Treat!

Today, the first 120 or so young trick-or-treaters who venture to the twenty-seven-year home of Mr. Tinsel and Rot (landmark status pending) in Staten Island, NY, will be receiving at least five of the following (in snack size):

Kit Kats
Baby Ruths
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Butterfingers
Mini M&Ms
Nestle Crunches
Sour Patch Kids
Swedish Fish
AirHeads
AirHeads Lollipops
Chocolate Laffy Taffy
Chupa Chups
Milk Duds
Twizzlers
Hershey's Chocolate Lollipops
Jolly Rancher Bars/Twists/Some Bizarre Thing with Powder in the Middle
Snickers
Whoppers

You're welcome, children. You're welcome. Now, don't sh*t on my house.



(Compare with last year here.)

New Roommate

When I moved into my apartment, which I lovingly dubbed Disgraceland, I was given a gold lamé-clad Elvis Presley cardboard standee that stood watch for several years before finally succumbing and going to that great recycling plant in the sky. Over the years, I have thought of replacing him with another standee, perhaps military Elvis or, I seriously considered once, a spangled hot pants-wearing Liberace (which I nearly bought before remembering that I am heterosexual and, theoretically, could have a female in my apartment one day). Ultimately, though, I never found the right replacement and accepted that the part of my life where it would be acceptable to have a cardboard standee in my apartment was about to end.

Then, at Chiller this weekend, I saw him. He was standing amid a booth full of toys and various other items adults shouldn't be purchasing. He had a Post-It that read $10 on him, and since I had done so well resisting the Call of the Autograph, I figured I was due for a reward. And so, I bought him.



It's Elvis hawking the limited edition Reese's Banana and Peanut Butter Cups (which aren't bad). It's not technically a standee, so it's now on my kitchen wall, which is a nice place for the King and his candy. And, ultimately, it's a nicer spot than his intended spot above the toilet, where he would have joined Crying Velvet Elvis by the sink.

Saturday with the Goons

"The goons, myself among them, with big photo albums, stained hands, and little scribbled cards. The nuts who stood happily rain-drenched at the premiere of Dames or Flirtation Walk, while the Depression went on and on even though Roosevelt said it couldn't last forever and Happy Days would come again.

The gorgons, the jackals, the demons, the fiends, the sad ones, the lost ones.

Once, I had been one of them.

Now, there they were. My family."

(from one-time autograph collector Ray Bradbury's A Graveyard for Lunatics)

I am not sure if I should be happy that I had the foresight to show up before doors officially opened at last weekend's Chiller Theatre. On the one hand, by doing so, I assured that I did not wind up among the rained-upon masses lined up to get in midafternoon, who were halted from entering by order of the fire marshal. On the other hand, the fact that I knew I had to get there early and, indeed, actually wanted to be there on the always insanely crowded Saturday meant that I was now fully immersed in the world of Chiller and the aforementioned goons who attend it. This day was bound to come. I must accept it, along with the realization that I consider waiting in line for two hours to be a victory.

I can find some comfort in the knowledge that I was able to restrain myself from overspending and actually left the convention with no autographs and having paid only $20 to have my picture taken with two celebrities. (Again, I feel compelled to note that "celebrity" is a bit broad, for one person, whom I cannot reveal due to said person's pending appearance on this year's Holiday Greeting [yes, there will be one...happy?], is barely clinging to fame and the other, to be revealed later in this post, is almost certainly not a celebrity by any real definition.)

Of course, there were temptations. I was actually about to break down and get an autograph and picture with Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer Leslie Nielsen, but, lucky for my own eating plans for the week, Mr. Nielsen bowed out for a lunch break and I decided I didn't feel like waiting it out. I'd gotten his autograph before (free!), but I was almost persuaded by the fact that he had Enrico Pallazzo photos. Alas, it was not meant to be.

I intended to get an autograph (in my Islanders yearbook, from the year when he was their celebrity captain) from and/or a photo with Ralph Macchio, but I quickly abandoned that notion when I got a look at his price list: $30 for an autograph AND an additional $30 to have your picture taken with him. Seriously? The Ralph Macchio Experience costs $60? Suck it, Daniel-san.

