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Diary Archive: 04-29-05 to 06-21-05
6/21/05
VACATION IN PARA"DICE" pt. 4
When the chess tournament was finally over after my 5 1/2 hour round 6, I was very ready to relax my ass off. I was disappointed about losing. I fought a hard battle..and I know that if I make a habit of doing so one of these days I'll be the one walking away with the money after the "money" round.
Still, I was pissed off until I got back to Binion's horse shoe and was consoled by my good friend and wise counsel Jim Beam.
My initial impression of our Binion's room was that it would be the sort of room that Zippy the Pinhead might prefer. The furniture was old fashioned and blonde. The room's shape wasn't of the boxy cookie cutter variety you get at Comfort Inn's, Super 8's, etc. I expected that if our rooms windows had been capable of bieing opened we would have been rewarded with the sort of chicken grease "night life"aroma I love so much.
If you have kids and are planning a trip to Vegas, DON'T take them to Binion's. They'll be bored. It's an "adult" hotel. There must have been a lot of hookers working the joint (it's home of the "world series of poker"..a prostitution magnet) and lots of fucking and sucking going on behind most of the doors in the quiet high ceilinged hallways.
I might add, it's also a very cheap hostelry. We got a room for $33 a night or so.
Marla had found a brand new abandoned cooler in the Riviera parking lot. We kept it filled it up with Coors and Bud 24/7. I sucked down several after the tournament while gazing out the window at the view of a trash covered roof and a few aesthetically pleasing casino neon signs that lit up the sky. My favorite was "LADY LUCK".
Mark and Shuey joined us in our room. Somehow Mark had managed to find his favorite brew "Old-Milwaukee's best" and they were putting them away like their esophogus's were on fire. The mood got better and better as the blood level in my alcohol stream was watered down to a lower and lower level.
We walked out the front door of the horse shoe casino and sampled the sights and sounds of the much hyped "Fremont street experience".
I had seen a lot of p.r. bullshit about it on the TV travel channel and had heard good things about it from Travis and Liza from Hammerlock. "Experience"??? Gimme a fucking break. The ajoining streets were lit up and decorated like a frigging mall in anytown USA. There were nostril mining rubes from all over the world rubber necking as a parade of shifteyed scumbags loitered looking for an opening to take advantage of them.
We had been welcomed to Binion's by a scamming puke working the parking lot elevator. He had somehow surmised we were "fellow Texan's". He said:
"MAN! This town sure is a bad place to need a new alternator"!
After inducing a reluctant handshake from me he had stuck a wad of hand written figures meant to try to prove to me that he was in a legitimate jam and needed a handout or a ride or something.....
We didn't swallow the bait. Marla had craftily replied..
"You can get one for a lot less than that at a Wal-Mart"..
The sweaty mustachioed crank freak growled "I can't walk to Wal-Mart!"
We shook our heads knowingly and walked away from the dude.
The Fremont street area is awash with human vermin. It seemed rather tame though compared to the snake pit of urban fun centers in Philly known as "South Street".
After reflection I told Marla we should have told the guy we were from Philly..and he would've trudged off to look for other marks even sooner.
I really, really hate being "worked" whether it's by scumbag street leeches or chamber of commerce trend mongers.
It being a Sunday night the light show wasn't being activated on the hour.
We hit a buffet at the Plaza hotel that featured chinese food and standard breakfast fare. Good food for after drinking. We called it a night after that.
Marla and I hit the roof top pool the next day at a good time. There were only two females there besides us. The view was fantastic from the 25th floor. I swam a while and then flopped to read my first non-chess book in a week.
You've got to understand, after a week in Vegas our feet were goddamned killing us. Hell, my knees hurt, my hips hurt my back hurt. It felt good to slow down and relax.
At some point we made a walk back to the plaza hotel a couple blocks away to check out a week long one round per day tournament known as the U.S. "senior" and "under 50" championships.
There were quite a few older titled players competing since there was a guaranteed seed into the next U.S. championship at stake, but it was on the whole a very geriatric experience. I prefer playing in an all ages environment even though a lot of veteran players absolutely loathe getting their asses kicked by young kids. We didn't spend very long there.
We wound up at 9:00 pm like all the other tourists with our rubber necks craned to the sky to witness the much celebrated "experience".
The Fremont street "experience" does truly excell in one way; it's the tackiest display of over vaunted hokum I've seen in many years of traveling our fair nations highways. All it was, was a series of huge big screen TV type screens joined at the hip every 20 feet displaying the same boring graphics that don't impress me at home on VH1.
Marla summed it up damn well: it's clear proof that the generation in charge these days was raised up on overated stoner light shows featuring boring music by world class boring bands like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin.
4 minutes into the spectacle I tapped Marla on the shoulder. I advised her to stay where she was so I could find her after making an emergency trip to the damned bar.
I bellyed up to the nearest one safely inside Binions, ordered a Coors..and when the bartender came around with the change I made a short but for me very neccessary speech:
"HEY!.....you guys must be sick of that shit out there in the street; well, I just want you to know...I"M NOT ONE OF THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.UUUURPPPP!!!!!!!
I flopped a healthy tip on the bar as the fella flashed me an insiders grin.
We visited Terrible's casino and hotel which brought back memories.
Then, I felt like for some reason I couldn't explain I simply HAD TO visit the home base of that alluring "Lady Luck" casino sign. We triumphed well there...hitting 4 of a kind on side by side video poker machines on back to back hands.
Even though I had a mixed impression of downtown Vegas casino's (one jackass buffet at the crowded and putrid Golden Nugget refused to admit men wearing sleeveless shirts...HAH! I can be counted on to be sleeveless as consistantly as I answer E4 with the Caro-Kann defense) I'll be back to give it another chance...maybe staying at the Lady Luck.
We waited around and drank off the last few beers and flew out the next day. Back to Texas. My new chess rating was already on the USCF website: 1937..an increase of 17 points. Just 63 away from the expert level. UUUURRRRPPPPP.
It was maybe a good thing I somehow never went to Las Vegas until I hit middleage. I'm glad there's a place like that to go to every year...24 hours a day of SIN. I won't live long enough to get tired of it.
6/16/05
VACATION IN PARA"DICE" pt 3.
So, why in the hell do I spend so much time here writing about my competing in a game that the majority of the readers of this diary don't give a rats ass about?
Well, I know for a fact that more than a few readers are interested. I've gotten chess email questions from several boozehounds over the years including Duke from the mighty Tunnel Rats and even ex-Rancid Vat bass player (and now Navy chowhall cookie and Father) Julio Justice. Music and chess utilize the same part of the brain. Chess professionals since the beginning of the recorded history of the game have been major drinkers and two fisted fighters in some cases. The USA is saturated with casual amateur level chess/drinking societies who regularly meet and get soused while playing blitz for hours. Maybe you're not a chess player..but my experiences competing publicly and training myself to excell in spite of the fact that I'm a middleaged daily drunk can help you bowl better if that's your bag or golf better (golf training shows I see on the golf channel help my chess game in many ways).
Chess is fundamentally a goddamned FIGHT..between two competitors.
I got an email from my boyhood chess hero a couple months ago out of the blue. He pointed out how chess and boxing have so much in common. He's damn right pal.
Marla read a quality chess fundamentals book recently..not at my behest..but because she's been exposed to the fact that the game can improve your strategic mind...it can help her at work with organizational tasks.
My choice of strategy for the tournament and specifically for my "money round" game at the National open required similar thought as that of the competing coaches in the NBA playoffs. Both teams San Antonio and Detroit are defensive teams; it's fun to see high scoring battles in any sport..but when it comes to winning NBA or NFL or MLB championships...DEFENSE wins.
I yakked about poker with Mark's pal Shuey in Vegas. He's a competitor on a regular basis. We found that we face similar problems at the poker and chess tables. I enjoy TV poker...and try to employ what I learn from watching it to my chess game.
So there I was...sitting across the table with a lot of money at stake with 5 minutes to prepare for my 10 year old female opponent.
The first thing I had to do was eliminate thoughts of her age from my conscious mind. I accomplished that..thanks to 2 years of reflection and learning from losing to a 9 year old boy in 2003 I can honestly say I was READY not to psych myself out this time.
Having seen the girl defeat the Polgar Sisters at the exhibition a few days earlier I knew she wasn't likley to fold easily. She obviously had a coach present who had almost certainly earned his wages by schooling her in opening preparation and endgames....and the art of the ATTACK.
It's a given that her vision tactically..her ability to see several moves ahead ACCURATELY shall we say was likely going to be superior to mine. She obviously is very gifted...and tactical vision is usually a large part of the "gift".
So how to play against her? It's obvious. Players who are expected to rise to Master level and beyond frequently learn about "positional chess"...subtle strategic fine points of the game...later in their careers. My best shot was to set up a solid defense and invite her to attack in perhaps an unsound manner. I had the black pieces..and at our level that's usually the best black can hope for early in the game since white (who has the first move) has a clear advantage at the outset.
I figured she was being coached to win at all costs. Why not set up a defense that it wasn't wise to try to smash through?
Luckily my regular opening as black answering E-4 the "Caro kann" defense is the solid choice of many a world champion. If handled with care..it'll hold off anybody.
She indeed opened the game with E-4.
She played the "trendy" advance variation. To my delight we locked our pawns up into a WWI style trench line. Unfortunately, she didn't try anything desperate. She seemed willing to settle back and make the game a snoozefest.
I considered locking up the lines further and settling back satisfied to draw. Maybe I should have. Fact was, I was given some expansion/aggressive possibilities on the Queens side of the board..and I just couldn't pass up on the opportunity.
An incredible contest came about..a classic see-saw battle. I had the advantage; she won a pawn. I won it back...and another to boot. I lost it back in heavy complications. With her very short on time I made an aggressive move threatening mate..hoping she'd crack. She defended expertly.
After the first time control period expired after 4 hours or so, she had an edge. Neither one of us cracked though. It was one of the hardest fought games I've ever been part of. A lot of spectators gathered round.
OF COURSE they all were rooting for the cute little prodigy girl to beat the old beer bellied loser with tattoo's. SO WHAT? I can't blame them. I enjoyed the role of the fan favorite kid many, many years ago. One day she'll be old..and face a gifted child everybody in the room is pulling for.
Well, of course I had a small silent cheering section. Marla, Mark and literally every man over the age of 30 in the room was probably pulling for me.
They couldn't help me though.
I had her stymied..unable to press home her win with just a few pieces on the board. She quit recording her moves (illegally I might add) when she got down to 5 minutes of sudden death time. I had 20 minutes at that point..but they were dwindling fast. The game had run 5 1/2 grueling hours. She hadn't folded. The intensity of the competition was STEAMING.
Her Mother chose that moment to bring her a frigging happy meal for christs sake. OH THE IRONY. Amarillo Slim never had to face that insult.
