By Chuck Strouse
By Scott Fishman
By Terrence McCoy
By Ryan Yousefi
By Ciara LaVelle, Kat Bein, Carolina Del Busto, and Liz Tracy
By Pepe Billete
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Swenson
It's Lionel Goldbart on the phone, dissing me. "Oh, no, I know what this means. We're going to have to read over and over about how this is the last 'Program Notes' forever blah blah." Of course, the truth is, this is the last 'Program Notes' ever. If you don't believe me, just pick up next week's ish (duh) and check.
Next Thursday (not tonight, but June 30) Itanna plays the Musicians Exchange.
Set aside this Sunday (not next Sunday, but June 26) for the release party celebrating Jim Wurster's solo project, Goodbye Paradise. I have heard. It is an amazing piece of work, featuring Rooster Head members, cut with Bob Wlos at L-7, and Mary Karlzen even sings one song on it. Black Janet's still intact, but Wurster has been kicking around at L-7 songs he's written in a different vein, reflecting some of his favorite influences, some John Prine and Poco and Neil Young type stuff. Hear it.
Hey, it's a postcard! WSHE sucks...um, can't quite make this out, starts with c.... It's from Naples, where I Don't Know spent a weekend jamming and schmoozing and marking up this funky postcard, which also says "Plus Five blows" and that the boys got scoped by a buncha label dogs. "Not that many labels, especially your biggies, would know what to do with us. It would suck if our catalog # was 41621 and Michael Bolton or the Heights were 41620 and 41622." Indeed. And who the hell are the Heights?
This is the last "Program Notes." Forever.
Tomorrow (Friday) Planet Boom hits Squeeze.
And speaking of all-star hard-rock bands, that new thing Coma wakes up the Stephen Talkhouse on July 1, which I think is a Friday, though not this one. Also on the bill, another fairly new outfit, the Robbie Gennet Band.
Shoot your MTV. Musicvideoteevy sucks, um, something, looks like it begins with a d.... And being a citizen (cough) of the City of Miami (puke) I am a victim of that city's cable monopoly, called Miami TCI, which stands for Totally Criminal Idiots, I think, and which, at the time I had it, was receiving more complaints than the other half dozen cable companies in South Florida combined. Now, after they tried to rip me off and threatened me with a couple of no-neck kneebreakers (who are currently swimming with the bass near Plant City, if ya get my drift), I can't get it, they refuse me cable altogether, no MTV, and I tell ya friends, it's a big frikkin loss. Yawn. The point of all this is, is if I had cable, Selkirk Cable, actually, which should replace Miami TCI immediately, I'd spend Friday and Sunday nights at 8:30 watching Rock-Ya-Ma-Call-It on Channel 3. Unlike the tons of way cool rock bands featured on the show, the producers took the time and trouble to send me a videocassette of this remarkable program. Hosted by the inimitable Glenn Richards (who makes those MTV jocks look like what they are: airhead poseurs), the show reels off killer clip after killer clip by bands such as Mary Karlzen, Marilyn Manson (old Miami Rocks footage; cool), Nil Lara, Natural Causes, and so forth. Producer Lynn Greco uses nifty effects for the intros, Richards is perfect in this format, and the stunning clips almost make me feel like I had a clue all these years.
Those Friday Night Live things at South Pointe do go on, with Mary Karlzen and Natural Causes (this is the sort of bill the Arena should be hosting) this Friday, which is tomorrow, June 24. And then, on another Friday, this one July 1, the next, it's Viva.
Rooster Head continue work on their next CD, and they've decided to change the title from Confronting Your Molester to Traditional Cock, because, Michael Kennedy explains, it's sounding more like their early albums.
Hey, and a way happy fifth anniversary to jazz club O'Hara's. Way to go, Kitty.
Butthorn of the week: Tattoos by Lou on South Beach. A local musician friend says she was accompanying a pal who was getting tatted there. While waiting for the ink and blood to dry, she struck up a conversation with a man who was also waiting for a friend to get marked. For some reason, she brought up the song "Lydia, the Tattooed Lady." He wasn't familiar. So she, a very fine jazz vocalist, began singing the old tune. "Suddenly, someone who worked there, this guy with thick glasses and dark hair, comes running across the parlor screaming at me," she reports. "He's yelling that he's going to call the cops. He didn't know the man I was talking to was an off-duty Miami cop. Anyway, he told me to get out, to get the hell out of there. Weird, huh?" Because this is the last "Program Notes" (forever), the Tattoo Lou folks won't have a chance to respond in this space, so I took the time to call them up, the sort of "research" and "journalism" I normally avoid at all costs. A nice dude named Christopher said he had no idea what I was talking about. Whoever it is at Lou's that has this deep-seated problem with "Lydia, the Tattooed Lady" -- get some professional help, or at least write a letter to the editor.