White (Led) Boots

It would be an understatement to say that the wife and I don't get out much.

We're pretty fond of our two dogs, one cat, and responsibilities to our vegetable garden. After nearly 25 years on the road, a vacation to me is waking up somewhere familiar with coffee but a few steps away. A night out on the town is usually going to the local market to buy something swell to cook up for dinner.

The decision to go to Oakland to see the last performance of Jeff Beck's 2009 U.S. tour was a no-brainer, however. After all, Beck was flying high from his recent Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction for his storied solo career. Add in the twin engines of his band being so damn tight and the venue being the newly renovated Fox Theater in Oakland, and we quickly decided the trip down from the country would be in our best interests for fast fun.

***

This past April, Jeff Beck was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame...for the second time in his career. Beck's first trip to the Hall was in 1988 for his stint in The Yardbirds.

Why should anyone care? I'll tell you why. It's because Jeff Beck is a master of the electric guitar and one of the few great innovators in rock and roll. Ask any guitarist or serious music appreciator who the best is, and Beck's name will likely be the answer. Don't believe me? Ask Clapton, King, or Vaughan. Or ask Christopher Guest, who modeled the gum-chewing Nigel "This goes to 11" Tufnell of Spinal Tap after Beck. That's enough to warrant entry into the Hall's hallowed space in my book.

No other guitarist has Beck's sonic palette and incredible range of expression. 10,000 hours logged mastering his craft aside, Beck has reinvented himself time and time again, framing his patented twang-bar Stratocaster sound with an assortment of musicians and musical styles that would make the likes of Frank Zappa or Miles Davis proud. "It's a form of illness really, isn't it," he said in a recent Gibson.com interview. "If you choose music there's no real limits to how far you can dig to better yourself and improve...it's a bottomless pit of inspiration."

Today's mainstream music industry lacks any real credibility, which is why it was so refreshing to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame get something right for change. Far too often innovative artists are overlooked for inclusion in award shows and the Hall of Fame to make room for the popularity contest winners and multi-platinum acts. With Madonna's induction last year, the Hall became a sad joke among my friends and peers, much like when the first Grammy award for "Best Heavy Metal Album" was given to Jethro Tull over the obviously deserving Metallica in 1989. It was one of those classic "what-the-fuck-were-they-thinking" moments and showed how far out of touch the industry had become. But Beck's induction was a case where all the egos were set aside to honor an innovator who has been around since the beginnings of modern rock. The look of pure joy on the face of Jimmy Page, Beck's childhood friend and former Yardbirds band mate, was contagious. There was one of rock's silver-haired elder statesmen inducting one of his close friends while practically jumping up and down and clapping his hands like an excited schoolgirl. Ever the gentleman, Beck graciously thanked Page and many of his peers in his brief acceptance speech, a humble genius who most likely would have preferred being at home working on one of his vintage hot rods.

Hit up YouTube and check out the version of "Beck's Bolero" from Beck's performance at the induction ceremony. In the middle of the tune, he stops, introduces Jimmy Page, and proceeds to rip into an instrumental jam of "The Immigrant Song" for a few moments before careening back into the end of "Bolero." Notice how Page, one of Beck's oldest schoolyard chums, never strays from the supportive rhythm guitar role, thereby allowing Beck to do what he does best: wring lead vocal sounds out of his signature white Stratocaster. Believe me, Beck was hitting high notes that Robert Plant hasn't been able to achieve since 1971.

Last summer while on tour, a friend of mine passed along a bootleg DVD of various Beck live performances that featured the entire set from Clapton's Crossroads Blues Festival in Chicago 2007. Beck's band - drummer Vinnie Colaiuta and keyboardist Jason Rebello along with the amazing young bass prodigy Tal Wilkenfeld - blew me away. Members of Panic who ventured up to the front lounge of the bus would stop in their tracks to share in the amazement Jimmy Herring and I enjoyed while repeatedly watching the DVD over and over again. The band was tight and it was very clear that Beck was happy and being pushed to new creative heights. He even let Wilkenfeld take a bass solo on his beautiful rendition of "Because We've Ended As Lovers." But the capstone of the show was the set ending performance of John Lennon's "A Day In The Life." I had seen him play this tune before, but this particular performance featured joy, sadness, and exuberance coupled with an utter mastery of the guitar and melody incarnate. Never allowing the melodic intent of the original version to give way to chops this performance was something for the ages.

