x-x-x-x-x. Politics of Sex, Noise and Depression

Goodness gracious. Whatever that means. To tell about this tour I have to tell you about heaven and hell, fire and ice, feast and famine. Mostly famine, hell and ice. Imagine that when we die we consciously experience our own mortal decay untill we can let go of this world? No less likely than heaven or hell, empirically speaking. We should all be buried with 12 months worth of morphene IV just in case. Can you see it? Tombstones with a plastic tube sticking out into which mourners inject drugs. Now that’s the future I’m talkin’ about. American medical association will love it. I can see the TV ad.s now. But let’s get back to the unreal. Famine, hell and ice? Maybe that’s a bit of an overstatement. But numerous shows getting cancelled due to local bands not showing up, or breaking up, or breaking arms… And I’m talking many. And we still have a few bucks in our pockets so what?! Telling about this tour would require telling about 600 mile drives and spending nights with poets and musicians and artists and even a waffle house district manager (word up, brian - you da man). I’d have to discribe a roach infested squat (well, they pay rent) in the hills of Little Rock with no heat that was about to be condemned except that the man who was going to condemn the place and evict our friends lost his job due to tax cutbacks. My one homeboy there is like, “I’m a punk, man. You know what that means? It means I get fucked up the ass all the time. That’s what the word punk came from. Someone who gets fucked up the ass in jail. And punks rule in jail ‘cause they don’t want nothin’. They give ass. And I’m a punk. I get fucked up the ass all day.” I’d have to tell you about how the place is like playing a show for the Lost Boys, teenage outlaw vampires, or being in a lo-fi version of never never land, or logan’s run. Then we drove to Austin and played a party in Jerm Pollet’s back yard where there’s an ill old structure that like 50 people crammed into and danced and jammed and improvised (and this was in the afternoon after the night before we had seen the funniest shit I’ve seen in a long time. Jerm and his boys do the Mr Sinus Theatre 3000 where they do live commentation over bad movies and if you’re ever in Austin on a Friday night you must go see it) and ate and drank and then we drove strait to Houston and played for like 150 kids at Fitzgerald’s where they rip off the local bands and fans so we can get paid. Nice. And then it’d be criminal not to talk about Russelville, Arkansas which boasts a Tyson chicken slaughterhouse, a con-agra frozen foods factory (or some shit), a meat rendering plant (that’s when they make food out of dogs to feed to cows), a nuclear power plant, a few subway’s (the sandwich, not the train) and a 5,000 person college. We’ll play here at the only almost-venue in town tomorrow night (we’ll…tonight if we’re being literal). But let’s just say things are moving along in the world of Mad Happy. Came up with 1/2 a new verse for “wild and bold” in the van this afternoon, finished “Loaded-up” lyrics (we think), re-programmed (super-dope) drums for “Beats and Rhymes”, and are very close to having an arrangement for “Desperate Living”. Crashed with Alligator Dave and his trio last night after the Houston show was cancelled.

4/04/2001