Pseudo Psi-Fi Classique- Gentlemen Broncos

When the movie ended, a twelve or so year old girl sitting couple of rows behind me said to her family,

"That was officially the weirdest movie I have ever seen. Mom would have hated it."

My mom would have hated it too, but my own opinion of the strange movie was less immediate than the twelve year old's. I knew that I had been thoroughly entertained, but was still a bit unsure how much I really liked the awkward comedy about Benjamin Purvis, a home schooled teen with aspirations of someday becoming a published science fiction writer.

The story was simple enough. When Ben attends a writer's camp for home schoolers, he is thrilled to discover that one of the guest presenters there is Dr. Ronald Chevalier, his favorite science fiction author who announces that he'll be judging a science fiction writing competition resulting in the publication of the winning entry. Ben enters his own, hand-written sci-fi novel, titled Yeast Lords, and is later disappointed when he discovers that his work has been plagiarized by Chevalier.

An imposed friend of Ben's named Lonny Donahoe also has interest in Yeast Lords and creates a short film starring some of Ben's friends. Donahoe's modifications and interpretations of Yeast Lords cause Ben to regret his decision to allow the film to be made.

While browsing in a bookstore, Ben stumbles across Chevalier's newly published interpretation of Yeast Lords titled Brutus and Balzaak, and is furious. Ben takes matters into his own hands and after a whirlwind of events, procures poetic justice for himself, and a happy ending for the audience. Formulae, but still fun.I remained in my seat until all of the credits had run because I suspected there would be a final scene... I was glad that I waited because I was rewarded with a splendid scene that I won't reveal to any readers who may not want to know how it ends.

I didn't have many expectations for this movie even though I have been anticipating its release for a year or so. I first learned about Gentlemen Broncos while interviewing Alan Bradshaw for a post I wrote last year. Alan told me that a scene from the movie had been filmed in the lobby of the Ritz Theater and that other scenes had been shot at his dome shaped home near the Motor Vu Drive-In Theater in Erda. When I watched Gentlemen Broncos, I paid close attention to the lobby scene, and was a bit disappointed that the early 60's era velvet Mexican clown paintings hanging in the Ritz lobby weren't featured. However, I was happy to see that the door to the cry room was in full view. When I was very young, my mom had to take me into that cry room during my very first big-screen experience, when Mary Poppins became too much for me. I had hoped to see Gentlemen Broncos at the Ritz when I was in Tooele last week, but found that it wasn't playing there. In fact, it was only playing at one theater in the entire Salt Lake area.

The Broadway Theater in Salt Lake City was empty when we arrived for the 9:30 show on Thanksgiving. Mighty Mo, Mason the Punk Girl and myself took our seats while a handful of movie goers arrived as previews of coming attractions played on the big screen. I was surprised how few people attended.

Four days later, I find myself thinking about Gentlemen Broncos quite a bit. Much of the thirteen hours traveling home yesterday was spent discussing the so far relatively unknown pseudo science fiction comedy, and all four members of our family agree that Gentlemen Broncos is an excellent movie, and all of us look forward to watching it again soon.

.

Wild Orphan

Yesterday I spent the morning shooting this video at Streetlight records. Everything went so smoothly... I don't get it. Usually I encounter one obstacle after another when making a video, but this time everything came together. Even the weather cooperated. I had been hoping for a foggy morning for the shoot, and got exactly what I asked for. Thanks fog controller, and thanks to everyone who assisted and helped with the viddy, most notably, the Vox Jaguars, KZSC Radio personality Scotty (the) K, Mason Rosenberg, Streetlight Records, Kirstannalice, and street performer #1 who didn't give her name but agreed to be in the video.

Halloween $ong for the San Francisco Girls

On Halloween I went with the Vox Jaguars to the Halloween festival in San Francisco where they played with such notables as Cathy Richardson with Big Brother and the Holding Company, and the Jimi Hendrix Tribute. This is some of the video and a handful of photos from that show.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. This photo of Ronaldo is worth about 2,337 words... small words, but words nevertheless.

Ninja Warrior Winner Announced

Congratulations to my friend David Campbell of Scotts Valley, California, who has been selected to represent the United States at the upcoming Ninja Warrior 4 Competition in Japan.

The Residents Bunny Boy Tour - QUESTIONS - Live at the Rio Theater in Santa Cruz

Merlin's Magickal Birthday

I've never met anyone like Merlin. Of all of my amazing friends, Merlin was certainly the most capable of all of them. Merlin could do anything better than anyone else... anything.

I've known Merlin since a basketball clinic we both attended during the summer between fourth and fifth grade. He had a little baseball cap with his name across the front... Jimmy.

In Jr. High, Merlin's family moved to my neighborhood, and he became a super friend. We did all kinds of stuff together: Scouts, motorcycles, skiing and etc. and I was always impressed with his supernatural abilities in academics, athletics and mechanics.

