Omnibus Old Days Blog

(In order to draw out the Anonymous Commenter From My Past, I'm doing as instructed and blogging about the "old days." Welcome to "Jonny: The College Yearz.")

My first year of college is a haze of depressive moods, suicidal urges, loneliness, and occasional LSD hallucinations. I genuinely remember none of it, apart from occasional brief flashes of me sitting alone in my room listening to Morrissey and crying about how nobody understood me. I imagine this makes me like every single college student ever but man, did it seem profound at the time. I dated a girl named Karla with bleached blonde hair cut into a severe crew cut, and we made out to Nitzer Ebb every night. It seemed properly existential. Our first date involved me throwing up on her.

Once I met Marcy, my situation began to improve. We were in Russian class together (note: I got an "F"), and showed up to class wearing the same Bauhaus t-shirt/cardigan sweater combination (that pretty much sets this in an era, doesn't it?) and became fast friends. Later, after a complicated situation involving her dating my friend (CENSORED) and me making out with her behind his back (sorry, (CENSORED)!), we started dating. At the time, I still half-lived with my parents, and after a rather difficult and annoying summer spent back at the folks' house (imagine, if you will: tripping on acid while watching "Easy Rider" with your dad), I decided it was time to friggin' move already, so Marcy, my best friend Trevor, and I got a place together in Dinkytown, the area of Minneapolis right around the University of Minnesota, also known, in the late 80s and early 90s, as the Hub Of Everything Cool.

Oh, sure, Uptown thought it was the hub of everything cool, but Uptown always fucking thinks its so great. Sure, it had Rocky Horror Picture Show every Friday night which attracted every half-punk and neo-goth ever to its welcoming embrace, but Dinkytown in the late-80s was Where It Was At.

Dinkytown in the late 80s was arranged around three main centers of gravity. Note, please: this is if you were remotely cool. If your memories of Dinkytown in this era involve you getting totally WASTED at Sally's and heading back to your boyfriend's frat house for a wop party where you passed out and were gang-banged by the entire Delta Kappa Nu, you probably weren't cool. Just saying.

Ralph and Jerry's. This 24-hour groceria, a dirty, dismal little superette plunked right down on 4th Street, was, for some reason, the very center and hub of my life for five years. Marcy was general manager there, my roommate Trevor worked there, and eventually every single employee there -- each one cool as shit -- became our circle of friends. Anitra, the uber-hip tattooed waitress at the Triple Rock? Worked there. Rosemary Pepper, online goddess and member of the San Franscisco who's who? Yup, worked there. James Lileks, Minneapolis humorist/bon vivant? Worked there, but way before my time, but I suspect he's responsible for scrawling the lyrics of "Cowgirl In The Sand" on the walls downstairs. Everybody worked there. It was an astonishing confluence of hipsters and talented folks.

Of course, I managed to ruin it. I worked there myself at the tail end of its existence, usually on the overnight shift. One night, a con artist came in and pulled that one scam where he asks for change for money you've already given him and manages to confuse you into giving him change for money you haven't given him -- you know the grift, if you've worked in retail, somebody has tried it on you but you, dear reader, were smart enough to avoid it. I was so fascinated and hypnotized by his patter, and so totally blown away that I was basically being robbed before my eyes, that I stupidly and rather dazedly played into the whole scam. I think I lost the store 100 bucks all told, and was fired the next day, quite deservedly. Soon after, the store was sold. The end of an era. I blame myself and that hundred bucks.

Positively 4th Street / Northern Lights. If you were even cooler than the folks who worked at Ralph and Jerry's (i.e. cooler than me), you worked at "The Pos" (named after the Bob Dylan song named after the street it lived on) or later, once it changed management, Northern Lights, right next door. During the Positively 4th Street era, I spent all my rent money every month on records there, and bought my first bong there as well, a bright green plastic number I had for the next 10 years. Notable employees include: Linda Pitmon, drummer for Zuzu's Petals and now Steve Wynn, Ed Ackerson, Nick Tangborn of Jackpine Records. I kept vying for a job there -- I think they all secretly thought that because I listened to Yes, my musical taste was suspect.

