The First Twenty-Five Songs I Purchased On iTunes...

So I got suckered into this whole "online music purchasing" scam with a $25 iTunes giftcard for my twenty-fifth birthday. First off, some songs I wanted to buy but could not find on iTunes:

Foo Fighters "Darling Nikki"
Folk Implosion "Cabride"
EPMD "I'm Housing"

And then, songs I wanted to purchase, but forgot about or wasn't going to buy the (necessary) entire album...

Big Star "Thirteen"
Dock Boggs "Rub Alcohol Blues"
Yeah Yeah Yeahs "Sealings"
Soundmaster T "Dance, Too Much Booty in the Pants"
Sonic Rendezvous Band "Electrophonic Tonic" or their cover of "(Like A)Rolling Stone"

And the songs I actually purchased, in order...

Stone Temple Pilots "Big Bang Baby"
I'd been searching for this one on a 7" for ages. It don't exist. So iTunes may have it's advantages.

The New Pornographers "Mass Romantic"
I think I'd been searching for this one on 7" as well. I think it doesn't exist. Heard it once on CJAM (Detroit's only college radio staion, located in Windsor) about two years ago and have been wanting to hear it again ever since.

The Walkmen "Red River"
The lead single off the SpiderMan 3 soundtrack? What awesome world are we living in?

Yeah Yeah Yeahs "Cheated Hearts" (iTunes Acoustic Exclusive)
Saw them do a better acoustic version at their AOL Sessions back in 2004. A free Cass record of the winner's choice to anyone who can email me an MP3 of THAT version. Email me at cassdetroit@aol.com

Yeah Yeah Yeahs "The Diamond Sea" (iTunes Acoustic Exclusive)
My sister has this song on her computer and on first listen I wasn't impressed with the Y's take on the Sonic Youth staple. But I'm willing to give it another chance for ninety-nine cents.

Oaktown's 3-5-7 "Juicy Gotcha Krazy"
Ok, so this is where the secret gets out. I've been trying to recapture the innocent booty hip-hop of my youth (late Eighties and early Nineties) for some time now. Back when 96.3 WHYT in Detroit had such stylin' DJ's as the Party Princess Lisa Lisa and (lest we forget) Fogold, I was the hypest, flyest white kid on my block. After this, the deluge...

KRS-ONE and Boogie Down Productions "Love's Gonna Getcha"
Remember the cable TV channel "The Box"? I wish I had videotapes of their old broadcasts.

Marcy Playground "Saint Joe on the Schoolbus"
Ok, so 89X used to play this a lot and I thought it could've passed for a Nirvana b-side.

Del Tha Funkee Homosapien "Mistadobalina"
Urged to search this one out at my older brother's request. Trying to figure out how to spell the song's title was half the fun.

DJ Freaky and MC Nas D "Gold Diggin Girls"
Vivid memories of 5th grade and Mrs. Hasho's class come rushing back. Sweet sample of Midnight Star's "No Parking on the Dance Floor" is pure finesse.

World Class Wreckin Cru "Turn Off the Lights"
A booty ballad. I thought I'd never get to hear this song again.

K7 "Come Baby Come"
Remember ESPN's "Jock Jams" CD series? This guy must've made millions, right?

DJ Magic Mike "Drop the Bass"
Sampled by the Beastie Boys. Or maybe Magic Mike himself sampled the salty "DROP!" lyric from someone else. Anybody?

AMG "The Booty Up"
Lyrics like "I can play Monopoly and still do it properly" just don't turn up in indie rock. That's why indie rock is lame.

Wyclef Jean "We're Trying to Stay Alive"
Featuring Jean Forte with the unforgettable line "I'm eatin mangoes in Trinidad with attorneys" and although I have no idea what in the hell that means, it has not kept me from repeating it. When I first spun? Clicked? (I don't know how else to say you played a download) this for the first time my eyes welled up, in awe of the ultimate perfection achieved with the Bee Gees "Stayin Alive" sample coupled with a swagger full of half-time drums.

Poison Clan "Shake Whatcha Mama Gave Ya"
I never knew Luther Campbell was on this track. This is featured on the "Booty 101: The Forbidden Dances" album. And to think I'd never have an excuse to type "Booty 101" on here.

