CD's For Sale!!!

Times are tough. Here at Leper Pop we sincerely hope that you are successfully weathering our economic tsunami better than that model who ended up in the tree with a broken hip. If you’ve fallen on hard times, remember that your local library offers free internet access from which you can continue reading Leper Pop to keep your spirits up while Biff Henderson sorts this whole mess out. If you’re fortunate to have a job at a stable company like AIG, perhaps you’re wondering what to do with the large bonus you have just received. Allow me to make a few suggestions.

You might think I’m going to direct you to the links on the right where you can buy your very own Leper Pop t-shirt. Don’t do that. I’ve worn one out in public and it only leads to ridicule and premature ejaculation. Not always in that order.

Instead think about giving to others. In case you’re not sure of the best place to direct those extra bonus dollars might I suggest Feed The Children? I checked out their website and a donation of $10 will “help keep their caravan of trucks on the road!”

Hold on. I don’t drive very often, but the Mrs. has been out there on the roads and from what I hear the last thing we need to be doing is funding any caravan of trucks to add to the congestion. That certainly doesn’t sound very good for the environment, either. Especially since local stores already appear to be stocked with foodstuffs and Little Debbies, and there appears to be no shortage of fast food joints anywhere I’ve traveled across the country. They even have value menus!

So why not take that $10 over to the Crustacean Records website and order the new Von Ehrics CD? If you’re a regular around here, you know I love these guys like brothers from whom I was separated at birth and never really knew. But that doesn’t mean I love them any less than if I had grown up to be honky-tonk metal bad-asses like them. But in case I haven’t already convinced you, let me list the reasons why investing $10 in their new record is a good idea and why I’ve already done it.

Your purchase supports a small business like Crustacean. I was watching CNBC today because I’m a dork, but that also makes me an expert on economic matters, and 70% of new jobs these days are created by small business. That means you are helping reduce unemployment. More people with jobs means less need for caravans of trucks on the road delivering free food to hungry children. Fewer caravans mean a shorter commute for you and less pollution.

Crustacean never sued you after you got drunk and downloaded those Barry Manilow tunes.

Crustacean supports bands like The Von Ehrics. It’s trickle down economics – The Von Ehrics subsequently take to the road stimulating the regional economies from Texas to New York with their purchases of whiskey and beer from local merchants. Those sin taxes are also some of the highest around, so they’re also filling the dwindling state coffers so that your schools stay open. You do want your kids to get an education, don’t you?

Free shipping. It’s not even like that Amazon scam where you need to spend $25 to get free super saver shipping. You don’t even have to search the internet for a coupon code. Who has time for that? You don’t. You can use the extra time and saved shipping cost to take a cooking class to learn how to make stuff wrapped in bacon. Everyone loves stuff wrapped in bacon. You can have a party and serve that stuff you learned how to wrap in bacon and all your friends will love you. You don’t want to die lonely, do you?

But that’s not all! Free stuff! It’s a recession so you need to spend your money wisely. Order now and you’ll get free stickers, free buttons and a sampler CD. I’m not sure what the stickers or buttons say on them, but imagine the excitement when you open the package! It’ll be like Christmas in March! Except without all the lame holiday music – instead you’ll get some great surprise tunes from the Crustacean catalog that I guarantee will be better than hearing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. You do love your Grandma, don’t you?

Or you could just order the damn CD because somebody needs to take a stand against Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers and Daughtry and American Idol and Britney Spears and everything else that is wrong with our world. You can do that. And The Von Ehrics are here to help.

If you don’t trust me, go preview the CD on iTunes. You can even download it there for $9.99 if you’re one of those future people who listen to music on your computers and pod devices.

And finally, if your stereo or computer doesn’t go to 11, The Von Ehrics are hitting the road next month and I can assure you that their amps do hit 11. I’ll be at the Chicago show at Quencher’s Saloon on April 17th. Stop by and say hello and I’ll buy you a sarsaparilla.

Von Is The New Meat

Thought I'd challenge you to start off the new year with a rather lengthy post. Pace yourself and it may last you through all of 2009....

