Cannes You Dig It?

Approximately two weeks ago I got a phone call from Mick asking me what I had planned for May 22nd. Before I could even muster a response, he said "Your answer is nothing". He proceeded to tell me that some film set to be the hit at the Cannes Film Festival used a Dirtbombs song in it and that we were asked/invited to play the premier party, dependant on hotel room availability. A few days later I'm reciting my memorized passport number to Mick over the phone. And a few days later I find out that our flights alone cost $14,000. Our guarantee for the show was initially $7500 but after those costs it got knocked down to $5000.

Couldn't help but think the Dirtbombs were just flown over as some massive ego-stroke for an unexpected character. My initial feeling was that the whole thing is a modern performance art rendition of Great Expectations. Whoever I actually think the person who brought the band over actually has nothing to do with the plan and secretly Robert DeNiro's character has been supporting us the entire time (I know only the movie version of this story…apparently there's a book as well). Ko thought the whole charade would end in a Punk'd manner while Mick personally kept thinking he saw Alan Funt somewhere. Ain't it grand to be immediately suspicious about the wonderful fortune to befall us?

The flights were fine and painless and I slept well on both of them (Detroit to Paris and Paris to Nice). On the Nice flight I sat next to a dude who's tourette's-like pig snorts were both annoying and sad. I said nothing.

The bus waiting for us at the Nice airport was comical in its inappropriateness. This was a 30+ passenger bus complete with cargo holds underneath, a collapsing door that opened with a lever, rainbow striped upholstery, two television monitors and a front window the size of proper Amish quilt. All for the express purpose of getting the five Dirtbombs (Troy, Ko, Pat, Mick and myself) from the Nice airport to our hotel just outside of Cannes.

The buildings and scenery on the French Riviera are peculiar. It's all very reminiscent of certain LA neighborhoods like Eagle Rock. The houses perched upon rocky precipices, surrounded by exotic needle-y flora, so picturesque that it's hard to fathom that people (hell, REGULAR people) live in these abodes, driving their funny cars like Peugeots and Renaults in between the frequent trips to the beach and emergency baguette runs.

We stopped briefly at the venue site (the Cannes outdoor fish market stall) where we sized up the stage, lights and overall set-up that was soon to be torn down for so the market could take place the next morning, only to be re-set for us to play later that night. There were huge posters? Tapestries? Wall-coverings? All over the place with the names of the featured actors of Le Scaphandre et le Papillon emblazoned on them, as well as over-sized reformatted nautical maps with a splatch of red paint and the film's title curving downward like a flaccid penis when viewed from the side.

To the Pierre et Vacances. The rooms were much like those we stay at in Australia, ie meant for an extended stay with lots of comfort space. A foyer, a living/dining room with a small connected kitchenette, two separate balconies with self-locking sliding doors, one bedroom with two twin beds (Pat's) another with a queen size bed and balcony access (mine) as well as a shower/sink room and a toilet sink closet. There was a small TV awkwardly positioned flush against a wall next to a sofa sectional, leaving no logical viewing furniture. The television was not turned on once during our entire stay. And neither was I.

Staying at a place like this makes me want to go get groceries, to spread my crap all over the place and just settle in. But the brevity of our trip severely limited how familiar I could get with the place. In the same way, I don't get my usual day or two to re-familiarize myself with the language I was barely taught my middle two years of high school and one pitiful semester in college. With a warming period I can actually get by alright…in no way as fluent as Mick or Ko, but light years beyond Troy's quirk of trying to get people to understand him better by speaking English with a French accent. So on first try he will say "Do you have a cigarette?" and get absolutely no response, he will retry with "Zoo yoo ave a zigarette?" usually with some added hand-motions. This amuses the rest of the band to no end.

I crashed asleep on the queen size bed listening to Kelley Stoltz on the laptop. Pat woke me up later and we go exploring with Ko. Not too far, as the heart of Cannes is a good five miles away from our spot in Mandelieu and we were more interested in eating.

So back to the hotel restaurant. Pat starts off with a 23 Euro bottle of red wine, served chilled, just the way he doesn't like it. But he also explains he's never had bad wine in France and tonight would be no exception. I had the pizza with jambon et champignons while Ko got it margherita-style and straggling Mick (as rounded up by Ko) got the rabbit with mustard.

After lots of talking Troy shows up and we all decide to head into town together. Back to the room to change, I throw on my blue oxford shirt from grade school, my clean brown leather zipper boots and my grandfather's hand-me-down black polyester suit coat coupled with a pair of vintage Levi's 517's and a just-bought-yesterday-from-Kmart pair of grey toe/heel white Hanes sweatsocks.

And the rest of the band was all dolled up too. Ko in a fancy skirt, Troy in a suit and tie (first time I've ever seen that) Pat in suitcoat (I see that in my sleep) and Mick in some weird black button-down collared shirt with some shit embroidered down the back complete with art-damaged silk-screened t-shirt underneath and stylin' black leather shoes. I cannot recall a previous time in which we were all dressed up. So we hopped in a cab and made towards the scene.

The red carpet was for BBQ the new Gus Van Zant film about a rouge, hat-wearing Canadian garage rocker. We saw Mickey Rourke walk in haggard as hell, followed by the cast of the movie of which I knew no one (although Van Zant did look familiar, but not in a WickedCool inventor of satellite radio way). Played a somber-as-fuck Elliott Smith song over the PA while the cast was making their entrance and I could not fathom as to why. Even after discovering said song is featured in the movie, it is certainly not your typical "thump-thump-thump" red carpet techno crap.

The conversations b/n band members were particularly priceless at this juncture: (me) "I think that's Jamie Lee Curtis….nope," (Mick) "No, it's Gwenyth Paltrow" (Ko) "It's what's-her-name? From the 'Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' movie."

Ko got stopped on the street by some lady who began taking her photo and then started taking group portraits. It was interesting how quick band members (I think Ko and Troy) offered up the info about our (come on admit it, minimal at best) involvement in the Schnabel film. I felt awkward when she was taking the photos and thought Mick did too when he started to complain…only to realize he was complaining that someone was between him and the camera.

We just walked aimlessly as a band. It was nice. I stopped at an ATM, Pat got cigarettes, Ko, Mick and I bottles of water…just absorbing the atmosphere. Uphill on a windy, narrow street flush with restaurants on both sides of the avenue, all hustle and bustle and self-importance and flickering French accents.

We finally settled at a prime restaurant on a busy corner. Ko and I got fanciful ice cream dishes while Troy and Mick both had drinks that came with glo-sticks plopped within. Pat had some apertif? I truly cherish the times that it is the band and only the band spending time with each other. While I am certain to tire of each one's foibles more than I can keep count, it's as if once we're all together a perfect balance is struck. Remove one of us from the equation or add an outsider and it becomes a mess.

So after respite there we canoodled down the street, ran into some Americans Troy met earlier (apparently they even knew who the Dirtbombs were) and slowly, tiredly decided to head back to the hotel. We walked up the street, searching for something just out of reach (a good time, another bar, hope) along all the docked yachts. We resigned ourselves to hailing a cab and with no such luck end up at the cab stand. Mick, Ko and Pat took a cab and Troy and I were in another.

Cab ride cost 26 euro and I gave Troy 15 for it. I don't think he tipped the driver. Withdrew 100 Euro at the bank and by the end of the night was left with 50…fuck. Gave Pat 20 for covering me at dinner (he said he owes me 5) and 15 to cover me and some of Ko's ice cream (for she bought me the water). Shit. I gotta be more frugal. (Pat would give me 10 Euro early the next morning)

So back at the hotel I read for a bit and then went to the lobby to check email, composed a list of White Stripes rarities for their NME cover story and listened as some lady berated the man at the front desk for not having her room key.

Realized that the past four days I'd slept in four different time zones…Nashville, Detroit, somewhere over the Atlantic and now Cannes. Pretty impressive and probably the reason I didn't doze off that night until light had already begun to break.


Early morning pointless wake-up from housekeeping. Damn I hate that. Didn't see a sign to hang on the door and so I'm forced to deal with TWO French women in my room at the crack of whatever. As if the awakening wasn't enough, they actually began to start to talk to me and try to engage in a conversation. Was this their first fucking day? Are all other idiot guests who forget to put the sign on their door handle just happy as shit to see you? Apparently a "no" does not suffice at this rest establishment and instead (I shit you not) I had to sign my name on a piece of paper next to my room number (320) to, I'm assuming, provide written proof that I in fact did not want my room tidied. At this point, I really wish I had that piece of paper just to see how fucked my signature actually looks when I write it immediately after being woken up by some ignorant schlubs.

I didn't get out of bed until 4pm. And I awoke feeling sick…pale green phlegm spit into the sink and a runny nose I blew all over the shower. Troy gave me a packet of Airborne that I drank on our Detroit/Paris flight but as I already had a little sniffle going on I think it was too little too late. The sickness was nothing debilitating, just a minor annoyance that would be unnoticeable by the end of the day. Pat went out on the town and as I combed my hair in the water closet (the mirror in the shower room was rightfully fogged) I heard a knock at the door and expecting Pat, said "What's up cracker?" to which a nervous French dude looked at me confused. I said "No" and he walked away.

