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EXILED ON MAIN STREET #5

eZine lover (@eZine)

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Exiled on main street

· 2 hours ago

Since we cannot attain to greatness, let us have our revenge by railing at it.

-- Michel de Montaigne

I'm lookin' for a dare-to-be-great situation.

-- Lloyd Dobler, in the film "Say Anything"

ELVIS IS EVERYWHERE

I remember where I was when I heard that Elvis died. I was in Jessie's garage, playing guitar in our band, the New Morality. We thought ourselves to be a righteous, cutting-edge punk band, but in retrospect we were probably just another hapless garage-band outfit. Well, Jessie's mom leaned out the door that goes into the kitchen and told us the news. We knew what we had to do. We rushed down to Mother's Records and bought a cassette of the Sun sessions and then learned as many of those numbers as we could that afternoon. Then Jessie's dad came home half snookered (he had rushed to Big Daddy's Lounge when he heard the news and started commiserating) and we sat out on their deck drinking Blatz with him as he told us about when he saw Elvis in Vegas a few years back.

We played our regular Friday beer bash out at the machine shop that night. It seemed like most of the kids at the party were laughing about Elvis. Me and Jessie got into some verbal brouhahas with a few of the preps, who all considered Queen's A Night at the Opera to be the cornerstone of rock 'n' roll. The more pissed off we got, the more beer we would drink. Man, we assaulted that keg. By the time we got up on stage we were all pretty much wasted. We tore through "Milkcow Blues Boogie", "That's All Right", "Blue Moon of Kentucky," and "Baby, Let's Play House," butchering pretty much every one of them and our lead singer, Aaron, couldn't remember half of the words to the songs, so he would make his own ones up. All the preps starting throwing beer cups at us, so we did "Mystery Train", told the crowd to fuck off, and then got the hell out of there.

Okay, the above version is not true. Punk did not come to my neighborhood until about 1982, I've never been in a band, I was only twelve when Elvis died, and he died on a Tuesday - not a Friday. I can't for the life of me remember where I was when I heard the news. This has driven me nuts the past few years, because the thing is that I REMEMBER EVERYTHING. I remember hearing my first Paul is Dead rumor, I remember Nixon resigning, I remember the Fall of Saigon ... oh well, if I continue to tell the above story to myself every August 16, maybe it will become part of my reality.

SUICIDE SOLUTION

I was walking downtown on my lunch hour and saw this girl walking on Marquette Avenue who I think I went to high school with. I mention this only because this girl broke up with her boyfriend when I was in tenth grade. He was kinda dull-witted, she was kinda hot. She dumped him and he went nutso crazy. He showed up one night at Happy Joe's Pizza Parlor, where she working behind the counter, and showed her this handful of sleeping pills in his hand. "If you don't get back together with me," he declared, "I'm gonna swallow all these pills!" She said nothing, poured a glass of water, and handed it to him.

ALL THE GUITARS, HALF THE TALENT...

A few years ago in an enlightening office discussion I said that I liked Coke better than Pepsi, but liked Diet Pepsi better than Diet Coke. How can that be, someone asked. I said, it's kinda like how I prefer Pearl Jam to Nirvana, but like Nirvana imitators over Pearl Jam imitators.

I recalled that conversation recently while at the Electric Fetus. I thought Rhino Records just issued collections from the distant past, but stumbled upon the following anthology from Rhino: Pearl Jam Lite Volume 1. Well, my impulse shopper took over, so I bought it and took it home to give it a spin. The disc starts with the first Pearl Jam wannabe - Stone Temple Pilot's "Plush." From there on, you get a look at a slice of alt-rock in the mid-nineties. The highlights are Our Lady Peace's "Starseed", which throws in some Axl Rose-like histrionics into the mix; and Silverchair's "Tomorrow," which comes eerily closest to the Pearl Jam sound - complete with "Alive"-like pauses and McCready soloing - not too bad for a bunch of kids. You get the only Candlebox song, "You", you'd want in your collection; but for the most part the disc is made up of mediocrities like Live's "I Alone" (Pearl Jam even more earnest, if you can believe it), Naked's "Mann's Chinese" (Pearl Jam with additional U2 pretensions), Seven Mary Three's "Cumbersome" (southern-fried Pearl Jam), Creed's "My Own Prison" (a rip-off of Seven Mary Three and hence Pearl Jam at the same time) and Verve Pipe's "Cup of Tea" (a Pearl Jam who sucks.)

