Old enough to repaint, but young enough to sell

Yes, I know the correct lyric is "repay", but that doesn't make a lick of sense. The above is the way I always heard it since the record first came out, which I totally understood: old enough that you could arguably use a fresh coat of paint, but still young enough that people are interested in what you have to offer. That's 60-something Neil Young in a nutshell. Hey, he's still young enough to sell us two unbelievably expensive tickets to see his solo show at Oakland's Fox Theater on July 12.

Do I regret it? Naaaahhh. I never saw Neil Young before, though I've liked his records since I was a tad. In between, he's had his ups and downs, the worst of which may have been his bizarre brain fart of outspoken Republicanism in the 80s (which I'll forgive; a great many "classic-rock" artists became unbelievably useless in the post-punk years, but a lot of them got over it later in fine style, Neil included).

But the first decade of the 21st century has been an interesting one for Young. The fascinating biography Shakey by Jimmy McDonough paints a portrait of a passive-aggressive guy who's burnt many of his bridges, lost his essential producer/collaborator David Briggs, and didn't look likely to contribute anything new and important in the future. What happens after the book comes out? Neil Young releases Greendale, a sweet, eccentric, moving, heartfelt multimedia piece (album, movie, performance, and soon-to-be comic book) that revived the socially conscious (especially when it comes to the environment) side of his art. And who's that playing Grandpa in the movie? None other than Ben Keith, the wonderful pedal steel guitarist who McDonough portrayed as having been so let down by Neil that he would never work with him again. Goes to show that life is a process, and while we may be caught up in our grievances in any given moment, tomorrow may bring new opportunities, new revelations, and new priorities.

Later in the decade, Neil puts out a very blunt album of protest songs called Living With War, coerces Crosby, Stills, and Nash into a tour where they are required to delve into their most confrontational anti-war songs and bring them to venues that aren't ready to greet them with warm nostalgia, and makes a film about the whole thing. Clearly, old age has brought out the fire in this guy, and resting on his laurels is the last thing on his mind. I haven't heard the much-maligned album Fork In The Road, which was apparently a whole album about how we need to switch to electric cars, but I guarantee that, like everything this guy does, there have to be at least two songs that are as good as his intentions. Because that's how Neil Young rolls.

This year, it's all about the "Twisted Road" tour: solo shows, mostly electric, lots of new songs. Fans have been moaning that he's been using the same set list every night, to which I say, WHO ON EARTH can afford to go to more than one, maybe two, of these gigs? If it's got to be this expensive, I appreciate that he's thought very hard about his program and what he wants to put across, and he's not just winging it.

Bert Jansch, a legend in his own right, opened the show. Sensuous acoustic guitar, purring vocals, thick accent I could barely understand, the music went down like a hot toddy. I would have liked it if people had talked less during his set. He was personable and enthusiastic, and his music was sublime.

Neil Young got down to business, starting with some oldies like "My My, Hey Hey" and (as quoted up above) "Tell Me Why". He tended to favor songs from the early 70s, especially from After The Gold Rush, but the real point of the show seemed to be the eight unrecorded (I'd say "new", but some of them apparently go back a while) songs. Every single one of these was striking.

I noticed the big difference between old Neil Young songs and new ones; in the 60s and 70s, his lyrics were primal, subconscious and random, like mad non sequitur fever dreams that evoked strange emotions but never added up to anything logical. The songs were wide-eyed, delirious, enigmatic, sometimes downright insane. Can you tell me what is going on in "Down By The River"? Do you even want to know?

The new songs are nothing of the sort. They are as strikingly direct as the old ones are strikingly mysterious. Neil Young is taking you aside, confiding in you, cracking jokes, and telling you exactly what's on his mind. And he's got a lot of interesting things to say, whether he's reflecting on a deceased friend, the themes of his own writing over the years and what more can be said about "Love And War", or a very straightforward cataloging of his drug experiences and how they made sense at the time and how he moved on. Once a poet, now a storyteller. If he doesn't change his fickle mind and goes ahead and records this batch of great new songs, this could be the best new Neil Young album in quite a while.

You have to acknowledge this guy for the stubborn bastard he is. He will not budge an inch from where he thinks his muse is leading him at any given moment. At the same time, he will change direction on a dime and leave everyone around him high and dry if his intuition tells him that's what he must do. I'm sure it makes him hard to work with, but if you read between the lines in Shakey, what makes this artist tick is so obvious even his biographer misses it: not only is Neil Young an intense, curious, creative person, but he is also an epileptic. When he was younger, playing with Buffalo Springfield and CSNY, he was plagued with horrible seizures, often while he was onstage. It makes sense that rather than going the way of Ian Curtis, he decided long ago when he had achieved a certain level of success that he was not going to subject his nervous system to any stress by doing anything other than what is fulfilling him at this exact moment. This is how he functions. The rest of us either like what he's doing or we don't, but we don't have a say in what that is. We can only choose whether or not we want to witness his process. He's certainly done his part by keeping things interesting most of the time. Long may he run.

R.I.P. Sugar Minott

In the early 80s, my late girlfriend Maati started working with Karen Lippmann, who did a radio show on KALX in Berkeley under the nom de dub of Jah Light, to promote local reggae shows at The Stone on Broadway. The first one was a stop on a tour that combined the talents of the legendary veteran reggae organist Jackie Mittoo with an up-and-coming roots/lover's rock artist named Sugar Minott. At the time, I was playing a lot with my roommate Alan Korn under the tentative band name PDR, which eventually evolved into X-tal. At this time, though, we are talking about a 2-track reel-to-reel and two guys who can't find a drummer but have a few ideas. Nothing special.

