Benny Mahan

“Hey kids, plug into the faithless
Maybe they're blinded
But Bennie makes them ageless
We shall survive, let us take ourselves along
Where we fight our parents out in the streets
To find who's right and who's wrong...”

That's from the Elton John/Bernie Taupin classic “Bennie and the Jets.”

It's been going thru my mind the past few days when thinking about my friend -and godfather of the Springfield, MO, rock n roll scene- Benny Mahan.

Benny has been laid up in the CCU after a triple (possibly quadruple) by-pass surgery on Monday. He hasn't awakened yet but is holding on and making whatever progress is available to the comatose. I just read on BookSpaceFacePlace that he was semi off the ventilator. But yesterday I read he had died. Instant news is like Tang. Instant, but not really orange juice.

On the surface, the song “Bennie and the Jets” is a period piece.

It seems to be Sir Elton and Bernie Taupin's acknowledgment of a new era: This was the just-shy-of punk era, after glam had reared his/her head and proto-punk bands like The Stooges and The MC5 had already fizzled. But they had left their burn on a generation waiting to play it loud.

The Velvet Underground had subverted a small but fanatic following. Lou Reed, under Bowie's wings had broken the Top 40.

Power pop had been invented by The Raspberries, Badfinger and the VENERABLE, quintessential power pop band, Big Star.

And Bowie had changed the world (drawing on many of the above bands as inspiration) by being Ziggy Stardust. It's heresy, I know, but I liked “Hunky Dory” (just prior to “Ziggy”) and “Alladin Sane” (just after) much more than “Ziggy.”

It was the Ziggy record that tore the roof off the sucker though. A day the world changed.

That's the vibe that Elton and Bernie were feeling with “Bennie and the Jets.”

And it can translate to any era.

Imagine seeing Louis Armstrong for the first time. Or Robert Johnson. Or Charlie Parker, Sun Ra, Thelonious Monk or John Coltrane.

Or Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett.

Or Little Richard. Or Gene Vincent. Or Buddy Holly.

Or The Quarrymen/Silver Beetles in Hamburg. Or Dylan. Or Buffalo Springfield.

Or Jimi Hendrix.

Hendrix is the absolute for me. I wrote a song for a woman I loved (and still do) called “You're My Jimi Hendrix.” Anything I experience that I consider beyond compare is a “Jimi Hendrix.”

IT'S ABOUT SEA CHANGES & PARADIGM SHIFTS.

“Oh Candy and Ronnie have you seen them yet? Oh!, but they're so spaced out.

B B B B B B B Bennie and the Jets.”

IT'S ABOUT FINDING SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU UNDERSTAND YOU AREN'T ALONE.

It can happen on grand (if you live in London, New York, LA or the like) or a small (like the rest of us) scale. But the revelation is primordial. A thunderbolt. And nothing will ever be the same.

Some people never have this moment. They go on to live boring, although self satisfied, lives. And god bless 'em.

Some see a glimpse but don't respond. They become “normal.”

Others get it, very intensely and then lose it. They will never quite forget it.

Others get it and never lose it. They remain obsessed with the mojo. Some manage to find real lives and good paying jobs. Some die.

Some get trapped in limbo waiting for their vision of fruition.

Some run with the vibe and end up never ending up.

For better or worse, I am one of the latter.

Rock n roll -like Homer Simpson says of alcohol- has been both the solution to, and cause of, all of my life's problems.

I never would have survived high school without Jimmy, Dale, David, Dave, Ray, Larry, Terry and Tom. But maybe I would have gone to college and been somewhat employable at 56.

There's no time machine so I try not to dwell on that shit.

Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful
Oh Bennie she's really keen
She's got electric boots, a mohair suit
You know I read it in a magazine

Benny Mahan changed the Springfield music scene in the early 1960s with his rock n roll band The Ravens. I never saw them but my cousin played guitar with them and they were legendary. They caused more bands to be formed in Springfield, MO than anyone will ever be able to count. Benny changed the world. Lew Taylor and his band The Seven Days did so as well.

