Point is, a lot of fucking time has passed, and it has been my experience that that is not necessarily a GOOD THING when it comes to the release of music that one so strongly identifies with a certain time and a certain age. Not very many bands can pull it off. Anybody remember when Sir Paul pulled his head out of his ass and put it into the Beatles’ vaults just long enough to serve up Free As A Bird and Real Love? OFFAH!! Yeah, I don’t remember it either . . .

I’m not saying it’s impossible to release older material and have it bitch-slap you up side da head with its brilliance and timelessness. Hey, Misters Krieger, Densmore, and Manzarek have done a stellar job of milking THEIR vaults!! But then, they DID have the neutron bomb to work with, in the person of Jim Morrison. Christ, I’ve got bootleg recordings of Morrison drunkenly belching into studio mikes that have more credibility and soul than the last 35 years of Paul McCartney’s recording career . . .

Point is, this sort of thing can be risky. So, it was with no small amount of trepidation, that I opened the e-mail containing the link to Plundered My Soul, the first of ten tracks of circa 1972 material being released by the Stones on an updated re-issue of Exile On Main Street, which is due out at the end of this month. Once again, a little perspective: these tracks were cut during what in my humble opinion was the recording of the greatest album ever made. If I were stranded on a desert island with only ten albums, I’d want ten copies of Exile On Main Street, just in case the first nine of them got fucked up. THAT’S how fucking important this album is to me (Ok, maybe nine copies of Exile and one copy of Waiting For Columbus by Little Feat . . .). Though we didn’t know it at the time, the Exile sessions would end the best four year run of booze and drug fueled blues/rock that has ever been made. Starting with the July ’68 release of Beggar’s Banquet, The Stones would churn out in quick order: Beggar’s Banquet, Let It Bleed, Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out, Sticky Fingers, and Exile On Main Street. Take a moment and consider the weight and heft of THAT accomplishment. I know I did before I clicked on that link . . . Hey, this wasn’t some damn track that Pete Townsend found under his auntie’s china cabinet. This was Exile-era STONES. So, finger poised over the mouse and . . . (click) . . .

. . . . like the first damn time you slam dat spike home, eh wot? Oh my FUCKING god!! Terrific track!! Do yourself a favor: tie off and hit the “play” button below. NOW!

Plundered My Soul

Bonus Track: This is The Stones doing Let It Rock on March 13th, 1971 at Leed’s University during the Sticky Fingers tour. This track was on the flip side of some imported 45s of Brown Sugar. Also, Let It Rock appeared on all copies of Sticky Fingers sold in the country of Spain in place of the song Sister Morphine. Why? Because at the time of the release of Sticky Fingers, Spain was being ruled by one of the last of the old time Fascist dictators, Generalissimo Francisco Franco, and he and his culture ministers decided that a song with “morphine” in the title wasn’t good for the masses. Therefore, they insisted it be taken off prior to the album’s release in Spain. Apparently Franco and the boys must not have picked up on the fact that the entire album is an ode to the joys of heroin so pure that you want to spike it directly into your eyeballs. Guess they didn’t get that memo . . .

Speaking of heroin addiction, it never sounded as good as it does on this track. Listen at the two minute+ mark when the entire fucking song just about fucking derails, only to have Keith pull it out like a Phoenix rising from ashes with a blast of feed-back addled virtuosity. Guess it kinda helps to have Charlie Watts, Bill Wyman, and Mick Taylor covering your back . . .

Play this thing VERY FUCKING LOUD . . .
-Rance Muhhamitz

The Junction, Cambridge UK April 17, 2010

Never seen Lou Reed before so I thought I’d take the opportunity as it was so local. I was warned that none of his usual Velvet Underground or solo repetoire would be on offer. Also (his muse), Laurie Anderson in a radio interview said that we would be in for over an hour of ear splitting noise, with a mischievous chuckle in her voice.

I walked into the venue to a stage with no band, but the equipment was already producing a sound like a power station humming itself into submission.