It so happens that Alan was a BIG fan of Sugar, especially his Lover's Rock showcase album, whose title song was pretty incredible, a gluey groove featuring a huge, warm blaring trumpet and Sugar's sweet, heartfelt croon. Somehow, due to Maati's instigation, Alan ended up driving Sugar and Jackie around San Francisco in his VW bug. He dared to play the visiting musicians a cassette of one of our early demos, a dub-flavored song I wrote about the Mission District called "Party In The Street" which you have never heard because...well, actually, it wasn't all that great, to tell the truth. BUT we had done a good recording with melodica and percussion overdubs. Apparently, Jackie listened and commented, "This sounds like the Clash!" A short while later, he added, "No! Better than the Clash!" which was certainly encouraging at the time.

Later, Maati gave the guys a ride in our trashed Plymouth Valiant station wagon, an oil and brake fluid-leaking monstrosity which we had just bought from Karen Jah Light for $100. Sugar and Jackie couldn't help making comparisons: "Didn't like that other cyaar. Now, THIS a good cyaar, mon!"

Anyhow, it was an incredible show all those years ago. Sugar went on to put out an intimidatingly large catalog of records, including the obscure but magnificent "Buy Off The Bar", (a real favorite in our Rough Trade days), "Four Wheel Wheelie", and the rootsy "Wicked A Go Feel It". I remember him as a nice, down-to-earth, sincere guy with a golden voice. Unlike some of his contemporaries like Gregory Isaacs, he wasn't particularly cool, suave, or sexy, just a regular dude from Trenchtown who sang like a dream.

Maati and Jackie left this plane years ago, and Sugar just followed in their footsteps this weekend. Thanks for the memories.

Painting The Devil's Office

You really need to acquaint yourselves with the brilliance of Rob K. Here is another song we shot at An Undisclosed Location from his in-progress song cycle about purgatory.

The introductory rap is priceless. "Life hands you lemons so you...commit a terrorist act." Yeah, this is how a LOT of people are feeling right now, is it not? This is an awesome song about the drudgery of labor and the inequalities of power. Again, Rob is ably supported by Mary and Debbie of the Contractions, along with his longtime crony, Mark Abramson. Rob is probably best known as the frontman of New York City's Workdogs, but his recent work isn't getting as much attention as it ought to. Here's a taste.

Now if he can just finish that new album. (Which may or may not include a sample from the Experimental Bunnies, by the way...)

Fool's Gold at the Mezzanine

Fool's Gold are a unique band from Los Angeles who combine many diverse strains of (mostly) African music, from the desert blues of Tinariwen to traces of Zimbabwean Chimurenga or Ethiopian sounds, with lyrics in various languages, primarily Hebrew. A real American band.

We shot this at the Mezzanine in San Francisco on May 26, 2009 when Fool's Gold opened for Sila & The Afro-Funk Experience, along with Diego's Umbrella. Enjoy.

Ear Candle Radio's Top 20: June 2010

Another month, another top 20. Another rare bootlegged outtake from the Stones' psychedelic period tops the chart; this time it's a mad Moroccan-Indian jam that shows they kept going long after the final edit that appears on Their Satanic Majesties Request. One of the interesting things about these session tapes is how noticeably in charge Keith Richards actually was during this project. No matter how trippy and exotic the results end up, each song is built on some snarly, droney, syncopated Keith riff, every bit as much as the songs on Exile On Main Street. Exhaustive, revelatory, and tedious by turns, The Satanic Sessions is an intriguing fly-on-the-wall document and a correction of revisionist rock history.

One of the Ramones' most exhilarating cover versions; drones, echoes, and affirmations from Yoko Ono; an eerie, mysterious Fall track from the 80s; David Bowie's best song from the 90s (just in time for the 4th of July!); an underrated, mellotron-flavored Kinks classic for cat lovers; Neo's favorite cover of "Hallelujah" (of course, he's a little biased since these are his boys!); the Minutemen's incomparable opening shot from their masterpiece Double Nickels On The Dime; a beautifully catchy and scathing a capella cover of a 19th century protest against the garment industry courtesy of Chumbawamba; expansive, spiritual, psychedelic jazz from Alice Coltrane and Pharaoh Sanders; an obscure, evocative grumble from Vivian Stanshall's rare solo album...

(Pausing to catch breath)

...mathematical bliss from the great composer Steve Reich; a bouncy pop song from Trader Horne (short-lived group featuring ex-members of Fairport Convention and Them); a lecture on economics and basic human needs from Fela Kuti; compulsive punk-soul from Detroit's mighty Dirtbombs; a multilingual flamenco-tango-chanson thing from SF's Rupa & The April Fishes (title means "I Am A Clown"); an exquisite folky number from Portland's Golden Bears (two ex-members of late great SF band the Quails...welcome back, Juliana and Seth!); a great song-poem bemoaning the state of human absurdity, which has only gotten more absurd since this recording was done some 40-odd years ago; Julie London's slow, seductive take on a 60s bubblegum hit; and finally, a good sarcastic pre-Lawrence vs. Texas protest song about the audacity of a state declaring themselves to be a place for lovers at the same time their legislature is taking way too much interest in what goes on in their citizens' bedrooms. (Presumably Virginia is a little bit safer for lovers these days...maybe.)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAND, that's the charts for this month! Keep on rockin' in the sort-of-free world!