The Esquires changed my world. I saw them late in my eighth-grade year. They, and The Jaguars, were the cool bands of the time. Later they combined members and became The Lavender Hill Mob, a band that inspired yet another generation of young people to start bands. I saw The Electric Prunes at SMS my freshman year in high school (with Jimmy, David and Dale...”Bubble”) and “The Mob” opened. They were wearing matching yellow robe type things and did Vanilla Fudge's version of “You Keep Me Hangin' On.” It was so fucking intense. And we KNEW we could have a band. And we did. We got gigs in our freshman year and by the time we were sophomores we were playing every weekend. And we got good.

Other bands above us were The Dimensions, who later became Pure Sunshine. Their lead singer, Charlie McCall (RIP) was one of the coolest guys around. And they were a great band. General Scott's Limousine had a multi-colored hearse they traveled in and were on par with The Lavender Hill Mob. Marty Barin was their lead singer and was hippie cool, when hippie cool was kicking in.

On Valentine's Day 1970 Bubble opened for The Turtles at The Shrine Mosque and it was the BIG TIME for us. We had seen The Box Tops (with Alex Chilton) a few months before and The Turtles were Top Ten legends. AND WE OPENED FOR THEM.

Things changed shortly after, I got booted from Bubble and joined Papa John which became Five Star Cadillac Band. Pure Sunshine disbanded and Charlie started Irving with some of the Mob guys. Smitty and his band Zap came along and were doing Uriah Heep and Deep Purple while Five Star was doing Stones and Allman Brothers.

The flux fluxed.

When Granny's Bathwater came on the scene it was too much to believe. Horns, rock n roll, soul, R&B and FUNK. And Benny was singing with them on and off.

I moved to California but came back in short order and started Baby LeRoy Band. Stevie and Terry and Tom had The Queen City Punks (pre-punk rock and I made up the name), Jimmy had been through Hangdog with Billy Pool and he and Dale and David reunited to form Fools Face.

Looking back on it all, it seems like things were changing monthly, but at the time it seemed like a natural progression.

We listened to everything from Bowie and T Rex and Alice Cooper to the Stones and Allman Brothers and Yes and Jethro Tull and Nazz (who had changed Bubble's lives earlier) and Iggy and The MC5 and Waylon Jennings and other outlaws.

It was all a melting pot.

Everyday was important. Every few weeks there was a paradigm shift.

And we all were amazed and amused.

And Benny was always there. Always doing something no one else was doing. In these days bands would play 4 hours a night, 6 nights a week for months at a time.

The first 5 Star gig was in Tulsa. We had been rehearsing for about three weeks and we had to play SIX SETS A NIGHT. In Birmingham we did SEVEN, except on Friday and Saturday when we did EIGHT. And, the owner stiffed us on our pay.

There's much more to this story for the next segment which begins in 1976.

The fuel for these memories is the sad plight of Benny Mahan. The world of rock n roll, as seen through the eyes of Springfield, MO, would be drastically different without him.

God speed, my friend.

Hey kids, shake it loose together
The spotlight's hitting something
That's been known to change the weather
We'll kill the fatted calf tonight
So stick around
You're gonna hear electric music
Solid walls of sound

Benny and the Jets, indeed. The circumstances may be different but the changes are the same. Wonder, joy, confusion, knowledge, pathways, LIFE.

wunderle - 9/2009

The death of The Conniptions

I've just been able to process the incredible power of The Conniptions final show. It was amazing. They hated the hell out of each other but decided to get the band together and start anew. And they did, for one show. I'm sure after hours of practicing and song writing, new songs that debuted and died in one night, they had planned on a long term engagement. But it wasn't to be.

Jessie and Jason drummed and guitarted the hell out of themselves after wrecking the car, dealing with all the drama and shit, and with very few drinks. Andy smirked and sang the hell out of every song. He tore his guitar up. His tone was amazing. The best I had ever heard him sound. And Jason Loftin on the bass played one of the most amazing sets I had ever, ever seen. It was like Bruce Thomas, Entwistle, John Paul Jones, and Tim Tobias were inside of his head kicking and screaming to get out. He had such command over his instrument. Aggressive, confident, and aloof.

The Conniptions were on the Lindberg's stage with such power that I stood there grinning because I felt so fucking lucky to be in the room. Their songs are a mix of Big Star bravado, Television mastery, and Stooges blitzkrieg. And to top it off, I hadn't heard a live Guided By Voices song in seven years and they plowed through "Game of Pricks" and "Motor Away." I felt like a legionnaire again being sent off to battle. Like I felt at every GBV show. As if this day was my last and what the war held for me was up to Pollard.

