What The New ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS Song "La Petite Mort" Means To Me

greetings,

earlier this week i had the opportunity to dine at the new skyline chili on brown street with andy of ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS. i selected the standard three-way chili and a mountain dew while andy opted for the three way w/habanero cheese and a dr. pepper.

during dinner i was able to engage andy in a brief dialogue regarding one of his more recent songs. i am referring to that rip-snortin' boot-stompin' back of the hand butt-thwackin' less than 2 minute quickie that we *already* know and love as, "la petite mort."

after our brief conversation, and my subsequent research later in the day, i was able to ascertain with a fairly high level of probability, that this new song is about none other than - the great mortimer snerd (top photo), a petite 36-inch "woody," if you will, who spent his entire life getting handjobs in the lap of edgar bergen (lower photo, to the left of snerd).

for an introduction into the man that we *now* know as mortimer "la petite mort" snerd, please take a mere two minutes out of your busy day to view this brief yet entertaining snippet:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAO7ucHerWc


if your appetite for "all things snerd" has not been sated but merely whetted by this video, and you feel an unabated hankering and hungering for more, then please by all means consult your local library - that trough of knowledge where you are always welcome to, in the words of another dayton songwriter whose name escapes me at the moment: "pin back your ears and feed."

during a recent e-mail exchange with suzanne gourlie, a book buyer at the dayton metro library, i was able to place a patron request for the book "ventriloquism for dummies." i believe that this is the latest title in the popular and very familiar black and yellow "for dummies" book series. i am quite certain that it will contain additional information on both messrs. snerd and bergen.

however, please keep in mind that my interpretation of the new ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS song "la petite mort" could be all wrong.

it may in fact just be about drinkin' beer and doin' french chicks.



edgar bergen: "is your mother living yet?"
mortimer snerd: "nope . . . not yet"

..

Local Album Of The Year Award

. . . . . . . . . . . . (pictured, left to right, a happy fan)

the buddha den, dayton's premier music blog (and alter-ego of kyle melton, music reviewer for the dayton city paper, the gem city's alternative weekly) has just announced their top five local albums of the year.

and the winner is . . .


"As far as we're concerned this was one of the best year's for local releases in a very long time. We heard a lot of music here at The Buddha Den, and here's what we're calling the cream of the crop:




#1 ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS Goodbye Ohio Perhaps the biggest surprise in the Dayton music scene this year was the meteoric rise of Andrew & the Pretty Punchers. We first caught them late in 07, without a bass player, but by mid-year the band found its stride and just took off with it. With their debut hashed out in a matter of days, the disc captures the intensity of the band's live show and frames the songwriting of Andrew Smith perfectly. Sure, it's not an overly-polished gem, but that's why we love it... BUY IT!


[ED NOTE: "nya nya - told you so"]


congratulations to ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS!

holler if you're still looking for a copy of the CD. it is also available at gem city records or on eBay.

merry christmas and a happy new year to everyone!


reporting live from deepest east dayton i remain,
kevin (smith)






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

rounding out the buddha den's top five local albums of the year:




#2 Captain of Industry The Bronze On this the band's third album, Captain of Industry honed their indie-prog into an exceptionally potent brew on The Bronze. Whether dipping into dreamy indie-pop or blasting out labyrinthe-like amalgamations, COI remains one of Dayton's finest.... BUY IT!




#3 Jordan Hull Jordan Hull We could easily ramble on about his age or his similarities to certain singer/songwriters from the 60s, but that would be a complete waste of time. What's important here is that you realize the burgeoning talent that is Jordan Hull and get on board now. With a debut this strong, it's hard to imagine what might be around the corner for Jordan Hull... BUY IT!




#4 My Latex Brain Good Is Dead My Latex Brain have been at this for nearly a decade at this point, and it's respective members have been in the Dayton music for even longer. What's so amazing is how Good Is Dead obliterates any so-called theory about how this is a young man's game. From Hoops' insightful stabs at...well...pretty much the entire Establishment...boiling over top of the incessant grind of drummer Roger Owsley and bassist Chris Corn, this is band at the absolute top of their game... BUY IT!