Merlin would ride his unicycle both up and down stairs. He built his own skateboard which he cut to his specifications out of a block of aluminum. He skated as well as he skied... effortlessly. The high school football field was located a block from where we lived, and Merlin and I spent quite a bit of time there. I watched Merlin kick one-hundred yard field goals rather regularly. On the basketball court he could easily throw full court and make the basket.

Today is Merlin's BIRTHDAY!!!

Happy BIRTHDAY!

Fashion Week - Welcome to 1984

Actually, it may have been 1985 when Mighty Mo's siblings, John and Megan posed for these photos. Now they're all grown up and have kids with punky hairdos of their own.













I was happy to come across these photos because Megan recently sold her long blonde hair to a Norwegian man who has mysterious undisclosed plans for it.

Today, in 2009 it's difficult to understand just how shocking some of the hair styles and fashions were twenty-five years ago. Where I live, it's common to see mohawks, pink hair, and every other nuance that goes along with the punk image. But back then, in Utah, people didn't know what to think when they encountered such persons. The good old daze!

My Mighty Mo sporting a snazzy mohawk somewhere in NYC 1985

The way I saw it then was that punk rock was a result of the stagnant and slick mainstream music industry that was pumping out really predictable and uninteresting music, (which is ironically what eventually happened to punk rock). To me, punk was also about being intellectually aware of what was going on in the world and within in our government. That didn't last long either, and punk soon became the noisy medium for uninspired messages.

Post-Punk X - Pickin' on the Knitters

The Knitters at Moe's Alley Last Night

Something that is difficult for me to get my brain around is the fact that I started listening to X before Ronald Reagan was President of the United States. Five presidents later, I still listen to X, but even more surprising is the fact that the raucous and rowdy rockabilly punk band from LA is still going strong... in one form or another. These days, they're touring as a bona fide cowpoke band.

When pUnK Wasn't Cool

The first time I heard X was in the Spring of 1980. Jon and I were hanging out at our friend David's house in Tooele, Utah listening to music and talking about bands when David asked, "Have you ever heard X?" I replied, "I know Generation X, is that what you mean?" He pulled out his newly acquired record and began to educate us about the band and their legendary producer, Ray Manzarek, from the Doors, who, he informed us, also plays keyboards on the record. He removed the black vinyl disc from it's sleeve, placed the record on the turntable, and after a quick dusting, placed the stylus on the first track of side one... Los Angeles. It was obvious from that moment that X had a truly unique sound, and that they were worth paying attention to. I did. To me, X was evidence that punk could be poignant artsy and smart... eXactly what the stagnant music industry needed.

Sometime in the early eighties, I had the opportunity to see X live for the first of what would become many times. The show was in Salt Lake City at the old dilapidated fairgrounds coliseum... an appropriate place for the big rockabilly sound of X. 004, a local ska band, opened the show that night. 004* was followed by Angst, a semi-punk bay area band. Both gave exceptional performances, but when X took the stage, it became obvious who everyone was there to see. X sounded great, and seemed to give it all they had. The crowd's enthusiastic appreciation was reciprocated by the band who seemed joyously surprised by their favorable reception behind the Zion Curtain.

When Mighty Mo and I first met, one of the things we had in common was X, and we still go to see them perform whenever the opportunity presents itself. Strangely, from San Francisco to Madison, the most fun X shows have always been in SLC.***

Knit Pickin' and Grinnin' Twenty-Nine Years Later

I was thrilled when I learned that X had a country music alter ego band called The Knitters. First, I can't resist silent letters, (especially K), and secondly, I thought the idea was brilliant - Cowpoke music played by punk rockers. It's stuff like that that keeps life worth living. Speaking of living, one thing that I love about living in Santa Cruz, is the fact that I've had so many opportunities to see my favorite musicians perform in quaint venues, like Moe's Alley. Last night, Mighty Mo and I took the bus across town to see the Knitters play at Moe's. We had found out about it only a day before the show, and were happy that it hadn't sold out.** Whew!

Moe's Alley was filled to capacity. Apparently, word had gotten out about the Knitters, and the fact that the band features three X Patriots. The eclectic stylings of wardrobe exhibited by attendees was entertaining and amusing to observe. I assumed there would be lots of rockabilly folks, but saw only a few watered-down versions thereof. No jet-black haired gals sporting Betty Page bangs. Dang!

As we sat at a table in the back, listening to the opening act, X's vocalist, Exene strolled right behind Mighty Mo on her way to use the restroom while the crowd was distracted. I told Mighty Mo who had just walked behind her, and she proclaimed, "I love her." When Exene came out from the restroom, she passed by us again. As she did, I got her attention and told her, "We love you, Exene." She blushed, and sheepishly said, "Thanks" and disappeared into the crowd, hoping not to be recognized by anyone else.