It's too bad that they had to breakup.

Shit. Have I been up in the mountains?

It seems that I've been gone a mighty long time. Summer is almost gone. I got older. I saw Paul McCartney. I've been working on the house, listening to a lot of music, and being generally crabby. Such is my way. But its taken a new bloggers new blog to get the Roller rolling again. So, if you have the time, and I hope that you do, please read Wreckless Eric's new blog; Ericland.

As for Squire Paul, he was majestic. Gracious. Happy. Giving. Honest. Usually words I have not used to describe McCartney in the last pair o' decades but I guess the historiography can change with just about anything can't it? Great big set list. Homages to John and George. Marina was dancing up out of her seat and seeing Marina dance is not something one sees outside of a draped bedroom, late at night, and after a glass or two of the red.

So, The Queen City Roller's hiatus is done. You are now free to move about the cabin.

Let Me Roll It #2 - Cheap Trick

In February of 1964, my Mom saw The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. As with so many other people around the world (including Davy Jones who appeared on stage just before The Fabs), her life was changed forever.

I didn't get to have the shock and awe that was Beatlemania. I wasn't even born yet. But I got the next best thing stuck in Atlanta traffic while on summer vacation in 1977; Cheap motherfuckin' Trick!

A FM station decided on the hottest of days, in the most polluted city I've ever been in, to play In Color in it's 32 minute entirety. From the opening notes of "Hello There," through the head bopping catchy ride that is "I Want You to Want Me," and well into the brilliance and sheer perfection of "Southern Girls," I just kept nudging myself closer to the dash of the Volare trying to get all the sound in my ear hole that I could. I was simultaneously bummed and over the damn moon when the album ended but to my shock the DJ put Cheap Trick on! I had never heard any of this! None. "Elo Kiddies"?! "He's a Whore"?! And to think that a DJ would take it upon his all powerful and amphetamine fueled head to spin whatever in the hell he wanted... that's just insane.

So that was it. I was already the head of the KISS Army in my junior high but I was mixing my enthusiasm for Ace Frehley (which my mother would soon destroy) with my increasingly more grown up/adolescent mania for Zander and Nielsen.

In the summer of 1978, free from the emotional dishwater of Oklahoma and relaxed in the record store nirvana of Missouri, I was free to do whatever my Rock n' Roll heart desired. That was to see Cheap Trick. And I did many, many times over. Since they were a regional act they played support to any fucking band that came through town. It was like being in Liverpool after all only with a lot of beards and hot pants. I wore my black Cheap Trick shirt with its repeated and brilliant logo everywhere. I wore my 1978 tour baseball sleeve T to every school function, teen blowout, and to work at the record shop. Heaven Tonight was a masterpiece. It was on that tour that my friend and mentor, Cathy Stevens (who turned me on to Tom Petty and Reggae over one stony week at the store in the fall of 1978), not only took me to a show with a front row seat but managed to get me back stage to meet the band. Her designs were to make-out with Robin Zander but with me in tow she had to do something other than say that I was in fact NOT her kid. She stuck me in front of Rick Nielsen and went to do her business. Rick talked to me about playing the guitar and he gave me a handful of picks with his comic face stamped on each one. He gave me something like 50 of them, I ended up taking the picks to school and scored a date with a cheerleader just because of one Rick's little presents. You were awesome until I had chicken pox, Connie Grogan.

1979 saw the release of Dream Police, another tour, three more shows for me to see, and my favorite Cheap Trick track, "Way of the World." That school year ended with the annual talent show. At one end of the Parkview High School Gym, some upper-class longhairs took ten painful minutes to grind out "Freebird." It was laced with bandannas and a huge confederate flag motif. I was reminded of the 1977 talent show in Oklahoma when some cool 8th graders smoked "More Than a Feeling" and how that was a way better song than this piece of shit. When they were done the lights turned on over the stage that I was in front of and Greg Frazier's band kicked into "Surrender." I was with my people. My crowd. My friends. United in a high school gym singing how our mamas were alright and our daddies were alright but they just seemed a little weird.