Picked up in hotel lobby around 5:30 and straight to the venue. It really was just a shelter like something at Detroit's Eastern Market. This day everyone was working frenzied, putting together tables fresh out of their Ikea boxes and other general activities of preparedness and such.

The drumsets provided came with snare drums. Mine was a metal Gretsch and I decided to use it over my personal wooden Gretsch. I'm really not a gear nerd…just give me something that can withstand the force with which I play and I'll be happy. Tones…fuck tones.

So soundcheck was painless…Pat and I got monitors on separate channels and everything sounded just right by the time we were done. Our lounge behind the stage (near the food prep area) was just a series of over-sized changing screens situated in a circle. Inside were some couches and tables. After brief relaxing, we headed down the street to eat.

First course was a lentil salad. Not bad, but I stayed away from the onions and tomatoes on it. Second was some pork (chop?) dish with polenta. Tasty. Thirds was like a caramel brulee or something. Mediocre. Hearty baguette for munching in-between. Pat tried to tell the waitress he was not hungry, but they didn't seem to understand. He really doesn't like to eat before a show as it messes him up somehow or another. I helped out with part of his pork because he was feeling guilty, but he actually ordered a cheese plate for dessert.


Walked around for a bit, realized nothing was open and that Cannes is a pretty fucked touriste town lacking a culture outside of restaurants. Back to our hut in the back and I zonked out.

Woke up and walked out to watch the red carpet for a hot minute. Sharon Stone was the only face I recognized and she was appropriately bombarded with press attention. Back in our hut, Pat brought Julian Schnable to chat.

What a laid back and cool guy. I was honestly impressed. I remember Jack White saying about Jim Jarmusch that he just "seemed like a guy who was in a band" and while that comment is so obtusely vague, I could immediately understand and comprehend how he meant it. Anyway, Schnabel (to me) just seemed like he was a guy in a band. He was pissed we didn't get to go to the screening. He said he'd arrange one for us in Detroit. He explained in detail how "Chains of Love" is used in the film. He said his initial idea for the song at that moment in the film was "the Stones' song that's the address…shit, the only instrumental song on '12x5'" to which I quickly piped up "2120 South Michigan Avenue" without geeking out and telling him that the German pressing has a longer version of the song.

He explained how some friend of his left "Ultraglide" lying around and that he put it in his CD player with no idea of what to expect. He hadn't heard any of our other records. He said it reminded him of Arthur Lee, the fuzz of Jimi Hendrix, and the voice of (with Mick's help) JJ Barnes.

Julian mentioned that he was friends with Lenny Kravitz and suggested (or maybe said that Lenny suggested?) we do a cover of "Chains of Love" with Lenny. We were all mostly polite in an awkward way before Pat brought up David Cross' proposed video treatment for "The Sharpest Claws" in which Mick apes a Kravitz video where shit like not having milk for cereal and other random "bad luck" crap happens, his idea that Lenny is guilty of ripping Mick off or some such shit. Julian replied, curtly, "Well, I don't know anything about that" and I think we all felt a little awkward

He said we were the first choice for performers after Mick asked if we were only there because Tom Waits said no. Julian was honestly sincerely cordial. He introduced his gorgeous wife. He repeated all of our names as if he was explicitly trying to remember them. He introduced his son, Vito, and some other guy who owns a castle in Germany. Mick also asked if he'd heard anything other than "Chains of Love" that we'd done, expecting that Julian would be surprised watching us perform live, not expecting such terrible, awful noises and racket to come from the studious and prestigious musos behind the operatic "Chains of Love". (sarcasm) It's times like these when Mick over-estimates his shock factor that really get to me. You write catchy songs dude, this isn't your noise project. If they heard "Chains" then they know what they're getting into.

More hurry up and wait. When I finally ventured out to the party room I thought I saw Sofia Coppola. As I got closer, I thought it was Kim Gordon. Later in the night I figured she was probably just a nobody. I did feel a little uncomfortable in my blue jeans and threadbare Black Cat fireworks t-shirt. Underdressed is always worse than overdressed. No one stared, pointed or anything like that. In fact, the complete opposite. When in the party room I felt like I was totally ignored and invisible. Which is really fine in the end.

The scene itself was tres impressive. One of the food serving station had a full-on swordfish head positioned on the table to appear as if the beast was piercing through and the rest of its body was hidden underneath. Add to that a huge faux tree branch suspended above the main bar. Immaculately lit with greens and purples, the day before the thing was open on the bottom and surrounded by wire mesh on the sides. The night of the show the branch was totally enclosed and filled with live butterflies. Now I know next to nothing about the production aspect of private parties, but I can imagine that having a live butterfly wrangler on the payroll is fairly expensive. And these weren't just your run-of-the-mill orange and black monarch butterflies weasling around…no, these things were an exotic blue and BIGGER than any other living butterfly I'd ever seen.

Schnabes (as I assume he would be fine with me calling him) got onstage to introduce us, said something about Gerard Depardieu, and we were off into "Chains". Like the bat mitzvah and wedding reception we played in '05 and '06 (respectively) it seemed the beginning of the Dirtbombs' set was the impetus for most people to leave the party or at least, you know, go for a walk.

I'm fine with such designations at this point, my body artificially manufacturing whatever chemical an active audience exudes and instead pretending that we're playing the greatest show ever. And our performance was not bad…minus Troy's bass head shorting out and being fixed immiediatly (I believe in "Ode to a Blackman") and him missing his entrance on the final chorus to "Kung Fu" and a moment or two where I felt out of sync with Pat and my early start on "Ode" (by a hair really) we were perfect.

One woman stood in front of the stage and danced as she watched us. Applause between songs was light but audible. The span of the entire thing was 40 minutes at most. "I Heard Her Call My Name" as a closer was fun, and only once we started playing it did I remember hearing that Lou Reed is the godfather of one of Schnabes' daughters.

Our set, in order, was:
Chains of Love
Start the Party
Get It While You Can
Underdog
Ode to a Black Man
Stop
Motor City Baby
Cedar Point '76
Kung Fu
My Love For You
The Sharpest Claws
I Heard Her Call My Name

I was really tempted/planning on grabbing one of my tom mics during "Kung Fu" and whispering "do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do" or, if I felt ballsy "I've been working on a piece that speaks of sex and desperation…" Just vocalizing the "do-do…" backstage to Pat got me a laugh. But my conscience thought that if anyone were actually paying attention (a pretty big if) and actually caught the reference (a slightly more massive if) that it could actually get misconstrued. So I balked and instead just blew into the microphones before doing my best (pale) impression of a free jazz drummer.

Most amazing was the fact that Mick played the entire set without breaking a string. With him only bringing one guitar for the gig (and bringing it in a metal guitar case, which was then placed inside a cardboard box and then sent as checked luggage) we were pretty much anticipating sheer disaster. So that was a nice thing that actually went our way.

Back in our hut immediately after the performance Schnabes showed up in his pajamas (bad ass) with a tray of desserts for us. Class act. We sat and talked some more. I've nothing but good things to say about that man. He wanted the rest of our music and we promised to send it to him.

And from there I didn't do much else. Basically stayed in the back room while everyone else was cavorting in the crowd while DJ WOMC played the most obvious dance hits of the 70's that (of course) got everyone up and dancing.

A trip or two out into the party room proved to be boring and uneventful. I felt guilty being at such a soiree and not being totally wowed. Like I wish I could've replaced myself with someone who would've actually taken full advantage of the night and enjoyed themselves to no end. Me? I was content with our performance, glad to meet Schnabes and nothing more. Alright…I ate too many sugar-loaded desserts. Oh well. Hate to be blasé about it all, but that's how it felt.

Troy said Kate Hudson gave him a kiss and told him we were fantastic. I don't believe him for a second, especially since the guy we saw on the street he said was Sam Shepard looked absolutely nothing like any picture of the guy I could dig up. Like the fella who played Wild Bill Hickok on Deadwood, yes, but I'm still not sure what that guy's name is…maybe one of the Carradines?

After what felt like an appropriate amount of time at the shindig (yet while the party was still going) we climbed into the van (a much more feasible 11 passenger minivan with the last bench removed to make room for our gear) and made back to Pierre et Vacances.

I spent a chunk of time in the lobby on the Internet. Then to bed.

Woke up and decided not to shower. Packed all my shit and at 8:30am we climbed back into the comically oversized bus and made way to the Nice airport. As our bus driver dropped us off some band members exchanged hugs and goodbyes. Was I cold and removed in feeling that I didn't really have to say goodbye to her? Especially since I don't think I spoke word one to her during the two times she drove us? Or was I just somewhat emotionally vacant, forgetting that it's always nice to have someone to say goodbye to at the airport?

