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Wednesday Wadio: "Hearing Voices".


in Wednesday Wadio

‘Hearing Voices‘ ties with ‘Another Day’ for 1st place as my favorite Galaxie 500 songs of all time. Growing up just outside of Boston while this band was in its heyday in the late eighties, many of my close friends were into them and it was only a matter of time before I too blasted off. Like most Galaxie songs, a three year old with a head wound could learn how to play it in less time than it would take to a gnat to belch – but the melodic bass line and plodding guitar grab you in the first seconds and don’t let go. This is definitely the sort of hypnotic tune you could swerve off the highway at night to. But that doesn’t appear anywhere in the liner notes.

“I hear a jukebox, French fries and beer, And people are talkin somewhere…” Either the protagonist of this song lives above a bar, or he’s off his meds – take your pick. And he’s got superhero hearing if he’s picking up the french fries and the beer. If this song contains any hidden meaning, then my powers of explication honed during 4 years of an English B.A. are completely baffled. But I love it and it’s a good introduction to an extremely influential trio – see what you think by clicking on the radio to your left.

Jeff M. Writes: (He’s not versed in the comments yet, apparently…)

Hey Dave,

I saw your Galaxie 500 post and I thought I would brag and tell you that I have Naomi’s Bass amp that she used on all their records and tours. It has Galaxie 500 painted all over the road case and even has a handwrittten letter to her from the guy at Trace Elliot Amps with instructions on how to convert the voltage to 220 for their upcoming UK tour. I saw them open for Big Dipper at TT’s in 1988 and recorded the BD set, but not the G-500 set. Oh well…

Bastard. Please will that signed Pixies poster to Mike, who will subsequently will it to me, at which point I will subsequently have you both snuffed.

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A Deadly Anniversary.


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I was driving in the “War Pig” (our ’88 Ford half ton truck) when upon the radio, which only got Oldies 103.3, I could faintly hear “Alabama Getaway” by the Grateful Dead. I thought it strange that the station know for 50’s and 60’s hits would be playing the Dead, but I dismissed it, and turned it up. After the tune was over the DJ says, “sad news from California, Dead frontman Jerry Garcia was found dead this morning.” I was in Carlisle on a windy road, and when I got the news I damn near drove off the road. Jerry is dead. The Long Strange Trip is over. Wow. Heavy words to be sure. I picked up the radio and buzzed JD. He hadn’t heard the news, and was just as stunned.

Upon my return home, I came in the house, and grabbed the mail. In the box was an envelope with the unmistakable Steal Your Face symbol. My Fall tickets for several shows at the Garden, and RFK had arrived. Thanks for kicking me while I am down. My phone rang constanly for the next couple of hours. “Did you Hear”, and “Jerry’s dead” was the common theme. Stories of shows past, and theories on what the rest of the band was going to do were the most common topics. We thought of driving North, as Bob Weir was playing the Hampton Beach Casino Ballroom that evening, but instead, we went to the Razzi to comeserate over a couple of pints.

Henry was pissed. “Well, there goes the fucking fall tour” I think was his exact quote. We drank at the Razzi, and listened to the Dead. People that asked to have the music changed were met with a tirade of swears, and generally dirty looks from JD and I. Luckily we spent enough time and money in the joint we pretty much had the run of the place. When we had our fill, we walked home to sleep it off. It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 years since Jerry died. As the song says, the Music Never Stopped. RIP Jerry.

Submitted by Chris (aka Detroit Velvet Smooth).

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The Pixies Are My Girlfriend.


in Musical

Today started out pretty flipping rotten. The usual Sunday bout of insomnia stretched on until 4 a.m. – and a beeping hallway fire alarm battery compounded the problem. I awoke at 9 with little sleep and a lot less patience. When I got to work and discovered that our Exchange server was down, and we had no access to the internet or email, I looked a certain coworker up and down and wondered if his head would fit in the mail tube. Luckily it didn’t.

Then, in the midst of trying to ram a business card holder up my own nostril, I got an email from a friend confirming a rumor I’d heard a week ago and then completely forgotten about – The Pixies were playing a ‘secret’ gig at the tiny Paradise, and 300 tickets had already gone on sale that morning which subsequently sold out in seconds. It seems the band needed some extra footage for a live DVD which is in the works, and the show had been kept under wraps because space was even more limited than usual due to all the video equipment required. I briefly cruised Craig’s List looking for tickets/love and gave up when I saw absolutely zippy del nada. And anyway, I’ve seen the band 5 times in the last year and a half and figured I could sit this one out.

