nodoctors.com archive november 0006 |
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Thank you Mr. Flury posted by elvis HOW DO YOU HEAR ME PLAY THIS The formation of an individual "I", or mirror-stage recognition as If the I is a constructed object, what is`the significance for the Music promotes stimulation of every I in its space. The existence and extent of the artists' own I shapes the presentation to the creator and the audience. The question is not whether it is useful, for it is essential. The question is how I and I interact. This makes me think of the ongoing kevekev discussion re: noise music and how it sits in the aesthetic and material markets (see kevekev.com vs. the post-avant thread below) . Wolf Eyes; those dudes might have the a more robust realization of collective I relative to most other bands. The NYT reviewer was both yin and yang in his interpretation of their performance, which connotes 'victorious'. Men's Recovery Project convincingly walks the ambiguous line of self recognition and haphazard, autonomous auditory exploration; they have been received with contradicting perceptions in every review I have read and appear impressively dada/extemporaneous in their live offerings, yet consistently satisfying. MRP appear detached but yield to their I. With any good noise, maximum freedom of mental movement is offered (you can go outside if you can't hang) and ultimately allows the creation of a larger I summation than anything with big-caps MEANING. Additionally, series of events immediately following a successful noise are generally less anticipated and foreshadowed than those following more clearly defined presentation offerings (i.e. "so, what did you think of Emil Beaulieau?" fun for hours). To me, this can make the general time commitment more exciting than loud, awesome, banging structure/meaning. Try collaborating with Xenakis on your drums - MUCH better than jamming with Pavement. posted by mr. brian HAVE YOU SEEN ME?
posted by cansafis TANKERTOWN OH SO WEEKLY
posted by elvis No Doctors Live TONIGHT Weds 11/29/06 San Francisco CA FAIR WARNING:
posted by elvis BREAKING: NYT OUTS STRADIVARI AS STEINBERGER FAN
It always pains me linking to New York Times stories, as I hate to inflict their obnoxious firewalls and brief shelf-life on you, dear reader, but this piece on contemporary explorations in building a better acoustic guitar is highly recommended. Let's see if I can pull enough text to make it live on here after those right coast elitists lock it up. First of all, this "Douglas Martin" character has a pretty solid agenda going at this point: Mr. Martin, 63, whose day job is designing sleek rowing shells that slice through ocean surf, is consumed in spare moments by a similarly unorthodox pursuit: abandoning age-old norms of acoustic instrument design as he chases his conception of the ideal violin sound. What could explain such success and daring in this "eccentric dabbler" who splays before his eyes "pink violin-shaped slabs" in his "kitchen-cum-workshop"? As always, the Times offers an immediate and 'journalistic' answer: In art school in the 1960s, a professor once tossed one of Mr. Martin’s sketches on the floor and scuffed it up, urging him to abandon caution, and he clearly absorbed that notion. In addition to the usual purple prose that passes for 'form' in the old gray rag, especially shocking is this bold accusation aimed at the long dead master luthier Antonio Stradivari: “Wood reached the limits of its potential in the first half of the 18th century,” Martin Schleske, a leading violin maker from Munich, asserted in a recent lecture in Germany. “I have no doubt that if Stradivari were alive today with the same force of innovation, he would have already discovered the fascinating acoustic properties of graphite fibers and would have ushered us into a new golden age of violin making.” Paganini rocking a Steinberger? I shall never say never. I will say that I am personally happy to have been able to recently afford an acoustic guitar made out of solid wood rather than the standard composite/particle-board nonsense. I will give Dr. Decker a call once I hear that he has succeeded in crafting "the most responsive possible guitar": John A. Decker Jr., a physicist and aeronautical engineer, created his weatherproof and resonant RainSong line of all-graphite guitars after moving to Maui in 1981 to manage an Air Force observatory. He found that the extreme Hawaiian humidity and heat ravaged his classical instruments . . . Dr. Decker said the most responsive possible guitar soundboard would be one with infinite stiffness and zero mass, so that the energy from the slightest tug of a finger on a string would translate most efficiently into moving air instead of diffusing as heat in the structure of the instrument. "Infinite stiffness and zero mass", huh? Good luck with that, buddy! BONUS MINI-KONSP KORNER: When Jerry Garcia died, many believe that he was deeply involved in a project involving zero point energy. Things were reportedly going well, which is shocking given that his only known tools were heroin, a Steinberger, and a Macintosh SE. What really happens!
