Calexico and Iron & Wine...or would I be lying?

Calexico and Iron & Wine
October 29, 2005
The Ridglea, Fort Worth

Can I really mention the Iron & Wine part because (hiding my face in my sweater) ... well, okay ...

We didn't actually stay around for Sam Beam and friends.

Does that make me a horrible person?

In one way, I'm sorry we didn't and maybe it does make me a bit of a weenie-brain, because having never heard of Iron & Wine or Sam Beam before, I'd done a bit of research and was eager to see the man who's been hailed as the best thing to come out of Florida since freshly-squeezed. And from what I was told later, the joint performance was positively magical. Judging from the size of the expectant crowd and the number of young men working the Sam Beam look, I don't doubt that it was.

But as an old timer and even as a smoker, that smoke in there was killin' me, man.

I mean, really, I hate to come off all fogey-esque, but can people really still smoke in performance venues these days? I don't know the ins and outs of Fort Worth's various ordinances, and maybe I'm getting old and creaky, but trying to breathe in there took some effort, dude. Plus, ever since that club in Rhode Island went up in flames and all those people were trapped and killed, I've been a mite gig shy, to be honest.

Brushing aside the choking smoke and the mayhem at the merchandise booth, and the girl in line behind me at Will Call crowing "I'm the number one Sam Beam fan in the country! He'd better sign these CD's!" - I was tickled pink to see how Wesley and Richard and their crew have breathed new life into the Ridglea as a performance venue to be reckoned with. Being a Fort Worth gal and all, it's heartwarming to watch this evolution. Wow. God bless Wesley and Richard and their rock and roll hearts. The last time I was at the Ridglea was back in '88 or '89, I believe, when Danny and I saw the re-release of "Fantasia," high as hippies and full of the joys of youth. Don't know exactly when it happened, but the place closed for business not long after that and sat empty for almost ten years, maybe longer, and then it was transformed into the little musical bijou of Camp Bowie Boulevard. Just the fact that some money-wielding, marauding developer asshole hasn't tried to have it torn down so they can vomit up a bunch of ugly condos gives me hope for this world.

Then again, Fort Worth has a lot more respect for her landmarks than Dallas does.

Anyway, back to the gig at hand:

First of all, can I start out by saying that Martin Wenk and Jacob Valenzuela rule the brass, among the other zillion instruments they play? Can I have an amen?

Secondly, I don't know if it's up to the band or their booking agent who determines the venue - maybe a bit of work on both ends - but whoever came up with the idea to play in my hometown deserves a great big kiss. Thank you for bringing Calexico to Fort Worth, kind sir/madam. If you bring them back for a full-on show, you'll have earned your spot in heaven.

Also, I've only been in the Calexico loop for a little over a year now, so aside from "Not Even Stevie Nicks," "Across the Wire," "Alone Again, Or" and a rousing "Crystal Frontier" at the end of their 45 minutes or so on stage, I couldn't tell you each and every song on the setlist, but I can tell you that the sheer musicality of this particular outfit just blows my little mind, gives me chill bumps and makes me want to star in a sex-drenched, modern-day spaghetti western. Or better yet, write one instead.

Reasons to be cheerful: who's going down in D.C.?

I'm wondering if Ladbrokes in England or the casinos in Las Vegas are taking bets on this yet: Rove, Libby, or Cheney? Or all of the above? And I'm also wondering if Little Boy Blue if wringing his hands yet, shitting his kecks, cursing the men he hired to prop him up and make him look capable and downing jiggers of Jim Beam, just like the National Enquirer reported back in September.

Yes, the National Enquirer. Hell, they broke the O.J. Simpson, Gennifer Flowers and Robert Blake stories, didn't they? With every rumor, there's a kernel of truth. Besides that, don't be so quick to piss on my parade.

Village idiot haiku for beginners

In honor of the Otsukimi, tonight's moon-viewing party at the Arboretum where part of the evening's festivities include a bit where people can get up and read their haiku poems, I've been caught up all day in my own unshakable, sorry-ass attempt at honoring the 5-7-5 form.

