Tag Archives: Songs in the Key of Rick

Usual Rubbish

That’s strange.

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I think that’s the last of it. Packed tight, top to bottom. Nice job, lads. Okay … pop the nose cone back on. Time to light this candle!

Nothing to see here, right, Marvin?Oh, howdy. Yup, we’re getting ready to embark on our upcoming interstellar tour in support of our album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick, which as been a absolute drug on the market down here on earth, but is selling much more briskly in outer spaaaaaaaaaace. Seems like extraterrestrials are totally ready for satirical country-western, mock-pop, found sound records like ours. Who knew?

Now if they only adopted some kind of currency that is convertible into our own. Right now they’re paying us in photons. No, really. Every month, we get a box full of light in lieu of a royalty check. Try taking that to Chase Bank. I can’t even get mortgage backed securities in exchange for that stuff. Still, it’s worth something on Aldebaran, and that’s all that counts … if you live on Aldebaran. (We usually resort to doing all our shopping out there, as it happens.)

Big GreenSome of you are probably wondering whether it’s safe for us to venture beyond the protective atmosphere of mother earth in such a ramshackle looking spacecraft. I totally get that. The thing is, we have assurances from Marvin (my personal robot assistant) that if anything goes badly wrong in the icy vacuum of space, he will be responsible for the consequences. Knowing how risk-averse Marvin has always been, that fills me with confidence. My bandmates look a little nervous, sure, particularly after hearing about the comet ISON, which is in the process of rounding the sun as we speak.

Will we escape ISON’s enormous coma of deadly gasses? Are they indeed deadly as I just claimed just a few key strokes ago? Answers to these and other questions await our liftoff in FIVE …. FOUR … THREE … TWO … days.

Usual Rubbish

Podcast rundown: November

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Just getting a few things packed away in my cozy little cabin, in the makeshift rent-a-spacecraft we’ve hired for our interstellar tour in support of Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick (our latest album). A few sticks of chewing gum, some duct tape, an x-ray of a tooth (not mine, as it happens – just some random tooth) … all stuff I wouldn’t want to be without for the stretch of weeks we’ll spend in the icy void of space. Brrrrr!

Big GreenAnyhow, before I do another hand’s turn of real work, I wanted to post my usual visitor’s guide to our most recent podcast. I know, I know – podcasts should explain themselves, right? Well, in a perfect world they would, but this world is far from perfect. Just ask Dr. Pangloss. (Wait … he’s probably exactly the person you shouldn‘t ask. Try Candide instead.)

November’s THIS IS BIG GREEN included some very useful tidbits, such as:

Ned Trek XIV: The Wrath of Carl – Amazing to hear myself say this, but this fourteenth episode of our epic Star Trek parody, starring Captain Willard Mittilius Romney, his first officer / dressage horse Mr. Ned, and a crew of neocons and misfits, pits our cast against the most terrifying enemy they’ve ever faced: a real astrophysicist (Carl Sagan), armed with actual facts about the universe (most of which we made up, but you’ll get the idea). Carl can wreck the Free Enterprise merely by commenting on it. What will Willard and Ned do? Download it and find out.

Song: Volcano Man – A selection from our album International House. We’ve played this number on the podcast before, so … here it is again. (The rapture’s comin’!)

Put The Phone Down: Matt and I talk about a wide range of issues, touching on health care, hunting, blah, and blah-blah. Some rare moments of insight. (Did I say insight? I meant instep.)

Song: Little Pig Flies – A selection from the 4-track cassette production archives, previously unreleased (of course). This number has echoes of Richard Kimball, running from Inspector Gerard. Toiling at many jobs. You get the idea.

Song: Good Old Boys Roundup (Demo Version) – The demo of a song that was intended for International House but never made it to the final version. We may have played this on the podcast before, I don’t know. Anywho, here it is … again-ish.

Back to packing. Hasta la vista.

Usual Rubbish

What to bring?

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I don’t know. Do we really need a hibachi? We’re all vegetarians, except for Marvin, who only eats electricity and petroleum distillates. Well… okay, then.

Big GreenHi, friend of Big Green. What are they doing now? It’s called getting ready for an interstellar tour, as yet unnamed, to support extraterrestrial sales of our most recent album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. It took us long enough, but we did secure adequate transport for the seemingly impossible journey ahead of us. (Carl Sagan would say it is simply impossible, but he is not available to comment. Ergo … it’s possible.) Some over-the-road hauler dragged the missile here from the Moon, where its (asshole) owner left it for our retrieval. Jesus H. Christ, the company brought the craft all the way from Neptune, but apparently thought the moon was close enough.

