Feliz Navidad, Joyeaux Noel, Heilige Weinachten, and:

Sent : Wednesday, December 22, 2004 4:51 PM
To : othersideofcountry@hotmail.com
Subject : Comments on The "F" Word

Jack - Having just seen your pitiful Nov 11 diatribe about the CMA Awards, replete with countless repetition of the "F" word, my comment obviously is "Go Fuck Yourself." Yes you can consider that a "tip" too.

By the way jackass, none of the performers lip-synched. Better do some tune up on your TIVO.
Ed Benson
Executive Director

For those of you who haven't been following this, let's just reprint one other Pilgrim's thoughts as well:

Sent : Sunday, November 14, 2004 10:19 PM
To : othersideofcountry@hotmail.com
Subject : Your cma comments

If you hate all of our music so much, maybe you should get hired on to review live monkey fuckings at the zoo. You might understand that. Nah, probably not, but you could at least hang out with creatures at the same inteligence level as you. Most of your technical comments about technical issues were wrong, indicating that you are a total dumbass or just pretty uneducated.

--Buddy Cannon (Chesney's producer) He was singing live. I know. You are full of shit.

Just in case you aren't sure who Ed Benson is:

CMA Executive Director Ed Benson has participated in more than 100 Board of Directors meetings on three continents, in multiple time zones. He�s presided over countless award presentations, tributes and honors. Benson is a member of The Recording Academy, the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences, the National Academy of Popular Music, Copyright Society of the South, the American Society of Association Executives and Who�s Who Worldwide, and is an alumnus of both Leadership Nashville and Leadership Music.

"When I look back on the last 25 years, I see fundamental changes that represent cycles that have been in Country Music for a long time," Benson said. "It�s been 25 years of comings and goings and ups and downs, and all the while becoming better and better."

Let's recap shall we? A blog that maybe gets 250 readers a day, written by a part-time DJ who broadcasts on a 5,000 watt signal on the Eastern edge of the nation's 16th largest radio market, posts a drunken diatribe about the sorry state of the CMA Awards and garbage Mainstream Country music. The TV show in question probably had somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 million viewers. The blog post in question has had to date, less than 4,000 readers. [4,000 / 25 mill = .00016 x 100 = .016%]

Following said TV show and blog post, one of the biggest producers of garbage Mainstream Country music, and one of the biggest people period in Mainstream Country music, have told me to go watch monkeys fuck in the zoo and fuck myself, respectively.

For those of you scoring at home, the numbers all add up and the jokes write themselves. If you're going to editorialize on something like this, you need to examine the facts.

A. It wasn't that big of a deal to me when I did it. I was actually copying something that Bill Simmons does all the time in his column, "The Sports Guy" on ESPN.com Page2, a running diary of some program I either like, hate, or have been looking forward to. No big whup, and most importantly, nothing I hadn't done before. Sure there was Beechwood Aging, sure there were cuss words, but, I'm a hillbilly, and sometimes those things go hand in hand.

B. It looked like a number of people were lip-synching, so I said it. A few blogs later, I corrected myself with the help of a source I trust. According to that source, one person lip-synched; if I had to guess--and I will--it was Shania. But who cares? The point is, they're really sore about being accused of lip-synching. To paraphrase Hamlet, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks..."

C. Two really bigshot bigwigs in Nashville, millionaires, felt the need to respond to a pissant DJ with a pissant blog in a market where there's only one country radio station that moves in lockstep time with whatever they shovel at them to play. Am I a threat, or are they just squashin' a bug? Who cares? It's hilarious, these are respected business men.

If Santa Claus himself had slid down the chimney of my house and personally plopped an Evil Knievel doll with motorcycle, chopper, Snake River Canyon rocket cycle, RV, trailer, and windup device in my lap, I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present than this. I have a friend who works at one of the big time radio stations here in town; he reinforced and reiterated for me one night the longstanding radio rule that you NEVER respond to your competition when you're the top-dog. In fact, you don't even acknowledge their existence. You take the high road, and leave them to their accusations, conspiracies, recriminations, and pranks.

Benson really got his hooks into the CMA starting in 1979. Alabama released their first album in 1980. Right around that time, both the country recording industry and country radio realized that the format could be used to deliver a solid block female 25-45 demographic, and recording and airtime were focused on doing just that, to the exclusion of any kinds of musical innovations. So there was one more thing I was WRONG about in my rambling screed:

Jim Foglesong. It's his fault. He signed Garth Brooks and they're putting him in the Hall of Fame. I always wondered whose fault it was. I'm going to make a Jim Foglesong Sucks t-shirt, I just wonder if anyone will get it.

Nope, that's not right. Let's all swallow the red pill:

Under Benson�s leadership, the Association successfully moved Fan Fair® from the fairgrounds to Downtown Nashville � increasing attendance and evolving the festival into a world-class music event: CMA Music Festival. Benson also lead the initiative that landed the festival on network television as a concert special, �CMA Music Festival: Country Music�s Biggest Party� on the CBS Television Network in July. Under his watchful eye, the CMA Awards moved to the highly competitive November sweeps period where it has been a ratings success for CBS and a sales windfall for the music industry.

Part of his job is also accepting that there will be detractors, Benson said.

"Some people who don�t know CMA have the perception that there are a bunch of guys in a smoke-filled room making decisions. But that smoke-filled room, that clique, that country club, just doesn�t exist. I hope that when people see me, they see me as a huge supporter of Country Music, and the Executive Director of an organization that makes strategic decisions in the hopes of improving things and making them better for our industry as a whole," Benson said.

A "friend" of mine likes to call me the Michael Moore of Country Music in long, drawn-out emails about how petty, dumb, and self-centered I am. But that's the wrong movie. I'm really the Neo of Country Music, and I have finally found The Architect. This is our guy folks, we've finally smoked him out. I'm going to make myself an "Ed Benson Sucks" t-shirt. I only wonder if anyone will get it.

I've been a country music fan my entire life, the love instilled in me by my Texan mother. For the last 25 years, and for the last 14 especially, Ed, Country Music hasn't gotten "better and better," it has gotten more profitable and profitable. You know it, I know it, and Johnny Cash, rest his soul, knows it, sitting up there with the Good Lord, "hear[in'] the train a-comin', it's comin' round the bend..." If quantity equals quality to you, then God Bless, and look yourself dead in the chicken eye each morning as you shave.

I heartily applaud Cannon and Benson for writing, and look forward to future correspondence from my newfound, 615 friends. Since it's Christmas, I won't tell you to fuck yourselves back. Happy Holidays fellas.

From CNN.com:

PHILADELPHIA, Pennsylvania (Reuters) -- The Elvis Presley estate is getting all shook up.

Impresario Robert F.X. Sillerman said on Thursday he agreed to buy 85 percent of Presley's estate, including rights to the singer's name and the management of his famed Graceland mansion, in a deal worth $100 million.

