Summertime is so fucking awesome...not the season so much as The Unnatural Axe song. Here I have a preview of one of three versions of Summertime recorded in 1988 at Mission Control studios in Westford MA. Sure New Kids on the Block recorded there, but I'm afraid nothing they did measures up to the Axe. Maybe because they didn't have Liz Ireland and Joe Viglione producing them, like the Axe did. The working title for this compilation of Unnatural Axe rarities, including more cuts from the studio and some live stuff, is Out of Control. Hopefully it will done in time for the Axe 30th anniversary jubilee. Watch for it on Varulven Records, Boston's oldest record label run by Boston's oldest...ah...nevermind...
What July 4th weekend would be complete without a viewing of Jaws, a classic summer movie if ever there was one?
Jaws Trailer 1975 Backwards
Check this out too. I like to refresh my memory on the details once a year.
And no, there is nothing that someone won't write a Broadway musical about.
Yesterday I took a ride to Ogunquit to meet up with Martine at the incredible Country View Motel and Guest House.
What a quaint and charming place to stay. It's decorated perfectly. Very country, but without a hint of cloying clutter. The rooms are so comfy, appointed with posh seating areas and porches. And they allow pets!
If you happen to be into the supernatural, they even have a haunted room. Martine asked me if I'd like to see it and I said NO. Then she told me the ghost was named Elsie May and she was known for turning the radio in there off and on during the night. Okay, seemed like light duty for a ghost, so on my way out I let her talk me into going in there. Smartass that I am, before I crossed the threshold I called out "Elizabeth, come find me..." The place is haunted all right. The second I walked in all the hairs on the back of my neck became fully erect and stayed that way while I said hi and told her I hoped she was okay before I walked out. She seemed nice, and I might stay there some time just out of curiosity, but it's best to be cautious about these things as spirits have a way of seeming really nice up front, and then just like the living, they can become real assholes once you get to know them. If I do stay there some night, I won't be having pea soup for dinner, if you know what I mean...
After I wrote about The Girls, I was going to go ahead and write about Human Sexual Response, but I find myself needing to go even further back. I've been thinking so much about Michael, my friend who came up with the idea of going to the 1270 on Boylston Street in the first place. If you knew me, you would have known Michael too. But none of you do know him, because he died in a car accident on Labor Day in 1976. It feels strange to be missing him so acutely lately, after all this time.
No matter how I try, I can't remember how we met. Probably at the bar in Tyngsboro or maybe at a Dignity meeting at The Christian Formation Center. It wasn't as awful a place as it sounds, it was home to a group of Franciscans and a really fun place to hang out. And they let me serve the wine at communion sometimes, even though I'm not Catholic. Michael was dating a guy named Hobart, and they'd come over to my house a lot and on a night like tonight, we'd goof around in the yard at dusk playing frisbee, spinning in place until we became dizzy and fell down, or just screeching and generally acting like fools until it was time to go out. Or head over to The Center and hang out in the murky and luridly decorated grotto or follow a path through the fields and woods to the bank of the Merrimack River. Still doing kid stuff but adding in elements that, at the time, we thought were very adult. It didn't hurt that the drinking age was 18 either. Just having loads of fun all the time acting all dorky and wild.
Hobart and Michael were a great couple. We went to the drive-in to see a double bill of The Exorcist and Jaws one summer night. My first time seeing both of those movies. The Exorcist I've never seen again, thank you. Jaws became a lifelong obsession. We had such a good time that night, screaming and carrying on. Michael had seen both movies before so he knew all the scary parts and made sure to use that knowledge to great advantage in frightening the bejesus out of me. Michael and Hobart were always so happy together and it was a good time just being around them.
This was back in an era where being gay was just not done. Parents were always looking for 'a reason' to explain why their child was gay. Most often, friends were held responsible, and Michael's parents were no different. He had decided to be honest and come out to his mother and father and things at home became very strained after that, since they were not able to deny or ignore what was 'wrong' with their son. They knew where he was and what he was doing on those nights when he got home in the wee hours of the morning, and one night, after Hobart had dropped him off, the fighting was too much and they kicked him out of the house. Michael tossed his record collection and stereo into the trunk of his car, took a few clothes and headed in the direction of Hobart's house. He never made it that far. While listening to Dark Side of the Moon and driving a little too fast he lost control on a winding road, became airborne and slammed into a house. All that love, all that promise, that beautiful boy, my precious friend, lost in an instant.