1. The Rolling Stones - Gomper Part One (Takes 2 - 6) - The Satanic Sessions Vol 2
2. The Ramones - Do You Wanna Dance? - Rocket To Russia
3. Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band - Calling - Between My Head And The Sky
4. The Fall - Gross Chapel -- British Grenadiers - Bend Sinister
5. David Bowie - I'm Afraid Of Americans - Earthling
6. The Kinks - Phenomenal Cat - The Village Green Preservation Society
7. Conspiracy of Beards - Hallelujah - Demo CD
8. Minutemen - Anxious Mo-Fo - Double Nickels on the Dime
9. Chumbawamba - Poverty Knock - English Rebel Songs 1381-1984
10. Alice Coltrane - Isis And Osiris [Live] - Journey in Satchidananda
11. Vivian Stanshall - Strange Tongues - Men Opening Umbrellas Ahead
12. Steve Reich - Music For Mallet Instruments, Voices And Organ - Music for Mallet Instruments
13. Trader Horne - Better Than Today - Morning Way
14. Fela Kuti - Original Suffer Head - Original Suffer Head/I.T.T.
15. The Dirtbombs - The Thing - Ultraglide In Black
16. Rupa & The April Fishes - Soy Payaso - Este Mundo
17. The Golden Bears - You and All the Other Humans Like You - Wall to Wall
18. Norm Burns & Singers - Human Breakdown Of Absurdity - The American Song-poem Anthology: Do You Know The Difference Between Big Wood And Brush
19. Julie London - Yummy, Yummy, Yummy - Yummy, Yummy, Yummy
20. Black Angel's Death Song - Virginia Is For Lovers - Due Ragazze

Winston Tong and LX Rudis

Former Tuxedo Moon collaborator, performance artist and San Francisco character Winston Tong is seen here at the Vortex on Sept. 11, 2008, accompanied by LX Rudis, a founding member of local synth-punk legends the Units, who went on to front Modmach, a band J Neo Marvin insists were even better even if they are less celebrated at the moment. Our camera caught these two weaving their spell. They need to do this more often.

What Doghouse Reilly said

Yet another example of how our most astute commentators write their commentaries on blogs for free, while our paid press pundits type pablum that reads like hastily-written book reports by fifth graders with slightly larger vocabularies:

Well, y'know, maybe you Official Keepers of The Memory of 9/11 could try to recall that original rationale of the thing was to get bin-Laden and his three-dozen #2 men. And that Your Boy in the White House had seven years and unlimited black budgets to catch him, and failed. (I'm sorry. I know The Memory of 9/11 isn't suppose to evoke anything unpleasant.) In theory, anyway, if The Taliban had just handed over al-Qaeda before sundown, the way we demanded, we wouldn't have given a shit about how they treated their women. Or no more than we give about how our corporations and health care systems treat ours.

One more nail on the head:

I don't particularly care for the Taliban. In fact, I was making my objections known back when they were just subjugating women and destroying world heritage sites, the sort of shit you couldn't care less about...I just don't imagine--since I pretty much see it close up everyday--that the United States has the fucking answers, the capability of finding the answers, the political will to put those answers in place over the objections of Mitch McConnell or Glenn Beck, nor the ability to do so even if it did. And I think the record going back sixty years now is pretty clearly on my side.

Sometimes the most dangerous words in the English language are "We have to do something!" Well, we did something. How's that working for us now?

Why things are the way they are

As long as these guys and people like them are considered to be acceptable on the spectrum of mainstream America:



and this guy is considered to be part of the lunatic fringe:



America will never solve its problems. Period.

Big Sky feels sad when he sees the children scream and cry

About ten years ago, there was news of a reunion of the original lineup of the Kinks. Ray Davies, Dave Davies, Pete Quaife and Mick Avory would be playing some shows and recording a new album. Now, knowing how these reunions go, who knows how it might have turned out? All the same, how sad that right after the announcement, first Dave had his stroke, and now, Pete Quaife, who played bass during the Kinks' finest years, has passed on. Fate has never been good to the Kinks (why, even now, has no documentary been made worthy of the subject, unlike the Beatles, Who, Rolling Stones, Donovan, or so many other original "British Invasion" icons?), and the latest sad news is no exception.

A visibly moved Ray Davies was just captured at the Glastonbury Festival dedicating "Waterloo Sunset" and "Days" to his fallen former comrade, the guy who always played the mediator in a rabidly conflict-habituated but brilliant band until he quit because he was sick of the fighting. If anybody could have brought the other three together again, it would have been him.



We dedicate the Content Providers' cover of "Big Sky" (a song originally from his favorite Kinks album, The Village Green Preservation Society) to Mr. Quaife. Thank you for the bass lines (which were really quite nice and worthy of a little extra notice...time to pull those songs out again).

Scripture of the year

Thank you for your clarity, Fred Clark:

But knowing their hypocrisy, he said unto them, "Why are you putting me to the test? Bring me a dime and let me see it."

And they brought one. Then he said to them, "Whose head is this -- FDR's or Herbert Hoover's?"

They answered, "Roosevelt's."

And he said unto them, "Right. So shut up. Have you morons already forgotten the 20th Century? When the choice is between imitating what worked and what really, really didn't work, why are you pretending it's terribly complicated?"

And after that, no one dared to ask him any question.

New Deal Jesus kicks ass!

Search For The Sun

Found this while cleaning up old entries on defunct old blogs. It's a passage from the temporarily aborted punk rock memoir I was working on for a while and will one day resume work on. (Pauses, cocks ear to listen for clamor of eager readers begging for more...crickets chirping, tumbleweeds rolling past the window...OK, I'll check back later) Anyhow, this is the tale of how my late partner Maati Lyon ended up producing a classic anarcho-thrash album in 1983. Still a good story, worth rescuing from the far corners of the internet.

Crucifix were a group of young kids from the East Bay who had put out a couple of EPs on their own and appeared on the first Maximum Rock & Roll compilation. I'd seen them once at the On Broadway and heard some of their recordings, but they sounded like a big sloppy blur to me. Of all people, they had been chosen to be the first US release on the Crass-run Corpus Christi label. Crass had been looking for a band from the Bay Area that fit in with what they were doing.

"Why them and not, say, Social Unrest?" I asked.

Maati tossed her head dismissively. "Social Unrest are egomaniacs and they want too much money. Crucifix already have a rapport with Crass. They have the right kind of attitude." Her face suddenly lit up. "John Loder wants me to produce the album!"