Somehow back in the 80’s I acquired a number of albums from bands with “meat” in their name. It probably started with the Meat Puppets. Added a Meatmen (NSFW) record. I’m sure a Meat Loaf record regrettably found it’s way through my collection. And finally I discovered a little indie record with a handmade album cover from an odd ensemble calling themselves Meat Joy. Since then I’ve added some mp3’s from The Meat Purveyors, but I’m not counting those – vinyl only.

But I digress. Everyone knows that I review the annual Lovehammers New Year’s Eve show for my first post of the year. Even when I’m not there. Unfortunately, I seemed to have rankled a few hungover Hammerheads last year because I guess they were expecting an actual review of the show (what were they thinking?) including a set list and pictures of Marty. Because we know there aren’t enough of those out there.

So here’s my review. The lines for drinks were too long. Dot Dot Dot was annoying, but everyone was too drunk and paid too much to care. The Lovehammers rocked even though they haven’t played together in several years. And lots of women held up their cellphones all night either giving cell-certs to their far away friends or taking crappy cellphone pictures.

As you can see I’m generally cranky and don’t like people so I don’t have many friends. Even my wife left town for the week so she wouldn’t have to ring in the new year from the shadows of my disdain. So I hopped in the Sid-Mobile and drove up to Madison, home of The University of Wisconsin and unknowing coeds. The Sid-Mobile is kind of like the Batmobile except it doesn’t go as fast and doesn’t have nearly as many options. But it gets bitchin’ mileage, so cut me some slack.

The High Noon Saloon in Madison was hosting a bevy of bands, including my buddies The Von Ehrics. I could go up there and bug them as much or as little as I liked, hear some new music, do some people watching, and be otherwise free of any social niceties or responsibilities.

I rolled into town a little early so I could grab a bite to eat, and decided to check out the Brass Ring joint next door. It just happened that Gabe and Jeffery were there playing pool, so I caught up with them and ordered a Madtown burger for my last supper (of the year). It was a little light on the advertised Canadian bacon and if that had truly been my last supper I probably would have been pissed. Even Jesus might have sent it back. Also a little pricey, but not enough to get their High Life confiscated.

Eventually we headed over to the Saloon where the band gave the doorman the thumb pointed in my direction. I thought that they were possibly issuing a club restraining order against me, but as it turned out, in a moment of holiday charity they had deemed me worthy of “the list” and saved me the $12 cover. They must have also vouched that I was indeed 21 years of age as I didn’t have to show my ID even though I don’t look a day over 56.

We had missed the first band – The Hussy. A two-piece with a girl on drums and a guy on guitar, prompting obvious comparisons to, yes, The Carpenters. You know, assuming that Richard played guitar instead of piano. Sounds original – I hope it works out for them.

As I was hanging out at the bar, a guy caught my eye. Not because I’m gay, but because he was wearing Chuck Taylors. And overalls shorts that were too small for him. And makeup including lots of eye glitter. I was both hoping and fearing that he was part of the next band. Hoping that this wasn’t some random patron’s NYE ensemble, but fearing I would have to watch a band that included him. Sensing my unease, the guys invited me back to the green room, a small room next to the stage about the size of a foosball table. Where we were soon joined by overalls guy and a cast of other assorted characters gathering up props such as balloons, homemade train car cutouts, and foam disc shooters. I’m sure The Von Ehrics have seen lots of stuff on the road but as overalls guy bent over to tie up his shoes, I’m pretty sure it was the first time Jason has had a guy wearing glitter makeup and singing show tunes shaking his ass in his face. At least I hope it was. I also got to see a girl change clothes from a 50’s style homecoming dress into a ninja outfit. Even I can’t make this shit up.

After hearing a few songs from the green room, I left the guys to plan their set list and decided to check out Screaming Cyn Cyn and the Pons. Surprisingly, I was not as annoyed as I was entertained. It was as if you took the B-52’s, mixed in an episode of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, and added a touch of Devo and the Suburban Lawns. I actually enjoyed the Cyn Cyn’s song Set The Table and wish I had it on video. Oh, wait, the magic of youtube. I don’t think I’d drive two hours to Madison to see them again, but if they were playing in the neighborhood and there weren’t any good games on TV I might venture out to see them. And I'd definitely show up if Cyn Cyn set a spot at the table for me.

