Say A Little Prayer For Her And Say A Little Prayer For Yourself

https://www.nugs.net/live-download-of-the-white-stripes-live-at-the-magic-bag-ferndale-mi-07-30-1999-mp3-flac-or-online-music-streaming/37796.html

The White Stripes played fifteen shows in 1999. Only three of those occurred in any approximate vicinity of others (the late September sojourn opening for Pavement) meaning each one of the shows from ‘99 exists in a vacuum, with new songs flying in and different arrangements making themselves known, no real established running order or pacing/tempo/meter/cadence. All but four of these shows were recorded in some manner, which still feels like a tiny miracle given how unknown and unheralded the band was at this juncture.

Outside of the Stripes show from the Gold Dollar, August 14th 1997, this July 30th, 1999 gig is the White Stripes show that I have listened to the most in my life. No doubt I immediately popped this sumbitch into the cassette deck of the ‘95 Ford Taurus on the way home from the show and would continue to come back to it for years. It lives in my head rent free, iconic and memorized and encased in amber, a memory reinforced by the consistent reliving of it over the past twenty-five years that it’s foundationally unparalleled in my understanding of the band.

When I listen now, what immediately grabs me is the piano. The piano!!! Oh man, it felt like a huge coup to get the powers-that-be at the Bag to actually let Jack play the thing, a seemingly “fancy” instrument that lived on the stage but was always covered up when bands of their ilk were in the house. In comparison, the powers that be would not let the band use the projection/video screen (they softened that stance by the De Stijl album release show the following year). 

Twenty years after the show, dear friend (and White Stripes roadie in arms) Brandon Beaver mailed me a stack of Polaroid pictures that I had taken at the show. I had completely forgotten about this, because, well, it wasn’t in the recording. They hadn’t informed my recollection, my mind canon of it all. I was surprised to see the piano, this grand (baby grand?) beast covered in the red-and-white stripes of an American flag that was previously used as a stage backdrop as depicted on the cover of TMR-345. The visual of it all is striking, it is visually compelling and indicates a modicum of extra effort that separated the Stripes from their peers at the time.

Couple that with the fact that in the rehearsals leading up to the show, Jack and Meg had repeatedly practiced a cover of the song “Do You Love Me Now?” originally by the Breeders. I still don’t know why they didn’t play it that night…the moments in rehearsal were solid and worthy of being trotted out on stage. It sounded damn cool. The fact that the band never recorded a version of this song is one of the bigger frustrations in the “Shit The White Stripes Should Have Done” list in my head.

The recording here is the first time that a piano or any keys are ever used live in a White Stripes performance and it’s beautiful.

Terry Cox was the sound man on this night. At the time he was the front-of-house engineer at the Magic Stick, so I’m not really sure why he was at the Magic Bag this evening. But with Terry behind the mixing desk, the band got a more-familiar set of ears working in their favor, as opposed to some rando without a clue as to what the band sounded like. The reverb on vocals “Love Sick” is a prime example of the special touch Terry brought to the mix. Reverb on the snare too. Actually, it’s just a shit ton of reverb. The whole show sounds “BIG” in a way that no other recording from this era ever would. God bless Terry.

“Love Sick” here is the Stripes first ever performance of the song, not even two years old by this point, the highlight of Bob Dylan’s Time Out Of Mind album from 1997. It sounds important. It sounds serious. It sounds like it is a harbinger of bigger things to come.

Followed by “Dead Leaves” which, by this point, still hadn’t truly found its form. A piano take on the song is still a rare outing, so even though it is by far the song the band played most in their career, I’m unclear if it was ever done exclusively on piano again.

The tension here is palpable. Between “Dead Leaves” and “St. James” someone shouts something in the crowd. At 2:04 and again at 2:07. You can just barely hear it. Wouldn’t be a stretch to think they’re screaming “Fuck you!” Whatever is said, Jack responds with “You’re a liar,” echoing Dylan’s retort at the Manchester Free Trade Hall in 1966 to a member of the crowd shouting “Judas!”

Couple that with the intro to “Astro” where Jack extemporaneously sings “I’m gonna kill my brother Jack” from Meg’s perspective, to the tune of “Three Little Fishies” a child-like number 1 hit from 1939. I recall Meg responding to this moment with a dismissive laugh, but still, I remember feeling uncomfortable. It was awkward.

But at some point, it all changes, the air is cleared, so to speak. Everything feels…understood? Accepted? Light-hearted even? Having thought about this many times over the intervening 25 years, I just know that while the first half of the set embodies a tension, the second half emboldens a joy throughout. Listening now, I smile. I feel happy.