#5 The Northwest Ordinance State of Ohio These guys are just so Ohio it's almost like a bad joke: four guys from big Ohio cities converge in Dayton, meld their record collections and love of vintage garage and punk, and hey it's The Northwest Ordinance. This is just such a savory slab of guttural rock n' roll goodness that made it's way onto our speakers constantly this year. From their straightforward buzzsaw grind to their unsettling lurch, if this one doesn't make you jump around in yr house, you have no soul... BUY IT!


more at: http://buddhaden.blogspot.com/

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"Crunchy In The Pen" (A Work In Regress): PART TWO

And now . . .


PART TWO: "The Day Of The Grapefruit"

As a toddler I always suspected that much of mother's rage and maternal jealousy could be traced back to that deeply-flawed attempt at surreptitiously delegating her diaper duties.  I also believed that each time I "reached up" to my big sister, especially when in a clean state of diaperhood, it only enflamed that jealous rage even more - like so much kindling on a fire built from the logs of duplicity.  A fire that was to hound me into my later years - specifically, grades one and two.

But it wasn't just me who felt this unchecked wrath. It constantly revealed itself in the general tension at home. not to mention the occasional outright explosion - like the unfortunate incident involving a squirrel; the 4th chewed clothesline of the summer; and then - the sudden barrage of whole florida grapefruit and high-pitched maniacal laughter from the second floor bathroom window.

That's right.  Mother, that bellwether of emotion, had melted down again.

More often than not, for safety reasons, the house went into "lock down" mode after one of these occurrences.  My big sister would move me and the pen to the backyard while the other siblings would slink away to their rooms, quietly close their doors, and pretend to read . . . anything.

I can remember the day of the grapefruit like it was yesterday.  Seeing the forlorn look on my father's face when he returned home from work. Watching him step from the garage, nattily decked out in a suit with very thick, vertical, wooden stripes- no, wait - those are the bars of the pen-

I can remember the day of the grapefruit like it was yesterday.  Me *standing* in the pen *above* the very thick, vertical, wooden bars - seeing the forlorn look on my father's face when he returned from work. Watching him step from the garage to begin that long traipse - his own personal Bataan Death March - from the garage to the house where dadhood awaited him.  Dragging his feet as usual, and then, on this day, stopping entirely to take in the fallen clothesline, and the carnage of rinds and grapefruit pulp scattered throughout the yard and against the garage door.

And then . . .

My father, the animal lover, seeing . . . the squirrel.

That poor, poor squirrel.  Earlier in the day: so full of life, chewing on the clothesline. and now, later in the day - so full of death, not chewing on the clothesline.I can also vividly remember how desperately I wanted to "reach out" to mother after this blow-up, to share my observations with her so as to maybe offer her some relief, or perhaps just a brief respite from her pain and seething anger - or maybe something as simple, yet cleansing, as the catharsis of self-knowledge.

But alas and alack - I could not find the words.

Well, actually, I *could* find the words.  I just didn't know how to talk yet. 

But the saddest part was to think that mother brought it all on herself, with that hare-brained scheme to transfer my diaper changing needs to my big sister.

Sad.  Sad.  Sad.

Mother - we hardly knew ye . . .Yet.

FINIS, PART TWO


APPENDIX: GUIDE TO ATTACHED PHOTOS:

Exhibit A: mother apologizes for the squirrel fatality by offering me a kiss - although my right fist remains coiled, cocked, and ready (see detail Exhibit A.1) - still not quite sure what to believe or who to trust at this point.

Exhibit B: father returns from work and offers consolation for my already in progress "grapefruit as weapon/deceased squirrel" trauma. It appears from the photo that I have completed stage one of the healing process - commonly referred to in the toddler trauma literature as the "recoil in horror" or "duck and cover" stage.  This behavior typically manifests itself with an overt "ducking and covering" reflex - perhaps under a favorite "blankie," or a couch, or maybe a nearby carpet remnant.

Stage two of post-traumatic toddler stress ("full cranial axis pivoting") typically involves a child's head involuntarily pivoting on its axis (i.e. the shoulders).  Although "Exhibit B" is only a photo, the pensive discomfort in my toddleresque visage is still quite noticeable.  Clearly my head is still reeling and darting about, although the full 360 degree pivots appear to have ceased.  My troubled face tells me that I am still not certain that the savagery has truly ended, or that the coast is in fact, clear .

