I applaud Bill Edwards for being a gun owner, teaching gun safety, and not falling into the tired old trap of having to define himself as a conservative or NRA guy. Guns are still a problem in this country and it does need to be talked about. Hope everyone doesn't get so involved compensating for their manhood with their guns that they can't even have a reasonable dialog about it.

Here's my fundamental problem with the Iraq thing: how does this constitute "protecting our freedom" as we've heard so much? Is Iraq on the verge of overthrowing the US? I don't think so. This idea that we must have war in order to avoid war reminds me of the famous caption in one of my history books, where the general from vietnam is justifying that "we had to burn this village in order to save it." The evidence that Iraq is harboring terroists is flimsy at best. I heard Rummy last month say something to the effect that there's no time to wait for proof. Is Saddam likely to allow rogue terrorists into his country? If you were a terrorist, wouldn't Iraq be the last damn place on your list of countries to be?

As to the notion of fighting back, Al Qaeda attacked us, not Iraq. Is this transference? We can't get Osama, so we'll get these other guys instead. The terrorists are the major threat. There is no doubt they would use awful weapons against us. The fight against terrorism must be more than weapons and missiles and soldiers, however. This is very much a battle of the minds. The Iraq invasion will create more terrorists against us, and that is more dangerous than the poison gas stockpile itself. Dangerous weapons are available in nearly every country. Part of the effort against terrorism means defying their worst expectations of us and forming a real worldwide coalition dedicated to the principles of the sanctity of life.

Poison gas. If we’re so worried about him using it, what better way to guarantee it than storming the gates. Iraq knows good and well that one move like that and it is blown off the radar. Gone. Iraq has been deterred from using these weapons, but now we risk pushing them to use these weapons. By contrast, Al Qaeda terrorists are not deterrable in the classic sense and have much stronger connections to other countries, such as Pakistan and Saudi Arabia.

Yes, Saddam is a tyrant. Democracy would be better. But can we seriously go in, remove Saddam, and set up a government like our own for their people? Democracies must be for the people, by the people. I don’t see it as our place to form their governing system by military overthrow. It is for the Iraqi people to form their own democracy, and in that effort we should do whatever we can to help, but it is not for us to decide. What happened to “humble” foreign policy? So again, how does any of this relate to protecting our freedom? Why role the dice on Armageddon when there is no clear reason to do so? Clearly an Armageddon type of situation will likely result from reaping the whirlwind of terrorism. A unilateral invasion of a nation in the middle east fosters the climate of terrorism. We become “the man” keeping them down.

In the face of North Korea’s nuclear capabilities, some disturbing elements come to contrast. Iraq is oil-rich, and North Korea isn't. Saddam tried to kill poppy Bush and Kim Jong-il didn’t. North Korea is 6 months away from nuclear weapons and Iraq isn't. We need to do better than this. I’m praying to Rick’s dressed-up black Jesus right now that the majority of voters don’t vote for Bush in 2004. Oh yeah, I forgot, that doesn’t matter...

By the way Marcel, Dave says "Hi!"

Damn, Marcel Yoda is here. He should remember Joe Godsey, anyway, here's my two cents:

Well spoken Tad.

And as a side note, where is it written that gun owners must be conservative? I own guns, enjoy shooting them, believe in not only the second amendment but the rest of the constitution as well and have no trouble calling myself liberal. Heck, I have helped teach gun safety for the NRA, without actually being a member. Here's is something fun to do; point out to an NRA memeber that signing an NRA petition is a form of gun registration as it gives the government a list of gun owners...... it makes the paranoia grow like kudzu on a warm spring day..............

"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger." -- Herman Goering at the Nuremburg trials (http://www.snopes.com/quotes/goering.htm)

Pronunciation: 'sär-"ka-z&m
Function: noun
Etymology: French or Late Latin; French sarcasme, from Late Latin sarcasmos, from Greek sarkasmos, from sarkazein to tear flesh, bite the lips in rage, sneer, from sark-, sarx flesh; probably akin to Avestan thwar&s- to cut
Date: 1550
1 : a sharp and often satirical or ironic utterance designed to cut or give pain
2 a : a mode of satirical wit depending for its effect on bitter, caustic, and often ironic language that is usually directed against an individual b : the use or language of sarcasm


Correct????

Old bands from the early early scene:

Blind Joe Godsey

The Castrol Brothers

Big Jim Mahoney and the Sweetwater Texas Boys

There's another show I can try to bludgeon my vcr into taping! Thanks for the heads up, Bobby!

To my surprise, The Pleztones’ set from December 27 was aired on Charter last night at 8:00 p.m. I guess now they will re-run the show at the same time as usual; Friday at 11:00 p.m. and Sunday at 2:00 p.m. I watched the first couple of songs while on break from class last night. Everything looked and sounded good. Donna watched most of it, between getting the kid ready for bed. She said something weird happened with the sound by the end, where the film and sound became off sync. I wonder if it will run that way again on Friday and Sunday or if it will be fixed.

I concur on the Shazam.
Best $5 spent thus far on music this year.
They got another $20 bucks out of me on CD purchases.
Listening to Godspeed The Shazam at the moment.

I thought they said Feb. 28th. No date posted on their web site.
Took some shots of the band...will post them (if any turned out OK).

And next time for The Shazam is, I believe, Feb. 20th, also at the Casbah.

Actually, I believe it's "The Black & Decker Pecker Wrecker"

Tony, the letters were intended as an aid to those readers unable to express themselves due to shyness or illiteracy. If one wishes to write a heading that specifically includes New York Art Fags, to the exclusion of Hillbilly Art Fags, Artsie Mountain Folk, and Transplanted Hillbilly Art Fags by way of Chicago, then of course that would be to writers discrestion.

As to my spelling of Skynyrd, I stand by the creative impulse that caused me to write in colloquialisms, much the same as Faulkner, Lee, or Twain.

Are you sure you are not upset that you were not named a hottie??

I want to thank Scott Pleasent for his support on the all important “Lynyrd Skynyrd must be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame” issue. I have recently learned that Scott has been on the soap box about this issue for well over a year now, long before I took up the flag. Due to his early support, and after consultation with Kurt and Julie,,,, well actual consultation on this did not take place you understand but I am pretty sure they would agree with me here,,,,,and due to Scott giving me a subscription to his fine E-Zine, the committee has decided to confer upon Scott Pleasent the title of “Hottie” and with it all the rights, benefits, and privileges thereof. Scott, you must always remember to use your power for good, not evil, as with great power goes great responsibility. (Also you should avoid contact with kryptonite, garlic, and the color yellow,,,,it’s all in the manual)

Now many of you may be saying to yourselves, “Gee Bill, I would love to help, but what can I, a poor hard working (insert profession here) do to make a difference?” Well, you could write a letter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominating committee and demand that this oversight be corrected. Their address again is:

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation
1290 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10104


Not good with words? Feel free to cut and paste one of the following sample letters:

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Committee

A grave oversight has taken place in the nomination process for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Surely it could not be the intention of the committee to overlook the contributions of Lynyrd Skynyrd. Based on the published criteria for inclusion, Lynyrd Skynyrd should have been inducted on first ballot. In addition to their voluminous sale of lp’s, their music has inspired two generations of southern musicians, and influenced so many of the leading performers of our time. Further it should be noted that Lynyrd Skynyrd wrote and performed songs about racial harmony, gun control, and the harm of drug abuse, often against the grain of their times and fan base.”

or if you prefer a more direct approach you could cut and paste the following:

“Dear Ass Clowns and Art Fags.

