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Usual Rubbish

Poditis.

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Hey, turn off the water when you’re done in there, okay? Hello? Mitch, is that you? Matt? Lincoln? Where the hell is everybody?

Oh, right…. they’ve gone to a clambake. Or so they said, anyway. I think they just want to get the hell out of this drafty old Hammer Mill, and who can blame them? Not I, my friends. Still … someone has to mind the store. Perhaps you suppose that Marvin (my personal robot assistant) could handle such a simple task as guarding the mill, but no… much too complicated for his tiny mind. No, it takes real intellect, acumen, and chutzpah to keep this abandoned mill running up to par. And it there’s one man under this roof who can…. hey … did I leave the front door open? MARVIN?!

Okay, well… we all need help, right? That’s what bands are all about. Otherwise hapless musicians, huddling together to ward off the elements, keeping the home fires burning. Personally, I think they’re all irked at me for being such a jerk during our last podcast. (Matt was being a jerk, too, but he’s probably joining them in their shunning of me just to be ironic. Freaking hipsters!) The reason I think that is, well, we did act like jerks. That’s what people expect, okay? Here’s some of what they’re probably complaining about in the March episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN:

Derisive Tributes – As we often do when a prominent primate passes away, we paid tribute to Davy Jones of the Monkees and Andrew Breitbart of the Internets and, well, we were perhaps a little less than sufficiently pious. As Matt said, I went so far as to turn it into a “big joke”. Like making repeated mention of rejected would-be Monkees Charles Manson and Steven Stills. Stop using words that hurt! Listen for yourself, reader, and judge.

Questionable Remembrances – At least one anecdote was shared – I won’t say by whom (Matt) – about someone being arrested at a Jethro Tull concert in 1979. That could have been anybody, right? But then we had to go and talk about Matt’s dentist and how she shares a name with an infamous character from classic Star Trek. That got us into quoting lines from the show and, well…. all the evil that proceeds from that.

Looney Music – The Cousin Rick Perry songs, all first drafts, were a little weirder than usual this time around, with a kind of seventies lounge pop number, a shanty like diddy, and robot rock about Romney and Santorum. Add that to some pretty awful banjo and kazoo improvisation, and you’ve got yourself a podcast.

So…. as I said, friends, listen and judge. Personally, I think my Mill-mates all have poditis. That’s probably because they had to listen to the freaking thing while we were recording it and about five times thereafter. Who can blame them?

Usual Rubbish

Lunar new year.

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Hey, what the…? Did I sign off on that? Are you sure? Well, I guess you would know better than I. Wouldn’t you? RRRrrrrr….

Face it, we’ve got bad quality control here at the Cheney Hammer Mill. Was a time that not a single hammer went out of here with unsightly flashing or a splinter out of place in their ironwood handles. Not so with Big Green, it pains me to say. We are not perfect – ADMIT IT TO YOURSELF. It’s just because we’ve got irons in so many fires. Too many spoons in the stew. Eleven toes on each foot. I don’t know – you pick the metaphor. I’ve got work to do.

Nah, see… Marvin (my personal robot assistant) posted our March episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN, our podcast, before I had had a chance to listen to it. We could be saying ANYTHING, for chrissake. If we had reputations or integrity, we could lose either (or both). There are some advantages to general slovenliness and moral degeneration, but I’ve only just thought of one of them, so…. there can’t be too many. Anyway, it’s out there, warts and all – another wide ranging discussion between Matt and I, discussing everything from the death of Davy Jones and Andrew Breitbart, to Star Trek mythology, to things too obscure to describe in print. Freakish, that’s all I can say. Plus three more songs from Rick Perry – a 70s-pop lament tentatively called “Rick: The Searchable Name”; a doggerel called “Really Rick Perry”, and a primitive rock number entitled, simply, “Santorum”.

Okay, well … that’s done. Now, to our new commission – that of spearheading the efforts of former House Speaker Newt Gingrich in his efforts to conquer and rule the moon. He got our names from George W. Bush, no doubt. We have been in the dubya rolodex ever since he went on tour with us back in 2000, which led to our taking on an advisory position in the early (pre-9/11) Bush White House. (We were in charge of his Space Commission, based on our long history in…. well…. space.) Hey… nothing succeeds like success. Except perhaps failure, in our case. Anywho, the first thing Newt has asked us to do – aside from grease the diplomatic wheels with any people found on the moon – is to write a national anthem for our nearest neighbor in space. One that duly celebrates his initiative, his genius, and (he also says) his modesty.