Sillerman, who founded and later sold radio operator SFX Broadcasting and concert promoter SFX Entertainment, will acquire the stake in Elvis Presley Enterprises from Presley's daughter, Lisa Marie Presley. He called Elvis, famed as the "King of Rock 'n' Roll" the "most significant icon in American pop culture."

As well as running Graceland, Presley's home in Memphis, Tennessee, Sillerman will own his name and likeness, the rights to his photographs and revenue from his music, TV shows and films such as "Jailhouse Rock."

The title to Graceland and its surrounding property, including most of Presley's personal effects, will remain with Lisa Marie Presley.

This is an interesting development, if only because SFX and the way it did business was at the heart of the way Clear Channel operates today. It will be interesting to see how the evil pimp Sillerman smears Elvis all over the place. Expect a heavy dose of Elvis CGI in everything from diaper to tire commercials. A 3-D hologram of The King will probably sing the National Anthem at this year's Daytona 500.

Elvis is pretty distinctly American, so you have watch how you tread upon his grave. Commentary on the King conjures up everything from uncontrolled laughter to fist fights. There are lots of "famous" people in and from this country, but there are about three (3) that simply transcend(ed) everything and everybody...Elvis, John Wayne, and Muhammad Ali. No one would have ever elected any of these men President, but no President was ever more loved or respected than any of these guys. Let me qualify that. Imagine a room full of people. Imagine the King, the Duke, and the Louisville Lip are in the room. Try to imagine people paying attention to anyone else in that room. You get the idea.

Anyway, since this is the weekly Top Ten spot, I thought maybe I'd spit out my Top Ten Elvis songs, in addition to my usual blather. I have a healthy respect for The King, even if I don't listen to him every day. It's really no stretch to say that one of my goals in life, and secretly a goal of many others, is to sit in an easy chair, half out of my mind, and fire a rather large handgun into a television.

Jack's Top Ten Peanut Butter and Nana Sandwich Songs

1a. "Suspicious Minds"

1b. "Jailhouse Rock"

1c. "It's Now or Never"

1d. "Blue Suede Shoes"

1e. "Don't Be Cruel"

1f. "Teddy Bear"

1g. "Amazing Grace"

1h. "Blue Christmas"

1i. "Heartbreak Hotel"

1j. "Hound Dog"

Yes I know, there are some glaring omissions. Get your own blog. I won't explain my reasoning either, except to say that each one of these tunes in my mind features something about the "Elvis delivery" that makes it stand out. Also, don't overlook the absolute genius of the musicians and backup singers around Elvis throughout his career. Many, over-the-top performances that inspired entire sub-genres of Rock N Roll occurred on his records. Of course, you can email me your thoughts.

Let's move to this week's Top Ten though.

Jack's Graceland Alien Autopsy DNA Top Ten

1. Todd Snider, East Nashville Skyline
Unfortunately, Todd Snider's daughter looks just like him too.

2. The Gleam, The Chisago County E.P.
You'll shoot your stereo from your easy chair as you listen to this awful record.

3. The Gourds, Blood of the Ram
In an informal poll of the Gourds, 3 of the 5 said they would like to die on the toilet.

4. Neko Case, The Tigers Have Spoken
Raise your hand if you would like to see Neko perform in the Leather suit that Elvis wore on the '68 Comeback Special.

5. Charlie Robison, Good Times
The chances are about 99.9% that Charlie has a cousin named Red who he hangs out with back in Bandera.

6. Drive By Truckers, The Dirty South
Three of the 5 Drive By Truckers WILL die on the toilet.

7. Reverend Horton Heat, Revival
If Elvis were Speed Racer, Jim Heath would be Racer X.

8. Tift Merritt, Tambourine
I'm caught in a trap, I can't walk out, because I love Tift too much baby.

9. Merle Haggard, Live At Billy Bob's: Ol' Country Singer
Merle and Elvis probably hung out together once. Neither one of them probably remembers it much, either.

10. Anchorhead, Disaster
Elvis would probably wonder who taught these boys to sing.

11. The Copperheads, This Train is Gainin'
Ray Bernard was born to a single mother in Memphis...I'm not saying...I'm just saying...

12. Split Lip Rayfield, Should Have Seen It Coming
I can't tie Elvis into 4 beer drunks from Kansas, my bit is failing.

13. MOFRO, Lochloosa
Somehow, Elvis' recording of "In the Ghetto" is responsible for this album.

14. Various Artists, Hard-Headed Woman: A Celebration of Wanda Jackson
Too many ties to mention. The liner notes have a picture of Wanda with Elvis when they were both youngins. "Uh, Thank ya Wanda, thank ya very much."

15. Blaze Foley, Oval Room
I'm sure Blaze Foley shot some stuff.

16. Two Dollar Pistols, Hands Up!
The Two Dollar Pistols are only photographed from the waist up.

17. Eleven Hundred Springs, Bandwagon
Somebody in Eleven Hundred Springs knows a dude who knew a dude who was related to this other dude who once smoked pot with Elvis...serious man....

From the The Tennessean:

By JEANNE ANNE NAUJECK
Country singer Chely Wright said yesterday she was dismissing the head of her fan club and shutting down a team of volunteers after The Tennessean learned that some of them posed as members of the military or their families to promote her latest song.

Seventeen members of a handpicked team of fans contacted radio stations around the country asking for more airplay for Wright's pro-military ballad, "The Bumper of My SUV." It was all part of an organized campaign by leaders of the fan club who encouraged the team to do such things as "tell 'em your husband is a marine � whatever it takes."

---

No mercy for a criminal freak in Las Vegas. This place is like the Army: the shark ethic prevails--eat the wounded. In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.

--Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

This isn't a military or musical tragedy, this is a human one. Sure, there are military and musical elements to it, but, at the end of the day, this is just some overzealous fans taking their hero a little too seriously. As the story unfolds (and this is excellent reporting by Jeanne Anne Naujeck), the really terrible thing that begins to take shape is that you're not even sure if the instigators even like the song in question. They were big Chely fans, and they were worried that this song was her last chance, regardless of how good it was.

Let's zero in on the crux of the process in the matter, a throwaway quote in the story:

On Oct. 28, "Chuck" posted this message: "Sob stories and just telling how this song has affected u r going to work best. This song is what they call a reaction record and we need reaction."

Mainstream radio is all about pigeonholing things. Country Mainstream radio is about a thousand times more restrictive than other formats. Chuck Walter, while misguided in his intentions, was right on in his execution. His mistake is that he was working in a small pond, i.e., a closed society, and his final sin was stupidity. With the narrowest playlist of all the major formats, controlled by basically two corporations, he was bound to get caught by someone, not necessarily Jeanne Anne.

I have a friend from my school days who's currently trying to crack some airtime on Mainstream Country radio. He sends out emails all the time asking folks to listen and contact the station when his song gets played. I don't have a single problem with that, he's tireless, methodical, and intelligent about what he's doing. The funny thing is, his emails always contain something along the lines of, "...the song is being played at X hour by X DJ, during his special break for unusual songs..." There's no spontaniety or DJ control over what gets played on these stations. Songs get tested to death over the phones, and there are basically 10 minute windows during the day, and useless midnight and oh-dark-thirty-in-the-morning shows on the weekends where these songs get a chance on-air. Very sterile and engineered, just screams "Johnny Cash" doesn't it?

