"19 fucking years!", I thought to myself, as I thought there in the dark, listening to Changes by Sugar for the millionth time. I've lived in this town 19 Fucking Years! I've never lived anywhere else for even half as long as that. (I probably spent the most time otherwise in Del Norte county, California, often between the years of 1975-1988) Husker Du was meaningful to me as I prepared to leave my miniscule home-ish town, Gasquet, a place most notable for being on the wonderfully clear Smith River in Nor Cal. (Sorry to throw this at you in this fashion, but this is my association-session, not yours) In summertime mornings in 1987 and 1988, I would wake up with the summer sun streaming in my window in the bedroom of the Old Schoolhouse-House. If the coast was clear, I would throw the needle onto the album that lived on my turntable at that time, New Day Rising by Husker Du. If you know this album at all, you know the sheer power of the opening cut - it sounds like the most beautiful saw imaginable, cutting through your personal layers of life bullshit like a red-hot truth. Full blast, terror and beauty all in one, I would dig that cut and then, still amped and vital, I would run and/or skate to the nearby swimming hole at the convergence of the North and Middle forks of the Smith and dive in, bubbles in front of my face illuminated by the sun in a soda-pop sparkle. Fish swam away, rocks tumbled, birds scattered, the hot dry air blowing down the narrow valley with the scent of hot earth and trees./\ A special time in my life, I still live those moments/weeks/months in my head and I feel lucky that I had some appreciation at the time that this - that that - was as good as it gets. *******************************************************************************************************************
Fast forward to 1992, when I moved to Eugene from Eureka, California: I was a new fish in a new pond. The record stores here at the time were great; there were maybe 4 or 5 great stores, including House of Records and Green Noise and a few others. I awaited many albums as they were being released at the time, but I picked up Copper Blue at a store - I can't recall which - only upon finding out minutes earlier that it existed at all. I wasn't ready and waiting for it; I was utterly surprised by it. I wa sa huge Husker fan, obviously, but I was afraid that Mould had gone down the strong-willed, song-writerly rock ala Richard Thompson. I missed the crunch of the earlier Bob Mould, and now it was in my hand, a real surprise. *************************************************************************************
Eugene has alway been confusing to me, and I often think to myself, "does this town make you more hippy than you were before you moved here? Or more hateful of hippies and all that go with them?" Was this a punk place to be or just another granola-town full of exiles from the 1960s? Of course, it was and is both of those things; now I need to bring it back, to the summer, to the fall of 1992, walking in the early snow that year in my soggy shoes, walkman on, going to my job at Sundance Natural Foods, walkman on, phones on, listening endlessly to Copper Blue, waiting for my yet-to-be born son to arrive, feeling like a boy, not ready for this yet, copper blue, copper blue, Copper Blue. What a perfect album that still kills me in the best way possible, with the shimmering crunch and shine of Mould guitar, sawing, once again, through the layers of personal bullshit, this time like a sweet, emotional icepick through the heart and mind. A sound that re-sounds to me every so often. Like now.

Finally, it seems that summer has arrived in Eugene. It took it's own sweet time this year. I've been out of town for 8 days in the arid heat of east-central California and coming back to Eugene was a breath of fresh air for once. Every year, Tina and the kids and I trip down to Jackson / greater Amadore county area to visit Tina's parents, Lou and Cathie. Most years we trip on over to Tahoe for some lake enjoyment and good food and sights. I wanted to get up in the hills and hike this time but it just didn't happen - it can be hard, breaking away from your 4-year-old and 1.5-year old, even if you know they are in good hands. But the lake was excellent and we splashed and swam and looked at the mountains and guzzled large cans of brewed beverages while snacking on various lovely foodstuffs. I caught some most excellent sleep the whole week and wrote a few oddball songs on a Casio SK-1 and drank far too many beers with Big Lou. *cough cough* my throat feels dry after hanging with the Lou-man, if you catch my drift. Fun times were had.
Holy moly, I turned 41 yesterday. I know what your thinking - another guy who thinks he's special because his age is a prime number - but I have to say, the years of my life that are prime numbers usually end up being really great years, so watch out, all you sub-prime-number suckas, I'm coming to get ya.
I love diggin through old boxes of stuff, because I come up with forgotten gems, like the above pic of me on my birthday in 1984. I was fourteen, in between eighth grade and High School and I apparently had really great taste in Nike socks. My brother Monty probably took this picture. He was 23, about to leave for Kentucky to start a masters program in music. While he was staying the summer at home with Mom and I in Crescent City, Monty and I spent a lot of time together and I still have fond memories of all the things we did - I can remember swimming in the ocean in our tighty-whiteys on a foggy day. Another time, we were exiting the library to find two snobby popular girls from school that were rough on me sitting on the steps, nearly blocking our way. Like a valiant goober, Monty yelled, "C'mon Ederd - jump!" and proceed to leap hilariously over the Del Norte debutantes with me soon jumping after. And most importantly of all, my bro Monty taught me my first guitar chords and basic music theory bits. We played Who songs, him on bass, me on guitar and he gave me an example of how to write a song. I supplied the title - "cooking with gas" - and a few lines of lyrics. He asked for a few chords and I banged 'em out. He finished the words and gave the song a structure. Shaazzam! I was hit with a lightning bolt. He made it look so easy. And it kind of was easy when you have a hyperactive, musical genius brother around - he was like the catalyst for the chemical process of songwriting to start for me and for that I owe my bro a lot.