Then, around 3pm, I spoke to Moynihan who told me his brother Jeff was going down and I got the sultry damp Pixies itch (or Pixitch,) all over again. It was a special, mini-show with a small amount of civilians and the rest of the crowd made up of industry people and Pixies’ family members. I’d heard enough – and immediately my fanatical dormant fanboy alter-ego took the controls and I posted feverishly on CL proclaiming my willingness to pay a silly amount of cash for a ticket. I was on the phone with a fairweather fan named Matt less than an hour later. Money talks, and hipsters who wait in line overnight can walk/fuck right off.

I was only able to get one ticket, and as I sat in T’s pub by myself killing time before the show I felt very odd. But – it was what it was – and I knew I was lucky to be there at all. About 10 minutes after I sat down at the bar, David Lovering came in with a friend and stood right beside me. I met David on the street before I saw The Pixies at The Paradise in 1988 and it was as if things had suddenly come full circle. I approached him very calmly, shook his hand and wished him a great show. He was extremely nice and after speaking with him I walked over to the Paradise and headed inside. Albeit with the skippy fricking gait of a 12-year-old girl who’d just met Aaron Carter.

It was an incredibly cool scene inside – more like a TV show taping than a concert. I walked in and immediately located Jeff and his girlfriend. 10 minutes after I got there, the show started up and raged on unabated for almost 2 hours. I’ll go into more detail when I get the photos developed (I bought a disposable for the occasion). We were literally 7 feet from the stage with cameras on mechanical arms flying all around us and the house lights up full-tilt. I hadn’t been at such an intimate Pixies concert since 16 years prior when I stood in the exact same spot in the exact same building having the exact same hissy.

So I like the Pixies a whole hell of a lot, but it could be worse. Some folks substitute drugs, porn, prostitutes or a delightful mixture of all three in the absence of a signifigant other. If The Pixies are my substitute, that really ain’t so bad. The little tart has been putting out a lot lately.

See an ongoing discussion of the show here.

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Another Canuck Bites The Dust.


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Perhaps the most effectively secretly Canadian celebrity of all time died tonight at age 67. First Scotty, and now Peter. It’s been a rough month. Shatner – look both ways before crossing the street for the next little while, OK buddy?

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Deaf Karaoke Jam.


in Musical

I’d been at a pub with a friend for an hour or so last night, when the bartender told us that a Karaoke DJ was setting up. We rolled our eyes and started talking about our next move (the frick out of there) when a large group of 20-somethings invaded the place. As they ordered beer and talked amongst themselves, it quickly became apparent that they were all hearing impaired – hands were flying wildly in conversation and folks were writing messages for the bartender to read. We decided to order one last round and sit tight, as it was deaf-initely about to get very interesting. See what I did there?

After a regular got up and did the worst version of “With or Without You” I’ve ever heard, the deaf kids started getting into the action. They read the words off the monitor and tried to keep time with the music. Maybe they could feel the vibrations of the music – I have no idea – but they all get an ‘A’ for effort in my book. At the conclusion of every song, the crowd went wild and the smiles those people had on their faces when stepping of the stage were a sight to behold. Good for them.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Crowded House Of Pain.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Briefly describe your living room.
You can have a look for yourself right here. Note the mugshot of a young Sinatra (it’s the same photo you can see on the wall of Tony Soprano’s office) then there’s the singing Dean Martin doll, the Tragically Hip tour pster over the fireplace, way too many DVDs, The Bullitt poster to the left of the fridge, a James Dean, a DeNiro and finally Tony from Big Country strumming away on the television. The middle of the big white couch is where I write the majority of my entries here – so welcome to my world. And if you want to see what the place looks like when the Concord or Welland boys come to visit, we can do that too.

Soup: List 3 things you’d like to accomplish before the end of 2005.
I’d like to complete all of the half-finished websites I have ‘in development’. A friend recently called me a ‘fanatical collector of domain names’ and she’s right – but there’s a few good ideas lurking amongst all the false starts, and I need to focus them into some revenue streams. But likely I’ll just start building filthy clown porn sites because according to my server logs, that’s an unexploited niche. Picture a red rubber nose that can also be repurposed as a ball gag, and you’ll see where I’m going with this/throw up.

