July 6, 2002

Twelve hours ago I was sitting on the banks of the Allegheny River with Joel Kaufman (ex - Revelers) and many others to be outed later drinking coffee. Now, I am trying to stay awake long enough to drive to the Grog Shop to see High on Fire/Keelhaul/Stepsister. I have had a long couple of days. I just wanted to get a quick BLOG up to keep up the pace and I will do it the right way later. I am out but nowhere near down.

I am going to rejoin society one day. That is a promise. I might be your neighbor. I might ride the bus with you. I will sit next to you in class. That is a threat. I have come to the conclusion that I have been living for too long inside the cocoon of my mind with too little contact with anybody but my tight circle of caterpillars. We seem so similar to me that it is like I have surrounded myself with mirrors. My friends and associates - my day to day contacts - are not me but I have blocked out their differences to the point where I am only aware of how they are like me. You are only as real as your confirmation of my ideas and world view. To me, most of you do not even exist.

But that is going to change. I swear it. I will listen to you. Your words will not freak me out anymore. I am looking forward to the day when the Go Tribe!, weather watch, how's life treating you idle chit chat on the elevator opens the door to a bounty of life affirming pleasantries that will enrich my life more than sunshine. Now, when these unfortunate and certainly unwanted exchanges occur, I usually - reply with a flat, "I don't talk to strangers." If for some reason, say the guy is a real people person, the conversation continues past that (it usually does not), "You are making me sick. I am going to vomit." follows bring the conversation to an abrupt end. Nobody has ever said a word to me past that. You would think that the almost permanent scowl that adorns my face would ward off strangers like the crucifix gets rid of Dracula. It does not. Instead of looking tough, I think that people misinterpret my frown as me calling out for some kind words. I am not but, with God as my witness, I am going to change.

A sample encounter:

Perfect Stranger: Is it cold enough for you?

Smiling Me: Man, is it cold?
Perfect Stranger: Is it Friday yet?

Smiling Me: Not yet. But the weekend can't come fast enough for me.

Perfect Stranger: How about those Cavs?

Smiling Me: I too feel a blind allegiance with local sports teams. I wish them well.

Perfect Stranger: This is my floor. Take it easy, pal.

Smiling Me: Talking to you has made me a better person. Your insights on the weather, sports, and leisure time meant a lot to me. I am looking forward to our next trip on the elevator together. I feel close to you. You are also my pal.

Pleasantries are so pleasant. If I can get past the elevator, the next thing you know I will be talking to my brothers and sisters on planet earth every chance I get. I will make friends in line at the bank, at the grocery store, and at the library. Imagine the wealth of information I can extract from truckers at turnpike rest areas or the Fed Ex guy. I am going to have to change barbers since I chose my current barber because he can barely speak English. Perhaps I can teach him the language. He will be my new best friend.

Ask me for directions. I crave your contact.

I am going to get to practice my people skills with some of Cleveland's greatest barflies a couple of times this week. Relapse Records, known for its catalog of string quartets, off Broadway musical soundtracks, and calypso records has totally shifted gears, shying away from the middle aged easy listening crowd that has been that label's bread and butter since its inception, and put out some records that actually rock. I am sure that the Joneses, wanting another record by one of Relapse's many torch singers, are going to be unpleasantly surprised when they pick the new record by Unsane, “Occupational Hazard” (Relapse). Tonight, Monday, February 2, Unsane will be teaming up with fellow Relapse recording artist Today is the Day at the Euclid Tavern for what used to be known as "Bludgeoning Monday". I did not really dig Today is the Day's latest album, “Temple of the Morning Star” (Relapse), until a crack addict I know sold me a pair of Jensen speakers with twelve inch woofers for fifty dollars. There is actually some bass on the record contrary to what I previously reported.

Unsane and Today is the Day both used to on Amphetamine Reptile Records and both play metal for the alternative set. Tonight's show also features good local band Biblical Proof of UFOs and Keelhaul who I know nothing about except for that the members of the group are in other well known local bands. Tonight we're gonna rock it.

