March 28, 2007
Shibuya Bound
Bye bye for the next couple of weeks… I’ll be over in Tokyo, getting showered with cherry blossoms, attending noise-rock shows and sleeping in the finest of capsule hotels. Not like I would have updated much anyway, but hell, if you’re still reading this blog I suppose you’re owed an explanation. A weak one.
To balm those injured feelings, enjoy this tune from Canada’s Del-Gators. It’s taken from the 2001 Pound Down! CD on Sympathy; the band featured King Khan’s cute sister Cocobutter Khan as well as other garage royalty. While you listen, picture me soaking in a sento bath. Don’t worry, there will be photos.
The Del-Gators - “Move Mr. Man”
Rick at 3:42 am
February 13, 2007
Fucking Up is Hard to Do
Did anyone notice I was away, studying Japanese, trading CDs and wallowing in my own wastes? I hope so; a fella likes to feel noticed, even when he’s hiding in a dark apartment. Welcome to my world!
Let’s see… Whoa. Six weeks since my last post of any literary substance! S’pose it’s time to type some words again. And just so’s you don’t call me shiftless, here are some curious videos I uploaded to YouTube: douzo. I’ve also been spending my listening time on certain popular artists (like Cat Stevens) it might’ve been inadvisable to post about, given the current confused copyright climate (How’s that for an excuse? It’s all the fault of lawyers). Finally, in other Internet news, you can click on that right photo of the Goddess Bunny for additional pictures captured on my recent travels, proving that a hipster’s life is bigger than bloggery.
Upon first listen, this 1995 Blag Dahlia EP with Tania Hearst on the cover entitled Venus With Arms is not as good as the best of the Dwarves‘ albums. Apparently this was released during a two-year period when the actual Dwarves band was temporarily nonexistent due to drugs and some silly shenanigans with their record company; I wasn’t paying attention at the time. Anyhow, I was just about to chuck this CD into the trading pool when I played the fifth and last song, and suddenly my dick got hard. “Theme From the Vicelords” contains all the most lovable elements of the Dwarves: short, loud, filthy and fast, clever lyrics from the perspective of a self-described loser asshole, over-the-edge macho posturing with a sense of its own ridiculousness, anthemic chaos and Blag’s high-energy sneer - topped off with a completely retarded guitar phase-shifter siren sound in the second half. That’s comedy, my friend. I also dig the wooden Streets of San Francisco-style voiceover intro.
Sure, not everyone agrees with this assessment, but that’s why I have this bully pulpit - to bully you with my personal opinions. Let me point out that this is my second post in two months with the phrase “Fuck Up” in the title.
“Everywhere that we go / Everybody knows / You only can trust us / As far as you can throw…” Sing along with me, dammit.
Blag Dahlia - “Theme From the Vicelords”
Rick at 6:06 pm
December 23, 2006
Fucked It All Up
Merry Christmas, goddamn it! Holidays mean nothing to me except for an unwelcome disruption, and this year, a long drive to Fresno to visit with the family. At best, it’s an opportunity to do some xmas shopping at Wacko and ogle that gorgeous Asian girl with the multiple lip piercings. 
Anyway, it’s not too late to buy me a present, if that’s what you’re into…
The Black Diamond Heavies are a neo-bluespunk duo that play a gimmicky but irresistible, stripped-down, raw, swinging kind of music that’s a little less highbrow than the Black Keys and a lot more cultured than Blues Hammer. They were apparently a three-piece until last March, when the guitar player quit the band, but have honed their crowd-rousing skills (before & since) by relentlessly touring everywhere, except where I live. I’ve never heard their earlier first record, but I aim to.
The first thang about the Heavies‘ sound that grabbed me was the booming, overmodulated Hammond bass drone that is a signature of their best tunes. 
