January 2004

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Jackie kept a lookout perched, on Puff's gigantic tail...

Filed under: Imported

From CNN.com:

HURLEY, New York (AP) -- Art Garfunkel, part of the folk music duo Simon and Garfunkel, was charged with marijuana possession after police pulled his limousine over for speeding in upstate New York.

Garfunkel, 62, had a small amount of marijuana in his jacket pocket when a state trooper stopped the limo Saturday afternoon in Hurley, 55 miles southwest of Albany, the Daily Freeman of Kingston reported.

The trooper smelled marijuana after approaching the vehicle, in which Garfunkel was the lone passenger.

Garfunkel, of Manhattan, was scheduled to appear in court on January 28 on the charge, which carries a possible $100 fine, or he could respond by mail.

And, from the Daily Freeman of Kingston, N.Y.:

Garfunkel, half of the folk music duo Simon and Garfunkel, was charged with unlawful possession of marijuana, a violation, on Jan. 17 after his limousine was pulled over for speeding on state Route 28 in Hurley. Police said the trooper who stopped the limo smelled marijuana upon approaching the car and found 6 grams of marijuana in Garfunkel's jacket pocket.

The maximum penalty Garfunkel faces is a $100 fine, unless he has had a criminal conviction in the past three years. Authorities have declined to say whether the singer has a prior record.

Federoff declined to discuss the case on Wednesday, and he wouldn't even identify himself.

"I'm not authorized to make any statements," he said twice, once upon entering the courthouse and again as he left.

The lawyer's name was obtained from the court.

Garfunkel, 62, lives in Manhattan and was en route to Woodstock when his limo was stopped, police have said. The driver, Ousmane Toure of the Bronx, was ticketed for speeding.

From "America", by Simon & Garfunkel:

I've got some real estate here in my bag

And:

When I talked to local revenue agents, though, I got a very different story. There may be more moonshine in circulation today than thirty years ago, they said; the feds simply ignore it in favor of the war on drugs and terrorists. Gone are the Eliot Nesses, busting up stills with religious zeal; in their place are working-class detectives on tight budgets, squeezing in a few moonshine raids now and then between shipments of cocaine. Even so, between 1985 and 1998 agents in six Viginia counties alone seized 538 stills. "People keep saying that the moonshiners have gone, but we keep finding more stills," one agent told me. "I guess if no one prosecuted murderers, they wouldn't exist, either--there'd just be a bunch of dead people lying around."

From Noodling for Flatheads: Moonshine, Monster Catfish, and Other Southern Comforts, by Burkhard Bilger

Finally:

The bazaars of Peshawar's Old City are the history of mankind as K mart. Everything ever made is on sale in a dirty puzzle of streets too narrow for a 1970's necktie and more crowded than a hockey-game fight. There's the Street of Tinsmiths, Street of the Gold Sellers, Street of the Bird Sellers, Street of the Storytellers and a whole street lined with huge images of false teeth. You can buy a new car here, antibiotics, opium, a Russian refrigerator, a fax machine, a wife. The money changers, squatting in a row on a stone shelf along the filthy Chowk Yadgar Square, keep telephones behind their rolled-up prayer mats so they can call Hong Kong for the latest exchange prices. If you go forty kilometers south to the bazaar at Darra in the so-called tribal areas (tribal areas are what the Pakistanis call the parts of Pakistan that Pakistan has no control over), you can buy a brand-new Moscow-issue AK-47 still in its shipping grease, an entire ack-ack gun, a shoulder-fired anti-tank missile or landing wheels off a shot-down MIG--useful, the locals say, for making a smooth-riding ox cart. At the tobacco stalls in the Saddar Bazaar in the British colonial section of Peshawar I held up a box of fancy Cuban cigarillos I'd bought in Europe. "Two days," said a tobacco seller, and two days later the cigars were there costing less than they cost in London.

From Parliament of Whores: A Lone Humorist Attempts to Explain the Entire U.S. Government, by P.J. O'Rourke

I love to get off on tangents. You'd think with a President that's an ex-cokehead boozehound, some of the silliness of the drug laws might get ironed out by a team of simpatico lawyer types from the classrooms of Boalt and Sterling. "Hey, we all inhaled, and we snorted, too." But that simply hasn't happened.

Your average Joe without a law degree doesn't spend much time dwelling on the philosophies of criminal law in America. If you were to ask, he could tell you that drugs are illegal, the cops can't search your house without a warrant, you get one phone call, and you are innocent until proven guilty.

But, if you step back and give it the bird's eye peep, you can see the goofiness of it all. Take Mr. Garfunkel for instance. "The maximum penalty Garfunkel faces is a $100 fine, unless he has had a criminal conviction in the past three years." So, a judge, making no less than $48.08 per hour, will listen to two attorneys who aggregately make no less than $200 per hour, argue about when Garfunkel (who probably still cashes elephant checks on royalties) and a cop who makes about $24 an hour, can all show up to discuss whether the singer should be fined $100.

Ahhh, the economics of freedom...can you smell it?

I threw in the Bilger and O'Rourke quotes to try and paint a portrait of selective prosecution. There are baseline crimes in this world that are simply "crimes." You don't kill another human being unless in self-defense. Without examining war just yet, murder is murder, most societies can agree on that, and the exceptions are weirder and fewer than sometimes portrayed.

But what about drugs and booze and various other forms of contraband? What has been lost in all of this is the Golden Rule: he who has the gold, makes the rules. Last week, I talked about how the recording industry had pressured some knuckleheaded prosecutors into going after some flea market owners because some of the merchants in their markets were selling bootleg CD's. That was a prime example of the institutionalization of criminal law, where, the penalties are paid by the people who seemingly can afford them, and, prosecution is advanced to discourage the illegal behaviour on a macro level, rather than arresting the exact offenders.

So what did that hillbilly just say?

Well, what I'm getting at is that so much of our legal system is driven by perceptions. As the federal agent in Bilger's book said, if no one prosecuted murder, it wouldn't officially exist, there'd just be a lot of dead bodies lying around. Drugs cause a great deal of distress in our society, I'm not some quasi-libertarian who's about to argue for their legalization. But, you could survey every state in our Union, and you will find a case of Stoney the Stoner, who's in the state's Federal pen for 40 or 50 years because he got busted with a pound of his own shit, and didn't have his father's crackerjack legal SWAT team to cover the whole thing up. Additionally, in each of those states, you will find the story of 1 or 10 officers who were gunned down in a raging battle with a bunch of scumbag street hustlers who were more well-armed than the Fedayeen. None of these people own a single Cessna or an acre of land in South America, the Far Middle East, or Southeast Asia.

The last 4 or 10 self-righteous bastards who have been President, have all talked about America's "drug problem." They have all also entered and exited various wars for various political and economic reasons that have often been vague, strange, and downright fraudulent. There's no secret society producing street drugs and filtering them into America. If asked, your typical ops level DEA agent could probably give you names, longitudes, and latitudes of where the stuff is being grown.

But that kind of seek and destroy mission is frowned upon. I mean, if some petty jackass in some foreign country was supposedly in possession or production of some thing that was an immediate threat to the welfare of the American people, we wouldn't just barge in there, blow up all his shit and take him captive, would we?

A great deal of adminstrative money, on both the State and Federal level, is going to be spent processing Mr. Garfunkel's $100 crime. And, if it is truly a crime, not one minute of prevention or prohibition will be realized from the man-hours spent on it. So, another washed up rock star from the 60's and 70's was stopped, smoking dope in the back of his limo? Duh! A handful of political demagogues who make big contributions to Representatives, Senators, and Presidents who create and enforce these rules, actually live for this shit. Rock stars getting busted for dope is something we export to communist countries, overzealous theocracies, and anyone else who isn't buying enough Nike Shoes and blue jeans.

Understand, I'm not advocating to scrap the whole thing. But, like the tax code, the drug laws in this country are a hopeless mess that has been created by a never-ending stream special interest nonsense, and the resulting morass has exactly the opposite effect of creating a larger and more prevalent drug culture in America. And, it will surprise some of my friends and colleagues when I tell you that, if anyone is in a position to create real, lasting, and effective change in American drug policy, it's a former cokehead, prep school, frat boy, President, who probably had access to the best shit from some rather high volume dealers. That is exactly the kind of real world experience that should come to bare, but is instead going up in a ball of green and white smoke.