It was really rough trying to come to terms with his death. I'd never lost a close friend, Hobart was inconsolable for days. He'd hugged me so hard at the calling hours that it left my torso strapped with bruises, he slept on the grave for the first night. Our hearts were so thoroughly broken we didn't know what to do, but we figured out quickly that we must celebrate Michael and who he had been. His birthday fell nearly one month to the day of his death. Hobart and I planned a party and brought a birthday cake covered in pastel roses and some champagne to the cemetery. We threw confetti and blew noisemakers, held our glasses high for a toast and played the car radio. We sat on the grass, sang Happy Birthday and we lit the candles and waited until the wind blew them out before we cut a big wedge of cake and left it for him. When we came back the next day, the cake had all been eaten away, but the frosting was untouched. It looked like a Dali painting, the colored frosting twisted and drooping on the plate.
Michael and I would have been inseparable in the Rock scene. After all, we liked dancing and we looked divine. I thought of him often at shows and how much he would have loved the bands. It hit especially close when The Humans would cover Rebel Rebel. That was one of our favorite Bowie songs to dance to. We agreed almost to a song which Bowie stuff sucked and which didn't. Dini took the lead vocal on Rebel Rebel and he sang the fuck out of it. Windle, Casey and La made noises that were utterly inhuman, no joke, rising in the background sounding like a marauding hoard of baboons from a parallel universe. Waving their fists and screaming "Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" Michael would have loved it as much as I did. And he would have totally dug that it blew the Bowie version out of the water too and I'm sure we would have laughed as we did a wild, frenzied dance.
Usually, it doesn't make me sad to think about him, but lately I think I've been grieving a lot about what he missed. All the great things I've seen, all the fantastic music I've heard that he would have loved too. Especially the crazy ass bastards who were fool enough to be my friends, he would have loved you too. And I would have so dearly loved having him there and you all would have loved him too. Maybe that's why I always had such a great time being part of it all. I was out there watching and having fun for two.
Hobart finally retired and now has time to fix things around the house for me. We were talking about those old times and he told me how Michael would always get so giddy whenever he saw me. When he said that, I felt something in my heart click together. A few days later I swung by the cemetery and stopped at Michael's grave. "To know him was to love him" is engraved on his oval granite marker and that always cues up a variation by Marc Bolan in my head, so it's impossible not to smile. As I headed away I noticed the name of the path as if I had never seen it before. Robert B Gay Avenue. Now my Michael is staying on Gay Avenue. How he would have loved that. Still making me laugh after 32 years. If you happen to see us in whatever place there is that passes for heaven, stand back. We are gonna have a lot of catching up to do. And some serious rocking out to take care of.
I was so touched by Russell and Garnett hugging each other after the game last night that I went looking for a motherfucking photo of that moment and found this interview. But no photo. What cool guys.
Kevin Garnett and Bill Russell Interview
Kevin Garnett & Bill Russell Conversation - 2 (Mar 6, 2008)
I hope someone out there remembers details from the night some of the Celts showed up at Brandy Pete's and is willing to share. Pretty please. You can be anonymous, so don't be shy.
Coach Doc Rivers' 2008 Gatorade NBA Finals Victory Splash
Before I go any further I wanted to let y'all know that there are some cuts from the upcoming Unnatural Axe tribute disc on Lawless Records that are posted online. There are three songs up on the Axe's own site and Big Noise as covered by Stranglehold is also available for a listen. Now that's how you make a happy Queen. There will be a three night celebration and record release party in August, as more details become available I will keep you posted.
Oh hell, I got no pictures to post so I might as well put up another, very early version, of Hitler's Brain...
Dini and I hamming it up late one Easter night in the ladies room at Sporter's. I had forgotten how convenient that little shelf behind the toilet always was.
Well I suppose now is as good a time as any to start at the beginning. Or maybe not, depending on how linear of a person you are, but anyways here goes. My life in the rock scene was born in Boston in a seedy gay bar on Cambridge Street called Sporter's. Right around the corner from Mass General. Affectionately known to us as Spurter's. Not so hard to do the math on that one. A bar so notorious that when they remodeled the block a few years ago, they moved the entrance of the building to the other corner and gave the building a new number as the street address in an effort to remove the taint. Years later someone told me that Whitey Bulger used to hang out there sometimes, especially when we were serving the cheap three course dinners. That explained why the balding old guy peering out at me from the front page of the Herald so often looked so damn familiar. If only I had known when I was sending out his main course.