Exhibit C: father inspects the right side of my head for grapefruit damage.

(Note:  "Crunchy In The Pen" (a work in regress) is for Peggy, with love and laughter.)

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"Crunchy In The Pen" (A Work In Regress): PART ONE

"Crunchy In The Pen" (A Work In Regress): PART ONE


"Take care, Crunchy. I can still see you in that playpen in the kitchen reaching your arms out to me to pick you up when I got home from school. Life was much simpler then, wasn't it?" (Sandy, my big sis)


Actually sis, when I reflect back on those years behind bars, when I was in "the pen," life was just a tad more complex than I think you may have realized.

I faintly remember that mom's ill-conceived scam was supposed to go something like this: while you were at school, she would train me to reach up for you whenever my diaper needed changing by holding up a large photo of you whenever I committed an excretory indiscretion.

Unfortunately (for mom), her diabolical scheme went terribly awry when I naturally took a liking to you and began to reach up for you regardless of my current diaper status and/or contents.

Well, at least that's how I remember it.

FINI, PART ONE

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"I Got Your Back, Little Brother"

The morning after my sister Peggy died, my son Andy stopped by the house to share tears and to talk (well - actually to listen).

Having both been blessed with a healthy dollop of "Smith humor" - "Sugar" (Peggy's name for Andy) and Peggy got along splendidly.

I shared with Andy pretty much what he already knew - that Peggy and I had been much more than sister and brother - we were the best of friends.  Peggy and I "had each other's back" decades before that expression even came into existence.   as I told someone later in the week "Peggy and I never got the memo on 'sibling rivalry'"

It was slightly bittersweet, but mostly just very sad, to have Peggy confirm this one final time in the letter she left for me:

"I have always felt a special bond w/you that I can't really explain. I can't imagine there was ever a brother loved as much as you, from the time you were little."

Later in the week, while going through some pictures for my earlier blog post (titled "Peggy"), I found three photos from 1954-55 when I was between 6 months and 1-year-old.  They are the only family pictures that I have from that time period.  With my recent conversation with Andy still fresh in my mind, I was struck by Peggy's "Mama Hawk" body language in each of the three pictures.   :-)

Granted, it was just by chance, but in each photo she seems to be watching out for me already, either by glancing in different directions - keeping an eye on the flanks - or by standing hands on hips, the first line of defense, directly in front of Dad and me.

See Andy . . . what did I tell you about your Aunt Peggy "havin' my back" for a long, long time? . :-)

I love you and miss you, sister and friend.

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Friends Don't Let Friends Donate To Charity, Sober

I am very proud, and yet somewhat frightened, to announce:

The 1st Annual ANDREW & THE PRETTY PUNCHERS 1/2 Yard Beer Drinking Contest For Charity!

The show will be at South Park Tavern on Saturday, December 13th @10:00.

The excellent Dayton band Hospital Garden will open.

ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS will probably play at about 11:00.

The beer drinking contest, open to anyone, but thankfully very much optional, will be judged on speed of consumption. Specifically, how long it takes each contestant to throw back a 1/2 yard of beer. A half-yard of beer is an 18 inch high glass that contains 32 ounces of "momma's milk" (i. e. beer).

The current record holder at the South Park Tavern is "Rocker," a good friend of the band and all round nice guy. Rocker drank a 1/2 yard of beer in 6 seconds flat. Ever since then chicks can't keep their hands off of him, and being a pipe fitter by trade, this seems to have worked out to everyone's general satisfaction.


The $2.00 cover charge and the beer drinking contest proceeds (uh . . . money, that is) will go to the St. Vincent de Paul charity.

See you on the 13th!

.

Peggy

May Mom and Dad greet you, hold you, and keep you - my beloved sister and dear friend.

I promise you that we will laugh again.
You can run, but you cannot hide.
("Me find you Peggy") 

This is my song for you, Nurse Peggy.  Thank you for "fixing" me so many times.  I am sorry that I could not fix you.  

The Young At Heart Chorus: 

http://youtu.be/G-e8LGMPTtE


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*free* ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS show, Wednesday, Nov 26th

ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS will be playing a pre-thanksgiving show on wednesday, november 26 at the oregon express on 5th street in dayton's oregon district.

the show is FREE.

the music will commence at around 9:30 with solo act Levi Weaver of nashville.

the PRETTY PUNCHERS will take the stage at about 10:30. but they will immediately bring it back, and probably start playing at about 11:00.