We checked in fine. Lines for the metal detectors were a tad long, but we weren't fazed. As I finally got to the X-ray conveyor belt and metal detector I was unceremoniously told that I was in the wrong line and that I must go to "five". Let me explain the situation this way…there were five different stations for these checks. With two lines starting on a stairway, it was terribly easy to just get into one of these lines without seeing the one 8x11 sign posted so that only people already in the correct "JFK/ATL" line could read it.

So I put my belt back on, stashed my laptop back into my briefcase, put my shoes back on (probably) reclaimed my passport and boarding pass and made my way back through the line over to what I luckily guessed was "five", stuck behind a flight crew in which every member impressively managed to set off the metal detector and warrant a wand wave-down.

I went through the laptop/shoe/belt rigamarole again and passed through the metal detector with the greatest of ease only to get a very non-sensual patdown. Dude at the end of the belt asked if he could check my bag and I say sure. He unzipped my suitcase and went straight for my kick pedal. "Oh no…zis eez naht good"

Now I'll be the first one to admit to the dangerous powers of a kick pedal…but only when under John Bonham or Patrick Keeler's foot and unleashing a wicked stuttered beat or better yet, "Scentless Apprentice". Otherwise, it's just a big hunk of metal no different or more dangereuse than this heavy PowerBook with which I write to you.

So I say "Fuck" and Frenchie Le Peu looks at me, offended, and says "Fahk me?" To which I have to clarify, "No…not fuck you" which has quickly become my new favorite phrase.

My initial fear that I would just have to leave the kick pedal for them frogs to take home and try to invent ways to kill people with was assuaged when I was told I could just check my suitcase. Luckily I had only previously checked one bag and was able to check another without any money having to change hands. So backwards through the security line for a second time all the way to the check in desk, with mere minutes to spare before they stopped check-in. Luckily there's no huge line of people at the desk, but it appeared that the baggage conveyor belt had ceased to operate, leaving a backlog of bags that still needed to be moved somehow or another.

A kind gentleman behind one of the counters directed me to an empty stall where he weighed my bag, tagged it, gave me my luggage claim check and sent me on my merry way. Somewhere in the middle of all that I realized I'd left my briefcase where the dude was going through my suitcase. I was lucky and prescient in figuring it was no big deal.

Back through the security line (third time's a charm) and at this point I just didn't give a fuck. Walked to the front of the line, took the metal part off my belt, through the teleporter-looking device that never takes me anywhere all while the X-ray jockey is trying to make me wait or some other bullshit. I reclaim my briefcase unharmed and go directly to passport control (a line that was long and sinuous earlier) with no wait and reconvene with Mick and tell him my entire ordeal as we still had 5-10 minutes before boarding.

I guess the entire thing was just a way to pass the time.

The White Stripes Live in Nashville...

Dan Sartain opened and was as vicious as ever. I've seen him 4 times now and he's never had the same band with him twice. I like that. Shows he's got versatility, adaptability, style and grace. And baiting the Tennessee crowd by rah-rahing Alabama's Crimson Tide was sly and crooked all at the same time. I love this man and you should to.

The White Stripes were everything they could've been. With Jack wisely holding back with what he was offering of new songs (a breakdown at the end of "Icky Thump", the last verse of "Effect and Cause" sung away from the mic, only doing half of "I'm Slowly Turning Into You" and Meg's tambourine-only accompaniment to "Martyr For My Love For You") it was all a delightful tease and treat for everyone in attendance. If anyone tries to form an opinion of these songs from a bootleg live recording they will be confused and rightfully so.

And it felt like old times...me a Dirtbomb, some Greenhornes, a Soledad, two Whirlwind Heats, a Brendan Benson...a collection of friends who'd seen 90% of the Stripes shows in the past few years. It'd been forever since I'd seen Jack and Meg in a place this size (a similar late notice show was in the works for the Magic Stick back in '03, but someone had to go and break their finger) and it felt right. I really hope it's not the last of them in intimate venues.

On the nerdy tip, they opened with Hank Williams' "Tennessee Border", a song they'd never done before. "Do" unleashed anger that I'd never detected from that song. And Meg's got a badass circular drum rug done up like a peppermint. Also, they failed to play any songs off of Get Behind Me Satan. I thought at least there would be some "Blue Orchid" or "The Denial Twist" but alas no. Was it a conscious decision on the band's behalf? You decide.

But Meg was the biggest surprise...usually when they're jamming on some spontaneous riff she can be found to take most of her cues from Jack. But at this show Meg was running with it...throwing in accents and tempo changes in these off-the-cuff jams that occasionally turn into something.

This development will be huge. Once they've been on the road for a bit and fully regained their sea legs, the White Stripes live show will easily be at its most ferocious ever.

And what's not to love about a band that sells limited edition (200some made) t-shirts specific to the date/show for $5 a pop? Beating the bootleggers (do people even bootleg t-shirts anymore?), hooking up the fans and a show specific artifact makes everyone happy.

The Setlist:
Tennessee Border (Hank Williams)
When I Hear My Name
Icky Thump
Black Math
Do
Effect and Cause
Jolene (Dolly Parton)
Death Letter (Son House) - Motherless Children (Son House)
Hotel Yorba
Martyr for My Love for You
Canon - John the Revelator (Son House)
Ball and Biscuit
I'm Slowly Turning Into You
We Are Going to Be Friends
Apple Blossom
Wasting My Time

(Encore)
Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground
Rated X (Loretta Lynn)
Seven Nation Army

Arctic Monkeys Have That Special Summat...

Be Your Own Pet sounded alright from the parking lot.

Overheard on a security guard's walkie-talkie "Does anyone have a 20 on Amir?"

Arctic Monkeys were solid. Some bands can just show up and play their songs and not have to flash and dazzle to accomplish the job. This is one of those bands. Opening with the pre-recorded silky string intro of "If You Found This It's Probably Too Late" was classy and perfect and the rest of the show was unrelenting.

More than anything, each song they specifically did NOT play made me like said song even more. So since the show I've been all about "Riot Van" and everything off of Who the Fuck Are Arctic Monkeys? While the wallop contained within their heavy rocking songs is clear, it's the mellow jams that seem to get unfairly ignored. "Despair in the Departure Lounge" completely nails the feeling of leaving a loved one behind (whether for a tour or whatever) and is one of (at most) a handful of songs from the past year that I know all the lyrics too. I feel a deep personal connection to that song and there's nothing more you can ask for as a music fan of a band.

And I guess they haven't been playing anything off of Who the Fuck... live at all this year. Frontman Alex Turner said something along the lines of not really agreeing/feeling the lyrics of those songs anymore and it leads me to believe that EP will in the future be regarded as some wonderful forgotten transition period of the band...like a Kinks' Village Green, Weezer Pinkerton or the Velvets' White Light/White Heat. But you're getting the scoop now...Who the Fuck Are Arctic Monkeys? is unheralded genius and it'll be years before most people admit so.

I also became aware of the fact of how much the Monkeys remind me of the Coral. Granted, their styles could not be any more diametrically opposed. But I think it's more the band configuration, approach, precision and execution that links these two acts as brothers from different mothers (apposed to sisters from different misters). After listening to some live Coral tracks, it was so obvious that I felt dumb for having just realized these similarities. Do an A/B comparison and I think you'll see it too.

The day after the show I listened to "I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor" six non-consecutive times in my car. The dearth of affected guitars on Whatever You Say I Am, That's What I'm Not now feels like a quaint dollop of childish inexperience whereas the set-up on Favourite Worst Nightmare is just a pure attack with light-years more strength. Both good and interesting in their own separate ways.

Arctic Monkeys keep me excited and that alone makes me more excited. Bravo.

Interview with Jello Biafra...

So I helped some friends put together a book about rock band t-shirts that should be out in a month or two. Here's the transcription of one of the interviews I did. What started simply as a five question interview became a 60 minute monologue. I guess Jello's spoken word appearances can go up to four hours? That's impressive and (after conducting this interview) entirely believable.
Enjoy.

Jello Biafra, Dead Kennedys, 8-23-06

What was your first rock band t-shirt?

I can’t really remember because I went to middle and high school in the early to mid-seventies and rock t-shirts hadn’t really come in yet. Sure they existed but it wasn’t something you saw on high school kids. People didn’t want to put their favorite band as being that big a part of their identity on their t-shirt. Of course there were “Keep On Truckin’” t-shirts, the occasional Coca Cola logo parodied into “Cocaine”. So I guess maybe the first one was one I fished off the floor of the Marquee in England when I went over there on my fear and loathing hippie backpack trip from hell in the summer of ‘77 and of course I sought out punk rock shows and wound up seeing the Saints who’s first album had come out. And the opening band was Wire which must’ve been one of their first gigs…Colin Newman was still putting on Johnny Rotten faces and trying to be all punk and everything. I guess it would’ve been at the end of the gig, somebody threw out a bunch of shrink-wrapped t-shirts for the Saints that all said in a kind of dripping blood red paintbrush on a white shirt “It’s better to be a Saint than a sap” I think that might’ve been my first band t-shirt so I wore it with great pride. I actually brought home two of them and I still haven’t opened the second one. All I have to do is find it.