"Wow." All I could think of was how cool it would be to see her name on an album cover. "You think you can get a good recording out of them?"

"You have to see them again. Wait till you hear the newest songs. And they're great people! They're just young boys, full of energy, but…really honest and respectful. Sothira was a refugee from Cambodia, did you know?"

"Really? So he actually knows a thing or two about war then, huh?"

"Exactly. He's not just another white suburban kid trying to look tough!" We were both getting fed up with the standard hardcore image: four muscular Caucasian boys barking orders at the world over a fast beat. It got monotonous very quickly.

"Well, if you say they're great, they probably are. I've always trusted your judgement."

"This is what I'm doing this for. You remember how we felt three years ago? First Reagan gets elected, then they shoot John Lennon a month later. It's not a coincidence."

"I certainly never thought so."

"Everything my generation worked for is being destroyed by these fuckers. I thought I was going to see something better than this in my thirties."

"Me too!" (I was 26 at the time.)

"And sure, it's great to have all these English people making a statement, but"…she flicked her wrist, indicating all the stacks of promos in the room. "Finally, here are some American kids. And they really rock. Maybe they can get across to the teenagers in this country now."

"They're that good, really?"

"Go see 'em again, Neo."

The hot, humid, smoke-filled interior of the Valencia Tool and Die was charged with energy. I was close to the stage, fending off the spiral of moshing kids behind me. I hardly noticed; I was so absorbed in the band. Sothira's raspy growl made it impossible to catch every word. (Comprehensibility was a common problem in thrashy punk bands with a message---some would attempt to remedy the situation by passing out lyric sheets at shows; others like Dave Dictor of MDC would actually recite a whole song as a spoken word piece and then the band would jump in and bash it out. Most just expected you to read their interviews, buy their records, and pay attention to what they had to say between songs. It was one of the unspoken punk rules: "Figure it out for yourself!") But certain phrases would pop out that made it clear where Crucifix were coming from: "These men! Bought by prejudice!" "Indochina! Lost forever!" "Youth! Violence! Youth! Don't! Fight!"

And the band was tight. Not quite stop-on-a-dime Minor Threat tight, but a unified roar that was fast and massive at the same time. Matt Borruso was an unbelievable bass player: strong and steady as a tree come to life, throwing out deep, monstrous riffs that grabbed you and pulled you into the current.

"This is our last song!" Sothira announced breathlessly. "It's called 'Stop Torture'!" The band crashed right in, faster and harder than ever, like "Ace Of Spades" played at triple speed, while Sothira ranted passionately, struggling to fit the syllables into the song. Suddenly they lurched into a slow, grinding Black Sabbath-like riff while Sothira railed, "US government-backed butchers! In the guise of friendly advisors! The friendly neighbor with a bloody trade!" then they returned to the fast verses and skidded off to a halt with one last shout of the title phrase. I was stunned and elated. Somebody finally got to the point and reduced the whole critique to a simple, perfect statement. Stop torture. Fuckin'-A. This is what rock and roll is supposed to do. Maati was right, as usual.

Maati and the band got to work, shopping around town for a studio and an engineer that could bring out the full force of their music. Crucifix's goal was to combine the speed and intensity of Discharge with the overwhelming, undeniable momentum of Motorhead. The winning candidate was a veteran English musician and recording wizard named Peter Miller, who had floated around the periphery of the music scene since the early '60s and had a passion for vintage rock & roll and vintage equipment. His own most recent self-released album was titled Pre-CBS, in honor of the guitars built by Fender before Leo Fender sold his company to CBS. A rock & roll "moldy fig" enamored with the technical minutiae of the past might have seemed an odd match for such a band, but Maati saw Peter as the perfect set of ears to see the project through.


The phone rang at Landers St. and I answered.

"Neo?" a familiar breathy female voice cooed.

"Maati! I haven't heard from you in a week! How are the sessions going?"

"I got so much to tell you. Why don't you come over right now? And bring a bottle of wine."

"Sounds good to me."

I arrived with a bottle of decent Valpolicella from around the corner and knocked.

"It's open." I entered to the sound of hyperfast instrumental thrash punk. "These are some basic tracks. That's all I've been able to bring home so far."

"It sounds even faster than they play live. How on earth is Sothira going to keep up with that?"

"Poor Sothira. He's a nervous wreck. He was supposed to finish the lyrics and he hasn't been able to. The others are getting really impatient, which obviously isn't helping."

"I didn't know there were songs that aren't finished. They seemed to have plenty of material when I saw them."

"Yeah, but they're not happy with all the songs. Now that Crass are involved…you know. Suddenly they're having more expectations put on them. But I think it'll be OK. I had them take a break and I took Sothira out for a walk. He needed some air. So I say to him, 'Look, you came here as a child from Cambodia. Your family escaped the Khmer Rouge and you lived here as refugees. But you haven't written about any of that yet. You have all these songs about war and prejudice and they're great, but maybe what's missing is your own story. All the people who come see your band don't have any idea of the things you've gone through. Why don't you try writing some songs about that? It might be what you're looking for.' And he was really listening. I think he'll come up with something good."

"'The personal is political', and all that?"

"Exactly." She paused. "This could be what I end up doing. I really like being in charge of a recording session. Being a record producer is a lot like being a teacher, and I always wanted to be a teacher." She focused her eyes on me. "You ever hear of the concept of 'right livelihood'?"

"Mmmm…no."

"You have to read more Buddhist books! You need to know about more things than just music! It means earning your living by doing things that are good for humanity. I want to make a positive impact on culture, and I like working with sincere young kids in bands. I can never decide what I want to do; maybe this is it! All I need is a good engineer. Peter is really cool and fun to work with."