We're all alright! We're all alright!

ap - 2009

Video Concert Hall - the big influence

Video Concert Hall. No other thing, save maybe “URGH! A Music War,” and the rise of the video arcade, had more of an affect on my delicious formative years. Dad may have owned a record shop but VCH is where I first got turned on to so many of the records that ended up in my collection.
It came on at weird times of the day. Late at night, after Midnight Special, it would pop up. In the middle of the afternoon I could switch over to USA Network and hear “Carouselambra” by Led Zeppelin, VCH's theme song, and be fixed in the seat. I could see something on Video Concert Hall and run upstairs with a list to make sure that I had the records I wanted on order the next day. Spider (go Anton Fig, go!), The Sports, PhD, The Shoes, The Buggles, Pete Townshend’s Empty Glass, Devo, Gary Numan, Iggy Pop, Bowie’s Scary Monsters, The Cramps, and most importantly Tom Petty, The Motors, The Pretenders, Squeeze, Split Enz, and The Police.

Where else would I have discovered Split Enz in 1978 if it weren’t for VCH? It’s not like I would have heard them on the radio in The Queen City. “I Got You” was a monster song. “One Step Ahead” was even better. Seeing “Tattooed Love Boys” by The Pretenders was sick. The Police? Forget about it. Those videos just had me hooked. And whenever I saw Squeeze pushing the piano down the street in the video for “Another Nail in My Heart” I couldn’t wait to go put the record on and play it all day. Some songs just stuck with me. In particular I think “Love and Loneliness” by The Motors was my first introduction to a really BIG pop song. Even to this day, whenever I play Tenement Steps, from which that song comes, I feel this huge, wonderful sea change in my well being. I fucking love that song. Even some one offs, like Nazareth’s “Holiday,” and Tim Curry’s “I Do the Rock,” still thrill me like they did in the late 70s and I really think that “We Can Get Together” by Icehouse is one of the best pop songs there is.

Video Concert Hall passed on in 1981 and gave rise to Night Flight and my temporary crush on Lisa Robinson which was then replaced by my undying love for Martha Quinn. Night Flight turned me onto Urgh!, Fantastic Planet, and New Wave Theater, and kept me in that swirling see of analog video – you know how all those videos seemed to look before MTV. Video Concert Hall was the key, the surrogate parent, which solidified the music geek in me and made me want to be James Honeyman Scott.

ap - 2009

The Automatics!

Seems to have escaped me on the day that it hit me but Fools Face's Jim Wirt and Brian Coffman, along with the great drummer Paul Crowder, have teamed up with Dave Philip of the semi-legendary, Automatics. The Automatics were mainstays at The Marquee in London along with The Damned and The Sex Pistols. Now based out of Los Angeles, where all the good punks go to stay (hello Steve Jones and John Lydon), Philip has surrounded himself with one of the best trios in LA. Would love to have The Automatics play The Queen City. Then we could kind of be hip and Paul, Jim, and Brian could play Tommy. Always a plus.

ap-2009

Jeebus.

I let March go by with nothin'. I had nothin'. Well, I've got loads of stories in the head but the laptop seems to have decided to screw me. So it did. Now, I must find another way to get back on the chain gang. In the meantime, watch this...

ap - 2009

Goodbye old Kaleidoscope haunt, home, and heart.

In 1972, my dad and his new (and still together after all these years) wife were passing through The Queen City on their way back north. They drove by this little stucco building, saw a for rent sign, and opened a record store. It didn't happen that fast but on opening day it took a long while for anyone to waltz through the door. Wunderle was one of the first customers. He was a neighbor and I like to think he just waited and waited for it to open. Kaleidoscope became the record store in town. It was a haunt, a home (for me from 1972 -73, I lived upstairs), a heart.

The store became the center of a thriving music community. The Ozark Mountain Daredevils were the store's softball team. Chicks from the Minstrels worked there. Wunderle, Rick Nivens, Dave Milner, Jim Lewis, Mary and Maureen Gollub, Kelly H'Doubler, Pam Babcock, Cathy Stevens, Don Freeman, Dave Day and so many more were the people I grew up around. The people that enriched my life and made growing up the coolest thing I could ever do. Mounds of records came home. I listened to everything my dad would haul and my collection grew and grew. I couldn't get enough of the first Dire Straits album.

