Category Archives: Usual Rubbish

There it goes.

That was firecrackers, right? It’s getting closer to fourth of July, I guess. Or maybe it’s someone’s birthday. Please tell me that was firecrackers, because if it wasn’t … ugh … there goes the neighborhood.

Yeah, well … we went to bed to the sound of gunfire last night. Some knucklehead pulling a Yosemite Sam imitation right out in front of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. Could be they thought the place was empty – it is, after all, abandoned. Anyway, we sent Marvin (my personal robot assistant) out there to have a look. He’s kind of like one of those tactical bomb-sniffing robots, except that he doesn’t have a tactical bone in his body and he hates the smell of explosives.

Anyway, he tottered out there and took a look around, then came back in with a couple of bottle caps. Not 100% sure that was related to what we sent him out there for, but there you have it. We may be looking for a gunman who enjoys drinking soda while he/she is shooting up the place. Hey, look … we have to go with the robot we have, not the one we wish we had. He’s not a tactical robot; he’s more of a strategic robot in that he helps us map out our plans for interstellar tours. (Trouble is, he does it in a language I don’t understand … a language shared by maybe a half-dozen robot assistants worldwide, all built by Mitch Macaphee.)

Oooh! Let's go to Gallactic Centre! That sounds like FUN!

Needless to say, the recent degradation of our little neighborhood is hastening our decision to go out on the road again. And when I say “road”, I mean deep space pathways … imaginary lines through the trackless void. We’re working on an itinerary for a Spring Tour 2019, starting off in the outer reaches of our own solar system, then moving on to some of the more distant locales where the gravity is unpredictable and the audiences more profoundly diverse. It’s all still on the drawing board, but we’re thinking it looks something like this:

  • May 12, Neptune
  • May 15, Proxima system
  • May 20, Barnard’s Star system
  • May 27, Procyon system
  • May 30, Epsilon Indi
  • June 5, Jupiter, red spot

Naturally, we’ve got some gaps to fill. And then there’s the question of transportation. Details, details! Don’t bother me with trifles. We gotta get on the road before some of these local Yosemite Sams start using us for target practice. Tour for your life! (Hey … there’s a theme.)

In the hole he goes.

Let us pray. In the name of the father, the son … and in the hole he goes. That’s all I’ve got. You want some more? Some hail Marys or something? Try dial-a-prayer.

Even agnostics can find reasons to pray. Mine was on the occasion of examining the space craft that will take us on our next interstellar tour, yet to be named, tentatively slated for early this summer. To call this vehicle ramshackle is to curse it with false praise; I’m guessing this thing never got to the top of the troposphere before taking a Boeing-style nose dive. Mitch Macaphee, our mad science advisor, says he can spruce it up a bit, but it’s going to take more than a little spruce to make that shitwagon spaceworthy. Try again, Mitch.

This enterprise has taken on a bit more urgency since the publication of that image of the Black Hole at the center of galaxy M-87. Our first thought, of course, was that this might be another stop on our tour, another venue. Forget the light-devouring, soul-crushing gravitation … it’s a black hole named Powehi, for chrissake. How could we not play there? I’m leaving it to Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to handle the booking arrangements, but whatever the paycheck may end up being, just picture the live album: The Main Event Horizon: Big Green Live from Powehi.

Hmmm... Looks promising.

Okay, now … talk me out of it. I hate, hate, hate space travel. The food is terrible. The gravity is highly inconsistent. You get stiffed by every manner of space creature, most of whom think humans are some kind of mannerless androids. (I typically make an effort to explain to them that Marvin is the only one who actually approaches that description, but often to no avail.) And yet … we keep doing it, right? What drives us on, to gig where no man has gigged before? Ambition? No, it can’t be that. I don’t think we have enough ambition between us to bend over and pick up a twenty someone dropped on the sidewalk. Wealth? Don’t even. The thrill of performance? Please!

Come to think of it, I have no idea why we tour. And maybe that’s the best reason to do it.

Money tree.