So, well…. Matt and I have to get to work on this. Perhaps John can work up some pedal steel parts. We’ve got stuff to do, Marvin – don’t bother me with trifles! (Unless they’re the tasty dessert kind.)

Usual Rubbish

Fruit cup.

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These are indeed auspicious days to be Big Green. What the hell am I talking about? I was hoping you would know, good browser.

Yes, just hanging about at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, assembling the next podcast of THIS IS BIG GREEN. Uh-huh, that’s right – we personally assemble each episode by hand. (And no, that’s not the royal “we” – I in fact have a mouse in my pocket.) It’s painstaking work. Ironing out the dross, cutting the vulgarities, tuning up the music, tweaking the costumes (oh yes … we wear costumes on our audio podcast). It is details like these that make for great podcasts. Ours is not one, but … we use the same means that the greats use, with less than great results. I’m being honest, okay. YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? (You do? My apologies.)

Okay, so that takes some time. What do we do with the other 23.5 hours in the day? Well…. we’ve actually got a project ahead of us. Yes, another project. It’s not one of those diorama things you used to build for show and tell – you know, a box depicting the battle of the Monitor and the Merrimac, with a starfish thrown in for good measure. Then if you do particularly well on your in-class presentation, you get a little reward – perhaps a star sticker, or an extra fruit cup at lunch time. That’s all good, until you run into that bruiser out on the playground, whose dad left town with some floozie from the Shriners circus last year, and who’s been going around with a chip on his shoulder ever since, and who apparently owns all the playground equipment because if you even go NEAR the see-saw he’ll break you in half, and …

Right… well, I strayed a bit. The project. Remember, way back in the year 2000, when we briefly hooked up with Dubya Bush while he was out on the campaign trail, sharing our interstellar tour bus with the soon-to-be president of these here United States? Well, it helps to know people – that’s all I can say. One introduction leads to another. Because of our experience with extraterrestrial constituencies, the Gingrich campaign has tapped us to be its liaison to the moon people. This could be huge, friends – one of us (Matt, perhaps) could be named ambassador to the moon if the Newt-like object is elected president this fall. How awesome would that be?

Tough commute? No worries. With gas at $2.50 a gallon, it won’t matter a bit.

Usual Rubbish

Albumination.

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We’re out of the big box retail business. Easy come, easy go. Now what do we do for scratch? Start scratching? What am I, a dee-jay? (Perhaps I am…. )

Leave us face it. As so many of our closest friends and advisors have told us, Big Green’s money-making gene is recessive. The cash bone definitely is not connected to the Green bone. Even when we have a hole to China’s most productive consumer good factory – literally a tunnel to the bank! – it blows up in our faces. The gods want us humble. They have given us a mission, and we must fulfill it. Live simply in an abandoned mill. Make music. Travel to other planets via questionable means. Go forth and do as I tell you. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

What the…. got gods for three minutes and they’re already demanding as hell. Well, you should know that we’re not letting the grass grow under our feet. (Except the mansized tuber, of course – that’s his natural state.) As you may be aware, Matt and I have been busy with our podcast. A grueling monthly broadcast schedule, now in its eighth grueling month. Ever eat gruel for eight months straight? Just try it sometime, Ebeneezer. Even you will be calling for more bread, damn the ha-penny extra. Right…. where was I? Ah, yes. Work. Work, work, work. The podcast demands a great deal out of us – namely, that we turn on the recorder, stand in front of studio mics, and talk total, rambling nonsense like we always do. Then we press stop. (I told you – it’s a great deal.)

Then there are the songs. We’ve done a lot of Cousin Rick Perry songs – it’s becoming a bit of a theme, like Christmas or rare foot diseases. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has been good enough to help track some of the numbers. In fact, we’re thinking about pulling it together into an album – finishing the songs we threw together for the podcast and putting out an album of Rick Perry themed material. Would the resulting product be an abomination of sorts? Perhaps in the Eyes (or the Ears) of the Almighty Rick. He is among our more sensitive cousins, to be sure.

So, yes, our hands are full, our hearts (and wallets) light, our spirits…. I don’t know, I’ll go with spongy.

Usual Rubbish

Hold it.

