Saved by Jello: A Soundfest recap.

Note: This piece originally appeared on Seattle music and culture site nadamucho.com

Why I still like punk rock reason #1: I'm on crutches because of an injury suffered while totally dominating 2 little kids in a squirt gun fight. Hobbling around Neumos on Friday night right before The Avengers came on I slipped and kind of stumbled backwards. Someone caught me & kept me from falling, either on purpose or because I bounced off of them. When I turned around to say thanks I realized that I had been propped up by Jello Biafra. Of course, eventually this story will grow until Jello was fireman carrying me out of the building, and reviving me with a sandwich, but for now the truth will suffice.

Since Matt got me into Soundfest for free, I figured I should make an effort to seek out lesser known bands rather than just fawning over my own heroes. This I almost, but not quite totally failed to do.

Friday night: I walked in on the second half of Dreadful Children's set. Old school punk (think Gang Green, in fact they might have actually been playing "Alcohol" when I walked in.) Lead singer/guitarist Lonny has been making great music for a lot longer than I've been talking about it, previously and occasionally still fronting Bristle.

Retox does that angry screamy hardcore thing really well. If you're into that sort of thing they're pretty good. On their way off stage they mentioned the generation gap between themselves and Reagan Youth, pioneers of NYC hardcore. RY seemed to have brought their children to Seattle as roadies. I can't imagine the confusion of seeing your dad on stage like that, clearly cool but you know, still your dad.

I had high hopes and lowish expectations for The Avengers. On one hand, they're The Avengers, on the other hand, Penelope Houston is more known as a Bay Area folksinger these days. It's always dicey seeing your heroes years after their "prime", which is why a lot of smart people forego any and all nostalgia and reunion shows. After what seemed to me like a lukewarm opening with "We Are The Ones", they quickly hit their stride and won me over. Ms. Houston left Seattle for California about 35 years ago, so it wasn't exactly a homecoming, but remember when people moved away from Seattle to strike it rich in the music business?

Nobody can stay pissed off for their whole lives, unless they are Jello Biafra. He's been a seething cauldron of rage against Ronald Reagan, Jerry Brown, the PMRC, the music industry, political parties, even the rest of the Dead Kennedys. Fortunately, he seethes with a hell of a band behind him. When I do it with no band it's just complaining, that's why he's Jello and I'm a whiny bitch. Among the new songs played by Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo School of Medicine were "Electronic Plantation" and "Panic Land". To make the old timers poop themselves he also did "California Uber Alles". For an old guy he's pretty spry. Jumping around the stage, waving this arms like a conductor. I think he even made some shadow puppets on the wall behind the stage.

Saturday I had expected to be busy eating cheesecake in the sun all day, so when things freed up earlier than I planned I decided to check out the Dickies, U.S. Bombs, and the Vandals at El Corazon. The Dickies are funny as hell, as are the Vandals. The Vandals are a long time Southern California punk institution, as are the Dickies. The Dickies paved the way for pop-punk, as did the Vandals. This is why I spent the night not being sure who I was seeing. It doesn't mean they're interchangeable, they're very different from each other and both bands were great. Chalk it up to ADHD. In between was a short, drunken, sloppy set by U.S. Bombs, featuring a giant beer dressed up as Duane Peters. If I'd been there just to see USB I would have been pretty bummed, but at least he was just wasted and not pitching a diva fit.

Towards the end of the Vandals set I felt...unfulfilled. Also really sweaty. I headed up the hill to Neumos, where John Doe & Exene Cervenka were just getting started, and it was just perfect. In a sane world the place would have been packed, but hearing John & Exene harmonize in a half full bar at the end of a long day couldn't have been a better end to the night.