On Saturday, February 7, the way more metal (and proud of it) Brutal Truth will headline a show, also at the Euclid Tavern, with the mighty Boulder and Glock Nein opening up. Brutal Truth had several great albums on Earache before jumping to the good ship Relapse. Their debut long player for that label, “Sounds of the Animal Kingdom”, is a delightful potpourri of screeching mayhem. Unlike most extreme bands today, Brutal Truth is not afraid to were their very metal roots on their sleeve. They rock. A record worth seeking out by the band is “In These Black Days Volume 2: A Tribute to Black Sabbath” (Hydra Head). They cover "Cornucopia" complete with "C'mon lets get high" as if Ozzy was performing it live on stage. That song is one of the better Black Sabbath covers that I have heard. If you see me at either of theses shows, make sure you come up to me and tell me your life story. I am looking forward to it.

- I love records. I am a record junkie. I got some new ones. I am so happy.

Capitalist Casualties – “Dope and War” - 7"ep (Slap a Ham. POB 420843. San Francisco, CA 94142﷓0843.) On their first LP, “Disassembly Line” (Slap a Ham, 1992), the Capitalist Casualties defined nonmetal hardcore for the nineties. I am thrilled to report that the group has not lost a step after a lack of a drummer caused a brief hiatus. If it was physically possible for me to play as fast as this band, I would have packed my bags and headed west. “Dope and War” is the Capitalist Casualties triumphant return to wax. The record kicks off with "Your Fake Generation". The song has lyrics like "Video is corporate heroin" and "They laugh at your mindless consumerism." The song is about MTV bands. The Capitalist Casualties are against MTV. They are a negative group of guys. Never has blind idealism rocked so hard. Marxism with screaming vocals and buzzsaw guitars. The record has nine songs played at 45rpm that clocks in at about five minutes. Just as I am starting to really thrash out I have to flip the record over. Damn. The title track is against the cops because they spread dope and start gang wars in America's ghettos. Righteous. Let's off a pig.

Nine Shocks Terror/Devoid of Faith - split 7"ep (Gloom Records. POB 14253. Albany, NY 12212.) One of my favorite groups from Cleveland, Nine Shocks Terror, return with their second serving of vinyl viciousness. You will never hear this record on WENZ's "Inner Sanctum". Nine Shocks Terror play their rocking brand of hardcore punk for the people, not the play list, buddy. Check them out at a basement near you soon. Devoid of Faith are just as rocking. Their is a slightly more metal edge to this group and the singer is more of a growler than a screamer. Good.

Gang Starr - "You Know My Steez" - CD single (NooTrybe/Virgin) I will give you two reasons why Gang Starr are the best. DJ Premier and Guru. They are back. As heard on a Fila commercial? Their new album is out this month. Look for my gushing review in the “Cauldron”.

(1998)

posted by Thea at 8:54 PM

July 5, 2002

Yesterday was the Fourth of July – the day that Jesus, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny kicked some foreigners' asses and stood on top of the Statue of Liberty and declared that America rules and that America kicks the ass.

I would like to offer up praise and thanks to the Webmaster and family and Dirt and family for providing me with sausages. Big ups to any seasoned pork product roasted on a grill. Double great bonus points are awarded to Dirt and family for the patriotic decorations, patriotic music and, the came of all true patriots, croquet. I am lifting my oppressors.

Tragedy struck me yesterday. I wrote my thousand words – struggling through the heat and vowing to never again write a book in the summer – and then immediately did not save what I had just wrote. This was amazing to me. I don’t know why I did not save the changes to my document. I never did that before. I tried rewriting what I just wrote and then quit because I was too depressed to continue – not saving what I just rewrote. What is the matter with me? Now I am afraid to write anything because I will unconsciously not save it. That is not good. I need to pull my head out of my ass.

