Friday, December 31, 2010

Missed Linkous


...will I have anything to say about a guy who changed my musical tastes?
Keep checking this blog. I intend to add thoughts.
This one hurt as much as Vic Chestnutt and Mik Miano; Hunter, too, yeah. Geez.
So much left for us to witness without them and this whiskey is...

I want my records back
and that motorcycle gas tank
that I, spraypainted black
the owls have been talking to me
but I'm sworn to secrecy
...and oh HELL...lest my friends think that I don't mourn the passing of Dr. Van Vliet, too, here is something:

I woke up in
a burnt out basement
sleeping with
metal hands
in a spirit ditch

the moon it will rise with such
horse laughter
it's dragging pianos to the ocean
if I had a home
you'd know it'd be
in a slide trombone

I woke up in
a burnt out basement
sleeping with
metal hands
in a spirit ditch

(mum on answerphone interlude)

I woke up in
a burnt out basement
sleeping with
metal hands
in a spirit ditch

...I remember the day I found the album VIVADIXIESUBMARINETRANSMISSIONPLOT in the stacks at Vintage Vinyl...I was with my dear friend, Marcia Pandolfi. We had eaten and had some drinks at the old Cicero's. I saw this case with the colors and the blurred visions and the mashed up title indicative of Beefheart's TROUTMASKREPLICA. Why this association? I don't know.
I used to get drunk and shop.
Fuck you!
I bought my first NEGATIVLAND album on a similar impulse.
I even remember the transaction at the cash register. The VV cat was very excited to tell us that Mark Linkous aka Sparklehorse had recently taken too many sleeping pills while on tour and had fallen out of bed. His legs had lost circulation and he had to finish the tour in a wheelchair.
This astonished Marcia.
It was only interesting to me because of the enthusiasm with which the merchant delivered it. Of course, it spiced my purchase.
Short story fucked: I loved the album. It is a beautifully lyrical collection and it is ornery as HELL...AND lest my friends think I don't miss the passing of Dr. Van Vliet, check this out, too:

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Egoist, Isolationist, Harmless?

king sketch of Brett reading Buk
sketch by Chris King


I did.

“I was an August day in Paris, on the Quai d’Orleans by the Seine. Hugo kept congratulating himself that this year he had postponed his departure to Deauville: the weather was fine and Magda quite entertaining. He did not like dining with pretty girls; at his age it was better to keep his pleasures separate. For a lunch like this what he needed was a hard-boiled, cynical old American, such as Magda, who appreciated her food and had good taste in wine. She admired him, but that left him indifferent: he had always been admired for his taste, his wealth, his splendid collection of porcelain, his knowledge of ancient Greek writers, his generosity, and his intelligence. He did not need other people’s admiration, yet Magda amused him. It was better, and more unusual to be amused than loved.
“A weeping young woman had called him that once. The sensual memory of her tears still touched his heart pleasurably: she had been so young and so beautiful. He had been young then, too. Egoist…he might have replied that in this world of mad, brutal men and their stupid victims, the only harmless people were egoists like him. They did not hurt anyone. All the misery suffered by human beings, thought Hugo, is unleased by those who love others more than themselves and want that love to be acknowledged.”
From THE SPECTATOR By Irène Némirovsky

THE GENIUS OF THE CROWD by Charles Bukoski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Well, Fuck a Duck

It must really suck to be a Nazi slave, if you're a duck:

...and lots of good, wholesome, patriotic racism here (though, I did appreciate the nod to Dali near the end):

...and who can ever forget DUCKTATORS!!? I like the "Peace Conference" in this one ("have they forgot 'tis love that's right and naught is gained by show of might"):

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Jesus, you'll have to wait

Not sure yet if it is a good thing that the wind has scared me inside today on my 47th birthday, but I am panning through odds and ends in the stream that is the internet.
Poem For My 43rd Birthday
by Charles Bukowski
To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
and glad to have
the room. the morning
they're out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
from "All's Normal Here"

Oh! Ain't it the truth. Bukowski knew the importance of claiming time for yourself.
"I don't have time!" they say. Take it! Make it yours!

I stood behind the bar last night with time to think, but not enough time to do much but serve and maximize the income. Stackin' the cheeze.
"Why is this not pleasurable?" I thought. Around the bar and in the dining room, seemingly EVERYONE else was cussing and discussing something as I stood momentarily idle. Listening in, I again realized that I did not want to be included in any of their "conversations". Soon enough, I would be free to have my own inner conversations in my own time.
You know what though? I never did.
I came home to do some administrative work to try to wrestle the St. Louis public from their couches and barstools; their keypads and screens. I escaped for a bit for a brisk walk around the neighborhood and returned to have some drinks with a friend and later hit South Grand for a pint, a couple jiggers and a crazy-good Cuban at the City Diner. A good night. A very good night, all things considered, but I didn't quite free myself. No epiphanies.
Oh, the poor, fucking prima donna! Ha!
Crashed soon after in the safety of my bed and awoke to send the thickening schedule of the future to various heads. When I finish this bit of jibber-jabber, I will claim my time. A book, a nap, and another walk. If nothing else, the wind today will scare the life back into me.
Enough of this existential pseudo-angst.
Time for some time time time....
Look what's coming up in 2011!
All of this at the Schlafly Tap Room:

January 7th:

Tight Pants Syndrome


Hum Drum

January 8th:

The Cruel Cuts

Warm Jets U.S.A.

Paper Dolls

January 14th:

This City of Takers

The Transatlantic

The Otto Modes

January 21st:


The Smiling Thief


January 22nd:

Beth Bombara

Jes Kramer

January 28th:

Black James

Pelvic Girdles

Last to Show, First to Go

January 29th

The UltraViolents


Death of Yeti

Thursday, February 3rd: Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three all night!

February 5th:

Mil Effect

Kuan (pay Bret Nagafuchi)

R6 Implant (members of Fragile Porcelain Mice, Yowie and Sine Nomine) (pay Shawn O’Connor)

March 11th:

NIGHTY NIGHT (from Carbondale)

March 12th:


March 19th:


This City of Takers

April 2nd:
The Transatlantic
Barefoot Jones

April 8th
Zevious (from Philadelphia)

Spelling Bee (Joseph Hess and Mabel Suen from KDHX' WRONG DIVISION)


April 9th:
Prairie Rehab

Corey Saathoff and the Trophy Mule

Trigger 5

April 22nd:

Tory Starbuck Project

Pat Sajak Assassins

April 29th:
Red Squad


Paper Dolls

April 30th:

THE KYLE SOWASHES (Columbus, Ohio)

Black James

May 14th:
Franklin Felix



As I sit and watch and listen to these acts, I wonder if I am in-FUCKING-sane to expect the public to grasp this array. Maybe I would be more successful if there were more scatter-brained, lazy poets with expendable time and cash to come to these shows.
Please tell me I'm wrong...or don't.

Oh, yeah...other folks born on this date:
Rainier Maria Rilke
Crazy Horse
John Cale
Jeff Bridges