Alphabet City

Today is being brought to you by the letter A.

I'm gonna go through the alphabet musically with you kids. It'll keep me busy, at least. This has kinda been sitting in my mind... hmmm... throw a letter at me and what's the first musical act that pops into my head? It won't be logical, that I know.

So A:

Adam Ant.

I didn't love Adam Ant or anything. In fact, he's kinda lame. I really dug his early stuff with all the crazy drum action and silly lyrics.. "I'm the dandy highwayman" or whatever... Although it is fun. I can think of "A" acts I like a lot better, like Abba or ABC or Actionslacks or the Afghan Whigs. But Adam Ant - what a character, eh?

His real name was Stuart Leslie Goddard, and he was a wild punk who suddenly got the idea to dress like a pirate and do tribal stuff. (I think Malcolm McLaren was involved.) And you've got to admit that there was practically nothing else that sounded like Adam & the Ants, except maybe Bow Wow Wow. It tapped into some little wild person in you. I had a couple friends who, around 1999 or so, decided that dressing like pirates was the thing to do and took direct cues from Adam Ant. (Keep in mind - this was waaaaaay before the current Johnny Depp fueled pirate craze.) That was fun.

Anyway, I saw Adam Ant in concert around 1996. The tickets were free, and he still sucked so hard that we walked out. He did, however, start the show by swinging onto the stage on a giant black swatch of cloth tied to the ceiling. That was pretty cool, but it was all dowhill from there. Painful, actually.

A couple years ago, he was institutionalized briefly for waving a fake handgun in a bar and threatening pub-goers. Then he stormed out and threw a car alternator threw the window, hitting a musician on the head.

Car trouble, oh yea!

The Name Game

I was at a show recently and ran into some old co-workers of mine. I used to work in a record store, so we all were a bunch of characters and had lots of drama. Anyway, we were catching up on the current gossip at the store when one of my friends said, "Oh hey - did you hear about the movie?" "What movie?" "Well, we decided that when the movie gets made about us, we're going to choose who's going to play who." This was a fun little game, as we picked out several actors who could portray our pals, and one person said, "We already decided who was going to play you, Mo." "Oh really? Who?" "Catherine Zeta-Jones."

Ummm... I ain't no Catherine Zeta-Jones, but that was really nice of my co-workers to think so.

Anyway, that brings me to the topic for today. The celebrity doppleganger. We all have one, kinda. At least other people try to tell you so, right? Haven't you heard that before? "Yea, you look kinda like that chick on Law & Order" or "Your dad totally looks like Dan Rather" or something like that. I generally do this when referring to my ex boyfriends.

My first boyfriend from high school and I are still super buds. Back in the day, I really didn't think about who he might have looked like, but these days, he bears an uncanny resemblance to one Jim Carrey. It's so uncanny, in fact, that people have asked to have their picture taken with him. I even have a picture of my friend making this exact expression; maybe I can sell it...


Another ex of mine used to remind me of some random actor I could never remember the name of, until this guy came along...

Julian McMahon - as his character from Nip/Tuck, anyway - really is the spitting image of that ex, personality and all. Scary, I know - but he really knows how to work the ladies. I just went to a Pixies show with him and he had some tales about young co-eds and bathroom stalls. Ick. He's always entertaining, that guy.

Then there was Indie Rock Boy. It was the early 90's, we worked at a community radio station, and were ragin' full-on indie kids. He had kinda shaggy hair and glasses on occasion, and we wore flannel. Oh yea, and he was in a band. Lead singer, guitar, wrote the songs - the works. At the time, he really looked like indie demi-god, Lou Barlow.

In fact, after we broke up, I found this very cute picture of Lou singing in a record store or something with a poster of Frank Sinatra crooning as a backdrop, and I cut it out and hung it on the fridge. People made all sorts of "Um... Mo.. you really should take this picture of So & So down... it's over." Oops.

Then there was the guy that was always told looked like David Duchovny. Being a huge X-Files fan, I could appreciate this and kinda see it, but had to disagree. He looked way too much like Ken Andrews of Failure.

But very few people seem to know who Ken Andrews is, so I just let people keep comparing him to David Duchovny.

Then there was a brief liaison with a moody painter whom a couple of my friends compared to Montgomery Clift. Oooh, how I love gay 50's icons! And they weren't too far off.


And last, but not least, another guitar player. When I tell stories about this guy to others, I refer to him as "my Diego Luna ex-boyfriend." (Everyone in my lexicon has some sort of qualifying statement - "my friend with the cars," "my friend who cooks," "my friend with the rabbits" etc.) And this ex happens to work at the record store still (romantic entanglements are also part of the story which will eventually wind up in the movie), so while we were plotting the film version of our lives - I threw that out there. "Duuuuude - don't you think Diego Luna should totally play him?" "Genius! That is so spot on!"


The game continues... who do you look like?

I'm With Stupid (unfortunately)

"As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."
H.L. Mencken (1880 - 1956)

California, Here I Come!

Or go, rather...

One in Four Californians Consider Moving
By JIM WASSERMAN, Associated Press Writer

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - A fourth of all Californians are thinking about moving — either out of state or just to another town — to bring down their housing costs, a new survey shows.

High rents and rising home prices have residents, particularly younger ones, rethinking the value of the mountain views and ocean shores they say they treasure. Of the respondents under 35, for example, nearly half say they might relocate to somewhere cheaper.

One thing you will find while living in California is that most residents aren't from here originally. Especially if you are in LA or San Francisco. The USA is a melting pot of many different countries (or so we like to say), and California represents many different countries AND states.

I was born and raised here in California, as was my father and his father as well. That's a bit strange for this state, but I know quite a few folks who go back many generations in this state. I met a guy whose family dates back to the pre-state ranchero days, and my cousins are native Americans who have major claim on the territory.

I grew up in a town called Encinitas in north San Diego county, a mile from the ocean. Our town's nickname is "The Flower Capital of the World," which I think either originated with or was furthered by the fact that a hell of alot of this country's pointsettias are grown there. All along El Camino Real, there were fields and fields of flowers - very colorful and vibrant open spaces. Now that long stretch of road is full of mini malls and condo developments. Welcome to California.

You can still find open space here and there, but living near a city? Forget it. When it gets really crowded, we Cali-kids joke around about the next earthquake since that inevitably chases some people out.

And, keep in mind that the study referenced above says that one in four folks only consider moving. I'm not sure how many actually do... Well, more friends for me, I guess!

Motorcycle Boy

I haven't been around much lately to watch TV, and when I do, I watch cable. Oh, don't get me wrong, I am very easily sucked in to reruns of CSI and Law & Order, but that's about it. Reality TV especially scares me.

HOWEVER... a show started up recently that I knew I'd have to catch. Bravo's Long Way Round. This is a reality show about two guys who decide to hop onto their motorcycles and ride around the world, starting in London and ending in New York City.

They went some 20,000 miles, crossing through France, Belgium, Germany, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Ukraine, Russia, Kazakhstan, Mongolia, Siberia, Alaska, Canada before hitting the Big Apple. These two lunatics are actors Charley Boorman and Ewan McGregor.

I Heart Ewan McGregor.



Anyway, these guys took their bikes and cameras (a small truck of two or three more guys followed them to help document the journey) across some insanely inhospitable terrain, through beautiful villages, down canyons, into media traps... and that's only been the first couple episodes. Maybe this is boring to some of you who don't lust after Ewan like I do (and even my lust wanes as his beard grows on the program), but it is as close as I'm going to get to actually traveling this world for a few more years. Granted, when I travel, I try to avoid eating baked goat head or camping alongside wild camels, but that's just me. The trip, despite the tiny support crew, is pretty bare bones, rugged, and macho, to be honest. It takes a certain kind of person to do this sort of thing.

One of my dearest friends is one of these guys. Not actually on the show, but a former motorcycle boy who could just ride and ride and ride... I overcame my fear of riding with this guy. Pretty soon, I had my own helmet and boots and was nearly scraping the pavement with the best of them. Well, I think I did pretty good as a passenger, anyway.