One night, I was working at Ralph and Jerry's. A guy came in, a shabbily-dressed fella who smelled vaguely of urine. He bought a bottle of Listerine. "Jesus, it's about time you freshened your breath," I thought, and sold it to him. He left. He came back in five minutes later smelling even FURTHER of urine, and bought another. I sold it to him, wondering what the fuck was up. Ten minutes later he came in REEKING of THE OPRESSIVE STENCH OF STALE, ACRID PISS, and wanted to buy another. I finally cottoned to the fact that he was, in fact, drinking the Listerine. I refused to sell it to him. He paid me back by staggering next door to Northern Lights, pissing himself until completely sodden, and passing out in the aisle.

Cafe Giocco / Espresso Royale Cafe. Espresso Royale, or just "The Cafe" -- the definitive article, you might say -- was the hangout of choice for underage hipsters and pre-bar drinkers alike. Much like Ralph and Jerry's, just about everybody I know has worked at Espresso Royale at one point in their life (including me). The Cafe mainstay was Jay Hurley, my bandmate in Shatterproof and Landing Gear, who worked there for umpty-ump years before moving on to pastures greener. I met just about everybody in my life through the cafe, in one way or another, including at least one wife, several bandmates, best friends, and on one notable occasion, Jakob Dylan of the Wallflowers, whom I gave a brief tour of Dinkytown, pointing out places his dad used to live.

Note to all concerned: THE ESPRESSO MACHINE AND THE DISHWASHER OCCASIONALLY BECOME INFESTED WITH COCKROACHES. We'd see those little suckers and kill 'em with the milk pitchers. Clean!! Also: I slept in the basement on more than one occasion, on the couch where it was rumored more than several lice-infested trysts happened.

Notable people from my life at the time:

Johnny and Christie. Johnny was the drummer for my first band, The Now. Folks: we sucked. I'm not even saying that to be humble, we just, completely objectively, sucked balls. Johnny was a sweet, sweet guy but he wasn't much of a drummer at the time, which was fine -- I wasn't much of a songwriter or guitar player, and Trevor wasn't much of a bass player, so we were evenly matched. His girlfriend was Christie, a stunningly gorgeous girl who was the first exhibitionist I ever met -- she had the intriguing habit of dishabilling in front of us, which wasn't something I particularly minded, mind. She was also the first stripper in my life -- she got a job at Deja Vu right when it opened; then, if I'm not mistaken, married one of the patrons, and disappeared completely. I kind of miss them both. After Christie, Johnny dated Becky, the moddest mod chick that ever modded. Ever. I could never tell if she liked me or was secretly laughing at me behind my back -- probably a combination of the the two, and probably deservedly. I was such a phony-mod it wasn't even funny, with my hairsprayed pudding bowl, stupid suits, and lack-of-two-tone-love.

Interesting tale: Johnny eventually moved into a house in Northeast. The upstairs neighbors were slightly scary punk rock girls -- at one point, some of the punk kids that were over there were busted for grave robbing. GRAVE ROBBING. Then, soon after, one of their other friends was busted for killing his aunt by drowning her in a toilet. We stole his records and his Nintendo. Whee!

Mischka. Mischka -- who I'm not sure had a last name -- was actually a faerie. I'm convinced. Spelled that way, too. I knew nothing about her at all, only that she kind of drifted into our life, this odd, beautiful girl who could easily have been a model, dressed in the strangest mish-mash of hippy, goth and alien, and then drifted out. I don't even know her real name, where she was from, what she did -- but she was over a lot, and we all liked her. She started the brief trend of braiding crystals into one's hair, which everybody adopted in Dinkytown for a while. She seemed like such an oddly ethereal presence that I still, to this day, can't quite explain her. She may have been a government experiment gone awry, or a presence from another dimension.

The Jello Arc. Jello was an odd hippie guy I knew who was Johnny's roommate for a while, then moved to Wisconsin. The odd thing was that Jello was in my life for such a short time, but his relatives weave in and out of my life constantly. Marcy and I inhereted Jello's cat Zoe, who just died like last week (RIP Zoe -- what a sweetheart). One of Jello's sisters dated my friend Ben, who introduced me to Chris, who is the closest thing I have to a brother (besides my actual brother of course, but we didn't grow up together!). Jello's brother Isaac was friends with Chris and Allison and about twenty other people I knew. I just bumped into his OTHER sister the other month at a restaurant where she worked. For some reason, these folks just weave in and out of my life constantly -- weird, for someone I only met briefly and played D&D with a couple times.