Please note that this is all in good fun; I'm no poet, nor will I ever be, nor do I harbor any ill or malicious will whatsoever toward Channel 8, its employees, or any affiliates of the Belo Corporation. Also please note that I adore Rebecca Lopez - she is a stellar reporter in addition to being my milpa goddess, I shall not want; Gloria Campos is tops in her field and a nice person to boot; and if I'm commuting, Alexa Conomos is a spot-on kind of gal. Remember when Scott Samms got suspended for calling her a "Greek bitch?" Hopefully she told him, "Yeah, so kiss my ass, Samms." I'd probably squeal with joy and kiss someone if they called me a "Lebanese bitch," "Mexican bitch," or "Spanish bitch."

You bet I would. Little would anyone know that I try to honor my foremothers and fathers as often as possible, and with my history, this takes work because some of these people just weren't very nice. Like on my father's side, there's my great-grandmother's Jewish grandfather (or was it her father?) who fled Bremerhaven, Germany for Monterey, Mexico, after gunning down a guy in a bar. And then on my mother's side, there's my grandmother's brother and uncle back in Tripoli, who tracked her down after she ran away before her arranged wedding, dragged her home, beat her up, and tied her to the bed until it was time for her to walk down the aisle. I shit you not.

Enough with the lurid legacies already. I now sheepishly present you with the worst haiku you'll ever read.


Rebecca Lopez
My lovely milpa goddess
Flogging me with maize

Gloria Campos
Worse than Vietnam, yeah
Channel 8 blows goats

Mary Ann Razzuk
The Lebanese newsgirl rules
My local low-down

Lexi Conomos
'Greek bitch' traffic queen
Keeps me out of jams


OK, I promise never to do this to you again. I'll stick with what I know from now on.

The mother of all record reviews: Timothy Herrman on the Minutemen CD, 'Double Nickels on the Dime'

A five-star review for a five-star album. I laughed so hard I almost pissed myself, because I know exactly where this guy Timothy's coming from. From Mark Prindle's Minutemen page:

http://www.markprindle.com/minutemen.htm

"This record makes me wanna strut down the street like I'm a secret agent. This record makes me wanna honor the veterans of this country. This record makes me wanna kick an old lady in the balls. This record makes me wanna dance with the woman I love. This record makes me wanna throw a Molotov cocktail at a cop car. This record makes me wanna climb an allegorical mountain. This record makes me wanna cry because it's so beautiful. This record makes me wanna fuck your sister. This record makes me wanna give a homeless person a ... nickel. This record makes me grateful to be alive."

Bless.

I also had no idea that "Dr. Wu" was a Steely Dan cover, either. Seriously. Don't you just love the Internet?

The lyrics are simply boss. Check out the abbreviated Minutemen version:

Don’t seem right
Well, I’ve been strung out here all night
I’ve been waiting for the taste
You said you’d bring to me

Biscayne Bay
Where the Cuban children sleep all day
I was searching for the song
You used to sing to me

Katy lies
You could see it in her eyes
And imagine my surprise
When I saw you

Are you with me, Dr. Wu?
Or are you really just a shadow
Of the man that I once knew?
Are you crazy
Are you high
Or are you just an ordinary guy?

Have you done all you can do
Are you with me, doctor?
Can you hear me, doctor?

*Naturally, special thanks go to Walter Becker and Donald Fagen for the original version, and to LyricsFreak.com for the full text.

Nostalgically naughty: 'Monica was no Mandy: The mother of all scandals - The Profumo Affair'

The news being what is these days, I find myself longing for something completely insipid, like a nice 'n sleazy sex scandal. Woefully underqualified Supreme Court nominees, wars, and never-ending natural disasters have taken their toll us, and goddamn it, we need to start feeling good about ourselves again. So in honor of that nostalgic innocence, that lost joie de vivre, let's revisit those fabled Profumo years, back when the days when the girls were girls and the men were delighted to make their acquaintance.

I wrote this particular bit back in 1998, right around the time the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal broke, before the cigar jokes and stained blue dresses and berets for Halloween became trendy. Damn, I sure miss those days. And God bless Bill Clinton. I still love him dearly and would totally let him knock me up, but several of the women he chose to dally with were a bit eeky and something of a drag, to be honest. Republicans just have enough money to pay their call girls and mistresses off, that's all. It's not fair.

Anyway, I should be whining about the fact that I never finished this page. For one thing, there are several new books to be added to my suggested readings list - including the ultra-rare Mandy Report, which was an Xmas prezzie from Danny last year; also, a new memoir from Christine Keeler and a couple of other finds.

So if you're in the mood, the above headline links you to my original Profumo page. Feel free to click on it for the lovely photos of the principals. For those not in the mood, I've included my text below, for your bemusement. Enjoy!