What are you? Fucking stupid? I guess if a band has not never earned a living selling ass in Mannha,,,Manth,,,,Manhatt,,,,New fucking York, then they don’t belong in the rock and roll hall of fame. Well that is just fucking stupid. Lynard Skynard kicks the living shit out of all those new york art faggot bands. Heres a question for ya:

Q: Why did the southern man drive 800 miles to new york city?

A: Cause somebody needs thier ass kicked for not haveing Lynard Skynard in the fucking rock and roll hall of fame.”

Thank you all for your kind and prompt attention. I know that together we can make a difference!

Eeewww, severed heads. True story. Mike Hilliard lived on the Old Jonesborough Highway, circa 1991. One day he said, "I need you to look at something in the back yard, and tell me if it is what I think it is." Just at the edge of the parking lot, in some weeds, was the head of a horse. It wasn't gross, nothing runny or bloody or partially eaten or mutilated, just kind of dry and shrivelled up and THERE. It was late fall, pretty cold, and the head wasn't breaking down very fast, but it was for-a-fact real. Nobody could come up with ANY explanation, not even one involving aliens. Then one day it just disappeared. It was there for about a week after discovery, then just vanished. Lots of people saw it. We mulled over calling the authorities but never did. No one ever came around asking questions, so presumably nobody else called, either. So that leaves us with not only who put it there, but also who took it away.

My favorite Tad Dickens story does not involve the Johnson City Scene,,, it involves Tad, A tuba player (a neurotic bunch in thier own right), A slaughtered Goat's head, A Sullivan South Chorus director, and the Kingsport Police Department tracking and studying occult based satanic crime in Kingsport as a result..........(I think they still do!)

Kurt:

Yes I did tape it. My VCR is mono though. Will be taping again on Friday night and/or Sunday.

I plan on going to the Shazam show Friday night.

Can't take credit for "moon floss." Unless, er...well, I can't even remember ever seeing that. Was it really stringy toilet paper? I remember writing something I was terribly pleased with in the bathroom in the restaurant part of the Pub. I sacrified an entire scarlet lipstick to accomplish this, but what the hell it was is totally gone. Why do I have this little stump of a memory? Nobody answer that. I remember someone had written "Kurt Hagardorn is sexy as hell" in the bathroom at the Down Home and the "y" in "sexy" had that jr. high curly-que on it. I was miffed at Kurt (this was a LONG time ago, probably '86 or '87) because in an early morning hours food fight at Perkins he had flung cranberry sauce on my white shirt, so I wrote underneath, "More sexy than cranberry sauce." I don't know exactly how that satisfied my urge for retribution, but it did. It also involved my resentment of that "y" and the ball point pen it was written in. Just a polaroid moment for you.

Other mistaken graffiti identity: There was a bench on campus near the Sherrod Library, that around fall of '85 sported the messages "Respect individuality" and "ETSU is soooo standard." I had yet to meet Brook and ascribed this, tragically, to Gretchen...oops, last name gone now. She was in my sculpture class. I heard she got yanked from school for buying pot with a check and writing "drugs" in the memo line. My question is, who the fuck cashed that bad boy? And then there was the peace sign atop the smoke stack at the physical plant, courtesy of Rodney Webb. When they sand-blasted it off, he climbed back up and put a red square there. They couldn't figure that out, so they left it. It was really scary, he said, because the little iron pegs you climbed up there on weren't cemented in and you could pull them out quite easily just by getting the edge of your shoe hung on them. He didn't discover this until he was so far up it was pointless to turn around. Well, I appreciated the effort. When Martin had that Peugeot he had masking tape on the rear window in the shape of a cross, with "Jesus" written on it one way and "Elvis" the other. I was walking down Pine Street when somebody hit Martin and the car in the intersection of Pine and Soutwest Ave. Martin was badly traumatized by the whole thing. I barely knew him at the time but I waited with him til the cops came 'cause I felt so bad for him. I knew they were going to try to give him shit because of the highly decorated and expressive nature of that car, and I just thought that was a damn shame. That may have been the first time I actually ever conversed with him.

On TV recently someone was talking to some West Virginia mountain 'types' about the possibility of this Beverly Hillbillies knock off show and one of them said "Screw that, I'd like to see 'em bring four of those Hollywood fat cats to West Virginia, stick 'em in a coal mine and see how well they survive"

Here's my idea for a Nashville based (turning the tables) reality show: Send 15 Nashvillians into a grocery store without their fucking cell phones and see how long it takes them to freak out from lack of loud useless personal announcements.

I am officially old and bitter (not necessarily in that order)

Don't want to start a stampede, but I have located a tape source. Also, I have made a work-around for my VCR's problem, so I should have a copy after the show airs again Friday night. So I think you're covered, Kurtiss.

Dunno, the joke sounds pretty old and tired to me. I feel certain the executives would have their own ideas about what "mountain values" are and want to show only those which underline their view of what's "funny" (read: stereotypical.) Maybe it's just me, but I don't see an opportunity here to subvert the dominant paradigm the rest of America has about us. Mainstream tv has such a narrow view of what's funny, and it's all about beating horses that have mostly been dead for decades. Rightly or wrongly, the belief seems to prevail that it's the lowest common denominator that counts with the advertisers, witness the programming that we have.

In a related incident, Plez and I were eating sushi at Cafe 1-Eleven not too long ago, and a taping was going on for some "hillbilly" "reality" show, featuring a toothless family in overalls, doing take after take of "spontaneous" reactions like,"Goddamn! Yew mean it ain't been cooked ATALL?" and other brilliant, witty, fresh from the farm observations. Once and for all, let me put the lie to this hype that these shows are not scripted or rehearsed. We saw it. At least until we turned our backs around to the cameras, so they couldn't have our gorgeous mugs for free background scenery.

...or notepad for you M$ windoze guys and gals.

Alan, my understanding is it's the same show on those subsequent nights. I hope so, because my VCR disobeyed me and now all I have is STATIC.

Also, y'all, cool band alert: The Shazam at the Casbah this Friday. Yes sirs. Git yer butts out there.

Did anyone else see the Brian & the Nightmares show on Homemade Jam (Comcast ch 13) last night?

My 3 year old son and I danced in the living room while we watched it.

It was a well produced hour long show (with only one commercial interruption!)

It included an interview with Brian interspersed between songs from the first set of the Friday 12/27/02 show.

They didn't edit out the between songs banter which I thought was cool.

According to their schedule, it will be repeated on Friday at 11pm and Sunday at 2pm. Is this correct?
What I mean is, do they repeat the Tuesday show on Friday and Sunday as well or is it going to be a different band playing
on Friday and Sunday?

The Killbillys?

Did anybody say Sex Police?

What was the name of that band that Michelle Goebel had a cousin in, from Lexington or somewhere...Curious George? (Lonesome Charlie? Mike the Steamshovel? Sam, Bangs and Moonshine? Everyone Poops, more like it.)

