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Drlunk's blog
| Thursday, December 15th, 2005
Sounds Like....?
I need your help, my friends. In trying to prepare press kits and setting up Huck on various websites, I have been unable to answer one very basic question. I'm constantly asked "Your band sounds like...?" and or often phrased "Similiar to...?" and I never know how to answer. You've all been exposed to this material for months now. How would you answer this question?
Posted By Drlunk @ 2:23 AM | Comments: 6 |
| Tuesday, October 25th, 2005
Art or Circumstance?
As certain murky governmental entities continue to overtly dog both Bill and myself, I thought it best to publicly post this. Also originating as an email to the creative force behind The Pralines, it followed "The Wind Is In The Buffalo" by about three weeks and chronicles my second encounter with the US Postal Service. Heed the warnings of these posts, people. The USPS is the one government service that is intergrated utterly into both the public and private sectors. Though it may not pull the strings, it certainly is an enabling body and conduit for all manner of dispicable operations. Approach their facilities and your home mailboxes with caution and alertness. Though a minor theme, this was written in the aftermath of Hurricane Dennis and takes a couple of punches at the 24 hour cable media that can't seem to decide if it wants to be of service to the public or is a training ground for show business.
At 8:27am, I gathered together three cds and set off for the post office. Fearing that it was the cranberry Saturn that was the origin of all my woes during my last postal adventure (see "The Wind is in the Buffalo" for details), I elected to walk the two blocks this morning. I stepped out of my back door, well, only door, as a desk laden with my computer and pieces of studio hardware blocks the front door, a fact that I've been keeping from the Bargersville Fire Marshall for the last 10 years, as it is clearly a flagrant violation of local statutes, and I certainly do not need to run afoul of that government entity, particularly as they are a volunteer brigade and all the prancing I've witnessed over the years.
Now, where was I?
The sky was overcast and just a little rainy, remnants of Hurricane Dennis that had recently worked out its personal problems by pounding hell out of a number of southern trailer parks. God, get a therapist, guy! We've all got problems, you know. What makes you so special? And why always target these clueless folks in trailers? They owe you money or something? Geez, I'm just tired of all this blowing and blustering. But most of all, I'm tired of 24 hour news networks that stroke your ego, and God knows what else, every time you, or one of your relatives, storms into town with a mad on and proceed to rape and pillage. These media idiots just cram on vid-loops, one after another, along with direct feeds from places like Sissaphuc, Florida, showing the death and destruction all the while nattering on with really insightful chatter like "Oh, my yes, Laurie, I've never seen such death and destruction", all the while displaying an electronic title, written by some twit whose dream must have been to be head writer for SNL but just didn't have the chops, with some glib attempt to lighten the mood like "Dennis Is Still A Menace". And people think I'm a heartless bastard! Hell, give me that job and I'll give the scene some real context. How about a title reading "Oh, They Are SO Fucked!” That ought to work up more sympathy for the victims and ratings for the network. I wonder if MSNBC gives bonuses for that or accepts submissions.
Now, where was I?
As there were only a few raindrops falling, I continued on foot to the post office, guarding as best I could the three cds I had prepared for The Pralines and my old friend. I was so honored to have been entrusted with the digital conversion and noise removal of a cassette tape of demos for their next project. Most of the analysis and sonic surgery was fairly pedestrian, but there were a few tracks that I swear must have been recorded on Edison’s original Victrola. And those tracks that started and ended with what appeared to be street noise. What were those all about? Was that art or circumstance? Days were spent pondering whether that should be removed. Though I could have emailed an inquiry, I just couldn't risk the embarrassment on either side of the question. If it was just street noise and not removed, then my tech abilities would no longer be trusted. If art and I removed it, then I would be exposed as a clueless bonehead. Even worse, what if it was art, and I removed it, and what if the Pralines had forgotten about it, and when they went to the studio to record the final version and didn't have 18 tracks devoted to getting just that perfect 'street signature', and everyone knew something was wrong with the track, something no one could put their finger on, and this led to tension among the members, which brought up old grievances and accusations, and all this hoojoo embedded itself upon the audio and what would have been both a magnificent work of art and that runaway radio hit they had dreamed of just fell flat and never got the radio play that would have finally made all the years of struggle so worth it. And it would be all my fault. The pressure on me was just too great and had flung me into a nasty feedback loop of indecision. Ultimately, I just had to go with first principles and I snipped the "noise" out. God, please make that the right choice.
