Wednesday, April 02, 2025

Oh man I'm wiped

 So I've been helping out a buddy while he recovers from surgery... trying to get writing done... nursing a cold... tryin' to power through it and do my job, but that approach seems to be dragging the illness out; it's not going away so much as mutating... today was the onset of sinus pain behind my cheekbones... there's also family stuff happening on the island that's not for the blog, as well, but suffice to say, it's a stressful, exhausting time. I have two things coming up on the blog in the next while for sure: something on the AK-747s album release this weekend, something on the Chad Price Peace Coalition and something on Russian Tim and the Pavel Bures. But I also have a few magazine articles I'm working on about other stuff... more to come there... if I can get it all done...

...But I might be a bit scarce for awhile. Just imagine me spinning FEAR and playing with the cat. That's how I spent tonight, when I wasn't vacuuming, doing the dishes, or blowing my nose... I'm tired, gang... I think I'll go to bed now...


 

Cousin Harley talks Jump Blues, Ray Condo and vinyl (plus the gig at Frankie's this weekend!)



Don't be mislead by the title of Paul Pigat's new album, Cousin Harley Plays the Blues: there's blues and there's jump blues, and a fairly large chasm between them. Much as I love the idea of Paul Pigat -- one of Vancouver's finest guitarists, usually in a rockabilly mode -- flexing his fingers on Willie Dixon, jump blues is generally an up-tempo, playfully jazzy derivation of the form, often with horn sections and the like: think "Saturday Night Fish Fry." The title just doesn't have the same ring to it, if you stick the word "jump" in the middle! (The previous link was to different streaming services but the bandcamp page is here, if you prefer). 

With a live show two nights at Frankie's this Friday and Saturday, and Pigat's second vinyl release this year impending, after his Ray Condo tribute album, I threw some questions at Paul to get clarity as to what audiences would be seeing at Frankie's and his experience with getting vinyl pressed (a relatively new thing). 



Allan: So this seems different from any previous Cousin Harley show I've seen; how did this project come about, and how will you present it at Frankie's?

Paul: Every song on the new record, Cousin Harley Plays the Blues, has a full horn section on it. It’s sort of started because Cory Weeds from Cellar Jazz wanted to do a record with me; he wanted me to do a Smoking Jackets record, which is my band that I had together in Victoria. I like keeping the guys and cousin Harley working so I decided that I would do a similar idea but with the guys from cousin Harley and a hotshot crew from Vancouver. A lot of it is music I’ve done for many many years when I started the Smoking Jackets in victoria in the mid 90s, but I had Jerry Cook do all new arrangements for the tunes and I expanded the horn section.  The shows this weekend will have all the members of the band from the record: a full horn section plus Chris Gestrin on keys. [This means Paul on guitar, Jesse Cahill on drums, Jeremy Holmes on bass, Cory Weeds on tenor sax, Jerry Cook on tenor and baritone, and Derry Byrne on trumpet]. Honestly, this might be the only time we perform with the full ensemble. I might do more shows with just a single horn and the piano, but it’s just not cost-effective for many other shows. Unless I make it big, that is!

Allan: I confess: I don't know much about the form. Why is it called jump blues? The only stuff I have in my collection that counts, I guess -- and ONLY ON CD, the scandal! -- is Louis Jordan, but I don't know all his songs -- are there other players we should know, who you take inspiration from? I'm curious in particular about guitarists...

Paul: You know to tell you the truth I’m not exactly sure why they call it jump blues. It differs from Chicago blues as it has more to do with the transition from swing to rock ‘n’ roll. Generally small combo with more arrangement and most of the stuff that I like is either from Texas or from California. Louis Jordan is awesome! Guys like Johnny Otis, Gatemouth Brown, Johnny Guitar Watson and early BB King can all fit into the category. There was a great guitar player named Bill Jennings, who I think might be the cornerstone of all modern jump players. Other guys you could check out our like Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson as well plus there’s the more modern second generation kind of players like Junior Watson, Kid Ramos, Charlie Baty... and of course, the baddest of them all, Hollywood Fats.  These were all guys playing around in the 80s and 90s. I steal my stuff from every one of those cats.

Allan: I see you've done some Leiber and Stoller on this! Your version of "Down in Mexico" sounds markedly different from the Coasters'

Paul: Leiber and Stoller were a ridiculously prolific writing duo! I don’t think they wrote anything that was bad. My version of "Down in Mexico" is just the way I hear it. I did it years ago for a special event with the Nightcrawlers (Jesse's band) and always thought it was a great number so decided to keep it for this record. I couldn’t do it like the original, even if I wanted to, though: I didn’t have that many singers in the band! Plus it features the guitar a lot more and it’s a little dirtier.

Allan: Curious how the album was recorded. I imagine that you'd get the horns and such down and then play the guitar over that...? Does having a horn section affect how you play?  

Paul: We recorded the rhythm section and the horns live in one day at the warehouse studios. I overdubbed all my vocals and guitars later. As I had my hands full directing the band who were pretty much just learning the arrangements on the spot, plus I really wanted to spend my time getting the guitar sound I wanted and not just getting what was possible in one day at the studio. Fat and fuzzy was the goal.  

Allan: This, with the Ray Condo release, is the second piece of vinyl you've released in the last year! Curious for whatever deets you can share about this, for people thinking of getting vinyl pressed: you had 200 of each made? How is that turning out?

Paul: Man, I swore I would never print vinyl! However, that being said, CDs, regardless of how much I love them, are an antiquated format and are very difficult to sell now. With the current situation with streaming, hardcopy music has basically just become a memento of a show unfortunately. Vinyl is a drag to transport because of its size and weight but it honestly does sell a lot better than CDs. At least I’m hoping that it does and it’s way more expensive to make. If you ask me why I did it... I can’t tell you definitively if it was a good idea or not, but it sure does look pretty. 



Paul (continued): The Ray Condo record was honestly just for me. I’ve done almost no promotion for it and I still have copies left. I just really wanted someone to do something to commemorate him; I didn’t think anybody else would do it, plus I’ve been playing Ray's material for so long and he was so important to my early development that it would be the least that I could do to make a tribute record.