Salad: When you’re online, what do you spend the most time doing?
Managing PPC accounts, checking on client rankings, hunting for custom made jewelry and looking for that perfect Boston Interior Designer. Nate sent me this site today where people combine band names. I submitted my own this morning and we’ll see if it gets published. “Pack it up, pack it in, let me rock it like the Finns…“

Main Course: What would the title of your autobiography be?
“Pull the Trigger”. I need to stop spinning my wheels about so many things in my life. I am getting better. I’ve pulled the trigger a few times recently. And if you’re giggling about the potential for euphamisms here, Punch the Clown instead.

Dessert: What time do you usually go to bed?
Far too late. If I don’t get 7 hours, I’m luggage. And I’ll never learn. But I have a sleeping disorder and many episodes of the brilliant Rescue Me to catch up on. If anyone has a bottle of sleeping pills they’re not using, properly and responsibly dispose of them by sending them directly to me.

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The English Mental Patient.


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You all remember Taz, don’t you? Here’s a lovely little joke I found from him in my inbox this morning. I’m a bit strapped for time today, so please have a giggle and talk amongst yourselves. I will get to the Quizzlet eventually.

A bloke is in a queue at the Supermarket when he notices that the rather dishy blonde behind him has just raised her hand and smiled hello to him.

He is rather taken aback that such a looker would be waving to him, and although familiar he can’t place where he might know her from, so he says, “Sorry… do you know me?” She replies “I may be mistaken, but I thought you might be the father of one of my children!”

His mind shoots back to the one and only time he has been unfaithful. “Christ!” He says, “Are you that stripogram from my stag night that I shagged on the snooker table in front of all my mates whilst your mate whipped me with some wet celery and stuck a cucumber up my arse!?”

“No.” she replies coldly,”I’m your son’s English Teacher.”

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Twinkle, Twinkle Littlest Bar.


in Heartwarming

Downtown Crossing’s infamous Littlest Bar is closing its grimy doors after 60 years of service to Boston’s booze-bags. To make way for, you guessed it, detestable yuppie condos. Gentrification usually isn’t a bad thing, as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather live in close proximity to Biff and Buffy than crackheads and hookers any day of the week. Especially after my well publicized incident with a crackhead hooker. And by ‘any day’ I’m referring to Saturdays – because that’s when their rates go up.

But now we’re talking about the demolition of a stagger-inducing institution. A lowly liquored landmark loved by lots of lushes. I’ve written about this wonderful and historic establishment before, and there’s also a gallery of photos from Jim’s b-day that were taken onsite. My first date with a former girlfriend took place at the Littlest. I took Triconi there the night before his engagement party. I’m seriously bummed. If you have any memories of the Littlest that don’t include Monster necking with a sea donkey, please share them in the comments below. Good night, sweet pub.

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Wednesday Wadio: "Mississauga Goddamn".


in Wednesday Wadio

Even though these guys are from my old stomping groud of Mississauga, I had started listening to them long before I knew that. I think that’s important to note, as I’ve been accused of glorifying the Canadian mundane before. “Gordon Lightfoot could belch into a pinhole camera and you’d call it Sgt. Pepper, Pye.” Be that as it may, the two albums I’ve recently discovered by The Hidden Cameras have brightened up my week and I wanted to share.

It was hard to pick just one song to throw onto Radio Pye (which you’ll see in the left-hand column) but I finally settled on “Mississauga Goddamn” off their most recent album of the same name. The track has been described as “An elegiac moonlit stroll through Gibb’s old stomping grounds, accompanied by a sparkling Velvety strum and twinkling xylophones, it’s the bittersweet sound of a young man who can’t help but feel a soft spot in his heart for a place that did its best to harden it.” I can think of a few things that hardened me while I lived in them there parts – mainly my first girlfriend Suzanne, and usually behind the strip mall with the Beer Store on Lorne Park Road. But I digress. Enjoy the tune.

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The Way We Were.


in Heartwarming

“Mem’ries, Like the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories, Of the way we were.” – An Awful Harpy.

10 years ago, I was on a 24K dial-up connection at University which was constantly being interrupted by lovesick housemates. I used something called PINE to read my email, and my address was dpye@uoguelph.ca. I frequented mIRC instead of instant messagers, used Altavista.com as my search engine of choice and would happily wait over 5 minutes for CNN.com to load. And by CNN.com I of course mean Danni’s Hard Drive.

