I Want All That Stupid Old Shit Like Letters And Sodas.

Hiya Sports Fans!
Boy, how 'bout this rain? For Father's Day, my mom got me a pair of CLEAR Chuck Taylors. Pretty cool, huh? I think they're gonna give me Athlete's Feet. Last weekend, O'Hara's had a photo shoot like the famous Great Day In Harlem picture where a bunch of musicians that have played the club got together and had a photo taken. I've searched the web and nobody has posted any photos from it yet. I was shooting the Victory V sign which is the British equivalent of the bird. It was fun hanging out with my fellow Funkabillies and hobnobbing with the elite SFLA musicians. It was more of a scenster-ass-kiss than anything else. I made fun of those silly people who take themselves too seriously when they weren't listening.

Tuesday, the 15th anniversary edition of Liz Phair's Exile In Guyville CD came out and it brought back some memories. I remember when it came out. It was summer 1993. I don't think i'd done the Chili Pepper audition yet. My girlfriend at the time had read a glowing review of it before we could find it (we might have ordered it). I honestly didn't expect much but I was hooked from the first listen. People went on and on about the lyrical content and rightfully so, but I was impressed by the organic nature of the production. And the chord structures. And the fact that she wasn't afraid to release an album with sharp and flat singing, which is very natural (you won't see that anymore now that music is more sterile and BUSINESSlike). I loved the drum sound. It sounded like the drums would in your bedroom. I played that record endlessly for a long while. It was part of the soundtrack to moving to Denver along with Buffalo Tom's Big Red Letter Day.

In Winter 1994 (?), Liz came to Denver for a promo of some sort and did a cable access TV show (I have part of it on a videotape somewhere) live from the Mercury Cafe. It was really cold and snowing that morning, but I was determined to meet her (and not get fired for being late by my psychomatic boss). My friend Pat and I waited for a while outside the Merc with a crowd of other people when a security dude popped out the door and said she wouldn't be coming out this door and we should go away. Surprisingly, mostly everyone left. I'd heard that shit before so I hung around a while longer and it paid off. Somebody must've told her some people were freezing to death waiting for her and she came out for a little bit. I was surprised at how little she was. She was really nice and signed my record. I think she might not have known it was released on vinyl. I made small talk about the kind of guitar she used and how I was probably gonna get fired for being late. As I said that, she was saying and writing FIRED? FIRED? In the picture, what looks like a defect on my chin was a snowflake. I didn't get fired but my boss was a cock when I finally got there. He's dead now. Serves him right for fucking with me. And he did. I'll post those stories some other time. I did end up seeing Liz in Denver on her first tour. She looked really nervous and did the show solo. She had furniture on stage with her and invited people up to sit on it. I think i'll be listening to Guyville endlessly for a while.