As Jack is ready to end the performance with “Broken Bricks” you can hear Kevin Peyok (The Waxwings, Jack White and The Bricks) and Ko Shih (The Dirtbombs, Ko and The Knockouts) repeatedly yell “SAME BOY!” while Jack is thanking the opening bands the Greenhornes and Clone Defects. 

Isn’t it great when folks request an unreleased song? Kevin would know the song from playing it with the Bricks just three weeks earlier, but even so, the three Stripes performances of the song earlier this year were already enough to embed it into the consciousness of fan/friends in teh crow. And with an “aw shucks” manner Jack responds “You wanna hear ‘Same Boy’? Alright I’ll play that.”

Come the encore of “You’ve Got Her In Your Pocket”, another Stripes live debut that wouldn’t see a studio release for another FOUR YEARS, it all is sweet and dare I say wholesome. With just Jack and the piano, here is a worthy reminder that there’s no such thing as an off performance of “Pocket” as the tender emotion is palpable whenever it was performed and only more so if it was just Jack playing it. 

With Jack asking “What do you want to hear?” it’s worth noting how rare it is to hear him openly take a request, especially in light of already taking one with “Same Boy.” Funnily enough, we don’t hear anyone yell anything in response. At the culmination of a blistering “Broken Bricks” Jack sheepishly gives notice that the gig is over…that he broke a string and that Meg has mono.

“She’s tuckered out…so say a little prayer for her and say a little prayer for yourself” he offers up. Jack didn’t have to say that. No one would have begrudged the band ending the show at that point without any indication as to why no more songs were performed. It was already a decently full set. But the sincerity, the honesty, the essence of “we have given you our all” coupled with a “you are released” sews up this oddity of a show perfectly.

Kroger 9:43pm on a Sunday

Kid

No more than twelve years old

Takes a running start

And jumps

Arms stretched to the heavens

Six inches short

Of the low-hanging security camera

I forgot

That I used to do this too

Usonian Automatic self-titled album

scum stats: this copy is numbered 3/50, though their website lists two different runs of 25 copies each. All lathe cut, these sound fantastic, with hand-written song titles on the jacket. Just how I like it

In the 20+ years of demos being flipped my way, very seldom has something so realized, so thorough, so unified crossed my desk.

Everything offered here by Usonian Automatic is exquisite. The songs, the recording of said songs, the jacket art, the 16 page newsprint insert...this is 100% absolutely worth whatever effort you need to put into securing one. All of it is tied together and, in one way or another, overarchingly influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright. Architecture and music don't really overlap in ways I can easily conjure, so the attempt here is real. It is valid. It is an effort without FEELING like an effort.

The accompanying manifesto is vaguely reminiscent of the White Stripes take in the "De Stijl" liner notes and the song "Nickles & Dimes" is very likely a sample of the drum into to "Jimmy The Exploder" slowed down just barely. All that to say, inspiration in this regard is merely a jumping off point, nothing slavish or pandering considering the perch I'm writing from where I'm hyper-aware of such things. I get Kills "No Wow" guitar vibes and haunted, detached vocals imbue the tracks with an ennui that feels real and not contrived. Some Earth-like arrangements and the "turntable" percussion appropriation all make a genuinely unique and enjoyable connection across otherwise unconnected realms.

Listen to the whole record, really, I don't know how many are left available to purchase from the Bandcamp page (this came out in 2020, for what it's worth) but I definitely make the case here that $65 Canadian is well-spent on this record.

And shit, if you buy it and don't like it, I'll happily trade you equivalent and thensome in TMR goodies so I've got a spare on my shelves. That's how confident I feel about this music. Essential? I think so.

The White Stripes Live at the Magic Stick April 17th, 1999

There are moments, ever so brief, that feel like an entire room has catalyzed and are all

speaking the same language. Even if speaking vaguely or in code, everyone understands fully.

So while I cannot speak for the rest of the 100 or so folks that were at the Magic Stick on April

17th, 1999, I can speak to how *I* felt.

For establishing purposes, exactly 25 years ago, on April 17th, 1999 the White Stripes played in

the middle of a bill with Gore Gore Girls opening and the Compulsive Gamblers headlining. I

was sixteen years old.

Barely a month earlier, it appeared that the White Stripes were done. With their cessation being

reported in the Detroit News, the fact that a DAILY newspaper was covering such underground

countercultural gossip still feels beguiling. Yet in the span of a few weeks, the Stripes had

played a triumphant non-farewell show (March 13th, 1999) and were most definitely soldiering

on, while Jack White’s other current musical concern, the Go, had unceremoniously kicked him

out.