Jack's 420 Top Ten

1. Post to Wire, by Richmond Fontaine
Fined $100 for smoking dope in the rain.
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, by Graham Lindsey
Fined $100 for smoking dope from a bong made out of a vintage Old Milwaukee can.
3. Warmth & Beauty, by Thad Cockrell
Fined $100 for smoking dope in a hollowed out cigarette.
4. Live at Billy Bob's, by Jack Ingram
Fined $100 for smoking dope after a breakfast burrito.
5. Oh the Stories We Hold, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Fined $100 for smoking dope in the centerfield bleachers at Wrigley.
6. Fought Down, by Ken Layne & the Corvids
Just sent straight to Carson City, no fines, dope isn't allowed in Nevada, period.
7. Just For The Record, by Bobby Flores
Fined $100 for smoking dope out of a tiny, violin-shaped bong.
8. Railings, by Frog Holler
Fined $100 for baking a half pound of dope into a batch of scrapple...it still didn't taste any better.
9. Chinatown, by The Be Good Tanyas
Fined $100 for smoking dope in the back of a Subaru station wagon.
10. Chicago Country Legends by The Sundowners
There really isn't an off-color dope remark you can make about the Sundowners.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 29, 2004 1:59 PM

 

The Weekly Country Curmudgeon

Filed under: Imported

When stuck for something to write about, log onto CMT.com, and look for one of their lists to shred. It's great fun for the whole family. Here's their list, which they broke into 3 parts for 3 shows, of the 40 Greatest Men in Country Music:

40. Travis Tritt
39. Dwight Yoakam
38. Gene Autry
37. Ricky Skaggs
36. Toby Keith
35. Mel Tillis
34. The Eagles
33. Jimmie Rodgers
32. Charlie Daniels
31. Lefty Frizzell
30. Ronnie Milsap
29. Glen Campbell
28. Chet Atkins
27. Bob Wills
26. Tim McGraw
25. Brooks & Dunn
24. Flatt & Scruggs
23. Roger Miller
22. Eddy Arnold
21. Ernest Tubb
20. Hank Williams Jr.
19. Kenny Rogers
18. Charley Pride
17. Vince Gill
16. Bill Monroe
15. Elvis Presley
14. Roy Acuff
13. Randy Travis
12. Buck Owens
11. Alabama
10. Alan Jackson
9. George Strait
8. Conway Twitty
7. Garth Brooks
6. Merle Haggard
5. Waylon Jennings
4. Willie Nelson
3. George Jones
2. Hank Williams
1. Johnny Cash

Putting Garth Brooks ahead of Buck Owens, Bill Monroe, and Jimmie Rodgers is like putting someone who writes a computer virus ahead of Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and Linus Torvalds. That being said, outside the people who are obviously on this list because of record sales, the thing as a whole has its moments. Watching the episodes themselves can be very painful, though. There's just too much makeup and meaningless blurbs, and a good deal of the commentary is from people who I think suck, so it's hard for me to respect their opinions. Hey, I never said I wasn't a very small man about this stuff.

Jack's Top Twenty Greatest Men of Country Music:

20. Gram Parsons
His drive and energy put Country rock on the map, invented the Cosmic Cowboy, died stoned, cremated in a secret ceremony in the desert.
19. Ricky Skaggs
Carrying the torch for crazy ass hillbilly pickers today.
18. Vince Gill
One of the few modern Nashville guys who can do it all, without the wardrobe, 6-pack abs, and stylist.
17. Buddy Holly
The Godfather of everything that came out of West Texas.
16. Bob Dylan
Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, yada yada yada, Bob Dylan this, Bob Dylan that.
15. Mick Jagger & Keith Richards (with help from Ry Cooder)
In the early 70's, reminded everyone what "honky" meant.
14. Emmitt Miller
The original crazy ass yelping cracker.
13. Ernest Tubb
The eternal host of the big Country music party.
12. Bob Wills
Made Country respectable with all the radio squares and jazz hipsters.
11. Charley Pride
Had 3 or 4 hit singles before his record company admitted he was black. I'm ashamed I haven't paid more respect to what he did.
10. Jimmie Rodgers
The Singing Brakeman, the first famous cracker.
9. Bill Monroe
Invented Blue Grass, res ipsa loquitur.
8. Jeff Tweedy and Jay Farrar
The best Country songwriting and performing team of the 90's
7. Buck Owens (and Don Rich)
The great fuser of musical styles, if Tubb is the eternal host of the big Country music party, Buck Owens is the lead performer. Don't forget his musical genius prodigy, Don Rich, the inspiration of the operation.
6. Merle Haggard
A Country music performer's performer. A lot of people love Merle, but if you ask singer-songwriters who their influences are, Merle's on more lists than most.
5. Waylon Jennings
The original Outlaw.
4. George Jones
The biggest cracker of them all.
3. Willie Nelson
My favorite of all time. The great deconstructor of the art form.
2. Johnny Cash
The very spirit of Country music.
1. Hank Williams
The vortex of Country music...it all came together in a flash in him, and it all subsequently flowed from him. End of sentence, period, end quotes, end of paragraph.

Perfesser Al's "Jack Fucked up the top 2" Top 20 Men of Country Music List

20. Garth Brooks
I don't have an issue with Garth, at least earlier in his career. My issue is with all the music execs who then thought everyone should be Garth. "Much Too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)" ranks as one of the best country songs of the '80s. One any songwriter would be proud of. (I call this my confound Jack or "don't argue with success" pick).
19. Steve Earle
If I have to have an alt-country-ish pick here (and I do) then this is the one.
18. Jimmie Rodgers
At least CMT put him higher than Toby Keith.
17. Chet Akins
Re-invented Nashville the first time besides playin' a mean guitar.
16. Charley Pride
Ask me sometime about running out of gas in Charlie's hometown of Sledge, MS.
15. Bob Wills
Still the king.
14. Lefty Frizzell
The definitive honky-tonker.
13. Vince Gill
If my ex-wife ever saw this list she'd never believe it was mine. She was right, I was wrong.
12. Alan Jackson
The George Jones of his generation. He'll still be making hits when I'm wearing Depends ®.
11. George Strait
See #13. But I doubt she'd believe the Rolling Stones were once a country band either, so she ain't right all the time.
10. Bill Monroe
I don't speak Latin. Does "res ipsa loquitur" mean "Father of Bluegrass."
9. Buck Owens
And Don Rich. Bread and Butter. Jagger and Richards. Chocolate and Peanut Butter. You can't separate them. This does make me wonder about CMT's choice of Brooks and Dunn though. If they're listed at #25 does this mean they're half a man each? For those who like their country flavored by '70s era Stones (see Jack's #15) their latest release, Red Dirt Road, is pretty damn good. But in the top 40 of all time? I don't think so.
8. Roger Miller
Anyone who thinks Miller is just a novelty singer needs to pay closer attention. Lurking beneath the surface novelty is a message that at times may be downright subversive. Plus he wrote "Husbands and Wives," one of the best country waltzes ever.
7. Elvis Presley
Of course he's country.
The CMT got it right and I'll stand on Jack Sparks' coffee table and scream it section.
6. Merle Haggard
5. Waylon Jennings
4. Willie Nelson
3. George Jones
2. Hank Williams
1. Johnny Cash

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 28, 2004 2:03 PM

 

Here fishy fishy fishy...

Filed under: Imported

From Bemidji.ORG:

Bemidji is taken from the Ojibwe name Bay-may-ji-ga-maug, means "a lake with crossing waters." Settled in the late 1800's, Bemidji became an important commercial center by the turn of the century. The judicial seat of Beltrami County, Bemidji is also home to State & Federal area offices.

It's tragic to see the sun begin to crack the horizon of a frozen lake at 6 (six) AM on a Saturday morning, knowing that in more than 4, but less than 6 hours, one of your "friends" is going to come shake you out of your 100th dream about Jennifer Garner and tell you, "it's time to go." Having beaten the night--yes, one more time--you realize you have either made a fatal mistake or taken a calculated risk in your preparations to drill 24 inch holes through solid ice, over 25 feet of water, on the off chance some half dormant fish are going to swim by and take a shot at your frost bitten bait.

However, if you have the proper attire, and the sun is shining, 10 below is patty cake, as long as there's no wind. It's important, at these times, to charge up your tapioca-in-a-can, handcrank radio, and tune it to an AM classic country station, or something with 24 hours of dry news. Coaxing perch, walleye, and pike out of a cold dark hole is a monumental task sometimes, and a fine mixture of the harsh realities of George and Tammy with cold hard news--high school hockey scores and massively incorrect weather reports--is typically the first order of business.