I was so intently focused on staring at his price list and thinking that I must be reading it wrong that I momentarily blocked Linda Hamilton's photo lane, which she very kindly pointed out and then insisted I had no need to be sorry, because life is too short for that. By all accounts, she was the MVP of the weekend, staying, I heard from others, past closing time on Friday night to sign for everybody and owning what looked to be the longest line on Saturday, which moved slowly because she was taking time with every fan. I had no interest in meeting her, but it's always good to see someone going out of their way to be nice and genuinely happy at one of these things.



Also exceedingly nice was John Schneider, who brought along an entire store of "Dukes of Hazzard" merchandise, including four different kinds of t-shirts, hats, DVDs, photos, and license plates that read "Bo Duke." I was almost tempted by the 2 for $25 t-shirt deal, but I ultimately could not justify, even after seeing that he signs "Yee Haw!" on every autograph.



In the autograph tent out in the parking lot (no lines! no waiting!), I almost gave yet more money to Barry "Greg Brady" Williams when I saw that he was selling autographed tabu tikis (oooweeoooweeooo) for $30. But then I realized that I have already bought two different versions of his book and his not-so-good CD. I love "The Brady Bunch," but the line must be drawn somewhere. Sorry. I have paid my debt to Barry Williams. Adios, Johnny Bravo.



I was particularly bummed, however, that Barry Williams was going to sing at the big Saturday night party, because I couldn't stick around for that and thus missed what I have to assume will be my only opportunity to ever see Barry Williams and Kip Winger perform at the same show. Sigh.



Epstein, Horshack, and Washington were next to the Brady table. Sixty bucks for a photo with all three of them. I don't think so. Robert Hegyes looks like Superfly Snuka now. And by "Superfly Snuka now," I mean "Superfly Snuka now," not "Superfly Snuka back when he was popular."



Across from the Sweathogs, I was forbidden from taking a photo of Jamie Luner. I actually just wanted to take a photo of the sign above her that read

Jamie Luner
Profiler
Melrose Place
Growing Pains (hastily crossed out in pen)
Just The Ten of Us,

because I thought it was funny. But as I prepared to do so, the woman taking the money at her table started waving her arms wildly and then yelled, "No pictures! You have to pay!" That was fun.

Luner was flanked on one side by Ron Lester, the previously egregiously obese actor from "Varsity Blues" and "Not Another Teen Movie" (and I was dismayed to realize on my way home, three episodes of "Freaks and Geeks..." yearbook signing opportunity missed), who not only has an entire line of products based upon his "Billy Bob" character in "Varsity Blues" but will also sign a pair of his old fat pants for $200 (Only 1 Pair!).



On the other side of Luner was Jeffrey Weissman, whom of course you remember as George McFly in the last two "Back to the Future" movies after Crispin Glover bailed. And in case you didn't remember, he brought props...props that had nothing to do with his character, but props nonetheless.



There were a few other temptations here and there, but I held fast to my goal of not buying autographs I didn't really want. And that was bad news for Zabka-esque villain extraordinaire Richard Tyson (from "Three O'Clock High" and "Kindergarten Cop"), whom I probably would have at least gotten a photo with in stronger economic times. Sorry, buddy.



George Kennedy was another tough one to pass up, particularly with Leslie Nielsen five tables away. I had considered buying a Naked Gun poster on eBay prior to the convention, but I'm a completist and since the chances of me getting (or wanting) OJ's autograph in the near future don't look good, I decided against it. Of course, it's horrible to reduce Kennedy's career to the Naked Gun series, but, in case you forgot, I'm a fairly horrible person a good deal of the time. In any case, here's a picture of him getting ready to sign a "Cool Hand Luke" poster.



I also could have easily spent some cash on a photo with Lita Ford, a pair of Kiss Me Deadly panties, or a tasteful poster for the apartment. Instead, I just took this photo.



So, you ask, who did you spend your hard-earned $10 on? Well, there were two gentlemen who looked awfully bored sitting behind a table in the tent. I didn't even know one of them, Randall Deal, was gonna be there, so I think he might've been a last-minute addition (and I assumed he was gonna be in the photo, too, but he just stood there, so it appears I assumed wrong...no big, ahem, deal, I suppose). And I saw a banjo on the table. And I thought, "C'mon, it's only $10. You gotta." And that's how I got my picture taken with Billy Redden, the man who played Lonnie, the (kind of) banjo-picking inbred in "Deliverance."



It took three tries (camera flash was acting up), but I'm quite happy with the finished product.

I'm also pleased that I was able to leave Chiller tired but satisfied, with mission accomplished and under $50 spent (one other purchase will be showcased in the next post). Victory is mine!