After much twiddling of knobs by a roadie “the band” eventually walked on. More tampering  by Lou Reed (laptops and guitars),  Ulrich Krieger (Saxophone) and Sarth Kalhoun (bank of laptops), then the concert began. Immediately I could feel the vibration of the noise hitting my chest. This was like walking back to the 60s and 70s. Anyone as old as me will remember the “Moody Blues” who had a keyboard player called Mike Pinder who played mellotrons. Well the Metal Machine 3 for the first 30 minutes sounded like a demented Moody Blues on acid without the vocals.

The noise was brilliantly excruciating and hypnotic. There was no cat calling, but about 20 per cent of the audience retreated and walked out in the first 10 minutes. Lou Reed was fascinating to watch. Looking at his colleagues and signalling by putting his finger in his right ear and indicating with his other hand. There was no discernible difference in the noise but he would look satisfied with whatever change had been implemented. Krieger did not blow into his saxophone for about 5 minutes but waved it around a microphone to create good old fashioned Neil Young feedback. Lou was sounding like Terry Kath on “Freeform Guitar” a track that everybody skipped on the first Chicago album. Sadly Kath died by playing with a gun too randomly. A similar death was something many of the audience seemed to be contemplating when suddenly a melodic tune broke out. The man responsible was the saxophonist Kreiger. Thiis was quickly corrected by Reed and normal service of ear drum crushing resumed.

The remaining listeners were  texting their friends on their phones, wanting to express their disbelief at the sounds being produced by someone they thought was such a Sweet Jane. This texting continued throughout the 90 minutes. For some reason Lou banned the recording  or filming of the gig on mobiles (cells in American) presumably fearing that the concert would be bootlegged. Very unlikely unless the “music” is used by the C.I.A, to break down the resistance of inmates of Guantanomo Bay. I reckon the prisoners would be telling everything the spooks wanted to know after no more than 5 minutes, of this improvised torture.

Everybody was having a lot of fun making jokes about the “Music” and whether we were taking part in a reality T.V. show with the last member of the audience left standing winning a rendition from Lou of “Walk on Wild Side.” It occurred to me that the Metal Machine might not stop until the last of us walked out.They continued sounding like a choir of screaming crashing Fokker aircraft whirling out of control, inside St.Paul’s Cathedral. Could Lou be playing a joke on us?. Well those members of the audience still remaining decided to stick it out. We watched for signs of a conclusion. Lou got up to turn his back on us. A good sign we thought. He adjusted several buttons at the back of the stage with help from 2 roadies. But he fooled us and came and sat down again and picked a guitar up. More signalling to his co-members. More noise but gradually the decibels went down to merely ear splitting.  Then all of a sudden it was all over. Thoughts of King Crimson came into my brain after the evening’s battering. Reed had turned me into a “21st Century Schizoid Man.” Who would want to spend a Saturday night out in any other way, especially when the U.K. election campaign makes you feel like you are smashing into a sound wall?

I found myself applauding. Reed has charisma even when he is playing a joke which I took part in. He even acknowledged the suvriviing members of the audience in a gracious manner. Perhaps he is mellowing out. I felt like singing “It’s been a perfect day I’m glad I spent it with Lou” but thought better of. it.

Dan Auerbach “Keep It Hid”

This album is of the highest quality in terms of songs, production and bad ass-ness. Dan Auerbach kills with the freedom of a larger band. “Some Desire”, “I Want Some More” and “My Last Mistake” are fucking classics. The whole album is excellent and the show is great too with Hacienda as his band. Dan needs to do more of this and keep producing bands like Buffalo Killers!

Vetiver “Tight Knit”

Great songs, great production and a mellow vibe that keeps me calm.

Deer Tick “Born On Flag Day”

His voice is hard to get used to at first, but behind that crazy, raspy almost Layne Stayley-esque timbre lies an amazing fleet of songs that can be listened to repeadetly.

Devendra Banhart “What Will We Be”

Produced by Paul Butler of UK’s The Bees, Devendra’s production becomes a little rawer. Being a big fan of the Bees, I dig the integration of sounds, especially the addition of those trademark Bees background vocals. Dig “Rats”, “16th & Valencia Roxy Music” and “Can’t Help But Smiling”.

