Still working on this godforsaken animated short but coming up for air long enough to check out Owen McAuley’s show at the D Berman Gallery tonight. This is some beautiful, atmospheric painting (and drawing) with a distinctly cinematic tone. There’s something about growing up in Eastern Washington that seals a kind of mystery and loneliness somewhere into the back of your mind.

I worked at a large New York advertising agency with Andrew Tucci and Ken Kitch, and, as anyone who’s worked in that kind of environment can attest, shit can get pretty funny. Not merely har-har-knee-slapping funny, but the dark kind where you find yourself cradling your head as it shakes slowly back and forth, silent obscenities playing across your lips. When you bear some responsibility, no matter how small, on foisting those AT&T commercials featuring Carrot Top upon a jelly-eyed viewing public, the duplicity and cynicism can start its corrosive hemorrhage into your soul. This right here makes everything heal up a little better. God bless those boys.

When I’m in research mode, I find myself getting into these ruts where all I’m reading is non-fiction. Not that that’s necessarily bad. Doing research for Days Between Driveways prompted me to read Holy Land by D.J. Waldie and the work of Edward T. Hall, but I can’t help feeling guilty when an author whose work I appreciate cranks out several novels while I haven’t been paying attention. Maybe because it acts as a shocking reminder of the transitory nature of time. That, or of how much of my day I waste watching Sportscenter.

But fuck all that. I recently discovered that a novel I became immersed in while on my Hudson Line commute (back in my Metro North days) is still unpublished. Written by J. Robert Lennon and entitled Happyland, it was condensed and serialized in Harper’s Magazine and legend has it that publishers were skittish about how closely the characters resembled certain real-type people, hence it never made it to book-form. I won’t bother to wind myself up into screed mode on the ubiquity of crap such as “fratire” and websites-that-become-books blighting the landscape of contemporary literature, just allow that I’m not the only one who’s patiently waiting to read Happyland as it was intended. Jason Rice is in the midst of a multi-part feature on the novel, complete with an interview with JRL and plenty of background information. Go. Read.

I was several months late to the news that the newly “reunited” Swirlies had started touring and releasing free downloads of old tracks (and some full albums), but it warms my black heart nonetheless. Damn, listening to Upstairs for the first time in years is like finding an old, all-green bank note stuffed into a pocket of your favorite jacket. It also prompted me to check out the status of the other artists whose generosity I managed to exploit for the soundtrack to Broken. Predictably, they’re all going strong…

Moral Crux recently had four albums remastered and re-released through Jailhouse! Records, one of which is their self-titled debut, as apt and vital a document of 80’s suburban punk ennui as you will find. In other words, this it is not.

Tobin Sprout has just finished recording another album under the name Bevel Web and released a beautifully surreal children’s book (!) which he wrote and illustrated.

Lesion released their most recent CD Seniors Ball last Halloween (naturally) and DVDs of all their movies have been reissued. Having seen most of these films I can attest to the psychosexual side effects.

Of course, anyone who’s read my semi-coherent ramblings already knows that Drinking In The Moonlight by New Radiant Storm King dropped last fall, but this spring they had a previously unreleased track included on Darla’s 16th anniversary compilation… and, yes, it rocks.

Some welcome good news. Who says the Interwebs is only good for celebrity death hoaxes?

Currently working on several projects simultaneously, a practice which has obvious drawbacks but one from which I can’t seem to rid myself. Two are furthest along the completion timeline: 1. an animated glimpse—through one bored child’s eyes—into the blood-dusty world of cockfighting in the western Palouse (probably the most autobiographical thing I’ve done)… and: 2. A re-working of a project started back in art school which consists of a continuing series of thirty-second blackout sketches. Hopefully I can get these done by the fall so I can then turn my full attention to the pre-production of two feature films that I’m tackling. “Full attention”… that’s some funny shit.

I didn’t react to the news that Michael Eisner was adapting Bazooka Joe into a feature length movie with the same kind of distant revulsion that most did; I was pissed. The reason is simple… Michael Mongillo and I had come up with that idea twelve or thirteen years ago.

It happened, as these things often do, over the course of an evening partaking in illicit substances. We starting riffing on the most absurd adaptation conceivable and immediately came up with the comics of Bazooka Joe, minimalist 2-4 panel abominations included with every pink slab of Bazooka bubble gum. As elements were added to the stew: a healthy dollop of decrepit borscht-belt humor, old school Brooklyn in a location-as-character conceit, the possibility of casting actors like Leo Fitzpatrick, Esteban Powell or Giuseppe Andrews (bear in mind, this was over a decade ago), we started to realize how potentially great this movie could be. Played totally deadpan, it would consist of a flimsy storyline as an excuse to channel along really bad, really juvenile jokes and puns, a sublime accompaniment to weed… er, bubble gum. Shit, I just now realized we invented Adult Swim too.

All said, as awesome as it sounded to us, bitter realization set in that it would be next to impossible to pitch, which naturally didn’t dissuade Mongillo, at one point, from actually attempting to pitch it to a public relations person at Topps. His proposition was met with patronizing but firm bewilderment. So now, a dozen years later, after Eisner ponied up $385 million for the company, he’s making the movie, “as a way to shore up the brand.”

It’s too bad, it could’ve been a masterpiece. Seriously.