Saturday we (Drew, Ann & Josh & I) were in a bar down the street here seeing The Shazam and Ann recognized this guy as being from 'Fun Girls from Mt.Pilot'- which is funny because I think they were all guys in drag- (he said No, there were only women in that band but later admitted to being in the band). Ann turned to me to see if I recognized him- I didn't- he looked like an EXTRA short Richard Marx- we mentioned something about Johnson City and he said that he had fond memories of JC- that he used to play there with 'Rednecks In Pain'.(add them to the list) Drew chimed in and realized they had played with Stinky Finger at some point and then the guy was talking about The Highlander. Such a small world.

Also: The Hellion Shoeshine Riders (James, Drew & Russ) I also remember the one-time only appearance at the Casbah of Three Fat Guys Smoking. quote from Drew - "3 Fat Guys Smoking was me, Danny, and Russ. Danny french inhaled, Russ blew a smoke ring, and I stuck a cig in my nose and inhaled, and exhaled through my mouth. Some mullet tried to sell us pot while we were onstage. How could I forget?"

Two cannibals are eating a clown, The first cannibal says to the second “Hey, does this taste funny to you?”

A three legged dog walks into a saloon and says "I'm looking for the man that shot my Pa."

Buncha hot chickens talking on a ferris wheel. That’s a classic. Gonna hold that in the memory banks for a while. I thought Plez’s words on what it means to memorialize a past “scene” were very thoughtful and well said; couldn’t possibly add anything to that. I was just listening to some Plez. 1973 is one of my current favorite songs of his. I may be affected since my kid is going on 6 years old. For those who haven’t heard it, 1973 is a nostalgic song about being 6 years old again. Makes me think; what was I doing when I was 6? Carter was elected President, I was moving around from place to place a lot. Totally clueless; I was a coke-bottled-glasses wearing brick-head (and I ain’t no rocket scientist now). I can barely remember anything though. One of my few memories from then was a time in 1st grade when I raised my hand and asked to go to the bathroom. Instead of going to the bathroom, I just walked out of the school and headed down the road. Miles later, a stranger picked me up way down a country road and eventually figured out how to contact my folks. Mostly though, my clearest memories begin at college, I only vaguely remember being in high school, except for all the skateboarding.

Anyway, I ran across a funny comment about Jimi Hendrix. This came from cartoonist Peter Bagge who wrote an essay about the EMP (Experience the Music Project) rock museum in Seattle. I remembered this article amid reading the recent posts of memorializing scenes and rock hall of fame and stuff. While Bagge was generally favorable about the project, here is his general comment about Hendrix: “I hate Jimi Hendrix. Not that I disagree with his fans' claims of his originality, imagination, performing skills, etc., all of which I readily acknowledge. But the guy sang like he had a mouth full of marbles, and his whole hippie-dippie VooDoo Love God sexual persona always made me cringe, it's so embarrassing.” Pretty funny I thought. The whole article is available along with some funny cartoons at http://www.suck.com/daily/2000/08/25/index.html

By the way, that last picture Rick posted of himself was a little over the top….

Let's not forget that "Almost Famous" is the second script based on the early carreer of Cameron Crowe. The first was... (Drum roll goes here) ......... "Fast Times At Ridgemont High," which by the way was first a piece of crap as a book. I read it while working at the bar in 1982 at South West Depot, which was later to be called Richard A's.

Few of us remember South West Depot, but it is where I first met Bruce, Brian, Ralph Dosser, and I beleive T. Cecil. Beer was $1.25 a pitcher at happy hour, which would have been a bargain had the beer not been Falstaff (unless something else was cheaper by the keg.)

Kudos to Rick for exposing the softer side of the arab world........

Kurt, have you considered switching your cat's food to a more pleasing scent,, or getting that pussy off of your face?

Come back Plez, Come back......... She didn't mean it, she didn't know what she was saying..... Come back Plez.......

Is a cat's urinary tract health important?

What?

Things do change with the tellin', but you have to keep grape juice bottled up for awhile to make wine. Tee hee. Does wine violate the spirit of the grape, or represent it in a more potent form? Arrrrrrrrg. Couple of points: I for one wasn't making any statements about museum-worthiness, I was just trying to fucking REMEMBER, period. Nonetheless, I do see the similarity in that we are collecting stuff primarily from another era, one that has to be dead or else it would still be the same era as now. I think we do all have the sense that something's gone, and we can say THAT without saying that nothing now is interesting or that today's a complete void. More interesting, though, is the question of whether or not our 20something selves would've seen this endevour as silly. I'm inclined to say that yes indeed, we might have skittered away from it claiming something like inherent goofiness in the project. We might have blogged about something, but not about ourselves. I think as a whole we were extremely documentation-phobic, which is why there's a need to put the blog to its current (obstensible but forgiving) purpose. I see that phobia as really a kind of self-consciousness, the exact kind of inability to take ourselves seriously enough to feel like all this stuff is worth documenting that I was talking about in the my very first post. I see that rearing its head still in a tiny way here; I just think that's an interesting finding. Almost a determination to seek self-effacement, in stark opposition to the All-American quest for noise and lights and un-earned kudos and big paychecks and 15 mins. of the f-word.

What?? "Everyone in JC simultaneously climaxed in 1988" ???? Why do I never get invited to parties like that??? Seriously Brook, why did you have to go and silence Plez? He was one of my most vocal supporters in my fight to bring justice to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and I face an up hill battle in this most noble quest. And to think we were going to promote him to Hottie status.......

Well, I didn't mean it like THAT, honestly. I didn't think of how that all might sound to our co-publishers Lisa and Brook. And in life in general, I think none of us has peaked at all. If I really thought I'd live the best of my LIFE already, I would feel pretty cheated. It's just that the scene thing that we're supposed to tell stories about is pretty much over and that telling stories about it here is pretty much like telling any story about anything anywhere. The telling of it tends to change what the thing was. Allan seemed to be saying that really a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a stupid thing to have because it's not really the best people who played the music anyway and because it sort of violates the spirit of rock anyway. And my point is that ANY kind of remembrance thing of any type violates the spirit of the thing you're remembering. Changes it anyway. It's just inevitable. So my point was that a RNR Hall of Fame is no dumber than our informal JC Hall of Fame here, which I find NOT dumb in the least. I find it the very essence of being human, to want to record and memorialize things. And that's one of the best things about people. We work really hard sometimes to keep good things alive. And, yeah, I didn't really like Almost Famous, either. That was just an example, and probably not such a good one.

Once again: most of us are neither dead nor irrelevant as individuals. Our little "scene" is dead. That's what I was getting at. I didn't write that very carefully this morning. Methinks the Blog is definitely doing its good work. Most definitely. Ok, I promised earlier to be quiet for a month. See you mid February, fellow JC Bloggers. In the meantime, write some good stories!

Plez,

Eloquently said as usual. Please don't shut your pie hole for a month. This is fun.

"I used to be full of piss and vinegar, but now I'm only full of piss." - I can't remember who said/wrote this.