It’s just a kick-ass blast of unrefined low-frequency sugar that makes John Wesley Myers’ precision burbling rhythmic organ riffs sound fresh. The drummer, Van Campbell, plays straight-ahead rock stomp with a twist of swing, except when it’s time to tone it all down for a quiet number. Some songs work better than others, but I can attest to the entire album’s solidity and staying power (i.e., you can listen to it more than twice without getting bored). It’s not often that I get hold of a band’s advance material (thanks, Patrick!), and like it, and get a chance to share it with my loyal 14 web readers. The two songs here are taken from a CD called Every Damn Time that will hit “the streets” in five weeks. Have a taste.
Of all the latest roots-punk singers that fall into the Captain Beefheart cookie-monster blues shtick, Myers is “one of the good ones.” There’s soul up in there. He’s also a member of the Immortal Lee County Killers. Sure, if you reflexively hate the crazy cool modern phenomenon of white boys playing a kind of reverse race card - something that falls between old-negro-worship and self-parody - why then, you’ll hate this too. But then, y’all probably hate punk rock, the Gories and the Oblivians. Fuck y’all. The rest of us will definitely be picking up this choice nugget at the end of January.
Black Diamond Heavies - “Fever in My Blood”
Black Diamond Heavies - “Leave It in the Road”
UPDATE 2-6-07: The lovely Rick Saunders has uploaded some YouTube videos of a stellar Heavies in-store performance last week in St. Augustine, FL. Check out parts ONE, TWO & THREE!
Rick at 9:34 am
November 8, 2006
Why I Don’t Drink
The Candy Snatchers are from the Norfolk, Virginia / VA Beach region of the Eastern U.S. They’ve toured all over the place.
This post will be about the Snatchers’ early 1990s career, since that’s what I know and love.
It started as a mild romp of nostalgia, then turned into one of those giant, painful, research-intensive projects that makes me wanna curl up under the covers. Doesn’t matter. Scroll down. I know y’all only want the mp3s, anyway.
My ol’buddy Squeaky (now web-publishing under the more dignified nom de plume “Sq. Dave”) has a blog called Rockin’ Monkey. He was probably the one who originally introduced me to the band, and especially their crazy live shows. Every time the Candy Snatchers played NYC, it had the feel of a violent but friendly homecoming party, an exotic mix of the city’s more open-minded garage kids, rockers and bonehead punx getting trashed and bumping into each other. One time an unknown group of Brooklyn crust-bums showed up at the Continental, overcoat-smuggling a huge dead fish. It immediately got kicked, swung and tossed around the dance floor until everyone found themselves covered in a rotten film of bloody fish guts. (One of the perpetrators of this vile deed can be seen on the back cover of the Pissed Off, Ripped Off, Screwed CD.)
Even aside from such audience participation, the band’s tried-and-true array of destructive gimmicks kept the bookers guessing. Depending on mood, singer Larry May or axer Matt Odietus would sometimes cut their own scalp, ’70s pro-wrestler style - up by the hairline or wherever the blood would flow most effusively. 
Once, at CBGB, Matt bled out so much he almost fainted, and eventually had to be carted off to the ER with a t-shirt turban wrapped around his noggin. Larry would smash glass bottles at random. Willy used lighter fluid to set his bass on fire, with the aid of excited audience members who’d often get outta hand with the flammables and torch Willy himself. Drums were routinely collided with and obliterated.
The song, however, was Job One. At any given moment in the set, Larry’s mic might be out in the crowd, the cord wrapped around three people’s necks; Barry might have nothing but a snare and Willy could be down to his last string and in flames. But as long as any two band members were still in play (sometimes only one), the machine kept a-rockin’. I came to love those insane minimal interludes in the set - when any normal band would have stopped the show, the Candy Snatchers combine kept banging away like an injured, high-speed locomotive.
They take their name from a very cool, obscure exploitation movie. After you see it, you’ll know that an ear is worth more than a finger.
The guys in the group talked amazing amounts of shit to one another. Drunken rehearsals occasionally turned into alley fights; alcohol and drug abuse were omnipresent. (Since I’d opted out of the chemical scene, I probably only glimpsed the tip o’ the iceberg). If you want war stories, poke around here! But they were always extremely generous hosts, and great friends to me and mine. I’m getting a little misty… thinking back to my own band’s performance, in front of a packed beach bar full of Norfolk crazies who went apeshit when we got to share the bill with their hometown heroes. Magic moments.
