Hyperactive!

Yes, I realize I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. Actually, I've dropped off the face of the blogsphere. Know why? REAL LIFE, BABY! And too much of it. (That means I've been quite busy.)

So, yes, I'm alive.

I watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics last Friday, because I was waiting to see Bjork. I was also running around like a mad person organizing a gig featuring Kristin Hersh and her new band, 50 Foot Wave, but that's another story. Anyway, the commentators wouldn't shut up. I know you noticed this. Finally, there's Bjork, and I guess she's singing, but I couldn't hear her because Katie Couric was saying something precious like "There are zillions of yards of that material on her dress, Bob, to represent this earth" and Bob Costas was saying something really invaluable like, "Well, I hope nobody tugs too hard on that dress because then she's gonna be topless!"

And I was glad that the US basketball team lost, because I used to enjoy watching basketball and now most players seem to be a bunch of snobs. You see, I live in LA, where the Lakers are not so much a TEAM as a collection of egos and endorsements. Oh yea, and role models (ahem).

So read these lovely rants by one of my new favorite people, Chuck Klosterman (SPIN, Esquire) and his buddy at ESPN, Bill Simmons. A hilariously intellectual debate about the Olympics and how lame Americans have become. I mean, pop culture.

And thanks to the roomie for sending this my way.

Rockin' In The Free World

Rock the vote!

If you wanna help get Bush out of office, you can rock out while doing so! I'm going to do it by checking out my favorite guy, John Doe (of X... swooooooon) and my favorite girl (Kristin Hersh) along with some other folks (Grant Lee Phillips, Bedroom Walls, Blake Hazard) all at the Echo here in LA. It's on Tuesday, August 10th. The show is being put on by Concerts For Change, who are hosting a series of shows across the country as a fundraising tool for anti-Bush forces. I am a part of those forces, as it were. Sounds very Star Wars of me.

Also on Tuesday the 10th, you can support the same cause at the El Rey (but pay more money if you got it) by attending "Unplug Bush!" It's an acoustic show featuring Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Mellowdrone (whose new EP is GORGEOUS, by the way), Michelle Shocker (um, what a shocker) and Johnette Napolitano of Concrete Blonde. It's worth the high price of admission for Johnette alone; she's a showstopper.

Let's not elect Bush in 2004, either!

And since I'm telling you what to do... Go to Fais Do Do on Friday the 13th. Kristin Hersh will be rocking like a madwoman with her Throwing Muses mate Bernard Georges in their new incarnation - 50 Foot Wave. There will also be the beautiful noise (think early My Bloody Valentine) of The Loudest Tragedy Ever Heard, and the manic folk pop of Linister. It's the last showcase that online radio station Little Radio will hold for a while, so come on down and celebrate a fun summer with us.

Oh yea, and PJ Harvey is going to be doing a free instore performance at Amoeba Hollywood. Thursday. The 12th. 6pm. But you didn't hear that from me...

Tahoe City Crossroads

I spent this weekend in Tahoe City (at Lake Tahoe) at a wedding. Adventures were had. The best one, however, will be re-told by guest blogger for today, Disco Shawn. (Listen to him Thursdays at KALX!):

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

So it all started after my girlfriend Rachel and I enjoyed a tasty lunch at Subway. There was a Baskin-Robbins in the same shopping centre, and after devouring our sandwiches we found our tummies clamoring for ice cream. During the short walk over we were talking about movies and Netflix, yet I failed to notice my girlfriend's sudden silence when we entered the store. I specifically remember looking around and beginning to wonder what flavor I would get. (Gold Medal Ribbon has long been a favorite, but I've had a weird desire to order French Vanilla as of late. No idea why.)

Anyways, we settled into line next to these two jockish dudes and began to wait. Rachel was still strangely silent, although she claims she was trying to quietly get my attention. Still oblivious to what I was about to witness, I finally noticed this blonde girl at the front of the line. She had just grabbed her ice cream and began to walk out of the store. At first, I noticed nothing unusual. Young woman, dressed in a yellow tank top and white sweat pants - no big deal. I do remember a big head, more of a long face actually. Quickly my brain began to put together the pieces and I thought, wow that girl kind of looks like Britney Spears. That was quickly followed by another thought - wait a minute, that IS BRITNEY SPEARS!!!

Oddly enough, everyone in the store played it cool. Rachel had apparently noticed Miss Spears right away and had been stunned into silence. As for the other patrons, there was no yelling, no asking for autographs, nothing at all. I think Britney did notice our collective gawk on her way out and gave us all a quick smile. After she bailed, the store collectively exhaled and everyone began chatting to affirm that yes, we had all just seen the teen pop queen at Baskin Robbins in Tahoe City, California.

Oh wait, the story gets better. Her new fiancee was there too! Mr. Kevin Federline, the new tabloid star and apparent impregnating force (for those of you out of the loop, he knocked up another girl before getting with Britney) was also in the store. He actually lingered behind and paid for their ice cream while Britney slipped out. For those of you wondering, yes - he does look like a douche in person. Decked out in hip-hop clothing but still screaming skinny white dude, you have to wonder just what Britney sees in him. After paying, he too exited and climbed into a white Range Rover parked just outside. With that, they drove off and the Britney Spears chapter of my life came to an abrupt end.

If you're still reading, I'm guessing that you really want the REALLY gory details. Britney had bad skin - blotchy zit bad. And not the one micro-zit that hot girl you know gets and subsequently finds funny. I'm talking patchy forehead redness. Somewhat surprisingly, she didn't look bloated, chunky or fat. Despite recent rumors of Britney ballooning, her body actually looked pretty trim. She was not tall, but not short either. I'd say around 5'4" or 5'5". Her head did seem big, though - her face just seemed really long. She had no entourage. No bodyguards, personal assistants, nothing. Just her and Kevin. I'm guessing the lovebirds were on some kind of weekend getaway, although we didn't witness any amorous activity. There were no paparazzi either. Despite my lengthly description, the whole thing happened in about a minute or so. And the whole thing was remarkably low-key. Like I said, no freakouts. There was even a little girl in the store, but I don't think she (or her mom) even noticed. Leave it to us young adults to go nuts over these things.

Beep Beep, Yea!

I am driving from Los Angeles to Lake Tahoe tomorrow. I will be surrounded by tall trees and giant SUVs. I drive a tiny Honda CRX. Driving for me is like driving between the walls to the fortress, pretty much all the time.

Most of the cars around me are about three times my size. They never see me, they rarely signal, and I can't see past them. Yet I console myself knowing that I will never be asked to drive anyone somewhere (in my little two seater? In this town, if it ain't a Posche or an Audi TT, who cares?) and I get better gas mileage than all of them. (My roommate drives a hybrid - ROCKIN'.)

I can't imagine what it must be like for motorcyclists.

So read this article. Just another reason why SUVs are a bit much.

Everybody Dance Now

It's the little things that make me happy. Like being the first one to use a toilet after it's been cleaned in a semi-public bathroom. How do I know? Because the seat is still up and it's all sparkly. Unless a very tidy tranny shares this bathroom with me, that is.

Speaking of trannies, I went to the Scissor Sisters show last week with my best friend Steve. Steve's no tranny, it's just that those Scissor Sister kids are fond of reminding the audience that they have been greatly inspired by the wiggy population, especially San Francisco's infamous Trannyshack. "They taught me how to tuck in my penis. BOTH of them." Or so claims lead singer, wig wearer and sassy gal (really, a gal) Ana Matronic. (Love the name, by the way.)

This fag hag co-leads, along with Elton John sound-a-like (in the good years) Jake Shears, a rag tag group of queers doing damage on the dance floor for the indie homos. I had seen the Sisters at a free Spaceland gig about a month or so before, but it was the wrong space and the wrong crowd. Too many jaded hipsters to let the vibe totally loose, although I commend those who did get nuts!

But last week I saw the show with a bunch of my gay boyfriends and it was a blast. We danced all night and got sweaty and everything. The Sisters (who, by the way, did a European tour with Duran Duran last spring - handpicked by self proclaimed "not gay" keyboardist Nick Rhodes) broke through with their interpretation of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb," if Pink Floyd actually happened to be the Bee Gees on crack in Amsterdam. Now I guess they are all over VH1.

I still think they are a bit of a novelty act, but maybe they'll have staying power as a novelty, kinda like the B52s. They have been staying like, 25 years or something. So we'll see.

Oh My Golly!

Monday, August, 2nd, 2004

PIXIES ANNOUNCE L.A. DATES

The PIXIES announce that they will headline two Los Angeles concert dates at the Greek Theatre on Wednesday, September 22 and Thursday, September 23 as part of their Fall North American concert tour. These will be the Pixies' first L.A. concerts since their performance at the Palladium on December 22, 1991, more than a dozen years ago. (Editor's note: um, yea, I was there... the infamous got-my-foot-broken gig.)

Tickets will be priced at $35.00 and $45.00 and will go on sale this Saturday, August 7 at 10:00AM at all Ticketmaster outlets including Tower Records, Wherehouse Music, Robinson-May and Ritmo Latino. To charge by phone, call 213-480-3232 or 714-740-2000. Tickets will also be available online at http://www.ticketmaster.com/, at the Greek Theatre box office, and, starting tomorrow, Tuesday, August 3 at 9:00AM PDT, as a "pre-sale" here at PIXIESMUSIC. Radio station Indie 103.1-FM will present the September 22 show, and the Distillers and Grant Lee Phillips will open; KCRW-FM will present the show on September 23, with The Thrills and Grant Lee Phillips as support acts. On both nights, doors will open at 6:30PM, the show will start at 7:30PM, and the Pixies will take the stage at 9:10PM.