I remember the Valentine’s Day that is written about below. My cat dropped dead on me while I was vacuuming and a teacher of mine from Cleveland State University home of WCSB Cleveland 89.3 FM home to the Assholier that Thou Good Times Happy Friends Monday Morning Radio Show was at the Smoking Popes with her boyfriend who danced like he was a member of the Go Go’s or something. I was freaked out on both counts. I was wearing athleisure wear.

Chris lives in a dream world. He lives in a land of magic and happiness. He is the happiest little angel on God's good earth. He has two cats and he sings to them while he waters his flowers as the light beams into his sun room each morning.

Chris works as a clerk for a lovely law firm in beautiful downtown Cleveland - home to those fantastic Cleveland Cavaliers: the team with the most wonderful white dudes in basketball. He gets to answer the telephone at the office while the receptionist is at lunch. The clients of the firm are not rude, ignorant bastards like you would imagine. They are delights with voices as sweet as a bird's song on a spring day. He loves lawyers too.

One of the duties that come with Chris' super job is delivering envelopes and packages to the other great people of Cleveland's prosperous and terrific business community as well as skipping about the court system filing very important legal documents. Chris loves that he is a part of the American Justice System. He cherishes his responsibility. Chris gets plenty of sunshine and fresh air on his job. He also gets to experience the joy of human contact with a number of the super fantastic citizens of the Comeback City.

One of the people that Chris has had the pleasure of seeing every day for the past seven and a half magical years is one of God's special people - the mentally challenged gentleman who calls one of the four corners of Sixth and Superior home during business hours each weekday. Day in and day out, this marvelous man stands on the comer of Sixth and Superior dressed in clothes representing the cutting edge of fashion from the Seventies. He collects spare change, practices Kung Fu, bangs a tambourine, and directs both pedestrian and pigeon traffic. He, as can be imagined, does not have a positive effect on the rushing lunch crowd hurrying from their offices to the library or the Old Arcade. Most people, even though their hearts are in the right place, do not want to get close to this apparent victim of President Reagan's welfare reforms for the mentally challenged and move to the other side of the sidewalk when passing this innocent soul. It is hard to avoid this angel since his concrete ballet takes up so much space. Chris does not mind getting close to this beautiful black Bruce Lee. Chris gets close enough to hear him cursing up a storm under his breath.

Last week Chris saw his nutty friend walking arm in arm with a blind lady up Sixth Street towards Euclid Avenue. She had her red tipped cane under her arm while both hands clutched King Karate's one arm. She had a huge smile on her face - glad to be free from the assault of pedestrian traffic. Chris' friend, the differently abled gentleman, was still directing pigeon traffic wildly with his one free arm. "Everybody needs somebody," Chris noted.

Chris reflected on this sight while he walked the heavenly streets of cool Cleveland for the past few days. With St. Valentine's Day fast approaching, Chris also pondered love. He loves love. He is a fan of romance. He thinks that he is finally beginning to understand the nature of love. He loves everything and everybody. He has loved his girlfriend since high school. It was love at first sight. Chris has lived with this miracle of God's goodness for the better part of the last four years. Even though it was love at first sight, he is just starting to understand now what it is to be in love. He would love to tell her and the whole world about his love but the words escape him.

Yesterday, Chris was doing his best on his job, delivering urgent letters and important packages of documents to other offices. He was feeling great. He was in love with life. While walking through Tower City, he had his awesome afternoon ruined by the sight of a man in a wheel chair. He looked worse than Tom Cruise did at his very worst in Born on the Fourth of July. He had long filthy hair and scummy clothes. He stunk. Chris' heart was broken in two. Chris wishes that everybody was as healthy and happy as he. Chris, in the presence of human suffering, can be thrown into a slough of despondency that he will not be able to escape from for weeks. Once, after happening upon a withered Korean man on crutches struggling to get up the U.S. District Court stairs, Chris was so engulfed in grief and pity that he had a panic attack and forgot where he was - nearly blacking out. Chris needs help in dealing with adversity.