Sunday rolled around, like it does pretty much once a week. What doesn't come quite as often is a night with Swingin' Utters  and Stiff Little Fingers. To quote me, "EEEEEEEEEEEE!" The very band that helped knock the hippie out of me 25 years ago, right here in my zip code? The question was, would they suck? No, they would not, but first a word about folk singers. Tim Barry used to be in Avail, now he's a folk singer. Normally punks should not sing folk songs, because often punks lack that ineffable quality we'll call "talent", or "musical ability". Don't get me wrong, some great music has been made by no talent hacks. Anyway, back to Tim; this guy had a hot sweaty crowd that was clearly waiting for Stiff Little Fingers eating out of his hands. One guy and a guitar singing about civil war era folk heroes, and the whole thing just worked great. Look him up. Next up, Swingin' Utters. I was only slightly less excited about SU than I was for SLF, they're just a great band, singing songs about the working class, of which I'm a proud and greasy member.

After a short wait (did I mention that at every show the stage crew did a hell of a job getting one band off the stage and the next band on?) SLF took the stage, in spiffy coordinated shirts, looking pretty good for a bunch of old guys. Jake Burns (lead singer, songwriter, and the only constant member through the years) told stories about how songs came about, and a little about living in Belfast in the mid-70's. They also played a bunch of songs without mucking things up with a lot of new stuff. It was a great show, everything a nostalgia-choked guy like myself hopes for. I don't think I'm a very good critic, because I don't seem to have much to criticize about this weekend. I've been to a few music-type festivals in my day, this one was remarkably well run. El Corazon could use more fans, I guess. I'm a sap for this stuff, it was nice catching up a little, especially without having to do any actual work or spend any money.

Why I love punk rock, reason #2: At Stiff Little Fingers/Swingin' Utters/Tim Barry I was standing next to a woman who had brought her 12 year old son and his friend to teach them a little something about the punk rock. She was a mosh pit veteran, and watched her boys learning the rules of the pit. However, she was also a mom, and you can be sure that she knew where they were at any moment. (I will never get tired of watching people get picked up when they fall down in a mosh pit, it almost chokes me up.) After the show, we're filing out of El Corazon and mom realizes that her son has met himself a girl!

Note: This piece originally appeared on Seattle music and culture site nadamucho.com.

OK, hipsters, the time has come for you to shave. Trust me on this, you're not going to want to look like Cat Stevens when the punks come. The punks are coming to show you that you look silly, and as pretty as it sounds right now, your folk-rock revival is going to sound as fresh and edgy as "Baby I'm-a Want You". I know of what I speak; in 1987, I was fully in the thrall of the hippie menace. True story: I once walked into a record store in downtown Olympia, walked right past "Deep Six", so I could buy a Buffalo Springfield single. Lucky for me my roommate Brian beat me over the head with a Stiff Little Fingers LP. It didn't scare me straight, but it kept me from running full tilt into white-guy Rastafarianism. Next month Stiff Little Fingers are coming in person to slap you up. Also, Jello Biafra, Angelic Upstarts,  The Blasters, Defiance, The Bloodclots, and so much more. Like a little Krishna in your core? Try Cro-Mags.
John Doe and Exene Cervenka used to be in a little thing called X. Seriously, there's some heavy, heavy shit coming to town, and anyone wearing an ironic beard is going to feel pretty stupid. Other bands on the schedule include The Vandals, Swingin' Utters, US Bombs, Reagan Youth, Paul Collins Beat, The Dusty 45's, Hollow Points, Dragstrip Riot, and a whole lot more. Venues include El Corazon, The Vera Project, Neumos, The Funhouse and The Comet.

For the full lineup and all sorts of useful tidbits: http://seattlesoundfest.com/

My garage is made of boat parts!