[swamp dogg (pictured) will not be playing]

They Came, They Experienced, They Left

hey there,

i noticed that mitch mitchell (above, left), the drummer for the jimi hendrix experience, passed away yesterday at the age of 61. bassist noel redding died back in 2003.

i believe that makes the jimi hendrix experience the first band from the 60s to be completely gone.

they were perhaps the only group ever to release a debut LP ("are you experienced") that was so freaking good that some folks still think it's a greatest hits album.

i remember one afternoon back in '67 or '68 walking with my friend and neighbor dave baker down to a garage in the 600 block of saint nicholas to pick up papers for dave's newspaper route. the delivery truck was late that day and so everyone was sitting around just talking.

this one guy named jerry wonderly, who was kind of cool but also kind of odd, was going on and on about this record album that he had just bought. he said there was this black guy who played guitar with just a drummer and a bass player, and that the guy was really amazing. jerry said it was called "heavy" or "psychedelic" music.

i remember a couple of us said that it was hard to imagine a black guy playing rock and roll music - especially lead guitar.

of course a few years later everyone knew who jimi hendrix was and it was no longer difficult to imagine a black guy playing rock and roll guitar.

by that point the difficulty was trying to figure out how in god's name he played it the way that he did.

.

Sunken Chest, Pirate's Delight: The Saga Of Self-Consciousness

(lower two photos by peggy longacre)


Hello,

Welcome to the first of what I hope to be many blog posts about my body.

[Hey! Wait! Where'd everybody go?!]

In photo #1 above you will see me standing on a diving board. This photo was taken in 1974 during a trip to myrtle beach with my friend Dave. Neither one of us had a car but Dave's parents let us use their very cool two-tone (green and white) 1958 Chevy Impala. Actually his dad did not like the idea, but Dave's mom talked him into it.

In addition to this, Dave's mom secretly placed two cases of beer in the trunk of the car for us. We didn't know it was there until we loaded our suitcases at about 5 a.m. on the day of our departure.

Dave's mom was very cool.

But about that first photo . . . yes, that is yours truly "gettin' out of hand" at a Myrtle Beach hotel swimming pool party hosted by Dave and me and attended by . . . well - Dave and me.

The photo is actually a "still" taken from one of our series of 8mm films titled "Girls Gone" that we unsuccessfully marketed for a brief time in the mid-70s. Of course it wasn't until later that Snoop Doggy Dog took our original idea, added "Wild" to the end of the title, then added actual live women, and . . . well - the rest is cinematic history.

But nevertheless there I am "gettin' crazed" standing on the diving board while *at the exact same time* holding a can of beer in my hand. Actually, given my fear of water, posing for this spontaneous photo was no small feat.

And speaking of "no small feat" . . . about that body of mine.

I would like you to focus on the middle area of photo number #2.  If you look very closely you will see a cavernous area, almost pot hole-like, that somewhat resembles a human chest.

That in fact is *my* chest.

Photos #3 and #4 don't really reveal anything additional about my chest.   I mainly included them because I thought that I looked pretty hot.

There is actually a name for my rather oddly shaped, hollowed-out chest.  It is called "pectus excavatum." It means that my chest is sunken when it should be either flat or slightly protruding.

Nowadays, babies born with this condition can have it corrected immediately. It sounds pretty horrible, but since a baby's bones are fairly malleable, their chests can be reformed by hand, or at least without having to break and re-set anything. I guess they just ram two fingers down the newborn's windpipe and then press out.

[Just kidding on that last part]

But unfortunately that was not the way newly hatched bundles 'o joy were treated back on April 24, 1954.

I was breathing,  I cried, and so I was good to go - "sunken chest" be damned.

As a young boy I assumed that everyone had a chest that looked like mine, and so I thought nothing of it when I would lie on my back on the floor with my feet pointed towards the television, the back of my head propped up on a pillow, and a little pile of popcorn or potato chips in the hollow of my chest. Occasionally someone would make a comment about my unique snack holder, but I would just shrug and continue snacking and watching TV.  I think that I just assumed that was the whole point of the design feature.