Chris' great mood was going down hill fast. The man in the wheel chair looked sad and helpless. Chris could only imagine the hard times that this guy faced each day. Chris was on the verge of freaking out when another wheel chair rolled into his line of sight. The vessel was piloted by a lady as bad off as the first guy. She wheeled herself quickly towards the guy in the first chair. She maneuvered herself right next to the guy except she was facing the other direction. She stopped her wheel chair. They both leaned towards each other, embraced, and kissed.

Chris filled with joy. They were in love. There is somebody for everybody. Chris shot back into his dream world. "When a Man Loves a Woman". That cute kid in Jerry Maguire. Sunshine and kittens. "Baby, Now that I Found You I Can't Let You Go". Free Willy. Two people in wheelchairs kissing. Happy Valentine's Day!

In a vicious twist of fate, I fell in love with a girl who is not a rocker. Unfortunately for her, there are many opportunities to rock on Valentine's Day and I am going to take advantage of all of them. Sorry honey. All shows listed are this Saturday, February 14.

First stop. The Smoking Popes ("Let's Hear it for Love") are playing at the Grog Shop in Cleveland Heights with Menthol and Triple Fast Action. This is the first appearance for the
Smoking Popes in Cleveland since the release of their excellent album, “Destination Failure” (Capitol), last August. Capitol Records are going out of their way to do nothing to promote this record. The Smoking Popes are suffering because Radiohead is Capitol's priority right now. Radiohead is OK but if there are not some ads for “Destination Failure” soon, Capitol will become a life long enemy. They have been warned. I am pumped and psyched about this show.

Second stop. With my heart aglow and "I Need You Around" still ringing in my ears, I am going to head down to Pat's In The Flats (West 3rd and Literary) for an authentic rock - n - roll show with the Henchmen and the In-Sect. This show is being promoted by my life long friend Doug. AC/DC had him in mind when they decided to salute rockers. Norton recording artists, the Henchmen, are making their fourth appearance in Cleveland since the release of their album, “Broad Appeal” (Norton, 1997). They are a three piece (guitar, organ, drums) group of young rockers from Michigan. I've seen them a couple of time and they have always rocked. The organ player does a stunt where he jumps onto his Farfisa Organ and plays it between his legs. The In - sect from Athens, OH have a record on 360 Twist and are also rather rocking. There are still a good number of rock - n - rollers in Cleveland -you would be surprised. You will be able to see most of them this Saturday at Pat's.

Last stop. The Phantasy Niteclub is hosting a night of Cleveland Hardcore with Ascension, Skipline, One Life Crew, and Ringworm. The recently reunited Ringworm rocks. I am a poet. Ringworm released a great album, “The Promise” (Indecision, 1993) before breaking up. They also have an excellent expanded compilation of the same material, “Flatline” (Lost and Found, 1995). I am not part of this scene so I am not hip to the details of their break up or the reformation. I do know that the guitar player of Ringworm, Frank Novinek, is now in Integrity and Ringworm wrote the song, "Blind to Faith" which has become a sort of anthem for the Cleveland Hardcore scene. Ringworm kicks my ass then off to bed.

(1998)

posted by Thea at 8:01 AM

July 3, 2002

Happy Birthday Franz Kafka. You are the man now, dog

If you think that technological advancements are going to make your life better, you are wrong, sucker. I can not believe how many times in my twenty-six years of living that a new gadget or gizmo has been launched at the cud chewing public to a great many oohs and aahs with the promise of an easier life and better existence only to leave this tired consumer (that is all we areconsumers) saying "so what". Maybe I am blind or just plain stupid, but I am not seeing any of the progress. I worry about feeding myself just like the caveman did years ago. If you have ever seen me eat, you can see the connection. Answering machines are nice but if mine broke I would live without one.