If you’re feeling nostalgic for the early days of the gold rush, have a look at this collection of screenshots to see how some of your favorite sites looked as recently as 5 years ago. It’s hard to believe, and it’s only going to get crazier. By the time I’m forty, I fully expect to be surfing the net on the inside of a pair of sunglasses whilst video IM’ing with people on my wristwatch. As well as hopelessly addicted to Nuke.

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En Route To Ruin.


in Heartwarming

I’m zipping along the tracks on the 8:45 out to Fitchburg. Jim is picking me up in Lincoln, after which we’ll spend another in a long line of evenings getting silly at the Red House. Saturday, we’re all headed down to Newport for Harko’s bachelor party. Golf in the afternoon, and Foxwoods in the evening. Gambling and golf are two things at which I most certainly do not excel, and I fully expect to return to Boston Sunday night with a sore back, a light wallet and a stab wound. And a new stripper girlfriend who is extremely mad at her father for something.

Jeeps the train’s speaker is friggin’ loud. Maybe I shouldn’t have sat right underneath it. Must be great for the hearing impaired, though. And perhaps even better at actually making healthy people hearing impaired. I have noticed many such trade-offs during my strange life so far. Like that one about tits and bulls.

You know what this laptop needs? A video game. I need to find a decent distraction for these long periods of internetless travel. Maybe a Tetris clone or one of those Nintendo emulators where you can play old cartridge ROMs on your PC. Yep – me, the open road and Rush N’ Attack. A winning combination if ever one existed.. Unless of course I ever plan on sleeping with a woman again.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Kryptonite Beehives.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Name 3 people whom you admire for their intelligence.
The Hanson brothers. Mmmmmbop? Try evil geniuses… bop. Notice how you never see the three of them and Al Zarqawi in the same room? I rest my case. And I like those Trivial Pursuit guys, too.

Soup: What’s the last food you tried that you really didn’t care for.
Tombeno made me try a bite of this ridiculously huge lobster when we were in Montreal. I wanted to be a good sport (he was so excited). I wanted to be open-minded and adventurous. But I ended up retching and gagging as soon as my teeth sank into the minging, fishy mess. What is it about seafood that people love so much? Please explain this to me. If I were frigging shipwrecked, I’d still be wandering around the island looking for a burger or chicken fingers off the children’s menu.

Salad: If you could rename your street, what would it to be called?
Pyeton Place. With less beehives. Okay, you got me. More beehives.

Main Course: When was the last time you were genuinely surprised?
At my inability to write anything funny today. IPA is my kryptonite, apparently.

Dessert: Share a household tip.
Mold always grows on the lower windowsills of my building in the North End. Said sills also happen to be my bedroom. Now… whether this is due to the proximity to street level, or my Dahmeresque disposal methods, is beside the point. Regardless, Clorox bleach kills mold dead.

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The Top 3 Of The First 48.


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Perhaps you’d like to listen to me blather on about A&E’s The First 48 a little more? Fantastic then. As I’ve already mentioned, it’s basically CSI in the real world – cameras follow around seasoned homicide detectives as they bag dead guys literally, and then bag bad guys figuratively. I can’t get enough of it, and as I devour episode after episode On Demand as I try and get to sleep each night, I’ve slowly become sort of an authority on murder best practices. I’m going to condense a few time saving tips I’ve collected should you be contemplating the premeditated slaughter of another human being. Whatever I can do to help.

1. Try and stick to the prostitutes. The majority of the unsolved murders seem to be unfortunate streetwalkers whose families just assume they’ve been croaked anyway. “You found her dead in a ditch? That’s too bad, because her father and I always dreamed she’d end up decapitated and stuffed in a footlocker.”

2. Burn that shit. I mean seriously. When these cops find a corpse that’s been torched, they don’t know where to begin. No fingerprints, no DNA no driver’s license, no dice.

3. If you have an accomplice, be sure to kill them too. Maybe not right away, but do your best to get around to it. They’ll get arrested for something else and no matter how insignificant the charge (think jaywalking) they’ll flip on you for the previous murder. Like a flapjack.

I could continue, but I don’t want to be perceived someone who is sick, deranged and potentially dangerous. I am only trying to help those who truly are – get a leg up. Even if that leg used to be attached to a sex worker.

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