I've mentioned livemeteors.com before. It's a site that tracks incoming meteors over the US and Canada, and I've been visiting it for years. Around 2016 I started noticing more activity, and apparently lots of other people did too, because whereas before when I'd pop on, many nights I'd be the only person in the world on the site, but then people from all over the place started showing up. At some point I realized there was a chat room.
I'd never done anything in a chat room before except laugh at people's comments, but I noticed that these people were different from the usual jokers. They were not only a lot smarter than me but they also seemed like really good people, and one day I saw a name I knew from a vid they'd done and I commented that I liked it. Next thing I knew I was talking to all these cool people and I started doing content on my channel. It's just amazing how much I've learned just by hanging out a bit in a meteor chat room.
What's fantastic about the people in the chat in general was the way they handled not only people who stumbled onto the site and wanted to know what they were seeing, but just plain assholes (trolls) too. The best thing to do is to not feed the trolls; i.e do not engage them, but most times it's hard to resist and I get it. People will often slam them back, which is exactly what they want. The people on the meteor site though would do everything they could to try to ignore their shitty attitude and get them interested, and a few of those former trolls are now enthusiastic sky-watchers, and the rest of them at least got a taste of that huge world out there called the Universe. In other words something besides their cellphones and their crotches. Nothing puts things into perspective quite like looking up into the sky.
What's known as "The heart of a teacher" is all over that chat. It's truly inspiring. I've met some really cool people and I've talked to several on the phone or video chats. I hope to get to meet a few of them one day but for now I'm happy to call them my digital friends. I was also pleasantly surprised at how many young people were into it. If it's still acceptable in this day and age, I'm a biological male who likes women, and to meet a young hottie who happens to be into meteors and stuff is a turn-on. One gal I met made her own observatory out of an old dog house. She found this huge dog house that fit her telescope perfectly, and allowed room for it, her, her gear and a friend. Sigh...how I wish 'twere I. She even managed to rig a circular track so it revolves and she can get a 360-degree view of the sky. That rocks.
If a newbie comes on with questions and if there's someone on who's been there a while, they'll try to answer any questions or point them to other sites and such to get them started. Sometimes people will drop by from other countries and they can't speak English. They'll leave a comment or question in their native language, and I'll translate it and reply as best I can. I've done that for quite a few different languages. I wouldn't be able to tell anyway, but apparently Google Translate is good enough that I haven't accidentally insulted someone's mama or whatever because of translation errors. There's Michelle from Russia, C.D. from Italy, Todd from Germany, Chill from Japan and the rest of the international gang.
The other day someone said something in Korean. Korean writing is similar to Chinese or Japanese but it looks a little different. I copied the Korean text and entered it straight into the window instead of taking extra steps to go to the Translate and enter 'Korean to English.' You don't need to do that any more because now Google knows everything. I hit Enter and the above window popped up, like when you misspell something and it offers a correction. It said "Did you mean ____?" and it had a slightly-different version of what I'd entered. I cracked up because like I said I wouldn't know the difference anyway, but Google was treating the matter as if I could write fluently in Korean. I thought it was hilarious, but to think it's funny at all I guess you have to be a little bit twisted. I'm raising my hand yo.
좋은 하루 되세요.
Thank you very much for reading my blog, but I'm really just trying to learn to type faster. Might be occasional nudity or profanity, or I might talk about crazy stuff. I may forget and mention something twice. This is an ad-free blog. Enter at your own risk. All images = CLICK TO ENLARGE.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Friday, March 29, 2019
Accidentally Funny: Jim Nabors Update
I recently did a post about my dad accidentally making a "Jim Nabors" joke. I was telling my mom and she told me something I'd forgotten. My dad grew up in the same small town and went to high school with Jim. Back around the 60s or 70s I guess there was a movie mag with an article on Jim Nabors. It had a photo of Jim cutting a rug at a high-school dance, and my dad happened to be in the photo. That's pretty cool.
Like I said I think we may still have the photo from the year Jim and my dad were both in the marching band but I'm not sure. It'd be a fun little project to see if I could find a copy of whatever magazine it was on eBay. It'd take some digging and communication with sellers, but maybe I could find it. Actually dad may possibly still have his high-school annual and that pic could be in it. Yep, lol, the time he spent dancing was pretty much the only contact Jimmy had with the opposite sex, but it is what it is. Jim Nabors was funny and he was talented. According to dad he "sure could dance." RIP, JImmy.
Like I said I think we may still have the photo from the year Jim and my dad were both in the marching band but I'm not sure. It'd be a fun little project to see if I could find a copy of whatever magazine it was on eBay. It'd take some digging and communication with sellers, but maybe I could find it. Actually dad may possibly still have his high-school annual and that pic could be in it. Yep, lol, the time he spent dancing was pretty much the only contact Jimmy had with the opposite sex, but it is what it is. Jim Nabors was funny and he was talented. According to dad he "sure could dance." RIP, JImmy.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Band Names that Did Get Used
A while back I did some posts about band names I came up with that I thought were excellent but sadly (or probably luckily, really) never got used. There's been a million and most of them were off-the-cuff jokes, but a few were well-thought-out jokes. Most reflected a twisted (some might say disturbing) sense of humor.
There was the case of a band called Viagra Falls, which I totally thought was excellent, but they were starting to get a following and at some point obviously there'd be legal issues. We were taking a break during a Hurlers gig and they were friends with the bass player. They had sort of an ongoing contest and they were actively seeking names. I immediately suggested "The Priopists." Ba-Dop...PSSSSSHHHH!
That's right...no one would get it and it was just a joke anyway. I didn't expect first prize in the name-the-band contest. It made me think about the Viagra commercials that say to seek medical attention if you have an erection that lasts more than four hours. Damn right I'd seek SOME sort of attention, but hopefully the kind who could make good use of it for about four hours, but a four-hour boner is pretty serious. I'd definitely have it looked at. Ha, again, hopefully by someone who might trade the cost of dinner and drinks rather than a $3K medical bill.
The rare condition, and I suppose what also makes it a party pill, is known as Priopism, so I came up with the Priopists. They still did mainly bar gigs which last about four hours, so it was sort of in my mind like a band coming out with a musical boner for the entire gig, but really just a bad pun. Give me a break...I'd just found out two seconds earlier. I'm about dorky enough to call my own band that. I'd do it. When it comes to Priopism it's a real deal, and those guys really have something to hang their hat on. I can picture people coming to see The Priopists. "What the hell kind of name is that?" "Means 'four-hour boner'" "Oh. That's fucked-up." "Yep."
One name I really lobbied for but was rejected so many times it became a punchline, was "The Lesbros." After a while I just did it to be an asshole. "Come on, Leslie..." "Kelly, NO!" I met a nice young lady named Leslie who'd recently moved here from some small town, and she was friends with a friend. She'd show up at Hurlers gigs and I noticed she'd be standing against the wall somewhere in the middle of the bar looking at me and smiling. I knew nothing about her and I was involved at the time, but I was wondering what her story was, like maybe she had a "daddy" deal. Turns out she was scoping the local drummers to find one she liked to help her with some songs she wanted to record. She picked me.
I wasn't too let down that she wasn't hot for me because that was a much bigger honor anyway. It's another plus about simple drumming, which I was doing then in the band she saw me with. I always said she was way beyond her years in her music and especially her lyrics. The fact that she cared enough to go hear drummers for herself rather than just go by word of mouth speaks volumes about her. After about the third time she came in and smiled at me I finally found out I'd passed a test I didn't even know I was taking, and I got to know a little about her. She'd been dating women exclusively but she'd changed her tune and decided she liked men.
She ended up picking two bands, us and the Sea Monkeys. They had a drummer too but he played guitar and sang and I did all the percussion on the record. We had a blast and we were all good friends anyway, just like brothers, and since she liked girls, at least up until then, I thought The Lesbros would be perfect, but she wouldn't go for it. It was a play on the crude nickname for girls who like girls of course but also her name and we being like brothers. I'd never have done it to be mean or anything and it always made her laugh. She was cool about everything and a good sport about it, but she rejected me every time. We ended up being "The Golden Mile" (ho-hum, and don't get me started on the jokes) on the CD and "Mary Jo's Daughter" (better) live. She ended up getting married and starting a family and moving out West to tame Seattle. "The Lesbros" would've put us on the map. She might still be here.
A few of my names did get used. The first one was "Generic Band," or "Band" for short, which was also the first band I started. It was not long after cheaper, "generic" products came out. It was the same basic product but to save money, instead of fancy labels the cans would have a plain white label with black writing that just said GREEN BEANS or whatever. No Jolly Green Giant, no Four-color Keebler Elf, no melting pat o' butter dripping off of a glistening, steaming corn cob...just CORN. Since we played everything from A to Z, literally from the Allmans to Zappa, and I wanted a neutral name that was sorta strange and goofy too. I was in the store one day and I picked up a generic can of BEANS. It became "BAND" in my mind and that was it. Since there was already a "The Band" we became Generic Band.
Our first gig had been massive, and when some of our friends and their folks decided to have a combined street party and heard our name, they decided to have a generic-themed party. Everything was done up in black and white, right down to the black caviar on white sour cream in white new potatoes. They were well-off and spent enough on that party to equal the GNP of a small country. Everything from the food to the liquor and whatever else was strictly top-shelf but it all looked like cheap stuff. They'd take a bottle of Stoli and paste over a plain white label printed with "VODKA" or whatever.
It was awesome and a great way to introduce ourselves to a huge amount of people of all ages. We'd play Grateful Dead and all this wild stuff like King Crimson and Devo and all for the kids but then we'd turn around and play an old Jazz thing called "Take Five" or the "Charlie Brown Theme" and a few other "age-neutral" things so the older people would go nuts too. It was cool. "Generic Band" was just an okay name I guess but I worked at the time. Great fucking party that was. Outstanding band.
The next band I remember naming was "The James Clayton Experience." It still makes me laugh. What was beautiful about it was that I could do it in the first place, and I had the power to make it happen. It came completely out of the blue and forced me to react instantly; not to mention there was no one named James Clayton in the band. I love a challenge. I've said that I've gone to great lengths to prank my friends and I pranked the fuck out of James.
The crazy restaurant where I worked forever was in a little town called Crestline Village, and they were having their first annual CrestFest or whatever it was. Being that I was the resident music guy the committee people asked me if I could get a band and I said sure. I knew what they were really asking was "Can you get a band to play for free?" It was fine though. I'd have done it for free anyway but I knew some guys wouldn't. The money was going to a good cause that was local anyway, so I snagged a couple of guys I was already playing with and a couple more who didn't mind playing for free.
The idea took off and a couple weeks before it happened they decided to give it a big push, and they ran ads in the newspaper and local magazines, plus radio and even TV spots. I hadn't bothered to come up with a name for a band that was only going to play one gig, but the next day someone from one of the magazines called to ask what the name of the "band" was. The stars aligned and I saw a chance to seriously fuck with James. I was trying as hard as I could to not lose it laughing, and I said "Ummm...The James Clayton Experience." "Okay, thanks." "No problem."
I got off the phone and just died laughing. The band-naming gods had smiled on me. Plus it was a complete spur-of-the-moment prank. I had no idea the band had a name and next thing I knew, I realized that I'd handled a golden opportunity properly, and even though it hadn't happened yet I knew it was really going to be belligerent, and that I'd savor the experience for years to come. How often does an opportunity for a brilliant prank present itself, but with only about three seconds to realize it and make it happen? We all still appreciate it, and in reality it was a tribute to James too. I'd never have named a band after an asshole.
I'd known James for several years before we started forming our first bands and playing at parties and such. He was a great guy to hang out with because he was hilarious and a nice person in general and he could have fun without getting drunk or high, and I respected that. Playing in bands was perfect for him and he made a great front man. He was tall and good-looking with the long hair and all. Girls went crazy for him, and in the long run that translates into dollars. He played in some bands here that made crazy-good money and he had a whole lot to do with that. Playing in one of James' bands would pay the bills. He took advantage of his advantages to a certain extent and I really couldn't blame him but it gave lots of people the impression that he was way more into himself than he really was.
That thing just added another layer to the prank that hadn't even kicked in yet. It was like lighting a very long fuse and then walking away. I knew I wouldn't be there to directly see the results but it didn't matter. I knew I'd hear plenty about it later, and it's really about the journey anyway and not so much the destination. I was thrilled to hear the girl who called to ask the band's name telling me how much they were going to promote it. I thought maybe it was for posters and maybe for a local rag or two, but she said it was going to be in the main paper and on the radio and TV. I couldn't wait to tell the other guys our name. They all loved James too and they knew about his reputation as a tad egotistical so it was hilarious.
It worked on so many levels. Tons of people were going to find about it for one thing. Rarely does an inside-joke get immortalized. It was like someone naming a band after themselves, only they weren't in it. The way he found out was great. James' dad lived here in town and said he thought he was hearing things when he heard something about the "James Clayton Experience" on the radio. He thought he'd imagined it until he saw it in the paper. James was living in Tuscaloosa at the time. He was playing there that night and his dad knew his schedule, but he called him anyway to find out what the deal was. James knew instantly he'd been gotten and he knew who did it. He took it like a champ though.
A week or two later he called me up. "Hello?" "Hi, asshole. Love the name of y'all's new band. Maybe we could open up for you guys some time." I cracked up while he continued to give me the business. "You know this is no laughing matter, right?" he said jokingly. He knew he'd been had, and good. "Right!" I howled. 'Did they spell it right?" I asked and laughed some more. "Yeah, that's what my DAD said." I couldn't talk for laughing. "You know I owe you one big-time, right?" "Uh-hu-hu-huh" I laughed. "Okay. Just so you know. See you Saturday." "Okay, JC. 'Bye now! The t-shirts will be in next week." "Asshole" he said and hung up. If there's such a thing as "Prank Karma" then I should be looking over my shoulder James' way for the rest of my life. That kind of thing is why you learn to play music in the first place.
Next up was the X-Cops. My buddy Doug played in that band and would also play in Bud Greene. He told me an hilarious story about once when he and our buddy Bruce were going somewhere in the car. A couple of redneck girls in the next car rolled down the window and tried to get them to go have a drink. "Y'all wan' party?" I'm assuming they got a noncommittal look in return, because they went on: "We ain't gon' bite chee! We jus' wan' party!" Finally, as if to somehow mean that they must be okay, one gal said "My ex-husband's a cop!" I cracked up when I heard that and we were going back and forth imitating them and embellishing on the gals' story along the way. Finally I settled on "My husband's a ex-cop." Ding-ding...band name.
Of course I changed it to "X-Cops" for more impact and to make it more contemporary and its own thing, and frankly as a nod to a certain "party favor" going around that was nicknamed after a certain letter of the alphabet. And also maybe not to potentially piss-off any cops. I was already mentally forming a band just to go along with the name; I liked it so much. I couldn't have dreamed what happened. Bert Cotton, a unique individual and a truly-gifted monster guitarist, who'd been in Generic Band, and Victor Atkins, an up-and-coming Jazz cat from Selma whom he'd buddied-up with, were taking a year off from Berklee music school in Boston. I ran into Bert at a club somewhere. I had no idea he was even in town, much less that he was going to be here for a year. He told me a little about Vic and he sounded like the shit. I asked him what they were up to 'cause I figured surely something big, but to my amazement he said they didn't have anything gong on. I'll never forget...I stuck my hand out and said "Y'all are now in a band, and it's called 'X-Cops.'" He said why not and the rest is history.
The beauty of that band was that we knew the future of it already...it would be one year and one year only. Actually there were some big reunions and even whispers of one today, but at the time it was great because it took away all the uncertain shit that comes with most bands- the petty bullshit, egos, seeing a good band go to shit, which is heartbreaking, and all the rest of it. We knew we had a year to just say "Fuck it" and go full-throttle, which we did. We all had reputations in town by then and we didn't have to warm up along the way and we came out smokin'. We were a "fan's band" and a "musician's band" at the same time and that's somewhat rare. I'll never forget one review in a local rag by a guy who normally tore local bands a new asshole but couldn't find anything bad to say about the Cops. He said "Musicians flock to see them like 'ants to a picnic.'" Well-said, bro.
The X-Cops was fun as fuck, and it took on a life of its own. Those two guys are pretty famous now (Google 'em, Dylan), and I know they look back with love on the X-Cops. Over the following years we played several reunions when they were in town for the holidays, and interestingly most were at the legendary Mauby's Christmas parties. That's the crazy restaurant I worked in forever. My good friend from high school, "Skinny" Kenny has been a DJ at a local Jazz station forever. We recorded one of the shows at Mauby's and he played it for years on the station, and may still for all I know.
Bert and Vic were the true Jazz cats while Doug and I were more the Funk/Rock guys. I was the odd man out as I was playing way too "Rock," but I think which in the long run added way more energy and set the band apart. I hope so anyway, but I was definitely the weak link in some ways. Even though the band only played for a year besides the reunions, the legacy continues. By far though the best thing about the X-Cops was that we didn't give a shit about money- we did it purely out of love for the music itself. We knew we'd make some decent money here and there but it didn't matter. Even with a name a band usually has to tour for a year or so before they start making serious cash, so there was no point in thinking about money anyway. The freedom, along with a pure love of music that came with that was worth more than gold, to me anyway. That was a fun band.
