Knights in White Lycra

Not many bands can say, "Hey, we have a 'Kokomo', too!" Thank the Lord.

The Moody Blues, however, got their midlife-crisis one-off out there like a pro with "In Your Wildest Dreams", a mauldin look back with some young guys posing as them in the video (John Stamos was too busy learning transindental meditation to appear). Released in 1986, you know the Mellotrons were replaced with a Korg or two at this point. Fair enough.

But it's 1987, and you're playing live for the BBC, for some reason, and you open with "Tuesday Afternoon", and it sounds like the title must refer to a tone in your Casio's sound bank under the "Synth Lead" subheading; fretless bass? Sequenced keytar parts? Drums so synthed out that Johnny 5 has a hard pecker? Yuck. At least Stamos played a real set of bongos.

The Moody Blues were a pretty revered band in Britain; do those blokes over there see "In Your Wildest Dreams" the same way we proud Americans see the uber-stoopid "Kokomo"? Someone from across the pond should respond to this. I'll read it right after I cut off my pinkie for FREAKING DEFENDING JOHN STAMOS.

Random Thoughts Inspired by Prime Cutz

1) I found a website that describes the band Would-Be King as "a good prog-rock band" that "didn't hit it off well with the local arbiters of taste". This statement is similar to saying that Adolf Hitler was "a good basketball player" that "didn't hit it off well with the local arbiters of Judaism".

2) I know, you think that smell is coming from a fourteen-year-old 4H goat herder, bedecked in fat-assed jeans and Garth Brooks "Sevens" tee shirt, getting to third base with a drunk Idahoan carney. You're right. The Washington County Fair arrives later this month. Too bad that current cultural trends turns"white-trash mulleted bumpkin" sightings into "meth addict" sightings instead. Some things get lost in translation; we'll always have the Ferris Wheel, though.

3) Both my sister and my mother asked me, to make certain, that I didn't try to kill myself yesterday. I assured them that I did not. This is the truth. And it had nothing to do with the thought of Prime Cutz' hot, furious piss soaking six feet down to my coffin. But, seriously? When my sister asked, "you didn't do it on purpose, did you," I did think to myself, "Good Lord, if I die from taking the wrong insulin and people thought I killed myself? Some of those people would pee on me. I know for sure of one."

4) I have three other words to say. The first word is "little". The second is "math". For the sake of the living, and the lives we now live, I will not say the third.

Tired Old Genius Mails It In

Imagine for a second that you are a member of a four-man experimental rock band. Tonight the inspiration comes from a ancient source: Japan. In a tiny room each instrumentalist picks a corner to set up their amps or drums. Coats are hung from the rafters to baffle what will be hearing loss level of sound. For good measure someone tacky-tapes up pictures of an afro'ed policeman at a karate exibition. Then it begins.

Remember that.

I'll forgive Mike Patton for not even trying to maintain his revelence as long as the product is still compelling (hey, I kind of like Weird Little Boy, so game on). It seemed like Tomahawk was just Faith No More Redux, and that was teriffic; Album of the Year was, for me, headed in a good direction, and the first Tomahawk album seemed to be a more rocking extention of that idea. Mit Gas may be a little less straight forward but is even more compelling.

And Anonymous had me going through the first three tracks. An album made up of songs inspired by Native American songs and material sounds like a great pallett for rock music; Duane Denison was inspired by a stay at an Indian Reservation while on tour, so the idea is coming from a sincere place. Fire that baby up!

Then. . .

A funny thing happened as I got to "Red Fox". The timbre of the instruments went south, from "adding to the feel of the concept" to "hey, these were left over from the Lovage sessions!" English lyrics added to the music and got clunky (it worked for The Director's Cut, I know, but it was only used sparingly there. Imagine putting a french fry into a kiddie pool full of ketchup. Too much) "Antelope Ceremony" sounds like a track lost from The Man From Utopia.

By this time I had made my way through the cd case and learned that 1) Kevin Rudiments had left the band, and 2) Duane Denison and John Stainer [guitar and drums, respectively] recorded their parts in Nashville [geetar and skins, thankee] and mailed them to Mike Patton in San Francisco [-- a gay joke--, respectively] to dub over the vocals.