I've developed a fairly friendly email acquaintance with Lori Kampa in the promotioins department at DualTone, which produced the song. I didn't, and I won't contact her asking for comment, because I'll tell you right now, there's a 99.9% probability that they didn't know anything about this and were kicking, screaming, and cussing pissed off when they found out.

As for the song itself, I think this story is a crying shame, because it's actually a very thoughtful and well made tune. What happened to it is unfair; but, in the poison environment of Country radio and Nashville pop, where extreme measures like this have to be taken to get air-time for a song like this, it's surprising that it took this long for something like this to happen. Hopefully, the song is strong enough to overcome poor publicity like this and continue as the salve for those who lie awake at night because someone they love is stranded in the desert fighting for God only knows what. I like to believe that it is.

From the StarTribune.com:

by Terry Collins
The Fishing Hat Bandit has apparently struck another financial institution, this time robbing a credit union in Northfield on Friday.

It is believed to be his 23rd robbery across the state in nearly 18 months.

At 9:24 a.m., the man demanded money from a teller at the U.S. Federal Credit Union at 2010 Jefferson Rd. and left heading south in a maroon, four-door 1990s Chevrolet Lumina, an FBI news release said.

It's funny how coincidences happen. Someone had just sent me an email asking where some of the Top Ten lists were because he wanted to go record/movie shopping for a relative. He especially wanted to know where my list of Top Ten Westerns of All Time was. Then this story pops up on StarTribune.com. This guy is putzing around in a beat up Chevy, he's in his 50's (at least), and the FBI is seemingly stumped. Robbing a bank in Northfield has a certain "Western" ring to it, being the last heist of the James Gang. You gotta figure with a make and model on the car, they'll catch him soon; but, they have to be absolutely beside themselves that he's eluded them thus far.

Anyway, a rerun; most of these can be rented or purchased and stuffed in a stocking for that cowboy or cowgirl in your life...without further ado...

If there's one thing hillbillies enjoy, it's Westerns. Sheriffs, gunfighters, and town drunks are all part of our entertainment canon, and nobody likes it so much when the bad guy wins, although a lot of revisionist history and plain old reality have sort of turned around who the good and bad guys really were in some of our favorite flicks. No matter. I don't go to McDonald's to learn how to cook, I don't go to the liquor store to buy soda pop, and I don't go to the movies for a history lesson.

So, I was stopped dead in my tracks the other night by my friend Nick, who asked me what the greatest Westerns of all time were. My first reaction was to say, "isn't it obvious?" I mean if the question were phrased, "Hey Jack, what are some great Westerns I can rent?," I can easily rattle off about 40. But, what are the greatest, and what IS the greatest, are very different questions indeed.

For one, Westerns have the almost singular distinction of creating icons in what we think of as our American culture. When you say John Wayne, people think old west, cowboy hat, loaded gun. He made a lot of movies, but he made his "fuck you" money on Westerns. Even a piece of shit like "The Shootist" had all sorts of A-List types sign up because of the residual effects of being in a John Wayne Western. Then, there's the iconoclastic, counter-cultural hipness of Clint Eastwood and his no-name cowboy pictures, both spaghetti and non-spaghetti. His good guys were often the lesser of two evils, and reflected a lot of the social upheaval of the times in which they were made. If you go listing Top Westerns, you walk a fine line if you criticize or don't pick stars like this.

Another point is that a lot of people have seen Westerns, but most people haven't seen a lot of Westerns. That is to say, there are some Westerns out there that get a lot of Saturday afternoon airplay, but you have to be a fan of the genre to hunt down some of the best. You have to have a genuine taste for some of the storylines and imagery. I've tried to plop a few friends down in front of some old Westerns to no avail. Either there aren't enough liquid steel robots or there aren't enough women having round table discussions about faking orgasms; the essence of the thing just doesn't sink in with them.

Finally, the dress-up cowboy types will always take aim at your testicles if you pick some movie that isn't "realistic" enough for them. Or, the Genuine Cowboy Dan Repeater Rifle types will cause a big stink if you leave out all those horse-shit singing cowboy movies with the pressed shirts and fluffy white chaps. Nothing against either camp, I just don't dwell there too much. I like realism like anybody; and I like listening to Roy Rogers and Gene Autry sing; but I don't think either one of those, by themselves is enough to push something into "greatest" status.

So what makes a Greatest Western?

I wanted to throw out some basic things, but I think those are surface notes, frilly little things that appeal to cliché ideas of what should go on in Westerns. So, after giving it some thought, I think it really comes down to 3 things:

1. The main character(s), who sometimes is the hero or good guy, has to be up against it, making life altering decisions, ultimately leading to the conclusion that the "bad guy" has forced him to look inside himself and see or confirm who he really is.

2. The supporting cast has to be made up of some solid actors with wide-ranging talents, to give the movie some color and three dimensions, instead of good guy vs. bad guy, gunfight, good guy wins, happily ever after.

2a. That means that Ben Johnson or Strother Martin need to show up in the movie somewhere, usually. Just trust me on this, I'll explain later.

3. There has to be some humor, comic relief in the fine Shakespearean tradition, whether intentional or otherwise.

Now the list. I cut it down to ten. I numbered them for argument's sake, but all ten of them would stop me dead in my tracks if I ran across them on TV or at a local revival theatre. As always, email me to tell me what a dumbass I am.

Jack's Ten Greatest Westerns

1. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
Look at this, Jimmy Stewart's entire reputation is built on a failure and a lie...and he's the GOOD GUY. He whines and cries throughout the entire movie about law and order and non-violent alternatives, then walks out in the street with a gun, shoots a man (or so it seems), then rides his killing to fame and fortune, even AFTER John Wayne tells him, "You didn't shoot nobody Pilgrim." This movie is FULL of side stories, priceless one-liners, and colorful supporting cast members. Lee Marvin as Liberty Valance with the ubiqitous Strother Martin and Lee Van Cleef as his yes-man sidekicks. It's a rule of thumb, or maybe it's an actual Amendment to the United States' Constitution, that when you need a loud yet whiney, somewhat mean sidekick, gang member, or bit character, you cast Strother Martin first, then audition others only after he turns it down. Edmond O'Brien as the whiskey soaked editor of the Shinbone Star, Dutton Peabody, and Andy Devine as the cowardly Marshall Link Appleyard are unbelievably good.

2. Shane
Alan Ladd as Shane: "You speakin' to me?"
Ben Johnson as Chris Calloway: "I don't see nobody else standin' there."
No, Robert DeNiro didn't make up those lines for "Taxi Driver." This is one of the few movies in Hollywood history that didn't completely destroy the book on which it's based, right down to the annoying little kid, Joey. The location scenes are stark and brutal, and the hero is fighting his own demons as much as, if not more than, the "bad guys" representing the cattleman. A young Jack Palance is sulphurically evil as the hired gunfighter, called in to take down Shane and run the sod busters off. It's a rule of thumb, or maybe it's an actual Amendment to the United States' Constitution, that when you need an actual cowboy in your Western, you cast Ben Johnson, and if he turns it down, you cast Harry Carey, Jr.