But my friend was very serious about his riding. He was very safe, and carefully chose his routes so that we would see some amazing things. Even just in the not-so-wild Bay Area. We were wandering a back road one time and encountered a huge black bull standing in the middle of the road. It wouldn't budge. It was twice the size of us on our bike, and we wound up carefully inching our way around it as it sort of just zoned out on the street. I know that's not as exotic as a camel, but come on - we're talking Marin county here.

Currently, this same friend is riding his bicycle up and down the West Coast. Last summer, he rode across the entire United States on the same bicycle, camping out at farms and by the side of the road or wherever was going to work out that night. I was stunned after he crossed the Rockies, which was not very dangerous at all since the tourists on the road were cruising to take in the scenery. I remember him sending me a postcard which said: "There is a special place in hell for truckers." On one occasion, his arrival in a small town prompted the local press to ask if they could write a story about his journey. Because people just don't ride their bikes any further than the park or something.

His current tour has taken him from the Bay Area to Canada, and then he flipped around and came here to LA, riding on or alongside freeways much of the way down. He rolled into my driveway with a funny hat on, a bandana around his neck, gloves and a smile, having really enjoyed the trek through LA (his hometown). And he rode off in much the same manner.

So, of course, I thought of this friend when watching Long Way Round. Watching how these men are a curiosity to the people they met, not just because they are not native to the area, or even the fact that they are somewhat well established actors, but because they are RIDING THEIR MOTORCYCLES AROUND THE WORLD. And watching their very basic existence, pared down to keeping both body and machine in good shape and getting through each day, while encountering all sorts of humanity, made me a bit jealous of my friend's adventure, because I don't have the stamina to do something quite that untethered.

And then there was the fact that they also wore funny hats and a bandana around their necks...

Lively Up Yourself

Perverse pleasure is the best revenge
Get back at red America -- with kinky sex, pretentious French movies and a hasty divorce.
By Rebecca Traister

Nov. 11, 2004

OK, it's worse than we thought. It's not just post-election blues. It's full-on, why-am-I-even-here depression. Who knew that last week's 48-hour cycle of hope, premature celebration and crushing defeat would have aftershocks that reverberated so far?

At first it was just exhaustion and the damaging psychological reversals of Tuesday's demoralizing polling-results debacle. We were left sore and nauseated, as if we'd taken a baseball bat to the belly. But it didn't get better after a good night's sleep. Next came rage -- at friends, family, entire states, individuals we've never met. If I could have burned Rudy Giuliani in effigy, I would have. This blinding, electric fury was at least an embrace of something vivid and alive, before the inevitable turn to existential despair. It wasn't about politics anymore. It was about life: There is no hope, no belief. Everyone and everything lets you down. There's been crying -- so much crying. At work and on the street and on subway platforms and at my friend's 30th birthday party on Saturday night at a swank private club. Just little rivulets of tears falling down the faces of people I don't know to be easy weepers. So common that no one even remarks on it anymore.

So yeah, it all sucks, elementally. We lost. We don't have anything to look forward to. We have been defeated, by our own country, by ourselves. We gave everything we had, just like our parents told us to do, and it wasn't enough. The Enlightenment is being rolled back before our eyes. We can't get a firm enough grip to hold it in place. We're dying. We're all going to die ...

So the question is: How do we pull ourselves out of this tailspin? How do we keep ourselves from the rabbit hole of despair and paralysis that will eventually smother us? How do we get ourselves out of bed in the morning?

There have been lots of suggestions already -- "Go see 'Ocean's 12'!" "Join the ACLU!" "Volunteer!" -- that are all very well and good. Yes, yes, yes, by all means, join the ACLU. But what about bringing back the pleasure? We -- whether we are in red states or blue -- need joy, ecstasy, or at least distraction, to keep us off the ledge and maybe even irritate the evangelicals at the same time. Below are some ideas for how we -- the losers, the sinners -- can throw off our comforters and scramble back to the land of the living, reclaiming whatever remains of our country, our day, our way of life -- before we're all rounded up and shot.

1) Have extremely deviant sex. Sadly, unlike the blackout, or the aftermath of Sept. 11, the post-election period doesn't seem to be bringing us much post-election sex. Where the fear and recovery from those events were about unity and embracing life, starting anew, and at the very least, getting lucky, post-election depression has thrown a soggy blanket over our libidos. We feel isolated and alienated from each other, defeated. Our eagerness to bring new life into this world has abated, and with it, the confidence that should we accidentally bring new life into this world, we might not be able to get rid of it.

But we have got to get over that. Holing up alone and abstaining from nooky is letting the terrorists -- and the abstinence advocates -- win! Plus, what better way to annoy the family values brigade than having really kinky sex. Make like Toni Bentley and celebrate your right to sodomy, now legal in all 50 states, though, let's be honest, probably not for long! Take a page from Paris Hilton's book and flip on a camera. Distribute it on the Internet, tell your friends. Feel free to dress as your favorite Bush twin.

2) Get a divorce. No, seriously. Even if you don't need one. It's a way to show your solidarity with your homo brethren, who in 11 states are about to lose whatever partnership benefits -- you know, like health insurance -- they've managed to scrape together for themselves. Besides, if you're straight, you can live safe in the knowledge that you can always remarry -- again and again, to as many different straight people of the opposite sex as you desire -- later. Meanwhile, if you and your partner are still getting it on, you'll be upping the rates of sex outside of marriage.

3) Read a book. And when you're done with it, donate it to your local public school. Start with "The Origin of Species" and move on through some other tomes sure to expand the minds -- if not the church-sanctioned morality -- of the young. Yeah yeah, make sure to include the standard baddies: Margaret Sanger's "Family Limitations," "Huck Finn" and "Go Ask Alice." But look to some of the lesser knowns for more nuanced inspiration: Pick up Maurice Sendak's "In the Night Kitchen," where Mickey shows his willy, and Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," which covers the poet's sorrow over seeing his nation divided and gay sex! Reread the whole Judy Blume canon (masturbation, sex, periods, erections, birth control, religious questioning, yadda yadda yadda) and then box it up and ship it off to a sixth grade class. You can scare yourself silly all over again by reading Margaret Atwood's "A Handmaid's Tale" and then make a gift of it to the local junior high. If you still need inspiration, take a gander at one of the banned books lists online. I don't know what "Daddy's Roommate" by Michael Willhoite is, but it sounds like something my alma mater in Abington, Pa., could use a few more copies of.

But I don't mean to suggest that you have to be all pious or crunchy. Go with your gut, pick out what feels good, work your way deep into a book -- any book -- and forget the rest of world. Chances are, if you're enjoying it, it's probably pissing someone off. Even Bridget Jones has anal sex. And never forget to laugh: I recommend Woody Allen's "Without Feathers." I have no idea if it's ever been banned, but I can't be the only person whose 10th grade universe expanded -- hilariously -- when she picked it up for the first time. And come on: The man married his life partner's Asian daughter and spends time playing the saxophone in Paris! Yay Woody Allen!

4) Go to the movies. The cinema has taken our minds off of both World Wars, the Depression, Vietnam and Watergate. But please, even though it's really funny and great, don't go see "The Incredibles"! Or Shark Tale. Or anything else that is going to beam a dollar-studded message to the studios that the way to make a buck is to continue releasing good clean family fun. Slap down money for exorbitantly priced tickets to the transgressive fare currently getting beaten to a pulp at cineplexes: John Waters' "A Dirty Shame" (tag line: "threatening the very limits of common decency") or the totally offensive "Team America," or that Nicole Kidman flick where she takes a bath with a 10-year-old. Celebrate deviance, grotesqueries, cannibalism -- if you can find it in the multiplex. And you probably can't.

But you could rent "Sweeney Todd," or 2000's "Keep the River on Your Right: A Modern Cannibal Tale." I bet you think you can make yourself feel like you're doing something by renting or buying the "Fahrenheit 9/11" DVD. Please. It may lead you down the path of righteousness, but trust me, it's only going to make you cry more, remembering how you thought it was going to make a difference. And who needs more goddamn crying? Treat yourself right -- and remind yourself that the holidays are right around the corner -- by renting last year's "Bad Santa" with Billy Bob Thornton. When a kid asks Thornton's department store Santa, "Do you and Mrs. Santa have kids?" he replies, "No, thank the fuck Christ." And while nailing someone in the dressing rooms, Santa screams this sweet nothing: "Oh yeah, baby, you won't be able to shit right for a week!" Happy holidays!