I kinda lost touch after moving to the West Coast. I saw ‘em play a couple of times in L.A. and Long Beach, but the vibe wasn’t the same, mainly because their shows only drew sparse crowds of macho meatheads, and there wasn’t a chick in sight. Hey, go ahead and chalk it up to old age, but without ladies, there’s not much reason for me to leave the house.
Now Willy’s out of the band, pursuing a life of drugs. Matt is still the guitar hero (back in the mid-’90s he and his girlfriend Andrea published a really good rock ‘n’ roll ‘zine that I can’t find right now) and Larry’s killer vocal chords are well in the game. Sgt Stash is maybe the longest-lasting of a long series of drummers. Barry Johnson (a very cool guy) drummed on these songs, but is now dead. Over the last decade or more, the boys have put out a suitcase full of records. What’s below are from the aforementioned Pissed Off, Ripped Off, Screwed collection of great early singles, and the self-titled debut LP produced by Dean Rispler, who wrote a much better bio of the band than I just did: here.
The Candy Snatchers - “Pinto Pony”
The Candy Snatchers - “Buzzsaw”
The Candy Snatchers - “Motion”
The Candy Snatchers - “Nightcrawler”
The Candy Snatchers - “Pain Stains”
And here’s a beautiful little video to one of my fave May/Odietus compositions. ‘Twas filmed and edited way back in the day by Joanne (formerly of the Hot Corn Girls and Kill Fuck Kill):
The Candy Snatchers in “Why I Drink” (.mov file, 25 MB)
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While you listen, try drawing your own intestine using this ridiculous Flash tool.
Rick at 1:39 am
October 8, 2006
Very Be Careful
This is not a rock ‘n’ roll post. A few years ago I was attending the Sunset Junction street fair with a friend, and we came upon a band playing on the sidewalk. 
They were incredible - their unpretentious energy, the funky rhythm and mournful accordian sound - anyone within earshot felt the pull. Oh, and the cowbell; can’t forget the cowbell.
Something set these guys apart from your average backyard barbeque band. They were young, handsome latinos and the audience was liberally seasoned with lots of pretty chicas that made the “dance floor” fun for creeps like me to watch. In fact, the band seemed to be far too busy getting their groove to sell any showbiz; for the most part, the crowd became the show. The quintet known as Very Be Careful were an instant party.
Others can give you a more technical description of what Columbia’s Vallenato folk music is. A muttly blend of European, indigenous and Caribbean influences, it’s not to be confused with Cumbia, although the huge popularity of both forms has apparently led to some crossover. Keep in mind that I don’t know fuck about shit.
The Very Be Careful lineup is accordian, standup bass, cowbell, cajón drum and guacharaca (a scrape percussion instrument). I’d always assumed that this minimal instrumentation - and their Echo Park hipster roots - meant that Very Be Careful weren’t playing in the traditional vein of vallenatos, but after schooling my blanco ass, hearing some of the music of Columbian legend Alejandro Duran (thanks to the fact that VBC cover a number of his songs) I can attest that this is the real deal: the simple, soulful sound of South American blues.
They’ve been together for many years and put out several albums on their own Downtown Pijao label. Yet, though I’ve seen them at the most modest of venues (most recently at Little Pedro’s in East L.A.), VBC have also performed on huge bills with international stars. Their neighborhood-centric attitude is the exact opposite of the commonly seen superambitious, ugly, anything-to-get-a-record-deal approach. It’s hard to tell what would give them more satisfaction: blowing up on MTV, or just cutting loose at a local Quinceañera celebration.