Where are the renegades now? Anyone? Anyone?

ps - havent' seen "Attack of the Clones" - yet. :-)


-- Allan

Good point, Allan, on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I mean, it's a bogus idea to begin with, of course. Rock and roll should resist that kind of enshrinement. But since it's there, I mean, c'mon, how can Skynyrd not be in it? I think a lot of the Johnson City bands were better than or at least as good as a lot of the stuff that might be enshrined there. But part of a hall of fame is that it's a hall of FAME, not necessarily a hall of GREATNESS. Let's think of Emily Dickinson, who published only 6 or 7 poems in her life. Right after she died, no one would've had any reason to put her in any poetry hall of fame--because she wasn't famous. But now she is, and no one would keep her out of a poetry hall of fame, were one ever to be built.

Halls of fame are for dead people and for people who are no longer really relevant but still alive. That, no offense, is the whole purpose of the Blog, as I see it: to keep alive in our memories something that's basically dead. Something is memorialized. Of course, it also changes in the process of being memorialized. But that's ok, too. We all know that the historical markers at battlefields don't really tell the TRUTH. Rock and roll itself is more or less dead. That's why we have movies like Almost Famous and so forth that try to memorialize some little aspect of something that was unusual and great and worth remember. Sure, the music industry has regulated all the rock out of rock. There's no more renegade computer software developers, either. And the dot com revolution is over. And the hippie movement is over. And the civil rights push is dead. But the successors of all of those owe a great debt to the true originators. Thus, I went to see a Zeppelin cover act the other night that sounded so much like Zep that I'm sure they played it live better than Zep themselves ever did. And some people join the Society For Creative Anachronisms. And no matter how much you know it's gonna suck, you know you're gonna fork over 8 bucks for the next episode in the Star Wars series.

And the Johnson City music scene we all remember so fondly is over, too, even though music in this town still continues. But notice what people have been doing lately here? They've been basically coming up with a Hall of Fame, haven't they? All those lists of bands there were from here and played here at one time or another--what're those if not our own little Hall of Fame? If we were all still full of "piss and vinegar" (the old saying) as we were back then, we'd see no need for the Blog history. But now we do. I'm sure if any of us at age 19 or 20 could have time travelled and seen the Blog, we would say this whole thing was kinda silly.

But we don't say that now. So, yes, the RNR Hall of Fame is silly from the perspective of a real rock and roller. But that's not who it's for.

Also, no offense taken, but of course I knew the capital of Alabama. That was rhetorical.

Gosh, I'm one wordy guy. Forgive, fellow bloggers, and I promise to keep my mouth shut for a month now.

--Plez

Plez,

Montgomery is the state capital of Alabama.

Without a doubt, Lynrd Skynrd deserve their props in the annals of Rock N' Rolldom.

If that is to be enshrined in a cheezy institution like the RnR museum, well so be it.

I find it ironic that RnR (and what EXACTLY defines RnR music?), is/was a phenomenon embraced by disenfranchised youths across the country and the world, is now an establishment unto its self.

The RnR museum should change its name to The American Museum of Popular and Profitable Music Since the Latter Half of the 20th Century as Recognized by the Recording Industry and Dubious Music Critics.

damn Plez, don't hold back, tell us how you really feel!!! Just an aside, Skynrd was not even from Alabama, they were from Florida, so I think they were saying butt out to everyone who judges another.... But thanks for your support on this issue, you are truly a Johnson City treasure. Kurt and I will be meeting shortly to determine if we can elevate you to "Hottie" status!! That address again is:

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation
1290 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10104

Yo and hey, y'all:

Um, I can't let the Skynyrd discussion go by without adding my opinion. It is a JOKE that those guys aren't in the rock and roll hall of fame. I mean, that is a JOKE! And I have to add that I actually like Skynyrd. I don't like them DESPITE their crowd or EVEN THOUGH they've become nothing more than a tribute to themselves lately. I love those guys for exactly what they are, and I always have. On the subject of "Sweet Home Alabama," I must add that, having lived in Alabama for almost a decade, that song was requested at every show I ever did down there. No one ever asked for "Freebird," not once, in Alabama, but damn they sure love "Sweet Home" down there. In the beginning, I just played it because, well, that's the kind of gigs there were to play in Auburn and Waverly and Loachapoaka, Alabama. Play what they wanna hear, you know? And why not?

But after playing it a bunch and noticing what absolute joy the people took in that song, I started thinking about it more seriously. And, when you think about it, that song is like saying "I can talk about my mother, but you can't talk about my mother." And I think we can all understand why people feel THAT way, can't we? That verse about the Governor? It really says, "In Birmingham, they love the Governor." Well, Birmingham is not the capital of Alabama, is it? It doesn't represent all of Alabama, either. It's just the biggest city in the state. That's all. Birmingham was governed by a succession of famously racist pig mayors. They put MLK in jail for a night just for parading without a permit. The next line in the song is, "Now, we all did what we could do." My interpretation? The white moderates and white liberals might have disagreed with Gov. Wallace, sure enough, but that doesn't mean they could prevent his dumb ass from standing in the door of the U of A to prevent the first black student from entering the University. Next line? "Watergate does not bother me." I love that one. Nixon? A bloody idiot from California. True enough. Still, unlike Neill Young, I don't get all moral on you and write a song called "Western Man" to accuse everybody from the Left Coast of government corruption. I just say, "Daggone, that dang ol' Nixon was a daggone idjut, daggone." Last line of that verse? "Does your conscience bother you? Tell the truth!" Plez says, Skynyrd got it right there. No matter who you are, you've got things in your past you ain't all that proud of. No matter where you live, you share a history which includes some awful stuff. We all do. If your conscience isn't bothering you, by gosh it's because you ain't thinking hard enough.

So, come off it, Neill Young. I gotta say, the more I sang that song in Alabama, the more I sang it with outright conviction and purpose. I'm not gonna mention any names, but I had a friend up here in J.C. who came right flat out and said he would NEVER visit me in Auburn because it was in Alabama, and he counted it as a point of pride that he had never set foot in that Godawful backward medieval state. When even Tennesseans can get this kinda crud into their head, imagine how a Canuck (ha!) like Neill Young could be convinced that there are still roving lynch mobs in Alabama.

I think that's what they were saying. Basically: "Judge not what ye have not seen." And God bless Skynyrd for saying it. God bless Skynyrd in general. Forgive me for taking up this much space in Johnson City Stories to blabber on about something so unrelated to JC. But in a way, it is. I mean, think about it, when the GEORGIA SATELLITES, who themselves traded on their image as being form backwater Georgia, referred to us a JOHNSON STATION and said on MTV that we were the worst town they ever gigged in, we were all most righteously pissed. I was. I mean, I was a little.

I used to say I wasn't going to the RNR Hall of Fame until they put AC/DC in there. Well, AC/DC goes in this year. But I revise my ultimatum now: I AIN'T GOING TILL SKYNYRD GETS AN INVITE AND THAT'S FINAL!

Not true Allan, I once yelled "Play Free Bird" at a J.C. Orchestra performance. I think I, or someone else, yelled "Play Free Bird" to every band listed on the blog in the last few days. Pile of Cabbage actually played it. Poorly I might add.

One mo' band:

Vova Nova

Kurt: regarding skynrd - all true. unfortunately, people remember them for a song that disses Neil Young and proclaims they luv the guvna (Wallace). And being the inspiration for the annoying screams for "FREEBIRD" at every non-orchestral concert in the free world (and then some).

David, I saw 'em once, at the Pub. It's in my journal.