I’m sure I would sell more of the Ray Condo records. If I let more people know about it, maybe I’ll do a blast sometime in the summer. I printed 300 and I think I have almost half of them left. However, this summer is gonna be pretty quiet so maybe I’ll make a fort out of them all!

Allan: I bet there are songs on the setlist that are NOT on the album; will you be adapting other Cousin Harley stuff....? Will the setlist be the same or similar both nights at Frankie's? Anything else we should say about the shows?

Paul: I’ve done a couple more arrangements to add to the horn sections job for the shows. some originals and a couple of tunes I have done forever but not the standard Cousin Harley repertoire.  I think we probably start off each set with a smaller version of the band, the trio plus saxophone and maybe piano. It’ll definitely be swing oriented and not so hillbilly psychobilly. I’m gonna try and switch up at least a few tunes for each show so it’ll keep me interested and hopefully the audience as well!

Thanks, Paul! Frankie's event page is here -- not quite sure if the shows are both sold out? But maybe we can still get in if we show up early, bring cash, and are nice about it? 

Monday, March 31, 2025

The FEAR / Dead Bob/ Vicious Cycles show: Live at the Rickshaw, March 30th, 2025

My favourite photo from last night -- of the ones I took -- involved Nomeansno band biographer Jason Lamb, whose "Bob" shirt was incredibly visible in the pit. I took a few shots of him, and gotta say, this one is near perfect. It almost looks like I've drawn the word "Bob" on using some computer program, but nope, that's really the back of his shirt. 


Meantime, my favourite musical performance was Dead Bob doing "Long Days," which I shot vid of here. I took no photos otherwise of Dead Bob. I have seen every single public Dead Bob performance in Vancouver and I confess, parts of this one, I sat out, because cripes, I'm exhausted... sick, tired, weak, stressed  and so forth. 

But I caught a couple of good pics of the Vicious Cycles MC. I'm going to send them the video I shot, though, in case they want to use it!



And I was delighted and surprised at who came out from backstage to check the VCs out. He was mobbed by a few fans who wanted selfies, of course. Me, I have never really been much about selfies. But I did shoot a couple photos, more for the VCs sake than anything else (they have been doing some things with Lee that we will discuss at a later date). It was delightful to see one of the heroes of Los Angeles punk enjoying one of our home team bands. Robert of the VCs told me afterwards the name of the bike Lee used to ride and the bike club he was in, but, y'know, I had *had* some of that pot cookie I was sharin', so... I'll have to ask again at a later date.

I am hoping there will BE a later date. Lee seems like a real sweet guy when he's not singing "Strangulation." 


Oh, and hey, look, there's that dude with the shades who would NOT LET PEOPLE ALONE in the pit, including me, colliding into us, grabbing onto us, tugging on our arms, grabbing our shoulders, pulling at us like anyone not moshing was somehow doing it wrong. I wondered if he was some sort of paid plant, tasked with getting people physically riled up; it worked, insofar as I visualized punching him in the face, after he nearly toppled me over, but I don't think that's the kind of "riled up" he was aiming for. I even told him flat-out that he had nearly knocked me down and asked him to stop grabbing onto me, just LEAVE ME ALONE, but he would not. (He actually seemed to mean it all in a friendly way but that still didn't mean I wanted to be grabbed by him). Ultimately -- after he'd pretty much wrecked "White Stone Eyes," one of my favourite Dead Bob songs,  I just left the pit; it was impossible to enjoy the music with impending, involuntary doughboy action coming at you every few minutes. For fucksake, folks, MOSH WITH PEOPLE WHO WANT TO MOSH WITH YOU, and leave the people standing off to the sides ALONE. They want to mosh, they will -- let people enjoy things in their own way! 

I sat out the rest of Dead Bob's set, but I totally enjoyed, in particular, the version of "Life Like" they did at the end, which, no foolin', put me in mind of the BEAT show I saw, y'know, with Belew and Levin and Vai and so forth. It wasn't a bad song to be seated for -- to close my eyes and listen to. I would have preferred to be up front, but really, it's been one hell of a month (I even sold my Amyl and the Sniffers ticket last week, and had no regrets -- I couldn't have managed it, was falling-down exhausted and ill). 

Finally, it was time for FEAR, and I snuck back down to the front, hoping the coast was clear. I snapped a few photos -- not many, but enough! (Bob was getting good stuff that maybe you'll see at some point; I do hope to write more about this night). 



Lee was in fine voice; Spit Stix was a fuckin' machine, and the guitarist, Eric Razo, was a fine replacement for Philo -- maybe not quite as flat-out goofy, but deft as hell, very enjoyable. 

Somehow, this show was much, much better than the Vogue show the other year. Part of it may have been the more intimate environs, and part of it may just be that I'd come to accept that Lee is not exactly the menacing toughguy that I had been expecting, based on the footage in Decline, the last time I saw him. But he was plenty chatty and personable between songs last night; he even made a kind of witty joke at the end of "Strangulation" -- which has the grossest of any of the lyrics he sang, so I welcomed his quipping as it finished something like, "And then I'll ask her if she loves me." He punctuated jokes like that with little gruff "heh hehs" that put me in mind, I dunno, of how I imagine Robert DeNiro might sound in Dirty Grandpa, which I have not seen, but he was also pretty positive and friendly in the things he said -- he really ISN'T the guy in Decline anymore: "It's all about sportsmanship and love, and if you bump into anybody while you're bouncing around, please say excuse me." 

It's almost like Lee could read my mind, re: the pudgy pit provocateur, and was making fun of me or something.

Actually, quips like that made me want to ask him if he has Bill Murray stories. The infamous Saturday Night Live appearance was all about John Belushi, of course, but Lee these days has more of a Bill Murray vibe to him, maybe -- a sardonic senior wiseguy (not in the mafia sense). I hope I get to interview him at some point... he seemed amenable... 


There's not much else in my bag of stories, though, folks. At one point, someone shouted out a request for "New York's All Right," and I responded somewhat loudly, "but Vancouver's better." Rest assured, I didn't really mean it, it's just that I'd been thinking about my brief chat with Syd Savage, out in the lobby, who had recently led Death Sentence through a cover of the Exploited's "USA," which I would LOVE to hear them do live. If there's a timely punk song, that's it, and if there's a local band perfect for it, it's them. Syd assures me that Death Sentence will be at the Rickshaw soon enough...  