Poison Clan "Dance All Night"
A song I had actually forgotten about, but thanks to the existence of "Booty 101" I remember.

DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince "You Saw My Blinker"
Vividly remember venturing into a Harmony House where my dad tried to convey this song title ever-so-delicately without mentioning the obivous "Bitch" addendum to the title. Quite possibly one of his favorite songs of all time after Rick James "Superfreak" and the B-52's "Rock Lobster". My dad rules.

Cybotron "Clear"
Reading about Cybotron it's as if every song they ever did is the most important track in techno history. I unexpectedly discovered that "Clear" is sampled on Poison Clan's "Shake..." and cracked a smile. Awesome.

Cybotron "Alleys of Your Mind"
So this is supposedly the first Detroit techno record. It is perfect in every way, equal parts Bambaaataa and Kraftwerk and totally paving the way for jams like Adult. One of the top 5 dance records I've ever heard.

Cat Power "House of the Rising Sun" (iTunes exclusive)
Her track record of covers versus originals is pretty damn close. If i could just get a complete version of her take on the Nerves "Hanging on the Telephone" then I think the covers would easily win.

The Yardbirds "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago"
I guess this is how they get you...too lazy to figure out how to transfer my LP or 45 versions to CD, I opt for laziness and spend ninety-nine of my last 125 iTunes cents on it. And it still rocks.

Questions: How do all those Stooges bootlegs end up on iTunes? Anyone got any tips for good late 80s/early 90s booty jams I may have forgotten? Or better yet, 96.3 playlists? And what's the deal with album-only tracks? How does everyone else feel about iTunes exclusives? Do the bars under "Popularity" signify how many times these tracks have been bought? Am I the first person to buy some of these?

For a brief moment, I feel as if I've recaptured the days of rollerblading in the basement with the radio cranked. There is no such thing as a guilty pleasure for me. It's just all pleasure.

The Hentchmen and the Strange Case of Revisionist History...

The story behind the Hentchmen’s mini-Lp Hentch-Forth and its CD reissue as Hentch-Forth.Five is an intriguing microcosm of the Detroit rock scene as a whole, both upon the initial release in 1998 and upon its re-release now in 2007.

What began as an unassuming live collaboration at the Magic Bag on February 6^th, 1998 soon developed into much more enterprising endeavors. At that show (a bill that included Rocket 455 and the Wildbunch) White joined the Hentchmen for a rather spirited take on the MC5’s “Looking At You” segueing straight into a cover of the Brit-Invasion classic “Some Other Guy” penned by Barrett/Leiber/Stoller.

Sometime after that the combo agreed to record a single together, most likely drunkenly decided at a Pin-Ups bowling league night or a Keep on Trash John Syzmanski/Dave Italy DJ night, either of which would’ve been at the Garden Bowl, the nascent nexus of Detroit’s then-burgeoning garage rock scene. It would be the first time the Hentchmen would be joined with an extra player on record and only their second waxing without the trusty Farfisa organ.

The single was recorded later that February by Jeff Meier at White’s Southwest Detroit house located at 1203 Ferdinand. Using a piano salvaged from a local Catholic school, the quartet banged through “Some Other Guy” and the Jeff Beck and the Yardbirds’ “Psycho Daisies”.

The choice of “Some Other Guy” stems from White’s then-current obsession with the Beatles BBC version of the track. At 2 minutes and 50 seconds, the Hentchmen’s version would be the longest song they’d released at that point

“Psycho Daisies” stems from the brief five-month period in 1966 where both Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck were members of the Yardbirds. While accounts differ as to who plays what on the recording, the centerpiece of the song is a back-and-forth dueling guitar match that White and Hentch stringsman Tim Purrier recreated with admirable intensity and aplomb. The CD version eliminates a cruel fade-out on the 7” that robbed the listener of some prime riffage real estate.

The song’s lyrics are a geographical hop-scotch across the United States explaining why one wouldn’t want to stay in places like Mississippi or Pennsylvania. As the song modulates into its chorus, it’s made clear that California is the place to be, if only for the fact one Mary Hughes is there.