Dear Hearts and Gentle Readers, I ask that you take your time to hear of a grave injustice that needs correction, and I hope you will lend your time and talent to doing so. So that once again America can be the land of opportunity for all, including rednecks.

According to it’s website, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a repository of the musicians and people who have shaped our craft . Performers are inducted base on the following criteria:

“Artists become eligible for induction 25 years after the release of their first record. Criteria include the influence and significance of the artist’s contributions to the development and perpetuation of rock and roll.”

By this standard, artists ranging from Chuck Berry to Chet Atkins, from Bill Halley to the Talking Heads, have been inducted. Notably absent are the penultimate Southern Rock Band, Lynard Skynard. By the standard presented by the Hall of Fame, Skynard has been eligible for induction for at least 6 years, and their absence is an insult to all southerners, redneck or otherwise.

Now, let me take a moment to say I am not a Lynard Skynard fan. I would not pay to see them, and you could not pay me to go see them, unless a real hottie like Kurt Hagadorn was opening for the show. Never the less, it seems asinine that a band that sold a gazillion records, has a legion of fans, and raised a genre of rock and roll to national, nay world attention, is not in the Hall of Fame.

Ironically Skynard represents the Wrong Way Corrigan’s of the Rock and Roll world. They did anti drug and alcohol songs, as well as a pro gun control song, yet the mean average of their visible fan base is a dope smoking, gun toting alcoholic....but I digress.

Please write to the induction committee of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and demand that they correct this oversight. Their address is:

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation
1290 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10104

Thank you for your time and attention. You may now return to listing band names.

Best not to ask, sometimes!

Funny you'd mention that. I was so taken with that bass-playing beauty, I got in the van with them and went back to Huntsville for a week. By the way- - how's everyone doing in here? I never have the time to write. Even at this moment my boss is giving me the evil eye. Seeing all your smiling faces at the "gig" made my whole year. Love to all - --Marky

And Another:

Toby Jugg Band!!!!

Thought of another one:

Phil Dirt and the Dozers

Velvet Elvis

Kudos to the Paralyzers as well.
63 Eyes had to be the LOUDEST band I ever heard.
Anybody mention Dillion Fence (sp?)
One Armed Jimmy and the Blasting Caps (not really)

Kevin and Joe Garber project called "Pit Crew"
Cricket Machine
not from the day, but worth a mention: 50 Ft. Womyn

Beat Yer Mutha!

The Lonely Bulls?

The Woggles
Man's Ruin

The Shazam!!

Walk the West? Flat Duo Jets?

WEBB WILDER!!

Pile of Cabbage

Anybody remember that James Woody project called, I believe, "Blackbone?"

I think 63 Eyes was just Mark and that guy Todd...Burge? and somebody else; anyway, when I saw them, Donnie was not part of the outfit. I had a tape made off the sound board at the Pub that was probably my favorite thing ever. "I couldn't look at your face any more so I memorized your ashtray," "self-inflicted head full of lead," etc., fuckin' genius. I knew Brook would remember all those band names 'cause of all those Highlander calendars she did for that dork of an owner. They had a contractual dispute (he tried to welsh out of paying her) so Brook, reasonably, made a move to take her delicious and well-thought-out artwork back. This guy sought to act wise and he NAILS the entire stack of calendars to the BAR. That's ok, 'cause Brook whips out her trusty zippo and that's right, TORCHES 'em on the bar. I think that was the last time he got uppity with Ms. Hines.

One more: 24-7 Spyz

Lisa: That story illustrates a huge difference between you and I: I WOULD NOT get out on that roof unless I was tring to escape the telephone where as you would not get on the roof without the telephone. Bravo! Bravo! I still cannot believe that we made it home that night. I left a large chunk of my brain on Market Street.

Loss o' vision...sightlessness...blinded by the light. We had been at the Great White House on Roan less than a month when Kurt, as mentioned before, decided he needed a haircut. At this particular moment, his chosen method of payment was not cash, but something more...ah, mind-expanding. Feeling cramped economically and professionally always seems to generate the desire to expand in whatever other directions are available, and this time was no exception. This desire would lead, later on that same evening, to seeing a thousand-petalled lotus, trying to climb out on the roof but not being able to manage it because the phone wouldn't reach that far (I probably owe my life to being born pre-cordless) and Barbara spending hours entertaining me with light-refracting objects. Not to mention a holy pilgrimage the next morning to that center of all true pilgrimage, Shoney's, where we shared the breakfast bar with an entire boys' soccer team. This led to the coining of the phrase "18-man shit." As in, "I feel like I need to take an 18-man shit." But all that came later. Much later.

First this desire for expansion, for unfurling, for growth that we could afford on our budgets led to words like, "A half? Should we each take a half, or a whole? Let's just take a half first," followed by, "Shit. That's not doin' nothin'. Let's take the other halves," followed almost IMMEDIATELY by, "Oh My Fucking God!! This stuff is kicking my ASS! AND WE JUST TOOK THE OTHER HALVES!"

It would bear mention that neither of us scared particularly easily. Nor did we tend to do things half-assedly. However, the remote prospect of doubling our current state of disintegration was still recognizable as a genuine emergency. A hasty inventory revealed to us a pharmacopoeia completely devoid of anything with sedative properties and very poor planning on our part. Speed-dialing to our favorite line of supply produced no answer. Apparently we needed to notify people to stay home on Friday nights to accommodate our unscheduled fuck-ups. A desperate call to a less favored, more sketchy, dank, windowless basement place produced a "Yeah, come on over." OK, we figured if we ran like hell we could just get there and back, and it would be worth it. But lo, when we got there, they didn't actually HAVE what we came for, so we just had to SIT AND WAIT. And try to remember how to count money when the time came.

For indeed we were in denial of our fucked-upness, at least as far as OTHERS were concerned, for in no way were we prepared reside the majority of this evening around people who were not us. Therefore, no good appearing to invite babysitting. And we had nothing left to share, which was why we were in the state we were in, but that would've hardly seemed plausible. Vague notions of having to turn my pockets inside out led to unwelcome thoughts about other, more personal recesses. Just what kind of a crowd had we fallen in with, here?

Consternation changed to abject horror when the source for this unworthy secondary person turned out to be none other than our friend that we had called first but couldn't get hold of. Imagine trying to explain this to her without insulting the other one, the one we were now dependent on for our survival, who was now almost certainly going to charge us an inflated rate. Imagine trying to deal with this sober. Imagine trying to deal with it NOT. In one fell swoop we had managed to offend and alienate a pair of people it was better not to alienate and offend. Then there was the fun of watching them deal with each other, each producing her own pair of scales, fairly BRISTLING with professional politeness. "It's not that I don't TRUST you...you understand," etc. Oh, the horror, the horror...

About that time I decided I just couldn't stand to see any more of this, so my eyes shut down. Completely, totally, and thoroughly. Granted, I couldn't have described my surroundings with any great deal of accuracy, but now I saw NOTHING. Let me say it again. NOTH. ING.

It wasn't dark in there, inside my so-called skull, but there was no input from outside. I thought at first my eyes were shut, then after much blinking and widening them as far as possible, I held my hand out in front of my face and felt of it with my other hand, trying to pick out any suggestion of a hand shape, waving it to see if the motion might be the least bit discernible as a disruption of the light that I knew had been on in the room and probably still was. Imagine what this looked like to my cohorts. Add to this some stupefied mumbling to the effect of, "Where did it go? Where did it go?" and yep, there was nothin' wrong with me! Perhaps it could've been slightly worse if I had started shouting, "I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" Perhaps.