I almost forgot about Party Hats. How could I forget Party Hats? I named that band after a favorite part of the female anatomy that just happens to come in pairs, and is activated by changes in temperature. That was a great band with a weird situation. Everyone in that band could really play and we had this whizkid guitar player and a girl who played electronic keyboards and sang. We learned all these amazing songs including "Blockhead" by Devo, but we never played a gig. To be honest my asshole ass had a lot to do with that band never doing anything, but alls I can say in my defense is that the old adage about never dating a bandmate is true 99% of the time.
We had a big party scheduled at the restaurant but then I got loaded and started chatting-up some chick and Becky got mad and split and the other guys got pissed at me when I said "Fuck it" and left with the chick, so they left my drums out on the sidewalk. Good times. If the guitar player is dating the singer or whatever, it's likely to fuck-up their relationship, the band and probably both. If you gotta fuck 'em...fire 'em first. Just kidding, but just say "no."
That was a great "logo" name. I made the logo using thick, black Letraset press-on letters in all caps for PARTY HATS. For the As I drew triangles with thin lines and hand-colored each one to look like a party hat- polka dots, stripes, etc. it was a badass logo. I've never worked so hard learning songs in a band without ever playing a gig. Becky was an amazing singer so we could do "Dog and Butterfly" by Heart, and then turn around and do "1999" or "Blockhead." That band would've flipped some people out, for a cover band anyway. Doug was in that band as well and we practiced at his house. The practices would usually turn into parties, and there was this amazing drama going on that Hardy, the other guitar player, conjured up about me and his girlfriend Beth.
They'd just opened up a Friday's nearby and Doug and I would go have a late dinner after practice. Beth worked there but she was never there when we were. I really wish I'd gotten to meet her just to see what all the fuss was about but I never even sawr her. She was obviously cheating on him but not with me. Hardy was convinced otherwise however, and the last half of every practice ended up with the same ol' song and dance. "Did you see Beth?" "No, Hardy. She wasn't working." "Okay" he'd say, '"but if you did see her you'd tell me, right?" "Yes, Hardy. I'm not going to screw around with your girlfriend or anyone else's." "Okay, I believe you. But you'd tell me, right?" The funny thing was he had the hots for Beck even though he was dating Beth, and Beck had the hots for me, and frankly I for her too except that I didn't trust her, so it was band drama extraordinaire. Plus the young guitar player had the hots for Becky too, so it was just this clusterfuck of raging hormones and unrequited love. Damn, that would make a good short story.
I finally gave up and told him yes, I met her and fucked her senseless. I was kidding of course but he wasn't believing me anyway, so I figured I'd go the other route and see if I could end it then and there, but he went ballistic. He stormed out of rehearsal, which he started doing regularly, but then he'd always pretend to leave and drive up the block and sneak back in; presumably to see if he could overhear any conversations about Beth. I caught him one night and asked him what was up and he said he was looking for his "notebook," which none of us were aware he had. There was no notebook but it made for good song material.
I wrote at least two songs about it. One was called "She Might be Your Girlfriend." It was pretty brutal but it was hilarious. At least we got some funny songs out of the deal and I really can't take all the blame for the band never taking off. That shit gets old eventually and it's very counterproductive. Such is life. A jealous idiot can totally fuck-up a good band too, so I guess you don't even have to be dating another member of the band. I guess it means just leave everyone related to the band in any way out- girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, moms, dads, whatever. Just don't do it. To this day he probably still believes I fucked her. What a trip.
Finally there was ol' Bud Greene. There was a band called $1.07 Band. The aforementioned James Clayton was in it along with O', Greg and out friends Joe and Eric. Everybody except O' and Greg left to make a shitload of money in the Grounders, so I joined along with Chris Luster on bass. It was still called Dollar-Seven for the first few gigs but we were looking for a new name. I still had a photo actually of the day I named the band but I lost a lot of stuff recently. It showed three rather forlorn-looking guys sitting at the bar at Forrester's in Oxford, MS. It was a Sunday morning around 11 and we were about to head home, but we were waiting on some weed. This is amazing.
It was the first time I'd played there but O' and Greg played there several times in $1.07. They'd told me how great Oxford was so many times that I didn't think it possible, but when I experienced it for myself it exceeded my wildest dreams. Bill, the owner, was out of weed, which would turn out to be one of only about two times he was ever out in all the times we played there, but back then in late Summer there'd be a "drought" in weed as farmers waited for the next crop. Usually when that happened if you could find any at all it was mostly mediocre. One of the bartenders though had promised us he could get us the strongest weed we'd ever smoked, which at the time turned out to be true, if we could wait a bit. It was expensive but worth it if it was as good as he said.
Back then supposedly the only place in the US that grew weed for "research" was right there in Oxford. One of the first things we did the first day we hit town was drive by the weed farm. They had 11' fences topped with electric wire and you could see the tops of some of the plants above that. It was gnarly. It was called G-87, which stood for "government" and I think the year it came out. For "some reason" it was bred to have a very high THC content and at the time it was the strongest ever bred, with around 22% THC. It was unlike anything anyone had ever smoked back then. Anyway we were sitting there weedless and pitiful. It was so funny I had to take a photo of the other guys.
Finally dude showed up with a grin on his face and pulled out a sack of weed. We could smell it before he opened the bag. "What the hell is that?" we asked, and the guy said it was G-87. "G-87? What..HOW...you...G-87?" "Yep." "How the fuck did you get it?" I figured he knew someone who worked there but the story was much better than that. Occasionally some of them would get together and go "bud fishing." They'd get fishing poles with the tri-hook deals and cast their line over the fence over and over until they snagged bud or the cops drove by. He said it'd take a dozen or so tries to come back with something on the line, and he said that the fence was powerful enough to give them all a little shock even through the nylon line if it touched the wires. That's nuts but it worked, and they'd hang out until they had about a QP or so and then split. They'd dry it and they'd have the finest product on the planet, for free. We bought the shit out of all he had.
Before we left town we went back to the room to toke-up and pack-up and we were discussing the name thing. We were so stoned that we almost forgot where we were. I was still cracking up about "Bud fishing." At the restaurant we had code for different weed. "Brickweed," "Reg" or "Commersh" (commercial); in other words mediocre weed was "Downtown Freddie Brown" and the good shit we called "Bud Green," so I said "How 'bout 'Bud Green?'" and we all lost it laughing. Although as time went on I'd be surprised by how many people didn't get the name and would ask "Which one's Bud?" which of course became a band joke (BTW, it was Doug), but the guys got it immediately. By the amount of laughter we knew we didn't have to vote on it.
So Dollar-Seven begat Bud Greene. We added an "E" on the end of Greene, just to make it legal, as it were. The name caused much levity and won us some fans on its own. One dude who got the name big-time was a big ol', good ol' boy in some little town in Alabama. He came to see us for the first time and saw the sign outside the club with our name on it. He goes "Haw-haw...Bud Greene...haw-haw. Why din'ja just name it 'Big Ol' Hit o' Acid,' haw-haw." Classic.
I guess that's it, except for the thousand or so bands I started in my head, with names of course. If I ever get my strength back and whatnot and start another band I can name, it's going to probably be either "T. Ruth" or "lol." I like lol because I just don't give a fuck any more, but it's always subject to change. I still really wish we'd used "The Lesbros." It had style. It would've been amazing. Oh, well. Rock on.
There was the case of a band called Viagra Falls, which I totally thought was excellent, but they were starting to get a following and at some point obviously there'd be legal issues. We were taking a break during a Hurlers gig and they were friends with the bass player. They had sort of an ongoing contest and they were actively seeking names. I immediately suggested "The Priopists." Ba-Dop...PSSSSSHHHH!
That's right...no one would get it and it was just a joke anyway. I didn't expect first prize in the name-the-band contest. It made me think about the Viagra commercials that say to seek medical attention if you have an erection that lasts more than four hours. Damn right I'd seek SOME sort of attention, but hopefully the kind who could make good use of it for about four hours, but a four-hour boner is pretty serious. I'd definitely have it looked at. Ha, again, hopefully by someone who might trade the cost of dinner and drinks rather than a $3K medical bill.
The rare condition, and I suppose what also makes it a party pill, is known as Priopism, so I came up with the Priopists. They still did mainly bar gigs which last about four hours, so it was sort of in my mind like a band coming out with a musical boner for the entire gig, but really just a bad pun. Give me a break...I'd just found out two seconds earlier. I'm about dorky enough to call my own band that. I'd do it. When it comes to Priopism it's a real deal, and those guys really have something to hang their hat on. I can picture people coming to see The Priopists. "What the hell kind of name is that?" "Means 'four-hour boner'" "Oh. That's fucked-up." "Yep."
One name I really lobbied for but was rejected so many times it became a punchline, was "The Lesbros." After a while I just did it to be an asshole. "Come on, Leslie..." "Kelly, NO!" I met a nice young lady named Leslie who'd recently moved here from some small town, and she was friends with a friend. She'd show up at Hurlers gigs and I noticed she'd be standing against the wall somewhere in the middle of the bar looking at me and smiling. I knew nothing about her and I was involved at the time, but I was wondering what her story was, like maybe she had a "daddy" deal. Turns out she was scoping the local drummers to find one she liked to help her with some songs she wanted to record. She picked me.
I wasn't too let down that she wasn't hot for me because that was a much bigger honor anyway. It's another plus about simple drumming, which I was doing then in the band she saw me with. I always said she was way beyond her years in her music and especially her lyrics. The fact that she cared enough to go hear drummers for herself rather than just go by word of mouth speaks volumes about her. After about the third time she came in and smiled at me I finally found out I'd passed a test I didn't even know I was taking, and I got to know a little about her. She'd been dating women exclusively but she'd changed her tune and decided she liked men.
She ended up picking two bands, us and the Sea Monkeys. They had a drummer too but he played guitar and sang and I did all the percussion on the record. We had a blast and we were all good friends anyway, just like brothers, and since she liked girls, at least up until then, I thought The Lesbros would be perfect, but she wouldn't go for it. It was a play on the crude nickname for girls who like girls of course but also her name and we being like brothers. I'd never have done it to be mean or anything and it always made her laugh. She was cool about everything and a good sport about it, but she rejected me every time. We ended up being "The Golden Mile" (ho-hum, and don't get me started on the jokes) on the CD and "Mary Jo's Daughter" (better) live. She ended up getting married and starting a family and moving out West to tame Seattle. "The Lesbros" would've put us on the map. She might still be here.
A few of my names did get used. The first one was "Generic Band," or "Band" for short, which was also the first band I started. It was not long after cheaper, "generic" products came out. It was the same basic product but to save money, instead of fancy labels the cans would have a plain white label with black writing that just said GREEN BEANS or whatever. No Jolly Green Giant, no Four-color Keebler Elf, no melting pat o' butter dripping off of a glistening, steaming corn cob...just CORN. Since we played everything from A to Z, literally from the Allmans to Zappa, and I wanted a neutral name that was sorta strange and goofy too. I was in the store one day and I picked up a generic can of BEANS. It became "BAND" in my mind and that was it. Since there was already a "The Band" we became Generic Band.
Our first gig had been massive, and when some of our friends and their folks decided to have a combined street party and heard our name, they decided to have a generic-themed party. Everything was done up in black and white, right down to the black caviar on white sour cream in white new potatoes. They were well-off and spent enough on that party to equal the GNP of a small country. Everything from the food to the liquor and whatever else was strictly top-shelf but it all looked like cheap stuff. They'd take a bottle of Stoli and paste over a plain white label printed with "VODKA" or whatever.
It was awesome and a great way to introduce ourselves to a huge amount of people of all ages. We'd play Grateful Dead and all this wild stuff like King Crimson and Devo and all for the kids but then we'd turn around and play an old Jazz thing called "Take Five" or the "Charlie Brown Theme" and a few other "age-neutral" things so the older people would go nuts too. It was cool. "Generic Band" was just an okay name I guess but I worked at the time. Great fucking party that was. Outstanding band.
The next band I remember naming was "The James Clayton Experience." It still makes me laugh. What was beautiful about it was that I could do it in the first place, and I had the power to make it happen. It came completely out of the blue and forced me to react instantly; not to mention there was no one named James Clayton in the band. I love a challenge. I've said that I've gone to great lengths to prank my friends and I pranked the fuck out of James.
The crazy restaurant where I worked forever was in a little town called Crestline Village, and they were having their first annual CrestFest or whatever it was. Being that I was the resident music guy the committee people asked me if I could get a band and I said sure. I knew what they were really asking was "Can you get a band to play for free?" It was fine though. I'd have done it for free anyway but I knew some guys wouldn't. The money was going to a good cause that was local anyway, so I snagged a couple of guys I was already playing with and a couple more who didn't mind playing for free.
The idea took off and a couple weeks before it happened they decided to give it a big push, and they ran ads in the newspaper and local magazines, plus radio and even TV spots. I hadn't bothered to come up with a name for a band that was only going to play one gig, but the next day someone from one of the magazines called to ask what the name of the "band" was. The stars aligned and I saw a chance to seriously fuck with James. I was trying as hard as I could to not lose it laughing, and I said "Ummm...The James Clayton Experience." "Okay, thanks." "No problem."
I got off the phone and just died laughing. The band-naming gods had smiled on me. Plus it was a complete spur-of-the-moment prank. I had no idea the band had a name and next thing I knew, I realized that I'd handled a golden opportunity properly, and even though it hadn't happened yet I knew it was really going to be belligerent, and that I'd savor the experience for years to come. How often does an opportunity for a brilliant prank present itself, but with only about three seconds to realize it and make it happen? We all still appreciate it, and in reality it was a tribute to James too. I'd never have named a band after an asshole.
I'd known James for several years before we started forming our first bands and playing at parties and such. He was a great guy to hang out with because he was hilarious and a nice person in general and he could have fun without getting drunk or high, and I respected that. Playing in bands was perfect for him and he made a great front man. He was tall and good-looking with the long hair and all. Girls went crazy for him, and in the long run that translates into dollars. He played in some bands here that made crazy-good money and he had a whole lot to do with that. Playing in one of James' bands would pay the bills. He took advantage of his advantages to a certain extent and I really couldn't blame him but it gave lots of people the impression that he was way more into himself than he really was.
That thing just added another layer to the prank that hadn't even kicked in yet. It was like lighting a very long fuse and then walking away. I knew I wouldn't be there to directly see the results but it didn't matter. I knew I'd hear plenty about it later, and it's really about the journey anyway and not so much the destination. I was thrilled to hear the girl who called to ask the band's name telling me how much they were going to promote it. I thought maybe it was for posters and maybe for a local rag or two, but she said it was going to be in the main paper and on the radio and TV. I couldn't wait to tell the other guys our name. They all loved James too and they knew about his reputation as a tad egotistical so it was hilarious.
It worked on so many levels. Tons of people were going to find about it for one thing. Rarely does an inside-joke get immortalized. It was like someone naming a band after themselves, only they weren't in it. The way he found out was great. James' dad lived here in town and said he thought he was hearing things when he heard something about the "James Clayton Experience" on the radio. He thought he'd imagined it until he saw it in the paper. James was living in Tuscaloosa at the time. He was playing there that night and his dad knew his schedule, but he called him anyway to find out what the deal was. James knew instantly he'd been gotten and he knew who did it. He took it like a champ though.
A week or two later he called me up. "Hello?" "Hi, asshole. Love the name of y'all's new band. Maybe we could open up for you guys some time." I cracked up while he continued to give me the business. "You know this is no laughing matter, right?" he said jokingly. He knew he'd been had, and good. "Right!" I howled. 'Did they spell it right?" I asked and laughed some more. "Yeah, that's what my DAD said." I couldn't talk for laughing. "You know I owe you one big-time, right?" "Uh-hu-hu-huh" I laughed. "Okay. Just so you know. See you Saturday." "Okay, JC. 'Bye now! The t-shirts will be in next week." "Asshole" he said and hung up. If there's such a thing as "Prank Karma" then I should be looking over my shoulder James' way for the rest of my life. That kind of thing is why you learn to play music in the first place.
Next up was the X-Cops. My buddy Doug played in that band and would also play in Bud Greene. He told me an hilarious story about once when he and our buddy Bruce were going somewhere in the car. A couple of redneck girls in the next car rolled down the window and tried to get them to go have a drink. "Y'all wan' party?" I'm assuming they got a noncommittal look in return, because they went on: "We ain't gon' bite chee! We jus' wan' party!" Finally, as if to somehow mean that they must be okay, one gal said "My ex-husband's a cop!" I cracked up when I heard that and we were going back and forth imitating them and embellishing on the gals' story along the way. Finally I settled on "My husband's a ex-cop." Ding-ding...band name.
