The last four nights have found members of Superego very busy at a variety of social events. Friday was an opening for Amy's artwork at the electric lounge, and besides a small tiff with the inept soundman, Paul, John and the orange mothers & drums and tuba had a blast. The after party at photographer terry mcpants' house was a swell mix of gin & tonics and cushy furniture. Saturday, Paul gigged with his other band, the argyles, at a posh wedding reception in UT's alumni center. The north loop cleaners did a fine job on my tux-pants hem, but the rip in the shoulder is still unmended. The buffet at the gig was fairly decent, with teriyaki chicken kabobs and a tender prime rib, but the highlight was the corona with lime that cooled off a hot texas load-out considerably. Keyboardist rick Barten's big muff of the first line of the first dance was the mark of a true professional.
On Sunday, the rock & roll free-for-all was an unusual early appearance by superego, followed by anti-climactic sets by The peenbeets and a surprise appearance by cher u.k. San Antonio's jet jaguar sounded great until christian's amp blew up, and no-one knows why he didn't ask to borrow another one. I came back from neighbor/orange mother jeff's house just in time to catch their last song. Superego opens for Jet Jaguar friday in SA.
Monday's video premiere at the hole was an unplugged extravaganza. The chronicle's ken lieck showed strange video's until I got off work and brought the vhs copy of Superego's new video for "No Way to Know>" people actually gasped in delight and applauded the effort, which is my directorial debut. The evening's live musical highlights include the whole first side of "Sticky fingers done on farfisa, dulcimer, and acoustic bass by Duo it now and jon & Jeff, plus a surprise sousaphone solo on Paul's acoustic set by Brian Wolff of Drums & Tuba.
Andrew hated the picture of the band that I reproduced for our glossies, so today I drove around in the afternoon heat to get a new print made. I hope he's happy with the new one that appears on the "personnel" link of this site. You can't win with these guys. I ducked out last night before the show was over so I wouldn't have to hear the bitching when they found out that Mondays don't pay at the hole.
As soon as I learn Hypertext bullshit lingo well enough, this site should be updated almost daily, except in August when me and the missus head for the beaches of costa rica for a couple weeks for a much-needed vacation. The record label just got some distribution, and recording is under way at the living room on a second free-for-all compilation. I produced and Bryan anderton engineered a session with orange mothers sunday afternoon that should reap a great version of their classic hits "soul" and "rocket boy".
Well back to work, the institutional parasite must vacate the state
technological teat in order to fulfill his job description. More soon....
Last Tuesday, an agent from Dallas called to ask if we could open for Fastball at the ORBIT ROOM the very next night. I called around and rounded up the band, minus flambeaux, who had to work. Able understudy Jacob Schulze good-naturedly agreed to fill in, and the next day we convened at the hole at 4:30. Fastball graciously let us use their equipment, and I finally found an available rental car, so everything came together at the last minute. I was battling a sinus infection, but once I got in the car and all the logistics were in order, I felt a lot better. The Tavist-D my mom gave me also did wonders.
The trip was smooth, Andrew is a fantastic driver, and we got there with plenty of time to spare. We wandered around to the other live music clubs in Deep Ellum, only to find to our delight and amazement that the agent who booked us also booked Tree's, Club Clearview, and the rest of the city. Even though he remains unseen and we are left to deal with his cronies, I get the feeling he is very well-connected, or perhaps just an invented myth like kayser soze in "usuaL Ssuspects"
This agency is Fastball's national touring booker, so it was a score to get in good with them. There were many biz folks at the show, drawn to the fastball hype machine that is gaining steam, but the normal crowd was pretty small.
A parking lot attendant gave me a kind buzz on the way back from taking a crap at the copper tank, and we got set up.We played a remarkably tight set considering we had no practice and other people's gear, but I was reminded of a very important lesson from my early days on the road with the neptunes and the candles. You can't undeerestimate the power of a good soundcheck. It gives you a chance to get used to the sound of the stage and the quirks of the shitty sound systems and monitors that plague most clubs, and you demonstrate to the club staff that you are serious enough about the gig to give a damn about the sound. Also, in our case it gave us a much-needed excuse to run a couple of songs, and most importantly, it got the people there on our side and famioiar wirtrh our sound before we officially cranked up. We could have benefitied greatl;y from this idea in San Antonio, but we dropped the ball and ended up doing more damage than good to our reputation there, all because we were taken aback by how crappy we seemed to sound in a new situation. There's a little tip for all you beginners.