Today is memorial day and the day of our favorite yearly party - the George and Georgia party out near Veneta. G&G are our good friends and landlords as well. George was Tina's boss for years when she worked at Poppi's Anatolian restaurant. The folks that attend are often connected to Poppi's or just local hippies and people often associated with the Country Fair or local food industry. There is always a huge spread of food - mmmm! You know that makes me happy. Olives, pitas, hot dogs, pizza, 10 different kinds of pasta salad, vegan treats and decadent non-vegan chocolate delectables - yummm! Combine that with the good company of old friends and a good latin jazz trio and it makes for a wonderful time. Did I mention that there is also an amazing garden, complete with koi pond and overflowing flowers, a pond for swimming, croquet, bachi ball, a nature hike...yeah it's just about the best thing for one's state of mind. It totally rained half the time and we often cowered under the shelter by the fire as kids ate burnt marshmallows and got smoke in the face. Damn, I am tired now from chasing my own kids all over the place though. Those little duders will wear you out given half a chance.

Ok, back to life now.
-Ed

I watched a great film this past weekend. "Le Trou" is French for "the Hole" and it is a flick released in 1960 about a prison escape attempt. A group of four prisoners in a crowded French prison are presented with a new cellmate, a young pretty boy named Gaspard. After talking with him to find out what he is in for, the group decides to inform him of their upcoming escape attempt and incorporate Gaspard into their plan. Things follow from there and the movie is a riveting piece of work, the last film of influential French director Jacques Becker. The tension is constant, the camaraderie of the cast palpable and the lingering scenes of the inmates chip-chip-chipping their way through the floor are riveting. I found a more descriptive review of the movie here. I personally just love the setting of the cell, the way the prisoners of 1947 France – at least in the movie - are allowed way more freedom than modern-day, dog-kennel-with-tasers American prisons. The cellmates smoke, store food and personal effects in a cupboard and rap with the guards as if they were on equal par. In one scene, the cellblock chief even allows the men to exact their revenge on some thievin’ plumbers who steal their smokes. Also, the movie just aches with the human cleverness of the men adapting to living in a confined environment. The inmates have secret ways of passing messages and goods and I am sure methods of existence in jail have been similar for the last 1,000 years at least.

The best movie I’ve seen in awhile; I highly recommend

LUNCH MUNCH



The results of my low-budget, monday-after-the-paycheck-lunch. It's a good thing I work at a place where potatoes and onions are usually to be found, rolling around on the floor. Not pictured: yummy avo and tomato chunks and hot sauce ....can you say a starchy mmmmm - MMMM!!! Free lunch = best lunch.


Here's Pat's super-good looking soup: Brocolli, red flat onion, water, lemon juice and half-and-half. That man is a genius, both in the kitchen and in the s@ck.















Scottk just walked in and hipped me to the new Melvins website: http://melvins.com/
Crazy! What can't the Melvins do? They've at least kept their sense of humor intact of the past 2 decades or so.
Things are very monday for me today. I just saw Slayer Carl coming down the stairs with his coffee cup and a gash between his eyes. I asked him if he had had a nice weekend and he rasped, "oh, yes." What a man! Only a minority of my friends come to work with a black eye on a regular basis, but Carl is certainly one of them. Apparently, no one else around here is really taking life by the (Slayer) horns.

