THREE FRIENDS

   

One of the 3 BEST Pick up Lines...ok.

     I'm only giving you ONE of the three.  You want the OTHER two?  oh YEAH?  They're LOTS funnier.  Sorry.
     Here's a pitch I had the good fortune to be at the receiving end of.  There aren't that MANY that have true hilarity attached to them.  Most are fairly standard, and frought with unoriginality.    
     This delightful gem took place at the Philly Folk Festival. Why someone thought I'd be a GOOD thing to have at any FOLK festival remains a mystery. That reminds me of something. Older generation blues men seem to always have a valet with them.  I love that.  Where's my valet?  I've never had a valet.
      So, we're doing our thing at the folk festival, and the crowd is a little stunned by us at first...sort of felt like Bobby going electric there for a second,  but they danced and hollered for us just the same.  Bless their adventurous souls. 
     ALLRIGHTY....HOW COME I CAN'T STOP MENTIONG BOBBY IN JUST
ABOUT' EVERY SINGLE POST I WRITE?  IS THIS A COINCIDENCE?  It must be, because I  rarely THINK about Bob. Oh ok...maybe a LITTLE more than rarely.  Maybe about six times a year.  NOT THIS MUCH THOUGH.  I mean....he's great and all, but...HEY..know what?  I play harp a LOT better than Bobby....but that's really saying NOTHING isn't it?  Because not many folks can PLAY a harp as badly as poor Bob.
You can stop laughing at me now.
     Whatever happened to that Cambridge Harmonica Orchestra gang?  And WHAT THE LIVING HELL is THAT all about?  Don't think I'll ever forget the first....ok...the ONLY time I saw them.
I JUST DON'T HAVE THE WORDS Y'ALL.  HOW MANY HARP PLAYERS CAN YOU FIT ON A STAGE?  Lord have MERCY.  SIXTY?  I dunno.  How many on the head of a PIN? 
     It seemed as tho' EVERY SINGLE "here's my weird little trunk thingie..harp holder", PERSON that ever

Why IS THE DONALD HERE?   

                   WHY on earth would Donald think I might be

his Next Apprentice?

In his infinite wisdom,  he wants me to PROVE it

to him.  Donald will soon cotton to the fact that

Vardz is not Apprentice material.

     COURSE'  DR. **** is taking his time. HE'S TAKING HIS TIME ON THE TENNIS COURT, BY GOLLY.

Yes indeedy he IS...and that's why we've been crouching in his waiting room for a good three hours...being hypnotized by copies of that right wing Nazi rag... "Woman's Circle".

     AND he's practicing his record breaking overhand serve, which will SERVE to lob that inflated BILL of his, directly in our laps.

     What marketing GENIUS thought this AD was a swell idea?    

How MUCH do I LOVE DUNKLEMAN?

    I'll tell ya how much, darnit.  I'm building an altar for him in my living room.  Right next to the guy who (in an elegantly snookered fashion), followed a girl home after a job one night, (No, I'm NOT telling you who this was.). Good GOD...he ended up doing the horizontal jiggy with SQUEAKY FROMM.  Apparently..upon awakening he thought "wowie...she looks sorta familiar...what with that red hair...gee...lots a cute little freckles there. Have i BEEN with her before?"  So out to the kitchen our dauntless lover boy toodles, digs in her wallet to see if he can enlighten himself.  ohhh 
BOY, discovers  the name Lynette Fromm on her driver's license. My two searing questons upon hearing this startling news are:
1. - Did Squeaky in fact SQUEAK during said act of impropriety?
2. - DID YOU NOT NOTICE THE  "X" ON HER FOREHEAD, SPARKY?


