6.29.2007

117


The Arizona Republic released the dreaded news yesterday. The temperature in the Valley of the Sun may reach 117 degrees as early as next Tuesday. Locals are hoarding ice, steaks and beer. The tourists have fled. Madness rules the Freeways as motorists drive as fast as possible to limit exposure to cancer spawning UV rays that can penetrate metal and fiberglass bit not stucco or adobe clay. Smaller swimming pools heat up like hot tubs and above ground pools can and often do reach the boiling point.
As I watered my lawn last night I saw the sacred lizard. I called out to him. "Hey lizard, from whence do you come and where are you going." He didn't answer. He was motionless. Maybe an inch long with the girth of a twig. I called him Larry but still, he didn't answer. Instead he skittered away. He made it to the edge of the curb before he was taken by a Grackle. A common, noisy blackbird.
Goodbye Larry. See you in Heaven.

6.28.2007

hank

My new cat eats cheeseburgers. He's small and mean. I'm not afraid of him, just worried that if I step on him he'll bite my toe or ankle. He has a hard time with his communication skills (grammar).
Oh shit. Here he comes now. I need to go.

6.24.2007

pqh

Caught this vid of a PQH prodigy, PQH, now a Denver, Colorado lawyer (The Hustead Law Firm) played a bit, but not like this.
I think this was before law school at Boston U or Top Gun at WDS.

smithsonian

A letter from a famed institution regarding our recent submission:

Smithsonian Institute
207 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20078

Dear Mr. Teever:

Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "93211-D, layer seven, next to the clothesline post...Hominid skull."

We have given this specimen a careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Maricopa County two million years ago. Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety that one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be "Malibu Barbie." It is evident that you have given a great deal of thought to the analysis of this specimen, and you may be quite certain that those of us who are familiar with your prior work in the field were loathe to come to contradiction with your findings. However, we do feel that there are a number of physical attributes of the specimen which might have tipped you off to its modern origin:

1. The material is molded plastic. Ancient hominid remains are typically fossilized bone.

2. The cranial capacity of the specimen is approximately 9 cubic centimeters, well below the threshold of even the earliest identified proto-homonids.

3. The dentition pattern evident on the skull is more consistent with the common domesticated dog than it is with the ravenous man-eating Pliocene clams you speculate roamed the wetlands during that time.

This latter finding is certainly one of the most intriguing hypotheses you have submitted in your history with this institution, but the evidence seems to weigh rather heavily against it. Without going into too much detail, let us say that:

A. The specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed on.

B. Clams don't have teeth.

It is with feelings tinged with melancholy that we must deny your request to have the specimen carbon-dated. This is partially due to the heavy load our lab must bear in its normal operation, and partly due to carbon dating's notorious inaccuracy in fossils of recent geologic record. To the best of our knowledge, no Barbie dolls were produced prior to 1956 AD, and carbon dating is likely to produce wildly inaccurate results.

Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name Australopithecus spiff-arino.

Speaking personally, I, for one, fought tenaciously for the acceptance of your proposed taxonomy, but was ultimately voted down because the species name you selected was hyphenated, and didn't really sound like it might be Latin.

However, we gladly accept your generous donation of this fascinating specimen to the museum. While it is undoubtedly not a Hominid fossil, it is, nonetheless, yet another riveting example of the great body of work you seem to accumulate here so effortlessly. You should know that our Director has reserved a special shelf in his own office for the display of the specimens you have previously submitted to the Institution, and the entire staff speculates daily on what you will happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your Gilbert, AZ back yard.

We eagerly anticipate your trip to our nation's capital that you proposed in your last letter, and several of us are pressing the Director to pay for it. We are particularly interested in hearing you expand on your theories surrounding the trans-positating fillifitation of ferrous ions in a structural matrix that makes the excellent juvenile Tyrannosaurus rex femur you recently discovered take on the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9-mm Sears Craftsman automotive crescent wrench.


