an apple for my birthday

is that enough?

I've got my dark sunglasses and faded jeans.
I've got a nasty smile like James Dean,
my white tee shirt is way too...
My hair's all slicked back with axel grease.
I've got a pack of "Luckies" rolled up in my sleeve.
Is that enough rockabilly for you?

I've got wrap around glasses and safety-pin (torn up) jeans.
I know all the words to "God Save the Queen",
my tee shirt tells the ugly truth.
My hair's a spiky green mohawk.
I don't smoke nothing, I'm all talk.
Is that enough punk for you, baby?

I don't wear no glasses, wear a ten gallon hat.
Sparkling (Nudie) suits is where I'm at and
I've just got to get me some aligator boots.
I pick my guitar by the ole campfire.
I ride the range, a six-gun for hire.
Is that enough rootin' tootin' cowboy
for you?

Chrome Plated Apostles - 12 Bars(Demonbeach DEM 015)

On the stomping opener we go down to the basement. Hunter Landen reveals an excellent voice, taking a lower register at times to good effect on this, to compliment his bullet mike harp attack. Clif Mann's cascading glass finger guitar and the atomic Adams/Perry bottom gives you beer swilling, chest pounding, technologically, politically and artistically aware, steamroller blues.

The second selection, Blues, follows the same path. Chrome represents the apostles’ metal side, I guess, and it’s another hob-nail boot stomp. CPA marches through a spoon full of your precious love in a way that Willie Dixon would have understood perfectly, and approved of, if he had lived to hear it. This stuff will shake the cobwebs from the corners of the amusement hall.

Downtown is a chugging monster beat with an Ooo Ooo background vocal hook that really sells it. Honky Tonk Hell is basically two minutes of slashing and burning. You should be thinking broadswords and brimstone, not whittling by the campfire. Island is equally intense. Karma Train brings Jeffery Lee Pierce's Gun Club to mind. A great way to close this collection of one dozen deep-fried nuggets.

These are some of the highlights from a set list that is pretty consistent throughout. A howling blues wail. No holds barred. 12 Bars is what you would get if you showed up at one of the twelve local bars CPA might be playing. The only thing this CD lacks from the live show is the chance of getting hit by a flying bright yellow maraca or taking a PBR bath. Other than that, it’s all here. It’s even got rims.

New Dawn

Joe

http://www.joedallesandro.com/

Andy Andy

Opposition falls

I'm in, you're out.
I'm up, no doubt.
You will be down.

I'm wet, you're dry.
oh me, oh my.
Never will I say die.

I'm hot, you're cold.
I'm shy, you're bold.
Never the twain shall meet.

I'm blue, you're red,
Pink, orange instead.
No synchronicity.

I'm shy, you're bold.
I'm bought, you're sold.
No togetherness at all.

I'm thin, you're stout.
I win, you're out.
Opposition falls.

Backbeat

self portrait by Stuart Sutcliffe

I got to thinking about Stuart Sutcliffe today. If you have never seen Backbeat, you should check it out. Ian Hart as John Lennon; outstanding and Stephen Dorff is great as Stuart. The music is incredible; featuring Don Fleming, Dave Grohl, Dave Pirner, Mike Mills, Greg Dulli and Thurston Moore. The soundtrack is produced by Don Was.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0106339/
http://www.geocities.com/sexy-sadie.geo/stuART.html
http://www.voormann.com/start/index.shtml
http://www.westwoodgallery.com/sutcliffe/sut.htm

slow news day

I use to think I was still alive because some taco supreme being had a plan for me.
Then I thought the plan was that it was keeping me around so I could suffer for my transgressions. I think it is very egotistical to think that your purpose in life means more than some poor palooka that got hit by a bus walking his kids to school.
Now a days I realize that life is just a series of events.
A roll of the dice.

I no longer look for the over all meaning because my life has meaning to me.

Gidget Gein
http://www.gidgetgein.com/

Jan Paul Beahm

multi-media journalist

Sometimes I have these inflated ambitions to become what a friend calls a multi-media journalist. I guess rock whore is really more accurate. Then I realize that I haven’t even got one Lamasil deficient big toe in the cesspool yet and already there are five CD’s sitting around my house waiting for me to formulate an opinion of their relative worth. Will they make you want to drink the kool-aid, will they cause synaptic misfires that will render you helpless and twitching for days, or will they blandly fester into an infectious boredom that will render you catatonic. Fuck! I don’t know. What do you want from me?

I DO like getting free CD’s and sometimes I even like the music. Only rarely though. If I’m lucky, I might get a decent jewel case out of the deal.

I have heard it said that every music journalist is really a frustrated rock goddog (or goddess) that is far too geeky and average to strut anything, let alone his “stuff”. It’s probably true, it is in my case. So, Mr. Presspass is left out on an island, devoid of even one scrawny coconut palm because the slightest little turn of a phrase, the most innocent whisper of criticism will send the “artiste” into a tailspin of anger and rejection. Is that what I want?

For reasons that are not entirely clear to me, I seem to have a peculiar talent for saying the wrong thing. Here I am going out of my fucking way to give your little 5 inch platter a proper go but to you; any thing less than “this shit fucking rocks!!!” pisses you off. So what can I say?

See, I frankly don’t give a fuck what your song is about. I don’t even care if you sing on key. I don’t care if you can tune a guitar or tuna fish. It doesn’t matter a bit to me if you have learned all of your diminished augmentations, your augmented dimensions, your minor sevenths or your pizzicato. Is this real? Do you feeeeel it?

I was reading a review of , I think, the 5,6,7,8’s and the scribe was apologizing for saying that for years now rock ‘n’ roll has been suffering from being too damned smart. There was no need to apologize. We are way too short on dumb fun. Nobody has a sense of humor anymore. Everyone is so serious about their “art”. Fuck art, let’s rock 'n' roll.

thought for the day...

“Dogs is like wise humans, they fight with their mouth.”

Brother Dave Gardner

I am obsessing...

my first guitar was a Fender Esquire Custom ('59-'68). I'm not sure what year mine was but I bought it in '67-'68 for $85 from a pawn shop in Newport News Va.

I foolishly traded that guitar for a single cutaway, single pick-up Rickenbacker.

Like so many first guitar stories, I would love to have that guitar back or a comparable replacement. This is a Japanese reissue (MIJ) Fender Esquire Custom from the 80's; it is exactly like the one I had, so, I am obsessing...