There were giant Costello posters, Police posters, Foghat took up a good wall for a long time. The Nitty Gritty Dirtband did an instore. It was the best place to be. So Lester Bangs. Wild. Outrageous. Just to be around some aspect of the record business in the 1970s was a mad experience and when I turned 15, I was able to work at a new store that the folks opened on the north side. I spent most of my time there listening to the Clash, making t-shirts, and fucking off down at the Sip n' Flip in front of a Defender cabaret. That store eventually closed. More people moved in and out of the main store and in 1983, Kaleidoscope sold its last record. I know that the last new release was Rush's Signals. Perhaps the store just couldn't take that kind of punishment.

The store became a kind of new wave haunt. Fashion shows, a hair boutique upstairs where all the leather, jewelry, Fabulous Furry Freak comics, and rolling papers had been. New employees like the great Bill Brown brought more music cred back to the store. Nothing stayed the same for long. Items moved, went, staff grew and shrunk. In times of personal economic strife I was allowed to work there as long as I kept busy and didn't drink too much. My sister began working there and asserted herself as one of the best people you could work for or with.

A few years back, the lease wasn't renewed on the old store and the folks moved to a new location 30ft east. Something bigger and greater than the old place but you only had to walk out the front door to see the old beaut. To see it occupied by people who didn't give a shit about it hurt. To see it gradually decay became a daily experience

Today, it was torn down. My sister found a little piece to have my uncle put in silver. A keepsake, something close to her heart. Just like that old building must be to so many people in The Queen City.

I'd like to thank everyone who ever worked there, shopped there, felt it, fucked in it, or made it part of their lives for only a moment. It was a beautiful place.

ap - 2009

The Queen City punks

There were always good rock/punk/power bands in Springfield and this town was never decades or years behind the punk rock thing. In fact it has a pretty powerful history starting from the first tier old school bands.

During times of less activity there were always a few bands carrying on around here. Don't forget that the New York Dolls opened for Lynyrd Skynyrd at the old Walnut Bowl many years ago. I bet that was an interesting show. And the Ramones played here in 1978 (remember you guys?). Talking Heads were in Joplin around this time too. Social Distortion many times. PIL, etc.. Springfield had an all girl punk band way back in 75, The Debs (that's the same time The Runaways were in L.A.) The Debs were great. Fools Face was much rougher in those days almost bringing CedarShake (is that what it was called?) down to the ground a coupla times. Rudy and the Razors, Symptoms, Resonance, Man About Town, The Limit, The Royal Nonesuch and others were all beating their drums at the same time everything else all over the world was happening.

Here are a few more bands that should be mentioned that carried on along here through the course of our times: The Fabulous Flaming Balls, Monsterbox, Johnny Quest, Walking Octopus, the Jim-Bobs, Jesus Lee Jones, Remnants, Luvhandles, Cheerleaders, Redundants, Results, Thee Fine lines (who you can hear on Little Steven's Underground Garage on occassion), Rabbi Sputnick, any band with Lou Whitney and D. Clinton Thompson, Wunderle's bands of any ilk.

You could go on and on to the bands that inhabit the rock needs around here to this day, you know who they are. Don't forget our own Annette Weatherman was in London taking pictures of the Buzzcocks, Pistols, etc. and getting chummy with the Clash and Adam and the Ants (don't laugh if you don't know how punk the early Ants were). IT's all here baby. Forgive me for not remembering all the old bands and mentioning all the new bands that are here and who gave a nod to real punk rock, the kind that was inclusive, original, varied, non-misogynistic, and non-racist. That's why, even though a few of those bands were good, the hardcore scene left me cold and it quickly became an excuse for knuckleheads to get in fights. That's why a lot of the cool bands around during the same time didn't want much to do with that scene. It always struck me as kind of weak that a bunch of nazi skinheads would make a racket here, where there are hardly any African-Americans or Jewish Americans to blame. So it turned into the racist bands/fans versus the rest. Recipe for lameness in my view. For me, the hardcore (?) scene that was here in Springfield was a blip on a much bigger and fruitful map of local rockers/punk rockers - whatever you want to call it.

ss - 2009

Bill Brown - There's the man I want to see right there!

