Wake of the Flood/Help on the Way

Monday, June 30, 2008

Dateline: Cedar Falls, Iowa

Coming to you from northeast Iowa, where God gets the glory and we get the corn flakes & ethanol, unless it's under all the water that recently escaped the banks of the nearby Cedar River. There is no comparable Winstons that I could find here; however, there is the inimitable "Four Queens" ice cream parlor on the 57 off Hudson Road, but no discernable music. The nearest thing to the smell of the alley off Bacon Street is the profound aroma of fermenting corn in several 15-story siloes in the center of town that got hit by the flood waters. But seriously, for a state with too many vowels/too few consonants, the locals are solid citizens [you're either a farmer or you work for John Deere, period] and quite resilient especially in the face of what they're dealing with here, the 500 Year Flood it's being called, "until next year's" an old veteran quipped to me today. Example: I was working in a two-story house of an 80-plus-year-old couple where the water rose fourteen inches above the floor in the SECOND story, I declare under penalty of perjury the foregoing is true and correct. However, like Ocean Beach, they do speak of strange phenomena out here, such as something called "acres" -- huge tracts of land allegedly not owned by shopping mall LLP's or John Moores. And they have awesome public sound systems way up high with huge speakers . . . sirens for tornado warnings. So it is a lot like OB, only different, transdimensionally speaking.

I'd say if you guys played "Big River" followed by "Here Comes Sunshine" that'd sum up this scene quite nicely.

Reporting from the field - literally; I'm surrounded by fields; they're everywhere, growing stuff (to eat),

Bill's Corner

---

Even Darker Still

Monday June 9, 2008

Dateline: Winstons Beach Club, Ocean Beach, CA

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"

Jeremiah, chapter 17 verse 9

Where was this reporter when the lights went out? "Down in the cellar eating sauerkraut" goes the old retort, except it's also sold with the franks on the sidewalk out front, let's not forget. Suffice it to say my recent extended absence served its purpose: seeing my name on the guest list every Monday night got a little too cozy for this journalist's integrity; now we're back to normal: I pay the cover charge like the rest of John and Jenn Q. Public . . . Jenn . . . she's that ethereal waitress . . . Jenn . . . more on her later in this report. Where was I? Oh yes, journalism or something or other.

Anyhow, no sooner am I thinking I'd found my ethical compass and would resume unbiased reviews of the music when Homicide Harvey [guitar] greets me at the entrance with his pre-meditated grin and 25-to-life handshake (a.k.a "bad cop.") Then the voice from inside keyboardist Paul Bell's non-moving lips chirp at me "hey, I've got your Hourglass CD [Bell's latest recording - buy it, you'll like it], and I'll autograph it!" Which he does (a.k.a "good cop.") Lantz [bass] and Fletcher [drums] give me their usual "you might look familiar" greeting. Strangely, a front & center table is waiting for me. I'd also vowed to drink only moderately this evening ("Bartender! I'll have a double "Old Moderately" on the rocks, and hold the rocks!") so as not to cloud my clarity. "I will not betray my readers!" says I (assuming, of course, there are still two or more of them; if not, then "my reader!")

Seemingly without warning or effort, the band begins by bursting forth with Easy Wind -- gee, that was easy, I noted, and it blew to a boil in no time, right off the bat! Are my old bought-with-cover-charges-and-death-threat-biases showing already? I resolved to suppress the familiar; try not to feel like a regular but "Feel Like a Stranger" but of course, that tune came next, and it smoked the place! Damn, this scene is inside my head again, but why & how so soon? What's the motive this time? Then I looked up from my notes and put and two and two together and got - for once - exactly four! I mean there were only four on the stage. Sure, they were blazing through the tunes, but it's a five-piece band, readers (or "reader" as the case may be)! Co-guitarist Mark Fisher was MIA, last seen (by SDPOTARTO co-founders Barrow & Becky E. and yours truly) at the House of Blues on Friday the 6th wandering frantically around the place and then just disappearing like a hunted animal. The remaining four band-mates on stage realize that I notice the unexplained absence, which they quickly explain with "Railroad Blues" as in "Fisher - and you next - accidentally fall asleep in the path of the Amtrak." But why? Answer: to make room on stage for Bell and Fletcher to set up their CD sale displays! My throat goes dry and seizes shut -- yup, Black Throated Wind was next. At that point, the whole scene was just, just, too Hard to Handle ... no, no, stop, stop, must, control, my, own, thoughts...and it's only the first set!

