NOTES FROM SRI LANKA.
(September '01)
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9/2/2001
Nom de plume! (Poof!)
The trouble with scientists is that they're no good at predicting things. No good at all.
Take our friend Professor Mitch Macaphee of the University of Bologna. You know -- the guy we hired to plug together our new studio. Weeks ago, he assured us the 24-track facility would be ready to roll before our next interplanetary tour, now tentatively slated to begin this November. What he didn't tell us is that every component, from the mixing desk to the front door buzzer, is being hand-built by a brotherhood of Benedictine Monks at a monastery somewhere in Madagascar. Every component! I'm told they're busily winding the coils of transformers as we speak. (They've subcontracted a local nunnery to do all the wiring, since their vows of abstinence cover rosin-core solder as well as ice cream buns.)
Dr. Mitch, the eternal optimist, somehow
thought all of this painstaking work would be finished by Halloween. Say what?
Sure, these guys work fast. Sure, they have little else to do aside from filling
bottles of expensive 
brandy
from enormous wooden kegs. But building vacuum tubes by hand takes time,
especially when you're banned from using certain modern electronic tools. I've
asked Dr. Mitch to use his influence at the Vatican to obtain papal dispensation
for these hardworking friars so that they might complete the job with, at the
very least, 1940's technology, but the good Doctor will not hear of it. So
confident is he that the monks can pull it off, he's taken some time off from
the project to attend the 2001 International Frankfurter Fashion Accessory Expo
in Stockholm. Dr. Mitch has got a lab assistant who took 3rd place last year and
has a good shot at the crown. We think he may be onto something!
That notwithstanding, we're grappling with the problem of how to speed up production at the Monastery so that our studio might be ready upon our return from the outer planets. Matt had some useful suggestions, though none of them can be repeated here without causing this page to be blocked by sophisticated content screening technology (so you wouldn't be able to read them anyway, kiddies -- don't be too disappointed). sFshzenKlyrn helpfully offered to generate a deadly particulate radiation field around the monastery to keep the monks inside (and presumably productive), but that seemed a bit too toxic. (He said it would be like that cellophane-wrap force field the Jupiter 2 encountered on its descent towards the cybernetic planet. Cool.)
John -- always the practical one -- felt
it would be more effective if we 
offered
the monks some incentive to work faster -- something that would inspire them to
work as hard (for as little compensation) as electronics line workers in the
Dominican Republic or in South Korea during the 1960s. He went into Dr. Mitch's
private suite and emerged with a vintage poster commemorating LBJ's presidential
visit to South Korea -- a particular favorite of the good Doctor's. By sending
this poster, John explained, we would not only inspire the monks towards greater
industry, but also bring Dr. Mitch screaming back here from Stockholm demanding
his poster back. The perfect solution!
Still, that doesn't solve the problem of breaking the news to our bloodthirsty record label Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., that we won't have any new product out in time to support ticket sales for our interplanetary tour. They may bring out the long knives on this one. I for one have been rummaging around for something...anything we could press into a CD that could precede our arrival on Neptune and Uranus. We may have the makings for a live album from our last tour, but I'm not certain that would be much help. (Why buy a live album when we're going to perform live in a few weeks time?) There are also one or two unfinished projects we could coax along. Or we could re-release 2KY2C for the second time. (I can hear those Hegemonic storm troopers massing...)
My
main concern is who to include on this year's entourage...Dubya's obviously busy
with one or two other things. Dr. Hump has got that research Fellowship to
complete over in Medicine Hat. That leaves Trevor James Constable, and I'm not
sure he left a forwarding address. Though sometimes his global coordinates show
up in my keyboard's digital display. (I think it's that Orgone Generating device
of his. NEVER try to use a wireless guitar system with that gizmo in the room!)
We've yet to draw up a definitive guest list...let alone contract an
interplanetary charter ship....but when we do, you can bet that Trevor James
will be at the top of the page. (I, for one, would just as soon leave Gung-Ho
here to keep an eye on things, however. He still sleeps with a loaded Uzi, and
in a pressurized deep-space cabin, that can be a problem.)