I guess this was relatively big news in the small world of Detroit garage rock. In hindsight, it

seems pretty insignificant. So when the Stripes roll into “Astro” at the tail end of their set and

Jack substitutes in the names of his former bandmates in the Go “Bobby”, “Marc” and “John” as

“do(es) the astro” the feeling in the air, to me, was “oh man, he’s giving it to ‘em.”

To follow it up with the ending verse impromptu singing “Maybe someone has an ego!”

and “Why don’t you do what you want to, girl?” (with what I would interpret as foreshadowing of

future attack-like songs as “There’s No Home For You Here (Girl)” and “Girl, You Have No Faith

In Medicine”) and it all had the allure of an up-to-the-minute newscast, made up in real time, for

the couple dozens friends and scenesters gathered there that evening, all of whom knew the

score.

As the song concluded, you faintly hear a request for the Go song “Meet Me At The Movies” to

which Jack replies on mic “Somebody wanna hear “Meet Me At The Movies?” It’s the wrong

band!”

The Stripes performance, overall, is just so different from any single show they’d ever played

before or would play after. First ever appearances of gems like covers of Iggy Pop’s “I’m Bored”

and Earl King’s “Trick Bag” (done in the style of the Gories) alongside Jack and Meg’s first ever

performance of “The Same Boy You’ve Always Known.” They also cover Brendan Benson’s

“Crosseyed” for seemingly the only time ever with Brendan himself smack dab front and center

watching the proceedings.

Interesting little moments abound…the show-opening “I’m Bored” is quickly scuttled as Meg’s

bass drum pedal snaps. She coordinates a quick replacement with Deb Agolli (drummer for

openers the Gore Gore Girls) that precipitates Jack’s solo take on “Trick Bag”

(For years my recall is that I was up there helping Meg attach the borrowed pedal to her kick

drum. But just now, at this moment, I’m half-thinking that I watched it from the crowd. In my

head, I see Deb, coincidentally wearing red and white, behind the drums with Meg. But I also

see myself crouched down, futzing in the dark, helping Meg. The video of the show conveniently

shows neither myself nor Deb onstage during any of this. There’s a possibility my memories are

lies)

But once all is back up-to-speed, Jack just starts “I’m Bored” from the beginning.

There’s a simplicity to taking the song from the top, an innocence to it, a “we’re gonna do this

right” stick-to-it-iveness that I tend to think most bands would not actually endeavor. Most bands

would just move past it and try to pretend that they never even attempted the song in the first

place, let alone start their set with it.

And that’s just one of many reasons why the White Stripes were objectively great from such an

early point in their career.

Other treats include an early run of “The Big Three Killed My Baby” that does not start with the

trilling three scratches of the guitar. Seemingly every version performed afterwards would start

just like the album recording…with those ominous trills. Jack introduces Meg as his little sister.

Jack also, for the first time we’ve documented, signed off the show with a “My sister thanks you

and I thank you.” Little Easter eggs all of them.

And while there’s no real evidence here to point to proving so, we all know that this is the

evening that Jack White would pay a couple hundred bucks to Compulsive Gambler’s Jack

Yarber for his red Airline guitar that in short order would become an iconic piece of the White

Stripes imagery.

My favorite moment of the entire show unfolds in the middle break of “Astro” where Jack drops a

curveball…

What did the hen dog say to the snake?

No more crawfish in this lake

Just a hair, just a little bit, just a hair, just a little bit

Well what did the woman who came to the side,

one hand on her leg, one hand on her thigh

Good lord, have mercy, good lord, have mercy

This is a slightly altered take on George Johnson’s version of “Jack The Rabbit” as featured in

the 1978 John Lomax film The Land Where The Blues Began. Johnson was a gandy dancer, a

now-obsolete job of manual railroad track maintenance. This is a work song, plain and simple,

Johnson’s repeated lines of “just a hair, just a little bit” actually instructions to the rest of his

crew in regards to which increment or degree they should be adjusting the track. It’s chilling, it’s

got unforced attitude, it’s beautiful.

In sharing this clip with Jack this week, twenty-five years later, he said he had absolutely no

recollection of what it was or where it even came from.

But it felt so familiar, both then and now. Like a nursery rhyme I’d heard my entire life. Like

something EVERYONE had heard their entire life, certainly everyone in the room. Like it was

meant to be there, that it had always been there, and would always be there, smack dab in the

middle of “Astro.” 