posted by elvis No Doctors Live Weds 11/29/06 San Francisco CA FAIR WARNING: posted by elvis MODERN MAN REACTS TO NATURE Is is a tenet of "futurist anarchy" not to reject technology, but The crap - first brushed against tree stump, then plopped like a burger to the sidewalk - is covered in paper, obviously a mock at the poop's first hit.
The poop sits as if saying "I was in them", and the paper as though A shocking turd, and a thrilling look into where art is headed in San Francisco's Mission district. Though I had no camera in hand at the time, I saw no less than three
more of these works over a brief two block walk. My favorite
undocumented but probably still hardening piece is on 26th Street
between Mission and Valencia. Simple and stinky, and surrounded by a
bag of old fast food, it is four plops titled "i crapped where the car
parks". I suggest bringing a quarter and a vehicle so that you too can
become an interactive part of this burgeoning 'movement'. Be thankful for the support of friends, family, comrades, etc. And thanks to you for listening. "With you always" --No Doctors
posted by elvis kevekev.com vs. the post-avant The original missive I wrote for this site (see kevekev.com vs. the post-avant 10/12/06) was intended to be a synopsis and portal for Chris Cutler’s article on the lineages of self-defined avant-garde movements. My “update” generated both heat and light by members of the band, but mostly the latter, for which I thank my esteemed comrades. Yet, a gauntlet thrown, however gently, remains a gauntlet. First, I want to bring out the main points in Cutler’s essay, and then move to some synthesis of the Chaumpers and deMorrow critiques. The Cutler position: Linguistic: “The fact remains that in a media-dominated discourse, avant-garde today implies little more than 'breaking or appearing to break ranks with market consensus,' even if sometimes it may still retain homeopathic traces of political engagement, cultural prescience or technical innovation. Even when those traces are strong, the term does them no service because it buries and negates them. One has seriously to ask whether anyone believes that the term can be useful any more...” Historical: “The struggle with the academy has been won. The market has taken its place. Unlike the old art institutions, the market, being impersonal, amorphous and many-headed, has no central authority to attack. Moreover it has the proven power to absorb whatever is thrown at it and to recast everything it touches into its own shape. Although avantgardism may prove to have been one of the great cultural achievements of the modern period, helping, through its very absolutism, to kick-start a new art practice and to liberate, once and for all, media, form and imagination - making everything and anything the proper matter of aesthetic work - the world that needs such avant-gardes is gone, precisely because their work is done. That work was definitive; entropic; a river that may not be stepped into twice; a one-time catalyst that effected an irreversible change of state.” Transformative: “The new problems we face today are problems that avantgardism has helped to create and which its methods can no longer solve.” So, if anyone disagrees with the above, let them speak. I believe that we live in a cultural world qualitatively different from the period before 1968 – with both good and bad consequences. ‘Nuff said. Chaumpers, in a piece I mostly agree with (see 13 Retorts from the Life of the Big Guy 10/16/06), posits an ahistorical and transcendental function for cultural production, especially for music (as it often takes a non-verbalized form). Here, the undiscovered and uncharted is the prime mover; the form that it takes is the movement. These are usually defined post facto by the repugnant critic (or, as I prefer to call them, the failed musician). Personally, I have no ability to peer inside the mind of the musician and find individual motivations. We have autobiographies, anecdotes, drinking tales, but I’m sure that we cannot speak for the impulses of all musicians who have