Heading to Orlando at the end of next week for the Indie Film Jam. It’s part of the Florida Music Festival, which takes place from the 13th to the 16th all over downtown Orlando. Clouds Cover Everything will be screening during the music video block:

10:00pm
Thursday, May 14th

11:00pm
Saturday, May 16th

City Arts Factory
29 South Orange Avenue

These are the guys who graciously awarded Quicksand Under Carpet as “Best of Fest” a couple years ago so I’m looking forward to finally getting down there in person. Should be a good time.

Another baseball season is underway and Fox in their consistent absurdity is trying to convince viewers that Eric Byrnes is anything more than an insipid jock fueled by Red Bull and a desire to be the next Carrot Top. His contrived schtick, combined with the recent passing of Mark Fidrych, succeeds in only providing a depressing reminder that those authentic characters who used to populate the sport are now just fading memories. Eccentrics like Tug McGraw and Jay Johnstone and Bill “Spaceman” Lee weren’t jockeying for licensing deals or an XM Radio gig, they were just slightly batshit. They had a knack for reminding fans that what they were taking part in was still a “game.”

And as for Byrnes… he still hasn’t touched the plate.

SXSW has come to a close and I’ve discovered that the key to an enjoyable week’s worth of music is saying to hell with the showcases and concentrating on the day parties. Times are tight, and if that means standing in line and chugging free sponsor swill like UV pink lemonade flavored vodka and Rose’s Austin-Jitos, well, so be it. This is what little I remember…

Anathallo – Arcade Fire without the French Canadian pomposity. It’s a joke! C’mon, I love French Canadians… except maybe for Martin Lapointe. I’ve heard that guy’s a dick.

Amanda Palmer – One half of the Dresden Dolls. She was getting a ton of word-of-mouth over the week, but 2pm in an Austin tent are not the best conditions for angry, Brechtian keyboard-pounding.

Black Joe Lewis – I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to see the Bar-Kays this week. Catching the Black Joe Lewis set at the Paste Magazine party more than made up for that.

Port O’Brien – A Northern California band whose sound is very familiar. Very familiar. There’s some Band of Horses, a little M. Ward, a dash of Bon Iver… not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The Drones – Apparently I typed this at some point later that evening: “why am I liking this?” What I imagine the result would be if Sonic Youth was forced at gunpoint to play classic rock.

Passion Pit – Very fun and very exuberant synth-pop. I appreciate the fact that they all look like guys that would hang out at the computer lab in high school.

Bishop Allen – I had one of those odd time/space slips when catching a chunk of Mutual Appreciation on IFC the night before seeing Bishop Allen. When the fuck did calypso become the new black.

Daniel Johnston – Showed up late and immediately tried the patience of the shuffling throng of hipsters. God bless him… he still knows the basics of a good, catchy pop song.

The Wrens – Another band (along with New Radiant Storm King) that got dumped when Alan Meltzer purchased Grass Records and turned it into a factory for crap. Seeing these guys play live again and hearing rumblings of a new record makes you think that maybe things will get better.

Black Lips – Only Cole Alexander can rock a pancho/pilgrim hat ensemble and make that shit work.

Echo and the Bunnymen – Much like Devo later that evening across town—or even Metallica later on the same stage—no one needs me to describe this to them.

I need to address the Rachel Ray party separately because of the dissonant feelings it arouses. I realize this is the second year in a row she’s hosted a SXSW party and many have already gotten the WTF out of their systems. For starters, The Cringe (her husband’s band) had a prominent spot on the bill. Yes, The Cringe sucks in a way that makes you wince more out of sympathy than animosity but I still think it’s kind of sweet that she enthusiastically champions them on, hoping that her zeal will be contagious. Of course it’s nepotism in its most garish form but I find it hard to hate her for it. Who knows, maybe it’s all that corn syrup from the mojitos still in my bloodstream. Regardless of the personality throwing the party, the Hold Steady and New York Dolls were both predictibly great and the ancho-chicken tacos and mini burgers were tasty. Major quibble: why start the Thermals set and open the doors for a line that literally circles the entire block simultaneously? To serenade the arriving throngs? It’s pretty disconcerting to finally get in only to see gear being packed up.

Eh, there’s always next year.

SXSW is here and I take a perverse enjoyment in the fact that on opening night I went to a screening that had absolutely no connection to the “family tree”. Altamont Now had its Austin homecoming at Beerland on Friday and I’m glad I finally got to see it for myself. A genuine underground success story, it sells itself as a “Gimme Shelter-style rocksploitation”. Unfortunately, it tended to be overly self conscious and the points it belabored were beaten to a fine paste. I don’t know, I’ve always found the exercise of satirizing political dogma to be pretty tedious, primarily because the didactic grandiosity inherent already makes the practice effectively self-satirizing as it is. That said, the film’s high points were high, indeed. There was a nice, absurd, John Waters touch to many scenes, particularly the inexplicable musical interludes, most complete with mic stand and chroma key background. Definitely an entertaining, if over-the-head-hitting, 90 minutes.

Now I’ll need to address my other quandaries with SXSW. Particularly the fact that the film and music portions of the festival overlap late next week… on the “Two Greatest Days of the Sports Year.” I mean, shit yeah, I’m excited to catch The Thermals, Hold Steady and Dinosaur Jr. at some free shows; and I do genuinely want to see Pontypool, It Came From Kuchar and Sorry, Thanks. But it’s March Madness, peoples. The Zags finally look like they’re primed and prepared for a decent tournament showing this year. Heytvelt is playing up to his potential, Matty Bouldin is starting to bear an even more striking resemblance to Dan Dickau and this final run is the reason Pargo came back to Spokane for his senior year.

This is gonna require some prioritizing.