They also had a bunch of empty jackets from the I’m Stranded album so I pulled one off the floor and had them autograph that for me. Chris Bailey, the singer, and I sat on the edge of the stage and talked about the Blues Magoos. This is the summer of ‘77, the Kennedys didn’t start ‘til a year later. I didn’t even cut all my hair off and put it in a plastic bag and nail to my dorm room door until later that Fall. But I’ve always been really proud of the autographed Saints album cover because the cover was just destroyed by people pogo dancing and spilling beers…it’s the most mangled record cover you’ll ever see. It was what was available. Plus they gave me a free t-shirt and a couple of buttons.

Do you have a favorite rock t-shirt?

It’s hard to say because being somebody who sees a lot of bands and gets a lot of stuff in the mail I’m always inundated with band t-shirts. I try to talk bands out of giving me shirts. I’d much rather listen to their music. So I usually only take one if the artwork on it is really good. Still, I’m not sure I have a lasting favorite because a lot of those would have worn out over the years. I did find a whole barrel of cheap cut-out Donny and Marie t-shirts years ago in a warehouse chain store in Marin County. And I always thought it was really funny that the singer of the very first punk band in Colorado, the Ravers, who I roadied for (as the language was back in the day)before I moved to San Francisco, as a gag he wore a Donny and Marie t-shirt on stage and I always thought that was funny and what do I find but a big pile of Donny and Marie t-shirts. So I wore them night after night on the last Dead Kennedys tour in the Fall of ’85, I had so many of them I actually started to take them off and throwing them in the crowd every night and forgot to save a single one. So I’ve missed my Donny and Marie shirts ever since although they were an ugly color of beige and I’ve gotten a little fatter since.

The Ravers eventually moved to NY and changed their name to the Nails and had that old hit “88 Lines About 44 Women.”

Somebody brought me an amazing looking bible school t-shirt back stage in San Jose but somebody stole it the same night so I never got to wear it.

Maybe one of the first rock band shirts was when I was working for the Ravers, they made a few shirts of their own and I got one. It was my only rock t-shirt, this was before the Saints. I felt cool as shit. Everybody always giving me shit in high school, I never thought my family believed in me, but now I was a fucking roadie, man! I was on top of the world and I had the t-shirt to prove it.

Regarding the Ravers’ t-shirt design:

It’s kind of a guitar that turns into a flower at one end. Keep in mind, anything that was trying to bring back rock and roll was considered punk at the time. ‘Cause I listen back to primitive live recordings of the Ravers now, you know, they clearly had greater leanings to garage and rock and roll than they did to the Ramones. But it was such a horrible country rock and jazz fusion sound just admitting you liked that band would scare the hell out of just about anyone. That was a lot of fun.

Are there any rock band t-shirts that you dislike?

I haven’t really thought of one except…maybe some band I really can’t stand, it immediately brands the wearer as an idiot. But that goes triple for somebody sporting a shirt that’s pro-Republican or openly racist or whatever. I gave Jeff Clayton (Antiseen) a pass on his “I Have a Dream” t-shirt with a Confederate flag on the front because he’s Jeff and we’re friends. If it was a stranger wearing something like that I would have to wonder. You know, like a “Speak English or die” shirt.

Of course, somebody with a really obnoxious, in your face Jesus shirt would rub me the wrong way too. You know it’s one thing to have spiritual values and believe in a God that loves people, but a lot of those shirts are worn by bigoted Christian supremacists.

What do you think is the most iconic rock band t-shirt?

Well, the Dead Kennedy’s “DK” logo did a pretty good job of that. I’d been playing around with it for awhile, drawing out chicken scratches, I wanted to make sure it was something simple and easy to spray-paint so people would graffiti it all over the place. and then I showed it to Winston Smith, he played around with it, came back with a bunch of designs, that had the circle and slightly 3-D looking letters and he had ones with different patterns behind it. I liked the one with bricks, but ultimately I thought simple red behind it was the boldest and the best.

The Magma logo is hard to get away from. I’ve hardly ever see it on a shirt, but I thought it was so cool I had one custom made. Apparently they were selling pendants the one time they played over here the one time they played over here, but I was out of town and didn’t get to see them play. The progheads I still speak to who saw that show tell me it was the best live show they’d ever seen in their lives.

Winston Smith was a rabble-rousing guerilla artist who’s mainly known for his collages now. He could also draw really well. A woman I knew gave him my address and said we should meet. So I get this postcard in the mail with a still from the Zapruder film where Kennedy’s brain is exploding. “If you want more, write me back, Winston Smith” So I wrote him back and then he sent me this big package of collages, a self-portrait which is him with a gas-mask on standing in the middle of a military graveyard. He sent me fake credit cards with names like “Vice” and “Masterscam”. Some kind of scary ass fake deteregent he enclosed, Radioactive Detergent and some other things. Then I wrote him back again and asked for a phone number and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

He even does the cover to my new spoken word album coming out in the fall, called “In the Grip of Official Treason”

Regarding the Dead Kennedy’s logo:

It was turning up behind the Iron Curtain in some of the most repressed former Communist countries. People have reported seeing both that logo and bootleg tapes of my music and spoken word albums on the West Bank. And I think it was Live Skull who sent me a postcard from a little turd town in Minnesota and the post card was of their city park that had a great big tank in the middle of it. That was what you were supposed to see of this city, this big tank, and somebody had painted, it look like it was brush-painted, a DK logo on the side of the tank and it was in all the post cards.

The ex-members of the band sued me, in large part because I didn’t want to put “Holiday in Cambodia” in a Levi’s ad. Lied like fuck in court, claim they wrote all the songs, Ray now claims he designed the DK logo too and were able to con a jury into giving them the rights to everything so now I have no say in how Dead Kennedy’s is basically pimped and I’m not even allowed to see all the books. They do fake reunion shows with the logo in the ad and a lot of times my pictures in the ads too.

They were even talking about making DK logo money clips for awhile. At least I was able to shame them out of that one.

At this point, every time I get a fax form East Bay Ray with the DK logo in the top along with the name of his rogue ex-band member partnership that’s been turned into a money-grubbing corporation that the Dead Kennedy’s is a front for called DK Music, whenever I see the DK logo in collection with DK Music is looks like a swastika. Because about all he ever sends me are lies and threats.

Now the same people who do the DK t-shirts and merchandise also do the Rolling Stones, so it’s all totally gone corporate.

Do you think the DK logo has become like the Black Flag bars logo or the Misfits crimson ghost where the image or icon has become more popular than the music?

I don’t think the DK logo has gone that far. I think I can say for a fact, from what little accounting I’m allowed to see, the music outsells the logo merchandise 10-to-1, if not 50-to-1. It depresses me after doing a 4 hour spoken word show that’s packed with suppressed information I want people to know that people always say “Gosh, that was great, I learned so much tonight, but instead of buying your CD I’m gonna buy a trinket! I want a shirt. I want a hat.”

It goes the same for music, you kinda have to have ‘em now. I resisted making t-shirts at all for years, ‘cause I thought it was just scamming on the whole thing and kinda stupid. But then Winston complained to me that the DK logo was being bootlegged right, left and center and he should be getting a cut of those because he helped design the damn thing and he had a point. After that we startred making them a got rid of a goodly amount of the bootleggers, but not all of them. I can tell a bootleg from a mile away.

Other iconic ones, Black Flag, Misfits, Motorhead, the Rolling Stones…some of those icons are almost like Smiley Faces now. Some of their impact has lessened, some not.

(Jell-o asks me…)

How do you feel about the Soledad Brothers using the Black Panther logo? They originally started with a White Panther logo. They definitely had the full support of John Sinclair and I think they actually talked to Angela Davis, and maybe Huey Newton or Bobby Seale, one of them has a widow and I think someone’s widow saw it gave them the thumbs-up.

(Jello speaks now)

In a way that surprises me. When I saw that, white guys trying to play a black musical form to an audience of all white people, I was kind of offended. If the old ex-Panthers are ok with it I guess I’ll shut up. It weirded me out and I know a lot of other people have never been able to get past that and dig the band as well.

Any interesting/weird stories or anecdotes with you and t-shirts?

People have been arrested on three continents for wearing Dead Kennedy’s t-shirts. I think in Britain and Australia it was a “Too Drunk to Fuck” t-shirt and here it was a “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” t-shirt, of course because of the swastika, rather than the word “fuck” or the bars through the swastika itself.

Imagine walking around with a Millions of Dead Cops t-shirt. I got one from the band early on and I wore it to jury duty, thinking they’re gonna kick me out of this in no time and never call me back again. But it didn’t work! The jury system in the city and county of San Francisco is so horrible that they kick you off one jury and then call you back again and again and again even though it was obvious you were never going to serve. I not only wore it every single day, but I refused to wash it. After awhile I was hoping I’d get thrown out because I smelled bad, but no luck there.

Singles Column Volume Ten...