My concave chest also served me quite well at bath time.  Lying in the same position as described above I would fill my personal reservoir with water for my army men and jeeps.  And since it was always cold in our house, and even colder in the tub, my nipples ("command central east and west") served as great destination points for my soldiers as they traversed across "Lake Saint Kevin."

Later I found more utilitarian and romantically advantageous uses for my "pectus excavatum." It served as a fairly cozy bed (and later - a water dish) for a kitten that my first girlfriend and I found at the park behind my parent's house. And this young lady, and others, also found my slight skeletal deformity to be a comfortable place to rest their heads while lying in the grass with me. and for the slightly more petite lasses, it served as a nice forehead receptacle when being hugged or while dancing.

Oddly enough, I did not even know that my chest condition had a medical name until 1979.  I was about to enter graduate school and I needed to get a complete physical examination.  After the exam I noticed that the doctor had written something at the bottom of the generic form. When I read "pectus excavatum" I was a bit taken aback. I didn't have a clue what that meant or what it was referring to, I just knew that it sounded ominous. I asked the doctor about it and he just pointed and said "sunken chest." I said "oh - ok."

As we were walking out of the exam room I told him that the medical terminology made it sound a little scary - like I was diseased or something. I reminded him that I was starting graduate school in a couple of weeks and if it got out on campus that I had "pectus excavatum" no woman would ever come near me.   Just to counter-balance that possibility,  I told the doctor that I would slip him a ten spot if he would also write "penis gigantis" on my medical form.

He refused.

I must admit that it was kind of cool to have a medical condition with a name. But it wasn't until some 15 years later that I found out that the condition also came with actual side effects, ones that I had experienced but never associated with the condition.

It was in 1993 that a girlfriend conducted some research regarding my chest and discovered that, not surprisingly (even though it had never been mentioned to me) "pectus excavatum" could have a detrimental effect on lung capacity.  Apparently this side effect was prevalant enough that some adults with the condition were having their chests "broken" and reshaped.

My particular "concavity" is more pronounced on my left side, but I've never found any information on whether that may affect the capacity of my heart - to function as a physical organ, that is - not on its capacity to love, which goes on unfettered and uninhibited.

But the information about "stunted lung capacity" instantly turned on a very bright bulb inside my head. Suddenly a lot of things started making sense.

For many years I had participated in sports, and although my efforts were pretty successful, I always had a problem with stamina. I would spend weeks running and doing conditioning exercises - trying to get in shape for basketball - only to find myself out of breath after a few runs up and down the court.  My coaches were constantly giving me grief about not being in shape and would make me stay after practice to - you guessed it - run more laps.

But now I know that my problem had nothing to do with conditioning and everything to do with the lack of lung capacity due to a skeletal malformation.   

So, to all of those coaches of yesteryear (you know who you are) who ran my sorry ass ragged thinking that I was out of shape, I would like to say:

"Screw you bastards! You coulda killed me!"

Damn that felt good.  I'm glad that I finally got that off my chest 

OH! HA! HA! . . . I kid.

So this concludes the first in what I hope to be a series of blog posts about my body and all of its unique features and idiosyncrasies.

Please stay tuned for future installments in the "My Body, My Life" series, including these provocative titles:

"Dude?! What's The Deal With Your Ass?"  Growing Up With A Horizontal Butt Crack: The Kevin Smith Story

and

"Oops, Sorry About That . . . Um - So I Guess This Probably Means 'No'  For Prom Night, Right?"  Growing Up With Projectile Acne: The Kevin Smith Story

.

UPDATE: sunday solo acoustic show

UPDATE TO THE SUNDAY SOLO/ACOUSTIC SHOW:

it's five bone (i.e. dollars) to get in and the show will start promptly at 8:00 (at least the other "songwriters in the round" shows have started on time)

there will be nine singer/songwriters performing in two groups of 4 and 5 - not sure whether ANDREW & THE HIMSELVES are in group one or two.


.

