Banksy Trailer

thanks crankface!

Jimmie Rodgers - Waiting for a Train

FULL MOON MUSIC ALERT!!!

because Wednesday morning

is not too early to start thinking

about your Friday night

Friday, Jan. 29th, the full Moon and Mars converge
for a floodlamp-bright conjunction!!! On that night,
Mars will be at opposition—i.e., directly opposite the sun.
It will rise alongside the Moon at sunset and soar overhead at midnight,
never straying more than 6 degrees from the first full Moon of 2010!!!

COME, HOWL WITH US...

Iceberg off Mertz Glacier Tongue

Iceberg off Mertz Glacier Tongue

Midwest 45s!!!

Midwest 45s

really nice page maintained by

this kool kollector kat I work with

Khech it out!

Quote hint (in response to the skeptical query, "Indiana Funk?"

"You would not expect it, but man, Indiana Funk is some of the dopest most out there psychedelic shit ever!" -SH

Hey politico

<>Nation-Gazing. Seems like a nice right time to resume the online navel-ogling, what with the all the non-anesthetized amputations underway down south. but I'm not quite ready to go full thunder again, only stick my toe back in the muck, via this missive from curry, who I prompted for some understanding re BO's sad 1yr anniversary commemoration:

~~~

From: Favor, Curry
Sent: Wed, Jan 20, 2010 9:35 AM
To: Banks, Baywatch
RE: hey politico

(I just typed a huge email to you and it got deleted.

That happens a lot to me).

A few thoughts: I'm ok with what happened yesterday in Mass. though it's likely one of the worst incidents of political malpractice in campaign history. Basically I think yesterday was ok because it served as a barometer for how bad the midterms could be if Dems stay their current course. They are lucky to see it early.


Honeymoon's over. The midterms are always a bloodbath for the majority but Brown's win is sobering in its scope, proving that a tactical pivot needs to happen today. That should be Obama getting angry and populist and going after The Banks (namely to shine the turd of the bailout) and Pelosi/Reid being exiled to Samoa for the next year.


(I suspect we'll see a lot more of Rahm in the next year).

Another possible result of Brown's win yesterday is Brown becoming a great foil for Obama - HCR gets killed due to Brown's vote, effectively taking away a primary right/teabagger rallying call; making the right look similarly ineffective because they won't have any plan to offer; Senate Dems gain 2+ seats in midterms; revised and and more robust Senate HCR bill comes to floor in 2011.


Optimistic, I know. However, it is very possible Senate Dems make midterm gains (but House Dems will be run over).

What may happen re HCR: The House Dems hold their nose and okay the Senate bill to be sent to BO prior to Brown being seated. Or HCR gets redirected through budget appropriations and only requires 51 Senate votes but will have a term limit. Either way is bad PR for the Dems. Letting the GOP kill it is probably worse though - energizing the nutters, making BO appear weak.

What interests me is all this panic over losing the supermajority. A supermajority is a very rare thing to have. Things can get done without them certainly. What's scary is that the Dems didn't seem to get much done when they did have one.

What happened in MA is a crystal clear example of arrogance, presumption, apathy -- a perfect storm that poked a hole in the illusion that the GOP was on the slippery slope to permanent insignificance. A majority needs a strong minority to keep it in shape and aware and proactive/honest.

The perceived weakness of the GOP (as projected through the Hannity/Beck/Rush filters), resulted in this false confidence that the GOP's undoing would be via their own actions. Meanwhile, Dem inaction or ill-advised action inadvertently energized the opposition. From the get-go they should've considered midterm losses an absolute certainty and steamrolled their agenda through until 2010.

Screw bipartisanship and all that "change the system" rhetoric. Do that later. There's no such thing as political capital anymore. They didn't really study the Clintons as close as I thought they did. It will be very interesting to see what happens with HCR. I have a feeling the House and Senate will knock something out very soon. At least that's how Steny Hoyer made it sound yesterday.

Despite the air of cool/calm/patience BO pushes, in my opinion, one of the best things he could do is to play the irate boss and see to it that punishment is soundly administered to someone. Pelosi is a rallying point for the right. Reid is spineless and ineffective and may actually lose his reelection bid in Nev.

Lop one of their heads off!

Love, Curry.