In the waning seconds of the game, I was the one who finally ran out of gas and cracked. I made an ill chosen exchange of rooks trying to simplify the position. I hadn't had "real" winning chances for 2 hours; I of course could profit if she cracked. She didn't though. She bashed out the moves instantly as if playing blitz chess.
I had only a few minutes more than her..and THAT WAS MY ACHILLES HEEL in the end.
I used to play hundreds of blitz games in a weekend as a kid..but I haven't "gotten back" my blitz skills after my 23 year break. I haven't played blitz chess deliberately. I've avoided it in favor of improving my SERIOUS chess game.
As time ran out I cracked, unable to continue to play at that level at blitz speed.
I lost.
I reached out my hand and shook hers and congratulated her like a true sportsman. Then I gathered up my shit and stormed off...pissed off for a couple hours or so.
I'm gonna have to work on my blitz skills after all. I'll likely join the San Antonio chess club and play the Thursday night maniacs down there for a year and hope it doesn't fuck with other aspects of my game.
Oh yeah. Marla wanted me to complain after the game because my opponent had stopped recording her moves. I told her that would be a vad move; there's no tournament director in the world who woud rule in favor of an old drunk instead of a 10 year old genius everybody wanted to see win.
I've been there. I won an adult tournament at age 13 under similar circumstances. All they'd do is slap her wrist and tell her to record her moves..NEXT TIME.
So, I finished the tournament with a score of 4-2....in a tie for 12th place out of a hundred or so.
My rating rose 17 points..up to 1937.
When I got home I did some research and learned that by rights I should have been paired with a weaker opponent in the last round. Her most recent rating had been earned 2 weeks earlier at a huge Chicago tournament. It was much higher than the one that led to her being paired with me.
Oh well.
We headed to Binions with me in a foul mood..ready to drink it away after days of having to hold back for the sake of the tournament. It was time to wade into the "Fremont street experience" with gusto.
TO BE CONTINUED...
6/16/05
VACATION IN "PARA"DICE" PT2.
So, there we were on Thursday at 6:00 pm in Las Vegas. Shuey was playing poker at a table that included a chess expert we semi-know from San Antonio. Mrs. Shuey was watching him. Marla (who has completed her first instructive chess book) was watching the Polgar Sisters wrap up their exhibition. I was lurching on already tired feet and legs around the vast tournament hall sucking down brews like it was a supershow..totally into the blitz tournament.
Let's talk about Mark for a moment.
He was walking a route that wound from the poker table at the Sahara across the street to a .99 cent beer bar...to the blitz tournament...back to the bar for a reload..and back to the poker game. That makes for sore fucking feet.
Events like the National open are just as potentially profitable for players of Marks level as guys like me who are totally obsessed. He's read a book or two from cover to cover...and a few others in part. He's been beaten many times by me (which is as instructive and decisive as losing at one on one with a top level amateur bastardball player..or a round of golf with a local assistant golf pro. Sometimes helpful sometimes just frustrating). As a participant in the class "d" section he was eligable to win $2,500 all for beating a handful of other dudes and dudettes with less than perfect skills.
I frequently train for chess like a goddamned monk denying myself alcohol even when I play a computer program. I read 2,000 pages or so from various books training for the National open. My quest is to reach and stick at the expert level.
Mark could earn a lot of money and a feeling of accomplishment without needing to totally snap and become a slave to the game like me.
He's a man of broad talents..capable of playing guitar well, laying down an award winning tattoo, conducting a professional radio talk show, terrorizing chess drunks in bars and partying like Fatty Arbuckle. All this whilst maintaining an amiable disposition that makes me seem like a grouch in comparison...at many times like a man who just found a hair in his soup or crosswise up his ass.
Mark has an amazing number of friends like the Shuey's scattered in towns across America. Nice folks..friendly. Salt of the earth. My pals tend to be borderline oddballs..friendly and loyal..but a bit twisted. Loners in many cases.
Shuey lost his stack of buy in chips and accepted it philosophically.
The three of them vanished into the night in quest of night life soon after.
After watching a dozen or so rounds of blitz competition I headed back to our Riviera room to join Marla. We drank a few rounds and went out on a night of innocent light weight wagering and drinking concluding with a meal at Kandy's..the Riv's 24 hour coffee shop. Marla sat back to back with one of the Grandmasters who had just won the blitz tourney. His visage behind her was a beacon..a reminder of what awaited me the next day.
We were in the sack and asleep by an early 2:00 am.
I was up at 9:30 am feeling fairly refreshed for a freak who often goes to bed at that hour. I took my first crap of the morning while Marla fetched coffee. I stared out at the pool for a while dumbly. Eventually the coffee got my brain going. My thoughts turned to my opening repoirtoire. I intended to play against my class "A" competitors like a master would. No need for flashy attacks that require energy and involve risks...just set up in a solid manner and wait for them to create a weakness I can focus on. I use the sturdy Caro kann defense against e4...and the good old NimzoIndian against D4. Players who use "hypermodern" flank style openings against me are in for a rough day. Thats the stuff I've used since I was a kid. No sweat.
I met Mark in front of the convention hall the tournament was in. We wished each other luck and strolled to our tables.
ROUND 1.
Mark played a lady rated lower than him who had many years of competitive experience. He fought like a lion, pushed hard..but ended up shotting himself in the ass and losing the game.
I faced a guy rated around 1812 (I'm 1920. The range of ratings in my section was 1800-1999). I opened with a Nimzo-Larson attack..Nf6 followed by B3, E3 and a pin on his knight on C6. I developed an early minor advantage of winning a bishop for a knight..and began exchanging pieces heading to an endgame. The Queens came right off the board early. No attacks this game.
I won the fellows Queen pawn and appeared to be coasting to victory. He won the pawn back but had to exchange the last heavy pieces to do so. I was left with a great bishop, King and pawns against his piss poor knight King and pawns. I began to run into time trouble (you're granted 2 hours each for the first 40 moves...then it goes to sudden death with an hour for the rest of your moves).
The fellow played brilliantly in the endgame and wound up due to my utter stupidity with a better position. The bishop and knight came off the board with him a pawn up..looking very confident. My King was much better placed though...and I utilized a sneaky stalemate trap to pull a draw out of the aborted mess of my game. After about 4 1/2 hours we shook hands.
FUCK. We rested up for the next round for a couple hours.
ROUND 2.
Mark played yet another woman with more experience but a lower rating. He lost again. Shit.
I faced a guy rated 1810 this time. I chatted with this guy for a while before the game. Nice guy. His kid was there to watch him. He was from Virginia. He opened with E4 and I responded with my Caro Kann defense. He played a system against it that had me in a horrid bind right off the bat. He later revealed he's used this system for years. SHIT.
I methodically developed my pieces and fought back his initiative. I made a very clever, quiet move that I'm still proud of that left me with an ugly knot of pawns that wrapped around my king protecting him well and preventing his pieces from approaching me at all. I began making threats on the half open H file, the C file and the A file. He had to keep shifting his pieces to face new threats. Finally I broke through his defences like a Louisville slugger splitting open a watermelon on a hot summer day. I wrapped up the victory with a brilliant series of tactical threats that mde his knees buckle.
POW! What a beautiful game. Score 1 1/2-1/2.
Marla and I drank and gambled like grandma's again and wound up at Kandy's wolfing down food alongside the masters. This time International master Ben Feingold (who wrote a fine opening book I own on defeating the tricky Smith Morra gambit) held court next to us sporting a flashy suit a wiseguy would approve of.
In bed by 1:00 am. Unbelievable the sacrifices I make for the royal game, ehh?
Round 3.
Mark and his opponent went for each others throats right off...but wound up with a perpetual check draw.
I was paired with a dude from Illinois who looked like yet another seasoned veteran. We chatted amiably, but from the opening bell fought like mad. Using my favorite reti system I isolated his Queen pawn and directed all my forces towards winning it. He attacked me on the King side utilizing a rook that he manuevered in front of his own pawns. I was glad he attacked me..and was sure I'd use his rooks odd positioning against him. I beat back his attack...snapped up the Queen pawn and we wound up in a text book rook and pawn ending with me a pawn up. For a few weak moments I considered relenting to a draw...it could be a long hard win. Instead I methodically reviewed in my mind the way to win that specific endgame which I've studied vigorously. I pinned down his rook into a weak defensive role and rammed my remaining pawns on the other side of the board down his throat.
It was a very hard fought game in ways. My opponent no longer looked like a happy guy. His face was screwed up into a red sweaty mask. He looked miserable. I pulled the endgame off like a pro..and felt silly that I ever considered pussying out with a draw.
Score: 2 1/2-1/2.
Round 4.
Mark wound up with another draw. I felt like he was gaining momentum. Hell, it's only his 3rd tournament.
My foe in this round was rated 1919. He opened with E4 and we played 15 moves right out of the opening book for the main line Caro Kann. We had both done our homework equally well. I judged the guy as a natural attacker. He made a pawn advance in the center preparing an attack on my king. I made an awkward looking knight move that baited up a trap he failed to see. I sprung a brilliant combination that forced his potential attacking pieces off the board leaving me with control of the mighty D file and several key diagonals. My Queen, rook and knight suddenly leapt at his king like hungry coondogs. After a few nice tactical flurries that left him looking dead as a doornail he shook my hand, resigning.
Score: 3 1/2-1/2.
Hey..not bad. My first round endgame had sucked..but I appeared to be in form for a final day assault on some prize money.
Round 5.
Mark lost to an old guy who attacked him vigorously.
I faced a nice guy from Utah I had been jawing with throughout the tournament. That's what happens sometimes. You have to direct your energy away from any notion of friendship at the drop of a hat. I may have retired from the game for 23 years, but I never lost my ability to rip into anybody standing in my way.
I had the white pieces. I WANTED the guy to attack me....because my rope-a-dope style had been working quite well. I went for a quiet, screwy hypermodern developement. I had an edge early. He developed his pieces poorly. I think we fought a major psychological battle. Both of us kept leaving the table for long periods of time. He equalized the game after a so-so move I made in a dominant position. He attacked my King. I turned his attacking efforts back handily. Finally with both of us short on time he offered me a draw in a position that would be very hard for either of us to win without a great deal of risk. I accepted it.
Score: 4-1.
Wow. I knew I'd win a bit of money if I drew my last game and ended up with 4 1/2 points...and if I won I'd likely win $500-1,000 or so and heroically pay for our trip in one fell swoop..
Between rounds we rested up at our new post tournament home for that night at Binions horseshoe. I liked the room. I drank vegetable juice and lightly napped in preparation for the most important game of my life.
YEAH. It had shaped up to be that big.
I vowed to Marla and Mark that I would do my best.
I reminded them that chess ISN'T A GAME FOR PINKS AND MOLLYCODDLES!