If you're smart, you'll be sure to bring along a group "scout master." When it comes to ice fishing, I can't find my ass with two hands and a flashlight, unless I have a little help. Everybody needs at least one guy in the group who figures out that if you hook a crappie minnow through the tail with a jigging spoon, then pinch off its head, and lightly jig it between 6 inches and 2 feet off the bottom of 20-25 foot deep water, the fish will start biting. This knowledge usually erupts from the furthest hole, downwind from the truck where all the gear is. No one questions the "scout master," because if they do, then they're rewarded with a skunking as the sun sets and the wind picks up. Getting skunked at ice fishing is like being the only 17 year old boy at a high school slumber party and leaving the next morning after getting a good night's sleep. All you are is cold and alone, and usually, whoever is with you is pointing and laughing.

One last point about ice fishing: if it's past 3 (three) AM, and you have buddies who aren't bluffing, but all the same staying on non-suited cards like 3-9, and still making two pair, 3 of a kind, or full houses, just go all in on the next hand and get out of there. Over the long run, this "gutsy" play will catch up with them; take solace in your 8 lunch size perch and one walleye, and leave the cards to the warm and overconfident.

Almost forgot...no ice fishing trip would be complete without retelling the best joke told all weekend:

Q. How many Michael Jacksons does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A. Just one, but it takes 3 Pediatricians to get it out.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 26, 2004 6:38 PM

 

Gen-u-ine Louis Quatorze...

Filed under: Imported

From RIAA.com:

RIAA Hails First Ever Civil Prosecution of Swap Meet Owner For Turning Blind Eye To Pirated Music Sold On Premises

�San Bernardino (Cal.) District Attorney Prosecutes Local Swap Meet Owners

The Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) hailed the civil prosecution Monday of two owners of a San Bernardino, California swap meet/flea market -- the first-ever instance of a local, state or federal law enforcement agency filing civil charges for repeatedly turning a blind eye to pirated music sold on swap meet/flea market premises. The owners of the Waterman Discount Mall and Indoor Swap, Ho Suh Jin and Gustavo Zarate, were repeatedly advised that vendors on their premises were blatantly hawking pirated CDs and failed to take any proactive steps to address the illegal activity. For more detailed information, contact R. Glenn Yabuno with the San Bernardino District Attorney's office @ (909) 891-3330.

While the RIAA, on behalf of its member companies, has filed civil lawsuits against swap meet/flea market owners and operators in Houston, Sacramento and Columbus, New Jersey, Monday's action by the San Bernardino District Attorney represents the first ever civil charges brought by government prosecutors. The RIAA's civil enforcement actions are part of a larger campaign to target piracy at flea markets, with major efforts in St. Louis, New England and New Jersey just in the last couple of weeks. Below is the comment of Cary Sherman, President, RIAA, on the civil charges against the San Bernardino swap meet/flea market owners.

"We are grateful for the efforts of district attorney Michael A. Ramos and his team. This action represents an important milestone - for swap meet owners who think they can profit from piracy, civil charges are a reality. This strong deterrent should further up the ante for those who think they can flout the law and rob artists, songwriters, music publishers and record companies by illegally selling copyrighted music."

During my formative years, the Greater Kansas City Metro landscape was dotted with living, breathing, Drive-In picture shows. During the warmer months, these havens of Americana were populated with swap meets and flea markets during daylight, on the weekends. My old man liked to cruise these things for cheap knock-offs of newly engineered tools; if he liked the way the knock-off handled, he might go buy a copy of the warrantied national brand (i.e., Snap-On, Mac, Craftsman, etc.).

Needless to say, it was pretty common knowledge that anywhere from 25 to 50% of the stuff at places like the Heart Drive-In and the Boulevard swap meets was first or second-hand stolen. After a few visits, you could get a greasy feel for who was middling their wares on the 5-finger discount, and who was just taking advantage of a unique outlet for legitimate business.

This whole story sucks though. I'm all for protecting artists' rights and everything, but this strikes me as a type of malicious prosecution. Swap meet folks tend be from the fringes of life, dealing in cash and free corn dogs from the concession stand. Prosecuting the guys who provide the space for these oddballs is just the kind of abuse of power that we're taught to be vigilant about from the minute we can say "Thomas Jefferson." No, friends, Ho Suh Jin and Gustavo Zarate are supposedly the "deep pockets" in this whole scenario. What a pissant turn of events.

Not to put too fine of a point on it, but the bootleg record industry isn't run out of a basement in Joplin, Missouri. Assuming things are similar to the way they've always been, there are planes, trains, and automobiles involved, and ol' Ho and Gustavo are simply standing by the wrong stalls at the wrong time. There's only one real defensible position for the vicious San Bernardino District Attorney: if Jin and Zarate were making real, direct profits off the sale of these bootlegs; as in, anyone selling them was giving the two men direct percentages. If Willie the Hobo was merely ponying up his $10 entrance fee to the flea market for the day, then the San Bernardino District Attorney is one of the biggest assholes ever.

Finally, let's get back to the Boulevard Drive-In in the lovely Rosedale neighborhood of Kansas City, Kansas. If the biggest problem the District Attorney has is the bootleg CD's going in and out of there, well then, where can I get me some San Bernardino property for cheap? Even my relatively innocent childhood eyes knew 1, 2, or 12 felonies when I saw them back then, and I doubt flea markets and swap meets have changed much. This sort of thing happens when special interests with too much money laying around co-opt government agencies. No one is claiming that the prosecuted actions here aren't illegal; rather, the question is, aren't there bigger fish to fry, both on this crime and others?

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 22, 2004 3:55 PM

 

Even the Mountains Looked Like Vaginas...

Filed under: Imported

When I was a sophomore English Major at Stanford, I took the 50 cent tour of American Literature from a man named Arturo Islas. He was considered a brilliant lecturer and important Mexican-American author. I watched him get mugged after class one day because he said Gone With the Wind was a racist, chauvinist piece of garbage, and, that Jim was the true hero of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He was upbraided by a cross-section of students, but what surprised me were the number of women jumping on him about the struggles of Scarlet O'Hara. It became evident to my 19 year old mind that very moment that, regardless of whether men actually believe we understand, or merely think we understand women, they know and live as if we don't. And we don't.

My junior year, I was out stumbling around the dorms one weekend night at about 2am, and I had a young lady show me her big Georgia O'Keefe picture book. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was such a thickheaded male of the species that they all just looked like different colored vaginas on a different background by page 10. Even the mountains looked like vaginas.

So what does all this have to do with The Be Good Tanyas?

Well, I'd like to see them live because I need to know if they can, or ever do, air it out on-stage. Chinatown is a great record, but there's a whispering goddess of ambivalence quality to it that goes over my head, and I'm sure that has to do with me being a boy and them all being girls. They cover a couple of old chestnuts with "House of the Rising Sun" and "I Wish My Baby Was Born," but, the tone and voice are foreign to me for some reason. There just seems to be a feminine depth to this album that I can't penetrate, and I guess I'd have a better idea of where they're coming from and where they want to go, if I could see them singing the stuff live.

That being said, I'm willing to keep peeling the onion and playing the disk on the show. The ladies are great singers, good musicians, and this is a very beautiful record.

Jack's X-Chromosome Top Ten

1. Post to Wire, by Richmond Fontaine
Even the Starbucks look like vaginas.
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, by Graham Lindsey
Even the Badgers look like vaginas.
3. Warmth & Beauty, by Thad Cockrell
Even the tobacco looks like vaginas.
4. Live at Billy Bob's, by Jack Ingram
Even the tequila looks like vaginas.
5. Oh the Stories We Hold, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Even the White Sox look like vaginas.
6. Fought Down, by Ken Layne & the Corvids
Even Rodeo Drive and the Santa Monica Freeway look like vaginas.
7. Just For The Record, by Bobby Flores
Even the Riverwalk looks like vaginas.
8. Railings, by Frog Holler
You think the Liberty Bell doesn't look like a vagina?
9. Chinatown, by The Be Good Tanyas
10. Chicago Country Legends by The Sundowners
There really isn't an off-color vagina remark you can make about the Sundowners.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 21, 2004 2:24 PM

 

Hamfisted Political Analysis...

Filed under: Imported

The comedian, Steven Wright, once said in a performance something like, "I stayed up all night playing poker with Tarot cards; I got a full house and four people died."

From CNN.com:

KASSEL, Germany (AP) -- A German computer expert being tried for murder after he confessed to killing and eating a man shows no signs of mental illness, a court-appointed expert has testified at his trial.