Yours,

Harvey P. Rowe
Smithsonian Museum of Science
Chief Curator- Antiquities

6.23.2007

skillet

Skillet (Gil Seifert, 1964-2007) used to work down at the Waffle House by the Holiday Inn just before you cross Interstate Highway 10 on 32nd and University in Tempe. They called him Shaggy because he wore his thick brown hair in a 70's white boy dread-lock fro. He banged his drum-skins for The Livers in the evening at the 7/11 in Gilbert on a used Tama kit, Zildgen cymbals, eight Ambience mikes and a single spinning-horn amplifier. He pounded out simple bomb-beats like a young Charlie Watts, but he had an Achilles Heel.

Skillet used big-time drugs. Strawberry-meth. MPMA. X. Guatemalan-Pico strong bud. Horse. Mexican Brown. A big big black ball of uncut Afghani and a pipe and needle. When he wasn't at work he was zombie-stoned or asleep.

Skillet didn't make the show Thursday night at Puerto Penasco in Sonora, Mexico so we went with an acoustic set and checked our cell phones for news. We figured he'd stopped at the Wal-Mart in Casa Grande, bought ice, a 30 pack of Bud and headed into the desert for a fix and a fire. Like so many times before.

I called Skillet's cell at 2:23 AM (according to my cell records). It was answered by DPS Officer Brent Shumway. He was investigating a single vehicle fatality in Sonoita, about 80 miles north and east of me. The plates indicated the vehicle was Skillet's F-150. The vehicle occupant had died but had no obvious signs of physical trauma. He did remark that "Dreamboat Annie" was playing on a handheld 8--track that had apparently been ejected during the rollover. I knew it was Skillet.

He didn't stop. He missed the turn at Sonoita. You can go left or right but you can't go straight. Skillet ran his '01 F-150 straight into the parking lot of the Trading Post south of the intersection. Seems he passed through with his foot on the gas but with his head on top just long enough to avoid the crowded restaurant. His truck came to a rest in the rodeo arena behind the truck-stop. He was so high he probably didn't feel a thing.

RIP Skillet. This is for you and your heart of gold ...

6.20.2007

the dramatic chipmunk

OK. So they could only afford five seconds of studio time, but we think they captured the drama perfectly. Click on the picture to play the best five second internet video ever.

6.16.2007

introducing the fernwood trio


As we continue to push the borders of American indie-rock music back towards its roots, we are happy to introduce Lake Powell's Fernwood Trio. Combining equal parts of tin pan alley and banjo thump, The Fernwood Trio has established a solid following in Pinal and Maricopa counties in Arizona as well as devoted fan club director Wellington Minge of Desert Hot Springs, California.
The group consists of brothers Larry, Lyle and Lee Fernwood formerly of Coon Rapids, Minnesota. The band currently calls Lees Ferry, Grand Canyon, Arizona and Lake Powell, Nevada home when not touring.
Check out the debut release 'Hootin' Holiday' on Sparton Records, available at Amazon, B. Dalton Books, Nobles and your local record stores.

6.15.2007

all is well

It's hot here in Phoenix. Very hot. My landscaper's helper knocked on my sliding glass door tonight to ask for a glass of water. For forty bucks these guys mow the front and back, weed the rock gardens and trim the trees, lay fertilizer and adjust the irrigation - both watering and drip. The walkin' boss is Andy Ramirez. He and his associate work in the 100+ heat. They were working when I got home from work at 6:00 PM.

Makes me consider US immigration policy. Andy works a full time job for a commercial landscaper and comes over after work for some extra cash. His wife cleans houses. If you have a special request, they are there.

Some people don't like Mexicans. But they do jobs others won't. And they are very polite. Not like Americans. And they don't complain like Americans complain.

Every two weeks, Andy and crew come back to mow my lawn, trim my trees, adjust my irrigation and spray for weeds. He works hard in the heat but comes to the door with a big smile when he's done. And I should mention that he always does a better job than I would have been capable of.

I don't know whether Andy is a citizen, and I suspect his help is illegal as he doesn't speak English. I don't ask that question. It has more to do with politics and borders.
I don't care much for those. Especially politics.

Because my yard is looking good.