5. Give in to the zeitgeist and dumb down. Stop with the Atlantic and NPR and Air America already. They'll still be there when you get back. Just take a couple of days and download images of naked B-list celebrities. We'll help you cheat a little with this video of Tara Reid's dress falling down. You're on your own from there.

6. Start writing your novel, or song, or splattering your canvases with paint. As everyone I know in the entertainment industry keeps telling each other, reassuringly, desperately, sadly: "Bad politics makes good art. Bad politics makes good art. Bad politics makes good art." Whatever. Just don't expect to get any money or anything in return. By next year, NEA reins should be safely in the hands of some of the more "creative" Halliburton execs.

7. Take a walk. Go hiking. Take some pictures of what's left of America's natural landscape. Take several. No one needs to explain why this is important.

8. Forget your big plans to boycott red states: We don't need to become condescending jerks so consumed by our own sense of what's right that we leave the economies of hardworking, thinking people in the middle of the country hanging in the breeze. All we need to do is boycott Wal-Mart.

9. Get loaded. Quit drinking? Start again. Quit smoking? Congratu-fucking-lations. Light up. It's going to be a long, strange, ugly four years. Nicotine helps.

10. We don't know how to say this, but: Exercise your choice now, girls, while the exercising's good.

Oh, Baby! (part duex)

From the People's Republic of Berkeley:

I just read your Oh Baby posting and thought I'd share a scary story with you.

On Saturday, my boyfriend and I were walking up to College Avenue and noticed a large poster on a telephone pole outside our house. It had a photo and published the name, street address and phone number of a ob/gyn who does abortions. It said "Your neighbor Shelley S. is a Lesbian abortionist!" with skull and crossbone symbols. I felt nauseous and was so, so outraged. Then we noticed little rolled up "newspapers," thrown in every single driveway, that turned out to be pro-life propaganda bullshit with a smaller copy of the poster in there.

Did I magically wake up in Alabama, or what?!

My boyfriend and I ripped down the posters and collected all the propaganda from peoples' driveways for 3 blocks around our house. I felt like crying, it was so depressing. My sister told me later that she'd read an article recently about Dr. S. talking about how so few people will perform abortions in Kansas that Dr. S. flies there once a month to work in a clinic; I mean "abortion mill". (That's the term the poster used).

I'm re-entertaining the idea of moving to Canada.

Oh, Baby!

Hello. How are you? Me? I'm fearing for my reproductive rights. Seems that some pharmacists out there in Jesusland are so emboldened by the hardcore Christianity going on in this here country of "ours" that they won't fill your prescriptions if they have a problem with it. And states are passing measures to make sure they can continue denying you medication, if they object to it.

Or, maybe they will fill it out, and as they hand you your morning-after pill yell "Whore!" while casting stones. Something like that.

Ummm... what century is it again?

American Beauty

I Heart Kevin Spacey. I am a big fag hag after all... Oh, sorry. He's not gay.

Last night I attended the AFI Film Festival's opening night party. Because I was DJing the event. Besides free food and booze and celebrity spotting, I got to see the new Kevin Spacey flick, "Beyond the Sea." Well, I only saw about 45 minutes of it due to a seating snafu. The AFI kids gave out so many passes to the screening to both smarmy and non smarmy types, that an overflow theatre had to be set up for those who were not necessarily A-listers.

It's nice to be reminded of what is disgusting about LA from time to time, and this was a great place to do it. After not finding my seat, I stood at the edge of the Arclight Theatre's infamous Cinerama Dome waiting for someone to tell me where to go next. I did this for about a 1/2 hour, with a bag of CDs slung over one shoulder, a record box, a cup of soda and a tub of popcorn I could only eat lizard style. I watched the crowd come and go, dressed in the latest Stella McCartney or whatever, earpieces dangling from their perfecty similiar hairdos, complaining about the 12 minute wait outside. Sometimes someone would complain about not having a seat: "I mean, this is terrible. I had to wait outside in the cold (62 degrees) and I've been standing here for 5 minutes. Don't you guys know how to organize? Jesus Christ!"

At this stage, I only spotted a couple star types. The teeny tiny Giovanni Ribisi was my first sighting, fumbling for a seat. The dude from Smallville was there, looking very scruffy - ie HOT. He was working the unshaven rock star thing. And it was working.

And then Udo Kier showed up with his lady friend. I mean, his fag hag. They were denied seats too. Udo was a little taken aback: "But vee vere supposed to come. Vee shouldn't haf to stind here, did sey book too many peee-ple?" Overall, he wasn't being a bitch about it, just babbling. As he talked to the AFI woman, he was looking over at me (which was very unsettling - I mean, Udo is uber-creepy), so I just nodded along to what the lady was saying to him. No, I shook my head, there are no more seats. Yes, I nodded, it's terrible. I think I made a face at him too.

Finally, I asked this woman if I could just go to the overflow theatre I'd been hearing about, and was on my way. About an hour after the alleged start time, Kevin Spacey bounded into our little theatre with a microphone and a wave and said, "Hello, I'm Kevin Spacey. Thank you so much for waiting - it means a lot to me that you're here. So this is the overflow? Wow - at that other theatre, everyone seems so... overdressed." He then introduced his labor of love, told us all that it was filmed in Berlin (posing as LA) and that when it was over, we would love and respect Bobby Darin as much as he did. And then he was gone.

Like I said, I only got to see about 45 minutes of "Beyond the Sea." I had to move on to the afterparty and setup, but what I saw was fun. Not Oscar buzz, but fun. Anyone wanting to see this movie: be warned. It's a musical. And I mean we've got Kevin singin', dancin' and hammin' up a storm. It's a movie within a movie, and that movie happens to involve alot of spontaneous group dance numbers.


Oh yea, and Kevin Spacey is not gay.

The party at the Fonda theatre afterwards was more fun than I thought it would be. I DJed some swing and lounge numbers before the big band started and while the crowd was arriving. The band played a long time, and we were free to wander.

I know that you want to know who was at the shindig. Kevin Spacey, of course, and his beard.... Um, I mean, mom. Kate Bosworth and her boyfriend, Orlando Bloom. Sofia Coppola with a little perm. (Sorry I kept pointing at you, Sofia.) Udo & Smallville dude made it, and the real Dude - my pal Jeff Dowd. I think there were some other people too, but I'm tired and can't remember.

The drinks were good. Bartenders cute. Bonus.

There were no gift bags. In the words of Uncle Grambo... NO BUZZ.

As we wrapped up the night, my friend told me that I was being toasted by the crowd below - including Mr. Spacey. I didn't see it, but I'll believe it.

We were given a CD by sponsor Audi on the way out. It was German style electronica (surprise!) which didn't make us want to buy an Audi. I think they made it for Udo, actually. To make up for not having a seat for him, you know.

Nuff said.

Step Into the Light

HOW MANY MEMBERS OF THE BUSH ADMINISTRATION ARE NEEDED TO REPLACE A LIGHTBULB? The Answer is TEN:

1. one to deny that a lightbulb needs to be changed,

2. one to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the lightbulb needs to be changed,

3. one to blame Clinton for burning out the lightbulb,

4. one to tell the nations of the world that they are either for changing the lightbulb or for darkness,

5. one to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Haliburton for the new lightbulb,

6. one to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner "Lightbulb Change Accomplished",

7. one administration insider to resign and write a book documenting in detail how Bush was literally "in the dark",

8. one to viciously smear #7,

9. one surrogate to campaign on TV and at rallies on how George Bush has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along,

10. and finally one to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a lightbulb and screwing the country.

Please remember to vote tomorrow!

Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love

My friends are the coolest. This is what they did with their kid for Halloween. Too rad.


I Heart Jen & Brandt & Jonas!

Happy Halloween!

In Case of Emergency...

My cat would never do this. Mostly, he just sheds. And I wuv him!