When the Knitters took the stage, Moe's Alley came alive. We muscled our way to within fifteen feet of the stage before being thwarted by a wall of compressed thirty-five to fifty-five year old bodies that prevented us from getting any closer. It had been cold earlier, but now, within that mass of huddled humanity, I was warm and cozy.

The Knitters played for two hours, to an appreciative and enthusiastic crowd. The songs were truly country floavoured, but there was no mistaking the tell-tale harmonies of John X Doe and Exene that are so prominent in X.

Dave Alvin, the smokin' guitarist of Blasters fame really impressed me with his marvelous playing. His skillful manipulation of his fancy Fender Stratocaster gave the band a rockin' down-home sound. I think he gets better with age.

The low ceilings at Moe's are conducive to a powerful punch from the bass, and Jonny Ray Bartel made use of the special space. His stand-up bass sounded clear and powerful. An integral part of rockabilly, it was a pleasure to observe Mr. Bartel's technique.

The five Knitters played a handful of Merle Haggard covers and even treated us to a country version of The New World, a classic X song. The crowd swayed and sang along with most of the Knitters tunes, too. A truly warm and memorable show.

I called Moe's ahead of time to find out what the camera policy would be, and was happy to find out that I didn't have to sneak it in. Even though Moe's was crowded, and we didn't have the best position in the house, we managed to take a few photos and video before the batteries died.

The Knitters front-man, John X Doe, was personable and engaging

X band members, Exene and D.J. Bonebrake at Moe's

John X Doe and Exene

John X Doe's Highy 17 Warning

* 004 featured fellow Tooelian, Phil Miller, on saxophone

** Maybe it did sell out. That would explain why the joint was so crowded. I don't think I've seen so many people stuffed into our popular roadhouse before. It's probably happened, but not while I've been there.

*** I think it may have been the Dee Burgers.

SLC PuNk Meets the MeaT puPpeTs

In the early eighties, PuNk rock was still a fairly new phenomenon and hadn't yet sold out, (or bought in), to the corporate machine that seems to condemn everything it touches to some kind of entropic doom. According to many, that's what happened to PuNk the following August.*

I don't know how the Indian Center came to be the primary venue for the early bands in Salt Lake City, but I can't imagine a better place for raucous mosh-pits to slam to the sound of the new genre. The old brick building on 1300 South had large windows open wide, allowing fresh air to relieve the hot and sweaty moshers. The 60' x 80' theater could accommodate a substantial gathering too. The Indian Center was mainly used by the Native American community, however on occasion, a different kind of Mohawk touting tribe made use of the social center. SLC PuNks!

Flyer Image Thanks To writermama... Link

I had already heard lots of Black Flag before Henry Rollins joined the noisy ensemble. Jon and I wondered skeptically about Rollins addition to the band; we had seen first-hand what Steve Perry had done to Journey, plus, we could see the direction the new PuNk music was heading and it didn't look good.

Even though it was April, the weather was unseasonably cold and had even snowed. We arrived early at the Indian Center because we didn't want to miss any of the bands. We had paid seven bucks each for the fancy yellow-green transparent tickets and wanted to make sure that we got our money's worth, (unlike my own kids, I had to work to for my money when I was their age).

There were already a couple hundred kids there. A far cry from the old days when a handful of PuNks would show up with self mutilated hair. Now there were lots of short hairs and bald hairs running around with home-made t shirts and lots of black leather jackets. Those without the courage to cut their hair, had it PuNked up with lots of hairspray or some kind of goo. It was easy to spot the poseurs. Jon and I both still had long hair. Neither of us were into fads, and figured it was more PuNk to be different from all the conformist PuNks. We kind of stuck out and could only see two other guys with long hair in the entire Indian Center. One of them was sitting against the wall watching everyone nervously. I got the feeling that he was probably with one of the bands. Maybe even the new Black Flag guy. I was right. There he was, casually leaning against the cool brick wall, the very un-famous and young (nearly baby-faced) Henry Rollins on one of his first tours with Black Flag. I hope he had fun in SLC. I'm sure he was surprised that there were so many PuNks behind the Zion curtain.

Act One
Snot and Snowballs

The first band nearly caused a riot. Nig-Heist came out wearing only little white briefs. They seemed more interested in antagonizing the crowd than playing music. Their hair was long and flowing, like Ted Nugent wore his at the time, and that didn't go over well with the PuNks who began spitting big lougies at the nearly naked musicians. Oddly, the band seemed to enjoy the attention. The snot was getting out of control when a large snowball just missed the drummer's head and smashed into the wall behind the band. Jon doesn't usually miss. It was cold and snowy outside, but everyone inside was sweating from the mass of people crowded together moshing chaotically. We were covered with sweat, while the band, covered with snot, played on. More snowballs began to fly in through the large open windows on the east side of the building. Rage!