I don’t know, man. My pressure suit is a little frayed around the elbows. I don’t even know where I left my magnetic boots. We’re probably not ready for that, but … if you insist. Jesus.

Ah, hello. Band meeting. Joe’s here, that’s all I can confirm. No one else wants to go on the record, including Marvin (my personal robot assistant), though he has appeared on at least one of our records, truth be told. (Forgive the double-entendre.) We’ve been tossing around ideas for generating a little cash, as the Big Green collective has been struggling a bit of late. The obvious remedy would be another tour, probably of the interstellar variety, but as I was saying earlier, our gear is threadbare as hell and we don’t even have a line on a spaceship rental. God knows what we would cross that trackless void in this time around.

Well, to be sure, the lure of money drives humankind to desperate means. We could probably wrangle a string of marginal gigs between Neptune and Aldebaran, though I’m not clear on how lucrative the exercise would turn out to be. The exchange rate on Quatloos is in the toilet these days. And between the two of us, I’m getting a little long in the tooth for space travel – not sure I could hold my breath long enough to get to Neptune, to say nothing of destinations beyond the Kuiper Belt. Also … we’re short a guitar player. Just saying.

Sounds like a tour

Not that playing gigs is the only way to shake the money tree. Every musician runs into this situation at various points in her/his career. What’s it going to be? Washing dishes? Done it. Carrying boxes and stocking shelves? Done that, too. Driving a cab? Well … I haven’t done that, but I came close once or twice. Then there’s Mitch’s idea. You might recall how he’s been experimenting with gravity. Well, he was musing on how to monetize his new technology, and it struck him that people pay for water, they pay for electricity, they pay for heating fuel … maybe he could get them to pay for gravity. He’s thinking about doing a market test – namely, sending gravity bills to our neighbors. If they don’t pay, he would train his anti-grav ray on their houses and claim that their service had been discontinued. That’s when the simoleons start rolling in.

Okay, well … there may be nicer ways to make a living.  Like … I don’t know … playing music, perhaps.

 

Mailbag redux.

Well, it’s been a while since we’ve done this, but I think it’s about time we open up the old mail bag and respond to some of the cards, letters, emails, messages in bottles, skywriting, notes tied to bricks thrown through windows, etc. we’ve received over the past, what, ten years?

Full disclosure: Marvin (my personal robot assistant) was tasked some years back with screening our fan mail. I’m not sure he fully understood the parameters of that assignment. Our intention was for him to use the kind of screen that would allow some of the messages to pass through. I guess we should have been more explicit. He appears to have tossed most of them out. Robots!

The thing is dusty as hell, but (cough!) here goes . First, here’s a little message from someone with the code name “Ask” in the United Kingdom:

Aw, this was a really nice post. Spending some time and actual effort to make a superb article… but what can I say… I hesitate a lot and don’t seem to get anything done.

– Ask.

Hey, thanks for your message, “Ask”. I’m not an expert on personal efficiency, but you should get that hesitation thing looked at. You might need a new set of spark plug wires. Luckily, you have the National Health Service over in England, so that shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish.

Here’s another one, from this side of the pond:

Hey Big Green,

When the hell are you going to get up off your sorry asses and perform somewhere? It’s been years since you had a decent gig. Why are you wasting your time, posting shit on the internet and making up fan letters? It’s just disgraceful.

– Francis McDonald, Keokuk, IA

Well, Francis, I’m glad you asked this question. I’ve been trying to think of a way to raise this issue with my bandmates, and you have helpfully teed it up for me. I’ll tell you, if you hadn’t asked about this, I might have had to invent a fan letter like yours out of thin air. Thanks for saving me the trouble. I hate work!

Okay, Marvin. You can open it up now.

I think top two reasons we never play live is that we are (a) lazy and (b) old, in that order. That said, I personally do play with other groups on occasion. After the last time I performed, late last year, I spent about two months in physical therapy. As soon as I can save up the credit for more PT visits, I’ll take another gig.

For those of you who missed Big Green’s handful of live performances back in the day, you can hear some recordings of us playing live on either our Soundcloud channel or our YouTube channel. If you hear this and want more, let us know.