By the time I resume full consciousness, the band has me on the gallows - "Slipknot" - what else, followed by the break, when I look up from my notes and presto: the aforementioned "waitress" Jenn has materialized at my table, and with her angelic countenance proceeds to tell me about some guy who "fell" down a one hundred foot ice hole in a glacier, then "nice chatting with you," and she smiles that signature Jenn-smile and vanishes. Chilling?

Well needless to say I didn't stick around for the second set. But like baseball legend Ernie Banks said midway through a double-header, it's so much fun "let's play two!" And I'm certain, Dead certain, don't-have-to-have-been-there-certain, that set two was not to be missed by anyone other than Fisher (still missing at this writing) and yours truly (whereabouts none of your freaking business.)

---

Bill's Corner  

In my absence, here's SDPOTARTO co-founder Barrow E's report from Mon. 3/3 ("Becky" is Barrow's wife, the first white female member of SDPOTARTO by the way):

"Becky and I made a last second run to the show and were rewarded with Run for the Roses.

Hopping first set including two debutantes:  Brother Esau (great bobby tune) and Three, which rocking rob explained as coming from the tv show “School of Rock”?

Speaking of three (which is supposedly why he played it) Rob is going to be a parent again."

Respectfully submitted,

Bill's Corner

PS: thanks again for the CD 

---

“No Senor, No Obama” - ?

Monday, January 14, 2008

Dateline: Winstons Beach Club, Ocean Beach, CA

Never mix politics, theology, Monday nights and chili relleno burritos, right? But that’s a mere human injunction; never, ever forget that. If you’ve ever watched fallen dominoes stand up in sequence, or seen the dots connect themselves (the dots that are usually floating 2-to-4 feet in front of your eyes, I mean), then you’ll bear with me.

"But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason for the hope that is in you with meekness and fear." (1 Peter ch. 3 v. 15 - circa 60 A.D.) “Hope.” One of the current presidential candidates has locked onto this theme, albeit not in the eternal “oh grave: where is thy victory? Oh death: where is thy sting?” – type of “hope” per the good old King James Version I just quoted above. But my reply to this candidate is, of course, as follows:

“Senor…senor…[that’s Spanish for “senator”] can you tell me where we’re headin’?

Lincoln County or Armageddon?

Seems that I’ve been down this road before.

Is there any truth to that, senor?”

(“Senor” by Bob Dylan, as performed by the Gerry Garcia Band - circa 1990 A.D.) From this point forward, I’ll need to junk traditional chronology, so buckle up, readers:

After the intermission this last Monday night (the relleno burrito: getting it now?) -- an intermission that followed a peculiar, haunting, concert-like first set, including but not limited to a rare and tasty serving of Let It Grow, some slick guitar work on Stagger Lee by Mark Fisher and solid cowbell accents on Pigs (courtesy of R.I.P. drummer Ed Fletcher) – anyhow, I’m returning to our venue for set #2, and Waste Band keyboardist Paul Bell and bassman Drew Lantz are loitering near the entrance, when for reasons then apparent only to me but echoing the evening’s earlier episodes, I blurt out “no Senor, no Obama.” Puzzled, but not showing it, Bell and Lantz blankly look at each other and dismiss the message and the messenger with their usual, glib, professional musician disdain for anyone who says anything other than “buy you a drink, man?” But these two stroll back to the stage and open set #2 with – you guessed it: Estimated Prophet! Mock me, wilt thou? The rest of set #2 was a kitchen fire as well, highlighted with more fine guitar work by Fisher (on Foolish Heart) and Rob Harvey (on St. Steven), some inspired/energetic keyboard on Reggae Woman by Paul Bell (someone put new batteries in him for Christmas, methinks), and a freakish bass-solo by Dr. Lantz that defied laboratory analysis.  But I digress; more history – keep it in reverse, please.

Let’s back up. Prior to set #1 that same evening, I’m quietly seated at the bar when, with no prompting on my part, I’m approached by guitarist Rob Harvey (he’s freaking all over the place nowadays, ever since he got the wi-fi cordless guitar-to-amp thing for Christmas). Now get this, readers: Harv asks me if I have a music request – UFO sighting, right?

So my mouth, as never before,

opens itself, and utters “Senor.”