She cranked up the volume on the cassette player. "Listen to that guitar sound. ADT really makes a difference. The sound is so big and full, they'll probably hate it at Maximum Rock & Roll," she grinned. "If it doesn't sound like shit, it's not real punk to them."

"It's gonna be an amazing record. I hope Sothira comes through with those lyrics. A well-told story is way better than a lecture."

Maati's pep talk was just what was needed. Sothira came back with "Another Mouth To Feed" ("from country to country/you're treated like shit/one camp to another/where do you fit?") and a rewrite of one of their most exciting live songs, a fast number with a catchy, lurching chorus, originally titled "Nobody's Fooled", now recast as "See Through Their Lies": "Slept under mosquito nets/we used kerosene lamps/I remember the discomfort/the air was so damp." On the front cover of the album was an image of a weary mother and a crying baby taken from Is Anyone Taking Any Notice?, a collection of horrifying pictures by the British war photojournalist Donald McCullin published in 1973. The book featured image after image of starving or disfigured children, dismembered corpses, desperate refugees, and other collateral damage from the ongoing global game where important men make important decisions and the human cost is hidden from the view of average citizens so as not to spoil their appetites over breakfast. The shot we chose was probably the mildest one of the lot.

Tin Sandwich!

A favorite moment from the extremely fun Conspiracy Of Beards end-of-season party at the Cyclone. These three gentlemen fix up one spicy sandwich.

Ladies And Gentlemen, The President Of The United States

Rachel delivers the speech Obama should have given. Brilliant.

Those are the Beards and that was New York

Some videos from the Conspiracy Of Beards' 2010 New York jaunt. Read all about the trip here.

A montage of images shot at the Chelsea Hotel to a performance of the song of that name at the Cafe Du Nord in San Francisco:



Crashing the Bowery party and singing for our juleps:



Practicing in the noisy park:



And as a bonus, an example of how the art of conversation is alive and well on the New York streets:

Things we miss out on by avoiding Twitter

Ladies and gentlemen, please note the awesomeness that is FEMINIST HULK:

HULK DONE WITH COOKIE NOW. HULK ONLY SMASH HEGEMONY, PATRIARCHY AND OCCASIONAL SKYSCRAPER. HULK NOT SMASH PEOPLE. PEOPLE NEED LOVE. BULLSHIT POWER ABUSES NEED SMASH. ALSO, COOKIE WAS YUMMY.

For more wisdom from a strong male role model for enlightened gender relations, go here.

Golden Seal

Here's a real find, some footage of two great departed reggae artists. Augustus Pablo, of course, was the genius who found the eerie heart of an unassuming little instrument called the melodica, and Hugh Mundell was the haunted-voiced teen prodigy who collaborated with Pablo on the ghostly Rasta protest album, Africa Must Be Free By 1983.

After cutting the album, Hugh ended up living in San Francisco for a time at a notorious punk rock house on Oak and Fillmore, along with some friends of ours, so we got to know him a little bit and caught a lot of his local gigs. He was still very young, but his voice was starting to deepen while retaining its childlike innocence. He seemed like a really nice kid.

Eventually, it was time for Hugh to go back to Jamaica. Maati and I had caught the news that Augustus Pablo was suffering from some sort of undiagnosed illness that wasn't being treated because he was a hardcore Rastafarian who had no use for Western medicine. We thought we ought to do something to help, so we bought a big bag of goldenseal at the health food store to give to Hugh with the instructions to make sure Pablo got it.

All too soon after that, we got the awful news that someone shot Hugh in his car in Kingston for reasons that have never been confirmed. We grieved for the boy we hardly knew who'd crossed our path, and we cursed the violence that robs us of so many who could give us all so much more. We wondered if he had ever had a chance to see Pablo before his senseless murder.

Many years later, a new Augustus Pablo album came out. One of the tracks was titled "Golden Seal". We were stunned. Thank you Hugh Mundell, and thank you Augustus Pablo. I hope we made some small difference in your all-too-short lives.

BP: What Really Happened

They say laughter is healing. So bring it on.

Twin Human Highway Flares

We haven't been playing live much lately, but here's a recent solo performance of the Content Providers' cover of the incredible Mountain Goats song, "Twin Human Highway Flares", captured at the Harbin Hot Springs open mike. Thanks for putting this up, Davis!

Terese Taylor weekend

Terese Taylor is a friend of ours who writes compelling songs and performs them loudly and softly. Here's some of her work that we have shot over the years.

"Defrost" at the Zeitgeist, featuring San Francisco's beloved Tamale Lady:



"Had A Heart" at An Undisclosed Location (J Neo Marvin's 50th birthday celebration!)



"Hermit", a nicely jarring post-punk instrumental, from the same Undisclosed Location show:



"Call In Sick" at the Dolores Park Cafe, with guest violinist and puppy:



"Doesn't Shine" at the Zeitgeist:



And one from the Cafe Du Nord several years before. This one's a bit more fly-by-night casual as far as cinematography goes, but it's great anyhow, because it features one of her finest songs, "Goats For Daddy":

Ear Candle Radio's Top 20, May 2010

The clattering sounds of two giants jamming top our chart this month with John Cale and Terry Riley's Church Of Anthrax, followed closely by one of Neo's favorite Experimental Bunnies tracks, a barrelling gem from 21st century Wire, and a great Robert Wyatt song featuring the late Ivor Cutler smashing up the telly with what's left of the broken phone, and who can blame him after all? Leonard Cohen just nods and says "everybody knows".

We were very lucky to find a very rare vinyl copy of the Holy Sisters Of The Gaga Dada album and it's gratifying to see that Jill Fido's sultry psychedelic love ballad connects with our listeners, as do our own Granite Countertops and their smoochfest "Haystack". The Vivian Girls set the controls for the heart of the sun and ride a chord to infinity, while Slapp Happy's Dagmar Krause sings sweetly over a clattery VU-esque backing provided partly by Faust, who also make an appearance of their own with an extended epic jam.