OPEN THE BORDER TO THE EQUATORIALS.

6.12.2007

exclusive



An exclusive photo of the Onionpocket murder scene.

onionpocket is dead

Last report in says Cleats Onionpocket has succumbed to several fatal gunshots wounds to the upper torso and lower right leg including at least one direct hit on a functioning kidney. He is dead.
Clara Jean Wusterbarth has been apprehended in San Ritos de Gallo, Sonora, Mexico and is being held on suspicion of abandonment leading to eventual homicide by another or a third party so to speak (California Penal Code, Agreement with Mexico on Extradition or Execution, Sect. IIV, Subsect. A, Part 1133.44, pp. 113-135 et.seq.).
Otis Fetters and Mavis Badcob are still at large.

onionpocket gunned down

Breaking news - Cleats Onionpocket has been shot, gunned down just outside of his Morongo Valley bungalow. The reports are sketchy and may change as more information becomes available, but what we do know is that Cleats Onionpocket has been shot. More than once.
We are assuming this means a hiatus for the Mexican Free Liver Orchestra (formerly the Mexican Rock Liver Orchestra or "The Livers" to their fans).
Orange County Squad Captain Mark Headbridge has asked the public to remain calm and call 911 if they see Mavis Badcob or Otis Fetters, both prime suspects in the shooting.
Onionpocket's walllet was taken from his leather Coach man-purse but his Italian Carp Glass collection was left undisturbed suggesting the prime motive was not robbery.
Stay tuned for frequent updates ...

forty four

Today I turned forty four. Wish me a happy birthday.

6.09.2007

the mexican rock livers

AP/UPI Dispatch. Phoenix, AZ.
Rolling Stone sources indicate a new and promising band is forming in the desert Southwest and includes a founding member of 90's supergroup Not Bad Oranges and southern California's traveling multi-instrumentalist troubadour Cleats Onionpocket. The band seems to have named itself The Mexican Rock Liver Orchestra (MRLO) or just The Mexican Rock Livers. It hasn't been determined as this article went to press. No US tour dates are set. Band leader Douglas Teever has been honing a new sound in a remote studio in Uruguay, South America. Early reports suggest a country influenced death-metal (Sepultra) with a twang approach to old standards (Haggard, Cash) as well as a repertoire of original Peruvian flute flourishes backed by steel-guitar-heavy whiskey songs (Slobberbone) with a resounding backbeat. The band is apparently based on the concept that in whiskey and noise there is wisdom and a great tune ready for FM radio. It's a farfetched bet, but D. Teever is seemingly willing to make it so long as a personal investment isn't necessary.

What set the independent rock world on fire recently was the addition of Cleats Onionpocket to the new band's lineup. Formerly of Loveland, CO and Wall, SD, Cleats OP (or COP as his friends call him), is an Oglalla Lakota with roots in Pine Ridge, USA. But Cleats is only half 'injun'. The rest is straight cornpone country and mortgage brokering swanky-tonk. When he's not fiddlin' with his juice harp or the galvanized barrel tub bass, Cleats adds a complete iconography of rugs and historical remembering to the Mexican Rock Liver Orchestra lineup. Cleats is why the band can use the word Orchestra.

Schooled carefully at home, and learned in the art of hunting big cats, Cleats became a Champion Okie Noodler before moving to Winchester, Kentucky in 1993 to pursue bigger fish. In Winchester, Cleats turned his job part-time oil vat overhead vent cleaner job at Krispy Kreme into a full time gig at Dunkin' Donuts, pushing java over the makeshift coffee bar. As coffee sales continued to lagg, Cleats suggested an "open-mike" night, thinking it might save his job. Trouble was, there wasn't any likely candidates for the three hour show Cleats proposed. So on night one, Cleats turned the coffee bar over to Clara Jane, his four hundred pound girlfriend, and grabbed a pair of spoons and commenced to make a racket while hollering like a coon dog fitted with an electronic bark collar. Some said it was liking listening to a rabbit die. Others thought it sounded like Leadbelly's Black Snake Moan. The ensuing confusion and near riot was good publicity and the next show was sold out.