The point I’m trying to make is that for these fleeting moments on this night, the demarcation of

stage and floor were largely irrelevant. What was happening wasn’t a band playing for a crowd.

What was happening was a conversation, an education, a therapy, a laugh, a finger-pointing, all

wrapped into one. And so much of it, hell, maybe all of it, happened just that once, seemingly to

be experienced only by those in the room. Fleeting.

So should you give a shit that this is effectively a spruced-up audience recording? Not in the

least. Just sit back and enjoy all the swirling different factors and reactors that melted together

to create a one-of-a-kind evening a quarter of a century ago.

Listen here...https://www.nugs.net/live-download-of-the-white-stripes-the-magic-stick-detroit-mi-04-17-1999-mp3-flac-or-online-music-streaming/36808.html

Ada Richards "I'm Drunk And Real High (In The Spirit Of God)"

Ada Richards 

I'm Drunk And Real High (In The Spirit Of God)

Some weeks will have you questioning the existence of a higher being. I like to think if there is one, they exist in a realm where this song is on loop.

That scream.

Eddy Grant “Nobody’s Got Time”

Eddy Grant

Nobody's Got Time b/w Where Are You Going To My Friends

scum stats: seems like this was a hit, but in a tiny country. who knows!

Oh. My. God.

This song is so damn good. Was shared with me by extremely great dude of the highest persuasion Chris Schulist (DJ on the Jack White 2022 tour). Sat in my inbox for a month or two before I ever even cracked the message because that's the state of my email affairs these days. 

I finally opened about three weeks ago and have not stopped listening to this song since. 

There's a simplicity to the groove here, coupled with an unusual heaviness, that puts the overall feel in rarefied air. It's likely the only record I own from Trinidad...and if any more sound like this, I will clearly need to find more.

My immediate thought upon grooving to this jam is that I want to play drums to this with Pat Pantano and that's already enough said. The plonky fuzz with the sparse, pick-and-choose bass...it's unmitigated perfection. I do not say that lightly.

There's a bootleg 45 out there that's a little more of a recent DJ "edit" with some added effects and shit, which is good too, but I have absolutely no qualms or quibbles with the original here.

I have not liked an OLD song this much in quite some time. A nice reminder that there are still gems out there that can connect to the innermost rhythms in our soul. Keep searching them out.

Mary Jane Dunphe "Fix Me" b/w "Seasons"

Mary Jane Dunphe

Fix Me b/w Seasons

scum stats: limited to 835 copies on clear vinyl

By the sheer titles, I anticipated this being a Black Flag cover as the a-side and a solo Chris Cornell cover on the flip. You never know what you're going to get with the Sub Pop Singles Club and this waxing puts Dunphe on my radar.

"Fix Me" has is a catchy melody with propulsive drum heavy backing, prime for singalongs in a guitar focused manner. I don't know anything about Mary Jane, if you told me she's primed to be the next big pop star, shit, I'd believe it.

B-side is a little bit more in the feels, light synth interludes that recall bouncing ball marimba (more serious than cheeky) with emotive, heartfelt voicings. The more I sit with these recordings, letting them replay over and over, the stickier they become. I'm more entranced by the drum programming/production of recalling bits of Saint Etienne's cover of Neil Young's "Only Love Will Break Your Heart" with a bit of that early 90's trip hop vibe. I'm also getting the slightest hints of the Limiñanas here, another outfit that just hits that spot with me. Crisp and gritty at the same time.

All in all, a promising introduction to an artist I'm stoked to learn more about. Good luck finding a copy of this subscriber only record, so in light of that go and stream the shit out of this one.

Watching MrBeast and Drinking Ghost Energy Drinks

This

Is what

I imagine

New Year’s Eve

At age twelve 

Looks like

There is

Nothing quite

Like a new couch

It’s where life begins

I Somehow Weaseled An Essay Into The Detroit Free Press

If you would've told ten-year-old Ben Blackwell, daily devoted devourer of the Detroit Free Press, that a mere text message to the music editor of the paper, some 31 years later, would get my own writing into the newspaper...I would have asked you "What's a text message?"

Click the link below to read the whole shebang, I worked very hard on it and am very proud of it and I don't say that too often.