Trouble In Paradise. Washington's starting to kick itself back to life after a brief rhetorical hiatus (one that the legions of hired PR guns and talking heads failed to observe, of course). Poor Dubya has returned to the evil city in the midst of growing questions about the "fairy tale" economy moneyed backers of both major parties have enjoyed for the last eight years. Even after arranging to ship huge cartonloads of federal cash out to the wealthiest Americans, and providing for a modest "like me" refund for the rest of the chumps, Dubya's handlers feel pressed to proclaim the economy as Job Number One for Gob Number One as he puts his nose back to the grindstone. Local papers all over the U.S. are carrying this exciting front-page news, betraying a degree of nervousness in the Administration about the (P)resident's vulnerability on this score.
I
thought the more interesting news this morning was the announcement that Dubya
is going to go public with his support for a crusade against "gossip"
in schools and in the workplace. No further explanation was offered, of course,
but that only makes the news more intriguing. Is "gossip" truly on
Dubya's top-five list of important issues facing Americans today? Could be.
After all, when the projected budget surplus you based your massive tax cut on
is rapidly evaporating, it's better to concentrate on important cultural issues
like....gossip.
This one's a winner. I can just see Paul O'Neill pulling out his collection of "Whip Inflation Now" buttons to see if "WIN" (or "NIM") can be worked into an acronym for some anti-gossip initiative. Stay tuned.
luv u,
jp
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9/9/2001
Come in, come in.
Anytime we entertain notions of interplanetary fame and fortune, we're just asking for trouble. But that's exactly what we're doing right now, my fine friends. Why, you ask? Simple. When things go this poorly here on earth, our thoughts inevitably turn skyward. So blame Dr. Mitch Macaphee...him and his wearable franks.
While
Dr. Mitch was over in Stockholm seeing his lab assistant through another great
showing at the 2001 International Frankfurter Fashion Accessory Expo, Matt and I
thought we'd take the opportunity of his absence to get a closer look at this
studio he's been building for the last two months. After all, he's supposed to
be building the room for us...and all we've gotten so far are a few vague
promises and some pretty bizarre descriptions of custom-built electrical gear
from Madagascar and other remote places. So we went for a look see...only the
bloody door was locked!
I don't know if you've ever tried to find
a locksmith in a remote area of Sri Lanka. Suffice to say, it's a challenge. We
had to wait a few hours for this one fellow to make his way out from Colombo.
When he got here, he seemed a little unsure of how to proceed. He somehow got
the idea that we wanted to install a door lock rather than remove one,
and he had taken the 
trouble
to bring his entire inventory with him. I haven't seen so many locks since I
spent that summer working in my uncle's delicatessen. (cue laugh
track) I haven't seen so many locks since my last time through the Suez
Canal. (cue laugh track) I haven't seen so many locks since...
All right, I'm through. No kill I.
So anyway, this locksmith -- Mr. Magillicuddy -- finally put his wares back in the truck and managed to get the studio door open. What lay before us was enough to make a grown man groan. The place was a shambles! Cables lay strewn across the parquet floor. Half-assembled electrical panels gathered dust in dank corners. Everywhere you looked you could see marks from the good doctor's pogo stick, which he had apparently used to propel himself from one side of the room to the other, as well as up and down the walls. Worse yet, the Bangkok Symphony Orchestra was standing at attention in the main room, waiting to rip into the first score anyone put in front of them (Mitch had apparently installed them without hooking up an arranger -- a heinous technical oversight on his part.)
How
does a mature, seasoned professional respond to such an appalling scene of
betrayal and degradation? There was only one way: find something Dr. Mitch
really loves and destroy it utterly. The only thing I could come up with was his
150-ft statue of the Cosmic Christ in full dress uniform. Dr. Mitch kept it on
the desk in his office back over at the Cheney Hammer Mill. We borrowed some
explosives from Gung-Ho and had at it. Just one little blast and over it went,
faster than old growth in Oregon. That'll show that Macaphee fucker. Just wait
'til he gets back from Stockholm! Ha! HA!