The other entertaining non-FEAR related conversation I had was with resident Vancouver genius of transgressive horror burlesque, Betty Bathory, who has announced she is going to give up all non-disgusting, non-horrifying side-projects and focus on her own brand, as expressed through Daddy Issues ("there are plenty of people in this town who can sing, but no one else is doing what I do": amen!). I recently had a vid I shot of them at Ronfest doing Mudhoney's "Touch Me I'm Sick" censored off Youtube because of sexuality and nudity and such. I did try to dispute it! I mean, she WAS pulling some sort of horrifying goo out of her vaginal area, as she is wont to do during that song, but it wasn't, like, REAL vaginal goo, nor was it her REAL vagina it was coming out of. To my mind, that makes it art! 

The Youtube censors stood by their decision, alas (they didn't even give me space, in filling out the appeal, to explain what they were seeing).  Oddly though, they left the clip of her performing that same night in her Peg-Bundy-from-Hell wig, with a girthful dildo strapped on, online for all to see. Fake dicks okay, but fake vages are taboo? 

Love the guy with the finger! 

Anyhow: it was great night, even for someone as wiped out as I was. Got to briefly meet Lee and Spit and and Eric and one of the two other FEAR members, getting a couple things signed. I was happy to say to Spit Stix, "You gotta bring Nasalrod up here," and he grinned and said "I know!" I hope other people know about his other band, that I wasn't the only one who remarked on how amazing they are -- they were the other band on that Victims Family split the last time Dead Bob played the Rickshaw, and to my great amazement, their songs were every bit as great as Victims Family's, which is a tall order. Someone should line up a show between them and Vic Bondi's band Redshift, also a Pacific Northwest band... that would be amazing to see, eh? 

We need to be nice to our American punk neighbours, folks -- they do not deserve what is happening down there; like Lee said as he launched into the band's nihilistic closer, "No More Nothing," we're all family, we've got to be good to each other (I'm just paraphrasing, but it was pretty close to that). 

Thanks for having come back to Vancouver, FEAR. See you again sometime? 

Saturday, March 29, 2025

Vicious Cycles, Dead Bob and, yep, FEAR again

I wonder if Lee Ving is motorcycle guy? It doesn't seem a stretch -- there he is with Willem Dafoe as one of the biker bad guys in Walter Hill's Streets of Fire; he seems entirely credible. Of course, the opening band tomorrow night, the Vicious Cycles, are motorcycle people -- their full name is the Vicious Cycles MC, with MC standing for "motorcycle club," which I confess is something I did not know most of my life, despite my longtime BOC fandom. I dug into their backstory in an interview in the basement of Neptoon Records eight years ago, and have enjoyed catching them multiple times since. The song I was riffing on in the title of that story, "You Ain't So Tuff," is still one of my favourite songs of theirs, and the story behind it one of the best stories anyone has ever told me about the inspiration for a song... didn't hurt that the inspiration was right there in the basement with us... 

Anyhow, I was told something by the band today that makes me think I need to interview them again, if I can find a good home for it -- it's super-cool news, but it may not be yet ripe for public consumption. But they definitely are going to have FEAR stories to tell at some point, since this is the second time they've opened for those guys locally (and I believe they are playing with them in Seattle -- actually Portland; oops -- as I type this!). Suddenly, I really want to know if Lee took an interest in their history with bikes (maybe I should watch Streets of Fire again? He actually rides in that, doesn't he?). 

So I have a story that I can't leak yet, which led me to want to leak a different story about Dead Bob, only I've just discovered that I'm not supposed to leak the thing I found out about them, either (I need Depends or something; I'm a leaky boy). Suffice to say that I am very, very excited by a couple of the songs on it, which I believe I have heard them do only once. One is a Nomeansno song, and one is a Dead Bob song. I hope I'm allowed to leak THAT much?

John Wright by Bob Hanham

And while I have no news at present, I am hoping to talk to Colin MacRae tomorrow about impending Pigment Vehicle reissues. I actually have become quite a fan of Pigment Vehicle, whom I wrote about here. I think, since Erika and I went up to Powell River to check out the pub John and Colin (and others) were running, I've actually listened to Pigment Vehicle more than I have Dead Bob (!), and -- though I was there to talk to John, I quite enjoyed interacting with Colin, even though I didn't know his former band so well at that point. I think I briefly owned Murder's Only Foreplay When You're Hot for Revenge, but that was it. 

By the by, where the hell did they get that title from, and if murder is only foreplay, what counts as coitus -- full on Maori-style cannibalism, turning your enemies into feces? Or were they thinking of something about more, uh, necrophilic? "I ain't done with you yet, dead man..."

Incidentally, do I have a certain American public figure on the brain or does the guy on this album cover REMIND you of anyone? I would rather turn this person into feces than fuck his corpse, I think. Maybe you gotta go on a case-by-case basis (or maybe they had some other indignities to the human body in mind with that title? Guess I have stuff to ask them, too, if and when reissues happen!).  


But the thing about Pigment Vehicle: it is still very fresh to me. Not only did it come to me at a time when I was plunging into math and prog and really getting into Don Caballero and King Crimson and such -- the student was ready, and the teacher came, then had to go change his pants -- I had not listened to a single release of theirs all the way through, ever, until 2023. I could recite you a goodly chunk of Nomeansno's lyrics; there aren't many songs of theirs that aren't deep in my DNA, at this point, such that I seldom need to hear them now -- but I don't think (speaking of motorcycles) that I'd heard "Saving My Cash for a Hog" until 2023. Hell, I knew Ford Pier's catalogue better than that, or the Invasives better. I didn't know Rong as well, and have been really, really enjoying them of late, too, but to me, the most mysterious element in Dead Bob -- the one I have seen play least often, in fact -- remains Colin. I have seen John play with Nomeansno and the Show Business Giants; Kristy-Lee with Rong; Ford with Nomeansno, D.O.A., the Show Business Giants, the Ford Pier Vengeance Trio and more; and Byron with Rong and Invasives. But Colin I have seen play three times, each time a Dead Bob gig. 