ANDREW & THE HIMSELVES, solo/acoustic, this sunday @ canal street

LATE BREAKING NEWS:

this sunday, november 16, everyone's favorite duo, those masters of three-part harmonies, the ANDREW & THE HIMSELVES quartet, will be performing solo at the canal street tavern as part of the bar's decades old & much fabled "songwriters in the round" series.

the show gets started at about 8:00. i'm not sure about the cover charge but it's probably not more than a few bucks.

the arrangement is pretty cool - kind of in the tradition of the old greenwich village coffeehouse shows back in the early sixties. there are three or four songwriters on stage and they take turns performing about four or five songs each. occasionally they will also intersperse their performances with spontaneous and witty repartee *at no additional charge*. it's really intimate and crap.

for a sample of what you can expect this sunday, check out the acoustic debut of the gorgeous song "shitty teeth" from the "songwriters in the round" debut of ANDREW & THE HIMSELVES at:

http://www.myspace.com/andrewtheprettypunchers

it's the 4th song down on the right.

and by the way . . . wait until you hear the full ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS version of "shitty teeth." in keeping with the scatalogical motif i say: "'shitty teeth' . . . holy crap!"

great stuff indeed!

hopefully it will be coming soon to a CD near you [nudge nudge, wink wink]

but anyway - see you sunday!


[next ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS show: thanksgiving eve, wednesday the 26th, at the oregon express - more info coming soon!]

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A PLEA FOR CALM: An Open Letter To My Readership

my fellow americans,

i wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has expressed their concerns and well wishes as i enter this post-presidential election transition.

the last two months have been a wonderful and heady time but now we must move on as a people, and address the task at hand.

i have a history of transitioning seamlessly from one obsession to the next, and i am fully confident that tradition will once again serve us well.

please rest assured that i have assembled a top-notch group of individuals to serve on my transition team as we begin to assess the many opportunities and obsessions that this great country offers me.

obviously, a return to the private sector as CEO of the 7-year-old eBay juggernaut that we all know as jumbostatz inc. is being considered.

however, i have instructed and encouraged my transition team to view the future as the clean slate that it always is. a clean slate that is an open road full of many opportunities, many obsessions, and many mixed metaphors.

to that end, any and all obsessions are being considered.

these next several weeks are going to be a challenge, not just for me and the transition team, but for all of us. there is no way of getting around that. and even though many see that open road ahead of us as unlit and unknown - full of daunting tasks, detours, and pot holes (although the latter are typically worse after the winter thaw so we should be good to go there) - i see nothing but more opportunities and more obsessions. obsessions to be captured and wrestled to the ground like so much raw meat when your belly is empty.

and so standing here before you today, i promise you that very soon i will once again grab that next obsession, and much like the python when it sees its prey, i will subdue that obsession and bring it to the ground, slowly collapsing its wind pipe and squeezing out every last breath of its life, until it slumps over deathlike at my feet to be methodically devoured until it ceases to be the obsession that it once was.

on that you have my word as an american.

. . . and yet still i hear the relentless grating cackle of your caring but worried voices.

and those voices ask: "but kevin, there have been so many obsessions before. do you think that you can find another one?"

to which i respond . . .

"yes i can"

and those voices ask: "but kevin, you are getting older. can you take the stress of a transition to still another obsession?"

to which i respond . . .

"yes i can"

and those voices ask: "but kevin, can you once again take the loneliness of these solitary, obsessive adventures?"

to which i respond:

"yes i can . . . but only if i know that you are still out there for me, as i am here for you. can we promise each other that?"

to which everyone responds:

"YES WE CAN!!!"


then god bless all of you!

and god bless the united states of america!

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Studs Terkel, American Hero, 1912-2008

hey there,

i am very sorry to report that oral historian studs terkel passed away today.

studs terkel was a great man. his philosphy as a oral historian was always the same - if you want the truth of history you talk to the common men and women, the ones who lived it.

ironically, terkel's own oral history, heard in countless interviews, was incredibly interesting as well. and he was a hootfest to the very end. i heard an interview with him on NPR several years ago that had me in tears. he managed to capture and filet, in just a few brief and humorously delivered sentences, about everyone involved in the iraq invasion fiasco. i remember specifically how he managed to turn donald rumsfeld into some type of incompetent saturday morning cartoon "super-hero" in about 45 seconds.

studs terkel was the quintessential lampooner of buffoons. he had an extremely sophisticated bullshit detector that i suspect was fine-tuned from all of the countless oral histories that he conducted with everyday people. i've always thought that the "important" people that lived during terkel's time should count their blessings, because had he focused his written word on them instead of the common man, they would have been exposed and drawn & quartered - mark twain style - in a few choice paragraphs.

this short, humorous, but feisty and very wise man had the capability of being the biggest pain in the ass. but the pain was always reserved for the pompous and arrogant asses that deserved it the most.

god bless studs terkel, everyman's everyman.