lived on the cultural fringes. I do know that you can get at least a little pussy by playing freak out music, but I’m not going to generalize that. Implicit in the Chaumpers retort, however, is reification of the divisions between the logics of culture, politics, and economy that, in reality, are only mental abstractions. This is not to say that these three fields of human action overlap completely, or all depend on one of the fields (i.e. a vulgar materialism), but neither am I willing to go so far as to say they are entirely exclusive. Think more of a Venn diagram, readers. Thus I’m more interested in why certain conglomerations of cultural explorers end up forming streams thick enough to not only act back upon their cultural field but also upon our other fields. Second, Chaumpers brings out a can of thick and chunky Warhol to distinguish between sound – in his words, “action etched into the medium of air” – and music, “an action etched into the medium of mind, a reverberation of the former etching perhaps, but an absolutely singular and transcendent action as well.” The Cage-ian recognition of all sound as music, as offered by Chaumpers in his response and essentially supported by my original post, raises the dilemma of action. If one is content, as is practiced by various monk-employing religions, to simply be, why bother to actively make music when you are surrounded by it? Along these lines, a “musical nihilism” would thus not take the form of what we today call noise music. A real noise musician would wake up every day, turn on their tape recorder and start listening. Instead, noise music gets sweaty all over me, punches me in the kidney, and leaves shoe marks on my inner thigh. The question of why, again, turns to realms above the individual, but below the ur-transcendent (the Jungian ethereal blob, if you will). deMorrow itemizes my original essay and then puts forth a series of dichotomies that are extremely useful for any discussion of music (see A Taste of Several Dichotomy 10/19/06) . He finds a calmative through the enterprise of creating shared meanings with an audience, though his thinly veiled critique of other subcultures ensconced in the academy is absurd. It is debatable which career path, avant-garde musician or academician, involves less “intense specialization” and the wasting of the best years of one’s life – knowing many in both, I’d put it at a draw. Barring that, deMorrow proceeds in fine form. He castigates the mealy-mouthed platitudes of our time, arguing that these ugly realities – wage-slavery, a commodified and nihilist media, dirty bathrooms – make the age-old project of seeking the good (beautiful) and the true (objective meaning) much more precarious if not downright impossible. I doubt that. Instead, deMorrow speaks of alternative futures, perhaps utopias. During the last period of serious consideration of utopia – the era hovering around 1968 – major cultural statements were made. Perhaps the capacity to transform our other fields through culture depends on the abilities of our imagination to create these transcendent possibilities? Nietzsche wrote that, for the artist, the beautiful is mastery of the opposites “without tension, so that violence is no longer needed.” We live in a world where this is still not possible. Something happened after 1968. We no longer read books or watch movies about utopias. The predominant form that imagination takes today is dystopia – hence the success and resonance of a genre such as science fiction. We have lost the capacity to imagine a completely new world. I would argue, however, that this is temporary. Marcuse, in his still relevant 1969 An Essay on Liberation, wrote: “The liberated consciousness would promote the development of a science and technology free to discover and realize the possibilities of things and men in the protection and gratification of life, playing with the potentialities of form and matter for the attainment of this goal. Technique would then become art, and art would tend to form reality: the opposition between imagination and