The core of the band are Arturo and Ricardo Guzman (who I could swear I’ve seen switch up on bass and accordion, but I might be wrong), with Dante Ruiz, Richard Panta and guacharaquero Craig Martin. The three tunes below are taken from their great 2002 album El Grizz. My favorite here is “Los Gavilanes” (written by Eusebio Campillo), which was obviously recorded in the subway; the screech of the air brakes merges well with the haunting echo of the squeezebox. VBC play a lot of traditional covers, but many of their original lyrics were penned by Deicy Guzman, Arturo and Ricardo’s mom(!). Their latest release is called Ñacas.
Very Be Careful - “Los Gavilanes”
Very Be Careful - “Planchame la Ropa”
Very Be Careful - “Maria No Te Cases”
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I can’t remember ever liking the band The The, but the folks at dead website Ambiguous.org do, and they discovered that Google has a bit of a problem with the name of the band. So I’m linking out of compassion. Doing this blog has made me very dependent on looking things up to keep my factual errors to a minimum. Hence, I’ve had my own weird issues with search engine grammar - for instance, hyphens that vanish from my search and completely change the phrases/name/title I’m searching for. I hate that. Therefore, overly clever band-namers like The The have my digital-age sympathy, whether or not their records are any good.
Rick at 10:18 pm
August 20, 2006
Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign
New York City goofballs the Sea Monkeys were a funny, hyperspeed garage band that put out several records, mostly on the Vital Music label. 
They punked it up from the mid-1980s through the whole ’90s and recently played a reunion gig in Brooklyn, about 2,850 miles from where I now live.
My favorite song by these tiny aquatic hucksters was a little ditty called “Secret Sign,” wherein the nerdy protagonist boasts of his occult Masonic knowledge, esoteric rituals and insider connections:
You thought I was a shlub
‘Til I joined a special club
We meet every Tuesday night.
I’m not stupid any more
I can open any door
Since I took that secret rite! - Right!
After the Sea Monkeys got broked up, frontman Dave the Spazz sang for the Shemps for a few years, but he’s better-known to WFMU listeners for his beloved long-running Music to Spazz By educational radio show. Guitarist Andy Maltz went on to form the fantabulous Little Killers.
Two years ago, a Bay Area christian band decided to “cover” this song. The Knights of the New Crusade are a collection of born-again garage rockers whose unusual ministry calls them to proselytize in a rather smug, take-no-prisoners manner that some unbelievers perceive as a tad obnoxious. For example, the Knights‘ first album (wherefrom you can get the track below) is entitled My God is Alive! Sorry About Yours!: Songs in Praise of Our Lord God and in Condemnation of Sin. Try saying that three times fast with a dick in your mouth!
Supposedly there’s a second CD called Knight Beat: A Challenge to the Cowards of Christendom where they exhort their fellow jesus freaks to get all medieval on Satan’s ass. The Knights’ version of “Secret Sign” is surprisingly rocking, and faithful (get it?) to the original - however much the lyrics were altered to conform to a slightly different Dark Ages mythos.
The Sea Monkeys - “Secret Sign”
The Knights of the New Crusade - “Secret Sign”
Rick at 9:48 pm
August 8, 2006
Onion Breath
Now that I never go out to see bands anymore, it’s just a lonesome old man and his memories. That’s pretty fucking sad, I admit, but it does mean you all get the benefit of my 20-20 rose-scented hindsight. No more negativity, just plenty of rock ‘n’ roll cheerleading.
This week.
Anyway, these here Red Onions are a bunch of highly energized punks who are too hip to be cool, and too cool (apparently) to get signed by a major label. They probably all have day jobs and better things to do. I can tell that they’re still together because they still update their websites.
Paul Gonzalez, the Onions’ diminutive frontman, packs enough natural soul and jagger-swagger into his performance to make all the babies swoon. 
There’s no counting the number of times these kids have splashed their Mexi-sweat on eager Southern Cali audiences… that includes the floor-shredding show I once witnessed at Silverlake’s now-lost all-ages punk venue/skate shoppe, Juvee.
The undisputed killer hit below, “Live Wire,” was written by drummer Jorge and originally appeared on Gabe (Starvations) Hart’s defunct Revenge label in ‘03. Lawrence Sanchez plays alto sax on it.