Next on the bill was Ouija Radio. I had high expectations for this band – pretty cool name, normal looking drummer, white-guy dreads on the bass player, and a Leather Tuscadero for the new millennium on guitar and vocals. And they pretty much delivered some straight-ahead, high energy, in your face rock and roll. If they had been playing Arnold’s Drive-In down the road in Milwaukee, the Fonz would have approved and probably taken front-woman Christy Hunt out after the show. Then there would have been the emotional episode where she has to leave town to tour in support of the new Von Bondies record, but the Fonz has to be cool with it because music is her passion. And rhythm is the dancer.

The Von Ehrics were up next and here is another thing I love about them. They pretty much booked the show knowing that they wouldn’t have their equipment with them. They had flown to Madison the week before to record their new record for Crustacean so only had one guitar, one bass, and a bag of drumsticks. They knew they could depend on the generosity of their fellow musicians to hook them up, and the other bands on the bill proved them right. It was a regular Hallmark moment. I shed a tear but I think it was just the smoke hanging in the air.

As they were setting up someone alerted Jason that midnight was approaching so he improvised a countdown using his cellphone and probably got it within a minute or so of the actual time. He ain’t Dick Clark, but these days neither is Dick Clark.

I was forewarned that the set had the potential to be a train wreck as they hadn’t played since the summer, but other than a couple small hiccups I couldn’t tell the difference. It’s not like they were playing for the admissions committee at Julliard. They were playing a loud and fast set for a bunch of drunks that wanted to ring in the new year loudly and fastly. Done deal. Even a group that looked as if it had been delivered from The Island of Misfit Revelers had formed a wonderfully dorky pseudo-moshpit. If you want more details on a Von Ehrics show, check out my extremely long-winded, wildly digressing post on their 2007 World Tour. Otherwise just trust me when I tell you not to miss them if they come to your town, and even better, buy them a beer and be sure to introduce yourself. Also make sure they have a place to crash, and while you’re at it buy a CD and a t-shirt so they can fill their tank with gas. It’s very little to ask before Miley Cyrus takes over this fucked up world.

The little green room was getting crowded with the ghost of New Year’s bands past, present and future, so I made sure not to overstay my welcome and stayed out in the bar to check out the next set from Brainerd. Was Paranoid in your album collction in the 70’s? Do you still have it? Was playing Metallica at your wedding reception part of the negotiations with your ex-wife? Are you still mourning the loss of Dimebag Darrell? If you answered “yes” to any of those questions, you’d probably feel right at home at a Brainerd show. I can’t tell you the difference between thrash metal, death metal, black metal, power metal, doom metal and precious metal, but Beavis and Butthead would approve and would probably steal a Brainerd t-shirt.

By this time the remaining revelers were more sauced than the crowd at the annual La Tomatina tomato fight. A guy in a Packers touque stumbled up to me and just stared at me as if he were trying to figure out whether I was a streetlight or Shania Twain. Immediately thereafter a girl walked right into me as if I weren’t an obstacle that needed to be avoided. Had I not been there she surely would have walked into the pole behind me. She stopped, grabbed my arm, tapped my beer bottle and pointed it toward my face and then wandered toward the door. Another girl was passed out on the pool table – I’m sure you can find the photos on Facebook somewhere. Even though The Zebras still had to play that evening, I decided to call it a night before I ran into any of my new friends on the road. Or have them run into me. Besides, I’m not sure I could handle the spastic, fun, discordant, deconstructionist art-punk-metal that The Zebras promised to bring. I wasn’t in the mood to have anything deconstructed. Nothing personal.

So there you have it. The Von Ehrics. The Von Bondies. Von Iva is coming to town soon. Not to mention the Von Trapp family, Ludwig Von Beethoven and Von Halen.

Yep, Von is the new Meat.



Happy New Year, Y'All.

