DES ROAR: Last night of the West Coast tour

The first thing I'd like to say here is THANK YOU to the band for putting on a bunch of great shows while they were out here on the west coast. The second thing I'd like to say will be directed toward the Roxy up on the Sunset Strip...

Sleazy like Sunday morning #4 - More paperback smut.

It was a long hard year for the two. With their careers taking up most of their time, they'd both been in need of some sort of stimulus. Although they hadn't spoken in a while, their lives were running parallel to each others and on the night their paths crossed, it was obvious that they had found their stimuli in one another.

Beth, the younger of the pair, was burning the candle at both ends it seemed. She'd been putting in a minimum of twelve hour days at the theatre, six days a week in a blurred mixture of rehearsals and evening performances. She was a dancer mainly, but in this production she was to play a sizable part that demanded she learn enough lines to fill half a bible. Since her childhood she'd dreamt of running her own company and she was now closer than ever to achieving her dream, but the constant grind was starting to take its toll. Earlier in the day she had jokingly confessed to another member of the company that she'd only slept a total of six hours in the last forty eight. Her body, sore and throbbing. Her mind, scattered and foggy. With her relentless approach to achieving her dreams she knew she'd burn out, but fought it every night as she faced the crowded theatre. As she'd say her lines she'd peer into the faces of them all. The critics sat there with their note pads while the theatre buffs stared toward the stage. Some were smiling, but others warmed their seats wearing such serious expressions that one could confuse them with high court judges. Come to think of it... judges they were. All of them and every night was a trial that she'd have to fight her way through. Even with all the pressure that came along with it, she wouldn't have it any other way. She was following her heart.

Rick on the other hand didn't have half the trappings. His life, although seriously structured, afforded him far more time to dream and lay about than most of his peers. As the branch manager of an airport area car rental business, his level of activity depended on the number of people that needed a vehicle. Some days it was through the roof, but there were others where he didn't see another living, breathing being at all. Of course, this did little to change the fact that he was there everyday. Ten years ago he told himself that he'd only work there for a year or two,  just to raise enough money to start his own business. A diner. He wasn't necessarily into cooking at all, but the idea of having something that would be open twenty four hours where folks could come in and take a load off was the most appealing thing he could think of to do with his future. There was something appetizing about the cranky, senior citizen waitress and the just making it to decent coffee that grabbed him. It was an idea that he had gotten when he was in his twenties and spent his time reading books in the rearmost booth of a Waffle House at 3:00 AM. He liked the vibe. Naturally, like most achievable dreams, things tend to get in the way and money ends up needing to be shifted from one credit card to another. Then, before you know it... you're still the branch manager of the Rocket Rent a Car Agency which sits exactly one half mile from the airport and you realize that you'll never compete with the Denny's down the lane.

Drunk guys

Here is a photo taken a few weeks ago. I believe we're all trashed. I also believe that there are far too many button down shirts pictured here. Either way, these guys rock.

* If you had to assign a particular band to each person pictured above, could you?

Here are your choices:

R.E.M.

Slayer

Mastodon

Thee Headcoates

The breakdancer is too obvious for this game.

Listed from l to r: A cartoonist, A drunk fuck, The Lord of turtle sex, Archie Bunker Jr, A breakdancing cook.

And now... here are The Strange Boys performing "Be brave."

Dune

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Click here for a salted rim

This guy sounds like a whimsical French musical instrument after a couple of shots of unicorn tears in a bar that sits just outside of the powder blue kingdom of happiness.

(don't front. you know you wanna go there)

I'm strangely attracted to this music.

That said, Herman Dune is not an easy pill to swallow for some. His delivery and song structures are bizarre.

I would put him on a mixtape alongside The Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players and The Moldy Peaches. Maybe I'd add some Ween... They Might Be Giants too. Yeah.

See that? I just got so nerdy on you. You're lucky I didn't mention Paul Barman.

Tina and the leathered buffoon: Part one.

He was a thick, leathered buffoon slumped over the jukebox when Tina found him slumped over the jukebox. There weren't any sorry assholes left at the bar besides the guy who lived above the place. He wasn't an asshole. He saved a kid once. The part where it all went wrong was when he went out to celebrate his good deed with some friends. They all went home, but he kept celebrating. And celebrating.

She approached her lummox with a calmly executed hint of hesitation. One that signaled she knew that if she didn't save him he'd be shaken awake and dragged onto the sidewalk by the bar back, but also knew the love was fading. They never even dated. She mostly just felt sorry for him.