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There’s a valuable resource for you. And right here under our noses. We’re rich, I tell you, rich. It’s like finding a whole bag full of doubloons. Or perhaps triploons.

What am I talking about? What indeed. I’ll tell you, friend(s), we’ve been squatting in this abandoned hammer mill for more than ten years. You know what squatting that long does to your quadriceps? Seriously, we’ve been occupying the Cheney Hammer Mill before the Occupy movement ever put on its first pair of short pants. Not for any principle, you understand, other than that of having a roof over our heads. A penniless band, Big Green was in those days. Ah, but no more. Fortune has smiled upon us, once again.

So often these things happen by accident. Someone tinkering with something, blowing some time, and next thing you know, whoosh! Well, that’s what happens when you live with a mad scientist, anyway. For weeks, Mitch Macaphee has been tinkering with that orgone generating machine Trevor James Constable left behind some years back. He hooked it into one of his little ion generators and – as I said earlier – WHOOSH! Fortunate that no one was standing in front of the machine’s array at that moment. The thing was pointing down at the floor of the forge room and, well, suddenly there was a clean, round hole in the fire-brick floor.

Now, I tend toward curiosity, I must admit. But I, like you, have seen Crack In The Earth, so there was no way I was going down that hole. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) wasn’t having any of it either. (I’ve been volunteering him for way too many duties just lately.) I tried to get the mansized tuber to check it out, but no luck. Fortunately, there was no need to send anyone down there. They just started popping out of the hole. What did? Boxes. Boxes of goods from China. Valuable goods, just popping out of the hole. We’re rich, I tell you, RICH. Forget everything you know about value-chain management and global enterprise logistics. We’ve got a hole to where stuff is made. People drop the stuff in on the other end, and it comes out here. End of story.

Okay, so… we’re working on the sales component right now. Stay tuned. And while you’re tuned, check out the latest episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN, our podcast, the February edition. Two new songs by Rick Perry. Another extra by us. Corporate underwriting spots tried and botched. Something for everybody. Yeeha.

Usual Rubbish

Me, me, me.

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When I was a kid, my parents took me on a trip across this great country of ours. We took in all the national parks, all the dude ranches, all the hamburger joints, all the breakfast cereals, and it was great. The best way I can share it with you is by singing this song. I want you to all sing along with me. “There’s a yellow rose in Texas … that I am BOUND TO SEE….!!!”

Whoa, hey… didn’t know anyone was reading this here blog. I was just practicing in my spare time. What am I practicing? Thought you might ask. Just in case I find myself running for president in sixty or seventy years, I thought I might need a little background on how to warm up a crowd at a retirement center. Now I know just how to do it, sort of. Anywho… we’ve all got to keep ourselves occupied, what with Big Green up on blocks like a 1976 Chevy Monza that needs a ring job. We’ve been blowing oil for about 5,000 miles now, folks. Time for a tune up. [METAPHOR OVER.]

Right, so … what are we doing? Recording, that’s what. I’ll tell you, this podcast of ours ( THIS IS BIG GREEN ) has gotten us back into the studio on a regular basis, and not just to drink beverages. We’re just putting finishing touches on two more Rick Perry songs, to be premiered on the February podcast under the moniker of Rick Perry and the Recognizable Hicks. (They are to us what the Dukes of the Stratosphere were to XTC … only with 80% more hick.) Think of it as a thematic strain, like Christmas has been with Matt for umpteen years or more – once you start, they just keep coming.

The podcast versions are like first drafts, mostly, though our Rick Perry songs are as close to finished as anything is likely to get here in the Cheney Hammer Mill. The rest of it is pretty bare bones – Marvin (my personal assistant) playing drums, some twangy guitars, a stray sousaphone. At some point we’ll collect all of these numbers into an album and call it SONGS FROM HELL or RARE FOOT DISEASE or something more appropriate, less offensive, etc.

Anyway, stay tuned. More stuff to come, in one form or another. (Okay… I promise not to sing “Yellow Rose” again. Now will you listen?)

Usual Rubbish

Moving to Ironia.

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If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who arbitrarily find something to complain about. Especially when it involves pointless grousing about other people. I HATE PEOPLE LIKE THAT.

