while I was reading it with this CD on repeat. Both intense, talented souls seeking redemption in God and in love. Both unpredictable and driven beyond words. Both with a deep love of America but with an intense disgust for what it has become under the leadership of hypocritical right wing Christians who care more about money than human beings. We should all cherish AMC this time around before they split up again.
TOM T. HALL � I WITNESS LIFE / 100 CHILDREN (BEAR FAMILY) PO BOX 1154, D-27727 HAMBERGEN, GERMANY
A lot of Tom T. Hall�s songs seem to have the exact same tune but his lyrics are worth their weight in gold � laugh out loud funny and cry into your drink sad. This is a re-issue of his 1st 2 albums from 1971 and there are many reasons for joy here. Like the hilarious opener �Salute to a Switchblade�, the saucy �Do it to Someone You Love� and the cheesy �I Want to See the Parade� (about a blind girl at a KKK rally. Don�t you just wish people would STOP writing songs about THAT tired old subject?!) This CD also comes with a sumptious 24 page booklet which includes Tom looking cool and even one of him with ex-US president Jimmy Carter. If you appreciate good story-telling, get this or one of Tom�s cheapo �Greatest Hits� collections.
GIG REVIEWS
TOMMY STINSON / JESSE MALIN � GARAGE G2, GLASGOW, 22ND SEPTEMBER, 2004
Just back from an unexpectedly brilliant night out. I only found out I was doing fliers at this gig earlier today and thought I would stay and check out Jesse Malin but, when I got to the venue, I discovered that Tommy Stinson, ex-member of the legendary Replacements was supporting! I nearly wet myself! His too-short set began with 3 great acoustic songs. I�d never actually heard any of his solo stuff before but it sounded like he�d learned a few tricks from ex-band mate Paul Westerberg as his own songs mined a similar vein but were affecting and wonderful in their own right. For the rest of the set, Tommy was joined by Alien Crime Syndicate (who also played, at the ridiculously early time of 7pm, which was also when the doors opened). He looked like he was having a great time throughout, smiling and goofing around with the band. Even spilled beer and a fucked-up guitar amp couldn�t dampen the mood. He said they�d played in Edinburgh the previous night which begs the question � why the fuck didn�t I know about this? He wasn�t advertised on any of the Jesse Malin gig ads I had seen. Before his final song, he said something bizarre about squirrels (!) After his set, I cornered Tommy next to the gent�s toilet for his autograph and he was a lovely guy, telling me he�d been �kicking the record label�s ass for the last 2 days� about the lack of promotion. After that, Jesse Malin could only be an anti-climax. He did a lot of long, rambling between song patter, mostly slagging off George Bush and all that TOTALLY ORIGINAL stuff. During a version of Neil Young�s �Helpless�, he got the crowd to sit down on the floor (�but we�re not hippies�.. yeah, RIGHT!) and to sing along. There was quite a bit of singing and clapping along being done, actually, and he cut quite a Bono-esque figure when he put down his guitar and rocked the mic. Best song, for me, was one of the encores � a newie called �the Dreamers� (which he said he�d written for �some weird Hollywood movie�) but he ended on a totally ridiculous version of �Oliver�s Army� which degenerated into a drum and vocal chant of �Come on�, ending in him chucking water all over the place. Highlight of Malin�s set, however, was seeing Tommy Stinson in his black bondage trousers with zips and a dog chain ordering a shot of something at the bar and downing it in one. Rock and roll! And I saw him on my way out, shaking his hand again. He looked like he�d had a few by that point and he said �Thanks for coming� again as I sped out into the Glasgow night.