Dawes “North Hills”

Unfortunately I was a little late on this and had to amend this best of list. This is a great album, although a little melancholy. But if you’re in that mood, it is perfect. “When You Call My Name” is classic cosmic american music.

f

T Bird & The Breaks “Learn About It”

This is my favorite type of production. Raw, dirty and old school sounding. Soul in a twist of beats. Check out “Juice”, “Blackberry Brandy”, “Esmerelda” & “Two Tone Cadillac”. This shit is a party.

Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

This is a great album and “Home” is a classic song.

Black Lips “200 Million Thousand”

Another great album from the Black Lips, these guys are fucking legends. “I Saw God” is amazing, listen to it. You learn you some self respect boy!!

The Dead Weather “Horehound”

Rance says this is the best album of the year… but since this is my list he can go fuck himself. The production is phenomanal and Alison Moshart is freaky. And I usually don’t like female singers unless they are fried chicken eatin soul mamas or  Emmylou Harris. But I got to say that this is a bad ass album and Jack White is still the reining king of rock n roll.

Wilco “Wilco the Album”

I love that they made a song and named the album “Wilco”, which is a bitchin song as well a very good album. For the mellow fans, “Solitaire” and ” Country Disappeared” are nice. For the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot fans, you’ll dig “Bull Black Nova”. Not as good as “Sky Blue Sky”, in my opinion, which I thought was a Beatles-esque masterpiece.

The Cave Singers

The Cave Singers have a very enjoyable Pacific Northwest sound a la Blitzen Trapper.

The Black Crowes “Before The Frost” & “After The Freeze”

These two albums could have been combined into one really classic album but they opted for quanity… which is admirable too. I know it pissed a lot of Crowes fans off, but I love the cocaine 80’s Stones inspired “I Ain’t Hiding”, especially the Luther Dickinson solo. It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure.

Steve Earle “Townes”

Can’t go wrong with a tribute album to Townes Van Zandt, the best Texas songwriter of all time. Old Steve especially shines on Lorreta and Lungs (with Tom Morello). I’d like to mention that “Waiting Around To Die” is not offered on this album but is possibly the best song in existence.

Monsters Of Folk

Take out the faggy dude from whatever his name is and you got a really quality project. M Ward and Jim James are the stars of this album and should be encouraged to continue thier partnership.

Pearl Jam “Back Spacer”

Definitely some classic PJ songs on here, especially now that Eddie has been reaching in the bag after the Into The Wild soundtrack. See “Breathe” and “The End”

Lee Fields & The Expressions “My World”

The first guy to reinvent Motown and give it an honest go. Keep an eye on Lee Fields.

Them Crooked Vultures

With Joshe Homme singing, it sounds like a Queens of the Stoneage record, but a really good one no-less.

If anyone would like to chime in.. be my guest!

OK, as of this writing (1/30/10), Indianapolis is favored by what, 4+ points?  So fucking what?  Its what Indy DOESN’T have going for it that will win this game for Da Saints.  Has Indy ever had a song as cool as “Mardi Gras In New Orleans” written about it?  FUCK NO!!  Do the Colts have a saying as all encompassing as “Who Dat Say Day Gonna Beat Dem Saints?”  FUCK NO!!  Did anything ever happen in Indianapolis that would justify ANYTHING like a strut or funeral procession?  FUCK NO!!

Granted, Indianapolis IS the hometown of Kurt Vonnegut, but Kurt fuckin’ died a few years ago and he wasn’t a football fan, so he is proving to be of no help in terms of insight into this game.  Hunter S. Thompson, who was a fuckin’ football genius has not stepped up to the plate and offered any sort of tips from beyond the grave as to how this game is going to go down.  Even New Orleans native and former Saints quarterback Archie Manning hasn’t completely ruled out the possibility that his son and current Colts QB Peyton Manning won’t get spanked come February 7th.  Point is, I haven’t seen or heard anything from anybody of any note that says that Da Saints won’t prevail.