Of course I changed it to "X-Cops" for more impact and to make it more contemporary and its own thing, and frankly as a nod to a certain "party favor" going around that was nicknamed after a certain letter of the alphabet. And also maybe not to potentially piss-off any cops. I was already mentally forming a band just to go along with the name; I liked it so much. I couldn't have dreamed what happened. Bert Cotton, a unique individual and a truly-gifted monster guitarist, who'd been in Generic Band, and Victor Atkins, an up-and-coming Jazz cat from Selma whom he'd buddied-up with, were taking a year off from Berklee music school in Boston. I ran into Bert at a club somewhere. I had no idea he was even in town, much less that he was going to be here for a year. He told me a little about Vic and he sounded like the shit. I asked him what they were up to 'cause I figured surely something big, but to my amazement he said they didn't have anything gong on. I'll never forget...I stuck my hand out and said "Y'all are now in a band, and it's called 'X-Cops.'" He said why not and the rest is history.
The beauty of that band was that we knew the future of it already...it would be one year and one year only. Actually there were some big reunions and even whispers of one today, but at the time it was great because it took away all the uncertain shit that comes with most bands- the petty bullshit, egos, seeing a good band go to shit, which is heartbreaking, and all the rest of it. We knew we had a year to just say "Fuck it" and go full-throttle, which we did. We all had reputations in town by then and we didn't have to warm up along the way and we came out smokin'. We were a "fan's band" and a "musician's band" at the same time and that's somewhat rare. I'll never forget one review in a local rag by a guy who normally tore local bands a new asshole but couldn't find anything bad to say about the Cops. He said "Musicians flock to see them like 'ants to a picnic.'" Well-said, bro.
The X-Cops was fun as fuck, and it took on a life of its own. Those two guys are pretty famous now (Google 'em, Dylan), and I know they look back with love on the X-Cops. Over the following years we played several reunions when they were in town for the holidays, and interestingly most were at the legendary Mauby's Christmas parties. That's the crazy restaurant I worked in forever. My good friend from high school, "Skinny" Kenny has been a DJ at a local Jazz station forever. We recorded one of the shows at Mauby's and he played it for years on the station, and may still for all I know.
Bert and Vic were the true Jazz cats while Doug and I were more the Funk/Rock guys. I was the odd man out as I was playing way too "Rock," but I think which in the long run added way more energy and set the band apart. I hope so anyway, but I was definitely the weak link in some ways. Even though the band only played for a year besides the reunions, the legacy continues. By far though the best thing about the X-Cops was that we didn't give a shit about money- we did it purely out of love for the music itself. We knew we'd make some decent money here and there but it didn't matter. Even with a name a band usually has to tour for a year or so before they start making serious cash, so there was no point in thinking about money anyway. The freedom, along with a pure love of music that came with that was worth more than gold, to me anyway. That was a fun band.
I almost forgot about Party Hats. How could I forget Party Hats? I named that band after a favorite part of the female anatomy that just happens to come in pairs, and is activated by changes in temperature. That was a great band with a weird situation. Everyone in that band could really play and we had this whizkid guitar player and a girl who played electronic keyboards and sang. We learned all these amazing songs including "Blockhead" by Devo, but we never played a gig. To be honest my asshole ass had a lot to do with that band never doing anything, but alls I can say in my defense is that the old adage about never dating a bandmate is true 99% of the time.
We had a big party scheduled at the restaurant but then I got loaded and started chatting-up some chick and Becky got mad and split and the other guys got pissed at me when I said "Fuck it" and left with the chick, so they left my drums out on the sidewalk. Good times. If the guitar player is dating the singer or whatever, it's likely to fuck-up their relationship, the band and probably both. If you gotta fuck 'em...fire 'em first. Just kidding, but just say "no."
That was a great "logo" name. I made the logo using thick, black Letraset press-on letters in all caps for PARTY HATS. For the As I drew triangles with thin lines and hand-colored each one to look like a party hat- polka dots, stripes, etc. it was a badass logo. I've never worked so hard learning songs in a band without ever playing a gig. Becky was an amazing singer so we could do "Dog and Butterfly" by Heart, and then turn around and do "1999" or "Blockhead." That band would've flipped some people out, for a cover band anyway. Doug was in that band as well and we practiced at his house. The practices would usually turn into parties, and there was this amazing drama going on that Hardy, the other guitar player, conjured up about me and his girlfriend Beth.
They'd just opened up a Friday's nearby and Doug and I would go have a late dinner after practice. Beth worked there but she was never there when we were. I really wish I'd gotten to meet her just to see what all the fuss was about but I never even sawr her. She was obviously cheating on him but not with me. Hardy was convinced otherwise however, and the last half of every practice ended up with the same ol' song and dance. "Did you see Beth?" "No, Hardy. She wasn't working." "Okay" he'd say, '"but if you did see her you'd tell me, right?" "Yes, Hardy. I'm not going to screw around with your girlfriend or anyone else's." "Okay, I believe you. But you'd tell me, right?" The funny thing was he had the hots for Beck even though he was dating Beth, and Beck had the hots for me, and frankly I for her too except that I didn't trust her, so it was band drama extraordinaire. Plus the young guitar player had the hots for Becky too, so it was just this clusterfuck of raging hormones and unrequited love. Damn, that would make a good short story.
I finally gave up and told him yes, I met her and fucked her senseless. I was kidding of course but he wasn't believing me anyway, so I figured I'd go the other route and see if I could end it then and there, but he went ballistic. He stormed out of rehearsal, which he started doing regularly, but then he'd always pretend to leave and drive up the block and sneak back in; presumably to see if he could overhear any conversations about Beth. I caught him one night and asked him what was up and he said he was looking for his "notebook," which none of us were aware he had. There was no notebook but it made for good song material.
I wrote at least two songs about it. One was called "She Might be Your Girlfriend." It was pretty brutal but it was hilarious. At least we got some funny songs out of the deal and I really can't take all the blame for the band never taking off. That shit gets old eventually and it's very counterproductive. Such is life. A jealous idiot can totally fuck-up a good band too, so I guess you don't even have to be dating another member of the band. I guess it means just leave everyone related to the band in any way out- girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, moms, dads, whatever. Just don't do it. To this day he probably still believes I fucked her. What a trip.
Finally there was ol' Bud Greene. There was a band called $1.07 Band. The aforementioned James Clayton was in it along with O', Greg and out friends Joe and Eric. Everybody except O' and Greg left to make a shitload of money in the Grounders, so I joined along with Chris Luster on bass. It was still called Dollar-Seven for the first few gigs but we were looking for a new name. I still had a photo actually of the day I named the band but I lost a lot of stuff recently. It showed three rather forlorn-looking guys sitting at the bar at Forrester's in Oxford, MS. It was a Sunday morning around 11 and we were about to head home, but we were waiting on some weed. This is amazing.
It was the first time I'd played there but O' and Greg played there several times in $1.07. They'd told me how great Oxford was so many times that I didn't think it possible, but when I experienced it for myself it exceeded my wildest dreams. Bill, the owner, was out of weed, which would turn out to be one of only about two times he was ever out in all the times we played there, but back then in late Summer there'd be a "drought" in weed as farmers waited for the next crop. Usually when that happened if you could find any at all it was mostly mediocre. One of the bartenders though had promised us he could get us the strongest weed we'd ever smoked, which at the time turned out to be true, if we could wait a bit. It was expensive but worth it if it was as good as he said.
Back then supposedly the only place in the US that grew weed for "research" was right there in Oxford. One of the first things we did the first day we hit town was drive by the weed farm. They had 11' fences topped with electric wire and you could see the tops of some of the plants above that. It was gnarly. It was called G-87, which stood for "government" and I think the year it came out. For "some reason" it was bred to have a very high THC content and at the time it was the strongest ever bred, with around 22% THC. It was unlike anything anyone had ever smoked back then. Anyway we were sitting there weedless and pitiful. It was so funny I had to take a photo of the other guys.
Finally dude showed up with a grin on his face and pulled out a sack of weed. We could smell it before he opened the bag. "What the hell is that?" we asked, and the guy said it was G-87. "G-87? What..HOW...you...G-87?" "Yep." "How the fuck did you get it?" I figured he knew someone who worked there but the story was much better than that. Occasionally some of them would get together and go "bud fishing." They'd get fishing poles with the tri-hook deals and cast their line over the fence over and over until they snagged bud or the cops drove by. He said it'd take a dozen or so tries to come back with something on the line, and he said that the fence was powerful enough to give them all a little shock even through the nylon line if it touched the wires. That's nuts but it worked, and they'd hang out until they had about a QP or so and then split. They'd dry it and they'd have the finest product on the planet, for free. We bought the shit out of all he had.
Before we left town we went back to the room to toke-up and pack-up and we were discussing the name thing. We were so stoned that we almost forgot where we were. I was still cracking up about "Bud fishing." At the restaurant we had code for different weed. "Brickweed," "Reg" or "Commersh" (commercial); in other words mediocre weed was "Downtown Freddie Brown" and the good shit we called "Bud Green," so I said "How 'bout 'Bud Green?'" and we all lost it laughing. Although as time went on I'd be surprised by how many people didn't get the name and would ask "Which one's Bud?" which of course became a band joke (BTW, it was Doug), but the guys got it immediately. By the amount of laughter we knew we didn't have to vote on it.
So Dollar-Seven begat Bud Greene. We added an "E" on the end of Greene, just to make it legal, as it were. The name caused much levity and won us some fans on its own. One dude who got the name big-time was a big ol', good ol' boy in some little town in Alabama. He came to see us for the first time and saw the sign outside the club with our name on it. He goes "Haw-haw...Bud Greene...haw-haw. Why din'ja just name it 'Big Ol' Hit o' Acid,' haw-haw." Classic.
I guess that's it, except for the thousand or so bands I started in my head, with names of course. If I ever get my strength back and whatnot and start another band I can name, it's going to probably be either "T. Ruth" or "lol." I like lol because I just don't give a fuck any more, but it's always subject to change. I still really wish we'd used "The Lesbros." It had style. It would've been amazing. Oh, well. Rock on.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Saturday, March 23, 2019
Trippy Fast Food (plus Bonus PC Rant)
If you can get past (literally sometimes) the 24/7 construction and the "LA-wannabe" attitude that's been there since the late-70s or so, Atlanta's okay. It's the hubbub hub of the South, y'all. Grub hub too. There's some good eats there. Believe me, I'm not suggesting anyone get fast food (you are what you eat) but it's a fact of life, and at least there are places that will cook it to order right in front of you on a big-ass grill, plus they'll basically and good-naturedly harass the shit out of you to keep things moving along. At least they used to.
Where else can you/could you get that experience? If you find yourself in Hotlanta craving fast (and I mean fast) food, you owe it to yourself to check out the Varsity. Just be ready to have your shit together or they'll get it together for you. It's not a place for first-timers to stand there pondering the menu. Oh, dear GOD...I just had a terrible thought. With this PC-bullshit and "snowflake" society we live in today, where everyone's offended by everything, it could have changed. I hope they haven't toned it down. That was half the deal.
It'd be a real shame if they now had to go "Hello si...uh, I mean hello, person. Welcome to the Varsity. Please take your time and peruse our extensive menu. Don't forget any special orders, 'cause they don't upset us, but whatever you do, don't hurry." Man I hope that didn't happen but I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe they have signs that say "Please do not dine at this establishment if you are easily-offended, hypersensitive, can dish it but not take it, etc. etc. YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO RIDE THIS RIDE."
This is a rant for sure, but it's about how it is. Sorry. See? It works. Anyway I'll try to calm down and finish the post. It's been a long time since I've been there and things have changed. I'll tell this from the way it used to be and hopefully still is. 'Cause man, they'd fuck with you. Shoot, if they had to change that policy I bet half those people would quit if they couldn't fuck with people any more, and they've been there in some cases for decades. They's family. Of course most of them are gone by now I reckon. Age and onion rings took 'em down. RIP, y'all.
You'd walk in, hopefully not too wasted but they'd seen it all, and you'd hear this sort of rap going, way before Rap was invented. It was freestylin' but they had it down. It sounded sort of like they were going "Jeeba-Jabba-Jooba" at first, if you'd never been there anyway, but you could make out that they were saying "Get ya mind on ya order and ya money in ya hand. What'll ya have, What'll ya have, what'll ya HAVE?" It was a trip. So what you did was you got your mind on your order and you got your money in your hand. Well, I guess they had to change the bit about "money in ya hand" anyway. Ha-ha, in a few years when everyone has the chip they can change it to "Ya money IS ya hand." Ha ha ha.
I'll still go to Atlanta for a concert or something but I gave up on it very early on. My cousins lived there and they had a beautiful home and property and I'd visit them some, but I turned my attention elsewhere by the time I was 21. I saw some legendary shows there and tons of other craziness happened, but the city started growing so fast that there was constant road construction and stuff like that. People from the South who wanted a big-city experience moved to Atlanta, so they started building even more shit. More than that though, the whole city seemed to take on a 'tude. "Welcome to Atlanta, California." Back in the day before that all kicked in Atlanta was the South's dirty little secret.
For a couple of years the legal drinking limit in Georgia went down to 18. Something about "If they're old enough to serve their country they should be old enough to get a beer," or something like that. It was perfect for my friend George and me. We'd just graduated high school, he in Chicago and me here. We met that Summer and became friends in about 24 hours are are still friends. We'd drive over there all the time; not just because of the drinking age but because it was still fun back then. We'd go to a place called High Times. This was not long after High Times, the weed magazine, came out. Although it didn't serve pot brownies or anything they ripped off the name and even the exact all-caps font. Of course they got sued by the magazine, so they did what a little kid would do if they forgot to put something in a homemade lemonade-stand sign or whatever. They put a tiny little "ol'" between High and Times, so it looked like HIGH ol' TIMES up close but you couldn't tell from the street.
There were countless stories and some have happened over the years, but I remember one that had a decent punchline. George and I split a Quaalude, hit the Proto-Pipe and went out drinkin' at HIGH ol' TIMES. 'Ludes were one thing by themselves, but mixing with any amount of alcohol was asking for trouble, and probably a damn good story to go with it, that is if you could remember anything. Quaaludes and alcohol could easily put you into a blackout, where you'd keep doing shit, usually stupid, but you might have no memory of it at all the next day. Nearly every morning after a serious Ludens episode, first thing you'd do is run look in the driveway to see if your car had made it home with you. Don't get me started even on all the times you'd wake up somewhere "strange," if you get my drift.
I don't remember much after the first drink or two, as far as incidental little things like what happened at the bar or driving home. That's interesting because the way things have always been in Atlanta, let's just say that a single heterosexual male is a hot target for women, and most trips to bars there led to some stories, even if mostly about women going nuts trying to pick you up and such. I vaguely remember a brunette but most of 5-6 hours were lost. It's funny though the things you do remember sometimes. I remember luckily making it back but getting sick as shit and violently throwing up. I remember George eating a normal dinner but for some reason my dumb ass only ate raw broccoli with ranch dip, and my stomach couldn't keep up with George or the Bacardi or whatever it was we drank. I remember eating "dinner" and driving to the bar and ordering a drink but the next few hours were a blur, until I found myself kakking my guts out. After a little broccoli though it was all dry-heaves, but it was the worst case in my life. It was really loud and it woke up my cousins.
They had a huge house and I always crashed in the sunroom so I could lie there and look at the sky. George was in the guest room and the girls' rooms were nearby. George was out cold and he didn't even know about it until we told him at breakfast next morning, which made him howl. He never heard a thing. I was violently heaving and making heinous noises and at first my cousins thought an intruder had gotten in and I was being stabbed. They crept closer and figured out that I was probably throwing up but they weren't sure so they ran and woke up their dad, or Uncle Dick to me. That's his name, not a joke. I love Uncle Dick. They told him that I was probably throwing up but that there was a chance I was getting stabbed. He said "If he's getting stabbed I'll get up, but if it's drinkin' and druggin' I'm going back to sleep." That's classic. Can't fool Uncle D.
What was I talking about? Oh, yeah...the Varsity. I usually went there with the band and/or O', the keyboardist and my partner in crime for a while. We went to Atlanta several times either playing music or on solo trips for a concert or just to go. We'd try to hit the Varsity for the ambiance alone. I'm pretty sure that every time we went to the Varsity we were high. We usually managed to snap-to enough to get with the program and not hold up traffic, at least after we'd been there already and knew the deal. The first time we went was with the band after a gig. Five of us walked in and stood there like clowns for a minute trying to figure out what to order. We were the boulders in the stream if you will. We were on Quaaludes that night. Apparently we hadn't mixed any alcohol in because I can still remember what happened.
We're standing there like WTF and a dude behind the counter is giving us shit about standing there. After a bit they get into a rhythm with their "What'll ya have" deal and it sort of becomes a song. The guy had to change up the song a bit to be able to fuck with us specifically, and it was beautiful. "What'llyahave, what'llyahave, M'on, guys quit dreamin' what'llyahave? Get ya mind on ya order get ya money in ya hand. Guys, y'all ever been here before? What'llyahave, what'llyahave c'mon guys this ain't no funeral, what'llyahave, WHAT'LLYAHAVE?" After we got through cracking up we got it together enough to order and finish up quickly. I'll never forget finally walking down to pay and looking back at the guy. He was shaking his head but he'd launched back into his normal rhythm and everything was good. I bet it's not like that any more. What a shame. Damn snowflake society.