I'm Finding It Easier To Be A Gentleman -OR- Forever The Union 

To the city employees

On the brush clearing crew

Wearing hi vis vests

In the elementary school parking lot

Playing HORSE

With a children’s soccer ball

Just letting off steam

One of them legit dunks

And I’m happy this is where my taxes go

Young Losers “All Gone” b/w “Private Affair”

Young Losers 

 

All Gone b/w Private Affair 

scum stats: two variants, the "table sleeve" is the rarer one here 

Young, loud and snotty with hand-written labels, colored vinyl (blue) coupled with a black-and-white photocopied sleeve and Saints cover on the b-side...was there any other way for a punk single to exist in 1998? I feel on the verge of wistful when I consider that this "style" or "approach" may actually just kinda fade away. I don't see kids doing shit in this manner any more. Life is LONG but time is short. So soak it in. What feels omnipresent or indefatigable is always just a generation away from disappearing. Live it while you can.

 

Sponge "Molly (Sixteen Candles Down The Drain)"

Sponge

Molly b/w Cowboy Eyes

scum stats: limited edition numbered copies on marigold colored vinyl. It's unclear how "limited" it actually is. my copy is #2884

When this song was released as a single in 1995, I'm pretty sure I *liked* it. I don't recall anyone in my immediate social circle of 13-year-old boys LOVING it, but as it was played ad nauseam on the local rock radio stations, it penetrated enough so that you couldn't really even ignore it. At worst, you just had to accept it.

Sponge being from Detroit didn't even really seem to make any connection to us either. It's not like we knew them or saw them around. They still might as well had been from Mars for all we knew. My appreciation for local music was still a good 4-5 years away.

And once that appreciation for local music struck, in the form of the underground garage bands of the late 1990s, my proverbial about-face found me shit-talking Sponge. Like they were an after-thought response to the true rebel artistry of the Seattle bands preceding them.

I held on to that mindset for a good fifteen years.

Then without warning, on paternity leave back in 2016, driving home from Babies 'R' Us with a dresser/changing table in the back of the Flex, I caught "Molly" on the Lithium channel on satellite radio. 

The production still left something to be desired, but more than ever, the WORDS got to me. My understanding is that the song is inspired by a story of an ill-fated professor/student romance, capped off with a suicide attempt. 

Maybe it was colored by fatherhood, or just the warmth of the familiarity of the lyrics after so many years, but the song, despite all its affected guitar and bluster and edge, struck me as so melancholy, as heartfelt, as properly emotional.

I went on a rabbit hole looking through various live versions and acoustic renditions and the feeling not only remained, but intensified. While the attempted rhyming of "glass" and "vase" still irks me, I keep coming back to the vocal melody sung with the pair of lines "don't ask why" and "sixteen candles down the drain." 

The melody is heartbreaking, it is dour, but at the same time, there's a weird underlying glimmer of optimism to it all. I sing this to myself all the goddamned time.

At the time I made a note to myself that Third Man should reach out to whoever controlled the rights to the Rotting Pinata LP and we should do a big proper reissue of it. I slept on that note, someone else did the reissue and to placate myself I tracked down a 7-inch copy for less money that I spend on a single can of Ghost energy drink.

I've got a quasi-secret plan for this song, I'm not ready to let the cat out of the bag just yet, but assuming I can pull some shit together, it will have made it all incredibly worth it. Stay tuned.

(untitled)

i am throwing up

in a violent thunderstorm

singing “Our Secret”

Thank God For RADAR - How The White Stripes Began Recording All Of Their Live Performances

(originally published 2/17/23 on the Nugs.net blog)

https://2nu.gs/ws472003

Twenty years ago, give or take a couple of weeks, the White Stripes purchased a Random Access Digital Audio Recorder. RADAR for short. It cost $8000. When recently asked about the impetus behind the move, long-time Stripes manager Ian Montone said…

“Many artists I respected - musically and from a business standpoint - always recorded their shows. Frank Zappa specifically. We wanted to implement something similar given we already owned our studio master recordings. So it made sense to record and own everything the band (and Jack) did moving forward. Live shows included. Because every show was different. There was no setlist. Everything was special. We wanted to capture that for posterity’s sake - hence the RADAR.”

In terms of the archival footprint of the White Stripes, the importance of this decision cannot be overstated. Previously, sanctioned live recordings were largely limited to whenever I was there AND the club had a cassette deck wired to the soundboard. With the end result being a static two-channel board recording subject to the whims and preferences of a house sound engineer’s real-time mixing, it left a lot to be desired.

For example…my obligations as a mediocre Detroit college journalism student with a scholarship meant that for the entirety of 2002 (a year the Stripes played nearly 100 shows) I was present for a mere seven performances, two of which were purely coincidental as my band the Dirtbombs were slotted as the warm-up act. 

Thus, the number of proprietary live recordings from 2002 in the archive? Shit, barely any. I count one, give or take one.