The accommodations on board, mind you, are a tad spare. Spartan, you might say. Ever read a book by one of the original NASA astronauts? Yeah, it’s kind of like that. A bit like a t.v. submarine, only with rocket engines instead of propellers and no periscope. I’m no Wilt Chamberlain, and I have to duck down low to get under the rafters. And the cockpit is full of retro-looking levers and switches. One of the toggles is marked, “Kill” – not sure Wait, it does have a periscope!what that does. I wonder … if you switch it back and forth, does something, somewhere, cease to exist and then come back to life again? Important question.

On a rack in the control room is about a dozen pressure suits that look like something out of a 1960s sci-fi movie. You know – the ones with accordion-like joints and white crash helmets with visors. I’m guessing that means there is no artificial atmosphere in this beast, but I’m counting on someone with some technical knowledge to determine that for us. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has been serving as a surrogate mad scientist while Mitch Macaphee continues to enjoy his hammock in Madagascar (if that is where he truly is, the bounder!).

We need all the help we can get. Now, where did I pack my packing list? Hmmmmm….

Usual Rubbish

Down for the count.

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Okay, I think we have this thing settled. Everyone in agreement? No? Good. We value diversity of perspective here at Big Green. Especially when LIVES HANG IN THE BALANCE….

Big GreenSorry, friends. I hate to raise my voice, but sometimes you just have to. With sketchy-looking promoters breathing down our necks (and judging by the aroma, they had limburger hoagies for lunch), we are still hashing out the details of our means of transport on our rapidly approaching interstellar tour in support of Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick, our latest album. We have, in fact, identified a rent-a-wreck spacecraft that is within our budget. It’s being offered by a subsidiary of our corporate label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., operating on the planet Neptune. Fortunately, they deliver. (But only as far as the moon. I guess that extra 239,000 miles is a bridge too far for these goons.)

Okay, my thought was this. We program Marvin (my personal assistant) with the ability to fly the craft from the moon back to Earth. Then we, well, get him to the moon somehow. Matt suggested one of those really big rubber bands, stretched between the legs of the St. Louis Arch – just aim and shoot! Sure, that sounds good, dear brother, but how the hell are we going to get to St. Lookin' good, Marvin. Louis? We can’t even get to the moon, for chrissake. Then there’s always the option of telemetry – just flying the ship here by remote control. But with Mitch Macaphee, our mad science advisor, in a hammock in Madagascar for the fourth consecutive month, we haven’t the means of contriving such a device.

Damn … if that hammock were only here instead of Madagascar, we could maybe use that instead of the rubber band. Hmmmmm…

Anyhow, I saw a picture of the ship, and it looks pretty tight. Kind of like a 1979 Oldsmobile diesel station wagon, only a little less buff. (Matt doesn’t see what I’m seeing. He thinks it’s a death trap. I see only goodness and niceness.) If I can share it with you, damn it, I will.

Well … while we’re waiting for the countdown to begin, we’ve got a podcast to finish. So, down to the basement, man the mics! Stop making sense!

Usual Rubbish

Geek to me.

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Connect blue wire (A) to terminal (3). Check. Connect yellow wire (F) to terminal (48c). Check. Hit boot switch, but first, insert index fingers (K) and (M) into ears (7) and (8). Hmmm…. okay.

Big GreenOh, hi. Caught me in the middle of something, as usual. Always some task to perform here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our adopted squat-house in lovely upstate New York. As you may recall from previous posts (or not), we are preparing for an upcoming interstellar tour to support extraterrestrial sales of our new album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. Fact is, we make most of our money on units sold outside the bounds of the known solar system. (The rest we make on Neptune and some of the smaller, rockier moons of Saturn.)

Anyhow, as you might suspect, we will be needing some means of transportation for ourselves, our hangers-on, our instruments and gear, our provisions, etc. We have an old 1954 GMC City Coach (or we at least have access to it in the junk yard across the street), but it’s seen better days and probably isn’t up to a journey of 1,000 light years across the trackless void of space. (The windows haven’t been caulked in a couple of decades, so I doubt it’s space-worthy.) We used to simply “rent” spacecraft from other fictional narratives, like Lost in Space or Here Come The Brides, but that option is walled off by lack of funds. Our mad science adviser Mitch Macaphee is still in Madagascar, enjoying the sun, so we’re left to our own devices.

The one on the leftRight, so … using Mitch’s credit card, I ordered a do-it-yourself space ship from Heathkit. (Yes, I know … they no longer exist. I had to go through Mitch’s time portal to place the order.) So here I am, perhaps the most technically challenged member of Big Green, a man without a smart phone (I still use that brick phone my dad lent me in 1989), assembling a deluxe interstellar space cruiser stick by stick, armed only with a soldering gun and a pair of superannuated pliers.