After the show, we heckled fastball unmercifully, I schmoozed the showfolk in the crowd, and the agent promised to throw a coupl more gigs our way. Jacob drank his weight in alcohol ("Is it 'liquor before beer, never fear?") and on the way home he removed his glasses, stuck his blond head out the backseat window, and let it all fly out onto the hillsboro highway...
I just bought that laptop I've been shopping for, and these updates should be less infrequent as soon as I am online. Maybe I'll start a mailing list. It seems to be working miraculously for fastball.
10-25-96
Been awhile since I've updated the random notes section, but a hell of a lot has happened.
The Rock & Roll Free-For-All rolls on. We survived all of the 2nd anniversary hoopla intact, and our press kit got about 3-inches thicker in the process, just in time for the SXSW application deadline.
Everybody is back in town after what seems like a long, drawn-out summer of uncertainty. Now that the line-up is intact, and everyone has got their wanderlust satisfied for the time being, the Superego sound is stronger and more cohesive than ever. New drummer Kevin Pearson has turned us into the most versatile and aggressively spontaneous rock band in town.
At last week's show, we went on at around one a.m. and played until the house lights went up at 2:15, and I think we might have paused between songs twice. The rest of the set was a joyous, loose stream of consciousness medley that flowed as smoothly as Guinness on tap and was twice as intoxicating. We went from original Superego songs into covers and back without missing a beat, and the groove changed effortlessly from subdued country to classic heavy rock. Highlights of the setlist were "Waiting on a Friend, " a 2-minute Aerosmith retrospective, Nick Drake's "Know" and Neil Young's "Don't Cry No Tears."
Andrew is back on the bass after a stint with Bob Mould. He tells me he is glad to be back playing loud and on his feet. With Droobie back in the mix, and Jeff Johnston promoted to the toy chord organ, Sunday's version of "Smokey" was truly magic, as the band trailed off and Jeff played a cheesy polka over the last verse and then a sweet melodic solo at the end of the chorus. You could hear a shot glass drop.
Jacob had to quit playing when his guitar stopped working. After sitting on the floor for awhile making a few noisy attempts to fix it, I gently suggested he leave the stage with my bootheel to the back of his head. Bob Mould had let him borrow a late model Strat, and apparently the jack went bad. In a fitting irony, JacobÕs now out on the road for a few weeks as a guitar tech for 16 Deluxe. His mom got him a faux leatherman pocket tool for his trip, but he's going to need a lot more than that to keep all those effects pedals working. I guarantee you he's going to hate it. Being 16 Deluxe's Guitar tech is like being Seattle Slew's stable boy. Shit work is shit work, no matter what horse.
Jacob's well-publicized run-in that night was exaggerated by the media, but the woman in question and he both had it coming. His nose is still slightly swollen, but it adds a softer Hebrew side to his Aryan features. (Don't worry ladies, he's still a looker). Pressed for comment, he admitted "I deserved it." For more on that, check Ken Lieck's column on the Chronicle's webpage at www.auschron.com. Jacob is going to be a big star. Until he is, I plan to give him hell. God bless him.
With Jacob's new Mesa-Boogie "Dual rectum-frier" amp mercifully silenced, Jon Sanchez has rightfully reclaimed his standing as the dynamic melodic counterpoint of the band. The three guitar formula works as climactic overkill in the context of an intensity-building climax, but for most of the set, I would prefer to be able to differentiate between the instruments. Jon and I play off each other well, personally as well as musically. Jacob seems to play off himself.
Another highlight was Jacob's solo rendition of his own composition "Magnolia," a bittersweet, evocative ode to growing up in Louisiana, a subject many Superego members can relate to. The way that the other guys slowly join in to the slow, lazy groove and gradually turn it into a country rock waltz really moves me every time. I am ready to cut that song in the studio with an all-star line-up. I am working on a new free-for-all compilation that will emphasize the softer and quirkier side of the show, and this tune will fit right in alongside such acts as the Damnations, Beaver Nelson, Pearly Gates, and other "Y'alternative" free4all favorites. I plan to produce this comp with a stable of regulars such as Jon Sanchez and Jeff Johnston contributing musically on a majority of the tracks. You should hear the Monte Warden selection, which we already cut with the help of rising Tejano accordian star Joel Guzman.