Lovehammers: New Year's Eve Rock N' Roll Ball

New Year’s Eve. My earliest memories consist of being left in the car in the parking lot of a swanky restaurant while my parents partied it up inside. It’s okay – they paid the valet guy to check on me every 20 minutes and sent a busboy out with a couple peel n’ eat shrimp shortly after midnight. I made that up, so put down the phone – no need to call The Department of Child and Family Services to have me placed in foster care. Kids my age never get taken in, and I’ll end up in an orphanage – one of those mean ones where I’ll be forced to sell newspapers on the corner every night to earn my bowl of cold porridge. Actually, I usually got dropped off at Grandma’s where we would make popcorn on the stovetop, watch Dick Clark, countdown to midnight, go on the back porch and shoot AK47’s into the air, and then fall asleep on the sofa bed with a transistor radio under my pillow. The next morning, Pops would pick me up and we’d hit the diner that my other Grandma managed so he could get some Bloody Marys while I got some cookies from the bakery case. Win win.

Eventually, I was old enough to partake and would show my gratitude for those earlier years by taking Grandma to the corner tavern where we would drink blackberry brandy, eat pickled hard boiled eggs, countdown to midnight, go out in the parking lot and shoot AK47’s into the air, and then pass out on the front lawn. Win win.

Lately, my New Year’s Eves have been pretty mellow – a bubblebath with some apple cinnamon scented candles and a hot stone massage from a Romanian prostitute and I’m ready to face a new year.

But this year we had a houseguest from out of town and I felt the pressure to entertain and pretend my life is not as lame as a Josh Groban video. So I bought us tickets to the special New Year’s Eve show of Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind at the Neo-Futurists’ Theater located above the Nelson Funeral Home. For anyone that isn’t a hipster in the know like I am, Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind (TMLMTBGB) is a show consisting of 30 plays presented in 60 minutes. On regular nights, no reservations are taken so you need to be one of the first 150 in line to get in. If you make the cut, you roll a die and pay the amount of your roll plus $7. Instead of a ticket you get a “Hello, My Name Is…..” tag with a randomly assigned name. I was Betsy Ross for the evening, the Mrs. was Likes To Dance, and our visitor was Former Star. Since it was NYE, they did accept reservations and also provided a pre-show buffet and beverages from Whole Foods. I loaded up on the spinach feta patties and the crab cakes with a side of artichoke dip and chased it with a can of Squirt, and I was ready for showtime. Eleven minutes before 11 p.m. we were hastily corralled into the sparse and raw performance area, given a one-page program listing the “menu” of plays, and selected our seats. First rule was “when we sell out, we order out” so they called the pizza joint around the corner to buy pizza for audience for after the show. One pizza for 150 people so make sure your voice is heard when it’s time to yell out toppings. Next they explain how it works – the numbers 1 through 30 hang from a clothesline above the stage. When they say “curtain” to end a scene (or start the show) you yell out the number you want to see next and they grab whatever number they hear first. The show starts at the top of the hour with a countdown – kind of. You count down from 10 by even numbers, back up by odd numbers, and then back down to zero by prime numbers. They then spend roughly ten frantic seconds setting up the scene, yell “Go!” and any of the one to five cast members perform that play. It’s ends with “curtain” and the process repeats. Some are hilarious, some are political, some are absurd, some are offensive, some are emotional. It’s like a box of chocolates left out in the sun and you’re trying to eat as many as you can before they totally melt and then you’re left with gooey fingers and trying to decide whether to lick them or wipe them on an unsuspecting friend. Our guest spent about 75% of the evening with her mouth hanging open in shock, and about 50% of that time with her hand covering said mouth in horror. Some highlights:

The Dance of Death: The first play consisted of two cast members facing off with bags on their heads and pointing large shiny knives at each other. The next two minutes was an absurd but interesting negotiation and reconcilation between the two.

Strip Rock-Paper-Scissors: Just what it sounds like. A cast member squares off against a volunteer audience member. Pun intended - there was a loser in this fast-paced match.