reason, higher and lower faculties, poetic and scientific thought, would be invalidated. Emergence of a new Reality Principle: under which a new sensibility and a desublimated scientific intelligence would combine in the creation of an aesthetic ethos.” Marcuse goes on to say that new sensibilities can only be created through praxis, that is, action. Not simply the internal imagining, but the external expression. Music. Worlds do not emerge anew from monkish meditation. To abuse Marx a little, people make their own music but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves but under circumstances directly encountered, given and transmitted from the past. The mystifications of the past have fallen from our eyes, Cutler shows us. The possibilities of the future, however, the utilization of our world now unmasked, still need to be articulated. TANKERTOWN WEEKLY COMICXKS
posted by elvis SECRET ORIGINS Part One Prior to beginning my guitar studies, I was also intensely interested in drawing, and aside from reading & writing this was most likely my first disciplined creative activity as a child. When I began to play the guitar there was a nearly one-for-one exchange with my drawing studies, and I have never looked back. This is also of interest, as CansaFis now spends a great deal of his time & creative energies devoted to the visual arts, while I will be surprised if I ever make a committed return to the drawing table. I would not meet either Chx or Fis until four years after I began playing the guitar and abandoned the synchronous ambitions towards voice and comickxs. I think we can all find such personal teleological currents across time when we examine significant relationships in our lives. When I was twelve years old I would practice 1-2 hours a day. Prior to any legitimate options for (as opposed to intense interest in) sex or drug use, I recall my guitar as the primary muse calling my higher lobes towards getting the fuck out of class. In these pre-interwebs eras, bound hard-copy tablature transcriptions of the major-label opuses by the likes of Hetfield, Cavalera, King-Hanneman and Darrell set the tone for what I eventually came to understand to be my best means of non-linear communication. My first electric guitar came to me only as an 'reward' for diligently practicing a cheap nylon-string Yamaha handed down to me from my mother's youngest sister. The terms of the deal were as crystal-clear as they were infuriating: I would commit to a formal program and learn to play an entirely inappropriate instrument (the cheap nylon-string) for one calendar year prior to being 'gifted' with an even more poorly made electric guitar ("Samick" brand) that would finally, ecstatically, allow me to rehearse alongside Metallica CDs in a volume comparable to my CD player. Prior to this magickal date of 25 June 1994 I inexplicably occupied myself by perfecting ...And Justice for All using six nylon strings across a fretboard twice the width of an average Gibson SG. When I was thirteen years old I would practice for 2-3 hours a day. The moment I could plug an electric guitar into an 8" speaker set upon a table next to my first CD player in my basement Eldersburgh MD bedroom, I was irretrievably fallen. My first thought upon learning to play the electric guitar was "this is endless"; my second thought (approx. three months later) was "I need a bigger amplifier". ...to be continued posted by elvis Weasel found some potent anti-suicide medicine on the YouTube. Fuck shit up!! posted by elvis "A Forum For Cinematic Intelligence" posted by cansafis Weekend reading for the next year or so: After a night of snow-dreams, winter has inexplicably disappeared outside my window and I must go walk it for a while. I'll have some fresh stuff for the site this evening. Saturday nights is wild! posted by elvis The Author would like to apologize for yesterday's sudden and jagged blast of
anger and offer a presentation of some artwork in recompense. He wishes Chris a full recovery
in the hospital. If sir can access the web, he, like you, can enjoy
these arts.
