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.

waiting

The Jayhawks

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

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

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.

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.

grain silo

When I ten, I was looking for work. Word came through from the Rancher's Supply that a trucker was looking for some boys to empty a grain silo. Ten dollars each for a days work. A fortune. Enough to buy a new watch at Gambles. And I was keen for a new watch. I joined up.
The trucker hauled us north of town. Pulled his rig and trailer up next to the silo (and the farmer's PTO auger) and started setting up just like a carney. We passed this time like boys often do; unknowing, throwing rocks, catching grasshoppers and conducting distance-based peeing contests.
Then we were called to work.
The first and primary auger gets the majority of the wheat from the silo. It's a covered auger with a safety sleeve. It draws from the middle of the silo at it's base. There is a secondary auger inside the silo that is connected to the primary and radiates out and up and almost 360 degrees from the center-base. It's uncovered. Get caught in it and by the time they shut it down you might not have a chance. That's what we were brought for. To feed the secondary auger.
One boy (we took turns) straddles the upper end of the secondary auger and moves it across the remaining grain with a handle like a lawnmower handle. Only you can't shut it off like a lawnmower. The rest of us shovel the wheat towards that auger as fast as we can - it's greedy. The room is full of dust and chaff. A painters mask doesn't keep it out of your eyes and only barely out of your lungs.
We kept at it and we got all of it out. We were each paid on the spot.
A few days later, I bought my watch.

flame

It has been reported to HOOTENANNY that a certain elementary school teacher in one of the least interesting places on the face of the earth has a problem with our editorial content. Since he/she is afraid to speak up and comment on the content (assuming he/she has the skillset required to do so), we suggest that individual boycott HOOTENANNY and never read our posts again.
In the immortal words of The Ramones, "glad to see you go, go, go, go, goodbye!"

Don't let the door hit you in the bum on your way out. That might endanger the primary repository of your learning, if in fact you actually have any at all.

glen gould

This is our favorite pianist. His name is Glen Gould. We first came across him when we were trying to expand our musical horizons in 1983. We had a fondness for the piano because we used to have to listen to our brother while he practiced. Didn't think it was 'music' then, but do now.
Some history:
Glenn Herbert Gould (September 25, 1932 – October 4, 1982) was a Canadian pianist, noted especially for his recordings of the music of Johann Sebastian Bach. He gave up concert performances in 1964, dedicating himself to the recording studio for the rest of his career, and performances for television and radio.
Check it out. This is punk.

Gould was known for his vivid musical imagination, and listeners regarded his interpretations as ranging from brilliantly creative to, on occasion, outright eccentric. He often swayed his torso, always in a clockwise motion (this circular motion is associated with left-handedness), as he played. He did this in music of medium to very slow tempo. In 1949 Gould injured his tailbone on a paved boatlaunch near his Ontario home. This incident appears to be associated with injury to Gould's back that affected his playing posture. But it is not clear whether this occasioned the need for the chair that Gould's father subsequently modified with screws to adjust its height, and which Gould sat in to play for the rest of his life.

His piano playing had great clarity, particularly in contrapuntal passages. Gould disliked and rebelled against what he believed to be a hedonistic approach to music which had become popular in the 19th and 20th centuries. Gould was rarely virtuosic for the sake of being virtuosic, but rather, often had a refreshingly thoughtful and withdrawn interpretation of the music he played.

Perhaps because he was left-handed, Gould had a formidable technique that enabled him to choose very fast tempos while retaining the separateness and clarity of each note. He took an extremely low position at the instrument, which allowed him more control over the keyboard. Charles Rosen's view is that a low position at the piano is unsuitable for playing the technically demanding music of the 19th century. However, this did not seem to impede Gould, as he showed considerable technical skill in both his recordings of Bach, and in virtuosic and romantic works like his own arrangement of Ravel's La Valse and his playing of Liszt's transcriptions of Beethoven's 5th and 6th symphonies. Gould worked from a young age with his teacher Alberto Guerrero on a technique known as finger-tapping, a method of training the fingers to act more independently from the arm.

Gould practiced little on the piano, preferring to study music by reading it rather than playing it, a technique he had also learnt from Guerrero. He stated that he didn't understand the requirement of other pianists to continuously reinforce their relationship with the instrument by practicing many hours a day. It seems that Gould was able to practice mentally without access to an instrument, and even took this so far as to prepare for a recording of Brahms piano works without ever playing them until a few weeks before the recording sessions. This is all the more staggering considering the absolute accuracy and phenomenal dexterity exhibited in his playing.

Regarding the performance of Bach on the piano, Gould said, "the piano is not an instrument for which I have any great love as such... [But] I have played it all my life and it is the best vehicle I have to express my ideas." In the case of Bach, Gould admitted, "[I] fixed the action in some of the instruments I play on—and the piano I use for all recordings is now so fixed—so that it is a shallower and more responsive action than the standard. It tends to have a mechanism which is rather like an automobile without power steering: you are in control and not it; it doesn't drive you, you drive it. This is the secret of doing Bach on the piano at all. You must have that immediacy of response, that control over fine definitions of things."

And, here he is playing Bach's Goldberg Variations (just the first few). If you listen closely, you'll soon realize that he's playing a variation of a simple theme. It's the same song played more than thirty times, each as amazing as the other. This is just the first nine ...

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, he hums as he plays. Don't be scared.

cool and quiet

5.26.07

Napoleon built the stock exchange, surrounded on all sides by huge Corinthian columns. I have to admit it is more impressive, possibly even oppressive, than the NYSE. Exhaustion set in, so I headed for the Metro and back to the hotel. The skies were darkening rapidly and I no sooner set foot in my room than some huge thunderstorms blew through. A couple of hours later (and about 20 degrees cooler) the rains stopped and I went out looking for dinner. I just walked into a place off the street and walked right into one of the better meals I've had in my life. Some "batons de courgette" (tempura-fried zucchini) lightly sprinkled with coarse sea salt to start with. A "gratin de blettes" (a casserole of chard topped with a bechamel amd parmigiano, popped under the broiler to brown) with a nice dry but fruity white wine from Cassis near Marseilles. Then a "brandade nimoise" (salt cod whipped with cream and garlic and eaten with toasted baguette) with more of the wine. Finally a sable (a type of barely sweetened whole grain shortbread) topped with a little pistachio-flavored pastry cream and showered with tiny little strawberries "from the woods," raspberries and blackberries. And of course coffee to round it all out. Three hours of marvellously prepared food with exactly the right wine. This morning is cloudy and cool, with a nice breeze. I have wandered around in the Faubourg Saint Germain, the River Oaks of Paris, but on a completely different scale. I walked by a beautiful chocolate shop, where little boxes of about ten chocolates are being sold, in exquisite boxes, for about $90 a box. The shops are incredible and the merchandise incredibly expensive, definitely for looking only. I will sit for a little longer in this little jewel of a park before heading back to the hotel to get ready for tonight.