3. The Wild Bunch
You know what the best part of this movie is, besides well...all of it? The best part is when they realize they have to go back and get in an essentially suicidal gunfight to help their friend, and they all start laughing...hysterically. They're all in this because they love the action, this is just part of the life they lead, and if they fight that Great Magnet in the Sky, they might as well be dead anyway. Note, Ben Johnson is one of the Gorch brothers, and Strother Martin is Coffer, part of the gang of losers Deke Thornton's forced to use to run down William Holden's Pike Bishop and the Wild Bunch. Like I said, rule of thumb or Amendment to the Constitution, you decide.

4. Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid
"Who are those guys?"
The biggest question here is, is this a chick flick? That Newman/Redford thing was about putting chicks in the theatre, but this is a real-live Western that just happens to have a lot of modern touches on it. As near as anyone can tell, Butch Cassidy was possibly the most charming criminal in American history and really did not like to kill anybody, which makes Newman's portrayal of the essence of the man, dead spot-on perfect. And the beauty of this movie is that we never see who they're fighting in any corporeal form; they're fighting themselves, they're coming to grips with the dead end road they've chosen, and those people shooting at them are just people shooting at them. They're their own worst enemy. As their old pal Sheriff Ray Bledsoe shouts at them while they're on the run, "...but you're still nothing but two-bit outlaws on the dodge. It's over, don't you get that? Your times is over and you're gonna die bloody, and all you can do is choose where." The dialogue in this movie is outstanding, and Katharine Ross is in my all time Top 5 Most Beautiful Actresses Ever list. Strother Martin appears near the end of the movie as Percy Garris, the manager of a mine in Bolivia. He even literally describes himself as "colorful." The movie was guaranteed success.

5. The Searchers
Could John Wayne act? A lot of goofy, hipper-than-thou types often criticize the man's acting. It's hard to find a film buff, though, who doesn't like "The Searchers." There's a lot about the theme of this movie that bothers me a little, but it's very gritty, and Wayne's Ethan Edwards never lets up. He's home from the Civil War, he hates Indians, and he's pissed off that his brother got to marry the woman that HE loved, and then they all got wiped out. He's so tired of being hopeless and tired, that he'd rather see his niece Debbie dead than grown up in the Commanche tribes of West Texas. He's up against it, he's mad at life and the hand he's been dealt, more than he's mad at Scar or his "nephew" Martin or the United States' Government. The cinematography in this movie at times is absolutely breathtaking. No Ben Johnson or Strother Martin, but you get Harry Carey, Jr., as the Jorgensen boy, who gets killed when he finds out his childhood sweetheart Lucy has been raped and left for dead by the tribe who captured her.

6. High Noon
This movie just kills me. What IS Gary Cooper as Marshall Wil Kane up against? Sure Frank Miller is on that train; but it's the fear...it's the expectations...it's the perceptions. Frank Miller is not just a criminal, in this story and this town, he's a walking demon, and Wil Kane is the self-doubting hand of righteousness. This little wild west tiff is actually an epic battle of good and evil, but it's also a man's journey of self-assessment, and the realization that he has what it takes. There's Lee Van Cleef, standing at the station, waiting on Frank Miller.

7. The Good, The Bad, & the Ugly
When I was a kid, I was a huge Clint Eastwood fan...still am to some extent. Clint Eastwood's Westerns are weird, because he always insists on playing grey characters, guys that are only so good, and typically, most concerned with looking out for number one at the end of the day. If he happens to kill a few bad guys and help a few folks along the way, well, that's just part of the day's work. I like GB&U mostly because of Eli Wallach as Tuco. In 1966, Walter Matthau won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for "The Fortune Cookie." The Other nominees were: James Mason for "Georgy Girl," Robert Shaw for "A Man for All Seasons," Mako for "The Sand Pebbles," and George Segal for "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" Unfortunately, I've seen some of those other movies, and it's a goddamned crime that Wallach wasn't given consideration for GB&U. Not only did he help create one of the most interesting characters in the history of the Western genre, his acting was flawless. He's much rounder than Eastwood's no-name cowboy, and he adds life to every scene he's in. While Eastwood coldly kills Van Cleef's accomplices in the bombed out town, Tuco animatedly murders them, and then crosses himself, ever the good "Christian." There's Lee Van Cleef as Angel Eyes, Strother Martin and Ben Johnson would have been all wrong in this part.

8. Unforgiven
When a dinner is missing something, you add salt. When a movie is missing something, you add Gene Hackman...or Morgan Freeman...or Richard Harris...or all three. I would have given a million dollars to spend one day on this set. Eastwood's minimalist acting, Hackman's I'll-sleep-when-I'm-dead work ethic, Richard Harris' regalness, and Morgan Freeman...man oh man, I read voraciously as a kid BECAUSE of how cool Easy Reader was on Electric Company. Freeman's eyes look right through you from off of any movie screen, and he was the perfect conscience for Eastwood's Will Munny, retired cold blooded killer filling a revenge contract for a disfigured frontier whore. Here it is again, he's fighting himself, not Gene Hackman, not the shit-heels who slashed her up; it's obvious that with the proper motivation and anger, he could kill all these guys. The question is whether that part of him that contains that willingness will resurface and squelch the protestations of the failed hog farmer.

9. True Grit
You got the feeling with "True Grit" that John Wayne was finally playing himself. Glenn Campbell and Kim Darby are a little odd in this movie, but they don't ruin it. My brothers and I drove our little sister nuts when we were growing up, when she'd enter a room we'd say, "well, Baby Sister..." in that John Wayne voice. This is actually kind of an anti-Western because it shows a good deal of dirt, drunkeness, greed, and evil; and, while the bad guys are bad, the good guys aren't so different. If Wayne's Rooster Cogburn got killed on one of his missions into the wilds of the Territory, very few people would be sad or go looking for justice and revenge. In fact, Chen Lee would most likely be out of a job, and that would be the long and short of it. There's Strother Martin, as Colonel Stonehill trying to screw Baby Sister out of a good price for her dad's things. There's Jay Silverheels (yes Tonto) getting hung at the beginning of the picture. John Wayne won his only Oscar for this movie, that's gotta be worth something.

10. 3:10 to Yuma
I'll guarantee that at least half of you read that title and said, "huh?" Glenn Ford was a HUGE star in his own time, but a lot of his Westerns have gotten lost amid your John Waynes and Clint Eastwoods. In this movie he will absolutely make you doubt the existence of God and good in the world. His Ben Wade is a kind of Post World War II über villain, the smiling killer who you thought was your friend, but is just another fiend burped from hell...projected into the Old West. Van Heflin more or less reprises his role from "Shane" as uncorruptable family man and citizen, willing to do what it takes to make his dreams come true and keep his loved ones safe. This movie is oilier and darker than Shane though, much more modern, exactly what you would expect from Elmore Leonard banging out a Western on his typewriter.

