Radio B.E.I.G.E. Signing Off

Well, as has been mentioned a few times too many, I'm heading into 14/48 weekend, after which, I intend to sleep and work before heading to NYC, so I might not be back around here until the beginning of August--wasn't it just February? Criminey.

To say that I need this time off is something of an understatement, especially with the skulduggery that Mercury/Retrograde usually brings. However, I will be spending the majority of my time just not thinking about anything, so whatever blasted Mercury wants to bring, fucking bring it.

What, does Mercury think I'm afraid? You ain't killed me yet, cheesedick!

All right, I'm off!

-tbo

Women: Miscellany

So, I went to a post-work function earlier this week. Essentially a bunch of other Admin. Assistant-types went to a local bar and kvetched until someone had to meet some other appointment.

Eventually, one of the attendants bursts out with the following, "You know, I initially thought TBO was gay...that is until I started getting these emails in which..." And in true fashion, the others chirped in, "oh yah, me too!" "yeah, I thought you were gay too!" "yah yah yah, gay gay gay!"

Now, had this been the first time this year I'd faced this assumption, I'd be aghast and castigating myself for somehow coming across in this fashion. I mean, bizarre porn stories involving doorknobs aside, I have more than a vested interest in the various...fuck it, I love tits, I love ass, I love pussy, I fucking love fucking, good-old-fashioned-kinky-ass-"how'd my footprint end up on the windshield/mirror/the neighbors' face?" fucking.

But, as I say, this isn't the first time this year this has happened. Thankfully, it was only embarrassing once, when the assumption was aired immediately after a drunken pass...

What gives, though? This question had been harranguing me, so I turn to the klatch and ask why they thought so.

Stunned silence, and I convince myself that they're actually thinking the question through instead of coming up with a bunch of lies. "Well, you're very stylish, for one thing," someone chimed in. "Yes, quite fashionable."

Stylish? Fashionable? I'll admit that I've been making an effort to look better, but I'm no fashion plate, not by a long shot. But, okay...

"You're also very expressive." "And you're communicative!" "Well read" "Funny" "you don't stare at my body*" "you pay attention"

Not that I put a lot of weight in all this, it's just a curious thing. I think it's funny that among the reasons these gals think I'm gay is the fact that I'm communicative, well read, don't leer at them, and pay attention to them.

Do I really need to become a lotharian mongoloid? I guess I do. Maybe I should start Project: LLTBO. I'll start by going out tonight and saying "damn girl, your tits would look great on my face. What was your name again?"

I'll let you know how it goes.

*(not that any of you would ever catch me, I'm a sly MF. Doesn't mean I ain't.)

A Fond Farewell...

Well, it's official. I am no longer a member of Open Circle Theater, I resigned early Saturday afternoon.

It's not an adversarial resignation. It's simply that I've been working with that company, not exclusively, but the majority of the time, since 1998. Seven years. The time, it slips into the future.

And it's been seven years of mutually beneficial work, in my opinion. Not to say it's all been peaches and cream...there's been a few clunkers, and more than plenty of arguments. However, I've learned a lot, introduced people to the joint, and I'm really proud of my tenure. Hell, there were shows where I was just happy to be involved, however tangentially.

It's time to move on, though (if you pay attention to the right hand side of the screen, you'll find out what I'm moving on to).

So, thank you Open Circle. Thank you for welcoming me, allowing me to grow and work within your walls, for challenging and nurturing me, and for giving me a hell of a ride. I will miss you, and look forward to working with you again.

Love,

TBO

Whither Coltrane? Monk? Mingus?

So, last night I went to the Lobo and watched Guitar Defamation League and TheShotgun.

GDL's this grunge/Floyd/Zappa/math-rock bass & drums duo, that are a total blast. The fact that they got all of that sound out of those two instruments, and not only made it sound good, but also kickass is pretty amazing.

And while it's easy to dismiss TheShotgun as more of the male-female guitar'n'drums garage rock "genre" that's been mighty popular lately (I'm sure you know who I mean), they added a fresh touch of fast, hard rock to the proceedings, and had me nodding my head enough to purchase a CD. They're still young, but with some more time under their belt, they'll become their own entity and maybe someone at the Stranger will find them cute enough (they are awful goddamn cute) to become the next big local thing for A&R reps to latch onto. I'd love to see them open for Ms. Led or summat. (Go with a smaller label, kids!)

Now that I'm done pretending that I know what the fuck I'm talking about, I have to confess, when the kids broke out with some blues riffs, I couldn't help but remember where that shit came from, and the bittersweet fact that, these days, the music is being kept alive by the descendants of the people that caused the need for that music.*

When the White Stripes cover St. James Infirmary Blues on their first album, it's celebratory because not only is it a faithful cover, it's kinda kickass too. The only hope I have is that it leads folks to listen to the original recordings (I'm most familiar with Cab Calloway's version), because that is where the shit's at.

I guess the only thing I really have to say about all of this is that I don't care about the melanin, just, for gods' sake, do it right. I'm grateful it's being done well, because I'd hate to think of the alternative.