i know

5.25.07 later

You're really all tired of me by now. But what else is there for me to do as I sit with my coffee at the Le Bar Balto looking down the Rue Montmartre at the cafe where the pacifist Jean Jaures was assassinated in the summer of 1914. The table is still there, with the bloodstain that never came off. The seats are all in the sun, so I elected shade at the Balto over history. Oh, it was hard to get out of bed this morning, and my feet are sore, but after covering most of the first arrondisement of Paris yesterday, I'd like to finish the first and get through the second arrondissement today . . . Ambitious task. First, the Tuileries garden, peaceful and cool in the early morning sun. Then the Place Vendome, one of the most perfect examples of classical architecture. Okay, so it was the "Palace" of Justice I was talking about on the Ile de la Cite; the "ministry" of justice seems to be on the Place Vendome. Then a walk down Rue St-Honore, thinking of all those poor people travelling in a cart down this street to the guillotine during the Revolution. A stop at a bakery for a sandwich of country ham with sharp mustard and salad, a grocery store for a liter and a half of water (this time it will be enough) and then to Les Halles gardens to enjoy a quiet lunch. Well, it was supposed to be quiet: two ladies with a tiny baby sat down on the other side of the bench (the benches are mostly two-sided). Apparently, baby was not happy with lunch, because shortly thereafter he let out a loud wail and would not stop for 10 minutes. But as I said before the French ar polite. As soon as the wails subsided to a level where the spoken word could be heard, "maman" turned to me and said "I do hope the baby has not disturbed you.". What could I say? "Not at all!" and on my way I went. The medieval tower of John Without Fear, the duke of Burgundy, who had his rival and cousin Louis Duke of Orleans brother of Charles the Mad (well, not all of the time) assassinated, and who had to build the tower to protect himself from the same fate, was an enlightening visit, with its restored and almost modern in its comforts toilet. A brief stop at the Stohrer bakery of classic tradition for a "cake aux fruits," one of my favorite pastries. It may make it home with me on Sunday. A stroll through the lanes where in medieval times thieves, cutthroats and prostitutes made their homes - the prostitutes are still there but I rated only one invitation; I'm not missing anything and my throat is still in one piece so I missed the thieves and cutthroats. Now on to the stock exchange for the other sort of thieves, cutthroats and prostitutes.

a long walk

5.25.07

Is just what I needed after lunch, but with the sun shining so brightly, the jacket had to come off. Now I have one more thing to carry. I proceeded down the south side ofthe Ile de la Cite alongside Notre Dame cathedral (definitely one of the more splendid cathedrals in the world) and across the bridge to the Ile Saint-Louis, aiming for the Rue des Deux Ponts and a bakery on my list. Alas, it is not open on Thursdays, so back to the Ile de la Cite and up its north side to the Pont Neuf. A quick look at the astrological tower of Catharine de Medici's astrologer and down the Rue de Rivoli with its grand old English hotels across from the Tuileries gardens and I was plumb tuckered out. After all it was 8 pm already and I had been out and about for a solid ten hours. Three Metro stops and I was back at the hotel. But I remembered passing by a little restaurant near the hotel, about which I'd read positive things, so why not get a bit of dinner? After all, it was only 9 o'clock; the night was still young. Still, dinner in Paris is not a speedy affair. First, an artisanal pastis with some very tiny little olives to munch on, then an amuse-bouche of a sorrel gazpacho. Then a marvellous terrine of foie gras mi-cuit ("half cooked") with some crusts of whole grain bread. A glass of Cote du Rhone Villages to accompany the main course of rack of lamb roasted medium rare and glazed with a sauce of honey scented with lavendar. A little asparagus, zucchini, puree of sweet potato, grilled tomato, sauteed sour apple and a square of grilled polenta to round the lamb out. A little green salad with a croustade covered with a grilled goat cheese. Dessert? Of course: a circle of puff pastry baked with a topping of hinly sliced apple and served warm with a scoop of ice cream flavored with that same lavendar-scented honey. Espresso to top it all off and a pleasant conversation in my fractured French with the waiter, who had willingly shared opinions on food, friendship, languages, politics etc. A short cool stroll back to the hotel had me down by 1 am. Can I manage another two days?

parlez vous francais?

5.24.07
HOOTENANNY has finally scored a true foreign correspondent. My brother Garth Teever. He's in Paris for a short vacation and seems to be enjoying himself.

Arrived after a somewhat horrendous evening on the airplane with a baby who had a rather loud scream. But I've made it to the bus headed for central Paris where I can catch the Metro to my hotel and after a shower I'll feel like going out again. My French does not seem to have deserted me, so no problems so far. Ricardo, you might find it amusing that Ann RR was on my flight, seated about ten rows in front of me. She's on her way to some conference here.

Okay, so I walked around a bit after I got off the bus on Rue Scribe. The directions were to go left after I got off the bus and then keep walking until I got to the top of the Place de l'Opera. Can someone define "top of the Place" for me, because I couldn't seem to find it. I did walk past a Bureau de Change so I took the opportunity to buy some Euros (they are not cheap, but who's counting?) while I was on the prowl. And then there it was, a huge gaping entrance to the nether regions with only a little sign saying, in French of course, "Keep your Metro clean.". Well, I figured that must be it, and so it was. I suppose one should expect the French to be subtle. A hop, skip and a jump and here I am at the hotel. A nice little room (with the emphasis on "little" but then I am paying less than a $100 a night, which would get me even less in New York), say about 6x10 with a bit extra for a bathroom. Still, they've managed to get a bed, a desk, two chairs, a wardrobe and a luggage table in while leaving me room to take a step or two. Well, out to see a bit of the city. And perhaps a pastry shop or two.

I'm not so good at following maps that don't include all the details, but I've managed to see the only Renaissance Fountain in Paris, the church where the funeral of Mozart's mother was held and Louis XIII had his first communion (then I managed my first bakery stop for a ham and cheese croissant, which I chased with about a half pound of the most crimson sweet-tart strawberries I've ever had [and the tiniest: no larger than the tip of a little finger] from a little fruit stand on the Rue Montmartre. Next, a stop at 54 Rue St Honore to see the balcony from which the painter David watched the cart taking Marie Antoinette to the guillotine. Then to the spot where once stood the house in which Moliere was born; then on to the street where Henri IV was assassinated. Then a second bakery, this time for a superb ficelle lardons and a pistachio eclair. Of course, I still haven't made it to any of the bakeries on my list - I still have three days. Now I'm just sitting in the park at Forum des Halles watching all the children and pigeons play - not necessarily together.

