Juliette and the Ass Dimples

Here’s one thing I noticed about getting older. I don’t get overly excited about new bands or new albums very often anymore. I assume the cause of this is associated with the hardening of the retina as a person ages. The retina is located pretty close to the ear which is right next to the brain which is where the emotional goo happens, so there has to be some kind of connection there when it comes to the affects of music on the affects. This is not a medical report, so I will not delve further into the specifics of this phenomenon.

The last album I got ga-ga over was probably Green Day’s American Idiot. Of course, like the repressed teenager that I am, I played it over and over and over until the very mention of St. Jimmy caused me to become violently ill. Maybe I shouldn’t have been listening to it during those Clockwork Orange procedures my family interventioned me with. Although, when I was finally good and broken down, we all had a good cry together, which was comforting.

I can’t remember the last time a band threw me into a fanatic tail spin. Maybe The Pixies. Or the Lovehammers. Possibly Light of Doom. I don’t know. I remember the feeling, but never the memory (note, if you are writing a song, please feel free to use that as a lyric). Recently, however, a band came my way that almost shifted my revvers into gung-ho spastic flamboyance.

Sid F’er had sent me some CD’s he may or may not have copied illegally. I’m kidding. They were all store bought from Target. Sid loves shopping at Target. The only thing he loves more than shopping at Target is buying CD’s for me at Target, so leave him alone, coppers. One of those CD’s was Juliette and the Licks’ Four on the Floor. When I received the shipment, I did not notice the Licks CD because I was so excited about the other ones, especially the Guy and Ralna compilation from the Lawrence Welk years (don’t bother getting any of their recordings after 1982 – it’s a clump of heroin laced caterwauling). A few weeks later, after I sated my Guy and Ralna jones and listened to the other CD’s, I found the Juliette and the Licks CD peddling around in my underwear drawer. Just like I do to my dogs as punishment for peddling around in my underwear drawer, I jammed the CD into my CD player to give it a few spins. Instead of hearing irritated yelps and seeing looks of confusion on dog faces, as is the experience with my dogs and the CD player, the Licks CD produced glorious sounds of punk based rock and roll. I was enticed.

Juliette, of course, is Juliette Lewis, quirky movie star extraordinaire. Movie star. What a silly term. Anyway, I was surprised to hear such unabashed fury coming from the voice of this actress who I thought was retarded. The only movie I had ever seen her in (that I remembered) was The Other Sister, where she played a mentally challenged young woman who single handedly overthrows China’s communist regime. From that performance, I thought she was really mentally challenged, like Chris Burke who has Down Syndrome and played Corky on the TV show, Life Goes On (ABC 1989 – 1993) or that DiCaprio kid who played the retard in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. There was also a very talented actress in that movie who played Johnny Depp’s love interest, but I forgot her name. Darlene Cates, maybe? Nevermind. As it turns out, Ms. Lewis is a very fine actor.

OK, I’ll fess up. I knew Juliette Lewis wasn’t retarded. I merely concocted that entire paragraph so I could call Leonardo DiCaprio a retard just because his life is so much better than mine. I never said I wasn’t a shallow, vitriolic cur. Nonetheless, Juliette sings with lovely unabashed fury. I didn’t make that up, and I even threw in the “lovely” just so you know how serious I am about it, but she does sing lovelyingly.

The Licks enfronted by Juliette began to grow on me the more I listened, almost to the point of ga-ga, but not quite. I’m so mature now. Or do you say dilapidated? When Sid told me about their show in Chicago, I just about hit the roof (I had been cleaning my chimney when he called - luckily, I missed the roof and hit the patio). By this time, I had grown quite sweet on Ms. Lewis’s ability to rock out (this is even before I discovered her ass dimples – more on that later). The show was scheduled for the day before my birthday. I thought for sure, at midnight, she would call me on stage and give me a rock and roll birthday kiss full on the lips. I told Sid I was in.

Between then and the concert, I continued to listen to their CD, or as I refer to it, studying for the show. I also viewed some of their videos on the Internet. From what I saw, Juliette seemed like a bonafide rocker. This surprised me, because, with the exception of Ed Asner, no other acclaimed actor that I know of has ever transformed xeself into an authentic rock and roller. I grew suspicious. After studying the antics of the actor, Juliette Lewis, by renting all of her movies and watching them over and over and over and over, looking for clues, I determined that the dude is only ACTING like a rocker. I’m speaking of the Licks’ bass player. But if he’s acting, what’s to say that Juliette isn’t acting as well? We all know what a great actress she is. How do I know she isn’t just playing another role? She made me believe she was retarded. She made me believe she was a cold blooded murderer. Good gilbert grape nuts, she even made me believe she was the daughter of Chevy Chase. Even Meryl Streep couldn’t do that!

Luckily for my investigation, Juliette and the Licks had scheduled a record signing before the show. I planned to get there early, cut in line, confront this hoity-toity Hollywoodlander and pelt her with some very rude accusations of disgracing that which I love about the soul of rock and roll – guitar solos. And, the other thing about playing a rocker role.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a parking spot. By the time I got to the record store, the Licks were packing up and leaving. But, as I circled the building eighty-seven times searching for a parking spot, I shook my fist with disdain out the window at the record store. Surely, like the Princess and the Pea, she felt the lump made by my fist in the pile of mattresses that is our atmosphere.