"Light Jazz," or "Jazz Fusion," for example. It's certainly light, I'll give it that much. The phrase jazz fusion was coined by Miles Davis, around the time of Bitches Brew, and the difference between Bitches Brew and this...It's not even worth talking about.

However, calling it jazz is a misnomer the likes of which hasn't been seen since Turk 182 was advertised as a thriller. ('Cause, you know, that was a long time ago. Really. When was the last time Timothy Hutton was a lead in anything? The answer is right here.)

Do you know who listens to this crap? Aging fucking yuppies, that's who. Them and refugees, for some godforsaken reason. I know because the shuttle I take to and from work is filled with both, and I made the assumption that it was being played for the SUV crowd. No, later in the day, when I'm the only one on the shuttle, the driver will switch it from NPR to light jazz.

The mind yahtzees. These are people who come from places where Fela Kuti would be popular, and now they're listening to Kenny G. Or whoever is popular in that realm these days, who cares? David Sanborn, whatever.

I don't want to ask them why, seeing as they are the ones driving, and if you spend an entire day dealing with downtown Seattle traffic, you can listen to whatever you want, if you ask me.

But still...it's just disgusting. And, seeing that I'm up here already, I'm just going to go off on the Jazz scene in this town.

What the fuck is it with you people? Do me a favor, go to Bud's Jazz Records, in Pioneer Square, and ask him to get you some bebop, or hard bop, okay? He'll set you right.

Because, apparently, the only jazz Seattle knows is soft bop (this style is best exemplified by Dave Brubeck's Time Out and Miles Davis's Kind of Blue), which is nice and all, but not all the time! Now, can we listen to something that really swings? Huh?

Hell, can we have a location that's not overpriced playing something other than yet another cover of Summertime? Do you think this can be done? I'm sure I'm not the only one thirsting for this. Get with it, people.

Okay, the ringing in my ears has subsided to the point where I can go to sleep now.

Have a good 4th, folks!

*To be fair, TheShotgun consists of a white kid and a mixed kid. ________________________________________________________________

PS--Listened to the TheShotgun CD, and the production's pretty tight on it, so they are better live than on the CD but not by much. Impressive.

Also, they cover the Beatles' Yer Blues, for which I need to thank them for reminding me that the blues have been appropriated for at least as long as the Fab Four and the Stones have been around.

Anyway...

7/5/05

Women: Laurie Anderson/Home of The Brave

I don't know about your dreams, but mine are sort of hackneyed
Same thing, night after night, just...repetitive
And the color's pretty bad, and the themes are just infantile
And you always get what you want, and that's just not the way life is
--Talk Normal

It must have been a weekend night, or during the summer. All I know is that I was up late trying to catch some scrambled cable porn, finding nothing and heading over to Skinemax, only to find some nonsense called "Vanguard Cinema" about to start.

Hmmm. "Home of The Brave." A baseball movie? Maybe they'll have a sex scene with a groupie or something.

Credits roll, the band sets up, the audience applauds at a tall white image walking onto the set, and the opening notes from "Smoke Rings" start playing. Que es mas macho? Pineapple o Knife?

I was dumbfounded, and all thought of squiggly sex went right out the window. Who was this woman? Is she really playing a violin-looking contraption that says "listen to my heartbeat?" Why is she talking about zeroes and ones, what the fuck is binary code? Who's that old man she's dancing with? (William S Burroughs, I later find out.)

And thus began an ongoing obsession...

Watching that movie started a change in musical tastes, which would become increasingly frustrated in Colorado "Top 40 Lives Forever" Springs. Girls may just wanna have fun, but I wanna find out about the town where all the girls are named Betty.

Laurie Anderson introduced me to subtle dry wit and non sequiteurs in a way that Monty Python's eccentricities had not. She also taught me the value of brevity in all forms of writing.

Well I went down to big DC
And I went into room 1-0-0-3
And there they were, the big boys
And they were saying: Big B, little o
Little m, silent b
--Sharkey's Night

Ominous, and still effective and relevant.

To this day, I still can't get enough of her and her material, she's one of the few artists I've seen more than once (I swear to you, she's looked at me. No, I'm not kidding. Shut up). I've finally become reconciled with the fact that she's shacked up with Lou Reed (stupid Velvet Underground...take a walk on the wild side, my ass. You know what the colored girls say? They say "who you callin' 'colored,' whitey? Better get your tired skinny ass back to that needle and you best take Holly with ya!").

I mean, I guess if you really want to go out with a "musical genius," fine! Yeah, he knew Andy Warhol, yeah, he's in your age range. Whatevs.

There's a beige man over here! Boombox over his head, standing in the rain, looking at your window all John Cusack.

And playing on that boom box? The plaintive message of love you spread on your first album, Laurie...Remember that?

the sun is shining slowly
the birds are flying so low
honey you’re my one and only
so pay me what you owe me
-- Example # 22

>le sniff< Call me, Laurie...You know where I'll be.

Another Recommendation

My pal Deni's been hitting a stride lately, today's in particular is a damn hoot...Give him a gander:

http://www.deniwilco.blogspot.com