(Editor's note: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!)

Do You Remember the First Time?

Just getting nostalgic over my many firsts...

The “First Time” : Yes, I mean sex. This is the one everyone always wants to know about. Well, I ain’t gonna tell ya. Let’s just say that it involved me, a boyfriend, a red convertible, and a pesky neighbor that got me mixed up with my mom. ‘Nuff said.

The first time I ever got drunk : High school, at the beach in Del Mar, wine coolers, vomiting. Lots and lots of vomiting. In broad daylight. My friends dragged me into the water to wash me off. Ugh.

The first hangover: That was just last year at Mardi Gras. Thirty odd years without a hangover... But I bet they'll catch up with me.

The first love interest: Shaun Cassidy. But don’t you think he was a babe? Come on, that feathered hair was to die for...

The first obtainable love interest: Greg Rosa, the cutest guy in 4th grade at St. John’s Elemetary School.

The first obtained love interest: I won’t name names, because I still hang out with him, even though we started dating in high school and broke up because I was bored and then got back together and then broke up again when he dicked me over and then started seeing each other again and... well, you know how those things can be.

The first car: Green1972 Volvo 164SE w/fuel injection. I bought it for $800 & drove it for 5 years. I don’t want to traumatize myself by figuring out how much I spent fixing it, but I loved it.

The first brush with fame: When I was eight years old, I won Honorable Mention in Cricket Magazine for the following poem:

The peaceful seashell
Sitting on the beach
Like a wishing well
Full of songs it can teach.
Soft songs, hard songs,
Always something new;
The songs of a seashell
Will never make you blue.

I was in all the local papers. I guess I’ve used up my fifteen minutes.

The first pet: Fluffy the cat. I got him when I was three and he died when I was 22. He was big and yellow and, well, quite fluffy. He had extra toes and would suck them when he was happy. He had bad breath and farted alot and would have seizures that made him lose control of his bladder and spin around in circles. And he was mine, all mine.

The first kiss: Quite cute, actually. It was about 4am and he had snuck over to my house (I was in Catholic school, what else could you expect?) and he actually asked first. Doesn’t it almost make ya sick?

The first fight: The first fight I can remember was with my friend Pam, and I think it was over a Shaun Cassidy or Andy Gibb poster, but we scratched each other up and pulled hair and all that fun girl stuff until my mom separated us and forced us to make up.

The first favorite band: DURAN DURAN! And I still love ‘em. I should, I spent enough babysitting money on them. JOHN TAYLOR IS A TOTAL BABE! I think he’s actually a decent bass player as well.

The first act of vandalism (not counting toilet-papering homes): This gets a little hazy- there was such a long string a mischievous acts- but the first one I can remember involved an illuminated Carl’s Jr. sign in my friend’s living room... or was it that eight foot chicken...

The first zit: Can’t answer that one. Not because I don’t remember, only because I didn’t get one, I woke up with thousands.

The first vivid memory: I was about three years old and chucking lemon cupcakes with pink frosting at monkeys at the San Diego Zoo.

The first concert: Donny and Marie Osmond. I was six. (To make up for it, I took my little sister to see the Oingo Boingo Good For Your Soul tour, and my little brother to the Pixies Doolittle tour as their first concerts. I didn’t want them to be traumatized, as I had been.)

The first time I caught my parents DOING IT: I haven’t because they don’t. That’s just too gross.

The first serious injury: I fell off a monkey bar and fractured my leg. My parents didn’t believe me though. That night, when I had to go to the bathroom, they told me to go myself. I’m probably the only person in the world who actually broke her leg by falling off the toilet.

The first day of school: I got on the wrong bus on the way home and the bus driver dropped me off five hours after school got out. My mom had my kindergarden teacher’s ASS.

The first record: Disney’s Tiki Room, with the narration to the Jungle Cruise ride on the other side. To be played on a white and pink Fisher Price turntable only.

The first time getting stoned: High school. Of course, I had a friend with one of those hippie dads who grew his own pot, so a bunch of us went over to smoke it and listen to Pink Floyd. I sat in a chair and stared at everyone else all night. I guess I was stoned, although I thought I was just really bored.

The first Dead show: Everyone always said you have to experience one, so I went and smoked a little and sort of fell asleep. I could still hear people around me and someone said, “Hey, check Mo out... She’s really getting into it man...”

The first job: Miller’s Outpost. I still have my name tag - a plastic yellow star proclaiming “Howdy!” Sheesh, how revolting.

The first mean thing I ever did to an animal: Gave beer to a duck. It was my duck. My friends told me after the fact that since ducks couldn’t burp or fart, that they would blow up because of the carbonation in the beer. I was really terrified that our duck would explode and my parents would find out I’d had people with beer in our house.

Ah... There are so many first times in our lives. I can only hope that my little journey into the past has inspired similar joy and nostalgia in you, the reader. Excuse me while I slip Rio onto my turntable and dance around in my Rick Springfield Working Class Dog jersey; I’ll be alright. Really.

Go On, Take Everything

Poor poor Courtney Love. She's been sentenced to rehab for 18 months. THANK GOD. Get this woman out of public viewing already; she's just a absolute trainwreck.

I shouldn't be so judgemental, I know. I don't know the woman and she's probably going through a very tough time, losing her daughter and having unspecified gynecological issues and everything. All I know about her would stem from personal experience. Just this one night...

I had my own encounter with Ms. Love back in December, which involved her flopping her hair extensions and body around a lot and poking people in the shoulder while yelling at them about things that no one really understood. I heard her say something about astrology once, and then get really angry at someone for walking away from her. Mind you, she wasn't talking to that person, who didn't realize that just leaving the same space as Courtney Love could destroy Courtney's delicate semblance of sanity. She’d been across the street at another club earlier, storming the stage and stealing the spotlight from the band that was already on it. (That band was one of the nicest bands in the world, Let's Go Sailing, and they wrote about their adventure with Ms. Love too.) 

The whole reason why Courtney was there at Tangiers was because the LA Weekly had written a blurb about the band performing that night - the Hard Place. The writer said something like "If you missed the White Stripes at (insert tiny dive club here) or Nirvana at (insert even tinier divier club here), then you'll feel the same way years from now about missing this show." Courtney took this to mean: "See this show because this band sounds like Nirvana." I only think this because she kept yelling, "You don't sound like Nirvana!" at points during the show, and afterwards, she rubbed up against the Sickboy-clone lead singer.

She wore yellow caution tape ripped from a construction site across her chest like a sash, a striped off the shoulder new wave top which kept falling lower than the shoulder, and a black mini skirt.   As she left the scene, she yelled “Get me back to Promises!” from the van she was being driven in. Promises is the name of a rehab center out here, but I was later told it’s not the one she was supposed to be checked into at that time. Whatever. She was everything I expected her to be – a total mess. We were all amused and frightened at the same time. 

Well, I'm glad she's getting the help she needs. And now there won't be masses of TV crews blocking traffic in front of the Beverly Hills Courthouse on my way to work in the morning.
 

You're Gonna Need One

Last August, I was lying on the floor in Greg Dulli's living room, drinking Maker's in the middle of the day and playing with his cat. He had some movie on (ah hell, it was probably porn) but he was really dorking out over music. He'd been playing DJ for hours. I was kinda of contributing to the conversation, but mostly these sort of afternoons were more about Greg being really jazzed on something he'd just found or just heard and he really wanted you to be equally as jazzed. This particular afternoon, he finally got the "OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS" reaction out of me that he hadn't gotten so far.

"Okay Mo, you're really gonna love this," he said, picking up a CD off the cluttered coffee table while I said, "Yea, okay" and kept on scratching Clyde. He cranked up the stereo, and a crackled bluesy old man voice echoed out... "Too tough to die!" And then a really deep groovy bass kicked in, and a woman's cackly soulful not-quite Billie Holliday voice kicked in: "I always wonder why my mama left town..."

I was no longer lying on the floor. "Dude, what is this?" Greg sat there nodding and grinning like a Chesire cat. I listened a bit more and couldn't believe how great it was... "Is this the Tricky chick? What's her name? Marina?" "Martina," Greg said, exhaling cigarette smoke and looking very pleased that I was pretty much losing it over the one song. "Yea, my band's gonna cover this song." "How?" I said. I genuinely could not see how he could possibly cover this song... it was just so... hers.

I checked out the liner notes to find that this CD, Martina Topley-Bird's Quixotic, had been released only a month or so before in England. Greg had a copy because his friend Mark Lanegan (and current collaborator on a project called the Gutter Twins) made an appearance on the CD, along with Queen of the Stone Age's Josh Homme, on the second track "Need One." The track I was currently going ga-ga over, "Too Tough To Die," was a bluesy rocker co-written and produced by David Holmes, a sort of cinematic dark hop artist of the late 90's who has gotten regular work scoring Steven Soderberg films (like Ocean's Eleven) and more recently tripping the DJ lights fantastic with sixties style blue eyed soul electro remixes.

So after that track, Greg goes, "Okay - you've gotta hear this one." He skips to a tune called "Lying" which puts Martina's voice back in the familiar context of the Tricky songs I was accustomed to hearing (and most people reading this have at least heard "Makes Me Wanna Die" from Pre-Millenium Tension). It was a pretty, contemplative number with somber beats and her breathy yet earthy voice, and words like this: "I walked out of the house in your girlfriend's clothes... They fit me better than I would have supposed..."

