Coat Yer Stomach, Ya Moron!

q: Is it still winter?

a: Does Blake Cecil-Fielder sell autographed pix of his wife for H?

So last weekend I went to see The Dirtbombs, as mentioned in my second-to-last post. I was ill for the first hour, not exactly puking sick, but close enough that I was getting concerned. here's what happened (what, you thought I'd just let it go at that? Mais non, you will get an explanation):

I was shopping for hours the evening before in shoes that I had never worn before. How stupid could I be? My feet hurt so bad I thought I'd have to unscrew them. Then the next day, which was also Dirtbomb Day, I did more shopping, but it was worth it because I got a great red sweater & a great leather jacket which, if I do say so myself, looked quite rock'n'roll, but not too juvenile. A few extra zippers but nothing nutzy. But my feet started acting up again. So before I left the house for the evening I took a vicodin (I love that shit). Then, at the bar I pounded down 2 beers, which I never do, neither at home nor out (I don't drink beer out, unless it's at a burger restaurant, and rarely even then and if it is one of those rare times it's usually just one). But I wanted something to quench my thirst before I started my usual bourbon/rocks regimen. Oh yeah, let me also mention that I didn't eat. So I started getting light-headed, and then sweaty (yes, I did have on a leather jacket, but also just a t-shirt under it (see same previous post)). And I'm trying to keep composed while talking to my daughter (who we'll call BQXZL*AA9 for brevity and anonymity's sake ) & friends of hers that kept coming by (more of that later) I excused myself & went outside to get some air. After about 5 minutes and two begging episodes from bums, one of which actually told me he almost had enough for wine and for that alone I shoulda given him five bucks, I went back in. BQXZL*AA9 kept asking if I was OK, and I thought I was, but after about another 15 minutes it was back. So again I went out, thinking maybe my blood sugar was low, so I ran across the street to the lot where my car was parked & found some breath mints - sugar free. I chewed a couple anyway, went back to my standing spot for another five minutes, then went back inside. I started to normalize to the point that I even started drinking again, but only had one more. So two beers, two bourbons. Hell, I can do that before going to church. Usually.

I have come to the conclusion that even in rock'n'roll, there is a changing of the guard. You know, like Huey Lewis at some point stopped getting invited to the grammys. (but not the American Music Awards, because its proprietor Dick Clark has become increasingly out of touch since singers stopped wearing alpaca sweaters and started slinging guitars) To my surprise, BQXZL*AA9 knew a number of people at this place, including Troy Gregory the bass player in the Dirtbombs (granted there are two of 'em, but I knew none and to be sure neither of 'em knew my name). I did see one guy I knew, but he probably doesn't remember my name, and he probably saw me before I saw him because he never came by and I was sitting at the bar! But BQXZL*AA9 sat & chatted comfortably, even at times said "oh, there's (somebody), I hope he doesn't see me, I don't wanna talk to him". Even in my heyday at the Eastown or Grande people would avoid me (truth be told I was failry surly) and during the time I was frequenting the rock dumps I was confident in my cool factor & was, if not exactly adored and admired at least positively acknowledged as a pace-keeper and trend-rebuffer. So it made me realize that times and things change and you have to bend like a willow to survive. Plus you have to eat something if you take vicodin & wanna booze it up.

As far as the show, therre were two support bands that need to go back to the drawing board. Yes, the post-garage-craze scene in Detroit is probably much like what CBGB was after The Ramones and Television became too big to play there anymore. And it's funny, because a couple years ago I would've made sure a local band was on the bill of any show I was going to. (of course if there wasn't all I could do is complain to no one about it) Now it reminds me of how every shitty bar band turned into Bowie/Dolls copyists after everyone and their granny stopped wearing platforms & make-up.

But The Dirtbombs sounded good. The new album is pretty decent (We Have You Surrounded) and I was even prompted to leave my barstool once and watch the stage. But if they're reading this (yeah, them & the other two or three people) they need to take my advice and remove the 8 minute feedback freakout from their set. This was a CD release show, so maybe the thing is that you play the entire thing (good thing The Beatles White Album didn't go through that - how would they do "Revolution 9"?) Anyway, it was like the 2nd half of MC5's "Starship", where they spout pseudo-cosmic bullshit & the guitarists freak out. So BQXZL*AA9 if you see Troy tell him to remove it from the set, & replace it with...something else, also they can remove the ironic INXS covers.

FYI, I returned the leather jacket to the store. Who am I , a member of The Dirtbombs?