An hour or two of study in my book "Tune Up Your French" to finish off the evening (always useful to review the finer points of idiom and behavior) and I was too exhausted for dinner. But it's a beautiful morning: sunny and cool. I wandered over to one of the bakeries on my list on the Rue Jean Nicot for a croissant and a brioche flavored with the peel of bitter orange. I walked over to the park by the Maubourg Tower and reviewed yesterday's emails while I munched the croissant, shatteringly crisp bite by bite. I'll get to the brioche later. Then down into the Metro for a ride back over to Chatelet, where I was yesterday, only today I'll go in the opposite direction, to the Ile de la Cite. But first, I'm having my first coffee of the day in a little cafe looking out on the Seine, the Theatre du Chatelet and the fountain La Victoire, built to commemorate Napoleon's Egyptian campaigns in 1808. Before this area became the pretty little square it is today, it was the site of a notorious prison, Le Grand Chatelet, for about a thousand years. I wonder if there are any ghosts wandering around here at night.

I cannot read French handwriting. At least, not when it's written in light green lipstick on a mirror some 10 feet away and 5 feet up. I stopped at the Restaurant Paul on the Ile de la Cite this afternoon around 2 for a late lunch as it had been recommended by an acquaintance. That alone might not have sufficed, but it was absolutely overrun by lawyers and judges from the nearby Ministry of Justice (housed in the former palace first of the Roman governor of Paris [in fact Julian was proclaimed emperor of Rome there in 360] and subsequently of kings of France up to about the middle of the reign of Jean II, who was being held prisoner in England and whose son, the dauphin and future Charles V, decided to move to the Louvre when the provost of merchants, thinking he might be able to overthrow the monarchy while Jean II was unavoidably detained, burst into the palace where the dauphin was sitting with two counsellors and slaughtered them in front of the dauphin, getting plenty of blood all over the dauphin in the process, thus causing the dauphin to no longer appreciate the benefits of living on the Ile de la Cite), so I thought, why not give it a try? How's that for a long sentence? But everywhere I go around here is just layered with anecdotes from history; in this same complex is the incredible Sainte Chapelle built by Saint Louis to house the Crown of Thorns, which he bought from Baudouin II emperor of Constantinople, who was in desparate need of money and would clearly have been good at selling swampland in Florida, had he known it existed. Also in this complex is the "court" where the Revolutionary Tribunal met to send so many aristocrats to the guillotine, including Marie Antoinette, whose cell in the nearby prison was turned into an "expatiatory" chapel by Louis XVIII in the nineteenth century, and probably no fewer revolutionaries, at least until the primary prosecutor himself was sent to the guillotine. But back to the story with which I began. I'm ordering away in my not so good French and I order the "cuisse de porc" (leg of pork)braised Normandy style. Without hesitation the waitress repeats my order: "cuisse de poule.". Okay, that's a chicken leg, but what the heck. Aside from the embarassment of ordering pork and being corrected with chicken in a rather subtle manner, the chicken in France really tastes like the chicken I remember when we grew our own on the farm, and I had some more of those little tiny strawberries and some red currants for dessert. Notwithstanding the general impression of the French in America, to me they are some of the most polite people. Every single time somebody bumps into me on the crowded streets or the Metro, he (or she) says "excuse me, sir." Imagine that happening in New York!

not bad oranges

We were sitting around the hoosegow at 2609 Columbus in Minneapolis in 1991 while my friend and temporary roommate Clem who slept in the foyer (doorway) was eating oranges he'd purchased at the Farmer's Market or some grocery store when he remarked, out of the blue, "These are not bad oranges."
Being the idea man that I am, I said, "That would be a great band name."
Fellow rent payer, Pat "Goober" Gannon agreed.

We immediately formed the band now known as Not Bad Oranges. Unfortunately, controversy ensued. Clem suggested a "world beat" genre for the new band. Pat was into Alt Country and Speed Metal Country and Junior Brown. I was currently involved with a remix of Ace Frehley's first solo album, focusing on a house version of Rocket Ride. The twain would not meet and the band dissolved mere minutes after it's formation.

Several years and several emails and phone calls later, the band agreed to reunite. On a humid July evening in 2004, Clem, Pat and I all got together at Pat's new house in Minneapolis to discuss the reunion. The evening started well. Pat grilled ribs and chicken and made one hell of a polenta based salad with fresh tomatoes and rosemary from his garden. Talk turned to the band. Clem backed off his "world beat" premise and I had long since been burned by the Ace Frehley project, yet Pat wouldn't budge.

Alt Country had achieved it's heyday and Pat felt exonerated. We were going nowhere. Rebuilding the trust necessary to reunite Not Bad Oranges was going to be difficult if not impossible.

Three years later and the band has moved farther apart. Clem is in Minneapolis, Pat has moved to some godforsaken suburb thereof and I'm in Phoenix. Clem was here in November but we never got together. Maybe too much water under the bridge. Maybe just the fear in reuniting the greatest band that lasted only 15 minutes or so before it was torn apart by the strong personalities and the musical preferences of its founders.

I can't even venture to say what will become of Not Bad Oranges. We never jammed, we never performed and we never released a CD. I'm working hard to rebuild the consensus that lead to the band's formation, but time and distance weigh against us. It just might be impossible. So I ask only one question. What would you be willing to do to help us fulfill the dream?

sunday

It's 99 degrees Fahrenheit in Gilbert, AZ at 6:10 PM Mountain Standard Time. The grass is turning to yellow dust in the backyard and locusts have suddenly appeared. Birds chase them, but they seem to get away. Speedy like. They're not like South Dakota grasshoppers. You can't catch these guys. I've been trying. I have a Mason jar set aside. Holes through the lid. South Dakota grasshoppers always seemed to launch forward - up and out. These local fellows bugger off to the left and right, wings aflutter, no algorithmic flight pattern. Mean and uncatchable.

I sat down to ponder the variables and a few minutes before I came back inside I was sitting in a hard plastic lawn chair in the backyard smoking a Camel Light. I leaned over and the chair gave up several inches. Weakened by the heat, I suppose. I don't know. But, as I lurched to the right, I thought to myself, like a true Arizonian, "I should probably irrigate tonight." I don't even pee inside anymore unless necessary or I have guests. I figure the bushes need all the water they can get so I service them when I can.

As I came through the patio door into the cooled living room with big screen plasma, a locust flew in before me, flew up to the ceiling fan and dive bombed me, alighting on my shoulder. Like the dove and Castro in Havana in '59. Then, brother locust flew straight back out through the door before I could close it.
I looked at my shoulder where my friend had landed and there was a small stain. Brown. Like tobacco.

I hope it doesn't wash out.

three cowboys

Three cowboys are sitting around a campfire, out on the prairie, each with the bravado for which cowboys are famous. A night of tall tales begins.

The first says, "I must be the meanest, toughest cowboy there is. Why, just the other day, a bull got loose in the corral and gored six men before I wrestled it to the ground, by the horns, with my bare hands."

The second can't stand to be bested. "Why that's nothing. I was walking down the trail yesterday and a fifteen foot rattler slid out from under a rock and made a move for me. I grabbed that snake with my bare hands, bit its head off, and sucked the poison down in one gulp. And I'm still here today."