Soon after I'd received the DVD, music industry blogger supreme Bob Lefsetz devoted one of his daily rants to the mastery of Jeff Beck. I wrote Bob an email about how we'd been enjoying Beck's Crossroads performance on the tour bus, which he published. Jimmy Herring began to integrate Beckisms into his arsenal onstage. Throughout last summer's tour, I'd hear a primal squonk from stage right and look over to see Herring laughing his ass off at my surprise as he'd slip a quote from one of Beck's tunes into one of his own improvised guitar solos. I made up my mind I'd catch Beck at the next opportunity.

***

The bell on my iPhone Inbox buzzed as we were preparing to leave for our first trip to the Fox Theater in Oakland. Lefsetz Letter of the Day has arrived, boasting a glowing tweet from Beck's show in L.A. the night before. Rod Stewart had apparently surprised Beck onstage (their first appearance together in over 25 years) for a sweet rendition of Curtis Mayfield's "People Get Ready." The news only heightened our expectations for the show we were about to see.

We arrived at the Fox and were promptly met by Veronice, the ticket gal for Another Planet Entertainment who showed us inside the beautifully restored former movie palace. Allen from Another Planet gave us a walking tour, and we were duly impressed to say the least. More than $90 million went into the renovation of the theater, and I must say it looked to have been money well spent. The Oakland Fox is similar to its namesake Fox theaters in St. Louis and Atlanta but with one serious difference: the Oakland Fox is laid out in the great tradition of the most fan friendly music venues. Rather than fixed seating all the way to the stage, there is a general admission pit that holds 1,900 music lovers. Behind the pit area are tiers for standing room with some small cocktail tables and a massive bar. The balcony features seating for another 900. There's a smoking section, more bars, and a small café that serves food, which is open whether there's a show or not.

Upon arriving at the VIP area, it was clear the musos were coming out tonight in full force to see the master at work. A tequila-wielding Sammy Hagar greeted us with a wide smile. The drummer from the Chili Peppers arrived soon thereafter, followed by someone who I'm pretty sure was an incognito Joe Satriani. Not knowing that these guys were ¾ of the new band, Chickenfoot I amusedly thought to myself that we could make one helluva band. Sorry Michael Anthony...I just didn't know yet!

The Fox boasts a state-of-the-art line array sound system, which means that the sound in the back of the balcony is just as clean and loud as it is on the floor or in front of the stage. I have yet to see a more fan friendly venue as classy as Oakland's Fox Theater. And despite all of its glorious beauty, what shone brightest that night was the music that happened onstage.

Clad head to toe in white (including white felt boots with fringe), Jeff Beck took the stage and the band revved into "Beck's Bolero." All hands were raised when Vinnie Colaiuta began the infamous drum intro to "Led Boots," and by the time the song was in high gear, those same hands were unanimously performing the Wayne's World "we're not worthy" genuflection.

Jeff Beck's performance in Oakland was a staggering display of electric virtuosity without musical snobbery and overt academics. The band was tight, but loose enough to have a little fun. The humorous highlight of the evening was Wilkenfeld's bass solo which morphed into Beck's famous "Freeway Jam" (which has been noticeably absent from the setlist for nearly a decade) featuring her playing the melody in the upper register while Beck played the bass line in the lower register of her guitar at the same time. To me this is a sign of a master at work and having fun. Something also tells me that Wilkenfeld is having a good effect on Beck and loosening him up. This kind of behavior bodes well for a future studio recording (which I hear is in the works) with this band.

After finishing the show with a powerful rendition of "A Day In The Life," Beck took a victory lap performing "Where Were You" with Rebello providing an eerily stark keyboard accompaniment. The rest of the band returned and put the pedal to the metal with "A Scottish One" and a final twist of humor with "Peter Gunn." We exited the beautiful Fox Theater exhilarated by what we had just witnessed. Beck is truly a master and he seemed to be riding high, buoyed by the strength of his supporting cast. He roared through all of his gears with grace and humor while keeping melody in the pole position where it belongs: firmly in the hands of the master.

Dave Schools blames his strange obsession with Jeff Beck on finding a copy of the Yardbirds bootleg Golden Eggs in a mom ‘n' pop record store as a teenager. When not blogging for BLURT or playing bass for Widespread Panic in front of thousands of screaming fans, Dave likes to dance... tap dance.