Does this mean we won't be bringing Dr. Mitch along with us on our interplanetary tour this fall? Not necessarily. He owes us, man. BIG time. If we gotta suffer in the pitiless void of interstellar space, he can just suffer right along with us. And if he tries to sneak any 150-ft religious figurines on board our transport barge while we're not looking, he'll get more of the same. No more mr. nice band.
What about the tour? We've got half the itinerary worked out. It's just the half about getting back home alive that needs a little attention. Our record label Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., doesn't seem too worried about that part, but we'd like to see it handled properly...just for the sake of closure. Watch this space for details! (Well, maybe not this exact space, but...you know what I mean.)
Making Plans. Guess what, everybody! We've got blood on our hands once again! No, I'm not talking about all those people mowed down by U.S.-made attack helicopters in the Israeli-occupied West Bank or in Turkish Kurdistan. I'm talking about all the great things our cash and technology are doing down in Colombia under the ludicrous pretext of the "drug war."
The $1.3 billion "Plan Colombia"
is being implemented with predictable results -- namely that the right-wing
paramilitaries closely affiliated with the 
Colombian
armed forces are busily hacking people to bits. Which people? The usual
suspects. Peasants. Trade unionists. People who generally get in the way of
development plans being implemented by U.S. based corporations like Drummond
mining and Coca Cola. The paramilitaries are doing their job -- keeping the
investment climate wide open by terrorizing the troublemakers. And we're doing
our jobs, as well -- sending them the money that allows them to drag people off
and kill them, like they did with one union vice-president at the La Loma mine
in Cesar province.
Don't wring your hands. Ring the phones. Let those fuckers down in Washington know you don't want your tax dollars funding corporate hit squads in South America or anywhere else, for that matter. Do it today, then let me know how it went. As always, write me at jperry@biggreenhits.com. Don't forget...you know how I worry....
luv u,
jp
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9/16/2001
Hey....need a laugh? So do I...
Dr. Mitch decided to spend another week in Stockholm. I think he's a little sore about our trashing his religious figurine. Or maybe it's just international air-travel gridlock in the wake of those blood-curdling attacks in New York and Washington. Whatever.
Back at the Cheney Hammer Factory, we're
concentrating on issues related to home defense. When old Dubya gave the call to
arms and donned the shimmering, brightly-colored mantle of the warrior king
(presented to him with great ceremony by the mullahs of the corporate media),
your 
ever-faithful
friends in Big Green knew
just what had to be done. We know that in the titanic (and historically
unprecedented) battle against EVIL, everyone must do their part. Harrumph!
Our emphasis, naturally enough, will be on air defense. We've been reviewing our options and I think we may go with a prototype defensive aircraft that Dr. Hump proposed to us some time back, when we were being threatened by Indonesian goons hired by our label. It's essentially a stealth design that requires a crew of four, including a skilled cyclist. There have been a few problems with maintaining the integrity of the passenger compartment, but Dr. Hump has assured us these will be ironed out in due course.
What about our long,
undefended Sri Lankan coast line? Not a problem. Just up the harbor from us is a
colony of retired Vikings who maintain a 
solid
vessel for use by their Battle of Hastings re-enactment society. (Their phone
number, if your interested in joining the crew, is HASTINGS-1066). Anyway, it
was easy enough to bribe them into a protection scheme whereby we provide all
the spam they can eat, in exchange for regular nightly patrols in the area of
the Cheney Hammer Mill. Let me tell you, you never saw a happier horde of
Norsemen than when we sealed the deal over a keg of condemned mead. Delirious
they were.
Needless to say, tour plans are on hold for now. I'll get back to you when my people get back to me. (Have your people talk to my people.)
A Splendid Little War. I guess we can forget the gossip initiative. Old Dubya has got himself another hot issue.
More than 5,000 working people dead. The usual victims in a war that began not this week but nearly sixty years ago when we first started throwing our weight around in the Middle East and Asia. And the reaction to this nauseating salvo is, quite predictably, over the top.
One of us -- I'm not sure which one, perhaps Dr. Mitch -- has theorized that this sickening atrocity was contrived as part of a very American coup d'etat. Who can blame him for thinking so? Whereas the administration was coming apart at the seams only days ago, they now have everything going their way. A totally compliant opposition (they were only mostly compliant before). A corporate press that's little more than a PR wing of the White House. Extra money for defense in the form of a $40 billion "down payment." No one focused on the economy/budget mess. Oh...and an open-ended commitment to boundless military action against anyone they feel like clobbering. What a difference a day made!