~~~

Hot Show this Friday

my cousin Josh's band is playing this Friday at some crazy little obscure place where the kids rock. says Josh: "hope you can make it, our drummers other band Tenement is playing also. They are really great and you'll see why they're playin' Reggies on Saturday."

Can't wait!

Found this neat request in my email this morning...

Hen-of-the-Woods / Maitake (12 lbs)
Originally uploaded by baywatchbanks

Dear Baywatch,

I saw a very good foto by you of a really big maitake:

We would like to reprint it: I am working for a society of therapeuts using medicinal mushrooms like maitake. They want to write a little book about mushrooms and it is my job to search for fotos.
And they often publish fotos of mushrooms on their website.

We can not really pay a lot of money, but we can credit you and send you one of the books (better: a kind of broth).

Our website is www.medizinalpilze.de

With kind regards

Mit freundlichem Gruß aus Potsdam

R. A.
Sozialpädagogin, Medizinjournalistin, Dipl. Netzmanagerin (Gesundheit)
Wattstraße 4
14482 Potsdam

New Pulpit site

http://bullypulpit.bandcamp.com/

SMIGLY: Unhappy Meal

it's a start

2009 J-Bird's Gluhwein Party

i was here and it was way fun. awesome glug too!

Drumming to the Who's Sea and Sand (Quadrophenia)

cuz i havnt writtn in wks and o'gallo's here and the bearz aer late

probably my fave picture of Dre all year

Originally uploaded by baywatchbanks

you know.
formally speaking: the blue, the yellow, the green, the gold.
the near space, the middle space. that splash of leaves around the base of the tree.

and of course, there's that smile.

Product Placement is Extremely Important

my favorite part is the sound of the sizzle in the pan

Bronson, Jackson, Bay and J-Bird

Bronson, Jackson, Bay and J-Bird
Originally uploaded by baywatchbanks

these guys. jackson invited me out a few weeks back to get together since we never se each other and in the interim I found an excuse to drag Bronson and J-Bird along.

J-Bird I felt like an ass about, b/c I had phoned him the evening before and invited him over. I was home alone on a Sat night in desperate need of an XLR cable. and no that is not slang for anything. He said he couldn't b/c he had people over, so I suggested we get together the next night, down at Jackson's. He said he'd think about it.

Next I get on the phone with Bronson and say hey do you have an XLR cable I can borrow, cuz J-bird was busy with people. Yeah, he says, this is the one-year anniversary of May's passing. My heart froze.

And that's how it goes. The anniversaries of other people's tragedies do not get marked down in your calendar. I felt like an utter cad, but humored myself that maybe it was nice to not have someone bring it up? hmm.

So anyway, it all worked out, we hooked up at Jackson's last Sunday night (at his "Cosby Home" as Bronson put it), and started off with a few glasses of wine. Jackson's wife was trying to put down their two kids at the time (the youngest has just been rendered crib-free, making for some newfound bedtime challenges -- now they can escape!). J-Bird shows up last and admits that his wife pretty much told him to just go and socialize already.

Eventually we migrate down the street for some haute snackage. Jackson took us to The Bristol. I have to say, it was pretty fucking fine -- small plate, locally-sourced gastropub fare, and though I steered away from the duck fat fries, roasted bone marrow, and headcheese, I was quite taken by some stellar local cheeses (the kind not made from animal parts). It was a lot cozier than the website photos would suggest.

I ended up switching seats with Jackson, since he and Bronson wouldn't shut up about this or that chef and this or that restaurant. these guys are such the hardcore foodies. it so would have been fantastic to transcribe their chat.

But instead I was talking to J-Bird about how he's seriously looking for a career change (he says he sees the writing on the wall with this recent flood of made-in-china coffins), he also mentioned how he had to fight some aggravating work fires the previous night during their memorial get-together, and how he had not the energy or the inclination to continue along his current path.

The question was, he said, is what the fuck am I going to do next? Everyone came up with a few light-hearted proposals, but the prospect of a middle-age career-shift is kind of a draggy topic, so we ended up switching over to music. J-Bird has some songs, some of which he'd performed at Play for May, that he was looking to record. So we talked for awhile about techniques, aesthetic approaches, and favorite-sounding albums.