Now, where was I?
Walking into the post office, I went directly to the service counter, which was empty of patrons and employees. As I picked out the correct mailer, inserted the discs and filled out the address information, I could hear Susie and Barbara talking and laughing on the sorting floor. I waited at the service counter for about a minute, stuffing my trouser pockets with as many Dum Dums suckers as possible from a basket that was always there "for the kiddies", when Susie backed out of the sorting floor, finishing her conversation with Barbara with "Oh, if you had held IT, you would have known he, and the bruises, were worth it!", followed with that snorty laugh that just raises my temperature every time I hear it. Turning and spotting me, she gave a little go-go girl vertical leap and wiggle and said "Mike! I'm so glad to see you made it back! Are you alright, hon?" "Well, I don't think my ears are going to ever dry out from all the water cannoning, but otherwise, I'm ok" was my reply. "Sug, are you going to go to the Fire Department's fish fry this weekend?" she asked. "Well, I don't know, Susie, I kinda lost my taste for fish after what happened last year." "Oh, Mike, don't be like that. I think the burns healed real nice. And we did have a ball before things got out of hand." That, in fact, we did. "Yeah, but I knew that was a bad place to spray lighter fluid." "So, how can I do ya today" she said with that gleam in her eye whose meaning always eluded me. Taking the mailer from me, she turned to the scale and cash register and asked "Cheap and uninsured, right?" adding a snortiggle. Turning to me, she said "Sorry, I just couldn't resist." Squeezing the mailer, she asked "What's in here, a book?" "No, Susie, just a couple of audio cds." "Are they CD-Rs?" "Yes." “Are these some of your Huckleberry CD-Rs?” “No, actually they are of an old friend of mine.” For a brief moment, a slight wave of sadness washed across her face and I could see her go into PRO MODE. "Do these CD-Rs contain copyrighted material, Mike?" she inquired with a slightly stern tone. "Well, Pam was always pretty good about copyrighting her songs. Yeah, they probably do, Susie. Is that a problem?" Sighing softly and tears, yes, real tears, forming in her eyes, she said "I'm so sorry, Mike. I really am. We could have had so much fun this weekend." "Susie, I don't see the problem. I was just doing some cleanup work on demo tapes for my friend and I'm sending the results to her." But she said nothing further, merely tapped a series of numbers on the cash register. The floor fell from under my feet and I plummeted into darkness and unconsciousness. Waking an indeterminable time later, I once again found myself naked, tied to a chair and undergoing water cannoning. And I swear, operating the cannon was Jack Valenti.
Now, where was I?
Posted By Drlunk @ 9:44 AM | Comments: 3 |
| Monday, October 24th, 2005
The Wind Is In The Buffalo
Author's note: the following is a chronicle of events that occurred in July of 2005, prior to my virtualization. The original form was as an email to an old friend to let her know that I had received a copy of her then new CD. If anything good is to come from the events descibed below, I would urge you all to go to www.cdBaby.com and purchase a copy of The Pralines' "Song of the Day Cafe", featuring my dear old friend, Pam Richardson. And leave a note saying "DrLunk sent me."
So, I drive the cranberry Saturn (the gayest of all models according to Norris) to the Bargersville Postal Facility at 9:20 this morning. A lovely facility, built in 1962, during the zenith of Camelot, little suspecting the tragedy and horror awaiting the youthful and vigorous Jack Kennedy.
But, I digress.