My friend Bill Brown died in a fire a few years ago along with his friend Don Shipps. It was a really horrific fire. Bill’s service was meager while Don’s was a full Catholic send off. The Knights of Columbus have really groovy hats. The Groovy Hats, that should be their band name. A giant wake was held in Bill and Don's honor at the Shrine Mosque to celebrate their lives and their contribution to the local music scene. These guys contributed a lot. Don was the blues staple in the Queen City. He played with everybody. Bill came up in rock and power pop bands like The Misstakes and eventually was a member of The Ozark Mountain Daredevils and The Bluesberries and Don Shipps and the Titanic Blues Band. Bill taught me how to play guitar.

I think of Bill, like I do, when I’m prowling through my music collection. Bill was regarded as this fine blues player, which he was, and his wake was full of blues and rock music as if these genres defined him. They did not.

The Bill I knew, the Bill Brown I loved, was the funniest guy I had ever met. He was an older brother, a statesman, a historian, a wizard, a true star. Bill gave me the uncanny ability to be all The Beatles at once. His McCartney became my McCartney. He redefined humor on a daily basis. He gave me his green Ibanez tube screamer. He always had a new record he loved and couldn’t wait to share it. But why do I think that songs like “Little Wing” didn’t define him? Because Bill Brown loved a perfect pop song. He worshipped the Beatles. He thought Difford and Tillbrook and the entire Squeeze catalog was a must. Bill would not shut up about XTC and when Apple Venus / Wasp Star came out he insisted that I go for a drive to listen to them both. Bill loved the songwriting of Neil Finn and played Crowded House incessantly. Elvis Costello and the Attractions and no Attractions, it didn’t matter, Bill made damn sure that Costello was tattooed on my brain. He couldn’t get enough of Cheap Trick, Badfinger, Raspberries, Rundgren, and on and on and on. When I moved to San Francisco, Bill gave me an envelope full of rare baseball cards in case I should ever fall on hard times. Or if I just wanted to read stats out of lack of anything else to do in The City.

His kids play music now. Drums and guitar. They’re good kids.

Man, I miss him. What I wouldn’t give to hear him ask in his best scouse accent, “What are you doing with your nose in that booook?”

ap - 2009

Let Me Roll It #1 - Queen

Let Me Roll It is a new item within the friendly confines of The Queen City Roller. Let Me Roll It is a series of essays, a memoir if you will, of Rock and Roll experiences, brushes with greatness, and defining moments that have shaped a little life.

I spent a lot of time grounded in 1975. Banished to my upstairs room. Left alone to beat myself at Monopoly, Sorry, to dress up like the Green Goblin (I mean I made the whole outfit), or to just listen constantly to the radio. I had one of those all in one stereo set-ups. Turntable folds down, speakers fold out, big tuning knobs to the right. On a good cloudy night, I could pick up Chicago stations. Chicago seemed like a continent away. Really, it was just 10 hours but I was ten so what did I know? I was grounded for a lot of infractions. Flashing the neighborhood girls, peeing on their playhouse, tearing up the neighbor's tree, crapping in their yard, jumping off the television set, lying, being lazy, and really just having a good time being a kid. What else was I going to do?

The radio was always on. Tuned to local FM stations in the day, tuned to them secretly at night while I lie in bed with ginormous, Keith Moon headphones on my head. In 1975, all I really wanted to hear was Queen. I had LP copies of Queen II and Sheer Heart Attack. I played the crap out of them. I pranced around my room dressed in my self fashioned harlequin leotard to "Killer Queen" all the damn time. I had no idea what the hell Moet Chandon was but I really didn't give a shit. I should have taken the act on the road to fifth grade show and tell. By late 1975, the FM dial began playing a new Queen song, "Bohemian Rhapsody." It was the most brilliant thing I had ever heard. Theatrical, expressive, odd, freaky, gigantic.

I was probably the only kid my age who had a subscription to Rolling Stone and I plowed through every issue. I hung pictures and covers on my wall, like any dedicated follower of fandom. I knew everything there was to know about Brian May, Roger Taylor, John Deacon, and Freddie Mercury. My idol. Freddie. I had a pool cue that screwed together and I used the top half as my half-mic stand. Just like Freddie. I wore mom's ballet leotards and fashioned different outfits, just like Freddie. My dad, who owned a record store a few hours away, hadn't sent me my requested copy of Night At The Opera yet so all I did was sit, wait, and flip the fuck out when my song came on. One particular grounded day, it came in spades.