You
have to wonder at the cynicism of these people. Just an example...they're
talking about restoring the CIA to its former glory as an interventionist
organization, hiring operatives around the globe to infiltrate organizations and
recruit fifth columnists inside target nations. (No more preoccupation with
preserving human rights, as someone hilariously commented.) But this
countermeasure to Bin Laden is precisely the kind of policy that made him a
CIA-paid recruiter for the Afghan opposition and started him on the road to arch-evilism.
So this pillar of their "war against terrorism" will likely produce
yet more worthy opponents -- the perfect self-perpetuating policy!
Splendid war without end!
That this does poor service to the memory of those killed in these horrendous bombings. What's worse is that it's promising to be a protracted mobilization against a category of "enemies" so loosely defined as to apply to most of humanity. Make no mistake -- when they say this could last years, they mean this will last years. And they'll make it last for as long as it works for them. They're trying to find that Ariel Sharon formula -- the garrison state mentality that keeps the pressure on and jittery public opinion on your side.
Keep
a close watch in the coming weeks. This situation is tremendously instructive,
as it provides an opening for people to say what's in their deepest thoughts.
The Rev. Billy Graham Jr. (a man of god) was on national television the other
day advocating use of nuclear weapons to the accompanying peals of organ music
from the memorial service at Washington's National Cathedral. Local church
fathers are preaching "kill or be killed." It brings to mind a piece
of graffiti I saw on a bulletin board at SUNY New Paltz in 1980 at the height of
national hysteria over the hostages in Iran. The scrawl read: "Who needs
the Ayatollah's oil? We've got 40,000 Iranian students to burn."
Expect more of the same. Oh, and don't be afraid to disagree. This is the time to exercise your constitutional rights...and I don't mean your right to curbside check-in.
Hope to talk to you next week....
luv u,
jp
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9/23/2001
Find the enemy...Kill the enemy...Find the enemy...Kill the...
Forgive me. After 3 hours of CNN, I'm lapsing into my technowarrior auto-annihilator mode. It'll pass. (Are you the enemy?)
Ahem...Well, now that Tom Ridge is in control of our personal safety, we of Big Green have told those Viking protection-racket neighbors of ours to go sack a village and turned our attention back to the difficult task of provisioning our upcoming interplanetary tour. After all, how better can we show our patriotism than to start spending money recklessly once again? Even our beloved Gung-Ho has selflessly expended his last full measure of devotion on the failing stock market. He's expecting a medal for this, but we shall see.
Anyway, we assigned our erstwhile Zenite
guitarist sFshzenKlyrn
the duty of selecting a caterer for our long journey. He seemed the best
choice for that particular detail, since he has mooched food from some of the
best tables in the world. I was surprised at how quickly he came up with a
plausible 
suggestion
(i.e. one that didn't involve arriving uninvited at local receptions with stacks
of Tupperware). He hooked us up with some Swiss firm that specializes in deep
space hospitality services -- the same Zurich-based company, in fact, that
developed the first zero-gravity pot roast some years back. Their demo spread
looked quite attractive, though as a lacto-vegetarian, it did seem to me a
little heavily biased towards the carcass end of the food pyramid. At least sFshzenKlyrn
and the hangers-on will eat well. (Looks like bread, cheese, beer, and
Swiss chard for the veggie-boys, once again.)
Our guest list remains up in the air. We've yet to receive firm commitments from either Dr. Hump or Trevor James Constable. We did send Dubya a formal invitation, but he's so busy these days...I don't expect to hear from him before the end of the month. We also sent a courtesy invitation to the Cheneys, since they were kind enough to put us up during our ill-fated assignment to Dubya's X-Commission. I'd have to say the only person we're semi sure of is Dr. Mitch Macaphee, who agreed to forget our desecration of his religious statue if we allowed him an extension on our studio project deadline. He's going to be in charge of our audio gear during the tour, which incidentally will follow this rough itinerary:
BIG GREEN Interplanetary Tour 2001
November
5-7 Neptune
November 12-17 Uranus
November 20-22 Pluto
November 29 Mars (1 show only)
December 1-3 Titan
December 8-11 Kaztropharius 137b
That's how it stands right now. We'll be announcing venues and additional dates as they roll in. Our label has been a little slow in arranging things (we had to cajole them into giving us 4 days travel time to the distant Kaztropharius system, where most of our fans reside), but they seem to be getting their corporate ass in gear now that we've hired a caterer. We'll see...