Say what you want about how everyone does it now, but the chemistry of proximity alone helps, and it probably could have helped this album. After a while the idea of the sound, the timbre, of the album falls apart into each person's individual goal. Mike Patton might be a genius, but a band is a band, not a bunch of people. If the whole album kept up with the first three tracks, I'd be loving it. Instead I'll think of playing nearly racist Asian pentachords on a keyboard, getting more and more disjointed as the little band in the little room disjoins the idea together. Like bands do.

Bung Tea

I know you've seen the video from the "band" Ming Tea for the song called "BBC" . If you need a refresher, it's the band from the Austin Powers movie. Austin Powers is their singer.

Did you feel uncomfortable when you saw that? Did you want to say, "Hey, Mike Meyers, I think you're being a bit too serious here. You're not a singer in a rock band. You're acting like this might be a big hit for you. It will not. Don't make me frown at you." Did it make you feel a little weird, huh?

Well, multiply that feeling by ten fucking million and that's how I feel when I hear "Pride & Joy" by Coverdale/Page. Does David Coverdale have any idea how rediculious he sounds trying to sound like Robert Plant? He got enough greif from it in Whitesnake; having Jimmy Page next to you and wearing a puffy shirt/vest combo does not help. You made me pull off the road and really listen, really CONCENTRATE on how pathetic it was when it came on the radio.

Please, David Coverdale, cease and desist. You don't see Plant wearing gossamer gowns and flaunting his man boobs on the hood of a Camaro like Tawny Katain. Unless you were in Istanbul in May of 2002, and I don't think you were.

On Tha Down Low!

A quick post to try out this new format. . .

Surely if Cee-Lo Green had ever heard Divine's "Psychedellic Shack", that mother would've been on the Gnarles Barkley album in an instant.

Really, "Gone Daddy, Gone"? Really?

Top 5 Most Outrageous Moments In Rock History (According to The Major Briggs Trio, Not VH1)

5 - L** Ya**el Says "Pu**y" During "El Toro"

The concept is simple, classic even. Let the band (may I humbly suggest one called Buttsex?) play a riff so cliched it borders on racism. When the riff stops, and it is your turn, say something funny. House favorites are inside jokes, but anything goes.

Was "pu**y" the first word you thought of? Are you wearing an AC/DC t-shirt? Thanks for reading, L**!

4 - The Major Briggs Trio Replaces Bill B At Keyboards

Mainly this is shocking because I am one of the worst musicians ever. But I am an honest and expressive soundsmith and a good listener, which was exactly what a band dedicated to making fun the poor lyrics of someone with a man crush on Morrisey needed at the time.

Two important points:

1) I took the name "Salty Miss Clairol" for the stage at this juncture.

2) Bill B would, in an event that can only be described as both "outrageous" and "Rock And Roll", get a bj from my girlfriend, who was living with her ex-girlfriend at the time. Read that last sentance again. Also, good effing LORD.

3 - David Bowie's Return From Berlin With Fascism On His Mind

This happened in 1976, the year of my birth. And for good measure Boy George was waiting for him in the train station. One of the few ways you can be linked to Bowie and Boy George without the use of male genetalia and/or cocaine.

2 - Tie: Anal Conan Presents "Destroyer"/"Grow the Hair Past The Heart"

One withou the mighty Ray Gun, one with. Maybe not my best showing, maybe so, but certainly my favorites. Te outrageousness is derived from the fact that I did ok on each.

1 - Gentlemen Prefer AIDS

The lost albums, coupled with "D**k My F**k", are my best showing. A cry for help. Rock and Roll without a doubt, and outrageous in it's own right. Hooray for Rock, be it dead or alive.

How Brave Was The Major Briggs Trio Today?

-- At the Mazzio's Pizza buffet, I ate a piece of pepperoni pizza with a piece of chocolate chip pizza on top of it. This is brave because 1) I have a serious, heart-stopping neurosis about dinner and dessert needing to be on opposite plates, never mind not touching ever; 2)the pizza bordered on being so unedible as to not be considered food; and 3) if the appearance and actions of the other diners were any indication, a less-germ-sharing-intensive act than handling the serving tongs would have been fellating the handle of the bathroom's urinal.
Speaking of which. . .