      I don't think any of us can live up to that one. I had a COUPLE of funny escapades, but I was rarely SINGLE when traveling, so my road romps were limited.  Believe me, I'm a lot sorrier about it than YOU are.  Course my band mates DID make me play "six degrees of Tuli Kupfergerg" in the van, (AH GOD...please don't make me do it with the guy who wrote "Cacca Rocka". PLEASE. I'm sure he's a VERY nice man, but ...no...NO).
    Speaking for myself, I can confidently say this:  The small windows of opportunity which contain the Vardzie dating chronicles, have NO encounters with ALMOST PRESIDENTIAL ASSASINS.  Not a ONE.  If YOUR dating chronicles DO, please ring me up...because this information would bring me no END of giggles galore. 
     WHAT THE LIVING ...what am I SAYING?  DATING?  I've never been on a conventional DATE in my LIFE.  Darn.  Feel like a freak now.   
     That reminds me...what's up with the gals who MARRY the death row guys?  "OHHHH he's so NIIIICE."   WHAT?  he's NICE did ya say?  The SERIAL KILLER?  He's.....oh SURE he is...Geez looowwwEEEZE. HEY>>>>wasn't I talking about my true love DUNKLEMAN?  sorry. 

   
    Sooo...on the OTHER side of Dunkleman's altar (ohh, he's going to settle in so nicely), is the Pete Best altar. Lovely place for him... I mean, he kind of IS the American Pete Best.  Course the stoopid and annoying Idol thing ain't hanging in the same universe with the FAB FOUR...gosh what're you THINKING? But.... STILL, turning down THAT kind of easy dough ...because it was the RIGHT thing to do (and it sure WAS)...DAMMM.  GOOD BOY. Proud of ya.


What the heck you all laughing at?  I'll have you know old  PETE'S very existance, is the only thing that keeps me MOVIN'.
    So do you guys think Pete's wife smacks him upside his head every single morning?


 "ahhh wha kindeh pooftah name's the bee-els,  ye bunch a nancy boys?  SHITE. gotta put de loaves in"


     Pete Best is the barometer against which I compare any painful, boring, fearful, or weepy moments in life. Sort of like when I used to force my tone-deaf roomate Connie to sing for me when i was down so far it looked like up.  Only better. NO, I was NOT mean to my pal Connie, because SHE got to watch me try to do that curl thing with your tongue, and sit in the lotus position without toppling over, AND view me playing really clumsy tennis. Oh allright. Not PLAYING..more like tripping, and falling down. 


     YUP.  No matter how bad it gets...no matter how dreary our live are looking, we can look to Pete. Yes...even during the darkest time, just before that decidedly UN-ROSY FINGERED dawn fails to come up, guess WHAT?  WE can count on Mr. Best.  Smack dab in the middle of CR** we are, but at least...at least, we can bravely conjure up THIS soothing thought :
" HUH.  um. OK....BUT I was never, ever, EVER..."ALMOST" A BEATLE." 
 Holy COW...THAT'S gotta smart.  
 You all may borrow Pete if you'd like. I know he'd be amenable.  Look how he serves as a beacon..to point the way, as we stumble down dark streets without the flashlight.    Bless his heart.


I LOVE YOU DUNKLEMAN.  I LOVE YOU WITH A BOTTOMLESS DEPTH.
there. i said it. 

     GO AND RUN TO TABLOID BABY, to see other assorted and sundry delights, and take a gander at the way our beloved Dunkleman was just horribly dissed.  Oh Brian, take heart. We've all got PETE.
Go to FROZEN PICTURES as well. 


     You'll find the fun, but there are important things contained therein. 
Truths, and things they will never stop digging in.
Things that might be hard to face, but SHOULD be looked at without flinching.  PAY ATTENTION FOLKS,  That is if you've got ANY moral compass or compassion on ya. 
LOOK AT THE LINK AT THE TOP OF MY PAGE, GO to Brett's Blog, look in those kind, and courageous eyes, and HELP to spread the word. I'm going to post this statement again. Who's gonna stop me?

Cub Koda. I SAID CUB KODA!

     You might not know his name, but his song “Smokin’ InThe Boys Room” should ring a bell. His band was Brownsville Station, and the tune was later covered by Motley Crue. It first split the airwaves in 73’, but I'M HERE TO TELL YOU…LOUD AND CLEAR…THAT WAS ONLY A SMIDGEN, OF AN INKLING, OF A TEENSY TASTE of what Cub Koda TRUTHFULLY WAS.