The Expatriates "Bedroom Games" Beehive
A-side recalls the twangy guitar runs found on the Sights self-titled album tracks "Everything" and "Backseat" and I'm not necessarily against this. The drum beat is almost identical to that of the verses of "Be(e?) Like Normal" from the Sights' Got What We Want album. Funny that the only guy in the Expatriates who wasn't in the Sights is the one who wrote "Bedroom Games". Osmosis? More like bros-mosis.

"The New Dylan" is a Baranek-penned tune that has potential, but ultimately the choruses run all over the place with unbalanced tempo changes and strained vocals. You feel a missed opportunity (or teasing perhaps) when Eddie throws the line "it ain't absolute like heroes and villains" and doesn't use it to rhyme with Dylan. Come on! It was sitting right there in front of you!

Also, it's Doug Coombe (not Coombes) for photo credit. Still waiting for the Beehive to deliver some sting.

Lee Marvin Computer Arm (no idea of the song titles) self-released
This band is relentless. Full-throttle all the time with no apologies. The thick cluster of guitar/bass/guitar is overpowering in the most delightful of ways. A-side label says "We C n fuck forever" while b-side says " ut you will never get my soul" and while a Gun Club reference from these guys is unexpected, I think it's pretty damn clever to signify the A and B designations by specifically NOT printing those letters.

When I think of a rock band in the old 1960's gang-mentality "us against the world" terms Lee Marvin Computer Arm totally harkens back to that feel. And I don't know why…maybe it's the shared blood running through their veins, maybe it's because they don't play ballads, maybe it's the freak on the trumpet blowing like crazy but whatever it is, they seem to contain a certain intangible that is wholly exhilarating and endearing and exciting all at the same time.

Limited release show sleeves limited to 40 copies (available on green or yellow paper) and 15 of those came with a hand-numbered CD-r containing the three songs from the 7" plus the five tracks from their self-titled CD. Oh yeah, I'm flattered to say this single might end up as a Cass release.

Titus Andronicus "s/t" Shake Appeal
For an act who've chosen Shakespeare's bloodiest play for their band name, there's hardly any gore involved in their tunes. Which is cool, you know, if you don't like Slayer. A-side is actually titled "Titus Andronicus" and feels elementary and British. Meanwhile, I'm hard pressed to think of another band who've named a song after themselves besides "Dead Moon Night". Correct me in the comments section. The flip of "Fear and Loathing in Mahwah, NJ" is splendidly epic with its overdriven bass, propelling drums and stately piano. At times the drums lose their place, but that merely establishes ponderable loose/structured juxtaposition. And when the Angus Young "weedly-weedly-weedly" guitar comes in you think it's gone delightfully over the top. That is until the martial drums come in with the horn section. Could very well act as the score to the final scene in a film. I'm imagining something a la the John Hughes oeuvre.

Honestly though, in researching the topic I've become caught up in the Shakespeare Authorship Question on Wikipedia. Both are terribly interesting and while I can't actually see myself reading Titus Andronicus I will most certainly buy more of their records. I recommend this simply for the weird and hard-to-pigeonhole aspect of it.

Old Time Relijun "Tightest Cage" K Records
I gave up on this band a long time ago. Seeing them live certainly helped. But the allure of a 7" single dragged me back into this mess. Lead singer Arrington de Dionyso is still giving his strange approximation of throat-singing on the A-side matched with ping-pongy guitar, bleating sax and womb-like upright bass. They've never been as good as when they had Phil Elvrum (now the brains behind Microphones) on drums. B-side is instrumental version of "The Indestructible Life" and I'm slowly beginning to see why Old Time Relijun and the Danielson Family were the only things I ever played in the White Stripes tour van that were unanimously overruled and had to be taken out of the CD player.


Neon Maniacs "Nothing's Safe" Puke'N'Vomit
Could this come from anywhere besides Southern California? Don't think so. From the Le Shok school of song titles and song length, it all recalls a younger, sped-up and less classic version of the early Damned. Tour edition limited to 300 copies.

Arctic Monkeys "Brianstorm" Domino
This is meant to be heard on the 10" format. Starting with a lush and intriguing string arrangement "If You Found This It's Probably Too Late" then erupts into fiery Arctic bashing groove that is from the same ilk as the title cut. And "Brianstorm" is essential Monkeys. Alex Turner's turn-of-phrase is as deft as ever and I'm not exaggerating when I say I get a faint resemblance to the Bard's iambic pentameter when I hear him spit. The delivery behind lyrics like "bless us with your effortlessness" is painfully dazzling. Matt Helders' hammering assault on his toms and distinct behind-the-beat accents throughout are the glue that holds this masterpiece together.

Flip it over and "Temptation Greets You Like A Naughty Friend" banks on an infectious downtempo groove that feels oh so fresh. Lyrically Turner fascinates with his comparison of sexual temptation to the bad influence of an old friend. The intertwined themes play off each other with adroit skill. Dizzee Rascal with his grimey flow would be ruinous in other theaters, but it comes off with precision and adds a necessary opposing voice.

If that all weren't enough to swallow, "What If You Were Right the First Time" recalls "Trompe Le Monde" Pixies with its spacey guitar amble before leaning on an enticing instrumental passage more Pixie-ish with "Velouria"-like atmospheres and a synth that's the crushed up crackers in your chicken noodle soup.

I've not heard a single that's hit me this hard in quite some time. All four songs are killing me. As I look through the 10" section of my record collection not one thing can hold a flame to this. A shame that three of these songs did not make the "Favourite Worst Nightmare" full-length, but a shame that's easily remedied by hearing these songs. ESSENTIAL.

The White Stripes "Icky Thump" Warner Brothers
Little Known Fact: This song can cure asthma.


The Tall Birds "Action" Shake Appeal
Well-read without being retread, melodic without being sugary and rough without being abrasive, the Tall Birds are, in two words, the shit. I can babble on here but it still won't do their righteousness justice. So just do yourself a favor and just get this single. The label touted this as smoking their single on Sub Pop and even though I fell in love with that one I think it's still a toss up.

BUG HOUSE SINGLES CLUB ROUND-UP
I signed up for the Bug House singles club to support the entrepreneurial spirit. First single was a Dan Melchior one I reviewed a few columns back. All of them come in white paper sleeves hand-screened with a rubber-like ink. Some have etched b-sides. Most have rubber-stamped labels. They all reek of a homemade "so what if the ink smears?" abandon and that is to be commended. And who can argue 14 singles, a patch, a pin and other yet-to-be-announced goodies for the low, low price of $35. No matter how you size it up, that's a bargain. Here's quick words in order of release, omitting Melchior because I already did that one before I knew it'd be part of this…


The Burning Hatreds "Hit the Road"
Breakneck and abrasive and over before you know it, "Hit the Road" is like the Germs but with a way-more advanced use of feedback. "Black Dress" is kinda honky-tonk in that Black Lips way but bathed in reverb.

The Wire Hangers "Nocturnal Heart"
Depressing in a Mark Lanegan solo record kind of way, "Nocturnal Heart" plods on the same two chords for what feels like forever. When a previously-unheard chord change pops in toward the end, it totally makes the song. "Jawbone Jagged" is down-home front porch foot-tappin sip of lemonade bathed in sunshine delight. Wonderful.

Ape City R'n'B "45"
Ugh. "Girl you got me spinning like a 45" is the first lyric you're going to let this listener make a judgement on? Come on. Could've been on Crypt Records 15 years ago but today it just seems pathetic and embarrassing. There's a fine line between paying homage to a genre and time past and just raping a dead horse. This single is far worse than dead horse raping.


Lurch "Gonna Bawl"
Primitive drop-tuned slide blues slop. Not particularly inspiring or ire-inducing, it's just sort of there.

Singles Column Volume Nine with Special Beehive Records Evaluation...

Cheap Time "Spoiled Brat" Sweet Rot Records
I think these Nashville teens have finally found the outlet for their Redd Kross obsession. What was initially an attempt at a Brentwoods rip-off band now has Nathan from Be Your Own Pet on drums. The excitable Jeffrey Novak has put out more at his age than Paris Hilton…from his one man band to the Rat Traps and now this he's got to be over 10+ releases, all of it pretty damn reliable. The churning West Coast-lite punk here is easily digestible. More please.

Ghosting/Robedoor split single Not Not Fun Records
Does this spin at 33rpm? Plucky string stumbles over a droning, atmospheric bed give Ghotsing's "Rivermouth" an interesting beginning that goes nowhere very slowly. Unfortunately, listening to it at 45rpm doesn't change a thing. There's a bit of feedback, but in my opinion it is far too quiet and far too buried to be enjoyed. Run-out groove reads "PDX GHOSTS".

Robedoor's "Roving Shaman" starts very similar to "Rivermouth" but slowly, almost unnoticeably, builds volume only to pull back to a dull din. This reminds me of the Songs of the Humpback Whale LP I've been so into lately. Total whale ballads dude. Robedoor wins…by reason of volume change and locked groove. Run-out groove reads "LA ROBES" and "Cut By:…" followed by some Japanese symbols. I should know who that is by now. Limited edition of 325.