Klaus Beier, a psychotherapist and sexologist based at Berlin's Charite hospital, told the Kassel state court Monday that defendant Armin Meiwes' fascination with cannibalism had developed from an early age and Meiwes, a loner, had seen it as a way of "being close" to men.

Also from CNN.com:

ATLANTA, Georgia (AP) -- A 6-year-old girl was found dead in a motel room with a broken back Monday after what police said may have been an exorcism.

Two adults were arrested after they and two children were spotted on the street naked in the freezing cold.

The adults, who had been staying in the motel room, were charged with cruelty to children, public indecency and obstruction of police and were taken to a psychiatric ward.

You think I'm done quoting CNN.com?

DES MOINES, Iowa (CNN) -- Rep. Dick Gephardt, a distant fourth-place finisher in Monday's Iowa caucuses, where he once had been considered the man to beat, has decided to drop out of the Democratic presidential race, CNN has learned.

A Gephardt aide said the candidate would speak to supporters Monday night and then planned to return to St. Louis, Missouri, where he is expected to withdraw from the race Tuesday.

Not surprisingly, cannibalism isn't illegal in either Germany or the Democratic Party. Once thought a haven for organized labor, the donkeys have all but ditched their forefathers, and left them wandering naked in the true freezing cold of Iowa, wondering why they backed a prune-faced square from Missouri. Dick Gephardt is exactly the kind of union toady ward healer that should have been exorcised from the Party years ago, but has hung around like the anonymous Humphrey in Minnesota, who springs from some St. Paul wood-paneled office every year to run for lieutenant solicitor general or some other made-up office created by the thieves during his ancestor's original tenure.

There have been numerous articles written on Clinton's legacy to the Demo party, but everyone is afraid to just come out and say what it is. Karl Rove and the Republicans were smart enough to realize that if Americans are going to elect a Republican, they want a Reagan clone: tell it like it is, never admit you were wrong, and if accused or indicted, sacrifice an underling. Towns like Des Moines, Mason City, and Ames are overrun with people right now, fresh from door-knocking and message delivering, but it's all a bunch of substantive nonsense. If Americans are going to elect a Democrat, they want sex and Rock n' Roll. Clinton stayed up all night playing poker and practicing his saxophone. THAT is an everyman, a normal Joe, the guy you warn to stay the hell away from your daughter. People who marry ketchup widows, captain their debate teams, and crank up internet based campaigns based on the bold motto "I'm not Bush," simply miss the point.

Edwards may have guaranteed himself the leverage he needs to be the ticket VP come November. In the next two weeks, expect Lieberman to learn the same lesson taught to Gephardt today: no thank you. Kerry has all the momentum now, and the only thing that can derail him are the squirrely little campaigns being run by Dean and Clark. He has to out-sex these guys over the next few weeks, because the freakish nature of their gigs already has the tease built-in.

And throughout all of this, regardless of how you intend to vote in November, keep in the back of your mind what is spinning in the evil little head of Karl Rove. Teresa Heinz Kerry is a walking time bomb of sorts for this campaign. As the fiery daughter of a wealthy Portuguese family from Mozambique, and brilliant graduate of the University of the Witwatersrand in South Africa, she's never been beholden to anyone, least of all, her shaky husband. She knows she'll be worth a half a bill come 11-2, regardless of whether the war hero gets the fancy 1600 Pennsylvania address. Her penchant for the quotable quote will be priority one for the striped red tie operatives following the Kerry's from town-to-town, should he emerge the candidate of choice. No matter who says it, under what context, "let them eat cake," always sounds bad, and typically portends the sharpening of the blade.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 20, 2004 1:30 AM

 

The Chocolate Cowboy

Filed under: Imported

On Saturday, I made what turns out to have been a really half-assed attempt at sprinkling my playlist with some songs that were relevant to MLK Day, chiefly by playing 3 Charley Pride songs. As always, my wanderings, tangential musings, and borderline idiocy are quickly corrected and/or shorn up by my listening and/or reading audience. A big shout out to Dave Leach (and, in the future, to his kid, Andy) for giving me the assignment of obtaining more music by "The Chocolate Cowboy."

From the MusicWeb Encyclopaedia of Popular Music:

McCLINTON, O. B.
(b Obie Burnett McClinton, 25 April '40, Senatobia MS; d 23 Sep. '87, Nashville) Singer, songwriter, guitarist with hits in country chart '70s. Wrote a song early '70s called 'The Other One' (Charley Pride being a much better-known black country singer); he also called himself 'The Chocolate Cowboy'. Father was clergyman and a farmer (owned his own spread, unusual in Mississippi then). Infl. by Hank Williams as a child; disliked farm work, ran away from home, got as far as Memphis, spent all his money on a guitar. Won scholarship to college to sing in choir; worked as disc jockey in Memphis where he met Al Bell; began writing songs while in US Air Force; wrote R&B for Fame Publishing in Muscle Shoals (songs recorded by Clarence Carter, Otis Redding, others); signed by Bell (then a Stax executive) to new Enterprise subsidiary as country singer: first country chart single was 'Don't Let The Green Grass Fool You'. Dis- satisfied with debut LP O. B. McClinton Country '72, prod. his own Live At Randy's Rodeo '73, also prod. other artists. Hits incl. 'Six Pack Of Trouble' '72, 'Yours And Mine' '75; switched to Epic for 'Hello, This Is Anna' and 'Natural Love' '78; on Sunbird early '80s with 'Not Exactly Free'. Died of cancer.

From Century of Country:

When African-American Country star O.B. McClinton was sick with abdominal cancer, the Country music community rallied around and put on a star-studded benefit concert to help to defray his medical expenses. "The Chocolate Cowboy," as he styled himself, was on an upward swing and he had just released a new TV marketed album called The Only One, which O.B considered his best album yet. His father, Rev. G.A. McClinton, had three sons and four daughters and the family grew up on his 700-acre ranch near Memphis. O.B., the second youngest, was around the age of 9 or 10, when he began to dream of being in show business while doing his mundane chores around the farm. Listening to Hank Williams sparked his initial interest in Country music and subconsciously shaped his singing style. After high school, he ran away from home and headed for San Francisco. However, he only reached Memphis and there, in a Beale Street shop, he bought his first guitar. With his travel money gone, O.B. returned home. He won a choir scholarship to Rust College in Holly Springs, Mississippi, where he sang in the a cappella choir. He graduated in 1966 after four years� study. Soon, he was drafted into the Army, but as this didn�t please him, he volunteered for the Air Force during December 1966. While in the Armed Forces, he began winning service talent shows, and as a result, he spent a lot of time entertaining and writing R & B songs. This led to a writing contract from Fame Publishing Company in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. He remained in the services for four years and after discharge, his original R & B songs became popular. James Carr recorded Baby You Got Your Mind Messed Up and A Man Needs A Woman, Clarence Carter released Why You Can�t Measure and the great Otis Reading cut Keep Your Arms Around Me. Although O.B. tried to be an R & B singer, he was not successful. When he was in the Air Force, a friend had introduced him to a Charley Pride album and this encouraged him to further his career. He wrote some Country songs and then made a demo tape. One day in a hotel, he met an ex-deejay friend of his named Al Bell, who had since become a top executive for Stax Records and O.B. played him his Country demo tape. Bell was impressed and asked who the singer was. When McClinton told him who it was, Al refused to believe him and the only way he could convince him was to sing along with the tapes. The result of this chance meeting was a recording contract signed on January 12, 1971, and O.B. became the first Country artist on the Stax Country label, Enterprise. In all, he had seven chart hits on the label, from 1972-1975, of which the most successful were, Don�t Let the Green Grass Fool You (Top 40, 1972) and My Whole World Is Falling Down (Top 40, 1973). After Stax went out of business in 1975, O.B. moved over to Mercury the following year and had a basement level chart single with It�s So Good Lovin� You. For a couple of years, O.B. relied on his live work and in 1978 Epic signed him and released Hello, This is Anna, which featured Peggy Jo Adams and Natural Love, both of which charted at the lower levels. The following year, Soap reached the Top 60. In 1980, he moved to Sunbird and had a moderate hit with Not Exactly Free, on which he was credited as "The Chocolate Cowboy." This was his last chart record until 1984, when he had a Top 70 single, on the Moon Shine label, entitled Honky Tonk Tan, which seemed almost autobiographical. In 1987, O.B. was once more back on Epic Records with a hit single, Turn The Music On, when he succumbed to cancer after a year-long battle. His death was announced on TNN�s Nashville Now by Ralph Emery.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 19, 2004 1:13 AM

 

But to my surprise, come up with a knife...