Before any serious work can start on the Blanchard, a very large scale game of musical chairs has to be played. The spot where the boat sits is on a gravel pad next to the garage, about 15 x 45 feet. Previously, the pad was where I kept the old boat, a 1962 Thompson Seacoaster (which is for sale!), and a dump run trailer, and 1.9 gajillion different and unique species of alien weeds and venomous snails, all guarded by the Centipede Army. Inside the garage, which contrary to popular belief is NOT a wormhole into a parallel universe where storage space is infinite, is where 2 scooters, 3 motorcycles, one small sailboat, unused gardening stuff, and 30 tons of rat crap are stored, guarded by the natural enemy of the centipede, the Big Creepy White Bodied Spider Brigade. So, to make space and finance the fixing of the Blanchard, I need to sell the Thompson. To sell it, I need to pretty it up and fix a few things, otherwise it's a "Needs TLC" deal, and I lose my shirt. To fix the Thompson during the upcoming long season of rain it needs to go in the garage. Did I mention that the garage is rotting from the inside out? It was very heavily built in 1928, framed with 4x4's and shiplap siding. It has a coffin-sized grease pit for working on your car, and for an added bonus, the drain in the floor of the pit leads, I assume, right into the Seattle storm drain system. (I don't care if it's mid afternoon on a sunny day, it's CREEPY AS HELL getting into what for all intents and purposes is an open grave in your garage. It doesn't help that it's also the headquarters of the CWBS Brigade)

So, the project has been to clean the garage, reframe the VERY rotten back wall, (seriously, if the T1-11 siding I installed a while back hadn't been caulked together, the wall, and at least half the roof would have collapsed by now. That's right, load bearing caulk) support the sagging rafters, and get a lot of junk out. During the reframing, we learned that a decent number of studs were in fact 4x4 tubes, with a thin veneer of wood surrounding a surprisingly large quantity of wood flour, apparently a byproduct of whatever has been eating the wood for the last 80 years. When you tap them with a hammer, or cut them with a Sawzall, the board collapses and a huge tan cloud of rot fungus jets right into your face, I assume causing absolutely no health risks whatsoever.

Also found among the rotten powder tubes are a 4x4 and a 2x6 made of what may be white oak, which I will need lots of when I replace the frames on the Blanchard. It may also be red oak, which to my understanding will not work for steam bent frames. Since white oak can take on a red hue over time, and red oak can bleach out to a light tan, just like white oak, I will need to do more research. There's also a lot of very old cedar, which could conceivably make it's way onto the hull when I start any planking repairs. (The shear plank looks to be toast.)

It would be pretty funny if I could gradually change all the unused lumber in the garage into boat parts. Ideally without introducing some exotic new rot spores into the boat.

Captain Andy and 1st mate Simple Green!

Here are some shots of the bilge, after a good scrubbing and removal of all the unnecessary crap:







I have decided to replace pretty much all of the frames, enough of them have rot and/or breaks that I would just be worrying about the ones I left behind. I haven't pulled any out yet to see what the planking underneath looks like, but overall the planks look like they might be OK. The sheer planks are pretty rough, I think as a result of the decks leaking for a long time.

I have built a kickass steamer box for the upcoming frame job, out of an old turkey fryer, and assorted furnace duct parts. The burner sounds like a jet engine (and living in the shadow of Boeing Field, I sure as hell know what a jet engine sounds like!), and will boil 3-4 gallons of water in no time. It also looks more like a meth cooker than anything I've built before. If there were any grizzled Appalachian hillbillies walking by, they would probably say it looks like a moonshine still, but it's the 21st century for pete's sake, get with the program!

This is what one of these beasts looks like if you were to remove it from your yard and put it in the water:



And here is me on my old Blanchard. Note that life has not yet crushed my gentle spirit. I also seemed to have hair:

One More Time...

Or, another attempt to document something, knowing full well that what will be documented is my total inability to stick with something for any length of time

This time will be different, I just know it! This time: a goal, a project, something to document besides the excruciating minutae that is my life!

The project:


















A 1947 Blanchard Sr. Knockabout, hull#53 out of 97 originally built.



















The interior appears to be very clean and original, under a lot of grime and stuff. Note the manly ropework curtains. Not macrame, manly ropework!



