Deva. Deva was an employee at Ralph and Jerry's. Deva was also one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. She had gorgeous, shoulder-length, curly Pre-Raphaelite hair; plump, delightfully puckered lips; a smile that could have turned a tyranical despot into a pussycat; and eyes that bore straight into your soul. Deva was an artist. Deva was a bohemian of the Old School. Deva liked music. Deva photographed so well that the inventor of the photograph was heard to sigh in his grave. Deva was smart. Deva was charming. Deva never wore a bra the entire time I knew her, and didn't seem to notice or care. You may think, from reading this, that I nursed a wicked, wicked crush on Deva. You would be dead right. Did I ever do anything about it? I did not. Probably a good thing, since I was engaged at the time -- and an even better thing when you consider she wouldn't have been caught dead with me anyway!

David Beckey. I just got done playing with David Beckey in the Autumn Leaves. Oddly, I met David, like, twenty years ago. The chances that we wouldn't have played together are nearly nil -- we liked the same exact bands, had the same exact circle of friends, dressed the same, did the same stuff. Yet, for some reason, that crucial connection was never made. Explanation? At one point, I expressed a desire to play the rock with him while at a party. One of the people at the party said "Oh, man -- he's NUTS! His roommate came home and found him playing guitar COMPLETELY NAKED!!" And I kind of went -- oh. Uh. I see. And then forgot about this desire to play with him.

TURNS OUT THIS WAS COMPLETELY FALSE. So to whoever told me that story? Total, bald-faced lie! I coulda been in the 'Leaves years ago.

Okay, so if that isn't enough of an "Old Days" blog to draw out the Anonymous Poster, I don't know what is. Jesus. I have to get back to work now. Hopefully people who weren't there will find something to amuse them.

The Genius of Brad Neely

I first became aware of the MOST GENIUS ARTIST EVER Brad Neely when I stumbled upon the following, which made me laugh so hard I literally threw up. I then proceeded to become completely obsessed with it, watching it over and over and over again and quoting it to my befuddled friends, at least some of whom thought I was fucking nuts. And I probably was. Ladies and Gentlemen, if you've not seen it, I bring you -- Washington.



Meanwhile, completely unbeknownst to me, Trix had become equally obsessed with Wizard People, Dear Readers, which was some nutcase's homespun commentary over "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" that had been circulating the web. I'm talking about the whole movie, narrated in the weirdest voice you've ever heard, turning the film into a dark, disturbing, hysterical thing it was never supposed to be.



(the rest of it is on YouTube -- probably not for long, watch it while you can.)

At one point, one of us -- not sure if it was me or Trix, but it was definitely one of us -- figured out that both items were by the same guy, one Brad Neely, an artist who'd been doing fucking freaky-ass drawings and paintings for years and who had just ventured into the world of multimedia. Since then, Brad signed to SuperDeluxe, an awesome web-based Flash content site, and did a ton of other laugh-puke-incuding videos, including the genius Professor Brothers series.



"And we danced -- like the people in the hyper-tight lighting of fried chicken commercials."

His other series for SuperDeluxe, I Am Babycakes, is almost as funny. Not quite but almost. And ten times more disturbing.



GOOD NEWS: even though SuperDeluxe is apparently closing its doors for good, both Professor Brothers and Babycakes have been picked up by Adult Swim, so more fucking awesome hilarious Brad Neely is on its way. You must watch.

"I heard that motherfucker's got -- like -- 30 goddamn dicks."

Edit: Neely's ALSO the guy behind Creased Comics. That's his official site. Absolutely awesome.

Beekeeping For Fun And Profit

So, like, there's this period of time in my life where I was one of those annoying trust-fund-hippies you hated in college, okay? I'm not proud to admit it, but I spent about a year-and-a-half of my life with really long hair (well, longer than now) listening to -- CHRIST, people, I'm baring my soul here -- Phish (I know -- don't start, please), and smoking so much pot I'm surprised I didn't actually shift into an alternate dimension. I wore tie-dye t-shirts and Birkenstocks. And worse yet, I felt like this was as good as it got. Listening to fucking Phish and Blues Traveler and hanging out with people whose record collections included a Bob Marley best-of, Van Morrison's "Moondance" and three badly-chosen live Dead tapes.