From the opening cryptic declaration of “Rancheras!”, you’re on a rough-and-tumble go-cart ride of hip-shaking spastic rock ‘n’ roll, East L.A. style. It’s retro, but not in that too-cute way you’re used to hearing from well-coiffed, impeccably tattoo’d Fonzie rockers or shiny-shirted, white, perfumed funketeers. This shit is straight off the asphalt, my good man, with nary a whiff of spoiled ego.
The Red Onions have more records out - a single with “Your Politics”, plus a five-song EP that includes “Gimme Some More.” You can download the last two (like I did) from their other website. And anybody who doesn’t dig ‘em can just pinchame un huevo… if you will please forgive my Spanish.
The Red Onions - “Live Wire”
The Red Onions - “Gimme Some More”
The Red Onions - “Your Politics”
Rick at 11:02 pm
July 23, 2006
Rebel Knows
My poor sweat glands. Now I finally understand why old people bitch about the heat. We’re having a tropical death wave in L.A. and I can barely leave that little breezy area in front of the floor fan, or even muster a guilty twinge sufficient to make a weekly post.
It’s the kind of heatstroke weather that makes you listen to music like you’re in a fever. Everything is mixed up with god-hate… No patience, but a long attention span that comes from not caring to move. On the plus side, I can’t analyze shit. My brain is so foggy, I can’t even focus my eyes on the keyboard that creates these delightful turns of phrase.
Brooklyn, USA’s The Bamboo Kids are one of those bands (like the Mullens) that are doing absolutely nothing new, yet doing it better than 3/4 of the bands who invented it. Some of their songs sound like early Clash (only better ’cause I don’t really like the Clash - go ahead, dismiss my taste, you robots), some are in a straight-up power pop style, some are rock ‘n’ roll dance tunes and some are just punk enough to make your upper lip involuntarily curl into a sneer.
A new version of their European-released album from last year is finally out on cult rock label eMPty Records. It’s entitled Feel Like Hell. (The man who produced it, Dean Rispler, is a musical genius, and always has nice hair.) It’s not just that fully half of the tunes are stick-in-your-brain, hum-along-’til-everyone-is sick-of-you, bona fide hits. There are plenty of extra little charming touches, like the vibes “solo” on “I’m Ready.” Then there’s the aforementioned awesome production, with razor-slashing guitar, pounding satisfaction from the drumkit and a totally live-sounding bass punch. Great lyrics that serve the song so well, you don’t even notice them until it’s too late. On the negative side - I can’t really think of anything, unless you count “Eternal War,” an overly long distorto-funk political number that seems influenced by the later Clash or Gang of Four. Oh, and there was an unnecessary cover of “Jet Boy Jet Girl” that’s not on the American version of the record.
I’ve never seen the the Bamboo Kids play live, but by gosh I’m gonna do it before I die! They’ve already released two other albums and some singles, toured Europe and made some cool videos. Wouldn’t it be swell if they all became big stars and got to do things like run over pedestrians or dangle a baby out of the window?
Pour yourself a tall glass of iced tea, lay a cold washcloth on your face and be prepared to play these tunes a few times before they start working their magic. The songs will eventually sneak up on you. (You know you can trust me; I’m a smelly, unshaven guy typing in my underwear.) By the way, my favorite new song is “Palpitations,” which you’re just gonna have to lay down the cash and purchase for yourself. This ain’t a library. Now, scoot!
The Bamboo Kids - “I’m Ready”
The Bamboo Kids - “Low Life”
The Bamboo Kids - “Radio Rebel”
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P.S.: Last week, me and El Chingon staggered around the East Hollywood area putting up the new Toestubber stickers. Email me with your snail address if you want a couple of your own.
Rick at 11:43 pm
July 15, 2006
Locked & Loaded
Allow me to introduce one of my best friends in the whole wide world, Curtis a.k.a. Champagne. He’s from Lubbock, Texas, ancestral home to musical and artistic pioneers like Buddy Holly and the Legendary Stardust Cowboy. Curtis and I met in New York City around 1990 through our mutual pal Joe when I was freshly off drugs. 