And this, entitled "Born Again and Again", is a mantle piece tributing the No Doctors boy's Birthdays, and the birdman:
posted by cansafis Anaheim you are the bitch of my earth! Now before you cry foul, calling me a KEVEKEV imitator, or honking the bozo virtues of that spit-shit Orange County wasteland, hear my case. US OUT OF CA tour date 11/8 started pleasantly enough: good beers and ridiculous political coverage via the TV Cable, excellent sandwiches courtesy Whole Foods Corp, and a simple drive from Ventura to Santa Monica where we would be playing radio at LA’s Loyola University. The radio show went well, engineer Chris Kedzie was a pro and got everything in the mix while being grilled by Elvis re: the current state of the classical guitar. One caffeinated malt liquor later we headed down the street to classier digs and got to see ex-bassist’s “Pat on Bass” latest video edit of a decidedly non-child friendly DJ Shadow video. At this ping good spirits abound and cold Budweiser flows fresh and free into my belly and consciousness. But crash dammit you Blockbuster crapping incest pirate Anaheim, we then arrive promptly at SHOW TIME to the potentially defunct Doll Hut USA to find it boarded up and abandoned. I felt the whispering tumbleweed poking up my pant leg, called it a pervert, and thought to myself… Chris, you who book at the Doll Hut, why would you confirm a show with me that you would not allow to happen? Why would you then double confirm it via a personal phone call? Sure your life is busy. But if you are going to back out on a touring band, at least give them a heads up. See, trick evil twinkie biscuit, for a band to play your club, even if they live down the street, they must expend TIME and MONEY. We came from the Bay, devoted a day, and you couldn't even muster the courtesy to tell us you were closing down and couldn't’t handle the show. No video game fart smear, you instead confirmed it with a friendly phone call and e-mail and then left us dead in the dirt with no show and an unexpected night off. I could have had us rocking in San Diego at Scolari’s. Instead you cost us, and you cost anyone in the south of CA who might have wanted to hear what we had to offer circa day 12 of tour. You wasted my time spent promoting the show. You wasted my time making art for your fake show at your twee-diddle-pom-pom-dee-diddly-dum-shart-farced-snot-alley twist dive. The night grew grim as we talked the bible all the way to Bakersfield at Camp Roosjen. Upon entering the magnificent castle doors my night turned double grim as I discovered that a drawing I had spent weeks creating had vanished from our car (more on this later - watch this space). Randy Quaid said it best when he said “There’s a shitstorm coming”. I punched my own tits and fell asleep hoping today never happened... And awoke to see another day. Not much better and not much worse, but I guess I can get some sick consolidation from a now disappeared Doll Hut Blog: seems the maestro booker himself got a busted jaw not too many weeks back. Though he insists he is and was working strictly on booking in his injured hiatus, he obviously overlooked this cab driver. I am not such a dork haggis to see total karmic satisfaction in such action, but it is grimace-ingly pleasant to hear dude has a notched chin. Please don’t ever open another club until you know how to treat the bands you are dealing with. May Mickey Mouse visit all your dreams, may he coast into you and upon you and rape your sherbet melon until you fascinate nothing less than an existence as the Donald Duck, at which point it all sounds like this… Quack…quack…quack…quack…quack….quack… posted by cansafis In civilized climes, this is how Thanksgiving should be done. I buy these monsters alive a few blocks up Mission Street at $4 a pound. All you need is a pot and tongs, forget that "mayonnaise" nonsense. One time I ate more than I ever had before and woke up with an itchy scalp. One time Fis & Masta Millions ate cousin lobster in excess and they became lobster. One time kevekev tried to feed one to a kitty cat. Choose yr own adventures!