With a measured tug she pulled him by the back pocket and said "What's going on, hon?" Of course there wasn't a response, but she knew he was blacked out. The bartender watched her as she wrapped her arms around his chest and gave him a lift. The leathered buffoon stood in a display of barely controlled slurs and near disastrous loss of balance. Thin Lizzy played through the piss scented air.

Exiting the bar was an awakening. The leathered buffoon, with his half opened eyes seemed to regain his equilibrium. "The Boys are back in town, huh?" he said with an embarrassed laugh. She was there again, but why? The cool night air swept his face and shocked its way through his denim jacket. It failed. The buffoon was always warm. Uncomfortably warm at times. Tonight however, the temperature was perfect.

"You know? It's not cool that the bartender calls my phone to get you off of his jukebox." she said with a tired grunt.

"It was only one other time... and it was the pool table that I passed out on. Do you think they should've kept serving me?" the buffoon feigned indifference after that.

"Oh, don't even try it. Walk!"

Des Roar at Silverlake Lounge.

Last night me and the crew decided to go down and catch Des Roar at the Silverlake Lounge. We were not disappointed. First off, it was good to see the gang again and it was plain to see that life on the road hasn't affected their mood. They were all just as drunk and ferocious as I recalled them to be. And much more.

In about 40 minutes they tore through a nice mixture of surf, garage, and the maniacal Rock N' Roll they've grown to perfect. Beginning with "The watcher" and ending the set with upcoming single "Watch your step" the crowd instantly knew that these NYC fuckers weren't just stopping by for a beer and polite conversation.

Enter the dueling guitars of wild Irishman Alan O' Keeffe and frontman Ben Wolcott, who has seriously upped his snarling intensity. Maybe being on the road has made them angry after all? They played with the brashness of a band that not only wanted to rock the house, but as a band that wanted to make sure that the sheer force of their music was going to crack a few ribs.

By the way, are you kids lifting weights? All of your arms looked like they were powerful enough to smash a beer cooler. As if that wasn't enough, their diminutive drummer Lyla ain't afraid to kick something after it's dead. For real.

During the last song, the aforementioned 'Watch your step', plenty of boys and girls in the crowd rushed to the dance floor and started doing the graveyard twist. (I have no idea what these kids call dancing today)

It was exactly what a Rock N' Roll show should be: Loud, fast, snotty, and raw. Can somebody please pick these guys up already!!?? Do yourselves a favor by grabbing a copy of Mad Things. You won't be sorry...

And Ryan, I still need a t shirt. You are my only hope.

*Thanks to Red Melanie for the photo.

You'll have to forgive me for not including pictures of the show. Honestly? I left the house pretty drunk to begin with and ended up forgetting my camera.

The Horrors - Vent

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Click here or the hostage gets it!

Not to be confused with Faris Tombstone or whatever those English Horror lads call themselves, these Horrors are from Iowa. What else comes from there?

Besides the state being a major force in the soybean industry, I couldn't find a lot. I'll have to visit. The only problem with that is that I take terrible notes when I'm drunk. Usually they start out informative, but they soon develop into crude drawings of naked women with pumpkins for hands and things of that nature. One time I was following someone who I thought was a local rapist. When I handed the notes to the cops they were excited that a citizen took such an acute attention to detail, but that all all changed when they realized the suspect was Caucasian, six foot tall, and was wearing the "strenuous costume of a shy zebra/ long pony hybrid"

Apparently I had begun writing a poem.

This album, produced by Memphis Garage legend Greg Cartwright, is not something that I'll keep on repeat, but I can promise you that no dirty old bar should be without a copy of this in their jukebox.

Rolling Stones and Satanic Requests

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Click here to get the smelly hand

"Hey Mick, I've got an idea."

"Yeah? What is it Keith?"

"Well, those mop topped buggers are getting all psychedelic and..."

"... and what, Keith? Are we supposed to compete with that?"

"Hell fuckin' yeah you big lipped bastard!"

And thus Their Satanic Majesties Request was born.

2000 Light Years from Home is the perfect song. Not kidding.

On first reaction I saw ________

A Mike McGill board.

Personally? I was a Lance Mountain guy.

By the way, is Axl Rose even a real person?

Jay Reatard R.I.P.

From Wikipedia:

"Lindsey was found dead in bed at his home in Midtown, Memphis around 3:30 a.m. on January 13, 2010. A death investigation has been opened by Memphis police. A statement was posted on the website of Goner Records, that Reatard had died in his sleep. Friends of Lindsey stated that he had recently complained of flu-like symptoms."

Read a great interview with Jay by Rich Tupica at Turn It Down here