Colin MacRae by Bob Hanham

But there's lots I want to hear from Dead Bob, too -- truly a local supergroup led by Vancouver's most swingin' punk drummer. Without spoilers, the album, including songs you will here tomorrow, is discussed at some length in this interview I did with John Wright



Oh, and speaking of FEAR and things mathy, check out "I Am a Doctor" on the album the anniversary of which they are touring. Or check out the whole album. I remember having mixed feelings about More Beer when it first came out, but I went through it in full the other day with headphones on, just playing it off Youtube while, uh, on a break at work, and, by damn, it's quite fun. There are a couple of songs I don't much need, and there's a lot of between-song silliness (who do they think they are, NO FUN?), but there's hook after hook, and songs I'd kind of forgotten and now am delighted at the prospect of seeing, like "Waiting for the Meat."

Damn I hope they have this album on their merch table tomorrow. 

There are still tickets for FEAR, folks. I'd be there, tomorrow. I think it's gonna be fucking great. 


Friday, March 28, 2025

Wolf Creek 2: kangaroo splats and more

Watching Greg McLean's Wolf Creek 2. It's fun -- it's quite a bit different from the first film, which is pretty nasty and mostly without humour (unless you're fairly twisted, you'll probably find the first Wolf Creek an unpleasant watch, overall, though very effective as a straight-up outback survival-horror meets deranged-murderer movie). By contrast, one of the funnier "bits" of the second film has Mick, the pig-hunting killer, played by John Jarratt, who is the common element in these films, driving through a panicked mob of kangaroos in a massive truck, running into several, running over several, and apologizing as he goes (the kangaroos are not his object; they're just in the way). You might think -- if Wake in Fright flashes through your mind, here -- that killing kangaroos is not funny, but rest assured, these are CGI kangaroos, reminding one of the running packs of tiny dinosaurs in the Jurassic Park movies, so you don't feel too bad getting a chuckle out of the carnage, which is pretty bloody indeed. Also, the soundtrack is chosen for low comedy: the Tokens doing "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," as punctuated by marsupial splats.  

I mean, it's shamelessly lowbrow, and more than a little over-the-top, but what can I say, I laughed!  

The film also boasts probably the, uh, most enjoyable cop killing scene in cinema history. Understand, I'm not anti-cop; and I have, generally, rooted far more often for cops killing bad guys than the reverse, when it comes to genre films. In Wolf Creek 2, you get to cheer the bad guy killing two cops. This all happens in the first ten minutes of the film, so there are no deep spoilers here: the setup for the violent payoff is perfectly executed and makes what happens quite entertaining, again in a shamelessly lowbrow (but quite satisfying) way. Two highway patrolmen pull Mick over, even though he wasn't actually speeding, using the pretext for the stop to humiliate and frighten him. They're not as quite as viciously unprofessional as the cops in Jennifer Lynch's Surveillance, but they're in the same ballpark, and definitely not "the good guys." You'll be waiting with great anticipation for Mick to take them out -- which is quite an accomplishment, since anyone who has seen the first film knows that Mick is a horrifying, cannibalistic killer, possibly a sex killer to boot, with a basement that brings Tobe Hooper to mind, so it's kind of remarkable that you can be so easily twisted into identifying with him; anyone who has ever been humiliated or abused by authority figures will have no problem cheering him on, and the payoff does not disappoint and includes a bit of gore equal to anything in early Peter Jackson.  

And yes, there is a joke about killing "pigs," heh-heh. 

I have had the DVD -- which I bought back in the days when Videomatica was in the back of Zulu Records -- sitting around unwatched for some time, maybe as long as ten years, because even though I have enjoyed everything I've seen by the director, Greg McLean -- with my favourite being his killer croc movie, Rogue, which you can find on Tubi -- I was concerned that there would be a lack of fresh ideas in this film. And indeed there is some repetition -- as when tourists arrive at the titular crater -- but the tone is quite different, as it would have to be, since this time, we know what kind of person Mick is. The repeated elements are done long before the film's midpoint, however, and are surrounded by varying bits of action (Mick stalking his prey on horseback, for example) that do things with no precedent in the first film. There is also a "showdown" at the end that surely taps into any genuine resentments working class Australians feel at the British, where Mick quizzes a "pommy" captive about Australian history. I didn't know the answer to even one question, though I could recall some of the lyrics to "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport," which are made much of. (The film came out the year before Rolf Harris was arrested, and it seems like McLean and his main character both have some fondness for the song). 

Though the stories are dissimilar, as far as follow-ups to popular works go, it all reminds me, a bit, of the novel Hannibal, where you get the sense that Thomas Harris was probably doing it for the payday, but figured a way to make it amusing for himself, imagining entertaining ways to expand on the world of the first film. I think McLean probably enjoyed making this movie a lot, and I've certainly enjoyed. watching it. It's unfortunate that the ending is on the weak side -- but it does have an element of surprise to it (though quite a bit of the story is wrapped up with end titles, which happened with the first film as well; and the final shot of the movie is very close to a straight repetition of the final shot of its forbear.) Not saying I had a better idea for the ending, but it's a shame that a film with so much engaging, fresh, and -- from a gory-horror-POV, "fun stuff" -- should fizzle out as un-dramatically as it does. 

One question lingers: is there any country whose films are as anti-tourism as Australia's? Even movies like Razorback, which has a tourist as the ultimate hero of the film, make the prospect of visiting the land seem very, very unappealing. Rogue, too -- it is kinder to its tourists than either of the Wolf Creek films, allowing them to become flat-out heroes, with the main Australian character being in fact saved by a tourist at the film's climax... but it still depicts the country as an extremely unwelcoming, hostile place to visit. The anti-tourist theme becomes quite explicit in Wolf Creek 2, with Mick going on several rants about them, so people interested in this angle should definitely seek the film out...

Might go for the TV series next, though that does seem to be milking things a bit...

Space Queen tonight, what else tomorrow? Uh...