You may be interested to know that I am making this journal entry on the way to a Houston gig with my other band, The Argyles. I've got the powerbook plugged into the rent-car cigarette lighter, and I'm feeling pretty goddamn nineties. Hell, I'm cruising right into the next millenia, I'm so technologically cutting edge. Tonight the Argyles will play a party under an outdoor tent at some rich person's society occasion. I do not know yet whether it is a wedding reception, fundraiser, silent auction, or casino party. All I know is in about 5 hours I will be onstage with my trusty guitar and vintage 12-watt Fender Princeton Reverb singing "Oh, Pretty Woman." I thought I would break that news here since the Statesman will be breaking it in next week's XL, as part of an in-depth feature on how the cost-of-living increase in Austin is affecting the music community.
With that article as background, these are my thoughts that I intended to convey to reporter Chris Riemenschneider:
1. I think every musician worth a shit should have a full time job to pay the bills, until music can pay them. I am a full-time state employee, and I feel that my 40 hours a week as a productive public servant providing a necessary service for society earns me the right to do whatever the hell I want to do the rest of the time. To be worth a damn at anything, you've got to work on it a minimum of 40 hours a week. To be damn good at it, you gotta work way more than that. Any idiot knows that the music business isn't going to pay off significantly in the short-term, so working a job to make ends meet is a necessary part of your commitment to your art. It would be impossible to practice or rehearse 8-10 hours a day, so you might as well do something that brings home some bacon.
2. I welcome economic growth in Austin. I see it as opportunity for entrepreneurial visions. Every new face, regardless of Jacob's astute assertions in the chronicle about newcomers "raising our rent and clogging up Mopac," is a new potential cover-paying, record-buying, beer-drinking individual.
3. The trend toward higher rent and lower slaries has one good by-product
for the artist. It weeds out the slack motherfuckers who give us hardworking
artists a bad name. You know who you are, but there's less of you around
now because your landlord kicked you and the other six guys in your band
out of the apartment.
If you read the story by Melissa Arnett recently posted on the Superego Homepage, you may have noticed the lengthy passage regarding an incident involving me and Lou Barlow. It is all true, but I failed to set the story up correctly for the intrepid reporter.
The part I forgot, probably due to brain cell depletion, was that I had been to see Barlow at a Waterloo Records In-store performance that afternoon and waited with a large crowd for about an hour, while Lou and company were next door eating. It pissed me off because it made me late for work. Then that night he comes in to the doornail-dead electric lounge with about 6 people whose combined ages didn't add up to 100, and starts getting shitfaced and very presumptious. On his way out, I yelled "Bye Lou, thanks for wasting my time twice in one day." He came back and got in my face and made me explain what I meant, and he wasn't happy with my sentiments, but we parted amicably. It's all on the videotape. I swear to god, i thought I was in an outtake from "Don't Look Back."
Well, enough name-dropping, but it sure helps those search-engine hits. Buy the old man a beer and I will tell you about the time I jammed with Green Day and the Beasties backstage at Lollapalooza during an electrical storm.
I am off to Costa Rica with the chica next week, but look for the Argyles to "come out" at the Free-For-All on Oct. 27th with Skanky Yankee, the Knievels, and Earthpig. I am expecting a picture from a wedding photographer in San Antonio any day with The Argyles and hot young flavor of the month thespian Matthew McConaghey, dancing the Macarena at a country club wedding reception. Look for that, too.
Check out my new homepage business venture at "www.eyesoftime.com/archives." It's an online scanning service. And order a new "DOPE/HEMP '96" superego t-shirt while youÕre at it. Watch this space for new photos coming soon. If anyone out there can help me with scanning or with advanced web-page design techniques such as counters, quicktime movies, and audio applications, I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss some of this stuff without some overgrown ex-hippie hacker yelling at me and refusing to listen. I am trying to teach myself HTML so I can make these updates myself without dealing with a middleman. My friend Justin Hall who has an on-line travel diary preaches that the internet is the most empowering publication tool since the printing press, and infinitely more accessible.