Honorable Mention: Tombstone, Rio Grande/She Wore a Yellow Ribbon/Fort Apache, The Outlaw: Josey Wales, Blazing Saddles, Rustler's Rhapsody, The Electric Horseman, The Magnificent Seven

From CNN.com:

DOVER, New Hampshire (AP) -- It wasn't exactly the perfect getaway vehicle.

A man took off on a lawnmower moments after he allegedly threw two Molotov cocktails at his ex-girlfriend's apartment building, police said. He was arrested Saturday night after a brief, slow-speed chase.

Police said the homemade bombs -- two glass Budweiser bottles filled with gasoline and plugged with rags -- did not burst into flames.

At one point during the chase, Steve Coleman, 37, of Dover, turned around and looked directly at a police cruiser, Dover prosecutor George Wattendorf wrote in an affidavit. "Coleman appeared calm as he was smoking a cigarette."

Holy smokes! Did anybody notice that the way to beat your opponent in the Ukraine is to poison him?

Zimpfer told reporters over the weekend that the concentration of dioxin in Yushchenko's body was "1,000 times above the normal levels" and that he suspected "third-party involvement."

At the end of the day, in towns like Climax Springs, Missouri, Dover, N.H., and Kiev, Ukraine, there's not a whole lot of difference between throwing Bud bottle molatov cocktails at your ex-girlfriend then attempting your escape on a riding lawnmower, and, trying to poison the leader of the opposition party in an Eastern European country. As my dear sweet mother Marnell used to ask me, "did you think you weren't going to get caught?" The mind reels and the brain swells at these little "incidents." I'm just not sure what to think anymore; just when you thought the world was becoming more civilized, men like Steve Coleman and the black-hooded spooks slipping dioxin into the candidate's goulash come along and set us all back about 80 years.

But that's not what I come here to talk to ya about....

Charlie Robison sure can drink a lot. In the space of a two hour gig, I'm pretty sure he had about 4 or 5 beers and close to 4 shots of Jaeg. People in Megargle, Texas call that a healthy thirst. As I write, I can think of about 20 people I know that will kick themselves for missing out on the opportunity to catch a Robison gig in cozy little Louie's Lee's Liquor Lounge. People like The Fat Guy and his lovely Mrs. Cindy will find it hard to believe that Robison played to a crowd just short of 125 persons. Before I haul off and launch into the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V, let me just say that, like my maternal grandfather Marshall Wilson Raley (1913-1980) of Wichita Falls, Texas, I'm willing to bet an entire paycheck in cash on a Friday night in Port Aransas that there are 125 people just working the bar at most Robison shows in the Yellow Rose state. But last night was a gig in the land of Salt Truck Twang, and Charlie was pretty obviously a little unsure of how to approach things as he took the stage. Understand, guys like him and his band are so talented that they sound good even when they're just mailing it in, and that's what they did for about 3 or 4 songs. Then the beer and the booze--the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems--got into the veins of band and audience alike and things began to swing. I don't like to talk about my personal life too much (unless there's a cute story about an uncle who fights chickens, or a cousin who has long running conversations with the walls), but I've had the distinct pleasure of dating 3 different wonderful women on 3 separate occasions when Charlie was in town for a gig; and, there's nothing quite like putting your arm around that gal you find special and singing along with Charlie to "You're Not the Best."

We're gonna twist them lids
And hope our kids
Look more like me than you

A thought occurred to me as I was Beechwood Aging myself last night: Charlie might be the next Willie Nelson. Ponder this. He sings mostly his own songs about dust swept West Texas failure. He's best live. When he sings live, he employs a kind of relaxed storyteller phrasing that makes almost every performance unique. I've never seen him fail to whip a crowd into an absolute and thorough, beer-soaked, two-black-eye frenzy when he shows up in town. He's got a Texas Tech tight end look about him which is a little different from the Red-Headed Stranger. But at the core, they're doing pretty similar things, especially if you compare Charlie now to Willie about 1973 or so.

Anyway, Riemenschneider and his wife snuck out right as Charlie was backsliding into the part of the show where he intro'd all of his songs with something from days gone by, like "Stranglehold," by the Ted Nugent into "Loving County." People tend to go overboard if you can dredge up some steaming pile of fond or fake memory with a little music and wrench into your own present day gig, and this little throw away move by Robison & Company was simply brilliant.

But that's not what I come here to talk to you about.....

I came to talk about the weekly Top Ten. As usual, there aren't ten things here. I'm not sure how many ten is, to be honest. Oh well. Al Michaels and John Madden described Drew Bennett as a good receiver with "quiet speed" on Monday Night. That's me. I'm a music critc with "quiet theory." Res ipsa loquitur.

Jack's Poison Beer Bottle on Fire Top Ten

1. The Gleam, The Chisago County E.P.
You're going to be disappointed when you buy this disk. In fact, until you listen to it in your basement at 3am drunk, you'll get the distinct impression you were ripped off. But don't let that frighten you away; in fact, buy the damn disk, and then go see the boys live. Live is what counts. In fact, make sure you see them live before one of them gets thrown in the Chisago County lockup and they have to record Live From Chisago County Jail.

1a. The Gourds, Blood of the Ram
I'm going to pop a bolt at the next Gourds gig in the Twin Cities. Give me plenty of room.

2. Todd Snider, East Nashville Skyline
From the liner notes in the jewel case:

...as ramblin jack said the last time he walked off, "don't golf."

There's something for everyone on this record.

3. Neko Case, The Tigers Have Spoken
The word on the street is that most of her shows these days are made up of drooling guys who got a weekend pass from their pregnant wives at home. Nice picture, I know, but you go with what comes across the wire, regardless of whether it's frayed.

pi. Charlie Robison, Good Times
I'll let you in on a little secret, this is probably the best album out right now. I'm not sure if I alluded to it well enough earlier, but Charlie's records are like novels. If television hasn't turned you into a zombie with no imagination, you can crack a cold one in your recliner with a bowl of popcorn and get plenty of entertainment out of listening to the disk all the way through.

4. Drive By Truckers, The Dirty South

And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

All right, I said I wasn't going to do it, but, I was there at First Ave when no one was sure what was going to happen to the old club kitty corner to the Target Center and across the street from that shitty Hard Rock. The Truckers bathed the joint in Jack Daniels and set it on fire and that was a fitting farewell had it happened. Viva First Ave.

5. Two Dollar Pistols, Hands Up!
Just go buy it, okay? It's been out all year and it's one of the best country records, start to finish, of the year. Stocking stuffer, hint hint.

6. Reverend Horton Heat, Revival
Jim Heath is the same kind of sly wink and thumb-n-index-finger pistol hillbilly that Charlie Robison is. They own the joint, you're just rentin' it.