"Man!" Greg said. "I wish I'd come up with that. Isn't that fucking excellent?"

We listened to the whole CD, many times over, for the next couple months. I was too broke to buy the import, but he'd burned me a copy anyway and finally I saved my pennies and got one. In the meantime, I'd been turning other friends on to it. It made my Top Ten list of last year (making it at #3 - only because Throwing Muses reunited that same year and did an album which was my #2, and then that damned Greg got me addicted to his new CD, Blackberry Belle, my #1 which I still listen to far too often.)

So guess what? The album is finally coming out in the States. July 27. It's been changed a little - the title is now Anything, after the forthcoming single, a soothing, almost druggy number - and the cover is now a bit sexed up. A few of the songs have been dropped off too (so buy the import anyway). It's being put out by Palm Pictures, a label run by Chris Blackwell, who used to head Island Records - Tricky's American label. He admits that the new sexy cover shot would most likely bring it to the attention of more buyers, but I'm hoping that the sexiness of the music itself, and it's beauty, and it's style, will keep it flying off the shelves.

And by the way, Greg's band, the Twilight Singers, did cover it. They played it at shows last spring and made it so completely their own (Greg is good at that sort of thing) that's it's going to be on their next CD of cover tunes, She Loves You (August 24th).

You'll have to compare the two to hear which one is sexier. Um, don't be mad Greg - I'm going with the girl. But thanks for playing it for me!

What's New Pussycat?

I had some interesting conversations with some of my guy friends this weekend. Mostly, we talked about pussy.

(I bet this will be the one blog entry my parents actually read. Ummm... sorry!)

I had been thinking about women and their pubic hair for about a week. I don't know why, I just started wondering what men prefer. I remember when the whole landing strip started showing up, and I thought that was so weird... One thumbsized strip of pubic hair in that whole area and that was it. Then my last roommate happened to be a very sexual young lady who was always strutting around the apartment in pushup bras and skimpy tops and lacy underwear (she really knew how to work it - there were always boys sniffing around) and I saw that she just waxed the whole thing, which was something I only thought existed in porn. Until I dated a guy for a few months who basically brought me a razor expecting the same thing. Oh, and he was really into porn.

So the other day, I was at a friend's house swimming in his pool with his brother and a friend. Mr. I, as I like to call him, was flipping through the French edition of Photo magazine when one of the ads made him laugh out loud. "Max!" he yelled to his friend. "This one has you written all over it."

He flipped the magazine around to show us a Gucci ad, which consisted of a skinny woman in her underwear, stilettos and some sort of open shirt, standing with her legs spread and slightly greased up. You can only see her from about mid-breast down, because there was a guy on his knees at crotch level pulling her underwear off, and her pubic hair was shaved into a "G."

Max asked, "Why do you think that especially interests me?" And Mr. I responded, "Well, didn't you say that you always go at a woman's pussy with a pair of clippers?" And I said, "Oh, are you one of those guys that likes it totally naked?" And he got all defensive and said, "No no no! I just like it groomed! I mean, you take care of the hair on your head, why not the hair down there? After all, I'm gonna pay more attention to the area if I want to be there." And I said, "Of course, that makes sense." And he said, "What - are you au natural?" "What do you mean by that?" "You know, just let it grow wild... just a great big hairy bush." And then I got defensive: "If that were true, you'd see it flowing right out of this bikini, wouldn't you? No, I keep myself trim, thank you very much."

Then Mr. I interjected, "You know though, it's the current wave of the twenty somethings today. All the young girls are just doing this total seventies bush." And I said, "You mean like, lots of it?" "Yep, that's what they say." So I had to ask them, "Well, what do you prefer?"

Max said that he just liked it trimmed small, but not the landing strip thing. Mr. I said he preferred "Stripper couture," which I took to mean landing strip and not totally naked because he'd objected to that earlier. And then Max said, "What is the point of pubic hair anyway?" And Mr. I said, "It's a primitive thing... it has to catch and hold scent, so that men smell it and get turned on and it gets the whole reproductive thing going."

"Ugh," said Max. "I don't want it to smell." But then I said, "I don't know, I've known guys who love the smell, if it smells right. I guess it's a chemistry thing." And Max said, "That's true, like when a girl has a little b.o. - that can smell great." Which led us to a discussion about extracting and somehow selling pheremones, and how that's probably bullshit, and how crazy it is that such a subtle smell can really cause someone to react.

And somehow, this conversation was insanely relevant to something that had happened to me just the night before. My roommate had a friend visiting from NYC, and he had another friend who was in town promoting a book. This writer is a rock critic and is a very witty, observant and hilarious spazz of a guy who was just ending his tour and looking to get away from the book stuff for a bit, so all four of us got together after the writer had finished his reading and wound up at the strip club where Courtney Love got her start. (And who knows - maybe she'll be back there again soon at the rate she's nosediving.)

After hanging out with the naked ladies, we decided to get out of LA on a Friday night and come back to our apartment in Silverlake. My roommate and her friend were making drinks and I was to give the writer a tour, but he was already in my room at the end of the hallway. I said, "Yea, I got lucky and got the big room." And he goes, "This is great. This room is really great." I thought he was looking around, admiring the hipster books on the shelves and Chinese antiques, when he said, "It just smells great in here."

I was a little taken aback, but only because I couldn't smell anything. My sheets were relatively clean and my laundry was in the basket, and I don't wear perfumes or use scented detergent, so I couldn't figure out what he was smelling. "Really? What does it smell like?" He kinda bounced a bit and looked around and said, "It just smells like...like... it smells like girl." "Oh," I said. "Ummm, well, then, here's my big ass walk in closet." And he liked that too, because my CDs and records are hidden away in there, out of display range as he said. He looked through some of my music and we talked about it a bit, and as he walked out of the closet he goes, "So it's not lotion or anything?" And I said, "No, I don't use any scented lotions really." And he goes, "Wow - great."

I guess if these talks taught me anything, it's that men are more into personal grooming than I thought. Mine, that is. Interesting...

Mmm Mmm Good

Hey Jake-

I hear you're single now. I may not be as cute and petite and blonde as Kristin, but I am hella single. And dating older women is cool with you young hotties, right? I mean Ashton & Demi, Cameron & Justin (even though that's apparently heading south too - but let's not talk about such things right now)... you should give it a try. Besides, I'm not as old as they are.

So you're on My Space? So am I! I'll look you up and we can be pals... tee hee...

XO
Mo

This & That

Well, because I am a little stressed for time, but wanted to give y'all a little something to giggle about/ contemplate/ watch while goofing off at work - I offer the following:

If Woody Guthrie were alive today : This Land Is You Land (Thanks Dad!)

A Bush/ Cheney sponsored art project for the masses gone horribly (and wonderfully) awry... the Sloganator!

Clean out your garage!

Sweating is so uncool - and now you don't have to!

Uh huh yea: PJ Harvey writes a little about making her record. Such a gal.

Could Texas be entering this century? Or do they just want their sex toys?

Now you can turn your petunias up to 11!

I was lucky enough to spend my weekend sunning and swimming and enjoying myself. However, some folks need a little extra zing to their tanning sessions. Ouch.

Ciao!

My Private Dancer

Today is my last day at my current position. I'm moving on to a better one (with a touch more money), and one with a whole new set of interesting issues. But let me tell you about some of my misadventures with this job.
 
Some of what I do during the day is handle phone calls from cracked out songwriters who may have had a hit for about 32 seconds, 18 years ago. And since one of my bosses - the guy who is supposed to handle these calls - refuses to talk to them, I get to pass on the good news that they won't be getting a check from us anytime soon. "How the fuck am I supposed to feed my chilluns, beeyatch?" "But I'm on the street; can't ya give me a couple thousand?" Stuff like that. Now they aren’t all crazy – some of the nice folks I’ve chatted up are Glenn Frye, Irene Kara, Afrika Bambattaa, and Kool (the leader of The Gang). From time to time, however, it’s also a name that I recognize responsible for the rantings on the other line...
 
On this particular day, it was Ike Turner.
 
What made this call special was that it came on my private line. That was because my boss's line was busy, and good ole Ike told the receptionist that he had better talk to the person who could interrupt that phone call, because a call from Ike Turner was more important than a call from anyone else... Damn straight! And that person was me. So as I'm telling Ike that my boss is on a conference call, he interrupts to say, "Baby, you have a beautiful voice. Is that why they put you on this phone?" "Yep, you know it." "Well, maybe I'll just come on down to the offices there and see your boss myself." I told Mr. Turner that I'd have my boss call him to set up an appointment as soon as I could.
 
Cut to 28 minutes later.
 
I received a call from our receptionist that Mr. Ike Turner was downstairs. I passed on the info that my boss was in a meeting and couldn't be interrupted, but it turned out that Ike wanted ME to come downstairs to help him out. As I came out of the elevator, I was greeted with, "Well, there's my lovely voice! And a lovely lady too..." (Sigh.) I told him my boss was in a meeting, and he said that he just wanted two things: two find out if "some woman" was stealing his money, and to meet that voice on the other end of the line. I was leaning against a counter, and pretty soon he was leaning up against the other side of me. And that man was all bling, let me tell you. He was wearing loads of gold chains, a gold bracelet the width of my hand, and a freakin' Superbowl sized ring encrusted with diamonds which I just kept imagining hitting the side of Tina's head. So he asked me if I would find out what address we had on record for him, "just in case that bitch, Beatrice, is trying to run off with my money." I said sure.
 