Walking into the lobby, I pulled from my left front trouser pocket a Swiss Army knife, given to me as a birthday present some 25 years ago by Bob Martin on the eve of an ill fated backpacking trip to the
Wyoming Tetons, on which hangs my postal box key. Well worn from 15 years of use, the key slipped with greater smoothness than the government ever imagined into box 322 and there it was; the little yellow postal notification card that I had been impatiently anticipating for the last two days. Finally, my golden postal lottery ticket that bellowed, "Congratuuuulations, you are a proud owner of the debut CD of The Pralines". With trembling fingers, blistered from the preceding evening's Huck session that again had 2 more chord changes than my stunted sausage fingers could smoothly incorporate, I extracted the card, locked the box and removed the key. Looking at the Swiss Army knife before returning it to its trousertory transport, I flashed briefly on all the trouble this knife has brought me at security lines, as one after another bored, underpaid but overly empowered rent-a-agent has stifled the urge to say "Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
But, I digress.
Counter rotating precisely 48 degrees, I turned and walked to the door leading to the service counter. Spying through what is left of my peripheral vision, I noted a woman struggling through the front door with an armload of parcels. Ever the gentleman, though never the gentleman caller (That’s an in joke.), I held open the service counter door for her, just a little nod to the civility that should hold this society together. Though what went through my mind as she swiftly took advantage of my perceived weakness and conditioning was something to the effect of, “Shmuck, now you’re going to wait forever behind Ms
UPS here”. In the interest of total disclosure, upon noticing that she had parked her car closer to the Saturn than I would have preferred, the first thought that went through was “This bitch is in a world of hurt if there is one, just one, scratch”.
But, I digress.
Walking into the service area, I exchanged a smile of familiarity with Susie behind the counter, recalling many such encounters with her across 15 years of residency. Susie was the first postal employee I met in 1990, three months after moving here. It took me that long to wonder where the mailbox for the house was located. It was, after all, midsummer when I moved in and thus no reason to ever be outside, except entering and exiting the car. When I noticed there was no mailbox on the house, I scanned the neighborhood and noticed there was not a single mailbox to be found. That morning I entered the post office for the first time and met Susie. Explaining that I just noticed a general lack, mailbox-wise, in my neighborhood, I advised Susie that I believed it was my duty as a citizen to bring this sorry state of affairs to the nearest federal employee, fearing that the teenage contingent in Bargersville must have gone on a mega-rampage involving more convertibles and baseball bats than even the Post Master General could envision. Flashing a smile broader than I had ever seen on a government employee and a snorty, but engaging, laugh, she replied, “You must be Michael Head”. Stunned is too weak of a word to describe the cold sweaty shiver than coursed through my spirit at her utterance. Before I could form the words “How the Fu..”, she chuckled and said “We’ve been saving your mail since it started arriving in July. We knew you’d be in eventually. There’s no home delivery in your section of town, so you can either just get your mail every day from me or get a postal box.” Dropping two very large rubber banded stacks on the countertop, she added, “We don’t have any boxes available right now but I can put you on the waiting list.”
But, I digress.
I tried to wait patiently as Ms UPS dropped her load. I scanned behind the counter and immediately noticed two very exciting things. Susie was certainly displaying a great deal more cleavage than usual on this hot June morning, yeah she was. And, up on the sorting shelf was a yellowish envelope that was the only item there that would be just the right size to hold the treasured Pralines cd. As my mind whirled,
I tried to hold my excitement down. My aging hearing wavered in and out as Ms UPS attempted to carry out her transaction. It was at this moment my inner euphoria was interrupted by Ms UPS’s stinging words “CHEAP & UNINSURED”. I immediately pounced. “Just who the fuck do you think you are to judge me like that? You don’t know me at all, bitch. Besides, I’ve suffered and really worked hard to put that all behind me.” My verbal assault was interrupted and soothed by Susie’s snort and interrogative “Now, Mike, did you stay till closing at Red’s last night?” Red’s being “Red’s Place”, the only bar in Bargersville and damn proud of it. Red’s has been in Bargersville forever and I’m certain the cockroaches will maintain its rich traditions long after the nuclear holocaust or rapture wipes us simians from the planet. Frequent Red’s I do not, except annually on the Saturday that falls closest to Mother’s Day. Red’s hosts a free pork buffet that Saturday, starting about 3pm. Living just 2 blocks away, hell I’m just two blocks from anything in Bargersville, I raid the shit out of Red’s on that