I have had a miserable cold and I don't actually want to be Mr. Gig Update, generally speaking -- there is a fine Instagram page for keeping abreast of what's happening in the city. Plus I stop looking at gigs when I form other plans, like - if I decide to see Space Queen and GADFLY at the Waldorf tonight, that's it, I'm not going to do further research! 

And I still might not feel well enough to go out -- we'll have to see. I also have writing to do, other commitments. But I have seen and enjoyed Space Queen -- who doesn't like female-fronted stoner metal? And I interviewed GADFLY here... The other bands seem to have some buzz to them as well... Franklin involves Sarinn? And Jesse Gander? What?


But, like, there's no shortage of options. Carolyn Mark is at the Heatley if you want something rootsier... and... who are Felisha and the Jazz Rejects? (at the Grey Lab). What are Hinds? (from Spain? Who?). I don't know what kind of music you people want to hear, and there's only a couple of these bands I already know. And mostly that means some grizzled old punk band I remember from my teen years, who, against the odds, are still performing (I'm looking at YOU, Death Sentence: last I saw them, Donut was out and Syd Savage was the original member fronting the band... Betty Bathory dressed up as Pete Cleaver but I think that might have been a one-off, I dunno. They play LanaLou's tonight -- you tell me!). 

Like, what if I find out that there was something better happening that I didn't tell you to go to, because I was fixated on something else? I don't want all this responsibility...

I'm probably just going to stay home, anyhow. Junofest is happening -- pick a venue and check it out, I dunno. What can I tell you? I looked around at the options for Saturday and kinda liked Medevil at LanaLou's, which is probably cheaper than Anciients at the Rickshaw, but do I feel like progressive metal at all?

I interviewed Anciients once... WAIT//LESS are on the bill, too... are these bands actually nominated for Junos?


If you're wanting something artier, mind you, there is a large, unusual, genre-rich project (post-rock, noise rock, avant rock, maybe even a bit of free jazz?) called Computer whom Art Perry is a big fan of, who will be at Green Auto on Saturday... someone recorded a whole set of theirs there awhile back... definitely ambitious, and I have other business at Green Auto that I'm supposed to be tending to... Hmm...

But really I should come back home and transcribe an interview because I have a looming deadline. I shouldn't see any of this. I am going to go see FEAR on Sunday (with Dead Bob!), which will have to be enough. I already wrote a bit about FEAR (though is Philo with them? It looks like Spit Stix is. It's not just Lee, OG-member wise. I did a full listen-through of the album whose anniversary they're celebrating, More Beer, and thought it was mostly kinda great -- I used to find it a bit slapdash but the humour has grown on me). 

But nevermind FEAR, the real question is, will Dead Bob do "We Are the Chopped"? It was on their setlist for a few shows during their US tour but they didn't play it here last time. I better wear my Mama shirt just in case...  I bet they're glad they got a US tour out of the way before everything went to hell politically...! 

...But I have nothing new to say about Dead Bob. I'm waiting for news about Pigment Vehicle reissues but this is my last official interaction with Colin about that. I want "Saving My Cash for a Hog" on vinyl so bad... Dead Bob-wise, though, try their video for "White Stone Eyes," but trigger warning: if you're tripping balls while you read this, wait til you COME DOWN before you watch it, or you may run out of the room screaming. I couldn't make it through, actually. But I'm tired, and haven't been well. I am not tripping. I am not balls. I am not responsible for your gig choices this weekend! 

But have a fun weekend, folks! 

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

FEAR Vancouver return! (With Dead Bob and the Vicious Cycles)

So the last time FEAR was in town, I wore my loudest pink shirt. If Lee was gonna start on that homophobic shtick you see in The Decline of Western Civilization, I was going to pick a side, so to speak -- a sort of hot pink message of, "Fuck you! I'm with them!"

FEAR at the Vogue, Vancouver, April 21, 2023, by Bob Hanham, not to be reused without permission

Because y'see, based on that film clip, and things I'd read, but having had no actual live experience of the band, I had kinda thought that being abused and shouting back was half the point of a FEAR concert -- that it was some weird, sadomasochistic/ purgative/ quasi-therapeutic ritual of Los Angeles punk, a play-acted us-and-them cartoon that in fact hasn't really translated well geographically or temporally: "Hey, this band are going to call us f*gs, lets all go spit on them!": not an aspect of the punk scene I really had much exposure to, not an aspect of the zeitgeist that I can say I understand.

Maybe some of what you see in the film was put-on and amped-up for the cameras, but with the film then reinforcing that this was the way to behave at their shows, it must have had an impact on what was to come -- if their fans didn't really act that way before the film, damn sure they did after! Did the band finally get tired of it? What was that like, coming to shows with people primed to gob? (Surely FEAR is one of the most spat-at bands in American punk?). And when they weren't saying things to bait their audience and get a reaction, what did they really believe?

Whatever the case: no abuse was hurled at the Vogue back in 2023, either from the band at the audience or from the audience at the stage. No one noticed my pink, and Lee was very polite and thankful for the applause. One of my friends even complained that he had gone "Vegas," what with saying things like "what a great audience! I love you guys!"

I mean, it definitely wasn't what I'd expected, either. Lee used to present as someone out of a Hubert Selby Jr novel (see image below, and yes, I'm specifically thinking about Last Exit). He was singing his crudest lyrics ("piss on your warm embrace/ I just want to cum in your face!"), not censoring himself at all -- which I kind of respect; play the song or not, but don't change it, you know? ...don't water the thing down! (There are apparently a couple of lyrics that are a little less homophobic on the 2012 re-record of their classic album, The Record, like a version of "New York's Alright if You Like Saxophones" that omits the barb, "New York's alright if you're a homosexual," but that's hardly the most provocative of their lyrics, and other songs retain their bite). But in-between songs the other year, it was mostly just generic entertainer stage patter, much tamer than I'd imagined. I wouldn't necessarily say it was Vegas, but it was none of what you see in the doc.

Hubert Selby Jr

Like, would Lee be pissed off, if I could ask him about that, or would he be, "What's wrong with Vegas?" Does Lee dig Sinatra? Tony Bennett? I'm more of a Dean Martin guy myself. Lee's in that Netflix is a Joke video clip about aging punk rockers, smashing up a scooter with a hammer, so clearly he's got a sense of humour... Like, how does he feel, looking back at himself in Decline? Was that guy really him, then? When did that start to change?