As usual, I'm getting way ahead of myself. In around 1975 I was meeting a lot of gay guys when I went to hairdressing school. We started going out to a bar in Tyngsboro. I loved my friends and loved clubbing, but did not love the music. After suffering through a million metal and hippie bands, something worse was afoot. Disco! How I hated it but that was what all the gay boys liked, so I was stuck with it.
Rather, all the gay boys except two. There was a DJ who I became friends with that worked at the bar and I could count on him to play my requests once in awhile, dancefloor-clearing as they might have been. He used to take frequent trips to Jamaica and bring back lots of records. These tunes did not fly at the bar and when he took to the dance floor and started skanking away it was an explosion of leg pumping and flying elbows. Anyone who was left trying to dance moved slowly away and stared at him, as if they were wondering if he be may on the verge of having a medical emergency.
As long as we're here, this is the same fellow who dubbed me Tontileo. He told me it was an American Indian word that meant 'rushing waters' and he had thought of it one evening when I had consumed excessive amounts of beer and spent half the night peeing in the woods. Oh, the fond, fond memories...This was just a couple of years after Jaws had made cinematic history as the first Hollywood Blockbuster ever and my DJ drove a white van that had a painting of a great white on the side that appeared to be lunging for you. The inside was tricked out in an appropriate undersea theme. It was just so over the top and hilarious. I wish I had pics of it. The only thing was missing was a dent.
My other friend with good taste was a rock fan and we found ourselves comparing likes and bitching about the intolerable rubbish we had to listen to there. One night when we were especially sick of it all, we enlisted a third and hit the road for Boston where he had heard about a place called the 1270 that might be more to our liking. It was and it wasn't, and someone there told us about the West End Tennis Club, the name Sporter's used to get around the Beacon Hill Civic Association. They told us there was no disco there and that they had a jukebox with a few decent songs on it, so off we went.
It became a habit. The place was always filled with interesting men. The Cosmic Muffin was a regular, there was even another woman there sometimes. I met my best bud Kennie there. First night I met her she let me crash on her love seat. I became a Sporter's regular, eventually ending up as an employee. The space would have made a great rock bar. Exposed brick painted a dark brick color, go figure, and a few nooks and crannies along with the three main rooms. It was small, but really cozy. I met a lot of life long friends there.
One night I was enjoying myself at the bar and Dini Lamot and Windle Davis walk up to me and introduce themselves and invite me to come and see their band, Human Sexual Response. Of course I would go. I mean c'mon? Dini, dark hair looking a little like Marc Bolan and Windle with his blonde hair reaching past his ass? They were like both sides of a gorgeous coin. These guys were fabulous and they brought me over and introduced me to their friend Slag, a film student at Emerson. I didn't find out until later that it was Slag who had dispatched Dini and Windle to meet me so that they could introduce me to him so that he could ask me to be in his film Straight to Hell. He was afraid I'd think he was some kind of crackpot and turn him down on the spot if he approached me with the request himself. Well, he is a crackpot and that's one of the major reasons I told him I'd do the film and I ended up loving him to death too. One of the funniest bastards you would ever want to meet.
I had told Dini and Windle that I would love to see their band and I did at the first available opportunity. That happened to be a gig that was at an American Legion or VFW somewhere on the way to Cleveland Circle. Here I was, practically fresh off the farm (Did I neglect to tell you that I'm a farmers daughter? That's another story...) about to see a double bill of The Girls and Human Sexual Response.
Girls - Keep it Simple
The gig poster had the slogan 'naked tits and hominy grits' splashed across it, but I saw evidence of neither that night. I was transformed, if you've never seen The Girls it's hard to describe. I guess the fact that I was really into the visual arts and was a particular fan of Dada and the Surrealists prepared me to appreciate the spectacle being laid out before me. They paid attention to every detail and gave excellent show. Smoke, mirrors, tapeloops, explosives, whatever it took. It's kind of scary, but the film does do them justice. Oh yes, this is just what I needed after being trapped on the farm at the very bottom of the swampy Merrimack River Valley for nineteen years having to sift through top 40 on the radio with crappy reception. Here was a whole tribe of spectacular misfits entertaining each other and not caring a whit what anyone else, especially 'normals', thought about it. It was gooood. I was in.