God,
Guns & Guts. Last week I mentioned the local Catholic priest who was
preaching a "kill or be killed" wartime homily handed down by the
regional diocese. Oddly enough, the spiritual leader of these gung-ho local
padres is -- to his credit -- preaching peace in what seems like no uncertain
terms. So what is the great danger we now face? Here in America, it's that heady
mixture of religious fanaticism and superpower chauvinism.
The demand for revenge surely has deep roots in the Judeo-Christian tradition, but this seemingly ubiquitous blind advocacy of massive retaliation is purely a product of our ability to project power throughout the globe. Because Americans are able to blow up anyone they don't like at will, it tends to be the solution of first resort on so many people's minds. We are, of course, actively encouraged to think in these terms by the political leadership and the corporate media, to the point where it takes great effort to find a dissenting opinion, let alone advance one all by oneself.
In the midst of this "crisis," corporate censorship has been remarkably unabashed. Michael Moore (see http://MichaelMoore.com/2001_0922.html) tells us of a confidential internal memo Clear Channel broadcasting has forwarded to all of its music stations banning a number of songs including "Imagine," "Bridge over Troubled Water," "Peace Train," and anything (!) by Rage Against The Machine. One wonders why they would feel so insecure as to take such heavy-handed measures. What are they thinking? That "Bridge Over Troubled Water" will inspire dissent? Incite terrorism? Holy cats!
Hey, friends...for those of you who missed
the Cold War, welcome to the Cold War! Just as one's attitude towards Communism
served as the litmus for virtue back then, now every person -- foreign and
domestic -- will be judged according to the criteria of "terrorism,"
as broadly defined by the administration, the loyal opposition, and the lapdog
press. Remember the 
formula
they struck upon almost immediately: our enemy is not only the
"terrorists", but those who harbor them and support them. For this,
read "fellow travelers," "communist sympathizers,"
"V.C. infrastructure," etc.
So while you're standing at attention listening to Judy Woodruff whimper cloyingly about the wonderfulness of Dubya's latest eruption, don't forget how the United States intelligence services paid Bin Laden's salary and laid the foundation for the groups involved in the September 11th atrocities. And when your legs begin to march in the general direction of Afghanistan, don't forget....that's what Bin Laden wants more than anything! Don't be a good little cowpoke. Think for yourself...before it's too late!
All right. I hurt my throat. Talk to you later.
luv,
jp
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9/30/2001
Hey, ho.
What week is this? In the blistering heat of the Sri Lankan autumn, it's easy to forget your own name, even.
That clock is ticking down the hours to the launch of our next interplanetary tour and still we've yet to secure the essential commitments that will make this trip worth doing. This is what comes of having a record label that spends all of its resources on committing crimes against humanity. Ever since Ex-General, Ex-President, and all-around-ex-Fun-Guy Suharto joined the Board of Directors at Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., we haven't seen a dime of promotional money. (They made the mistake of appointing him treasurer. Now every rupee that comes into the company coffers grows little legs and takes a short hike to cronyville, if you get my meaning.)
Anyway,
our vendors are revolting, in more ways than one. The Swiss caterer has backed
out, taking their jarlsburg, wilted chard, and savory pies with them.
Non-payment of deposit, it seems. That leaves us with precious few options, now
that a recession looms menacingly. Always the resourceful one, sFshzenKlyrn
has come up with an alternative source for provisions which, though
affordable, is somewhat inappropriate for the kind of commercial venture we're
planning. It wouldn't be the first bread line we've stood in, to be sure. I
remember Matt
and I making sandwiches out of breadloaf end caps and blocks of government
cheese. (We later used those cheese blocks to lay the foundation for our first
lean-to. Ah...the old days....)