Some decently sistered frames. I will assume that any unrepaired frames are due for replacement, as will most repaired ones.















At first glance, the keel bolts seem somewhat new. I'll investigate further, but it's a good sign.















The original electrical panel. I love this kind of stuff!

OK then, there's the boat as she sits in my back yard. First step will be to remove everything that's not nailed down, then most of what is. I know that there will be new decks, maybe not all over but plenty nonetheless. The deck framing seems serviceable at first glance. Some hull frames will be replaced, if not all of them. I assume that I will have many opportunities to learn how to replace carvel planks, but so far the planking looks good. To summarize: Not a bad project, I give it a year. (Note to self: Don't forget to come back and read this last sentence in 16 years when the boat is still on blocks and I am dead)

Dropkick Murphys Bring Out Andy Bookwalter’s Secret Skinhead

Note: This article originally appeared in Seattle's community music and culture site nadamucho.com.

February 28, 2008

Dropkick Murphys are the greatest band in the world, and I’ll stab anyone who says otherwise.

Lumped in with plenty of great but inferior street punk bands like The Swingin’
Utters, Flogging Molly and The Bouncing Souls, DKM remind me what punk rock
meant before life crushed my delicate spirit.

I was a small town teenage slacker in the early 80’s, and punk promised
me a community and an escape from suburban mediocrity. Punk then broke that
promise, as will any subculture based on teen angst and beer.

After a few years of watching one punk rock dive bar after another become
condos and parking lots, I got bitter. Then one day I heard “Cadence To Arms,”
the opening shot from Do or Die and it all came back to me.

I dove into Oi! and street punk boots first. I gave myself a buzz cut
with clippers over the bathroom sink. I got myself a flight jacket and a pair
of braces. Soon I discovered two things:

30 is too old to become a skinhead, and I didn’t like getting into fights.
Since skinheads spend huge amounts of time being defensive and
punching people who call them racists, then generally turn into rockabilly guys
or football hooligans well before 30, I decided to turn in my membership card
before it got stamped. Still some things stuck with me, and through it all
Dropkick Murphys kept churning out anthems for blue collar guys, unions,
drunks, fat bagpipe players and the Red Sox.

If a DKM song didn’t grab me right off the bat it turned out I wasn’t
hearing it at the right time. Their latest CD, The Meanest of Times, celebrates family, both the blood variety and the other kind that you get to choose. As a theme, it’s thoroughly un-punk.

While I was evolving rapidly in and out of skinhead culture, DKM
were evolving and growing as well. They never stopped celebrating working
class solidarity, loyalty to your friends and general betterment. Since Do or Die their original lead singer Mike McColgan (current Boston
fire fighter and Street Dogs singer) left and was replaced by Al Barr, formerly
of the longtime Oi! band the Bruisers. Bassist/vocalist Ken Casey still sings
like he wants to grab you by the shirt and shake you, while Al sounds like he’d
rather wait and just kill you while you’re waiting for the bus.

Get a job in a dusty, noisy place, work your ass off for a while and on a tired Friday
afternoon on the way home put on “Worker’s Song” really loud, and it will all
make sense.

Why do I do what I do?

Why have I decided to shun desk work and plush padded cubicle walls to work on a hard concrete floor and engage in extremely dangerous tasks, making noise that will deafen me, dust that will choke me, and possible lead to the loss of many sticking out body parts? Status, baby!

What did I build at my desk, even during the most productive years at Amazon? Well, my ass grew quite well. I made remarkable progress on my drinking problem. I also developed a way to nap, sitting up, in the same room as my boss and bosses boss, without being caught. (Except when I would start to snore, or my head would get off balance and snap back until it hit the cement wall behind me)

Now, I bask in the glow that every blue collar man feels when a pasty, bluish skinned software developing guy looks at something you have put together and says "You built that? On purpose?"

Oh yeah...