The liner notes read: (and I'm probably breaking copyright laws here by reprinting some of 'em, but so what) "... while Pearl Jam remained prolific in their recording - releasing an album within every two years since their debut - they stopped doing videos after their first album and toured sporadically due to their quixotic battle with TicketMaster. Compounded with the fact that 1996's No Code didn't have as many Pearl Jam-esque songs as their previous albums left America's youth without the saturation and day-to-day presence of Pearl Jam that would ordinarily be required by a band of such stature. Luckily for America's youth, the record companies rushed to fill the void and began concocting their own Pearl Jams. Supply was created to equal demand ..."

In his Star Tribune review, Jon Bream gushed "... the Pearl Jam Wannabe movement shows no signs of dying and I can hardly wait for Pearl Jam Lite Volume 2." Then he went on to wonder why a Soundgarden song wasn't on the disc.

THERE'S A PLACE FOR FUN IN YOUR LIFE?

This month the Maul of Amerika celebrates its five-year anniversary. Wow. So I think it should be noted that:

I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO THE MAUL OF AMERIKA!

Folks always do a double take when I tell them this fact. Like that it took some superhuman effort to not go to a shopping mall clear across town. When people ask why I've never been there, I tell them the truth: I've never had a reason to go there. You have to go just to see it, I've been told. Sorry, I can see it from 494 just fine.

ALMOST BUSTED

Trying to listen to my boombox on my folks' patio. They (my parents) are lurking somewhere in the yard. Whatya listening to, asks my mom as she walks by, this sounds good. Uh this is Liz Phair, I say as I rush to put in something else, she kinda has a pottymouth.

TIMECARD BLUES

Alright, this is the moment all you out there with Real Jobs who are getting sick of my pseudo-boho routine have been waiting for: the downside of temp life. Recently I worked downtown at Big Health Club, doing data manipulation (oh-so-different from data entry, least that's what the temp agency said, and I took this job as it was supposed to be a six-day gig and so's I'd have some cash for my vacation, not that I'd need much as I was gonna sponge off of mom and dad the whole week and would be drinking Schlitz at $7.99 a case.) They put me in the room - all by my lonesome, too - that houses the computer stuff, which was a pretty scary place as it reminded me of the Ministry of Love from Orwell's 1984: "He was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with walls of glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flooded it with cold light, and there was a low, steady humming sound which he supposed had something to do with the air supply."

They ran the air conditioning in this place constantly so the equipment wouldn't overheat. I froze and if I turned the a/c off for a while some alarm would go off that warned of equipment in danger. My second day there, I brought in a radio to keep me company, but I couldn't pick up any stations in this room, except on FM I could get the audio of CNN Headline News, so I would hear the same bits over and over, which is kinda like the FM music stations when you come to think of it anyway.

For being a health club, these people sure weren't too healthy. Ladies Living Large with Walgreen's perfume and sporting frowns. Ug. But the place is a Christian organization, so who needs your health?

So I was on this six-day assignment, and I'm on my third day and it's three-thirty and the person I was working for walks into my room and says "can I sign your timecard? I can't find any more work for you this week." Huh? Then she asked if I could come back and work for them after my vacation. Sure! I'd love to! I'll spend the rest of the week not making any money and thinking of ways that I can help you when I get back!

So this is what can be bad about temp jobs - you hit these periods of unplanned unemployment and you go home, crack a cold one, and decide what bills not to pay. Then you go and dust off your lawn chair for your time off and/or check your pillows and make sure they can handle the twelve hours of sleep you're gonna get tonight.

