Dear Bill,

The die has been cast in the past month or two, and there's very little that small men like the two of us can do about it. Grown men are walking around this world speaking of absolute truths and painting themselves as shepherds of an omniscient being...God's on the bat phone to these men, and they're doing his will. Needless to say, Bill, I'm not necessarily JUST describing the new Pope. Unfortunately, the world is full of Popes of various creeds and cults, some of them disguised as guerilla units, girl scout troops, and 229 year old Democratic Republics.

But this is all rubbish Bill. At roughly 23:00 hours tomorrow, Thursday, April 28th, down at Lee's Liquor Lounge, you can give your life to Jesus, but your ASS belongs to The Gourds, from your filthy little shit hole of a town, Austin, Texas. When Jesse Dayton was here a few weeks ago, he described some of the college girls in South Austin as "lookin' like they got Don King in a headlock." The absolute truth is that these men they call Gourds might put the fear of God into a slime ball like Don King. Many of us crow about our hillbilly roots, flashing our descendance from the whiskey-runnin' wild-eyed Raley brothers of Wichita Falls; but these men live the unshaven and unwashed reality of it all.

I'm sure the acid infested hippie love-in where you grew up in Vermont had similar stories, but it's a bedrock fact that these slow-eyed, laid back, jug band types share sanguinity with my ilk. So it's no surprise that these shows are nothing less than revivals for my weary soul...and make no mistake Friedman, a lot of souls need a break right now, especially from the onslaught of presupposed and overly self-righteous predictions of damnation.

Minneapolis is a Gourds kind of town...they've been here often, but EVERY time, the sneak up on, and completely wash over a convert, leaving them senseless and confused, weeping at the thought that they've been focused on ALL THE WRONG THINGS for far too long. You know the feeling Bill; like the first time I had biscuits and gravy, with the scrambled eggs ON the biscuits, then COVERED BY the gravy, down at the Star Seeds Cafe in Austin. It was such a small thing, but it made me feel like my whole life had been a waste to that point. I mean really, why WOULDN'T you put the eggs in there?

Many people will discover where to put the eggs tomorrow night Fagelson...baptized by the music, and figuratively told, "yer all right pard, just stand up straight and grin, ain't nobody got the right to tell you what's what anymore."

Give my love to the wife, and buy that hairy little bastard of yours a straight razor, he no doubt needs to begin shaving if he's truly your son.

Peace,
Colonel Erasmus Platano-Blanco
Elite Swiss Guard (ret.)

In case any of you were wondering, the radio show has been on a semi-hiatus as the Mighty1220 broadcasts Gopher Baseball. Being a fan of America's greatest sport, I have no problems with this whatsoever. And, Coach Anderson is a massive overacheiver given the parameters of his job, so if I have to take one for the team for a few weeks so that they can get a little love, I'm all for it.

I have some random thoughts that have been popping into my pea sized brain in the weeks that I have been off that I look forward to exploring more fully during the summer months of the show, which will be back on May 7th.

In the last couple of broadcasts before the break, there were a number of requests for the debut disk of Shooter Jennings, Waylon's kid. It made me wonder about famous kids in Country Music. You've got your various flavors of Hank, Jr. and III; you've got Roseanne Cash; you've got Arlo and then Sarah Lee Guthrie; you've got Shooter; I think one of James Taylor's daughters fancies herself a folk singer; Larry McMurtry's kid, James; Bobby Bare, Jr.; I'm sure there are many others crawling around the clubs and coffee houses in places like Palm Beach, Florida and Aspen, Colorado.

What's the rub-off factor? Here's the thing, if your old man or your mom have some talent at something, you more often than not get a little bit of it. But, is it a guarantee? I think it gets back to something I was wondering a few months back about Hank III. What he does is certainly entertaining, but is it a real moment, or is it a sideshow? Would he be interesting if he weren't Hank Williams' grandson? Would I go see Sarah Lee Guthrie if she weren't Woodie Guthrie's granddaughter? Being honest with myself, I'm just not sure. I think there's half a show in there somewhere though, so I'm going to get my ducks in a row on it, and lay it out on the air, and see how she flies.

Since this is a live music column, I should mention that Wayne "The Train" Hancock is at Lee's Liquor Lounge tonight, and that the Gourds will be there next Thursday. In the past 4 or 5 years, I've taken at least one new person per gig to see the Gourds, wherever I've seen them in the United States, and every last swingin' dick one of them (even the women) have come away converted. It is absolutely impossible not to love this band after you've seen them live, and if that's your affliction, well, I'm going to break my own rules and simply say that you have bad taste in music. There's a lot of good music coming to town in the near future, go check it out on my gigs page.