"How can one talk about life without saying sometime it's going to end? It makes the value of life all the more precious."
(S. Terkel)



CNN obit:

http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/books/10/31/studs.terkel.obit/index.html

NYT obit:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/01/books/01terkel.html?pagewanted=1&em
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ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS Wednesday, 10/29 @ Canal Street Tavern!

i am happy to announce that ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS will be playing on wednesday, october 29th at the canal street tavern.

the music will commence at around 9:30.

there will be two solo opening acts:

WIL COPE, an excellent singer and songwriter and former daytonian who is now making a musical go of it in austin texas.

and from sweden by way of new orleans, THERESA ANDERSSON.

andersson's many instruments/one woman shows and recordings have been garnering some mainstream press from rolling stone, spin, and others. she has also recorded and performed with several new orleans legends, including allen toussaint, the neville brothers, the meters.


ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS will probably take the stage at about midnight.

the current setlist is a veritable potpourri of hits both old and new, with much of the emphasis on the latter. they opened their much anticipated dayton music fest set in ballsy fashion by breaking out *five new songs* before delving into the genius that we all know as GOODBYE OHIO.

i personally guarantee a good show from the fellas (duh).

they haven't played live in quite awhile, and those long layovers - kickin' in the stall and gettin' all restless and what-not - well, they tend to make those feisty young broncs a little ornery and ready to bust out just a bit.

and besides - if you're willing to sit your sorry ass down in a bar in dayton, ohio at midnight on a wednesday, you deserve nothing less.

see you then!


http://www.myspace.com/andrewtheprettypunchers

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"Testes, One Two...Testes, One Two" or...Middle-Age, It's Not For Sissies

greetings from deepest east dayton,

ok, so after a couple of years of wondering why my head wanted to have sex but my body didn't, i decided to go see the doctor.

his suggestion was obvious: "let's do some blood work and check your testosterone levels." i thought at first that this was a sperm count, but that's something else entirely that deals with fertility as opposed to virility. and of course nowadays anyone can conduct a sperm count on their own. all you need is *really good* eyesight, very nimble fingers, a fisherman's patience, and a strong desire to know.

so we did the blood work, and sure enough, my testosterone levels were "off the charts" low. just my luck, after several decades of self-diagnosis for various ailments this had to be the one that i got right.

the test measured three different types of testosterone: "total" "free" and "available." i thought that it was both remarkably ironic and painfully cruel that the words could easily be used to describe a fella who was feeling a bit "randy" which of course i wasn't - hence why i was discussing the goddamned mocking medical nomenclature test results at the doctor's office.

the doctor said that the most important of the three measurements was the "available" number. naturally, even though i bombed all three parts of the test, my "available" number was the worst of the three. the "standard range" is 110-575 and i think i got . . . well - let's just say it was the first time in testing history that consideration was given to "grading on a curve" when there was only one testee (so to speak).

in case you were wondering, they have a name for what i've got. it's called "hypogonadism."

that made me cringe and so the doctor said "how about "male menopause?"

that was a little better (i think because it didn't contain "gonad" as the root word) so in lieu of cringing, i merely squirmed and recoiled slightly.

the doctor and i finally settled on "andropause."

and what do you prescribe for andropause you ask. well "androgel" of course. and what is androgel? it's fake testosterone.

i started my "treatments" this week. it involves rubbing this gel into my upper arm and then, while looking at myself in the mirror, pounding on my chest with closed fists while letting out the most primal and guttural sounds that i can muster interspersed with rhythmic chants of "me want woman! . . . me want woman! . . . me want woman!" ad infinitum.

so far i haven't noticed much difference. well, at least, not [ahem] "downtown where the boys hang out." however, interestingly enough, i have taken to sitting on my porch swing dressed in a loin cloth and holding a very large club.

i'm not sure what that's all about.

all i know is whenever i jump off the porch with club in hand and take off after a squirrel or a neighborhood cat, the loin cloth "rides up" really bad.

i guess that this is going to take some patience on my part.

naturally i will keep everyone posted.