OK, over n out
Ed

Watched the movie Treasure of the Sierra Madre over the weekend. Sometimes, it takes me two days to finish a flick and this one was no exception, but it was good all the way through for me. In a nutshell, its about two down-on-their-luck - gringos Bogart and Tim Holt - that meet a grizzly old-time miner in Mexico and forge an alliance and go together to the Sierra Madre (occidental?) mountains to set up camp and mine for gold. Of course, shit goes wrong and the friends , at times, are banded together against claim-jumpers and banditos but the fellowship eventually goes foul and the main players turn on each other. I found it refreshing that Humphrey's character was a bit on the mean and villainous side. This is the movie with the famous line, spoken by Alfonso Bedoya, "Badges? We ain't got no badges. We don't need no badges. I don't have to show you no stinkin' badges!" Too cool! OK, I read a blogger's review of this movie where it was stated that movie is just so-so, standard 40's fare, but I enjoyed it. I'm slowly working my way through all of Bogey's movies just for fun and this one was not a let-down. See it, gringos! Starring Humphrey Bogart, Walter Huston and Tim Holt

Last night was a great time at Sam Bond's Garage in Eugene. Most of my friends and I had been anticipating Mike Watt and the Missingmen appearing at our favorite neighborhood pub and the show was satisfying on several levels. My good buds the Golden Motors opened the night with a concise, well-blended rock and roll set. They debuted several new tunes that were totally ace and reminded me both of Television and Thin Lizzy at times, all with Dan Jones' literate lyrics and noodly guitar hooks. Scottk was in fine form on guitar, pulling out leads and single-note riffs that freshened up my ears. Watt and crew appeared after a short set-up time. I couldn't help but think: here's a dude who has earned the highest level of fan and peer respect for just being himself and doing what he does. Among the least pretentious people on the planet, I just dug seeing the man himself checking his bass rig and tuning up while John Coltrane played over the house speakers. The first set was entirely the album Hyphenated Man, a somewhat difficult piece of music with many dynamic shifts and short spiel interludes. I really dug the way Watt barely played his bass at times, just lightly fingering notes with his fret hand and really playing very quietly and minimally to great effect. I noticed that when viewed up close, his hands looked like mechanic's hands, with thick, stubby fingers that were worn down from years of use. He also had a knee brace on over his levis. What a stud - use it or lose it, that's what bodies are for, and for his duration on the planet Mike Watt is using every ounce of himself, gigging and bassing life-long. A good example of a human being. Here's a vid taken by someone I don't know:

I've been building quite a lot of wooden train tracks with the boys as of late. If you are ever shocked out of bed at 6:30 on a Sunday by a happy, babbling 16-month-old, just hunker down on the floor in your sleeping bag and dump out the Thomas the Tank Engine tracks and let the kid go wild. I usually wake up from time-to-time to check the little guys' progress. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I actually become part of the landscape of the island of Sodor and have tracks and tunnels going over my face and torso. That's about when I realize that it is indeed time to get up and avail myself of some coffee.
I arose today somewhat late at 8 and proceeded to hang out on the couch and floor with the crawling kids hampering my every move until breakfast. Afterward, I can't recall what we did - I probably drank more coffee than necessary - oh yeah, we watched Thomas the Tank Engine and Angelina Ballerina on the teevee and then Tina and the boys left to a pre-Easter egg hunt while I got the garage ready for noon band practice. More coffee, more music listening (mostly my own crap; half finished snippets of future songs) and then Dave arrived for Prac time. Prac we did and of course I've been recording practices for a long time but for the last 3 months I've finally been recording Band Prac on multichannel computer-thingy on my garage pc. I've been using a program called Reaper and I have to say that I do like it a lot; a very functional and easy-to-understand multitrack recording program that just fucking works so that's good enough for me.
It might be boring to read about, but all we (the underlings) have been doing lately has been preparing new music to record when we go to a secret studio location in Portland in June. All I will say at this point is... we are going to try and keep the whole process on analog tape when we start laying down those tracks. I haven't done that in a long time and I'm looking forward to it like a methadone-using junkie looks forward to his first real fix of heroin in a long while. The digital world has taken over almost all media aspects - recorded music, video, still photos, graphic layout. 30 years ago things were all analog and when things were good, they looked/sounded/appeared very good. These days, everything done on 'puters looks and sounds very good, but it all sucks in the way that margarine sucks, the way that sacchrine sucks. I don't want the fake experience with a million 1's and 0's, I just want pure fucking analog signal, sound vibrations in the air captured by quality microphones, ran through high-quality tube electronics and stored as real electric audio signal on a long piece of moving magnetic tape. So sayeth the shepard, so sayeth the flock.

ok, now that that's said, please go over and check out the new Underlings band blog, theunderlingsrockandroll.blogspot.com Our marketing department has some new freebies and surprises in store, so tr to curb your enthusiasm but check the blog once in awhile and you might find out some secret news you didn't know you wanted to know, but you did.