How To Remain Friends With A Box: A touching story about trying to keep the memory of deceased friend alive through a box of their possessions.

Why Can People Still Make Fun of Gypsies and Not Be Considered Politically Correct? Also, We Are Stealing From You: The cast comes out dancing and performing as stereotypical gypsies, bringing an audience member onstage to dance with them while they steal her purse and sweater.

Crazy Bitch: Totally unexpected – a monologue not about a psycho ex-girlfriend, but about the experience of being totally swept away emotionally by a person or a piece of music or art. I was transfixed. Swept away in the moment myself.

Boys Gone Wild!: Sure, one male cast member spent most of the play suckling the nipple of another male cast member, but the narrator presented an amazingly effective social commentary on the issue of breastfeeding in public.

And that was only 20% of the show I just described. I could continue, but cannot give it justice. It can be frantic, hilarious, tense, thought provoking, offensive but most of all, fun. There is cursing and occasional nudity, so leave any holier than thou attitudes or kids at home. Otherwise, get your ass to a future performance. They also expanded into New York in case the terms of your probation don’t allow you to visit Illinois.

Each week they also roll a pair of dice to determine the number of new plays that will be performed the following week, resulting in ever-evolving show that is now in its nineteenth year. It’s a great concept – I want to go back to see another performance but I’m saddened that many of the plays will be “retired”, until I remember that the ones that I saw on NYE once replaced old favorites from a previous show. What a great metaphor for life – change may be uncomfortable, but if you embrace it you open yourself up to even greater experiences and success. In that respect, maybe we should all strive to be Neo-Futurists. I suppose that made it quite an appropriate show to bring in the new year.

Happy New Year, all y’all.

(Oh, and The Lovehammers performed in some hotel ballroom, I'm sure to the delight of all fans that showed up. They rock and put on an awesome live show, so I expect NYE was no different. Please support them in the upcoming year. And show some love to The Von Ehrics, too. And Broad Tosser. Hell, any local artists of your choosing. Just turn off the damn TV!)

The Next Great American Band - December 14

I see it there on the DVR - Next Great American Band (1 New) - Friday, December 14. But I'm not inspired to hit "select" on the remote. Maybe it's because Juliette and the Licks and Sufrajett were right in my face last month trying to kick in my teeth when I went to see them at a nondescript club down the street from a liquor store with metal bars on the windows. After that, watching a coached studio audience sway their arms to a condensed version of a Rod Stewart song by a band that is crying about missing their families just doesn't seem so rock and roll. Maybe it's because three chicks in a band called Broad Tosser made me pay attention to their set when I was just planning to chill out with bowl of Earle's Famous Chili at Quencher's Saloon two weeks ago. I felt like an ass for making fun of girl bands while they were "trying to figure out how to tune their guitars" after they plugged in and proved that they're more rock and roll than me and my Teena Marie posters will ever hope to be. After being schooled by those girls, what can I possibly learn from a "judge" whose music I can hear while waiting for my next teeth cleaning. Maybe it's because four guys from Texas called The Von Ehrics followed us home after a gig to crash on our living room floor in their sleeping bags before piling back into their van the next day with all their equipment for a show in Milwaukee. When you hear them perform Highway Junkie you know it has more meaning and credibility than anything a bunch of 14 year-olds are going to perform as soon as they finish their math homework.

Live music is better. You might need a cup of coffee the next morning. It might even ruin television for you. But trust me - that's not a bad thing. I've never regretted missing a night of television. I have regretted missing too many concerts.

Thank you to Juliette and the Licks, Suffrajett, Broad Tosser, and The Von Ehrics for reminding me of this.

Oh, and Simon Fuller and Mark Burnett - fucking bite me.