Filed under: Imported

Authenticity.

There was a lot of authenticity swirling in the mud and the blood and the beer at the Cabooze Friday and Saturday night. The two night stand was the fourth annual Cash Only tribute to The Man in Black, and it featured a lot of familiar friends, and surprise guests, that really upped the electricity in the room. Certainly the highlight of both shows on a very symbolic scale was the appearance of Bob Wootton, Cash's longtime guitar player and successor to Luther Perkins in the Tennessee Three. Even though Johnny is gone, it's still pretty chilling to hear the guitar licks played by someone who shared the stage with him. He seemed a little surprised at the raucous crowd, but he owned the stage like a pro.

Another highlight was Janis Figure's set on Friday night. Nothing quite honors Cash's memory like a hard rock band with a lead singer fresh off a near death experience, scaring the shit out of his girlfriend and doctors as he climbs on the amps and howls into the mic at ear-splitting, temple-exploding volumes. Welcome Back Billie.

Best costume goes to two-night crowd favorites, Ol' Yeller, and their tan jumpsuits with prison numbers on the breasts. As usual, they put on a really kickass set, made even better by the addition of Baby Grant Johnson on lead axe. It sounded so good, many of us clubheads began scratching our chins wondering aloud if there weren't a place for Grant in Yeller. Hmmmmmm...

Straight A's to Professor Sherwin Linton, and his very historical sets. I feel like I can hold forth on Cash now like never before. I gotta get me one of them hats too.

Needless to say, with the addition of the Monorail (after the Simpsons' episode, I'm just waiting for Leonard Nimoy to show up and save us all), there wasn't any place to park because about a bajillion people showed up both nights. Authenticity rocks. Thumbs up Taco.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 18, 2004 11:36 PM

 

Stompin'

Filed under: Imported

The Old97's took the stage of the mainroom at First Avenue last night like they were stomped out of a packet of ketchup. A few months back, the Bottle Rockets opened for Lucinda Williams on the main stage and were very tight. It was like they were sober and worried about making mistakes. In contrast, the 97's bass player, Murry, told the crowd that they ciphered it was the first time the band had played outside of Texas in 2 1/2 years. There was such eagerness and energy in the set, with bobbing heads and tapping feet in the crowd, that it more than smoothed over some of the rough harmonies and broken guitars. Overall, the set was very tight and professional, and the balls out attitude made the kinks more like salt and pepper on a good dinner, rather than bad medicine before bed. It's good to get a contender for best gig of the year so early in 2004.

And, if you're in another town down their road, go get your tickets now. The Rhett Miller Show got exactly 2 (two) songs at the beginning of the encores, the rest was pure Austin, Texas, hillbilly punktry. They even threw in 3 (three) new songs that could be on their next album, slated to be released by New West Records, all real burners, with wild west guitars and girls getting left at the bar and/or murdered. New West is going to make a dumbass out of yet another big label on this one, just like they did with the Drive By Truckers.

P.S.--in case you haven't lavished love upon me and/or caustically criticized me in a while, I finally got off my lazy butt and fixed the Guest Book on the radio show's web site. Fire at will.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 17, 2004 6:56 PM

 

Feel the Love...

Filed under: Imported

From John Gerome of the Associated Press:

NASHVILLE, Tenn. -- Country music sales fell nearly 10 percent last year, outpacing a decline of less than 1 percent weathered by the industry overall, officials said.

The 2003 showing reverses a trend from 2002, when country sales spiked and were the lone bright spot in an otherwise dismal year for the music industry.

Ed Benson, executive director of the Country Music Association, blames the slump on a dearth of new releases by blockbuster artists.

"We face the same challenges as all musical formats, but in 2003 we didn't have the same number of superstar releases that we had in 2002 when Kenny Chesney, the Dixie Chicks, Faith Hill, Tim McGraw and Shania Twain all had new releases," Benson said.

Country album sales fell from 76.9 million to 69.3 million units - a 9.8 percent drop, according to figures released Monday by Nielsen SoundScan, a group that monitors music sales.

Total album sales declined 3.6 percent in the same period, but the figures do not include Internet and digital sales. When those are included in total sales, the decrease from 2002 to 2003 is less than 1 percent, the CMA reported.

In 2002, country sales grew 12.2 percent while the overall recording industry fell 10.7 percent.

Joe Galante, chairman of RCA Label Group/Nashville, said fallout from the Dixie Chicks' comments about President Bush was another blow.

The life of a delusional, obsessed, jock sniffer is never dull. Out all night, sleep all day, using the blood of innocent suburban children named Tray and Rachel to oil the chassis of our hybrid cars, as we drive to the co-op to buy organic cigarettes and coffee from Belize.

We know that independent labels enjoyed a spike in sales in 2002, when the mainstream music industry was slumping, and blaming internet downloading for it. It'll be interesting to see how 2003 went for them. Maybe I'll send a few emails around and see.

As wizards like Ed Benson and Joe Galante scratch their heads, it's a good time to reprint one of my favorite quotations from the novel, Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk:

To warm her up, to make her laugh, I tell Marla about the woman in Dear Abby who married a handsome successful mortician and on their wedding night, he made her soak in a tub of ice water until her skin was freezing to the touch, and then he made her lie in bed completely still while he had intercourse with her cold inert body.

The funny thing is this woman had done this as a newlywed, and gone on to do it for the next ten years of marriage and now she was writing to Dear Abby to ask if Abby thought it meant something.

Jack's Specious Ad Hoc Top Ten

1. Post to Wire, by Richmond Fontaine
If you live in Portand, Oregon, call your local Country station and request either "Through" or "Post to Wire."
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, by Graham Lindsey
If you live in Madison, Wisconsin, call your local Country station and request either "My Museum Blues" or "Emma Rumble."
3. Warmth & Beauty, by Thad Cockrell
If you live in Charlotte, North Carolina, call your local Country station and request either "Warmth & Beauty" or "Taking the View."
4. Live at Billy Bob's, by Jack Ingram
If you live in Austin, Texas, call your local Country station and request "Flutter."
5. My Baby Don't Tolerate, by Lyle Lovett
If you live in Houston, Texas, call your local Country station and request "On Saturday Night."
6. Oh the Stories We Hold, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
If you live in Chicago, Illinois, call your local Country station and request "My Town."
7. Fought Down, by Ken Layne & the Corvids
If you live in Los Angeles, California or Reno, Nevada, call your local Country station and request "Sun Don't Shine."
8. Just For The Record, by Bobby Flores
If you live in San Antonio, Texas, call your local Country station and request "Bubbles in My Beer."
9. Railings, by Frog Holler
If you live in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, call your local Country station and request "Virginia."
10. ring, by Big Ditch Road
If you live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, call your local Country station (even though there aren't any) and request "City Girls" or "Father's Son."

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 14, 2004 1:17 PM

 

Nothing better to do...

Filed under: Imported

A Hell's Angel who lived on Thirty-seventh Street in Sacramento was continually being complained about for making suggestive comments to women who passed by his house..."Let's make it, baby," or "Hey, beautiful, come sit on Papa's face." A patrolman, checking on one of these complaints, first threatened the outlaw with jail and then asked him contempuously if he couldn't find "something better to do." The Angel thought for a moment and then replied: "Not unless it was to be fucking a cop."

From Hell's Angels, by Hunter S. Thompson

And...

The place was full of cops. I saw this at a glance. Most of them were just standing around trying to look casual, all dressed exactly alike in their cute-rate Vegas casuals: plaid bermuda shorts, Arnie Palmer golf shirts and hairless white legs tapering down to rubberized "beach sandals." It was a terrifying scene to walk into--a super stakeout of some kind. If I hadn't known about the conference my mind might have snapped. You got the impression that somebody was going to be gunned down in a blazing crossfire at any moment--maybe the entire Manson Family.

My arrival was badly timed. Most of the national DAs and other cop-types had already checked in. These were the people who now stood around the lobby and stared grimly at newcomers. What appeared to be the Final Stakeout was only about two hundred vacationing cops with nothing better to do. They didn't even notice each other.

--From Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas : A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream, by Hunter S. Thompson

From the Associated Press:

NEW YORK (AP) -- Get ready to welcome Rudy, Richard, Tina and other favorite "Survivor" castaways for a rematch on the upcoming "Survivor: All-Stars" competition.