Harv winced at me - like did I think he was serious they’d ever play one of my requests? - and scoffed “we don’t do Senor.” For some reason, I begged him to try anyhow. He just did his now-customary wi-fi walk and wander. Then later, who marches into the club but big Dave M. all the way from Boston, Mass. [by the way, Dave says for us to check out a Boston Dead cover band http://www.bigrhythmwine.com/ if we ever get sentenced there]; so Dave M., he sits at my table; I non-consciously mutter “Senor” and Dave busts into the above-referenced lyric, on key and channeling Garcia’s voice, I kid you not! Remember: this was Dave M. from Boston, Massachusetts. Don’t read ahead! You’ll spoil it for the kids!

And where did the junior Senator candidate from Illinois run smack into an ivy-covered brick wall in his bid for the Oval Office? Exactly! Massachusetts…or New Hampshire/Vermont/whatever – everyone knows New England’s one big glob of maple syrup since the Patriots changed their name. “O-bama, your daddy’s got them Deep Elem Blues!” But you can’t blame me this time; I tried. Blame Them. It’s Them again; it’s always Them!

---

           --Bill Marge Me Twice, Shame On Me
On or About a Monday in November, 2007, I think
Dateline: Winstons Beach Club, Ocean Beach, CA

Well, it happened again, readers, and I must be brief...hey, save the cheers and champagne for New Years Eve, fans. In any event, many of you recall the last time Waste Band guitarist Rob Harvey’s mom, Marge, paid us a visit on a Monday night. Well we shoulda known that when the ghost of Jimmy Hoffa tells us to a expect a second visit from Marge in the same decade, it’s not to grab our collective dreadlocks and take a free spin, so to speak. Let me explain.

The last thing I remember before waking up just last week in a coffee shop on the coast of the Olympic Peninsula in northwest Washington -- numbly strumming “Ripple” on one of the house acoustics -- was said Marge faking a motherly hug and giving me a Pulp Fiction head-butt from the bar stool where she was holding court and a Budweiser. It seems I hadn’t given her son Rockin' Rob sufficient print in previous editions of this report. She’d been monitoring the website (and yours truly) from her villa in Perth, Australia, you see, way down under avoiding the cooler Chicago weather (and racketeering indictments, if you ask me). So Marge pops in last month to "visit" us, catch some tunes (Matt Wallace on percussion that night, I vaguely recall) and oh yeah: crack some scrivener skull. Suffice it to say that notwithtstanding some epic solo performances by the rest of the band, Rob Harvey radiated sonic wonders that night and every night since that night, I might add, regardless of my personal attendance or honest opinion. I have no memory of anything in particular, but Marge has taught me that my memory -- and musings based thereon -- are over-rated in light of her dear son's many talents. Did I mention the grand-daughter? Please tell me I didn't forget the grand-daughter! Mama mia, somebody please mention the grand-daughter, por favore!

Yes, yes, you needn't remind me that now I re-incur the wrath of the undead (drummer Ed Fletcher) and the torment of the never-lived-to-begin-with Plastic Potentate King (keyboardist Paul Bell) -- Lantz (bass) and Fisher (guitar) mercifuly continue to ignore me at the bar, for now. But you wake up some morning and find a bloody, decapitated Stratocaster at the foot of your bed and tell me if Rob Harvey don't get top billing in your next installment!

"Leave the gun; take the PBR."

Arrivederci,

Bill

---

 

Change is “Good” if it’s Change for the “Good”

Monday, November 5, 2007

Dateline: Winston’s, Ocean Beach, California

Let’s start right smack in the middle since you’ll soon see it’s the only safe harbor remaining. No, I don’t want to discuss where I’ve been over the last 4 to 6 months or why installments have not appeared herein during that same time period or why I’m off the band’s guest list or why my fingernails are so dirty. And no, I won’t waive the psychiatrist-patient privilege to enable your twisted voyeurism. Let’s just be thankful I’m back on duty  . . .  gee, don’t every one of the voices in my head cheer at once. But I digress; what was I saying? Oh yes, the middle.

The “middle” last Monday night was the so-called intermission between Don’t Ease Me In (closing the first set) and Rats Kard (translation: Dark Star opening the second set.) "Rats Kard?" you ask. Just turn off your iPods for one moment and follow my laser pointer. Whether you were in the alley at the break, or at Rodeo’s Mexican joint down Newport, or both or neither or vice-versa, we sensed it, didn’t we? “Don’t Ease Me In”-- to the break? Who was the Waste Band kidding? From the flaming opener Walkin’ Blues to a torrid Tangled Up in Blue -- in honor of SDPOTARTO [San Diego Patrons of the Arts Roving Table One] co-founder Barrow E’s birthday -- to a bassman Lantz-led and guitarist Mark Fisher-ignited land-mine rendition of Hot to Handle, in honor of Guy Fawkes Day and recent current events, not to mention some unlicensed sonic surgery by Rockin' Rob Harvey (guitar also), we weren’t “eased” into anything; we were jammed and rocked and catapulted into the break, only to be “Rat Karded/Dark Starred” -- courtesy of the royal robotics on the imperial ivories of King Paul the Plastic-Hearted -- when we gathered for set #2. Why, you ask? How, you ask? Hey, one question at a time! Remember: I’ve been “away” for a while.