>Bottom Line: Take ANY and ALL Colts money and 4+ points.  Shit Negro . . .

This particular track was recorded in Bogalusa, Louisiana on April 4th, 1974 and had horns added to it on February 3rd, 1985, just prior to its release on the MUST HAVE album:  Professor Longhair – “Rock ‘N’ Roll Gumbo” (Dancing Cat Records – DD-3006).  Henry Roeland Byrd, AKA: Professor Longhair, died in January of 1980 at da age of 61 . . .

Who Dat Say Day Gonna Beat Dem Saints?   None of these guys . . .  Hope you Colts fans like this track, because you’re going to have to listen to it A LOT when Da Saints win this thing . . .

-Rance Muhhamitz

PS:  My attorney and I will be watching this game at a party in some $2,000,000+ mansion in the hills above the San Fernando Valley, where we will be serving up a feast of our award-winning smoked, dry-rubbed ribs and chicken wings, all washed down with copius amounts of Corona w/lime.  If ANY of you beyotches wantsa lose all of yo’ fuckin’ paychecks and help bankroll our Super Bowl party activities, just shut da fuck up and send me yo’ fuckin’ wagers.  I’m taking Da Saints and 7 points.

Final Score:  Da Saints 38 – Colts 24.

By Sister Rosetta Tharpe

It is once again THAT time of year when anybody and everybody with a recording deal releases a damn Christmas album.  The one that Bob Dylan recently dropped on us is simply too painful to listen to, and you know it’s just a matter of time until Adam Lambert issues a CD telling us where he wants you to cram your Yule log . . .

Fortunately, there are/were some artists who can still manage to sing traditional Christmas songs with something like style, grace, credibility, and perhaps most importantly, sincerity.  Hence, we will be looking at Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s rendering of “O Little Town Of Bethlehem” both for the pure listening pleasure of it, and hopefully as a reminder to others in the recording industry that all the lush strings arrangements and studio tricks in the world can’t hide a lack of soul . . .

Sister Rosetta has been cited by everybody from Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Isaac Hayes, and Aretha Franklin as having influenced them and it is reported that she was Johnny Cash’s favorite singer.  Do yourself a huge favor and Google her name, and then take some time and read her biographical information.  It might help you forget that crap like American Idol and Barry Manilow even exist . . . (I knew a musician that was in Barry’s touring band for years until he simply couldn’t take it anymore.  And the band’s behind-his-back nickname for Barry?  “Barely Man-enough . . . .”)

Below is a link to a You Tube video of Sister Rosetta doing “Down By The Riverside” that is required viewing.  Watch any related videos featuring The Good Sister that show up on You Tube.  I can assure you that whatever is happening in your life, you WILL feel better afterwards . . .

Merry Christmas Bonus Track:  “Christmas Island” is the title track from Leon Redbone’s 1988 release, which happens to be my favorite Christmas album of all time.  This track features Cindy Cashdollar on dobro . . .  Enjoy . . .

Peru

Gang Reportedly Kills For Body Fat

A gang in the Peruvian jungle has been killing people for their fat, police said, draining it from corpse and selling it for use in cosmetics. Three suspects have confessed to killing five people for their fat, police said.  Two suspects allegedly had bottles of liquid human fat and claimed it was worth $60,000 a gallon.

Police were investigating 60 disappearances in the area that might be linked to the gang.  They suspect that the fat was sold to cosmetic firms in Europe but could not confirm any sales. Medical experts expressed doubt about any black market for human fat, though they confirmed it does have cosmetic applications.

-Times Wire Reports

One of the most dependably funny features in the late, great, and much lamented National Lampoon magazine was the “Letters FROM The Editors” section.  NOTE:  Whereas most magazines and newspapers offer a “Letters TO The Editors” section, the writers at the Lampoon eliminated the middle man (their readers) and simply wrote the letters themselves and attributed them to all sorts of public figures.