Along with the Holy Sisters (as well as J Neo Marvin himself when you get right down to it), another group of veterans of the Santa Cruz scene are early 80s sax-bass-drums trio The Love Dogs. Dutch anarchist avant-gardeners The Ex show their quieter side, lo-fi wonders Wavves (who we first discovered via our sometime commenter Ian) make a showing with their catchy hit, Led Zeppelin appear from the distant past and still can't find the confounded bridge, SF's Society Of Rockets serve up some lush harmonies and promote new beginnings, and Robert Wyatt surfaces again with an expansive jazz setting of Alfie's poem about the woman wishing for wings.

Howlin' Wolf howls for his darling and, by proxy, for all of us and all of our darlings. Brian Eno and Cluster rhapsodize about the machinery, the Detroit Cobras put the pogo into the shing-a-ling, and Daoud & Saleh Al-Kuwaity represent the Iraqi sound.

That's it for this month. Keep listening!

1. John Cale & Terry Riley - Church Of Anthrax - Church Of Anthrax
2. The Experimental Bunnies - Uncertainty - Music For The Integrity Tone Scale
3. Wire - Our Time - Read & Burn 03
4. Robert Wyatt - Little Red Robin Hood Hit the Road - Rock Bottom
5. Leonard Cohen - Everybody Knows - The Essential Leonard Cohen
6. The Holy Sisters Of The Gaga Dada - Beside You - Let's Get Acquainted
7. The Granite Countertops - Haystack - Crashing Into The Future
8. Vivian Girls - Out For The Sun - Everything Goes Wrong
9. Slapp Happy - Blue Flower - Sort of...Slapp Happy
10. The Love Dogs - Oh, I Have To Think - The Love Dogs
11. The Ex - Oskar Beck - Dizzy Spells
12. Wavves - So Bored - Wavvves
13. Led Zeppelin - The Crunge - Houses Of The Holy
14. Society of Rockets - Circulate and Sing - Future Factory
15. Robert Wyatt - September The Ninth - Shleep
16. Howlin' Wolf - Howlin' For My Darling - Howlin' Wolf: His Best (Chess 50th Anniversary Collection)
17. Faust - No Harm - Faust/So Far
18. Eno, Moebius & Roedelius - The Belldog - After The Heat
19. The Detroit Cobras - Shout Bama Lama - Life, Love & Leaving
20. Daoud & Saleh Al-Kuwaity - Shwy shwy - Masters of Iraqi Music

Red Devil Lounge Acts

We were at the Red Devil Lounge on Polk St. on April 11 with our cameras. Here's the best of what we got.

Deborah Crooks, "Let's Move":



Festizio, "Questions":

A mixture of greed and the smell of oil

The Rude Pundit cuts to the chase as usual:

The Rude Pundit can't get his mind around the fact that the well is still pouring out oil a month later. He can't grasp how BP executives haven't been arrested for, at the minimum, criminal negligence, if not manslaughter, and the well blown up and sealed. He can't understand why BP is even involved in any decision-making here, why any notion of protecting profits and shareholders has had any effect on the solution, why the Obama administration, the Army Corps of Engineers, fucking NOAA hasn't told BP to go fuck itself, that the well's not theirs anymore. And then order the Coast Guard to shoot on sight anyone from BP who gets near it.

But of course, it isn't playing out like that, and a major environmental crisis is metastasizing while we watch, helplessly, because nothing is more important than protecting the bottom line of a huge multinational corporation. I can't think of a more perfect example of our own profits-over-all system of laissez faire capitalism and where it leads. Our only hope of a solution is coming from a damn movie star. All right, Costner, you talk a good game. This better work.

The intellectual guru of the loyal opposition

Some things you may not know about Ayn Rand.

Warning: not for the squeamish, but absolutely essential if you want to understand what's behind the philosophy of the self-anointed "Real Americans" our allegedly liberal press can't get enough of.

Hat tip to Amanda Marcotte at Pandagon, who offers a pointed argument on why we should keep a close watch on the Pauls, their followers, and their cracked belief system here. Winning comment on the thread, courtesy of Rick Massimo:

Libertarians try to make it sound like they’re explaining some complicated philosophy that hasn’t been tried before (or, alternately, a very simple philosophy that you’re too dense to understand). But they’re not. We tried it their way. It didn’t work. You could look it up.

Hope we're doing it right.

xkcd lays it out for us:

Livin' in a world insane...!

As we continue our vintage punk binge...

Chris Bailey is one cool mofo.

Identity is the crisis, can't you see?

Look what I found while poking my nose around the internets: a video clip of X-Ray Spex in their prime, doing "Identity". All right!

What???

"Later, Clifford learned that his classroom had been searched. Republicans who had attended the convention called Principal Mike McCarthy to complain about "anti-American" things they saw there, including a closed box containing copies of the U.S. Constitution that were published by the American Civil Liberties Union."

Why do Maine Republicans hate America?

Thought experiment

What if the teabaggers were black?

These are a fraction of my powers

One of my personal favorite performances that we have filmed. Rob K, formerly of the Workdogs, backed by the Contractions at An Undisclosed Location, doing "Bad Gita". This is a truly slinky, elegantly bad-ass song.

I want one of these!

Years ago, I bought a khaen at an Oxfam fair in Berkeley. It's an awesome Southeast Asian wind instrument that sounds like a wheezy, twisted bamboo harmonica. You can hear it on some X-tal songs like Passing, A Lemon Song, and our cover of Crucifix's "Stop Torture".

Unfortunately, many years ago, I made the grievous error of leaving many of my instruments at the home of a certain self-destructive, self-absorbed singer-songwriter who shall remain nameless, and the khaen probably went up in flames along with her house later on.