And how the hell would people LIKE him to have aged? No, it was fine with me that Lee was polite, that FEAR has matured out of that audience-abuse stuff. Maybe they gave that up years ago? I mean, who would want that level of expectation placed on them? Who would want to be the guy that you see in Decline as a full-time job? He's 74, for fucksake!

It's like, if GG Allin had lived, man, if GG Allin were alive now (like Lee) in his 70s and still touring -- stop and contemplate this: he would probably have gone full-outlaw country by now (Lee has an album of country songs, you know, right? They could have toured together). The laxatives would have been given up long ago, the shitting onstage, the sucker-punching-the-audience: "Naw, man, that was my old me, I've gone acoustic for good." GG didn't live to see those days, but Lee did! We should be happy for him!

Or like, at that Iggy Pop show, where he was opening for the Pretenders here on the Blah-Blah-Blah tour, there was that one grizzled guy in the pit shouting, "Spit on me Ig!" But if Iggy had actually spat on the audience that night -- mostly comprised of 20somethings who had heard "Real Wild Child" on the radio and a song they thought of as David Bowie's, but nothing more -- if Iggy had actually SPAT on them, 95% of the audience would have shrieked and ran. It woulda been me and the old guy left: "Uh, spit on me next?" 

Which is to say, times change. 

People always joked about Iggy going Vegas, someday -- which would be all right by me, actually; anyone who knows the bootleg Heroin Hates You has heard what that might sound like. But if we'll make a space in Vegas for Iggy, why not allow Lee there... or maybe a home on the range? (Country people are supposed to have good manners too, right? I'd have loved to see a set by Range War. Whole album here).


And I mean, fan expectations can be dreadful on performers. Remember that time when someone had said on the radio, the day the Cramps were here, with Slow, out at UBC, that the last time the band had been in town, Lux had gotten naked onstage, so that that night, everyone started chanting "strip!" at him before the encore? He was not one to strip on command, that Lux; I don't think he appreciated it -- the encore was brief ("Surfin' Bird" was involved) and underwhelming (I think there was also an issue involving Slow having gotten blood on the band's equipment, in their evening's homage to Carrie). And Lux's pecker definitely stayed in its coop.

So contemplating my friend's observation about Lee going Vegas, I started turning it over in my mind. Why shouldn't Lee have toned it down by now? And what did it mean about me that I had come to the FEAR show dressed to be abused? What had been going on in MY head? Why was I disappointed that Lee was nice to us? What the very fuck?

Why wasn't I just there for the songs? They played them real well; and Lee was in great voice.

All recent photos of FEAR by Bob Hanham, April 21, 2023, at the Vogue; not to be reused without permission

I had to, like, critically reflect a bit on all this. This FEAR had not been that FEAR -- FEAR as I first saw them on a VHS rental of the Decline -- but in retrospect, that was just fine with me. I was ambivalent about that FEAR anyhow, even though I have always liked some of their tunes. I should have known better than to expect them to be stuck back then... though I'm still happy to have worn "colours," so to speak. What else can you do about a song like "Let's Have a War?" "Give guns to the queers/ the enemy's within"...? 'Scuse me?

I mean, this was not serious, right? "Let's Have a War" was surely some sort of inverted protest song, right? There's actually some wit at work here, but also an outpouring of... what? Something really angry, brewing under the surface, which isn't exactly being feigned - working-class masculine toughguy aggression -- even if the expression of it partially was a put-on, designed to provoke? Is that the dynamic, here? The band you love to be hated by? The band who represent the authority positions you abhor, who you can then safely scream your hate at?

Like, "I Don't Care About You," one of their greatest songs... it's not an actual endorsement of not caring about other people! It drags out ugly, dark stuff from us, but that what's great about it... it's kind of a digging tool for our darker feelings, stated bluntly. The ugliness is the point, the confrontation, the forcing-us-to-acknowledge how fucking cold our society is. There's a really interesting lyrical annotation to that song, from an interview with Lee, on the Genius website, for the line about seeing "a man with no legs crawling down 5th street trying to get something to eat." Quoting Lee:

I’m walking home in New York City to my little dumpy apartment, and I notice that there is a guy on 5th street … he’s a double amputee, he’s not doing good, he’s a drug addict or something, he’s fucked up. And he’s trying to ask for something, I can’t tell what he’s saying. And I’m supposed to tune this out? I’m supposed to keep walking? I don’t know, what the fuck, what kind of place is this? Is this how you look on your fellow human? “Don’t get in my way, I’m on my way to something.” You know, you’re dying here right in front of my eyes? That’s "I Don’t Care About You"… I’m thinking about these things that I saw in New York while I was living there, driving a taxi, working in the Gramophone Record Store on St. Mark’s place, and seeing just every kind of thing stumble in the door.

There's some unusual psychology to FEAR's music -- because that song sort of invites a powerfully cathartic identification with the feeling of not caring about our fellows, followed by a shame and a self-examination... it's social criticism, but disguised as an anthem of insensitivity. I'm not sure ALL FEAR songs are as rich, but, say what you will, they're not just simple thugs, here.

All recent photos of FEAR by Bob Hanham, April 21, 2023, at the Vogue; not to be reused without permission 

One does wonder, though, with a song like "Public Hangings," which side Lee was imagining being hanged... probably not in his interest for this to be known until after the revolution, depending on which side wins... they are, after all, entertainers first, right?

No, in fact, my main complaint with the last FEAR show here was that it was a very, very focused concert, playing the most obvious songs, with no deep dives, and omitting the three things I most hoped they would do, which were the aforesaid "Public Hangings;" also, they didn't play what was then their new single -- a terrific cover of "Nice Boys" by Rose Tattoo, a band that it really pleases me to know Lee digs (Does Lee like AC/DC? The Angels? Does he have history with Angry Anderson or that song?). They were selling a 7" of it in the lobby, but I guess they were operating under a "no one cares about the new stuff" principle when it came to the setlist, or maybe it was a lineup that just hadn't learned that stuff yet? I would have loved to hear it, in any case. Finally, they also ditched my other favourite FEAR song, "Responsibility," off their second LP, you know, the one with the, uhh, evocative cover?