I met Sid and Ms. F’er and StivOO in the bar and grill section of the Reggie’s rock experience facility (which also included the record store and the rock club where the band was to perform). We ordered some libations and some food. Ms. F’er had a mushroom on a bun, Sid opted for the chicken quesadilla, StivOO, who was late getting there because he was eating stuffed pizza with his family, took it easy and went with the half pound cheeseburger (which he finished and then ate most of my hot wings – the man is a pig) and I ordered the Reggie’s sampler platter, which included hot wings, onion rings, cheese sticks and a gallon of Rhine wine. Ms. F’er ate most of my onion rings and made me order some more for her. My rage for Juliette cooled off after a few beers. I was ready to give Ms. Lewis a chance to prove me wrong.

And prove me wrong she did (for those who don’t know me, it’s no grand feat to do that, just ask people who do know me). But before I get to that, I’d like to say a few words about the opening band, Sufrajett. Electric violin and lead singer’s voice and hair – good. Bulging leotards on lead singer, not so good – made me think I was watching a Richard Simmon’s workout video.

Juliette and her Licks took the stage. We waited around for about fifteen minutes when they finally brought it back and began their show. They had had it waxed. I watched with jaundiced eye, probably from too many beers at dinner. She sounded and acted authentic, but I wasn’t buying it. She was the master thespian and was merely acting. Although, her voice did sound very good and the band was rockin’ like an unstapled pig on a rodeo clown. Eventually, my foot started tapping. Then my head started bouncing with the beat. Finally, my right hand started doin’ a little air strummin’. This is full rock out mode for me, in case you didn’t know. I tend to rock out on the inside, where it hurts. She was winning me over. But I wasn’t sold yet. I felt the crowd quaking around me. She had riled them up, too. She couldn’t be that good of an actor, could she? She couldn’t fool that many people (around three hundred or so, I would say.) Remember when Foghat was at the peak of their popularity and the sold out stadiums (stadia) to which they would perform? That many people couldn’t be wrong.

Or, maybe that many people could be wrong.

Well, the Foghat fans weren’t wrong about them, and neither are the Juliette fans. She was making me feel it. And I was feeling it. And feel it I did. I felt like the Tin Man right after he received the baboon’s heart. I began to think about our potential birthday kiss, but was distracted by some superfan asswipe with pointy hair who stood by the stage and kept trying to draw her attention. She eventually announced him as Pointy Haired Asswipe and gave him a high five. He licked his hand. Apparently, he is their one groupie following them around the country. Hey, pointy bird, leave some of her for the rest of us!

Juliette began the show wearing a red leather jacket that she soon stripped off. Since she was in Chicago, she made sure to wear layers, because a cold snap could hit at any time. As she heated up during the show, she removed more and more clothing. Eventually, her most beloved asset was revealed – darling little ass dimples right above her butt cheeks. She had me and there was no turning back. I loaded up the Chapstick and took a Bianca blast mouth bath.

Then I noticed she was hanging on the rhythm guitar player much more than she was interacting with the rest of the band. “What’s going on here?” I asked. The woman standing next to me said, “What?” The music was very loud so she couldn’t understand what I said. So I repeated it louder, “WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” She replied, “Your breath smells lovely.”

Look, don’t go authentically rocking out, showing your adorable ass dimples, making all the fellas swoon over you and then start playing body footsie on stage with the rhythm guitar player. First of all, he’s the RHYTHM guitar player. Don’t waste your time with him. He gets the roadies' leftovers. Second, even if there is some hanky panky going on between them, save it for the dressing room. We in the audience with rock and roll boners don’t need to see that, and it certainly isn’t going to help any repeat sales of concert tickets. Third, now, when I go on stage to get my birthday kiss, I’m gonna hafta kick that dude’s ass, and he looks like he works out more than I do (so does Homer Simpson, for that matter). And finally, I want those ass dimples all to myself.

Being the professional that Juliette Lewis is, she sensed the impending argy bargy between me and the guitarist, so she ended the show twenty minutes short of midnight. I would not receive a birthday kiss from her this year. I was sad, yet relieved that I was not beat up on stage.

In spite of my inner turmoil soap opera with Juliette and her ability to rock righteous-like, and the whole thing with the pointy-headed freak and that jerk guitar player and the luscious ass dimples, the show was flagrantly fantastic. At the end, the whole band played a drum solo and then switched instruments. I haven’t seen something like that since that episode of ER when they all got drunk before the brain transplant and switched positions in the operating room. Oooo, that poor character played by Doris Roberts. She would have enjoyed the Licks show. Too bad her brain is now attached to her arm pit.

Before I left the venue, I talked to the pointy-haired, superfan asswipe and gave him my number so he can call me when he finds out where Juliette will be playing next year on my birthday. She owes me a kiss and maybe she’ll let me massage her ass dimples. Unless my retina is too hard by then to effectively endure their music.

Below is a snapshot I took of Juliette during the show while she was singing Paper Roses.

p.s. just in case I forgot to mention it, I really enjoyed seeing Juliette's ass dimples during the show.