The Girls in the Bathtub
Do yourself a favor and check out their other songs Vietnam Women, Okey Dokey and We're All Living on a Cubist Grid. They put out one single, The Elephant Man/Jeffrey I Hear You. If I ever find my copy I'll try to post it. I wish I could remember the names of all the band members, but alas, demon alcohol has wiped out those brain cells long ago and all that's left is the name David Hild and I think he was the drummer, but I wouldn't bet on that. If anyone has more details, please comment.
I need someone with the skills to make me a mash-up of these two videos.
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones "You Gotta Go"
Darleks vs Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre
While trolling the internets for inspiration this morning I found this quote from Chuck Warner, president for life of Throbbing Lobster.
Chain Link Fence -Fireworks EP (Bisque-4) Believe it or not these guys started off as an unbelievably earnest and sloppy popthrash band, but Billy had his heart set on being a crooner. The results on this one were pretty schizophrenic. Billy's younger brother Dickie Barrett couldn't understand why I wouldn't sign his band, too. I told him every rhythm section should know how to play ska, but no one should be allowed to record it. Heh.
Here's a really good article about the race. Interesting point of view. If I get it together and make it to the track, I'm gonna box Denis of Cork with BB and Icabad Crane. I've liked Denis and Icabad since the Derby, I don't know why, I just do. That Japanese horse looks like he might be scary good though. I don't dare get too excited about the potential for a Triple Crown win. Don't want to jinx anything, I'm old school that way.
Here's a pic of Scott, me and Ra in the back room of Sporter's. Looks like I'm thinking deep thoughts like 'what happened to my makeup?' I always think of Ra on big party days 'cause going to his house you felt just like family. If you had a really cool family and all liked each other that is. Well maybe it wasn't just like family. It was much better. Happy Belmont and Go Celtics!!!
My Broadluxe is being auctioned on the 21st. I need a couple of these condos. And a parking space.
Oh wait, I found one. It's only $80,000.00, but it's at 80 Broad Street and the Broadluxe is at 105. God, I just love saying Broadluxe. Broadluxe, Broadluxe, Broadluxe! At least the parking space comes with a valet. Excellent...The valet can give me a ride home in my own car and then go and park it.
If someone happens to have a cashiers check for twenty thousand that they don't need...I'd really appreciate it. Of course, that's just to bid. If I get one I'll be needing just a wee bit more.
Seeing Chuck Myra and Walter Powers again in Bass Rocks reminded me of when I first met them. They were playing in Marc Thor's band, The Marc Thor Band. He's the one wearing the denim jacket in the pic. For the life of me I can't remember who played guitar. Was it Ian Blast?
Along with the Humans, Girls, Lou Miami and the Kozmetix, La Peste, Neighborhoods and Unnatural Axe, Marc Thor was in my regular rotation. Yes, you're right, I rarely had a night off. As a general rule, only Tuesdays were spent at home. Marc was an amazing performer and songwriter. He wrote, sometimes with Nola Rezzo, sang and played piano. (There were some truly epic Thor-based parties at Nola's studio adjacent to the late Charles Street Jail, with the scent of Buzzy's Fabulous Roast Beef always heavy in the air.) Last I heard, Marc was composing symphonies.
Oh the songs! Circling LA is on the live Rat album. There's a 45 with Love Sucks and Trak, a song inspired by Burroughs, and there was a red flexi disc in a coloring book of gig posters that had Rosanella and Mother Isn't Right on it. Rosanella was my favorite of all his songs.
Sixteen years ago I got a new kitten and couldn't decide on a name. I wanted something with Rose in it as a way of honoring a very cool Franciscan that I loved whose drag name happened to be Rose. The kitten had been born the first week of May but the crazy cat lady I got her from couldn't remember the exact day, so I decided to celebrate her birthday every year on Derby Day which always falls on the first Saturday in May for those of you who have not been paying attention. Run for the Roses, another sign that she needed a rosy name. So, remembering Marc's song, Rosanella it was. I never realized until much later that the song was based on a bizarre Fairy Tale. God, she used to love it when I sang that song to her.