I remember when I was in grade school the big deal that was made about the coming computer revolution. Knowledge of the computer and the metric system (ha ha ha) was going to be essential for survival in the global economy. We were trained on Apple IIe computers sold by the same hucksters that were promising this computer age and told of all the jobs that would be had in the growing silicon workplace. Bullshit. I still barely know how to use the word processing program that I am typing this column on and that is the extent of my computer skill. I have been on the internet once and a loud whoopdeedoo was my reaction to the web of horrible graphics, ignorance, and deluge of advertisements that greeted my eager, expecting something good, eyes. Fuck the internet. I recently got e﷓mail at work and I learned just enough about the program to delete my messages without reading them. The same goes for voice mail. Our lives are certainly different thanks to the explosion of technology but I sincerely doubt that they are better.

Since I have only a minimal amount of knowledge in most fields of interest, I have to use rock – n - roll to illustrate my point. One of these days, I am going to have to get a new hobby in order that I can have some new analogies. I want to be able to say "life is just like fishing" or something beside my usual rock references but until I learn about something else, you are stuck with the rock talk.

How has technology improved rock - n - roll? Trick question - it has not. Records of today sound way worse than the records of old. Digital technology has ruined recording. Go ahead, tell me any record on the radio now that sounds as good as Miles Davis' “Kind of Blue” (Columbia, 1959) or Elvis' first echo drenched album for RCA. There will never be drums that sound as good as Led Zeppelin or the Beatles. You will never hear a better bass than Duck Dunn's Stax Records thump or Lee Perry's home four track home studio bass boom. Record production is not getting better with the new computer driven sterile sound equipment.

A case in point is the Beach Boys' “Pet Sounds” (Capitol, 1966). That masterpiece has been recently reissued in an expanded compact disc box set, “The Pet Sound Sessions” (Capitol). I still do not know what irony is. That album, recorded over thirty years ago, sounds better than any album that has been recorded in my lifetime and especially since the advent of CDs fourteen years ago.

Pet Sounds is considered by some (mostly British critics) to be the greatest record ever made. The album is great but not the best. The Beach Boys never rocked. “Pet Sounds” is definitely the master work of Brian Wilson, the damaged genius author of many surf jingles during the sixties. The records instrumental tracks were recorded at Gold Star Studio in Los Angeles with the Wrecking crew, who were responsible for most of Phil Spector's greatest hits, conducted by Brian Wilson while the rest of the Beach Boys toured the globe. Brian Wilson has stage fright so he did not gig too much. After the instrumental tracks were finished the rest of the Beach Boys entered the studio to record the vocals. “The Pet Sounds Sessions” has four discs of Pet Sounds thirteen tracks in various settings: stereo, mono, outakes, demo, instrumental, acappella. The set is very interesting with two booklets of notes, pictures, interviews, commentary, and technical information on this influential record. More interesting still is the three CD bootleg, “Leggo My Ego” (Spank), of unedited tape of the “Pet Sounds” sessions with plenty of Brian Wilson's talk back in the studio to give the listener of what Brian Wilson would be like to work with as well as a glimpse of the creative process.

The highlight of this set for most critics was the inclusion of a CD version of the original mono mix of Pet Sounds. Back in 1966, stereo was not yet the dominant medium of sound for the pop artist. Brian Wilson worked in mono with the now prevalent stereo version being more of an afterthought. The two versions are different and Brian Wilson has always stated his preference for the mono so this CD was a particular treat for most. Not me. I have
an original vinyl version in mono. I have been able to enjoy "God Only Knows" and "Wouldn't It Be Nice" in their intended form for years. My record has thirty years of wear but it still sounds great. What was the point of technology again?