I gave Mark a parting nod at the entryway.
I strolled over to board #113 to play the biggest game of my aging, rotting, alcohol soused life. I realized this could be the game that caps my 2 1/2 year effort to stare down all the demons of the past that used to taunt me in my sleep...jeering at me for being a mere HAS-BEEN at the game. My rating is now higher than it's ever been, yeah. But I haven't topped the expert level of "2000" yet even though I'm closing in on it...and then I have to maintain it.
My mind flashed back to the days of my youth. Me beating hell out of my old man. Good old Pete Luvaas teaching me for years. Getting sage advice from men like Dean Moore and Hannon Russell. Racking up 22 trophies...winning some money..but leveling off at age 15 or so when I had easy access to beer, weed, etc.
I was declining when I quit the game. Yeah..I played a few games when I was in my early 20's. I did well....but I just chose to spend my life doing other things. You need to study hard to play at the level I'm capable of.
Then, my comeback out of the blue after not even thinking about the game for all those years. I worked to change my bad habits that had bogged me down earlier. Last December in Dallas I kicked butt. My efforts are being rewarded. I'm gonna make it.
This game could be the payoff.
The riff to "eye of the tiger" began looping over and over in my head.
I was ready to give my all. I indeed had...the eye of the fucking tiger.
As I sat there grinning like a jackass with that melody running through what's left of my brain...my opponent sat down.
ROUND 6.
Mark won handily..stomping his opponent. I wasn't there to watch it though. Why? WHY?
I had my hands full. Very full.
OH SHIT.
Marla had called it. She had Jinxed me Goddamnit.
There across from me sat the 10 year old Asian girl who had whipped the mighty polgar Sisters. She had also whipped mercilessly earlier in the tournament a guy from the northwest who has been clearly better than me all my life.
OH SHIT MARLA....YOU JINXED ME DAMNIT WOMAN.
I saw the girls Mother standing smiling behind her..and deciphered that the dude in the blue soccer shirt must be her frigging TRAINER!
I glanced left and right to the other boards. A few of the other players were actually gazing at me with looks of sympathy. My opponent from the previous round met my gaze..he seemed to be silently saying.."sorry, buddy".
In spite of my rigid training practices, I instantly craved a bourbon and water.
I flashed back of course to my loss to a 9 year old in the final round at my first comeback tournament in that very room. I sat there fighting bad thoughts. I began to free my mind from thoughts of my opponent...determined to play the position and not the player.
My opponent reached out her tiny little hand to shake my big ugly paw.
I recognized that a bizarre scene was unfolding...that makes typical bar room eight ball, league bowling, and Texas hold 'em tournaments on TV seem dull. No. Amarillo fucking Slim never had to face anything like this.
(to be continued).
6/15/05
VACATION IN PARA"DICE" pt 1.
These days Marla and I can't afford to take a vacation at the spur of the moment. Elvis's college expenses are huge. I'm waiting for a couple circulating book proposals to pan out $$$ wise. Meanwhile, I may be pumping gas next week.
Many months ago we began buying a vacation a little bit at a time..paying in advance for rooms in Vegas the week of the National open chess tournament.
I mention this because as I've pointed out recently, we can't even afford a $50 night out to see a worthy band. I haven't bought a new CD or record or book at a shop in years.
I really need a once a year getaway to look forward to...and this last week was the big long awaited trip.
Marla and Mark (who was also going to play in the chess tournament and visit some friends) and I headed to the damned Austin airport around 8:00 pm last Tuesday night.
Mark showed up stewed to the gills. I fly sober these days..but was keyed up. Marla drove. UUURRRRRRRPPPPPP.
The flight went well at first. We were on the ground 15 minutes early.
Great, right?
At that point Marla and I chuckled together remembering last years near identical flight which was complete with several bigmouthed morons who thought they were comedians who drove us nuts when the plane was held motionless on the ground with we passengers inside for 30 minutes!
We joked with Mark (who had sobered up...or perhaps was hungover) about how LAST YEARS flight was so fucked compared to this one.
And then.....what happened? If you've been reading this journal for long you'll know instinctively what happened next.
YEP. The plane was stuck on the ground motionless waiting for another plane to leave the loading area. YEP....we were treated to more mouthy, annoying banter. This time, instead of drunken males it was ONE JACKASS of a male..and a handful of M.B.C.'s ("mouthy bar cunts").
I fucking loathe the insulting, glib dialogue that todays legion of M.B.C.'s spew from their facial hole's. The Jackass was even worse. He was trying to impress the bitches by telling them tall tales of business's he's owned (yeah SURE!) and great cities of the U.S. He announced at volume loud enough to be heard all over the plane that Vegas SUCKS....and Seattle and Boulder are great places. Marla later told me she wished she had turned to the guy and recommended he move to Portland..that he'd LOVE it there and fit right in.
We said goodbye to Mark at the baggage claim and headed to our rental car outfit. The rental car agent had a 9 minute spiel about the need for costly optional insurance that was delivered so well we complimented him..before saying NO.
We soon found ourselves in deep shit at the Alamo desk though. Even though our tickets and my tournament fee's and most of the hotels had been pre-paid, we needed to pay for the rental car with a credit card. WHY? Because it's required.
To make a long story short, we somehow screwed up and miscalulated our card limit. We used another card...and wound up in our tiny rented Chevy driving to the Stratosphere realizing that by the time we came up with the $$$ for the one unpaid Hotel...we'd be left eating at a Christian ministry soup kitchen...or worse yet one of the fast food dumps I swore off of a couple years ago for health reasons.
We racked our brains over what to do. If we were at home there were several things we could do to raise some dough...but when you're in a place like Las Vegas where so many flakey people piss away their money, cars, jewelry, etc. it's difficult to get anybody to help you or even believe that you're not just another gambler out of control.
My initial instincts were to get good and pow wow drunk at the Stratosphere. We did so...and even played a few nickel video poker machines and dined on late night feed bag specials at the coffee shop.
The next day we yakked and yakked and pissed and moaned and fretted for several hours straight over what to do to salvage our vacation.
I wailed out a few agonizing primal screams.
Then, we "ate" at a Carl's Jr. burger dump. Marla ate a normal burger and fries combo. I tried to order a thrifty gut bomb and wound up with a $1.19 burger special that had nothing but goopy cheese affixed to the bun. It went down like a sponge soaked in rat shit.
In the end we were rescued by good old goddamned Mike McNally..the same Mike McNally you may have read about in my books. He's a man hated by many..but loved by we Irwin's who are inclined to dig fellow heels. It pays to keep longterm relationships with the few people you can call for help in a bind. It's old stuff between us to do so. He had a bad year once and I kept him in beer when we got together. He did the same in a later year. Cut the losers out of your life..and hang onto the McNally's you meet. Fuck the rest. Ahem. Sermon ended.
Feeling all eyes upon us as if we were identity thieves..we used a computer set up at a Kinko's to tap into (with his permission of course) a reasonable fund of money that allowed us to eventually make the rounds that night of the venerable (but likely soon to be imploded) Frontier and the still mighty Sahara.
We ate specials again at the Stratosphere....I had a T-bone steak and eggs.
Our room was on the 18th floor and had an incredible fucking view just like last time we stayed there. We only paid $35 per night though thanks to our obsessive planning ahead. Hey..it's one of the perks that comes with being in your 40's. We did some small time video poker gambling that kept the comp (well, I always tip) beer and wine flowing. A perfect night at a casino for me. Small pleasures..no exciting fast money loss. I'm a cheap skate and have the gambling taste of a 67 year old blue haired lady.
The next morning we moved our bags to the Riviera hotel for the beginning of the chess phase of the trip. We had to wait in line for 40 tedious minutes..just like last year when I was accosted in the same line by a tattoo hating M.B.C.
This time I yakked with a man who just won several thousands of dollars at a huge tournament in Minnesota a few weeks ago that paid off $500,000 in guaranteed prizes. He plays at the same class "D" level that Mark is rated at. Our room had a view of the huge pool and cool blond 60's style furniture.
The attraction this day was a simultaneous exhibition performed by the 3 world class female players from Hungary the infamous Polgar sisters. One is world champion (for females). One is the strongest female to ever play the game..and rated in the overall (men included) top 10 players in the world. The 3rd was winning tournaments all over Europe before the other two made their impact. The way it all worked was there was a rectangle of paying players at boards shaped into a huge rectangle. The Sisters would alternate moves working their way around the room. There were lots of kids of course but several master level players who paid to face them. The Sisters hadn't done this sort of exhibition in 10 years or so. Their parents were there as well as their kids and families.
Photographers went nuts.
I didn't enter this time around although I played a Grandmaster this way last year. My jaw hung to the ground as I saw an assemblage of powerful titled masters young and old enter the huge room to watch the proceedings.
I'll be goddamned if I didn't spot Larry Evans strolling around...a well known newspaper columnist, Grandmaster and former U.S. champion. He was Bobby Fischers second at times in his world championship candidates matches.
We watched for a couple hours and went back to our room with Mark and his married pals from Freeport the Shuey's (who I kept referring to as the "Schuppes"in honor of my long time acquantances from Kent Washington) for budweiser cocktails before the next spectater event: the National open "blitz" championship. This was a tournament in which competitors play 2 games each with 8 opponents with a time limit of 5 minutes each for the entire game for the players. It's a fast moving fun to watch brand of chess with guaranteed fun watching Grandmasters, International masters and even players on my level bumping dickheads for a few hundred bucks.
On route to the blitz event we stopped off to see the results of the Polgar Sisters exhibition. I was toting beers around by now like it was a supershow. We got there just in time to see the worlds greatest female player of all time resign on behalf of the Polgar's to a 10 year old Asian girl prodigy.
Marla grinned at me and joked.."I hope you don't have to play HER in the tournament!".
I brushed her comment aside...and waddled over to the blitz tournament to watch Grandmaster Akobian polish off a strong master as if he were a duffer.
UUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPP.
to be corntinued..........
6/07/05
We're off to Vegas..one of the last REAL cities in the U.S. you can count on. 24 hours a day of sin baby, aaahhhhhh. I can't wait to breathe that polluted casino air. I can't wait to plop my ass next to some blue haired old broad at a bank of video poker machines. Maybe I'll grab one of them by the floppy cheeks and plant one on her kisser.
Life isn't very good always; but I've yet to have a bad time in Vegas.
UUUURRPPPPPP
The chess tournament will be a dog fight this time. I've resolved to make my opponents feel like they've been through an ordeal win or lose. That's my damned strategy in a nutshell. GGGGGGRRRRRR.
We know where a good Kinko's is out there...so hopefully I can update this with a progress report.