Von Ehrics - April 2007 World Tour

When I moved from Chicago to Dallas years ago, I had frequent reunions with an old drinking buddy. After a quick review of a US map while sober we determined that Memphis was nearly in the middle, and several times we each made the drive to our adoptive watering hole for a long weekend. (Previous drunken attempts to determine the middle resulted in prospective camping trips to Big Bone Lick State Park in Kentucky, followed by uncontrollable laughter.(To make it even better, Wikipedia claims it's on Beaver Road between the communities of Beaverlick and Rabbit Hash.)) However, during those Memphis weekends, in that short time frame between Shoney’s breakfast buffet on the way home at 6 a.m. and our first shot of Murphy’s after a few hours sleep, we’d try to fit in a little culture. Stuff like the world famous ducks at the Peabody Hotel, the greatness of Graceland and of course, Sun Studio. We wanted to include the National Civil Rights Museum, but it wasn’t walking distance and we were in no condition to drive, even in Tennessee. For anyone unfamiliar with Sun Studio, it’s a tiny place often referred to as the birthplace of rock n’ roll and the Hot Pocket. It was where Elvis first recorded, alongside of Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison, Neil Diamond and Johnny Cash. Okay, I made the Neil Diamond part up just to see if you were paying attention. However, a part of me wants to believe that if studio founder and producer Sam Phillips had spiked their Yoo-Hoo with methamphetamine during those early sessions, rock n’ roll would have taken a far different road where the Von Ehrics would be atop the charts instead Avril Lavigne. But I digress.

You say black I say white
You say bark I say bite
You say shark, I say hey man
Jaws was never my scene and I don't like Star Wars
You say Rolls I say Royce
You say God give me a choice
You say Lord I say Christ
I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman
All I wanna do is bicycle, bicycle, bicycle.

So why am I throwing down Queen lyrics during a discussion about the birthplace of rock n’ roll? Well, because I like to ride my bicycle. And so does my wife. More specifically, she likes to ride her bicycle since she probably couldn’t reach the pedals on mine, which does not make for a very fun ride unless you have a helluva a tailwind. Now cycling is a fine hobby if you just use your bicycle to ride down to the 7-11 to buy a Hustler or a Slurpee, but if you start to get obsessive (about the cycling, not the porn or Slurpees) then it can get expensive. Technically, I suppose porn and Slurpees could break the bank with the proper stamina, but it’s easier to go broke buying bicycles that double the value of your vehicle every time you load them up to go to the trailhead. This called for desperate measures so I sold my wife to the bike shop as an indentured servant. She was trying to decide between a career as a doctor or a bike mechanic, so I thought it might be helpful to her decision process as well as get us significant discounts on bikes and related accoutrements. She had already been spending time at the medical examiners office playing with dead bodies in the morgue, so I figured a little grease under the fingernails couldn’t hurt. Also seeing as I have the mechanical skills of Peter Brady, having a bike mechanic in the household would be a welcome addition. I’m proficient at changing flats, since I have a penchant for finding any and all road or trail hazards. If I rode my bike through a haystack, I’d come out the other end with the proverbial needle sticking out of my rear tire. However, I wouldn’t recommend you ask me to adjust your brakes before a big downhill unless you’re looking for a bad case of road rash. But I digress.

Most bike shops are cool places, typically staffed with aspiring bike racers, aspiring musicians and, uh, aspiring doctors. But mostly aspiring musicians.

So what do you do?
Oh yeah I wait tables too
No I haven’t heard your band
‘Cause you guys are pretty new

I never paid much attention when the Mrs. talked about any of their bands, figuring each one was a variation of four guys doing Quiet Riot or Blink 182 covers in their moms’ basements on Tuesday nights. But when I had a couple extra hockey tickets and realized that I didn’t have any friends due to my anti-social tendencies, I had the Mrs. ask around the shop if anyone cared to join us. Gabe won the sweepstakes and, in an effort to overcome my said anti-social tendencies, I decided to check out his band online so that I could make conversation between periods and wouldn’t be stuck entertaining the group all night with exciting stories about my latest lost income calculations at work. The band was The Von Ehrics and they call their music country punk, or honky tonk metal on their website. Merle Haggard meets Motorhead. With an emphasis on loud and fast. That sounded intriguing and I guess I did a pretty good job not being anti-social; although we didn’t get invited over after the game for some Parcheesi, we did get invited out to the next Von Ehrics show.