The third cowboy remained silent, slowly stirring the coals with his penis.

squirrel tagging

major label debut

This is Montreal's Feist playing Broken Social Scene's "Major Label Debut".

skinner

Mavis Badcob and Terry "Killer" Culhane were firmly ensconced in Lusk Wyoming following the tragic death of her brother Marvis and that chick from Arkansas when their presence came to the attention of the Mayor, Stephen W. Skinner. Skinner is a direct descendant of Seth Bullock of Montana and later Deadwood (popularized by the HBO series "Deadwood").
If you've been to Lusk, you know how the highway feeds into mainstreet and the bars and casinos shine the only lights. Mavis and Terry lived just left of the main drag after you cross the railroad tracks - just past Bill's Cafe. There's no note in the local nwespaper that they ever came to anyone's attention, but on 4/23/07, Mayor Skinner received an alert from the NCIC (National Crime Information Center), that rogues were inhabiting his vicinity. He alerted the Cheyenne ERU (Extreme Response Unit). Mostly a bunch of elk hunting wannabees and gopher shooters.

Grouped up like white turkeys, the Cheyenne ERU set a perimeter around Mavis and Terry. Maybe too late. Mavis was serving pizza at Pentaglio's in Fort Collins and Terry had gone north to dig coal. The raid was unsuccessful. They destroyed some bedding and cut power to the shack.

Mavis got the news and fled to Pueblo, Colorado. Terry's still scooping carbon and was last seen in Riverton. HOOTENANNY is dispatching a corespondent from Omaha Nebraska. We'll be on the ground in Green River by 5/27. If you hear anything, please let us know.

howe gelb

I met Howe at First Avenue in Minneapolis. He shakes hands aggressively. He then asked me where the Thai restaurant "The King and Thai" had moved to since it was a favorite of his and second he asked me where was the the closest liquor store. I told him the Thai place had moved from Nicollet to the corner of LaSalle and Grand and that the liquor store was one block east on 7th Street.
He signed my CD, writng "It's good to pay attention to your reading, Dean. Howe".
I asked him why he didn't play "Blue Marble Girl" and he said "because I don't remember it."
There are two great bands out of AZ. I was a fan of both long before I moved here.
When you're done with Howe and Giant Sand, Google the Meat Puppets or go straight to Curt Kirkwood or Derrick Bostrom who lives in Mesa This scene is ancient but still the best that ever was.
Here's a Howe solo tune. If you need some Giant Sand, write me.

video: elliot smith

I first started listening to this guy in November 2005. I'd heard of him but never paid attention. My nephew Alec knew someone who knew him when he lived in Dallas, before he moved to Seattle. Alec turned me onto his music.
Elliot committed suicide.

reason

We've determined the crash was related to our friend's imminent travel to Islamabad for some some serious James Bond level satellite stuff. The Pakis ran a bot on our website and crashed it with a ping level denial of service.
We recovered the basic site elements but nonetheless remain vulnerable to server port attacks.
We know you don't know what this means or the threat to your home systems. If you're using a Mac or an Intel machine running one of several versions of Linux you're absolutely safe. If you're on a Microsoft OS and especially MS Vista, Big Brother has been reading your email for years and you're dead.
If you want to check for sure, check your system command and review your IP configuration by typing "ipconfig" and hitting enter. If the IP address returned looks OK, you're good to go. If not, send me an email. I can redirect your machine through an anonymous redirect.
In the meantime avoid any Myspace.com sites. Not only do they stink, they are infecting your MS operating systems with spyware and adware. This means they are using you're computer when you are and even when you're not.

crash

HOOTENANNY suffered a catastrophic failure. The website crashed. We are in a holding pattern. Stay tuned while we rebuild.

too hot: update

The air handler control panel is on order. Installation has been rescheduled for Tuesday. Landlord suggests this is fantastic - that this is great service compared to the previous home warranty provider who would have, Landlord states, not even have addressed the issue by now. Tenant suggests that this contractual relationship isn't his problem because Landlord's relationship with a third party warrantor is irrelevant. Tenant's problem is the breach of the implied warranty of habitability which is also a breach of the lease. The law of all 50 states establishes as implied warranty of habitability running concurrent with any residential lease and contemplates habitability as a reasonable expectation of comfort in one's living environment. Tenant considers with-holding rent and/or requesting an abatement.
If you didn't know already, Teever is a lawyer.

this town is too hot

What follows is a typical summertime Phoenix area Landlord/Tenant exchange. The names have been changed or altered to sort of protect the innocent.

On Tuesday, the first day of the high pressure heat wave nudging the desert southwest into an earlier than anticipated summer, the temperature reached 99 degrees Fahrenheit and the AC shut down. Not the condenser/compressor, just the air handler (fan). The Tenant presumed a breaker tripped and reset the breaker. The fan restarted. All was well. A precautionary voicemail was left for the Landlord describing the incident.

On Wednesday, it happened again:
Tenant wrote to Landlord:
Hey Guys,
Air handler is down again tonight - left a VM on B's phone. Flipping the breaker hasn't reset it like last night. Cooling unit is chugging away but I shut it down because it's making cold air that's going nowhere so I don't whether it's part of the problem or not. It's nice and cool in here tonight (about 80) but it will be hot tomorrow! Please let me know what the plan is.
Thanks,

Wednesday morning, Landlord called and arranged for warranty service.
Landlord wrote to Tenant:
I just realized that I have a meeting to attend at 5:00 p.m, which will go until 6:00 p.m. It’s at the Gilbert Mercy Medical Center and a meeting that has been changed so many times…I need to attend it…I can cover the AC from 3:00 p.m. until then (my guess is that he will have to access the fans through the attic in the garage….) Might you be able to cover from 5:00 pm. On? Let me know….

So the Tenant left work early to meet the warranty service tech who quickly became known as Monkey Boy. Monkey Boy got things in temporary order.

Tenant wrote to Landlord:
All is running well. The tech indicated he needed to recharge the condenser/compressor with Freon and that the lack of sufficient Freon caused the air handler to “freeze up” and shut down. I talked to my boss who has an HVAC background and he confirmed this could cause this so I’m comfortable with the initial diagnosis. All other systems checked out although the tech did mention the filters being used were substandard and recommended pleated filters. Throw that at B and see what he says.
I’ll bring the paperwork next time I come over or throw it in with the rent.
Thanks for all your help on this!

Landlord replied:
Awesome! I’m glad it all worked out..I was thinking about the Freon as well after I got home….interesting point about the filters…you get so many opinions on those…this guy seemed pretty cool, though….when was the last time those filters were even changed? They should be changed monthly..might have to get a whole bunch and just change them out each month….
Okie dokie…see you soon!