6/05/05
2 More WHISKEYREBEL REVIEWS:
The ESCAPED (self titled) CD TKO records
To begin on an unprofessional personal note, I've got to hand it to TKO. How in the hell do they keep digging up good bands out of my former "home town" Snoreland Boregon? This outfit sounds like it could have grown up listening to my old Portland pals Poison Idea. Their sound is big and ugly yet joyous...like a rainy northwest afternoon spent gargling a few of those old 64 ounce jugs of Old English I used to see in bum stores in Portland.
"Get away" opens the 6 song set with a steady layer of methodical high octane guitar strums. A sort of call to arms. The rest of the band (including 2 pissed off vocalists) jumps in with their boots on. This is when you need to push the "pause" button and head to the kitchen for some liquid refreshment of your own..you're gonna need it. This isn't soothing music to accompany a nap or provide a mundane ambiance for a dinner party. "Resent" is an over the top, frantic blast with the drummer flaining and the singers sounding like they're cracking their skulls together..everything coming near unglued..that to me symbolizes the chaotic high water mark of a malt liquor blast.
"Never be the same" and "regret the day" are proud anthemic numbers with catchy melodic undertones that'll still be rattling around in your noggin' when the high wears off and you're checking your pockets for change for a wake up 40 ouncer.
Overall, a fine batch of songs for fans of romping, stomping bigassed loud hardcore/punk. I'll be playing this one alot down here in Texas for boozing house guests.
The TEMPLARS cd:"Clockwork orange horror show e.p." (Templecombe/TKO).
A reissue of a batch of hard to find oi anthems by the Templars..an outfit that's been around evidently since 1991. There are amusing synth and vocal bits between tracks utilizing "clockwork orange" schtick. It's all very well done and hard not to like. I enjoy having my music served up with a hint of menace and violence. Songs like "you'd better beware" "doing the dirty" and "war on the streets" are middle finger waggling modern urban blue collar street hymns.
On the other hand, the track "Clockwork orange horror show" is amazingly cheery, bouncy and uplifting. That shouldn't be surprising..this band reflects a way of life and several moods. There's a great cover of the Angelic Upstarts "teenage warning". I don't have very much from this sub-genre in my musical library, but I like it alot. You don't have to be from the South to enjoy Antiseen for instance..and you needn't be living in an urban hellzone to enjoy the Templars singalong tunes.
6/04/05
Here's a nice Sunday morning message to peruse over your pre-church pancakes.
The biggest non-issue I've seen a big deal made of in a long time is whether or not some Quran's were "disrespected" in Guantanamo bay prison.
Of course as a heathen agnostic, I don't give a flying fuck if Quran's or bible's or any other "holy" fucking books are desecrated.
Am I being a bit harsh? Before you pass judgement on me..remember..my delicate sensitivities have been shit on as an American with unpopular views for many, many years by the christian majority..which includes a whole lot of passive "christians" who claim holy beliefs but rarely walk the walk of the devout.
The muslim world is chock-a-block with extremists who aren't really very different than christian nutcases.
Of course, that's one of the key problems with the ancient struggle between the faiths of the world. The stodgy sour pusses of the various faiths are actually natural allies if they could only stand back and look at each other in a new light. They won't though..guarandamn-teed. At best there will only be a nervous, suspicious peace between them all due to words spewed out into holy books thousands of years ago. That's likely a good thing for infidels like me. Instead of a world wide struggle between believers in similar tightass, conservative, bossy faiths that I can sit back and sometimes laugh at, it'd be a harsh and dangerous world if they all decided to bury the hatchet and together clean up the pockets of atheists, agnostics and "occult" types.
I've burned a bible or two...and I've even attempted to wipe my ass with the rigid pages a couple times. If there were Quran's (since when did we drop spelling the book title as "koran"?) available when I commited such impulsive sacriligious acts of depravity you know damn well I would've soiled a few of them over the years.
I suppose it's best for public relations purposes that I'm not a guard down at the Guantanamo bay facility.
Besides that line of reasoning, has anybody bothered to figure how many bibles or other rival holy books have been spit on, shit on, burned or otherwise maimed by Muslims over the years when they had the opportunity to?? HHmm??
It's part of waging war folks.
You should know the drill by now. All the various "holy" faiths like to display a "progressive" (HAH!!), reasonable and tolerant image to the media of the world. If you get sucked into believing that one of the thuggish mainstream world religions is any more "loving" than the rest..you really are a fool.
The "thugs" I'd rather throw my lot in with..if forced to choose..are the stomped on evil underdogs of the planet. Of course most of those people won't have me either.
Picture me like the Lee Marvin 50's heel biker charachter in "the wild one" screwing up his face in mock agony as the hokey small town sheriff drags him off to jail as he drunkely gurgles "OH THE SHAME!!!!!!".."WHAT'LL Mother think??
No one involved in any of the world's top 10 faiths would cut me any more slack than I'm receiving here in the good old USA. Yeah...our christians have made my life hell since I was old enough to drag to Sunday school. Still, at least their social agenda towards vices ranging from alcohol and drugs to pornography are much looser and "tolerant" than what I'd face in most other parts of the world.
The Muslim world frequently seems 100 years at least behind the christian world. They still stone people to death in Muslim nations..and preach about the virtues of hacking off limbs of scumbags who commit certain crimes. Even the braindead Catholics have evolved beyond that!
I'll be goddamned if I'll shed a tear for devout soldiers (aren't they supposed to be willing "martyrs"?) of Islam whose pocket Koran's are tampered with. They wouldn't cut me any slack, so FUCK "EM.
5/29/05
I have one last significant matter to point out concerning our Rancid Vat trip to Tucson last weekend. I've remarked over the years many times about cheap, shoddy buttwipe that rolls up into little balls that cling to your sticky ass. The motel in Lordsburg New Mexico was a decent place overall; but the chintzy paper I was faced with beat anything I've ever seen. I pointed it out to a couple bandmates who rubbed the stuff between their fingers and watched it curl up into sawdust shards.
Imagine..there must be a hundred people leaving that motel every morning driving east or west down Interstate 10 with their bungholes itching from toilet paper residue. Why oh why the silence over this form of sadism?
I offer this humble solution. If enough of us began wiping our bungholes with the hostelry's linen we will send a message to the smart alecky bastards.
I'm serious. Imagine how many multiple car accidents are caused by truckers losing control of their vehicles due to the need to dig out a distracting, tickling wad of this sort of asswipe in motels on freeways?
I can forego the cornball candy on the pillow, or an ironing board in the room or other such secondary services; give me decent butt wipe..or at least warn me about what I'm getting into when I register so I can tote a roll of my own brand along.
The next time I have to deal with this I'm gonna wipe with a towel or a sheet or maybe a curtain.
The most common cruddy brand of toilet paper is "charmin'" brand. The stuff in Lordsburg was another, even worse product. Incidentally, my favorite is "Scott" tissue..which is actually less expensive than Charmin' and most others.
Our annual vacation to Vegas which we've been scrimping and saving for is coming up. Fortunately, the hotels there are professional and have the class to never tick off we guests with bad butt wipe. I'm sure I won't have to smear anal seepage on the pillow cases or bed spreads at the Stratosphere, the Riviera or Binyon's to protest getting stuck with the bad stuff. You never know though...
I'll be playing in my 3rd "National open" chess tournament in a row at the Riviera. I've been planning for weeks to play in the section that the big boys are competing in..many of whom are world famous Grandmasters and Intenational masters. The dilemma is that I don't stand a chance of winning a cash prize in that section unlike the bracket I've competed in before which is designated for "class A" players like myself. As of this writing I'd be about the 13th highest rated in the class "A" group out of 70+ players. In the past I've been rated down towards the bottom 3rd meaning that I've been constantly paired with the higher rated people round after round. The higher rated you are the easier it is to rack up some quick points in the early rounds. The 1st prize in the class "A" section is $2,500 or so. In the past..way back in the day before my 23 year "retirement" from the game..I won several tournaments at this level. I'm a helluva lot better player than I was back then.
The dilemma is caused by the fact that I won't learn much from playing other class "A" players. The way to improve is by playing the strongest competition possible. On a short term basis it may be a good idea to play in the section in which I can win money..but if I improve I stand to profit in the long run. If I push my rating up into the next category..the "Expert" level I'll feel qualified on paper to print up business cards and start working up lesson plans for local kids.
It's a head scratcher of a problem for me. I'm usually a decisive person, but when it comes to this I'm a waffler.
One of the small handful of men who impacted my chess fortunes positively when I was an adolescent once put it this way when I faced the same situation in the early 70's.
"It's like this Phil; all the good players are competing in the "open" section. All the rest are playing in the other one. Which group of players are you gonna learn from?"
It was great advice. I probably missed out on a few easy prizes in the lower rated section with all the less talented schmucks, but I improved by playing experts and masters and went on to win my share of more important events like the "Portland amateur" championship and the Seattle amateur championship.
If I was a kid there'd be no dilemma. I'd enter the toughest section possible figuring there's a bright future ahead down the road. I'm in my 40's though. Yeah, I'm playing better than I ever have at an age when most players start going dowh hill so they say. I think that's a true accessment for professional grandmasters and that it doesn't mean so much on my lowly level.
Whenever I see other people me and Marla's age at public affairs I'm shocked at how old they look and act. Probably one of the best payoffs of continuing to play music with and for people much younger than us is we haven't "aged" like your fat old man or your prune eating Mom. I'm still a work in progress when it comes to reaching my peak level in competitive chess. There are plenty of masters kicking ass in their 60's-70's. I shouldn't sell my self short..why not strive to improve like a young player?
But then, it'd be nice to win a cash prize.
Of course, if more people reading this would buy a few stacks of merchandise from my ebay store I wouldn't have to worry about money. HINT HINT.
UUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPP.
5/24/05
(This is a continuation of the previous entry)..After two 20 minute sets at the roller derby arena we headed to a local club the Surly Wench Pub. There wasn't a helluva lot of time to rest up. We just packed our amps and shit up into our rental vehicles, made the short drive and started hauling the stuff back onto another stage.
We were all tired enough to be feeling ready to lollygag at the bar, but what the fuck. I almost blew my top over stupid details a couple times..but the calmness of the people who had come out to see us made me shrug off petty bullshit.
I was impressed at what a trooper Marla was when it came to doing the lions share of the technical setup (BTW, it's her job in the band..mine is to be gregarious and sell merch.)
Marla and I are approximately 20 years older than the other band members on the average. We held our own. I was rejuvenated by a few cold beers and short conversations with some folks.
I was very happen to learn that at least a few people in the house knew about the Sarge. One guy..Bob..had been an occasional room mate and band mate of his. To be honest, once I met him and a few other guys I knew the set was already going to be worthwhile. What the hell. Some roller derby devil dolls began to show up eventually. Their prescence provided some goddamn incentive. UUUURRRRRPPPPPP.