Hughes herself was a featured actress in Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine and was romantically linked to Jeff Beck (hence her inclusion in the songs lyrics). The endearing thing about this is that the Hentch version of the song sings the lyrics as “Mary Lou” It’s cute and funny and a prime example how songs can change meaning upon re-interpretation.

The problem is the Hentch-Forth.Five version has vocals John Syzmanski re-did some eight years after the fact. It’s clearly audible when the song modulates into the pseudo-chorus and there’s suddenly double-tracked vocals where, for it’s entire existence until this point, there’d been John alone and monotone.

And that’s not it. A majority of the songs originally featured on Hentch-Forth have been tweaked or overdubbed to the point where anyone who’s even remotely familiar with the original will notice the difference.

While clearly a matter of opinion, I take these overdubs as an affront. Chalk it up in the same column as Steven Speilberg’s decades-after-the-fact digital erasure of guns in law-enforcement hands in E.T. or the abominably pointless “Greedo shoots first” kerfluffle of the redone version of Star Wars.

One can argue a piece of art is never finished, always in a constant state of flux open to reinterpretations and edits. And I can agree with this. But what we’re left with now is a revisionist history where the version of “Psycho Daisies” preserved for posterity, digitally burned into tens-of-thousands of compact discs is not the same one presented to people years ago, the version that provoked the reaction and status that made these recordings worth reissuing in the first place.

That being said, I prefer Iggy Pop’s remix of Raw Power. As my Stooges CD buying days started at a time where one could make the choice between the original ball-less Bowie mix or Ig’s needle-burying testament to ferocity, I chose Iggy. And so as the remix version is established as the one I’ve grown-up listening to, I develop an affinity and attachment to it.

So too will the scads of kids out there hearing these songs for the first time, no clue or warning as to the original presentation of the music. And that’s the shame, because the vocals on “Psycho Daisies” stick out like a sore dick. It’s CLEARLY not of the era. And so I ask: What was gained?

“A lot of it is just me doing it for myself” says Syzmanski of the overdubs. And that’s all music should be for. Once you start figuring in what the audience wants to hear or what some punk blogging kid’s gonna write, you’ve tainted your inspiration and your output. So while I completely disagree with the finished product, I wholeheartedly agree with John Syzmanski’s principle.

The single’s artwork was meant to conjure images of Liverpool in the 60’s…the smokestacks in the background and the somewhat out-of-place chain on the front cover conveying the feeling of an industrial town. The “Featuring Jack White” tag was tongue-in-cheek, as at that time, no one had ever even heard of the guy.

In August of 1998, under the working title Gawker Delay, the band decamped to record in an old auto factory in Pontiac, MI with Jeff Meier at the knobs. Owned by Gerald Shohan (member of Detroit punk patsies Coldcock and later Bootsey X and the Lovemasters) Room 222 was stocked with a Hammond B3 organ and piano that would prove crucial in the album’s dynamic. And only being occupied for a weekend in, the band was in and out without bother. Coincidentally, it would be the same weekend White shuttered his Third Man Upholstery business.

A live version of this song, complete with the “garbage, junk” lyrics as well, can be found on both the Ghettoblaster Volume 1 compilation and the Motorvatin’ Hentchmen full-length on Norton. The (as John calls it) Rolling Stones-like “ooh-ooh” backing vocals were inaudible on the original mix. Pointed out by Tim Purrier during the ‘98 mixing process, it was possibly a lengthy procedure to go back and re-do the mix to DAT. So as was their attitude at the time, they demurred “fuck it” and soldiered on.

With hindsight and a handful more albums under his belt, Syzmanski now admits they should have spent the extra twenty minutes at the time to go back and do it right. Further explaining his reason for re-doing parts on the record, John explains, “This is the only record of ours we own. It’s the only record we can do this on, whether we want to or not. Our first two albums, to show you how punk we were, were done on cassette four-track. When we were done with the songs, we’d record over the mastertapes. I wish we still had that stuff around so I could remix it.”