[Photo Credit: SonomaMan]

Guest Post this week from another one of my faves, Salim Nourallah (who you heard on The Daily Dose 05/18/09) and who's been on tour in Europe recently:

dear Europe

thank you for these past 3 weeks
thank you for your lush green fields
nicely manicured highways
friendly people
bowls of cheese
castles
thank you for Casa Buskies and the Astra Stubbe in Hamburg
Basti
Gunther
Matthias
Lars
thank you for their smiles and hand clapping
thank you for Berlin and the double-decker bus tour
the Hotel Adina were I swear David Bowie must also stay
whenever he visits Berlin
thank you for the great Italian food we ate while the rain poured
thank you for making the rain stop in time for us to walk back to the Adina
thank you for Potsdam and the Sanssouci Palace
for the beautiful weather that day and plenty of time before Magdeburg
thank you for Jan and his nice comment about buying Nourallah Brothers 10 years ago
thank you for mysteriously fixing my video camera
for the Atlanta Hotel (instead of another dive!) in Neukirchen-Vluyn (where else?)
for Marcus at Kulturrampe in Krefeld
and the German fan who said he was attending Eastwood High
in El Paso in 1978
thank you for the Ulenspeigel in Giessen
and the nice promoter Toby who is going to Kansas soon
thank you for the Café NUN in Karlsruhe
the perfect sound and audience
my friend Mark and his family at the ex-convent
the man in the front row who said he loved all my records
and requested “It’s Not Enough”
thank you for scenic and peaceful Bacharach
our room in the tower
our walk up to the Castle
the nice lady who gave Gavin hot chocolate
Castle Burg Eltz and the knight show from Gavin
thank you Rastatte and Aachen plus a packed house
all the people smiling and singing along with me
for the 3rd time in 4 years now
thank you for letting me see my friends Jan and Walter again
and also for G to have a chance to play with Henri
thank you for our safe and pleasant drive to the South of France
and for our friends Wreckless Eric and Amy Rigby
Le Lawrence D’Arabie and the great pizza from Nico and Sabine
Emmanual and his enthusiasm for the Clash and Gavin’s Wreckless E t-shirt
thank you for all the people who bought t-shirts and cds
and even asked for me to sign them [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

POPKRAZY  is the brainstorm of Mr. Tristram Meat Andthree, who for over thirty years worked in the music industry in every capacity, from janitor to the president of assorted independent garage and rockabilly record labels.  Tristram, as he was known to most (such was his humble demeanor that few knew him as Mr. Meat, much less Sir Andthree*) spent many hours after work, not unlike his hero Joseph Cornell, trying to create art from the artifacts and cultural debris that the industry generated from the '60s through the '90s--but to no avail.  Sadly, no one understood Tristram's art, and no one cared. 

         Tristram has lived the better part of his life, of course, before the advent of our Great Digital Age, before music became ubiquitous and something to pour into your coffee for flavor at Starbucks or as the soundtrack for purchasing underwear at Old Navy, way before pop music became the free flowing background melodic line for the forthcoming dystopia. 

       Tristram's PopKrazy is the storage shed for these artifacts, a warehouse of dashed hopes and broken dreams, cornucopias of bittersweet memories and unfocused Cornellian boxes of debris from the '60s to the turn of the millennium.  With great pain, he often wanders aimlessly through his vast collection, softly running his finger over the spines of his beloved cds and lps, pulling down a comic  tome to breathe in the faint aroma of 4 color inks, only to return wearily home to bed, comforted not by American Idol mimicry but by the generous warmth of Jim Rockford's eternal smile.  (When oh when, Tristram asks himself nightly, will I be able to go fishing with Rocky, Rockford's compassionate and mindful father?)

      But now Tristram's hording must end.  He has found new, perhaps more lucrative, opportunities in the fluid communities of Indian casinos.  With a wistful look over his shoulder, Tristram has turned over all of his various collections to his longtime paramour and former Great Beauty, Memphis Moxie. Miss Moxie, with the assistance of her amanuensis, Miss Peppo  will be fulfilling your orders with ease and clarity and grace.  Her mission is to provide you, the customer,  with the artifact you need with speed and precision-and within your modest budget.

       Still dabbling in the biz, however, Tristram won't completely be able to contain his impulses to gather and store away, like some obese squirrel gone bonkers, searching for pecans in a world overflowing with coconuts. That is, he will continue to find things, and you, dear customer, will be the recipient of his obsessive endeavors.  And, friends, aren't we all, really, obsessive to some degree, after all?