The system crashed minutes later and Tenant wrote to Landlord:
I’m afraid to say I spoke too soon. Same issue reoccurred tonight. Cooling and fan ran - then shut down around 7 PM. Cooling continued to run. Fan never came back on. Temp rose. Turned cooling off at 9 PM, switched fan to “on” from “auto” and 20 minutes later fan turned on. Waited another twenty minutes and turned cooling on. Fan shut down immediately. ???
This shouldn’t require a degree in rocket science or nuclear level timing. If the room is at 75 and I want it to be 70, I should be able to adjust the stat and get the desired temp. No? When the cooling works but the fan doesn’t, I can’t.
Dude from warranty had a plausible reason but I think that’s shot down now. What I didn’t mention was that he suggested I didn’t understand a t-stat. What’s to understand? I say 70, I get 70. I shouldn’t have to time the sequence between air handler and compressor/condenser based on some obscure scientific process that requires knowledge of the system and electrical interactions.
Something is screwed up and warranty guy is apparently out of his league. Guess that’s why his service is so cheap. I’d rather pay $300 dollars and get a resolution than pay whatever the warranty deductible was and be told its Freon, nothing else is wrong and maybe I don’t understand a simple thermostat.
Don’t get me wrong, this is not your fault. You went out of your way to do whatever you could with the resources available and I really appreciate it. Unfortunately, the problem has not been resolved. Please ask the B to call me as soon as he’s off the reservation.
Thanks!

The warranty service was called and returned on Thursday. Monkey Boy brought his handler and the handler determined it was the air handler control panel at fault and that it was in need of replacement. The part would be picked up Friday morning and installed that day. If it was available. It wasn't. It wouldn't be until Monday. The indoor temp rose to 85. Arrangements would have to be made.

Landlord wrote:
It’s been a pretty crazy day here, so I apologize for not being able to ride herd on this AC thing….I talked with them after I spoke with you today and asked about them getting the part earlier….they have tried all their avenues here in town, they say and said they are trying the best they can. If you get really uncomfortable, and want to stay elsewhere, we’d reimburse or if you want, we could rent portable AC units for you as well….I know that isn’t the point, but let us know….
I asked if you could call them direct in the future, should something like this happen again – with anything (i.e plumbing, etc.) and they were okay with that…as long as the address on the contract is where they are servicing…so if you would like to call them, now or in the future, their number is (800)555-2339….give her hell!

In the meantime, Tenant bypassed the air handler control panel and jump started the fan via the breaker box. The fan roared to life, the temp dropped to 75 within a few minutes.

Nonetheless, Tenant wrote:
Thanks A! I’ve checked into the Airport Hilton on University because it’s close to work and I can just go into the office during the day and not have ask for travel expenses as well for the trip back and forth to work. It’s pretty reasonable at $289.00 per night and I’m thinking a $100/day per diem ought to do it so you should be out only $1200 or so for the weekend (maybe a little more when the bar tab is figured in). Of course it will be more if they don’t install the part Monday so I reserved through next Wednesday. The Marriot Fairfield on the corner was only $149 but you know, when your on the Landlord dime, that’s like the ghetto. No room service, no mini-bar!
I called the warranty company and told them of your generous offer and not to worry about getting the part ASAP. They were OK with that! They remarked how reasonable I was being about the whole affair and thanked me, “Thank you so much, Mr. Teever, thank you.”, they said. Apparently, you had them spooked.
Thanks again! I’m sure I will enjoy my weekend.


PS: Almost forgot, it’s another $24.95 for a high speed connection, but I’ll take care of that as a gesture of good will.

PPS: Ask B if he hasn’t already given you the 411. I left a voicemail on his cell.

In the meantime, the jumpstart worked and it's freezing in here now. Wonder how this will affect the electric bill? To be continued.

buckskin stallion

jimmy dale gilmore
if i had buckskin stallion

message to rudi

the specials
1979
warning: this is from a long time ago when blacks and whites got together to further the efforts of jamaican artists and a musical genre called ska
if you were listening to this when it happened or even shortly thereafter
you were probably very cool
this is for stephanie in LA
PS: that's tord bott on the organ

omaha

1982
Showed up for college at the Teke House at 505 E. Main in Vermillion, SD on a Thursday in August 1982. Unloaded my shirts, shoes and Levi 501s and perambulated down to the Dakota Dome to register for classes. Set with my curriculum, launch pad and all that - I met up with Huhner and Varg and Belly Man, Spencer Cain. They had tickets for the Police, Oingo Boingo and the English Beat at Rosenblatt in Omaha, NE. They also had blotter, black beauties and beer. And maybe a shitload of weed but I forget.
We "flew" down I-29 and asked some freeway chicks in a ragtop for directions to the gig. They drove us iin.
Oingo Boingo played first. Either they sucked or the drug cocktail had not kicked in. The Beat came on next. Everything just blowed up! Best show I had seen since AC/DC opened for Aerosmith at the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center in July, 1979.
This video only suggests their rockin' roots.
Peace.

kings of leon

Kings of Leon are a rock band made up of three brothers and a cousin, based in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee. Their influences range from Southern rock, indie, to blues styles. Their three critically acclaimed albums have given them a devoted following, especially in Europe.
The group's name is derived from Nathan, Caleb, and Jared's father and grandfather, both named Leon. Jared and Caleb were born in Tennessee, while Nathan and Matthew were born in Oklahoma. The brothers spent much of their youth travelling around the American South with their father, a traveling United Pentecostal Church preacher and their mother, who taught them when they were not in school. According to Rolling Stone magazine, "While Leon preached at churches and tent revivals throughout the Deep South, the boys attended services and were occasionally enlisted to bang on some drums. They were home-schooled or enrolled in small parochial schools. Except for a five-year stretch when they settled in Jackson, Tennessee, the Followills spent their childhoods driving through the South in a purple 1988 Oldsmobile, decamping for a week or two wherever Leon was scheduled to preach."
Their father was defrocked and their parents divorced in 1997 and after various jobs, the brothers moved to Nashville in 1998. They formed a band in 2000 with their cousin Matthew. Their music is influenced by their religious upbringing and their Southern roots and also other musicians, including Matthew R. Hudson who played the drums in a similar fashion to that of Nathan.
Before trying their hand at rock and roll, brothers Nathan and Caleb sang country music. They worked for a brief period of time with label/management group Pistol Creek Productions. They spent their time with this label mainly singing at rodeos. They also were members of the West Tennessee Mass Choir for a short time.
Nathan, the oldest of the brothers, graduated from the now defunct private school, Christian Life Academy, in Henderson, TN. Caleb dropped out mid-senior year to pursue country music.
Upon signing with RCA, they were introduced to Nashville-based song-writer/producer Angelo Petraglia, who had previously worked with artists such as Brooks & Dunn, Trisha Yearwood and Martina McBride. Petraglia would prove very important to the band, moving them in a more rock-oriented direction and co-writing many of their songs. "I turned those guys on to the Rolling Stones and a lot of the older raw rock-and-roll stuff," he said.