But come 2003 the White Stripes would have the raw masters of their on-stage inputs digitally preserved. This gave the band the ability, after-the-fact, to have whomever they desired to properly and precisely mix every live show they performed, regardless of whether or not I was there to slide the sound guy a tape that night. This was $8000 well-spent.

Thank god for RADAR.

The April 7th, 2003 gig in Wolverhampton was the first show the White Stripes recorded with this digital system. More importantly, this show is the kick-off to the Elephant world tour, approximately 14 months of whirlwind travel, Whirlwind Heat, sold out shows, not sold out ethics, finger breakings, Grammy takings, global gallivanting and “oh oh oh oh oh ohhhh oh” chanting. 

The performance, shockingly, has not been heard in ANY form since the amps powered down that evening two decades ago. I guess no one in Wolverhampton was doing surreptitious audience recordings at the time. Photos of the gig? I found none. Concert poster? I’ve never seen one. Please, prove me wrong. I welcome it. Contemporaneous accounts of the evening? A dumb brief write-up from the NME, one slightly more informative from the Independent and that’s it. 

As Jack humbly tells the crowd that Elephant hit number 1 on the charts this day…the gig…you’d think there’d be more proof that it really existed. Things here feel big. They seem important. A chance whiff of greatness. The weight of it all is palpable on the recording.

So the wait to hear this show is most definitely worth it. The first-ever public outing of a clutch of songs off Elephant is the definition of historic. 

The fact that Meg switches to her snare hits late on the first verse of “Seven Nation Army”? I LOVE it. Perhaps the only time ever she didn’t 100% nail that song. Jack’s nerves evident on “In The Cold, Cold Night”? Endearing. The premature ending of “The Hardest Button To Button”? A combo of “wow” and “holy shit” said in wonderment. 

These are by no means the best versions of ANY of these songs. But they are precious for what they presage…the eventual enshrinement of said tunes in the bombastic canon of a band well on its way to their peak form.

Beyond that…the first time ever covering Public Nuisance’s “Small Faces.” What a moment! And the extra special treat of what we’ve titled here “Talking Pillow By My Side Blues.” An improvised song done in the “talking blues” style pioneered by Chris Bouchillon, appropriated by Woody Guthrie and yet further popularized by Bob Dylan, “Pillow” is one of the more realized extemporaneous songs to emerge from a White Stripes live show of any era. Which is fortunate to have been captured here, as it never shows up again, anywhere, ever.

Thank god for RADAR.

Though I must stress, the method was not perfect. As The White Stripes front of house engineer Matthew Kettle would say “Despite being the best thing we could get at the time, the RADAR was occasionally unreliable, and as we weren't carrying a sound desk everywhere at that point, not every show was recorded successfully.”

With that in mind, there’s a handful of songs that failed to be recorded in Wolverhampton. “Dead Leaves” and “Black Math” and “I Think I Smell A Rat” seem to be songs from the top of the set lost to the ether on this night. Which isn’t too bad in the grand scheme of things, considering there’s an entire WEEK where Kettle’s best efforts were thwarted by the finicky digital interface and thus, we’re left only with our imagination and collective recollection trying to discern what happened at half dozen shows in June of 2003.

Otherwise the RADAR material was immediately put to use…the accompanying audio to “Black Math” live vid from the Masonic Temple, the Berlin soundcheck b-side recording of “St. Ides of March” and the promo-only triple LP Live In Las Vegas are all proper public-facing mobilizations of these recordings. Third Man didn’t even attempt to crack these suckers open for another ten years until prepping the Nine Miles From The White City live LP included in Vault Package 16 from 2013.

At that point, upon handing mix engineer Vance Powell the necessary drives, he audibly winced. 

“What?” I asked him, perplexed and, let’s face it, ignorant.

“These drives have moving parts. Good luck getting anything off of them,” Vance replied.

To which point I said “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” he said. “These things are ten years old.”

I learned a very crucial lesson at that moment…that any digital format is only reliable for a couple years before it’s usurped by something more streamlined and less cumbersome - OR - it just stops working. The need to constantly update and re-archive digital files is downright maddening. There is no long-term, futureproof, failsafe digital carrier. Ever. It would be another five years before all drives were properly transferred to a relatively stable LTO format. And even then, not without RADAR drive “G” requiring a $1761.60 “clean room” recovery to save seven shows that would have otherwise just disappeared.