No need to back away. I haven’t gotten to the volatile rare earths part yet. Stay tuned.

Usual Rubbish

Under the hood of lost September.

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Is this the new itinerary? Looks like last week’s. Which, if I recall correctly, was a hastily updated photocopy of the flight path for Voyager 2. That mission didn’t end well, my fine friend, just you remember.

Yes, yes … we are still preparing the ground for our upcoming interstellar tour to support celestial sales of Big Green’s latest album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. The itinerary thus far includes stops on gas giants, molten moons, and frozen asteroids hurtling into black holes. Couple of snags, that’s all. Nothing to get excited about. (Man Jack Jesus, this band has to work like an animal to find an audience.)

In the meantime, we have plucked the lost September episode of our podcast THIS IS BIG GREEN from the jaws of non-existence (if such a state of being can be said to have anything resembling jaws), and good thing, too: we needed an October episode very badly indeed. What’s it all about? Well, you could give it a listen. Or you could just ask us … and if you did, we would most likely tell you it includes:

Big GreenAnyhow, the “lost” September episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN includes:

Ned Trek XIII: Specter’s Stepchildren. Our running satire of Star Trek, Mr. Edd, and the Romney presidential campaign continues with this gripping episode. Mr. Welsh is being coaxed into serving as a sound engineer for powerful aliens who force songs out of Mr. Ned, Mr. Pearl, Rev. Doc Coburn, and Willard Mittilius himself…. with hilarious consequences. Five (or is it six?) new Big Green songs, never before heard, one sung by a horse, one sung by a robot Nixon, one sung by space aliens (accompanied by John Ashcroft), one sung by a chickenhawk neocon (guess who). Don’t miss it.

Idle conversation. As usual, Matt and I ramble on for about 20 minutes about vital issues of the day, random snippets from days past. We talk about our dad, about space probes, about god knows what. Something else, I’m sure. No spotlight songs resurrected from the past this month – we spent our song quota in the Ned Trek episode.

That’s what we’ve got. Now, back to travel plans. Where’s that sextant?

Usual Rubbish

Lost eppy.

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Don’t bother me with that now, Marvin. Yes, I’ve seen you juggle before. But Big Green’s interstellar stage show has no slot for jugglers, even if they toss molten crowbars in the air five at a time. What the hell do you think this is, Ringling Brothers? Perry brothers, damn it. Whole different circus.

Seriously, sometimes it feels like I’m running a two-bit talent agency in lower Broadway in 1947. Ever feel that way? Well … I have, and it’s right now. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has gotten it into his brass head that he needs to warm up our audiences, particularly in venues like Neptune, where the average daily high is something like 55 Kelvin (that’s -218 Celsius to you and I). In that kind of climate, Marvin reasons, a little foot-stomping can’t go amiss. Sure, he’s got a point … but juggling? On a plain-clothes rock stage? Come on.

Now, I’m sure there are plenty of you – maybe five or six or even more – who are wondering what the hell happened to our September episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN, our podcast. Good question. Fact is, it’s finished … Matt and I did our meaningless conversation segment just a couple of hours ago. It has, of course, become the “lost” September episode, in as much as October is now upon us. Yet another October – who would have believed we would have two in as many years? What are the chances?

Big GreenAnyhow, the “lost” September episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN, due out any day now, is another blockbuster extravaganza, with a special episode of Ned Trek featuring no less than five or six brand spanking new Big Green songs, sung in dialect and embedded in the very woof of the program. It is a feast for sore ears. Feast your ears on this shit, and they’ll be sore, for sure. Yes, you’re welcome.

Stuff to do. Got to get back to planning our interstellar tour to support sales of Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. And my cat Sara wants a snack. Coming … !

Usual Rubbish

Planning for launch.

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I say let’s start rehearsing on Wednesdays. You can’t? Why the hell not? That’s your LUNCH day? Oh, right. Forgot about that.

Big GreenJust trying to pull together some Big Green rehearsals in advance of our anticipated interstellar tour to promote our new album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. Of course, I’m running into the usual scheduling conflicts. I keep forgetting how people arrange their time. Anti-Lincoln (who sometimes shakes a tambourine backwards for us), for instance, has what can only be described as a singular meal schedule: Instead of the usual three meals a day, he eats breakfast all day Sunday, lunch all day Wednesday, and dinner all day Friday. Hey – I don’t judge. If it works for him, that’s great.