So, I re-examined the set list: St. Steven paired with China Cat/Know You Rider, but in the second set? Ramblin Rose plus Uncle John’s Band, but in the first set? C’mon! It’s first-year graduate advanced telepathic theoretical physics: yet another total transversed inversion phenomenon, or "TTIP" for the vortex veterans among us. I tried to explain it to Lauren S. of Boston, Mass., who was rocking nearby me, but the words came out of my mouth backwards! PLEH! (translation: HELP!) Then, when this same Lauren S. led me to the bar where I bought her a Kamikazee, but only afterward agreed to actually pay for it, I knew I was right! So who’s to blame? The usual suspects, of course: keyboardest Paul Bell and still-deceased drummer Ed Fletcher, the latter continuing to suffer and exploit the effects of his manslaughter at the bloodied hands Homicide Harvey. You see, Bell and Fletcher swapped places on the stage last night, so a transversed inversion was inevitable, and I think premeditated! Here’s why:

I remembered that at the bar before the show, Bell was mumbling about re-arranging rooms, urging that we at the bar do the same to our own dwellings. I had trained myself to ignore Bell’s babblings during my recent absence--especially since his lips never actually move--much to my shock and awe on that frightful evening. Never again, fans; never again.

Accordingly, until the Mannequin King’s wrath subsides, I will remain,

Yours truly,

lliB

---

 

I Almost Drank the Kool-Aid

July 16>17, 2007

Dateline: Winstons, Ocean Beach, California

I vaguely recall my last Monday-night rant back in June -- almost a month ago -- right before I took a much-needed and much-prescribed vacation (a road-trip to Canada & back). Besides the truly excellent companionship of my driving partner (Sandy), my senses were filled-nay-cup-runneth-over with quiet, majestic redwood forests; fresh-water streams; roaming and resting wildlife; surreal coastal and mountain vistas; and much more. Sure, my last report was a rant, but like every week, someone had it coming; why else would I get upset?

So, when I sauntered towards Winston’s last Monday night after this hiatus, my first thought was that I must have been oozing that infused nature-vibe, considering how the normally murderous Rockin’ Rob Harvey greeted me at the threshold with a cheery welcome, and with a sweep of the hand to the doorman, signaled my guest-list status. Then Paul “King” Bell approached, and without my even asking offered to play Scarlet Begonias (he did, to open set #2) and solicited a request from yours truly (Big River, first set), accompanied by what looked like a smile on his face -- more likely painted on during my absence -- but no matter; that was a freaking smile I didn’t blink the rest of the night. Plus he tells me the website was repaired while I was on vacation so presto: no more delayed publications! Say what? The band and the crowd had donned their breezy summer wardrobe. The disco ball was back in place, spinning, shining, hYp-NoT-iC-aL-Ly . . . . My normal seat -- a wobbling discarded ship’s cable spool stuffed in the corner behind excess band equipment and trash cans -- was gone, replaced by a front-and-center actual “table” with a clean surface and freshly-lit candle. I started to feel that pre-earthquake dizzy nausea, so I rubbed my eyes and splashed something cold on my head (or more likely against the back of my throat – the bartender said it was just the beverage I ordered), but it only got more eerie, meaning thus:

In no particular order (check the official set list if you’re manacled to “sequences” – maybe you need a road trip, my friend), we got served up spoonfuls of sonic sweetener, one after another: Candyman and Sugaree just to name two. Plus Homicide Harvey, albeit punctuating the airwaves with his own signature guitar riffs, still quite selflessly yielded the spotlight to Mark Fisher for several blazing solos – during Franklin’s Tower on the wah-pedaled mini-acoustic, and China Cat/Know You Rider on the Fender Jaguar. Paul Bell got in the seemingly good-times act with a pair of scorching keyboard solos on Jack Straw and Bertha. During Don’t Let Go, a fellow hipster spontaneously and most amicably reminisced to me about Garcia’s renditions of same. Pleasant and poignant or a plot from the pit? Lantz and Fletcher supplied flawless bottom and rhythm (nothing new – beer was still being served) but when Bell gave up his chair on the stage to Dan Clegh (sp?) of sometimes Dark Star Orchestra fame and now-times Smokelahoma notoriety (for Sugaree and Black Throated Wind), and only returned half-way into set two to sail us into the dream-state cloud-banks of Eyes of the World, well that's when I prayed for my cell-phone to ring to get me outta there and thankfully it did so I fled.