Roger that, over n out

Ed.

Hey, check out this great compilation of foods and herbs/spices that all have strong cancer-fighting properties: cancerisdead.com/

I wish I had more time to fluch out this post - I'll just try to highlight a few events from recent days:
1. Yay! I'm at work. Why am I happy? Because I have a goddamned job and it ain't so bad.
2. the kids have been cracking me up lately, although Henry has been waging an all-out war against the Christmas tree and train. I think I've used more superglue in the last week than I have all of 2010.
3. I used superglue to fix my torn thumbnail - torn from hastily ripping open a package of Christmas cookies. Bad? Good? Will the superglue give me cancer? I hope not, but I read somewhere that the medical product known as Second Skin, for burns, is basically superglue, so I'm at least happy to not have a chunk of the center of my thumbnail missing.
4. It's my Friday and I'll leave work early if I want to! Because I can.
5. No gigs or practice this weekend, but I'm looking forward to singing a secret song at the Guilty Pleasures event hosted by Dave Snider at Sam Bond's on January 8th. I can't tell you which song I'm doing, but you are going to flip when you hear it. Straight outa 1970's classic easy-rock hit radio, you are going to love my rendition of ________________ by ___ __________!
Okay, enough is enough. I must log out now and go live life. May the force be with you until next time.

Ed

Here's a pic of me and the boys playing at Sam Bond's last Friday as the closing act for Hot Drama's cd release. We had a great time, although our set was a little on the sloppy side - I guess that's what happens when you have to wait all night until your slot comes up, killing time by drinking too many beers (at least that was my case.) I think I've finally figured out at this stage of my life that music, for me, is not about wowing the fans with perfection but rather the joy of playing music, period. I try to always have fun at any show I'm lucky enough to be a part of because life is too short to worry about miserable shit, like missed notes or dropped breaks or sorry-ass solos that don't really go anywhere. Every night is different, just like going to work - every day is different with the same old shit, so why not enjoy?
I guess the converse side of that mode of thinking is that if you are too comfortable with life and several layers of your illusions have been stripped away from decades of living, you kind of lose that youthful ambition and drive that propels so many musicians and artists. What would Iggy pop have turned out like if he never became popular? Can you imagine him working in an office or selling you a used car? Or Jim Morrison, what if he'd gone through AA and became a volunteer at his local church pancake breakfast and drove his kids to school in a mini van? That's the story that no one wants to read - people much prefer our heroes to have sordid ups and downs, both in life and in the sack. Drugs, sex, violence, drunken misbehavior - these things contribute to our cultural mythology. Growing up, having the family and behaving nicely never seem to make it into the encyclopedia of rock, but I think there are a lot of us in that camp - maybe tens of thousands more of us than any occurrence of a Jim Morrison or an Iggy Pop or a Rick James. I guess that is why legends are legends - because a legend is a story that doesn't seem to happen in everyday life.
But life is so damn good, who's complaining? Fuck politics, war and negative thinking - up with coffee, family, vans, guitars, sex, wine, food, music and friends. That is the stuff I live for ;)

Start this post with a little shot of some of my favorite NY R n R - Dick Manitoba's Wild Kingdom featuring Dick and Ross the Boss from the Dictators. Shitty quality, I know, but at least the guitar cuts through.
Nothing to complain about in my sphere. I've been doing the regular life-thing - working as little as possible (too much for my taste but grateful to be employed), spending time with the kids, who are super-cute at this stage ( 11 mos, 3 years and 18 years), missing tina as she has been working a ton at her new job, bartending at Cafe Lucky Noodle and, of course, playing gigs with the Underlings, though at a somewhat slowed rate compared to our previous 3 years. In fact, we're playing at Sam Bond's Garage on Friday night with Tom Heinl and Hot Drama, so come down and kcik it with us for a beer or two if you have the guts to do so.
The holidays are upon us and I'm looking forward to taking a few days off near the end of the month. I'm always too broke to spoil the kids the way my parents spoilt me - does anyone else here remember remember waking up to massive piles of amazing presents and goodies, just joyful Christmas-anarchy-orgy-style? I can't for the life of me imagine throwing down enough money during the month of December to pull that off. Maybe I just have a habit of not thinking on a large scale, but I think mainly my family had more money when I was a kid and then they must have spent if all on Christmas because I think all the family money is gone now. Oh well, I have enough to buy some beer, champagne, some free-range wildebeast and at least get some pretty good stuff for the young'ns . P.S. Santa if you are reading I could really use a cool 1970's Chevy van with a Playboy Bunny bubble window and shag carpet inside, thank you very much, even though I probably haven't been good enough to deserve it.
I'm looking forward to possibly seeing my bro, Boner this weekend when he and his throat come through Eugene/Springfield. Otherwise, I will write at you all later. Happy end of the year to you all.