But since I couldn't see, I couldn't count money, so I left the whole mess for Barbara to sort out. (Thank you, Barbara.) Somehow my usefulness as a talker was also affected. I mean, if I couldn't see what was going on, how could I know what to say? That whole concept of listening and paying attention seemed like something from a long time ago. I was just a protean lump of ribonucleic goo sitting on the edge of swamp somewhere, that through a little fold of space happened to coincide with this moment in this place...ugh.

When it was time to go, things started to come back gradually, and I fluffed a pseudopod out, then another and another and I re-coagulated into Barbara's car, the blue Citation that was as close to noble beasthood as anything that ever came out of Detroit. Was driving a good idea? Probably not, but one thing was clear: we had to get away from there that instant. All told, our chances were probably better of crossing the Nefud Desert with a lame camel and a half a canteen of rotgut. I remember heading down West Market with Barbara howling something like, "Go ahead, take me to jail, or kill me, just please don't shine that fuckin' light in my EYES!" At once profoundly funny and profoundly sad, thinking about animals that get squished on the roads. I mean, their last thoughts have got to be almost identical, don't you think? Then we were laughing like maniacs. Or hyenas, maybe. Louder than sirens. And the evening was still YOUNG, my children.

Watauga turned into the longest road ever built. Every so often another 200 yards or so would just SHOOT out in front of us, like a telescope. We were shrieking in unison, "Did you SEE that? How can it fucking DO that? Look, there it went AGAIN!" Every inch of progress we made down it, it was yanking back away from us, exponentially. And it was doing it ON PURPOSE. It was taunting us. It knew how badly we wanted to get back to sanctity of the Pink Room and it was grinning evilly. It did not have to let us go. That the Mental Health Center was located on this road did not inspire confidence in us, either.

Do I remember getting home? Not really. Did I kiss the ground? Probably. Does the phrase "18-man shit" still crack me up? Absolutely.

Well, James, a copy of "No Higher Art" rests safe in my clutches, awaiting the day of digitization. Which theoretically I have a computer that's able to do, buuuuuuuuuuuut...I'm having a strike. Btw, that Andyboy vid is beautiful, check it out. I think I wasn't around for those other two events. BUT, I remember the fireflies night...I think. Anyway, there was a party at D&B's place on Pine, and the people across the street were FRAT BOYS, from the House of Pike, no less, whatever the hell that signifies. We had darkened the inside of the apartment and they were shining FLASHLIGHTS at us through the windows, trying to see what we were doing. We all crouched down below the level of the windowsills and watched the beams play around the room, not saying anything, just looking at each other and holding our breath. That Adrian Belew song about the dolphins and whales laughing delight in the deep blue night and having no place to hide from the people of earth was playing. I think I had a nervous breakdown of some kind. All that stuff happened that night after I had figured out that I was the Queen of Heaven. This was in June of...'90, yes, '90. Many months before Brook, Barbara, Jael and Drew had gone to Florida for spring break. I wasn't in school anymore, I had a wretched teaching job, so wasn't able to go. By all accounts it was a marvelous journey of great spiritual significance. Brook came home bouncing with joy. Each of the three ladies had managed to figure out, through a process too dangerous to describe here, which aspect of the divine feminine was hers to personify. Barbara was Venus, Brook was Artemis and Jael was Persephone. Shit, I thought, there's nothing good left for ME. That I wasn't there seemed like the most awful twist of fate ever. What's more, the next day they had found the grooviest glow-in-the-dark crucifixes imaginable, which they had acquired in honor of the ascension. I saluted the achievement as felicitously as any luckless misfit like myself could. Brook went back to unpacking merrily, and Barbara handed me a grooviest possible glow-in-the-dark crucifix and said, "We got you one, too." Now all these many months later, it occured to me that the world was always divided into three realms, heaven and hell and in the middle, earth, and that love was everywhere and could not be confined to just one realm. What this meant was that heaven was vacant, so I decided to move in. There was something appropriate about Jael and I being opposite poles that probably made more sense in those days; besides, blue was my favorite shade of hair dye. And regardless of the drama, nobody got harpooned by a frat boy that night, or any night thereafter.

Scattered thoughts:
I was upstairs cleaning this morning and Jason & the Scorchers (Fervor) came wafting up the stairs-I hadn’t heard it in so long it was more like a flood of memories than an album of songs. All of a sudden I was in Ann & Collette’s apt on the J.boro hwy (Lisa you mentioned it a while back-you first met Ann there) Somehow I also ended up there as (basically) a stranger. Brook was living a dorm and I was living back at my parent’s house. Ann needed to move soon and Brook wanted out of the dorms and I knew how to cut and color hair (& needed to get out of my parent’s house). Maybe Marybeth Tober had taken me there originally? It didn’t matter- because I just felt like it was where I was supposed to be. soon after we all moved into the apt on Poplar St.

Another night Paul Eckelmen ended up there and noone knew him either- we all sat around for hours talking about who he could be (with his input) Maybe Rodney Webb dropped him off there? Or Tony Black? All that we knew for sure was that he was an art student so we called him “the art narc” for the entire evening- he didn’t seem to care. This was the same night (I think) that we marched-in single file- out to the graveyard. We each had something with us- the karma monster, Paul McCartney’s head on a string, play doh, etc. I don’t know what we were doing- but it was early early morning and from out of nowhere a small Jonesboro man started following us asking us for a cigarette. I think we ignored him for a long time to see how long he’d follow us. He stuck around for quite a while-I don’t know if anyone ever gave him a cig. He wasn’t very impressed by Paul McCartney’s head on a string.

Jason &The Scorchers have a little mention here in Nashville at the Country Music Hall of Fame(a place worth going just for the bldg., alone) I think that’s pretty cool.

And Lisa-you have my permission to tell what ever stories you want! If your story about losing your sight is the same evening we were driving from Perry&Krystal’s and I couldn’t feel my feet on the gas (or brake) peddles........go for it........my vocabulary isn’t big enough/typing skills efficient enough to tell that story!

Here’s a few tiny pics from Johnson City:

Well, you know, of course, if the clock ever stops ticking, what will happen...

The pictures are fab, Julie!

Brook, maybe the way it went was, you guys did the photo shoot and you came back and said, "If only we could've got a whole bunch of groceries, too, it would've made such great pictures." And I probably said, "If only we could get a whole bunch of groceries. And some toilet paper." But the idea stuck, anyway. And those dingleberries are long gone.

I will have to work on the loss of vision story. The way I remember it, it was not so much the loss of vision that counted, it was where I was when I lost it. I may need Barb's permission to tell this story. And Kurt, if you remember, it all started with a haircut she gave you...

In the meantime, help me reconstruct a weirdo event you were present at. I was living at #5 Melubro with Brook, this was probably was in May or April of...'89, and you and me and Brook and maybe a couple other people got a bunch of kitchen implements (pots and pans and maybe a cheese grater) and a tambourine and went on foot through the Gump addition, clanging and hooting and actually not getting the cops called on us. It rained a tiny little rain on us, and we decided in view of this success that we must've been doing a rain dance and just weren't aware of it. I remember spending a long time looking at a street lamp that was so totally overgrown with kudzu that it looked like a skinny giant. And as I remember, we were all totally straight. No, really! What was that all about?