Example:

Dear Sirs,

Well of COURSE I know the difference! My ass is round and dark.  A hole in the ground is round and dark and . . . Hey, this is tougher than I thought.

Perplexed,
Jane Fonda

I bring this up because one of my all time favorite “Letters FROM the Editors” was “written” by a member of today’s Bi-Monthly Meat focus . . .

Dear Sirs,

Guys come up to me all the time and want to know what its like to be a huge fucking rock star.  This is what I tell them: ”Dude, think of all the really beautiful women you’ve ever slept with.  Now, pick out the top 5 and line them up in your head.  OK, got a good visual of that?” ”Dude, I won’t fuck any of them . . .”

Sincerely,
David Lee Roth

. . . Which brings us to the subject of today’s Bi-Monthly Meat snarl-fest; Van Halen’s “Drop Dead Legs.”  Let’s start with a read-through of the lyrics, shall we?

Drop Dead Legs

Drop Dead Legs, pretty smile,

hurts my head, gets me wild.

Dig that steam, giant butt,

makes me scream, I get nuh-nuh-nothing but the shakes over you.

And nothing else could ever do.

(Chorus)

You know that you want it.

I know what you need.

You know that you want it.

When the night is through,

will I still be loving you?

Dig those moves, vam-pire,

set me loose, get it higher.

Throw my rope, loop-de-loop,

nice white teeth, Betty Boop.

Get it cool,

real heavy.

I ain’t fooled,

gettin’ ready.

(Chorus)

The inspiration for such lyrics?  I’m guessing David Lee woke up one afternoon and found the words to this song scribbled on cocktail napkins from “The Body Shope” after a night of screaming these lines at strippers and using his nose to shove Benjamins into the cracks of their asses.  In other words, a totally credible song based on real life experiences, provided of course, that the real life you’re leading is that of a fucking rock god in Los Angeles.  Dave, I’m completely buying into this.  Call me the next time you go drinking on The Strip, OK?

And then there’s the music . . .  Jesus Fucking Christ!!  Just fucking perfect!!  You’re not sure where it’s going when it first starts out.  Couple of crisp but somewhat generic guitar riffs, couple of smacks on a cow bell (think Guns ‘N’ Roses cribbed this a little for the beginning of ‘Paradise City?’). . . Then the first crunch arrives and you know its down to Eddie Van Halen or Jeff Beck.  Fours bars in and its nothing but pure, bottom heavy lust.  So much for Jeff Beck . . .

Eddie proceeds to say with his guitar what David Lee is singing, and its just sheer, shoot-from-the-hip poetry.  But wait!  The best part is yet to come.  The final chorus finishes up and the remaining minute and a half of the track has Alex Van Halen and Mike Anthony laying down a crisp, tight, and absolutely irresistible rhythm groove that Eddie, in a brilliant yet somewhat restrained manner, proceeds to rift over in some of the best, under-stated guitar work of his career.  The ONLY thing wrong with “Drop Dead Legs” is that its about 10 minutes too short . . .

-Rance

Purely fortuitous that I was at this concert. I hate reunion gigs regarding them as an excuse to over milk the fans of hard earned cash. However I was offered a spare ticket which I paid for and took a punt. It turned out to be a great way to end my birthday.

The first time I saw Hoople was at the Watford Town Hall about 25 miles north of Central London in March 1970.They were bottom of a 3 band bill(always at least 3 bands in those far off days) with Keef Hartley Big Band and East of Eden. At that time I thought they played too long and were indifferent. Saw them again at York University in 1973 in their Angel of 5th Avenue days and they were good. Now (with I suspect the drink and the drugs less dominant in their blood stream and years of practice on their instruments) they are better than they ever were.

They played all their hits, including “All the Young Dudes”( a great David Bowie song), “All the Way From Memphis”, “Do You Remember The Saturday Gigs?” and  ”The Golden Age of Rock “n” Roll.” The playing of the keyboards by Verdun Allen was particularly fine on his old Hammond. Very reminiscent of Al Kooper on the early Dylan Electric Albums such as Blonde on Blonde.