It didn't take long before Cleats was asked to play a weekly gig at Starbucks and Starbucks soon released Cleats Live at Starbucks (www.starbucks.com) , a seminal work unparalleled in its intricate use of ordinary objects in tandem with Cleats signature wail. Some said it was like a wounded bobcat, others a bull elk in heat. With clicking and clacking and such cacophonous noise as to raise a ruckus.

Cleats' live CD began to sell well at Starbucks franchises and especially in airports in Minneapolis, Fargo and Miami. European sales were off the chart as they apparently believed the hype that Cleats was a coffee consuming American icon. Oddly enough, Cleats rarely took coffee. Sometimes he would eat a cranberry scone or an oatmeal raisin cookie, but Cleats preferred to eat and drink elsewhere. When it became known that Cleats ate his main meal at happy hour at Lee's Liquor Lounge and got his fruit at the Rad Dragon on Hennepin where the fruit drinks are made with Kool-Aid, Starbucks decided to cut him loose. They pulled the CD from their in-store kiosks and pushed Wilco and Bjork instead.

Cleats took a digger. Three months of Starbucks-based stardom and a steady income that didn't require stealing food from his employer had left Cleats unprepared for the reality of his artistic future. It did not look good for COP. It did not look good for his art.

In 2006, and living under an overpass in Orange County, CA, Cleats met Doug Teever. Teever is a musical archivist. He listens to everything and mostly the best fringe esoterica. He goes under and over the wall to find the best new artist. Teever found Cleats down on his luck but playing a tune that he hummed through the cellophane of a cigarette box. A lament. A call. Like a hobo stew.

Teever grabbed a broken comb and whacked out a beat on the concrete buttress. Cleats urged it all along with voice cracked by freeway pollution and hand rolled cigs made from leftover ashtray butts. Unforetunately, Cleats and Teever proceeded to get drunk with a plastic half gallon of Popov vodka and the tapes were lost when rain filled the diversion canal. these early tapes have never been recovered. It would be years before Cleats and Teever would meet again.

That meeting occurred at the Hobo convention held yearly in Moeville Iowa. Cleats had honed his chops and Teever had a grant from the Smithsonian. After a couple of bottles of Dickel's, the two made a pact. There would be a band. In time. Seems like that time has come for Teever and Cleats.

Doug Teever spoke recently about the addition of Cleats Onionpocket to the band, "When we got got Cleats, I knew it was a go. Cleats can twiddle a juice harp better than Woodie Guthrie. He can switch over to the jug bass and back to a shaker pan faster than a rat can find cheese. He will be the element that takes this project to the next level. What can COP (Cleats Onionpocket) do for this band? He can be our Eddie Van Halen without the tongue cancer, our David Bowie without the Spiders From Mars. He's the real deal. Like good Wisconsin sausage."

Onionpocket was unavailable for comment, but his publicist released this statement, in true Cleatsian style, "I, C. B. Onionpocket [due] do solemnly [swore] swear that i [I] takes this obligation full aforefront and within'out misgivins. I shall, on my [honer] honor play to the best a my [ability] billity unless drunk or hungry. Washte, kola"

Teever, who has spent the last three months on the road with Alejandro Escovedo before retreating to his mountain sanctuary, left Uruguay shortly after hearing Cleats had agreed to terms and the band expects an early August tour through Nogales, Winslow and Globe, AZ, Roswell, NM and then Yucca Valley and Desert Hot Springs, CA before a quick Canadian detour through Markham, Ontario and Montreal, Quebec where they'll join The Arcade Fire and Snow Patrol for an early fall European jaunt.

It looks like the Mexican Rock Livers are on their way. In tune with the building hype, Teever remarked, "This is it. This is the band I've always wanted because I'm in absolute control. Cleats is good, but he's still my bitch."

inevitable

If you've been following the comments on the last post you may have already concluded that TANBO and the founders of NBO have not reached an accommodation. Both bands have been dissolved. NBO again and TANBO due to copyright considerations.
Do I admit a level of frustration with the whole business of rock and roll? Yes, I do. Do the founding members of Not Bad Oranges express similar feelings? I don't have a clue. I always tried to ensure that NBO was about the music and not the ego's, but when you've experienced the level of success that NBO experienced, it's hard to separate the art from the attitudes.
Like John Lennon said on his first post-Beatles solo album, "the dream is over, what can I say?"
Since there were no advanced sales recorded, there won't be any ticket refunds for the TANBO shows in Arizona and South Dakota.