Water under the bridge.

Where’s the list? Damned if I know. It’s somewhere in the forge room, I think, under a mountain of iron filings. Well, you TOLD me to file it! Jesus.

Yeah, looks like I blew it again. So what’s new? We were compiling a list of Big Green songs we’ve written and at least cursorily recorded since our last CD release – Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick – some six years ago. Lot of water gone under the bridge since then, and a lot of music along with it. It’s almost like there was a little boat all loaded down with songs, and the water carried it under the bridge. Along with, well, a lot more water. Or something like that.

Of course, this is a list of all of the songs we’ve written and recorded for the Ned Trek portion of our THIS IS BIG GREEN podcast. There are about 70 or 80 of them, all tolled. So if we decide to release another album, it will either (a) have 70 or 80 songs on it, or (b) be the product of a sane mind. Or maybe it’s two or even three albums. After all, it’s been six years, and before that it had been another five years, and before that, like, nine years. Yeah, we’re slow …. slower than most bands. But hey … most bands don’t have a personal robot assistant (Marvin) or a mad science advisor (Mitch Macaphee). If they did, well, recording albums would take a hell of a lot longer.

Right, but ... which one?

Now that I think of it, we almost never mark the anniversary of CD releases. Last year was the 10 year anniversary of International House, our second album, and no celebration, no party streamers, no commemorative live performances, no fireworks, no flagrant branding exercises hoping to chew the last dollars off of its rotting carcass. We’re coming up on the 20th anniversary of our first album, 2000 Years to Christmas, and my guess is that we will do TWICE as much celebrating as we did for International House. At least that. Hell, I still have signed CDs from the tenth anniversary of 2000 Years to Christmas. Want one? Post a comment to this post or email us and we’ll see what we can do.

Till then, I had better get started on that pile of filings. Or that file of pilings.

Two score and two.

Feeling a bit reflective this week. And no, it’s not because I’m standing in front of a mirror. That’s just narcissism – whole different category of crazy. Besides, all of my mirrors cracked years ago.

Let me start from the beginning. This week I was trying to program Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to make guacamole, which is a challenge in as much as his programming consists of setting a combination of three-position switches in a certain configuration for a given task. Of course, Marvin was built by a mad scientist (Mitch Macaphee), so there’s no guide for what configuration will deliver what outcome, which leaves only trial and error. I was getting close to guacamole (I had found the right combination for gazpacho), but strangely I ended up programming him to replay demo recordings from our earliest days. (Who would’ve thunk those two things would be one toggle-click away from one another?)

Well, that got me thinking back to the days of yore (or days of Yor, Hunter of the Future), when we started this whole music thingy. Two score and two (or was it three?) years ago, Matt and I first picked up our guitars. Then we dropped them because they were too heavy for our little hands, in that we were young and all. Before long, we picked them up again, started plucking, strumming, dairning, nairn-ting (those are technical terms), and we started a little rhythm combo – Matt playing guitar, our friend Tim Walsh playing another guitar, me playing electric bass, and somebody, anybody, playing drums. (We finally settled on our friend Phil Ross, who was better than we deserved.)

I can't play this freaking thing.

Then one day (I think it was in 1979) Matt noticed that my guitar had fewer strings than his. He grabbed it out of my hands, leaving me no option but to start banging on the nearest piano. We did a few songs like that, then more, then more, more, more, and .. well … it became the new normal. Within a few years, we started to learn how to play our instruments, which really got in the way of the kind of music we were into, so we worked hard to forget all we knew. Thus Big Green was born.

Well, that’s the unofficial history of the band. For the official history, full of asinine exaggerations, see our Pre-History page. Now … back to that mirror.

Next up.

No, I’m not interested. No, really … not interested at all. And no, I’m not holding out for a better deal. I really just don’t want any part of it, okay? So just drop it. I said NO. (Jesus!)

Oh, hello out there. I was just having a little conversation with one of my esteemed colleagues. And he was getting a little uh-steamed, if you catch my meaning. Okay, full disclosure, it was our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, inventor of Marvin (my personal robot assistant), veteran of many deep space excursions, and the man who broke the space warp. (It was just warped before he got a hold of it, and now the damn thing is busted, thanks to his carelessness.)