The experience was funny enough to write a song about so that's what I did. The basic song was finished the next day. It was called "Fry Pie Go" after what they'd say if you ordered an apple turnover to take home. I still remember the music and most of the lyrics. We never did officially work the song out and learn it, but I communicated enough of it to O' that we were able to sing the transition part and the chorus (Fry pie go, fry pie go, etc.) well enough to crack ourselves up. What was funny about the song is I did a major tempo shift to illustrate what it was like to walk into the Varsity for the first time; slowed-down on Quaaludes, and having to downshift and get with a program we were just getting a crash-course in. "You mean to say we can't just stand here holding up traffic like a drunken bowling team while we try to figure out what to order?" Ha-ha, I guess you had to be there. We were...sort of.
One cool thing about music is that you can take the tempo and speed it up double or more as long as you do it evenly, at least if you want to keep the same pulse. You can take 60bpm (beats per minute) and increase it to 120 or 240bpm. The song will increase in tempo but the same beat is there, just doubled or quadrupled. It's all mathematics. So the tune started out with a verse in a very slow Jazz-type thing, which was us sort of grooving into the place for the first time. It said something like "What's the deal with this dude, I JUST WANT SOME FOOD!" There was a stop for half a beat and then the classic "FAP" of the snare drum on beat 4, and then it launched into a Rock thing for the chorus at four times the tempo.
That was supposed to be us realizing that the guy behind the counter was sort of singing this song and getting onto us at the same time, which was surreal for sure, and having to pop our heads out of our asses and get with the plan or risk total public humiliation. Not really, but it was pretty crazy and I wanted to try to get that across in song. I guess it was good enough to give me and O' a good laugh every now and then. It ain't no gnarly band story like most of them, but then again most of the other stories didn't lead to a tune. I could sing it to O' today from across the street and he'd get a laugh.
There you have it- a long-winded post about song-inspiring fast-ass food. Who'd'a thunk it. If you ever make it to 'Lanta, as I called it as a toddler, be ready for some traffic's ass, and ignore people walking around muttering to themselves, going "One day we'll be LA...one day we'll be LA..." and if you can get past all that then you might just have a good ol' time. Or maybe HIGH ol' TIMES, if it's still there, but I seriously doubt it. If you have a hankerin' for some hot-off-the-grill fast food, check the Varsity. The knot in my stomach isn't over lost burgers; it's about having a funny feeling that things have changed, and the rap that was Rap before Rap is gone as it was, or at least has been politically-corrected. They offended NO ONE but I'm sure some flower will be offended by being rushed ordering fast food, so (eventually by law) they'll drop it. I guess it'd render the song obsolete. The same could be said for society. Sorry if I've offended anyone. Have a nice day, and stay PC, y'all. Bon apetit, yo.
Where else can you/could you get that experience? If you find yourself in Hotlanta craving fast (and I mean fast) food, you owe it to yourself to check out the Varsity. Just be ready to have your shit together or they'll get it together for you. It's not a place for first-timers to stand there pondering the menu. Oh, dear GOD...I just had a terrible thought. With this PC-bullshit and "snowflake" society we live in today, where everyone's offended by everything, it could have changed. I hope they haven't toned it down. That was half the deal.
It'd be a real shame if they now had to go "Hello si...uh, I mean hello, person. Welcome to the Varsity. Please take your time and peruse our extensive menu. Don't forget any special orders, 'cause they don't upset us, but whatever you do, don't hurry." Man I hope that didn't happen but I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe they have signs that say "Please do not dine at this establishment if you are easily-offended, hypersensitive, can dish it but not take it, etc. etc. YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO RIDE THIS RIDE."
This is a rant for sure, but it's about how it is. Sorry. See? It works. Anyway I'll try to calm down and finish the post. It's been a long time since I've been there and things have changed. I'll tell this from the way it used to be and hopefully still is. 'Cause man, they'd fuck with you. Shoot, if they had to change that policy I bet half those people would quit if they couldn't fuck with people any more, and they've been there in some cases for decades. They's family. Of course most of them are gone by now I reckon. Age and onion rings took 'em down. RIP, y'all.
You'd walk in, hopefully not too wasted but they'd seen it all, and you'd hear this sort of rap going, way before Rap was invented. It was freestylin' but they had it down. It sounded sort of like they were going "Jeeba-Jabba-Jooba" at first, if you'd never been there anyway, but you could make out that they were saying "Get ya mind on ya order and ya money in ya hand. What'll ya have, What'll ya have, what'll ya HAVE?" It was a trip. So what you did was you got your mind on your order and you got your money in your hand. Well, I guess they had to change the bit about "money in ya hand" anyway. Ha-ha, in a few years when everyone has the chip they can change it to "Ya money IS ya hand." Ha ha ha.
I'll still go to Atlanta for a concert or something but I gave up on it very early on. My cousins lived there and they had a beautiful home and property and I'd visit them some, but I turned my attention elsewhere by the time I was 21. I saw some legendary shows there and tons of other craziness happened, but the city started growing so fast that there was constant road construction and stuff like that. People from the South who wanted a big-city experience moved to Atlanta, so they started building even more shit. More than that though, the whole city seemed to take on a 'tude. "Welcome to Atlanta, California." Back in the day before that all kicked in Atlanta was the South's dirty little secret.
For a couple of years the legal drinking limit in Georgia went down to 18. Something about "If they're old enough to serve their country they should be old enough to get a beer," or something like that. It was perfect for my friend George and me. We'd just graduated high school, he in Chicago and me here. We met that Summer and became friends in about 24 hours are are still friends. We'd drive over there all the time; not just because of the drinking age but because it was still fun back then. We'd go to a place called High Times. This was not long after High Times, the weed magazine, came out. Although it didn't serve pot brownies or anything they ripped off the name and even the exact all-caps font. Of course they got sued by the magazine, so they did what a little kid would do if they forgot to put something in a homemade lemonade-stand sign or whatever. They put a tiny little "ol'" between High and Times, so it looked like HIGH ol' TIMES up close but you couldn't tell from the street.
There were countless stories and some have happened over the years, but I remember one that had a decent punchline. George and I split a Quaalude, hit the Proto-Pipe and went out drinkin' at HIGH ol' TIMES. 'Ludes were one thing by themselves, but mixing with any amount of alcohol was asking for trouble, and probably a damn good story to go with it, that is if you could remember anything. Quaaludes and alcohol could easily put you into a blackout, where you'd keep doing shit, usually stupid, but you might have no memory of it at all the next day. Nearly every morning after a serious Ludens episode, first thing you'd do is run look in the driveway to see if your car had made it home with you. Don't get me started even on all the times you'd wake up somewhere "strange," if you get my drift.
I don't remember much after the first drink or two, as far as incidental little things like what happened at the bar or driving home. That's interesting because the way things have always been in Atlanta, let's just say that a single heterosexual male is a hot target for women, and most trips to bars there led to some stories, even if mostly about women going nuts trying to pick you up and such. I vaguely remember a brunette but most of 5-6 hours were lost. It's funny though the things you do remember sometimes. I remember luckily making it back but getting sick as shit and violently throwing up. I remember George eating a normal dinner but for some reason my dumb ass only ate raw broccoli with ranch dip, and my stomach couldn't keep up with George or the Bacardi or whatever it was we drank. I remember eating "dinner" and driving to the bar and ordering a drink but the next few hours were a blur, until I found myself kakking my guts out. After a little broccoli though it was all dry-heaves, but it was the worst case in my life. It was really loud and it woke up my cousins.
They had a huge house and I always crashed in the sunroom so I could lie there and look at the sky. George was in the guest room and the girls' rooms were nearby. George was out cold and he didn't even know about it until we told him at breakfast next morning, which made him howl. He never heard a thing. I was violently heaving and making heinous noises and at first my cousins thought an intruder had gotten in and I was being stabbed. They crept closer and figured out that I was probably throwing up but they weren't sure so they ran and woke up their dad, or Uncle Dick to me. That's his name, not a joke. I love Uncle Dick. They told him that I was probably throwing up but that there was a chance I was getting stabbed. He said "If he's getting stabbed I'll get up, but if it's drinkin' and druggin' I'm going back to sleep." That's classic. Can't fool Uncle D.
What was I talking about? Oh, yeah...the Varsity. I usually went there with the band and/or O', the keyboardist and my partner in crime for a while. We went to Atlanta several times either playing music or on solo trips for a concert or just to go. We'd try to hit the Varsity for the ambiance alone. I'm pretty sure that every time we went to the Varsity we were high. We usually managed to snap-to enough to get with the program and not hold up traffic, at least after we'd been there already and knew the deal. The first time we went was with the band after a gig. Five of us walked in and stood there like clowns for a minute trying to figure out what to order. We were the boulders in the stream if you will. We were on Quaaludes that night. Apparently we hadn't mixed any alcohol in because I can still remember what happened.
We're standing there like WTF and a dude behind the counter is giving us shit about standing there. After a bit they get into a rhythm with their "What'll ya have" deal and it sort of becomes a song. The guy had to change up the song a bit to be able to fuck with us specifically, and it was beautiful. "What'llyahave, what'llyahave, M'on, guys quit dreamin' what'llyahave? Get ya mind on ya order get ya money in ya hand. Guys, y'all ever been here before? What'llyahave, what'llyahave c'mon guys this ain't no funeral, what'llyahave, WHAT'LLYAHAVE?" After we got through cracking up we got it together enough to order and finish up quickly. I'll never forget finally walking down to pay and looking back at the guy. He was shaking his head but he'd launched back into his normal rhythm and everything was good. I bet it's not like that any more. What a shame. Damn snowflake society.
The experience was funny enough to write a song about so that's what I did. The basic song was finished the next day. It was called "Fry Pie Go" after what they'd say if you ordered an apple turnover to take home. I still remember the music and most of the lyrics. We never did officially work the song out and learn it, but I communicated enough of it to O' that we were able to sing the transition part and the chorus (Fry pie go, fry pie go, etc.) well enough to crack ourselves up. What was funny about the song is I did a major tempo shift to illustrate what it was like to walk into the Varsity for the first time; slowed-down on Quaaludes, and having to downshift and get with a program we were just getting a crash-course in. "You mean to say we can't just stand here holding up traffic like a drunken bowling team while we try to figure out what to order?" Ha-ha, I guess you had to be there. We were...sort of.
One cool thing about music is that you can take the tempo and speed it up double or more as long as you do it evenly, at least if you want to keep the same pulse. You can take 60bpm (beats per minute) and increase it to 120 or 240bpm. The song will increase in tempo but the same beat is there, just doubled or quadrupled. It's all mathematics. So the tune started out with a verse in a very slow Jazz-type thing, which was us sort of grooving into the place for the first time. It said something like "What's the deal with this dude, I JUST WANT SOME FOOD!" There was a stop for half a beat and then the classic "FAP" of the snare drum on beat 4, and then it launched into a Rock thing for the chorus at four times the tempo.
That was supposed to be us realizing that the guy behind the counter was sort of singing this song and getting onto us at the same time, which was surreal for sure, and having to pop our heads out of our asses and get with the plan or risk total public humiliation. Not really, but it was pretty crazy and I wanted to try to get that across in song. I guess it was good enough to give me and O' a good laugh every now and then. It ain't no gnarly band story like most of them, but then again most of the other stories didn't lead to a tune. I could sing it to O' today from across the street and he'd get a laugh.
There you have it- a long-winded post about song-inspiring fast-ass food. Who'd'a thunk it. If you ever make it to 'Lanta, as I called it as a toddler, be ready for some traffic's ass, and ignore people walking around muttering to themselves, going "One day we'll be LA...one day we'll be LA..." and if you can get past all that then you might just have a good ol' time. Or maybe HIGH ol' TIMES, if it's still there, but I seriously doubt it. If you have a hankerin' for some hot-off-the-grill fast food, check the Varsity. The knot in my stomach isn't over lost burgers; it's about having a funny feeling that things have changed, and the rap that was Rap before Rap is gone as it was, or at least has been politically-corrected. They offended NO ONE but I'm sure some flower will be offended by being rushed ordering fast food, so (eventually by law) they'll drop it. I guess it'd render the song obsolete. The same could be said for society. Sorry if I've offended anyone. Have a nice day, and stay PC, y'all. Bon apetit, yo.
Friday, March 22, 2019
The Daily Bullshit: Oops
First of all my condolences and prayers go out to friends and family of Justin Carter. Having said that I'm going to have to call bullshit, as you might have guessed. This title sounds harsh in the wake of Mr. Carter's death maybe but life is harsh. Maybe I'm suffering from "empathy-burnout" or whatever cute name they came up with for it.
It means that people experience so many tragedies and shit that they just can't have enough feelings to go around. They get spread too thin and so they pull back to save same some for themselves and people closer to them. I get it but it sucks, and it's assuming that someone has a heart to begin with, and many people don't. Sadly that seems to be the case more and more these days. I'm not unsympathetic at all but the whole deal reeks of bullshit. My Bullshitometer is pegged.
The story goes that he accidentally shot himself with a prop pistol while shooting his latest video. I already want to put all that in quotes. What a way for a Cowboy to go, right? It's the stuff of legend. Why you could write a Country song about it. Yeah I sound like a cynical old fuck 'cause I am, but this is bullshit no matter how you slice it.
Of course the "Conspiracy Theorists" will be all over this. Right off the bat the "numbers" guys will look at the age he died first, and then start running dates, names (each letter represents a number, which is the simplest form of coding), through the Gematriator or one of the other numbers engines and Gematria its ass. The thing is that this "codong" and all the numbers stuff is very real and the higher-ups who call the shots and all of these societies and such use numbers to code things and also to communicate secretly in plain sight. They do love their numbers. But trying to decode it is subjective at best, plus there's several different forms of coding letters, i.e. A-Z can be 1-26 which is standard, or the numbers can repeat at 10, where K could be an 11 or start over and be another 1, so you have to know which form of decoding to use- "Classic" Gematria, "German" Gematria, etc. You have to have the key in other words.
It's also subjective in that you can stop at any point in the process if you see a number you're looking for. In the basic deal you take all the numbers you get, add them and then reduce until you either go as far as you can, or hit a certain number and stop. Say you decode the letters of a name or whatever and you get the number 12,341. That's 1&2&3&4&1=11, or 2 (1&1). My plus key isn't working BTW. Anyway that's basically how it works. You can say it's taking things too far but again it's 100% a real deal. And no, decoding numbers isn't "evil" as some would have you believe, and if anything it can help keep an eye on what the bad guys are up to because it's just a part of how they roll.
I think that even though it's valid it's wasting time time best spent elsewhere. It goes way beyond the numbers and they're just not that important. Plus the numbers guys already know the numbers are going to be there one way or another, whether they stop reducing at 11 or whatever. It should be noted but those guys should do that and then move on, but they get stuck in the numbers and don't go anywhere else. I get it because it's fun. Like most kids of my generation I had a Secret Decoder Ring. It had a dial with letters and a dial with numbers and you could start with A as 1 or you could turn it to where B is 1 or anything else and get another code entirely. The decoder ring is based on the real system. If you sent your buddy a coded message you'd let him know "F is 1" or whatever so he'd know how to decipher it. Needless to say it's an easy code to break. Even if you don't know that F is 1 you can just keep turning the dial until the words you get line up and make sense. We didn't have digital encryption on our decoder rings back in the day.
Just for good measure I noticed the stylized "Baphomet" design on his shirt, as seen in this photo. I'm sure someone else will pick upon that right away. Say what you will but it's right there in front of your face, stylized or not. Then there's the fact that he shot himself in the eye (the one-eye symbolism). That could absolutely be coincidence, but it'd fit the "all-seeing eye" deal, and it is curious, if not about unlikely as fuck. But let's just look at the facts.
First off, if the story is true, and I'm not saying it isn't although I have my doubts, then Prop Guy is up a crick without a paddle. Oh, wait...I gotta back up and call bullshit on another thing first. A prop gun that works? Bullshit. Sure they want authenticity, but they have the budget to rent an authentic-looking pistol. They make those. They reproduce every detail (except for the firing pin) and they look real enough to fool the cops but they don't fire. Hence the term "prop" gun. Okay, so maybe at the last minute somebody forgot to call the prop company to rent a prop pistol for the shoot (as it were), and Joe Gaffers happens to have an old Colt .45 or whatever and he'd be glad to run get it for the shoot. That could happen, but make sure the damn thing's not loaded. The thing is, and again if it's all true, is that for sure prop guy will get blamed, but ultimately the responsibility would have fallen on...drum roll, please...dude himself.
Anybody who ever learned to shoot a gun learned the First Rule of firearms...if you pick up a gun, and until you're ready to shoot, MAKE SURE THE GUN ISN'T LOADED. That means a Colt .45 or an Uzi or a centuries-old rusty derringer found in a sunken shipwreck to a "prop" gun to a freaking cap pistol, and I'm not kidding. You check to see if the thing is loaded. That way you avoid stupid shit like accidentally shooting yourself. Just ask one of the best guitarists in the whole world, Terry Kath. Oh, wait...you can't. He accidentally shot himself. The story goes that Terry had a little buzz on and he was playing with a gun at a party. Someone asked him if he'd checked to make sure the gun wasn't loaded and he said of course and to demonstrate, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger and blew his brains out. Fucking oops. I rest my case.