Up in my room I waited. The DJ would spin all the FM hits. I sat on the end of the bed, at my desk, at the window, on the bed, in full Freddie regalia, waiting for my song. It came on, I performed it like a god. Later, it came on again. I freaked out again. A third time later, exhausted from a long, full day of rocking out, I sat on my floor in front of the speakers, my head as far into them as I could go and listened... "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?" I rocked back and forth to the light introduction, paying close attention to the tale of a guilty man. "Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it alllllll awayyyy."

During the big, monstrous, operatic bit I would do as many of the harmonies as I could. I acted out roles. Accuser, bailiff, judge, murderer, Galileo, Figaro. Thunderbolts and lighting were very, very, frightening to me. But I knew what was coming up. I knew that snare crack and the guitar solo were on the horizon. I could feel the surge coming from inside the carpet, into my feet, up to my ass and up my back. I stood up. I grimaced, made a proud peacock pose, and ran to my desk. I opened the drawer, I pulled out my matches, and just as Brian May was well into his solo, I set my bedroom on fire.

Any way the wind blows.

Gong.

ap - 2009

1st Poll has closed and the votes are in!

The 1st Queen City Roller poll, Who Smelled Bad All the Time?, is officially over. If you voted, you have to feel pretty good about it. Coming in on top, with 60% of the votes is, Lita Ford. Stinking up second the incomparable, Frank Zappa. I've thought ever since the toilet photo that Frank had the stank but I've been proven wrong. So, congrats to you, Lita Ford, for smelling bad all the time. Hey, I didn't say it your public did. In fact one person said, "I'm not surprised."

ap - 2009

The Who

I just watched The Who at Kilburn 1977 dvd and I can tell you that it is unsurpassed. Amazing. What starts off as a shaky "Can't Explain" (the band hadn't performed in over a year together) turns into a monster of a show. Shot with multiple 35mm cameras and remastered in digital surround it almost blew up my simple 27" TV. Pete seems rather pissed off at something and turns his anger into a performance unlike one I've ever seen from him. He looks like he just finished the Empty Glass cover shoot and wandered over to Kilburn eager to keep up with the punks. Which he does in spades. Roger paces in circles. Pete mocks him. Entwistle is surely The Ox. Moon holds the whole thing together. Pundits harp about how out of shape Keith is but I don't buy it. He's a mongrel, canine. He plays with such ferociousness, especially on "My Wife," and the closing moments of "Won't Get Fooled Again" are so cool that I watched it over and over again.

The second disc, with the band playing at the London Coliseum in 1969, is like finding the Holy Grail under the seat of a taxi. It's a monster set featuring the earliest recorded performance on film of a complete performance of Tommy. An amazing and brilliant piece of film.


Thanks to Paul Crowder et al., for bringing this and his Grammy nominated Who doc The Amazing Journey to an eager public in 2008.

For those living in Los Angeles, Paul is playing with Jim Wirt and Brian Coffman (Fools Face) at O'brien's pub in Santa Monica on January 23. They will be performing Tommy and it's a show not to be missed




ap-2009

Ron Asheton - Sail On You Genius Bastard!

Shit. Ron Asheton died. Dead in his house for days before they found him. Sitting in a chair. No Maltese crosses or guitars in his hands. Sunglasses on? I would hope so. Is there something about getting into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that causes the geniuses to die off just before playing the damn thing? Joe Strummer, I'm thinking of you. Ron Asheton...

The first time I heard The Stooges, I mean the first time I really heard The Stooges, was at Rocko's House of Mirrors. The first Stooges album was blaring from the speakers. Just incendiary! We were all roaming around on some kind of paper. Cooper holding court like a turd holding vinyl. I just sat in front of the speaker and had my mind literally blown. Shot. Exploded into a new way of thinking about the music I loved and a better way to consider the music I would hear in the future. Iggy howling, mad. Scott Asheton, pounding and hurling. The late Dave Alexander rolling a steady bass line. Ron Asheton playing guitar like no one before him. Proto-punk. Bolder MC5. Balls to the fucking walls. Sold!