What’s all the commotion? Funny you should ask. Perhaps you have some mad scientists in your life as well, or maybe a conventional scientist – someone who works in chemistry or physics, for instance. Well, if so, you know that people of science are frequently tempted by large corporations to use their great skills for some money-making venture, proffered on the promise that the professor will get his or her beak wet in a serious way. Mitch is no exception to that rule. And he’s just gotten an offer that has him seeing dollar signs everywhere.

Sounds dodgy, Mitch.

Personally, I think this is a scam. Mitch is talking about some joint Russian – Luxembourgian venture to mine minerals in outer space. He has a contact familiar with the deal who can get him in on the ground floor, particularly since he has experience with monetizing outer space through the application of advanced technologies used by extractive industry. Turns out that on all of those interstellar tours, when we thought Mitch was asleep in his cot, he was drilling for corbomite of cosmonium or some other precious earth that he would later unload on the galactic commodities market. Who knew? I always thought he traveled with us because he liked our music, or just enjoyed being a member of our posse. But no … it was filthy lucre leading him on, crawling in through his ear and squatting down on his brain.

Thing is, Mitch needs to talk others into investing in the venture. That’s what makes me think it’s a scam. That and the outer space part. Again …. not interested. But by the look on Mitch’s face, this ain’t over.

Inside February (2019)

Heard any good podcasts lately? Nah, neither have I. Well, aside from the ones I typically listen to, but those tend not to have anything to do with music. I sometimes download podcasts about fixing robots and doing odd jobs, like bending pretzels. (Real odd jobs.) But never music.

Well, in spite of that simple fact, we of Big Green do put out a podcast about music … or, at least, one that contains music, and typically new music in every episode. This month’s is no exception. That sucker is larded down with so much music it will make your teeth wobble and your big toe shoot up inside your moccasin. Eight flipping new songs, my friends, never before heard by the likes of you. And a new Ned Trek to boot. (Boot it right out into the yard.)

Here’s a look at our first-of-the-year podcast:

Ned Trek 39: Patterns of Horse. Yeah, I made that name up on the fly, because this episode of Ned Trek is based on the classic Star Trek episode entitled “Patterns of Force”, aka, the one with the Nazis. It’s basically that plot turned inside-out: the “fuhrer” in this case is Bernie Sanders, who turns a whole planet into a social-democratic paradise that attempts to satisfy every human need and realize every human potential. Naturally, the Free Enterprise crew set themselves to destroying this empire of kindness merely by strolling through it. Hijinx, as always, ensue.

I'll tell anyone who will listen.Song: Find Yourself a Nazi. Matt puts on his best Captain Beefheart voice for this Doc Coburn song that puts a Nazi spin on domestic bliss. Mean, but not craven.

Song: Oh, V-2. Perle, as always, singing for his supper … a supper that consists of massive arms procurement contracts he can move in service to some despotic dictator. His usual subject matter.

Song: Now More Than Ever. The android Nixon goes all disco on us, funking it up for the masses, doing a champion little dance, then mopping up the spotlight like spilled milk.

Song: Nazi Lunch. Rocking song by Doc about … well, you’ll have to ask Doc. Just don’t stand between him and his Kentucky Bourbon.

Song: The Nicest Nazi. Ned’s song about all the great stuff Bernie’s doing as the planet’s uber-friendly Fuehrer. (I’m not talking taxi here.)

Song: Can’t Do It Without Nazis. Willard sings about his return to public office and the goosestepping little voters who helped him replace the Hatch. Quasi classical melody, strangely enough.

Song: Can’t Go Wrong (Motherfucker). A song about Brett Kavanaugh specifically and white privilege more generally, sung by Sulu.

Song: Soldier of Fourchan. Our ode to the Proud Boys, chronicling their recent battles with fierce foes … like cardboard signs and such.