     Between bouts of his collecting mania, after his wishful stint in the world of casinos, Tristram Meat Andthree will return to his one true passion--performing in Branson with the otherworldly Wilhelmina Moonlight, where they will perform nightly their death-defying dog act.  Many are shocked by the movements of this brave enterprise, but the artistry of the performance belies its rawness, as the caravans of tour buses booked months in advance will attest.   And yet--amazingly, you have a chance to be there!  A purchase of  $100 or more at the Popkrazy store will get you in FREE (!) to witness this critically acclaimed engagement.  And so...
HAPPY SHOPPING!!

*the title of knighthood was bestowed on Tristram by the Queen of the Cotton Carnival Festival in 1972 in Memphis, Tennessee, on one lovely spring day in May.  Tristram celebrated this grand event by throwing a free party at Graceland for the remaining members of the Memphis Mafia with honest barbeque from Payne's.  It was not a gentle affair.

Life's a drag, er, a gas, when the Ettes are touring Europe...

By Coco Hames

Well, Poni and I stayed up way past our bedtime in Leipzig at a gay bar across the street from our hotel.  Some people think it's amusing, but personally, I feel awful when I exit a bar when the sun is up, it's so disconcerting and no one likes to look back on the night in the light of day.  Well, at least I don't.  This is part of why I tour so much.  I really can't be held responsible.  Also I am a vampire.

The bar was fun, it was one of those with numbered stations and telephones, so if you spotted someone across the bar that struck your fancy, you could pick up the phone and call them for a chat.  The venue we played was a bit square for our taste, so we did what we always do, which is go wandering in search of some like-minded troublemakers.  I mean, I don't know how alike we are, us and drag queens.  But there are some similarities that bind us. 

We dress up and perform, that's one.  We often live on the other side of the clock, and are considered a bit (or a lot, depending on where we're living) strange by the mainstream, which can get lonely, so there's that.  Poni used to be a go-go dancer in Miami, so they can talk about dancing or costumes.  And I remembered, I had a tour revelation once (they're common, lots of sitting time, lots of silence, lots of opportunities to let your mind creep off on its own) that lots of people are another person inside, in their minds. 

In Poni's mind, she is a 7-foot-tall supermodel-cum-fashion designer (non-gender specific, career peaked in the '70s), with a well-appointed studio apartment in the East Village.  She spends her days dashing from meeting to meeting, fueled by New York street coffee, and her nights hopping from gallery to launch party, clinking martini glasses with the who's who of international artists and designers.  Whereas, inside, I am an older, friendly but quite stodgy gay man.

Maybe in his late-'40s, financially established, well-read and generally a private individual, possibly with his party days behind him, possibly he seldom felt inclined to indulge in the wild nights out that his friends were always talking about, the clubs too crowded or the music too loud, maybe.  Maybe he is a professor of literature, or an architect or even a functioning novelist.  Something where he gets a lot of time to himself, where he doesn't have to pretend to be glamorous or sexy or special even.  Just a nice, quiet man, maybe he has a trusty dog (a retriever of some sort, possibly a spaniel) and lives in a small house on a lake, maybe in the mountains of western North Carolina, maybe in upstate New York.  I do know that this man has a secret indulgence, one that his friends chortle about and think is just SO him... he TOTALLY has one of those $2000 hotel-grade Miele linen presses!  In his house!

This is the shit that I spend hours thinking about on drives.  Though I did pick up an English language book on the English language, a linguistic travelogue investigating English dialects.  But I should have thumbed through it a bit more before I bought it, because it was an ENGLISH English linguistic travelogue, and while I realize my English came from the English English, really I am more interested in American English linguistics, because of all of the different languages spoken in America, and how quickly so many different languages and cultures got together and spoke the same language.  Another study for another time, perhaps.

Backstage at a club now in Wolfsburg, Germany, home of the Volkswagen automobile.  We played an in-store today in Braunschweig, which is evidently the enemy town of Wolfsburg, so much so that the promoter threatened to cancel our show HERE if we played THERE.  But we managed to pull it off.  So far.

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums - whose latest album Look At Life Again Soon (Take Root) is still a hot item, and they also have a new EP, Danger Is, released by Take Root on April 7 and also available digitally, www.myspace.com/theettes), and a Dan Auerbach-produced limited-edition single. They are currently ruminating upon their next full-length, but meanwhile, overseas fans can spot ‘em right now on their European tour - dates at the MySpace page.