And, for the record, The Goons, Myself Among Them has replaced Good for You as the title of my next book (anticipated publication date: 2023)

Song o' the Month: October 2008

Charlie Louvin's "See The Big Man Cry" (written by Ed Bruce):



It would be horribly cliched to say they don't write songs like that anymore. It would also be true.

The song had already been in my head before seeing Mr. Louvin in concert twice last week, but now it is firmly lodged in my brain and will likely remain there for the rest of the month, maybe longer.

By the way, this is the best stage banter from Mr. Louvin from the two shows (this was from the Banjo Jim's show and is likely slightly paraphrased, but it captures the spirit of the thing):

[Spoken to an older woman with very blond hair] "Say, you remind me of my wife. What color are you on now? My wife asked me if I would love her when she went gray, and I told her, 'Well, I've loved you through about 40 other colors, so I reckon I'd be OK with that one.'"

Gotta love Charlie Louvin.

Levi Stubbs RIP

It's hard to think of the Four Tops without thinking of my dad. He was a Temps and Tops kind of guy. I don't think he played favorites between the two, as I recall each getting equal play among the cassettes he carried with him for car rides upstate (it's hard to believe he didn't wear out the Temptations 'N' and Four Tops set he bought through the mail). But I do know that he bought a signed 8X10 of the Four Tops one of the times he saw them (was it at the Friar Tuck Inn upstate?), the only autograph I ever knew my dad to own.

So when I heard Levi Stubbs died, I thought of my dad. And car rides with those tapes (and, in the years before we made that great leap to a car that could play tapes, WCBS FM). And my dad singing in a voice that didn't quite match Mr. Stubbs'. And I was sad. And happy. Because it's like that sometimes.

Levi Stubbs knew that.

Rest in peace, Levi.

How You Don't Want to Start a Bus Trip

Me: Hey, how's it going?

Bus Driver: Good. Heading to Cortland?

Me: Yep.

Bus Driver: Hey, just out of curiosity, do you know where the new bus stop is there?

Me: Um, no.

Guy Behind Me In Line: Yeah, I forget what street it's on, but I can call and...

Bus Driver: It's Exit 11, I think, or something like that. I'm sure I'll be able to find it.

For the record, he wasn't. At least on the first try. But after heading a good ways into the boonies, he did have the wherewithal to think he might be headed the wrong way, which led to this:

Bus Driver: Hey, who's going to Cortland?

Me: Yeah, back here.

Bus Driver: So, this new stop, where is it again?

Me: Um, I think it's near the courthouse or something.

Bus Driver: OK, and where's that?

Me: I don't know.

Bus Driver: But back the other way, right?

Me: Um, I guess so?

Between this experience and having water spill on me for an hour on the Megabus from DC last weekend, I'm once again starting to think that bus travel may not be something I'm cut out for in my adulthood, assuming that is the stage of life I'm in now. Debatable.

Luckily the rest of the weekend--hanging with the family of Puck Daddy scourge Rev. Zamboni, going to the greatest book sale in the world, eating (and old-school arcade bowling) at the Glenwood Pines, seeing Billy Bragg in concert at one of my favorite theatres (with one of my favorite marquees), making another late-night visit to the alma mater, buying spiedie marinade at Wegmans--went a lot better.

Lards of the Ring

I don't think it speaks well of me, but I am fascinated with wrestlers' attempts to keep it together after their time in the spotlight is over. As has been well documented, many succumb at a tragically young age after years of relentless traveling and often more than occasional drug use. But those who survive wind up touring the country doing independent shows in high school gyms and the occasional wrestling convention. I have been to a few of the former and a few too many of the latter, and at each I generally leave depressed at the state of the television heroes of my childhood. I would be lying, however, if I said I didn't find some glee in seeing an old wrestler who's gone to seed. I aint proud.

I do feel bad for the guys, but that doesn't prevent me from being highly entertained when they lose it and someone is there to document it. The best example would be Jake "The Snake" Roberts, whose WWE documentary (yes, I watched the whole thing) detailed a childhood that sounded so unbelievably miserable that I thought I could never again be entertained watching him in a drunken stupor (though I once was). Then, TMZ featured footage of him in an apparent stupor rambling like a lunatic, stumbling through a match, and then exposing himself (Jake maintains someone slipped him a mickey). And I was once again ashamed to be so entertained.