You can learn about Kentucky Windage or hollow vs. solid or why you can't shoot out the little red star with BBs in the game at the fair and whatever else you might want to learn about guns, but if you ever think about picking up a gun, you always, always, ALWAYS make sure it isn't loaded. And that means even if you checked it ten minutes earlier...if you fool around with it again you check it again. Yes it's completely redundant but that's how you have to treat the matter. It's one thing to shoot your own dumb ass but it'd be way worse to hurt someone else. You can't be too redundant if it could involve life or death. You can't rely on your memory for this one thing, and certainly not someone else's memory. They might have been high and forgot they loaded it. It's simple. Check the chamber. Takes two seconds. BTW RIP, Terry. You were really good.
So prop guy fucked up, and dude fucked up. Third on the list would be a thing I'd love to see the forensics report on. Supposedly the gun was in his pocket, which we can presume means that it was facing downward, yet it says he shot himself in the eye. How the fuck somebody do that? A ricochet I could maybe believe but I don't think that's the case. They didn't mention that cool "FEEYOWwww" sound you hear in the movies when a bullet ricochets. Seriously that's messed-up. Only a true-blue dumbass would ever carry a loaded pistol in his pocket...facing up. Come on, man. It wouldn't even fit in his pocket facing up. It's bullshit.
I can't say what happened for sure of course because I wasn't there. Maybe it happened just like they say it did, and if anybody knows that crazy shit happens it is I, and there were witnesses apparently, if they're all being truthful, and that's certainly questionable. I'm not trying to turn everything into a conspiracy as it may seem. I picked this at random because it's just the latest one. Aside from the number of probable witnesses, this story parallels so many others that it really doesn't matter which one you pick. Guy shoots video...gun shoots guy. So, dude gets a prop gun, prop gun is somehow real, and loaded, gun is in dude's pocket upside-down, something happens and gun goes off and hits dude in the eye. That's nuts. That's the story and some of it obviously is true (dude's apparently dead) but there's something fucking fishy going on here and that's a fact. And that goes for this particular incident, most of the other celebrity "deaths" and the music business in general.
I won't go into all that shit right here but I've been looking into it for decades, and I've been in the biz myself since before I could legally drive, so I've learned a few things. The song "Murder by Numbers" by Sting could be a clue. I'll just say that in this case, dude should still be walking around, end of story. That's a mistake that shouldn't have been made. Sure accidents happen and tragically that involves guns. I don't know for sure but I'd guess that most accidental deaths are caused by kids playing with loaded guns that aren't locked away. Adults should know better. Just ask Terry Kath. Dang it, that's right...you can't. Well, RIP, Justin. Sorry about the bullshit. Bullshit can be lethal.
It means that people experience so many tragedies and shit that they just can't have enough feelings to go around. They get spread too thin and so they pull back to save same some for themselves and people closer to them. I get it but it sucks, and it's assuming that someone has a heart to begin with, and many people don't. Sadly that seems to be the case more and more these days. I'm not unsympathetic at all but the whole deal reeks of bullshit. My Bullshitometer is pegged.
The story goes that he accidentally shot himself with a prop pistol while shooting his latest video. I already want to put all that in quotes. What a way for a Cowboy to go, right? It's the stuff of legend. Why you could write a Country song about it. Yeah I sound like a cynical old fuck 'cause I am, but this is bullshit no matter how you slice it.
Of course the "Conspiracy Theorists" will be all over this. Right off the bat the "numbers" guys will look at the age he died first, and then start running dates, names (each letter represents a number, which is the simplest form of coding), through the Gematriator or one of the other numbers engines and Gematria its ass. The thing is that this "codong" and all the numbers stuff is very real and the higher-ups who call the shots and all of these societies and such use numbers to code things and also to communicate secretly in plain sight. They do love their numbers. But trying to decode it is subjective at best, plus there's several different forms of coding letters, i.e. A-Z can be 1-26 which is standard, or the numbers can repeat at 10, where K could be an 11 or start over and be another 1, so you have to know which form of decoding to use- "Classic" Gematria, "German" Gematria, etc. You have to have the key in other words.
It's also subjective in that you can stop at any point in the process if you see a number you're looking for. In the basic deal you take all the numbers you get, add them and then reduce until you either go as far as you can, or hit a certain number and stop. Say you decode the letters of a name or whatever and you get the number 12,341. That's 1&2&3&4&1=11, or 2 (1&1). My plus key isn't working BTW. Anyway that's basically how it works. You can say it's taking things too far but again it's 100% a real deal. And no, decoding numbers isn't "evil" as some would have you believe, and if anything it can help keep an eye on what the bad guys are up to because it's just a part of how they roll.
I think that even though it's valid it's wasting time time best spent elsewhere. It goes way beyond the numbers and they're just not that important. Plus the numbers guys already know the numbers are going to be there one way or another, whether they stop reducing at 11 or whatever. It should be noted but those guys should do that and then move on, but they get stuck in the numbers and don't go anywhere else. I get it because it's fun. Like most kids of my generation I had a Secret Decoder Ring. It had a dial with letters and a dial with numbers and you could start with A as 1 or you could turn it to where B is 1 or anything else and get another code entirely. The decoder ring is based on the real system. If you sent your buddy a coded message you'd let him know "F is 1" or whatever so he'd know how to decipher it. Needless to say it's an easy code to break. Even if you don't know that F is 1 you can just keep turning the dial until the words you get line up and make sense. We didn't have digital encryption on our decoder rings back in the day.
Just for good measure I noticed the stylized "Baphomet" design on his shirt, as seen in this photo. I'm sure someone else will pick upon that right away. Say what you will but it's right there in front of your face, stylized or not. Then there's the fact that he shot himself in the eye (the one-eye symbolism). That could absolutely be coincidence, but it'd fit the "all-seeing eye" deal, and it is curious, if not about unlikely as fuck. But let's just look at the facts.
First off, if the story is true, and I'm not saying it isn't although I have my doubts, then Prop Guy is up a crick without a paddle. Oh, wait...I gotta back up and call bullshit on another thing first. A prop gun that works? Bullshit. Sure they want authenticity, but they have the budget to rent an authentic-looking pistol. They make those. They reproduce every detail (except for the firing pin) and they look real enough to fool the cops but they don't fire. Hence the term "prop" gun. Okay, so maybe at the last minute somebody forgot to call the prop company to rent a prop pistol for the shoot (as it were), and Joe Gaffers happens to have an old Colt .45 or whatever and he'd be glad to run get it for the shoot. That could happen, but make sure the damn thing's not loaded. The thing is, and again if it's all true, is that for sure prop guy will get blamed, but ultimately the responsibility would have fallen on...drum roll, please...dude himself.
Anybody who ever learned to shoot a gun learned the First Rule of firearms...if you pick up a gun, and until you're ready to shoot, MAKE SURE THE GUN ISN'T LOADED. That means a Colt .45 or an Uzi or a centuries-old rusty derringer found in a sunken shipwreck to a "prop" gun to a freaking cap pistol, and I'm not kidding. You check to see if the thing is loaded. That way you avoid stupid shit like accidentally shooting yourself. Just ask one of the best guitarists in the whole world, Terry Kath. Oh, wait...you can't. He accidentally shot himself. The story goes that Terry had a little buzz on and he was playing with a gun at a party. Someone asked him if he'd checked to make sure the gun wasn't loaded and he said of course and to demonstrate, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger and blew his brains out. Fucking oops. I rest my case.
You can learn about Kentucky Windage or hollow vs. solid or why you can't shoot out the little red star with BBs in the game at the fair and whatever else you might want to learn about guns, but if you ever think about picking up a gun, you always, always, ALWAYS make sure it isn't loaded. And that means even if you checked it ten minutes earlier...if you fool around with it again you check it again. Yes it's completely redundant but that's how you have to treat the matter. It's one thing to shoot your own dumb ass but it'd be way worse to hurt someone else. You can't be too redundant if it could involve life or death. You can't rely on your memory for this one thing, and certainly not someone else's memory. They might have been high and forgot they loaded it. It's simple. Check the chamber. Takes two seconds. BTW RIP, Terry. You were really good.
So prop guy fucked up, and dude fucked up. Third on the list would be a thing I'd love to see the forensics report on. Supposedly the gun was in his pocket, which we can presume means that it was facing downward, yet it says he shot himself in the eye. How the fuck somebody do that? A ricochet I could maybe believe but I don't think that's the case. They didn't mention that cool "FEEYOWwww" sound you hear in the movies when a bullet ricochets. Seriously that's messed-up. Only a true-blue dumbass would ever carry a loaded pistol in his pocket...facing up. Come on, man. It wouldn't even fit in his pocket facing up. It's bullshit.
I can't say what happened for sure of course because I wasn't there. Maybe it happened just like they say it did, and if anybody knows that crazy shit happens it is I, and there were witnesses apparently, if they're all being truthful, and that's certainly questionable. I'm not trying to turn everything into a conspiracy as it may seem. I picked this at random because it's just the latest one. Aside from the number of probable witnesses, this story parallels so many others that it really doesn't matter which one you pick. Guy shoots video...gun shoots guy. So, dude gets a prop gun, prop gun is somehow real, and loaded, gun is in dude's pocket upside-down, something happens and gun goes off and hits dude in the eye. That's nuts. That's the story and some of it obviously is true (dude's apparently dead) but there's something fucking fishy going on here and that's a fact. And that goes for this particular incident, most of the other celebrity "deaths" and the music business in general.
I won't go into all that shit right here but I've been looking into it for decades, and I've been in the biz myself since before I could legally drive, so I've learned a few things. The song "Murder by Numbers" by Sting could be a clue. I'll just say that in this case, dude should still be walking around, end of story. That's a mistake that shouldn't have been made. Sure accidents happen and tragically that involves guns. I don't know for sure but I'd guess that most accidental deaths are caused by kids playing with loaded guns that aren't locked away. Adults should know better. Just ask Terry Kath. Dang it, that's right...you can't. Well, RIP, Justin. Sorry about the bullshit. Bullshit can be lethal.
Time Capsule: Accidental New "Gomer" Joke (Jim Nabors)
My dad grew up in Sylacauga, Alabama, which was also where the late Jim Nabors of "The Andy Griffith Show" and "Gomer Pyle, USMC" fame grew up. He was a year older than my dad, and besides being in the marching band at the same time, dad never got to know "Jimmy" very well. There's a great photo that I'm pretty sure we still have but I didn't want to look for it. I may post it if I find it.
It's an 8x10 black and white photo of the band, with Jim and my dad. Dad played trumpet but I forget what Jim played. I think clarinet. All dad ever said about Jimmy from the high-school days was that he was well-liked and into doing theater. He was also a great singer and he could "really dance." There were countless "Gomer" jokes back in the day, but no matter what you may say about Jim Nabors (ShaZAYyam), he carved out a career for himself that stands the test of time, and he had talent.
Dad had a stroke about ten years ago and even though he was incredibly healthy before it happened and we'd hoped for a more complete recovery, he's still dad and he still has his sense of humor intact, although many times he says things that are funny even though he doesn't know it. Not long ago he was surfing and a rerun of Gomer Pyle came on. He still remembers tons of stuff but I try to test him sometimes. I said something about Jim just to see how much it would jog his memory and he came out with an accidental zinger. He was saying a bit about Jimmy from back in high school, and he casually remarked "He didn't date many girls." Lol, I guess not. Good one, dad. Accidental or not.
It's an 8x10 black and white photo of the band, with Jim and my dad. Dad played trumpet but I forget what Jim played. I think clarinet. All dad ever said about Jimmy from the high-school days was that he was well-liked and into doing theater. He was also a great singer and he could "really dance." There were countless "Gomer" jokes back in the day, but no matter what you may say about Jim Nabors (ShaZAYyam), he carved out a career for himself that stands the test of time, and he had talent.
Dad had a stroke about ten years ago and even though he was incredibly healthy before it happened and we'd hoped for a more complete recovery, he's still dad and he still has his sense of humor intact, although many times he says things that are funny even though he doesn't know it. Not long ago he was surfing and a rerun of Gomer Pyle came on. He still remembers tons of stuff but I try to test him sometimes. I said something about Jim just to see how much it would jog his memory and he came out with an accidental zinger. He was saying a bit about Jimmy from back in high school, and he casually remarked "He didn't date many girls." Lol, I guess not. Good one, dad. Accidental or not.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK: The Shaggs
If you should happen to stumble on this and the post below and actually read it, good for you. You obviously have the patience of Job and are musically-adventurous to boot. If you want to read about a band that carved their own special place in music history, if nothing more than being the shittiest band ever to be recorded (to most ears), here you go.
I say that lovingly because here it's a relative term. It's both ugly and beautiful at the same time. It's out of tune, out of time and out to lunch. It's some of the most atonal, arhythmical, and frankly "amusical" music you'll ever hear. It's also rhythmically-terrifying. The Shaggs' story is incredible but their music is even more so. You couldn't define it with a Roget's Dinosaurus. This music carved out its own niche and it will stand there alone forever. Literally if you can hang with the first fifteen seconds of this music you're on your way to a musical journey that will probably change your attitude of what "music" can be.
You'll have to try and forget everything you know about music for around half an hour, plus however long it takes your brain to recover from the experience. Remember, the mind stores everything it experiences forever, and things you see or hear can manifest later as something else. I know that when I finally drifted off to sleep after my first pivotal listen to the Shaggs, I had some crazy dreams. I don't remember any of them and I can't say they were directly related to the Shaggs, but it wouldn't surprise me. To some people this literally is the stuff of nightmares.
If you decide to have a listen, clear your mind. Tell yourself it's useless to try to prepare for what you're about to hear. Make it a private thing the first time. Your friends may not understand and it should be a personal deal anyway, just like finding God. Prepare to be changed forever. If you need to, keep telling yourself "It's only a record...it's only a record..." If you get dizzy easily, don't listen to this music drunk. Like smoking weed on top of a major alcohol buzz, it will give you the Twirlies. Speaking of buzz, you absolutely don't need one to be savagely-altered by this music, but the choice is up to you. Set aside a block of time...say half an hour for the actual listening and at least a few minutes to process...which granted might take for the rest of your life. Be ready for a whole new Universe of music. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, and godspeed.
Keep in mind that lots of famous musicians love this music and helped to bring it back into public awareness. Whether you love it or hate it I doubt you could say that it isn't about the craziest shit you ever heard in your life. It's about 33 minutes long, which is both the blink of an eye and an eternity. You've been warned. Enjoy.
"The Philosophy of the World" by The Shaggs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQqK1CjE9bA
I say that lovingly because here it's a relative term. It's both ugly and beautiful at the same time. It's out of tune, out of time and out to lunch. It's some of the most atonal, arhythmical, and frankly "amusical" music you'll ever hear. It's also rhythmically-terrifying. The Shaggs' story is incredible but their music is even more so. You couldn't define it with a Roget's Dinosaurus. This music carved out its own niche and it will stand there alone forever. Literally if you can hang with the first fifteen seconds of this music you're on your way to a musical journey that will probably change your attitude of what "music" can be.
You'll have to try and forget everything you know about music for around half an hour, plus however long it takes your brain to recover from the experience. Remember, the mind stores everything it experiences forever, and things you see or hear can manifest later as something else. I know that when I finally drifted off to sleep after my first pivotal listen to the Shaggs, I had some crazy dreams. I don't remember any of them and I can't say they were directly related to the Shaggs, but it wouldn't surprise me. To some people this literally is the stuff of nightmares.
If you decide to have a listen, clear your mind. Tell yourself it's useless to try to prepare for what you're about to hear. Make it a private thing the first time. Your friends may not understand and it should be a personal deal anyway, just like finding God. Prepare to be changed forever. If you need to, keep telling yourself "It's only a record...it's only a record..." If you get dizzy easily, don't listen to this music drunk. Like smoking weed on top of a major alcohol buzz, it will give you the Twirlies. Speaking of buzz, you absolutely don't need one to be savagely-altered by this music, but the choice is up to you. Set aside a block of time...say half an hour for the actual listening and at least a few minutes to process...which granted might take for the rest of your life. Be ready for a whole new Universe of music. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, and godspeed.
Keep in mind that lots of famous musicians love this music and helped to bring it back into public awareness. Whether you love it or hate it I doubt you could say that it isn't about the craziest shit you ever heard in your life. It's about 33 minutes long, which is both the blink of an eye and an eternity. You've been warned. Enjoy.
"The Philosophy of the World" by The Shaggs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQqK1CjE9bA
Ummm...Uhhhh... The Shaggs (WARNING: Epic Post- Might want to Grab a Coffee)
I don't know what to say about this...yes I do...no I don't...yes I do. I hate to use a cliche, but #mindblown. HOLY-every expletive on the planet. A friend on YouTube sent a link to some songs and I really liked one band she sent. I told her that getting new music is really a gift for me. There's more great music out there than I could ever discover on my own so I really appreciate the turn-on. Usually when I hear new music that grabs me right off the bat I'm going "Yeah!" and bobbing my head. Sometimes I hear something that makes me laugh it's so cool. But VERY rarely does new music completely fuck me up. Apparently I'm not the only one.