The Tribune has the story.

I knew Jay a bit (John was my boyfriend at the time) during his Wilco years, my favorite Wilco years; the Jay years.

Straight-ahead guitar-rock Wilco will always be my Wilco: Monday, I Got You (At the End of the Century), Outtasite (Outta Mind), I even loved Summerteeth, which almost no one did. And while Spiders (Kidsmoke) is definitely on my top 100 of all time [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Apparently, all shameless self-promotion all the time... which means no list for you this week folks. In part because what actually has been playing at Outlandos HQ, nonstop, is our little labor of love, The Daily Dose. Click the big ole fat white arrow below to hear today's two songs, in sequence. You'll see. It's kind of like bite-sized, old-school radio. Heads up that while listening, you can also purchase the songs via Amazon or iTunes (when available) by clicking their respective icons. For more info about each song/artist/album [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Dear Lameass Tweeps (self included),

You narcissistic bores. 140 characters or less (you'd think the limit would force creativity) and still the mundane prevails:

@lefsetz: Passing through Mohave

@oprah: Headed to Maya's for dinner

@outlandosmusic: Star Trek here we come!

#YAWN.

But still, we keep at it... a challenge, a game of sorts: can one be consistently compelling in so few words?

Just in case any of us presumed self-indulgent thought pollution was limited to the young & hip... Nielsen's recent poll has 49% of Twits 35+ equally bedazzled by the truncated screen and it's willy-nilly, up-to-the-minute broadcast ennui. Fascinating. Wisdom still doesn't necessarily come with age nor, apparently, with short, concise language (a.k.a. less vs. more).

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Does musical genius = nuttier than a free pecan nut log with every gas fill-up at Stuckeys?

Well, maybe you're a wee bit too young to remember Stuckeys, so I'll just give you a brief description of the place: Stuckeys was a really crappy souvenir shop that posed as a roadside eating joint.  Oh, yeah: they also had a gas station outside for folks to get one of their pecan nut logs when you filled up your tank.  They also disappeared after the '70s (along with the mood ring)--so don't feel bad that you missed all that because I can tell you as a fact: The '70s sucked!  Anyhoo, back to the musical-genius thing ...

Enter Phil Spector.  The infamous studio genius cranked out some killer songs between cranking back the trigger on the gun he held on various musicians, like the Ramones, and perhaps his lovely singing wife, Ronnie Spector.  Phil was all crazy and power-tripping in the studio but never actually shot anyone--that is, until recently, when he got drunk, took a B-movie actress/waitress back to his fancy home, put a gun to her head, and killed the poor unsuspecting woman.  Whether it was by accident in one of his manic episodes or not, he's finally getting locked up.  Found guilty of murder, the guy's serving time for his crime.  A very sad story, indeed.

How does that saying go:  Insanity is one step away from genius?  And Phil sure had some insane wigs on during his courtroom time.  Brian Wilson seemed crazy as a loon when after far too many acid trips, he took his fat ass to bed to live in, eating popsicles while he composed the brilliant "Pet Sounds" for the Beach Boys.  And that is the best album that band ever did.  Genius.  I'm glad Brian Wilson never killed anyone ... just a few hundred brain cells.

Then there are everybody's favorite nutlogs, I mean "Musical Genius" pair: Syd Barrett and Roky Erickson.

Syd fronted and composed for The Pink Floyd way before leaving the group to go solo and the other members became four geezers, a lasershow and a pig balloon - ha!  That band was just a boring (though far more popular) rock group by the name of "Pink Floyd."  But The Pink Floyd created a brilliant psychedelic classic album, "The Piper at the Gates of Dawn."  That record is a gemstone amongst the asscrap of the '70s.  In it, Barrett had clever, spacey lyrics about gnomes and a strange fellow named Arnold Layne.

Of course, young, trippy Syd was known to crush up handfuls of Mandrax and Brylcream to melt into his hair and stand completely silent in front of his audience as the drugs seeped into his skin.  That's some crazy shit, huh?!  Well, that and dropping acid like it was candy, too.

When all the Floyd fans were dying to hear the band's pop hit "See Emily Play," Syd did not appease them.  Intead, the loopy singer stood there like a statue pissing them off.  That's a hell of a punk act to pull off.