Then, this past Friday in New Jersey, another wrestler who has been alleged to have his fair share of demons, Scott Hall, disrupted a roast of the Iron Sheik because he took offense at an admittedly tasteless joke about the deceased Owen Hart. He threatened the offending comedian and generally rambled in what appeared to be a slightly inebriated state (part 1 here and subsequent parts on YouTube as well...all of which make me so sad that I wasn't there). Then for an encore on Saturday night, he allegedly behaved like a drunken ass at the hotel restaurant/bar. From a post on the convention board (you need to join to log in...I'd almost say it's worth it to read all the craziness that goes on there):

Without getting too graphic, he basically stated to my wife that I must have a lot of money because a “hot woman” like her would never marry an “ugly guy like him” and that she should come to his room later and that I would never know. Keep in mind as well this was in front of my 6 year old and 2 year old daughters and well before 6 pm. He then went on to state that he would like to perform oral sex (I’m apologize if I am being too graphic) on my wife “every day.”

There should be a channel devoted just to old wrestlers and their daily lives. I would want to be appalled by it...but then never leave my living room again.

Peace Queer

You like free music, right? Good. So why not go to Todd Snider's website before October 31 and download his new EP "Peace Queer." It's free. There aint no strings. You might like it. You might not. But when you're done listening, you'll be just as rich as you were when you started (depending, I suppose, on your stock portfolio, but Todd has no control over that).

If you're the type of person whose appetite needs to be whetted before consuming something that costs nothing, here's a video of the first song on the EP that combines two of my favorite things in the world: Todd Snider and Hatch Show Print.

Dressing for success

Tinsel and Rot doesn't condone endangering the lives of innocent children, but if you're gonna have 15 beers and let a 10-year-old boy drive you, a couple of other kids, and your drug-collecting lady friend home, you should at least show the sense that Randy Lewis displayed in wearing a swell t-shirt for the inevitable mug shot.

(photo from NET News Service)

You did it, Randy!

The Tinsel and Rot Sirius Stiletto Top 20: DISCONTINUED

Because my Stiletto is continuing its slow descent into a worthless piece of crap and Sirius customer service has done its best not to help me, Tinsel and Rot must call an end to the Top 20. In its place, we present the Song o' the Month for September 2008, Luke Doucet's "Broken One."

What I Liked About September

*The Wright/Killinger nuptials, Livermore Valley, CA
*Earl Anthony's Dublin Bowl, Dublin, CA
*Hangin' with the Finches, Oakland, CA
*Chocolate buttermilk doughnut, Donut-Wheel, Livermore, CA

*Maybe Pete CD Release Party, The Saint, Asbury Park, NJ
*Birthday fun, Tully, NY
*That 24-hour period where it looked like I might have Mets playoff tickets
*Pinetop Perkins, State Theatre, New Brunswick, NJ

*Tony Clifton, BB King Blues Club, NYC
*The Duhks/Luke Doucet, Maxwell's, Hoboken, NJ
*Time's Up
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

Billy Joe Shaver: Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer

Sometimes, the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame Board of Governors lets one slip through the cracks. Such is the case with the long-overdue induction of true country music outlaw Billy Joe Shaver.

I have explained why Billy Joe Shaver is cooler than you'll ever be before (and pointed you to a good career summation here), so I'll keep this relatively brief.

The first time I saw Billy Joe Shaver was completely unexpected, as he was the unadvertised opening act at Elmira's Clemens Center, where my friend Bryan and I had headed on a schoolnight in college to slip in among the elderly of Elmira to see Willie Nelson from second-row seats. Since no one was expecting Mr. Shaver and most of the crowd had rigid bedtimes, he was fighting an uphill battle. But he handled it like a champ. When the inevitable "Where's Willie?" shout came from the crowd, Mr. Shaver answered with the completely illogical but perfectly right reply, "If he was up your ass, you'd know where he was." And thus, two new Billy Joe Shaver fans were created.

Shaver's set was short that night in Elmira, but I've been lucky enough to see him a few times since and have never left disappointed. Each show has had its fair share of chaos (such as the one where he gave his drummer a few bucks and told him to leave if he wanted to...he did) and an equal amount of brilliance. There are probably a handful of people whose shows leave me as happy as Mr. Shaver's do, and none of them feature a man in his late 60s shadow boxing and shaking with the fervor of a Pentecostal preacher.