The audience seemed about 20 IQ notches on the average above audience members in most other cities. They were attentive without being maudlin or blindly enthusiastic. That's fine with me.
I saw quite a few dudes sporting glasses and beer guts who I can only surmise like to read while they drink. UURRPPPPPP! Hey, that's what I do. I can relate. There was a nice high ratio of females to males..which is the mark of excellance for any club.
We did our job. I dedicated Beautiful Beauregard's "testify" to Paul Young (Sarge). I juiced in a very low key way, strolled into the audience so I could watch the band (with Downtown Dave strumming my guitar) and shake a couple hands.
A very upset club employee approached me mid song demanding I turn over my bottle neck shard to him. He advised me that the club could be shut down due to my spewing bodily fluids. Of wondered on the spot what he would've thought if he had seen one of our really wild shows. I've seen fans in the audience bleed 5 times harder than I was. We discussed the matter briefly after our set. I didn't argue with the guy. I wish he had said something ahead of time if he was concerned. He obviously thought I was some sort of moron who hadn't his sophisticated understanding of the way to behave as a musician in a club I guess.
Of course I've been upsetting club employees on occasion without even trying for over two decades. I've had at least 3 times as many of them buying me drinks in recent years after an instance of juicing. I know the guy must fancy himself some sort of big shot for working at a club in downtown Tucson. I didn't bother to point out that I've played clubs like CBGB's in new York, the Mabuhay gardens in S.F. and the Starwood club in L.A. I've experienced sets being ended prematurly in insane assylums and radio stations.
I've done my share of live drunken performances.
I didn't need a 101 course from the guy on club/band etiquette.
Still, I don't hate or dislike the fella for doing his job. He's just the kind of club employee I like to see enforcing other rules..such as demanding that scumbags PAY THEIR WAY IN. Or, Protecting our equipment.
My stage personna is that of a big drunken moron. I shouldn't get upset if a club employee treats me that way. On the other hand, if he had threatened me (which he didn't) I would've taken it personally.
I wasn't very drunk that night..on the scale of 1-10 about a 2 for when we play live. When I took a prat fall (which I sold hard) it was from fatigue..not from me being soused.
I'd like to play the Surly Wench again some time. We were treated well and paid well. I sold a good amount of merchandise. The only club employee who got in my face seemed like a dilligent employee with a pet peeve.
VIVA TUCSON.
VIVA KIM SIN for setting it all up in a responsible manner. If any of my friends in bands out there ever get the chance to play a roller derby gig...I urge you to frigging do it. ESPECIALLY in Tucson. Of course, I doubt many of you are worthy of the honor, but......
Like I already pointed out, the show was well attended. After we oozed off stage, our pals Whiskey Bitch put on a helluva set. I especially enjoyed their set ending (I think?) cover of ACDC's Sin city. I've been in an ACDC frame of mind since Elvis recently bought the great "Family jewels" DVD collection. Their entire set was a reminder of what is good about meat and potato's, loud as fuck rock and roll in an age in which putrid whine-rock alterno bands, rap metal hybrid horseshit and mtv punk band b.s. are the norm.
Go see 'em when they come to your town. UUURRRRPP.
I shocked Marla and Mark by going with them and some Whiskey Bitch folks and some other Arizonians (Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrizonites?) I met to the local Waffle house afterwards.
What the hell. I hadn't drank a drop of whiskey. I could've drove back to the hotel. Don't tell anybody that though...my reputation as an out of control rube might suffer.
5/23/05
Yeah, we made it back from Tucson alive..I think. It was well over 100 degrees out there until sundown each night. We're from Texas though...and are used to extreme conditions. I heard it was supposed to get up to 112 on Sunday after we would be gone.
Marla and Mark and I set out about 3:00 a.m. on Friday morning. I took the wheel at first as we pulled an all nighter out I-10 which is a favorite route of interstate drug distributors. I drove for 4 1/2 hours or so. As Marla and Mark snoozed and filled the rented pontiac "montana" with gurgling sounds I enjoyed the sunrise in the West Texas prarie. I managed to encounter 3 huge vultures picking a large bloody carcass clean on the highway shoulder. One of the beasts narrowly avoided careening into our windshield. See gods hand at work? UUUUURRRRRRRPPPP??
We pulled into Lordsburg New Mexico about 3:00 p.m. in a giddy state.
After some quick chow Mark and I began pumping down Lone Stars, Pearls and Buds from our cooler. By 7:30 we were so trashed we had to get some sleep to be ready for our bandmates Bobo and the Texas Stud.
They roused us when they pulled in about 10:00 p.m. It was a very quiet night substance abuse wise. We were all embarrasingly in the sack in our lovely suite so early I can't bring myself to mention the hour.
The next day was scheduled to be incredibly full.
It began with me playfully cussing out 3 of my bandmates for being early bird doughnut eating, nose hair trimming hicks waking me up repeatedly. We eventually made our way to the San Rialto hotel in Tucson where we were happily put up by the roller derby crew. The joint had been built in 1908 and remodeled in the 1950's. There was a fishtank in the lobby and live turtles around the pool. The refrigerator in our room sealed the deal...I enjoyed the place alot.
The key to this day for me at least was "PACE" since we wound up booked to play two shows in one day..the first broken up into halves at the roller derby bout.
The action incidentally was very close to what I remember seeing on the tube back in the 60-s70's. Most of the ladies could likely kick the dogshit out of me in a fight...most likely they could whip your ass too. That's fine with me. I love tough girls. The arena has a flat track instead of a slanted one. I love some of the modern innovations..such as an arm wrestling side attraction involving a couple of the skaters.
We met up with the coolest kid in the world..an alleged huge Rancid Vat fan. He approached us during our sound check reciting the naughty words to one of our meanest songs ever: "Old People" I quote a few lines:
"Droopy stockings and purple hair
prune eating bags on medicare
coupon clippers with colostomy bags
their dicks are limp..their tits just sag
false teeth hearing aids and diapers they wear
so when they shit their pants it wont fly everywhere
mashed potatos creamed corn on the menu today
with nursing home stool softener to flush it all away"
The kid said he actually taunts his grandparents with the words..
Of course he's brilliant for doing so.
He may grow up and turn his back on us...but we'll love him anyway.
Obviously some of the family folk at the roller derby were offended or annoyed by us. I enjoyed watching a couple of squares run for the door with their hands over their ears while I rang my cowbell into a vocal mic.
A healthy number of people got it though..what we do. Even though we did it in a clean cut "PG" fashion. Well, clean cut by our sick standards. We TRIED. No broken shit..no blood..only a few deliberate swear words here and there.
Later on at the club show we had a chance to cut loose. I'll have to get into that tomorrow. I'm fucking tired.........UUUURPPPPPPPp
5/19/05
OH MY DICK! The presumed (by drunken me) female guitar player for the band I recently reviewed from the U.K. "the Shook" seems to be a dude! He was a good sport about it all. It reminds me of a local cop story Elvis told me. He was cleaning up the mens room at the diner he works at..and a cop walks in. He eyeballed Elvis ponytail..and cracked "oh..I guess I must be in the ladies room!
HAH! That's funny.
We're off to Tucson in the middle of the night . A lot of driving back and forth, but it's across West Texas for the most part. It makes us better Texan's to wallow in the remote beauty.
I'm tickled we were able to work up a great roller girl song to serenade the ladies with. I hope they enjoy it..or we may have to face their wrath. How can a song involving roller derby, copulating and satan not be received well?
On the home front, we have booked our first Alcoholics Unanimous live show since we lived in Philly. It'll be the 22nd of June. Lot's of new songs and classic old ones. We've already recorded a half dozen numbers in the studio. Marla and Mark aren't using distortion pedals for this presentation of boozey songs. It's a blend of country with garagey early rock and roll..and a big tip of the fifth to the old R&B guys of the early 50's who specialized in drinking tunes. There are a ton of bands who do well here in Texas with a similar approach. Elvis has turned out to be a natural born drummer. He has very high standards for somebody whose just picked up the drum kit a few months ago.
Shit...maybe I'll get dressed up a bit for A.U. shows. Why not? It's good to shift your schtick around every once in a while. Hey, that sounds nasty..shifting yer own schtick.
At the very least it'll all be a good chance to get drunk and publicly carry the torch for the old masters of these sort of songs.
On the chess front, I demolished my Chessmaster computer program in a 6 game "tournament" meant to simulate what could happen if I enter the class "A" section at the National open (class "A" is my rating group..just below expert class). If it were only so easy in really life. The 1st prize in that section of the tournament is several thousand dollars. I'll have to keep experimenting. On the one hand I don't see how I can have improved so fast that I can make easy work of the computer controlled opponents..many of which gave me a rough go a year or so ago. On the other hand, I have been studying my ass off with advanced tutorial software lessons and by reading a variety of some of the best strategical chess studies on earth.
I've taken a pledge that if my rating advances to the expert class and looks like it's going to stay there I'm gonna work up some lesson plans for young school aged students and give lessons for $$. It would be pretentious for me to do it if I'm not rated an expert. Although, I did give lessons for money back in the day..when I THOUGHT I was good. If I do give lessons I'll acquire and incorporate into the lessons a state of the art chess computer "Fritz"...which is used on the grandmaster level for guidance.
Enough of that egghead stuff. I've got some roller derby honey's waiting in Arizona.
UUUURPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.
5/16/05
It hit me when I was drifting off to sleep a few nights ago...
I'm no longer a very angry guy when it comes to most people I've known in my life that I've had heat with. Maybe it's just part of aging. Maybe it's a sign that I understand my mortality better..and the relative insignificance of petty fueds. Maybe it's all the chess I've been studying.
Don't get me wrong. I'm still PISSED at the people I grew up around who made my life hell. I still hold grudges against quite a few club owners and bookers. Besides them, there are few I'm actively pissed off at.
People like to assume I hate ex-bandmembers for instance. That's not true anymore. Others I've fallen out of touch with it's probably just for the better. No axe to grind. No ranting privately. I DON'T HAVE TIME for that anymore.
Independant of this discovered feeling, I yakked with Cosmo over the phone the other day. I know a lot of folks (including some denizens of the Antiseen discussion forum..not actual A-seen band members of course) would like it if we hated each other and ripped into each other for their amusement. Sorry to disappoint you. Well, not REALLY.
Have I mellowed in my advancing years? maybe. I don't care "why" I'm only concerned with understanding how whats left of what remains of my brain works.
Maybe I'll go back to hating a lot of people actively. I dunno.
Cosmo made a good natured crack about me being a hermit who never leaves the house.
I know I was at one time. It was an outgrowth of holing up in a tiny attic room writing "Jobjumper" that made me the social hermit I was. I don't think I am anymore. At some point I seemed to consciously recognize it'd be a good idea to get out more.