Ed

Too many inputs. Too much stimulation. When I log on to my computer and take in my view of the world on a computer screen, I forget that I am neglecting a real, physical world that is just outside my office door. People are real, friends are real, even if they live in another time. I spend a considerable amount of time with my friends from the past, re-living moments that happened then but still feel current to me. Does anyone else feel this way?
When I write, “too many inputs“, I mean there is just too much information passing into my eyes and ears. I’m sure that anyone who has lived awhile has the perception that in the past, i.e., “the good old days “, things were simpler as well as more wholesome and meaningful. Letters came in paper form and contained thoughts or conversation between friends. Punctuation was used. Music was something that you had to seek out – it didn’t pound you into submission at every click – and when you found music that you could relate to, it was like making another friend, an ally in the world against the injustice of mediocre, over-packaged art forms. Movies were an experience that entailed going to a theater and mixing with the rest of the local population. Now, we have the means to watch a movie anywhere on a 2”X 3” screen and we act like this is a good thing. All I can think of is: poor kids these days. They’re getting it all but at what cost?

Prepare for grumpy old man rant! I guess I’ve just been thinking lately about mortality and the meaning of life (or the lack thereof). It is easy to get into the bubble of your own little world and think everything is fine, plans are being laid, things to do, places to see, but all it takes is the passing away of a friend or two to remind you that this here life situation isn’t a permanent state of affairs. You know the quote, “Live every day like it’s your last and one day you’ll be right”? I guess this guy said it. I try to remember to take it light and rejoice in my family, friends and the people I like and maybe think a little less about politics, war, murder and bullshit and people and things that make me ill. I still have visions that one day, I will be able to force my version of Utopia upon humanity, but until then, I’ll just continue to practice being a better hedonist.

Well, damn it, another friend has died. Joe Brooks, a friend to many, a well-respected man in these parts, has died, leaving behind a grieving family and many saddened friends. Joe was like family in a way, since he was married to my former wife, Spirit and he was the step-father of my son Cosmo. His death has hit his family hardest of all, and my thoughts go out to Spirit, Cosmo and Joe’s daughter Fiona. He died suddenly while running a 5k footrace in Elijah Bristow Park, not far from where the Brooks family lived in Dexter. The death has been ruled as being a massive heart attack. This really sucks.
I first met Joe in 1995, when I auditioned for his band Billy Jack – he was the drummer for those who don’t know, and he was also the driving force behind the band, booking shows and doing most of the managerial duties. He was a committed bandmate and a great guy, a true hard worker in the local music scene in the 80’s and 90’s. Billy Jack was a fun experience for me, even the part where I was kicked out of the band – another valuable life lesson. Joe and I remained friends. Spirit and I had dinner with him and Vanessa when they were still a couple. Eventually, things went the way things go, Spirit and I broke up and then she later got together with Joe. They made a great couple and we got along well for the most part. I always had the highest respect for Joe and was ultimately grateful that it was him that ended up being the step-dad of Cosmo. I knew he was a good guy with his head on straight and a good work ethic – not to mention a big heart. I knew he would be a good role model for my kid as well as his own, and he indeed was. I don’t think we will truly know the loss of Joe for quite awhile – he affected so many people in a positive way and was a pillar for his family. This really sucks, but thank you Joe Brooks, just for being here on planet earth with us for the time you were. Your memory and deeds will live on.
Ed

