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"We was out driving, one late afternoon, I said 'let's keep driving, 'til we see the full moon. She said,'I'll show you one right now, if you know what I mean! Just pullover here and we'll... WHAP-A-DANG!'" ...performed by the RaunchHands, has got to be the sleaziest rockabilly interpretation of the intimate passions between man and woman... and just kicks like a mule. Clangorous guitars, grumbling in fits and starts, crowned with insane anti-Elvis vocals. Hearing that tune compete with the 3500RPM rumbling next to my feet, last night, was... a moment. Throw in "High Class To Trailer Trash" by Hillbilly Frankenstein, and it was like the icing on a land mine cake. That's what happens when your new ride only has the cassette deck to keep you company on long night travels. You have to dig deep for things that get shuffled into the dusty tape case of neglect. And oh, the wonders you find there. Like, that your musical taste isn't for shit. Yet. Inspiration finally came to me for the TJU rock marathon after three cups of ridiculously strong coffee, a few burnt offerings in the ashtray, and throwing on an extra pair of socks... not the heavenly choir, but it'd suffice. Gave 'em three proposals... now we'll see how the Hip pass judgement, by the wave of their hand. "We're not into that, vassal," will probably be the response... if so, fuck 'em. There's plenty more monkey business to get involved with. Plus, my ship came in. So to speak. Responsible me liquidated the stack of bills today (atypically before the last moment on Monday), leaving the door open to do something different that sulking from the cold this weekend. There's a soon-to-be-closing exhibit about the 1929 Okeh recording sessions in Richmond that has been eating at me for a while. Virginia Roots Music. Dream scenario: "cutting edge" pre-stock market crash technology (literally cutting grooves in acetate records) comes to ruined southern city, inviting all performers, statewide, to audition for the record men. Maybe even get their song on black vinyl. And the ones that did... stark old-time bible thumpers, roots gospel, gutbucket jazz, and a Hawaiian band from bumfuck... sound right massive. No idea how lame the exhibit might be... but I just might find out. Regardless, I think I need the comfort of southern decay and the 50's neon strip at nighttime. Scored by some "Whap-A-Dang." |
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