Act Two
The Massacre Guys

One of Salt Lake's local and most successful old-school PuNk bands, the Massacre Guys, played next. Jon and I had been outside cooling off, but when the MG's began to play, we gathered an arsenal of snowballs which we carried inside and distributed without prejudice. The most fun ever mosh pit ensued.

Act Three
Pinochio Wants to be a Real Boy

The Meat Puppets brought some sanity back to the Indian Center. The snot supply had dried up, and no more snowballs were directed at the stage, but the floor had become slippery from a combination of snow, snot and spilled drinks, resulting in many fallen and trampled moshers. Ouch! I went to the restroom to take a leak. As I washed my hands, I realized that there was no mirror, but could see that one had previously hung on the wall above the sink. Out of the corner of my face, I noticed a Native American guy standing in the doorway keeping an eye on the restroom. I pulled a comb from my back pocket and combed my hair as if I was looking at myself in the nonexistent mirror. He liked that. When I returned to the dance floor, I met a girl who I spent the remainder of the Meat Puppets set with. We danced together for about a half hour by the time the Meat Puppets stopped playing. I could see that Jon was feeling dissed, so I left her there with her friends who swiftly wisped her away. As our friends ushered us off in different directions, our eyes met as she was swallowed up by the mass of people, never to be seen again. I was smart enough to know that she would be one of many girls, and that my best friend comes first. We went outside to cool down while throwing snowballs at passing cars. Thump!

Act Four
Name with no Anagram
Black Flag was fun to watch but it wasn't the Black Flag I knew. I was standing against the stage with Mr. Rollins directly in front of me. He was heavily tattooed, and incredibly sweaty. He wore no shirt, and little Dolphin shorts. His long stringy black hair draped over the shaven side of his head when it wasn't thrashing about. Squatting and screaming, he stood before me at less than arms length, and I was strongly impressed with the feeling that Henry Rollins was an egotistical jerk. I realized that if I reached out and pulled his leg out from under him, that he'd fall right on his arse in front of everyone. I amused myself with the notion, and fought off the impulse. I did pull out some hairs on his legs though. He didn't like that, and offered a bit of a sissy-kick and a glare, before retreating a half-step, out of my reach. It was the beginning of the end of an era. Black Flag - Kills PuNk Dead!

A Quarter Century Later
PuNk is dead, but the Meat Puppets live on. Not many bands have the staying power of this trio from Arizona. I hadn't seen the Pinocchio brothers in nearly three decades, but a hat-full of hours ago, I had the opportunity to see the Meat Puppets live in my own town, in my favorite local theater. The Meat Puppets I saw all those years ago in the Indian Center appear to have become real boys... actually men now... old men. Nevertheless, the well weathered remnant of an age long gone demonstrated their craft with skill and professionalism as they presented their two-hour show at the Rio Theater in Santa Cruz. The Brothers Kirkwood expressed their kindred familiarity as they played a variety of multi-tempo songs ranging from Cashesque cowboy rythms to psychedelia. I was impressed by Curt Kirkwood's exclusive usage of an acoustic guitar throughout the show. It reminded me how versatile the acoustic guitar really is and how much fun I used to have playing mine through effect pedals to achieve unique** sounds.

The audience at the Rio Last night was much tamer and respectful than the snot hucking snowball chucking juveniles that attended the Meat Puppets show twenty eight years ago. I'm glad the Rio didn't get trashed. There was no stage diving and no mosh pit at last night's show either. In fact, there were only two moshers who gave it a go during the opening act.***


*MTV launched on August 1, 1981. About that same time, I attempted to start a PuNk is Dead campaign, but it didn't catch on.

** One of my favorite acoustic guitar sounds was created by holding the inner wire of a broken E string with needle-nose pliers and applying tension while laying it across a pickup. The tension in the string causes the outer wire to uncoil, making a nifty whirring sound.

*** Shaky Hands from Portland Oregon played an enthusiastic set, but I was disappointed that our favorite local band, the Vox Jaguars, didn't open the show. I assumed they would since they share the same recording label with the Meat Puppets (Anodyne).

PuNk isn't what it used to be

SKI KIRKWOOD!

Early Surveying Practice

Early Surveying Practice by Richard M. Bennett

The Parowan Gap - Ancient Graffiti?

Back in the twentieth century, when I was still a college boy, my chums and I used to take trips to the mysterious Parowan Gap. A perfect party spot. I don't know why no one else ever went there. We never even saw anyone passing through the gap road which is a main route between Parowan and Cedar Valley.

The gap was probably created as receding waters from the dying Lake Bonneville etched a channel through the rock and mud. Now, it is an arid and desolate place in the middle of nowhere.