Okay, this is my first post in a few months. It’s kind of funny to have an old (nearly dead) blog. I’ve been doing most of my internet-sharing on facebook and I still lurk on myspace a little bit, but I like checking in to my few friend’s blogs to see if they are still active. Dan Jones of course always stays relatively busy and posts a lot of his comings and goings on his blog. Justin Hrabe, the hub blog of many of my old-time friends, always has a good combination of music and musings on world affairs and Central-North -American living.
Me, I’ve been living the good life, mostly in Eugene, but I did manage to get out of town a couple times this summer + I got to go to the river at least twice during our all-too-brief sunny days. Back in August, I made a list of things I wanted to blog about . It read like this:
1. Louis has been harvesting green beans
2. Carl has (leg) cancer
3. We’re going to the (county) fair
4. Summer Vaca – we went to LA
5. Went back to work
6. I turned 40 and had a big party at Sam Bond’s
7. Boner had a throat lump (removed, successfully)
Boner – or Brian – I’ll start with a shout out to you. You are the one friend that reminds me to update this blog and we always have entertaining exchanges on Justin’s blog comments; I’ve got to say, I’m glad you survived your throat lump removal and follow-up treatment. Now, just go buy yourself a new bass and start practicing for the 2012 Garden Weasel reunion tour.
This year, I’ve had a few friends stricken with the dread cancer. 3 out of 4 have a pretty good prognosis – good odds of recovery with treatment and lifestyle adjustment. Brian, Slayer Carl and Robin, you are the lucky ones. One friend wasn’t so lucky and passed more quickly than any of us expected – talking here now about my old Humboldt buddy Tom McConnel, a great guy and a serious music fan whom I worked with at café marina in Eureka back in 1990/1991. Tom and I used to shoot the shit while working behind the scenes with grumpy cooks and harried waitresses , me washing dishes and him up on the cooking line. His manner was ultimately NorCal – a slight surfer inflection in his speech, a cynical sense of humor that shielded his sensitive, poets-heart from the barrage of insensitivity and bullshit that he had to endure on a daily basis. Tom loved Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Johnny Cash and the Descendents and we always had a laugh about Henry Rollins and GG Allin, two people that we admired as well as loathed at the time. Tom liked to drink and it was most certainly a necessity in his life just to endure. He used to shake so bad in the mornings that I do believe he was one of those that needed a beer before his coffee on certain days. Harsh, but for all I dish about my late friend’s habits, he was a lovable imp.
Years after I had moved from Humboldt county, Tom would call me up at all hours of the night, drunk off his ass, and berate me for being such a straight little wiener-boy, or for being married, or for having bad taste in music or whatever; I would almost always pick up the call and just banter with him, even if I would have been better off sleeping. He was just funny as hell and I loved it.
In more recent years, we still kept in touch via email and then facebook, but I learned that he had stopped drinking years ago due to a bad liver diagnosis. He was still the same, cynical cat. Most recently, I defaced an old Flipside magazine I had by cutting out a picture of GG Allin’s head and pasting it into a Christmas card for Tom with the words, “ Merry Fuckin’ Christmas you Scumfuc.” ( a term of endearment ). I hope he enjoyed it.
It seemed like soon after that, he started to have major problems with his guts – something about cysts and operations and procedures. Tom was in touch less and less and horribly, after enduring 3 or 4 operations and prolonged healing sessions, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was pissed, I think because he was just about to get a clean bill of health and here had an even worse diagnosis. The cancer was already advanced and doctors gave him a year to live. I expected him to last that long and hoped that I could visit him at least once before the end of all things but he ended up dying earlier than expected – about 3 weeks ago. I feel most for his parents, who took care of him until the end. According to some of my facebook friends, he didn’t want a funeral or service. Tom died quietly and now he has disappeared from our lives. Sucks, don’t it? I miss ya Tom, and even though we hadn’t seen each other for years, you were one of my favorite personalities. I’ve worked with a lot of folks, but your combination of sweetness and cynicism was unique to you, and I’m glad I knew ya.
The rest of my scheduled topics will continue next week. Have a nice day, stay healthy and party ‘til the world obeys,

Ed

What grown men do for fun on a monday night:

