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!

Stu Sturgis, meet Ray Davies.

Johnny Thunder lives on water, feeds on lightning.

Thanks, Ray Davies and thank you Stu Sturgis for once again bringing the good things to life.

Last night's Dog People show was killer and the best song of the evening was, ironically, “Where Have all the Good Times Gone?”

Goddamn, I love The Kinks.

The Benjamin Orr Trifecta

"Moving in Stereo" was just floating in from the coffee shop next door. I know it's eternally connected to Phoebe Cates' body and rightly so but it's only the middle section of three perfect songs to me.

I played the hell out of The Cars when it came out. From the first day my dad brought it home from the record shop he owned, it was mine. I played it inside and out. I got the cassette. Played it on my boom box at school. I did the same thing with Candy-O. I took both the tapes and played them nonstop on a school bus trip. Everyone needed to be a Cars fan, I thought.

The trifecta that is "Bye, Bye Love," "Moving in Stereo," and "All Mixed Up" is a beautiful thing. I love the entire album but side 2 is where it's always at. "You're All I've Got Tonight," leading off the side, is one of Ocasek's best songs and the never skip a beat moment that pops right into "Bye, Bye Love" always gets me where it hurts. It sets off over ten minutes of one of the best song sequences in rock. I don't want to blather on about how much I love of which particular song but Orr's vocals are sublime, perfect, wonderful. Eliot Easton's playing is over the top, and Greg Hawke's keys, synths, and especially his sax solo closing out the album on "All Mixed Up" is simply put, a reason to start the album over again.

Here it is, in parts, but worth the time to watch.

Shake, Rattle, and more shakes.

Jerry Garcia and I only have one thing in common. Even from the grave a dead person can still have something in common with another person. It's true. I've done the research. Julie Andrews may have the same flat feet as Harpo Marx. Paul Weller might have, say, the same love of hangnails as Ernest Hemingway. Paris Hilton could be walking around with the same unsightly tongue mole that plagued Audrey Hepburn. It happens. Does that make the living doppelgangers for the dead? Maybe. Does my chocolate shake addiction, the thing I have in common with Jerry Garcia, make me likelier to wear black T-shirts as a force of habit and grow a groovy beard? No. But the addiction may kill me. Not as slow-fast-slow as heroin but it may give me the betes and no one wants that.

The Queen City Roller staff was sent out across the region to recon various shake making establishments and to report back with their findings. Your humble editor graciously agreed to accompany staff on their trips to various chocolate shake making huts to provide an unbiased second opinion. Here are the results. Remember, only chocolate shakes were served because that's all Jerry Garcia liked. And the editor too.

Steak n' Shake - With an "n" in your name, how can you not suck? Yuck. Yuck Yuck. Steak n' Shake shakes are awful. They have the taste of really cheap chocolate syrup, like government cheese chocolate syrup and sometimes, malt gets mixed in with the shake. The worst part about Steak n' Shake shakes besides the taste is the terrible value of their to-go cups. For just under $4 you get a plastic cup that tapers just under the lip making it just a few ounces bigger than a small. One time, in desperation, I ordered a large shake. The soda jerk made me a small. "I ordered a large," I said. He then took the small and poured it into a large cup! Can you believe it? Jerk.

All fast food shakes - suck. The value is bad and they're all made too fast to care. Only Hardee's uses the hand dipped method but their size to value ratio is the pits. And, all the shakes taste the same. Shitty. Oh, and don't skimp on shaky goodness by letting them top the things off with whipped cream. It's a trick used by the big coffee chains to rip you off. I mean, you want more frappy coffee goodness, not whipped fucking cream. If you were to get a Slurpee you wouldn't stop before the top and then add a bunch of white stuff? No! You would fill it up so even the dome was packed. That's the way you do it.

Andy's - tastes like a Wendy's Frosty and it's $4 more. Bad deal. Buy the Frosty and don't call it a shake. I will add that I bet Andy's uses better ingredients.

Braum's = awesome! 4.9 stars out of 5. Braum's shakes are huge, no tapered cups, no whipped cream. These shakes are brimming with cool goodness and the staff, who see you drive up every day, have the courage to call you by your first name. You're a regular. You're their hero. Braum's uses hormone free milk and ice cream that they make themselves in Oklahoma. It's Okiefied and it's full of natural goodness. The only reason Braum's is a 4.9 and not a 5 is because it's not...

Casper's - That's right! Tommy makes the best shake in town. Tall. Good. Wonderful. Casper's might even use the cheap stuff but it's the way it's presented, over flowing like the burgers and chili, that makes the chocolate shake at Casper's top shelf. Their chocolate shakes are addictive, like heroin, and that's why Jerry Garcia, were he alive today and living in The Queen City, would be sipping a tall cool one while coming off a nod, at Casper's.

ap - 2008

Dog People - Fools Face shows to brighten the holiday corners!

I'm back! Too long a holiday off the blog. Michelle says that it isn't a blog if you don't update the thing so it's about damn time.

There are two big shows after Christmas is done and the misery is lifted in the Queen City.

Friday, the 26 The Dog People will be at The Outland Ballroom.

The Dog People have been playing together for about 25 years. Traditionally the Dog People have been called upon to entertain the masses around the holidays while playing absolutely NO holiday music. None. They'll play for hours because that's what you do with cover songs, you play the shit out of them. They'll play Traffic, Small Faces, soul nuggets, Stones, Stones, Stones, to a packed house that shows up expecting to get exactly what the Dog People deliver. The goods? Damn right.

The Dog People consist of Nashville good time man and Ozark Mountain Daredevil Supe Granda on bass. Supe's got some original material that he's thrown to the Dogs and it gets played rather well. On drums is Tommy Whitlock resident Oscar winner. His drumming finesse usually takes my breath away. On guitar, flying in from Los Angeles, is Terry Wilson. In the 1980s Terry was in The Rave-Ups. They used to be Molly Ringwald's favorite band. Now, it's just really cool when they come around on the iPod. Lead vocals are filled by Wunderle. Seeing Wunderle on stage when I was young was what made me want to get up there too. Not Mick, not Patti, not The Clash. It was Wunderle then and it still is now. He's the best front man this town has ever known. I mean, remember The Symptoms? Seriously.

Saturday, the 27, Fools Face , will be downstairs at The Highlife Live.

This incarnation of the legendary Power Pop band will consist of Jimmy Frink, Brian Coffman, Jim Wirt, and Chris Coffman on the drums. For those who need to be in the know, there was a time when Fools Face were the toppermost of the poppermost in Springfield and the whole damn Midwest. Infectious. Stunning. Brilliant. They resurfaced in the late 90s and put on a trio of powerhouse shows at the Outland to record a live album in the early 2000s. I can't say enough about how incredible there albums are or how much they meant too so many people in the Queen City. Their first three albums and some other live material can be downloaded from this killer site put up by a friend of theirs in Texas. Here's the TrouserPress entry for this formidable and amazing band. Tickets are on sale @ Kaleidoscope for $10.