By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By David Villano
By Jose D. Duran
By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Luther Campbell
Don't let it fool ya. Life, like this column, don't have a beginning, middle, and end. This ain't freaking Shake-speare (it takes a hyphen, by the way, because it was actually a nom de plume used by Edward de Vere, the true author of Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth...) with classical symmetry, where the climax comes in the third act. Birth is the beginning, natch, but death comes in the middle, and, I'm sorry to report, there is no end because the end is the middle.
Correction: For a recent story about Third Wish, this paper published several photos by Mindy Hertzon, whose name was misspelled in the credits. A photo by Hertzon also was used for an article about Natural Causes without credit.
As you and Bill know, Broken Spectacles brokened up. I hear that Dave is one of the stars working on a big CD compilation you'll be reading about (in the Miami Herald, I'm sure) soon. Ed is about to take off for Arizona to find the meaning of life, or at least the meaning of what he calls the middle part, his next 25 years, playing club shows along the way. He's in the process of selling Jeeters. Matt plays solo at the Now Art Cafe tonight (Thursday) and debuts a new full-band lineup at Squeeze on September 25.
Hey, Bill, this column needs a hook, bad.
Dania Morris and her band, Mood, join Sixo this Sunday on the big stage at Button South.
Philly Jay is up to his oldies tricks. Gotta know your roots. This Saturday the Teenagers, Lewis Lymon (of the Teenchords), the Students, the Jesters, Reunion, Nostalgia, and Frank Mancuso and the Imaginations take the stage of the Coral Springs City Centre for Dynamite Doowop VIII.
Teevy or not teevy: This week's guests on the Mr. Stock and Mr. Poe Show (Monday and Wednesday at 10:00 a.m. and 9:30 p.m., respectively, on cable Channel 36) are Maryel Epps and Ken Gustafson. On the same channel, on Saturday at 10:00 p.m., the Danny Jessup Show highlights the work of something called, oxymoronically, Evil Cow.
The very cool duo Tory Voodoo is heading to town, with a show at the Nocturnal Cafe on Saturday.
As you probably read in the local newspapers -- Bill, are these sarcastic comments funny or just whiningly cynical? A Farrcry has been tearing it up on the wheels of Can't Bargain with God. Now they've landed a gig to end all gigs, playing the Russian Music Festival tour, which begins at the end of the month. Besides a trip to the old country, this means Farrcry will be performing for approximately 200 million people, or about 25 more people than show up at the Talkhouse when Nil's there.
Chalk is too dry to gargle. Bill said that.
This Wednesday at Stephen Talkhouse a bizarre mega-event takes place on behalf of radio station WVUM-FM (90.5, the Voice of the University of Miami. The organizers of this show A who obviously do more drugs than Bill and I put together -- believe that there are 21 singer-songwriters in town who know how to write songs and even perform them. Well, you be the judge.
See "Calendar" for more on the 21 Voices, as they're being billed.
This Friday at Squeeze, it's Basketcase.
My wife walked into the living room the other night and told me to please use headphones if I intended to blast the hookful melodies of Marilyn Manson again. She asked me what I was kickin' at the moment. "They're good," she added. "Are they local?" It was the new Widespread Panic, and, yes, they're local -- to somewhere.
I know it's illegal to bet on pro football, so let me put it this way: My imaginary friend Bill took a beating when the Jets upset the Bills in the first week of the season. So I laugh when my pal Ron Mann sends me a package from New Yawk with a note that P.S.s, "Go Jetties (take the under)." Ron also sent a clip from the rag he works for, the New Yawk Press, a column by Jim Knipfel about NMS, where Mr. Knipfel met Mr. Manson, whom he calls Marilyn Manson. Here's a snippet: "I met Marilyn Manson, a pasty-faced young man in heavy mascara who bore a more than passing resemblance to the Child Snatcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He was drinking a soda and chewing listlessly at some melon slices. Despite all my attempts to engage him in some kind of human verbal interaction, the most I was able to get out of him was the occasional 'Yeah, uh huh.' I gave up. Sharp as a bowling ball, that kid."
Well, Jim, or Bill, or whatever your byline is, lemme help you out, in case you decide to write another coly about Nazis and Satanists and Mr. Manson and such. Here are a few Mr. Manson quotes I held from this paper's recent profile of MM: "America's fascinated with voyeurism. People have to live vicariously because their own lives are so boring. That's why people are into this A they love their fears. It's like that amusement park ride they know is broken. The RIDE AT YOUR OWN RISK sign attracts them. Everyone is afraid of death, so we want to get close to it." And: "Right now I'm exploring my ideas about deja vu being ourselves trying to send us warnings from the future." And: "Heaven and Hell is what you make for yourself on Earth. God and Satan are within you to use how you want. People are not good or evil. For them to perceive it, it must be within them. If you embrace hypocrisy, it's not such a bad thing. Yeah, I lie to myself all the time. Everything is a lie. Is that a lie by saying that? Everything is a lie. Which lie works best for you?" Sharp as a bowling ball, Jim.
I had a nice chat with the promoter of the Snoop Doggy Dogg concert, which takes space at the Arena tomorrow (Friday). Rhamel Richardson, a veteran rap promoter at only 28, says we should expect no problems at what might be the biggest concert of the year (Eagles and Stones don't count any more). Richardson, who got his start with a pre-Grammy party at the Ritz in New Yawk a few years ago and went on to become the genius who brought live music to Atlanta's annual Freaknic blowout, says he's spoken to the proper authorities: "We came to an understanding. We're working together, it's going to be comfortable. I don't expect police interference or any other problems. Not in Miami."
Butthorn of the week and the media circus: Ignorance. The local media. Same thing. Does stuff really happen if it don't make the news? On September 6, Nicky Hopkins, one of the most important figures in the history of rock, died in Nashville. He was 50 and had suffered stomach ailments for years, according to his friend Woody Graber, a local publicist. Hopkins played keys on the best Stones records, was a member of the Jeff Beck Group, released several solo albums, and, thanks to his contributions to recordings by groups such as the Beatles, the Who, Small Faces, and the Kinks, was immortalized by Ray Davies in the Kinks song "Session Man." Not that any of this merits a proper obituary. "Nicky Hopkins was the greatest rock-and-roll keyboard player I can think of, a consummate performer, the session man to all the big English bands in the Sixties," says Graber. "He was integral to the British Invasion, then he was able to make the transition to working with Neil Young. He was a genius on the keys, a good friend, and a nice person in a business where there are a lot of schmucks and creeps." The end.