“LA.M.F.” is an abbreviation of “late model Ford” and a nod to a Johnny Thunders album with the same initials with differing punctuation (supposedly co-opted from NYC gang graffiti). The words invoke the metaphor of a poorly performing automobile toward having faith in a higher being

I’m three quarts down and it’s black all around

And I’m halfway pissed cause I don’t deserve this

This lyric is immediately followed by a wordless backing vocal accompaniment reminiscent of a church choir. It could just as well be a keyboard, but I like to imagine it as vocals, majestic and angelic, recalling a happy-go-lucky 1950’s television show theme song. This moment is one of those Hentch intangibles that’s so hard to explain the importance or significance of. You either get it or you don’t.

White’s bass on the song is as fresh an interpretation of a standard walking blues progression as you’ll find. Each verse plucked slightly different than the preceding one, not taking center stage, but providing the punch and balls that the band knew they were getting when they enlisted White’s services.

“Automatic” sticks out bad. The redone parts are out of place, from an airy organ that appears nowhere else on the record and wouldn’t show up in Syzmanski’s arsenal until years after the initial waxing of this song. Still, lyrics like

One on my left

And one on my right

One in my hand

And one out of sight

are a witty and original stance on as mundane a topic as manual versus automatic gear-shift in your automobile. While I will tire quicker than most of lyrics about cars, hot rods and that whole subculture, the Hentchmen have always managed to be innovative and imaginative when incorporating the subject into their songs. See also “LeSabre Radar” and “Cars on Film” for further reference.

“Gawker Delay” is un-retouched here and is the absolute pinnacle in the Hentchmen recorded canon. As always, it’s a Hentch instrumental with a brilliant title (see also “Naked Sister”, “Casmere and Campau” and “Creep of the Year”) that captivates.

This is, without a doubt, my favorite Hentchmen song of all-time. With the repetitive bassline conjuring the monotony of being stuck in traffic, Tim’s guitar buzzing with feedback-laced bounce and drummer Mike Latullipe’s metronomic pounding punctuated with apropos accents are all perfect. But it holds nothing to Syzmanski’s organ playing.

The dramatic and thundering string of notes the Hammond B3 hits at the 1:05 mark of the song are so rife with emotion and full with being that I feel my efforts to describe it will be fruitless. And this feeling struck me the first time I heard the song, July 25^th at St. Andrew’s Hall in Detroit. My immediate reaction was something like “What the fuck was that?” feeling entirely struck and overwhelmed at the power with which an instrumental song could move me on first listen.

And after almost nine years, hitting the repeat button over and over as I A-B the LP versus the CD I am still in awe of this song. If you get stuck in this wordy, self-important overwrought review or are just fed-up by this point, I will leave you with this simple advice: the song “Gawker Delay” is reason enough to purchase Hentch-Fourth.Five.

(side note: White joined the Hentchmen for this St. Andrew’s gig. Syzmanski recalls him playing the entire show while I remember otherwise. John also claims Jack played guitar on one song while Tim played bass…this I do not remember. There were probably no more than 50 people in attendance.)

“Me and My Monotone” is where side 2 would begin. Here we have Syzmanski’s insightful lyrics:

You know

nobody moves

they all just sit there

They think they’re going places

But they don’t know how to get there

And I feel so all alone

Just me and my monotone

This personally feels like an indictment of the state of affairs in this town, both in 1998 and 2007. Some things never change. Same as it ever was. People speak big and act little and the wise ones are left only to observe it all. White would oftentimes cover this song during solo live performances, appropriating his Hentch-Forth bass part to a Kinks-styled guitar stab. I thought I had a recording of this to share, but a long trawl through the archives proves otherwise.

I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen Syzmanski given credit as a gifted lyricist and that’s a shame. Where the “Monotone” lyrics above are studied and attacking, he’s just as capable of being charmingly juvenile and aloof. A song like “Perpetuate the Continuance” from FormFollowsFunction is the perfect example as to how a painfully obvious self-observation can carry unforeseen weight and meaning.

“Big Screen Lover” is a Purrier tune about a cineaste-turned-shizo, off to Hollywood in search of the glitterati. Tim’s driving punk guitar augmented by Syzmanski’s harmonica and brilliantly ends with the line “All the stars are old or dead.”

Tim songs are almost perfectly analogous to Lee Ranaldo’s songs in Sonic Youth. Never more than one or two a record, they are perfectly written to the point of perfection and are a welcome momentary departure from the singular voice of the band’s front-person.