RICHMOND FONTAINE � THE VENUE, EDINBURGH, 30TH SEPTEMBER, 2004
Woke early, all dehydrated and falling in and out of bizarre dreams. Had a shower then had a tin of spaghetti hoops and a coffee. After �the Wright Stuff�, I went to sign on. Also asked about a job and got a letter saying I was on JSA to give to the optician tomorrow. Got a couple of things from Greggs. When I got back I ate one of them (a pizza slice) with a mug of tea. Read Maggie�s letter. Walked into town and got a train to Edinburgh after 1pm. The weather was horrible everywhere. I texted Maureen to arrange to meet. When I got into Waverley station, at about 2.05, I went to Vinyl Villains. Then I went to meet Maureen outside Jenners at 3. We went to M & S for a coffee (well, I had a Coke and a scone) and a chat. Then I accompanied her while she bought food and went to the bank (I waited 20 minutes in there), then she showed me where the nearest Wetherspoon pub was � the Standing Order in George Street � and we said goodbye. It was a dead big pub, with many little rooms (one of which I sat in with my 1st pint) and a huge main bar area, where I sat with my 2nd pint in a comfy chair and watched all the hotties (whom there were a lot of!) The barman even said �enjoy your drink�! I had to sit in a corner with my 3rd pint �cos some people had stolen the table I was sitting at. Then I went to Milnes bar in Rose Street (this was at about 6.25pm) where it was �2.29-ish for a pint of Fosters! I sat on a sort of raised bit with a tiny table and eaves-dropped on the conversation between some guy and an American girl. Then I went for chips (with salt and brown sauce, of course � an Edinburgh tradition) from the Bronx Caf�. Then, at 7.30, I went to Coopers bar in Waverley station. �2.65 a pint! The Rangers game was starting on TV and some guy was talking to me about it in the toilet but I fucked off to the Venue. No one checked my ticket when I went in, which annoyed me �cos I could have got in for FREE. I bought a copy of Richmond Fontaine�s �Lost Son� for �10 � with extra tracks. Bought a bottle of beer (�2.90!!!!) and sat on the floor, fiddling with the label on the bottle and shredding it. There was a surprising amount of older guys there. Watched the support act, a solo singer/songwriter type woman from Morecambe who was OK. Went to the toilet and got another beer. Then Richmond Fontaine came on and they were fucking excellent. I was extremely impressed at how Willy Vlautin kept his eyes closed throughout EVERY song (and not just the bits when he was singing either). They played for over 90 minutes � mainly songs from the last 2 albums � and I taped it on my walkman. They finished at 11.10, by which time I was getting worried �cos the last train back to Glasgow was at 11.30, so I dashed off, and got on the train at 11.15pm, relieved. My throat was dry but I had nothing to drink. Some couple got on and had an argument and the girl stormed off to sit elsewhere. Then some businessman got on and promptly fell asleep. The Blue Nile song �On a Late Night Train� kept coming into my head as we sped through the dark night. Got back to Glasgow at about 12.20 and had to walk back to my place �cos there didn�t seem to be any buses going that way. I bought a couple of packets of Space Raiders and a milkshake from a shop and was back in my room at 1.15am. Went straight to bed.
Diary Of Recent Tour Debacles 2000-03 (part 3)
by L. Eugene Methe
July 2002 ARNOUX "When Heredity Fails You" West Coast Tour
This might be my favourite of the tours, for�even though nothing terribly exciting happened--the
audiences were so appreciative, and it was a real pleasure collaborating with CITY OF HABITS (from Los
Angeles) on 7 of the shows.
Denver, Co @ Rebi's Art Gallery
Turnout was pretty slim, but Rebi's was a cool place, and they were serving up smoked salmon and margaritas. Arnoux this night consisted of me, Brian Poloncic, and Todd Novosak (from Denver). Afterwards we went to a prime party for the launch of a new arts magazine. I wish I wasn't so blasted. Maybe they were lacing the kegs with something...
Las Vegas, Nevada @ Tounge 'N Groove
Ah, Vegas. Hadn't been there since a brief stop in 1997, when I decided in the wee hours of the morning
to drive straight from Omaha to Tijuana. We figured this would be a pretty bleak show...we were just happy to have a show to break up the drive from Denver to Los Angeles, where we would meet up City of Habits. The Tounge 'N Groove is a complete dump, but there are at least a few few people actually passed out in booths there. (At least we didn't drag down a ton of equipment like the opening act did). We stuck around for a little while after the show, but they are charging us $4 for beers so we moved is to oldest bar
in Vegas, which turned out to be one big meeting place for prostitutes and johns. We stayed with a nice
gothic couple. I remember seeing some dumb magazine in their bathroom with the Faint on its cover. If only they knew how square those guys are when the eyeliner comes off...I didn't have the heart to break it to them. I shouldn't begrudge anyone's desire to enter the indie-rock sweepstakes.