I've been looking for a place that sells them in the Bay Area, but no luck so far. I'm a bit reluctant to order one online, sight unseen, because who knows if I'll be getting some crappy-sounding knockoff that's only good as a glorified decoration? (OK, I may be a bit paranoid.) But I want one of these again. Anybody out there have some recommendations on reputable khaen dealers?

"I often make the mistake of thinking that America didn't used to be so mean."

Digby writes about Kent State, 40 years on and after the latest not-so-surprising revelations. I was a little kid myself when this happened, and I remember being more shocked by the public response than the act itself. We haven't changed as much as we think we have.

Nothing on my tongue but...

Three gigs, three days. Not as rigorous a schedule as last years Conspiracy Of Beards New York jaunt, but I have not felt idle.

Friday we convened at a park near Nassau and Manhattan in Brooklyn for a warmup. We gathered in a circle beneath a tree and stopped to drink in the ambient sounds around us: kids, dogs, traffic, Mr. Softee trucks. Under Daryl Henline's direction, we sang our exercises as quietly as possible, aiming our voices at a tiny point in the center of the circle until we became one instrument. Sometimes the warmups are better than the gigs themselves; we transport ourselves mentally to sacred space and ego vanishes, leaving nothing but breath and focus. Of course, these moments last a split-second and we're back to being our ridiculous selves, but the more we can reach that point, the more the Beards become something more than a novelty act. Every second of singing is a tightrope walk to find that balance. Sometimes we get there. This weekend it felt like we achieved it fairly often.

After warmup, we headed to a trippy Polish restaurant flanked by suits of armor on either side of the entrance, where we chowed down on borscht, cabbage, pirogies and hot comfort food and presented Daryl with a birthday card signed by all of us and a new pitch pipe as a gift. Daryl's precocious 8-year-old daughter Lola was along for the trip and charmed everyone with the cool, outspoken matter-of-factness that only a child raised among the Cacophony Society can command.

Picasso Machinery is a house concert/artspace situation not too unlike the House Of Love in San Francisco where the Content Providers played years ago. The small room was packed with beautiful young Williamsburgers and San Francisco expatriates. An old local acquaintance Pete Simonelli (ex-Shotwell, currently fronting the Enablers) turns out to be one of the main instigators of the event, but he was on tour, so we didn't run into him. Got into a chat with a woman who used to live in the Mission and now resides in Harlem. Uh-oh, I said. Are the hipsters displacing the black people? No, she insists, it's become a nice harmonious mixed neighborhood full of families. Two people (including ex-Beard Evan Rehill) read from their works in progress, then we got up and sang sweetly. A good opening show.

Saturday I answered the call to meet at the Chelsea Hotel. They now have a plaque on the front dedicated to Leonard Cohen. Before I got a clue and made a phone call, I expected that the boys would be coming down to the lobby, so I waited there and picked up a Village Voice, opening to an article on the new horror movie The Human Centipede, which I will refrain from describing. Suffice it to say I am now SCARRED FOR LIFE. Thanks a lot, Village Voice.

Finally got the word that the action was upstairs, where a tenant was holding a sale on the rooftop. Took the elevator up and made my way to the room number I'd been given, navigating a stairwell covered in an astonishingly detailed collage of CD covers, nudes, and other photos, passed a very old and very sweet dog at the top of the stairs and met a woman on the sofa who kindly directed me to a ladder that led to the roof where various bags and things were being sold. Met a few colleagues and hung out, then I videotaped all the flights of stairs which were covered with one great painting after another, on the way to a room where some of the boys were staying.

The posse took off for Washington Square Park, where we'd planned to warm up. Colorful yes, but probably not suited to the purpose. Lots of noisy competition, including a pretty cool acapella (well, they did have one standup bass, but otherwise...) doo-wop group doing their thing under the arch. (I videotaped them and got a CD. Hell yeah, they belong on the radio station.) Nevertheless, the boys rose to the challenge, working on the subtle approach. I waved my camera around like a cinema verite goofball, hoping I wasn't too distracting. I got some great footage.

A brilliant, spontaneous plan materialized. Steve, one of our baritones, knew a friend on the Bowery who was having a party that very moment. They were watching the Kentucky Derby and drinking mint juleps. Wouldn't it be cool if we all just showed up and sang them a couple of songs? We jumped at the chance to crash the party. After a long walk we buzzed in and took the elevator up in smaller groups, piling into this really sweet penthouse apartment that probably used to be a seedy residence hotel for the down and out once upon a time. Mint juleps were mixed and distributed, and we filed out to the back deck, where parents were playing with babies and dogs, little girls twirled hula hoops and the remnants of a barbecue slowly cooled. Across the way, we saw other groups of people hanging out on their decks, drinking whatever they were drinking and enjoying the balmy New York heat.

The boys gathered and sang "So Long Marianne", with Steve taking the opening solo to entertain his friends further. I sat it out so I could film it, then joined the gang on "Bird On The Wire". Applause broke out high above us from the neighbors. Awesome.

The Bowery Poetry Club was our scheduled gig for Saturday night, but it wasn't time yet, so some of us decided to get some pizza slices. Ended up at Ray's Pizza, where we had a good conversation with ex-Beard Peter Whitehead, who is now doing music for a new Mikhail Baryshnikov solo piece. Talk turned to the very first Conspiracy Of Beards New York jaunt, before I joined, where the group was booked at a notorious place called The Box (nothing to do with the Box in Oakland), which has already gone down in history as one of the most disastrous gigs in the choir's history. The club was some sort of elite after-hours decadent cabaret for the ultra-rich, filled with swells lounging at tables full of cocaine and premium champagne. The group was mistreated from the start and not let onstage until around 2 AM, after being told that it was highly unlikely they would be allowed to play a full set. Before the curtain was raised, the MC announced that the Conspiracy Of Beards were convicted child molesters who had to sing all over the country as their punishment. Rather than laughing, the audience was silent, which just made an already awkward situation insulting and eerie. The boys launched into a snarling "Everybody Knows", aimed at the creepy venue and punters, and Jeff, the tall snarky Alpha-bass with the massive Rasputin beard, did the only sensible thing under the circumstances and went full Iggy Pop on the crowd, walking into the audience, helping himself to the champagne, and taking off his clothes, at which point the set was forcibly stopped by management. Damn, I wish I'd been there.