Still, I wouldn't want you to get the
impression that things are standing still here in Big
Green land. Not a bit of it. In fact, we've lined up another
important side man to accompany us on our glorious return to Neptune, Uranus,
and....and...those other globules. (Yikes! I've got Dubya-itis!) His 
name
is Tiny Montgomery and he'll be filling in a few keyboard parts from off stage.
Tiny's a master of the Lowery organ and a real people pleaser. He also comes
cheap -- he'll play for food, he tells us. Now all we need to do is find some, and
he's in the bag, as well.
How did we run into Tiny? Well, we were out shopping for holy relics to tuck into Mitch Macaphee's shoes while he's in the shower, when we saw old Tiny demonstrating his skill in the window of our local organ and piano retailer. We could see he was awfully good with the customers, and he could really get that "Magic Genie" beat box ripping. What's even more significant, Matt and John both liked his tie. That was the omen I was waiting for. We turned his tip jar upside-down and made him sign ship's articles in preparation for our long journey through the outer solar system.
Another instrumentalist successfully crimped. What a feeling of accomplishment! I'm so ecstatic, I think I'll open the old mailbag....
Mailbag. ZZzzzzzip! There we go! Here's a little missive about our song "Pagan Christmas" from someone with the email handle "damohonda" over at Garageband.com:
**
Bland
Wow, "damo"...I had no idea our songs were being played on restaurant muzak systems. A thousand pardons. Sounds like you had a bad experience there. I hope you tipped your server, none the less -- they work awful hard for their money.
Okay, here's a timely message about our retro-lament, "Merry Christmas Jane II," submitted by "StuCop" (or maybe his/her brother in law):
oh
my god......
you are know my new unfavorite band...congratulations!!!! You guys sound like a
bunch of faggots with gerbils spewing out of your ass...Stop listen to radiohead....Dumb-asses!!!!!
Shoo-wee...sounds like someone drank a big glass of grumpy-juice this morning, eh StuCop? Does this mean you don't want a date with sFshzenKlyrn ?
Greetings from TVLAND. Speaking of letter-writers with issues...we're another week into the New New World Order and it's looking more and more depressingly like the Old New World Order. The "information superhighway" is abuzz with all sorts of bizarro-racist and hyper patriotic ravings penned by God knows whom. Among this weeks jewels was an email forwarded to me by our erstwhile ex-guitarist Tony Butera of the band 3825 (who, I should add, was appalled by the message and fired off a flaming letter of rebuke to the sender). Here's a representative excerpt of this cheap little screed, attributed to someone named Mitchell R. Robb and billed as "Bush's Original Speach (sp.)":
To the people responsible for today's tragedy, I say this:
Are you fucking kidding me? Are the turbans on your heads wrapped too tight?
Have you gone too long without a bath? Do you not know who you are fucking with? Americans are so hungry to kill, that we shoot at each other every
day. We will relish that opportunity for new targets for our aggression.
Have you forgotten history? What happened to the last people that started fucking around with us? Remember the little yellow bastards over in Japan?
We slapped them all over the Pacific and roasted about 2 million of them in
their own back yard. That's what we in America call a big ass barbecue. Ever seen Texas on a map? Ever wonder why it's so big? Because we wanted
it that way, Mexico started jacking around with the Alamo and now they cut our
lawns.
It goes on. Oh, and it ends with "God
Bless America." Revolting? Sure...of course, it's not that much more
offensive than what you can hear being 
uttered
by politicians, "terrorism experts," and other assorted talking heads
on the networks these days. (A tad less varnished, perhaps, in some cases.)
What's the antidote to racist emails and those clowns on the TV? Do what Tony did -- fire an email back and tell whoever sent it just what you think. Talk to your neighbors, friends, etc. and offer them an alternative view of things. And visit online sources for dissenting opinion -- there are some good collections of articles posted at Counterpunch and at Z Magazine's site -- lawd knows it's good to hear some reasonable voices during times like these.
Think for yourself! And don't fly over the Vincennes!
luv u,
jp