He’s been an older brother to me ever since. We share the sense of NYC as home, even though I’ve moved far away. He has a deep appreciation for art. Curtis to me represents the best the city has to offer; he’s interested in New York’s history and culture and the street spirit that’s been plowed under by “development” and bloated, insane real estate values, but his cynical good nature doesn’t allow him to dwell on the endless negatives. Like I say, opposites attract.
Curt plays bass in the Hillbilly Peckers. They are a power trio with Lucky Ray Tatters on guitar and a long genealogy of ex-drummers. Sometimes they’ll get a hotshot to play pedal steel on a couple of songs. They’ve been around forever and a day.
The Hillbilly Peckers Bar-B-Q TV Hour was a public access show we used to do on Manhattan Neighborhood Network in the early 1990s. The program was assembled by Curtis and myself, with help from our family of friends like Reuben Radding, Ivan Lerner, a pre-op Siobhan, Meredith, Paul Brodbeck and the Marlowe sisters. Each show started with the exhortation “Let’s get ready to rrruummmbbllllle” followed by the Hillbilly Peckers’ version of “White Lightnin’.” There was country, chitlin and metal music, retarded skits, guns, titty montages, cars, wrestling, crazy street people and bizarre videotapes procured from nationwide, with an occasional confused real-life celebrity trying to figure out how they got on our show. 
We took a lot of our inspiration from beloved local cable mainstay Beyond Vaudeville. Our show always ended with a hilarious racial soliloquy taken from a Jonathan Winters bootleg.
Curtis was the host, “The Hillbilly Terrorist” - an overalls-clad pro wrestler who never took off his ski mask - issuing threats, fatwas, throwdowns and dadaistic challenges to various Lower East Side music scenesters from a secret location deep inside our Avenue C apartment building. (If anyone tried to put forth that Terrorist concept these days, they’d probably have DHS storming the premises, but we were more innocent then. Hell, you could even tell jokes in subways and airports.) That’s my head there, on the right.
Curtis and partner Terri Marlowe kept at it after the TV show folded, and formed the video production house BBQ Productions, since responsible for lots of industrial work and several documentaries including a cool ongoing project about the New York 1964/65 World’s Fair.
The electoral politics of guitarist/singer/songsmith Lucky Ray Tatters are such that if we had met online I suspect we’d hate each other, but he’s never been less than a total gentleman in real life, and civility goes a long, long way with me. He has often flavored the Peckers’ big-bottomed, powerchord-laden “heavy metal honky tonk” sound with a pro-U.S. stance exemplified by their cover of Merle Haggard’s “Fighting Side of Me.” Lucky Ray gave the band a short-lived name change to “BULL” to rally the superpatriots after those big ‘ol buildings were destroyed, but - our nation apparently still stuck in a “September 10th” mindset, or perhaps just craving actual bull(shit) like Toby Keith - it didn’t stick.
The Hillbilly Peckers recorded and performed a lot of other groovy covers. Curtis introduced me to (fellow West Texan and) conceptual artist Terry Allen, who wrote the song “New Delhi Freight Train” covered by the Peckers. The band educated me about Waylon Jennings and George Jones (hey, I never claimed to know fuck about shit), even reinventing some yankee songs like this anthemic take on S&G’s “Celia,” but for my money, Lucky Ray’s originals were the best part of the set. Ray has the kind of rich, soulful, ragged vocal I admire in Scott Luallen, singer for country-punk band Nine Pound Hammer. (Hearing him sing, it’s hard to believe that Ray is NYC born and bred.) Once I was invited onstage to sing “Six Days on the Road” with them (there’s a long history of me trying to guest-front my friends’ bands and totally blowing it, and that’s what happened), but except for me forgetting the words and the key, and wandering way outside my range, it was fine. Nowadays the boys seem to not want to write much in the way of new material, preferring to tinker with, polish and buff about 20-odd classic Peckers tunes, forever and ever, like obsessive-compulsive housecleaners. That’s okay. For a honky tonk band, there are far worse fates.
