Program Notes 18

Hey, yo, can you hear me? Is this thing on? All love. All gone.
Did you listen to me and go see Charlie Pickett and 3 (I've renamed the band, thank you) at Stephen Talkhouse? Hope you got there early. The night before at Churchill's Hideaway some great bands recorded under the aegis of producer/genius Frank Bastard. Charlie joined the mighty Goods on one song A hope it makes the live CD that will result from those sessions. Sadly, Pickett's full set that night came up short. Guitarist/genius John Salton chose that gig, of all gigs, to not show up. That was just one (big) problem. While it wasn't much of a show, chances are the Rat got something usable on tape. The next night at Talkhouse Salton strolled in as if nothing ever happened and played like a true god.

But that Saturday night at Talkhouse was remarkable for more than the sterling set delivered by Pickett and company -- ripping the roof off with the hottest version of "All Love All Gone" I've heard in years and a truly frightening "Tarwater" and other classics. Just before heading to the hell known as South Beach I saw some pretty grisly footage on one of those terrible teevy cop shows. It was a suicide where the woman found her husband with his head blown apart and it made me feel a little sad, and eager to talk to Michael Kennedy, the Rooster Head frontman and my personal therapist. Ran into him just before the band was to go on for their second set (I missed the early one). "This might be our last set," Kennedy says. Duh, I know, Charlie's up next. "No, I mean our last set." Michael has been known to jerk me around, so I went to talk to Rooster guitarist Bob Wlos, who I've never seen drink more than a beer and who was carrying two brews, both for himself apparently, toward the stage. "Yeah," he tells me, "this might be the last time we ever play with this lineup." If it's true, the band left an indelible live stamp. From the gunshot drum riffs to the guitar-guitar-guitar-bass interplay to the raw passion of the overall delivery, it was one of those classic performances you can never forget A "Get on Top" burned like torched lighter fluid, "Black Girls and Saxes" was heard in Heaven, every single second was proof that rock and roll is all that really matters.

A major rave -- Trance Atlantic -- takes place this Saturday near Orlando. Six bands and ten DJs and giant lasers -- call 800-707-RAVE.

Wanna meet a movie star? Lou Diamond Phillips and his band, the Pipefitters, play tomorrow (Thursday) at Hooligan's and Saturday at Cheers. All things considered, the reviews for this rootsy outfit have been positive.

Dore Soul brings their Blowjob tunes to the Zoo tomorrow (Thursday).
Great letter from pro-hemp activist and musician Glenn Allen, he of the double-sided single about Waco's infamous psycho and Bible reader. He says the single has taken on new life (been resurrected?) through skinhead-aimed advertising, but I'm not sure if he's kidding. Allen is writing a short story about his trip to Key West and therefore finds reason to quote Dr. Hunter S. Thompson on journalism: "It is a cheap catch-all for fuck-offs and misfits -- a false door to the back side of life, a filthy pus-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector but just deep enough for a wino to curl up and masturbate in like a chimp." To which Allen adds: "Kind of like the music business, eh?" Yup.

This Saturday at Borders -- a cool acoustic-music venue posing as a bookstore -- it's Apples & Oranges live. Flexx and Michelle play from 8:00 to 10:00 p.m.

Lots of wild art, cheap sex, and crazy music this Friday at Squeeze. You can paint the paper-covered walls, groove to the sonic poetry of the Baboons, check out some dance and performance art, get totally boho.

A new single by Drive Choir should be out within a month. Another one, to be released by a small label based in Massachusetts, will follow. The boys plan to add a new member, which means they'll be on hiatus for a while.

Two bands with solid releases out A Split Image and Treuser Meus -- play Button South tomorrow (Thursday).

A world's record was set at Washington Square recently -- the temperature inside reached 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Nuclear Valdez helped turn up the heat with a full-band blowout show featuring new material. It was late, Ray and me were out of beer money, Liz was bugging me, my dear wife still had to drive us back to the sanity of the mainland, but we stayed for the whole thing because the music was so compelling. If you don't love the Nukes, you don't have a clue.

Gerald Dimitri performs at a fund raiser for the Talia Circle Theater this Friday. Call 888-7500.

A couple of weeks ago I was listening to the car radio. ZETA began playing "Message in a Bottle" by the Police. So I switched to SHE, which was playing "Message in a Bottle." I swear.