posted by elvis I am compelled to give a belated tip o' th' blog to the new & improved BLASTITUDE.com. This e-rag has been offering the finest in casual criticism (the good kind) and valuable noise-raking for years now, but Editor In Chief Larry Dolman has recently stepped it up with daily updates and new medicines. Dolman treats East Rogers Park like Stan Lee treated Manhattan in '66. I look across the internets and like what I see - dig in. posted by elvis Mr. Brians's Tour Breakfast Update - TH' THRILLING CONCLUSION!! 11/10/06 11/9/06 posted by mr. brian The "club called Grandma's" mentioned in this New York Times article is actually Oakland's recently defunct Grandma's House, whose most final tenants included the East Bay half of No Doctors, CansaFis and Mr. Brians. Note that the Times piece refers to another, civilized country in which artists are given federal grants in addition to drug cookers & bomb makers: The band later applied for, and received, more financing — about $4,000 — to return to America for another sweep. That tour included a stop in Austin for South by Southwest, several East Coast dates and a visit to Oakland, Calif., where Mr. Wilson smashed his white Stratocaster guitar and leapt onto a fan at a club called Grandma’s — a moment in cultural diplomacy now immortalized on YouTube. posted by elvis Please forgive a bit of a lag in posting as we recover from tour. Things will pick up again this week. As I have arguably the worst memory in the band, I will try to fill in some gaps on the tour reporting. Also look for the exciting conclusion to Mr. Brians's Tour Breakfast, more movie reviews and links from Fis, the return of the Konspiracy Korner, and a new feature, "Secret Origins". Thanks for looking! posted by elvis TANKERTOWN WEEKLY BY FOOTE, also DEMORROW
posted by elvis SHOW REPORT: Santa Barbara CA 11/7/06 Santa Barbara is named after a saint who protects
against explosions. NO DOCTORS LIVE IN PETALUMA CA FRIDAY 11/9/06
posted by elvis Mr. Brians's Tour Breakfast Update: 11/7/06 11/6/06 posted by mr. brian SHOW REPORT: Lompoc CA 11/5/06
As our mud-speckled van pulled into the parking lot of the Lompoc Motel 6, Ryan Froemming greeted us with a disarmingly juvenile smile beneath a pair of "Risky Business"-era Wayfarers. Clutching an XL fountain drink, he waved with his other hand and immediately welcomed us to Lompoc, as did his young cousin Emily. After visiting the local historic La Purisima Mission (gorgeously righteous) we hit the local Taco Roco for some fine burrito and salad bar. We made our way to the Southside Coffee Co in time to catch Kevin & Chad setting up. What started as a hypnotic, hermetic squall reminiscent of A Handful of Dust (perfect) mutated toward something like an early Blue Humans gig minus Rudolph Grey. Their combined attack was concise, thoughtful and superbly executed. Next up was the Silver Daggers. I hadn't had a chance to really soak up this crew's aura at the Smell because No Doctors was setting up on the other stage while they played the front room. Tonight they revealed themselves to be an impressive and dedicated outfit, capable of peeling out rock-yer-head rhythms without being predictable. The Daggers were varied but tight and i felt lucky to be able to follow such a strong group. Our set was extremely satisfying to all parties involved. Froemming's other cousin Keenan manned a camera while munching on a Nerds Rope, while behind him a crowd of young people schooled the dance floor. After the show we retired to the Motel 6. Froemming came stacked with a boombox loaded with Cecil Taylor and a case of cold longnecks. Mr. Brians and I dj-battled on the balcony via shortwave and a fine evening was had by all. I am all set to cast my vote for Froemming's cousin Emily in the 2012 election. posted by chauncey TANKERTOWN WEEKLY COMCIXKS BY FOOTE & DEMORROW Apologies for the late posting from the road. Blame the editor, not the artiste.
posted by elvis SHOW REPORT: Riverside CA 11/6/06 The day started bleakly with a big ‘we've been had' jolt (apply directly to forehead), as we mistakenly visited the Borat film (no linkage for the fraud MC Cohen) at an amazing theater in Ontario CA. I would say it was severe sacrilege to see such an average movie on such a beautiful screen (100 feet by 200 feet). Bring back Prisoners of the Lost Universe!!! Things looked better after time spent upon the Big Buck Hunter in the theater lobby. After excellent cheap dal and samosa at a local Riverside market, the show was on and we got to hear great music from Odd Doppelganger, Circuit Scarecrow, The Wayward, and John Thill. We spent the night attending to the popular past-time of driving before crashing at a Motel 6 in Ventura that offered us the distinct and special scent of feces. We were ready for election day and for Santa Barbara. I put Prisoners... on a mini DVD player and went to bed. Buh. posted by cansafis To concern yourself with surface political conflicts is