day across nine hours, walking out with as many plates filled with as much pork BBQ as I can carry. It was during my third year of residency, as I was making my fifth return to the buffet, that I encountered Susie, drunker than a monkey and showing enough skin to make a Vegas dancer think twice, well, maybe just think. Inviting me to join her, I ordered a round of Jack and Cokes for us as we leapt into our respective piles of pork. Being already highly inebriated, Susie experienced a great deal of difficulty in negotiating her plastic fork the relatively short distance from her plate to her mouth, mostly just overshooting the corners of her mouth. As providence would have it, the red of the BBQ sauce closely matched the red of her lipstick, which was a dead match for the red of her hair. Fetching! Points for fashion coordination, but after a dozen failed attempts, her smile was starting to take on the grimace of Nicholson as The Joker, but with better tits. Much better. Susie noticed that though I had a heaping plate o’ pork, I was not eating. I had to confess my scam, that I was walking as many pounds as I could back to my house, to be stuffed into eagerly waiting Ziplock bags and my freezer. She thought this was a brilliant plan and pledged to help me double my yield, as long as I kept the sour mash flowing. A bargain was set, the liquor flowed, as did 30 pounds of pork. During drinks, I noticed that Susie was sporting no wedding ring, though a pale ring of pink skin showed where one had recently held residence. Asking the obvious question produced the obvious response, peppered with world-class profanity, generally prefaced with “That BASTARD…….”. I forget the details at this point, just that Susie had recently taken on the portfolio of “Married Woman Been Done Wrong” and man-o, did she need to vent. And vent she did. Continually, through drinks, on the street loaded with pork, through my bathroom door as whatever needed relief was given center attention, and if the facts were true as spoken, she was very justified in during so. By 1am, as the last of the pork bearing Ziplocks went into the freezer, Susie said, “Well, that ought to do you”. I replied, “Yea, that should give that coronary a good start.” Taking a ten count, probably would have been a two count if not for the bourbon, she added, “Good, cause now you ought to do me” and hit me with a lip lock right out of the Vulcan Karma Sutra. As intriguing as this proffer was, don’t you know I heard Frank Sinatra’s speech (We’ll you we’re a little worst for the wear, or wine, and there are rules about that.) from “High Society” coming out of my mouth? I walked her back to her car at Red’s, drove her home, two miles in the country on 144, and walked home.
But, I really digress.
Susie’s question of Red’s snapped me out of the rage. Red faced, I apologized for my behavior. Ms UPS finished up her transaction, shot me a well-aimed and deserved look of “Drop dead, asshole” and exited.
Susie exploded into a snortfest of laughter, stating, “Well, you just made my day”. Now giggling, and putting some expert English on a full body wiggle, added “And you’ve got a package in. I just put the card in your box.” Turning to the sorting shelf, she scanned over every item there and mumbled, “Now where did I put that?” Picking up and then dropping the yellow envelope I was certain contained the precious
Pralines cd, she stepped over to the sorting floor, calling “Barbara, did you see what I did with Mike Head’s package?” I spoke up. “Susie, I’m certain that yellow envelope is for me. I’ve been expecting a cd from a dear old friend and I’ll bet that it is in that envelope. It may not say Mike Head on it. It may be addressed to Lunk, or DrLunk or, hell, it might even be Shit Head. But just check the box number on that envelope”. Oblivious to my protestations, Susie returned, looked at every item on the sorting table again, checking the yellow mailer last. “Oh, here it is”, she exclaimed. “Was this here before?” she directed to me. I replied “No, Susie, I leaped over this counter, breaking 18 federal laws, and put it there myself.” This apparent confession brought Barbara, the local post master, into the room, at a dead run, yelling into a collar mic “Security, SWARM, SWARM!” When I regained consciousness, I was bound to a chair, with a high-pressure stream of ice-cold water drenching every inch of exposed skin. Every inch of skin was exposed. The federal agent directing the water cannon stopped long enough to advise me to “Sit tight. We’ll be arriving at GitMo soon enough and get you all sorted out there.” The resumption of the water cannon put me under again. I next awoke in a small concrete room, I guess in GitMo, with a new friend, Mohammad something. He’s been very helpful and, well I’ll just say it, caring. He has assured me, while transcribing my ramblings, that he can get the text out onto the internet and emailed to you. I had to trust him, so I gave him both my email username and password (though I think he took offense to the password being “diemuslimscumbag”). I would suggest you look out for a SPAM barrage in the next couple of days. Sorry about that, but I did want you to know the cd arrived and I will listen to it as soon as I get home. If I'm wary of going back, I'm certain Susie will sneak it out of the post office for me.
