Not long before, Rat had sent me a fax announcing that Harry Pussy's twelve-inch on Siltbreeze sold out even though it's still being pressed A the order was bought up for distribution and more orders were advanced. At the end of the fax, Rat added this sarcastic postscript: "See you at Churchill's Saturday. Right."
Right, Frank. I admit that I haven't seen a live rock and roll show in weeks. Somebody's gotta find time to write this dumbass column, you know? By some miracle of conveyance -- don't ask me -- I made it to the Church on time that night, and got a real payback. On-stage were the Goods. This is the first time I've seen this new band live, and they're pretty good, especially the drummer, Elvis. And then I remembered why I used to go to rock and roll shows all the time, then I remembered why I bother with this b.s. you're reading, then I saw the future, again. Charlie Pickett. With stalwart Marco on bass. With Randy Blitz taking over drums. And with a remarkably fit-looking, sober-seeming John Salton, the greatest guitarist I've ever seen live, and yes, I've seen Clapton and the rest. The house was packed with top local musicians and even a couple of critics, including NT contributor Jim Murphy and author Jeff Lemlich. I think I incoherently screamed out a few requests that the band smartly ignored, but seeing Salton at this level, in this form -- backed by the impossibly powerful rhythm section and fronted by the impossibly legendary CP -- was too much for me, so after the set I went over and spit "pla da reglatr song dint ya not?" Salton sat down at a table with an acoustic guitar and played a personal, solo encore. I'll never forget it.
And about that Harry Pussy: In the "Raves" section of the June 16 issue of Rolling Stone appears Miami native and Sonic Youth genius Thurston Moore's cultural recommendations. (Yes, Rat, it is a shame that Sonic Youth and stories about their new album were likely bumped from the covers of Spin and Stone for special tributes to that dead Seattle guy.) Of nine items, only three of which are about records, one was this: "Harry Pussy: A group from Miami Beach. I got their record in the mail. Anarchistic noise freak-out stuff that I think is really cool."
Sir Bo has announced that this Saturday night at the Church, it's the Francis Ford Falestra I'm So Terribly Sorry to Say Broward Rules Festival, sponsored by Jam, XS, the Rag, Blockbuster Entertainment, and Ticketmaster (be sure to call them for tickets and other info). Harry Pussy will perform, along with a stellar lineup including Snatch the Pebble, Exploited USA, and Kreamy 'Lectric Santa UK. You'll be there. Right?
Nuclear Valdez plays tomorrow (Friday) at Reunion Room, then heads to Puerto Rico for a couple of shows with Urge Overkill.
Happy eighteenth to the Musicians Exchange (see "Calendar" for more).
Next Tuesday Cafe Bacala (at Blue Steel) debuts Where's John Cage? a performance piece by Seven. Sloppy Joe, Zac, Diane Ward, the ubiquitous Rat boy, and maybe even Rene Alvarez will be on hand for what promises to make the great anticomposer turn in his grave and spew gaping heaps of whipped cream. Beats silence.
Over at the Breadbox studio, Choke Hold is finishing up a four-song cassette, Mindflux and Mindloss (apparently two separate bands) are beginning projects, and the Budda Briefcases are also doing time.
You can get funked up tomorrow (Friday) at Squeeze with Raw B. Jae and his posse.
Reggae monsters Phoenix Uprising are in town for Miami's best street festival (Goombay, in the Grove, a floataway dream vibe of pumping sounds, including Junkanoo bands, and killer food and warm peace, taking place this weekend). The Uprising will also celebrate the release of their new album and perform a live show, tomorrow (Friday) and Saturday, respectively, at the Hungry Sailor. I hate to use this word lightly, but I must: Irie.
Natural Causes has broken up. Their last show is tonight (Thursday) at Stephen Talkhouse, after Steve Forbert. Cha. The truth is, they're just gonna take a little break (two weeks if they're lucky) before returning to the live realm some of us know as heaven.
The sugar-cane soul, hut rock, stomping blues et cetera of the Shack Daddys (featuring Groove Thangs remnants Kilmo and Bonefish Johnny) can be heard at Rose's tomorrow (Friday).
A promising Stop the Violence show takes place Saturday at Bobby Maduro Miami Stadium at 6:00 p.m. Kid 'N Play, the Splack Pack, the Puppies, DJ Laz, and others will entertain.
Wayne Huizinger isn't the only one taking a dump on the precious and irreplaceable Everglades. The sugar companies have for years been pissing in your water and all over what's left of the wildlife out there. Tonight (Thursday) at 101 W. Flagler St. environmentalists and sugar reps A including U.S. Sugar V.P. Malcolm Wade A will talk about the raping of the swamp. The brawl begins at 7:00. Immediately following, EarthStage will present A Matter of Life, a multimedia piece by Darby Hayes, which will be reprised on Saturday and Sunday at 3:00 p.m. Be there or be a toilet.
My butthorn of the week: An obvious one, but too deserving: Wayne Huizinger. How'd you miss the Sixties, dude? And, as singer Carla Hall points out in a letter she wrote the Blockbuster geek, "Corporate rock sucks!"
Your butthorn of the week: Jack Tufano drops one on Baja Beach Club in CocoWalk. He says he went there with ten friends and found the trip offputting, to say the least. "I am gay and seven of the others are from foreign countries. During a song the DJ was announcing dance instructions. Frustrated that everyone wasn't following his directions, he announced that everyone who wasn't dancing must either be homosexuals or foreigners." Tufano says he spoke with club management and was told that the comments were meant in good fun and he was extended an apology. "I leave it up to you to decide whether to patronize this homophobic, foreigner-phobic establishment." Easy choice, Jack. I don't dance.
The media circus: And no newspaper will ever publish this story. Too sappy, too hokey, no violence. Just another couple of tourists falling victim to the land of sun and scum. Right. It was Mitzvah Day, and some kids from the Children's Home Society were being treated to a day at the Seaquarium by folks from Temple Beth Am. A couple from Argentina A doomed tourists, as it were A had already visited the sea park that day. They went early because they were due to fly home that night. Michael Brown, the president of the Seaquarium, happened to be hanging out with the CHS youngsters and their chaperones. "Somebody found a wad of money," Brown says. "I carry my money in a clip, so I thought it might be mine. I touched my pocket, I had mine. I looked at it, and there was a lot of money there. I went to the office to see if anyone had claimed it. I told the office that if someone calls, let me talk to them to ID it." Brown A and by the way, I called him after receiving a tip, he didn't call me A went home that afternoon. The tourists thought twice about calling the Seaquarium A probably a waste of time. But they did, and were quickly given back the roughly $2500 in American and Argentine cash that the field-trip group had found and handed over to Brown. The tourists told Brown, "Something like this would never happen in Buenos Aires." After regaining their funds, the tourist couple drove to the airport, where they were robbed and killed. (I made up that last sentence for the media.)
Pet corner: A dog can't live where I do, in a small house with a funky yard that can't be fenced. But some of my best friends are dogs. So Dr. Joe Sarmiento's joke doesn't work, but it cheers me up anyway: "Dear Greg: Congratulations! You are the proud winner of a canine spay surgery, courtesy of Central Veterinary Clinic's community service low-cost spay-neuter clinic! Not only that, but the guy doing the surgery is writing this to you. Thanks for the mention in 'Pet corner.'" They can't do it for free, obviously, but Dr. Joe and company do it as cheaply as human(e)ly possible (as low as $20 for a male cat, including the four-in-one vaccination). Call Dr. Joe at 649-0900.
Get a dog or cat fixed today. Unless you want to be one of the Floridians putting more than 350,000 cats and dogs to death each year at a cost of some $20 million.