7. Eleven Hundred Springs, Bandwagon
One of my favorite listeners was telling me this was one of his favorite records from the year. That's a double favorite if you're scoring at home.

8. Tift Merritt, Tambourine
Yeah, I know there's a restraining order. I just can't help it.

9. Merle Haggard, Live At Billy Bob's: Ol' Country Singer
A nice crisp brunello that's been breathing for about an hour on the kitchen counter.

10. Anchorhead, Disaster
People lined up the last few weeks to be critical of these guys, but they packed the Triple Rock the other night and everyone had a good time. I don't think they're holding their collective breath about playing in the round at the Metrodome, so if a handful of people dig their tunes, that's cool. I had a blast, and I think there's something for everyone on this record (deja vu).

11. The Copperheads, This Train is Gainin'
There are easily 2 or 4 or 6 songs on this record that could be big hits for a national act of some sort if they'd grab them up. Just a thought.

12. Split Lip Rayfield, Should Have Seen It Coming
It's a Kansas thing. Maybe if you'd break down in Ossawatomie once, you'd understand better.

13. MOFRO, Lochloosa
I like this record for the trippie hippie quality to it. My oldest brother Rhett had a buddy in high school who was 6'8" named Ray Bray. He was a skinny white boy who talked like Rudy from Fat Albert and drove a Camaro. I think of Ray Bray when I listen to this disk.

Quatorze. Various Artists, Hard-Headed Woman: A Celebration of Wanda Jackson
Lots of really good performances on this. Interesting interpretations.

15. Blaze Foley, Oval Room
This is an odd little disk with music from an odd little man, but it's pure honkytonk, and Blaze was just as Townes as Townes was, if not more so.

From CNN.com:

A veteran of several major labels, Wright recalls being charged astronomical amounts to ensure she received radio airplay for her songs. "We're not doing any of that." (my bolds)

No really, mainstream country music stations, like the ONE here in town, aren't engaging in a back door form of payola. The best songs by the best artists get played. It's a talent thing. It has nothing to do with money and influence. Seriously. I've been wrong all along. No really.

This is actually an interesting story on CNN.com, I encourage you to read it. I've asked DualTone for Chely's new disk, I want to play the song on air myself and see what kind of reaction we get. Another DualTone artist, Charlie Robison, will be in town Wednesday night at Lee's Liquor Lounge. You should go, because Charlie is one of those big swingin' dick Texans who swaggers on stage and leaves it all out there on the playing field. He typically has an outstanding band playing with him as well.

Yes, well, ummm:

And that, I think, was the handle--that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting--on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave...

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark--that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.

--Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

No one ever calls the Orkin man because the roaches are dying. You've been there; you come home, you hit the lights, and the little bastards scurry for the corners, sated on your leftover top sirloin from Lindey's in Roseville, but alive and well, nonetheless.

There are many jokes and retorts to be bandied about in times like these. There is finger pointing, gnashing of teeth, and recriminations. The world is full of psychotic internet radio weirdos, howling at the moon about how Pat Buchanan was, is, and will always be right, downstairs in their mothers' basements, plugged into a vastly complex ham radio network, one hand on the transmit button, the other on the second-hand telecaster she bought them off E-bay last Christmas. But, those of us truly locked into this battle against Nashville, the record companies, and god-fucking-awful radio stations like KEEY, K102, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, stay focused on the BIG PICTURE.

Let's ask the big question here: if Alt-Country still exists, why does it exist, and who gives a fuck?

You see, that's the BIRD'S EYE view. Ever since Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy lost their minds, a lot of bands in this country have fallen over themselves trying to re-define their gig as country, alt-country, roots rock, americana, this, that, or the other thing. But, it's all a red-herring.

People like Buddy Cannon and Kenny Chesney have reduced Country Music to a parody of the roots of authentically American rural, hayseed, hillbilly, and loaded-up-the-truck-and-moved-to-Beverly existence (come back to this space in the next few months for the extensive essay on why "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" is not only the worst "Country" song ever recorded, but also just plain fucking terrible, and should be outlawed from coast to coast, and worldwide). THOSE IN THE NASHVILLE MUSIC INDUSTRY ARE CYNICS. THEY ARE THE ONES WHO SAY THAT "COUNTRY" MUSIC CAN ONLY BE THIS OR THAT. THEY HAVE REDUCED IT TO A FORMULA, AND, THEY HAVE CONVINCED A NUMBER OF CORPORATIONS, CHIEF AMONG THEM, CLEAR CHANNEL COMMUNICATIONS, (OR MAYBE IT WAS THE OTHER WAY AROUND), THAT PURSUING DIVERSITY IN THIS FORMAT IS USELESS AND UNPROFITABLE.

Look, I'm a realist, I know Buck and Hank and Merle were all looking for a hit. But it really was different back then. These bullshit artists now don't even hear a fucking song until 15 or 16 suits listen to the damn thing and decide it's a good lead in or lead out of a tampon commercial.

But, I digress.

Every two years or so, some credible music writer in some major market writes a story about the death of alt country. Okay, great. She's dead, but kick her again, one more time.

Here's the point: the article always gets written because in whatever town where it originates, there are about 10 bands popping up, feet on the ground, middle fingers in the air, saying, "Jesus Christ Kenny Fucking Chesney Fucking Sucks." Maybe they can't play a steel guitar like Lloyd Maines. Maybe they didn't roll across Death Valley in a straight-six sedan with the Owens family, into Bakersfield. Fuck it, maybe they sing woefully out of tune.

The goddamned point is, they're hicks, they live in the big city, and they're fucking mad.

I'll guarantee you that there were people who were hardcore Jason & the Scorcher devotees, whose first response to the Jayhawks was, "who are these fucking pussies?"

The goddamned point is, your bullshit, shiny, cooked up, plastic surgery, voice-boxed "country" isn't good enough for us.

Look, you motherfuckers, I've run trot lines across the Neosho River; I've driven into Lawrence across Highway 24 with my headlights off before it was some bullshit monster suburb; I've made carp bait to specifically catch carp; and I've chop-blocked a kid from Pittsburg, Kansas on a triple option run on a Friday night in September. I live large, and none of that shit on K102, KEEY, the WORST country station in America appeals to me in the least fucking way, so fuck everyone who works there, you're all failures, and the music you play sucks.

But even THAT is not the point. The point is, America, the beautiful, the free, the magnificent is filled with weird, unique and true hillbillies just like me who have absolutely, completely, and thoroughly given up on stupid fucks like Kenny Chesney, Buddy Cannon, Tim McGraw, Garth Brooks, Faith Hill, Shania Twain, and all the other shit coming out of that godforsaken town. We just don't fucking care, and, sometimes, when we're bombed, we sit down, watch the TV, and make fun of the stupid shit, because it's EASY TO DO.

