Illustrated by Lauren Gregg and designed by the lovely Chris Bilheimer. Buy tickets now!
I’m sure there’ll be some left over after the shows here. I’ll probably sell ’em on the site. Be patient.
And this poster is for a show in Chapel Hill in mid-November! Whee!
Got a few left over from the tour that I’m selling. Get ’em quick!
One funny observation from Dante at the Black Cat which holds true is that the COC fans are quite big. As in girth-wise. We have plenty of small shirts, but the XXL and XXXL are all but gone! Jesus christ, guys, you guys eat too much!
Harvey Milk Anthem * * * * (four stars)
Athens sludge-rawk heroes Harvey Milk are the archetypal “cult band”: Few people know of them, but those who do revere them. The makers of this highly limited and exquisitely designed DVD clearly count themselves among such devotees. A true labor of love, it collects three-and-a-half hours’ worth (44 songs) of live footage from ’93 to ’05, showcasing the trio at its atavistic best: destroying guitars, using sledgehammers as instruments, and beating gongs with flaming drumsticks. Watch, and welcome to the cult.
–Brandon Geist
I did this interview in the El Myr parking lot with cars honking all around me and my burrito getting cold inside. Still fun. Much like Houston was.
Finally, the great cranky Christ is waked from its sabbatical, given the royal archeological treatment. For those of legal drinking age in the fair State of Georgia, the ‘90s were a deep-throated beer and bourbon funnel with a few unwanted lap dances thrown in for brunch time trophy talk. That Athens’ Harvey Milk just so happened to be playing when most of the carnage unfolded was the luck of the draw; some people just lead Goddamned charmed lives. Now Chunklet’s Henry Owings has somehow managed to compile an exhaustive collection of the band’s most compelling performances on a DVD for those of that were blinded by blackout when the sparks flew.
Named for a gay San Francisco politician and comprised of three guys who could have become caricatures of their selves, Creston Spiers, Stephen Tanner and Pauly Trudeau—later “drum dork” Kyle Spence—woke flannel choked crowds with a sound that ran with few and walked with even fewer. Creston was created solely to karaoke any song Billy Gibbons ever belted out, but his delivery dragged on into near torturous realms. Left drunk and alone, in front of the television while the Sorrow and the Pity plays over and over again is about as close as one might get to an analogue. Pauly: He pummeled his kit; skins were skinned; cymbals smashed; kick drum crushed by a five-ton foot. Tanner? That fucker bobbed and bounced and shook his skinny ass; bass slung low, shit-eating grin kept behind an omnipresent five-day growth.
All of the above is presented in fine form, and in some of Atlanta’s most esteemed halls: Dottie’s, BLT’s, Grooveyard, The Point. Dottie’s, the sole survivor, regrouped as Lenny’s, the rest were either bulldozed to make more space for “loft” apartments, coffee houses or suburban chain restaurants. Harvey Milk sped up as dive bar mortality rate rose; with Kyle Spence on the throne, Tanner upped the boogie. Creston acquiesced; in navy blue onesie, he wrecked through some of the heaviest honky tonk’d rock ‘n’ roll not heard since the Little Band from Texas unleashed Fandango! The counterpoint is tremendous. What was once La Brea paced was now the quickest horse out of the gates. Potency remained; it only transmogrified, sprinting through complex and engaging arrangements peppered with Creston’s trademark salt: lyrics built around the engine of non sequitur—Cormac McCarthy and methamphetamine separated by six degrees, powered solely by the irrational, the unwanted. He delivered them like he was trying to pass a football out of his ass. Tanner and Paul—Tanner and Spence—broke up the space around his tirades; there were often casualties.
Sitting at a Grooveyard table, dead drunk, hunched into a chair, watching as two half-empty Mickey’s danced over the side to smash upon the floor without a sound. Harvey Milk were slamming through “Smile”; it’s included on this DVD, brought back to me in an impossibly bright light that feels like every single one of my ‘90s blackouts delineated in painstaking detail. A year later, there’s a performance of “All the Live Long Day,” complete with sledgehammer. One of the Milk’s finest moments, Creston unearths railroad workman angst of biblical proportion and hammers it into nothingness. Three years later there’s “Anita Languished in Solitary Splendor, Jabbing Needles Into Her Buttocks,” jetting beyond the awkwardness of its title, fleet of foot and at the mercy of Kyle Spence whose impeccable timing and taste strut, smash, and sprint through every random rhythmic pattern that presented itself to Bonzo’s booze addled brain. A full nine years later we’ve come full circle. Pauly’s back behind the kit; Creston and Tanner to stage left and right: new songs, good Goddamned old sound.
Harvey Milk: not many listened to them. Their shows—at least the ones I was at—were sparsely attended. Their longevity is as inspiring as it is surprising. No one expected them to last as long as they did, much less reform. For those that came late to the party, Anthem will be a scolding revelation. For those that stayed too late, it’s a salient reminder of giving praise where praise is due, at home in this puppet show land, where everything has got God’s hand up its ass.
Harvey Milk’s Anthem is available on DVD now.
Although I’d take him to task for over-romanticizing the Atlanta rock club scene, thank you, Stewart Voegtlin.
A minor sidestep. Although many of you would probably never guess this, I’m an enormous military history nerd. Like, frightfully so…..