The EP: Holy Roller Novocaine
The Holy Roller Novocaine EP was Kings of Leon's first release. It contained some of the songs that would later be released onto Youth and Young Manhood. However, it also included the famous B-side "Wicker Chair". All the songs were co-written by Petraglia.
Wicker Chair

The first album: Youth and Young Manhood
They got their start with their album Youth and Young Manhood and rose to relative stardom, especially outside the United States, by being chosen by popular rock bands The Strokes and U2 to tour with them. The title of the album was taken from their father's bible according to Jared. All songs were again co-written by Petraglia, who also contributed guitar and co-produced the album with Ethan Johns. The song "Red Morning Light" was used as the opening song for the video game FIFA 2004. "Holy Roller Novocaine" was later used in the movie Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, the movie Stuck On You and the TV show The Shield.
Holy Roller Novocaine

The second album: Aha Shake Heartbreak
Their second album Aha Shake Heartbreak was released in the United Kingdom in October 2004 to widespread acclaim. The album was praised for its mix of garage rock and Southern swagger. "The Bucket", "Four Kicks", and "King of the Rodeo" were all released as singles. Aha Shake Heartbreak was released on February 22, 2005 in the United States.
The Bucket

The third album: Because of the Times
In March 2006, it was announced by NME that Kings Of Leon were back in the studio, working on their third album. Drummer Nathan Followill told NME.COM: "Man, we're sitting on a bunch of songs right now that we wish we could let the world hear!"
"Charmer," "My Party," "Arizona," and "Fans" were all premiered in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on July 2, 2006 at Summerfest, which may have also had an unplanned encore that included additional new songs premiered, but the full setlist remains unknown. Other new songs were premiered later in 2006, including "On Call", "McFearless" and "Black Thumbnail." The Kings also played "My Party" at the 2006 Austin City Limits Music Festival. Kings of Leon's third album is entitled Because of the Times, which is a not-so-subtle reference to a large UPC ministers conference held in Alexandria, Louisiana that the brothers often attended. The album was released on April 2, 2007 in the UK, and a day later in the US. It entered the charts at #25 in the US and débuted at #1 in the UK.
On Call

The fourth album is in production now.
Caleb recently confirmed to UK magazine NME that the band are already working on tracks for the fourth album even though the third album was only just released. One of the reasons for this is that the third album was finished almost a year before it was released so he felt it was time to write songs again.

The Kings of Leon are:
* Caleb Followill (born Anthony Caleb Followill, January 14, 1982, in Memphis, Tennessee) — (rhythm guitar/lead vocals)
* Jared Followill (born Michael Jared Followill, 20 November 1986, in Memphis, Tennessee) — (bass guitar)
* Nathan Followill (born Ivan Nathaniel Followill, 26 June 1979 in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma) — (drums/percussion/backup vocals)
* Matthew Followill (born Cameron Matthew Followill, 10 September 1984, in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma) — (lead guitar)
Christopher "Nacho" Followill, another cousin of the brothers, frequently travels with the Kings of Leon as a tour technician, as well as appearing in the Four Kicks video.
Tour Dates
April, 28, 2007 - Coachella
Indio, CA
May, 02, 2007 - Moore Theater
Seattle, WA
May, 03, 2007 - Crystal Ballroom
Portland, OR
May, 05, 2007 - Ogden
Denver, CO. Call or write Denver's Hustead Lawfirm for details and free tickets.
May, 06, 2007 - Voodoo Lounge @ Harrah's
Kansas City, MO
May, 07, 2007 - Cains
Tulsa, OK
May, 09, 2007 - Stubbs
Austin, TX
May, 11, 2007 - House of Blues
New Orleans, LA
May, 12, 2007 - Warehouse Live
Houston, TX
May, 13, 2007 - House of Blues
Dallas, TX
May, 15, 2007 - Vogue
Indianapolis, IN
May, 17, 2007 - Rave
Milwaukee, WI
May, 18, 2007 - First Ave.
Minneapolis, MN
May, 19, 2007 - Riviera
Chicago, IL
May, 21, 2007 - Headliners
Louisville, KY
May, 22, 2007 - House of Blues
Cleveland, OH
May, 24, 2007 - Bogarts
Cincinnati, OH
May, 25, 2007 - Pageant
St. Louis, MO
June, 01, 2007 - Tabernacle
Atlanta, GA
June, 02, 2007 - Orange Peel
Asheville, NC
June, 05, 2007 - Roseland
New York, NY
June, 06, 2007 - Avalon
Boston, MA
June, 07, 2007 - Electric Factory
Philadelphia, PA
June, 12, 2007 - Kool Haus
Toronto, ONT
June, 13, 2007 - Newport Music Hall
Columbus, OH
June, 15, 2007 - Bonnaroo Festival
Manchester, TN
June, 26, 2007 - Le Bataclan
Paris
July, 04, 2007 - Bournemouth International Centre
Bournemouth
July, 12, 2007 - Hammersmith Apollo
London
July, 13, 2007 - Hammersmith Apollo
London

foreign correspondent

Hootenanny staffers are diligently pursuing a foreign correspondent set to travel to Berlin this summer. She's a superstar and we're hoping we get superstar feedback. For now, we'll just call her Kenzie.
Kenzie, keep us posted!

that new car smell

Can you blame me? How many chances to you get to tool around Scottsdale in a '54 Manta Ray? Nose cones likes this will never be out of style.

i am the lizard king

i can do anything
Well, I'm actually not a lizard. I'm a Praying Mantis and I'm pissed off. I came down from my Palm Tree roost to root through the garbage on dumpster day and some jackass with a high def 80 gazillion mega-pixel digital camera starts following me around. What an ass. Isn't is enough that I have to avoid birds and cats? Now I got paparazzi on my tail?
Well, enough said. I reared up and challenged the camera toting turd and he ran like a dirty diaper. What a wuss. Hope he comes back for more!

mavis badcob

Mavis and her brother Marvis attended first grade with me in Wall, SD circa 1969. At that time, the first grade room was in the sub-basement of the old building, later a library for the elementary students. Mavis' brother Marvis was also a student. Everyone was scared of them. They were tough.
Mavis met Terry Culhane midway through the year. It was love at first fistfight. Terry got the knickname Killer because he killed a pidgeon with a hand ax on the playground, but we figured he was capable of much worse.
Mavis and Killer pretty much ran the pecking order. Lining up at the water fountain, collecting milk money, who got to go pee and when. The teachers were oblivious. They sat across the hall smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Just like elementary school teachers do now.
Marvis was slow. He peed his pants and cried a lot.Marvis wasn't content with his station in life. He lacked the intellect to find the right path and became a gangster with the 187 Krew just then forming in Kadoka. There he met Maribelle Spooner who had recently been released from the Arkansas State Prison System in Ofalukee. Maribelle was a shiner. She'd done some noodlin' in her time and Marvis took a shine to her. She of the hay-brown skin and rope-like hair. He of the prairie onion and river bank wild potato. Both accustomed to gunpowder and black licorice.
In time, the four met up. Mavis, Killer, Marvis and Maribelle. They rented a small bungalow in Union Center and settled in. Mavis slung hash at the truckstop, Killer road herd for a local rancher and Marvis and Maribelle did little or nothing. Or so it seemed.
On Friday, October 12, 1986, at 2:33 PM Central Standard Time, Marvis and Maribelle tried to rob the Liberty State Bank in Fort Pierre, SD. It was mayhem. When the dust cleared, three people lay dead. Janicet Cooper, the head teller, and Marvis and Maribelle. The bank's money was intact.
Mavis got the news at work. Killer was drunk and couldn't comprehend the gravity of events. But both knew it was only a matter of time. Flatfoots and gumshoes would be all over them. They met at the Silver Dollar in Cottonwood, stole a pickup and headed for Lusk. Mavis had family in Lusk.

