Mal Thursday takes a trip in time and space to the Commonwealth of
Massachusetts for "Mass Pike Memory Lane," an episode featuring 30+ Bay
State bands 1964 to now. Dedicated to the Rodney Sinclair
Defense Fund, raising money to help pay the legal fees in a case where an old friend of Mal's finds himself in the
crosshairs of America's misguided war on drugs, on trial for his
freedom. There will be a benefit concert on October 4, 2013 at J.J.'s in
Florence, Massachusetts, featuring a reunion show by the Unband, with
special guests Playtopia, The Nice Try, and Unagi/Jack Falcon. The PayPal
address to donate to the cause is middlefinger@comcast.net.
Presented in Living Monophonic Sound.
Playlist:
THE REAL KIDS: Better Be Good
THE REMAINS: Once Before
THE BUGS: Slide
THE BARBARIANS: Hey Little Bird
THE BOLD: Gotta Get Some
COBRAS: I Wanna Be Your Love
THE ROCKIN' RAMRODS: She Lied
THE MODERN LOVERS: Roadrunner
BARRENCE WHITFIELD & THE SAVAGES: Ramblin' Rose
THE NEIGHBORHOODS: The Prettiest Girl
THE HOPELESSLY OBSCURE: She's My Best Bette
THE BROOD: In and Out
THE FLIES: In the Dark
THE ODDS: I'll Make You Sorry
THE PRIME MOVERS: 1-2-5
THE TIME BEINGS: Why Don't You Love Me
CLASSIC RUINS: Geraldine (I Need Money)
LYRES: Tear You Up
KENNE HIGHLAND CLAN: Everybody's a Lyre
PRESTON WAYNE FOUR: Kumbaya (bed)
RICHIE'S RENEGADES: You're in the Pepsi Genration
DMZ: The First Time (Is the Best Time)
THE MALARIANS: Good Times
THE VOODOO DOLLS: Bad Feeling
THE UNBAND: We Like to Drink, We Like to Play Rock n' Roll
TAG SALE: Why You Smilin' (Live at the Pulaski Club)
SCUD MOUNTAIN BOYS: Midnight Cowboy (bed)
MISSION OF BURMA: That's When I Reach for My Revolver
SEBADOH: Skull
NEW RADIANT STORM KING: I Am a Scientist
BUFFALO TOM: Going Underground
THE PIXIES: Ed Is Dead
MORPHINE: Cure for Pain
MUCK AND THE MIRES: Gone, Gone, Gone
Today is my birthday, and I'm feeling bloody old. Also a little worse for the wear from all the rocking...Three months ago, I returned to Massachusetts for the "Tour of Route 9" with my old bands the Malarians and the Cheetahs. Last week, I went back again to do two more shows with the Malarians (see previous post). I wrote the following in July, but never published it. Here is part one of "My Massatucky Walkabout."
It was one month ago today that I made my return to the concert stage with a gig at the Sierra Grille in Northampton, Mass., which is located in the building that once housed the Bay State Hotel, where I used to book shows in the mid-'90s under the guise of my rock 'n roll alter-egomaniac Mal Thursday. For the proper historical context, check out Ken Maiuri's June 3rd piece in The Daily Hampshire Gazette: Clubland: Local legend Mal Thursday returns to reanimate Valley
Although the tour was not a popular move at home (my marriage would be in much better shape had I kept it to just the four dates with the Malarians, or had not gone at all), it was something I had to do, and in spite of it all, I'm damn glad I did it.
I flew in on the afternoon of the first gig, a Cheetahs show with the Egos and Evil Bill at the Sierra Grille, former site of the Bay State Hotel, where I ruled the roost back in the salad days of the Northampton music scene circa the mid-'90s. It wasn't a total triumph, but it was good to be back. The next night, we played a barn-burner at Church of Boston on a bill with Lyres (sounding as good as they ever have, and I've witnessed dozens of their shows over the past quarter-century) and the Coffin Lids. Northampton band the Immolators were supposed to be on the bill as well, but Mike Dumont a/k/a Liv Damage got lost in traffic, despite the fact that the club is just a few blocks from Fenway Park. I drove back from the gig with Cheetah David Trenholm, and once we exited the Mass Pike, we navigated a spooky, foggy, winding route that was totally Ichabod Crane-like.