The show was only two days before we moved out of Texas, so we took a break from packing up our secret collection of erotic art and went down to the Darkside Lounge in Deep Ellum on a Saturday night. They rocked, nobody got hurt, and we became fans. To show his appreciation for our support, Gabe stopped by as the last official visitor to the F’er abode in Texas before we departed for Chicago. We sat on the living room floor and shared a Coke and a smile since all the furniture and whiskey was already packed up in the U-Haul in the driveway. We pulled out and left him in the living room and hoped the new owner would take a liking to him.

The band made a promised stop in Chicago last fall but I was depressed over the upcoming 10-year anniversary of the cancellation of Wings and couldn’t get out of bed. It was that or the chemotherapy. In any case, I was recently excited to hear that the band was coming through town again and got busy making sure I’d be there this time.

There were three shows within a reasonable distance – Chicago, Milwaukee and Madison. I wanted to go to the Chicago show, which was at a small neighborhood tavern, but the Mrs. had an exam the next day in some class ending with –ology and didn’t think a visit to the Montrose Saloon would be conducive to learning. Whatever. So I got out my little black book and realized that all the girls in there were in Texas and no longer on speaking terms with me. I also guessed the Mrs. might not be on speaking terms with me either if I did find a candidate. So I sold the book to one of the dumbasses hanging around outside the 7-11 after convincing him that 214 was a secret area code given to slutty girls in the Chicago area that wanted to have sex with him tonight. I then took the profits from that transaction and used them to bribe Stiv into meeting me out for the show in case any bar fights broke out as a result of me eating all the maraschino cherries in the joint. I put on my Sun Studios t-shirt, picked up Stiv, and luckily had him to navigate as I might have otherwise missed the place. We walked in and found a bar with at most 20 stools and a handful of tables on the opposite wall. A small alcove containing a small pool table and a dart board had already been commandeered by the band, but they politely abandoned their games to greet us, refill their beers, and find out what the heck we were doing there. After about an hour, it was clear that we weren’t going to leave without hearing some live music, so they finally capitulated and moved the pool table and loaded in their gear. Another four fans also showed up in the interim and there were maybe another half dozen regulars scattered around the bar. Perhaps everyone was already spent from the Billy Goat Boys bluegrass show the night before. Among the other fans were Razor and Di from the Razor and Di Show on WLUW 88.7 FM, heard Thursdays between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. I had never heard of them or their station until the Von Ehrics did their show, but highly recommend them now. They helped the band book this last minute gig and truly support independent bands, as well as totally being able to work the hair dyes. Di also has a kick ass camera and I’m hoping she won’t mind me borrowing a pic or two for this blog.

The Von Ehrics started tuning up and were asked by the bartender to turn it down a bit. And then a little bit more. She had obviously not read the part about their emphasis on loud and fast. They finally started, and I apologize for not knowing the song names since I just bought the new CD that night, but I think it might have been East Nashville Softshoe.

Remember when I said it was a neighborhood tavern? Well, I guess that particular neighborhood doesn’t like honky tonk metal interrupting Jay Leno’s monologue as evidenced by the rash of phone calls to the bar and the bartender’s subsequent request to turn it down even more. Gabe put a towel on his snare to help mute the sound, Jason turned down his guitar, but it appeared that Jeffery only pretended to turn down his bass. This didn’t trick the neighbors and after the third song and some more phone calls, the bartender relayed requests to turn down the bass. This time he complied and they continued the set in their neutered state. It was like the guy sitting in his Porsche in the middle of bumper to bumper rush hour traffic. It’s a nice car, but it’d be a lot more fun on a different road. They still rocked the house as hard as it was willing to be rocked that night, and everyone that showed up had a great time hearing some live tunes and hanging out with the band. More tavern regulars stopped in that night and they seemed to have picked up another half dozen fans. After the set, we sat at the bar and watched women’s boxing, noted there was much more action than men’s boxing, and debated whether it hurt more to get hit in a head full of tight cornrows than regular hair. I offered to braid half of Gabe’s head and punch him, but he made up some excuse about having to break down his drum kit so instead I just paid for my CD’s and bid them adieu.

