Struck Gold

Unreleased demo song from 89 (thanks Michael). Strongly reminds me of Teenage Filmstars' "Inner Space" but I can't find a vid of that, so here's another hit from the fabulous Star album.

Things to do before you die

Hereby adding "punishment by a sadistic nun" to the top of the list. Let's make this happen, people!

I Think It's Called Inspiration

As I get older and contemplate what it means to officially be an "adult," I'm enjoying being in the presence of creative older folks who still retain the spark that first ignited them. I'm thinking specifically of people like Killing Joke's Jaz Coleman, a ravingly-brilliant madman who, I can now say from first-hand experience, is both outraged and relevant a full 30+ years after breaking onto the scene. And Tim Kerr, another one of these guys who, despite all the opportunities to retreat into a life of mundanity, continues to make art and do cool things with his life.

These are from last month's Come One, Come Y'all show featuring Tim Kerr and others at Needles and Pens, one of my favorite SF institutions, which deals in exciting things made by ordinary people. The first few are Tim's, the last piece is by Rich Jacobs. Nothing to say except just read it and go do something.











And finally, John Ross, an SF countercultural legend described in the Guardian as "a poet, journalist, and unrepentant shit disturber," who passed away last week. I just learned about him this morning, but he seems like a righteous guy. Here are my favorite parts from his rememberance.

There are so many stories to tell about John that it's hard even to begin, but my favorite was his tale of the day he left Terminal Island, the federal prison near Los Angeles where he served more than two years for refusing the draft during the Vietnam War. The warden saw him to the gates and shook his head and said, "Ross, you never learned how to be a prisoner." And that was pretty much the story of his life. He lived every day in the spirit of freedom and social justice.

John, as I expected, left very specific instructions for his remains. I quote: "I ask that my body be rendered into ashes and the ashes distributed in the following locations: [names a bunch of places including SF: "strewn along the Mission 14 route and deposited in the planter boxes outside Cafe Boheme" and Mexico: "dumped in the ashtrays outside the Hotel Isabel and on the sidewalk outside the Hotel the Cafe la Blanca"]. The remainder of my ashes should be rolled into marijuana cigarettes and smoked by participants in these scatterings.

Casualty of the Game

Tom Waits on songwriting

I think all songs should have weather in them. Names of towns and streets, and they should have a couple of sailors. I think those are just song prerequisites. I go looking in other people's songs for their sailors and their towns. I don't know, everybody has things that they gravitate towards. Some people put toy cars or clouds or cat crap. Everybody puts something different, and it's entirely up to you what belongs and what doesn't. They're interesting little vessels of emotional information, and you carry them in your pocket like a bagel.

Savage Skulls

Just returned from a visit to NYC last week. If you ditch the posh coffee shops and strollers in Williamsburg and Park Slope, there's still plenty of gritty charm to be found. But I can't help wishing I had experienced it during the bad old days when urban decay thrived and subcultures ran amuck. I know this is a romanticized view, especially since I wasn't there, but I really don't care. The first world may be civilized these days, but it's also incredibly dull.

Here's a trailer for a new documentary about street gangs in the South Bronx during the heyday of graffiti, street crime, and other nasty stuff. A time when 5 year olds drank 40s and gangs un-ironically named themselves the Golden Guineas. This is the world the Warriors tried to capture, though it seems like a pretty weak imitation when you start adding things up (the toughest gang of them all is from Coney Island???)