But enough of this palaver, watch an old Stooges video and remember Asheton.



ap - 2009

Meet the QCR staff!

Welcome, 2009, and welcome all you young dudes and dudesses. We thought it was high time that the reading public got a chance to meet and greet the staff of the Queen City Roller. We're really excited about the year to come. Some of us are still enjoying the holidays a little too much and that person will receive some stern words when they get back to town. In the meantime, consider your resolutions, think about the now, and put on a good record. Time is tight and it's time to get down with the QCR staff.

AP - a long time Queen City resident and former bay area denizen, Alan is your humble editor-in-chief and really likes Indian food. Bottom row, 2nd from right.

JAE - a drummer, a lover of kid's books, a hero, and an all around great girl, Jessie is shoulders over giants.

JE - Jason, top row third from left, is a guitar wizzard, a master of the hammer and nail, and one of our favorite guys. Really, you should meet him.

MH - he's building a guitar, he's reading some books, he's corraling the kids, he's checking things out. He's, Michael

SP - Silky Poplin is a son-of-a-bitch. He's too long on holiday, he's always using the last of the coffee, no one likes his jokes. But, he's a good writer who meets his deadlines. I guess we shouldn't complain.

Whineboy James - 2nd row, 4th from right. Blue shirt. Glasses. A machine that we use like a machine. Oily. Sharp. Goddamn genius.

GH - Gordon is gonna be a daddy! He hosts the Psychedelic Solution on Compound Radio. You can read about that crap here.

WCL - Billy is like a brother to the staff of the QCR. We think he smells real nice and when the weather is fine he's dealing figs and apricots in the park. Figdealer.

Stu Sturgis - artist, guitarist, orangutan.

And rounding out the staff:

Interns Jackie, Mason, and Collete.

M, the queen of rubylithe. (upper left corner)

Boomer and Lowdown, punks with funny names who check our mail and picture rights.

Pascual, Chugga, Lester, Nick, Veronique, Maddy, Topher, and Carol. Here's to the kids in the office.

ap - 2009

Fall Out Boy already the worst band of 2009

I was at a party on NYE. A great one. Dick Clark's Ryan Seacrest Bigtoothed Bullshit Rockin' Eve Extravaganza beamed silently at us throughout the last hour of 2008. The people in the audience sucked. The other performers sucked. Alan Thicke's son Robin performed! Wow. Some chick had yellow crap on her eyes. The audience looked like robots and still sucked yet again. Fergie and Ryan turned my brain to jello. Then came Fall Out Boy.

What a joke. 2008 wasn't even over and yet they claimed the crown of Worst Act of the Year. Just in the nick. As 2008 rolled over into 2009 there they were again to hold on to that sacred trophy for 365 more days. How do you think they do it? What makes them so bad?

Fall Out Boy are a cartoon. A really bad cartoon. They are what is wrong with music today. Why nothing that the radio plays has any substance. Not that the radio wouldn't mind playing music with meaning and staying power. They are why the major labels breathe with heavy and phlegm filled lungs. A little boy Spice Girl collective of every bad genre that every Wal-Mart in the country can shit out.

Fall Out Boy is a Jason Mraz (now there's a tool) lead singer who can't quite find his voice. An Adrian Brody/Strokes/Neo-Manhattan lead guitarist who wishes he was Mars Volta. Animal on the drums. Not quite Dave Grohl and surely not Chuck Biscuits who despite having no reason to play shirtless, insists on it. He's there to reassure all you Disturbed fans that Fall Out Boy has some balls and some tattoos. Then, there's Pete Wentz. For the love of god someone kidnap him. A mexican drug cartel. Terrorists. The Westminster Dog Show. They don't have to release him, just keep him until my death then let the world get reacquainted with his 15 minutes. He's a wet nap ass with his bogus outfits, his pathetic strumming bass style, and au natural Anthony Keidis good looks. In fact he has all the staying power of a Kiedis rhyming couplet. I hate him.

I guess one of the things I'll have to look forward to besides the inauguration is watching the relative rate of decline of Fall Out Boy.

sp - 2009

Editor's note; It was reported on Jezebel that Pete Wentz has stopped reading blogs because he's tired of being called a "douchebag." We didn't call him that but wish we had!