While he was rubbing my arm, I asked him if the number he'd left me earlier was a good one to call, and he said, "Oh no, baby, I'm gonna give you my real phone number. Junior!" He snapped his fingers and the guy I thought was his assistant, but turned out to be Ike Jr., ran over with a couple promo shots of Big Ike. "Which one of these do you want?" I took the concert shot instead of the still shot of him posing with a guitar. "I should have known you'd like the action shot, honey," he said with a wink. He wrote down two phone numbers. "Now this one is my home number in San Diego. And this one is my cell. That way you can reach me, anytime. Now what's your name, baby?" I told him, and he signed the picture, "To Mo, I Love Mo're (that you!), Love, Ike Turner"
 
I'm not sure what that means, exactly. But if you want to call Ike for any production needs or advice on the ladies, I've got his number.

You Got to Know When To Hold 'em

This was emailed to me, so I don't know where it came from. If you do, tell me and I'll give credit where it's due. Cuz this rules.

And now...

Poker With Dick Cheney

Transcript of Joe Schmoe’s regular Saturday-night poker game with Dick Cheney, 6/19/04.

Joe: I'll take three cards.

Dick Cheney: Give me one.

Sounds of cards being placed down, dealt, retrieved, and rearranged in hand. Non-committal noises, puffing of cigars.

JS: Fifty bucks.

DC: I'm in. Show 'em.

JS: Two pair, sevens and fives.

DC: Not good enough.

JS: What do you have?

DC: Better than that, that's for sure. Pay up.

JS: Can you show us your cards?

DC: Sure. One of them's a six.

JS: You need to show all your cards. That's the way the game is played.

Colin Powell: Ladies and gentlemen. We have accumulated overwhelming evidence that Mr. Cheney's poker hand is far, far better than two pair. Note this satellite photo, taken three minutes ago when Joe Schmoe went to get more chips. In it we clearly see the back sides of five playing cards, arranged in a poker hand. Defector reports have assured us that Mr. Cheney's hand was already well advanced at this stage. Later, Mr. Cheney drew only one card. Why only one card? Would a man without a strong hand choose only one card? We are absolutely convinced that Mr. Cheney has at least a full house.

Tim Russert: Wow. Colin Powell really hit a homerun for the Administration right there. A very powerful performance. My dad played a lot of poker in World War 2, and he taught me many things about life. Read my book.

JS: Powell's extremely good at Power Point. But I would like to see the cards, or else I can't really be sure he has anything to beat two pair. I don't think he would lie to me, but ... well, it is a very rich pot.

Jonah Goldberg: Liberal critics of Mr. Cheney's poker hand contend that "he doesn't have anything". Oh, really, liberal critics? Cheney has already showed them the six of clubs, and yet these liberals persist in saying he has "nothing". Why do liberals consider the six of clubs to be "nothing"? Is it because the six of clubs is black?

Matt Drudge: ****DRUDGE REPORT EXCLUSIVE****MUST CREDIT THE DRUDGE REPORT**** The Drudge Report has learned that Dick Cheney has a royal flush, hearts. Developing ...

JS: Perhaps if you could just show me a subset of your cards which beat 2 pair? Or tell me exactly what your hand is?

DC: We will show you our cards after we have collected the pot. It is important that things be done in this order, otherwise the foundation of our entire poker game will be destroyed.

JS: I’m not so sure ...

DC: Very good. And here are my cards. A straight flush.

Judith Miller: Dick Cheney has revealed a straight flush, confirming his pre-collection claims about beating two pair.

JS: Those cards are of different suits. It's not a flush.

Mark Steyn: When will it end? Now liberal critics complain that Dick Cheney's cards are not all the same suit. Naturally, these are the same liberals who are always whining about a lack of diversity in higher education. It seems like segregation is OK with these liberals, as long as it damages Republicans.

MD: ****DRUDGE REPORT EXCLUSIVE****MUST CREDIT THE DRUDGE REPORT*** A witness has come forward claiming that Joe Schmoe engages in racial profiling in blog-linking. Developing ...

JS: Wait! It's not even a straight! You've got a eight and ten of hearts, a six of clubs, and the seven and five of diamonds. You have a ten high. That's nothing.

Sean Hannity: Well, well, well. In another sign of liberal desperation, liberals now complain that a ten high is "nothing". Does ten equal zero in liberal mathematics? That would explain a lot.

Robert Novak: It's a perfectly valid poker hand. Apparently, liberals have never heard of a "skip straight". It's a kind of straight, just with one card missing. But if you skip around the missing nine, it's a straight.

Alan Colmes: Mother says I mustn't play poker.

JS: There is no such thing as a "skip straight".

Brit Hume: It seems like some people are still playing poker like it's September 10th. Back then, you needed to have all your cards in order to claim a straight. But, as we learned on that day, sometimes you won't have perfect knowledge. Sometimes you have to learn to connect the dots, and see the patterns which are not visible to superficial analysis of the type favored by the CIA and the State Department. Dick Cheney's skip straight is a winning poker hand for the post-9/11 world.

Rush Limbaugh: Does Joe Schmoe have two pairs, or a pair of twos? First he says one thing, then another. What is he hiding?

Andrew Sullivan: Dick Cheney never said he had a straight. He was very careful about this. His cards can form many different hands. None of these hands alone can beat a pair of twos; but, taken together, the combination of all possible hands presents a more compelling case for taking the pot than simply screaming "Pair of twos! Pair of twos!" as unprincipled liberal critics of the Vice President so often do.

MD: ****DRUDGE REPORT EXCLUSIVE****MUST CREDIT THE DRUDGE REPORT**** Did Joe Schmoe claim to have "a pair of Jews"? Are they anti-Semites as well as racists? Developing...

Zell Miller: As a lifelong liberal Democrat, I believe Dick Cheney, and I hate liberals and Democrats.

William Safire: Why are liberals so obsessed by Dick Cheney's poker hand? The pot has been taken, the deal is done. If liberals are upset that we are no longer playing by the Marquis of Queensbury patty-cake poker rules, they clearly lack the stomach to play poker in the post-September 11th environment. And why do they never complain about Saddam Hussein's poker playing, which was a thousand times worse?

Christopher Hitchens: The Left won't be happy until the pot is divided up equally between Yassar Arafat, Osama bin Laden, and Hitler. Orwell would have seen this.

Ann Coulter: Why do liberals object so strenuously to the idea of conservatives having a "straight"? Perhaps because it doesn't fit in with the radical homosexual/Islamist agenda they hold so dear?

Report of the Bipartisan Commission on Poker Hands: There is no such thing as a "skip straight".

DC: I have access to poker rules that the Commission doesn't, and so I know for a fact that the cards in my hand are all intimately connected.

George W. Bush: Dick Cheney is telling the truth. I'm a nice man who would drink a beer with you.

Vladimir Putin: I dealt Dick Cheney three aces and two kings.

DC: My deal.

In Order to Form a More Perfect Union

This was sent to me as an email, so I don't know where it originally came from. I wholeheartedly agree with its sentiments though, so will repost here and say that this person's rant is also my own.

Let anyone who wants to get married, get married. Straight, gay, knocked up or drunk in Vegas... it's their right to honor or abuse the ceremony.


We the HETEROSEXUAL People...

It seems the "war president" has officially declared war on yet another group of terrible people. He says these immoral outlaws threaten the entire concept of western civilization. That the moral thread of our society will unravel should they prevail. He says this issue is so important that we must amend the Constitution of the United States, the fabric of which our country was founded upon, to protect its citizens from the horrors that they conspire. Is he talking about Al Queda? NO. Is he talking about Islamic extremists? NO. Is he talking about his own administration? UNFORTUNATELY NOT.

The people of which he describes are homosexuals. With all the war, terror, and hate in the world President Bush has decided that two people who love and care for one another should not be allowed to solidify their commitment in marriage, or be afforded the same rights and privileges as other citizens. From the man who preaches about "freedom for all people of the world" as a precursor for war, I find this truly ironic. In his infinite wisdom and knowledge he has decided that we must amend the document which has guided the people to live in the most democratic and free country in the world, to discriminate against it's own citizens. Not only has he aliented the U.S. from the rest of the world, he now must alienate and divide our own people. He is truly a visionary.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not see the words "except homosexuals" in the Constitution or any of it's amendments. In fact, Article 1 of the Amendments clearly states that "congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion", the grounds of which Bush uses as his argument.

If you find this whole concept as absurd as I do, and you do not want George W. Bush's name on the document our forefathers created, there are three things you must do:

1. Sign the Million for Marriage petition

2. Tell everyone you know about Million For Marriage

3. Vote Bush out of office in November!

Happy Birthday to Me

It's my birthday tomorrow, and as I've been poor for the last couple of years, there have been some treats I've wanted to get myself but haven't. You can if you want!

For curlin' up on the couch time... Some of my favorite movies. Guaranteed to make you swill your gimlet while tossing out phrases like "the twist shouldn't a been in this joint" or "baby, you're like leaves blowin' from gutter to gutter." (For more noir speak, check this page out.)