The Parowan Gap was once the home of Fremont Indians, as well as later Native Americans, who used the gap as a natural corridor to access shallow lake waters to the west.

The ancient Native Americans who frequented this area left their mark on the rocks. Numerous petroglyphs can be found, carved into the stone cliffs. No one can say for sure whether these symbols are to keep people out, or if they are a map or story of some kind, or simply graffiti from an ancient gang. Looks like the Residents have been here to me.

A Mine is a Terrible Thing to Waste

The plan seemed easy enough, but it wasn't without serious risks. I knew that the Indians on the reservation didn't take kindly to white folk trespassing on their land, and I had heard some terrifying stories about people who had been caught out there. The Indians had a reputation for dragging the offender behind his own truck across the desert, then confiscating the vehicle, forcing the injured person to walk many miles, never to see his truck again. The same thing would happen to us if we weren't very careful. But if we were successful, we would have in our possessions some of the choicest specimens of quartz crystals anywhere in the world.

The crystals were said to be five to six feet long and more than a foot wide. What made these crystals special wasn't their size so much as their impeccable quality. The US Government had been mining them for use in spy satellites, but before long, Uncle Sam wore out his welcome on the reservation and the mining of the quartz crystals came to a halt. Now, all we had to do was figure out how to get to the crystals without being killed... or worse.

We decided to approach the reservation from the east, which meant that we'd be passing over the large Ibapah Mountain range. There was a bit of a road there, but much of our travel would have to be done on foot. After a couple of surveillance trips to the area, we had it all figured out regarding how to proceed to the mine entrance on the other side of the mountain. From there, Shalom would unlock the gate using the combination he had procured from his usual source in law enforcement. Then, we'd proceed to the crystals with the aid of a map of the mine. The moment we arrive at the quartz is when the work really begins. Quartz is a very hard substance and doesn't yield to hand tools easily. It would take a bit of time and effort to remove the crystals, and since there would be only two of us, we'd have a limited amount that we'd be able to carry with us back through the mine, and over the mountain to Shalom's truck tucked away in the bushes. We didn't have much time to accomplish our mission either. The entire adventure would have to take place under the shroud of darkness, giving us only a handful of hours. We awaited the next new moon, hoping for favorable weather.
I had been on subterranean expeditions with Shalom before, and was confident in his almost supernatural abilities to navigate through the catacombs of tunnels in search of semi-precious stones. Shalom had quite a reputation among the other mineral collectors who revered him with a kind of saint-like respect. He was the Indiana Jones of underground exploration, and had narrowly escaped death many times. But unlike Indiana Jones, Shalom always returned home with the treasure, and possessed one of the finest private collections.

The day of the new moon approached, and it looked like all systems were go. I headed to bed early the night before the expedition, knowing that I wouldn't be getting any sleep the following night. As I soundly slept, I dreamed about our adventure to the mine on the reservation. Everything was going as planned. We had procured some nice specimens and were making our getaway when a band of angry Indians on three-wheeled ATV's began chasing after us. There must have been five or more three-wheelers in hot pursuit when Shalom reached under his seat and grabbed a stick of dynamite, lit the fuse on his in-dash lighter, and tossed it out at the savages. Direct hit. One down. Shalom continued throwing dynamite at our angry pursuers. After a lengthy chase across acres of sagebrush and halogeten, I awoke from my nightmare, sweaty and heart pounding. It was so real. I didn't sleep well from that point on, and began having second thoughts about the expedition.

I decided to not let my crazy dream keep my from going, and Shalom picked me up at my house on schedule. We left the Salt Lake Valley behind, traveling west on I-80, passing the Great Salt Lake on our right, then exited south on Highway 36 through Tooele Valley and Rush Valley. We left Hwy 36 near Vernon and heading west over Lookout Pass, on the old Pony Express route, spewing up enormous dust-clouds as we sped along the southern boundary of Dugway Proving Grounds.

Shalom knew about a vein of quality fluorite crystals not far from the road we were traveling and we decided to make a quick stop there to gather some specimens. It would only take a little while, and we'd be off to pursue the valuable minerals on the other side of the Ibapah Mountains. We turned north and followed the western boundary of the proving grounds about a mile or so before turning off on a rough and rocky road that headed in a westerly direction a hundred feet or so, and we were there.

The sun was setting when we arrived at the location of the fluorite crystals. Unfortunately someone had beaten us to them. There was evidence that heavy equipment had beenworking in the area. They had taken it all. Bummer!

When we returned to the truck in preparation to leave, we discovered that the back driver-side tire was completely flat. Shalom said, "I hope I have a jack and lug wrench." We searched through the back of the truck, and found a jack, but were unable to locate a lug-wrench. Double bummer!