By the way, since this is a radio column, I should mention that Jack 104.1 FM is an on-air abortion. These stations playing this format around the country work from the assumption that radio is a one-way medium and that everyone listening is a fucking moron. It's a cheap way out, but that's just par for the course these days. Keep supporting your large corporate radio enterprises, they have a lot of respect for you.

Since this is a sports column, I should probably say a word or two about The Twins. They're 10-6 right now, and their best players aren't really firing on all 8's. Assuming for the sake of argument, that those handful of guys start playing back up to last year's stats, and that the rookies and new guys don't suck the life out of the team, this should be a pretty comfortable run to playoff contention. I just get the feeling that Chicago is shooting their wad right now and that Frank Thomas is going to submarine the whole show when he comes off the DL soon. They're scratching and clawing and the Twins are doing it on cruise control. And, if Carl Everett is your big gun, well brother, watch out for the backfire.

Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court.

--Bill Shakespeare, As You Like It

From : FAN, or NOT
Sent : Thursday, April 14, 2005 11:22 PM
To : othersideofcountry@hotmail.com
Subject : Scoop on lip syncing

---

What if you found out most lyrics including the voice had been stolen from the ordinary citizen? Would that help explain lip syncing? Would it also explain the, "one hit wonder phenomenon? I have proof.
Brad-Shame album.
Three Doors Down.
The above is stolen, and lip synced.

Alt Country is dead, long live alt country.

I just spent the evening bopping my Resistol to one Jesse Dayton of Austin, Texas at Louie's Lee's Liquor Lounge. The entire night was completely unremarkable on a macro level. No one died, no girl named Heather in a Dale Jr. tank top bared her breasts for the first 15 rows, no Jimmie Buffett songs were sung, tongue in cheek, double time.

I guess I'm wondering, "what the fuck?" It's a common refrain in this space. I had a long and terrible thought about club acts versus stadium acts and how the two could never cross streams. That is to say, Tim McGraw could never play Lee's and Jesse Dayton could never play the Target Center; neither one could play each other's gig and sound worth a shit. Neither one has been groomed for the bit...the acoustics, the feel, the 31 flavors of chicks that slither almost osmotically between the aural playgrounds aforementioned.

That's why I have to cling to certain realities.

I sincerely hope I never have to see The Gourds at the State Theatre or the Target Center. That would be seriously fucked up. I'm pretty sure I can avoid watching Kenny Chesney vomit Jimmy Buffett songs at 61.50 a seat down at the Xcel Energy Center every 8 months or so. Who fucking cares? The point is, you can be a rough knuckled country boy from New Prague and be proud. But let me introduce you to Kevin Russell, Jesse Dayton, and Robbie Fulks. You've run into them down at the Frosty King (note, NOT the Dairy Queen); they aren't regurgitating some bullshit about a blue chair and margaritas that's so derivative that Gregg Swedberg refuses to listen to it in his big gas guzzling SUV as he slides into his VIP parking space at the burnt brick building where country music went to die.

Oh well. I'm growing tired of my own words. Here's the Megargel, Texas truth: if you're listening to that shit peddled on mainstream Country stations, you're making a big fucking mistake. I'm not saying you have bad taste; rather, I'm saying, out of a lack of choice, you've bought into a bill of goods that's faulty. Kenny, Tim, Faith, Shania, Small & Poor, and all the rest of the stupid fucking shit they pimp is a sorry fucking excuse for where we've all been, and where we should all be going. There's just no continuity; they have more in common with REO Speedwagon than they do with Johnny, Willie, Hank, Loretta, and Waylon. And let me just say, because I'm not a hard hearted man...if you want to play stupid 70's arena rock, play stupid fucking 70's arena rock. But give me back my goddamned country.

Oh well. Thanks for coming to see us Jesse Dayton. Fuck you Kenny Chesney you piece of shit. Go fucking sit in your blue chair and never come back. Maybe the 13 year old girls love you, but the rest of us sweating out 40 hour a week jobs don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about. And fuck you too Buddy Canon. And, oh my God, fuck you exponentially Ed Benson.

Does anyone else notice how much taller Donna Valentine is than Kenny Chesney in the new K102 commercials?  Just wonderin'