But give it a second if you don't know it; the song is a witty hardboiled anthem for people trying to harness their energies to be productive, pushing against the urge not to be, reigning in excess: "Had a little money in my pocket for a minute/ had a little money in my pocket but it's gone/ My time is running out and my choices are few/ It wouldn't look so easy, if you only knew..."

But I do know, Lee, I do. I relate to this song more and more with each year. And the line about how knowing the time doesn't get you to your destination quicker... it's so true...

I think I actually may have seen the setlist for that night, and smiled that "Responsibility" was on it. Then they didn't play it! This tour is actually celebrating the 40th anniversary of More Beer. however. which means there's a much greater chance for "Responsibility" to be played; it is on the most recent posted setlist. And "Waiting for the Meat" will probably be represented, too, and "Null Detector"... there are some other songs I enjoy on More Beer (none as much as "Responsibility"). I used to have the album on vinyl, years ago...

All recent photos of FEAR by Bob Hanham, April 21, 2023, at the Vogue; not to be reused without permission 

Other deeper dives on the setlist include this gem that I didn't know until a few minutes ago, "Now Your Dead" with a your/ you're misspelling in the title... And while there is very little from their two most recent albums, there may well be something off their newest, The Last Time; and even if they probably aren't going to do their cover of Rose Tattoo, they might just do their cover of "Ramblin' Gamblin' Man." Yes, FEAR have covered Bob Seger (and yes, it's pretty great). 

And then classics like "I Love Livin' in the City" -- of course I want to hear that again, another stone classic punk song. These are, for me, all great reasons to see FEAR again this time, and this time, I can see them without the filter of expectations or some desire for sadomasochistic catharsis, or something.... whatever that audience-abuse shtick was, it was never something I really wanted, so I am more than happy to let it go. 

There are still lingering curiosities about their politics, of course, which make it an interesting time in history to be seeing this band; what will Lee have to say about the relationship between our countries? Right now, that only adds to the intrigue! Did he vote for, y'know, that guy, and doesn't that make a song like "Bomb the Russians" problematic? (It's probably on the setlist too!). There are some definite pro-American songs in their recent repertoire, like "For Right and Order," or there's the somewhat older "USA."  The awkwardness of the moment, politically, only makes these things more interesting to me (they won't play those last two songs, I bet!). 

So here we go: I'm going to have another beer with FEAR. [Apparently it's original drummer Spit Stix on the kit, taking a break from his duties with Nasalrod, by the way]. I don't think I'm going to bother wearing pink this time, though. Let's move on, and let FEAR move on, even if some of their lyrics are, uh, provocative... I think I'm just going to let them be a punk band I loved when I was 17, who still have songs that connect with me, and who have a few lyrics that really don't. But they're not the only band we can say that about (consider the Descendents or the Forgotten Rebels -- and neither of those bands have a song that's as chilling or potent as "I Don't Care About You"!).


Post-script: of course, most of the people reading this already bought tickets as soon as Dead Bob was added to the bill. I have not written this for them -- they're going anyhow! 

And I think the Vicious Cycles have a new album out soon, and a show coming up with the JOLTS? Yes, the Jolts are back! So I'm ready to see them again, too!

FEAR Rickshaw event page here! Thanks to Bob Hanham for the photographs...! 

And hey, Lee, if you've actually read this, I do know a magazine that would love an interview with you... I'm game...  

Monday, March 24, 2025

Cosmic payback vs. stuff that happened: the story of a lost wedding ring

Nietzsche observes somewhere -- I'm going to paraphrase without citing, but I'm sure you can find it if you like -- that there are no moral phenomenon in and of themselves, only moral interpretation of phenomenon. 

Or, remember that Simpsons episode where the punchline, when Homer is asked to draw a moral conclusion about the things that have transpired, is something like, "it's just a bunch of stuff that happened?" 

...For moralizing purposes, the story begins yesterday, on the way up Main Street. I noticed that, coming out of the Skytrain Station, a rather desperate-looking, grubbily-clothed guy had pulled up the grates that separated two sections of pavement, and was digging in the ground beneath them quite fervently. This wasn't, say, the usual behaviour of your ordinary crack addict, poking at crevices, hoping someone had dropped a rock -- a tragic thing, very sad to witness, but minor by comparison: This was more like an archaeological dig, or maybe like the guy thought there might be buried treasure to be found -- years of dropped loonies and toonies, perhaps? Whatever he thought he was doing, he had piled two large mounds of dirt up, using sections of grate he had removed as a shovel to scoop up more dirt, which he would then sift through with his hands. He was being very thorough. 

I sent Erika a text with an uncharitably terse description ("some crackhead is digging up the dirt beneath the Skytrain grates"), along with a photo I snapped. I don't want to get the guy in trouble, so I have cropped him out, but here's just a tiny portion of his handiwork -- this is about 3/4s of the area he had dug out, when I saw him:


Then the bus came. I elected to do nothing, because what can one do? Offer to help him dig? (file that under, "What would Alejandro Jodorowsky do?"). Call the non-emergency "report unauthorized excavations" number? Or just saunter over and say, "Whacha diggin' for?" to help determine the best approach...? I wondered if, maybe, he might actually be in his right mind, and had just lost something very important to him...? This will be germane a bit later. 

Carry on down the street. My first of several stops is Neptoon, where I congratulate Rob on his newsworthy find and I buy an album by the Wainwright sisters -- Martha and Lucy Wainwright Roche -- called Songs in the Dark. I had glibly referred to Lucy as "Roche or something" in a recent post, not remembering her name and feeling a bit exasperated at the number of talented musicians in the Wainwright clan. I was excited by the promise of dark lullabies, of gorgeous voices harmonizing on the songs of, among others, Townes van Zandt ("Our Mother the Mountain"!!!), Richard Thompson ("The End of the Rainbow") and their shared dad, old Loudon himself ("Lullaby," one of several songs on the album with the word "lullaby" in the title. I like lullabies!).