Mr. Shaver was recently indicted on felony charges for allegedly shooting a guy at a bar in Lorena, Texas (Dale Watson wrote a song about it and what Mr. Shaver allegedly asked the man he shot). I aint saying he did it, and if he did, I aint saying it's right. What I am saying is that this incident and about a thousand others prove that Billy Joe Shaver is a bona fide badass.

And now he is a member of the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame.

Here are some YouTube clips of Billy Joe in action:

"Georgia on a Fast Train" (with his late son Eddy)



"Black Rose"



"Try and Try Again"



Billy Joe the storyteller

Kids today

I like to check my college newspaper's website on a fairly regular basis to see what the college kids are up to these days. So, as my body recovered from the physical abuse inflicted upon it by a floor hockey game and was reminded that it is not in college-age shape anymore (though, to be fair, it probably wasn't in college-age shape in college either), I clicked on over and found this (and watched the accompanying video).

Oh brother. I'm not sure I've ever been more ashamed to be an alumnus. And that's saying a lot.

The two quotes that best capture my reasons for shame are:

“Most people I saw [during the game] thought it was awesome and wanted to join or hear more about it,” he said. “Some of them just thought it was silly, and I only saw one person who ever got angry.”

and

“I was very psyched about battling zombies,” he said. “It’s a good thing for people to come together on campus. You know, you see someone walking around campus with a Nerf gun and you just say hi or someone you don’t know starts chasing you across campus. It’s pretty fun.”

During my college days, I can assure you that if 160 people were running around campus with bandanas tied around their arms and hands and brandishing Nerf guns, most people I know wouldn't have thought, "Hey, that's awesome! Where can I join in on this crazy good time?" And if I had known that having someone you don't know chase you around campus was fun, I imagine my college dating experience would've gone a lot more smoothly.

Kids today.

And another thing...

This doesn't quite fit in the "Hey, Douchebag" category, but I think the people of the world need to be made aware that the phrase "I came all the way from..." shouldn't come out of a person's mouth unless it's taken you more than three hours to get to the show.

I bring this up because I saw Pinetop Perkins, Hubert Sumlin, and Willie "Big Eyes" Smith in New Brunswick tonight and as I was leaving I was surprised to see the 95-year-old Perkins outside signing autographs for people. I dashed back inside to buy a CD and came back to find the same guy still talking to Mr. Perkins and finishing off his moment by saying that he "came all the way from Philadelphia" for the show.

First of all, that's about a 90-minute drive, almost all of which is highway. That's not that big of a feat. Unless, of course, you travel exclusively on horseback. I did not see any hay or salt licks outside the State Theatre, though, so I'm assuming a car was involved. Theoretically, I assume the gentleman could've arrived by train, but I tend to think I'm the only person in America who crosses state lines on rails to go to shows. Even if he came by train, it's still not much more than 90 minutes. And if we're using 90 minutes as the basis for using the phrase "I came all the way from..." then I could've used that every time I went to a show in Manhattan when I lived in Staten Island.

Second, I can almost guarantee Pinetop Perkins doesn't care where you came from. Don't get me wrong--he seemed like a real nice guy and I'm sure is appreciative of the fact that people come out to see him. But he's 95. He came from Austin, Texas, to play the show. Aint that a man? So, just say, "Thank you, sir. It was an honor to see you play" and get back in the car.

I'm just saying.

Earl Palmer RIP

Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Earl Palmer, one of the most prolific session drummers of all time, died last Friday at the age of 83.

As impressive as Buddy Harman's résumé was, Palmer's was even better. Here's a partial list:

"Lawdy Miss Clawdy"
"Beyond the Sea"
"Let the Good Times Roll"
"My Blue Heaven"
"Tutti Frutti"
"I'm Walkin'"
"You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'"
"River Deep, Mountain High"
"Donna"
"La Bamba"
"Dead Man's Curve"

And that's just a start. He also played on numerous film and TV scores, probably most memorably laying down the beat for the theme song to "The Flintstones." I'm also looking for full confirmation that he played on the "Brady Bunch" theme but can't find anything definitive.

Regardless, popular music wouldn't have been the same without Earl Palmer. So, here's to you, Earl. Rest in peace.

Ten Things I Learned On My First Trip To California

1. The only thing worse than watching the Mets bullpen is following their exploits on XM Radio while you're in a JetBlue plane flying high above America with nowhere to pace.