Right, you guessed it. I was being ironic just then. Some people do that for a living. Me? I’m ironic in my spare time. Actually, it’s not merely a matter of personal whim. We’ve just taken on a marketing consultant recommended by our somewhat lackluster label, Loathsome Prick Records. I would tell you her name, but she told me her name must never be spoken. In any case, she – I will call her “Noname” … which rhymes with Edamame in my tiny mind – is going to help us “position” Big Green in the international indie music marketplace. That’s something our label tells us we need to do, like, RIGHT NOW.

Okay, so… part of that new positioning is that we should start being more ironic. I know what you’re going to say, and I am appalled… APPALLED that you would even think of such a thing! No, really… I know that we’ve been living, breathing, writing, playing, singing, exemplifying irony for more than two decades now. I know that our entire first album, 2000 Years To Christmas, and its follow-up, International House, were both frantic fits of festering irony. Trouble is, from a marketing perspective, none of that counts. It’s more about being seen to be ironic. “Noname” is insistent that we apply at least half of each waking hour working on ostentatious displays of irony.

My response to that has been, well, typical for me. I put Marvin (my personal robot assistant) on the case. Never send a man to do what a personal robot assistant can do for him – that’s what I always say, without a hint of irony. I asked Mitch Macaphee to program some irony into his sorry ass, and Mitch obliged, punching numbers into his little hand-held remote, pointing it at Marvin and saying the magic words: Obey! Obey! Marvin wheeled out the door and into the streets of Little Falls, dodging shoppers on a mission to ironyland. Sure enough, when we went out to the grocery store for some day old bread, there was Marvin, in front of Magillicuddy’s Hardware, ringing a bell and wearing a Santa-style hat, an old paint bucket on the sidewalk in front of him. Was he raising money? God, no. He was demonstrating the absurdity of a world in which robots in Santa garb can panhandle out of season without even raising an eyebrow. In short, he was practicing… that’s right …. starts with an “i”.

Here’s something else that starts with an “i”: I’ve had it with this for the nonce. Noname be damned, I’m hitting the sack. (Or perhaps merely mocking those who do so in earnest. Who can say?)

Usual Rubbish

What’s new.

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Well, it’s finally coming down. The snow that is. And the lamp post. Yes, you heard me right – the lamp post came down … and Jim Bob is responsible.

Okay, truth is… I don’t know for certain that Jim Bob is responsible. It may well have been Marvin (my personal robot assistant) who knocked the lamp post down during the first snow storm of the year. Here it is, the week after Christmas, and people are still driving like it’s July. Spoiled by global warming, I suppose. In any case, I only have myself to blame. It was I who suggested that Marvin serve as our chauffeur until a suitable replacement might be found. What? You didn’t know we had people driving us around? Well, that’s because we haven’t up until now. We’ve just recently adopted the Bowie-esque doctrine of acting successful to become successful. It’s like priming the pump, man.

Why this sudden obsession? Well, as you know, we of Big Green weren’t exactly born with the word “success” tattooed on our butts. (Mine has something else entirely tattooed onto it. I’m giving you twelve guesses what that might be.)  We’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel for lo these past three decades, playing in dives, recording in the basement on superannuated technology, scratching for every inch, inching for every scratch…. you get the picture. (Actually, you get the sound file. We don’t do pictures.) What have we got to show for it? A second-hand robot chauffeur, that’s what. And one that can’t avoid major obstacles.

I know, I know – I shouldn’t complain, what with this being the season of kindness and gratitude. (Mitch Macaphee, our mad science advisor, sees it more as the season of mindlessness and attitude, but that’s how he rolls.) We’re still recording, still flailing away at the canon, committing item after item from the seemingly bottomless vat of unrecorded material to virtual tape. You can hear the results of these sessions on our podcast, This Is Big Green, where we post first drafts of songs we will eventually release as our next album(s).

So sure, we live in a drafty mill, no fuel for the fire, no food in the fridge, no miracle grow for the mansized tuber (not that he needs it).  But we’ve got something more valuable than any of that: a gift coupon to Tony’s pizza, good for another three days. To the limo… and damn the lamp posts!

Usual Rubbish

Tall tales.

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Gather ’round the fire, folks. Everybody got their hot chocolate? Not too, hot, right? Make yourselves comfortable. Got some serious yuletide bloviating to do.