Guilty

A terrible thing happened to me at work the other day. I was slaving away busily on my computer when someone from our "creative" department handed me a little boxed set. Of the Bee Gees. "Too Much Heaven: Songs of the Brothers Gibb."

I don't think this is actually being sold to anyone - the company I work for administers the publishing for the Gibbs and we sometimes pitch their stuff to movies and TV. People want to use "Stayin' Alive" all the time. This collection was to send out to our clients to remind them of the vastness (and early undisconess) of the Gibbs catalog.

If I were a true indie snob, I would tell you that the disco part sucks, and the collection's strength lies in the early pretty pop days of the Bee Gees. When they were doing stuff that was more noted for vocal harmonies and all the kids who still wear straight-legged pants and ride scooters will tell you about. The liner notes in this thing are written by Brian Wilson and George Martin for chrissakes - those guys know pop.

But I'm not a true indie snob, and I love the disco.

And you know what else I love about these CDs? The third disc features little brother Andy, a boy who was hunky enough for me to have a crush on but also had enough hair on his chest to scare me into worshipping Shaun Cassidy instead. I suspect Andy was the first of my many Australian crushes. This third disc also has songs by the Gibbs performed by others, which leads you in to the fiery hell of Babs "Mecha" Streisand and Kenny Rogers and even (gulp!) Celine Dion. Shudder.

I listened to this all the way home. Really enjoyed "You Should Be Dancing" (c'mon, it's kind of a scary dance number) and "More Than A Woman." However, it was Andy that really had me rocking in the car. I love "Shadow Dancing!" My worn out 45 can attest to that. "I Just Want to Be Your Everything" - also extremely enjoyable.

There. I've confessed. I know now that you think less of me, so I'll tell this: That same evening, I went to see the Secret Machines/ Interpol show, then afterwards zipped down the street to catch Greg Dulli & the Twilight Singers. Tell you more about that later, but great shows.

I leave you to ponder the following: Andy Gibb & Heath Ledger. Both from Australia. Did mom or dad fool around? Is there something in the water? Heath Ledger - the lost Gibb brother? You tell me...

The Peel Sessions Have Ended

This just in...

John Peel, legendary Radio 1 and Radio 4 presenter, has died suddenly on holiday in Peru. For more info, check here.

I have always highly respected John Peel and his always interesting and intriguing selections. His "session" recordings were great and he was presented challenging music to his audience, and genuinely loved it. One of the best DJs ever. His death is a great loss to the music industry, as there were few willing to take a chance on new, innovative, artists.

(Nic Harcourt WISHES he could be John Peel.)

Oops! I Did It Again

Sorry, still fascinated by the Ashlee thing. But I'm not the only one. Those wacky Aussies have already set up an entire website about it.


Is this the end of the current teeny bop wave? Will the new "grunge" emerge? Just kidding. Kinda.

Cat's In the Cradle

Okay, I'm lazy. You get pictures and links. But they'r FUNNY links, I tell you!

For some reason, these stompy kittens crack me up. Watch and be afraid.


My cats aren't afraid of water, and neither are these.


Ciao for now!

Blame it on the...

In case you didn't hear, Ashlee Simpson lip syncs. Duh. Now if only we could get Jessica to start doing porn like we know she was born to do...



(I couldn't resist. Thanks to Danwho and Tale of Two Cities.)

We Are Family

His home town endorsed Kerry, and now even his relatives won't vote for him.

Love & Happiness

PBS is running a poll on Gay marriage for Bill Moyers "Now" program.
Please vote then pass it on to everyone you know!

Stray Cat Strut

Yesterday, a friend emailed me at work to let me know that Greg Dulli and the Twilight Singers were live on Seattle's KEXP, and that they were doing a cover of Martina Topley-Bird's "Lying."

After their sad, rainy day rendition, Greg mentioned that this song had been left off the domestic release of her album, so you really weren't gonna hear it ever. I was floored. Greg had introduced me to her Quixotic CD last summer, and that song in particular is a stand out - really beautiful stuff. But leave it to the US to fuck things up, right? The domestic version of the album, Anything, has a sexed up cover and a rearranged song list excluding three great tracks. (For those of you in the dark on Martina Topley-Bird, she sang most famously on the Tricky albums, and I'd highly recommend that you pick up the UK edition of her beautifully sexy nighttime music.)

He talked about his friendship with Elliott Smith and baseball, and then the TS crew did a pretty version of My Bloody Valentine's "When You Sleep" seguewaying into "The Rose." (Greg is the master at covering what you didn't think could be covered.) They are playing here in LA next Wednesday the 27th at the lovely El Rey - and Greg knows how to put on a show, believe me. Go.

My friend Scott used to play bass with Greg in the Twilight Singers, and is currently pursuing all sorts of things. (He used to also play with Camp Freddy and Jane's Addiction and other bands I can't even think of now.) He's been doing some kick ass photography, and one of his shots is of Greg with the infamous Clyde - his cat. Clyde is a scraggly black beast who does what he wants when he wants, and likes the ladies. Uh, he's alot like his owner. Greg is actually allergic to cats, but one day Clyde walked into his life, and Greg didn't sneeze, and it's been true love ever since. Least that's what Greg told me.


(Greg and Clyde; photo by Scott Ford @ Mediacandy)

Well, I had a cat that looked almost exactly like Clyde. Her name was Chloe, and she was pretty bad ass. She was a cranky old lady cat by the time she came to my life, with a mysterious past and a torn ear and a freckle in her eye (which I have too). She pretty much always let you know what was up. Very cool cat. You decide if they were seperated at birth:


Chloe. Kick ass.

A Question Mark

Elliott Smith, October 21st, 2003



Still wondering what happened, really. This mural is up the street from my house, and there have been candles burning and flowers left and graffiti scrawled (a la Jim Morrisson's grave) for the last year.




For news of other tributes, check here.

Thanks for the tunes.

Girls On Film

Ummm, yea, it's another Duran Duran posting. But I'm not as bad as some, really. I have been recently enlightened as to the fanatics that follow the boys around. I love 'em, but I don't think they're putting out any earth shattering stuff or anything. They make me remember my teen years fondly, they dress great and make fun white disco trash music, and they've most likely led me to have questionable relationships with musicians. But it could be waaaaaaaaay worse.

For example:

Last Friday, Duran Duran were autographing their new CD at a Virgin Megastore in West Hollywood. A friend of mine flew down from San Francisco to be there, armed with the new CD, the new CD/DVD pack, the new album (yes, the vinyl), her book of photography by Nick Rhodes, and her Duran Duran board game (I also own the Duran Duran board game). And she commented on the fanatics in attendance.

There were two different wristbands distributed. One was "guaranteed" and the other was a standby one. 500 of the "guaranteed" ones were distributed with 250 of them going out when they did a midnight onsale 3 days prior. People started camping out at 6am the morning of the onsale just to buy the cd.

After I got the wristband I went outside and joined the lineup. First
person in line arrived on Thursday at 4:45pm. The signing wasn't until
Friday at 7pm.

Security was quickly hastening everybody along the table to get out rather quickly. Very little time was allowed to make small talk or smile, nod or in the case of one woman... cry. No, that was not me. I heard one woman had to pulled aside and forced to sit down because she was so nervous that she was trembling and worried the event staff. That wasn't me either.

So next up: I ditched work today to go to a taping of the Ellen DeGeneres show. She wins Emmys and stuff, I guess... bigger than Oprah, perhaps? Regardless, it was my first talk show taping and it was exhausting. And I was there because the musical guest was - you got it - Duran Duran. Susan Sarandon and Dermot Mulroney were also there, but whatever. Academy award winner? Just give me John Taylor!

Because I'm a lucky girl, a friend of a friend worked on the show (she was also the drummer for Luscious Jackson) and got us on the VIP list. This meant we got to sit inside while it was raining outside. Non special people waited under a tarp. I felt kinda bad, till Duran Duran started soundchecking behind the wall that was keeping us from seeing the soundstage. "Sunrise" and "Hungry Like the Wolf." Occasional comments like Simon saying, "Oh, is that me? Sounds awful." Priceless.