I only tend to blog when I have something to write about, which I suppose is better than going on and on about nothing. I enjoy the fact that the blog world seems a little more anonymous in this day and age, due to the popularity of the social network interacting that most internetizens are doing these days. It's nice to know that the pressure is off of bloggers - almost no one gives a shit and that is almost freeing in a way, 'cause writers like me don't have to be as concerned about our grammar or spelling anymore.
One blog I check in with at least once a week is, of course, Mustard Relics. I dig the way my friend Justin peels back the layers of his psyche like an onion and then throws in some choice, usually unheard-of music to boot. Check it out if you're game.
I decided to check out two bands I knew nothing about last night - Dead Meadow and Imaad Wasif. I've heard a few different friends mention Dead Meadow over the last couple of years and I knew they were heavy, Sabbath-esque psychedelic rock. I mainly just wanted to see something out of normal attention-range. I ended up digging Imaad Wasif more - a very slight and skinny dude with big hair, he reminded me of the guitarist from Mars Volta - very able-bodied, almost multi-cultural hard rock guitar. He finger-picked a lot, which provided some nice textures within the heavy psyche-rock mysticism of his songwriting style. He had an ace rhythm section of a bassist and drummer that looked hairy and sounded solid. I might listen to Imaad Wasif in the future. Dead Meadow I could tell had a strong vibe and were a very solid-sounding band, long and heavy song arrangements with sometimes Sabbathy riffs. Too many guitar solos, but I could tell that the kids at the WOW hall were diggin' it hardcore. I'm not really a patient enough music fan - I tend to value short, concise songs with interesting structures more than long, drawn-out drone rawk. After 1/2 and hour, I was ready to go home, but I took some pictures to share with you all:

Imaad Wasif and band








Dead Meadow, rockin' it at WOW hall

The Underlings' record release party went off without a hitch on Saturday. I have to say, I was blown away by the amount of cool friends, old and new, who showed up to support us. Yoyodyne from Portland and Dan Jones' new band, the Golden Motors, rocked the house and provided a great rock 'n pop soundbed for the evening of fun. My friend Eric took the above pic, which pretty much sums up the night - it was a whirl and over all-too-quickly. We sold all the records that we brought to the show that night - about 30, give or take. Once in awhile, Rock and Roll wins over apathy.

I've recently considered writing a book on procrastination, but I found myself stalled at the first paragraph. Went to make some coffee, put on a record, went to work for a couple of weeks, caused a couple of pregnancies and now here I am, back at square one, so I'll blog about a show I saw last night at the Oak St Speakeasy in Eugene.
I'm a fan of Testface, basically my friend Dave Snider and a revolving cast of players over the years. Last night was a great line up of Dave on bass + singing, local guitar hero Jake Pavlak from Yeltsin on guitar and a good drummer I am not familiar with named Rob I think. Moody indie-flavored rock with soft and loud parts and Dave's understated vocals and trippy lyrics is how I would describe it. Worth checking out. I seen 'em many times, in large and small configurations, but last night was a good show; good crowd, too - about 75-80 people by my count. I only notice because the Underlings struggle to bring folks down every time we play and we've only had good crowds at the Speakeasy a few times, but 75 people seems to fill the room nicely.
Next up was Ape Machine from Portland. I seem to recall that they once contacted us about doing a show together, which didn't happen due to schedule conflict at the time, but I would definitely play with them sometime. Total classic rock in the Sabbath/Zeppelin realm, but they did it well and the singer looked like an Ozzy-head I used to know in high school. Stoner rock with great 70's guitar sounds and a bashing, Bohnam-esque drummer. Also comparable to Pearls and Brass. We stayed for about half their set and then headed home, Tina and I, since I'm feeling old and she is feeling 8 1/2 months pregnant.