Don’t misunderstand me, dear readers: the patrons, the staff, the musicians, the sidewalk irregulars, all was well with the Winstons world that night. All was too well, much too well, dear readers. I’m not paid to echo the mantra drivel of the corporate cabaret cabal! Where’s my corner hovel? Where’re my flickering and failing black lights? Where’s the blood-curdling laughs from the alley as my requests are shot down like always? And somebody please torch that smile off Bell’s face!

Bill’s Corner 

 

When Bell's Away, the Mice Still Play

 

Monday, April 16, 2007

Dateline: Winstons Beach Club, Ocean Beach, California

 

We here at Electricwasteband-dot-com Deadquarters (that's a play on the word headquarters for you first-timers), which said dot-com is now a wholly-owned subsidiary of SDPOTARTO, LLP (San Diego Patrons Of The Arts Roving Table One, LLP) -- copyright 2007/all rights reserved/please direct all questions and comments to our attorney, Robert Harvey, Esq., J.D. (juris doctor), G.B.B. (great blankergy, blankers!) . . . so what was my point? I'm sorry: my mind drifts off whenever I contemplate Natalya, my Ukrainian international lawyer, and yes, the Beatles were right: she do really knock me out. But I digress, and the explanation for said digression follows.

 

But for now, back to the show's highlights: Now that the band is under new management (see above), bassmaniac Dr. Drew Lantz was given the reins in both sets, and he displayed his signature arsonist's verve on Hard to Handle and Brown Eyed Woman. Thanks, Doc! Those meds cured many in the house! Then, for the more cosmologically-oriented among us, six-shooter-six-strings astronaut (may I say cosmonaut if Natalya's reading this?) a.k.a. Mark Fisher made us all question the fundamental assumptions of general and special relativity with his rendition of Little Wing on the mini-acoustic. (Dear God: please tell Jimi it was a true and worthy homage, and tell him we?ll see him in the next world, and don't be late!) Fletcher-on-Sticks-plus-Harvey-on-Strat did their best to give the hippies a healthy scare with a Drums>Space amusement park thrill-ride. And let me personally thank our new owners for Scarlet Begonias>

Pockey Way

at the top end of set two: thanks, SDPOTARTO, LLP! Long may you reign! Honorable mention is due to Strat-o-master & His Honor Rob Harvey on a rare jewel, Merle's Tune . . .ok, it was mentioned, your honor. Now can you please give us a break on your attorney's fees?

 Finally, we here on the staff hope y'all noticed and thanked Mr. King for sitting in on keyboards as the other King (Mannequin) Paul Bell was away on business or pleasure or another parole violation or possibly back to the Mattel factory to get some new fingers. Rumor has it we'll see another such King-swap on Monday April 23d as well. But that's not just two weeks without Bell on stage, but two weeks without him on our backs back here in the sweatshop! That's no small blessing if you've ever worked for a boss who has a four-pound hardened glob of industrial low-grade plastic where a heart would normally be. But the music of the Dead seems to overcome this handicap whenever Bell's on stage, so just be thankful he's not your full-time supervisor!

 Dosvedonya and pass the lasagna!

 Bill

 

---

 

Change is Good if it's Change for the Good

Monday, April 9, 2007

Dateline: Winston's. Ocean Beach, CA

Has anyone besides me (and besides the six or eight voices in my head) checked the Electric Waste Band website lately? www.electricwasteband.com  "Last updated March 7, 2007"? "So what" you say ["you" meaning the sole earthly reader of Bill's Corner]. Well, April 9's show marked 30 days since the last update, so SDPOTARTO, LLP [San Diego Patrons of the Arts Roving Table One, Limited Liquorfunds Partnership] hired insider and EWB guitar phenom Rockin' Rob Harvey, Esquire, to put the EWB website in default and seek an interim order transferring title to said LLP. Harvey is my kind of lawyer: heartless, soul-less, no loyalty, betray-for-a-fee. He's like the little reptile brother my parents never hatched.