But, let's get back to Ancorhead. If a couple hundred cityfied hillbillies want to gather at the Triple Rock and fall over drunk while 5 guys sing out of tune about chicks, trains, fires, booze, and chicks, well....fuck....why not? I just don't concern myself with the details. I live for the courage, conviction and stupidity behind such an act. I live to pimp this shit. And, if I catch a smooth buzz bouncing up and down to this god-awful nasal caterwalling in the middle of my Friday night after 5 days of the man crushing me under his thumb, well....fuck....why not? And, why are we all focused on who can and can't sing all of the sudden? Jesus.

Speaking of well....fuck...why not?....The Gleam should be considered the best band in Minneapolis right now, but they're terrible. I'm telling you right now, if they'd practice, get some vocal coaching, and play a gig where the sound guy knew what he was doing, everyone would fucking FORGET about a lot of other bands in this town. I'm going to hold my breath and hope they catch a break. What a creepy set that was, I wish I had a baseball bat to smash all of their instruments and threaten all 3 of them of with physical harm for making me feel that way. I'm instantly labelling them my number one band right now. I like to go out and get stupid, and this is a go out and get stupid band for people who like to go out and get stupid. I'm fucking serious here, turn on to this terrible fucking band, maybe they'll get better when more people come to see them.

But let's get back to the point.

Alt Country isn't even Alt Country anymore you fucking morons. The deal is, mainstream country, defined by the fucking morons who run stations like KEEY, K102 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and the producers in Nashville, like Buddy Cannon, have let all of us who are TRUE country fans down. They have betrayed us for record sales and money. They have betrayed artists like Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn in the twilight of their lives. They have bought into a system that says some fucking greedy limey and his bullshit wife who live in a palace in Switzerland can define feminine taste in twang music. In short, they've sacrificed their principles for god knows what reason; and, a bunch of jerkoffs have signed on the dotted line to join up with them in the spiral downward. Well, fuck, not me. If I have to patronize a band, singer, or songwriter or two who say "bullshit" to that machinery, no problem. If it doesn't have the slick, polished, manufactured, and phoney feel that the 615 has been putting over on folks for a couple of decades now...oh well. You see, if we simple folk in towns like Minneapolis, Austin, Portland, Charlotte, Lawrence, Chicago, and Fort Collins prefer our own homespun melodies and tales of heartache, struggle, and triumph to the well crafted nonsense of the Barbie Doll set, it's because we truly know who we are, and we don't put on airs about the great big wide world out there.

Oh, and, p.s.--there's one more thing about all of this I want to point out.  It's a far far different thing indeed if I pay $5 to get into a club to see somone who might be a little rough around the edges, than if I pay $110 to sit in the front row to watch some Nashville peacock go through the motions.  If the ticket says, "Shania Live," and she lip synchs a song or two, why isn't that fraud?  An intentional misrepresentation of fact for the purpose of commerical gain?  I'll answer my own question.  Because these mainstream Nashville posers coming out in their be-fringed, black-hatted personas is no different than the winners and losers of pro wrestling.  It's all fluff.  True, saying you go to clubs because those people are "keeping it real," is probably just as bullshit an argument; but, at the end of the night, which is more real?  Watching a club act sing about a girl, and then having that girl come from the back of the joint to scratch the eyes out of the singer's new girlfriend, because she thinks the song is about her now, is priceless.  You'll never catch that kind of reality at one of those arena-style truck rallies, and maybe that's too high of an expectation; but, the gist of the point is still true: most of the mainstream acts are taking someone else's song, and "making it their own," and that's a lot of horse shit.  Shania has repeatedly said in interviews that Mutt doesn't let her record the "real" stuff because he doesn't think it's commercially viable.  And I'll be the FIRST to say that's a shame, because she's actually had an interesting hillbilly life (before the palace in Switzerland) on a Loretta Lynn type scale.

"Alt Country" has been dead since 1994.  Long live Alt Country!

You see, the Wild are making a crucial mistake right now. NHL Hockey is going down the shitter faster than, well, shit. In a state where people eat, sleep and breathe hockey during the Winter months, 20 or 30-some millionaires pissing and moaning about a buck here or a salary cap there doesn't hold too much water. Right now, the Gophers are Number 1, and ice rinks are booked 24/7 from Buffalo to Bemidji. You don't want to play for them, and they don't want to let you in the building? Yawn.

But let's muse for a moment about what they'll have to do to overcome the bad blood. When the Ranger plant is handing out furloughs and Northwest is cramming 15% pay cuts across the board down everyone's throats, there's going to be some animosity between the fans, that rickety old fuck with the Roller Blades, and the mostly Canadian contingent of goons and figure skaters pulling down all the zeroes on their paychecks.

What we need here is an Ad campaign!

Notice: all of the content that follows is original, so if you see it on a TV or Billboard near you, I got ripped off.

First, there needs to be a massive saturation of the almost creepy similarities between Pascal Dupuis and Bert from Sesame Street. In fact, someone ought to just CGI Bert's head onto video highlights of Dupuis cutting, juking and lighting the lamp. Every season ticket holder should get one of those boxing puppets of Bert wearing a Dupuis jersey and a hockey helmet mailed to them by the Wild. There should be some kind of creepy TV commercial where the guy who does Bert in Sesame Street on Ice is all suited up like Dupuis and faces off against him on the ice with spotlights and lasers and shit. It's going to take something weird to break the ice, and this is it. (copyright #1)

Splashy, jumpy video featuring Willie Mitchell checking some chump into the boards, over and over, while Willie and Family play "Whiskey River" in the background. Cut to Willie Mitchell in the penalty box with an acoustic guitar, trying desperately to pick out a melody of some sort..."whiskey...whis...key....whiskey river...." Meanwhile, Willie Nelson goes flying by presumably on skates yelling "helllllllp" in his Luck, Texas twang. Wrap it all up with the line, "Some Willies should just stick to what they know best...Minnesota Wild...etc." (copyright #2)

This one is so easy, it's hard to imagine no one has done it. You get Dupuis, Pierre-Marc Bouchard, and Manny on a bench and have Jacque pacing back and forth reciting the pep speech that Newman gives in "Slapshot," you know, "hit 'em in the ribs, let 'em know you're there!" BUT, do it all in Canadian French, with the three Wild guys acting like the Hansons. Then, at the end, cut to Gaborik and Laaksonen who give the dismissive Braden and Johnny remarks in Croat and Finnish. No English whatsoever, zip, nihil, nada, zilch. Then cut to some tag line about "The Wild, get to know 'em again," a la the Twins. (copyright #3)

As you're watching some junior pee wee bantam mite B league at 3am at some shit hole rink on the outskirts of Burnsville, consider all of these things. Massively twisted, but immensely logical.