“Little No More” is reminiscence turned wow as a high school sweetie is seen all-growned-up. The mention of a seeing her at the “civic fair” could point to a reality-inspired track as Syzmanski spent some of his youth in St. Clair Shores and I vaguely recall attending a fair in that city that was neither state, county, church or vanity…no, it could only be described as civic. Which is odd, because I can’t think of any other instance of a fair I would consider “civic”.

While weak only in comparison to its surroundings, “Carry Me Home” is similar to “Little No More” in blurring the divide between what could possibly be a drunkard’s plea (the song’s title) or a sweet-hearted request for some quality time spent snuggling. The pre-solo drum fill is actually White and Latullipe playing matching parts on opposing drums (a tom and snare, respectively, I believe).

“R&R Cancer” also suffers from unseemly organ additions and vocal re-dos. While the original piano arrangement was pounding, the organ doubled over Syzmanski’s vocals, while slightly charming, ruins the stripped-down early Chuck Berry vibe the initial version had. The cribbing of Darby Crash’s “gimme gimme your heart” lyric from “Lexicon Devil” is an appreciated re-appropriation and the idea of a “rock and roll cancer” itself can be a humorous hypothetical…is Syzmanski implying a diseased music scene? A tired and tread genre? Something that needs to be cut off with a scalpel and tossed into a pile of medical waste? Or am I reading too much into this?

John says, “After we recorded ‘R&R Cancer’ I immediately started doing the vocals differently live. And that always bugged me. So I changed them.”

I always thought this collection of Hentchmen songs had a fair amount of weird stops and starts. Things like the punctuating blasts before the lyric “rock and roll cancer” or the ping-ponging guitar/organ on “Little No More” always struck me as odd little slashes. With hindsight it doesn’t feel so pronounced, but maybe a bit of their Devo infatuation poking through, coupled with a knack for making independent song structures and parts gel with a dose of ingenuity.

According to Syzmanski, there’s even silent film footage of the band in the studio.

“Jack had found some 16mm camera he was messing around with. On the way up to the studio we stopped and got some film for it. There’s probably a good 20 minutes of footage, you know, silent, of us goofing around. I’d really like to see that.”

The title Hentch-Forth came from yours truly and originally appeared on a headed-for-the-dump chair at Third Man Upholstery. I jokingly told White he should suggest it as the album title to the band, as he’d mentioned they were having trouble coming up with one. I didn’t know it was their fourth album, nor did I register they were adding a fourth member. I merely thought it sounded cool. There’s debate between White and myself as to whether the initial use of the word was as “hentchfourth” and not the hyphenated version actually used on the album.

When told that the band would be using the title, White presented the news with regret more than anything. He didn’t want to see me get a big head at the age of sixteen. Latulippe envisioned the future as such: me removing a pair of mirrored sunglasses slowly before saying, “Hentches, your new song title is….” Luckily, that never happened, though the big head is debatable. White lobbied for me to be thanked on the record but alas, it was not meant to be. With the reissue, I’m still not thanked. I think it’s better that way.

The album cover of Purrier onstage in Athens, OH on New Year’s Eve 1997 is iconic. Clad in a stylish 1960’s houndstooth dress, legs perfectly akimbo at 120 degrees from the knees, Mike just barely peeking over his left shoulder, Misfits Fiend Club pin clearly beaming from its place of distinction on the guitar strap, eyes fixated downward…it’s an image that totally doesn’t make sense if you’ve ever met the guy. He’s as straight-laced and un-crossdressing a man as you can meet.

And therein lies the beauty. The juxtaposition of this, in Dave Buick’s words, stereotypically nerdy guy, wearing a 30-year-old dress, onstage, captured in mid-rock is comparable to the juxtaposition of a 9 song mini-LP released the same day as your CD/LP full-length, of adding a bass player just for the recording and release, of doing it all so fast that your already not happy with the mixes, of coming back years after the fact to finally make proper what has become an essential cog in Detroit music history to many people the world over.

The back cover photo was taken at a local funeral home. It also spawned a creepy outtake of the session, an image of White, eyes closed, in a coffin with the Hentch boys paying their respects. In some ways it seems that the inclusion of that photo would be symbolically appropriate on this reissue, the idea that the recording has finally been put to bed.