So technically, April 9's show was the sole property [all rights reserved/any rebroadcast strictly prohibited] of SDPOTARTO, LLP, and we acted like it, brothers and sisters. We telepathically and overtly dictated [not "requested"] every song played that night, from Reuben and Cherise to open the show to everything else. Remember the smoking slide acoustic guitar by Mark Fisher on Walking Blues? Yup, you can thank the new ownership for that, too, specifically SDPOTARTO's co-founder, Mr. Barrow E. Cassidy, Bertha & Tangled Up in Blue? Yours truly made those happen, hyper dimensionally of course (I wouldn't waste my time asking the deposed & former Mannequin King/now keyboard indentured servant, Paul Bell.) Bassist Lance and drummer Fletcher seem content with their owners so long as the beer kept comin'. Wrapping up this report, honorable mention goes out to SDPOTARTO's northern chapter rep., Mr. Dennis D., who drove all the way from Santa Rosa with his family of ten after many months drooling over the reports of Monday night at Winstons, and he was not disappointed, per his publicist. Dennis personally caused China Cat/Know You Rider to open set #2, albeit our back-stabbing lawyer Harvey was in on that one, to be honest.

I look forward to tonight when I instruct the doorman to put Paul Bell on the guest list, at least for this week.

Bill

---

This One?s for Jennifer

Monday, March 5, 2007

Dateline: Ocean Beach, California

 

Jennifer was there. Need I say more? - - - - apparently, the answer is ?yes? if I expect to be paid this week, even in the currency of the ?mannequin-bucks? which are honored only on other planets where the City buses do not venture yet. But on the bright side, it just goes to show how creeping capitalism with its brutal workplace goon-bosses, plantation psyche and negative-balance employee automatic payroll deposit accounts has infected the formerly establishment-free zone we all knew as OB, but I digress. We were talking about Jennifer?s guest appearance this recent Monday night.

Never mind that the guest list last Monday included the likes of Ace, Julian, Bob Caffeter -- an esteemed albeit rarely-appearing member of SDPOTARTO  (?San Diego Patrons Of The Arts, Roving Table One?), Cheerful Chad, Solomon the Great, the Incense-Hummel-Angel-Whose-Name-I-Decline-To-Learn-Nor-Will-I-Ever-Utter-If-Learned-For-Fear-She?d-Shatter-Like-Imported-Porcelain [?IAWNIDTLNWIEUILFFSSLIP?], Dave Carrano of Wise Monkey, an unidentified female who was awarded the title ?Cloning: Good? - and yours truly. It was Jennifer who joined us for one night only all the way from freakin? Connecticut or Nova Scotia or Latvia or somewhere east of Interstate 5. For those of you who only vicariously enter these episodes via this column, Jennifer was a wistful working waitress at Winston?s way back when (whew!) Like then, she still stands at least fifty (50) feet tall (without heels), and yet it never frightened anyone nor brought out the National Guard. Jennifer had a unique penchant for finding ways to party with the Monday night patrons -- with or without the cocktail serving tray in hand -- that truly defied everything that is sacred about wages and tips and the whole labor-remuneration dynamic. Many of us recall giving Jen our money and not really giving much of a damn if she ever came back with drinks or refunds until one day she suddenly and inexplicably fled the jurisdiction.

And the place rocked in her honor. I can prove it. I took photographs this time. With my own camera. No, I won?t be reimbursed for the film or the developing costs. Yes, you can sign my ?EWB Website-Management-Screws-Labor? petition next Monday night, but again, I digress. The Happy-To-See-Jen Waste Band launched set one with what else: Here Comes Sunshine, closed set two with an after-hours encore of Shakedown Street at Jen?s personal request, and filled the in-between with many, many personal ?Days-of-Jen?-honoring favorites, including but not limited to Run for the Roses, Foolish Heart, The Loser, West LA Fadeaway, Tangled Up in Blue, just read the official set list on the website?s homepage. To quote the eclectic and politically correct Rockin? Rob Harvey, it was ?great blankergy, blankers!? (not the formerly divisive ?great energy, rockers.?) Good old Harv: offending no one; excluding no one; affirming everyone. Gosh, if only they treated their website staff like they treat their patrons. Gosh, Natalya, if only I could learn Russian merely by listening to radio station ?KGB.?

Sorry. I?m sorry. That?s three disgruntled employee slips. This one?s supposed to be for Jen, a former member of the local Winstons/Waste Band rank-and-file, who having escaped the whip and chains of the MNM ("Monday Night Master"), returned to make merry with us, and yet to embolden those of us who, though our wrists be still tethered to the oars, our ankles shackled to the galley?s floor, and pulling our paddles in total non-unison [thanks to Fletcher?s all-over-the-board drum solos], we say: thanks Jen, and please come back soon.