Now it looked like our quartz quest had been thwarted by a flat tire. We pitched a tent about two hundred feet outside the fence that contained the proving grounds and prepared to sleep. Rest didn't come easily however. It was as though there wasn't enough oxygen in the air, and I had to struggle for every breath. I don't know if they were conducting some kind of experiment at Dugway, or if the fine dust was making it difficult to breath, but I was awake most of the night. In the distance I could see lights from the proving grounds, and could only assume that they were aware of us as well. It was an uncomfortable situation.

The darkness couldn't last forever, and the sun arose on schedule, illuminating the valley to reveal a desolate landscape before us in every direction. It would be a long walk to find help. Shalom decided to look through the cab of his messy truck in hopes of finding a lug wrench. We were in luck. Tucked beneath his seat and under a hundred maps and papers, next to a couple of loose sticks of dynamite, Shalom retrieved the lug wrench, and before long, we had changed the tire and were on our way home. The quartz crystals would have to wait.

2 B continued?

=@# - Bunny Boy Review - #@= Part 9

Not to be continuedI'm so excited because I'm finally finished with this Bunny Boy triple trilogy project. After this, I won't need to say anything about the Residents for a long time. Yay!

If you haven't heard the Residents before, the Bunny Boy probably isn't for you. The Residents require an acquired taste, as well as a fully functional sense of humour to be appreciated appropriately. The latter will get a first-timer a long way though, and everyone is a first-timer sometime.

Historique

The Residents are an anonymous collective of musicians and artisans who have been hiding in the shadows since before the war. Their 1976 song, Satisfaction, is credited as being the first* Punk single, (even though it isn't punk).

In the late seventies, the Residents associated themselves with the image of a large eyeballed tuxedo in a top-hat. A smart move. Every eye-con needs a good image for devotees to venerate.

The Residents' records have mostly been thematic and conceptual. This approach allows the Residents to re-invent themselves whenever necessary... something they've done dozens of times. They avoid personal fame by remaining anonymous, and rarely grant interviews. Their official information is misleading at best. They've done a pretty good job at staying aloof for the past three and a half decades.

Bunny Boy Feels Like the Furr-ssst Time

I've been trying to listen to the new Bunny Boy album as if it was the first time I had heard the Residents. For research, I attended a recent live Residents performance with two people who had never seen or heard the Residents before. Their naivete was telling, and a little surprising at times. After the show, Mein Frenzel asked me, "Are they always like that?" That's actually a pretty tough question because, no, the Residents have never been like that, and yes, the Residents are always like that... nothing like you have ever seen before. Seeing the Residents is always like seeing them for the furrsst time.

This time the superintendents of the subterranean have chosen a ridiculously contrived story about a supposed former colleague of theirs whose fascination with rabbits and the coming apocalypse has driven him off the deep end. I don't think anyone really believes the tripe about the Residents good-will gesture to help their crazy friend find his brother Harvey who has supposedly, mysteriously disappeared.

To tell the story, (or confuse it further), the Residents have been showing a You Tube series of videos supposedly filmed by the Bunny Boy himself. These short movies chronicle his psychotic search for his brother Harvey. Portions of these videos were featured in their live performance as well.

The songs on the album are all short and catchy tunes that I find myself whistling as I go about my daily duties. The melodies are smart, and the snappy arrangements of deranged songs are FUN to listen to. At the live performance, the songs were presented in a different order than that of the CD. I'm not sure what that means.

Mr. Bunny Boy's video series didn't do much to convince me that the lost brother story was real and I haven't lost any sleep over Harvey's disappearance. In one of the early episodes, (2 I think), the Bunny Boy plays a message on his answering machine from someone who he claims to be his brother. In one of the following episodes, we see the chord to the answering machine unplugged. You'd think he'd want to keep it plugged in in the event Harvey calls again.

In another episode, the Bunny Boy points out his first family photo. It's an old black and white picture that shows himself as a baby with his mom, and dad, (dad is a book). Among the plethora of photos of family and friends pasted on the walls of the Bunny Boy's secretum sanctorum, there are surprisingly none of his supposed brother Harvey. Likewise, when the Bunny Boy shows the family photographs from Greece, there are none of Harvey, however, the Homeric Bunny Boy is present in many of them. I suppose the case could be made that Harvey was the photographer who took the pictures, and therefore wouldn't be in any of them.

These clues lead me to think that the Bunny Boy and Harvey are a one man show, so to speak. Apparently something happened that forever separated the Bunny Boy from his once golden guy personality. Maybe it was the recognition of his own insanity that pushed him over the edge, maybe it was eight years of the Bush Administration, maybe it isn't even real... so why am I wasting my time pondering it??? It brings to mind the Residents early film, Vileness Fats, where conjoined twins, in a jealous rage, fight to the death over a woman. The victor limps away, dragging the corpse of his conjoined brother behind him. I think the psychological equivalent happened to the Bunny Boy. Maybe not.