Hillbilly Peckers - “Locked ‘n’ Loaded”
Hillbilly Peckers - “Wildwood Flower”
Hillbilly Peckers - “Set ‘Em Up Joe”
Hillbilly Peckers - “Celia”
Hillbilly Peckers (feat. Lloyd Maines) - “Heavy Metal Honky Tonk”
Hillbilly Peckers - “Knock Me Down”
Rick at 4:15 pm
May 10, 2006
Tautology
The first time the Tight Bros From Way Back When rocked me was through the courtesy of “Joltin’ Lowell” Abellon. Seems some band from Olympia, Washington was touring through L.A. and Mr. Indie Rock had heard all sorts of favorable buzz using scattershot terms like “MC5” & “AC/DC” and even though those are two of the laziest references in the rock critics’ dictionary, we figured it would be worth going down to the Smell and checking ‘em out.
They blew the crowd away. The Tight Bros had perfected that raveup get-the-kids-on-their-feet transcendental rock ‘n’ roll vibe that nearly everyone in a band hopes to find. (Unfortunately for wannabe stars, such skills are fucking rare.) The songs have catchy hooks and flashy guitars and crashy drums. Vocalist Jared’s airy, high-register screech made dirty fists pump the sky and had sweaty people shouting along without words. In between songs, they were regular, low-key, comical dudes - saving up their stage powers for the next blast of rock. Months later when they played Al’s Bar, the same thing happened. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a fluke.
Read the reviews of the Tight Bros‘ output and you come upon a lot of laughably clueless reviews totally missing the point by labeling them a typical gang of hardass violent sound hooligans. 
Gimme a break. Even if this were true, it would just suck all the poetry out of their loud, stinky group catharsis ritual. The Bros are/were a gang of partying punk nerds - that’s what made them cool, not their willingness to beat you up or lacerate your eardrums. They lasted ’til 2003, but their first album Runnin’ Thru My Bones is my favorite, a hi-energy classic in the vein of High Time or Pure Mania.
Later Jared formed the band Big Business where he does his falsetto growl thing and plays big-ass bass with another guy banging drums. They’re “heavy” in a sort of Melvins/Godflesh kinda way, but fun, and I like them. Big Business has an album called Head For the Shallow. Guitarist Quitty is now in a band called The Light Year that seems to have an early-1970s prog-pop-psyche thing happening (sorry, dudes - I’m terrible at describing music).
The band apparently got their name from a conversation on this underground tape (scroll down the page to the King Diamond cover). The best band ever on the Kill Rock Stars label, the Tight Bros left behind a debut single (and a split 7″ with the Champs), two LPs, a hilarious fan Q & A and a few lighthearted interviews. Plus a trail of satisfied partygoers, spirits raised up just a cunt-hair higher than before.
——————————————————–
From the LP Runnin’ Thru My Bones:
Tight Bros From Way Back When - “Rip It Up”
Tight Bros From Way Back When - “Gimme Luv”
Tight Bros From Way Back When - “So Sneaky”
Tight Bros From Way Back When - “That’s a Promise”
From the second LP Lend You a Hand:
Tight Bros From Way Back When - “Make It a Habit”
Tight Bros From Way Back When - “Lend You a Hand”
Rick at 11:06 pm
May 6, 2006
Catch Up
To blog, perchance to dream. Oh, there are such grand plans afoot. A foot, get it? But in the meantime, instead of sweating out another big research-sodden post and taking another four days to do it, I figure maybe we should play catchup on a few of our friends from previous entries…
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Goblin are back with a new album called Back to the Goblin 2005 (I guess it got delayed) and they have a MySpace page where you can order it. Sounds great so far.
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Our favorite Nihonjin naturalist, Onoching, has recorded guitar tracks on Nikki Corvette & the Stingrays‘ upcoming all-star album Back to Detroit, due out this summer.
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At one point it occurred to me that in my post about the Hookers, I never told the story of how their fans fucked up my toe.