      Time to plug him. He was a generous and shining talent…a larger than LIFE talent, who lit a smoldering FIRE beneath a huge number of willing, musical asses.

HE’S the man who once shouted at me...
 “Give em’ all the GOOD sh**  Vardz.  FU** babe, you GOT the great sh**, so GIVE it to em'.    FU***IN' GIVE IT. 
 Whether they WANT it or NOT.
 They ain't diggin’ it? 
 FU**IN' GIVE IT TO EM' AGAIN! I SAID....AGAIN!"  So I did. Hey…I know when to take direction. I recently read about a show in which he did exactly THAT. The same darn song four times.
     He could expertly wallop a number of instruments, but was most widely admired for his singular work on  guitar.  Not only was he a guitar MASTER in every dusty corner of American music, (outlink the Link, outroy the Roy, outtamp the Tampa) CHILD….he could make that thang SCREAM. You don’t often see an instrument handled with such an astounding degree of off-handed, seemingly effortless artistry.

     HOW COME the fingers don't seem to be moving?  Just the one HAND? Ohhhh....come ON now...behind the back and upside down, NOOO...not over the head...down towards the butt.   CR**...here comes the darn thing between the legs...JAAYSUS. 

I can still see it...the flash of color and chrome twirling UP.  Twirling up in the air, like a drunken rocket...and then begining the long spiral downward.  To be caught by those beautiful  hands. 
Precisely in position. 
I can see his fingers pulling the note as it lands. 
With unhesitating authority.
     Gotta tell y'all...Cub was the LOUDEST guitar player i've ever run into. And I ain't talking about his amp. No eleven. Nope.

      OK, stop kissin' that sky there Jimi. Get on your knees, and KISS Cub's freakin' HEM. 

      Was Cub a diva?  Oh HECK yeah.  Had to be done, and done RIGHT every time.  BUT...he was an indestructibly affectionate and concerned man, even in the midst of his own sufferings. And funny, FUNNY.
I wanted to believe HE was indestructible too, and in a way, I was right. 


Michael “Cub” Koda was only 51 when he left this earth in 2000, but what he left US was precious and enduring.  His words reflect the heart of every dedicated touring musician,that’s ever been.  Not talkin' about weekend dabblers here.  me to my job.
This is what they pay me for.
Welcome to my job.

Sometimes it’s fun, Sometimes it’s a bore
But NOW, as the first song’s under way,
I hope you dig what I’m gonna play
I hope the PA sounds OK.
I just sing and talk too much, playin this old beat up guitar,
BUT I LIKE IT.
I wouldn’t do NUTHIN’ else, even if I got religion.
Welcome to my job.

 
      Cub did NOT give a DARN if he was headlining in a colleseum or POUNDING it OUT in a dive, and did both with EQUAL relish. Gave it his all, and gave it anywhere. NOTHING stopped him from sharing his knowledge, or his gigantic enthusiasm.
     He eagerly parted with every bit of it, for anyone who cared, and was smart enough to zealously grab for it. THAT IS THE MARK OF A TRUE GREAT.
   
Cub Koda may very well have been more stuffed with music than ANYONE I’ve ever known.  And HONORED to have known him I AM.
     That Detroit boy was stickin’ his inquisitive nose into blues and rockabilly before most white Americans knew it existed. Listen to him with Hound Dog Taylor’s band, “The Houserockers”.  How about "Cub Koda and The Points”?  That raw acoustic album “Lunchbox”?  Oh HELL listen to everything he ever DID.
     He once said he was “Somewhere between a cult figure, and rock & roll legend”.
     Steven King hailed Cub as “America’s GREATEST house rocker”.
     Right on. I’d be a willing cult member any day.
 