The Friday night show in Milwaukee was at a club called Heart Breakers, and Gabe had told me the previous night that it would fulfill a lifelong dream of playing at a strip club. Unfortunately, he had also mentioned this to the Mrs. so I was unable to sell her on going to the Milwaukee show since it was closer than Madison. Come on, ladies get in free! I would have to wait to fulfill my dream of seeing the Von Ehrics play a strip club. I wasn’t that devastated as I’m not sure Milwaukee attracts the best talent in strip clubs and I was definitely spoiled coming from Dallas. But I digress. Titty bars can make you do that.

Mrs. F’er still wanted to see her old buddy, so I volunteered to drive her to Madison on Saturday. The fact that Madison is home to The University of Wisconsin and full of young, nubile rock and roll fans was irrelevant. They weren’t playing until midnight, so we didn’t plug in the Mrs.’ iPod and make the 2-hour drive until 8:00. Although she claimed to have 700 songs loaded on the thing, I’m convinced they were all either Beth Hart, the Killers, or Solomon Burke. With one Alkaline Trio tune thrown in to confuse me. We arrived at the King Club on schedule to find the band at the bar as usual. A fourth band was added to the bill, so their start time was bumped back to 1 a.m. After watching the National Beekeepers Society for a couple songs, Gabe invited us over to the Paradise Lounge for cocktails and conversation. I detected a Flaming Lips influence in the Beekeepers music, but the Mrs. countered with Blind Melon. It wasn’t bad, but Paradise was the right call. Great jukebox, great people-watching and a great menu featuring deep-fried cheese balls which are seemingly just referred to as “balls” by those in the know. We chatted, watched some cage-fighting on TV, and laughed uncontrollably every time someone ordered some balls to eat. Eventually we headed back and caught the end of the second band’s set – the Lee Rays. They didn’t make my ears bleed, but they didn’t make me smile and eat a bologna sandwich, either. I don’t know what that means, but I’m not sure their power pop worked its voodoo on me. Most of the crowd seemed to be there to hear the third band – the Motorz. Another power pop band, this time with a boner for Cheap Trick. That’s not a bad thing and the music was pretty tolerable. That Can’t Sleep tune even borders on catchy. But. Yes, the dreaded but. I really like you, but… the singer’s vocals annoyed me. Maybe more than they should have because his attempted comedy banter between songs was more than annoying and as funny as a soggy pair of sneakers. Finally, the bass player didn’t look like the kind of guy I’d ever want to hang out with. It’s hard to really like a band if you think you’d make fun of them behind their backs if you ever saw them in public. That being said, the crowd seemed to dig them and if I was hungry I might have eaten a bologna sandwich. But I’d really be craving some balls.



Finally all the cheddarheads cleared the stage and made room for the Von Ehrics. I guess this is where I’d start my review of their set if I was some sort of self-proclaimed genius music critic, but I’m not (except for my genius reviews of the opening bands). The Von Ehrics simply set up their shit, turn it way up and rock your socks off. Unless you’re one of those dirty hippies wearing Birkenstocks, in which case you would have left after the Motorz finished playing. Jason simply takes his position behind the mike, keeps the power chords coming and delivers the classic country lyrics about whiskey and the road. You’ll marvel at Jeffery’s nimble fingers on the bass as he delivers the standard Nashville bass lines in quadruple time while rocking out with speed metal sensibility. I’m not sure what that means but it seemed to capture the essence of his performance for me. And you’ll wonder how Gabe keeps that beat going for over an hour without collapsing like a fat middle-aged white guy with a heart condition in a pick-up basketball game. You can tell they love the music and love playing it for you – whether it’s half a dozen people in a corner tavern in Chicago, a gaggle of titty dancers in Milwaukee, or a good Saturday night crowd in downtown Madison who are rocking out with the band and singing along. They’re good guys, so check out their myspace page and give it a listen. If you like it, order the CD or download some stuff off iTunes. Be sure to support the band on their next trip through your town. And by support, I mean buy them shots of Jim Beam and let them crash on your floor. And if you don't like them, well then....