I will see you when i get back from Central America, hopefully rejuvenated and inspired. These are the good times.
With the splendour of the Houston skyline refracting gloriously in the rear-view mirror of this Japanese rental car, I feel compelled to quote MacConaghey's autograph on Kevin's snarehead as a suitable sign-off:
"J.K. Livin'..."
10-30-96
This past weekend's Free-For-All was kind of surreal for me. It came at the end of a dizzying month of media exposure, work stress, and travel. In a weird way, it brought all of the pressure points in my life together in one big climax. To the curious crowd there, I think it must have been weird, especially since it had to be obvious that I was feeling extra self-conscious. The Argyles set was especially strange, as all the worlds that I live in (cover band, original band, state employee, social animal, family member, etc.) all seemed to collide in a blinding flash of smoke, alcohol, and flashbulbs. I felt like David Copperfield onstage in Vegas after accidentally spoiling an illusion. Overall the whole night was damn amusing, and I really appreciate Champ Hood's good-sportsmanship effort in jamming with members of Superego and Skanky Yankee at the end of the show. He made my night.
Don't waste your money on the Nightmare Factory. I took my nephews,
ages 8-10, and they were paralyzed with fear, but after the first 2 or
3 guys who flick a flashlight on in their face and scream something unintelligible,
it gets pretty old. Thanks to the doorperson who also works at the Hole,
I got in free, but I would have much rather spent the 7 dollars each for
the kids on a movie and snacks. I mean, the whole point of babysitting
is to occupy time so mom and dad get a break, right? Nightmare Factory
charges about a dollar a minute, each.
An Argyles Anecdote
Last weekend The Argyles, my bread & butter gig, had a show in Houston at a fancy hotel called the Ritz Carlton. It is in the Galleria district on the posh west side just inside the loop. Because it paid our top asking price, and because he is a pushover, the band's always-accommodating booking agent/keyboardist Rick agreed to a contract rider specifying that several songs which we have never performed be added to the set list. Being the consummate professionals that we are, we never gave a thought about rehearsing the new material until we were well enroute to the gig. We did however, have a few work tapes to listen to in the rental car.
Things were running a little behind schedule, but we did manage some
quick run-throughs of the new numbers at sound check. A few were no-brainers,
"Jailhouse Rock" and "Twistin' the Night Away," and there were a couple
we had all played once before and just needed to brush up on. One song
I would be responsible for singing was an old Frank Sinatra chestnut for
which I scribbled down the lyrics in the car and we partially ran through.
We figured we could wing it and no-one would notice.
Well, they interrupted once again to ask us to make an announcement
that a special "program" would be beginning shortly. The mother made us
stop everything and demand the entire audience's undivided attention. Then
several members of the families gave their heartfelt toasts, good natured
roasts, and congratulations to the young couple while the band sought out
the dessert and coffee trays.
The mother of the bride then took the stage to wish her new son-in-law
and daughter all of her best in a touching unrehearsed statement, and then
with all eyes on her and us, she brought the band back on to play a special
song very dear to her heart, that was dedicated with a hitch in her throat
"to grandma Geezla, who couldn't be with us today, but if she hadn't passed
away six months ago, she would be here and be the center of attention."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house as I frantically searched my pockets
for those damn lyrics. I couldn't help but chortle to myself at the sitcomishness
of the situation, and I sensed that the other guys in the band were aware
of the mounting pressure, also. I could hear my blood rushing to my head
as I walked on to the stage, found the precious sheet of paper on the top
of my ugly old amp, and approached the mic with my heart firmly lodged
in my esophagus.
I played the first chord, a D major, and hummed the first line in my
head to get the pitch. The first note is kind of a low, awkward one, not
unlike other Sinatra songs such as New York, New York. Just as I was drawing
the breath with which I planned to belt it out, a crazy thing happened.
This guy in shirtsleeves and a bowtie, obviously another family member,
decided he had one more cute little embarrassing story to tell about his
buddy the groom, so he bounded on stage, completely oblivious to the sentimentality
of the moment, grabbed the mic and proceeded to tell a rambling anecdote.