White would join the Hentchmen onstage for the record’s release party on October 23rd, but only for a rendition of Hank Williams “Jambalaya”. Tim would don the same dress he sports on the album cover and it was generally a rollicking good time.

The next two tracks, “Club Wagon” and “Ham and Oil” were originally featured on a 7” released by Gas Records from Finland. The band was put in touch to the label through Norton Records and the request was for two instrumental tracks. They were done at the Pontiac sessions.

“Club Wagon” is most likely a reference to the Hentch van, a Ford Club Wagon bedecked with many a bawdy bumper sticker, lots of highway miles and a top-notch stereo system. Tim’s guitar makes the song. “Ham and Oil” are traditional gifts at a Hamtramck wedding and the song is ultimately forgettable.

Rounding out the CD is a previously unheard second take of “Psycho Daisies”. I find this interesting to no end. At the time, I can’t imagine any of these bands completing a usable second take. Once you had a passable recording down to tape, you were done. You mixed the thing and sent it off. And this isn’t just the Hentchmen…you will be hard-pressed to find alternate takes of any Detroit bands of this era…the White Stripes, the Dirtbombs, Bantam Rooster, Detroit Cobras. Tape and time were at such a commodity that what you hear on the finished records is, most-often, all that was laid down in the studio.

But the alternate take had no vocals (which makes sense, no reason in completing two separate vocal takes at that time). So Syzmanski was finally able to right the lyrical wrong of “Mary Lou” to “Mary Hughes”.

Despite my griping, this record is still beautiful. Syzmanski explains that many of the vocal takes were missing from the original ¼ inch 8 track tapes and so there was no choice but to redo them. He believes his original performances on “Yesterday’s Trash” and “Me and My Monotone” were worth keeping had they actually been available. ( ¼ inch 8 track is, mathematically, the same fidelity as a cassette 4 track)

He also says he’d always thought the LP was a little fast, that all the songs sounded sharp and that it’s been corrected now. Add to that an ill lacquer-mastering engineer and what you end up with is a 12” that was known to skip on many turntables and never achieved its full potential because of it. While the LP tracks spark with a force unrealized on the vinyl release, the songs originally released on 7” ultimately feel a bit flattened from the transfer.

The CD running order mistakenly places “Little No More” and “Carry Me Home” up one spot each where “Big Screen Lover” is relegated down two notches. This is merely an oversight, John acknowledges, and was not intended.

There are so many reasons this re-release shouldn’t make sense. But it ultimately does. My self-implied personal attachment and involvement notwithstanding, Hentch-Forth (and its .Five companion) is the best single collection of Hentchmen material you will find, and thus, one of the best documents of Detroit garage rock in its coming-of-age phase of the late 1990s.

Image Details

-from Metro Times advert for the show
-from Metro Times general advert for the Garden Bowl, featuring Syzmanski in performing a bar handstand. Must be viewed in person to achieve full affect
-label scan of Canadian pressing of "Psycho Daisies"
-originally lyrics hand-written by Syzmanski for "Psycho Daisies" note the "Mary Lou" inclusion
-original Keep On Trash flyer. Unsure of the origin of this phrase, it would appear in the run-out groove of the "Psycho Daisies" side and eventually end-up the title of a song by the Go
-poorly photographed 16x24 poster for the St. Andrew's show. a two-color silk-screen designed by Steve Shaw. Silk-screened posters for local bands at this time were unheard of and this one is considerably rare.
-excerpt from hand-written Jack White solo show setlist, note the inclusion of "Monotone"
-perfunctory CD cover scan
-perfunctory scan of original Gas sleeve
-Hentch-van State of Michigan registration, recovered from Car City Records lost and found circa 2000. I hope his license number has changed, cause I don't know how to black that shit out.
If you've made it this far, I've got one free copy of the Hentch-Forth.Five CD to giveaway. Email cassdetroit@aol.com with something worthwhile...a scan I should've included above, a searing critique of my opinion, a sycophantic agreement with what I wrote, whatever. Winner will be picked at my discretion. And as always, keep posting comments. That shit makes my day.

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.