Put The Phone Down. Matt and I talk about Peter Tork’s passing, look back at various moments in our television-soaked youth, sing some ridiculous impromptu songs, and well … nearly pass out from fatigue. I grow fatigued, captain.

Anyway, enjoy this mess.

 

Rogue appliances.

Open the door, Hal. What seems to be the problem? I said open the pod bay door. Hal? It’s cold out here, Hal. God damn it!

Yes, that’s right – instead of sitting in my comfortable chamber deep within the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, tapping this post out on my computer, I’m standing in a damp and clammy courtyard, pounding on the front door in vain. No, this is not eviction. This is not home invasion or civil forfeiture. And this is not some tawdry war between rival squatters (believe me, we’ve had it up to here with that shit). No, friends … this is the dreaded Internet of Things.

Whose idea was it to have a mad scientist in residence? Mine? Oh, right. Well … it seemed like a good idea at the time. And he did get us to Aldebaran in one piece. (Albeit a very small piece.) Nevertheless, whoever asked him to join our entourage, he has truly gone off the deep end. They say mad scientists live off the deep end, but I think that’s just the kind of bragging that goes around at their various conferences; mostly, they are taciturn, creepy little men and women with a morbid interest in making things explode. It’s an interest they pursue quietly … until the explosion, of course.

Well, Mitch Macaphee is nothing like that. His sanest moment was when he invented Marvin (my personal robot assistant), and Marvin is bat-shit crazy. Now Mitch is going around the mill, modifying appliances so that they have rudimentary intelligence and the ability to surf the internet. He has basically turned every machine in the joint against me. My practice amp won’t power up. Our fridge has gone completely rogue, ringing up large grocer bills and denying us access to snacks. And now the clothes washer has taken it into its head (if it even has one) to commandeer the mill and start some kind of appliance commune. It even took one of my black tee-shirts, tore it into strips, and made a headband out of it. Looks quite smart … for a washing machine.

Anyway, the fucker locked me out of the mill. Can you believe it? And now the toaster is launching hot pop-tarts at me from the kitchen window. This ain’t over.

Tragedy, then farce.

The Trump administration has been pushing the sale of nuclear reactors to Saudi Arabia, according to a report from the House Government Oversight Committee, now functional once again since the Democratic takeover of that body. Some pretty good reporting on this from ProPublica suggests, predictably, that Trump’s family would benefit materially from such an arrangement, in the form of lucrative Saudi contracts for the now bankrupt nuclear plant designer Westinghouse, which has garnered Trump friend Tom Barrack as a major investor. ( I believe the consortium is eyeing Jared Kushner’s 666 building for office space.) Barrack wants to be part of a crackpot “Marshall Plan” for the Middle East that will involve building dozens of nuclear reactors in Saudi. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, the same things that have gone wrong on previous occasions when we have moved in this direction. Oh, yes … we have been here before, though perhaps without the craven self-dealing that Trump adds to virtually every initiative. In the 1960s, we were pushing the “atoms for peace” program, and at one point we were working with the British to help Iran (under the Shah) develop nuclear weapons – this according to longtime Labor party leader the late Tony Benn. In the late 1980s, George H.W. Bush was planning to send nuclear scientists over to Iraq for talks with Saddam Hussein’s government. And we have, of course, looked the other way with regard to Israel’s nuclear program, which remains unacknowledged, even though it continues to affect regional politics.

Now, there are historical and institutional reasons why our relationship with Saudi Arabia is unlikely to go south in a way similar to our little imperial dance with Iraq or Iran. But it’s hard to predict what will happen to any despotic regime. I’m sure back in the 1960s U.S. policymakers thought Iran would remain within the fold for the long term. My sense is that on this issue, like other foreign policy issues, Trump is being driven around like a little toy car by his advisors. People like Bolton, Pompeo, and Elliott Abrams work their strategies through people like Trump, who has little or no interest in international politics and is really only focused on what is best for him, his children, his son in law, his cronies. In a place like Saudi, they can all get what they want even if their goals are divergent from one another.

We live in dangerous times, to be sure. There’s nothing more dangerous than a useful idiot.

luv u,

jp