MONICA WAS NO MANDY !!!

The Mother of All Scandals - The Profumo Affair


Let's face it, President Clinton has lousy taste in women, with the exception of Hillary. I like Hillary, thank you very much! Shit, if it were scientifically feasible, I'd have her children! But aside from Kathleen Willey and maybe Gennifer Flowers, I'd have to say that the man is in need of some serious tutorials in how to separate the poon from the tang, if you know what I mean. If only Christine and Mandy could be on hand, to give poor Paula and Monica a few pointers.

That's right, Christine Keeler and Mandy-Rice Davies!

The stars of the Profumo Affair, darling!!!

This historic event rocked ever-so-austere England in the early-early 60's, in the height of scorching Cold War Paranoia, less than a year before the Kennedy assassination. As a matter of fact...wouldn't you just know it, there's supposedly a Kennedy connection to another woman connected to the Profumo Scandal, a woman by the name of Mariella Novotny. Mariella Novotny threw the kinds of parties the likes of the London toffee-nose set had never experienced before! But more on dear Mariella in a few...

Christine and Mandy had the world by the balls in early 60's London. Their friend Stephen Ward, a high-society osteopath, introduced them to some of the most influential men in London, some with lordly connections and other such claims. Christine Keeler just happened to find herself sandwiched between the British Minister of War and the Russian Naval Attache. Later on when the world discovered that all this had been going on, War Minister John Profumo resigned in disgrace and the attention then shifted to the "prostitution" trial of Stephen Ward. Ward committed suicide before the trial came to an end. Prime Minister Harold Macmillan resigned a few months later.

Now, don't get all highbrow on me now, Sweetie.

These girls were a breath of fresh air compared to the staleness and blandness of today's scandal queens. And to think that they didn't even need plastic surgery in those days!

Some of the fabulous people you'll hear about:

Christine Keeler - The dark-haired siren who almost single-handedly brought down the Conservative party!

Mandy Rice-Davies - Christine's bubbly, blonde sidekick, who also pulled a number of well-meaning influential men!

Stephen Ward - The man who sprang the aforementioned pair onto the demi-monde of London. Later put on trial for a number of trumped-up charges, and victim of Conservative witch-hunt.

John Profumo - The British War Minister, who dabbled with Christine and denied "any impropriety with Miss Keeler."

Eugene Ivanov - The Russian Naval Attache who also had a hankering for Miss Christine.

Peter Rachman - Mandy's lover, benefactor, and notorious Notting Hill slum lord.

Harold Macmillan - British Prime Minister who resigned after the scandal broke.

Lucky Gordon - Christine's psychotic Jamaican lover.

Johnny Edgecombe - Christine's other Jamaican guy, known for taking potshots at the Wimpole Mews flat where Christine and Mandy were hiding out.

Mariella Novotny - Famous hostess of fabulous parties, including the "Man In The Mask" gala. Married to antiques dealer Hod Dibben, known to have had liaisons with Malcolm X, Brian Jones, and John F. Kennedy.

Ronna Ricardo - The prostitute who was forced to testify against Stephen Ward. She later retracted her statement and took to sporting "A-C-A-B" (All Coppers Are Bastards) on her knuckles.

And many more!

Suggested readings:

An Affair Of State : The Profumo Case And The Framing Of Stephen Ward - Phillip Knightley and Caroline Kennedy, Atheneum, New York, 1987.

The Trial Of Stephen Ward - Ludovic Kennedy, Simon and Schuster, New York, 1965

Mandy - Mandy Rice-Davies with Shirley Flack, Michael Joseph, London, 1980

Honeytrap - The Scandal--Anthony Summers and Stephen Dorril, Coronet Books, London, 1987

Scandal - Christine Keeler, St. Martin's Press, New York, 1987

25 years down the road: "Roadie" revisited

Was it really 25 years ago when I begged my mother to drive me and my Meadowbrook pal Amy Wood all the way over to some skanky-ass discount cinema in Euless so we could see this piece of celluloid rock and roll trash? Sure, I was on a mission, being a big Blondie fan and all, but like my obsession with what it would take to be a Creem Dreem and the murder of Playmate of the Year Dorothy Stratten that same summer, this left its mark. I just watched it on Encore for the first time since then and realized, I haven't grown up one fucking bit.