At some point, we moved down the street to The Bluebird. This place was also way too stylish for my taste, as it had No Taps. Instead, like the last place, it had a fucking beer and wine selection BOOK. Strange Belgian bottles even I had never heard of. Still, I was sooo chuffed. Is that how the kids say it?

At some point, I recollect that J-Bird is telling Jackson some details surrounding May's sudden decline. Jackson is an MD himself, so they were verging on the technical, and I was zoning out, until I catch myself thinking that I don't know how he does it, so I derail that freighted train of thought and come back with a smile.

Deep into our cups, J-Bird asks me what's up with my brother. Have you talked to him yet? No, I say, not yet. You gotta reach out to him, he says. Yeah, I say. that's probably a good idea. And we leave that there, as it's another mildly draggy topic.

Ultimately, Bronson hails a taxi (he lives about 7 minutes away), and J-Bird and I head back to our cars outside Jackson's (Jackson himself takes the alley).

A really nice night with three superb gents I never see anymore.

Treasure.

another first

eM asked me to record it, and this was just an hour or two ago. It was quite the unexpected pleasant shocker. So what was it? We'll get to that soon enough, after i have me a good ramble.

The current scene: eM's out opening Katya with a Sunday mat, The Lad be peacefully napping at last. Once he wakes up, we will go out to another park, come back for some dinner (cauliflower pasta with ricotta), and some books. After eM returns from the opening-show-afterparty, I will head over to O'Gallo's to watch The Bears night game (7:20p vs The Eagles).

But that thing? Ok, so to wit: Dre and I had returned from a morning abroad on my bike -- the weather has been just so unseasonably warm here (and can you believe those fucking rogue icebergs?) -- so I figure we gotta take advantage of it while it lasts (since soon enough you know the snow and ice and sleet and slush and subzero stretches will inundate us for weeks-on-end), so we spend an hour or so out at the playgrounds by Cozy's haus, exploring the massive complex of jungle gyms behind lovely old Washington School (hmm... jungle gym ...wow. can you still say that? suddenly seems somehow vaguely racist. or at least colonialishly nostalgic).

To the point, mate. So I'm making him his lunch.

it's a sandwich consisting of the following products:

"Applegate Farms - Certified Organic

Organic Roasted Chicken Breast"

(yeah, I'm the only vegetarian in the family)

"Spectrum Naturals Organic Omega-3 Mayonnaise with Flax Oil"

"Brownberry - 100% All Natural - Natural Health Nut Bread"

"Wisconsin Cellar-Cured Organic Mammoth Cheddar Cheese"

served with a glass (open-top, aka "adult-style") of:

"Smart Juice Organic Pomegranate 100% Juice

Fresh-Pressed Not From Concentrate"

(do I need to monetize this blog or what?)

Super-Protein-Pure-Algae-Time-Capsule (for dinner in 50 yrs): I pull these products out of the fridge and bring them to the computer with the intention of recording in detail (for fuller-resolution future laughs) the degree of our (-- the Royal Our) zany obsession with PURE mangia.

Craft, nicht Kraft. Anyway, I toast the bread ever so slightly, then squash it flat between two boards, sorta panini style, so it's easier for him to get his mouth around (otherwise you have to do it "open-faced," which in my book, doesn't constitute a sandwich at all); I spread the mayo, construct the layers ever so slimly, put it all together, press it flat again, then cut it into three dainty sandwichettes.

Which I bring it out to the kitchen table where The Lad is seated with his mommy and set it in front of him.

[Now is where we are getting to the point of the story, regarding the nature of this landmark milestone, which I should warn you, may turn out to be something of a less-than-dramatic-let-down, esp. perhaps if you yourself are not yourself a parent. Or even if you are, it might just confirm how parents are generally rather whack about all things involving their offspring. In any event, you have been warned.]

So, get this: Dre sees the sandwich, and me, and without a moment's hesitation, and straight out of the fucking blue he just says, Thank you, daddy.

... ! ... ! ... ! ...

eM and I exchange a look, like, did you just hear what I heard?!

And then I remember myself, and say,

You're welcome, Alexandre.

and I return to clean up the kitchen on Cloud Nine,

marveling at how all this is so.

not only his performing of these words, this action

but equally (or moreso) my resultant warm fuzzy

eM comes into to the kitchen later, and says,

we have to write this one down on the calendar.