Just like last year, the Bowery Poetry Club was a much more welcoming affair. Steve's fiancee Abby was good enough to film the set for us, and we acquitted ourselves well. Some of the gang wanted to continue the revels afterwards, but I jumped in a cab and crashed at the hotel, and a good thing too, considering I woke up at 10:15, realizing we were supposed to be at the Highline Ballroom in 45 minutes.

Which brings us to today. The Highline has an amazing sound system and very kind staff, but the earliness of the past two shows we've done there is weird. Nevertheless, we warmed ourselves up and were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by showtime at 1:40 PM. It was the debut of the octet version of "Anthem", which was my first-ever small group performance. I won't tell you if I made any mistakes or not. Esther Cohen, Leonard's sister, was there, a lovely 70-something woman who looks very much like her brother. The wife of the lead singer of the opening band brought an abandoned kitten with her that she had just rescued from her garden. He was absolutely adorable and clearly knew how lucky he was. Afterwards, we discovered the "highline" that the venue was named after, a former elevated railroad track that has been turned into a park that spans high above the meatpacking district. Another surreal New York treasure.

Oh by the way: I had to get a call from San Francisco to find out about the latest failed terrorist brouhaha in Times Square. Whatever that dumbass was trying to do, New Yorkers didn't even blink an eye. The residents of this fine city do not scare that easily.

A quick note

If you have been reading this blog, you have a pretty good idea how we feel about this ill-advised, pointless war in Afghanistan, but putting that aside for now, I am extremely grateful that my nephew is back, unharmed and doing well. We wish him all the best in his transition to civilian adult life.

New York is hot, but I like where I'm singing

Now, after the fact, I can spill the beans. The place Conspiracy Of Beards brought their voices last night is called Picasso Machinery in Williamsburg. It was a great show. We are in good voice, and ready for the Bowery Poetry Club tonight.

I have to cut today's intended New York diary short though, since I just received an e-mail that the boys are gathering at the Chelsea Hotel before we head to Washington Square to warm up this afternoon. Duty calls. Stay tuned.

Ear Candle Radio's Top 20, April 2010

Aspiring teenage surf guitarist Neil Young tops the charts with a totally bitchin' instrumental, followed by Prince at his most convincingly political ("We don't give a damn/we just wanna jam...fightin' war is such a fuckin' bore!"), Syd Barrett inviting you into a roomful of musical tunes, obscure post-punks Prag Vec sharing their nic fits, Gilberto Gil's take on a split Brazilian personality in living stereo, an unexpectedly sublime psychedelic instrumental from a band mostly known for novelty songs about Snoopy, another bit of genius from Junko Suzuki and Cyclub, and Mark E. Smith exhibiting middle-aged pride in his own inimitable way.

Somebody out there is digging the early no-commercial-potential work of Frank Zappa, putting not one, not two, but three ear-challenging tracks from the Mothers Of Invention on our charts. Maureen Tucker hitches her seminal thump to Sonic Youth as they take off together on "Chase", the Firesign Theatre serve up some vintage paranoia, Leonard Cohen covers a heartbreaking French Resistance ballad that sounds like he could have written it himself (while his own writing is represented by a gusto-filled version of "First We Take Manhattan" by R.E.M.), Joe Strummer shows us his wistful side, Yma Sumac does her thing all over you, Marlene Dietrich does Dylan (X-tal used to use this song as their walk-on music when they toured Germany in the 90s), Judy Collins offers another bleak one from her jarring art-song album In My Life (check this one out---it will change your idea of Judy Collins forever), and the Impact All-Stars serve a bit of audio theatre depicting two highly opinionated recording engineers debating about the proper way to create a dub mix.

We put up the music, but it is you the listener who create these charts. and what you come up with each month is endlessly fascinating. Thank you, and keep listening!

1. The Squires - The Sultan - Neil Young Archives Vol. 1: 1963-1972
2. Prince - Partyup - Dirty Mind
3. Pink Floyd - Bike - The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn
4. Prag Vec - Cigarettes - Wolf
5. Gilberto Gil - 2001 - Cerebro Eletronico
6. The Royal Guardsmen - OM - The Return Of The Red Baron
7. Cyclub - Let's Go On A Journey - Science Future
8. The Fall - 50 Year Old Man - Imperial Wax Solvent
9. The Mothers Of Invention - Dwarf Nebula Processional March & Dwarf Nebula - Weasels Ripped My Flesh
10. Moe Tucker - Chase - Life In Exile After Abdication
11. Firesign Theatre - Waiting for the Electrician - Waiting for the Electrician or Someone Like Him
12. The Mothers Of Invention - King Kong - Uncle Meat
13. Leonard Cohen - The Partisan - The Essential Leonard Cohen
14. Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros - Willesden To Cricklewood - Rock Art and the X-Ray Style
15. Yma Sumac - Gopher - Mambo!
16. R.E.M. - First We Take Manhattan - I'm Your Fan
17. The Mothers Of Invention - What's The Ugliest Part Of Your Body? - We're Only In It For The Money
18. Marlene Dietrich - Die Antwort weiss ganz allein der Wind - The Essential Marlene Dietrich
19. Judy Collins - Liverpool Lullaby - In My Life
20. Impact All Stars - Ordinary Version Chapter 3 - Forward The Bass: Dub From Randy's 1972-1975