Mark your calendars, boys and girls! Orange County’s Weirdest Son is once again teaming up with the best blues band around to bring you an exciting evening of entertainment and enlightenment! This is going to be an especially notable night, as it is Tall Can Tim’s last show on guitar with The Salt Shakers before he moves away to pursue big kid stuff. If you aren’t familiar with the six-stringed stylings of Tall Can Tim, let’s just say he’s an electric acrobat of the highest order. So bring your dancing shoes and your party hats, because this one could get out of hand…
Original handmade show flyer is also for sale. I will write a custom one-of-a-kind poem for you on the back and sign it. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org if you’re interested. To hear music, click here.
If you’re in the area this Saturday, come watch me fumble around on bass guitar for VAGUESS for the first time live in about seven years.
I’ve been rather bad with updating my blog as of late, so firstly, I’d like to apologize for that. Right when I finally thought I had some time to do some serious writing, I went and caught the plague. Funny how that works.
I actually meant to post this last week and couldn’t find the time or energy to do so until now. Excuses aside, I plan on doubling down on my output and posting at least three to four new entries a week in the hopes that you all grow exceedingly sick of me.
Now on to the business at hand: “Two-Headed Dog (Red Temple Prayer)” by Roky Erickson. Erickson was the singer for The Thirteenth Floor Elevators, which was one of the first psychedelic bands of the ’60s. He’s an interesting character (to put it mildly): he’s done a fair few stints in mental hospitals and believes in things like goblins, demons, vampires, and zombies (which he uses as lyrical content for his songs). Simply put, he is a man after my own heart.
I’m still kind of sick so I’m gonna go lie down and dream about two-headed dogs and such. Enjoy.
I suddenly find myself with the time and the urge to play more music. Unfortunately, I have this problem where I compose songs at a rate that surpasses my rate of recording (especially proper studio recording), so that I lose too much in the shuffle. As a way of keeping my fingers busy while preventing myself from composing any more before I finish the album I’m currently at work on, I’ve decided to make YouTube videos of me covering songs that I especially like and present them as a series on here, entitled “Cover Me Impressed.”*
I don’t know how long I will keep this up before I get bored or overwhelmed, but it seemed like a good idea this morning. The first one is “Dandy” by The Rockin’ Vicars, a little known British outfit that featured Ray Davies of Kinks fame and a then little-known bloke by the name of Lemmy Kilmister, who would go on to wreak havoc in Hawkind before founding one of rock ‘n’ roll’s greatest and longest running institutions: Motörhead.
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Dedicated to Jim Morrison and the Girl Who Loved Me Best, who told me to fuCk off because sHe couldn’t bEaR to watch mE fuck off aNymorE.
On outliving Morrison:
I ain’t stoned
and I wasn’t no immaculate conception
perhaps I should check back in five years
to make sure of that one
(Is thirty-three the new twenty-seven?
Christ, I hope not.)
Twenty-seven started out proper for me
or at least proper like it was for
Jimmy or Janice or Jim:
On a Friday the Thirteenth
with a gin and tonic for the troops
(or at least one wounded soldier drummer boy blue and his clown troupe)
the way I fancied,
knee-deep in the muck and grime,
up to the neck about
but not quite choking time…
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A real rough demo I recorded today of a song I wrote yesterday. It’s about a peeping Tom in 1950s America after a bomb is dropped. I may stretch this concept out into an entire record. But for now, I’m focusing on getting the first one out on wax this fall on my own label (Balladeer Bedlam). Stay tuned.
This is also my one hundredth post. Congratulations to me.
(In honor of Saint Patrick’s Day. Written in 2006 or 2007 at Kip’s in Berkeley on the spot to impress a girl. Pistolwhip was a moniker I used to use.)
Drank himself a grave at twenty-one.
He loved his mirth, he loved his fun.
He loved his mum and he loved his dad.
He loved the good, he loved the bad.
He loved the rich and he loved the poor.
But the sad truth is he loved liquor more.
I wrote this last October and recorded this a couple weeks ago, but neglected to post it here. Alas, I am a mess as of late.
For full text, click here.
I apologize for the severe lack of writing activity on my part as of late. I have been extraordinarily busy with many things, one of which is recording an album. There will be much more writing to come, but for now, here is an unmixed track that I just about wrapped up today. Dig it.