I'm thinking, sure that's a great idea,

but exactly what do we classify this as?

what just happened here?

"woman cardinals"

Mr. Cardinal
Originally uploaded by MtPulpiter

whenever I walk the dog in the morning, we usually encounter at least one if not two when going around the block. Typically, I hear them before I see them: my ears register that signature terse little chirp, then my eyes scan the surrounding branches.

(This is a not-so-subtle way of saying that I am proud to share that I know the birdcall of the cardinal by heart)

Yesterday I had Dre on my back and he saw it before I did. he says, "Cardinal!" which was a first. Sure enough, there it was, directly overheard, perched in a leafless maple, limned beautifully against a clear blue sky. We watched it for a few minutes before moving on.

Further down the block we came across a female on a phone pole. I tell him that this too is a cardinal, but when I pause to think how I'm going to explain the plumage variation, I realize that Dre doesn't yet know the word "female" -- if he sees a human female walking down the street he says "woman" -- so though I introduced it as a "female cardinal," I had to follow this up with a reference he knew, so I found myself saying "woman cardinal," which just sounded plain wrong.

Still, he picked right up on that. "Woman cardinal," he repeated. At which point I realized I had never take pains to specify the sex of the first cardinal we had seen -- that I had allowed the first (male, or "man cardinal"), to remain simply "cardinal."

b/c there is always misery everywhere

I had just gotten home from work Friday night when

I went out to walk the dog and was accosted by a cop

hey sir, says he... have you seen a six-year old girl?

naw. i say. but i'll be sure and keep my eyes peeled.

later rounding the block, we come upon him again

bisecting the alley slowly, floodlight full-sweeping

i wave and he nods. and later, i relate it all to eM

yeah she says. they've been around all day.

i shiver. and think:

I sure hope they find that kid.

this dumb fuck

hit on eM

*again*

last night.

of course

she's talking to him in

eye-tie

(b/c he doesn't speak english she says)

quote:

"You are a very beautiful woman.

Your husband is a very lucky man."

no shit, shyloch.

(course, I aint 'er hub yet)

"what about you?" she says.

he: "I don't have a husband"

cute.

now can I have your wife's skype?

and your opera agency's email?

and yr mum's street addr?

and the loc of yr balls?

I'd like to advise 'em all

of my sorely rank opinion

re bush-league-Berlusconis

who Cum-to-Amerikkka

Looking fer Action

ahh.

it's so quaint.

bein' the odd-man-in.

sometimes when I wanna blog (The Bird)

I get sooo constipated. i mean, just backed up. sorry for the digestive metaphor, but it's fairly apropos. too many things to type that I just avoid doing it altogether. which of course, only makes it worse. doesn't help that I've sworn off Champagne for the forseeable future, out of financial necessity.

my goal here tonight is to recap 3 simple items from the last week before moving on to do a little 1st-hand user research on behalf of work (yes I have drunk the koolaid) that involves plugging one of our devices into Garageband (which I have never used before) and doing some recording.

Rockwellian. just another Friday night here, eM is out doing an Ernani, and I am @ home with Baby Dre, who is now sleeping soundly. Recently, nothing has been finer than these quiet, peaceful, squealing, and mockingbird-vocalization-filled Friday and Saturday nights, home alone with The Lad (new marketing term intended to distinguish my progeny from Arlo's -- we'll see if it sticks).

Back Pages. But re these weekend nights with The Lad (see? see how it works? yes! you're feeling it already my friend!), I must say that I find it a little calmly unsettling that in my Mind's Eye, I can already foretell that recollections of these eves will be fertile fodder for future nostalgic reminisces. Very sweet stuff. And not sickly either. I mean, wow, but is that weird or what? For I am already living in the future past. (Dre sleep-gurgles from his crib around the corner for emphasis).