Shadows, Lies, and Private Eyes - The Film Noir Collection, Vol. 1 (The Asphalt Jungle / Gun Crazy / Murder My Sweet / Out of the Past / The Set-Up)

The Big Clock (1948)

Double Indemnity (1944)

The Bogart Collection (Casablanca/The Maltese Falcon/To Have and Have Not/The Big Sleep/The Treasure of the Sierra Madre)

In a Lonely Place (1950)

Then for some light summer reading:

Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991
Michael Azerrad

The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band
Tommy Lee, Mick Mars, Nikki Sixx, Neil Strauss, Vince Neil

Straight Whisky: A Living History of Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n' Roll on the Sunset Strip Erik Quisling, Austin Williams, Lemmy Kilmister (Afterword), Foreword by Henry Rollins

Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk
Legs McNeil, With Gillian McCain

Let It Blurt: The Life and Times of Lester Bangs, America's Greatest Rock Critic
Jim Derogatis

Main Lines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste: A Lester Bangs Reader
Lester Bangs, John Morthland (Editor)

And of course, music to get me through...

Mark Lanegan – Here Comes That Weird Chill
Mazzy Star – She Hangs Brightly
Sun Kil Moon – Ghosts of the Great Highway
Stills – Logic Will Break Your Heart
Camera Obscura – Underachievers Please Try Harder
PJ Harvey – Uh Huh Her
Lyrics Born – Later That Day…
Loretta Lynn – Van Lear Rose
The Shazam – Godspeed the Shazam

And thanks to my rad boss for giving me Nick Hornby's Songbook.

Cancers rule!

Am I Demon?

You know how Glenn Danzig likes to be all badass and pretend he's Wolverine and stuff? Well, here's a funny story from a gig in Arizona that went awry the other night... Guess this happened on Monday the 5th? For video and discussion, check here.

From Danny M, of the band the North Side Kings (I've edited it down a bit):

Before crazy rumors begin to spread, I would like to explain what happened:

North Side Kings were to play with Danzig last night in Tuba City, Arizona. To make a long story short, the whole show was a disaster and a few bands got bumped off. Mr. Danzig (or his managment??) refused to push back the original scheduled time slot so North Side Kings and Rapid Fire would have to play "after" his set. Whatever- we agreed to play later because we drove 6 hours and didn't feel like going home without playing.

Needless to say, as soon as Danzig was finished, the venue turned on the lights and Danzig's crew and the staging company began to take the stage apart almost instantly. I confronted Mr. Danzig backstage while he was signing autographs and told him I thought he was an asshole because of his "rockstar" attitude and no consideration towards the FEW other bands that got bumped off tonight.

In a fit of rage he turned around and slammed me into the wall yelling, "Fuck you motherfucker!" trying to be a big toughguy in front of his fans. I, in self defense, punched him in the face - knocking him out as he was attacking me again. He went down, bleeding from his mouth, eyes rolled back, and in shock that he got knocked to the floor so quickly.

A friend happened to tape the entire incident and this is all documented. Many witnesses saw him attack me, and I did what any man would do.

It was unfortunate that this went the way it did - and I hoped Glen Danzig learned a valuable lession tonight... Do not lay your hands on anyone unless you can handle what may happen.

I apologize for nothing, except for the poor little kids that had to witness this big asshole get his ass kicked in a matter of seconds.....

See kids, another example of why steroids are BAD for you!

Work For Love

You know that wanky British goth dance number "Everyday Is Halloween?" Hey, I loved it; still do sometimes. And you remember how the band that sang it, Ministry, later had a massive hit called "Jesus Built My Hotrod" that was all noisy industrial styled NIN stuff? I love that that happened. Al Jorgensen, leader of Ministry, cracks me up.

The way the legend goes, Al started a band and decided to do poppy goth numbers, while singing with a fake British accent, in the early 80's because he just wanted to get signed. It totally worked. The heavily eyelined, black haired (dyed, of course) kids of the era still swoon fondly to tracks like "Work For Love" and "Effigy" and "I Wanted to Tell Her" and all those fun (yet dark... brrrr...) tunes from With Sympathy.

Then a couple years later, Al came roaring out of the gates with The Land of Rape and Honey and tore out the eardrums, with an industrial screech, of all those kids (who were now getting pierced while listening to Skinny Puppy anyway)and they really appreciated it. And he kept going that route, and everyone kept buying it. No one seemed to mind that the British accent was gone.

Anyway, Al just put out a new record, and while doing his obligatory promotional push for Houses of the Mole, he's also jumping on the political platform and encouraging everyone to vote the Evil Idiot W outta office. He's a part of Punkvoter.com, and will be heading off on tour this fall. The only reason I'm telling you this is because he's offering free oral sex, kinda: "Our goal is to register 100,000 kids on the tour," says Jourgensen. "I'll do anything to entice them: sign autographs, give blowjobs, whatever."

The rest is up to you.

I'm A Loser, Baby

On June 24th, I went to the LA Weekly Awards. This is not a big deal, as the awards are kind of a joke and the ceremony epitomizes all that is gross in the music industry. So, of course, I wanted to be a part of it.

Kidding! Kidding... kinda. 50 Foot Wave was playing, and since Kristin Hersh is one of my musical heroes, I would endure any sort of ickiness in order to see her perform. I also had friends among the list of nominees and wanted to see The Like, an up and coming young band (and I mean young... they are all still jailbait).

The line up included those bands I already mentioned, along with Patrick Park - a wonderful singer songwriter, the metal blast of Abloom (which deservedly cleared the room; ugh), host Kennedy - a glam indie rocker who usually winds up naked by the end of the night (and this was no exception - my retinas have been permanently scarred), and the ultra cool Suicide Girls. I think they have a philosophy of "all kinds of girls can strip for you - fat, skinny, pierced, tattoed" etc... but they actually just sort of writhed around between stage events and bored me to tears. (Take me to Cheetah's any ole time for the same thing; I'll gladly throw some cash on the stage for the ladies.)

The main reason why the LA Weekly music awards are a joke is because nobody gets to vote for anything. Some of the writers for the Weekly come up with a list of artists, print it for all to see, and then those same people make the decision on who should "win." There is no actual community participation in the process, at least, not that I've been able to find. This means that generally, the people you expect to win, do win, and as a result, one will spend the entire time at the outdoor bar drinking and smoking and maybe catching some of the show being projected onto the wall behind them. And most of the "winners" aren't even there to pick up their awards anyway.

I still saw some interesting people milling about... Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo was there (they got a lifetime achievement award) and I felt like I was running into him all night long. Shannyn Sossamon was also actually into watching the bands more than schmoozing. Ummm, I can't remember who else was wandering about.

My special moment of the night involved the Twilight Singers and 50 Foot Wave, both nominees (and still winners in my book) for the evening. I've sort of accidentally gotten to know both bands over the years.

After briefly chatting with Greg Dulli (and almost stealing his cherry lollipop - although Greg would never let me get away with that)and Bobby MacIntyre, we wandered inside and I finally met Sully (the bass player who took over from my friend Scott Ford on the last leg of the TS tour but also recorded on the album). Sully, guitarist Jon Skibic and I were talking when former Throwing Muse/ current 50 Foot Waver Bernard Georges approached to say hi. Sully is a huge fan of Kristin's work, and since she was out in the motorhome with her boys till their performance, Sully didn't mind meeting a fellow bass player, especially of a band he loved. Jon, a Berklee school of music grad, had been heavy in the Boston music scene and had met Bernard once before. Then 50 Foot Wave drummer Rob Ahlers approached and expressed his appreciation for the Twilight Singers, and the mutual lovefest was in full swing.

I was only too happy to be the bridge for these talented folks - how nice to know that two bands I adore respect each other as well.

And this is why I didn't totally hate the LA Weekly Music Awards. Well, that and all the booze.

Art Fags of the World, Unite!

If you haven't had a phase in your life where you dressed entirely in black, studied German literature, only saw foreign films (preferably in black and white), danced to Kraftwerk (and their ilk) exclusively, or dabbled in homosexuality... then the following probably won't be of interest to you.

Otherwise, read on, Dieters!

PET SHOP BOYS AND EISENSTEIN'S BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN

Free concert and screening in Trafalgar Square
Sunday 12 September, 8.30pm (time tbc)

In an extraordinary encounter, the Pet Shop Boys will perform live their new soundtrack to a screening of Sergei Eisenstein's magisterial film Battleship Potemkin, in Trafalgar Square, on the evening of September 12, as one of the highlights in the Trafalgar Square Summer 2004 Programme.

Staged in the home of British political dissent, this event combines past and present, music, performance and film, art and politics, London and Europe, into a free event for the people of London.

At the heart of the event is the principle of collaboration - the event has been produced by the ICA which since its beginnings has wanted to mix up the arts with each other and the wider culture. And, on September 12, the Pet Shop Boys will collaborate with the 26 strong Dresden Sinfoniker and with Simon McBurney of Complicité, who will stage the event.

Eisenstein's 1925 film is one of the acknowledged masterpieces of twentieth century culture - a cinematically revolutionary account of a revolt by sailors in 1904. It has clearly been a major influence on film-makers but has also shaped the work of visual artists: Francis Bacon spoke of being haunted by the screaming mouth in the film and using that inspiration in his own work.

In a work of extraordinary re-imagining, the Pet Shop Boys have written a soundtrack that gives the film a new life for Britain in 2004 - and takes account of the powerful symbolism of Trafalgar Square, a place simultaneously of dissent and celebration. For the Pet Shop Boys, one the great English groups of the last twenty years, this soundtrack gathers together their past work and moves it on in unexpected ways. Best known for their witty, sensuous and powerful songs of urban life, and for their experimental work with filmmakers and artists of all sorts, this soundtrack confirms their status as innovators - it's a characteristic leap into the unknown.