alright, talk at you cATS later,

Ed

I have to say that I’ve really been diggin’ this nice fall weather that is blowing through right now - sunny and warm during the day; cold and menacing at night. Our front yard pumpkin patch is the envy of the neighborhood, with 9 jumbo pumpkins turning from green to orange; let’s hope some high school hoodlums don’t get the wrong idea and stomp ‘em, lest there be hell to pay.
I might as well blog about the Underlings’ trek down to NorCal and back, since that was the most recent thing of note to happen around here. We rented a cargo van on a Friday to haul our asses down to Medford to play at a place called Johnny B’s – a nice, clean little joint with a rockabilly orientation. The cats who hung there said they had a greaser band called the Psyclones. Good food was also to be had at this joint.
Pony Prance – Tina, Raenie and Kelani - came down to play also and used our backline to rock the room in their own PP style. It was amusing that Raenie’s dog was hanging outside the club while they played, making friends with the cigarette-huffers outside. We, the ‘Lings, took the stage next and blurted out a thorough set, complete with drunken, couples-oriented slam-dancing. Our set was finished after a hazy hour of string and stick wrangling; when it came time to get paid, we all laughed at our good fortune – all of $13 which we offered to split with PP but they declined. Woo hoo! We put it in the band kitty and went to catch some ZZZs at the local main strip hotel. Of course, I didn’t actually get any sleep because Louis was there and tossed and turned all night, sleep-thrashing from his little floor sleeping area to our bed and back, almost on repeat. Oh well. I was so high on life and being out of town that I really didn’t care.
We split ways with the ladies and Louis after the one-star continental hotel breakfast and sped off down the freeway, back towards Grants Pass and the possibility of good coffee at a drive-through there. Mmmm. Coffee in hand, we further sped down 199 towards Cave Junction and the Illinois river.
Bryant had the forethought to bring his book of topographical maps of the area and also local fishing regulation leaflets, so we were prepared when we made a right turn off the road south of Selma and headed up the Illinois river canyon about 10 miles. We found a delightful little spot with a bridge crossing that offered good fishing and swimming opportunities for the ‘Lings, as well as a chance to meet some local boondocks stoners who were asking for a ride back into CJ. After a quick band meeting, we deemed them harmless and gave them the OK to ride with us when it came time to split. Fortunately, they got a ride in a tweaker car piloted by someone they knew that just happened to come roaring, Dukes-of Hazard-style, around the corner. We bid them, “smell ya later” and headed back on our trek.
After a predictably plastic lunch at the Denny’s in Crescent City, we blazed a trail of farts down the final, tree-studded length of the drive down into Arcata turf. ‘Round about Orick we spied a young adult black bear crossing the road in a fast yet lumbering fashion. The local nature and woods and surf where charging our ion batteries whilst we buzzed by in the van towards our destination.
Arcata: my former home and location of much of my musical schooling. It had been 8 years since I last came down to Humboldt for a visit. Not too much had changed, although there were a few new storefronts and new paint on some buildings. We parked and dis-embarked to check out the town square, which was full of folks enjoying the North Country Fair – kind of akin to our Eugene Celebration, but free, with music, food, vendors and TONS AND TONS OF PEOPLE, unlike our fair city’s somewhat depressing rain and banjo fest. We checked in at People’s Records and Wildwood Music Co and goofed off and drank more coffee until load-in time.
After parking outside the venue and taking a break in the van, we pounded on the door of the theater and were let in. We stuffed all our gear in a corner, met some nice folks who ran the joint and then met with our Humboldt bros, James and Jeff and Sean from Splinter Cell. We read our little write-up in the local rag and laughed a bit before heading up to my old radio station KHSU for a brief interview and mention on the air. Not much had changed there – they still had thousands of records, although they got rid of approximately 1/3 since back in the day. The DJ was Mad Doctor Matt, and he played a good mix of contemporary and older-school rock, folk, punk and pop. He asked me some questions and it was nice to be back in the old hallowed halls again.
Back down to the venue, we checked Nipplepotamus, a noisy Sonic Youth-style trio who eventually burned a hole in my brain and caused at least one elderly patron to fall over and vomit (perhaps too much malt liquor? I don’t know). I dug them over all.
Splinter Cell rocked it next. Bassist James Forbes set up the show and is a friend of mine since way back. He is blind now due to a degenerative illness but his playing and singing was great. He is one of my favorite punk rock bassists and he really ripped it up. Sean on guitar and Jeff Langdon on drums punched it up and sounded great. What to compare it to – I don’t know – a power trio with pop influences. They covered Joe Pop O Pies, Catholics are Attacking which was funny as hell and sounded great.
We wasted no time getting onstage and doing what we do. Our set was well-received and it was awesome to see some other friends show up, most of all my friend Crusher from upper Mendocino county – thanks, Crusher, for coming! Dave's gal Mandy and her bff Roxanne also made it and helped us vend our t shirts - thanks, ladies.
Damn, this is a long post! We bedded down for the night at James house in Eureka and then took in the sights in Old Town on a sleepy Sunday morning the next day, complete with bagels and coffee from Los Bagels, something I’d been dreaming about for months. Turning the van north, we headed up the long road back to home, stopping to enjoy the ocean near the mouth of the Klamath river for a spell.
Best of all, after dropping off Bryant and Dave, I opened the door to my own home just in time for dinner, with a delicious and aromatic French tart thing that Tina had made. Mmmm! Thanks Tina, for rocking my palette with your delicious flavors.
Okay, I’ve made a long story here – hope someone enjoys. Peace ‘n out!
Ed

Summer has been nice so far. Aside from the usual gig business and family dogpile-action, I've been working a ton, actually feeling useful for the most part, servicing various Willamette valley growers with supplies as well as keeping a keen eye out for systematic flaws that can be neutralized. But, I am off for two weeks starting tomorrow, yay! We've got a few rural and/or family and/or Rock and Roll oriented plans. Glad to blow out of town for A BIT Whizzzzzzzzzzzeeeeeeee.

C-ya later -
Ed