"it's not like wedgie
to creep up on me"
(a. smith)

THE SIMPLE LIFE

"yo smith! life is simple. you fess up for your sins or the bird craps on your head. you got it?"

"got it."

"i - can't - HEAR - you!"

"got it . . . SUH!"

"GUY MANN-DUDE? . . . we need to talk"

hey there,

quite often while looking for CDs or records to sell on eBay i find myself thinking: "ah yes . . . [insert name of artist/band name here] . . . i wonder whatever happened to them?

however that was not the case with GUY MANN-DUDE.

instead i thought: "who in the bloody hell is GUY MANN-DUDE and why does his goddamn CD have to be out-of-print and selling for 25+ dollars on eBay forcing me to take the $1 copy of it that i just found up to the pretty young woman at the counter of the CD store where she will almost certainly snicker as she reads "GUY MANN-DUDE" on the cover while stealing a glance at what she can only perceive to be my sorry ass 'mid-life crisis' simply because she doesn't know about my eBay business and that the GUY MANN-DUDE CD is out-of-print and selling for 25+ dollars before looking directly at me and saying:

'that will be $1.07 . . . sir' ?"

well, i didn't know the answer to that question and so i set out on a quest for information about this mr. MANN- uh . . . mr. -DUDE - uh, this GUY fella:

according to my crack research team, GUY MANN-DUDE passed away 14 years ago as a result of complications arising from an "incident" that occurred while -DUDE was performing the song "clusterphuck (the long version)" from his album "sleight of hand" at the 1994 kenosha county fair in wisconsin.

apparently the "incident" involved a "standing in the wrong place at the wrong time" GUY MANN-DUDE, a 43-foot-high free-standing amp, and one of wisconsin's legendary sudden prairie windstorms.

not much else is known about the actual cause of -DUDE's demise because the 37 people standing in the middle of the field [ahem] "enjoying" the long version of clusterphuck that wednesday afternoon in kenosha county wisconsin were all simultaneously recoiling in horror and looking the other way.

the windstorm hit about 3 minutes later.

apparently to prevent vandalism at -DUDE's gravesite by grieving fans and/or (we can only assume), angry 1994 kenosha county fair attendees still seeking refunds, GUY MANN-DUDE is buried in an undisclosed location in his hometown of sheboygan, wisconsin.

there is a photo of the tombstone at the guitarist's website. it is a deceptively plain grave marker for such a "larger-than-life" individual.

it simply reads:

DEAD ROTT-GUY
(formerly GUY MANN-DUDE)
1962 - 1994




EPILOGUE: well, in case you haven't guessed it yet, i still don't know a damn thing about this GUY MANN-DUDE fella, but since he did in fact put me through that somewhat emasculating ordeal with the pretty young woman at the CD store we're gonna go ahead with what i was able to unearth via the time-honored tradition of "creative research."

sorry, uh . . . -DUDE.

"do Not create anything, it will be

misinterpreted . . . sing something safe."

(b. dylan)

CONGRATULATIONS!

Congratulations to former Guided By Voices frontman, Robert "Bob" Pollard, for getting his picture on the cover of this week's "Dayton City Paper" with ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS.

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Bob and his new band, Boston Spaceships, can be seen in the lower middle photo, while a slightly larger photo of ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS is in the upper echelon- i mean, upper left (click on photo for larger image).

It's been a long time comin' Bob . . . you deserve it, big guy!

Two excerpts from the article:

"Amongst the Dayton Music Fest rookies this year are Andrew and the Pretty Punchers, Toads And Mice, and Astro Fang. Over the previous 12 months, these three bands have stood at the vanguard of a resurgence within the Dayton independent music scene."

"ANDREW AND THE PRETTY PUNCHERS: Within the last year, A&TPP have emerged as one of Dayton's most promising bands. With Andy Smith's fiery vocal delivery and the band driving home his infectious hooks, this is a must-see band at this year's festival."


The entire Dayton City Paper article is available here:

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http://dcpaper.blade6.donet.com/components/content_manager_v03/view_dcpaper/htdocs/dhtml/menu_ps.asp?NodeID=1166458395&group_ID=1161867733&Parent_ID=-1725052150