Philip Dodd, ICA Director: "The ICA has always been, on principle, an untidy place - mixing art forms and letting the wider culture and politics into all of its activities - the Pet Shop Boys/Battleship Potemkin event honours that untidiness. I'm deeply grateful to the Pet Shop Boys and to all the event's collaborators for their immediate recognition that Trafalgar Square is THE place for re-imagining the past in terms of the needs of the present"

Pet Shop Boys Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe: "It's wonderful to be given the opportunity to write a complete soundtrack to this classic film and then to perform it as a free concert in the heart of London. The music is a combination of electronics and strings and, although mainly instrumental, includes three new songs."

The orchestrations are by the acclaimed young German composer Torsten Rasch whose work, "Mein Herz Brennt", based on the music of the rock band Rammstein, received a triumphant reception at its premiere last autumn and has since become a best-selling CD in Germany and the USA.

When there is so much talk of Europe, this event will truly be European - stretching from Russia, through Dresden to London.

Pet Shop Boys and Battleship Potemkin is one of more than twenty events being organised as part of the Trafalgar Square Summer 2004 programme. It is the fourth annual programme of free events organised by the Mayor of London - aimed at Londoners and visitors to the capital. Following the square's award-winning refurbishment, the 2003 programme attracted over 100,000 people.

What's Your Function?

A nice little email from someone needing some info reminded me that it's getting closer to Sunset Junction time. What is Sunset Junction? A wonderful street fair held in Los Angeles every year, with tons of food and scores of great bands. It also just so happens to a block away from my house - you can see the ferris wheel from my living room windows.

It's a great time to visit LA. Hot as hell, but worth it for the music. Some of the bands playing this year include On the Speakers (rising from the ashes of the late, great Creeper Lagoon), The Like, The Donnas, The Vacation, Camper Van Beethoven, X, Autolux (rising from the ashes of the late, great Failure), Ben Kweller, and IMA Robot. And they still ain't done with that lineup.

It's happening August 21st and 22nd. Margaritas at my house!

Who's Zoomin' Who?

Politics rules. Watch this. And vote Bush out of office. Thank you very much.

It's Shite Being Scottish!

Well, I don't know if that's actually true... it's just one of the few lines I can remember from Trainspotting. That's one of my favorite movies, but I'm lousy about quoting stuff.

I love the Loch Ness Monster. You got your Bigfoot, your UFOs, your Chupacabra and other unexplained phenoms... but I like me a good old fashioned dinosaur cruising around in a murky loch in Scotland. It turns out that there's this movie coming out soon called Incident at Loch Ness. Directed by Zak Penn, it features filmmaker Werner Herzog as he leads an expedition to Loch Ness to track down the famous monster. He calls his documentary Enigma of Loch Ness, which is a play on one of his former films. Penn is making a documentary of the making of the documentary. You see where this is going?

"Is it documentary, mockumentary, science fiction or comedy? Decide for yourself, but whatever it is, it's one of the funniest films in the festival." This is how it is described in the program for the Seattle Film Festival.

And like all films with spooky subject matter, there is a mystery surrounding this one. I guess. Like the bizarre happenings on the set of The Exorcist or the sudden deaths of various cast members of Poltergeist, a fired crew member of Loch Ness claims that two members of the crew were actually killed by Nessie during the filming of this mockumentary, and that the American filmmakers don't care.

Well, if Nessie did indeed kill a couple folks during the filming... she's a plesiosaur for chrissakes! She probably got hungry or something.

But really, Jeff Goldblum is in this film too. How seriously are you supposed to take it?

On the Ground Like A Wild Potato

Afraid that nobody around here
Understands my potato
I think I'm only a spud boy
Looking for a real tomato
-DEVO

I love potatoes. A lot. So much that the word "spud" is incorporated into my phone number somehow.

While I was growing up, I hung out with a bunch of boys. They loved Devo, the B52s, and called themselves the Spuds. I infiltrated this nerd gang proudly. We still hang out. We still call ourselves the Spuds. (However, we neglected to ever get jackets made or anything.)

One of us has always had the Spud phone number.

In my home town, there was a place I loved to eat called the Potato Shack. In Berkeley, it was the Spud Brothers. Yummy baked potatoes smothered in pesto or alfredo sauce with broccoli or mozzarella... Man, I loved that place.

There is now going to be a low carb spud. This to me is like diet Mountain Dew; completely sacrilegious.

Enjoy your diet potato, carb counters! I will continue to heap mine with cheese and bacon and mushrooms and butter and laugh at you while enjoying my tasty treat. Never will french fries or hash browns or tater tots disappear from my life!

And I won't gain a pound. It's all in your minds, people.

Fade To Black

I finally got to see the Metallica documentary last night, Some Kind of Monster, after my friend Jeff (thanks, Dude!) had been trying to get me to go for months. Yes, it's not being released in LA till July 16th, but I'm just that lucky. And Jeff happens to be a very nice guy connected with the making of that film.

It was screened at the LA Film Festival, and showed at the Ford Ampitheatre - an outdoor venue tucked into the Hollywood Hills. My pal & I were lucky enough to also score VIP seating if we wanted it: this means we sat next to the likes of Robin Tunney & Annabelle Gish. Ben Stiller was kind enough to be there too, being congratulated on the #1 status of his new flick, Dodgeball. I heard no "hit him in the nuts" type jokes, thank God. Alison Anders was there too (Gas, Food, & Lodging, Mi Vida Loca) and I kept hoping she'd bring one of my two favorite Johns with her - either Taylor or Doe - since she directed them both in Sugartown and I thought it might be their thing. Maybe? Please?

Oh, the movie? I dug it. Despite the fact that it was nearly three hours of therapy. It made me either want to move back to the Bay Area or get a tattoo, and since I'm not moving again anytime soon - get those needles ready! If you've ever known anyone in a band, you understand what an intense relationship it can be -like being married, or so I've been told. You feel it on this one. The band is practically imploding over the course of the film, yet you watch it start to come back together and are totally rooting for the good guys at the end. And I kinda wanted to kick the therapist in the ass a few times; he seemed to be trying to take over. Brian Wilson, anyone? Anyway, if you want to read a more in depth review by an actual old school metal dude, check out Chuck Klosterman's piece in the New York Times.

The movie was intro'd like this: "Do you like movies?" "YEA!" "Do you like Metallica?" "YEA!" "Have you ever been in therapy?" "YEA! "Well, you're gonna love this movie!"

Go, Hollywood!

Just One of Those Things

I'm just coming across funny thing after funny thing this morning... Well, to me, that is.

For instance: I just love that this guy in San Luis Obispo got so mad about getting on a jury, that instead of trying to weasel his way out like the rest of us - he flipped off the court and got arrested himself. That's rock and roll.

Evidently, that mystical Rasputin of Russia who simply wouldn't die kept all the magic in his pants... and his mojo is still risin'! And it's on display in an erotica museum back in the former USSR! That's just nasty, actually.

Our dear old Ronnie may have passed on, but his resurrected zombie is here and ready to campaign! Read this goofy as shit website for the latest news in Bush's camp about who he's gonna run with this year... (Read the Eat the Press section. Immediately.)

And now YOU can make Bush say anything you want! Thanks to the Decadent West for this link: pick a photo and you can put the words in Bush's mouth. As soon as you pry his foot out.

It's What They're Playing

All of the rock and roll DJ's
Got their fingers on the world
'Cause they play the songs
That make you and me feel so good
Turn up your radios
And hear the music
On the radio...
-Cheap Trick

Every Saturday, 12-3pm. The Mo Show on Little Radio. This week?

Walk On By - Isaac Hayes
...and I'm Thinking - The Sneetches
She's So Fine - The Easybeats
Rumble - You Am I
Jerk It Out - Caesars
The Horror - RJD2
Birthday (Christmas mix w/ Jesus & Mary Chain) - Sugarcubes
Sunshine Smile - Adorable
Strawberry Letter 23 - Brothers Johnson
Your Revolution - DJ Vadim w/ Sarah Jones
Hook & Sling Meet the Funky Superfly - Sharon Jones
What A Hell'Uva Woman - Blue Ruin
Cocaine Blues - Hank Thompson
Bombshell - Mary's Danish
Charles - Scrawl
Cathedral Heat - Kristin Hersh
Tupelo - Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds
Hush - Deep Purple
Open My Eyes - Nazz
No Matter What - Badfinger
Shelly's Boyfriend - Bonnie Hayes & the Wild Combo
Paper Crown - the Checkers
Soul Finger - Bar-Kays
Jaime - Girls Against Boys
Let This Rest - the Reputation
Tom Boy - Bettie Serveert
Hand to Phone (Cordless Mix) - Adult
Telephone Operator - Pete Shelley
Discotraxx - Ladytron
Fade to Grey - Visage
Ivo - Cocteau Twins
St. Gregory - Twilight Singers
Cold Black Preach - Barry Adamson
Too Tough to Die - Martina Topley Bird
Sporting Life - Actionslacks
One More Hour - Sleater Kinney
She's Got You = Patsy Cline
Cactus - Pixies
Scary Monsters (& Super Creeps) - Bowie
Bonn/ Basta - Trans Am
Syntax Error - Clean Prophets
Get A Grip On Yourself - Stranglers
Schon Von Hinten - Stereo Total
Bachelor Pad - Fantastic Plastic Machine
I Hear A Symphony - Diana Ross & the Supremes

Wakka Wakka!