One of the best songs on the night was played early on. This was Lou Reed’s “Sweet Jane.” Hearing this song when I bought the “All the Young Dudes” album in 1972 was what got me into the Velvet Underground, even if I was a “White Boy” not knowing what I was “doing on this side of town” The Dudes album was produced by David Bowie as was Lou Reed’s Transformer Album which also featured backing vocals by the Thunderthighs. The latter alson appeared on Mott The Hoople single “Roll Away The Stone.” This song was perfomed on Thursday night with the siblings of the band on backing vocals, substituting for the Thunderthighs, in particular Ian Hunter’s daughter. She looked like her dad did in the 1970s with long frizzy hair and shades. The only difference is her face has smoother skin and she has a bigger chest than dad.

Unusually for reunion gigs all the old band were there although drummer Buffin is very ill and was only able to play the 3 encore numbers.For the rest of the night drums were played by Martin Belmont ex rhythm guitarist for Graham Parker and the Rumour. Mick Ralphs (who later played in the post Free band of Paul Rodger’s Bad Company) was excellent on lead guitar. Ian Hunter looked exactly the same as I remember him from my student days. Overend Watts strutted his stuff in front of the stage on Bass..  I danced as only a wrinkly 57 year old can. Certainly did wonders for my arthritus and my cell phone flew out of my shirt breast pocket at one particularly energetic moment. That’s what us Brits mean when we call them mobiles. If Mott do this reunion in the States go see them.

Austin City Limits is one of the biggest events of the year for Austin, Texas, when 100s of top tier bands and 1000s of hippies, hipsters, granolas and goons storm the hill country for days full of music, booze and a least couple hours full of really good music. For scumfucks like me, it marks the second biggest free booze event of the year in Austin, behind South By Southwest which I had the pleasure of covering this year for this awful magazine Gonzolandia, where they have nothing organized and there is virtually no editors or management. I personally do not want that responsibility and would rather fuck off. Regardless, they let Randy Spacemachine and myself loose on the streets of Austin in a 8 part series that you can read right here on gonzolandia.com. This time, I had nothing but a Media wristband and partial use of a photographer, who was mostly working for her own publicationf. Luckily, the wristband granted me access to the Media pit which proved to be the greatest asset of the weekend.

We arrived to the festival and little hassle was given acquiring our press credentials, which is always a good sign. Once inside the Media pit, we were lead to believe that the free drinks were only for happy hour from 5pm-6pm, a fact that was false and proved to be THE critical mistake of the weekend. We hustled out to the festival grounds amongst all the peasants and rushed the photo pit for Dr. Dog. The photo pit is only open to photographers for the first three songs, in which time it is turned over solely to security and cripples. After the three songs were up, we B-Lined it to the beer tent but first had to stop at the ATM to get cash (those lousy goons at Gonzolandia provided such little per diems… it had been spent that morning on tacos and beers). After substantial beer was achieved, we headed to see a band called Phoenix, at which point I remember thinking to myself: “I hope this band isn’t anything like the city.” My photographer headed to the pit and I tried to sneak in but was denied access. “What is this wristband good for?” I thought. After careful analysis of their first few songs, I decided that maybe they should rename themselves “San Francisco”.  At that point we retreated back to the media pit for happy hour.

After milking the open bar for what appeared to be all it was worth, I had an appointment outside of the festival grounds, leaving my photographer to be the master of her own devices. I returned after nightfall for the Austin premier of Them Crooked Vultures, a super group of sorts that includes Dave Grohl on drums, Josh Homme on guitar and the fucking legend John Paul Jones on bass. The show was pretty damn good I must say, although it did sound a bit like Queens of the Stone Age Lite seeing as they share the same vocalist. It was great to see Dave Grohl absolutely murder a drum kit again as well as not sing. It was also amazing to to see John Paul Jones in the flees. He busted out that strange pedal steel guitar that he strapped to his torso with lights all up the neck. The high point was when he ditched the bass and grooved a Floydian-esque organ solo, it brought me back, briefly, to a place I remember, from years ago, lodged in the psyche of my nostalgia, just for a moment… stoned, sitting in the back of my friend’s Bronco at the top of the Malibu hills smoking chronic and listening to Dark Side of the Moon climbing radio towers…