The chosen 18, representing all seven of CBS' past "Survivor" seasons, were announced Monday during the network's "Early Show." They face off when the hit reality-challenge series returns for its new edition after the Super Bowl telecast on February 1.

I

There are one or two generations in this country that, when faced with nothing better to do, went out and formed motorcycle gangs and attended conferences in Las Vegas, fully armed and/or intoxicated.

Sadly, this "communicative" generation somehow spawned the one that invented Reality TV. If you aren't sure of the premise behind reality TV, let me explain the core idea of all of these programs: People who are unfamiliar with each other are forced to live together on camera so that you go absolutely comatose in front of your television and forget to live your own life. Whereas normal TV shows of the past 60 years hope to get 5 seasons in so they can go into syndicated reruns, Reality shows have a low shelf life, so they pray for at least 8 groups or mini-seasons so that they can start mixing and matching the "characters" that tested well in the research into All-Star shows and contests that run in a continuous, nauseous loop.

Outside of these ensemble-stranger-casted shows, are the peeks into the daily lives of celebrities, and the unbelievably creepy home improvement/first date/Cops type shows, where we only get our characters for one shot, but the exposure runs deep and sharp for full effect in the limited timeframe.

It's as if we're beginning to believe, through our television choices, that if we watch enough of other peoples' daily miseries, disasters, and heartaches, and disengage ourselves from the flotsam and jetsam of real life, those same miseries, disasters, and heartaches simply won't be visited upon us. A local radio host has a great theory about how air-conditioning ruined American society, but the truth goes much deeper than that. Everyone works hard in this country, and there are typically 8 hours a day where you have nothing better to do. Consequently, there's an entire industry built up to make sure you do nothing; and when you get right down to it, watching TV is the absolute definition of doing nothing.

II

There are nooks and crannies in this town where you can make extremely poor decisions, but, if you beat the police to your house, you will have at least raised your pulse and engaged in some human interaction before you crawl under your down comforter and fall asleep to a mix CD of bad 70's country rock music by guys with really comical hair and moustaches. Outside of a handful of live sporting events, I began to ditch the evening TV sometime around 1997, when I took up bowling, first as a diversion, then as a hobby, then as a "sport" (emphasis on quotation marks, because I know a 400 pound man who has 8 (eight) league-sanctioned 300 games). Being good at bowling isn't quite as cool as being good at billiards or Texas Hold 'Em poker; but, there's a fine reservoir of gambling hubris to be tapped by anyone who's willing to learn the ropes of the mechanics and physics of the beast.

III

"And we was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but...that's not what I came to tell ya about." There are towns like Omaha, Nebraska, Wichita Falls, Texas and Artesia, New Mexcio where live music causes a stir. Things like Reality TV, gifting circles, and sado-masochistic computer chat rooms play well in these cities, because there is nothing better to do. Luckily, we live in Minneapolis where live music sometimes clogs our auditory arteries and forces us to drive around with the lights off between venues and at 2:30am to secret after bar jams, where people who wouldn't be caught dead at Disco Night at the Mall of America pick out country versions of YMCA while drinking the only alcohol they have left in their refrigerators, typically a sampler six pack of some obscure micro-brewery that one of their cheap bastard friends left after eating the majority of the cocktail shrimp at the last Christmas party.

Someday, someone is going to create a list of these things and where they're hatched. Until then, if you have nothing better to do this week, you might consider going to The Best Bands of 2003 Showcase at First Avenue on Wednesday night, featuring Big Ditch Road and Haley Bonar, among others; you could grab your keys Thursday night and go to the Turf Club to catch Ben Weaver with Jimmy Peterson's new band Missing Numbers and Dave Huckfeldt and Benson Ramsey; Friday, you can join several hundred college girls who will be staring at Rhett Miller as he sings lead for the Old 97's at First Avenue; if that ain't your thing, you can run down to the Cabooze both Friday and Saturday nights for Viva and Jerry's annual Cash Only tribute to Johnny Cash, featuring a very intriguing lineup this year.

Until then, always remember...

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 12, 2004 7:45 PM

 

Winners, losers, and the well-attended...

Filed under: Imported

Two Defenses Humiliated

It's a fool's errand to examine the statistics after a National Football League (NFL) playoff game; all that really matters is who won, and who lost, not by how much, or on what play. But, Winter will really set in for me in Minneapolis now, and in two weeks I will be standing over a 24 to 36 inch hole cut into the ice of Lake Bemidji. On last year's big ice-fishing soiree, I entertained myself and the two guys within earshot of me by reading Old Man and the Sea out loud, while waiting for wally the walleye to make an appearance. Given the piss poor finish of the Vikings this year, few of these men will be in the mood to discuss football. But, it will be worth repeating that NEITHER team punted in today's contest between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Indianapolis Colts. The Chiefs' offense raced up and down the field on the hapless Colts defense like it wasn't there, racking up 31 points on 409 yards total offense; Priest Holmes rushed for 175 yards and two scores, piling up 208 yards of total offense. The only problem was that the Colts' offense raced faster and farther. And that, my friends is the bright spot for tomorrow, day one of Dante Hall's holdout from training camp.

There will be no head scratching, second-guessing, or esoteric massaging of the facts about this Chiefs team. Their offense is spectacular and their defense sucks. The off-season priorities are clear, and the microscope is officially on. If the front office does not spend the offseason pulling the trigger on free-agent defensive acquisitions; if the first few picks in the draft are not used on the best defensive players available; if Greg Robinson is not bound, drenched in gasoline, set on fire, and thrown into either the Kaw, the Missouri, or the vortex of both, then we will know friends. Those 79,000 screaming maniacs in red will understand that the management of this team is not serious about winning a title. It's that simple: the offense works, fix the defense...now.

The 36.2% Solution

Luckily, there was a defensive bright spot--sportswise--for me this weekend as Stanford's basketball team rolled into the McHale Center at the University of Arizona and held the Mildcats to 36.2% shooting from the field. The normally trigger happy Arizona squad shot an ice cold 4-21 from 3 point range, and never looked comfortable as Mike Montgomery's relentless man-up attack on defense ripped the spines out of their backs, and kept the clowns, losers and fugitives that typically root for them mostly silent throughout the game.

"They must have to have a pretty high GPA to get in there or something," Lute Olson said, "because they really play with poise and intelligence. A lot of that has to do with Mike, too"

Indeed Lute, indeed. Monty owns your ass, excuse me while I gloat.

Stanford should probably leapfrog Duke for the Number 2 spot in the polls, but that won't happen. Connecticut beat the crap out of Oklahoma tonight, so they'll stay Numero Uno for at least another week. Arizona should drop at least 3 spots for puking on their home floor with all that talent.

A Mini Musical Empire

Local alt rocker Martin Devaney has seemingly hustled, worked, and sweated out his own little mini musical empire, if last night's attendance at The Turf Club was any indication. Eclectone labelmates Mark Stockert, First Prize Killers, and Big Ditch Road all performed with Devaney in front a packed house, something that I honestly didn't expect when I walked in there at about 11pm. My jock sniffing apparatus firmly in place, 300 of my closest friends and I enjoyed the end of the Killers' set, the Big Ditch Road gig, and Martin's typically high energy romp. While working the room, I ran into lots of other local musicians who showed up to watch the gig, another good sign for anybody playing; in attendance were Ben Weaver, fresh from Duluth and a live in-studio appearance on my show, Eric Lluoma and Phil Tippin of Bellwether, Jon Duncan of Trailer Trash, and Dan Israel of the Cultivators. It's just a really good sign when a fairly typical club gig like that has a healthy turnout. Congrats to Martin and all the good folks on the label.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 12, 2004 12:40 AM

 

Yawn

Filed under: Imported

I'm bored with doing a Top Twenty list. It's so, so, so....2003. When bored, or hung for an original idea, steal something, I always say. Don't anybody tell Greil Marcus.

Jack's Top Ten Things That Don't Suck

1. Post to Wire, Richmond Fontaine
The world needs more Country concept albums. Post to Wire plays like a series of letters to friends and loved ones, flung far across America, with tales of isolation, regret, despair, redemption, and hope. As this album meanders through 16 (sixteen) tracks, 4 of which are short postcards of news from the front containing rolling fills of pedal steel and 3 quick spoken-word notes, I am overcome with a feeling of artistic completeness that only comes from an actualized vision. Maybe that's just a fancy way of saying this record has a beginning, middle, and end that follows a real story, and nobody's trying to slap together a collection of singles to sell to some dumbass at a mainstream radio station. There are 4 stunning songs on this album: "Through," "Hallway," "Polaroid," and "Willamette." The refrain from "Polaroid" is nothing short of brilliant American poetry:

Not everyone
Lives their life alone
And not everyone gives up
Or is robbed or always stoned

Quite simply, a group of thoughtful people, with a love of twang, sat down in a recording studio in Oregon, and recorded the finest Country Record of 2003. It should become an instant gem in your collection.