So the thing that pulled me out of that despicable funk was a record, of course -- Up by Minneapolis psych-popsters the 27 Various. Their lead singer, Ed Ackerson, had discovered and imbibed My Bloody Valentine's Loveless (which of course I was totally unaware of in my pot-induced haze -- the one time somebody played it for me, I thought there was something wrong with their record player) and filtered it through a uniquely midwestern pop sensibility, and something about that record just clicked. My eyes were opened. I got it. Noise was beautiful. Burying your vocals under a layer of guitar fuzz was magnificent. Repetition was fantastic. It all made sense. I cut my fucking hair, turned the amps up to 11, and started my first pop group, Deep Shag, within a few months.

Look: just about everything I know about pop songwriting and music production I learned from watching Ed (and Jay Hurley -- always Jay Hurley, but that's another blog entry). I learned how to write a song with Verses! and Choruses! and Hooks! from Ed. I learned that sometimes just repeating the same thing several times is preferable to coming up with endless new things to confuse people. I learned that simplicity was righteous, that weird noises frequently fit perfectly just where you heard them in your head, and that if you want to make a song sound good on record you have to really fucking THINK about how you arrange the god-damn thing.

And all through my life, Ed's records spurred me on, made me think, pushed my own songwriting into ever-different directions. The first Polara record came just as I was forming Lunar 9 and I stole mercilessly from it. The second one came just as Shatterproof was making big and made me think about getting Lunar 9 together yet again, and making a serious go of it this time, dammit. Formless/Functional came out just as I had discovered Drum-n-bass music and made me think it was at all possible to take dance music and warp it into the fabric of rock and roll.

I kinda lost touch with Polara for a while, right around Jetpack Blues -- hell, lost touch with everything! -- and there was a part of me that sure missed the righteous invention of the earlier stuff. But man, their new record, "Beekeeping" is maybe the best thing Ed's ever done, or at least its up there with "Up" and that first Polara record in terms of sheer songwriting brilliance and production adeptness. Case in point: head to iTunes and download "Game Over," which I think is Ed's best single, possibly ever. There's something so perfect about the verse melody and the way the chorus just hangs on it -- and the weird guitar noises that slip in and out between both speakers during the whole thing, its a complete package, man, and it rocks.

Then have a listen to "Another Phase," which has a hugely melancholy vibe but slips into such a celebratory chorus you won't fucking believe it, or "Talk Me Down" which wields a wicked Dandy Warhols organ as well as a magnificent melody, or "Both Ends Burning" which pulls out the phony horn stops the same way some of my shit does, and just as unapologetically. And make sure you make it to "Out Of Your Hands," which is so damned heavy it almost shouldn't exist, and the gorgeous, optimistic finale "Live And Learn" which is almost gospel in its exhultation.

Dude, if there was any point you dropped off the Polara train, you need to JUMP THE FUCK ON right now, again, because this is seriously some of the best music the man's ever made. After a great solo record a few months back, for him to come out with something this solid and righteous in so many ways -- well, shit, there's more to come, for sure, so LISTEN, okay?

Dear Diablo,

Hello! How are you doing up there in Vancouver? I address you in this public forum because there is something I need from you, and it is something only a person in your unique position can give me. My need for this thing is great -- but alas, given my current position, I am unable to obtain it. Perhaps, given that I've now made it a matter of public record, you can find it in your extremely large and ever-bursting-with-generosity heart to grant me this one wish, this one pleading.

What is this thing for which I beg?

Breakup Checklist

So. You wanna break up with your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife, eh?

Not so fast. Before you act, print out this handy-dandy breakup checklist and take it with you. If you care one jot about the sanity and mental health of the person you're breaking up with, if you have even the tiniest bit of sympathy for them, make sure you check off all the items as you break up with 'em. That way, a year down the line, they might actually speak to you, or -- gasp!! -- become your friend!! I know, I know, crazy talk. But having been privvy to a few nasty breakups in the last year (2007: The Year Of Many Breakups) I have seen the effects of not following my checklist firsthand.

(Note for looky-loos: I'm happy to say the Diablo/Jonny bustup fulfils virtually every single one of these criteria -- note, please, that we are still very great friends on the other side, to prove my point -- and the couple places where it lacked, we've both apologized, made amends and smoothed our friendship over. Nobody has the perfect breakup, and there's always hurt feelings at points along the process, that's inevitable. However, if you have honor and respect and real friendship behind your relationship, it won't matter ultimately. We sure did, and do, and continue to. Shout out, Deebs, you my homegirl. Representin', up in the 'Couv!)