YOUR NEW ROCK ALTERNATIVE!

Back in issue #2 I wrote: "... when it comes to commercial radio, the Twin Cities is just a warm weather Fargo." But get this - Fargo's Edge is better than our Edge! I was up north for a week or so lately, and would spend a part of my afternoons listening to 95X out of Fargo (actually Detroit Lakes, I think) and although the playlist is virtually identical, you do get stuff like INXS' "Don't Change," "Fight for Your Right to Party" by the Beastie Boys, and dada's "Disneyland." Plus, the dj's don't even try to be cool (unlike the Edge's, who do and are hopeless), they just play the songs and don't pretend to know anything about music. They could go and work at a country station tomorrow and do just fine. Like most interchangeable dj's, they try to be occasionally funny and mostly don't succeed.

POETRY BY PAULA BELMONT

at the uptown

he strikes sly rock-star looks
into the mirror next to the booth,
smiles at the waitress,
says yeah all shyly.
how did you know
she was checking on your beer,
I accuse.
who says
we were talking about beer,
he replies.
the fucker.

NOT FUN VOLT

The three most fun things about the Son Volt show at First Avenue: (and there's not a lot of fun at Son Volt shows - I mean, I like them a lot, but my friend Joel described them best live when he said "they act like we just woke them up from the middle of a nap and they're not too happy about it.") (Want further proof? How about Big Star's "Holocaust" - albeit a great version - in the second encore?)

Their reinterpretation of "Drowned" as a honky-tonk number. They do more of these and they'll get compared to Wilco yet.
When Jay Farrar mumbled a sentence between songs and the guy behind me said "Omigod! Jay Farrar said something besides 'thank you'!"
Watching the guy in front of me attempt to dance (he was kinda doing a standing wiggle) to a mid-tempo song. I imagine this is the type of behavior that went on during Grateful Dead concerts.

GRAND FORKS (SLIGHT RETURN)

I went to Grand Forks recently to look around. Whitey's - my third-favorite bar of all time - still hadn't opened, so definitely the highlight of my afternoon in town was my pilgrimage to Engelstad Arena, home of the 1997 NCAA Champion University of North Dakota Fighting Sioux hockey team. The arena was mostly dark, with no ice on the floor. I walked around the perimeter walkway, making my way to the seat I favored during the '86-'87 Greatest College Hockey Team Ever season. I sat down and looked up to the ceiling, counting the championship banners. 1959 ... 1963 ... 1980 ... 1982 ... 1987 .... hmmm, only five banners were up there, the sixth one must be going up at the home opener this fall. Only one school (Michigan) will then have more banners in their building than UND. I sat there for a while, just soaking up the memories and history.

On my way out, I saw a light on in the hockey office. Inside was the Broadmoor Trophy, which goes to the winner of the WCHA playoffs. I was allowed to touch it and was told the MacNaughton Cup, which goes to the winner of the WCHA regular season, was over at the president's office. I debated taking some beers over there and sipping from the Cup, but I skipped it to go to the University Bookstore to look at the NCAA Championship trophy.

Radio has not changed much up in Grand Forks. When I was driving around town, I was listening to the oldies station and a listener called in with a question. "Hey, who sang that song 'Papa Was a Rolling Stone' back in the early seventies?" he asked. The dj replied, "The Temptations, of course!" and then instead of playing "Papa", he played "Magic Carpet Ride" by Steppenwolf.

REFLECTIONS ON THE UPTOWN ARTS FAIR

Here's the big problem: you walk on the right side of the sidewalk, next to the booths with their artwork. The girls in their summer clothes walk to your left, so you don't view much art, but you know little-to-nothing about it anyway, and certainly won't be buying anything for your apartment (look at your walls: Pulp Fiction poster, Rockwell's The Umpires print, and in the bathroom a cutout of the Sports Illustrated cover where the Americans are celebrating the defeat of the Soviets in 1980 Olympic ice hockey.)