2. Thirty minutes in Amoeba Records in San Francisco is not nearly enough time.

3. You can wear a goose costume in McAfee (or whatever it's called now that McAfee is not renewing its lease) Coliseum without arousing much suspicion.


4. Weekday afternoon baseball games in perfect weather are a beautiful thing, regardless of whether the teams playing really have anything at stake.


5. Amoeba Records in Berkeley is cool, but Rasputin's a few blocks away is just as good, if not better.

6. Schnappsie is the only dog in the world with a magic button ($4 at Rasputin's).


7. You can see a lot of cool things in San Francisco in a really short period of time and take some pretty good pictures through the windshield.

8. Traveling across the country for your friend's wedding, which is already cool because you love your friend and haven't seen her in nine years, is made exponentially cooler when the hotel is five minutes away from a mini golf course that gives you two 18-hole options and ten minutes away from Earl Anthony's Dublin Bowl, where you can bowl at 9:30 Saturday morning next to a guy wearing sunglasses, an A's jersey, and a kilt.



9. The best doughnut ever is the chocolate buttermilk doughnut fresh out of the oven at the Donut-Wheel in Livermore, CA.

10. I really miss being in college.

Charlie Walker RIP

Grand Ole Opry star Charlie Walker died Friday at the age of 81 after recently being diagnosed with colon cancer.

I will admit that I don't know much about Charlie Walker, but the fact that he recorded the undeniably awesome "Pick Me Up On Your Way Down" and made it songwriter (and Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer) Harlan Howard's first big hit is reason enough to celebrate his life here on earth. He also recorded two songs that rank high on the list of greatest country song titles ever, "Don't Squeeze My Sharmon" and "Tell Her Lies and Feed Her Candy," the former on an album that also featured "I Wouldn't Take Her to a Dog Fight." I wish I was home to confirm that I have that album, but I'm pretty sure I do. If not, I will be seeking it out shortly.

RIP, Mr. Walker.

(photo from the Grand Ole Opry website.)

Three in Four

Three shows in four days. It went something like this:

Wednesday 9/10--Tony Clifton, BB King Blues Club, NYC


My initial excitement at seeing a listing for the return of Tony Clifton on the BB King Blues Club website a month or so ago had dissipated so much that as the workday ended on Wednesday, I wasn't really looking forward to the show anymore. Sure, I'm a big Andy Kaufman fan and thought it would be cool to see his creation come back to life (albeit as played by pal Bob Zmuda), but when I actually thought about it, I started to wonder what I was getting myself into. Watching Kaufman do Tony Clifton was one thing, but a whole show with Zmuda doing Clifton was something else entirely. Maybe, I thought, it would just suck. In fact, maybe it was supposed to suck. Maybe that was the point. But I had paid my $17, so I soldiered on.

I'm glad I did, because it's been a long time since I had that much fun at a show. Aside from the ridiculously hot dancers employed by Clifton and a band--the Katrina-Kiss-My-Ass Orchestra--that was actually pretty damn good, the endless barrage of intentionally off-key singing and absurdly offensive jokes that came out of Clifton's mouth during the three-and-a-half-hour show is something I will not soon forget. I would detail some of the jokes, but you've almost certainly heard all of them, which was sort of the point. Plus, if I wrote them down and told you that I laughed at them, you'd almost certainly think less of me. But if you already have as low an opinion of me as you think it is possible to have, stop me sometime and I'll share them with you--provided we are not in earshot of anyone else.

There were some lulls here and there, but they never lasted that long, which is a pretty good accomplishment considering the show's length. There was some of the Clifton/Kaufman "playing" with the audience (a few lit cigarettes were thrown from the stage, some tables had some drinks thrown at them), and a guy was thrown out for yelling at Clifton and giving him the finger. I know the temptation is to say that was a plant, but since he was only a few tables away, I must admit I have my doubts. I have every reason to believe the guy was legitimately hammered, and the woman he was with, who was laughing right along with him during the first set, seemed to grow weary of him after the intermission and bolted. So, maybe he wasn't a plant. Or maybe he was. Such is the genius of Tony Clifton.

Anyway, Tony Clifton's touring for at least the next few months. It's definitely worth seeing, provided you do not have a disdain for nasal warbling, off-color jokes, women in pasties, and dodging lit cigarettes. If you're cool with all that (like me...though, to be honest, I'm not all that into dodging lit cigarettes, which is why I'm glad none were thrown in my direction), you'll have a good time.