Notes on Lusk, Wyoming.
Lusk is located at 42°45′38″N, 104°27′10 W.
As far as we know, there are 1,447 people, 611 households, and 381 families residing in the town. There are 782 housing units. The racial makeup of the town is 98% White, with less than one African American, a few Native Americans, an occasional Asian passing through and two Mexicans, Jose and Andrejillo.
There are 611 countable households out of which 27% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 51% were married couples living together, 8% had a female householder with no husband present, and 38% were non-families living in sin. 35% of all households were made up of lonely individuals and 17% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older and really lonely. The average household size is 2 and the average family size was 3.
In the town the population is spread out with 22% under the age of 18, 8% from 18 to 24, 26% from 25 to 44, 24% from 45 to 64, and 19% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 42 years. For every 100 females there were 82.5 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 75 males. So dudes are getting laid. Statistically speaking.
The median income for a household in the town is $29K and the median income for a family is $37K. Males have a median income of $28K versus $17K for females. The per capita income for the town is $16K. 14% of the population are below the poverty line, including 23% of those under age 18 and 13% of those age 65 or over.
Notable people born in Lusk
* Dick Ellsworth-Major League Baseball pitcher.
* James G. Watt-United States Secretary of the Interior for much of Ronald Reagan's first term.
There are sixteen bars in Lusk and four "casinos". Three "titty-bars" cater to a mostly male clientèle including local area ranchers and sheepherders.
The school system is robust. Andrew Carnegie built a library that does triple duty as the school, school library and large-animal veterinary hospital. Students don't have access to state provided transportation so many either walk or hitchhike to classes on a daily basis.
Other notable facts:
* Van Halen's tour bus hit an antelope just outside of city limits in 1982, no one on the bus was injured. The antelope died and the drinking continued on into Cheyenne where the next gig was scheduled.
* Hootenanny scouted the area for a potential Information Technology Center in March 2007. After due consideration, we determined the cost of two T1 lines would be prohibitive.
* There isn't even a dream that there will ever be live music in Lusk.
* We were surprised to learn they were working on the technology needed to provide air conditioning.

So much for Lusk. Mavis and Killer blew in on the Monday after the failed robbery in a green '84 Pacer. Killer in his denims, Mavis in a floral print, knee length. They booked a room at the TeePee Lodge on 183 and headed over to Bill's Cafe for coffee and news. The sky threatened an early winter storm and sleet already mixed with the rain. Killer reached for Mavis but she dodged his arm and gave him an angry look.


FIRST INSTALLMENT IN THE STORY OF MAVIS BADCOB

earth day

today is earth day
when i was 16 i spent 9 days in the bighorns
hiked in and around with topo maps that we got in buffalo wyoming
me and rob brought a cassette player and two cassettes
judas priest and neil young
jp was good for the hi-way
neil for everything else
this video is a collection of photographs backed by recordings
from neil young's solo, acoustic performance from massey hall in toronto, canada on january 19, 1971
today is your earth day
listen and watch

willard delka

Willard Delka remembers the past in Gilbert, AZ.
Willard Delka surfaced recently in Gilbert, AZ. We'd heard he'd passed away in the back of an unheated tractor-trailer on a bitterly cold night near Gregory, SD. The official cause of death was a knife wound to the lower sternum that pierced the peritoneal cavity resulting in fatal septic shock. Or so we were told. You can only imagine our surprise when Willard ambled over and introduced himself to us at the Copper Penny Saloon in downtown Gilbert.
Willard had grown a few inches, lost some hair, a few pounds and most of his teeth, but recalled fondly his days as ruthless, desperado gang leader of the Hillcrest Purple Jets in the late 60's and early 70's in Hillcrest Motor Village in southwestern South Dakota. He'd recognized us by the unmistakable tattoos and facial hair of the former Klingbile Gang and recollected our dreaded reputation for filling our squirt guns with pickle juice or vinegar and aiming for the eyes.
Of course, we were eager to know of Willard's whereabouts and doings these past many years and he did not hold back. Working back through a lifetime of memories, Willard confirmed the stab wound and that he got it while on the receiving end of a bad carny nightmare. Willard left Hillcrest in 1972 after an incident at the public school that involved Willard punching his fourth grade teacher in the stomach after refusing to "settle down". Willard recounted, "Knowing I couldn't go home with this hanging over my head, I took to the open road and got as far as Lusk, Wyoming. In Lusk, as luck would have it, the carnival was in town".
Willard convinced the carnys that he was a down on his luck midget (you could still say that then), and was hired on the spot as a ring collector for the pop-bottle ring toss contest. The pay was next to nothing and in some towns, the head carny had to take up a collection to pay for permits and lot rent which meant Willard had to pay for the privilege of working. Willard slept wherever he could and often was subject to carny hazing which consisted of "being beaten around the head and neck with a broken bottle by a raving pack of drunken carnys singing hallelujah songs. There's only so much a little guy can take", Willard concluded, pursing his beak-like lips as a gathering darkness crossed his brow and frightened his listeners with its intensity.
Willard had lashed out at the carnys and their violent, hedonistic lifestyles. He began shaking the pop, a rude awakening for the winning ring tossers doused by the flavored eruptions. This of course lead to a building crescendo of customer complaints. The bottle-beatings increased and Willard fought back somewhere near Gregory, SD, long after the northern carnival season had ended. Eventually, Willard was subdued in the trailer carrying the Zipper and stabbed repeatedly with a small penknife. He was then tossed without ceremony into the snow-lined ditch. He barely survived the cruel winter's night, stumbling into Gregory just after 9:00 PM Central. He was a bloody mess.
It was more than a year before Willard's wounds healed but in the meantime he applied himself and completed a mail-order accounting associates degree course and eventually passed the CPA exam in Sioux Falls. He settled in Gregory, married and eventually became the senior monetary and agricultural loan control officer for the Liberty State Bank, founded in 1889. In 1997, old and frail, he retired to Gilbert where he currently lives with his wife Lolafina and two dogs, Pete and Pamela.
Now that he knows the Klingbile Gang is near, he keeps a squirt gun loaded with pickle juice on his bedside nightstand.