See, Lexington’s baddest were performing at the now-defunct Al’s Bar in downtown L.A., and an excited crowd had gathered in front of the tiny stage. Smoke machines started spewing and the band launched the first song. Immediately, some crewcut meathead lifted up one of the metal tables, swung it through the air and slammed it forcefully against the hard floor. The edge of the formica tabletop sank through my thin canvas sneaker with enough violence to pop open the tip of my middle left toe like a blood-filled grape. I hobbled off the dance floor in shock and hopped to the filthy men’s room to rinse my gaping, broken toe in the fecal sink basin. I later wished that I’d accepted my large buddy Dave’s offer to pound the perpetrator into mulch - but due to my dazed magnanimity, that drunken fuck will probably never know what he did.
I blame all that Rock ‘n’ Roll Outlaw bullshit for making me a cripple for 10 weeks. Thanks a lot, Satan.
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Daniel Johnston’s movie came out, but I still haven’t seen it. He played at Amoeba Records the other night, and it was a very nice time in spite of some literal shakiness. That’s Daniel in the blurry photo. Hey, gimme some slack; I didn’t want to be a dick with the flash camera.
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In my ramblings about the King Khan & BBQ Show, I missed Mark Sultan’s BBQ solo record on Bomp entitled Tie Your Noose. It has a couple of the same songs on it (different versions, though) and overall, a slightly more rockabilly flavor, and I think I like it even better! More info here.
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Does anyone recall Chumpy the opossum? Balb Kubrox rescued another beautiful marsupial: Timmy, pictured at right, and here and here.
After his family was killed by cats, Timmy the baby possum was caught breaking in to someone’s kitchen at a Los Angeles-area apartment complex. He’s now grown big and solid and is three times Chumpy’s weight. He has huge balls.
This is the sound he makes when he’s feeling most aggressive:
Timmy’s Explosive Growls (mp3)
Balb Kubrox wishes it to be known that Tim is only bitey and growly like that when someone reaches into his bed. 
Otherwise, he’s a total opussy.
And here’s photo documentation of Opo, a new graphic tribute to possumry. (Possumry = new word.)
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Finally, remember Warwick of “Let’s Get the Party Going” non-fame? Well, lo and behold, Toestubber Central received an email from none other than singer Warwick Rose! The missive included loads of detailed information that was fairly wasted on a musical dilettante such as myself:
Hi, and thanks for the nice review… I moved to Los Angeles in the late 70s from North London… “Let’s Get the Party Going” was the last track I recorded in London with Nicki Chin/Mike Chapman and Pete Coleman… The drummer John was from the Rubettes (“I Can Do It” plus other hits) and the band Smokey (Chinnichap) did the high harmonies… Adam Sieff, my good friend (Sony Jazz U.K.) also played the lead guitar parts in unison with me as we had run out of tracks and only had one track left for the lead guitar part that we wanted double tracked. Everything else I overdubbed… The song was released on Mickie Most’ RAK label… his brother Dave Most was promoting the song and went on vacation for 2 weeks just as airplay was really picking up… I think if he had not gone on vacation at such a critical time for the record, it would have been a hit… such is life…
I am presently recording many songs that I have written with the intent of releasing them in the near future… drummer is my friend, the fantastic Bruce Gary (Albert Collins, The Knack, Jack Bruce, etc.)… also assisting is Irv Kramer who played with Ray Charles on Ray’s last release… If I can be of help in any way for U.K. rock history research, let me know… Kindest Regards, Warwick Rose
I ended up speaking to Warwick by telephone for an hour, and he’s a really nice guy. What are the odds? He also informed me that the flipside to the “Let’s Get…” single was a song called “How Does It Feel” (not the Creation song). Now I wanna check out Warwick’s incredibly scarce RoRo LP. The first song below was used in a 2001 movie called The Painting. The second, an antiwar country dirge, contains the fine fiddle playing of 1970s Dylan collaborator Scarlet Rivera.
Warwick Rose - “Save Love”
Warwick Rose - “(For Ya) Bombs and Ya Bullets”
Rick at 12:42 am
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