---

Happy Anniversary EWB @ Winstons: BUDMO!

Monday, Feb. 26, 2007

Dateline: Winston’s, Ocean Beach, CA

This will be a brief report [I heard that “thank God” rim-shot, Fletcher - not funny] because the tears well up as I consider what I’m about to say. All of you/some of you/OK, possibly one of you "Bill’s Corner" readers lovingly noticed my absence over the last several weeks (car troubles followed by flu-like symptoms, thanks for asking.) But the last thing I expected was the milk of human kindness flowing freely from that soul-less plastic container, the Tupperware Tyrant himself, keyboard phenom Paul Bell. The night my car was in the shop, Bell offered to drop me on any street corner in Pacific Beach at 2:00 a.m. (after the buses stopped running) with a wave of that pulse-less hand and a cheery “good luck” – only 23 miles shy of my 25-mile trip home to Rancho Bernardo! Hold on -- there’s more! Even Rockin’ Rob Harvey got into the spirit as he ever-so-gently “counseled” me [slashing gesture across the throat] about my subsequent unexcused bronchial absence (by definition, the Mannequin Nation never gets “sick” you see). Then on my triumphant return this last Monday night, drummer Ed Fletcher, co-guitarist Mark Fisher and bassist Dr. Drew Lantz all three pretended like they recognized me and almost greeted me by name! It was like Saint Valentine, the Good Samaritan and Destiny’s Child had all joined the Heart of Gold Band, man! Well, after all the above, just imagine how much (hint: plenty) my spirits were boosted for the FYOWBMAWMLFC [“Fifteen Years Of Waste Band Monday’s At Winstons Month Long February Celebration”] that had commenced in earnest last month. (PS: next week we’ll decode the secret meaning behind the letters that spell out “BARAKOBAMA”.)

But remember that (1) from the womb, we pre-named today’s baby “Brevity,” so (2) time will not permit a naturally-birthed report, thus we must (3) resort to the expedited C-section that follows, and yet: (4) necessity is still the mother invention. Yes, the preceding sentence was a somewhat rare form of the now-infamous quadrangular maternal metaphor (“QMM”) but not by accident (see below*); here’s what I mean: while both music sets in their entireties this past Monday night are worthy of a full recounting (see the official set lists on this website’s home-page), remember: I’m not paid to mutter, but rather, to “muse,” which normally involves this reporter’s interpretation and creativity, except on nights like last Monday night when *quadrangular diagonal intersection rules the roost. Some of you were already nodding your heads on this one. For the uninitiated remainder of you, observe: set one opened with Mississippi Half-Step [upper left-hand corner] and set two closed with The Golden Road [lower right-hand corner] – two clear allusions to travel. That’s the first diagonal. The intersecting diagonal was comprised of set one’s closer Bertha [lower left-hand corner] and set two’s opener Jack Straw [upper right-hand corner] – two clear allusions to troubled souls. These diagonals, accordingly, intersect, so that “X” literally marks the spot. What appeared at said spot? What else: guest guitarist Jose Cerrano at the Dead-center of both sets.

Of course, with these kinds of low-algorithm, pattern-driven arrangements, my job could be outsourced tomorrow to Haiti, Bangladesh, or even Kearny Mesa. Quite naturally, therefore, I recently retained my new Ukrainain lawyer, Ms. Natalya Vilyavina, who specializes in international commercial and labor law. And I hereby warn my employer: Ms. Vilyavina is as brilliant as she is mysterious, so I would not want to be you standing in the witness dock at the World Court in the Hague. But before we resort to the adversary system, in honor of the 15 year anniversary, I now shout the Ukrainians' l’chaim: “Budmo!” – translation: “to life!” Or possibly “see you in court” – I’ll ask Natalya next time I see her.

Bill

---

 

Mind Verses Medicine

Monday, January 22, 2007

Dateline: Winstons, Ocean Beach, CA

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

During this week’s post-show interview with the players (the musicians), Waste Band co-guitarist “Rockin’ Rob” Robert Harvey shared [actually, now I have to pay him for these interviews – frickin’ lawyers!] his observations about Monday’s particularly energized evening: “a Rippin, Roarin Rockfest!” Rob Remarked. And Rob was Right, Really Right. However, during the show itself, Rob Rammed down his Rockstar Refreshments, Robustly Ranting his Regular “Right on, Rockers!” & opened set one with a Rousing Rendition of Run for the Roses. . . OK, med school students, that should be enough: name that illness . . . exactly: MDAS -“Musicians’ Diminishing Alphabet Syndrome.” And get this: a fancy club like Winstons doesn’t have a dictionary on site!

