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Archive Page 2
08
Sep
17
Residency In NYC?
01
Jul
17
East Village Show
The unspoken sexism in music is just starting to get exposed. In the meantime, Lucinda Williams IS our Bob Dylan. If she were a man would she be getting more covers?
28
Jul
13
Dr Dan in Laurel Canyon
Dr Dan In Laurel Canyon
There’s nothing to this old road except everything…
23
Jan
13
Rockie & Me
Rockie and Me
I was explaining to Rockie that I was Fake Keith.
Back in 1995 I played a show in Jersey City opening for a Stones cover band called Sticky Fingers. Fake Mick and I hit it off and enjoyed some groupies and 420 in the Men’s Room. I told him we had fun dancing to his music, but that we needed a ride back to Hoboken because the rest of the band didn’t want to stay for the cover band. Fake Mick told me that he thought I played guitar like Keith, but that we should just walk home or take a cab. It was such a good night that we didn’t care.
About two months later Fake Mick called me from his home base in Boston and asked me if I wanted to do a Southern tour. He said that he and Fake Keith were fighting and that Fake Bill and Fake Charlie didn’t want to travel all that distance. I don’t remember what Fake Ronnie/ Brian/ Mick Taylor thought.
I was living with a punk band and we needed rent money so the timing was impeccable. The pay was $300 per show, plus per diem. This was by far the best paying gig I had, and yet I felt so dirty when I agreed to be the musical director. I hired the punk band to back us up, augmented by an alcoholic Americana guitar genius from the band The Ex-Husbands. We played the Stones with a punk edge – awesome on When The Whip Comes Down, and it really worked down South where one radio guy said we sounded like Skynard playing the Stones. Fake Mick encouraged us to jam and entertain the crowd by playing with our teeth or behind our backs or jumping into the crowd.
One night I did the rock star back bend on my knees. I had my eyes closed when I felt my face and my guitar covered in something wet. Fake Mick had done a whole sex thing where he blew a beer in my face, much to the audience’s delight.
The audience was full of drunks, sometimes women jumped on stage and started dancing, we played behind chicken fence one night in a roadhouse in Georgia, and we had a bad night only once when we lost out to the Beatle cover band. Damn that Fake McCartney.
Anyway, Rockie couldn’t get past the money. He keeps harping on how short sighted I was not to keep playing with those guys. I told Rockie, I know that now! But he just keeps coming back to it. He says that’s why I need him. He says he is more objective about the business side. He also says I am dating the wrong women, but that he’s going to help me with that too.
A Postmodern Internet’s Impact On Music, Art, Fashion and Writing
Tasting like a burst of sour when you bite into an unsqueezed slice of lemon, the distribution and marketing of music has changed in the same way that cities have grown – not with class and planning, but through the shortest method to the quickest buck.
My premise here is that the mountain pass is too narrow for a corporation to slip through. You have to have the ability to move fast and be prepared to take unexpected hits that you often can’t see the impact of until time has passed and the fire has started. And that fire will spread.
The lessons I learned at Cornell on Deconstruction, and the time I spent as an apprentice writer to the most important minimalist author to walk the planet, John Barth, exposed to me to possibilities of unconventional storytelling. The medium of the Internet is the perfect canvas for post-modern authors.
I was at a real Hollywood party with actually funny writers – and even if they write drivel for money, they often have very amusing observations that make you think and laugh, especially if you’ve got your mojo going. Anyway, I was introduced as the great writer that doesn’t write anymore. I explained that writing novels seemed to me to be almost like riding a horse and buggy to work. I love pretentious writers, and I fancy myself to be one as well. However, I need feedback on what I write and sitting in a room of pretentious writers, which is what we did at Johns Hopkins and in my writing groups, doesn’t represent the real world.
I also need support. I am not continuing on this topic unless I get some hard data to suggest it’s worth the time.
What does that mean, I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me?
1-15-13 All Access Pass