Okay. so onto those 3 points already. These should all be separate and discrete readable post, but obv I'm trying to cover something up here, so. This is how we do it. I will state for the meaningless record that this blog post has a drop-deadline of 9:45p. At which point we opens our Gband. so, without further adieu:

1) THE FREAKY BIRD INCARNATE. FUUUUCK!!! So there is this mystic trope that has jumped the fictive-real gap. It's been near to my hear for years, and now it's even nearer in even odder ways. Wtf am I talking about? okay. To the point, he said, typing even more additional unnecessary words (have you heard Oprah is leaving town!?)

instance 1 (first encounter): I recently mentioned (actually typed out here in full) one of my fave Singer stories. I think I mentioned the other tale too, and may have recapped it. Can't check now, cuz we are typing for speed. (lookit how even now, he avoids the topic!).

The Bird is what the Singer story is titled. I heard it on Selected Shorts six or so years ago, and it moved me. To sum from memory and perhaps not entirely accurately, the plot involves and elderly gent, much like the author, living as a lonely bachelor in a large apt (like the one he lived in around the corner from eM's old NYC studio). Anywho, one day, a colorful little exotic bird flies in thru his window.

This Singer story involves much of his ruminations about this bird, where it came from, what it thinks, evolution, etc. He tries to feed it. He goes to bed. The next morning, the bird awakens him with this marvelous song. Singer is at his peak in these descriptive passages. But back to plot: he decides the bird must have escaped from a neighbor, so he puts up some signs around the building, saying, bird found! And even as he hopes no one will come to claim it, a quiet shy young woman soon does. Turns out she recognizes him, from having read his stories back in the old country.

and no, they do not have sex. Even better: as she is about to take back the bird, he remarks how beautiful its song is. Song? she says: but this bird never sings. And forthwith leaves with her bird. End scene: The old author turns around back to his empty old apt and sees a picture of his dearly departed beloved. And suddenly realizes that the anniversary of her passing was this very day. Shivers. Unheimlich.

instance 2 (2nd encounter): the utterly dark and over-the-top PSH vehicle titled Love Liza, written by his brother, about a mourning widower who compensates for his loss by huffing. Incredible soundtrack by Jim O'Rourke. So anyway, this movie involves a scene where he's fighting off a bird in his house.

Magic memory. Uh-oh. Hold on a sec. Though it doesn't matter, all of a sudden, I can't remember if this fighting-the-bird-with-a-broom scene is in that film, or in an episode of Six Feet Under (which, in this writer's opinion, along with The Wire, is the best TV show of all time).

Hmmm. Maybe it's in both? No wait. It's definitely in the SFU episode titled "Time Flies"

Psychic Twit. But I'm pretty sure there's an astral-plane-avian in Liza, too. Though god knows I'll never sit thru that again. Too much oucho. If you see it, pls let me know. Am I crazy? Or just bird-brained? Anyway, onto...

instance 3 (jumping the gap): where does fictive stuff come from, anyway? Reality, obviously. So, at least in that sense, it's real. But this one. this one is too too too real. Tonight is the 2nd time I heard it.

huh? heard what? Heard TAL's tale from Spalding Gray's widow. And guess what it involves? That's right. You guessed it. Another fucking bird.

Reflections on reflection. If you don't know Spalding Gray, well, he kicked righteous. ass. Narrative Ass. Go watch Monster in a Box and Swimming to Cambodia. Right now! Just do it already! A large personal hero of mine. The way a tale should be told. If you're white and neurotic perhaps, but nevertheless, some tragicomedically riveting shit. and how it fucking hit me bad hard when he offed hisself. Why I will never know. Obv some sort of spiritual father. Like Singer. god knows I must have mentioned it here a thousand times by now.

Duck fat. SO, imagine my goosebumps when I hear his bereaved partner tell this strange eerie tale of a bird. a bird that enters their house. after Spalding has been reported missing, but before he has been found. (he took a leap off the Staten Island ferry, and they did not recover his body for weeks: Vanishing Act).

It's a strange tale. sad. yet, the moral is, doubtless, something along the lines of, the dead don't need us, *now*. and that's a pretty fine fucking moral, in my book. But hey, you can always listen to it when you get a chance. Great Episode. Great Story. Great Trope. And you seriously cannot imagine how I was sputtering to myself in the kitchen when I first heard it: the bird! the fucking bird! holy shit. what is going on here?

Winged Migration indeed.