So when I went to the Aberdeen Proving Grounds on the way home, I was just thinking I could go in, check out the ordinance and be on my way. Well, thanks to Osama (or at least according to the cops), I had the van completely turned upside down looking for bombs or explosive material. Does anybody see the irony here? The Aberdeen Proving Grounds is where tanks and high caliber guns are sent for testing. So if there’s one place that you’d think it’d be okay to bring that kind of stuff in (or it’d at least not be a high priority) it’d be this place.
But going to the APG was kinda sad too. My dad used to take me there routinely as a kid and for some reason, everything just seemed bigger than life. Maybe part of that was the fact that I was 12 and probably 18 inches shorter than I am now. But seeing these rusted out behemoths out in the Maryland countryside is still quite chilling. And I leave you with a picture of the Anzio railgun. Note the size compared to the fella in the foreground.
Every tour that’s not on the West Coast ends with me driving the van from the last show to Georgia. Y’see, although you’d think that you could easily rent a one-way van, it’s actually next to impossible. So if we end in Chicago or Martha’s Vineyard, the comedians are taken to airports, train stations or whatever, and then I march home with an empty van and plenty of silence.
I’m definitely hit with a sense of empty nest syndrome, but it’s also great to have a bit of silence even though it’s mixed with 3 days of driving non-stop to get home. Just mind-numbing driving mixed with countless bottles of Diet Pepsi, Pop Tarts and an occasional pee break. God, I can’t wait to be back in the South.
Tonite I have an Overrated Tour Party in Baltimore sponsored by Atomic Books and then I hopefully catch up with the Magnolia Electric guys tomorrow in Richmond. Possibly get to meet Pen Rollings finally….. And tonite? I get to sleep at my mom’s house!
The last east coast tour we did ended in Martha’s Vineyard and I had my wife as my driving companion on the long trip back to Atlanta. This time I wasn’t so lucky. However, I was able to squeeze in some fun along the way.
I did a screening of the Harvey Milk DVD at Great Scott in Allston. Paul Trudeau came out with his wife and a couple friends. Ayal Naor (who originally released Courtesy and The Pleaser) came out with his lady Maria. Michael Babcock from Interrobang came out. And of course, the mofos in Black Helicopter made an appearance. Have you bought their new record yet? If you haven’t……you must. Like, right now. Zach from BH helped me get this screening together with Carl who books Great Scott. So much fun.
The real surprise of the night was the mighty and powerful Blacktail who played after "Anthem". Having a Boston noise rock pedigree that includes members of La Gritona and Luca Brasi, I was actually planning to hit the road before they started just to get to my hotel room on the other side of New Haven quicker, but the second they started, I had to stick around for their whole set. Droney, noisy, and surprisingly catchy as shit. Yeah, something right up my alley. I’m so predictable. I really look forward to seeing them again.
Unfortunately, I had to leave almost immediately after their set in order to check into my hotel 3 hours away. 2 Red Bulls, 5 Diet Pepsis, 2 donuts and a Pop Tart later, I arrived in Bridgeport, Connecticut. God, I hate checking in around 5 in the morning. The night staff never likes seeing you. Kinda reminded me of that late check-in back in Philly a week ago. Oy.
Blacktail – Styrofoam Island
Blacktail – Cobra Kai
Black Helicopter – Buick Electra
Black Helicopter – Warshed Out
Ah yes, the end of another tour and what a better way to wrap it up than with our buddy Zach Galifianakis doing a guest set!
The show was a great success but the 4’x4′ partition originating directly off stage was more than a bit weird. But regardless, it didn’t hinder things too much. Of course, everybody had really good sets and Patton’s closing set had Morgan, Eugene and Brian fucking with him off stage. Maybe not as venomous as the Patton Vs. Alcohol Vs. Zach EP, but still pretty funny.
So another tour comes to an end. Whew! Now to get the van back, but also have an "Anthem" screening scheduled in Boston and an Overrated party in Baltimore. Thankfully, I can squeeze them in on the way back home.
A couple of things, the "Pennsylvania Macaroni Company" CD-EP is now for sale and also, Mr. Galifianakis is having me make more "pretentious" shirts which I’ll be able to sell on the site. Thanks to everybody for coming out, and thanks to the folks that brought Chunklet stuff for me to sign. That was really nice of you.
A fun, yet somewhat bittersweet, show at Lupo’s in downtown Providence. I don’t know why, but every time on these tours, the last couple shows really make me sad. The first shows are so incredible, the middle shows are the slow burn and then the end comes and then I think "oh man, I won’t be doing this again for another 6 months". It sucks.
Had some horrible hotel problems when we got to town, but fortunately Tom Pisano bailed us out (as usual) and let me go and have a peaceful dinner with friends.
A good crowd, less a couple asshole hecklers during Patton’s closing set. Fred Armisen drove up from New York to do a five minute bit that he also did in Philly as the Native American comic whose name I completely can’t remember right now.
Walked along the riverfront late at night with the Ledoux’s and John from Secret Stash looking at the "Water Fire" thing that they have going on….. I couldn’t get a decent photo of it, but it was a lot better looking at it than it would be to describe. Basically, there’s huge pots of cedar burning in the river. I know, I’m not doing it justice, but it was awesome to see. Got to glimpse at the RISD campus and talked to Jesse about how awesome he is as a designer. Anyhoozle……..
So excited, Zach is coming in tonite to do a guest set on this, the final show of the tour in New Haven. Whee!