Brook,

Thanks for putting that song up there. The CD? Well, ok, it's available. I'll make the same offer as Kurt. Send me an e-mail at scottplez@yahoo.com, and I'll get you a CD. I'll do that at least until I run out of the ones I have, which I think is about 25. And I never thought about seeing if the people on the blog would wanna be on the newsletter list, but hey, if you wanna be a Plez-splanations subscriber, just write to me and ask.

I had just finished teaching yesterday when I got that news about Lattie Collins. He was a member of the 12-year club at University High, meaning he started there in first grade and stayed until graduation. What an incredible shame. Lattie was a real thinker early on. I mean, by the time we were in the fourth or fifth grade, he would give the rest of us these impassioned arguments about the U.N. and the Supreme Court and all. When we were seniors, we all had to make a collage to show what we were "all about." Most people had pictures of Aerosmith and so forth. Lattie, I remember, put a picture of U.N. Ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick right in the center of his collage, with the words "Great Lady" right under it. You gotta love a guy like that. He lived for Alabama football, too, which used to make me mad and might be one reason I was always an Auburn man without any good reason to be and why I wound up working so hard to get in down there. Anyway, I remember in 1982, when UT finally broke a 12-game losing streak to Alabama. Lattie showed up at school on Monday with a shirt that said, "Revenge will not take 12 years!" Again, you gotta love a guy like that.

--Plez

I've still got at least one "Black&White" around here sumwhers. That'll set me to diggin'. I also think I have one of Ann's husband's "Psychobible" booklet thingys. When you consider I've moved no less than fifteen times since them days, that's pretty amazing. One day I'll digitize that stuff fer upload. But don't look for it too soon.

Such beauty...I can't stop weeping!

Well, Lisa, they're not pictures of The Last Supper - but almost as old! HA! How old is Mark in this first one? twelve? sixteen? The Stinky pics are great- Drew has on a shirt that once belonged to Brook- she left it behind at the Poplar Street apt. so of course Drew wore it to some sick frat gig. That shirt is somewhere in my house right now. Drew's only comment- "that shirt was hot"

Beautiful story, Kurtis! I don't recall ever hearing that one before. It's given me much delight picturing it. Any reason for that particular graveyard? I'm reminded of Brook (I think) and some others taking a bunch of food to the one on Oakland where there's a big marble statuary of "The Last Supper," with the express purpose of taking pictures of all the real food laid out in front of the, whaddya call 'em, disciples and a couple of freaks interspersed amongst them as well. I think this happened around '90, almost in the wintertime. Brook, got any fill-in for all these blanks? I KNOW I've seen the pictures. Stick some on the blog if they're handy.

Kurt,

Good to hear that story again about the graveyard.

Here's one about Uncle Green, now that Bobby Swanay has brought up that band. I don't really remember how it got started, but we Pleztones played with those guys on a number of occasions when they came to Johnson City. I don't remember how many, but definitely more than once. Anyway, this story is from October of '88. Uncle Green had been to Johnson City to play either during the spring or summer of '88. They had a good crowd, as I recall, at the Pub Outback. Then, the Highlander opened up, and Burt went through one of his periods when he wanted to make the Pub into a "high class dEEsco." After a few weeks of that, I think it wasn't working out, as it never did when Burt decided he would try to run a college dance club right across the street from the biggest college dance club in town.

Anyway, I was doing my student teaching at the time and had told the guys in the 'Tones that I wouldn't be able to play any gigs for a few months because I'd be too busy. But I went in there one afternoon after dealing with 8th graders all day long to get a slice and a beer, and Burt told me that Uncle Green had called and wanted to play a gig there. He told me they asked if the Pleztones could play with them. I asked him if they knew that there wasn't a P.A. back there anymore. Burt said he told them, and they were willing to bring their own gear. So ok. One gig with those guys. I could handle one show on a Friday night. No problem. But everyone was going to the Highlander at that time, so the prospects of getting people to come back to the Pub Outback for one gig were not good. I don't remember who was booked at the Highlander that night. It could've been somebody good like Southern Culture or somebody. I don't remember. But I seem to recall we and Uncle Green were up against some pretty stiff competition.

Anyway, the show date arrives, and we come, and there are like 12 people sitting in there when we start. Uncle Green doesn't mind, but their sound guys seem to be a little peeved. I remember saying to Pete, the drummer, that everyone always showed up late so not to worry. We play our Pleztones set, and, no kidding, EVERYONE except Drew, Phil Bowman, and I exits the place. There may have been one other person there, but I can't imagine there were two. Uncle Green played a special show for us. I even had to leave fairly early on in their show because I had to get up for my awful weekend job the next morning.

Burt had to pay those guys their 300 dollar guarantee. (I think that's what it was.) They had to bring all of their sound gear up. And they drove back home that night, too. And they did all of that so that they could practice in front of us. They weren't mad, but Drew told me afterwards that their sound guy was really angry about it. Uncle Green came back to town several times after that, so they didn't hold any grudges against the town.

I don't recall there being any shows at the Pub Outback until March 9th of the next year (1989), when we talked Burt into doing a show with this bill: Mike Hilliard, the Pleztones, Plane Jane, Stinky Finger, and Beat Yo' Mutha With a Putrid Herring. I am, right at the moment, looking at a flyer from that March 9th, 1989 show as a matter of fact.

Can anyone remember how many times Burt decided not to have music in favor of opening a "high class dEEsco" and then changed his mind?

That's all on that.

--Plez

Thanks Kurt, that is the exact story I was thinking about.

Not to change the subject back to stories about the Johnson City Scene, but are there any first hand reports involving Heather, fried chicken, biscuits, graveyards, and highly trained Jonesborough law enforcement officers? I have heard the story many times, but was not there myself, and believe our gentle readers might be interested in hearing direct from someone that was there.

But ya know, Tony does have a purty mouth...... and what I learned from watching Jurrassic Park, Barney should be eating those children on his tv show...........

While I’m thinking about good bands and stuff, I wonder if anyone has heard what the guys from Uncle Green are up to. An Uncle Green reunion show would be pretty cool. I’d travel a fair distance to see them play again. Now, they were a great rock band. I saw them for the first time at the Highlander, and they blew the place away. They had an incredible show at the Casbah/Pub Outback too. I have their CDs but lost my copy of 15 Dryden, which was only on tape (I’d love to have that back).

Does anyone know if they’re doing anything musically, together or individually? Maybe someone can help me out here, but I seem to recall they were childhood buddies, and all got their instruments around the same time. They put out four recordings on independent labels before landing a deal with Atlantic and making Book of Bad Thoughts. They weren’t happy with their treatment (?) and quit the company and dropped the name Uncle Green. They made another cd together in 1995, Vulture, this time from Sony under the name 3 lb. Thrill. Vulture was a great recording; I’d love to hear a follow up to it, but I have never heard of anything else from them. There is a pretty good write up about them, along with a record bibliography at http://www.trouserpress.com/entry_90s.php?a=uncle_green.

Tech note to Julie: try holding down the key with the apple on it and clicking on the pictures at the same time; that's usually the mac equivilent of right-clicking in windows.