Spider and the Webs "Frozen Roses" K Records
I thought this was supposed to be straight-up garage? "Frozen Roses" leans a little bit twee-er than I remember. While "It's Lovely Weather For Ducks" is a charming title, it's almost British in sound. "Mister Hypnotist" is a smoking hot mover with snappy drums and reverbed guitar that gets it right. I've been hip-mo-tized! Misto-hypno is far and away the best thing on this record. No moody, glum Norwest soundtrack to rain…the undeniable awesomeness of "Mister Hypnotist" (with writing credit to Satan (?) and Al Larsen (Some Velvet Sidewalk)) makes up for the complete let-down of the other two songs

Hatebeak/Birdflesh split single, Relapse Records
Hatebeak has a parrot as their lead singer. Death metal in the form of Dethklok is fine and dandy as long as it's a joke, right? Even so, if you've got a parrot singing, fucking milk that shit dry? I counted three parrot sounds TOPS in these two songs. What gives? Get that tastes-like-chicken punk off Captain Jack's shoulder and lock him in the vocal booth until he produces. Jeez, it's like I gotta do everything around here.

Birdflesh is much more brutal. Like, totally brutal. I just can't tell if they're serious or not. Birdflesh wins.

Brimstone Howl "Heat of the Beat" Speed! Nebraska Records
I get a Stooges with Scott Thurston feel on "Heat of the Beat"…the electric piano coupled with equally chugging and burning guitar (a la James Williamson) deserves a shitty Bowie mix and a Mick Rock photo to make it just perfect. The lyrics/vocals are Ramones-like in their dumb simplicity.


Flip of "Six and Seven" is trad country/gospel progression that could pass for a Greg Cartwright song if you squint your ears just right. And the organ sounds from Dave Goldbergensteinblum equally recall Quintron's more soulful moments. And they're from Nebraska? Good onya. Recommended. Though I've got one small complaint…the screen-printed paper sleeves have left an impression on the vinyl that reads "rimston howl". Not cool…let that shit dry in the future.

Black Hollies/Dansettes split single, Ernest Jenning Record Co.
A-side has the Hollies doing "Hush" and while most people know it by Deep Purple (and really, that's not a bad thing) it's written by Joe South. Appearances by JB Flatt of the Dansettes on groovy organ stabs and the actual Dansettes on backing vox flesh out the arrangement. But if they're serious in their claim to be "in the vein of the Yardbirds, the Pretty Things, the Who, the Pink Floyd Sound, The Cream, The spirit of Stax…" they are clearly failing. This recalls none of the spark or energy or excitement on even the most flaccid of recordings from any of those bands. I mean, come on, you're four white guys from Jersey who used to be (still are?) in Rye Coalition, you can't just put on a velvet jacket and automatically think you've got people fooled.

The Dansettes "Forty Days" is so close to nailing the vintage mid-Sixties Motown sound that I wish it came with company letterhead ready for a staff meeting evaluation and that Smokey was locked outside the boardroom begging to be let in. Ah…other people's memories. While I wouldn't choose this over a hot dog if I was starving hungry and down to my last dollar, I would consider it. The bassline is just close enough to the Four Tops "Bernadette" without sounding like a straight rip-off and while I'm not in love with Jaime Kozyra's vocal phrasing and delivery it still appears to work. When the "You Keep Me Hanging On" telegraph-sounding. Robert White imitation guitar licking sneaks its way in the backdoor towards the end the feeling is pretty blissful. Well done. The Dansettes blow the Black Hollies out of the water.

Baby Gecko/Soft Shoulder split, Gilgongo
Three of the four BG songs sound entirely/only influenced by the Butthole Surfers' "Who Was In My Room Last Night?" and that is just about the highest compliment I can give. Have you not heard that song, do yourself a favor and find it and proceed to have your brain eviscerated by point-by-point perfect rock and roll.

It's almost like Soft Shoulder didn't have a chance…but the drop-tuned guitar, sax and clarinet work together in a wildly original manner. I wanna say a bit no wave but this seems to hold a particular ferocity that the No New York bands oftentimes lacked. And with the clari, I'm thinking more of the JSBX version of the Chain Gang's "Son of Sam". And I just happened to have that in my head all day. Crazy weird.

Despite having the Buttholes on their side, Soft Shoulder wins this one by the nose of a clarinet.

Cuckold "Blood on My Hands" Beehive Recording Company
Don't be confused…this is a digital-only single. Just before midnight last night (April 21st) the fine feathered folks behind Beehive launched their digital storefront and this is the debut string of one and zeros.

"Blood on My Hands" recalls Mudhoney's self-titled album with a twist of hi-hat skedaddle that, for better or worse, you don't tend to hear from Dan Peters. I was not expecting to like this and I'm slightly impressed. The, uh, flip (?) "Bad Reputation" is a Bo Diddley-beat verse coupled with a Stooge "1969"-like guitar ramble. Then the chorus gets all Mule and they lose me. Oh well, one for two leaves them batting .500 and still makes them way better than Willie Mays ever was.

You tell me…will people get excited and interested in Mp3's of bands not known outside of Detroit? One of the selling points is supposed to be the artwork, but as you can see on the Cuckold cover, it's very underwhelming. And the space between the bottom of the "K" and the "O"…is it really supposed to look like that? I know it's the first release and there's still a lot of kinks to be worked out, but I'm overly-critical because I honestly want to see this label thrive.
In my opinion, the Beehive approach is somewhat backward. For a label that believes in and has been enthralled by the allure of the 7" single, selling downloads to facilitate proposed "eventual" seven-inch pressings is not the way to go about things. There's no need to embrace the digital download medium just because that's where it seems the business is heading (the fact that these bands and this town are so far away from what's actually the "biz" needs to be accounted for too). The industry has been far too wrong far too often for us to blindly follow its lead. Example: Anyone own any commercially released Minidiscs? If you believe in a format like the 7" single, USE IT! Don't plan on using it later.

Knowing that a chunk of change has been sunk into the Beehive's start-up is disconcerting. Granted a lot of the costs have gone toward establishing the studio end of the deal, but on the other end, pressing a 7" single is not cost prohibitive. Here's a slight twist that I think the Beehive will (sooner rather than later) have to embrace to become viable.

Start by pressing the 7". For $510 you can press 200 copies of a seven-inch right here in beautiful Detroit. Don't worry about picture sleeves because most of the best singles never came with those anyway. And the label only needs to have one color because we're just worried about the music, right? Hell, I volunteer to rubber stamp all those singles by hand to save you the $90 printed labels run. With those 200 singles, give a batch to the band. I usually would say 10%, but because that's barely anything, go with 20%. That leaves you with 160 copies of the record. If you're into promo, you can give some copies away, toss 'em all on your bedroom floor, go skeet shooting with them, whatever. If that takes up more than 60 copies (which, I can say, is A LOT of records to give away) you're still left with 100 copies to sell. $5 a pop, on your website direct to the consumer. Don't fuck around with middlemen because if the Internet has proven anything it's the demise of the big distro. If the songs are as good and moving as they should be, getting rid of 100 copies is NOTHING. That's a week, easy. And if you can ONLY sell 100 copies, you're only out ten bucks. If you can sell 102 copies…BAM! You broke even.

And the 7" is something that has already solidly proven its allure and collectibility. A lot of people will buy a single who don't own record players, don't care about the band or are just looking for an "investment". I can give a shit as to what people after they buy something from me as a record sold is always a record sold.

So when you're immediately sold out of this single and everyone's hoarding copies like they're the antidote to stupidity, you pop out your sleek website and say "hey, the seven-inch may be sold out, but if you want to hear the songs, you can download them here." Hell, include a bonus track too if you're savvy and you got one. This isn't rocket science. This can work.

If you can't sell 100 copies of a 7" are you really going to be able to sell more than 100 downloads of the same thing? I don't know the answer to that but I have my doubts.
That being said, these two songs are the first music downloads I have ever paid for. I thought the download/Paypal process could've been streamlined, but then I also don't know how it works with the iTunes store. The whole thing leaves me excited, concerned, cautious and optimistic all at the same time. In world where most music fails to elicit ANY reaction from me, that's quite a thing to be said. Godspeed Beehive.
www.thebeehiverecordingco.com

Tragedy Befalls the Stooges at Fox Theater...

Sticking piously to the age-old dictum "revenge is a dish best served cold" the Scorpions biker gang showed up at the Fox Theater Friday night and unleashed a firestorm of verbal and physical abuse on the visibly flustered reunited rock band Iggy and the Stooges.

Still-seething after Iggy and company's inflammatory performance February 5, 1974 at the Rock and Roll Farm in Wayne, the Scorpions (despite much baiting on WABX from the Ig himself) chose to avoid the Stooges ersatz "final show" on February 9th and without the formidable foes Iggy floundered onstage through remedial renditions of "Louie, Louie" and other shit Metallic K.O. makes you wish you'd forgotten.