I'm a very private person (for someone who publicly writes about his personal b.s. like I do here) and I still don't have an open door policy around here..but I'm past any stage of being unaware of my own weirdness as a result of a limited amount of human contact sometimes for a week or two.
I think I burned myself out on too many public contact jobs over the years that left me feeling mentally violated on a daily basis. I under-estimated the effect that my last office job had on my psyche. Being constantly on edge around a couple dozen people who hated me so obviously 40 hours per week pushed me to the brink of totally wigging out. I still see the faces of those fucks..rotating in 3-d when I'm trying to get to sleep sometimes. I never really rose above it. Maybe the memories will finish me off yet. At least now I've advanced to the point where I will KNOW what it is that has lead me to an early grave if it comes about. To me, that's progress believe it or not.
Being aware to that extent hopefully will allow me to finally put it behind me. Maybe I'll wind up selling sporting goods 10 years from now? Should I aspire to that? I was good..very good.
A wave of melacholy washed over me early this morning. We practiced for our upcoming Tucson blitzkreig (my wrist held up fine) and I passed out early at 1:30 a.m. I awoke after 3 hours and was forced to get up and head back to the living room to drink a few more beers.
It was a good time to have an insomnia attack. A great movie was on.."Murderer's Row" starring Dean Martin and Ann Margaret.
Now, I've read at leat 20 books by Donald Hamilton..the man who wrote the Matt Helm secret agent books in the 60's. Dino's Matt Helm has little to do with the guy in the books. So what? That's all for the better.
The film is a good chunk of escapism that made me nostalgic..and aware of the fact that this current world of 2005 pretty much sucks in many ways..ESPECIALLY at the movie theater's of our fair land.
Too many of the stars of today are developed to appeal to the kind of 2005 geeks that I loathe. Even run of the mill 50's-70's movies are far superior to what Hollywood churns out in the age of Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts and Adam Sandler as box office attractions. Romantic comedy's have never been more worthless in the history of cinema.
Yeah, I can in this age of DVD's find a copy of the most obscure Lee Marvin or Ernie Borgnine film. That's good. It's not completely a suckass time to live. But, I miss the ambience of the pre-90's. The backgrounds..the cars...the apparell.
As the credits ran after the Matt Helm Dino film it hit me hard.
Yeah; I'm the first to agree that old films aren't "politically correct". They are downright offensive at times. My pet peeve is western's from Bonanza to big budget movies with hokey, phony Indians. I'm disgusted. I'm very unable to achieve a state of suspension of reality through quite a few films in which blacks are depicted as child-like animals. Sometimes it's so bizarre that I can laugh at it. An increasing number of times I just change the channel.
I don't think films like this that were insensitive in another day and age should be "banned" or edited. That's a slippery slope. Where do you draw the line when it comes to "art"? "Amos and Andy"? "Huckleberry Finn"?
I appreciate the fact that blacks and women and other non-white males are depicted more reasonably today. Still, I miss total package of older films. I'll take a 70's film loaded with charachters wearing goofy fashions anyday to a modern interpretation of that delightful decade loaded with inaccuracies and exaggerations. That's just one example. If you disagree...remember..I don't HATE you. You're not my enemy. I just won't go to the movies with you or be a guest in your home on movie night.
UUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPP.
5/15/05
YET A COUPLE MORE WHISKEY REBEL REVIEWS (Bands and Labels..SEND in your cd's and vinyl).
THE SHOOK cd "oilville" (label?)
This ones a bit of a challenge. That's ok..I'm up to it. I don't know much about this U.K. band since there's no info sheet included (which is a backassed blessing considering how many of them have turned me against a band) and their website is under construction. There's no lyric sheet; are they heathens? christian? I dunno.
I'm favorably disposed to this cd for a couple reasons. First off, this release is a reminder that our Brit pals have rediscovered electric guitars and rock music in general as opposed to too many years of trendy synth pop. Secondly, the guitarist (named Dara..a female?) reminds me of my wife's playing. Whenever there's a lead or instrumental passage she (I think she's a she) jumps in flailing, snapping and snarling thanks to an assortment of effects pedals. Lots of inertia..and very little feminine pussyfooting around. I like it.
I can only speculate what sort of music these folks consider to have influenced them. Could include any hard rock bands from Cream to Sabbath to even some Seattle crap I hate. The first song "she said" is a good one boasting of some mighty, booming riffy chords. The singer is talented..although maybe not entirely my cup of tea. He reminds me (of all people) of seasoned classic rock pro David Clayton-Thomas in an abstract way at times.
Song two "soapbox paranoia" has some more grinding, start/stop chords..well done. "Forever ends today" is set to a more straight ahead rocking beat. It's not a stretch of the imagination to envision this getting some air play; BUT! after some solid verses the guitar comes riding in like Helios Creed rendering this song too ass kicking to be commercial. This seems to be a pattern: "Hold on" seemed to be the one snoozer on the disc..until the guitar comes to the rescue with a nail garling sound.
It's fun speculating on a band like this I know nothing about. I know a lot of people would like this. I know a lot who would hate it too. As they say..that's show biz. It's very well recorded and constructed hard rock.
STRAITJACKET cd "modern thieves" (TKO).
When I read that this band was from my ex-home town Portland, I groaned; then I saw that they're from the OTHER Portland..MAINE. Whew. So, I listened to it with an open mind and liked it. THEN I LEARNED that they actually are from Portland Oregon..WHOOPS! This band doesn't have murky influences. They're obviously inspired by '77 style U.K. punk bands like the Buzzcocks and the Clash....two bands I've seen play live personally. These guys pull it off damn well with proper respect to the genre. I'm often critical of American bands who sing with crumpet dunking limey accents. To be honest though, I'm not offended by singers who emulate Hank Williams Sr. or 60's-psych bands with singers who sound like Mick Jagger or Detroit sound bands with crooners who bring to mind Rob Tyner; so, what the fuck. This isn't an overwrought "sensitive" band. These guys sound like they're having fun. That's the whole idea of music like this...simple 3 chord blasts with snot dripping guitar bashing and sing along chorus's.
If that isn't good enough for you...what are you doing here? Get your Norah Jones loving ass out of here.
F-U-N. "A new disaster" reminds me of the jolly, guitar driven' Toy Dolls. Songs like "We wanna know" and "blank" and "legendary failure" bounce along infectiously. Some of the songs such as "tunnel vision" and the closing number "won't say sorry" are more bittersweet. Throughout the bass, drum and guitar work are appropriate. Double thumbs up. The guitar player in particular is adept at those stinging little fills between phrases ala Mick Jones and Steve Diggle.
Yeah, yeah..they're from Snoreland Boregon...but don't hold that against them. These guys are a lot better than many a young band I've seen claiming to play old school stuff.
5/14/05
THE WONDER OF THE TRACTOR PULL...
I've confessed here a couple times in the past to failing to be able to appreciate the aesthetic joys of a staple white trash activity popular around here: tubing. My wife loves it..my son does it all the time with "educated" college friends..Mark is into it, etc. etc.
I'm used to being out numbered when it comes to enjoyment of quite a few things. I seem to be one of the few human beings who LOATHES the "simpsons" for instance.
I gained a few white trash credability points back tonight when a tractor pull happened to appear on our TV. I was instantly amused....but Marla asked out loud instantly: "why would people want to watch that?"
She made an excellant observation though; the event was being held inside a domed stadium..roof on. The rigs were flying around the arena with black smoke roiling from their smokestacks. Marla asked how in the fuck the people sitting in the grandstand were able to breathe with all that smoke clouding up the place. I recalled many years ago taking Elvis to a circus in L.A. The clowns had some sort of gimmick they worked involving a motorcyle..a tiny motorcycle,,,that cruised around for a minute or two..leaving in its wake a definite headache inducing waft of fumes.
Imagine that times a hundred?
As she further pointed out...people commit suicide by inhaling fumes from vehicles.
Yes, dear. Perhaps the crowd had a collective death wish.
One of my least favorite commercials that runs all the time this Spring shows ditsy looking people sitting in the midst of tremendous gardens of flowers..that they apparently raised by buying some sort of wonder dirt with seeds included.
Never mind the fact that people who are into gardening tend to be much uglier and more dour faced than the models in the commercial. The very notion behind the sales pitch seems ridiculous to me; there are no bee's or other annoying pests in the commercial driving the braindead botany buffs away. When I see flowers I automatically think to my self: BEE'S!! RUN!!!
UUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP.
Elvis and I are passionate bee, wasp and hornet haters. Our hatred of them has never been swayed by an explanation by any well intentioned nature lover that they have some sort of "purpose". Kill them all.
I'll gladly do without honey for the rest of my life..if that's the result of destroying all bee's world wide now.
UUUURRRRRRRPPPP.
I can't take bee's in stride..or our lord Jesus Christ in stride (including the flag salute "one nation under dog" line), I've met some nice gay people over the years, I can't stand the msg payload packed in hamburger helper, I wouldn't do lines of crank with you if you payed me, I can't change the oil in my car..but I've defeated chess masters in tournament competition.
I guess I'm pretty piss poor when it comes to being white trash.
Then again, I'm wearing an "Austin 3:16" T-shirt as I write this..drinking cheap Busch beer..I live in small town Texas..and there's a pickup truck in the drive way with my name on the registration. I'd rather eat Asian food than hotdogs, though? What does it all mean.
Fuck. At leat I can appreciate the beauty of one of the truly great American art-forms: the Tractor pull. BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAPPPPP. Maybe I'm a genetic accident..a leap up for our species...and your children and your childrens children will be like me when they reach my age.
Let's hope so. I'm a good role model for kids. Always have been.
5/11/05
2 MORE WHISKEY REBEL REVIEWS
BLARE BITCH PROJECT cd "double distortion burger" (Steel cage).
Musically speaking, this cd really rips. There are 9 tracks..all of which are very well arranged and recorded...and fun to listen to. Frankly, I had my doubts about how good I expected this to be based on the band name (sorry folks..it's heavily used by others,,check the net) the title (huh?) and the cover art.
The cd kicked into impressive high gear beginning with the first notes of the lead off tune "catch me". "Knock me out" "drink"and "shut the fuck up"stood out as instant classics the first time I hear 'em. As I tapped my toe, I gazed at the insert booklet to try to figure out who these people were and what they're all about. Suddenly it all made sense; they're from Hollywood! That explains everything including the 80 or so pictures of band members squeezed here and there and the incredibly long thank you list..everything.
Who cares how many "Blare bitch" or "Blair bitch" projects are located all over the country...since this band is the one based in Hollywood, they are the only one that matters.
No, I'm not being a smartass. I lived in Hollywood for a while. I know how things work there. It's this bands birthright to be the REAL B.B.P. They've earned it.