But I'm fifteen minutes past my self-imposed deadline, eager to get up and shake my ass for some much need circulation to my thighs (why do we not have a REAL CHAIR for this workstation?!), take a whazz (is that spelled with an h?), check to see that Dre's all snug and tucked in, grab me a fucking Pranqster, and have a go at the X2u. eM is home in an hour or so.

See you.

Oh, and for teaserz? those other two things I gotta raincheck for now were/are:

1) A Boys-Night-Out w/ Bronson, J-Bird, and Jackson.

tagline: how bitter the sweet is.

trailer: friends kick ass.

2) The Latest Update from my sad Sib-Kin's corner.

tagline: did you get the message?

trailer: i'm your drama now.

Janacek's Katya Kabanova

2009/10 - Leos Janacek's Katya Kabanova
Originally uploaded by LyricOperaOfChicago

eM says that this "EARTHY DRAMA OF SEXUAL AND SOCIAL REPRESSION" is her hands-down favorite of the season thus far. Killer talent, amazing lighting and set design, ntm incredible, riveting music.

Get yr tickets now!

are you kidding me?

2009-10-29 23:03:34 -0500
Originally uploaded by a. graham

you gotta be fucking kidding me.

(this be curry kin)

ridiculous

2009-10-29 23:02:34 -0500
Originally uploaded by a. graham

sublime

Because you can never have...

...too much good advice

I saw the Meat Puppets last Friday night

I went and saw the Meat Puppets on a whim. As I've doubtless mentioned here before, my coworker (technically "associate"), DJ Jazzy Jeff (hereafter referred to as "DJJJ" or "Jazzy") is a MAJOR Meat Puppets fan, on a scale that sincerely dwarfs my hardcore hearting of them. Look, he said to me before they went on, no talking during songs okay? Only in-between. I had no problem with that.

A few notes about DJ Jazzy Jeff first. I love this guy. Such a character. He lives a mile or two from the venue. He has a mere-months-old daughter, and he said that though it's been going well, his wife was not exactly enthusiastic about his full-participation in this latest 3-night Meat Puppets stand at Schuba's.

Because he was One of Seven people who actually bought the 3-Night-Pass (I tried to convince him that the other six folk were hardly hardcore like he, doubtless just successful investment bankers who wanted to keep their weekend options open), he could show up right before they went on. Because I was last-seconding it, and it was a Friday night, I departed from our haus after eM and I had put Dre to bed and watched Sexy Beast (meh).

I beelined down Clark to Ashland to Belmont and got there at 9:30. Got a ticket and instantly kicked myself for not having brought that fucking Jarrett book, or at least the latest NYer. I was bored, the front-bar was full of yahoos, and the back (stageroom) was blasting with bands I did not want to see (I checked out each opener cursorily and was less than amazed). Still, I ran into a kid who was selling nice psychedelic silver-ink on red strathmore MP prints. I bought one and took it to back to my car.

At which point I realized I had a car. With my own stereo. So I stopped in to the Liq Store across the street, got me a very large can of very cheap beer (Miller Lite, if you must know), and hunkered down in my detroit make with some grass and Fried Milk on the hifi. On a whim I text Jazzy Jeff and advise him of my whereabouts. 3 minutes later he pulls up in a cab.

We're catching up on shit in the car. Right. back to those notes about DJ Jazzy Jeff. Not only is he the guy who designed the guts of the amazing KSM32 (over a decade ago), but he is the current chairperson of the Chicago section of AES (ah yes, the acoustical engineering society, I exclaimed! Actually, it's audio engineering, he corrected me. Hey, I shrugged, they both start with au! In retrospect, I am less than certain of myself) . Anyway, our employer is hosting an AES get-together next week, where the key speaker is Bill Hanley, who built the PA system at Woodstock.

Turns out DJJJ has been ferrying him around town and losing sleep all the while. The guy is in his mid-seventies, and stopped learning computers with MS-DOS. This was mildly amusing, to learn that DJJJ was at the center of this, since I'd been hearing a lot of buzz about this Hanley guy at work. Unfortunately it looks as if I won't make it to the talk (which concerns the rise of modern live performance amplification systems as driven by the pop youth music movements of the 1950s and 60s), since it coincides with an eM performance. Sigh. I'll get by.