So. Here we go.

_____1. Be honest, but don't point out every single one of your S.O.'s flaws. You hear "be honest" in breakups a lot. It's so very, very, very true. "Honey, I'm leaving you for another woman" is infinitely preferable in the long run than making up a cock-and-bull story about, say, moving to another city for job opportunities and springing the "other woman" on 'em later on. It's the "rip the band-aid off quickly" theory. However: this comes with a major caveat, and its almost as important as being honest. If you feel the need to list every single one of your partners' flaws to justify the reasons for your breakup? Don't. All you're doing is making you feel better. That isn't being honest. What you're actually doing while you're pumping up your own ego is damaging the self-esteem of your partner who, if you're the break-ee, is right now as emotionally vulnerable as he/she will ever be. Skip it. Write 'em in a letter to yourself and bury it or something.

_____2. It's not them, it's you. Related to number one -- come up with some reasons that you are to blame for the breakup. Don't make it seem like its all the other person's fault. Because it isn't (unless, of course, you're in an abusive relationship, then it probably is, and fuck them anyway -- just get out). There are two people in any relationship, and unless you're Jesus Christ Himself, you have flaws, and your flaws are probably part of the reason for the split. Chances are, the main reason, if you're honest with yourself, is that you've changed and become someone else and you're just not happy being where you are now with your current partner. Fair 'nuff -- but admit that rather than pushing the blame off on your partner. That's crap.

_____3. Take care of your responsibilities. Think your breakup is a way to become more financially secure by pushing off your shared debts and responsibilities onto your partner? Think again. If you want to be a decent human being -- and you all do, right? -- you need to acknowledge your role in the shared financial status of your coupleness and take care of your stuff as quickly as possible so your partner doesn't suffer. Did you know that 50% of all breakups end in one of the partners declaring bankruptcy? I just made up that figure, but the actual figure is somewhere close to that, and that's so unfair and retarded it beggars belief. Only a complete ass thinks bailing from a relationship = financial clean slate. Take care of your shit, Sherlock.

_____4. Initiating the breakup? Participate in the process. You want out of the relationship? Uh huh, then don't make your partner take care of all the legal whatsits. There's nothing worse than having to take care of a divorce you probably didn't want or didn't expect in the first place. Furthermore: don't just sit out the process and then bitch at the end that it didn't work out to your advantage. You have to actually get involved. Show up to your court dates. Argue with your partner's lawyer. Get in there, get your hands dirty, do something about it. If you don't, you have no excuse whatsoever if things don't end up how you want. See also: Move Your OWN Shit Out Of The House, Fester. Your ex doesn't want to sift thru your skid-marked underwear you left behind.

_____5. Be fucking careful. Your significant other is sensitive right now. If you're leaving them for someone else, make damn sure you don't, say, accidentally send them something for your new girlfriend/boyfriend, or make them accidentally privvy to part of your life that they don't want to know about. Let them guide you into how comfortable they are in hearing about your new life.

_____6. Make sure if you say "let's be friends" that you actually MEAN it. Everybody says this at some point in the breakup. Almost nobody means it. Becoming friends with your ex is something which takes a great deal of effort on both sides, and you're going to have to go through a lot of pain and agony to get there. If you think its worth it, great -- again, I'll point out that Diablo and I did a great job of this because we both felt that even though the relationship as such was over, we both genuinely cared about the other person a great deal, and it was worth the effort to get there. My point is this: if you don't mean it, don't say it. And guess what? if you fail at #1-5? You probably ain't getting #6 anyway, pal.

Anything else you folks would like to add?

This Is The Funniest Thing Anybody's Ever Made.

I'll just throw it up with no comment. Read the description on the page if you want more, or google it. Pure art should STAND ALONE.

Silver Phial: MOUNTAIN BOY!

Hey, folks -- our first recording, "Mountain Boy," is available at the Silver Phial MySpace page!!!

As mentioned in my bragblog a week-ish ago, we cut all the vocals completely LIVE, everybody grouped around the mike, and it sounds pretty damn good!! I heard a lot of "wows" from Trix when I played it just now for the first time all mixed. Go have a listen.

www.myspace.com/silverphial

Friend us if you haven't already!!