This does get to be like being a traffic cop, though. And what usually ends up happening is that Matt and I get together and just run through some songs, or make up new ones, or record an episode of Ned Trek for our podcast, THIS IS BIG GREEN. In other words, blow a lot of time on nothing in particular. But that’s how we roll.

What about the tour? Well … details are still in the works. I asked Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to look at the feasibility of just Stop smoking, already.doing an interplanetary tour within our own solar system as opposed to traveling into deep space and incurring some substantial logistical costs (not least of which are those damned tollbooths between here and Aldebaran – I’m almost certain they’re a scam!). He whirred and flashed and squeaked for about three hours, then emitted a slip of paper that bore a recipe for potato soup written in Mandarin. I beckoned to my translator.

Upshot of this is, we have reached out to some of the tour promoters we’ve used in previous outings. I know what you’re going to say – those tours were disastrous failures and a threat to both life and limb and intergalactic peace and security, right? Point taken. This time will be different. Because everybody knows that when you do the same thing over and over again, eventually you get a different result. Right? (Sure I heard that somewhere…)

Usual Rubbish

Yonder bound.

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Marvin (my personal robot assistant), didn’t I tell you to pick those Legos up about three hours ago? Can’t you do anything without being told twelve times?! Are you even awake?! MARVIN!!

I'm your Lincoln ConciergeChrist on a bike. Sloth has reached a new level of intensity here at the hammer mill, and it’s no surprise. We have been cooped up in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill for the better part of three years (the worse part, too … I remember those awful days…), not a hand’s turn of work. Sure, we produced and released an album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick, and have dutifully (and pitilessly) posted our podcast THIS IS BIG GREEN every month, on the month (or quite nearly). But gainful employ? Naught, my friend. Goose egg.

Arguably, it goes against human nature (and personal robot assistant nature, presumably) to be idle for so long. I’ve seen signs of restlessness, to be sure. Not from anti-Lincoln, of course, who spends most of his day in the forge room, swilling cheap rum that he got from god-knows-where. But his positive doppelganger, Lincoln, tries to keep busy in imaginative though annoying ways. (I keep telling him, I can’t afford a big fat car – it’s just not in the game plan. But just try telling Lincoln not to sell you something.)

Big GreenMarvin is always coming up with pass-times, as well as hair-brained schemes for making money. But I think he’s hit a wall, and it’s understandable. Even his inventor, Mitch Macaphee, our mad science adviser, has wandered off to richer pastures, taking advantage of some time-share property he invented in Madagascar. (Something about hanging gardens … though I’m not sure about what stage of insanity he was in when he told me about it.) So Marvin sits and rusts a little every day, his battery running down. He needs a change of scene, and so do the rest of us.

That’s why I have started making inquiries about doing an interplanetary tour to support extraterrestrial sales of Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. (Spoiler alert: Terrestrial sales have been abysmal.) Stay tuned for details. Big Green out.

Usual Rubbish

Freak all.

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You’ll have to excuse me. I’m on the phone with Frigidaire. My dehumidifier has been recalled. Oh, the humanity! You know, if I had a pet manatee, I would consider naming him Hugh. Hugh Manatee. How’s your day going?

Got no gene for thatIt’s a little quiet around the Hammer Mill today, now that the dehumidifier has been unplugged. Dank, musty old place. Sometimes I think we’re frittering our lives away in this ruin. But then, there are worse ways to go. And I’m rather fond of fritters, myself, particularly apple fritters with a dusting of cinnamon. Mmmmm, boy.

What’s new in Big Green land? Well, sales of our new album Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick are breaking all previous records. What records specifically? Well… it’s at the top of all “least popular” top ten lists. Sales are reaching nearly one unit, call it none. Could have something to do with our marketing strategy. I told Marvin (my personal robot assistant) that tossing a copy of the album out into the street and hoping patrons chance upon it was probably not the most effective approach. But hell, what do I know?

Big GreenFact is, folks … we make music and other related sounds. If we had been born to be salespeople, God would have given us briefcases and Rolex watches. And smartphones, so we would have something to do while we drive. He (and I’m sure any big boss god would have to be a dude) would also have endowed us with the irresistible drive to make hay, to spin gold, to generate wealth in immense quantities by any means necessary. Like, say, manufacturing cheap dehumidifiers with virtual slave labor in China and marketing it under hollowed-out brands like Frigidaire in the United States. Or writing, producing, and releasing mucho commercial music.

But God in his infinite wisdom put Richard Nixon on this earth …. I mean, saw fit not package us with the “batteries” of ambition included. Hey … Freak all. That’s what I say. How about you?