Hip to Harvey’s Horror, bass guitar Hero Dr. “Drew” Lantz  (“DREW” is short for “DR. E[lectric] W[aste]”) Hastily Hurled Himself Headfirst into the Hysteria, Hijacked Harv’s Hapless Habit & Hashed out Hard to Handle as the next Hit, and Hallelujah: Harv was Healed. Oh sure, there were brief relapses throughout the night – like  Row Jimmy,  Reggae Woman and Know You Rider -- but not near as bad as might otherwise have been, really. The good news: the side effects of the fix were all positive; that rockfest really ripped and roared! [Oh crap: now I hafta pay twice for that line.] But from the Fisher/Harvey guitar duel in Minglewood Blues that brought sonic hallucinations of Johnny Winter and Rick Derringer, all the way to scoring a touchdown on the other side of the universe with a soul-searing Terrapin Station [this reporter witnessed several in attendance go transcendent at this point], well if this is a disease then I don’t want the cure! Still, Dr. Lantz – knowing how contagious this bug can be – closely monitored the situation all evening with some truly smoking under-rowing and extra-fancy icing on that defibrillator disguised as a bass guitar. So I asked Drew (telepathically, of course) to explain to me how this show got to be so over the top. “Simple” said Drew’s voice inside my head; “here’s the formula:”

E = WB5 + R

       M x 3(r)t /R

 Was it the Frozen Chicken or the Egg?
Monday Night, Jan. 8, 2007
Dateline: Winstons, Ocean Beach CA
 
Ok, everyone: you’ve had the entire Christmas-and-New-Years break to study for the final. And yes, there will be 7-dimensional math questions. And no, time traveling will not be permitted before, during or after the exam – what: do you think I was born tomorrow? Now adjust your goggles to 20-degrees past cobalt on the non-visible spectrum and let’s begin:
Multiple Choice: co-guitarist Mark Fisher’s unexplained absence last Monday night was a result of
(a) a combination of Fisher’s refusal to wear socks with his Birkenstocks and the meat-locker  temperature inside Winstons at the start of the show;
(b) drummer Ed Fletcher’s explanation that “hey, musicians are flakes”
(c) the band had already planned to play (and did play) “He’s Gone” in the second set
(d) all of the above.
True or True: speaking of the winter climate inside and outside that night, the Waste Band opened the show with a fire-bomb presentation of “Greatest Story Ever Told” so they could start the evening by shouting that tune’s lyric “I asked him to come on in out of the COLD” thus packing the club and increasing bar sales.
True or Maybe True: in honor of this reporter’s newly-grown holiday facial hair, the Waste Band dutifully dropped a rousing rendition of “Touch of Grey” to conclude the first set.
Fill In the Blank: fill in the following blanks for solo guitarist Rockin’ Rob Harvey’s Monday night quote but WITHOUT using the words “energy” or “rockers.” OK, here’s the quote: “Great [blank-ergy] tonight, [blankers]!”
True or 5th Amendment:  in the alley during the intermission, Mannequin King and Waste Band keyboard phenom Paul Bell entered into a conspiracy with this reporter to initiate a massive national rebellion in the military and civilian ranks, but said he had to ask permission first from the new “little woman” in his life [hint: she’s 8 or 9 inches tall, her arms and legs are adjustable, and she recently broke up with “Ken” if that helps you guess.]
Hallucination, Delusion or  Imagination: the band opened the second set with this reporter’s current favorite “Scarlet Begonias” and -- still battling the Arctic weather --immediately followed with “Fire of the Mountain.”
True or Blue: the Waste Band closed the show with “Stella Blue” followed by “Viola Lee Blue” because everyone in the club was still covered in the frozen blue smoke they acquired from the alley during the break between sets.
Extra Credit Essay: write an essay that explains the importance of the phenomena whereby when this reporter was on vacation for recent successive Monday nights (Dec. 25, 2006 and Jan 1, 2007 ), there was no Waste Band gig at Winstons. Double extra credit if your explanation includes monetary terms such as “lifetime guest list” “free drinks” or “more free drinks.” Please note: a correct answer on the extra credit essay question counts for 100% of your final grade.  – Bill’s Corner.

Don’t Mess With Marge