Syd left The Pink Floyd to do his own thing, which was seriously hit-or-miss territory.  But, no matter how scattered Barrett's ideas came off on his solo recordings, they're sure more interesting than anything off that "Dark Side of the Moon," which is more than influenced by Barrett's genius.  ("The lunatic is on the grass-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s" ... what a load!).  Sadly, Syd stopped making recordings--about everything from an "Effervescing Elephant" to a "Vegetable Man"--after a few sessions, shaved his head, and lived in seclusion with his mother until recently passing away.

Last up: a young kid named Roky Erickson from Texas, who didn't dress up all fancy and mod like them English boys making weird music.  Roky looked like a gas-pump jockey and so did his band, The 13th Floor Elevators.

With an intensely garage-y rock vocal and crazy harmonica playing, his debut album, "The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators," was one animalistic slab of wax.  Like Syd, Roky dropped more than his fair share of hallucinogens and was said to have mental illness.  Erickson was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, forcibly spent a bit of time in a loony bin and got involuntary shock treatments.  Roky's still kickin' out there, but his performances are not all together, musically or mentally.  After he left the Elevators and went solo, his songs of romantic abandonment (a theme he'd earlier visited in such tunes as "You're Gonna Miss Me") took a comic-book turn ("I Walked with a Zombie").  This new, horror-fantasy tone, on the surface "safe" pop-rock, actually reflected Roky's state of mind at the time: in 1982, he asked a Notary Public to sign off on an affadavit officially declaring that a Martian had taken up residence in his body.

All these cats influenced many artists, so they must be doing something right!  Let's hear it for those wild & crazy guys, the musical geniuses.  Would you like a free alien implanted into your head with that tank fill-up, sir?

John Stabb was the frontman for the legendary harDCore punk outfit Government Issue. When not blogging for BLURT, he currently serves as frontman for Sleeper Agent. Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/sleeperagentdc     

Musta been the late 80's or early 90's....my partner Mark and I took a trip up to Oklahoma City to look for records. Most of the day we hit various Flea Markets with pretty good success. Multiple sealed copies of Guiness and Tomorrow label LP's, about 20 sealed copies of the Markley LP, and alot more, most of them at $1.00 each.

Our last stop of the day was a place called The Memory Market, which is still there today. It's a large metal building that housed about 10-15 various antique dealers who specialized in "junk". The back 1/3^rd of the building was run by two elderly women who dealt in nothing but records. Tens of thousands of records, LP's and 45's. We started digging in and it was apparent that we were the first ones to go through this stuff who were looking for what we were looking for. The first hour yielded titles like Badge & Co. a very beat up copy of The Marble Phrogg, Darius, Trizo-50 and many more.

The market was going to close at 6:00 and it was about 5:45 when I came across an amazing looking record titled "The Psycho-Delic Sounds Of Jr. & The Soulettes". The cover was a "10" with Jr.  playing a Gibson Firebird behind his head while doing a split on the stage. I called Mark over, we pulled out the little Big Bird record player we carried with us and put the LP on to give it a spin. It was beyond warped, totally destroyed with only about 20% of the surface area being playable.....enough though for us to know we had found a MONSTER, yet bizarre LP. Mark pointed out that it had an Oklahoma City address on the back.

We paid for all the LP's and headed straight for the pay phone in front of the place. We looked in the phone book and sure enough, we found a Harold Moore Jr. & Sr. at the same address. I called the number and was greeted by something that could only be described as sub-human animal sounds.....Uhhhhhoooerrruggyhg....I could not make out a single english word this guy might be uttering. Then a second party picked up another line and told "Jr." to hang up. It was Harold Moore Sr. and he was one very friendly guy.

It was late winter and by 6:00 it was starting to get dark, yet Hariold Sr. invited Mark and I over to his house with the promise that "I have a whole suitcase filled with those old rekkids, you fellas come on over". We got directions and began to drive to the house......it wasn't long before we realized we were going to the worst part of OKC.

In the South it's pretty well known that if you live near the railroad tracks or by the river, you're probably in the bad part of town. The Moore house was built on stilts, with the river on one side and the railroad tracks on the other. We parked, went to the front door and rang the bell.....no answer. Then we knocked on the door pretty hard.....again, no answer. mark walked around to the side of the house and followed some very loud "Disco" music to a room in the back of the house. He looked inside and saw Harold Sr.  sitting in front of a column of amps and receivers that were producing this very bass heavy music. he banged on the window, got Mr. Moore's attention and he waved for us to go back to the front door.