Rick leaned over and whispered, "Does this guy have the worst timing or
what?" I said, "Thank God."
Mister life of the party wrapped up his joke and stepped down to a smattering
of nervous laughter, and I stepped up to the mic, cleared my throat, strummed
a D, announced "This one's for Grandma Geezla" and started crooning as
earnestly as I could with a straight face.
"And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain
The mother of the bride danced rapturously along with the entire crowd,
and she later sent us all matching pewter measuring cups. That's a first.
Maybe it's so we can measure our portions before we bite off more than
we can chew next time.
Last Sunday's free-for-all climaxed in a spirited Big Star medley featuring
an unlikely cast of local characters cramming the stage. Gary Chester and
Lyman Hardy helped Nashille Bill, Jeff Johnston, Sixteen Deluxe's Chris
"Frenchy" Smith and numerous other usual suspects, joining Superego in
chasing the last stragglers out of the Hole on a truly outrageous night.
Openers Dimebox, Novadose, and Hollywood Indians all turned in righteous
sets, but an absent Jeff Hoskins meant for an unrealized potential Flying
Saucers reunion. Maybe next time when original Saucers bassist Jon Bomgaars
is back with Novadose. They are relocating back to Austin soon after a
hiatus in San Antone.
Speaking of San Antone, Superego will be winging a couple of Doug Sahm
numbers at his hoot night birthday party tomorrow at the hole.. I anticipate
playing last and loose. If I can find the cassette in the garage, i really
want to whip out an old Kinks song that the Sir Doug quintet covered back
in the sixties called "Who'll be the next in line." I played it in my first
band, back when I wanted to be a british mod. If Doug shows up, I will
try to get him onstage for "Wasted Days" because I saw him do it at the
hole with the Tornados once and the opening line blew all my modern rock
notions to smithereens. I can't hear a B7 chord without imagining Freddy
Fender launching into that slow tex-mex shuffle. I just wish my bro could
be there. I hope it will probably turn into a benefit of sorts for the
ailing Rob Gaines, who organized the event but can't make it because he's
in the hospital with nervous system problems.
Look for these Superego line-up adjustments in coming weeks. While Kevin
is on vacation, original ego drummer Rod Marsden will fill in at Sunday's
Local Live KVRX broadcast and the Free-For-All later that night with Johnny
Law, Beaver Nelson, and the Damnations. Also, Jacob Schulze is being put
on waivers. I just can't work with all that damn noise. With three guitars
on stage, I have no choice on Sundays but to throw in the towel on trying
anything with any subtlety. It all goes straight to Big Star hell in a
Lou Reed handbasket. Favorite son Jacob will be involved somehow I'm sure,
as he is one of my most admired personalities and friends. I tried to tell
him about that damn Mesa Boogie, but he wouldn't hear it. Oh well, maybe
some solo stuff and spoken word will make the wild card happy. His band
with Andrew, the Dismukes, are guest hosting the show on Nov. 17th while
I am out of town with the Args, so he'll be around.
Andrew picked up some good press as a result of his Bob Mould stint.
Rolling Stone mentioned his "percolating acoustic bass" work in a live
review, and Mould was quoted in the Chronicle as saying Andrew was a gifted
and instinctual player who would get the first call if he ever wanted to
do another rock outfit.
It's bedtime, but look for more updates and more photos more often now
that I got my own scanner.
These are the good times....
The mother of the bride was a strident and charming European woman
who really must have had a disarming way with Rick, because it was clear
that she wasn't one to take no for an answer. Several times during the
proceedings, she or the extra-jumpy booking agent interrupted the flow
of our carefully choreographed set to make suggestions about the material.
"Play something livelier now," the agent begged Rick during one mellow
number. "Do some modern music for the young folks now," requested the mother.
We of course obliged, against our better judgment. See, the Argyles have
been doing these gigs for well over a decade without a setlist or a net,
and the show always moves along flawlessly from mellow overture to dynamic
climax without anyone's oversight. If you ever hire a band for a party,
just relax and let them do what they do. Trust me.
My friends, I'll say it clear, I'll state my case of which I'm certain
I've lived a life that's full, I've traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this, I did it My...Way