-- At the bathroom at said pizza joint, I peed in the urinal. The urinal about a foot off of the floor, with no walls and right next to the sink and the door with full view of the dining floor (Who designed that setup? Lance Bass?).
This is not some sort of social phobia baby step for me. Remember that scene in The Matrix? That jump? Remember that scene from Carrie? "They're all gonna laugh at you"? That one? If those two scenes had a baby, it would be nodding it's head in complete understanding.
Many of the patrons (and by "many" I mean "the three that I remember with frightning clarity before the defense mechanisms of my brain started to clean house up there") might remember a nervous man with his wang unabashledy exposed peeing with a slight, audible stutter in the stream as they entered the restroom. Not that I remember how people pee, but surely they realized, too, that this was a special occasion replete with bravery. Some clapped. Some openly wept. Others washed their hands.


-- I talked on my cell phone to some employees while I was on the toilet, and totally kept my cool.

Random Review Day!

"I Would Be Your Slave", from David Bowie's Heathen

I never knew my place, I never know my place. Rarely, if ever, do I feel a sense of being invited. Not sure why it's even important that I feel that way. The facts are, lucky for me, what they are.

Who: me, you, Mod Girl

What: getting back in your car after another radio show of yours, handing the cd through the space of the seats, suggesting the track with Pete Townshend first. We got drinks? We got food?

When: 2001?

Where: in a parking garage the same color as your Ford Taurus. On campus. In Fayetteville. In the car where conversations gestated, lived and breathed, died. The full impunity of your car to shelter my insecurities, broadened to the point that I'm afraid to suggest a song on an album.

Why: I wanted to share, and I did, and then immediately felt like I overstepped some boundary.

--------------------------

I'm a sucker for the drumming on this track; it's an understated shuffle that chugs along with nary a change (not like Charlie Watts' best moments where he's trying to do something interesting on another too-disco tune) until the "B" section of the song. But the second half of the section starts shuffling along again, this time with some added punctuation to close the song out.

Bowie's vocals are broad, nearly vunerable, with a vibrato just this side of controlled. Lyrics that start out as a longing for company turn slightly chastising for not opening up, slightly paranoid about the way others percieve the speaker.

The backing band? Some string sweeps, arpeggiated guitar, keyboard glistenings, and a slight undercurrent of techno-ish drum machine.

Ultimately there's a coldness to the music. Maybe it was cold when we heard it first.

Revelations After Having No Internet Access Day!

1. Only nine e-mails.

Which is fine, really. Only one of those was legitimate (note: if the others were legitimate, my apologies for all those slutty teens. I hope you are swallowing multivitamins, and nothing else. Please resend your e-mail with a title that will keep me from deleting your correspondence. Like, "Te3ns_Luv2 Swa**0 Centroo0Om Slvr NOT_SPAM_OK?)

I am disappointed that the Grand Wizard Glick did not respond. I knew he would not. I am still disappointed. This is the stupidest way people die, seriously.

But who did? . .

2. Grand Wizard Lonecub's oral surgery went terribly wrong.

There's nothing funny to say (but I'm gonna do it, for supportive reasons).

To find out how drugs are supposed to affect you, I asked a sweet girl we know, named B. How did I find her? Easy! I got into my car and unbuckled my seatbelt. Then I died (I tried to contact Keith Richards, but he was to busy openly masturbating to a Puffy Amiyumi cartoon. And he was twelve feet away and too high to contact).

Well, B told me a funny thing: drugs are supposed to make you not feel pain. Sometimes the pain is the sweet ache of having run out of drugs, true, but whatever your pain is, it gets fixed. The Wiz's pain was in full effect. The drug they gave to paralyze him, however, worked fine. Kids, don't do drugs. Doctors, please do drugs right. Keith Richards, please do drugs and rock me senseless and climb a palm tree (palm tree?) and then fall out of it and then STILL FREAKING LIVE. I think he did some group sex with Rasputin, Jason Voorhees, and Wolverine, and caught some weird disease.

3. Two Presidents Died on Independence Day.

I watched Headline News all day. No dice.

4. Now That I have High-Speed Internet Access, TV Is WORSE!

There is no joke there. I'd watch Food Network to see Good Eats and the cute "Ham on the Street" guy, and that's it. Look at the cherry tree I just cut down, television. And, you blow (that presedential reference was brought to you by freedom!).