The Ramones fueled the Sex Pistols, the Byrds inspired R. E. M. , and Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys sired Robert Schneider and THE APPLES in stereo. THE APPLES in stereo will be playing at the Grog Shop this Sunday, February 8th, with Elektra recording artists Luna. THE APPLES in stereo are on the road promoting their excellent new LP, “Tone Soul Revolution” (Elephant 6/spinART/Sire). Robert Schneider and the rest of his cohorts in the Elephant 6 Recording Co. collective (Olivia Tremor Control/Neutral Milk Hotel) have received much critical praise and have been on the cutting edge of underground pop for the last couple of years. “Fun Trick Noisemaker” (spinART, 1995), THE APPLES debut, was heralded by the indie tastemakers of the world as the second coming. For once, the hipster elite was right on. “Fun Trick Noisemaker” was an incredible combination of talented songwriting and lofi charm. It is a record worth listening to.

“Tone Soul Revolution” finds THE APPLES sounding more like a band than previous efforts that sounded more like Robert Schneider and guests that a full on rock - n - roll group. “Tone Soul Revolution” is also blessed by fantastic production. The album was obviously made by people who love music and care about the recording process. It shows. This record is happening.

Naturally, the same press that deified THE APPLES in stereo after their first album has been more lukewarm on this one, crying retro. Bullshit. “Tone Soul Revolution” is a modern record made by a group that respects the past not copycat goofs who want it to be 1966 forever. I am sick of people screaming retro. If Too Short wants to make records in a disco rap style, who cares as long as the records are good. Duke Ellington once said that he thought that music was neither old or new. I agree. Music is either good or bad.

Also, the opening track of “Tone Soul Evolution”, "Seems So", is one of the best songs I have ever heard in my life. Robert Schneider is a songwriter with few peers. "Seems So" is such a good song that I nearly freaked out the first time I heard it and have listened to it nearly 100 times since. The song is catchy and clever. Song of the year - 1997.

(1998)



posted by Thea at 9:27 PM

July 2, 2002

I am about to go out for a run and I don’t feel like it. I am sitting in my home office covered in sweat and smelling like a hobo. It is hot in the house. That is about the only reason that I feel like going outside - even if it means running. Otherwise, I am just blah. I am too blah to BLOG. And I left my disc of old writing at work so that is that.


posted by Thea at 8:58 PM

June 30, 2002

Jimmy comes in dribbling.

Jimmy: "Oh yeah!! ... Jimmy's ready."
Kramer: "Hey Jimmy"
George: "Ha..harrr."
Jimmy: "Jimmy's got some new moves."
Kramer: "Go Jimmy"
Jimmy: “Check Jimmy out"

Jimmy slips on Kramer's puddle and falls on his back

Jimmy: "Ooohhh!!!!! JIMMY'S DOWN."

Scene cuts then comes back with paramedics and Jimmy on a stretcher.

Paramedic: (missing a few words) “......was gonna be in traction."
Jimmy: "Jimmy might have a compound fracture. Jimmy's going into shock!!"
George: (angrily)"WHY WEREN'T YOU MORE CAREFUL WITH YOUR DROOL!"
Kramer: "HEY I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN!!!"
Jerry: "Why are you taking this so personally?"
George: "BECAUSE IF HE CAN'T JUMP. THERE GOES MY SNEAKER BUSINESS!!"
Kramer: (cries out) WELL I SAID I'M SORRY."
Jimmy: ( as he gets taken out) "JIM....JIMMY WONT FORGET YOU KRAMER. JIMMY HOLDS GRUDGES. LET JIMMY GO."
Kramer: "BUT I CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING."

Now that I am running again, that is pretty much all that I think about. I spend my days either conserving energy for the run or coming down off of the runner’s high. I think about the weather, I think about distance and I think about time. And that is all that I think about. I think that running is a great way to kill a life. All of my problems are gone if I am running. And if I can’t run, I have a problem.

