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"We wish you a Merry Christmas and get the hell offa da roooooof"
The Holidays are once again encroaching on my sanity (such as it
is). The same 36 songs are being played incessantly on radios,
televisions, cell phone dial tones, and crappy speakers placed
outside of Dollar stores all over town. Stubble-faced Santas
sporting the traditional holiday aroma of cheap brandy and off-brand
cigarettes ogle young mothers and hector panic-stricken last minute
shoppers for "a coupla bucks, pal...for da kids." Walk down any
small-town street at supper time and hear the endearing sounds of
whiney 10-year-olds and sullen teens bickering about
presents they ain't gonna get cause Dad got laid off and Mom is
upstairs...no, not wrapping...PACKING...to run off with the deacon
from their church. At least HE's got the money from the poor box!
And so, as the turkey chars in the oven, and good ol' Pop loads his
service revolver, we here in Jukedom sing:
"..and a Happy New Year"
Doncha just Love the Holidays? In respect to political correctness,
I wish to include any holiday whatsoever that anyone, anywhere
wishes to celebrate at any time, on any planet. Or alternate
universe. That oughta cover it. I, myself, do not so much celebrate
as cower in fear. I have never been an exemplar of either Christian,
Hebraic, or even Anamist religious teaching. I am from the tribe
over the mountain that the Creator wipes out so that His People can
have the land. We usually do just about every wrong thing that can
be done, then get smote, swamped, drowned, plagued and what have
you. Nasty, but somebody's gotta be the fall guy. Take this last
tour...
First, let me say thanks aplenty to all the fans who came to the
gigs. The ones in Swansea get extra credit for attending the only
"outdoor" gig in England. It was so coooold in that dump that the
notes from my harmonica froze and fell on my toe, breaking it.
Fortunately, my toes were frozen, too, so I didn't feel a thing. Or
was that the whiskey? You'll be pleased to hear that they tore the
joint down right after we left. No, Joey Stann didn't Reiki it into
oblivion.
Then there was the "New" Renfew Ferry in Glasgow. Very nice, the
changes. And an oh, so much nicer side of the river. But the stage
faces a wall! Who thinks a these things? Joe DelPrinzo, the Duke of
Secaucus, said it sounded great. But how could he tell? He was
mixing from ten feet in front of the band! The hearing aid is in the
mail, Joe. Yeah, I know ya heard that one before. Poor Joe Belia had
to play from inside a broom closet. With the brooms and mops still
in it! He did make a couple of bucks cleaning up the place
afterwards, though.
Muddy's basses got stolen, but that's not funny. Please keep yer
eyes out, ye Sheffield folk. They may show up in a pawn shop or used
guitar store yet. He took it like a trooper, did our Muddy, and only
cried for two days, not three as has been reported.
Then there was the day the equipment truck driver locked himself in
his own truck. Had to call Sean on his cell phone to come let him
out, which Sean only did after he made him recite the Pledge of
Allegiance in Swahili. No mean feat for a cockney tosser.
We had a small incident in Milton Keans, where we played (I kid you
not) in "The Stables." Tally-ho! Have you any idea how hard it is to
do the Watusi while standing in a pile of horse shit? Well, no, of
course you don't. What a silly question. But if you ever feel the
need to know the answer, just come and see me. Thank God I wore the
high-top Converse sneakers.
Our new lad Nealneilkneel PawleyPauleyPoorly is from Britain, so at
least we had a translator. Plays a mean 'bone, too. No, not that
kind of bone. Gutterbrains.
Ed Manion managed to stay celibate the entire time, though not
without a struggle. Girls..
LEAVE HIM ALONE!
Eddie asked me to say that.
Ricky shopped in every place we stayed. I mean, every damn town. I'd
see him in the morning and ask what he did, and he's say "Dude! I
found this great store that sells punk clothes for 4-year-olds (he
and Carol have a beauty of one) and now she can dress up just like
Keith Richards!" That poor child.
Chris Andersen was just as bad. He looked for crap for his kids the
whole time, too. I swear, it was like being on tour with a couple of
suburban soccer moms!
We had a great gig in London, then got thrown out for the all night
Gay Bash. Well, everyone but Bobby "Funbuns" Lynch. He came crawling
back to the hotel 'round oh, dawn. Just in time to catch the tour
bus. Party!
We lost Sean and Hood in Amsterdam. Again. Last I heard they were
heading out to a coffee shop. Man! Them cats LOOOOVE their coffee!
All in all, it was a hellofa trip. But we lived thru it and managed
to make some decent music in the bargain.
Oh, and thanks to the Druids for the incantations. I feel much
better now. Although I do still look like a frog.
Now we move onto future endeavors. New Year's. Red Bank....yaddayaddayadda.
There will be an opening act that we met in England. He's a teenage
acoustic guitar player that knocked us all out. His name is Gareth
Pearson. He doesn't sing, he has no band, and he is mesmerizing. I
love his music, and you will, too...or else.
We are also playing at the Birchmere in Va. And BB Kings, but don't
ask me when. How the hell would I know? I just work here.
In closing, the Jukes and me/I would like to say thanks once again
for a terrific year. A new CD of big band stuff is coming next year,
if the locusts don't get here first. Have a Happy, and don't come
crying to me if all ya get is socks.
Love,
Southside
Note: Johnny, or "Uncle Seaside" as he is affectionately known in
our household, has asked me to explain to you why he did not mention
the fact that he has just released a brand new, 11-track,
shrink-wrapped-for-your-Christmassy pleasure CD, entitled "Into the
Harbour." He says he's too stupid to remember such trivialities
amidst wrapping up everything he owns and giving it all away to Toys
For Tots. We at the Shews residence seem to think there's simply too
much moonshine in his egg nog. Poor dude. Pray for him. - mp
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