2. Willie Nelson, joining the political fray for Election 2004.
He's going to get as much return on his support of Kucinich as he got from his golf course being seized by the IRS; but hey, he jumped into the game, didn't he? I think the rich people who run the Democratic Party were incredulous in 2000 that the rich people who run the Republican Party might actually get Bush elected. This time around, their celebrity friends aren't sitting on their hands at Madonna's, eating brie, while the men folk play croquet with Guy in the backyard. Will it make a difference? Probably not.

3. Baseball writers and former players standing up to Pete Rose
Take it down the street Charlie. It's not about 4,256 Hits; it's about respect for a game you say you love(d). I vote NO.

4. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, Graham Lindsey

To look at your face
is to lose myself in those eyes
how softly they open
and swiftly they close
from the light
like big curtains in your room
venting shadows over you
tonight
as you snake through your skin
from the shape you been in
that you still somehow seem
to fit inside

Beat that.

5. Bowling
If you're left-handed, and you've never thrown a tight-spinner down the left-hand rail and watched it hook all the way over to the 6 pin at the last minute, after going 3/4 of the way down the lane, then you've never been "bowling." It's a love/hate relationship.

6. Mars Baby! Mars!

7. The Inevitable Conspiracy Theories about How Those Really Aren't Pictures of Mars
You think I made that up?

8. Two nights in February...
The Drive By Truckers return to the 400 Bar for two shows, February 6th and 7th. So they'll be in town all day Saturday huh? Hmmmm...that gives me an idea.

9. The Undefeated, Highly Ranked, Stanford Basketball team
Who knew? Go Card!

10. Dick Vermeil's tears
Are you kidding? Dick Vermeil is coaching my team? Do people really bet against Dick Vermeil in the playoffs?

10a. The Extraordinary Life of Dave Dudley

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 9, 2004 8:49 AM

 

Willie vs. George...

Filed under: Imported

Whatever Happened to Peace on Earth, by Willie Nelson, lyrics courtesy of The Nation:

There's so many things going on in the world
Babies dying
Mothers crying
How much oil is one human life worth?
And what ever happened to peace on earth?

We believe everything that they tell us
They're gonna' kill us
So we gotta' kill them first
But I remember a commandment
Thou shall not kill
How much is that soldier's life worth?
And whatever happened to peace on earth?

(Bridge) And the bewildered herd is still believing
Everything we've been told from our birth
Hell they won't lie to me
Not on my own damn TV
But how much is a liar's word worth?
And whatever happened to peace on earth?

So I guess it's just
Do unto others before they do it to you
Let's just kill em' all and let God sort em' out
Is this what God wants us to do?

(Repeat Bridge) And the bewildered herd is still believing
Everything we've been told from our birth
Hell they won't lie to me
Not on my own damn TV
But how much is a liar's word worth?
And whatever happened to peace on earth?

Now you probably won't hear this on your radio
Probably not on your local TV
But if there's a time, and if you're ever so inclined
You can always hear it from me
How much is one picker's word worth?
And whatever happened to peace on earth?

But don't confuse caring for weakness
You can't put that label on me
The truth is my weapon of mass protection
And I believe truth sets you free

(Bridge) And the bewildered herd is still believing
Everything we've been told from our birth
Hell they won't lie to me
Not on my own damn TV
But how much is a liar's word worth?

One of Willie's first wives got so tired of him going out and cattin' around all the time that she sewed the sheet covering him to the bed one night, after he passed out. Guys like that typically bet trifectas with no horse below 8-1 on the big board. They have a natural affinity to get in the fight on the losing side, because they just want to fight. Losing, whatever the consequences, is at least a result of engaging your percieved enemies. It's that whole "Those who ain't busy livin' are busy dyin'" ethos popularized by Robert Zimmerman of Hibbing, Minnesota.

Willie has enjoyed a bit of a bump in popularity recently because he signed on with Lost Highway, and, because a lot of today's "Country" artists have started to feel the backlash from their shallow Eagles-esque, Carly Simon rehashes. They're latching onto traditional artists like Willie in feeble attempts to draw some continuity bridge between the bullshit they're recording, and his institutional standing within the genre.

That being said, though, he's still far from mainstream. And, mainstream country radio programmers would rather stick a shiv in their mothers' ribcages in church, than play a song like this, so don't hold your breath on lots of airplay should a single be released. However, the Shrub ought to make note of Willie's renewed vigor on this year's election. Kucinich has as about as much chance as a one-legged cat trying to bury turds on a frozen pond. But, Celebrity activism and youth registration submarined Bush's old man in 1992, and Willie throwing his cat-gut guitar strings behind a dog like the Senator from Ohio is just the kind of thing to re-energize a groundswell of opposition on hard-hitting journalism fronts like People Magazine, Entertainment Tonight, and Soap Opera Digest. Pearl Jam deserves just as much credit for getting Clinton elected back then as does James Carville.

P.S.--if anybody booted this song Saturday night in Austin, I might be interested in a copy.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 8, 2004 12:27 AM

 

That makes me soooooooo angry....

Filed under: Imported

Oh, in case you missed it, the rover started sending back color photos from Mars.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 6, 2004 2:50 PM

 

Michael, we're bigger than U.S. Steel...

Filed under: Imported

By Sue Pleming
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The U.S. Army said on Tuesday it had granted Halliburton a waiver to bring fuel into Iraq via a no-bid deal with a Kuwaiti supplier despite a draft Pentagon audit that found evidence of overcharging for fuel.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers spokesman Ross Adkins said the waiver was not tied to the Pentagon's audit of Halliburton, the oil services company once run by Vice President Dick Cheney (news - web sites), but was done to ensure much-needed fuel reached the Iraqis.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers head Lt. Gen. Robert Flowers signed a waiver on Dec. 19 ruling that Halliburton subsidiary Kellogg Brown and Root did not have to provide "cost and pricing data" related to a sole-source contract with a Kuwaiti company to deliver hundreds of million of gallons of fuel.

In 1966, Howard Hughes was shuttled off a train to the high roller suite of the Desert Inn in his blue pajamas and he began a buying spree that essentially moved the mob out of Vegas and opened the door for the big corporations to own the casinos. I was thinking about that last night as I watched The Godfather on cable for what is probably less than the 5,000th time, but more than the 1,000th time.

I get accused of being a liberal a lot, but it really isn't true. I'm more of a centrist, who distrusts everyone. Right now, the elephants are ruling the roost, so naturally, I point my suspicions at them. But before you add me to your list of communist blogs, read a little further.

I can't make up my mind if this Middle East thing is more like Howard Hughes arriving in Vegas on a train in his blue pajamas, or the Roth/Corleone venture in Cuba, during The Godfather II. The political southpaws of the world really like to hem and haw about Haliburton's contracts, but I don't really sweat those so much. The whole Halliburton/KBR gig is very limited in scope, i.e., there are oil drilling and pipeline delivery mechanisms in a world of hurt because of neglect and/or sabotage, so they're a pretty natural fit to fix it. They're going to make obscene piles of cash off of it, but hey, it's what they do, and it's all that they do, so I don't really feel like they're part of the "big picture" of what's going on over there.

Without discounting the greed of the exclusivity of Halliburton's contracts, they're just the tip of an iceberg that's being packed for shipping to a region and culture that I'm not sure is ready or desirous of its presence. That is to say, you need readily available gas to fuel the trucks full of McDonald's so that they can get between Tel Aviv, Riyadh, Baghdad, and Tehran without being hassled by 19th Century rejects like "warlords" and "soldiers of God." If the mob was moved out, or merely died out, in Vegas, it was just as much due to anachronism and inefficiency, than anything else. The question now becomes, are these feudal, tribal, theocratic governments ready to embrace the very American concept of corporate political power? Will they react like the Cubans that Michael describes at Roth's birthday party? Or will they take the payoff from the man in the blue pajamas?