Hollywood, Ca @ Rocco's Theatre
The first collaboration with City of Habits was great, and actually clocked in at two hours in length. This
was new to me, as most of my improvisation based sets lean towards ten minutes or so. The club was charging $12 at the door (!) This was also the first show in years that I played bone dry sober, as they didn't serve any alcoholic beverages there. To be honest it was a little tense at times. It was great being back in LA. Spent some time at the beach, was propositoned by swingers at a bar...I love Los Angeles: It has to be the most cornball place on the planet, but at least it doesn't pretend to be anything more. Next night we were in nearby Riverside for a show.
Olympia, Wa @ Cafe Voltaire (?)
I mention this only because Olympia is another one of those mythical college/indie rock towns that
completely sucks. Really, what has K records done recently that's worth anything? After spending time
here, it's no wonder Nirvana was such a lame stoner band. We played at a vegan restraunt/bar/club that are such a staple of the Northwestern U.S. and absolutely depressing. We stayed with the Old Time Relijun people (who I will say little of) on some sort of chicken farm. It was the second straight nite we stayed with people who raised chickens. Meanwhile, driving with our drummer, I watched him consume a fried chicken leg every hour for two weeks straight. The only good thing was drinking those ultra-fresh Pabst brewery beers. We headed to Seattle next and closed out the tour on a great note, with our best performance and visits with former Omahans. It remains as the only time a tour has ended with a good performance.
(One other notable moment...to split up the drive from Seattle back to Omaha, we stopped off in Denver again for a few days, where one of the nights, after quite a number of vodka tonics, I got wrangled into going to cheesy dance club. I later got booted out for "staggering around". Though it likely had more to do
with me irritating the bartenders and waitresses by suggesting that the cliental were all white-trash,
Ugly Americans.)
(Part 4 will appear in the next issue)
THE FINAL WORD
Am I the only person who�s scared to answer the phone in case it�s one of their stupid drunk friends calling? It�s getting to be a habit with me now that I screen most of my calls and don�t pick up unless it�s someone I want to talk to. In actual fact, it�s usually only ONE person I don�t want to hear from and he�s been a friend of mine for 14 years now. He used to be really fun to talk to for hours, drunk or sober, but in recent years he�s mainly repetitive, self-pitying and boring. He goes on and on about the same things � our college days (which were 14 YEARS ago!), his fucked-up relationship with his boyfriend, etc, etc. It�s quite clear he has minimal interest in what�s been happening in MY life. It�s as if I�m a sounding-board for all his crap. A member of some special counseling service rather than a friend. And he absolutely can NOT take the hint that maybe I have other things to be getting on with rather than listening to him ramble on for hours on end, as he gets more and more drunk with each passing minute. Is it because I�m usually sober when he phones that I react like this (he phones me at weekends, when I�m at my mum�s house � because it�s cheaper than ringing my mobile)? It�s true that there�s nothing more boring than being sober in a room full of drunks. I can happily chat away to him when I�m drinking but, even then, he usually seems to be on a completely different plain of drunkenness to me. He�s always going off on some bizarre flight of fancy and I usually end up wondering what the hell he�s talking about. I have another friend whose phone calls I�m beginning to dread almost as much. He rang me today, for half an hour, during one of the very few TV shows I like to watch. Kept repeating himself, slurring his words, even used that old drunken clich� of how much he loves me, etc, which I ALWAYS find super embarrassing. I find that I�m becoming less tolerant of this kind of behaviour from others because I don�t do things like that myself very often anymore. If I�m drunk, I usually just want to go to bed rather than make a phone call which I know I�ll regret the next day. Or I�ll scribble something for my zine. That�s a lot safer than the late-night boo-hoo-I�m-so-lonely self-pity option I used to favour. And I just don�t really LIKE phoning people very much, either. Or having them phone me.
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