For some reason, insane people always find themselves mentioned in Holy Writ as some kind of messenger or messianic figure. This was true of Harvey who's fascination with Saint John's apocalyptic visions took him to all the way to the Island of Patmos** where the apostle wrote the Book of Revelation. Apparently, this is where Harvey came unglued.

The most surprising thing about the Bunny Boy album is how well it works. Who'd have thought insanity could be so artsy-fartsy and down-right fun?
EDWEENA would give The Residents Bunny Boy two thumbs up... if she had thumbs. 

* I held it in my hands, but didn't buy it when I had the chance. It's worth about a million bucks now. Maybe more?

** I was glad that it wasn't Easter Island.

=@# - Bunny Boy is a Big Fat Copy Cat - #@= Part 8

Did anyone else noticed how the Residents blatantly stole my blog idea and posted it on their own blog? "How many Residents are there?" Good question guys... where did you come up with that one?

When I covered the built-in camera on my laptop with tape, I thought it was just a coincidence when the Residents did exactly the same thing on one of their Bunny Boy internet episodes less than two weeks later. Now I am more suspicious!

It makes me wonder if the Residents have ever had an original idea, or do they just steal them from me all the time???

I'm locking all my ideas up in safe deposit box out of certain eye's view.

With no new ideas, the Residents will be forced to announce their retirement at the conclusion of the Bunny Boy Tour.

Farewell to a True Friend of Liberty

A few moments ago I learned that my good friend Andy Key passed away on Tuesday, August 20, 2008.

Andy was a true friend of liberty, an avid activist and loyal member of the Libertarian Party.

At Andy's request, no services will be held; his body will be cremated and sent to the IRS.

Thank for all your work on behalf of liberty Andy!

We'll miss you.

The Residents or What Does Salt Smell Like?

Edweena

Subterranean-Rhetro

The first time I heard the Residents was in 1979. I was sixteen or seventeen, and an avid listener of I'm So Bored, Susanne Brown's Tuesday night radio program on KRCL in Salt Lake City. There was nothing else like it in Utah at the time, (or the rest of the country for that matter), and assuming that I would likely never hear the songs again, I began recording the shows on ninety-minute 8-Track tapes. I'm So Bored was unique, and presented me with a plethora of new punk and rock wave music, (as Michael G. Cavanaugh* called it), that I could listen to at my leisure on the tapes I had recorded. One of them contained a track called Plants by the Residents, which was nothing like anything I had ever heard before. I knew I'd have to hear more from these mysterious musicians.

The Cosmic Aeroplane was no doubt the most likely place to find Residents music in Salt Lake in 1979. I was astounded that good old el Cosmico had a handful of Residents records to choose from. I delightfully selected Not Available, and Fingerprince, and purchased them both, having heard neither. I bought Not Available for myself, and Fingerprince for my summertime girlfriend, Jamie, who accompanied me on my quest for the Residents. Back then, the record department at the Cosmic was located downstairs. At least that's where they kept the punk-produkts and related paraphernalia. After finalizing my purchase, we ascended the narrow stairwell, and exited the store. I had a friend named Bob Ruffner who lived near Skyline High, so we went there to hang out and listen to my new Residents records. Bob's house would be a good place to hear them for the first time because his dad had a great stereo, and surely, the Residents could be best appreciated on a good hi fi.

By the time side one of Fingerprince had finished playing, there was no way to convince Bob and Jamie to listen to side two, or the other record I had purchased. They had decided that the Residents were too weird. Bob had became partial to the last of the successful prog bands, Rush, while Jamie had metal tendencies, and fancied Van Halen and Ozzy. YUCK! Serves them both right! I had to wait until I had driven all the way back to Tooele, dropped off Jamie, and returned home before I could finally listen to Not Available on my own adequate stereo. I was shocked. It was stranger than anything I had ever... anything. It appeared to be some kind of opera about a woman named Edweena. I wasn't sure if I liked it. I played it for my friends Greggary Peckary, Merlin, Jon and Bart. Jon and Merlin gave it three thumbs up, Peck snickered, and Bart sardonically laughed, declaring, "They sound like little kids." I could forgive Bart. He didn't know any better. After all, he was a cowboy from Stockton, Utah, who's most radical venture in alternative music was Molly Hatchet and Lynnard Skynard. I suspect that Peck secretly liked it.
1979 was a time when music was stagnant on most fronts, yet changing on others. Leading the change, so far ahead they were out of sight, were the Residents, who's brand of subterranean-modern tunneled deeper than other alternatives, and kept their fans entertained with comically spooky treatments of familiar and contrived themes. I had become jaded by the polished cookie-cutter music that permeated the seventies, and in 1979 I began a five-year boycott of commercial music. Who needs commercial radio when there's KRCL? No commercial radio stations, and no TV. As it turned out, I missed a lot of terrible stuff during those years... so I hear. Remember Wham? I don't.
On Wednesday nights, KRCL presented Brad Collins' program** which featured more emphasis on the punker side of neo-underground musick. When the Residents released their critically acclaimed Eskimo album, Brad Collins played his copy in its entirety. It was awesome, and I soon procured my own copy on snow-white vinyl. One of my favorite records of all time. Eskimo was an unprecedented instant masterpiece that made it clear to me that the Residents were not only part of the underground scene... The Residents, in fact, were THE underground. Everything else sounded like pop in comparison.
In 1980 my best friend, Jon, purchased the Residents latest release, the Commercial Album. A departure from their anthropologique Eskimo, the Commercial Album featured forty - one minute songs... a mockery of formulaic top forty pop music. What was most surprising about the Commercial Album to both Jon and myself was the album cover which featured a picture of my friend Jon. I have no idea where the Residents got a photo of Jon, or why they used it on their album cover, but there he was.