5. Doing the Freedom Forth Dance Is The Greatest.

1- Drink a Rolling Rock.
2- Light up a snake pellet.
3- Get drunk watching your neighbor's fireworks.
4- Try to get the courage to call someone.
5- Fail.

Be sure "Ferdinan the Imposter" by The Band is playing!

The Letter F Is Dirty!

The dentist said, "I'm gonna' give your mouth a good flossing!"

OR

The dentist said, "I'm gonna give your mouth a good effing!"

"Could you fix that?" she said, pointing to the hole in her pants.

OR

"Could you eff that?" she said, pointing to the hole in her pants.

Carl forgot his neighbor's son at the Easter Egg hunt.

OR

Carl effed his neighbor's son at the Easter Egg hunt.

Paul fisted the hobo's useless rectum.

OR

Paul effed the hobo's useless rectum.

Please refrain from using the letter "f", unless you are married or have been baptized (full immersion, NOT sprinkled).

Sincerely,

The Major Briggs Trio

Who Did The Major Briggs Trio Meet Today?

-- two old-fashioned chauvinists from the Carolinas. They still exist, apparently. Sorry ladies!

-- the waitstaff of Far East, a new Chinese food joint near my new store in Rogers. I have to walk through the parking lots of a tattoo parlor and a vet clinic to get there. The attentive nature and slight nervousness of the crew was relaxing and charming. Hang in there!

-- a transient that smelled like that one mugshot of Glen Campbell looked.

-- a pretty girl named Alisha behing the counter of a Pilot gas station. She knew that I was going to dump my Sugar Free Red Bull into the Gatorade. Good call.

-- the ghost of the time I tried to cut my own lips with my pocket knife. Hang in there!

Curtis Live! Kentis Undead!

Stare and stare. . .

Review A Random Song From My Computer Day!

"Bow Tie Daddy", from The Mothers Of Invention's We're Only In It For The Money

We had this whole album re-conceptualized, with different members of the music faculty of the university we attended doing different tracks (for those considering college, imagine thinking up things like that last sentence; getting crushes on blossoming lesbians; and poisoning every organ of your body, including your skin, with clear alcohols mixed with Welch's Strawberry soda. Sault.). I can't remember who was picked for this little ditty, but my current choice would be Henry Runkles. He'd be in a white dinner jacket with a blue silk shirt, one lit Winston in his hand, nineteen more bulging out his breast pocket. This is probably how he'll look in his coffin, too (Good Lord, did I write that? ).

What makes this song work, if not the whole album, is it's sincerity. Yes, the whole album is a parody of the different cultures co-existing in California. Yes, Zappa probably despised Tin Pan Alley-type wooing tunes. Zappa had, however, 1)broad influences throughout his youth, and 2)musical ability to pull the essence of those types into his own style.

The prelude to this track, "Telephone Conversation", involves someone, apparently a father, ready to "bump off" Zappa. Two paranoid ladies chat about him, trying not to get too freaked out. And then "daddy"'s music comes on, with the appropriate timbre but lyrics that paint the "bow tie daddy" as out of touch and somewhat hypocritical. Also an out-of-place guitar part doubles along with the vocals, nearly drowning out the more suited backing track. Poor daddy, perhaps, but mommy gets hers next, with "Harry, You're A Beast", a song about out of touch and hypocritical women (Zappa loved this song so much, he would later fill his catalogue with about twenty billion more tunes about out of touch, hypocritical women).

In conclusion: Daddy is a beast. Mommy is a beast. Harry is a beast. Harry Runkles, however, is a saint. He was going to play piano on an arrangement I was going to do of "Duke of Prunes". He even sang a bit of it! He would have been perfect.

Gay Kafkaesque Short Short Story Day!

The Toilet Crows

It was a Friday, and Brother Samuel, along the cool wrought iron fencing outside the synogauge, finally succumed to the visions his aunt was having. Having circled his birthmark with a poultice and fancy ladies rouge from a Turkish merchant ship he frequented made no difference.

As the dense black wave of feathers rent him clothesless and comfortably molested, he shouted out, that his echoes might reach that open window on Lymon Street.

"My crows! My salvation! My stinkhorn of blood!" Samuel lamented.

"The stuff! The stuff!" demanded the crows, full of flesh and ball oil.