There was no question the Scorpions would avoid the August 25th Stooges reunion show in 2003 (a national CPA convention in Seattle found most of the gang pre-occupied) but showing up at the Fox was totally unexpected. They collectively unleashed a hail of beer bottles, rotten fruit, laptops, car batteries and the like. One particularly portly Scorpion, slightly resembling guru Rick Rubin, made his way onto the stage, commandeered the microphone and bellowed "Iggy and the fucking Stooges…YOU FUCKING DIE!" before tackling Iggy and beating him into a bloody ball of flesh.

But up until that point, the night was sublime.

I'd held off on fully forming an opinion of The Weirdness until experiencing the songs off it in the live arena. And as unused to them as I was, those songs held up. "Trollin'" was catchy and had me yelling its title later in the night in front of the abandoned United Artists theater. How come no one's brought up how "My Idea of Fun" is strongly reminiscent of Sonic Youth's "Sugar Kane"? Not only is that a great reference point, but the lyrics themselves are yet another in a long line of Iggy doublespeak. To me, it's unclear whether Iggy's idea of fun is, simply, killing everyone OR Iggy's idea of fun is something else (Quaaludes, hop-scotch, cliff-diving, ghost-riding, chainsaw juggling) and that activity in turn is killing everyone. Hearing "My Idea of Fun" on local modern rock radio feels like some strange victory…Scott's sweet pre-solo drum fill making way for Ron's searing licks along with Iggy barking "I hate mankind" in a wonderfully sophomoric Flipper sort of way on the airwaves alongside My Chemical Romance or Fall-Out Boy is all the proof you need for the clear lack of relevance of those bands.

First obligatory Matt Smith quote: "The Weirdness is not the follow-up to Funhouse. It's the follow-up to Metallic K.O." Whatever dude.

As much as I surprisingly dug the new jams, this oldies act would be nothing without their back catalog. Thing is, I've seen the reformed Stooges a bunch…the DTE Show in '03, Primavera Festival in Barcelona in '05 and all across Australia during the Big Day Out Festival in '06. The DTE show was instantly legendary while Spain was kind of a downer and Australia fluctuated (Hank Rollins at the side of the stage every night, nerding out like you wouldn't believe) with Melbourne (or Detroit South as it has been known) sticking out as the best of that bunch.

The songs off the self-titled album were good, but left me thinking something was missing. Did the juice in those songs lie in Ron's overdubbed solos which (with one guitar player) are difficult to replicate without losing the rhythm? I think so.

But saving the day was Steve Mackay. I think this guy is really the secret behind the success of these reunion gigs. He adds squawky balls where needed and frees up Ron to shred. Just like I remembered from Australia, Steve waltzes on-stage unannounced and COMPLETELY NAILS his first four notes on "1970 (I Feel Alright)" exactly as they sound on Funhouse. And everything else after that is like he's shooting smoke on his fingers. And with his full head of hair (opposed to his usually short locks) he looks just as bad ass as his photo in the deluxe Funhouse re-ish.

Second obligatory Matt Smith quote: "Sax was heavy."

Iggy's vocal take on "1970" was interesting…he tossed in some of his swaggering croon on the "burn my heart"/"fall apart" couplet and the inflection actually added an impressive new dynamic like that old dog lucked into some new tricks…like the bashing of his vocal mic into the main house speakers creating an exciting and thud that rang sonorous throughout the ornate cupola of the Fox.

I dug Mike Watt's amp hump in "LA Blues". His overall lack of tossing jazz into songs originally performed by a guy who continually managed to play the bass like he'd never picked one up before was appreciated.

The lack of "Little Doll" in the setlist didn't bum me out as much as I thought it would. But I would really like to see them tackle "Ann" and toss on the frenetic "Dance of Romance" ending as featured on the deluxe double disc edition of the first album. But that's me just being fanboy. Though I still think "We Will Fall" could really bring down the house.

The Stooges are the last band of their kind. As has been noted before, in their day they attracted a degenerate crowd of convicts, junkies, bikers and overall deviants as if they were the only game in town for them weirdos. The thing is, I don't think any band this day and age would be able to recreate that kind of following with the Stooges kind of sound. There's just too much oddball stuff out there nowadays that's easily accessible…bands like Lightning Bolt and Wolf Eyes get written up in Spin and all the real nut-cases are currently into black metal and drone. But the Stooges still attract a majority of their old crowd. Sans the Scorpions there were a bevy of hard ass take-no-shit motherfuckers in the room. I was honestly a bit on edge and scared knowing that just about anything could happen yet not knowing what exactly would happen.

But that's one of the base principles of rock and roll. There should be an unexpected element. Surprise even. Add to that a feeling of fear…remember, this was a music that originally scared people and it's always important to keep a dose of that in the mix.

You could smell it in the air, you knew shit was going to go down. That it would come in the form of an Altamont-worthy beating delivered by one of the Scorpions on Iggy was unexpected. While their DTE show is arguably the best live music performance I have ever witnessed, the Fox Theater was a stellar example for everyone in attendance on how to do it right.



Side note: Anyone else hear the story of how ? and the Mysterians were supposed to open this show? (First off…would that not have been badass? Both bands together only missing one original member? On Woodward Avenue in downtown Detroit? Excuse me while I climb into my time machine. I think Powertrane is unexciting and tired while Scott Morgan should stick to singing soul in the Solution.)
Anyturd, word on the street was that the Stooges offered the slot to ? and company and whoever was negotiating for the Mysterians (manager? Booking agent? I don't know) accepted with the caveat that their teenaged niece could come out and perform a song with the Stooges. Needless to say, the Stooges respectfully(?) declined and ? and the Mysterians missed out on a prime chance to play in front of a big crowd and possibly make some dough in the process. Please, someone tell me this is just a cruel rumour.

WDET: This is Not a Eulogy

(two of these people used to have WDET shows. One of these people still has a satellite radio show. And one of these people will always have pit stains)

With the departure of new music programming on Detroit’s WDET radio, the area is left devoid of a proper broadcast outlet for independent music. Wah-wah boo-hoo, I know. Perhaps this is the siren song we all need to hear…reach out to satellite, hi-def or podcasts. It’s only a matter of time. I’m sure network television initially thought no one in their right mind would PAY for TV…and now, do we have the Nielsen ratings for the Sopranos premier?

My first memory of WDET was sitting in the passenger seat of my mother’s Pontiac 6000 and her saying “That’s my cousin” as she flipped through the dial and Martin Bandyke’s voice came across.

I remember wondering why we didn’t listen to him more. I (with my mother) would never hear him in her car again. My thoughts were, if my cousin was on the radio, I would want to listen the them all the time. But I guess my mom wasn’t a big Los Lobos fan.

My first appointment listening to the station would be Wily Wilson’s Friday night-time show starting sometime in the late 90’s. He’d always start with Pookie McClain’s (right? Pookie McClain? I can’t find any verification on this) “Do the Uncle Willie” taken from some god-forsakenly scratched single. And occasionally he’d be brilliant…the Halloween show where he rocked Larry and the Blue Notes “Night of the Phantom” and his “Hey Joe-a-thon” where he played an impressive string of versions of “Hey Joe” (favorites being the Roks, a Michigan garage band from the ‘60s featuring actual gun shots on the recording and the Deep Purple long-as-hell version) were memorable.

Despite his unproven claim of being the first person to play the White Stripes on the radio, (I remember CJAM in Windsor being first) Wily was an ardent and early supporter of all things Detroit rock and roll. His show is easily where most of the rockers in this town first heard their own songs broadcast. I can’t remember where I first heard a Dirtbombs song I performed on over the radio, but have just come to assume that it was probably Wily who was responsible for the spin.

And although I’ve never heard the actual show, there was the legendary tale of Tom Potter being interviewed live on-air and drunk. The disastrous results almost cost Wily his job and found Potter writing a letter of apology to the station. If anyone has a copy of this, PLEASE, I would love to hear whether it was “salty meatstick” or “salty milkshake” which Tom asked whether or not he could say on-air.

While interviewing the Go in March of ’99 on the show, Dave Buick, the smart-ass he is, asked Wily “Can I say ‘Tom Potter’ on-air?”

Or Wily, introducing the individual Dirtbombs on his show in 2001, Potter’s response being “Hi, I’m not allowed to speak.”

I also remember a hazy, half-asleep night hearing 2 Star Tabernacle’s version of “Who’s to Say” (or possibly “Garbage Picker”) taken from a live recording at the Gold Dollar. That was pretty cool and weird and rare. I would oftentimes apologize to Wily for falling asleep during his show and it was always met with a laugh. I did all I could to stay up and would hope for a tune that could change my life’s trajectory.