My photographer left the Vultures show early to gain access to the Kings of Leon photo pit. I, myself, had no intention of battling a bunch of drunken frat boys to get to an even respectable viewing distance of the stage, no matter how many old songs they play. It should be noted that I am NOT a fan of any of their new stuff and the absurd stories I’ve heard about these douchey hipsters with bloated egos make me hate them even more. I found my photographer and we left early.

DAY 2

After the gates closed on Austin City Limits festival on day one, no one had any idea the chaos that would ensue overnight. Sometime in the wee hours of Saturday morning, mother earth decided to cry her eyes out all over Austin, resulting in very soggy conditions at Zilker park. I dropped my photographer off at the gates and then proceeded to go back home to watch college football all day in a warm house and let the home fires burn. Hours later I returned to find my photographer soaking wet and I could hear Chest Fever off in the distance.

We managed to catch a dry ACL “Aftershow” later that evening at Antone’s with Dan Auerbach & Rodriguez. Auerbach was phenomenal as usual, but I am still haunted by that Mean Eyed Cat show I saw at SXSW that is seared in my brain. Rodriguez was who I came to see.. I’d been given a couple of old recordings of his from the early late 60’s / early 70’s and he has some great stuff. It was a great surprise to see him coming out of nowhere and playing ACL this year. From what I heard, he built his band out of craigslist. I will elaborate more on Rodriguez in a coming article, but I will say now that he is a legend.

DAY 3

Since Sundays are also set aside for football, I decided to compromise my assignment and watch football all day then go to the festival to see The Dead Weather & Pearl Jam in the late afternoon. It proved to be another smart move on my part, I have to thank my photographer for the fantastic scouting efforts.

When I arrived at the media area, before I had a chance to witness the park conditions, I could clearly see that they weren’t pretty. By this time the booze was flowing freely so I indulged in several vodka drinks (including two highly toxic red bull vodkas) and many beers before I made my way into the festival. During consumption, I listened to The Dead Weather from the media pit and ate a vicodan. The sun began to shine directly on me and I began writing via text message to my assistant, the transmission read:

6:34 PM: Freaks and drunks, dead weather, sea of mud looks like a diarreah pit,

6:44 PM: fault of rain & dingo dirt aka “shit dirt”

6:58 PM: only clean one in media area, warnings of peril infested journey

7:04 PM: hunkering down with free booze and media geeks

7:34 PM: the temperature is nice, by the way

7:40 PM: bbq’d corn on the cob all over the place free i might add, beast creature gnawing on one

8:34 PM: found a generous soul who let me into free henekin beer area with pearl jam on monitor screens
8:35 PM: and live sound through the sound system

9:25 PM: best friends with perfect strangers

9:40 PM: perry farrell on stage, frenzy

9:56 PM: pearl jam made everyone else at the festival look silly

Your guess is as good as mine as to what all that nonsense means… a foggy recollection remembers a great rock and roll show, free beer, an ass load of mud, after show pub crawl and a head ache in the morning. That very headache is the reason this article is being published now, almost four weeks since the fucking thing. The mud turned out to be a hit with these people:

It was later found that the mud had what is called “Dingo Dirt” mixed into it, which is basically Texas Longhorn fertilizer. So it just goes to show you, drugs will make you dance in shit.

Here is a clip of Perry Ferrel with Pearl Jam:

Hope you enjoyed this extensive analysis of Austin City Limits music festival 2009. Adios.

In addition to being a very informative site, extremepumpkins.com is VERY well written by somebody with a VERY wicked sense of humor. Were it not for the big bucks I’m being paid by gonzolandia.com, I’d be writing for these guys. Anyways, check out the entire web-site and by all means BUY stuff from them!! These are obviously like-minded people and we need to support them . . .

Trick Or Treat,

Rance