Jack's Top Ten Things to Listen to During the Largely Laughable NHL Lockout

1. The Gourds, Blood of the Ram
These guys are smooth like the Ice Man, George Gervin

2. Neko Case, The Tigers Have Spoken
Thinking about Neko and ice could get me arrested.

3. Merle Haggard, Live At Billy Bob's: Ol' Country Singer
Merle hates ice.

4. Drive By Truckers, The Dirty South
Patterson Hood drank a lot of Whiskey this past weekend, with no ice.

5. Charlie Robison, Good Times
Dallas shouldn't have a hockey team.

6. Two Dollar Pistols, Hands Up!
These guys can't afford ice.

7. Eleven Hundred Springs, Bandwagon
Ever used a bong with ice?

8. Tift Merritt, Tambourine
Wow, I just had a filthy thought. I mean, really filthy.

9. Anchorhead, Disaster
People who put ice in their beer make the baby Jesus cry.

10. The Copperheads, This Train is Gainin'
I can't think of an ice joke here.

11. Split Lip Rayfield, Should Have Seen It Coming
If your late 60's American sedan hits a patch of ice on Highway 24 in Kansas in the middle of winter around 1 AM with your headlights off, turn into the skid.

When Twin One got up off the floor of the Fark Community Hall, he got up in the shape of a battering ram, his head doing the battering, and body doing the ramming, as he charged, with his head buried in Twin Two's belly, until Twin Two hit the log wall of Fark Community Hall. Sven Bjornsen, of the Bjornsen Bros. Swinging Cowboy Musicmakers, was left holding the wooden peach box with the silver bow, while the twins fought, and everyone in the hall gathered around to watch, and cheer, and clap in rhythm to the blows.

It was generally agreed that what we were witnessing was a genuine brouhaha, one that had immediately bypassed disagreement, shoving match, and altercation, to get to that state, though Bear Lundquist argued with Ture Imsdahl, that a genuine brouhaha needed at least three participants, and that a fight with only two participants could never be classed as more than an altercation, no matter the scope, carnage, or entertainment value.

Ture Imsdahl, who had been bear Lundquist's best friend for thirty years, said that if Bear Lundquist wasn't sixty-two years old and arthritic, he would show him what a two-person brouhaha was all about. Bear Lundquist countered that it was not Ture Imsdahl talking but a combination of raisin wine, dandelion wine, chokecherry wine, and Heathen's Rapture, or good old bring-on-blindness, logging-boot-to-the-side-of-the-head homebrew, that was speaking. Ture Imsdahl wanted to continue the argument, but he couldn't recall clearly what Bear Lundquist had just said, so he settled for sliding slowly off his bench and having a short nap on the floor of Fark Community Hall.

--Box Socials, by W.P. Kinsella

Social interaction is a necessity in an environment where entire lakes freeze over like concrete and families are abandoned by men with trailers carrying any odd combination of bob-sleds, fishing clams, and firearms. As long as you eat supper, all you really need is Carhartt outerwear and lip balm; everything else is just like Summer, and if you complain about the cold, the wind, or the snow, you probably ought to move because it comes with the territory.

I moved here in 1992, and I can distinctly remember being out on a series of one, two, or maybe 20 nights with fellow transplants who would stop just short of holding their breath and closing their eyes when they stepped outside into Old Man Winter. This is exactly 180 degrees from how you should treat the bastard. You have to load up on crockpot food, and poke him in the eyes as you shoot your economy-sized pickup down the Avenues of River City toward whatever mayhem you can cook up. Winter is a God-send for the thinking man who knows that MORE darkness isn't necessarily a bad thing.

People where I'm from just don't get it--and, I don't really want them to, to be honest--that for everything you can do in Summer in Minnesota, there is an equal but opposite Winter activity as well.

Fishing --> Ice Fishing
Jet Skiing --> Bobsledding
Skateboarding --> Snowboarding
Rollerblading --> Skitching
Poaching --> Deer Hunting
Softball League --> Bowling League
Illegal Pole Barn Cockfights and Dogfights outside Coon Rapids --> Hockey Season

Regardless of all this nonsense, one thing you should be doing is hitting the clubs and shouting things like, "this ain't cold!" at anyone from a warm state who braves our climate to a play a gig for us in a Hawaiian shirt and linen blazer. Warmth is a state of mind.

Jack's Top Ten Things You Should Listen to Before Going Out

1. "Boys Town (Nuevo Laredo)," by The Road Kings -- Jesse Dayton was the lead the singer of the Road Kings before they broke up and he's playing at Lee's Liquor Lounge Thursday night. The last time he was here, he introduced a song by saying, "Hey y'all this is one of those fuckin' East Texas, Trailer park, White trash tearjerkers, so if any of you fuckin' people are on Prozac, ya might wanna go to the bathroom or somethin."

2. "Pay No Attention to Alice," by Tom T. Hall -- Tom T. Hall wrote this song, after "I went to see an old army buddy of mine to do some drinkin', and his wife had become an alcoholic, so I wrote a song about it." Patterson Hood will be at the 400 Bar Friday and Saturday night, and he covered this song on his solo record, "Killers & Stars." He told me in an email that he was going to play it, it's way up there as far as drinking songs go.

3."Please Daddy, Don't Get Drunk this Christmas," by Trailer Trash -- Trailer Trash made 2 Christmas CD's based on the enthusiastic response they get each year at their weekly Yuletide shows at Lee's. I like this song the best.

4. "Bales of Cocaine," by Reverend Horton Heat -- Next thing you know, I was a millionaire. December 9th at First Avenue. Isn't a balls-out Rev show just the kind of thing that First Avenue needs right now....

5. "A Little More Cocaine Please," by Split Lip Rayfield -- Shit, if Jim and Jimbo are coming to town to spread a little psycho-billy madness, why not have a bunch of Kansas beer drunks playing barely held-together shit open for them? Isn't a Reverend Horton Heat/Split Lip Rayfield no-holds barred cage match just what First Avenue needs right now?

6. "Little White Church," by Anchorhead -- Seems like it's the only song they sing that isn't about drinking or cheating or murder. But there's some death in it. This CD Release show is going to have a creepy family reunion feel to it, December 10th, at the Triple Rock. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, liquor makes the bile rise higher.

7."Me & Billy the Kid (live)," by Pat Green -- This Joe Ely tune comes alive in Pat Green's reading live from Billy Bob's; got a monster truck rally feel to it. The Fine Line will be jam packed Decmeber 11th for Green's gig, but the brain wizards over at K102 will still squeeze him into their playlist between 2 and 4am on a Sunday morning or some such nonsense. Nah, no one wants to listen to Pat Green up here. (The funny thing is, there were just a bunch of promotions over at DeathStar Channel, and many of the "geniuses" who used to run K102 were in the thick of them; I guess if you put a gutless format on a station with no competition and maintain stable ratings with one of the most powerful signals in the upper midwest, you're entitled to vast riches. They probably bill out higher than anyone else in town other than KQ, and yet, they could be so much more....tsk tsk tsk....)

8. Watch some of that local wrestling on Cable Access then go catch Los StraitJackets at First Avenue on the 15th. Why not?

9. "Rayne Louisiana (live)," by Bruce and Charlie Robison -- Listen to this before you go catch Charlie down at Lee's on the 15th. Walk in to Lee's with your head held high and your back straight and leer at anyone who's giving the hairy eyeball to your best girl. Drink liquor in a sidecar next to your beer. Clinch your fist every now and then.

10. Anything by Johnny Cash. Because why not?