Okay, so I've listened to the new Pixies single, "Bam Thwok," about a hundred times today. They got all sneaky and released it on iTunes the other night, but you can find it here & there on the internet, or so I've been told. Look for a solo by Joey Santiago's dad. Yes!

In other news...

One of my favorite radio stations ever, Cincinatti's WOXY, is coming back! They were sold a few months ago and went off the air in early May. They also couldn't afford to keep up their internet presence, but things seem to be changing for the better! Here's the memo dorky fans like myself got today:

No typo. It's the real deal, y'all! 97X The Future of Rock and Roll will be returning to the Internet in a few weeks!

Kind fate has sent us two dedicated listeners with the vision and courage to step up as partners to fund the continued broadcast of 97X The Future of Rock and Roll over the Internet.

These magnanimous folks want to remain anonymous, but they feel passionately about "doing the right thing" and "doing good work," and we are the lucky recipients of their generous spirit.

Like Phoenix rising from the ashes, 97X - just as we have always loved it - will be returning soon. It will take us a few weeks to get set up for the future, but be assured that Mike and Barb and Shiv and Bryan Jay are already hard at work to bring it all back.

Keep checking woxy.com for updates ... we'll announce an air date just as soon as we know it.

Give a little shout of thanks to our "angels" - and stay tuned!

Sing Blue Silver

This happened two years ago today, so I feel the need to commemorate the event.

One of my longest lifetime goals had been achieved:

I MET JOHN TAYLOR.

(Okay, basssist for Duran Duran for those of you who don't remember... he was only plastered on my walls for, like, 4 years.)

When it was brought to my attention that he had entered the record store where I worked, I dropped the intercom and promptly hyperventilated. Then I paced frantically back and forth, trying to figure out what to do next. My co-workers & then-boyfriend were surrounding me, trying to figure out what the hell was going on as I muttered "Ohmygodohmygod" and finally I pointed and said, "John Taylor."

Then everyone started laughing.

At this point, I realized that I couldn't do anything about the situation because I was alone at the Information Counter, responsible for all the confused souls at the store or on the phones, and I couldn't leave. I began my mantra: "Please make him come ask me a question. Please let him come ask me a question!" Then panic set in, as I began to think I was trapped and would lose the opportunity. I'm not sure what the look on my face was like, but because I had the raddest boyfriend in the world who was there and happened to sort of be my boss, he told me he'd watch the counter and that I should just go for it.

I grabbed a Sharpie and pulled out my laminated International Duran Duran Club card (of which I am member #36963) and headed down the aisle. I walked up to him and said, "Hi. I work here." He smiled and said, "Yes?" I continued, "I would never forgive myself if I didn't ask for an autograph."

Then I whipped out the card. He was flabbergasted. "Oh my God, we put those out in 1984! You carry that around with you?" "I'm very loyal," I replied, and he laughed. "How long have you been into us?" he asked. "Since 1981," I said. He signed the card: "To Mo, With love, 19 years later - John Taylor."

I thanked him and went back to my post, and my hands were shaking so bad I couldn't even pick up the phone for a good five minutes.

Can I just say, he looked HOT! Slimmed down from his last puffy TV appearance, good skin, great hair, good glasses. He shopped about an hour, and I was kicking myself for not having asked about the current Duran Duran recording (since all original members had just reunited). As he was checking out, he got stuck waiting for his friend, so I just approached him again. "I hope you don't mind and if I'm bugging you, just say so, but I was wondering how recording was going?" And he said, "If you don't talk to me right now, I'll get bored to death waiting for my friend to come out." So we chatted about recording and music and stuff. I blamed him for my current fate of dating guitar players to which he pointed out if I were truly loyal, I'd be dating bassists. It was crazy to hear him say things like "I was lunching with Simon" and "Seeing Roger after so long, it felt like only a day had passed" and much more, but I know most of you don't care about that.

So on his way out, he said, "It was nice chatting with you Mo; I'll say hi the next time I'm in." I replied that it was really nice talking with him too, and put my arm on his shoulder and said, "I can die a happy woman now." He laughed.

It turned out that his friend had left his credit card behind, and came by the next day to pick it up. The manager on duty said, "I know you were here with John Taylor yesterday and that some of the staff was talking with him; I hope he didn't mind." And the friend replied, "Oh no, he's always gracious about that. And he was very charmed by the young lady with her Duran Duran fan club card..."

Oh please, let me be wife #4!

She Started to Hate Every Nigger & Jew...

... and evidently, her X husband too!

Turns out that our lady Exene Cervenka, former frontwoman of one my favorite bands ever, X, and owner of the former Silverlake hipstore "You've Got Bad Taste," is suing her ex-hubby for more child support. Why? Because her ex-husband is Viggo Mortensen, Lord of the Rings! And Exene is now a teacher/ librarian, albeit, probably one of the freakiest and hippest teacher/ librarians to scare schoolkids today. She and Viggo were married around 1986, after she broke up with John Doe and he got married, moved to a ranch and started to grow daughters. John's had a bit of a film career also, so it's a good thing Exene didn't have any kids with him or she may have been knocking on his door for a bit more, too. The school system in California doesn't pay much these days. And I guess the endless X "reunion" shows aren't paying what they used to either.

My favorite thing about this bit of info? Her real name! Christene Edge. She's a white girl...

To the Left of Your Dial

See me-
Hear me-
Don’t you know you can’t get near me?
You can only hope to hear me on your radio
On your radio-
You’re gonna hear me on your radio...
- Joe Jackson

Did you catch it this week? On Saturdays, I DJ at Little Radio from 12-3pm. You can always find it at littleradio.com, or - if you're in LA - you can try 87.9fm... or so I'm told.

Here's what I dragged into the station today for y'all:

Slip It In - Big Black
Trouble - Elvis Presley
Baby Got Shot - Verbena
Into You Like A Train - Psychedelic Furs
Methamphetamine Blues - Mark Lanegan
Double Dare - Bauhaus
Projects - Bailterspace
Kiasu - Celia Mancini
On the Beach - Rocket
Mr. Kicks - Oscar Brown Jr.
Chumpville - Carolyn Mark & the Roommates
Manos - Spinanes
I Don't Know - The Peels
Heaven Wasn't In the Sky - The Dagons
Launderette - Vivien Goldman
Herbsplatte - Valentin Mehler (David Holmes remix)
Kamasutra - Vampyros Lesbos soundtrack
The Frog - The Village Callers
So Nice (Summer Samba) - Astrud Gilberto
Death & the Maiden - Verlaines
Foregone Conclusions - Pedro the Lion
I've Just Seen A Face - the Beatles
Hold A Shadow Down - Steve Barton
Peach Kelli Pop - Redd Kross
Cactus Cat - Look Blue Go Purple
Seven Days - the Apollas
Sing a Simple Song - Sly & the Family Stone
Tiger - Brian Auger & the Trinity
I Can't Dance With You - the Small Faces
Thursday Girl - Black Hills
The Invitation/ Author Unknown - Jason Falkner
She Hangs Out - the Monkees
Pony Express - the Pioneers
Don't Stay Away - Phyllis Dillon
Jump in the Line - Harry Belafonte
Dumbjaw - Barkmarket
Chantilly Lace - the Big Bopper
Kasimir S. Pulaski Day - Big Black
When You Smile - Dream Syndicate
Simple Solution - Rick Stone
Rock Creek Park - Blackbyrds
Papa Was A Rolling Stone - Temptations
Domani - Twilight Singers
Pretty Boy - Mellowdrone
Moneypenny's Theme - Actionslacks
This Is Radio Clash - The Clash
Making Time - The Creation
Green Onions - Booker T. & the MGs
Think - Lyn Collins
I'm A Man - Spencer Davis Group
Jane - Poster Children
The Light Pours Out of Me - Magazine
House of Jealous Lovers - the Rapture
Bold Soul Sister - Ike & Tina Turner
Lola - the Kinks
Click Your Heels - On the Speakers
She Speeds - Straitjacket Fits
Hook in Her Head - Throwing Muses
Little Willy - the Sweet

It's All About the Little Guy

The music industry has kinda been in the crapper for a while now, right? Well, I don't really think so. All that this consolidation within the music and radio industry has simply done is to force the perhaps not-so-average-joe to work a little harder. If you can't find anything interesting on your local Clear Channel station (meaning just about ANY of them), you go to the internet. You go to see bands you may never have heard of. You try satellite or cable or internet radio.

And for those artists trying to be heard, they look for that not-so-average-joe. They put their music on the internet. They play as often as possible. They try to get their music on just about any alternative programming they can reach.

Somehow, we all find each other. In the wake of massive label consolidation (aren't there only like, three majors these days?) and radio consolidation, the little guys are having more and more luck. For example, since Warner is dropping all their interesting acts these days after the dissolution of Elektra, what lucky indie label is going to get to handle Stereolab, a recent victim? One great band on a small label can do wonders for the label and the other bands lucky enough to share that space... Just ask the folks of Berkeley's Lookout! (original home to Green Day, Rancid and the Donnas) or Omaha's Saddle Creek (Rilo Kiley, The Faint, Bright Eyes).