It sounds comical now, but wearing my “businessman” hat I broke out the calculator to amortize the proposal…deciding with an almost embarrassingly “duh” quickness that $251 per show was a reasonable enough fee to reclaim those ephemeral moments. Because there’s spirit in all these recordings. The unforeseen nostalgia of memories yet to be uncovered. Instances where the power of an assemblage of strangers in a room together can divine a psychically shared experience. Time that mattered to someone. Moments could now last forever, 

One of those moments, cast off with barely any consideration, a seconds-long thought formulated into action in a more simple manner, appeared when Jack White signed the venue guest book after the show. 

“Thanks Civic, you made my day and I shan't forget it.”

And because of a wise $8000 investment made nearly a generation ago, you won’t either.

Thank god for RADAR.

"It's A Holiday Inn Massacre..."

A few years back I worked an extended period in the Third Man Detroit offices. Through normal conversation, the "Fishbowl" single by Green Wall was brought up.

From my memory, the two folks who brought it up could not stop shitting on it. Just HATED the record. It was prominent on their radar when it came out of the Detroit suburbs in 1990, and in some regard, just the antithesis of what was good and worthwhile and noteworthy.

From my perch...I just loved it.

I sat back and waited for nearly three years now...multiple copies available on Discogs, but ALL of them overseas. I finally bit the bullet and spent more on shipping than for the actual record to get it from the UK.

Listening now...I think I love it even more. Swank popped his head in the door with that quizzical "What is this?" look on his face. I asked if he was curious because it was bad...or if he thought it was good. He said it appealed to his teenage "Rats Revenge" sensibilities and I get where he's coming from.

I find localized precedents along the lines of the Tulsa City Truckers and (maybe) the Rascal Reporters. But there's a little bit more adolescent naivete present here, bordering on art rock avant garde, that ups the ante in an impressive way.

Side note: only upon receiving this copy in the mail did I find out that one of the band members is John Tenney. I sat at the same table as this guy at a wedding like 15 years ago. I was told that he had taken over "Coast to Coast" radio after Art Bell passed, but my googling just now shows me that he's maybe only guested on the program. Anyway, Tenney is considered an esteemed paranormal researcher. Seems about right. 

"Holiday Inn Massacre" is my go-to here. Uncompromising, uncomparable, straight ahead, nonsensical. I can see how the shock of 90's nonsensical stupidity might turn off those who fully lived through it. But for those who didn't get to their first punk show until after Cobain kicked the bucket, there's a whiff of the "so close, I just missed it" grass-is-greener feels of what the cool kids were doing just before you walked through the door. 

These are the ephemeral, difficult to put into words moments I find myself searching out more and more. It brings me joy.

Star/Time “Like An Owl Exploding”

Star/Time

Like An Owl Exploding 

scum stats: I know this is limited. 250 copies? 300? the specifics escape me

There is a joy, a pure joy at listening to one of your most favorite instrumentalists.

Patrick Pantano, the drummer of Star/Time, is that joy for me.

For over a solid decade he sat behind a kit directly to my left as we commanded the backbeat across the globe with the Dirtbombs. He is tight and crisp. Me is sloppy and over-relying on the visual apparel of long blonde hair flying and swirling about to distract from the fact that I often had no idea what in the hell I was doing.

While Pat has always had other musical projects, the slow creep of age and his physical relocation to the southern hemisphere makes this all the more bittersweet. I feel like I'm listening to my phantom limb, calling out to be reunited with the rest of its body.

Specifically, "Cockroach Bikini" (GREAT title) repurposes the drum pattern that Pat and I had nailed in a syncopated manner whenever the Dirtbombs played "Granny's Little Chicken." Known amongst us simply as "Granny's," that song features a wholesale lift the hook from Ghostface Killah's "Daytona 500" which is just a straight sample of the indomitably funky "Nautilus" bass line by Bob James.

The repurposed borrowing of a steal of a sample leaves this guy here smiling and wistful. Artful with intention.

Most of these beats I've heard Pat play a thousand times before, he's definitely the groove and playing in the style and intensity that he wants. And doing so with flash.

The entire album gives a strong improvised feel and with that comes the bold statement that it really gives the impression that the drums are the lead instrument here.

And that's a-ok by me.

Skronks of horn here and there, jitty little guitar stabs, some ancillary kitchen sink percussion...this is a groovy, tastefully experimental slice with flashes of weight and sinister underpinnings. Experimental without clearing the room. Funky without sounding white. Atmospheric without seeming like someone just stepped on an effects pedal to make that happen.

The essence of soul here is the confidence and motivation for forward movement. It relieves as much as it causes pauses and invites debate. I need more records like this to magically appear in the world.