I almost had a big problem today. I am in the middle of a 5K almost at Lakewood Park. I am running in front of a field of grass. There is nothing but two big spaces of grass on either side of the sidewalk. I am running up on some dork in Pro Wing sneakers, striped tube socks, zebra print shorts, a muscle tank top (with no muscles), a gold chain and a Spuds MacKenzie baseball hat turned backwards. He is walking with some tramp big haired slut wearing L.A. Gear sneakers and neither of those assholes will get out of the way. And there is nothing but grass on either side of the sidewalk at Lakewood Park. I asked what was up, asshole, as I passed the dork and his skank and then turned around to check my back and unload on this doofus some more. As I am turning around, I hit the side of the sidewalk and fucked up my foot.

Chris’s down. Some dork tried to put Chris out of commission.

It was a quarter of a mile before I could run on the foot again. It is still sore but thank God it wasn’t the ankle. I don’t know what I would have done if I could not run. Oh wait, I remember - get real depressed and think about killing myself all of the time.

If you are a nerd with a Spuds Mackenzie hat walking between Edgewater and Lakewood Parks, make room on the sidewalk, asshole. The next time you hog the sidewalk, you get an old school beat down. It’s that simple. And if you aren’t the Spuds Mackenzie dude, please just pay attention. I am begging you. Thank you for listening.

I stumbled upon a ghastly revelation this past weekend. Much to my horror, I realized that I do not care about the rock - and please keep in mind, kind reader, that I was born to rock - as much as I used to even a few short months ago. I have felt my connections to all things rocking loosening for a while. I guess that trying to turn your passion, rock, into money can turn what you are passionate about, rock, into a giant pain in the ass. I wonder if a pro basketball star, at any time during his climb to the top of his profession, begins to hate the game due to his lofty ambition. Probably. Even though Michael Jordan claims that he suits up for the love of the game, I am sure that when he was still trying to make it (whatever that means) he resented and possibly even despised his love for just a few minutes.

I have not been listening to rock - n - roll just to rock out lately and I am the king of rocking out. Within the past couple of weeks, I have put some of the Who's records on my turntable and felt nothing. The Who are my favorite group ever - without a doubt. I have been listening to my vinyl with a cold analytical ear - picking it apart. The Who have been godlike to me since I saw them perform on the Woodstock movie that was shown during a PBS pledge drive when I was a kid. I used to be amazed by the Who but now, since I know a little bit about what they were doing and how they did it in the studio, a bit of my sense of wonder has disappeared. I know too much of what Oz is doing behind the curtain.

I have spent too much time thinking about rock - n - roll. Most of the mystery and a chunk of the love is gone.

I was jamming (musician speak) with my friend Doug last Sunday. Doug is rock - n - roll. I have been friends with Doug forever. We met in the Cub Scouts when we were in grade school. He was in my patrol when I was an older and way meaner Boy Scout. Doug is a year younger than me and when we were in middle school he was a bit of a fancy lad. He was involved in musical theater and dressed a little foofy. As a bad ass in training, it was my sacred duty to treat little lord Dougie like shit. I used my authority as Boy Scout patrol leader for evil (surprise abuse of authority) and messed with Doug. He was picked on.

I made a life long commitment to rock in junior high. Doug was the only kid at SS. Peter and Paul who played guitar. My friend Tom, a Sting fanatic in the truest sense of the word, played bass and I played a drum. The plural would come later. Doug was allowed to hang out with us by default. I still did not like him or admit to associating with him in public but how was I ever going to rock out without a guitarist. We struggled along learning to play a ton of Police covers in a truly awful fashion - those songs are hard to make sound good. At one point during our efforts, Doug introduced the bar band classic "More than a Feeling" to the group. That song is really easy to play, more than any Police song, and, more importantly, it is easy to make that song sound good with very little talent - ask Nirvana. I will never forget, for as long as I live, how it felt bashing our way through that song. We were actually able to play a whole song all the way through and have my mother recognize it - an accomplishment of a lifetime.