Eventually we were seated. Most live show tapings have a comedian come on before hand to get you warmed up, and the Ellen show also had dancing. You were expected to get up out of your seat and dance like a maniac for however long it took to get the show started. It was all booty jam 80's stuff, which I'm not super into. The writer/comedian/VH1 commentator, Greg Fitzsimmons, threatened to move anyone not dancing to the back of the seating area, so my friends and I stood up and re-enacted the song that was spinning, "Copacabana." People were amused by this. We did not get moved.


(John Taylor and my friend who took me to the taping... except about 20 years ago. Dig the hair!)

The show is taped in real time, and you are cued to yell and scream and clap constantly. Between takes, you are forced to dance again. I was wiped out about 15 minutes into it, but held on to see my boys.

When they performed, they were maybe 20 feet away. It was awesome. They looked great. Well, actually, I think John's hair is thinning and he's sporting a "oops-got-my-finger-in-an-electrical-socket" look. Simon, however, looked trim and sexy - and I'm not even a Simon girl! Roger looked like my neighbor, but it was nice to see him after all those years away.


(Notice John has gone back to hats... but not GOOD hats... sigh...)

After their first song, the sixty something lady next to us turned to my friend and said, "I don't understand why they didn't put us in the front. My daughter has loved this band since 1981! We flew all the way from South Carolina for this!" Wow - I just lied to my boss about a dental appointment. Then after the second song, a girl in front of us started bawling. Like shaking and crying. One of her friends turned to us and said, "We flew her here from Florida. She loves Duran Duran and has never seen them, and she's dying of cancer." Jesus! I felt like a poseur amongst these women. I mean, just because I listen and own most of the music and had lots of posters up and see them live all the time, regardless of quality... for me - it's always been fun. For them, it's a part of waking up and breathing and stuff. Damn.

And afterwards, Ellen gave everybody a copy of her new book and the new Duran Duran CD. Which was nice, because I was waiting for the promo copies to start flooding the used bin before I got one. See? I love them, but I'm like that.

Oprah gave everyone a car at her show... you listening, Ellen? I guess the show airs Thursday the 21st; I'll be the girl dancing with two cute gay boys and not wearing hot pink with acid wash.

The Politics of Dancing

Is this message understood?



Watch the video. It's goofy.

My name is She B Mo, and I approve of this message.

Uh, Sydney would be nice...

(Cartoon by the oh-so-awesome Don Hertzfeldt.)

Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog

Since I'm terribly busy but I don't want to leave my audience of three without anything to read today, here is a parable of sorts submitted by my dad. My dad rocks.

Oh, and a happy, happy birthday to Warren!

Dubya Goes To Hell

While walking down the street one day, George "Dubya" Bush is shot by a disgruntled NRA member. His soul arrives in heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. "Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem: We seldom see a Republican around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer," says Dubya.

"I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself: He says you have to spend one day in hell and one day in heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."

"But, I've already made up my mind; I want to be in heaven." "

I'm sorry, but we have our rules." And with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees. In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it are his dad and thousands of other Republicans who had helped him out over the years: Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Jerry Falwell. The whole of the "Right" is here, everyone laughing, happy; casually but expensively dressed.They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at expense of the "suckers and peasants." They play a friendly game of golf, then dine on lobster and caviar.

The devil himself comes up to Bush with a frosty drink and says, "Have a Margarita and relax, Dubya!"

"Uh, I can't drink no more, I took a pledge," says Junior, dejectedly.

"This is Hell, son... you can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from here!" says the devil. Dubya takes the drink and finds himself liking the devil, a very friendly guy who tells funny jokes and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like a Yale Skull and Bones brother with real horns. They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Bush steps on the elevator and heads upward.

When the elevator door reopens, he is in heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours Bush is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor; he doesn't see anybody he knows, and he isn't even treated like someone special! Worst of all, to Dubya, Jesus turns out to be some kind of Jewish hippie with his endless 'peace' and 'do unto others' jive.

"Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself, "Pat Robertson never prepared me for this!"

The day done, St. Peter returns and says, "Well, then, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity." With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, Dubya reflects for a minute, then answers, "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, heaven has been delightful and all -- but I really think I belong in hell with my friends." So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to hell.

The doors of the elevator open, and he finds himself in the middle of barren, scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste...kind of like Houston. He is horrified to see all of his friends dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime. The Devil comes over to Dubya and puts an arm around his shoulder. "I don't understand," stammers a shocked Dubya. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar and drank booze. We screwed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"

The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us."

Oliver's Army

Sssshhhhh... Amoeba Music in Hollywood has a very special in-store performance lined up for tomorrow, Tuesday the 19th. Elvis Costello. 6pm. (Wonder if Diana Krall will show?)

Run Rabbit Run

A few weeks ago, I was treated to a special night out by a good friend who was visiting for a few days. The special night was in Beverly Hills at a swanky steakhouse called Mastro's. My friend and I just love a good steak.

This particular joint is known for great food, a fantastic bar and (of course) famous patrons. It's the sort of place where you have a great meal and realize that the guy who suggested your dessert is a regular on some TV show, and the men hanging out at the bar are old, old, old school bigwheels. The place has only been around a few years, but they try to pull off that swingin' bachelor pad vibe of yesteryear, playing Rat Pack music over the speakers and lining the walls with chunky stone and dark wood. You can actually order a $4000 bottle of wine with dinner if you felt like it. The waiters are all comedians and the food is amazing.

One of the fun parts of living in LA is to be exposed to little treats like this place. Everybody was terribly nice and friendly, but it was soooooooo Beverly Hills. And by that, I mean most of the folks there were rich. I'm excluding myself, of course. But you could practically smell the old money - it was kind of bizarre.

As we were leaving the joint, I had to run to the restroom and my friend went to the other side of the bar to wait for me. This meant that once I went to find him, I had to walk the gauntlet through a crowd a much older men who were all dressed to the business casual nines. Most of these men had lovely younger ladies with them, but I was still a bit of a distraction, it seemed. But in a polite, older guy way. And just before I popped out of the crowd, the gentleman who turned to greet me and excuse himself as he moved aside with the tiniest flourish and a crooked smile was really familiar. Wasn't till I passed him that I realized who it was.



Yep, the king of the Playboys himself, Mr. Hefner. Figures - he knows a thing or two about meat.

She Wore Blue Velvet

I had to go to the dentist today. I have fangs, and they need to be dealt with. It's a long story, and the fangs aren't super obvious, but the goth kids always notice right away. "Heeeeeey, did you get that done? They're cooooooooool..."

My dentist is in Santa Monica. He was a professor once, but now he's just in regular ole private practice in an average office off a main drag in a not so swanky building. My insurance pays him, a friend recommended him. Like most dentists in LA, I'd expect him to have a celeb in his patient list. Maybe two.

My dentist sees the David Lynch posse.

As we were discussing my impending dental work, he asked me if I wanted to change the shape of my fangs. I said no, they weren't causing me any problems and I sort of like them. I've had these slightly funky teeth all my life and it's part of who I am. This led him to tell me a story.

"Oh, yes, I have this patient... she's an actress. Roselli? Do you know? Oh, Isabella Rosellini. I'm bad with her last name."

"Yes, yes, I know who she is."

"Oh, yes, Isabella. David brought her her when they were making Blue Velvet, about 20 years ago, and I still see his cameramen, and sound people, Dennis Hooper - uh - Hopper, yes, all of them. I saw Isabella and I told her, 'I can fix those front teeth' because her front teeth are kind of crooked. But she said no, that she was already a successful model and she liked her crooked teeth. Now everytime I get off the plane in the airport, I see posters of her for that makeup she models - uh - Lancane? Lancome. Yes. I see posters, and there is that tooth, right in my face!"


(Isabella and her teeth.)

Anyway, I had a talk with Kristin Hersh last summer about teeth. She likes to remind her kids of who I am by saying, "You remember Mo... the lady with the cool teeth..." She said that she was always bummed that her parents had made her get her teeth fixed when she was a kid, and she was always jealous about other people with slightly fucked up teeth. Well, I don't have a British smile by anyone's standards, just slightly funky and endearing, I think. So the fangs stay.

Hell, if Isabella can make it glamorous, why can't I?