Jon 1978

The Commercial Album 1980

When the Residents released their Mark of the Mole album, they pressed a handful of special edition silk screened covers which had been signed by the Residents with brown crayon, and pressed on brown vinyl. My copy was mistakenly sold at the flea market for one dollar. :-( I wish I still had it, especially since now its worth hundreds of dollars. At least I still have my Third Censored and Roll album, the West German version of the Third Reich and Roll. Still in perfect condition.




The first time I saw the Residents perform was at the Barrymore Theater in Madison Wisconsin in 1990. I arrived early, and was the first person in line that night. When they opened the doors to the theater, I sprinted to the front and center of the Barrymore. Best seat in the house. That night the Residents presented Cube - E (being) The History of American Music in 3 E-Z Pieces. The first piece featured old western cowboy songs. One Resident wore an exaggerated over-sized cowboy hat. A neon fire glowed at center stage while a projected desertscape and evening sky illuminated the backdrop. The other three Residents, cloaked beneath Harry Tuttle-esque disguises, tapped away at their electronique instruments . Black slave songs were the theme in the second set. The third and final set featured Elvis as a fulfillment, or personification of cowboy and black rhythm. In the end, the space-age Elvis is made insignificant by the British invasion, specifically the Beatles. At least that's what Zoroaster said.

I didn't see the Residents again until 1997, when Mighty Mo purchased tickets for the Halloween show at the Fillmore, for our anniversary. I was impressed by projected images onto a large balloon on stage. Brilliant idea! Clam rockers, Primus, and fellow Residents fans, must have liked the idea too because they incorporated the concept for their own stage.

A Simple Song - Ralph Viddy - Buy or Die!
I must have been one of the first people to order this fancy NEW Ralph Records Video.

When it arrived in the mail, it was a simple TDK video cartridge featuring seven different Ralph viddys. Five different bands, including the Residents.

The cover-art consisted of basic black ink on a 81/2X11 white paper-board. I carefully cut out the video cover, and with Elmers Glue, affixed it to the vhs box (included). Crafty!
The fancified package was complete.


These videos were a great alternative to the trendy commercial music being played on MTV.

The Residents have released lots of other videos over the years. Millions of them in fact. In May 2001, My son and I had the opportunity to see the Residents right here in Santa Cruz, Ca, at the Rio Theater. As usual, the Residents presented a unique and unprecedented concept for their stage show. The Icky Flix Tour featured the Residents playing live on stage as their familiar videos were projected onto a large screen above the band. Not long after the tour, the Residents released the Icky Flix DVD, which featured lots of snazzy Residents videos that could be played with the option of listening to old familiar songs, or newly recorded versions of the same tunes. Sparkling idea! I'll take two. Mm... Salty!

Ralph

* Michael G's show preceded I'm So Bored. His show featured sixties and seventies rock. This was back when KRCL was located above the old Blue Mouse Theater, next to Cosmic Aeorplane. Jon and I paid Michael G a visit one evening. He played Cucamonga by Zappa/Beefheart at our request.

** My friend Squirrelly's cousin, Jamie, who lived in Colorado Springs, Colorado, stayed with Squirrelly's family every summer. She returned home with Fingerprince. Jamie reported to me that she had played it for a friend, and that they both laughed at it. What can you expect from a couple of ignoramiatic metalheads?
*** Mr. Collin's program was originally called Dead Air, but was later changed to Beyond The Zion Curtain. When Brad sold out and began playing speed metal exclusively, Jon and I began to pester him by requesting Eskimo every time his program was on. Years later, I asked Collins about his Eskimo album, and he told me that someone had stolen it. He may have assumed that his taunters were the thieves. He assumed wrong