to make the mistake of the bull in the ring, you are charging the cloth. That is what politics is for, to teach you the cloth. Remember, a real decision is measured by the fact that you've taken new action. If there's no action, you haven't truly decided. Upon "election's" eve, I post an humble missive from the beautiful campus of UC Santa Barbara. The Isla Vista locale offers much in opposition to the Santa Barbara "main street" drag that we glimpsed upon our drive south to Riverside yesterday. The Co-op Market here is top notch - one of the best I've seen in the states, and all proper tonics and sustenance are in effect to allow for significant democratic progress to rear head during our set this evening. What better way than this to commiserate the sure stomping that weak-willed and two-faced pols will suffer on all sides of the dread Fed aisles that lay, ever expanding, over the Rockies. Vague secessionism is the rational response to false hysterics over a rigged game in pre-breadline USA, but I made a trip to City Hall in SF prior to hitting the road for tour. Although I have in the past, I am happy to say I have yet to exhibit an "paper trail" while exiting a bathroom on this tour. On the patio of the co-op Chauncey strums "Sweet Jane" while Fis scribbles, explaining his mayan symbolism to lovely passers-by, and Mr. Brians, in a decidedly non-stentorian fashion, declares to you, dear reader: Mr. Brians's Tour Breakfast Update: 11/4/06 11/3/06 posted by elvis SHOW REPORT: Santa Cruz CA 11/1/06 Our conservative geographical itinerary on this venture has its benefits: I awoke amidst "tour" but at home in my own bed. What diabolical brain-vat process has seized this ensemble of late? Whose monotonous dream floors my feet-stamps in these middle hours? Having swallowed the Halloween with a full taste of THE LID care of San Francisco's sixth numbered street, I was anxious to lock the door and abscond southwards in search of open skies. Santa Cruz offered its Blue Lagoon club and things grew accommodating. Weasel and I discussed the specifics of current trajectories straddling the post-millenial // pre-scruduuple musical scenes. Fighting the triple threats of "Tivo", "Netflix" and "soundmen", we concluded that the audience is essentially composed of individuals chancing upon one of the ~5 rock shows they will attend before giving up the whole charade for good (not unreasonable, although some would say unfortunate). In the corners of rooms there was 'movement'; like the sign at the ocean said: "don't be next". New Thrill Parade kicked out the tin-can cabaret sound with aplomb; they perhaps have fingers upon the pulse of Mr. Brians Breakfast Itinerary. The Flying Luttenbachers are in top form with Ed still basking in post-Angus glow from his Halloween victory; with his preferred crumbling '79 back in hands he dominated. They opened with one of my favorite The Void sequences and ascent was assured from there. On "Cataclysm" Rob has emerged as the first to perfect Weasel's twisted string-section from hell sequences and I raised my fist in support. Weasel and Tony offered a charming charade in which Weasel would periodically ask Tony to leave the stage, only to invite him back after high standards false starts to "kkringg". This continued to the encore, which Tony got to watch from the side. Top marks all around. Chauncey sold one No Doctors LP to the neighboring record store and emerged with a pair of 7"s: Pissed Jeans and Jefferson Starship. After the show CansaFis sold the blue puppydog shirt off his back to a gentleman named Alex. He later counted his dollars with glee before graciously tossing them into the band envelope and donning a red kittykat shirt identical to his 'money-maker'. The reader can perhaps better discern "Jack" from his "beanstalk" in the above two anecdotes. Howlin Magic sat in and added appropriate gnarl flavour to our set-closing "Sharkskin Blues" jam. He arrived early and humbly confirmed sufficient floor space for us to crash upon, warning that he didn't have four beds. He later would escort us to a thoroughly-appointed oceanside palace complete with a regulation football and "band bathroom". Fis and I tossed the pigskins amid perfect rain at 2:00AM and caught a shifty audience in a parked car. They had not left hours later when B and I emerged for a cliff view, but they made no threatening advances; perhaps someone saw the aforementioned sign. posted by elvis No Doctors Live in Joshua Tree CA Joshua Tree guarantees transcendence of the blank-mind confine.