The California Kid

The roomie is pulled from retirement to blog another day. Check her out as she full-on represents for the City of Angels.

California's new quarter comes out next year. I'm soooooo looking forward to it! I even got a sneak peek - wanna see?



Kidding! My friend John made that. But I really wish it were our quarter, cuz it would be the most accurate, that's for damn sure.

This Is Ground Control to Mr. LeBon

"Barbarella, your mission: Find Duran Duran and use all of your incomparable talents to preserve the security of the stars..."

I am a freak about Duran Duran. Regular readers know this. I will always enjoy this band, happily and with a guilt free conscience. John Taylor is a total babe.

So their new CD, Astronaut, with the original lineup once again intact, came out today. I'll get it soon enough. The new video has already hit the VH1 cable waves so that former new romantics like myself can indulge. It features Nick Rhodes in a spaceship, making mannequins come to life. Rad. (Hmmm... who has better floppy hair... Nick Rhodes, or any of the guys in Franz Ferdinand? Hmmmm...)

Speaking of Franz Ferdinand, check out this hilarious interview with Simon where he mentions those guys and how much he loves the Killers.




Simon and Nick were always very cool about their musical tastes... D2's European tour last January featured the Scissor Sisters and Goldfrapp opening for them - handpicked by Simon & Nick. Nicely done!

And you've gotta read this interview with Time Magazine also... ridiculously funny. Here's an excerpt:

TIME: Is the entire band married to models?

Simon LeBon: Someone's got to keep the models happy.

And about the new CD? From Entertainment Weekly: Either Simon LeBon has become one fine singer, or recording engineers have discovered an anti-adenoidal button. That's just one of the surprises on the first album in 21 years from the original lineup of new wave's steeliest mannequins. Glistening zero-gravity synth-funk that's mostly unembarrassing and at times shockingly vital (the proto-Faint squall of "Want You More!"), this is so '80s you can almost taste the freebase. B --Doug Brod

What? I could have a drug problem or something, you know. Let me have my little obsessions...

Talk About... Pop Music

I have been fortunate enough in the last week or so to be bombarded with a helluva lot of new music. So much that I have to make myself take my comfort food out of the CD player and give these newbies a spin or two. Usually on the hour long 10 mile drive to and from work.

I thought I would share, if anybody's interested.

!!! Louden Up Now



Love it. Totally fun. Crazy, but fun. Although !!! is often lumped into the recent New York dance craze with acts like Hot Hot Heat and The Rapture, I think they may have more in common with the post-Clash outfit, Big Audio Dynamite. They are their own unique beast, however, a group of nerdy white kids with the ability to create music for the dirty dancing college crowd, respected by funksters and stoners alike. There is very much a kitchen-sink element to them; they throw in new wave tinkling with heavy percussion and intense vocals with infectious results. Dig it.

Radio 4 Stealing of a Nation
Moving Units Dangerous Dreams

I listened to these two CDs on the same day, which was a mistake. Why? Well, once I had finished up, I thought to myself, "Gee, I really like Gang of Four, and I'm sort of over this Gang of Four rip off thing." This is not to say that these albums aren't good - hell, I'd be shakin' my ass like nobody's business on the disco punk dance floor (where the boys would all be wearing white jeans - you KNOW that's true). There just isn't really anything new here. The Moving Units CD is pretty much a continuation of the EP they put out ummm... two years ago. I certainly dig some tracks ("Birds of Prey," "Submission," "Available" are all good screamy angular dance fun), but I've heard it before. The Radio 4 boys are pushing more in !!! territory, but !!! has more of an organic true funky sound, and these guys sound like they're trying to work their fab "Dance to the Underground" thing a bit longer. Again, there are definitely tracks here I really like ("Party Crashers," "The Death of American Radio," and "No Reaction"), but they sound like they are trying a little two hard. And they're making it political, which is always kinda tricky. And am I the only one who thinks that singer Freddy Frogs sounds like Joe Jackson?

Nancy Sinatra s/t



Okay, Nancy can't really sing... you know that, right? And other people wrote her a bunch of songs to not really sing. They realized that she's one of those talk singers, and she can do the little girl voice, and that's what they did with her. The big fuss is that Morrissey wrote (and sings backup!) on a track, "Let Me Kiss You," which is (I think) the best track on there. It's quite pretty, in that Morrissey swoony way. Jarvis Cocker wrote a couple songs, Thurston Moore did a suitably creepy one for her (which is hil-AR-i-ous to listen too), and the boys from U2 also presented her with a torchy number called "One Shot of Happy, Two Shots of Sad" which really use her talents to the best of their ability.

The Hidden Cameras Mississauga, Goddam

I wanted to like this more than I did. I wanted it to be the sparkly, jangle pop with clever lyrics that I heard on the radio from time to time. It made me think of New Zealand pop from the 80's/90's, kinda fresh and fucked up at the same time. Instead it was a little too silly for me, and kinda repetitive, but still very cute. They're like a gay pop choir from Toronto. Kinda. (Actually, that's exactly what they are.)

The Datsuns Outta Sight/ Outta Mind

Speaking of New Zealand... these Kiwis are a guilty pleasure of mine. They do that rock thing just fine. And on this CD they continue making dirty rock and roll which isn't awesome, but is fun.

Interpol Antics



Who am I kidding... I've had this CD all summer because my roommate is cool. At first listen, I thought it was okay. There is nothing as grand and beautiful as "NYC" here. But after a few more listens, I realized I liked it a lot. Then I loved it. "Evil" & "C'Mere" are my current favorites... still pretty, somewhat aggresive, and Paul sings more, doesn't he? Give it a few listens; I'm addicted.

The New Year The End Is Near

What Bedhead became. Nice, pretty, a little too slow for me. I'm sure the Bedhead kids love it, though.

Pedro the Lion Achilles Heel

Another sad, sensitive offering from Pedro the Lion, once again intelligently rendered and emotionally perceptive... I always like this guy more than I mean to, because I'm a dork and get turned off by his "spirituality" aspect and am not a fan of story songs (although I have no problem with either of these things when it comes to Nick Cave... see below). Musically, the album is a pretty melodic affair, a little quieter than past efforts. He bounces it up a bit more with a country-ish "Foregone Conclusions" and "Keep Swinging." Bazan's voice is one of those that is not beautiful but emotive and endearing, making the lyrical delivery sound all the more honest. So I liked it.

Mellowdrone Go Get 'em Tiger

Initially a one-man show by Jonathan Bates, my homeboys Mellowdrone released a couple melodic EPs before Bates picked up some bandmates to fully round out the sound he was going for all along -- a dreamy yet thoroughly engaging kind of rock, not out of place with the likes of Ride, Swervedriver, and Beck in his Sea Changes phase. Majestic at times, full of swooning orchestration and hypnotic rhythms, Mellowdrone's work wears its love of Radiohead proudly on its sleeve on tracks like "Bonemarrow" and "Pretty Boy." Way, way nice.

Charles Douglas Statecraft

This got handed to me because Joey Santiago plays guitar on a lot of it. It's okay, sounds like A sort of Superchunky (but not rowdy) thing. Maybe I think this because Chapel Hill is mentioned a few times. He also mention rolling joints, but it's not a stoner record. Lyrically kinda dorky, musically very sweet. It was ok.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds Abattoir Blues/ The Lyre of Orpheus



"This is a song about a girl..." I have to be totally honest with you: I haven't listened to these entire CDs more than one time apiece. Why? The very first track on Abattoir Blues, "Get Ready For Love," kicks serious ass. It's totally rockin'. It's like someone lit a fire under Nicky to get him to stop being the croonmeister he's been for soooooo many albums now... I like the way Nick Cave sings, whether he's screaming or swooning. I've often said that if someone could sing to me like Nick Cave, I'd marry him. But even this sappy romantic of a girl got a bit tired of all his reflective, somber croonfests. So right off the bat on this album, he jumps right out of the box and gets rowdy, "Deanna" style except creepier and with a gospel choir. Of course. There's also a groovy calypso number, some warped "Carny"-esque stuff and the pretty songs. My best friend commented: "I didn't think he could write songs like that anymore." I haven't been this excited about anything Nick Cave has done in eons. And from this man, I can handle story songs.