The guys walking behind you are trying to hustle women. Ah, they're all too preppie or with someone, one of them says as the other practices his Spanish accent.

Remember last year when Rockabilly Guy was playing for change on the sidewalk outside the Uptown Bar? Rockabilly Guy (RG), who I used to see frequently playing downtown on Thursdays at the Farmers' Market, is a young man - who doesn't look like a rockabilly with his long hair, ponytail, funky hat and sunglasses - that plays an amplified electric guitar and sings rockabilly songs, mainly from the fifties. No mere poser and no ironic/camp jabs at fifties culture. No. The real thing. When he does Ritchie Valens, he hits the high notes. The same with Chris Isaak. Smiling the whole time, 'cause he loves the music and is having fun.

I look around at the people checking out RG. There's a few couples my parents' age who smile as they remember the songs of their youth. There's a couple of people my age tapping their feet and smiling as well. The guy sitting next to me on the curb is staring absorbed at RG, as if he can't believe someone's pulling this off with all the Sha Na Na jokes left at home. Some boomers walk by and smirk. This ain't classic rock ...people actually dig this corny shit?... wasn't this guy on "Happy Days"?

So anyway, RG is playing away, doing some stuff by The Killer, Buddy Holly and The King and then these middle-aged hippie ladies selling clay stuff in the tent next to him ask him if he'll be playing the whole weekend. Hey, it's 'bout time those hippies get into something that swings: see what happens when you drop life and not acid, I think in one of my usual narrow-minded stereotypical thoughts that still amuse me anyway. But it turns out that the ladies think RG is too loud and they're worried he'll be giving off a bad vibe for the weekend and turn their little venture into a bummer trip. They nag him a little about the noise and he smiles and says don't worry I'm on my way outta here to go watch The Simpsons. Then the hippies feel bad or at least act that way and say hey you could go play down by the library. Yeah, I think, heaven forbid you should play rock 'n' roll in front of a rock 'n' roll bar! (Oops, no live music there since April.) But RG insists on getting home for The Simpsons and the crowd claps for him. I get up to leave, and take one last look at the hippie ladies and think the amazing thing about tie-dye is that it flatters no matter who is wearing it.

SEPTEMBER 1ST IS LABOR (NOT OWNERS) DAY

Enjoy your long weekend. And remember who brought you weekends.

EMPTY LIVES

Was recently at the Liquor Depot late on a Saturday afternoon. (Have I mentioned that Grain Belt - the real kind in the brown bottle - is now up to $8.49 a case? When I moved to my neighborhood three years ago it was $6.99 a case. Who the hell is buying this stuff - hardly anyone knows about real Belt, they think Premium is the real deal - so who's driving these prices up?) In the parking lot I saw some truly pitiful folks: fans of the Purple. And if being a fan of 1) pro football (perfect sport for Sunday afternoon naps), and 2) the Purple, isn't enough of a case for arrested development, then get this: they were going to an exhibition game. Ah geez, I can hear the talk on KFAN already: callers wanting Randall Cunningham to start, the Purple can overtake the Packers this year, Robert Smith is headed to the Pro Bowl, etc.

The only other thing I could think of more pitiful than these poor folks walking to Metrodome on a sunny summer afternoon was 1) Gopher football fans going to watch their team in another month, and 2) some guy going to the Liquor Depot on a Saturday afternoon because he looked in his fridge on Friday after work and said "oh yeah, I got enough brew to get me through the weekend" and then proceeds to do nothing on Friday night except leave messages on his friends' answering machines and listen to loud music on headphones in the dark and then he wakes up on Saturday and says "shit, I gotta buy some beer today - only one bottle left."

INFO

Everything written by me, except where noted.

In an attempt to break even, print readers are going to be paying $1.00 to read future issues ($4.00 for five issues.) This is going out free to you email readers as there are no postage or photocopying costs. However, donations to the cause are glady accepted.

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