The Shaggs popped up in my feed the other day. I'd heard about them many years ago and I'd seen this LP cover and I knew they sure did look about quirky as fuck but I never bothered to listen to their music. I wish I had. Occasionally I'd hear something about them because they'd been around for a long time. I thought this was a 70s album but it was recorded in 1969. The entire thing- the record, the story...the music...it's so out there that it's in. It completely rewrites the Physics of music, if you will. I always bitch about the categorization of music, which I get from the point of knowing which slot to put it in, but does more to confuse the issue than anything else. "Oh, he's not Emo enough...he must be Screamo. Give me a break.
Another vid came up called "The Worst LP ever Recorded?" and it was the Shaggs. I'd crashed for about an hour earlier that evening, which I hate to do because it spaces me out and makes it hard to go back to sleep sometimes. Last night I was extra-spacey and I had to hop right up and throw something together for dinner and take a walk and whatever else and I never woke completely back up. It turned out to be rather appropriate for hearing the Shaggs for the first time, although you most definitely wouldn't need to be in any altered condition to be tripped-out by this record. I can guarantee one thing- if you do listen to this LP in its entirety, be it sober, high or tripping balls, you'll be altered after you listen to it...if you dare. The term 'unique' is so overused but in this case it totally applies, as in truly a one-off. There's the Shaggs' music and then there's everything else. That's no joke.
I couldn't get back to sleep so about 3:30 I gave up and decided to make coffee and see the sunrise and basically piss-around like I usually do. I decided it was finally time to listen to the Shaggs, in glorious Mp3 quality on computer speakers. I'd truly love to hear this on the original vinyl, of which only about 100 copies are known to exist, on a rad stereo system, but listening to the Shaggs fot the first time I don't really think it mattered. The point came across loud and clear, whatever it was. It still trips me out and it will for the rest of my life. I'm still processing. It's that radical.
If you do listen to it your first reaction will probably be to turn it off immediately, which is completely understandable. I can say that the Shaggs' music isn't for everyone, and maybe it's there for no one. I want to start each sentence here with "Uhhh..." because my brain is spinning way faster that my non-typing ass can go. I don't know how anyone could categorize this music or WTF they'd call it, but I'll go with my friend Randy's term of "Quirkrock." I love that. I also love the Shaggs. Deeply. First listen. Man...this may be the craziest shit I've ever heard in my life. To the average listener it literally could be the worst thing they ever hear in their entire life. For someone who's possibly even a little over-adventurous in musical taste, this LP is a trip to another world...a world where the laws of music do not exist, and where things like the beat, melody, structure, time signature, scales and whatever else are hinted at, but beautifully ignored.
I said this was a mind-altering recording and it is. As someone who appreciates a musical adventure, the impact of this is comparable to what I read about people who go into the jungle or whatever and take psychedelic plants. They say you could never fully-prepare for the experience. Nobody could be fully-prepared for the Shaggs. No way. It literally had my head spinning within about 16 bars. It was a roller-coaster ride that slings your ass around and makes you dizzy. That's exactly what it felt like when I foolishly tried to hang with the drums for more than a measure or two. It was more-or-less the basic "Boom-boom, Bap" beat, but the drummer, a lefty, made it her own thing . She played her absolute heart out, only with a belligerent but beautiful disregard for time.
She'd be tooling along fine for a few measures and I'm going "You can do it, girl...hang in there," but then she'd just go off the rails and it's like "OHHHhhh, ohhhh, man, that's just wrong." She'd hit the tenth snare hit or whatever and it'd be nearly a beat behind where you'd expect it to be, or it might be ahead of the beat like a roller-coaster going over the hill and suddenly gaining speed. It literally made me a little dizzy trying to follow the drumming, at least from the point of trying to establish a groove for this music in my head and trying to fit it to a grid or whatever, until I realized it was a useless thing to do. She didn't do any drum fills leading into the choruses because there were no choruses. or maybe the whole song was the chorus...it's hard to tell. She would randomly insert a sort-of fill to announce a "change" in the music or whatever it was. It brought tears to my eyes it was so funny. And cool. Her fills sounded like maybe a horse galloping at different speeds or someone who's drunk and weebling and wobbling and trying not to fall down the stairs, or someone falling down the stairs. It's just mind-warping and gorgeous.
You could call her drumming horrible, laughable and probably the worst drumming ever recorded in the entire history of music and it's understandable, but if you look at it from a point of breaking the "rules" of music, and you can't break them any more than she does, then somehow there's a brilliance there. It'd certainly make any drummer totally howl with laughter, which at 3am I had to stifle the urge to do when I heard the tunes. The endings of the songs, if you can call them that, made my jaw drop and I said "Oh" a few times out loud. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the endings. I want to bust out loud laughing right this minute just thinking about them. I just did, lol.
Most of the songs just sort of ended. They just sort of stopped when it was time to stop I guess. A couple of tunes ended with some little guitar lick or maybe a vocal deal, and one ended with a brilliantly-heinous drum solo that shoved time up its own ass, and it nearly made me piss myself. That tune was about 3/4 of the way through the album so I was musically-traumatized well before then. I might have dropped a deuce laughing if I hadn't at least heard the songs before it. I was somewhat ready for it. Shattered, but ready. Forget about Rock drumming, Speed Metal, whatever...when it comes to anarchy in drumming, she was in a class by herself. Yeah, technically she could be in Guinness for being the world's shittiest drummer to ever be recorded, but it's somehow transcendent, if only for the shittiness. There's more to the drumming than that, but at this point I couldn't describe it if I had to, except to say that it most definitely not right. That doesn't make it wrong though.
There's footage of them playing gigs at the local VFW or whatever, and at times it looks like the drummer is right on the beat for long periods of time. I know that playing for a crowd will juice you up and you can play beyond yourself so maybe she was jacked on that, but she certainly got into it. It's hard to tell though if she's just way into it or if it's something more, because later when I read about them there was pressure to perform from their father. She does look a bit bug-eyed but that would be normal for kids playing their first gigs. On the records there's no telling what her mindset was but the second you think she's going to hold it steady for 16 bars she drops a timewarp in there. She both loses the beat and creates a new one at the same time. I've never heard anything like it. Whatever the motivation her enthusiasm in the studio was real, for better or worse.
She had a simple kit with a bass drum, snare, hi-hat, a cymbal, floor tom and sometimes a mounted tom. She had all the elements of a drum kit, but just. The story goes that their father bought them crappy gear. Her cymbals are unknown but when you could see a brand on her drums they were Premier Drums out of England. They made really good drums back then and I think still do, and they weren't cheap. Shipping from the UK is expensive and added to the cost, so it's odd that that's the story. The guitars on the other hand are whack and I don't know what the hell they are. I'd guess Vox but that's probably wrong. They're uber-cool whatever they are. Aside from tuning, which apparently hadn't been paramount in their musical training, the guitars didn't sound expensive certainly, but again that could be considered beautiful. Given the nature of this music it didn't matter either.
I've never heard a guitar style like the two sisters' and I seriously doubt I will again, even close. I'm laughing again. Semi-aggressive strumming? Wheel-within-a-wheel? Wheel-within-a-square? Meek? Monstrous? Good? Bad? Ugly? The coolest shit you ever heard in your life? You can't describe it. I adore it but obviously I'm twisted. Somehow they were on the same wavelength in the midst of a drumming solar-storm. It didn't matter (nor did anything else) that the drums were on a different planet or the drummer was juking along in something resembling 4/4 time while they were playing in 3/4, or maybe it was 5/4, or 7/4, or maybe 127/4...who knows. There was absolutely no time signature anyway, but at times and probably totally by accident they were playing a perfect 4-against-3 and it was brilliant. The entire band and especially the drummer used standard 4/4 time as the vaguest of templates, but basically they played in "1" for most of the song.
Those "reaction" vids where someone listens to music that's generally out of their wheelhouse and mostly for the first time and "react" are a dime a dozen, but I'd love to see some guitar players try to analyze their playing. I know a tiny bit about guitar and I can't do it. As I said they play together so much it's almost creepy. Most of the time it sounds like a weird 12-string. Every now and then one will tweedle while the other one deedles, or they'll do a "solo" but otherwise they play exactly the same thing. It's fucked-up, man. The occasional guitar breaks that they do are completely unexpected and breathtaking, and more out-to-lunch than even the drum solos. You'd just have to hear them to understand. Once or twice they use a very surprising amount of distortion on a little featured part and it's amazing. Looking at their pics I'd have picked them for the clean-tone type. One break I swear sounded like Robert Fripp, only if he were tripping, eating downers and drinking heavily. They almost went Hendrix a few times. It was wonderful.
What was even weirder was their "picking" style. They didn't so much strum or pick...it was a weird combination of both. What they did that's completely unique, at least for every tune, was to basically mirror everything they sang on the guitars. Every little syllable had its own dedicated note-stab. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on. It was easy to see but so completely different at first I didn't understand it. Since the vocals, like the drums, weren't bound by any normal rhythms or phrasings or time signatures, neither were the guitars.
That's why it didn't really mater at all what the drummer was playing. They wouldn't have ever lined up at all with that going on anyway. It made me really appreciate the fact that while the drummer couldn't keep time in a bucket, there was nothing to keep time to. She was more or less aware of what they were doing on guitar and I'm sure at first she tried to keep up or steer them toward some sort of a beat, but they were in their own dimension and didn't seem to be aware of the drums at all. It was a recipe for gorgeous fucking disaster.
The really old blues cats who'd strum an old guitar and sing the genuine Blues weren't necessarily locked into a perfectly-even amount of notes although they definitely kept the rhythm, and mostly played in the standard times of 4/4 and 3/4. They'd just sometimes drop or add a beat for no reason besides that's just how they felt it, and that's part of the beauty of that old stuff. This is something completely different. Not only were they not close to being locked in time, but they were in different realms altogether. It's like two solar systems orbiting each other in irregular orbits- they sort of drift apart and occasionally come back together.
There was a great old ride at the fair called the Tilt-a-Whirl. It had a circular track with hills and dips. Semicircular cars moved along the track and were also free to spin in either direction due to bearing mounts. The combination of going up or down and the car moving in a certain way plus inertia would randomly send the cars spinning around like a ballet dancer. Your buddy might be in the next car, and every now and then, whether you were moving very slowly or spinning around in different directions, every now and then you'd get close enough to reach out and touch hands. That's what their music was like, rhythm-wise anyway. A curious law of Quantum Physics and/or String Theory is that energy can be considered both a particle and a wave at once, and that certain particles can actually be in two different places at the same time. A particle can be where it is and also millions of miles away at the same time. They're somehow connected. There's another comparison.
I listened to the album start to finish and I barely moved except to gasp or laugh or try to stifle one. I was forever changed. I can tell you that the first tune will set the tone of the whole thing in five seconds. It starts going along as basically a 4/4 "Rock" beat with one guitar playing right with the drums. In one of the few times that the guitar-playing sisters actually do something different, the other guitar comes in with a bizarre "Swing" rhythm tha totally derails the song before it's barely begun. If you can make it past the first five seconds you're good go to go. You'll quickly realize that there's nothing remotely resembling rhythm, song-structure, time signature or anything else common to most music. Hopefully you'll understand as quickly that it doesn't matter. Otherwise it'll bug the shit out of you and maybe give you nightmares. It might anyway.
All I knew was that I'd just heard something amazing, terrifyingly-quirky yet beautiful, and music I'd never heard in my life. I almost wanted to check my vital signs. I literally sat there staring at the YT screen showing recommendations for other videos. I was at least in a state of musical shock. All the little preconceived notions of what music was supposed to be were smashed to shit. I had an entirely new appreciation for shittiness. That this was ever recorded, much less released is a miracle. I also gained an appreciation of just how vastly far apart people can be and still be considered together. I've heard crazy-ass music that plays crazy-ass time signatures against each other and it stretches like a motherfucker but it always snaps back like a rubber band, at least every now and then.
In one of the many paradoxes the album seemed both way to short and much longer than it actually was. It clocks in at around 33 minutes, but of course time stood still for the experience. The tunes were mercifully-short, but after about five had gone by my brain was so overworked that I thought surely the album was over, but there were several more songs. I welcomed each of them just as I knew I'd welcome the end of the record as well. Not to diss it but half an hour is about maximum for first listen. Still it was like discovering a great book where you get near the end so you savor each chapter because it's so good that you don't want it to end. There ears will never hear music in the same way again, and that's a beautiful thing.
The titles are beyond bizarre but the cake-taker and probably the craziest song on the record, if there is such a thing, would probably be "My Pal Foot Foot." I know, right? That's nuts. The songs were supposedly written by the young girls about their life-experiences up until then. That was curious because they lived a cloistered life for the most part and didn't really interact with other people much until later in life. More on that later. But My Pal Foot Foot? They must've spent some time in their imaginations. The song starts with an audacious and precocious drum solo that's beautifully in and out of time and thythm. I wanted to howl. There's a surreal guitar break in there somewhere, and at one point it sounds like it's going to end, with another sort of solo drum deal, but then it cranks back up. It ends with a breathtaking straight-eighths fill with the cymbal and tom, and it's almost in unison. It ends with a barely-accented hit that's ahead of the beat for emphasis. It made my day.
I also have to mention their "stage show" and the little dance the guitars periodically broke into. It was ahead if its time. One girl would turn to face the other and take four steps toward her sister as she took four steps back. They were dressed alike and had the same hair so it looked like a strange mirror deal. They looked each other in the eye and took very slow and deliberate steps. I'm not sure if it went with the "beat" of the music but again it didn't matter. It was surreal. I've probably used that word a lot.
Last but not least in describing the music is the vocals. They're unique in all the world as well. Like the guitars, which are totally intertwined, except for a few spots like the "echo" or call-and-response part on "My Pal Foot Foot" they sing every song in unison. There's no harmony, ever. It's like the old days of physically double-tracking vocals where they'd simply sing the same line again on a separate track to make it sound bigger. It's really weird at first but like everything else it's just how it is. It's cool. Basically it's just two girls playing and singing the same thing at the same time. As I said they're somehow on the same wavelength so the vocals and guitars are usually very tight with each other, for what it's worth. I'd say that in their case the drums would be more of a hindrance, but I'm not sure how aware of the drums they are. Even though the guitars were heinously out of tune at times, almost as if by design, the vocals were crisp and on pitch.
I love a style of music that was called "Progressive" back in the day but's been shortened to "Prog" today. It basically means that it's in a weird time signature and people can't understand it, much less dance to it. Even the wildest Prog tune has a map of some sort. The craziest shit they can play eventually resolves and makes sense. Some of those proggers will take the craziest prime-number time signature they can think of, just because they can, like 37/4 against 4/4. It's almost like two different songs at once but both time signatures resolve to a common downbeat, or "1" in common every 37 measures. The Shaggs' music tore that deal a new one too. All proggers ever born should bow down and kiss the Shaggs' rings. They invented it.
But wait...there's more, and it gets even crazier, and a bit darker too. After I lay there for a few more minutes trying to understand what I'd just heard, I decided to learn a bit more about them, and lo and behold Frank Zappa's name pops up. Turns out the Shaggs were one of his favorite bands of all time and he thought they were cooler than the Beatles! Like the rest of the experience I was surprised/not surprised to see Frank's name come up. It certainly helped validate my opinion that this was really something special. Frank was into Classical, Jazz, Symphonic and all sorts of "proper" music as well as experimental too. For him to like the Shaggs is high praise. Then it said that "The Philosophy of the World" was Kurt Cobain's third-favorite record of all time. Only #3, Kurt? That's pretty cool too.
Other people like Vedder and all them mentioned the Shaggs, but then another of my musical heroes popped up...NRBQ's Terry Adams. He had an original copy of the LP and it flipped out so much that around 1980 I think, he convinced their then-label, Rounder Records to put it out. Terry already was cool and this is yet another reason. He needed their permission though but he didn't know how to get in touch with them, so he piled in the car (with Tom the late, great drummer I think) and headed for their last known location after the Shaggs. He went to the library and asked around until he found them. One sister wasn't really into it and the others were skeptical when Tom said he wanted to re-release their record. He said the first question they asked was "How much is it going to cost us?"
That's hilarious. There was already a buzz going around about them but Tom really put them back on the map and they've been playing at festivals and such here and there. Thanks, Terry.
Here they are today. That's one of the guitarists on the left and I believe the drummer. I couldn't find a pic showing the other guitarist but she looks nothing like her sisters. She has a groovy short hairdo that sort of comes to little points or curls here and there. It's both retro and futuristic at the same time. Imagine that. Apparently the sister on the left put down her guitar for good but the other one and the drummer still actually play.
They delegate some of the guitar playing to a couple of guys who might be their stepbrothers but I'm not sure. Somehow they manage to get a jangly, off-kilter thing that works well with the "reunion tour" band, but still they more or less fit their playing to somewhat of a grid. They may be more aware of the drumming that the guitar sisters in the original band, but for sure they have to follow the vocals, and maybe even have to ignore the drums altogether. I'm going to watch as much footage of their "comeback" stuff as I can and pay close attention to the drums. The little I heard I was still in shock from hearing the album so I didn't pay attention to the drums and that's the first thing I'd usually have done. I hope she hasn't been practicing.