The Concretes s/t



Another CD I really wanted to hear because it reminded me of the twee side of New Zealand music, but it turns out they're from Stockholm. I like those bands too. I've become addicted to this one in the same way a kid might eat Skittles till he pukes. Singer Victoria Bergsman has kind of a Hope Sandoval thing going on, which usually annoys me but in this case doesn't. The music is like Mazzy Star meets the Velvet Underground to hang with the Supremes in an opium den. Very pretty and weird, sometimes cute, and I even like the words.

Rogue Wave Out of the Shadow




This CD is excellent all the way through. For fans of Elliott Smith, Earlimart, The Shins,You Am I, Beulah, Irving, etc... Dreamy hooky quirky pop, sweet vocals, lovely orchestration, endearing lyrics. This is like, the billionth time these songs have been released in the last 2 years and these guys are from my adopted hometown (San Francisco), and they've finally come into my life and I'm very glad. A really wonderful CD I'll be listening to for a long time.

That's wave one. I still have another stack of CDs to go...

Hooray for...

Hmmm... just testing this pic feature with the view outside my lovely windows... Yea, sometimes I can be a little brat, I know.

Him Dancing

Guess what I'm doing for Christmas this year?

Pixies
Support: 50 Foot Wave (feat. Kristin Hersh)
Hammerstein Ballroom, New York, NYC
Saturday, December 18, 11:59pm

I'll be lucky if my head doesn't explode after this show. Two of my favorite artists of all time, on the same stage, on the same night? The only way this evening could possibly get any better was if Duran Duran was playing some secret 3am show at a club nearby, with Interpol opening, so we could white trash disco the night away. Then as we blearily wandered into a nearby coffeeshop afterwards while the drugs are wearing off, Johnette Napolitano would be there singing and playing guitar for a small but appreciative group as she comes down from the previous night's drinking jag.

But I'll settle for just the Pixies and Kristin Hersh for now.

Bloody Red Eyes Go to Nausea...

Oh my God, this made me laugh till I puked. Thank God it's Friday.

Groove Is In the Heart

I got this email from a friend the other day...

For the past year, I was living in a film archive run by this complete anti-social nutcase. Stayed inside all day and, from what I could tell, was completely socially autistic (found out later he probably had Asperger's syndrome). He would yell at my friends for ringing the doorbell too loud. He had a fetish for vintage pornography and was crazy sexist. But we got along great. The vast ocean of his off-the-wall wackiness completely diluted my own social phobias. I'd look at him and think, "This guy's fucking nuts and he seems to be able to navigate the world reasonably well. What the heck am I so worried about?"

Exactly.

The roommie and I saw "Dig!" the other night. If you haven't heard about it, director Ondi Timoner started this documentary out thinking she was going to cover the career paths of ten different bands over the course of a certain period of time, but was commanded by Brian Jonestown Massacre founder Anton Newcombe to just follow him and the other greatest band in the world, the Dandy Warhols. So the film follows Anton and Courtney Taylor (and the rest of their band members) around for about 7 years, watching the Dandys achieve some level of alternative success (videos by Dave LaChapelle and headlining European music festivals) and charting the struggle (and occasional self sabotage) of Anton and his crew.

What this film really turns into is a character study of the mad genius versus the industry. While the Dandy Warhols are extremely talented, they are also rewarded for playing by the rules (making pouty videos, kissing the right ass, etc) and they have a record deal - albeit somewhat frustrating at times - to show for it. BJM, on the other hand, is driven by Anton's fierce DIY ethic, and, unfortunately, his whims... Which (as depicted in the film anyway... And I've seen my share of BJM shows that were similar) led to fights with band and/or audience members, studio engineers, label types... You name it.

Anton Newcombe has created some really amazing music. He knows it, and will be the first to tell you so. A friend of mine went to a BJM show recently and reported back, "Anton started the show by abandoning the band, playing DJ for a bit, then got on stage and preached on about the war in Iraq and the loss of life... This went on for 45 minutes, and eventually they played three songs. And those three songs were the best songs you felt like you'd ever heard in your life."

That's the thing with Anton. He is powerfully creative, and pretty nuts. Watching a BJM show sometimes has the same appeal as watching a car wreck. You can't tear your eyes away. So it was easy for him to become the focal point of this film, because he behaves in such a self absorbed way(including some serious substance abuse... Surprise!), and is so confident in just about everything he does, that it's absolutely fascinating material. He pretty much always does what you secretly wish you could do. But all this crazy, unchecked behavior makes you forget that there is real talent there, and at least the movie (and Courtney Taylor) try to keep reminding the viewer of that.

So this got me thinking... Doesn't it seem like there are a disproportionate number of artistic nutjobs out there? Beautifully creative people with insane drug habits and completely irrational behavior? Why is that? I've hung out with people like this over the years, and possibly the most talented, creative person I've ever known was also the funniest, intelligent and completely horrible person - all at the same time. You never knew when you walked in if he was going to make you laugh or try to make you angry. He liked to antagonize people just as much as entertain them. It was difficult to be friends at times, and incredibly rewarding at others.

Well, I guess these people are fucking nuts and seem to be able to navigate the world reasonably well. And we get this great art on top of it. What the heck am I so worried about?

Reality Bites

Does this mean people will actually start writing for TV again? Creating a whole new batch of potentially interesting (or not) TV shows and new television celebrities? I hope so... although all I ever watch these days is HBO, IFC or Comedy Central. Oh, and Adult Swim - cuz it RULES!

California Dreamin'

Yet another reason why I love living in California. I don't even mind the occasional earthquake. (Think I'll go buy a new sweater after work...)

Goin' to the Chapel...

"... And thanks to my wonderful husband Mark. Someday soon we can get a legal marriage license and you can make an honest homosexual out of me." -Emmy winner Tony Kushner of "Angels of America" for writing in a miniseries, movie or dramatic special.

Didn't have time to say anything about this when it actually happened, but YES!

Remember when Britney got married for like, 4 minutes, and everyone thought it was so funny? And how J. Lo keeps getting married and how Liz Taylor has been married about a million times and no one seems to mind? It's just more fodder for the tabloids. Well, why can't gay couples do that too? You see, Britney's 30 second nuptials don't exactly shout "preservation of the sanctity of marriage" to me. However, my friend's uncles, together for 38 years or so, have a relationship that I could aspire to.

My parents have been married 37 years. I have very few friends who still have their original set of parents. In the last few years, I've come to realize that I know of quite a few gay couples who have been together over 10 years, some more than 20. And I have a few friends with a gay parent who has been with their partner much, much longer than that.

Anyway, check out Margaret Cho's Marriage Equality website. I used to not be able to stand this chick, but I now realize it's just her comedy routines I don't care for. Her political views are pretty solid though, and she's organized a very resourceful and informational site for those in support of equality on the marriage front.

Because I think anybody should be allowed to get married in Vegas and then have it annulled 55 hours later, godamnit!

Goin' Up To Country

I have a wacky yet endearing friendship with a certain movie exec type most people lovingly refer to as The Dude... You get a guy drunk in a bar once (and I didn't get him a single White Russian) and play some good music, and he's your pal for life. Well, he's doing what he does best: getting his friends to push his films for him! But this one means a lot to me, because it's all about re-defeating Bush. So spread the word. I know this movie is opening this weekend in LA, and a big showing will help it get to more screens when it's released nationwide.

**************************************

You should know when GOING UP RIVER : THE LONG WAR OF JOHN KERRY was tested with people who were neither Kerry or Bush supporters-- 79% of them said that they were profoundly moved, they changed their minds about Kerry's character and ability to lead and they would definitely recommend it to a friend. This movie exposes the lies of the SWIFT BOAT VETERANS FOR TRUTH character assassination and much more.

It opens this Friday October 1 in theaters nationwide

For theaters across the country, reviews and more check out the website.

If it opens well it will go wide to many more theaters.

We also plan to give away free DVD's to people who may not go to a theater. Neighbor to neighbor in Akron, Ohio, Orlando, Florida, etc. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe more!

This all depends on what happens this weekend. You can vote now at the theaters this weekend.

