Some of my favorite posts here on Gonzolandia have been Frank Beard’s “The Daily Meat” posts in which he comments on specific songs that he found, well, worthy of comment. The only problem with his posts is he stopped after about a week. Now I know Frank personally, and I know what a fat, lazy bastard he is (good thing he sings so well, otherwise we would have killed him a long time ago . . .), and I wish he had actually kept at it, but alas, he appears lost to Lone Star beer and morphine suppositories . . .
I bring this up as a way of introducing MY OWN outlet for venting my musical spleen: The Bi-Monthly Meat. Why bi-monthly? Because that way I only have to write 2 posts a month and stand less chance of burning out like Frank did (granted, I have a pretty mean Corona w/lime habit, but I haven’t tumbled down the slippery slope of addiction like Frank has. Frank’s favorite thing about morphine suppositories? ”Your asleep before you can pull your finger out of your ass!” I’ll take your word for it, Frank . . . .).
Let’s begin today’s discussion with a read-through of the lyrics to this just-this-side-of-Exile-On-Main-Street ode to the joys of drugs so pure that you want to spike them directly into your fucking eye-balls . . .
30 Days In The Hole
Chicago Green,
talking ’bout Red Lebanese,
A dirty room and a silver coke spoon,
give me my release.
Black Nepalese,
it’s got ya weak in the knees.
Seeds and dust, that you got busted on
you know it’s hard to believe . . .
30 days in the hole,
30 days in the hole,
30 days in the hole,
30 days in the hole.
Newcastle Brown,
I’m telling ya can sure smack you down.
Ya take a greasy whore and a rollin’ dance floor,
It’s got your head spinnin’ round.
If you live on the road,
There’s a new highway code.
You take some urban noise with some Durban Poison,
Gonna lessen your load.
Chorus (How you doin’ boy, etc.)
Black Nepalese,
it’s got you weak in the knees.
Only seeds and dust that you got busted on,
You know it’s so hard to please.
Newcastle Brown,
can sure smack you down.
Ya take a greasy whore and a rollin’ dance floor,
you know your jailhouse bound.
Obviously, a pretty straight forward drink-do-drugs-puke-on-your-shoes song. So I was surprised to find a (not very good) web-site in which a bunch of acid casualties sought to interpret the lyrics to better justify their own warped senses and sensibilities. Unfortunately, vocalist/songwriter Steve Marriott died of (hope your sitting down) an overdose years ago, so we can’t ask him . . .
So once again we’re left to ponder: What does it all mean?
Chicago green – a reference to pot, was being credited by the genius’ at this web-site as the Cabrini Green housing projects in Chicago, where one could buy pot. Bit of a stretch, in that Steve Marriott was a very small, very skinny, and very English-looking white-boy who wouldn’t have been able to get himself 1/2 a block into the VERY mean streets and alleys of the VERY black and notoriously violent Cabrini Green projects. Not even Chicago cops, usually not a fearful lot, like going in there . . .
Red Lebanese – was hash. VERY available in Los Angeles when this album came out in 1972 (’72 being my 1st year of high school, where Red Lebanese was also VERY available, thanks largely to the heel of it I scored and, um, “made available . . .”).
A Dirty Room – someone suggested that Marriott was saying “a dirty rum,” as in a shot of rum would be more conducive to giving one ones “release” than a dirty room. Sorry, but I’m taking this one at face value. Like Freud said; “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar . . .”
Black Nepalese – We all seem to be in agreement that this was a pretty potent form of hash made even MORE potent by the fact that it was spiked with opium. This stuff really existed and it was THE SHIT . . .
Seeds and Dust That You Got Busted On – Lots of conjecture about this one. I hear “busted on” while others will argue for “buzzed on.” Toss up . . .
Newcastle Brown – Some argued that yes, its simply a reference to the fine ale of that same name, but I and other like-minded drug-aficionados say that the fact that Marriott followed it up with “can sure smack you down” makes it a reference to brown heroin, with “smack” being a fairly common street name for heroin. Sorry Sigmund, but it wasn’t just a cigar this time . . .
Greasy Whore – What’s NOT to understand? I mean damn! Who among us hasn’t spent time on a rollin’ dance floor with a greasy whore? Some of my best friends are greasy whores. But no. Someone on this web-site claimed that what Marriott is REALLY saying is “grease-sick whore,” which, in some parts of England would translate to “money-sick” or “money-hungry” whore. Not too sure about this one. I mean, when we start allowing the slurring slang of beer-addled, Cockney-accented street drunks into serious discussions like THIS one, well my friend, it might be time to hand this country back to the fucking Indians . . . ”Grease-sick whore.” Nigger please . . . .
Durban Poison – almost across the board agreement on this one: A very strong form of South African pot.
Musically, there was total agreement: This thing simply fucking rocks. End of discussion . . .
30 Days In The Hole
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All right, All right, All right
First of all I have to say I’m always very happy when I see an article about Marriott
so thank you very much
but Steve didn’t die of an overdose. He died in a fire in his house. It is believed that the most likely cause of the fire was that soon after arriving home, jet-lagged and tired, in the early hours, Marriott had lit a cigarette whilst in bed and almost immediately fallen into a deep sleep.
The cause of death was smoke inhalation.
and one thing, I wouldn’t be surprised if it really was a ”Grease-sick whore”. You can hear him singing in a wonderful Cockney accent on Small Faces – Lazy Sunday !!! You can’t top this shit, great, great very funny track.
Thank you for setting the record straight with regards to the cause of Mr. Marriott’s death, though I suppose an argument could be made that since it was caused by a cigarette, it was at least “drug-related.” In keeping with the short but already very entrenched Internet tradition of doing ABSOLUTELY NO research before blogging, I just assumed that someone of his bent and profession would have gone out like one of the drummers in “Spinal Tap;” by choking to death on someone else’s vomit. But now that you mention it, I DO remember reading of his unfortunate demise in the manner that you describe. Life’s a bitch, and then you combust. . .
In re-reading my post, I realize that I didn’t do a very good job of promoting Humble Pie or singing their prasies. Truth is, I adored them and saw them here in Los Angeles at the Forum in the early 70s. I happen to own almost everything they ever recorded (on vinyl, no less), even after they allowed Peter Frampton to muck up their sound (still looking VERY much forward to Peter’s death, provided it isn’t of old age . . .). In fact my very reason for writing the post was to get “30 Days In The Hole” out there a bit more. This track barely gets played on the radio anymore here in Los Angeles, which is odd because most of the rock radio outlets here in LA are of a “classic rock” bent, so you think they would be more inclined to play it. But NOOOooooooo. Instead we get an endless tape-loop of late 70s corporate crapola like StyxJourneyForeignerKansas (can’t seperate their music in my mind, so why bother to seperate their names in my blog . . .).
Anyways Miss Anna, thank you again for your interest and concern with “THE TRUTH.” We here at Gonzolandia may not be as factually accurate as say, The Wall Street Journal, but we are a fuck of a lot funnier . . .
XOXOX,
Rance