Naturally the story about how they got started is as weird as everything else, and it gets to the roots of why they sounded like they did and how it could even be possible. Speaking of 'sounding like them,' there are at least one or two tribute bands, but I hear they fail miserably. I guess so because there's no fucking way in the world their music cold be duplicated with a million bands in a million years in their wildest dreams. That's true. I mean hats off to them for recognizing a uniquely-quirky band and paying tribute, if not trying to make a buck off the name, but some things simply can't be duplicated. I can only imagine a tribute band from a player's standpoint...holy moley it'd be a trip trying to learn that stuff. It's be an adventure for sure but never even close to authentic. It's not just about being shitty either. You could take new musicians, accomplished musicians, Muzak musicians who copy stuff anyway, weird-ass musicians, musicians who were high as a kite or even shitty musicians and you couldn't get in the same ballpark.
Anyway the father was an engineer or something and the mother was a psychic. Early-on she'd predicted girls in their family and that her husband would go on to remarry and have two sons after her death. Oddly she also predicted that the girls would form a band. hence the Shaggs. After he had the girls with her and then two boys with his next wife, but seeing that the girls had no inclination whatsoever to start a band, he decided to fulfill the prophecy and make it happen himself. He decided they needed to learn how to play, which was actually smart. They were already isolated socially but he basically locked them away into a regimented program of home-schooling in the morning, practice in the afternoon and calisthenics at night.
He bought them cheap instruments and sheet music and said "Learn to play," but he never thought to get a teacher, and that's the key to their sound. They'd been isolated already to the point that they weren't allowed to go to dances or parties, or even listen to music. It's about strange as fuck that he'd tell them to play music when he never let them listen to any, but damned if it doesn't fit perfectly. The kicker is, they had no musical influences. That's incredible. Hearing that brought their music into focus, relatively speaking anyway, and it's what gave them their own special place in all of music. It almost made me want to cry, because what they did truly was to make pure music that had never been done before in the history of music.
I have to mention the sheet music because it was somehow central to their thing, and they never left home without it. Since they had no teacher, the sheet music (blank) was the first thing staring them in the face so in essence it became their first "teacher.' Their only, really. That's nuts. Their sheet music was with them from start to finish. i'd really love to have been able to have a look at it. There's no doubt that like everything else it surely must have been its own thing. Maybe they learned the real notes. They probably did but maybe they didn't. I'd love to see the score for Foot Foot. How in hell could anyone ever white that out?
It's just like in other cultures where learning an instrument is a unique process. Instead of getting traditional lessons, the student is handed the instrument, a supply of food and water and told to go out into the jungle for a week or whatever and learn to play by themselves. The idea is that the instrument itself will "teach" the owner how to play it. Of course you could figure anything out on your own eventually, but it seems to take a much shorter time, especially playing it somewhat in the proper manner. I think there's something to it but one thing's for sure. Learning to play an instrument completely by yourself and with no reference points will create something completely individual. It's reinventing the wheel. Apply that to three people playing in a band at the same time, which also is totally unheard of, and you get magic.
Sure there were Punk bands and such who basically picked up their instruments and signed a record deal before they could even play a note and learned on the job, but they had music to listen to to at least give them a starting point. The Shaggs got their inspiration from the ether. That brought it home for me. Their music was created from the purest of sources- vocals, guitars, drums and certainly the music. I'm sure they'd heard a few kids songs or maybe some old stuff. I think the drummer must've heard some marching bands too because sometimes she'll go "Fa-fa-fa-fa-Fap Fap, Fa-da-dop Fap." It's so damn cool. You might want to say they might have heard some Gospel but there isn't a trace of that in their music. Gospel has a lot of soul and groove and feeling to it and the girls, God bless 'em, played about as "white" as you can. Funky they weren't.
What was sad and a bit sinister was the fact that they never wanted anything to do with music; much less a band, but their father forced it on them. It was just another piece of the puzzle though. If they'd been into it, they'd have found a way to hear other stuff to at least get ideas, and their music wouldn't have existed as it did. To their credit they did learn music, or some form of it;apparently from the sheet music and a few music books. I remember those old music books. They learned you the notes and all but certainly taught nothing about feel or playing with other people. The two sisters played and sang exactly together because they learned the exact same thing from the same page at the same time together. It's like a real-life clone deal or something. It's sad but it makes me grin at the same time. Yet again, imagine that.
Parents try to force their kids into shit they don't want to do all the time, but it's rarely music. Their father had no musical talent himself. Apparently he also didn't have a sense of humor and he was all-business. That accounts for the boot-camp environment. They put in maybe three hours a day practicing. All they knew was that he expected them to get better however they did it, and in fact get good enough to be in a band yet they were given no direction of any kind except "Learn to play." It must've been incredibly rough on them, especially not being into it in the first place. They didn't even get to enjoy the usual notoriety among their peers for being in a band because they never saw any other kids outside of their live shows. And then there's the live shows. Bless their hearts.
This is one of their early live shows at a town hall. There's bits of footage from this show I believe plus a few others. Most of it isn't synced but a few things are. I think there's a version of Foot Foot live. I hope so anyway. There's footage with no sound mixed with audio from other shows, and some of it is really sad. The other kids couldn't relate to it at all, and on some of the tapes the heckling is louder than the band. I felt so bad for them. What's extra-crazy about that is since they never had any reference points to anything including what's good, they didn't know they sucked.
At their first show the reaction left them mortified and embarrassed beyond belief, and understandably so. They went home with the full intention of giving up the music business forever, but their father wouldn't hear of it and made them practice even harder. They really put their hearts into it but they just never knew what they were doing. They went through more shaming and most likely didn't enjoy a single minute of being onstage, at least until the reunions. That's awful. Finally their father decided it was time for them to record an album and become famous. It's a shame they didn't have their album before they did most of their live concerts. Maybe the other kids might've cut them some slack.
I have to say it was funny watching the other kids try to dance to music that had no real beat and was nothing like anything they'd ever heard. The "1" is very important if music is to be danced to, Dancers need it to anchor to and be able to know how and when to move. The Shaggs obliterated the "1" in such a way that'd make any Jazz, beat-displacement expert green with envy. Or red with laughter maybe. Finally the kids just gave up and joined hands and did a big circle dance. It was hilarious.
The father booked some studio time and off they went. In a doc I saw they interviewed the guys who did the session. They said that the girls came in looking like it was the last place they wanted to be, which fits the narrative. They didn't say much. After they set up and did a soundcheck, the guys told them that they weren't ready to record just yet and that they should go home and practice some more and come back, but of course the father wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to record them while they were "hot." The studio hated to take their money but they recorded the album, thank God. That's the one decision the father got right. As long as he was doing that to those poor girls they might as well have gotten a product out of it, and without the LP and the admiration of several key people down the road, they'd have never known that they were actually loved by so many people. It's only fitting, and they absolutely deserve it for having to go through the other side of it. Wow.
The story goes that the engineers were literally ducking down behind the recording console while the girls were playing so they wouldn't see them cracking up. I have no idear why they didn't at least get the gals to tune their guitars, because it's really painful at times, but I suppose they figured out that like everything else, it didn't matter. With this music, or whatever it is, the guitars might jolly well fucking be out of tune. Why not? Tuning is just a state of mind, and semitones are cool. Just ask Cage and all those atonal cats. I'm betting they'd find this album brilliant, if accidentally. After the sessions pops had 10,000 copies printed. Supposedly about 1,000 were "released" or given away or whatever. What happened to the other 9,000 copies is anybody's guess, but the general consensus is that the studio threw them away. Totally. Interestingly when Terry Adams met the sisters and cleared everything for the re-release, the original master tapes were just sitting there on one of their shelves. Of course they were. It's the Cinderella Story.
The ending of the Shaggs was just as unorthodox as everything but maybe not as crazy. One day out of the blue their father dropped-ass dead from a heart attack. Before he'd even achieved room temperature they'd disbanded the band and vowed never to play music again. Never say never. They moved out of the house and started families of their own. I listened to one interview that originally was on NPR I think but it was just the audio. They'd gone back to where the house had stood until it burned in a fire some years after they left. There was much talk about seeing a "ghost" in a window that was presumed to be their father. It was either they when they originally lived in the home, or I think the new owners of the property who reported the place being haunted. Interestingly the grass never grew back in a perfect outline of where the original house stood. There were hints of other things going on, and sometimes in cases like this there are, but the girls seemed to come out of it okay.
As is befitting the story, they have only the barest concept of the incredible thing they inadvertently created, and if they do they probably can't understand why it trips so many people out. One of the sisters quipped "I didn't think we were any good back then and I still don't, ha-ha." They have no reference point to anything related to music but the fact that they played it. The Shaggs. Holy sh*t. It's too much.
The Shaggs popped up in my feed the other day. I'd heard about them many years ago and I'd seen this LP cover and I knew they sure did look about quirky as fuck but I never bothered to listen to their music. I wish I had. Occasionally I'd hear something about them because they'd been around for a long time. I thought this was a 70s album but it was recorded in 1969. The entire thing- the record, the story...the music...it's so out there that it's in. It completely rewrites the Physics of music, if you will. I always bitch about the categorization of music, which I get from the point of knowing which slot to put it in, but does more to confuse the issue than anything else. "Oh, he's not Emo enough...he must be Screamo. Give me a break.
Another vid came up called "The Worst LP ever Recorded?" and it was the Shaggs. I'd crashed for about an hour earlier that evening, which I hate to do because it spaces me out and makes it hard to go back to sleep sometimes. Last night I was extra-spacey and I had to hop right up and throw something together for dinner and take a walk and whatever else and I never woke completely back up. It turned out to be rather appropriate for hearing the Shaggs for the first time, although you most definitely wouldn't need to be in any altered condition to be tripped-out by this record. I can guarantee one thing- if you do listen to this LP in its entirety, be it sober, high or tripping balls, you'll be altered after you listen to it...if you dare. The term 'unique' is so overused but in this case it totally applies, as in truly a one-off. There's the Shaggs' music and then there's everything else. That's no joke.
I couldn't get back to sleep so about 3:30 I gave up and decided to make coffee and see the sunrise and basically piss-around like I usually do. I decided it was finally time to listen to the Shaggs, in glorious Mp3 quality on computer speakers. I'd truly love to hear this on the original vinyl, of which only about 100 copies are known to exist, on a rad stereo system, but listening to the Shaggs fot the first time I don't really think it mattered. The point came across loud and clear, whatever it was. It still trips me out and it will for the rest of my life. I'm still processing. It's that radical.
If you do listen to it your first reaction will probably be to turn it off immediately, which is completely understandable. I can say that the Shaggs' music isn't for everyone, and maybe it's there for no one. I want to start each sentence here with "Uhhh..." because my brain is spinning way faster that my non-typing ass can go. I don't know how anyone could categorize this music or WTF they'd call it, but I'll go with my friend Randy's term of "Quirkrock." I love that. I also love the Shaggs. Deeply. First listen. Man...this may be the craziest shit I've ever heard in my life. To the average listener it literally could be the worst thing they ever hear in their entire life. For someone who's possibly even a little over-adventurous in musical taste, this LP is a trip to another world...a world where the laws of music do not exist, and where things like the beat, melody, structure, time signature, scales and whatever else are hinted at, but beautifully ignored.
I said this was a mind-altering recording and it is. As someone who appreciates a musical adventure, the impact of this is comparable to what I read about people who go into the jungle or whatever and take psychedelic plants. They say you could never fully-prepare for the experience. Nobody could be fully-prepared for the Shaggs. No way. It literally had my head spinning within about 16 bars. It was a roller-coaster ride that slings your ass around and makes you dizzy. That's exactly what it felt like when I foolishly tried to hang with the drums for more than a measure or two. It was more-or-less the basic "Boom-boom, Bap" beat, but the drummer, a lefty, made it her own thing . She played her absolute heart out, only with a belligerent but beautiful disregard for time.
She'd be tooling along fine for a few measures and I'm going "You can do it, girl...hang in there," but then she'd just go off the rails and it's like "OHHHhhh, ohhhh, man, that's just wrong." She'd hit the tenth snare hit or whatever and it'd be nearly a beat behind where you'd expect it to be, or it might be ahead of the beat like a roller-coaster going over the hill and suddenly gaining speed. It literally made me a little dizzy trying to follow the drumming, at least from the point of trying to establish a groove for this music in my head and trying to fit it to a grid or whatever, until I realized it was a useless thing to do. She didn't do any drum fills leading into the choruses because there were no choruses. or maybe the whole song was the chorus...it's hard to tell. She would randomly insert a sort-of fill to announce a "change" in the music or whatever it was. It brought tears to my eyes it was so funny. And cool. Her fills sounded like maybe a horse galloping at different speeds or someone who's drunk and weebling and wobbling and trying not to fall down the stairs, or someone falling down the stairs. It's just mind-warping and gorgeous.
You could call her drumming horrible, laughable and probably the worst drumming ever recorded in the entire history of music and it's understandable, but if you look at it from a point of breaking the "rules" of music, and you can't break them any more than she does, then somehow there's a brilliance there. It'd certainly make any drummer totally howl with laughter, which at 3am I had to stifle the urge to do when I heard the tunes. The endings of the songs, if you can call them that, made my jaw drop and I said "Oh" a few times out loud. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the endings. I want to bust out loud laughing right this minute just thinking about them. I just did, lol.
Most of the songs just sort of ended. They just sort of stopped when it was time to stop I guess. A couple of tunes ended with some little guitar lick or maybe a vocal deal, and one ended with a brilliantly-heinous drum solo that shoved time up its own ass, and it nearly made me piss myself. That tune was about 3/4 of the way through the album so I was musically-traumatized well before then. I might have dropped a deuce laughing if I hadn't at least heard the songs before it. I was somewhat ready for it. Shattered, but ready. Forget about Rock drumming, Speed Metal, whatever...when it comes to anarchy in drumming, she was in a class by herself. Yeah, technically she could be in Guinness for being the world's shittiest drummer to ever be recorded, but it's somehow transcendent, if only for the shittiness. There's more to the drumming than that, but at this point I couldn't describe it if I had to, except to say that it most definitely not right. That doesn't make it wrong though.
There's footage of them playing gigs at the local VFW or whatever, and at times it looks like the drummer is right on the beat for long periods of time. I know that playing for a crowd will juice you up and you can play beyond yourself so maybe she was jacked on that, but she certainly got into it. It's hard to tell though if she's just way into it or if it's something more, because later when I read about them there was pressure to perform from their father. She does look a bit bug-eyed but that would be normal for kids playing their first gigs. On the records there's no telling what her mindset was but the second you think she's going to hold it steady for 16 bars she drops a timewarp in there. She both loses the beat and creates a new one at the same time. I've never heard anything like it. Whatever the motivation her enthusiasm in the studio was real, for better or worse.
She had a simple kit with a bass drum, snare, hi-hat, a cymbal, floor tom and sometimes a mounted tom. She had all the elements of a drum kit, but just. The story goes that their father bought them crappy gear. Her cymbals are unknown but when you could see a brand on her drums they were Premier Drums out of England. They made really good drums back then and I think still do, and they weren't cheap. Shipping from the UK is expensive and added to the cost, so it's odd that that's the story. The guitars on the other hand are whack and I don't know what the hell they are. I'd guess Vox but that's probably wrong. They're uber-cool whatever they are. Aside from tuning, which apparently hadn't been paramount in their musical training, the guitars didn't sound expensive certainly, but again that could be considered beautiful. Given the nature of this music it didn't matter either.
I've never heard a guitar style like the two sisters' and I seriously doubt I will again, even close. I'm laughing again. Semi-aggressive strumming? Wheel-within-a-wheel? Wheel-within-a-square? Meek? Monstrous? Good? Bad? Ugly? The coolest shit you ever heard in your life? You can't describe it. I adore it but obviously I'm twisted. Somehow they were on the same wavelength in the midst of a drumming solar-storm. It didn't matter (nor did anything else) that the drums were on a different planet or the drummer was juking along in something resembling 4/4 time while they were playing in 3/4, or maybe it was 5/4, or 7/4, or maybe 127/4...who knows. There was absolutely no time signature anyway, but at times and probably totally by accident they were playing a perfect 4-against-3 and it was brilliant. The entire band and especially the drummer used standard 4/4 time as the vaguest of templates, but basically they played in "1" for most of the song.
Those "reaction" vids where someone listens to music that's generally out of their wheelhouse and mostly for the first time and "react" are a dime a dozen, but I'd love to see some guitar players try to analyze their playing. I know a tiny bit about guitar and I can't do it. As I said they play together so much it's almost creepy. Most of the time it sounds like a weird 12-string. Every now and then one will tweedle while the other one deedles, or they'll do a "solo" but otherwise they play exactly the same thing. It's fucked-up, man. The occasional guitar breaks that they do are completely unexpected and breathtaking, and more out-to-lunch than even the drum solos. You'd just have to hear them to understand. Once or twice they use a very surprising amount of distortion on a little featured part and it's amazing. Looking at their pics I'd have picked them for the clean-tone type. One break I swear sounded like Robert Fripp, only if he were tripping, eating downers and drinking heavily. They almost went Hendrix a few times. It was wonderful.