As I mentioned last week, all of our little elves have been laboring under harsh working conditions in the basement of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, hammering together the disjointed fragments of Big Green’s Christmas Podcast. A thankless job, to be sure, but somebody has to do it (at a substandard wage). Next year maybe we outsource to Sri Lanka in honor of Mitt Romney’s eventual nomination. Or not. Anyway…. Christmas…

It occurs to me, listening to our holiday audio extravaganza, that our explanations of the songs included in the podcast are, shall we say, somewhat wanting. So what the hell… I’m going to give you the low-down on all of them, just so that you can be a more informed listener. That’s how we roll over here at Big Green – full disclosure at all times. Why, you may ask? Well… I’d rather not say.

Okay, so here’s the story below the music. I’ve included the time markers so that you can work your way through our 2 and a half hours of blather:

Merry Christmas, Jane (Part 2). [at 1:40] One of the numbers from our first album, 2000 Years To Christmas. Some reviewer on GarageBand thought it sounded like Neil Young, but that’s probably mostly the instrumentation. What’s it about? Damned if I know. It was a year-later rejoinder to Matt’s “Merry Christmas, Jane”, which also appears on 2000 Years To Christmas. (Little known fact: There is, indeed, a “Merry Christmas Jane, Part 3” that has never been properly recorded. Maybe next Christmas, children.)

Dark Christmas.  [at 1:10:30] This is an outtake from the 2000 Years To Christmas album – one of the handful of completed songs that didn’t make it onto the disc. What’s it about? I’m still trying to work that out, but it’s sung in the voice of someone who is trying to pull someone out of their holiday slump.

Christmas Sport. [at 1:24:35] Matt’s musical reflection on the warm holiday tradition of shooting everything that moves. Another new recording.

Christmas Puzzle. [at 1:33:00] Matt wrote this about a classmate of his in grade school who was a bit disappointed with his secret santa gift. (He actually explains this better on the podcast.) The original recording was made more than a decade ago and recently enhanced with new vocals, percussion, and a remix.

Jit-Jaguar. [at 1:51:47] We recently recorded this number about the political fortunes of a local officeholder who, disappointed at the results of a recent election, calls upon a Japanese sci-fi movie automatonic superhero to assist with his vengeance on the people who rejected him.

Evening Crab Nebula. [at 2:14:29] A new recording made with the help of “Cousin” Rick Perry; a tale of hope and caution. Hope for political advantage; caution about taking biblical stories too literally. Contains the only known instance of a rhyme with the word “Nebula” in a pop song lyric.

There we go, kids. Lame explanations, I admit, but… lame is better than nothing. Have a happy.

Usual Rubbish

Yule be sorry.

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We don’t have a garage. This is an abandoned hammer mill, built when people didn’t have cars. There is no garage here, get me? Now DON’T CALL HERE AGAIN! (Click! buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…. )

Got to love these small town managers. It’s bad enough that they pass an ordinance against squatting in abandoned properties (something Lincoln is convinced is aimed directly at us, lawyer that he is); now they’ve got one against all night parking. Thing is, we – that is to say, the core members of the musical collective known as Big Green – don’t even have cars. We’re not parking overnight on the street because we’ve got nothing to park. No, no –  they’re complaining about the big, blimp-like space vehicle we rented for our recent interstellar tour, which is still hovering over the mill like some kind of sales promotion. (The owner has yet to pick it up.) The town would hang tickets on the thing if they could find a ladder long enough. (They’re talking to the fire department right now. This could get ugly.)

So many distractions. How the hell is a man supposed to produce a podcast? Matt and I have yet to finish our Christmas episode, and time is running short, as you all know. We may have to …. cancel … Christmas. There’s nothing I can do; it’s this weather…. Oops, sorry. I started channeling Rankin-Bass’s “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Retail Bonanza”. I mean Reindeer. It’s not about the weather at all. It’s about time, it’s about space, about two men in the….. D’oh! Damn you, 1960’s television! Get out of my head!

Okay, to be fair, it’s not like we haven’t made any progress on our Christmas episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN. We have done the basic tracks for at least two previously unreleased Big Green Christmas songs. We are going to resurrect an outtake from our 1999 album 2000 Years To Christmas – another previously unreleased Big Green song – specifically for the occasion. There will be other musical oddities, including yet another performance by Cousin Rick Perry, governor of Texas, presidential candidate, and… and…. something else. I can’t remember the third thing. Oops.

So listen, mo-fo’s, we’ve got some work to do. A present to wrap, if you will. I’m taking the phone off the hook.