This will make a difference! You can make a difference!

thanks,

Jeff

the Dude abides!

website: www.jeffdowd.com

dontgimmenoshitbecause...

Okay, I've got a lot of friends who are artists, mostly musicians. Sometimes I am lucky enough to actually like what they do. Sometimes not, which is tricky. And sometimes, I think I'm not into their stuff, and this later bites me in the ass.

Take my friend's band, Cool Dry Place. I was very pleasantly surprised to see my friend do an acoustic show and liked his songs, but electric could be a whole different beast. I checked the website, gave a listen, and it wasn't bad. Didn't floor me, but wasn't bad. Then I got the demo and thought the same thing.

Cool Dry Place is indie rock, as we'd say today. If I were to guess what they listened to growing up, which later became the foundation for the music they created... Well, then I'd guess The Police (Ghost in the Machine era), Inxs, XTC and Talking Heads. Not that they sound like any of those bands, I just hear bits of it in the music. And the singer reminds me of Joe Jackson. Sometimes. So take that and funnel it through Archers of Loaf, maybe, and you've got something like Cool Dry Place.

So, like I was saying, I wasn't totally wowed by the demo, but I liked it. Then I saw the boys live again, all electric this time, and I really dug it. Like REALLY dug it. I realized the songs were creeping into my brain like that nasty worm thing that made people turn bad in "The Wrath of Khan." I started listening to the demo again. Pretty soon, I was listening to two of those songs on my whole hour long drive home. (FYI: they were "Leaving For Good" and "Saturday Night." And "Sick Twisted & Wonderful" is a lovely warped version of some song you slow danced to at arm's length in junior high.)

Give the band a listen and let me know what you think. I'm going to see them again at the Derby here in LA this Saturday, October 2nd. They need a crowd, so if you like what you hear, come down. Help me figure out why I'm starting to love them!

Rock Me, Joe

"Vamos a jugar por la playa..." - the Pixies

I can no longer speak, so it's time to write. For the last week, I have been on a pilgrimage. A Pixies pilgrimage, to be exact. 5 shows in 5 days. I used to do it back in the day, and ten years later I had to test myself to see if I could still do it... And yes, I was still leaping in the air (partially buoyed by someone else's shoulder, of course) as the refrains of "Gigantic" closed out the last show Sunday afternoon.

I'm not one of those people who notes every setlist of every show, although, considering I've seen approximately 35 Pixies shows in my lifetime, those setlists would be very interesting to compare. I generally don't even remember what they do from show to show. I like to think that I just get so into it that I'm sort of in a Pixies induced fog.

I went to the two shows here in Los Angeles, the drove up to Berkeley to catch the three shows there. The two shows in Los Angeles were great, the crowd SUCKED. This is often the case with shows in LA, as a lot of the people who go seem to be there so they can say they were there as opposed to wanting to rock out. There was a row of men standing next to me the first night, arms crossed, cupping their chins. Pondering, no doubt, what "looking like an erotic vulture" entailed. On the other side of us were two teenagers thrashing about like there was no tomorrow. Go girls! The LA show was also an assigned seats affair, with a small area right in front of the stage for a select group to stand around. And stand around they did. To the Pixies, fer chrissakes!

The Berkeley shows were completely different animals. Smaller venue, general admission, and a big floor area for people to mosh around in. The crowd sang along loudly to every song, and just about everybody I looked at had a huge grin on his/ her face. Lots of jumping around. I only got clocked badly upside the head once. Some bruises, not many.

I can, this time, tell you pretty much what they played... since it's still fresh (somewhat) in my mind. Sometimes they would start slow, sometimes they'd start rowdy as hell. Over the course of 5 days, I heard "Debaser," "Gouge Away," "Caribou," "Cactus," "Broken Face," "Bone Machine," "U-Mass," "Subbacultcha," "Nimrod's Son" (slow and fast), "Wave of Mutilation" (regular and surf - and they played both each show), "Planet of Sound," "Is She Weird," "Winterlong," "Mr. Grieves," "Into the White," "Tame," "Dead," "Isla de Encanta," "Crackity Jones," "Hey," "No. 13 Baby," "Here Comes Your Man," "Holiday Song," "Bam Thwok,""Velouria," "Monkey Gone to Heaven," "Ed Is Dead," "Something Against You," "Blown Away," "In Heaven," and of course, "Where Is My Mind" and "Gigantic." This was basically the setlist in some order or another - give or take a song or two.

I went with my best friend in Los Angeles. He & I used to see the Pixies all the time - we were together at the riot caused by a shoe hitting Perry Farrel in the head (the Pixies had opened for Jane's Addiction) at the Palladium which resulted in my broken foot. I went to the shows in Berkeley with my little brother. His first concert (which I took him to) was when he was 14 years old... we saw the Pixies in 1989, touring for Doolittle, with Bob Mould opening.

They sounded incredible. Like not a day or year or decade or hard feelings had passed. All I can say is... thank you.

And hope I get my voice back soon.

Happy House

The other night I went to see Siouxsie & the Banshees. But that's not all. I went to Disneyland too. And California Adventure. All in the same place, kinda. All within the "Disneyland Resort." Siouxsie was playing at the House of Blues, Anaheim - otherwise known as Downtown Disney. Really. I'm not joking.

I've been to Disneyland a HELL of a lot. My best friend works for the film studio, so pretty much his only perk is getting in for free and discounts on the food. (Not on the booze served in the California Adventure, mind you.) Disneyland is totally worth it for free and with discounts on the "food."

We rode Big Thunder Mountain, and lived. This is actually quite an accomplishment because a guy died on it about a year ago, and they've had two accidents since it reopened at the beginning of the summer. While it was closed, it was completely surrounded by a high wall covered with old western style drawings of horses and trivia about them. Total denial in the happiest place on earth.

Loads of stuff in Disneyland was closed because of its impending 50th anniversary, so we spent more time in the California Adventure park, which has a real live rollercoaster and actual alcohol. You can go upside down and get a margarita - no nos in Disneyland proper. Actually, the rollercoaster in this park is one of the best ones I've ever been on, and I'm an afficionado of rollercoasters. And the margarita is probably one of the weakest I've ever been served. Go figure.

There is also a ride in California Adventure called Superstar Limo, in the Hollywood section, of course. You are the superstar, and you are late to your first premiere! Heavens no! So the limo races past a sea of has been animatronic celebrities (Whoopee Goldberg, Drew Carey) until "If I Could Turn Back Time" era Cher waves at you and goes limp just as you approach her. Guess her timing is off... anyway, that ride, sadly, was closed.

We wound up at the House of Blues watching the happy goths enter to worship at the altar of Siouxsie. My friend and I were wearing yellow and beige with our jeans; I think there was maybe a total of 6 or 7 people out of the 500 or so there not wearing black. (We're such non conformists.) We also knew that we were most likely listening to Siouxsie before half the people there had even been born. Siouxsie came out in a very cool black and red chinese robe thing and her trademark eyes/ eyebrows and a nice feathery explosion/ hair clip kept her hair pulled back. She did some of her patented Siouxsie dance moves (lots of twirling and glaring) and at one point said, "Here we are... at Disssssssneyland. Disneyland. You know, we planned our whole tour so that we could play here at Disneyland. Welcome to the Fourth Reich!" Siouxsie is such a doll. She also dedicated the Creatures track, "Standing There," to any Disney employees in attendance. "Hey Creepos - I'm talking to you!" I didn't out my friend; I told him to feel lucky that she sang a song just for him.

The show was great fun; she looked and sounded excellent. They've been doing this for nearly 30 years, I'd hope they could put on a good show by now! She & Budgie were having fun and goofing around a lot. I think they take lots of happy pills these days, because there were no sad goths on that stage.

Twist & Crawl

I said “Pretend you’ve got no money,"
She just laughed and said “Oh, you’re so funny!”
I said “Yeah ? Well, I can’t see anyone else smiling in here..."
-Pulp "Common People"

Welcome to my life. Actually, welcome to a hell of a lot of our lives.

Spanish Fly

Oh man, I guess this is what happens these days if you just aren't in the mood. And you're Latin. Jail, baby, JAIL! Read on...