June 1, 2004

Gogitchyershinebox

Filed under: Imported

Some of you are dumb. You've already made the gross mistake of not planning to be at First Avenue tomorrow, Wednesday, June 2nd. You've explained it away with apologies and excuses like "it's a weekday," "it's downtown," "the bathrooms are so dirty there," and "well, i'd like to, but my kids..." Always those kids.

In both my secret role as Dara Moskowitz, darling Twin Cities food critic, and, Jack K. Sparks, psychotic hillbilly expatriate, living in the land of the passive-agressive "no thank you," I constantly run into walls of apathy aimed at my enthusiastic endorsements. I want to reassure all of you, however, that there is no finer band in the land than The Gourds. A lot of casual fans will bore their stoned friends to death with constant replays of their cover of Snoop Dogg's Gin and Juice, but the Gourds are much more complex than that. Their hollers from the holler involve the deepest conflicts of a man's soul, and their happy go-lucky detachments represent the finest somersaults in the dandelions of everyone's childhood.

There's TOO MUCH STRESS IN YOUR SHIT LIVES!!! You waltz into crappy sports bars, and half ass suburban clubs where some jackass is aping Michael Bolton's version of Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, and then you wonder out loud to your friends, who are wearing expensive and uncomfortable clothes, "where did the music go?" Well, Toots, it's down at First Avenue, Wednesday, June 2nd. Five fairly dishevelled looking gentlemen from Austin, Texas will take the stage, and I will triple dog dare all of you not to start stomping your feet and clapping your hands. Everybody needs a break every now and then...a time to veg out and shake the kinks out of their giddyup.

But some of you are dumb. You've decided that petting your cat, watching your Law and Order reruns, or stalking that cute girl from the Starbucks is more important. That's okay. The bell curve is all about having plenty of dull people like you at one end so there can be more people like us on the manically happy end.

To wit:

So I rolled up my dirty red pants
Took my shoes off
Crossed my legs when I danced
I did the hyena, the milkman and the fox-trot
We smoked our last then headed for the Pine Knot
In my fine leather truck

I've always wondered what a leather truck is, but somehow, I know what it is without asking...I know it in my bones...

Posted by Jack Sparks at June 1, 2004 4:41 PM

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