tv party

So we we're sitting around backyard Gilbert drinking iced tea with the last of the season lemons from my neighbor Peter's lemon tree when our friend suggests, "Hey, let's watch that DVD you got from Netflix about the history of hardcore punk from 1980 to 1986". You remember the bands; Huntington Beach's Black Flag, Sioux Falls' No Distortion, Rapid City's DSB or Peno Basin's Dog Revolvers. So anyway, we hit the play button on the Sony DVD and the Panasonic plasma fires up. In a very short time, a TV party breaks out and is recorded on digicam.
The cops aren't here yet so check this out before they get here!
Black Flag's TV Party - complete with early era, Washington DC native Henry Rollins.

the best burger in town

How many times have you asked yourself, where's the best burger in town? Is it DQ, Hardee's, BK, McDs? Is it a local joint, the Cactus Cafe or the Badlands Bar? Ikes, the Alpine Inn or the Wagon Wheel? They all get their beef from the same place. The cattle all die in the same way.
Driven into the yard. Funneled into the kill-room. Bang head, cut throat, disembowel. Trim and process. Chill it then send it down the conveyor. Pickers chose the destination of each chunk. Including offal which is turned into weiners at a later stage. What can't be made into a weiner or sold at a high price to the average American carnivore becomes hamburger. They run it through grinders powered by motors the size of a school bus. They mix in a thing they call "paddy mix". That ensures they can be frozen like frisbees for up to six months. It ensures they all look and feel uniform on a bun. Uniformally gray and tasteless.
Boxed up, they sit in warehouses in Omaha and Des Moines, waiting. They will be ready when they get to your town. They've been radiated to ensure you won't get sick, but that's only if they're handled properly by your service professionals. Their names are Beavis and Butthead. They can and should be trusted. They have your best interests in mind when it comes to burgers.
Our American beef producers bring the best beef in the world to the market. They buy and sell as honest producers, but they don't have any control over the corporate prostitution of their product. So while it may adversely affect them in the short or even long term, quit buying burgers from the corporate pimps like:
Dairy Queen
Burger King
McDonalds
Sonic
Whataburger
Hardee's
Carl's Jr
Dennys
Fridays
Hooters
et. al.

slobberbone

we at hootenanny apologize
we should have brought this austin, tx band to your attention
a long time ago
this is vidcam repro of a 400 bar gig in minneapolis
josephine

woodie guthrie stars

this is a woodie guthrie composition played by jeff tweedy and billy bragg
the album was called mermaid ave after the street woodie lived on
where he went nuts and eventually died
the video is from an artist we do not know but if he wants to contact us, we'd be happy to hear from him
because this is great

year zero

Nine Inch Nails
Trent Reznor

This is the music that scares parents and the government.
Trent Reznor was born in Mercer, Pennsylvania, halfway between Pittsburgh and Cleveland. He began playing the piano at the age of five and showed an early aptitude for music. His former piano teacher Rita Beglin said "Reznor always reminded me of Harry Connick, Jr.". Reznor has repeatedly acknowledged that his sheltered life in Pennsylvania left him feeling somewhat isolated from the outside world. In a 1994 interview with Rolling Stone, he makes reference to his choices in the music industry, "I don't know why I want to do these things," Reznor says, "other than my desire to escape from Small Town, U.S.A., to dismiss the boundaries, to explore. It isn't a bad place where I grew up, but there was nothing going on but the cornfields. My life experience came from watching movies, watching TV and reading books and looking at magazines. And when your fucking culture comes from watching TV every day, you're bombarded with images of things that seem cool, places that seem interesting, people who have jobs and careers and opportunities. None of that happened where I was. You're almost taught to realize it's not for you." However, Reznor later confesses, "I don't want to give the impression it was a miserable childhood."

And, overnight, another video was released. The album is available Tuesday or go to gomusic.ru and get it today for about three bucks.

13

for anyone that missed it the first time

steve reevis

Hootenanny came across this interview with Steve Reevis, a great actor and a good man and thought you might want to check it out. We met Steve in Morongo Valley, California. He is a good friend of my Lakota spiritual guide, Marty Heathershaw.

Pictured from left to right: Steve Reevis, Hootnenanny Traveling Editor Dean Eisenbraun, Event Hostess Doe Heathershaw, the lovely and talented Macile Reevis, Event Host Marty Heathershaw.

It was a great evening in late September, warm but not hot. No tall tales were told and nobody exaggerated those tales that were told. Unfortunately, I missed Steve and Macile last time I was in Morongo Valley, but I hope to see them again soon before Steve wins an Academy Award and moves his family to Beverly Hills.

Steve Reevis filmography:
* Crazy Horse
* Fargo (as Shep Proudfoot)
* Last of the Dogmen
* Wild Bill
* Geronimo: An American Legend
* Posse
* Miracle in the Wilderness
* The Doors
* Dances with Wolves
* Twins

papillon

St. Laurent, French Guyana, South America.
This French prison sucks. They do not have French Fries (pommes frites). They do not have absinthe. Why my friend would suggest a flight to French Guyana via Mexico City is now beyond my ability to figure. You can't get prescription medications without a prescription (and that prescription must be written in French!). There are no French hookers. The casinos consist of thatched roof huts where you gamble with goat bones and marbles. Their are lepers everywhere. These French Gauloises cigarettes almost make me puke.
But, as luck would have it, Martine Jao, my friend, danced a Bo-Jangles for the assembled throng and miraculously, we were released. We fled. One doesn't so much leave Guyana as flee from it with gazillion bird-sized mosquitos trailing into the open ocean. We joined up with an outfit that accepted our sandals as payment for the journey.
We lay upon a cargo of coconuts and undiluted cocaine, neither of which we were allowed to touch. We ate seafood which in this instance meant anything that floated past the boat and was already dead or dying. So mostly, we didn't eat at all. Our iPod batteries had long since crapped out, our cellphones had been confiscated to make long distance overseas calls. One dude, Igor Castallano, made a move for my spare Levi 501 jeans and I fractured his foot with a heavy brass gaffing hook.
At this point all hell broke loose on the boat and Martine and I took to the sea with what we could carry for open ocean survival. Our gear consisted of a ball peen hammer, two flares and an innertube as well as what we were wearing which at that time wasn't much. We floated for days, 12 at least, and learned how to desalinate water, catch yellow fin tuna and weave clothing from passing palm fronds. Over time, 3 or 4 days, we had built a small, sustainable seagoing innertube. Martine crafted a small gas grill, tapping the methane that bubbles up into the Gulf of Mexico as a result of all the exploratory drilling.
On day twelve, we used the first of the two flares to arouse the interest of the Cuban Coast Guard near the Isle of Pines. They couldn't have cared less, though they did stick around long enough to eat some fish tacos and left us some flour tortillas and mango salsa for lunches down the line. It didn't matter because at this point, our adventure had become a vacation and the word of our fish tacos had reached the mainland. Within the day, we were approached by a boat commissioned by the cable Food Network. And, so to speak, rescued from our ordeal.
Check your local cable listings for our show on open water, innertube-gas-grill fish tacos with Cuban Mango salsa.