What was even weirder was their "picking" style. They didn't so much strum or pick...it was a weird combination of both. What they did that's completely unique, at least for every tune, was to basically mirror everything they sang on the guitars. Every little syllable had its own dedicated note-stab. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on. It was easy to see but so completely different at first I didn't understand it. Since the vocals, like the drums, weren't bound by any normal rhythms or phrasings or time signatures, neither were the guitars.
That's why it didn't really mater at all what the drummer was playing. They wouldn't have ever lined up at all with that going on anyway. It made me really appreciate the fact that while the drummer couldn't keep time in a bucket, there was nothing to keep time to. She was more or less aware of what they were doing on guitar and I'm sure at first she tried to keep up or steer them toward some sort of a beat, but they were in their own dimension and didn't seem to be aware of the drums at all. It was a recipe for gorgeous fucking disaster.
The really old blues cats who'd strum an old guitar and sing the genuine Blues weren't necessarily locked into a perfectly-even amount of notes although they definitely kept the rhythm, and mostly played in the standard times of 4/4 and 3/4. They'd just sometimes drop or add a beat for no reason besides that's just how they felt it, and that's part of the beauty of that old stuff. This is something completely different. Not only were they not close to being locked in time, but they were in different realms altogether. It's like two solar systems orbiting each other in irregular orbits- they sort of drift apart and occasionally come back together.
There was a great old ride at the fair called the Tilt-a-Whirl. It had a circular track with hills and dips. Semicircular cars moved along the track and were also free to spin in either direction due to bearing mounts. The combination of going up or down and the car moving in a certain way plus inertia would randomly send the cars spinning around like a ballet dancer. Your buddy might be in the next car, and every now and then, whether you were moving very slowly or spinning around in different directions, every now and then you'd get close enough to reach out and touch hands. That's what their music was like, rhythm-wise anyway. A curious law of Quantum Physics and/or String Theory is that energy can be considered both a particle and a wave at once, and that certain particles can actually be in two different places at the same time. A particle can be where it is and also millions of miles away at the same time. They're somehow connected. There's another comparison.
I listened to the album start to finish and I barely moved except to gasp or laugh or try to stifle one. I was forever changed. I can tell you that the first tune will set the tone of the whole thing in five seconds. It starts going along as basically a 4/4 "Rock" beat with one guitar playing right with the drums. In one of the few times that the guitar-playing sisters actually do something different, the other guitar comes in with a bizarre "Swing" rhythm tha totally derails the song before it's barely begun. If you can make it past the first five seconds you're good go to go. You'll quickly realize that there's nothing remotely resembling rhythm, song-structure, time signature or anything else common to most music. Hopefully you'll understand as quickly that it doesn't matter. Otherwise it'll bug the shit out of you and maybe give you nightmares. It might anyway.
All I knew was that I'd just heard something amazing, terrifyingly-quirky yet beautiful, and music I'd never heard in my life. I almost wanted to check my vital signs. I literally sat there staring at the YT screen showing recommendations for other videos. I was at least in a state of musical shock. All the little preconceived notions of what music was supposed to be were smashed to shit. I had an entirely new appreciation for shittiness. That this was ever recorded, much less released is a miracle. I also gained an appreciation of just how vastly far apart people can be and still be considered together. I've heard crazy-ass music that plays crazy-ass time signatures against each other and it stretches like a motherfucker but it always snaps back like a rubber band, at least every now and then.
In one of the many paradoxes the album seemed both way to short and much longer than it actually was. It clocks in at around 33 minutes, but of course time stood still for the experience. The tunes were mercifully-short, but after about five had gone by my brain was so overworked that I thought surely the album was over, but there were several more songs. I welcomed each of them just as I knew I'd welcome the end of the record as well. Not to diss it but half an hour is about maximum for first listen. Still it was like discovering a great book where you get near the end so you savor each chapter because it's so good that you don't want it to end. There ears will never hear music in the same way again, and that's a beautiful thing.
The titles are beyond bizarre but the cake-taker and probably the craziest song on the record, if there is such a thing, would probably be "My Pal Foot Foot." I know, right? That's nuts. The songs were supposedly written by the young girls about their life-experiences up until then. That was curious because they lived a cloistered life for the most part and didn't really interact with other people much until later in life. More on that later. But My Pal Foot Foot? They must've spent some time in their imaginations. The song starts with an audacious and precocious drum solo that's beautifully in and out of time and thythm. I wanted to howl. There's a surreal guitar break in there somewhere, and at one point it sounds like it's going to end, with another sort of solo drum deal, but then it cranks back up. It ends with a breathtaking straight-eighths fill with the cymbal and tom, and it's almost in unison. It ends with a barely-accented hit that's ahead of the beat for emphasis. It made my day.
I also have to mention their "stage show" and the little dance the guitars periodically broke into. It was ahead if its time. One girl would turn to face the other and take four steps toward her sister as she took four steps back. They were dressed alike and had the same hair so it looked like a strange mirror deal. They looked each other in the eye and took very slow and deliberate steps. I'm not sure if it went with the "beat" of the music but again it didn't matter. It was surreal. I've probably used that word a lot.
Last but not least in describing the music is the vocals. They're unique in all the world as well. Like the guitars, which are totally intertwined, except for a few spots like the "echo" or call-and-response part on "My Pal Foot Foot" they sing every song in unison. There's no harmony, ever. It's like the old days of physically double-tracking vocals where they'd simply sing the same line again on a separate track to make it sound bigger. It's really weird at first but like everything else it's just how it is. It's cool. Basically it's just two girls playing and singing the same thing at the same time. As I said they're somehow on the same wavelength so the vocals and guitars are usually very tight with each other, for what it's worth. I'd say that in their case the drums would be more of a hindrance, but I'm not sure how aware of the drums they are. Even though the guitars were heinously out of tune at times, almost as if by design, the vocals were crisp and on pitch.
I love a style of music that was called "Progressive" back in the day but's been shortened to "Prog" today. It basically means that it's in a weird time signature and people can't understand it, much less dance to it. Even the wildest Prog tune has a map of some sort. The craziest shit they can play eventually resolves and makes sense. Some of those proggers will take the craziest prime-number time signature they can think of, just because they can, like 37/4 against 4/4. It's almost like two different songs at once but both time signatures resolve to a common downbeat, or "1" in common every 37 measures. The Shaggs' music tore that deal a new one too. All proggers ever born should bow down and kiss the Shaggs' rings. They invented it.
But wait...there's more, and it gets even crazier, and a bit darker too. After I lay there for a few more minutes trying to understand what I'd just heard, I decided to learn a bit more about them, and lo and behold Frank Zappa's name pops up. Turns out the Shaggs were one of his favorite bands of all time and he thought they were cooler than the Beatles! Like the rest of the experience I was surprised/not surprised to see Frank's name come up. It certainly helped validate my opinion that this was really something special. Frank was into Classical, Jazz, Symphonic and all sorts of "proper" music as well as experimental too. For him to like the Shaggs is high praise. Then it said that "The Philosophy of the World" was Kurt Cobain's third-favorite record of all time. Only #3, Kurt? That's pretty cool too.
Other people like Vedder and all them mentioned the Shaggs, but then another of my musical heroes popped up...NRBQ's Terry Adams. He had an original copy of the LP and it flipped out so much that around 1980 I think, he convinced their then-label, Rounder Records to put it out. Terry already was cool and this is yet another reason. He needed their permission though but he didn't know how to get in touch with them, so he piled in the car (with Tom the late, great drummer I think) and headed for their last known location after the Shaggs. He went to the library and asked around until he found them. One sister wasn't really into it and the others were skeptical when Tom said he wanted to re-release their record. He said the first question they asked was "How much is it going to cost us?"
That's hilarious. There was already a buzz going around about them but Tom really put them back on the map and they've been playing at festivals and such here and there. Thanks, Terry.
Here they are today. That's one of the guitarists on the left and I believe the drummer. I couldn't find a pic showing the other guitarist but she looks nothing like her sisters. She has a groovy short hairdo that sort of comes to little points or curls here and there. It's both retro and futuristic at the same time. Imagine that. Apparently the sister on the left put down her guitar for good but the other one and the drummer still actually play.
They delegate some of the guitar playing to a couple of guys who might be their stepbrothers but I'm not sure. Somehow they manage to get a jangly, off-kilter thing that works well with the "reunion tour" band, but still they more or less fit their playing to somewhat of a grid. They may be more aware of the drumming that the guitar sisters in the original band, but for sure they have to follow the vocals, and maybe even have to ignore the drums altogether. I'm going to watch as much footage of their "comeback" stuff as I can and pay close attention to the drums. The little I heard I was still in shock from hearing the album so I didn't pay attention to the drums and that's the first thing I'd usually have done. I hope she hasn't been practicing.
Naturally the story about how they got started is as weird as everything else, and it gets to the roots of why they sounded like they did and how it could even be possible. Speaking of 'sounding like them,' there are at least one or two tribute bands, but I hear they fail miserably. I guess so because there's no fucking way in the world their music cold be duplicated with a million bands in a million years in their wildest dreams. That's true. I mean hats off to them for recognizing a uniquely-quirky band and paying tribute, if not trying to make a buck off the name, but some things simply can't be duplicated. I can only imagine a tribute band from a player's standpoint...holy moley it'd be a trip trying to learn that stuff. It's be an adventure for sure but never even close to authentic. It's not just about being shitty either. You could take new musicians, accomplished musicians, Muzak musicians who copy stuff anyway, weird-ass musicians, musicians who were high as a kite or even shitty musicians and you couldn't get in the same ballpark.
Anyway the father was an engineer or something and the mother was a psychic. Early-on she'd predicted girls in their family and that her husband would go on to remarry and have two sons after her death. Oddly she also predicted that the girls would form a band. hence the Shaggs. After he had the girls with her and then two boys with his next wife, but seeing that the girls had no inclination whatsoever to start a band, he decided to fulfill the prophecy and make it happen himself. He decided they needed to learn how to play, which was actually smart. They were already isolated socially but he basically locked them away into a regimented program of home-schooling in the morning, practice in the afternoon and calisthenics at night.
He bought them cheap instruments and sheet music and said "Learn to play," but he never thought to get a teacher, and that's the key to their sound. They'd been isolated already to the point that they weren't allowed to go to dances or parties, or even listen to music. It's about strange as fuck that he'd tell them to play music when he never let them listen to any, but damned if it doesn't fit perfectly. The kicker is, they had no musical influences. That's incredible. Hearing that brought their music into focus, relatively speaking anyway, and it's what gave them their own special place in all of music. It almost made me want to cry, because what they did truly was to make pure music that had never been done before in the history of music.
I have to mention the sheet music because it was somehow central to their thing, and they never left home without it. Since they had no teacher, the sheet music (blank) was the first thing staring them in the face so in essence it became their first "teacher.' Their only, really. That's nuts. Their sheet music was with them from start to finish. i'd really love to have been able to have a look at it. There's no doubt that like everything else it surely must have been its own thing. Maybe they learned the real notes. They probably did but maybe they didn't. I'd love to see the score for Foot Foot. How in hell could anyone ever white that out?
It's just like in other cultures where learning an instrument is a unique process. Instead of getting traditional lessons, the student is handed the instrument, a supply of food and water and told to go out into the jungle for a week or whatever and learn to play by themselves. The idea is that the instrument itself will "teach" the owner how to play it. Of course you could figure anything out on your own eventually, but it seems to take a much shorter time, especially playing it somewhat in the proper manner. I think there's something to it but one thing's for sure. Learning to play an instrument completely by yourself and with no reference points will create something completely individual. It's reinventing the wheel. Apply that to three people playing in a band at the same time, which also is totally unheard of, and you get magic.
Sure there were Punk bands and such who basically picked up their instruments and signed a record deal before they could even play a note and learned on the job, but they had music to listen to to at least give them a starting point. The Shaggs got their inspiration from the ether. That brought it home for me. Their music was created from the purest of sources- vocals, guitars, drums and certainly the music. I'm sure they'd heard a few kids songs or maybe some old stuff. I think the drummer must've heard some marching bands too because sometimes she'll go "Fa-fa-fa-fa-Fap Fap, Fa-da-dop Fap." It's so damn cool. You might want to say they might have heard some Gospel but there isn't a trace of that in their music. Gospel has a lot of soul and groove and feeling to it and the girls, God bless 'em, played about as "white" as you can. Funky they weren't.
What was sad and a bit sinister was the fact that they never wanted anything to do with music; much less a band, but their father forced it on them. It was just another piece of the puzzle though. If they'd been into it, they'd have found a way to hear other stuff to at least get ideas, and their music wouldn't have existed as it did. To their credit they did learn music, or some form of it;apparently from the sheet music and a few music books. I remember those old music books. They learned you the notes and all but certainly taught nothing about feel or playing with other people. The two sisters played and sang exactly together because they learned the exact same thing from the same page at the same time together. It's like a real-life clone deal or something. It's sad but it makes me grin at the same time. Yet again, imagine that.
Parents try to force their kids into shit they don't want to do all the time, but it's rarely music. Their father had no musical talent himself. Apparently he also didn't have a sense of humor and he was all-business. That accounts for the boot-camp environment. They put in maybe three hours a day practicing. All they knew was that he expected them to get better however they did it, and in fact get good enough to be in a band yet they were given no direction of any kind except "Learn to play." It must've been incredibly rough on them, especially not being into it in the first place. They didn't even get to enjoy the usual notoriety among their peers for being in a band because they never saw any other kids outside of their live shows. And then there's the live shows. Bless their hearts.
This is one of their early live shows at a town hall. There's bits of footage from this show I believe plus a few others. Most of it isn't synced but a few things are. I think there's a version of Foot Foot live. I hope so anyway. There's footage with no sound mixed with audio from other shows, and some of it is really sad. The other kids couldn't relate to it at all, and on some of the tapes the heckling is louder than the band. I felt so bad for them. What's extra-crazy about that is since they never had any reference points to anything including what's good, they didn't know they sucked.
At their first show the reaction left them mortified and embarrassed beyond belief, and understandably so. They went home with the full intention of giving up the music business forever, but their father wouldn't hear of it and made them practice even harder. They really put their hearts into it but they just never knew what they were doing. They went through more shaming and most likely didn't enjoy a single minute of being onstage, at least until the reunions. That's awful. Finally their father decided it was time for them to record an album and become famous. It's a shame they didn't have their album before they did most of their live concerts. Maybe the other kids might've cut them some slack.
I have to say it was funny watching the other kids try to dance to music that had no real beat and was nothing like anything they'd ever heard. The "1" is very important if music is to be danced to, Dancers need it to anchor to and be able to know how and when to move. The Shaggs obliterated the "1" in such a way that'd make any Jazz, beat-displacement expert green with envy. Or red with laughter maybe. Finally the kids just gave up and joined hands and did a big circle dance. It was hilarious.
The father booked some studio time and off they went. In a doc I saw they interviewed the guys who did the session. They said that the girls came in looking like it was the last place they wanted to be, which fits the narrative. They didn't say much. After they set up and did a soundcheck, the guys told them that they weren't ready to record just yet and that they should go home and practice some more and come back, but of course the father wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to record them while they were "hot." The studio hated to take their money but they recorded the album, thank God. That's the one decision the father got right. As long as he was doing that to those poor girls they might as well have gotten a product out of it, and without the LP and the admiration of several key people down the road, they'd have never known that they were actually loved by so many people. It's only fitting, and they absolutely deserve it for having to go through the other side of it. Wow.
The story goes that the engineers were literally ducking down behind the recording console while the girls were playing so they wouldn't see them cracking up. I have no idear why they didn't at least get the gals to tune their guitars, because it's really painful at times, but I suppose they figured out that like everything else, it didn't matter. With this music, or whatever it is, the guitars might jolly well fucking be out of tune. Why not? Tuning is just a state of mind, and semitones are cool. Just ask Cage and all those atonal cats. I'm betting they'd find this album brilliant, if accidentally. After the sessions pops had 10,000 copies printed. Supposedly about 1,000 were "released" or given away or whatever. What happened to the other 9,000 copies is anybody's guess, but the general consensus is that the studio threw them away. Totally. Interestingly when Terry Adams met the sisters and cleared everything for the re-release, the original master tapes were just sitting there on one of their shelves. Of course they were. It's the Cinderella Story.
The ending of the Shaggs was just as unorthodox as everything but maybe not as crazy. One day out of the blue their father dropped-ass dead from a heart attack. Before he'd even achieved room temperature they'd disbanded the band and vowed never to play music again. Never say never. They moved out of the house and started families of their own. I listened to one interview that originally was on NPR I think but it was just the audio. They'd gone back to where the house had stood until it burned in a fire some years after they left. There was much talk about seeing a "ghost" in a window that was presumed to be their father. It was either they when they originally lived in the home, or I think the new owners of the property who reported the place being haunted. Interestingly the grass never grew back in a perfect outline of where the original house stood. There were hints of other things going on, and sometimes in cases like this there are, but the girls seemed to come out of it okay.
As is befitting the story, they have only the barest concept of the incredible thing they inadvertently created, and if they do they probably can't understand why it trips so many people out. One of the sisters quipped "I didn't think we were any good back then and I still don't, ha-ha." They have no reference point to anything related to music but the fact that they played it. The Shaggs. Holy sh*t. It's too much.
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