America needs more Joshua Tree. The balance between the grateful and the gateway will swing fully forward and back. The range California offers us is undeniable and awesome, and the music shall do its best to respond in kind.
posted by chauncey Mr. Brians's Tour Breakfast Update: 11/1/06 SHOW REPORT: Modesto CA 11/2/03 Arriving under pleasing streetlamp to the unassuming allure of Modesto's Mustang Club proved itself instantly to be the welcomed hush of absence. Scarcely acknowledged by the dirt parking lots and thrift warehouse fronts, our van made herself unobstructed, and the gateway to peace appeared modestly. Inside the drinking parlour we were quickly greeted by the Jelly Donut Gang and their road manager, nicknamed "Mom." The exuberance was undeniable without being pushy or overly forceful. I heard tales of the local gaming halls and the mythic Arch. Outback men gather together around a firepit aside a dilapidated barn that seemed a transplant of another twilight era. When the Gang took to venerations, the place lit up with a subtle, shimmery glow not unlike the moon as seen through a cat's eye. Rocking hard and furious was the order of day, as the young power trio pummeled their way through such instant nuggs as "Don't Worry About Life." The kids quickly jetted (it's a skool-nyte!!!) and Old Hack took the place of three. Blue, somber, world-weary and ancient might be a start; mix in some grace, poise, fine timing and a tasteful(!) harmonica and you might have yourself an idea. No Doctors took the stage close to one and did our thing. Despite a vexing corner echochamber sensation the results were assuredly 'us.' Old Hack the gentleman took us further touring through Modesto to sample some of her wares. Thanks! I write you now from the van on L.A.'s smog-strangled freeways. Fis has nixed the McKenna with a "buh," making way for a steady stream of CA punk, Minutemen to Crime. Another radio gig on the horizon and then the Smell tonight...tonight I dine on fish tacos. posted by chauncey BIG BUMMER THURSDAY: In lighter news, Santa Cruz is beautiful, and tonight we play Modesto with young punks Jelly Donut Gang and old hack Old Hack. Come on down at the Mustang Club 413 7th St. Modesto CA. posted by elvis Mr. Brians's Tour Breakfast Update: posted by mr. brian SHOW REPORT: Eureka CA 10/29/06 Hypothesis: Two people can share the same idea without sharing the same material space. Answer: After receiving a CD from Que La Chinga and seeing photographs resembling three of the four members of No Doctors, it is "maybe" true. I propose an experiment: make a drawing and carry it in your back pocket, see if you find anything resembling its creation in the course of your life, then trace the timeline. Does it match? Okay, apply the idea in a sense that makes sense to you. Observe: I am thinking vegan pizza parlor right now, how about you? The Pearl Lounge is a nice place to play. Upon arrival we met three die-hards arrived early to the show by way of a two-handbill snafu. A few hours later, amidst much love from Ex-Washington Redskin Lenny Vermillion (we'll be back for the Damieon Marley and the Bongos dude), we took to stage. Openers Neptune Society were great, real nice guys and the music was loud (so much so, bar owner Jasmine requested an extra quiet set). So we attempted to comply, setting our amps at half volume and removing our earplugs. Aside from a lady in dreadlocks and her boyfriend making a let's get the hell out of here sign, everyone stayed rocking out, smiling, and giving us high fives during the set. I think my highlight as an audience voyeur was the head shaking provoked by the ascension in Future Song. Note to tube amp users: they get louder as they heat up. By set end we all put the ear plugs back in. We ended the night hitting up a sandwich shop in Arcata. B bought an pizza bagel and I got some avocado with onions, peppers, and marinara. Quick conversation on the weird requests led to the bigger-type girl working behind the counter poking fun at my vegan meal by pointing out her belly and revealing a Hooters T-Shirt she was hiding. A good laugh later we were crashing at the La Chinga hideout, avoiding small turds on the walk up and relaxing to the dramatic tones of a "beaut" horror film. When we finish it I'll get you a review. And thus we end our stay in Eureka/Arcata with a visit to the magnificent Redwoods along the Avenue of the Giants. They were amazing, we all left happy, and here is a photo for you to enjoy.
posted by cansafis
posted by elvis |
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