As time passed, Doug and I became much better friends and slightly better musicians. We got through high school, always rocking out, and neither of us went away to college like nearly all of our other friends. We had each other and Mudhoney. When I moved out of my parent's house and into the Reveler house on West 91st Street when I was twenty, it took exactly one week before Doug moved in too. I nearly freaked out, as I am want to do, without him there but when he moved in the strange house with the even stranger inhabitants quickly became my home. I can not even remember how many nights I sat around the living room with Doug, stoned nearly out of our gourds with just barely enough presence of mind to get Black Sabbath's “Volume Four” (Warner Brothers, 1972) onto the turntable. "Sweet Leaf" cut through the fog and there was my best friend Doug with a reefer smile on his faced and his hand locked in the devil horn position.

It will be five years this July since I moved out of the Reveler house. I fast glance at myself reveals many signs of adulthood. I quit doing drugs, stopped drinking, and lastly gave up smoking nine long months ago. I began cohabitation with my girlfriend, got engaged, opened a joint bank account, and now I get excited about new flannel sheets - whoopee. I have worked at the same office for over seven years and I am about to finish school. I am an adult.

Doug still rocks. He lives in a swinging bachelor pad in an eastside almost ghetto. He works at a bar and, therefore, gets to see almost every decent rock show that comes through Cleveland. He even books his own shows at local dives if the band is up to his super high standard of rock (much higher than mine). He gets every new real rock -n - roll record. He drives a kick ass 60s Chevy. He is the master of the thrift score and has an authentic rock - n - roll wardrobe complete with Roy Orbison style sunglasses. Rock.

I was looking at his pictures from last September's CMJ Music Marathon in New York City during a break from the jamming. I saw pictures of Doug rocking out with the Humpers and the U.S. Bombs. He had a totally rocking weekend. I, on the other hand, spent the same weekend across town dealing with lawyers, record label bosses, and other assorted music business nerds in an attempt to drum up some business for my band. I did not rock. No asses were kicked. We were at the same place at the same time - him rocking, me sucking. I was jealous of Doug and resentful of my unrocking life last Sunday. And, worse yet, I was feeling pretty disinterested in rock - n - roll. I chose the business and I am starting to hate it. "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio?"

I am sitting in Doug's apartment wondering where rock - n - roll has gone in my life. Imagine me sitting on his couch with a terribly sad look on my face. Did I decide to leave the rocking life behind and become an accountant? I think you should be able to see where this is heading. The hook.

The Lazy Cowgirls have a new record, “A Little Sex and Death” (Crypt Records USA. 1250 Long Beach Avenue, #101. Los Angeles, CA 90012.) It rocks. Rock - n - roll wins again.

Listening to the opening three chords (the almighty three chords) of the album's first cut "Here Comes Trouble", reminded me with an enormous kick in the ass what rock - n - roll is about. If you are wondering what this record sounds like, listen to any other Lazy Cowgirls record - I recommend “Tapping the Source” (Bomp!, 1987) or “Raged Soul” (Crypt, 1995)﷓ because the Lazy Cowgirls, year in year out for the past fifteen years, have made the exact same record. A Little Sex and Death rocks in a Ramones﷓ish, speedy, punky, Los Angeles, rock - n - roll style. Even after numerous line up changes, including the loss of longtime guitar monster, D.D. Weekday, after the last record, Pat Todd (vocals) is still able to come up with new Lazy Cowgirls to consistently crank out some of the most rocking punk my ears have ever heard. This is the band that has inspired the New Bomb Turks, Nine Pound Hammer, Teengenerate, the Humpers, et. al. to rock. With fans/followers like those you can guess how good the Lazy Cowgirls are at rocking.

The ending is very TV movie of the week. I was lost in woe. Doug, of course, had new Lazy Cowgirls record. Record totally, rocks. My faith and love in rock – n - roll is miraculously restored. Closing shot of me air guitarring wildly with Doug smiling in the background.

Roll credits.

(1998)



posted by Thea at 5:08 AM