And now the shameless plug: some (more) friends of mine are starting a label. It's called Stereotype, and they want to reach us indie "kids" who are not so into screamo and more into lyrics and cut our teeth on the Buzzcocks and Japan and Sebadoh and Acetone, so we like it to rock or be dreamy. And they've got all that on the label. Check out the site, and give Rick Stone a listen. His voice is dreamy, and his songs are just flat out beautiful. And if you like it, come on down to their label launch party at Mr. T's in Highland Park this Saturday night. I'll be there, probably drinking more than I should. I always get into a little trouble when that Rick Stone is around!

Shameless plug part deux: Internet radio rules. Especially when someone pirates it for you! I've been mixed up in a little something called Little Radio, which steams indie rock & hip hop all the darned day, and features DJs at nights and on the weekends. I'm on Saturdays from 12-3pm, so tune in to our streaming broadcast or try 87.9FM in the east LA area if you live here. I'm bringing a box of stuff to play, and in my box is a little Kinks, RJD2, Bailterspace, Bauhaus, Ike & Tina Turner, Mellowdrone, Rocket, Phyllis Dillon, Rondelles, Big Black, Guided By Voices, and some Patsy Cline. I can't remember what else I put in there, so you'll have to tune in to find out!

Oh yea, and Little Radio does showcases on Wednesdays at Fais Do Do in LA. This Wednesday the 16th, we'll have Black Hills... led by former Freewheelers Luther Russell and Chris Joyner. It's indie in that Pete Yorn/ Matt Pond PA sort of way, and those boys are extremely talented musicians (and very cute, ladies!). Joining them for a mini set will be Sarabeth Tucek, who has done guest vocals for Smog and the Warlocks, and more who I just can't remember right now.

So are you ready to rock? Let's go!

Bulletproof

Last night I saw Velvet Revolver. A friend who had received last minute free tickets called me, knowing that I would appreciate watching such a display of sleaze... and I did, my friends. I did.

Velvet Revolver consists of Guns & Roses (Slash, Duff & Matt Sorum) and Stone Temple Pilots (Scott Weiland) with a token punk guy (Dave Kushner from Wasted Youth) thrown in for cred. And they sound like Guns & Roses and STP with a token punk guy thrown in. For cred.

I also appreciate that they're keeping the firearm theme in place.

Okay, so none of you really care about the music, right? Although I will say that I've always had a weakness for Weiland's voice... and he does darned good impersonations of other singers. So real quick: they rocked like they were playing to the Coliseum. They were musically tight and having a good time, and were nice and loud. It sounded just like Guns and Roses, except with Scott Weiland singing. Which means that sometimes it sounded exactly like Guns and Roses.

Mr. Weiland came out dressed like Rob Halford (leather pants, vest, and biker hat)- it was really nice to see the gay metal contigent so well represented. He also moves like a stripper/ Mick Jagger, which means lots of snaky hip shaking. It only took three songs before all members of the band were shirtless... Well, the punk guy took about 5 songs. I believe all were wearing leather pants, except Slash - who was in torn black jeans. And his hat. Although to be fair, he only put it on at the encore and then made a big fuss over how the fans make a big fuss over the damn hat or something like that. Okay, Slash, we know it's you...

They did their Velvet Revolver stuff, threw in some Guns & Roses and ended the first encore with STP's date rape song ("Sex Type Thing" if you don't remember your early "grunge" classics). It was fun to watch the crowd during G-n-R's "It's So Easy..." when the "Fuck off" line came up, 90% of the crowd raised a middle finger in the standard "I love you" salute. Charming. There was even a bleached blonde girl bouncing around in her tank top on her boyfriend's shoulders... I kept hoping she'd flash the band, but she didn't. Damn.

And since we saw so much flesh, I must comment: Scott - eat a little something. You're looking like an Olsen twin on a bad make-up day. And how is it that heroin junkies/ former heroin junkies always have such tight little bods? Duff - I wouldn't throw ya outta bed. That's all I'm sayin'.

That was basically the show. All in all, a guilty good time. I'm okay with any band that can make a chubby guy with long frizzy hair gesticulate wildly all the lyrics to every metal song performed, as the guy to my left did all night.

Rock on, rock proud.

If You Had My Love

I must comment on this J. Lo biz. Why not? I'm now a blogger, after all, and this means the gossip element is strong.

So she got married out here in Beverly Hills over the weekend. And didn't they look lovely? Folks are teasing about Marc Anthony not being all that much, but being a Latina with a weakness for the Latin pop stuff, I can tell you he's been around for years and is actually pretty darned good. He's not just all "I Need to Know;" he actually did some quality salsa - good for hip shaking - years before that. And I loved the first J. Lo album, much in the same way that I love Midori sours... I know it's basically candy - but I can't help myself!

So anyway, what I really want to know is... why didn't she marry (or at least break off an engagement to) Puff Daddy? P.Diddy? Sean John? I mean, she was with this guy longer than she was with any of her husbands/ ex-husbands/ ex-fiancees. He's stylish and hip and has good dance moves and all that other stuff she seems to appreciate.

News on the street is that Mrs. Anthony the 3rd (I think) is already knocked up, hence the quickie marriage. Whatever.

I dated this guy once who told me he loved me after two weeks. I was a little more than stunned. We broke up a month later and I didn't really notice. Then he proposed to his next girlfriend after they'd been dating for a month... only she accepted, and he promptly dumped her for being stupid enough to want to marry him.

Okay, J. Lo is kinda reminding me of that guy. So we'll see. I won't even bother placing any bets cuz it's just waaaaaay to easy of a call...

I Left My Heart ...

Not a day goes by that I don't miss living in the Bay Area. That doesn't mean I'm going back, though, LA has been wonderful to me so far. With the exception of one extremely nasty string of bad luck at the end of 2002, I've loved it.

I also love San Diego, where I grew up. However, I only love it within certain constraints:

1. At the beaches in the North County (Encinitas, Leucadia, Del Mar)
2. At the yummy fast food Mexican places (Alberto's, Karina's, Juanita's, Roberto's)
3. With the smattering of friends I grew up with and the family cats
4. Old Town

Mostly, I think San Diego pretty much sucks. I was just there this weekend, and every other second was reminded of the things that suck:

1. The military. They are everywhere because SD has it all... Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. And all the special branches of those things too. I saw a hovercraft at the beach as I went past Camp Pendleton (where I also attended the prom, NOT with a Marine thank you very much.)

2. Frat Boys. Rather - the frat boy mentality - in the bad way. I knew plenty of ok frat boys in my day, but these are the sideways baseball hat long pocketed shorts Grateful Dead bracelet scruffily manicured facial hair blasting Bob Marley guys I'm referring to. The ones that pull up alongside a carfull of girls and hoot through the glass before remembering they can roll down the window to yell, "Wanna suck my dick?" Yea, those guys.

3. The rich, overly tan guys from other countries in silky flowered print shirts wearing too many rings who ask you to get drunk with them and do karaoke while they attempt to feel you up.

4. The drunk, overly tan bleached blonde women with smudged eyeliner and incredibly buoyant breasts holding up scraps of tank tops worn with polyester pants and pointy open toed sandals laughing too loud and draping themselves over potential new boyfriends.

5. The lack of nightlife. Well, there's plenty of nightlife is you include the places where the drunk, overly tan people hang out.

Okay, San Diego doesn't totally suck. There just aren't a lot of options for a gal like me. But more or less, I always seem to run into what I listed above.

Case in point: several years ago, I worked for Spike & Mike's Festival of Animation. I was glad to get the gig, especially after every other job I tried to get turned me down because I had a tiny little nosering. I did everything from promotions to office work to announcing the shows to selling shit at the merchandise table. Mike had already been dead a couple years, and Spike was traveling. Everyone had told me Spike was an asshole, but I didn't think it would be too bad. He was back for about two days when we did a show in La Jolla. He walked up to me and said, "Who are you?" I told him. He grunted. Then he walked about 2 feet away and said to my manager, "Put her out on the street to hand out flyers. Those tits will get some action." I quit on the spot and moved back to Berkeley.

But those "Cuidado! Family crossing!" signs are pretty rad...

Just Drive, She Said

LA is all about the automobile. They trashed the public transportation from back in the day for freeways, elevated the status of the car to godlike proportions, and rebel better than anyone else when the gas prices get too horrifying. And there is a sea of beautiful car washes scattered throughout the land - lovely blocks of colorful Miami-esque architecture where you can make your car all shiny and nice again.

There are also some whoppers in the vanity plate arena.

When I was visiting some cousins in Philly a zillion years ago, they told me that Pennsylvania had a law banning bumper stickers and vanity plates because people kept crashing into each other trying to read them. That's never been the case in Cali!

Lately, I've seen a couple that have stuck with me. A big haired platinum blonde older lady, in a Mercedes convertible, license plate reading : "TOY4ME." Okay, not too surprising.

In Beverly Hills: A thirtysomething guy in a snazzy suit, leaning against his silver convertible Audi TT, talking on his phone, tie blowing in the breeze... His plates? "BUYUOUT."

In West Hollywood: a super hot buffed out dark haired ethnic guy in a Hummer, rainbow stickers on the bumper and a plate that read "HUM ME." I wonder what he meant?

And my favorite, spotted in the Hollywood Hills... a vintage Porsche Roadster driven by a balding middle aged guy, remaining gray hairs flying in the wind, much younger woman with lacquered nails tapping his shoulder to the beat of Zero 7... Plate? "ZENSUAL." Wow.