Anyway, this band features a couple members of Betty Blowtorch...a band I've heard of but never heard. I sometimes have a problem with female vocalists who emulate Pat Benatar or Stevie Nicks; no such "influence"problems are to be found on this release. The singer sounds on a par with Joan Jett on one of her best days (the musicianship blows away the runaways..whom I dig anyway). Some of the lyrics in the insert are a little cliche..and might not exactly get a thumbs up read at a poetry slam, but this ain't poetry..it's rock and fucking roll. If you're into poetry go get a Patti Smith cd.If you want a cd that can follow those of high octane icon bands like the Dictators (or virtually anything I've given a double thumbs up to in this diary) without any let up...look no further. I' ready to hear more.
ELECTRIC FRANKENSTEIN cd "burn bright,burn fast" (TKO records).
This venerable outfit has churned out an incredible load of great stuff over the years..which puts them on a higher level than those initially hot but lazy bands that are able to work up 15-20 mighty songs but can't maintain the momentum to take it futher.
This disc sounds like a hell of a lot of work went into it. It starts off with an acapella little warble that leads into the catchy title track. A nice touch. Track two "everybody's dead again" keeps up the pace with a guitar riff/drum answer build up that sets up a blood curdling yelp by singer Steve Miller. YEAH. I already want to hear the first two numbers again. "Spit it out!" is fast, sweaty and intense..and just the right length. These guys really know how to arrange songs and keep the listener from padding off to the beer cooler or otherwise tuning out the band in mid song. Yep, ELECTRIC FRANKENSTEIN are fucking consumate pro's at the art of shaping a string of songs into something that leaves you primed for more..rather than reaching back to the cd rack after a few songs.
"New world whore" is a sort of blend of the N.Y. Dolls and the Dead Boys..without aping either band. "Electric misery" is the sort of song you'd like to hear from the Alice Cooper band if they reformed. Damn..this bands amazing.
Much like the precious little hunk of chocolate you find inside a tootsie pop or the prize in a box of cracker-fucking-Jacks, E.F. cleverly positioned 3 cover tunes at the end of the CD. The first one "talk talk" by the 60's band the Music Machine is as good as any 60's cover I've heard in quite awhile. The final track is a song I've always hated by the Cars "Candy-O". How can they make a Cars song sound good I pondered. Well, they did. It ain't no skinny tie, pointy shoe, new wave bullshit in the hands of Electric Frankenstein. A nice jolly way to end a 14 song full lengther.
All you lazy asses in one trick pony bands take note! This is a band's band. Strive to emulate their obvious work ethic, their intensity and imagination. UUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP.
5/09/05
There's information up above about our shows in Tucson coming up. I'm looking forward to playing there for the first time. I like Arizona. I can't wait to see the roller derby broads in action. Our old drummer Dean hailed from Tucson. While we all lived in Portland lots of his pals from Az visited him. I'd like to see some of them if any of them are around. Unfortunately, one of them..one of the greatest guys you'd ever meet..a man I knew as Sarge..passed away several years ago. He was a big wrestling fan..and a million laughs. I still remember vividly him heckling Art Barr live. Barr seemed to be livid with rage at Sarge's annoying banter. He might've gotten a kick out of it for all I know of course. Barr is unfortunately gone too now. We'll have to do a song for ol' Sarge.
I picked up a guitar for the first time since my injury today and strummed along to an Electric Frankenstein cd I'm about to review. I'll do a little more each day. When it comes time to play in front of people I'll strap a brace on if need be. I'll get through it.
I'm about to post some rare Rancid Vat stuff and other stuff I've played on that's long out of print (that I don't usually have for sale) to Ebay to raise some dough for our annual trek to Vegas which is coming up. The trip was mostly paid for a couple months ago, but I want to be able to gamble on a minor scale with all the old ladies at the slots and video poker machines. My main activity will be to play in the National open chess tournament once again. This time I'll be playing with the big boys; the section all the masters, International masters and Grandmasters are registered in. I've been working my goddamned butt off training while injured using world class chess books Elvis checked out from his college library. I feel damned comfortable playing as an underdog looking for an upset against a powerful master. I may be a chucklehead in many ways, but my chess game is stronger than ever proving that the key to getting and staying smart is consuming alcohol everyday for a quarter century plus.
I lived out what will be eventually a good section for my upcoming Ebay booktonight. I busted my ass locating, processing, grading, scanning and all around preparing a stackof treasured rare LP's for Ebay. When I sat down to list them I found the Ebay site mysteriously down. SHIT. Of course being a hothead I didn't take it in stride or laugh it off in a jolly manner. GOD DAMN!! At first I thought the problem was that Ebay had cancelled all my auctions for some stupid ass reason...like I used the word "crap" in an item description or listed an item that was a promo 30 years ago.
I'm gradually finding it easier and easier to drink a bit more beer each day with all the frigging Aleeve pills I have to take. I haven't had a drop of whiskey in a couple weeks at least now though. It's gonna be ugly when I finally tap into the jug of Beam sitting on my bar. I've got a lot of making up to do.
UUUUURPPPPPPPPPPP.
I finally learned what the hippies who toss frisbee's at targets across the ranch road from our home call the sport: "disc golf". About once a week some Phish loving dude knocks on our door to ask for permission to search our massive back yard for a "disc" that blew clean across the road.
I always say "help yourself!" playing the role of the generous lord of the manor. I enjoy watching them search frantically from my back window. It's incredible how worked up they get over finding a hunk of plastic. If they had any sense they'd be pitching horse shoes or shooting pool like REAL Texan's instead of a pansy ass pacifist game like "disc golf".
One of these days I'll answer the door in a moo moo and offer to help the poor fella look for his disc. BBBBRRRRRRAAAPPPPPP.
5/08/05
2 WHISKEY REBEL REVIEWS
The EARACHES CD "get the revolution out of your head" (Steel cage).
Overall, a fine band..from Seattle..a pretentious town full of spoiled upper middle class weinies..I was a bit surprised. These are some hot musicians who know how to write and perform catchy songs. The production duties are well handled by seasoned veteran Tim Kerr. Steel cage will do really well with this I predict. Songs like "I'm hard up" and "fake radio" and the title track are well honed, meat and potato's Guitar/bass/drums rock and roll.
There's something about this cd I've got to take issue with though. Don't get me wrong; I'd still be happy to knock back some drinks with these guys and I think they're on the right side of the rock and roll fence.
It's a couple slogans stamped on the disc and insert booklet that bug me.
The rhymer to "get the revolution out of your head" is
"take it into the streets instead".
Then, the bromide "start your own band!" is visably plastered all over the place.
I'll lose all credability here if I let that pass without taking umbrage.
These guys mean well, but HUMPING JUMPING JESUS! There are too god damned many bands already; so many that its likely that an ideological band that wants to advocate "change" or "revolution" is likely gonna get lost in the shuffle.
I think the correct strategy is expressed in a rock and roll song penned by thee Cosmic Commander of wrestling and myself a few years ago.."rock and roll fraud". I quote: "be a man..break up your band".
Don't get the revolution "out of your head.."
Instead, USE YOUR NOGGIN! IMPROVE it..educate yourself. Read lots of books. Don't waste your time playing music in bars to drunks...or schmoozing with like minded revolutionaries. There are already too many damned bands. Write a book. Get into a position of power in the "real" world and use it to advance your cause.
Find a way to get normal, Joe lunch bucket type guys to come around to your way of thinking. Don't start the umpteenth thousand political punk band and think you're going to do anything but preach to the converted.
I know I'm fighting a losing battle trying to get this point across.
Look at it this way? If Noam Chomsky had started a band in the 60's..his credibility would've been blown. He wouldn't have accomplished shit.
Just like I love the MC5 in spite of their frequent half baked political slogans, I enjoy this band a lot even though I've dumped on their start a band notion.
Bottom line: a damned good rocking CD.
PILOT SCOTT TRACY "any city" CD (Alternative tentacles).
This is a nice oddball release. Heavy use is made of quirky outmoded keyboard sounds that were fashionable when Devo and Kraftwerk were prominent. Rather than beat you over the head with guitar riffs this outfit sneaks up on you...like an old "love boat" or "fantasy Island" episode you find yourself watching at 4:00 a.m.
There's something slightly off kilter and topsy turvy at work here. No, it's not dance music. This "in-flight band" schtick combo might just wind up choking you out with your overhead breathing device; or, you might gag to death on a tiny sack of California almonds...as the band warbles and plugs away...at a cover of the old chestnut "master Jack" or "human earthquake" (which would've fit in on one of the 1st couple Talking Heads albums..which were great). "Angel of death" is complex and deceptive. Yeah, this band is toying with our brains. The last track "take a flight" is probably my favorite; a perfect background sound to accompany the potential terrors perceived by paranoid travelers like myself.
There are member(s) of the "Causey way" musical cult involved in this ensemble. When I realized that I knew this wouldn't be just another batch of guitar oriented 3 chorders. That's good. The world needs more oddball, quirky, eccentric musical projects.
This cd turned out to be superb background video baseball music..way the hell better than the music programmed for that purpose by E.A. sports. This release is the aural equivalent of Jiffy-pop served to you at 36,000 feet as Muslims wash their feet in a carry on device in the back row by the tiny shitters.
5/06/05
I wanted to go to the Hank III show in Austin the other night..but we couldn't afford to go. I especially wanted to go see Polecat Boogie Revival open the festivities. I undertand PBR kicked ass (Mark went and reported in on it) and that III dedicated a song to Rancid Vat. DAMN...thanks.
My injury knocked me off Ebay for a while, leading to a cash crisis (BUY something damnit!). I'm back typing with 1 1/2 hands...my injury slowly mending up.
We'll be playing a club show AND the Roller Derby extravaganza in Tuscon in a couple weekends...the doctor cleared me..we'll TCB.
I've fallen a bit behind on reviewing stuff that's been coming in. I'll be posting reviews left and right here for a while...UUURRRPPPPPP!
WHISKEY REBEL REVIEW:
LINCOLN LOVE LOG CD (black hole productions).
This project is manned by a couple drunks from Illinois who appreciate the joys (obviously) of bashing away at distortion unit fueled guitars with gusto. It's a batch of raw numbers heavy on riffs likely to piss off a few sensitive
"Guitar player" magazine technico's. Don't get me wrong..these guys know how to play and bellow into mic's..they clearly simply choose not to sound like yet another over produced, friendly, sanitized MTV punk band (YUCK!) that 9 year olds can listen to with their parents as they eat their milk and cookies. There's a dismemberment/sex/meat theme running through the delightful tunes you can pick up on from the song titles: "gore may", "my sweet BBQ", "double headed dildo", "pink taco", etc. YEAH.
This release is definetly "sick bastard approved".
Look this band up and order the CD if they've got any left; either way, while you're at it make sure and get a Lincoln Love Log T-shirt...they are offensive indeed. Mark wears his when he's in the mood for a few fresh chicks. Maybe you'll have similar luck.
