Birthday gal

Born into the world, there she is folks. A one of a kind. The Future.
Kristen and Jack congrats, I love you both (all!) very much.

DK

Just can't stop

Soooo .. played a show with cousin Bob's band RCMP at the Dive tonight.
They'all had a great new uni-directional mic that captured acoustic sounds just swell. Then the highlight was after the show when Bob called his W-I-F-E karen (who we LOVE) and she hung up on him.
Ouch, dude!
At least there's pillows on the couch, right?

Ramona Cash Maraglia

Yes, the child is born, February 24, 2005 to Jack Rudo and Kristen Chelsea.
Congrats cats!!
You see how the cycle of life works? We lose a legend, and hope springs anew up to take the place.
Ramona, you've got a lot going for you already. We're all rooting for ya now, baby!

Feb. 24 also happens to be the birthday of ... DK!!!
So THANK YOU RAMONA for taking over the date!
Does this mean I can pass over the day entirely and not have to celebrate my aging anymore? Why, I think so indeed.

Also, gotta get ready for this:

Onward

And forward we go, Charlie, into the great future that unfolds and spreads out in unmeasured tremors and marks on the charts only we can make.

Wandering into a great divide now, on this birthday midlife crisis hoedown, but enough of that noise.
In the morning we will make loud music and force our presence on this earth, for this time, for this place.

Here's a couple Seattle pics from our trip to the Paul Westerberg and His Only Friends show last weekend. The Showbox ROCKED! And more thanks and kisses to BethAnn for hosting us in the big Rocket City.

First, BethAnn tried to get us to check out some meth lab behind a strip club across from Pike Place but I tried to tell her.
" I get enough of that bad buzz motha-jazz in Oregon. Bring It!!!"

So we found a place over across from the Moore Theater called the Whiskey Bar, and Greg broke his rules about the hard stuff before the show.



Yeah, a ton of layers on and opening with All Shook Down material. It got much sweatier. Then I felt ancient singing along to songs I've loved for twenty years. TWENTY YEARS!!!??!



Needing fast and greasy nourishment, we hit Dick's on Capitol Hill in the early morning hours.

Create a Real Rising Sound

Ho-ka-hey, is a phrase the Lakota warriors would utter before battle, meaning 'It's a good day to die.'

Not meant as some grim goth kid lament on misery, but instead an urgent call to grab the world by the throat and pummel it stupid all day long while you still can. It's always later than you think.

But the hog is really out of the tunnel now, eh? And as I sit here still on the transition from denial to anger it's the suicide that baffles the most. At least you kicked your own ass.
'Real Hunter S. Thompson Killed to Death by Legendary Hunter S. Thompson.' Or maybe vice versa.

But I am sure you had a damn good reason after stomping the Terra here as long as you did, leaving the world a better place, if not a little more empty as of today.

And I bet the note is one hell of a read.

Gratitude and blame are really not opposites. So I thank and blame you Doctor Hunter Stockton Thompson for the directions. But in the end the credo was more Do It Your Own Way than anything else and for that the Angels will at least show mercy. Dunno about the Lord.

Like the countless number of others I was sucked in at an early age and soon began my own savage journey. The low rent, journalism trade fit only for newsjunkie swine, the ears for fast, weird living, and I suppose therein lies the blame.
Nevertheless you were the King Of Fun, a product so rare only the Great American Experiment could spawn.

The old adage, or T-shirt slogan, so fittingly applies - that Heaven won't take you and Hell's afraid you'll take over.
I only hope your ghost finds rest beyond, yet can linger enough to haunt me now and again. It already is.

You showed us that it can be done. Piss on the crybabys with berets and broken pencils at the coffee shop and the slaves to scenester stoogeville. We are the warriors of freedom and individuality.
So I raise this glass to us boys from the dark, bloody ground of Kentucky who Done It Our Way.

Rage. Rage against the dying of the light. Do not go quietly into that Good Night


Reverend DK

02.22.05

Mistah Thompson, he daid.

The AP alert crossed the desk just around 8 p.m. Sunday.
The Doctor blows his brains out.
I'll post a fitting obituary when I have more time, away from the churn and grind of a newsroom full of maniacs and TV junkies.
The world is a less talented place today Doc, still the rest of us go on.
You stomped the Terra.
May you find peace.

DK

Portland, we're sorry

Need a break from the cold, cold winter? Too bad, we're heading even further north this weekend.
Paul is playing the west coast and the first stop is Rocket CIty Friday, then back to the PDX for the Saturday Show.
It's been two years, and about nine since I saw him with a full band. Finally back on the road, being bad and loud, Paul Westerberg and His Only Friends.
I can relate. At any rate, I guess back home it's still snowing.

Oh yeah, and mark yer calendars cause I just can't stop:

Inspiration

My ears are usually always ringing from the night before.
I keep an open pack of clove cigs in my bedroom. It smells like punk rock clubs and the gang of Goth chicks that have followed me around from my youth.
Last night we decided to go see a psychobilly band at the newest hipster bar the Doug Fir and there was definitely Good Comedy for those willing to pay attention. The decor was great, the place is very Lynch, sound was out of sight, staff was a bit brash and the scenester quotient was disgusting - the reason I had never gone in the first place - so thusly goes the narrative.

It's a non-smoking bar. Stupid, yes - especially for a greasy 'billy crowd, but nevertheless, half way through the Shack Shaker's set, as they were pummeling along, I get this:

Her - (Rocker, hipster Portland hottie with a white belt): (leaning over to me) Do you have a light?

Me: (Trying to lean over to talk in her ear, as one must do at a blisteringly loud rock show) 'Honey, I don't think we're allowed to ...'

Her - Pulls away, like I was trying to mack on her.

Me - Realizing this, I try to reach out to her, and tell her, 'No, I was trying to explain we can't smoke in here.'

Her - Runs away even faster, thinking I'm trying to grab her ass now.

Me - Feeling retarded -What the Hell must that have looked like?

Note to self - Next time, just light her damn cigarette.

Postscript - I finally found the chick and went up to her to explain, 'Look baby, I wasn't trying to MAKE OUT WITH you, I just wanted to say they don't allow smoking in here. HaHa.' She was cool.

We're gonna wake up and Live Dammit!!!!

Strict time

You think you can't be stopped and what the Hell if you're wrong? Make love to your muse all night and stare back in the mirror, still it goes on and on.
On and on these days will fight back, going through motions in time. But clocks tick tock and memories lag behind.

Strange days plague us in different ways.
Oh yeah - I used up all my web space so far to post The Hazmats stuff, so until The Cripes songs are down on "tape," check out the HomeSlice bizznatch.

Taste this

Starting to post a trickle of songs for The Hazmats

The beat goes on

Thursday, February 03, 2005

The beat goes on

The search for four strings of ryhthm goes on. Gads man, I just want this
auditioning crap to end. Play the bass? Are you a pro?
What kind of music do you like? Where'd you go to school? How old are you? ...
Well. At least there's punk rock nurses.
(!)

Just lookin' out of the window
Watchin' the asphalt grow
Thinkin' how it all looks hand-me-down
Good Times
Keepin' your head above water
Makin' a wave when you can
Temporary lay-offs
Good Times
Easy Credit rip-offs
Good Times
Aint we lucky we got 'em
Good Times