At one of the shows, Brook thought she spied Colette. I never found out if she really did or not. I never knew Colette well, but the mention of her name reminded me of being at a party once at her apartment- also out on the Old Jonesboro Hiway, I think. I remember she had a drafting table, which I thought was just the height of luxury. Imagine having parents-or anyone- who believed enough in your career as an art student to buy you your very own drafting table. Imagine being able to buy one for yourself. I can remember it being summer, or late spring, remember wearing a purple shirt which essentially had no back in it, just a bunch of lattice-like strings back there (God help me, it was the '80's- the MID-80's in fact.) Ann Triplett was making small signs that had groovy hippie messages on them in fluorescent crayon. I did not know Ann, but I thought I could join in on that fun. For a while we drew peacefully, sitting on the floor with some other people, Martin maybe, for one. Then Ann took violent exception to the slogan on my sign, which I had thought innocuous and good-vibey enough for anybody (can't remember now what it was.) She screwed up her face and shouted at me, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "I dunno," I replied, with all the tone of a stepped-on pup and the profundity as well. Thus I met Ann. Right around then, another creature strolled in, looking for all the world like Wild One-vintage Marlon Brando. A bit hard to remember, but Donnie used to could look like a right surly motherfucker when he was of a mind to. He sneered at me, then marched up in my face. It seemed most plausible that he and Ann shared a divine psychic link and he had come to grind my bones into powder. Still snarling, he reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket, and handed me...a can of play-dough, then walked away, not a word spoken between us. The play-dough was fresh, too, and full of that wonderful, unwholesome play-dough smell. I squished and squished it to my heart's content. Now that, I thought, watching him go away, is exactly what a man should be. And thus it was I met Herr Poole.

Like many others, by the late eighties/early nineties I was quite confident of the continued growth and high rate of success of Brian and the Nightmares. I think most of us believe the band would have continued to prosper exponentially into the nineties. By all measurements, the Nightmares hit the big-time in many ways: I imagine many, many a struggling band out there would kill for the popularity and momentum the Nightmares had. Many of us Nightmares fans personalized the success of the band. I know I felt that I was seeing a great rock band, and a great rock band should be shared with the world. Plus, I think a lot of listeners from around these parts felt some sense of pride or reassurance that a rock band of that caliber could rise from often-backwards East Tennessee.

Many factors worked together to make the Nightmares a great band. Primarily, the musicians' varying tastes and styles came together perfectly. I think Brian Relleva and Kurt Hagardorn are fantastic songwriters and musicians, but the two of them together are rock and roll gold. John Smith is solid on the bass and Mark Ryalls is one hell, and I mean hell, of a drummer. The Nightmares rocked out their live shows, and this recent weekend was no exception. The sheer versatility of the music is amazing. The Nightmares can go from country to punk to rock in a seamless way. One of the great things about a live Brian and the Nightmares show is the obvious spirit the band brings to the music.

I remember a Nightmares show at the Down Home in 1988 or so, the band was performing “Batman.” Brian had the Batman mask on, and got so into the harmonica in the song he paid no attention to his surrounding environment and plum fell off the stage, out of sight of the audience. He immediately jumped right back up and kept going. It’s cool to see musicians get so involved with their stuff that they literally can end up falling down jamming out. I saw that intensity again at these live shows (though the Casbah stage is at a safe height). What a treat it was to again see Brian goin’ to town on the harmonica, Kurt leaping around the stage amid guitar riffs, John strumming the bass gee-tar (while smokin’ a big ol’ stogie) and Mark banging the crap out of the drums; and everyone looking like their having the time of their lives doing it.

Pleztones. Honestly, Scott Pleasant has to be one of the finest songwriters out there, in addition to moonlighting as God. Drew and James were dead on, and it was great fun seeing the guest musicians join in.

I think the idea of an annual Pleztones/Nightmares Christmas-time show is great. Kurt’s right, a lot of folks are in for the holidays. Plez; thanks a bunch for the CD. Brian Rellava, thanks greatly for the Shapeshifters CD. Now, please release a Brian and the Nightmares CD and I promise I’ll buy 10 or 20 copies; and now that the songs are semi-familiar for the band to play again, I greatly hope to see another show in the future…

Dang I'm touched, Kurt thinks I am a hottie and puts me in such wonderful company! I'll be walking on air all year!!! Seriously, great show Kurt, makes me look forward to next Christmas!

How much maintanence does a Canadian require Barbara? Are they easy to keep? What about house breaking?? Is any special permit required to import one, and are they ok inside the city limits?

Scott: As far as I can see it is a great idea; but is there any way to insure that Plain Jane will perform a set of music by The Russ Onks Experience???

Rick: What the Hell? Own all the Canadians you want. Where's the problem? Does anyone disagree with me?

That's ok Lisa. I gave up the title many years back. Too much work. What with the people, wars and famine. Ugghh.

SCOTT PLEASANT, YOU ARE GOD!!!! (Sorry, John Smith.) BUT I WOULD PAY MY LIFE SAVINGS TO SEE THIS SHOW!!! (So what if that amounts to about negative $15?)

I have an idea. I just caught up with the Blog, and I noticed a couple of people have asked about getting the old Johnson City bands back together for a "Rockin' on the River" kind of thing. Of course, there were also people at the shows over the weekend asking when they might come out and hear the Pleztones again, and I'm sure the Nightmares got even more of those sorts of questions than we did.

I say, let's get ALL of the old bands back together for a weekend festival with a couple of twists to it. First off, any J.C. band from the era is invited. If your band made even one dollar professionally in J.C. between 1985 and 1990, you're in. Second, you are not allowed to play your own band's music. That is, you'd have, say, Stinky Finger performing as the F-ing Prudes and that sort of thing. The final rule is that no single performer could play his or her usual instrument, so you'd have Mark Ryalls on harmonica as the Nightmares perform as the Southside Sheiks.

Since it's my idea, the Pleztones get the first pick. We're gonna be Plane Jane Has a Date. I will play the drums and do modernist painting. Drew on digital delay guitar. Stig on bass, vocals, and hair.

I volunteer to be musical director of this festival. All old J.C. bands, please register your choices with me. Once a band is chosen, no other band can do that one.

Smiting might be going a bit far though, Have you considered having a Hindu Rib Roast on the river and inviting the Mares, Fingers. etc. to play? Is this the sort of idea that would get others smitten?

HAPPY NEW YEAR all you bloggers! I am glad that the Nightmares shows went well and sorry I missed them. I am also glad that my brother Mike is considered Rock n' Roll royalty in JC by some of you guys. I will pass that along. My bro is great isn't he! I would love to do a huge show with all the old bands and do a Rockin' on the River kinda thing this year! Lets do it !!!! Also, can't wait to catch the fri. show on the cable channel 13. If anyone knows when they are going to show it, please email me. Also, I invite one and all to the Casbah on Jan.16 to support Electric Middle Earth. We are going to taped for the Homemade Jam show, We would love to see ya there! This will be my first gig back from my surgery. Once again, any of the old eighties bands that want to do a big show in 2003, lets get organized. How 'bout the Nightmares headlining???? We would love it. Maybe a Floyd Eats Mayberry reunion. Giants Spider Invasion,Pleztones,what happened to Plane Jane?