         Cub was a great writer, student, archivist, and teacher. He wrote for All Music, the book “Blues for Dummies” (I'm not kidding), and did liner notes (Rhino, MCA, Motown, etc) for EVERYONE.
        He had a 22 year column “The Vynl Junkie” in Goldmine mag, a radio show, wandered into movies, and produced others. Mr. Koda's prowess as a singer? Ha.  This man endlessly toured, wrote reams of tunes...allrighty...where did he find the TIME? Ask folks who knew him. Ask Stephen Thomas Erlewine,(check him out on All Music) and Teisco Del Rey... writers who KNOW the great stuff...(another dwindling population).  Ask Sonic Mike from the band Red Squares. Ask Bruce Nazarian, a talented guy who played with Cub.
 Crikey Bobby Dylan will tell ya.  Ok, so it's in that scary voice of his.
     Cub and I were shuckin’ in the same circuit for years, (lucky ME).  He and his wife Lady J. opened their home for my mess of a slobby crew, when passing through Portland ME. Only met you once Jeannie, but would like to know you, and right now...I'd like to THANK YOU,  for sharing your man with us.  OH to pick that brilliant, and patient brain..to meander through that collection.... BLISS.
    
YOU all, can get to know him TOO.  He’s WORTH knowing.  God.  We still miss him terribly.
The Cubmaster LIVE? LIVE? I wish every one of you could have witnessed the spectacle.
Those who did can ENLIGHTEN YOU.  He’d lay you out FLAT. He’d bulldoze, and BANG your ass DOWN. He'd make you fairly DRIP with the tasty sweat of DEFEAT.
 Go ahead. TRY getting’ up off the barroom floor after a Cub Koda show.
HELLO, R & R HALL OF FAME? ANYBODY HOME? WELL,THAT’S UNDER DEBATE. Y’ALL HAVE A FEW REAL SNOOKERS ON YOUR LIST THERE. THINK WE HADN’T NOTICED?

HEY, DO YOU THINK THERE’S ALL THAT MANY BIG TALENTS WHO HAD AN IMPACT ON OUR RADIO LISTENIN’,  AND SELFLESSLY CARRIED THE TORCH?  SPREAD THE WORD LOUD, FAR AND WIDE?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID FOR THE WORLD OF MUSIC?

CUB KODA WAS THE VOICE OF A WARRIOR.  A WARRIOR FOR AMERICAN MUSIC.

HE CONSIDERED IT HIS JOB.  HIS ONLY JOB.

INDUCT HIM.  WELCOME HIM TO YOUR JOB.

Thanks for your time.

THINGS THAT BUG ME .....#1

    OR..TEENSY, INCONSEQUENTIAL HAPPENINGS IN LIFE (THAT SHOULD BE SIMPLY A BLIP ON YOUR RADAR),  BUT NOOOOO....THEY LURK THERE IN YER NOGGIN, AND PERIODICALLY PRESENT THEMSELVES AS ENORMOUS AND PAINFUL EVENTS.

OR...PLEASE.  Can someone PLEASE erase this part of my otherwise empty brain?  
      Do all of us experience this phenomenon?  Please don't tell me I'm the only one.  Some of these events have haunted me.  I'm hoping you have some too...if not, then I'm even more vacuous than I thought.   HERE'S HOW IT GOES...  

     These carefully blocked out monsters pop into your head...oh...maybe a couple of times a year.  You're most likely going about our business in your usual reckless manner, trimming your bangs or sumptin'.  And BOOM.

       It's that irksome memory.  Just as if it were freshly baked yesterday.  Here's one of mine..., so you don't feel so all alone.  

WHY I LIVE IN FLORIDA - #1

Ok, did ANYONE observe the passing of lil' Mr. Houghtaling this past year?  GOOD GOD y'all, dontcha  have an INKLING?  This is the MAN. The man who invented the MAGIC FINGERS BED. The quarter driven deity which brought exhausted no tell/motel dwellers 15 minutes of "tingling relaxation and ease". The man who invented the VIBRATING MATTRESS for goodness sake. The man who (most pertinently),  lived right down the street from me.  yup.  WHY didn't i KNOW this? 
    I could have made pilgrimages, and performed bowings and scrapings.  SHEESH.   Allright..listen UP. This is a big, huge, Nostradamus-like marker. It's the begining of the end of western civilization. Sure as shootin' IS. Welll....this, and that bad, bad painful snatching of our inherent right to smoke a fag (during the downing of as many cocktails as we could possibly pour down our gullets) IN the plane.  DAMMMMM.