Harold Sr. opened the front door and acted as if we were long lost friends...he quickly invited us in while yelling up the stairs at "Jr." while apologizing to us for his "effed up son". He brought us back into the "music" room and it was pretty bizarre. In the middle of the room stood a camera on a tri-pod. In each corner of the room that the camera was facing were little triangular stages built into the floor with a full length piece of plexiglas from floor to ceiling in front of each "stage". The stage was about large enough for one person to stand on.

Mark was an electronics engineer and in an attempt to start a conversation he asked Mr. Moore if he had the "schematics" for this contraption he had built out of about 20 amps and receivers. His response was "Schematics!! I just found this stuff in the garbage and makes it". Our goal was to get some LP's and get back to Dallas but Harold had alot to talk about and wanted us to stay.

After being there about 15 minutes Harold says..."You boys wanna see my puppet"!! How do you answer that question to a grown man??  Of course we said "Sure!!"....He opened his drawer and pulled out a puppet made out of a sock. You know, one of those winter socks that they make "Sock Monkey's" out of. "This here is my snake" and I'll be damned the thing had a hat that could not be described as anything but a "Pimp" hat and a big fat set of lips.

He then went on to explain that everything in the room was set up for the puppet....the music, the camera, the stages. He also explained that all his grandkids loved the puppet but he couldn't tell them about the puppet's "night life". He then pulled out a video, put it into a VCR and began to show us just what the puppet was all about. Before I attempt to explain what we saw I have to say that this moment was surely the most surreal in my life and I'd have given anything to have had a camera as I knew I would have to repeat what I saw and that no one would believe it.

The video starts off with that same bass heavy, thumping, Disco music and the pimp puppet "dancing" to the beat. Then a black woman, a naked black woman comes into the frame and begins to dance with the puppet. This goes on for about 5 minutes with the puppet doing various obscene things to what appears to be this super-imposed naked woman. The video stops, a new song starts to play and now the puppet starts dancing with a different, nude, black woman. Friggin' Amazing!!!

After about 10 minutes we've seen enough and tell Mr. Moore that we have to be going. Harold then explains at Mark's request just how he makes these movies. On a Friday or Saturday night Harold usually goes out and picks up a hooker. Not for sex, but to dance with the puppet. The naked hooker stands behind the plexiglas in one corner of the room while Mr. Moore operates the puppet behind the second piece of plexiglas in the opposite corner. The way the camera is set up on the tripod, it is able to not only record the puppet, but uses the plexiglas to make a reflection of the woman in the opposite corner so he gets the effect that they are actually dancing together!!! GENIUS!!!!

Getting down to business we asked for the LP's promising to pay him some big bucks. He goes into a closet and drags out a very old and beat up suitcase. He opens the suitcase which is FILLED with sleeveless 45's. Not an LP to be seen. "Oh you boys are looking for those BIG rekkids" he said....."I don't have any of those, they were all ruined". Needless to say we were disappointed but we bought a few of the 4 different 45's from him, two of them being non-LP cuts.  Harold apologized for not having any of the LP's and told this story.....

He had 4 children, Jr. and his three sisters who had been abandoned by their alcoholic Mom. Harold Sr. worked for a very rich Jewish woman who took a liking to the kids and bought them musical instruments and paid for lessons(This explains the Gibson Firebird).  She made the kids a deal that if they learned how to play at least 3 songs she would get them a slot on some local TV Telethon. The kids took to music very quickly and within a year were appearing on local TV. The response was so good that the woman paid for them to record an LP but suggested they write "original" songs.

This is where Harold Sr. comes in, writing all the songs that appear on the LP, with most of them being attacks on the drunken and supposedly abusive ex-Mrs. Moore......"Mama drinks Tequila, She stays drunk all the time"......once the LP was recorded and pressed the next step was to get them in the local record stores. At least one store told Mr. Moore that they could not stock them unless they were shrink wrapped. Harold went to a butcher shop where his brother worked and used their shrinkwrap machine to seal the LP's....unfortunately this was a high heat machine and he melted every single LP in the process. This wasn't discovered until someone bought one and brought it home....all the LP's were pulled from the stores and rather than re-press it, the woman decided to release some 45's.

