Bassist available. Works cheap.
Last night I got the rug pulled out from under me. The alt.country band I've been so stoked about has been dissolved. I think.
Last night I got a call from the guitarist/bandleader saying he was frustrated with how the band wasn't coming together. He said he didn't feel like I was into it, and was disappointed with my lack of preparation for rehearsals. Needless to say, I was stunned. We've only practiced as a complete band twice, and I'll be the first to admit that I hadn't done my homework. I even said as much before the last rehearsal. I'm usually really conscientious about that kind of thing, but my schedule has just been hairy lately. No excuse really, but it happens to be the truth.
But his mind was made up. I don't know if he's throwing in the towel on the whole thing, or if I've been fired, or what. I've never been asked to leave a band before, but I've had plenty of bands and projects implode on me. I just didn't see this one coming at all. Most ironic part: When I got the call, I was laying down a demo of a song I'd written for the now-defunct band.
Long story short, I'm cruising the online classifieds for a new gig. If you ever need a laugh, check out your local online musician's classifieds. Oh my. These people are hysterically funny without meaning to be. Kinda sad, but mostly really funny. But seriously, if you know of a band in the Bay Area that needs a punk/country/dub/jungle/glam-rock bassist, lemme know.
The good news is that I'm off work again today. Today's forecast calls for a trip to the gym, looking for a new band, watching the latest offerings from Netflix, then a trip to Pac Bell Park to see if the Giants can keep it going against Milwaukee. I could get used to this.
The Giants averted a four-game sweep last night in L.A., and the Angels did the same thing in Oakland. The A's stunk up the joint, to be perfectly frank. But as bad as the A's were, their fans were exponentially worse. Oh, the humanity. Here's a transcript of an exchange we had at the ballpark:
Red-Faced Drunk Guy: [to Tracy] "Hey, are you single?"
Tracy looks at him, puzzled. My hackles go up.
Me: "Dude ..."
Red-Faced Drunk Guy cuts me off.
Red-Faced Drunk Guy: "No, I know, ha ha. That's why I said it, because you're with her."
Me: "How could you possibly think that would be funny?"
Red-Faced Drunk Guy: [to me] "Hey, do you wanna go smoke?" Makes weed-smoking gesture.
Me: "You need a new act, man. That's fucking tired."
Red-Faced Drunk Guy says something unintelligible. We walk away, troubled.
There were also preponderences of mullets, bad rugs, and fat dudes with their shirts off. All in all, a grand old time.
In case you've missed my past plugs for musicrag.com, here's another one. I'm writing for that site now, and if you're looking for fresh and insightful music criticism, go elsewhere. But if you want to know what me and some other guys think about music and stuff, check out musicrag. It rocks. ßßß
It's all about ball bearings nowadays.
My condolences to all the poor saps that are stuck at work today. I, on the other hand, am at home. Tracy and I laid in bed until 10 and watched Fletch. Next up: Anaheim at Oakland at 12:30, then band rehearsal at 7. Folks, it just doesn't get any better than this. Here's to all of us becoming independently wealthy. Cuz this is the life.
Got to see Pootie Tang yesterday. It was pretty bad, but I laughed my ass off. I mean, c'mon: it's one joke. If you can make a whole movie outta one joke and not have it completely suck, you get my respect. I predict poor box office performance, but they'll make it up on the video rental market.
We skipped the fireworks thing altogether yesterday, but we did attend a fabulous barbecue. Scott Sylvia, tattoo artist extraordinaire, threw a shindig at his house in the Sunset. Jesus H. Christ, it was cold. It was like 85 here in East Oakland, and about 60 in the city. Luckily for Scott, he's moving to the sunny and cultured side of the Bay very soon.
That's all I got. Time to grab the glove and fight the other idiots for batting practice home runs. ßßß
He is never less at leisure than when at leisure.
My employer, in its infinite wisdom, has deigned to give us both Thursday and Friday off, in addition to the Independence Day holiday. Not too shabby. I plan to lay around a lot, work out a lot, and see all those movies that I've been wanting to see.
In related news, I am luckier than I thought to still have a job.
This news item pretty much proves that Courtney Love is the devil.
In related news, Jim Morrison is still dead.
I was fully prepared to post pictures of my back piece (tattoo), but our art director can't find the cable for the digital camera, so you will have to wait another week to see the brilliant work of Scott Sylvia. Hope it's worth the wait. ßßß
Brief Reviews of Stuff, or My $.02
Squarepusher: Go Plastic
After the 2-step-inspired brilliance of the album's first track, "My Red-Hot Car," the remainder of the album's wanky D'n'B fusion sounds like just that: wanking. Two pentagrams for "Car," zero for the rest.
Being Dead
Jim Crace's anatomy of a murder (in the most literal sense) is the most original book I've read in a long time, and possibly the most romantic. Find this book, hole up somewhere, and enjoy.
All the Pretty Horses
While not the total disaster that many critics made it out to be, "Horses" is still far from successful. On those occasions when Billy Bob Thornton actually let Cormac McCarthy's dialogue through, it could be riveting; but the choppy, amateurish editing and the demented use of slo-mo gave the film a freshman film-school vibe. It had its moments, and I'll give it two pentagrams, if only to be contrary.
Six Feet Under
Alan Ball's refreshingly original program about a family that runs a funeral home is so good that it makes me wonder why American Beauty, for which Ball wrote the screenplay, sucked so bad. God bless HBO, cuz "Six Feet Under" is about the only thing worth watching on TV this summer.
Bamboozled
Spike Lee's digital video experiment fails in every way it's possible to fail. Hey, Spike: Just because DV is cheap doesn't mean you don't need a script. One pentagram, and that's solely for Savion Glover's mind-blowing tap routines.
Choke
Chuck Palahniuk needs an editor. Fast. Calling this book unfocused would be paying it a compliment. It's all the more infuriating because "Choke" shows us flashes of the writer Palahniuk can be. And because of those moments, although few and far between, I'm begrudgingly giving this book two pentagrams.
The Derailers, Live at Slim's
The best night of live music I've had to pleasure to take in in a long time. If you're not hip to their Austin-by-way-of-Bakersfield pure country sound, you must check out the Derailers at your first opportunity. They are impeccable showmen, amazing musicians and songwriters, and gracious human beings. Alas, omitting three of my very favorite songs from the set garners them only four pentagrams.
Not Being Laid Off
Still having a job is really cool, but there's a part of me that would really dig two months off.
LimeWire 1.4
Combine the ease of the Napster interface with the power of the Gnutella file-sharing protocol and you've got LimeWire. Download it now and start sharing software, music, movies, pictures, and more. Five pentagrams, cuz LimeWire is the future.
What do you think? ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