I'm very cynical about this whole thing. This isn't about terror or oil to me specifically. As my buddy Dave says, "The road to Riyadh lies through Baghdad." Beyond men like Bin Laden and Hussein, I fear that many Western powers have come to believe that it's dangerous for most if not all of the current Middle Eastern regimes to remain in power as they are now. If that's the case, the Democratic leadership of Congress understands this just as well as the White House, so if there's a question we should be asking these creeps, it's this, "Why are we there?" I'm all for shipping Levi's, Nike's and copies of Cross Road right into Baghdad, and I can't wait to let it ride on the Pass at the craps table in Caesar's Palace Tikrit. Just stop giving me all this terrorism and freedom jazz. It's almost as transparent as Pete Rose's contrition.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 6, 2004 1:37 PM

 

Charlie Hustler

Filed under: Imported

Several years ago, I joined a group of fellow students at the University of Minnesota Law School in creating a Rotisserie Baseball League that lasted until this past season, when the league dissolved due to accusations of foul trades and bad blood.

Needless to say, I'm one of those people who wears his baseball emotions on his sleeve. Baseball to me is peanuts and a dog and a scorecard. You actually watch the game, and if you cheer for the dot race, or tire race, or wiener race, or whatever the hell it is, you're a rank amature. People who finally find their seats in the top of the second, blocking the action of those sitting behind them, hauling in great armfuls of helmet sundaes, boxes of pizza, and fruit smoothy drinks, while their kids hop up and down in soccer jerseys--or worse, Yankees jerseys--push me to the brink of homicide, or at least manslaughter. People today, and thus a great deal of the people who have run their mouths about the Pete Rose issue in the last 24 hours, simply don't grasp the subtleties, nuances, and majesty of baseball. There is intensity, rhythm, and purity to this sport, and Rose is a callous on all of that.

"Yes I bet on baseball," he admitted. End of story. If you're going to argue that he belongs in the Hall because of what he did on the field, throughout his career, then all of the Black Socks should immediately be reinstated and considered by the veterans' committee, especially Shoeless Joe, a man who was probably twice the player that Rose was.

Guys who play for the Saints know that it's illegal to bet on their sport. It's a basic rule, it's told to everyone who enters every professional sports league, everywhere. I'm not denying that Rose was a great player, or that his statistics warrant admittance to the Hall. The issue is that he pleads a respect and reverence for the game now, that he tossed aside like the garbage, then. "I didn't think I'd get caught," he said. This isn't repentant, it's opportunistic. There will be a windfall of sorts, should he be reinstated for Hall consideration. A windfall that, as far as I'm concerned, he gambled and lost.

Assuming, however that public opinion carries the day and he is reconsidered for the Hall, he should under no circumstances be allowed back into the current game on a day-to-day basis. It is absolutely black and white that he has a gambling problem; and, like a drinking or drug problem, if he is currently bet-free, it's an addiction that he will have to battle for the rest of his life. It will be absolutely impossible to ascertain whether he is affecting the outcome of games, in however minor of a fashion, should he be let back on the diamonds of America. That's kind of a truism, but the upshot of it is, he might have a relapse, and there's no way to piss in a cup to see if you took a 140 on the Reds at the Pirates in a Sunday doubleheader.

Go hustle somebody else Charlie Hustle, I'm not buying.

Here's a column I completely agree with on this issue from Peter Gammons

Not even his old teammates are defending him.

P.S.--Rest in Peace, Tug McGraw

You broke my 11 year old heart in 1980, but you were one tough S.O.B. on the mound.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 5, 2004 11:27 PM

 

Light Crude River Take My Mind...

Filed under: Imported

From CNN.com and Reuters:

DALLAS, Texas (Reuters) -- Country music icon Willie Nelson has written a Christmas song with an edge -- a protest against the war in Iraq that he hopes will stir passions in those who hear it.

The song opens with the line "How much oil is one human life worth?" and swings into the chorus: "Hell they won't lie to me/ Not on my own damn TV/ But how much is a liar's word worth/ And whatever happened to peace on earth?"

"I hope that there is some controversy," said the country singer, who has five nominations in the upcoming Grammy Awards. "If you write something like this and nobody says anything, then you probably haven't struck a nerve.

"I got it out of my system. I was able to say what I was thinking," Nelson said.

From StarTribune.com:

LONDON - British spy chiefs warned after the 1973 Arab-Israeli war that they believed the United States might invade Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Abu Dhabi to seize their oil fields, according to records released Thursday.

A British intelligence committee report from December 1973 said America was so angry over Arab nations' earlier decision to cut oil production and impose an embargo on the United States that seizing oil-producing areas in the region was "the possibility uppermost in American thinking."

From ESPN.COM:

TAMPA, Fla. (AP) -- Kirk Ferentz can rest a little easier.

Iowa's 45-year drought in January bowl games is over, the Hawkeyes have consecutive 10-win seasons for the first time, and Ferentz and his players can finally stop thinking about last year's flop in the Orange Bowl.

Iowa's (No. 12 ESPN/USA Today, No. 13 AP) 37-17 rout of No. 17 Florida on Thursday in the Outback Bowl ensured all that.

"This is very gratifying and very rewarding. This is one more hurdle for us to climb," Ferentz said. "None of us had a good taste in our mouths after the game last January. It stuck with us."

With Fred Russell running for 150 yards and one touchdown, the 13th-ranked Hawkeyes answered critics who felt Ferentz needed to win a New Year's Day Bowl to truly re-establish Iowa as one of the nation's top programs.

Nathan Chandler threw for one TD and ran for another, Nate Kaeding kicked three field goals and Iowa (10-3) scored on a blocked punt for the third time this season to improve to 21-5 over the past two seasons.

Florida's season ended with a loss in the Outback Bowl for the second straight year, and the lopsided result is almost certain to start a renewed round of speculation about Ron Zook's future as coach after a pair of 8-5 finishes.

All Jesus-fearin' hillbillies believe in the power of 3's. So, when Willie talks about war, Tricky Dick speaks from the grave, and Iowa (where the Democrats hope to make a splash) routs Florida (where the Republicans either stole, or at least marginally hijacked a Presidential election) in a bowl game, the wise among the inbred perk up and pay attention. Tricky Dick loved a good football game, and Willie likes to get stoned on his tour bus, which needs oil to run.

MMIV might be the year of twang protest songs. I have yet to hear the song, but given the amount of mainstream ass-kissing that Willie received in 2003, I daresay it won't be long before Kenny Chesney grows out his hair into braids and "writes" his own protest song, something along the lines of "Now I Know How Willie Nelson Feels." The video will feature him getting stoned on the porch while 4 young ladies in camouflage tank tops that spell out the sentence, "No Blood For Oil," cavort in the background with 2 camels.

This whole business in Iraq may work out for the best, but not before 2008 or 2009. Until then, we have to keep our eyes on things like contingency plans to invade all of Saudi Arabia and secure the oil fields. There's more than one Tricky Dick staffer roaming the halls of the White House during business hours, and invasion blue prints all look the same to people who don't check the names and dates.

At the end of the day, we obsessed, jock-sniffing, regular guys have to take comfort in the G chords of our stoned senior citizen heroes, as they point the spotlight on the things that piss them off. Cramming a giant siphon hose into the pools of oil in Iraq while a furious debate rages over the true National Champion of College football, are just the kinds of things to raise Tricky Dick from the grave, like Lazarus. Every four years, at the Republican convention, in addition to the Alf Landon and Barry Goldwater paraphenalia, there are always several hundred stalwarts wearing their "Nixon in XXXX, He's tanned, rested, and ready" T-shirts. These people are serious, and as soon as technology catches up to science fiction, I'm almost certain that my great grand children will have to choose between a Clinton, and the resurrected, shiny smile of a re-animated Dick. Not so tan, but very well rested.

No, that reality is too horrible even for some Republicans. But, as the airliner of the Democratic Party's race for the nomination flies in an inverted dive into the fields of New Hampshire and Iowa, I've got my eye on the angry voices of the music crowd. It will take a strange combination of guts, greed, and stupidity for Toby Keith to run Photoshopped slides of Willie standing arm-and-arm with Saddam Hussein at a live show. It's finally sunk in that there was no immediate worldwide terrorism threat from the goat-herder from Tikrit, so if we are there to affect Western democratization of the various feudal, tribal, theocracies, thus paving the way for Western incorporation of their resources and a lower cost to us, the consumers as we drive Trevor to the rink at 2am for pee wee hockey practice, in a gas guzzling SUV that never leaves the pavement, tell us, we're big boys and girls. Just don't tell Willie that. And don't tell me that, my compact pickup gets 35 miles per gallon.

Posted by Jack Sparks at January 1, 2004 11:48 PM

 

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