So long story short, we go into the show, which is filled with folks fresh from the Devo show down the street at the Vic, one of whom, a friend of Jazzy's, says that the Pups had also caught the Devo show. This friend had also had a Devo poster signed by the band, but was lamenting that they had auto-porno-graphed it, when he had wanted to hang it in his daughter's room.

Eventually, the Pups come out (with a new drummer), which is the point at which Jazzy turns to me and says, please, no talking during songs. Then the music starts and DJJJ lights off into sort of a spiritual trance state, and I don't think he would have heard anything I had to say, anyway.

Among the very best pups performance I have ever seen. Completely validated dragging my sorry ass out. SO smoking. Truly. And Curt Kirkwood, well fuck. can that man play guitar. Even on a bad night he is worth every penny in your pocket and every ounce of attention you can muster. And this particular night, he was in the motherloving zone. Fucking exquisite psychedelic cowpunk extraordinare.

So I was gushing outside afterwards and Jazzy's pal says he's gonna get his poster signed. So I say shit set me up and run to my car to grab my print. I come back and he's already signed. Go ahead and ask the doorman, he says. The club had booted everyone out. So I knock and beg the doorman and he relents and let's me in. Downstairs, he says, nodding down the hall.

I see the drummer first, tell him I love his addition. He was young and playing a really sweet lucite set. He's probably the heaviest drummer I've ever heard with the Pups. He thanks me as he is signing and says he's a big fan of Bostrom's work.

The doorman appears from nowhere and tells me to keep it moving, nodding back to the inner sanctum, where the brothers are surrounded by folks. I'm suddenly feeling adolescently insecure and consider running back upstairs, but I somehow manage to slice myself thru the people and sit myself down on a futon in front of between the brothers.

Hey guys, I mumble, just looking for a quick autograph. Curt glides away and continues conversing with a woman, leaving me with Cris, who grabs the poster and the sharpie (thoughtfully supplied by Jazzy's savvy pal). Thinking I should say something, I hurriedly fumble off something to the effect that I've been a longtime fan and appreciate everything they've been through and that they're still going at it, and I feel for his trials and tribulations.

Cris smiles, looks up, gives me his hand. Hey, thanks man, he says. The doorman is standing behind me, so I'm immediately up and off to the other side of of the room to corner Curt. I face him and again mumble something about how could I please get your autograph Mr Kirkwood. He sort of takes the pen and paper without looking at me and begins signing.

Suddenly I find my balls, my voice, and relax. Dude, I say, I've been following you guys for twenty-five fucking years. And you've never sounded better than tonight. That was fantastic. Thank you SO MUCH!

Curt smiles like he's seeing me for the first time, Aw wow, he grins. He throws out his hand for a shake. Hey, thank you!

I nod and say goodnight, and take my leave of this rock and roll royalty. I bound up the stairs 3 at a time. The doorman sees me out and locks the door behind me. I save my last big gratitude for him.

Then I'm driving Jazzy home, utterly on cloud nine. Shit I say, I can't believe I totally forgot their names. He's laughing. You forgot their fucking names? I was like a deer in headlights, I tell him, for the life of me, I couldn't remember who was Cris and who was Curt.

We're having a guffaw over my temporary fanboy amnesia and I drop him off.

On the road alone, I realize that it was four years ago, while attending a hipsterpit party at Schuba's that I'd first noticed the poster for Curt's solo record. He was playing that very same night. I soon left the party and headed downstairs to catch his set. Half-acoustic, half electric.

A few months thereafter, he put the band back together. And since then, I've seen them once at the Double Door, and now twice at Schuba's. And i plan to see them many more times afore I pass. because

"The results are always perfect, but that's old news."

~~~~

5. Meat Puppets, "Oh, Me"
This solo captures a random moment of pure genius. In "Oh, Me", Meat Puppets guitarist Curt Kirkwood sings, "I don't have to think. I only have to do it. The results are always perfect, but that's old news." What Curt proceeds to do with his guitar in the following moments is, in the words of Ezra Pound, "to [gather] from the air a live tradition". During the solo, Curt mutters "lets get way out there, boys," and off the band rides to planets unknown. There are plenty of improvisational guitarists who are willing to go as far out on a musical limb as Master Kirkwood, but none of them have ever been able to consistently gather and reel in the golden eggs that Curt plucks while he's out on said limb.