The few times I actually visited the studio it was fun…whether it was Ed Love pitching a fit about the White Stripes recording full-blast while he’s trying to broadcast from the other room (thus leaving the band kicked out of the studio until the Dr. had finished his show), recording live with the Dirtbombs (with Wily in ’01 and Liz Copeland in ’04) the place was comfy and inviting. That being said, I could never get into the mixes of the live performances…both Dirtbombs spots, the Stripes, the Go were waaaay too vocal heavy with the guitars buried. But that’s really besides the point, the fact that someone was conscious enough to capture performances by these groups is the important part.

So as I listen to Mick Collins final edition of his Night Train radio show, I learn some things…

-the first song Mick ever heard on WDET was Devo’s “Gates of Steel” in 1980.

(the Dirtbombs would later cover the song live, way before I was in the band)

-the previous time Mick had a “last” radio show (while he was still in college, I believe) he ended with Jonathan Richman’s “This Kind of Music” and he would do so again on this occasion.

-his final show would be the only time I clearly remember Mick not fucking up…playing the wrong song or having to cut one off to make the on-the-hour news. It was as if only for this show, he had reached a level of professionalism.

But that is totally not the point. I loved the Night Train because Mick was the complete opposite of professional. For me, both radio and rock and roll, (to truly be meaningful) are best left to the characters who are original, uninhibited and unlearned. Someone like Electrifyin’ Mojo or Wolfman Jack transcended disc jockey malaise and made the in-between almost as memorable as the songs, in the same way that the Stooges or Bo Diddley could wrap Rush or Candlebox (great examples, surely) into the forgettable mess that they are.

Mick told personal stories on his show and that’s what the world needs. Personal stories in relation to music is really the entire purpose of this blog. No one’s opinion is worth a damn if they do not tell you how it makes them feel. So often on the Night Train Mick would say “I had to play this song because, for some reason, it reminds me of winter.” Those are the slices of life and experience that you cannot manufacture and remind the listener that they are alive.

The Night Train was cool for so many other reasons…an entire 2-hour show dedicated to the “Back From the Grave” series, actually playing Cass releases, giving personal shout-outs to friends who wanted to hear songs, hearing a true record collecting nerd spout about it on-air (like we had a man on the inside)…all that stuff will now sorely be lacking in my life and this town in the less because of it.

Mick’s first show on WDET had a half-hour segment on Fats Domino, explained as so…
There was a news story a few years back about a guy in Texas who threatened to bomb KMCM 96.3FM after three unsuccessful requests for Fats Domino’s “Ain’t That a Shame”. As has been retold dozens of times in the Dirtbombs’ van, we all could not understand why the guy was arrested and hauled away. Me, Pat, Mick, Ko and Troy all independently of each other, replied “Why didn’t they just play the song?”

So Mick said in his first show, “Ain’t no radio stations getting blown up on my watch.”

And it was fitting that Mick chose to play some Fats as part of his final set. The man had done all he could, but the station still bombed. The train had left the station and all that was left was the rumble of the tracks.

Can You Remember Greenhornes Covers?

The best part of any Greenhornes show is the unexpected covers they pull out. Below is an extensive (but by no means complete) list of covers they've been known to rock. Feel free to add to or question the list in the comments section or request other bands covers lists (I think a Gories or White Stripes list will be forthcoming). More real writing to come soon, I promise. And I needn't tell you...but all these songs are awesome. Not a dud in the bunch. Great taste those lads.


UNRELEASED COVERS...
You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover (Bo Diddley)
Crawdad (Bo Diddley)
When I Needed You (the Chain Reaction)
Interstellar Overdrive (Pink Floyd)
It's Off the Hook (Rolling Stones)
So Sad About Us (The Who)
Out in the Streets (the Who)
Shot Down (the Sonics)
I Can Only Give You Everything (T. Coulter)
Monkey Island (13th Floor Elevators)
Come on Back (Paul and Ritchie and the Crying Shames)
I'll Go Crazy (James Brown)
Can You See Me? (Jimi Hendrix)
You'll Never Do It Baby (the Pretty Things)
You Don't Believe Me (the Pretty Things)
Come See Me (the Pretty Things)
You're On My Mind (the Birds)
I Wanna Be Your Dog (the Stooges)
Communication Breakdown (Led Zeppelin)
Happenings Ten Years Time Ago (the Yardbirds)
Nobody But You (Little Walter)
Route 66 (Nat King Cole)
How Does it Feel to Feel? (the Creation)
My Baby Likes to Boogaloo (Don Gardner)
Sittin' on My Sofa (the Kinks)
Just Like Romeo and Juliet (the Reflections)
The Wizard (Black Sabbath)

COVERS I THINK THEY PLAYED BUT AM NOT POSITIVE...
Save My Soul (Wimple Wench)
You're Gonna Miss Me (13th Floor Elevators)

RELEASED COVERS...
Goin' to the River (Bartholomew/Domino)
High Time Baby (Spencer Davis Group)
Lost Woman (the Yardbirds)
Gonna Get Me Someone (the Game)
It's My Soul (Clifton Chenier)
Let Me Be (Daniels)
Your Body Not Your Soul (Cuby and the Blizzards)
Mary Ann with the Shakey Hands (the Who)
Inside – Looking Out (the Animals)
Wake Me, Shake Me (Al Kooper)
Sad Day (Rolling Stones)

The Ponys and the Black Lips and the Lightning Bolt Make Me Hate Standing Even More

Lightning Bolt was smartly playing early at the MOCAD. No tour-only vinyl at the merch table bummed me out, but there was a large selection of weirdo Wolf Eyes limited items. Tempting, but…

The show was everything I had expected. The duo set up on the floor with an impressive wall of amps and speakers behind them. They thrashed and the crowd frothed. There were no surprises. They did not play "Hello Morning" or "Assassins" the only two songs of theirs I would've recognized.

Should I have been in the pit with sweaty, stinky punks all rubbing up on me? Maybe that's the way to truly experience the Bolt. Nevertheless, I was completely satisfied with their performance without being overwhelmed. The show was impressive without being particularly noteworthy.

Meanwhile, back at the Magic Stick…

I didn't see enough of the Terrible Twos to say anything one way or another. I can say that I dig the band and that their "Plunderball" single is tits. They need more jams out soon.

The Black Lips were splendid. While "Oh Katrina" was sped-up to the point of losing its edge, the rest of their set was immaculate. New songs like "Bad Kids" and the one that re-appropriated the bass line of the Germs "Shut Down" were showing these good ole' boys know how to write 'em. They've yet to get worse and that's a lot less common than you'd think.

The biggest surprise for me was the crowd. Granted, I missed the last time the Lips played in town, but this crowd seemed almost the complete opposite of what I was used to seeing at their Detroit shows. There were a ton of young folks freaking out like it was the Beatles in '64. This is most likely due to their heightened visibility since inking with Vice, a questionable move at first that has found them followed by a New York Times film crew at SXSW and being interviewed for MTV News by John Norris.

So let it be said: The next Black Lips record (supposedly already recorded and set for a September release) will be huge. The current "live" album on Vice is a refresher course, a way to catch everyone up on the first 5 years of the band. Leaving "Katrina" off the disc is wise as it has the potential to be an explosive single. And with the Vice hype machine running at full-throttle, the Lips may soon all be wiping their butts with hundred dollar bills.

And did you see all the kids in striped t-shirts? Seriously there were like 15 kids running around in what seemed to be the same damn shirt. Is this the new fashion trend? Black Lips singer Cole was even wearing a surf-style breast-pocket striped tee (albeit backwards) and he said everyone is following their lead. I'm equally bummed and geeked because 1) I kinda don't want to wear my striped shirts now but 2) they still look badass and I'll probably wear 'em anyway.

I wasn't sure what to expect from the Ponys. Heard mixed opinions about their new disc Turn Out the Lights and was worried that while Brian Case's replacement of Ian Adams was smooth in the live forum, his work on tape would be too drastic a departure.

I was thoroughly wowed. While Adams pop-slant coloring made songs like "Shadowbox" and "I'm With You" smash hits in the Ponys pantheon, his exit has opened the gate for Case and Jered Gummere to volley riffery as Chicago's answer to Lee Ranaldo and Thurston Moore.

Asked to me during the Ponys' set: "Is this a Sonic Youth song? It really sounds like one." So while some may be bummed and others confused, the bend we find the Ponys on is an inspiring new direction. Big ups for taking the chance and big thanks for not fucking it up.

The Ponys are as great as they've ever been. Beginning the set with a chunk of songs all off the new record is a ballsy yet decisive move. Easy call would be to slip the unfamiliars here-and-there throughout the set and satiate the crowd with the oldies they know and want. What they did was force the crowd to absorb the new vibe right away and without relief. And when they did bring out the classics like "Let's Kill Ourselves" and the perfect encore of "I Wanna Fuck You" the crowd reaction was that much more explosive.

Am I the only one who's sick of standing up at shows? Maybe I don't wear the proper footwear, maybe the floor isn't professionally calibrated for minimal stress on the legs, but for some reason I always want to sit (or preferably, lay) down at shows and just be comfortable. I'm not sure if this is affecting my appreciation for the music or not. As uncool as it may seem, I don't give a shit. What's the point of being uncomfortable?