The 45's themselves are a work of art....with photos of each of the kids heads on the label....very home made and cheesy looking. As Mark and I were leaving the Moore's home he asked for two favors.  One was to write to the Guinness World Book Of Records and request that his kids be put in as "The youngest group to make an LP and play their own instruments" which we did to no avail. The second was to never tell his grandkids what we saw the puppet doing...which has not been a problem to uphold.

No matter how well I told that story there is no way you can begin to understand just how weird it was. If I ever win the lottery this will be just one chapter in a film I'd like to make about some of the folks I've met in this wacky world of music....hope you enjoyed.

P.S. The day after we got home I made a cassette of the LP and a xerox of the cover and sent it to legendary Psych dealer Paul Major. Paul truly thoughtthat I had made this whole thing up and that there was NO WAY an LP like that existed......he eventually believed me.

I have two big music regrets in my life.

The first: in 1994, I blew off a buddy who wanted to go check out this new punk band from California playing a tiny show in Pittsburgh. Despite the fact that it was a couple of guys from Operation Ivy and he ended up drinking with them all night, I turned down the chance to see an early version of Rancid to cover a show for my college paper. The band I opted for? Hootie and the f-ing Blowfish. Awesome!

The second: I had a crush on a girl that lasted all of about three weeks and opted to go see The B-52s ("Love Shack" era) and Ziggy Marley with her and some friends, rather than watch The Replacements and Tom Petty play. The Replacements turned out a couple more albums than decided to call it a day, ensuring I would likely never see them perform live. The B-52's however, play just about every outdoor festival imaginable. I wouldn't be surprised if they were playing at the park down the street when I take my daughter over there later tonight.

Which brings me to reunions. It's the summer music festival season. The time when concert promoters throw truck loads of money at fractured bands in the hopes they can get them to put aside years of bitter feelings and online feuds long enough to run through a few classics on stage, before heading over to the bank.

Despite constant rumors that The Smiths would be getting back together for a set at Coachella this year, they didn't.  Apparently Morrissey remembered that he once said something about rather eating his own testicles than reforming the group. Those who have reunited recently - though no word on whether eating testicles was part of the deal - inc

lude Faith No More, The Jesus & Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, The Jesus Lizard and Blur.

Christ, even bands like Creed, No Doubt and Blink-182-who have each been broken up, what a few years? - are getting back together. At least give us a chance to decide whether or not we want to miss you before you come barging back into our lives.

Even the New York Dolls managed to bury the hatchet in 2004, after a 27-year break, and ha ve kept it together beyond traditional reunion tour cash grab and have turned out a couple of new albums, including the just released  "'Cause I Sez So." That still leaves a slew of punk bands who have yet to reform.

* Top of the list is The Replacements. Guitarist Bob Stinson died in 1995 and longtime/original drummer Chris Mars left before the band officially called it quits and has sworn on several occasions that he would not be part of a reunion. Paul Westerberg and bassists Tommy Stinson however have each hinted at the idea of at least one more show.

* The Clash. Sadly not an option since Joe Strummer died in 2002 of a congenital heart defect. If surviving members Mick Jones, Paul Simonon and Topper Headon did ever decide to resurrect the band with some half-assed Joe Strummer sound-alike (kinda like the 20^th Century Doors) expect rioting in the streets that would make the '99 WTO protests seem like a middle school dance in comparison.

* Black Flag. A reunion of Black Flag is actually not that unrealistic. The band got together for a few benefit shows in 2003 and Henry Rollins has been in some unbelievably crappy movies since leaving the band, proving he'd be up for anything (Anyone see "Jack Frost" or "Wrong Turn 2: Dead End"?) But does anyone really want to see a bunch of 50-somethings playing classic Black Flag songs? Yeah, I probably do too.

* Operation Ivy. With only one full length to their name, Op Ivy managed to influence a whole generation of punks. Though Tim Armstrong and Matt Freeman went on to form Rancid, the fact that both have managed to find time for solo records and side projects, and the lack of any real acrimony between band members makes an Operation Ivy reunion a possibility. Though front man Jesse Michaels dismissed reunion rumors two years ago, citing logistics and a vague reference to lawyers.

* The Sex Pistols. Reunion? They won't go away! The band had one proper album (fantastic as it was,) and imploded. But Johnny Rotten - when not appearing on celebrity realty shows or in butter commercials - still manages to round up the lot for the occasional bank heist... I mean reunion tours (1996, 2002-2003, 2007 and any day now).

Music worth listening to this week:

Electric Owls - Ain't Too Bright

Chris Wollard and the Ship Thieves - self titled