This low-budget Alan Rudolph masterpiece was filmed right here in Texas, in and around the Austin area and at many recognizable locations, like the hilly streets around the Capitol and the vast prairies of Central Texas. Back at 11, though, I was probably too impatient and immature to appreciate that because all I cared about was the bit where Blondie came on. They didn't disappoint, either, tearing through "Ring of Fire" on some outdoor stage with this realistically-rendered refinery backdrop. For a 11-year-old demon child of rock and roll, this was powerful stuff, especially in that ambiguous post-Eat to the Beat, pre-Autoamerican era. It definitely gave me hope in a rather bleak time of my life, not to mention fodder for my dreams of running off to a desert island with Clem Burke, who's only one of the best and most under-rated goddamned drummers in the world, right up there with Max Roach, Buddy Rich, Ginger Baker, Keith Moon, John Maher, and Dave Grohl.

But I digress. Pop tart dreams aside, "Roadie" is the story of the lovable Travis W. Redfish - played to the hilt by Dallas' very own Meat Loaf, whose amazing career is pretty much book-ended by such brilliant roles as Eddie in "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" and Bob with the Bitch-Tits in "Fight Club." Here, his Redfish's own career path takes him from the Shiner Beer truck delivery guy who lives in an old farmhouse with his father (played with crusty flair by Art Carney) to the world's greatest roadie practically overnight.

His rise to fame is purely accidental, of course - he sees the girl of his dreams - Lola Bouilliabaise, played by the sparkly, dimpled Kaki Hunter - in the back of Hank Williams Jr.'s broken-down Winnebago with all the band's equipment. They've got to get to Austin for the show that night so it's up to Redfish to fix the camper and get them to their gig a couple hours. Naturally, he saves the evening, and everyone's treated to Hank Williams, Jr. and Roy Orbison's duet of "The Eyes of Texas," and later, solo Bocephus on "Family Tradition." After Redfish catches the eye of concert promoter Mohammed Johnson - played by Soul Train's Don Cornelius, I shit you not - he's kidnapped and flown to California, for his next big gig. To his delight, he's found his niche, celebrating with wild-child flourish.

On the road, Lola and Redfish bat eyes and trade affectionate platitudes, but jealousy rears its ugly head when Lola tells Redfish that she's working her way toward New York so she can hook up with Alice Cooper, because she wants him to be her first lover. And here you have your dramatic conflict.

This flick is definitely Oscar-challenged, so highbrow film-snob twats should steer clear. But if you're in it for the music luminaries and cheese factor, go for it. Soundtrack picks include "Dance This Mess Around" by the B-52's, "Hot Damn, I'm a One-Woman Man" by Jerry Lee Lewis, "That Old Loving You Feeling Again" by Roy Orbison and Emmylou Harris, and the Cheap Trick song, "Everything Works if You Let It," which basically serves as the film's theme song. Along with the Orbison-Williams duet and Blondie performance, there's also a cameo by Asleep at the Wheel, and of course, Lola gets to meet Alice Cooper at the end. He comes across as the dream guy you'd want to take home to mother, even with the makeup and the snake. When he finds out Redfish's true identity, he asks him to come along on the next tour, but Redfish has to get back home to Texas for his sister's wedding to his best friend. I won't spoil the ending, but it's a sweet little movie. Blondie and Alice Cooper fans should take note, especially the party scene where Clem Burke and Jimmy Destri of Blondie get into it with a troupe of midgets and Chris Stein runs around the room with a video camera, reminiscent of that scene in the Velvet Underground's 1966 performance at the New York Society for Clinical Psychiatry dinner at the Delmonico Hotel, where Barbara Rubin and Jonas Mekas filmed the audience's horrified and stunned reactions to the music, peppered with questions like, "Is his penis big enough?" and "What does her vagina feel like?" Was Alan Rudolph inspired by that, perhaps??? I can only hope.

Meanwhile, I'll leave you with my own personal Alice Cooper soundtrack, songs any rock and roll bad boy or girl would be remiss not to have on CD or in their iPod. Happy listening and Viva Vincent Furnier!!!

"Mary Ann" - from Billion Dollar Babies

"Long Way to Go" - from Love It To Death

"Big Apple Dreamin'" - from Muscle of Love

"Shoe Salesman" - from Easy Action

"Titanic Overture" - from Pretties For You

"Blue Turk" - from School's Out