VIVA LLL.
5/04/05
HERE'S A COLUMN I JUST WROTE FOR AMP MAGAZINE..R.I.P. Hasil Adkins
First, let me point out that I should be resting my injured right wrist instead of typing out a column. It's well worth a little pain though to say something that really needs to be said. A great, inspiring musician passed away (a week ago prior to me writing this) with little attention from the mainstream media. I'm not sure how many internet scribes or music mags will acknowledge his life and death and the example he left for all of us..so I'm gonna do my best to TCB right here and now.
The mans name was Hasil Adkins. He was born in Boone county West Virginia on a hunk of acreage where he lived his entire life (to my knowledge). Whether or not you've ever heard of him (or automatically assume he must have been a dumb hick living out in the mountains away from chic urban life) one thing is for damn sure: HASIL ADKINS WAS THE REIGNING KING of the often alluded to "DIY" rock and roll ethic.
Hasil Adkins was turned on by the rock and roll he heard on his radio when he was young back in the 1950's. He was inspired enough that he built his own home recording facilities, wrote a lot of songs and laid them down on tape doing all the singing, guitar picking and percussion bashing himself. He did his best to promote his musical creations..but never succeeded in making a big record deal. Of course he performed locally like all other budding musicians and kept plugging away trying to get the attention of a wider audience. Many years down the road some of his self pressed and distributed vinyl slabs were "discovered" by fanatical fans of rompin', stompin' wild rockabilly. I first read about him in an issue of "KICKS" magazine that was published in the early 80's. Soon after the mags affiliated label NORTON records released a batch of Adkins classics that were enjoyed by a growing legion of new fans from California to Sweden.
I'm not sure of the exact time table involved or who heard Hasil's obscure vinyl efforts "first"...but during this same period of time the mighty CRAMPS covered one of his best songs.."She said"..which is a fanny kicking, blistering number with a distinctive primitive chorus: "OOH EEH AHH AHH, OOH EEH AHH AHH, OOH EEH AHH AHH".
Adkins early songs weren't exactly like the sanitized malt shop friendly dreck of the day. Tunes like "lets slop tonight" "chicken walk" and "shake that thing" were all fun to listen to and rocked but had a carnal, nasty edge. If you can't tell that he has pussy on his mind in those numbers, "The hunch" removes all doubt that Hasil's idea of getting down and physical wasn't doing the hokey pokey. He was no Wally Cleaver for damn sure!
He had a bizarre sense of humor that you can easily pick up on listening to his tune "I need your head" in which he alternately growls and chortles in demonic fashion.
Hasil ventured away from the family homestead and began performing live in cosmopolitan music venues. Like many outrageous wildmen of rock and roll he had a fanatical audience in Europe. More and more home recordings of his were released eventually as well as songs recorded in ordinary professional studios. The Norton label folks concentrated on his more rocking releases to suit the fancies of their listeners. Hasil was just as comfortable singing both country and blues songs. One of my favorite Hasil song collections was a cd released by the blues oriented Fat Possum label in the 90's titled "what the hell was I thinking?". The now mature Adkins sang a re-recording of one of his best songs "ugly woman" which is a tongue in cheek lament of being the man with the most unsightly gal in that neck of the woods. "Up on mars" finds Hasil getting real, real gone as they say in a frantic manner that would likely irk most traditional blues and country fans; yet on the same disc he slowly croons "your memories" which reminded me that he's the logical extension in modern times of that better known family from down the hills a couple hundred miles or so, the legendary Carter family who Johnny Cash himself declared to be the founding kingpins of country music.
I don't know if Hasil Adkins considered himself to be a torch bearer for mountain music. It was plain he considered Hank Sr. to be the greatest..and Haze did fashion his first guitar out of an old bucket. But, I think he was a humble man essentially who valued being able to use his music to get out of the hills for a while when he felt like it.
I had the pleasure of talking on the phone to Mr. Adkins once a few years ago to set up a later telephone interview for a magazine. I had to turn the full length interview over to somebody else, but I was thrilled to personally hear some crazy yarns involving vodka fueled car wrecks in the Boone county hills, his "hunching"exploits and simply yakk with the man as he sat in his trailer headquarters. I felt at ease chewing the fat with him as if I was talking to one of my Uncle's.
The last few years Hasil delivered more legendary live shows including many as a one man band member of the Fat Possum "eye scratchers and ball kickers" blues road show that included other greats such as the mighty T-Model Ford and Elmo Williams. A lot of folks (including some of the performers) thought he stole the show more often than not.
I can personally attest to the fact that Hasil Adkins fans include a wide variety of people. When I was employed at Tower records in Philly we'd play his stuff in the store often. People into punk rock often GOT IT and became fans of his instantly. A young black guy who was a fellow employee became so enamored with Hasil after I turned him on to his music that he not only attended a live show of his, he later gave me as a gift a framed photo from a roll he shot that night. I consider it to be one of the nicest unexpected gifts I've ever received. Hasil is shown wearing a snake skin (I think?!) hat, oversized white framed shades and has hair and a mustache you might expect to see Captain Beefheart sport if he came out of retirement.
Without a doubt Hasil Adkins has to be considered as a true original in the same spirit (if not as with the same sort of sound) as George Clinton, Sun Ra, G.G. Allin, Jayne County and Esquirita.
HEY ALL YOU MUSICIANS out there reading this! There's a valuable lesson or two for all of us to be learned from Hasil's life. No, he didn't achieve overnight success back in the 50's. He kept plugging away for many years and as a result eventually achieved a good deal of notoriety. His music has obviously been heard and distributed around the world. He did his share of "hunching" on tour. At the time of his death he was likely doing better career wise than one helluva lot of guys who got "signed" back in the 50's who ran out of gas creatively speaking decades ago.
Hasil made music like nobody else using equipment he set up in a shed. How many musicians reading this can claim to have recorded 5 minutes of truly ORIGINAL music?? Please, spare us the platitudes of corporate label friendly reviewers. It's not that I have anything against them as people, but as a musician you're fooling your self if you can't recognize when the writer of a marketing blurb on your behalf has been bought and paid for one way or another or not.
ARE YOU AN ORIGINAL? Hasil's life proves that you can be way, way out there and still make your mark with persistence. Think about it. Wouldn't it be fun to forget about sounding like everybody else and play what comes naturally?
Of course I realize that not all (not even most) musicians are capable of originality..but, that's another column.
I defy anybody to try to classify Hasil Adkins as a "retro' artist. He was so far ahead of his time I think it'll take music historians and know-it-all's years to figure it out. The notion of performing as a "one man band" may go back a few years, but it's a genre that I truly feel has yet to be fully explored. I've been saying this for years incidentally. I've expressed this idea to a couple young "omb's" whose music I love. Yeah...believe it or not there is a developing scene of guys out there who are sick of having to deal with asshole band members and are working out songs they can perform on their own. I don't think these guys are in league with one another, but I could be wrong.
One of the "omb's" I'm into is Scott Biram.. a guy who lives down here near Austin Texas. When he performs live he fills the room with enough stringed and percussive sounds that it sounds like a "full" band. Instead of having to coordinate set lists with others, he has the option of picking out songs one by one that will suit the mood of the audience. Then there's a New Orleans guy whose music I've been touting for a good while known as King Louie. He raises hell by himself musically and has done so quite successfully for years.
Please, don't confuse Hasil and Scott and the King with boring "singer songwriter" types who sit on stools and strum their acoustic guitars as they sensitively croon relationship songs. Folk music is more often than not boring and dry to me. Why? well, folkies rarely provide any BEAT along with the music. A good one man band can fool blindfolded people into thinking they're listening to a full batch of musicians.
You can bet the one man band guys are happy at the end of a gig when they get to keep all of the money themselves! How's that for incentive to do it all yourself, HHMM? Also, practice sessions don't have to be coordinated with several peoples schedules in mind.
If you think I'm blowing smoke up your tender ass about one man bands being a thing of the future as opposed to a relic of the past, do a simple internet search and you'll be treated to a long roster of guys from all over the map who are doing it.
I don't know how many of these omb's were "influenced" by Hasil Adkins, but I know he was on the cutting edge. The world is a less fun place knowing he's not out there in the mountains of Boone county, but he sure left tons of music behind for us to enjoy. If you decide to check out his music, try to dig up a cd with my favorite Hasil song on it: 'no more hot-dogs". The gist of the number is that he's threatening to nail a gal's head up on the wall of his trailer..rendering her unable to "eat hot-dogs no more". BRILLIANT!
R.I.P. Hasil...
Thee Whiskey Rebel: whskyreb@centurytel.net
P.O. Box 1781 San Marcos, Tx. 78666
4/29/05
I guess it's well known by now how ironic it was Chris Candido passing away how he did. For the ignorant, I'll repeat here that he had evidently put a lot of problems (drugs,etc)behind him and was mounting a personal and professional come back. He sustained leg injuries in the ring...which led to extensive surgery. The next night (!!) he was back at work in a wheel chair managing a hand picked tag team to victory for TNA. Soon after, perhaps in a matter of hours something went wrong in his body related to the medical stress he had been through..and he was gone.
He had a long wrestling career even though he was 33 when he died. He started out early. My favorite Candido work was as part of the "triple threat" in ECW. It was one of the greatest 3 man aggregations in many years also including Shane Douglas and the monster Bam Bam Bigelow.
We've placed a Candido figure on top of our TV between bobbleheads of Yogi Bear and Huckleberry Hound..which is a place of honor in our home.
My own medical soap opera continues.
First off, bear in mind that medication in pill form is difficult for me to consume; I've had a life long PHOBIA that prevents me from swallowing pills.
I usually eat them...but have lately learned how to swallow chunks.
I'll never be a recreational pill gobbler like so many of my friends. Oh well..it's a double edged thrill.
I also have a low tolerance for their effects wheh I do take 'em..like the advils I was using..and the Alleeves (sp?) the good doc told me to take since they're an anti inflamatory drug. I took the normal dose the first day or two..and then last night Marla told me she heard him tell me specifically to DOUBLE the dose in spite of the warning labels on the bottle.
SHIT. Elvis argued in favor of her suggestion..and I just took my first double whack of the stuff. It makes me nervous since I don't react well to pills since I never take them (well...over the years I've enjoyed prescribed percodans, loathed Motrins and got wiped on an illicit Xxanax here and there). I'm waiting here typing this out with one hand wondering what'll happen next. If this entry trails off and an obituary appears here tomorrow you'll know it was the pills and not my depression that took me out.
The simplest shit in life can be a nightmare for me. UUUURRRPPPPPP.
I just pulled something that looks like a green cornflake off my scalp. Is it the beginning of the end?? The end of the beginning?? Or a strategically lost middle game??
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