6.08.2007

waiting

The Jayhawks

6.06.2007

tanbo

There has been a lot of support for a Not Bad Oranges reunion expressed on this forum. The obstacles, though not so great as those confronted by the former Beatles, are purely artistically based. And, of course, money is a factor. We have none. We only have our artistic ability. And our name.
Our band has survived all these years based on the vapor trail left by the most incredible band name in the history of American pop/rock music. These Are Not Bad Oranges. TANBO.
We are making that change. Well, I am unilaterally making that change as proxy for the band. We are now TANBO.
I hope my bandmates will read this post and understand the need for change. The need to become an easily remembered acronym. A recognizable brand.
Join us in welcoming TANBO.



TANBO on Tour


The 711
Gilbert, AZ
June 12
8:00 PM


Hanks
Gilbert AZ
June 13 - 24
6:00 PM All ages
9:00 PM Liquor Show


Wall Celebration
Wall SD
TBD

6.03.2007

hank


Hank (aka Henry F. Catus) joins HOOTENANNY for a full-time gig tomorrow evening. Hank has been spinning the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club catalog lately promoting the new album 'Baby 81'. A ripped copy of the band's recorded portfolio is on it's way to our Morongo Valley, Califonia correspondent. We eagerly await his opinion. In the meantime ...


BRMC - Weapon Of Choice

6.02.2007

if you say we're not alone

Go to Starbucks.
Rent a DVD.
Watch it.
Take a shower.
Cut your toenails.
Put on clean underwear.
Go to Wal-Mart.
Buy more deodorant.
A new toothbrush.
More shampoo.
Cash a paycheck.
Visit the dentist.
Go to work.
Go home.
Do laundry.
Mow the lawn.
Do the dishes.
Call your mom/dad.
Watch TV.
Sleep.
Get up.
Shower again.
Brush teeth.
Go to Starbucks.

6.01.2007

oh carolyn

My friend Phil sent me this photo. It's been traveling around the internet for awhile, but when I got it from him, who I often rely on for his sense of humor, politics and culture, it made me think. And then write him this reply. Thought I'd share it with you.


My personal favorite, Phil. When I was a freshman at USD in 1981, I knew some ‘older’ guys (sophomores) that called themselves ‘goths’ because they were listening to old Kink’s albums and XTC’s English Settlement. I didn’t yet know what a 'goth' was. They were my benchmark. Complete fools from Sioux Falls with good weed – thus my reason for returning every so very often to their ‘goth’ pad. Plus, I liked both bands.
And even though I became and still am a huge fan of Joy Division and Bauhaus, I laughed then and do now at the pose. Though when you get to know them, 'goths' are actually quite nice and polite. Go figure.
In 2004, I was at Rock Bottom in Minneapolis waiting for two friends to go to the Paul Westerberg show at the Pantages Theatre on Hennepin and 7th. The bar was packed so I took a seat at one of the center bar tables. Marilynn Manson was playing just across the street at the Orpheum. Two ‘goth’ chicks asked if they could sit next to me in the two empty chairs and though I was saving the seats I said sure why not. One was long, tall and lean and the other short and beautifully chunky. Both decked out in leather, fishnet stockings (arms and legs) and black eye shadow. They had tickets to the Manson show. They were from Mankato. They were young and goofy and unused to the big town but they were way cool and sat and drank with me and my friends when they arrived until we all went to our separate shows only the better for having shared some individual culture without judgment. I guess all of us felt like we were outlaws.

Best of luck to Carolyn! Heh, heh. Sense of humor, perhaps? You'll do well.

PS: Thanks, Phil, for inspiring a web post.