New England: it's centuries-old crazy.
I then had several days off, most of which were spent on my own without access to a car, the internet or cable TV. I had plenty of time for reflection, and to rehearse with the Malarians. I had pooh-poohed the idea of a reunion for many years, owing to the fact that founding member Slater Awan (Kent Garver) was dead. But I warmed to the idea over time, and we kicked serious ass. And miraculously, my voice held up.
Thanks to Ken Maiuri, Matthew Dube, Gary Carra, and Vincent Bator for writing up my return; Marc Solomon for providing shelter and sanity; the boys in the bands, with a special shout-out to Les LeBarge a/k/a Les Fillin, for learning 25 songs and rocking them thoroughly; and a host of others, not least Jeff Conolly, Tim Downie, Mark Sheehan, O'Brien Tomalin, our producer Sean Slade, Glenn Merrill-Skoloff, Dancing Larry, Andrea Newhouse, Meag Kennedy, the Immolators, the Egos, Evil Bill, and Peter "Spec" McHugh.
No thanks, and a special place in hell for the Malarians' opening act at Church, who have started a "Boycott the Malarians" Facebook page because they felt that should have received a bigger cut of the $130 that was to be split between the three bands. They were an awful, awful semi-pro '80s synth-drivel band made up of NBA employees. I think the horrible lead singer was their boss, and they were afraid to tell him that he looked like a spastic or that his songs were terrible. I did go slightly batshit on their lame asses, calling them "Kobe-enablers" and accusing them of being "in cahoots with the L.A. Rapers."
They did, however, generate some good one-liners: "They make A-Ha sound like AC/DC." "Like Missing Persons without Dale Bozzio or Flock of Seagulls with less balls." "The Malarians may or may not have stolen their money, but they stole 45 minutes of my life." "Music to eat a gun by."
My wife laid it out in plain and simple terms last night: no more Boomerang for the kids.
In case you're not a big fan of '60s Saturday morning cartoons, or your cable provider doesn't provide it, Boomerang is Cartoon Network's repository for retro cartoons of all stripes, from old MGM shorts to "The Power Puff Girls" to its vast storehouse of Hanna-Barbera product.
Watching old episodes of "The Yogi Bear Show," I bonded with my daughter Lola. 3, and son Liam, 4, over the classic adventures of the gluttonous anti-hero Yogi and his little buddy-type pal Boo-Boo. Evie, however, has always found Hanna-Barbera cartoons agitating in the extreme. Not to mention objectionable on several other levels (the fine print on the Saturday Morning Cartoons of the '60s DVD set reads, "Not intended for children," due no doubt to all the smoking, sexual innuendo, and excessive violence, not to mention the creepy vibe of evil in shows like "The Herculoids").
My son would chant "Yogi Bear! Yogi Bear! Yogi Bear!" whenever a Yogi cartoon ended and some lesser 'toon like "Mush-Mouse and Punkin'-Puss" or "Richocet Rabbit and Droopalong" would begin. I would then have to fast-forward through the unfunny, ultra-violent detritus of the mid-'60s H-B assembly line to get to the next Yogi Bear cartoon.
That's alll over now, thanks to the moratorium on Boomerang and all things Hanna-Barbera (well, all things except my prized Unrelated Segments, Guilloteens, and 13th Floor Elevators 45s on H-B's '60s record label, that is). Though I have a sentimental attachment to the likes of Huckleberry Hound and the Banana Splits, I know that Evie's right. I don't want to warp my kids' minds like mine got warped all those years ago.