I highly recommend picking up this record. I feel like it is worth your time.

like an owl exploding by STAR/TIME</a></iframe>

Wolf Eyes "Difficult Messages" And How Favors Turn Into Obligations In The Best Way

Wolf Eyes played the Blue Room in Nashville a few months back. Was a good time catching up with the band, show was solid, vibes for days. 

Shortly thereafter, John Olson reached out and asked me if I'd do a write up for their new record. I happily agreed. From there on out delay after sickness after whatever other roadblock just blew up every damn deadline I was given.

By the time I finally tackled it, I maybe spent a half-hour on the write-up. I didn't even know what I was saying. I told John, upon delivering the document, that I wasn't even sure what the intended use was for the write-up. 

Ultimately, I thought I blew it and was just experiencing the quintessential polite Midwestern good graces from the Wolfs.

So imagine my shock when a rep from Wolf Eyes' label reached out to me saying that he'd pitched the piece to Talkhouse ("Talkhouse is writing and conversations about music and film, from the people who make them").

I'd admired the website from afar for some time, primarily inspired by Lou Reed's review of Kanye West's Yeezus. This was not expected. Furthermore, as my draft was only 300 some words, they were hoping that I could expand on it to get to their desired 800 word count.

And they'd pay me $150 for the privilege.

I was more than happy to finesse the piece even more, draw a lot more of my personality and real life into it, and ultimately, hope that I shine the light on Wolf Eyes in a manner that makes other folks wanna take a listen. Dig it.

https://www.talkhouse.com/wolf-eyes-difficult-messages-is-a-counter-to-boredom/

Spin Art Pizza

Yesterday I was at a party that had an assortment of pizzas as food for guests. Each one in a delivery box, the pizzas were labeled as one would expect…cheese, pepperoni, mushroom, vegan, etc. 

The box that really caught my eye said “spin art.”

I was immediately compelled by the genius (yet simple) idea. 

Take some flattened pizza dough, affix it to a sort of turntable with the ability to rotate at what I’d peg to be ~78rpm speed. Then much in the manner of the mid-20th century carnival art style (later appropriated and upsold by Damien Hirst in the 1990’s) apply different cheeses or toppings or dressings or sauces that without much effort will radiate out in a visually pleasing manner.

Dare I say it felt deceptively revolutionary and I was kicking myself for not having landed on the idea on my own.

I opened the box to lay eyes on the masterpiece and was immediately hit with the realization “Oh shit. It’s just spinach and artichoke.”

So…patent pending.

The White Stripes Live at the Ritz, Raleigh, NC 9-26-99

Listen Here

Direct quote from the tour diary "The 'Ritz' is anything but, although it holds about 2400 people + gave us a $10 buyout. The backstage was spacious + clean + for some reason Jack was fascinated w/ the ceiling tiles...Stripes made $70+ in merch and the show was more tempo consistent but there were some more mistakes than last night." 

Apparently we lied to the front desk of the Comfort Inn on this evening and said that only two people would be staying in the room that night. It was actually four of us in there. The next day we went to five different places in town looking for an A/C adapter (I think for Jack's Whammy pedal) and in the process drove the rented green minivan 20 miles the wrong way. Jack's post-song banter regarding "Wasting My Time" and his dedication of "The Big Three Killed My Baby" to Preston Tucker are both innocently charming here.  The impromptu cover of Earl King's "Trick Bag" via the Gories version of the same song is full of swagger and would be one of only two times the Stripes were captured doing the song. I dig it.

This combination of songs, the manner in which they're played, the overall vibe of the whole thing...it is all entirely unique to the three shows that the White Stripes played opening for Pavement in September 1999. The Stripes never really held this vibe previously and would never land on it again. I guess it's a matter of opinion whether or not that's a good thing or a bad thing.  The fact it was their first-ever time playing three shows in three days feels significant and as the first bout of anything that could even in the loosest sense of the term be called a "tour" should make us all glad that there would be more of such endeavors. I guess there's probably an alternate reality where these gigs are pure disasters and it scares off Jack and Meg from putting themselves out there, maybe they don't hop in the van a year later when Sleater-Kinney asks 'em to open. The entirety of the White Stripes career is a collection of fortunate opportunities leading to even more fortunate and opportune possibilities. In the end, optimism and positivity tends to win out.

I was seventeen years old at the time of this show. Looking back over twenty years later my inclusion in the reindeer games seems and feels kind of unnecessary, yet I am insanely grateful I was there. Most importantly, I convinced the sound guy to record the show on a cassette and now we can all enjoy and dissect what went down in that half-empty room so many moons ago.