Friday 9/12--Maybe Pete CD Release Party, The Saint, Asbury Park, NJ


My mom was there. You weren't. Thus, we now have official confirmation that my mom is cooler than you. Keep trying, though. You might get there someday.

Anyway, you missed:

* Mark Linskey and the Streetcorner Matadors kicking ass in their New Jersey debut
* A special Maybe Pete acoustic performance of "This Town" (from their new CD, "Straight to Red"...heard about it?) among the crowd
* Me talking Denino's outside with two other Staten Islanders/Maybe Pete fans
* Maybe Pete's Staten Island Ferry-inspired "Someplace We've Never Been"
* Eric Safka's quantagious organ playing
* The Ramones' "Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?" done up right by Maybe Pete, Safka, Linskey, and Bruce Tunkel
* The postshow victory party at the Blue Swan
* A damn good time on a Friday night.

You can't keep depriving yourself of fun like this. It's bad for you. Be good to yourself.



Saturday, September 13--The Felice Brothers/AA Bondy, Maxwell's, Hoboken, NJ

I'd been trying to get to a Felice Brothers show for most of the year, so it was with a great sense of relief that Tunes in Hoboken still had a ticket left for Saturday's show even though it had already been declared sold out.

The Felice Brothers have been getting a fair share of press and acclaim lately for their live shows, and since they're from a part of the world for which I have a profound fondness (the Catskills), I was particularly interested in seeing if all the hype was true.

Conclusion? Maybe half the hype is true.

They were good enough, and there were definitely moments where they came awfully close to being great, but the ratio of "Wow!" to "Eh" ran about 1 to 5 for me. Seems to me the energy is there, but the songs aren't quite there yet (the best moments of the show, in fact, were almost exclusively covers--from spirituals like "I'm Saved" and "When I Lay My Burdens Down" to Townes Van Zandt's "Two Hands"). Still, I'll likely check them out again, and I'd say they're worth your while, too.

No pictures from the show because I was a little exhausted from the night before and a flea market in Atlantic Highlands earlier in the day to motivate myself to get to Maxwell's early.

What's that you say? A flea market in Atlantic Highlands? That's right, ladies, I'm single, heterosexual, and like going to flea markets. What are you waiting for?

And now it's time for a commercial

Fresh off their victory in the Love Hope Strength contest (as the Tinsel and Rot voting bloc goes, so goes the nation), New Jersey's pride and joy Maybe Pete will be having their CD release party for their brand-new (hence the party) "Straight to Red" disc this Friday, September 12, at The Saint in Asbury Park, NJ. And as if that weren't enough, they will be preceded on the stage by not only Bobby Strange and Agency, but also the equally Jerseriffic Mark Linskey and the Streetcorner Matadors in a rare East Coast appearance. Seriously, you'd be stupid not to go. And you don't want to be stupid, do you?

The show starts at 8. Tickets are a bargain at any price but will still only leave your wallet only $10 lighter. Tinsel and Rot money-back guarantee in full effect. You go and you don't like it, I'll give you your money back, along with a firm promise that I will forever think poorly of your taste in music and you as a whole.

Need to know more before you go? Check out Maybe Pete's MySpace and Mark Linskey and the Streetcorner Matadors' MySpace. Or listen to Frankie and Kelly from Maybe Pete at 90.5 on your FM radio radio (or on the Internet Internet Thursday at 8 p.m.

Got it? Good. See you on Friday.

My weekend: By the numbers

Number of times I checked the weather forecast Friday night before deciding going to the Union County Music Fest Saturday morning would be a bad, wet idea: 7

Number of inches of rain that fell Saturday morning: 0.0

Number of episodes of "Outsiders Inn" I watched on Saturday: 2

Number of blocks it took for my shoes to get completely saturated when I finally left the apartment on Saturday: 1.5

Number of buckets employed on and around the stage by the Maxwell's staff in an attempt to catch water dripping from the ceiling during the Duhks' set: 3

Number of times I wanted to punch David Wright in the face for swinging at balls out of the strike zone: 5

Number of Rock and Roll Hall of Famers I saw play on Sunday: 2

Number of Shirelles songs in the two medleys that closed Shirley Alston Reeves's set: 0

Number of countries whose ethnic culinary offerings I ate on Sunday: 3

Number of days I would prefer in a weekend: 3