Posted By Drlunk @ 11:33 AM | Comments: 11 |
| Sunday, October 23rd, 2005
Cruising the VCE party
I am so ashamed of myself. All my life I have been able to avoid actually striking another human being. But when that Hollywood pretty boy twit Cruise yelled across the room "Hey, Richard, I hear you're playing with dirty Knickers these days!" and gave me that oily "Magnolia" grin, I just snapped. Retorting with "That's ok, Pretty-Tommie, you can call me Dick. That's what Nicole said was missing from your marriage or at least any skill that didn't require stage directions and a little help from the special effects dept!" was probably not the best choice of words. Should have walked away at that point, but no, the brownie kicked in and I had to add "Nicki is so relieved not to be on a diet of beenie-weenies anymore, you can just chatter away 'Mr Cocktail'. Or is that 'Mr Peanut'?" Nickers had warned me about his deserved sensitivity in this area and I should have listened to her. When he pulled that lame stagecrafted Mission Impossible martial arts crap, I should have let my GothGirl posse handle the matter, as they do double as my security detail. But I knew "Go TIme" when I saw it and I really wanted a piece of him. Yelling "Cruise, you should have listened to your little friend in "Risky Business! But he had it slightly wrong. Sometimes, you just have to say 'What the HUCK!'" Grinding his face into the concrete patio was excessive. I mean, without that face, his going to have to fallback on acting skills and, well, I guess it just might be community theater for him from now on. Thank God girl-on-a-mission and gsxrqueen tugged on my leash and got me off of him. My career as a producer is just starting and I really don't need to be following the Phil Spector road map at this junction. They say there is no such thing as bad publicity but I really hope this altercation does nothing to harm either Huck or vce.
Posted By Drlunk @ 9:12 AM | Comments: 6 |
| Sunday, September 11th, 2005
Nichole Wescombe
I've been sifting through iSound for about a week now and have had a wonderful time discovering the vast range of independent artists that are sharing their music. I've decided that I am mainly going to use my blog space to rave about iSound artists that have delighted my ears or brought a smile to my face.
To start this blogview series, I cannot think of anyone better than Nichole Wescombe of Altona Meadows, [AU]. According to her bio, this 21 year old native of Melbourne is self taught and plays drums, guitar, bass, trumpet, and keyboards. Nichole has uploaded three wonderful songs, all written by her and with her playing all the instruments. Though the recordings and, to a lesser extent, the performances are a little rough around the edges, they are a treat. "Feelin' So Great" has a fabulous subdued Nellie McKay grove. The arrangement of "Spin Me Around" has a wonderful flow that counterpoints the confusion of the woman in question perfectly. "Puzzle" was a great wonderful surprise to these old ears, sounding like a head on collision between Pere Ubu and Lydia Lunch and features a great buzzsaw guitar by Ms Wescombe. Hazaa, I need more of this.
Posted By Drlunk @ 7:55 PM | Comments: 1 |
| Sunday, September 11th, 2005
Leila
This blogview gets out of Australia and slips over to Brisbane, CA and perhaps the next One-Name Diva, Leila. Her one posted MP3 is called "Present At All Times". Counterpointing guitarist Jim Harris' very grunged guitar against synth strings, the song grooves like mad while maintaining a dreamy state. The real treat is the vocal layering done by Leila herself, dense yet concise and light. A neat treat if you can pull it off and she has done it to perfection. A song that would do Tori Amos proud. Her site discloses she and Harris have recorded 10 songs thus far and I can't wait to hear more. The recording is a little rough and ready, but when the material and performance is this good, I can control my AnalStudioGuy (ASG) tendencies and just enjoy myself.
DrLunk, ASG
Posted By Drlunk @ 1:30 PM | Comments: 0 |
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