I get where I'm going, a book and record store where I'm doing a favour, filling in for a sick friend; I sit at the desk and spin the record on the store turntable. It truly is marvelous; okay, I don't really need any version of "El Condor Pasa," ever, which has been done to death, but it's more than made up for by the true gem of the album, which one of the sisters (not sure which) describes as a "hostile baby-rocking song." But wait: "Our Mother the Mountain" has a skip in it! It was the song that my eyes first grabbed in scanning the back cover at Neptoon, a favourite tune of Townes' that was marred in the studio version by the fact that the album it is on is not well-produced (people had not quite figured out how to present Townes on his first two albums. For the Sake of the Song is worse; It's only on his third, self-titled record from 1969 that an appropriately stark sound is settled on.) 


What do I do about the skip? The store's record cleaning solution doesn't seem to work, and when I read a review of it online, I search out a bottle of water and some sort of soft cloth, to try to clean the residue of the solution off, since it is notorious for leaving a film, apparently. There is a pad for cleaning records that lacks bristles to go into the groove -- it's just a pad, maybe good for dust, but not a deep cleaning. I try various things and succeed in making the skip a bit better, so only one word is missed, but then I try another trick, of putting a coin on the tone arm, and manage to undo what good I'd done; now three words are missed. Fuck! It's the song I bought the album for! Can I get Rob to replace it? (I hate to do that, besides which, the album is from 2015 and may not be that easy to get in; very possible that it has sat in the store for ten years, waiting for me!). 

Hmm, maybe if I had better cleaning equipment...

There are no customers, so I put a "back in fifteen minutes" sign on the door and rush down to Red Cat, where they have record-cleaning kits; I try, on Nen the Sunday guy's recommendation, a Vinyl Cat kit that has a better solution (supposedly) and a microfibre cloth. I make it back to the store -- nursing a cold, in fact, and maybe getting a bit obsessive  -- and set to cleaning the record anew, or trying to. 

I am unable to improve it. I can actually see the mark on the vinyl that's causing the skip, but I can't get it out. I'm deep in my work, working the damp cloth along the grooves, when Nen pops his head in the door: I had somehow forgotten my wallet in the store! 

He hands me my wallet, which in fact has a wad of cash in it. I thank him and feel very lucky. I go on about my business, spinning the other sides of the record, hoping that maybe my needle at home will be more charitable. How could I have lost my wallet? I sit there, chiding myself and shivering -- it's cold, and I'm sick -- and intermittently masking when I have to speak closely to customers, though everything about this suggests it is just a cold. I wish I were home in bed. But slowly, time passes; I make a trip to McDonald's for a large coffee. I spin other records (there's a new Sipreano album of Jamaica-to-Toronto soul and reggae on Light in the Attic records that I happened to snag while I was at Red Cat; it's the next album I spin after the Wainwrights, and it's terrific).  

I realize that this starts to seem like one of those online articles that go on forever, designed to drag you past as many ads as possible, but I assure you, I'm just long-winded. There are no ads on this page. I am not monetized. I did shoot Kevin an email about how great the comp is, though! 

Finally, Al Mader, the Minimalist Jug Band, arrives at said bookstore to relieve me, starting the evening shift, and I head back to Red Cat to look at the $5 bin, where they have a Members EP and LP both featuring my favourite song by the band, "Offshore Banking Business," which is left off the pressing of the album that I have at home. It's kind of like the Fall's "Cruiser's Creek," a single that only is on some pressings of This Nations Saving Grace, or, like, "God Bless America" by Toxic Reasons. First I buy the EP, then I remember that some versions of the LP have the song I want, too; when I see it's on the LP version, they let me swap the EP for the LP, since they're both from the same bin. Now I'm thinking I might go back and get the EP too!

The $5 bin at Red Cat has some real gems lately. 


So I'm basically done for the day. I've stuffed my records in my backpack and zipped up my raincoat when, on the way out the door, I get a text from my wife telling me if I want bread, I'll have to buy some, she wasn't able to get it on her grocery run (the bread she wanted had had an open bag; it was the final one of the brand she wanted and the store wouldn't sell it to her). 

Here, I have, after thinking the word "crackhead," being slightly dismissive of the Roche among the Wainwright/ McGarrible clan, the third uncharitable thought which I will later contemplate as a possible reason for my forthcoming karmic payback: I grumble inwardly about how if my wife had been sick, and I were doing a grocery run where I was supposed to buy her bread, I would have bought her some come hell or high water, even if it wasn't the brand I myself wanted. I go on runs for cottage cheese for her all the time, and I don't eat the stuff at all! 

We are, in truth, a bit different that way, but maybe she has her own inward grumbles (I did just get her to drive me all around Vancouver, picking up and dropping off stereo equipment -- I'm giving an old turnable, amp, and speakers to a friend and had no other way of delivering them, and Erika was very very helpful in this, despite losing a day to it).  

Anyhow: grumbling inwardly, I trek to Nesters, grab the Silver Hills Little Big Bread that we favour, and pay for it (seven bucks!!!). I'm on the way back to the bus stop, also griping to myself that now I've missed a bus or two because of the added trip, when I happen to look at my left hand. 

There is no wedding ring on it. 

I had had the wedding ring at the store. Surely I would have noticed it otherwise?  I scroll back to a photo I took for Erika's benefit of me sitting at the desk, warming my hands on the heater/ humidifier. My ring is on clear display. 


This is -- along with needing to get new pants -- one of the downsides of losing weight. With my cancer surgeries, various meds I'm on, and even a wee bit of exercise, I have dropped from about my all-time peak of 385 pounds, which is roughly what I weighed when we got married eight years ago, to my current weight of 295, which is about the threshold where my ring starts falling off my finger. I have been here before, immediately post-surgery, a couple of years ago, though my weight rebounded a little in the year that followed and it stopped being an issue. Understand that I like wearing my ring, and don't want to go through the hassle of getting it resized, but recently, I have occasionally put it in my pocket when I go to gigs, for instance, since I don't want it flying off in a mosh pit. Easier to just let myself not drop below 295! 

But it's finally happened. Ring lost, I panic. My mind races, as I search the crevices along the sidewalks, retracing the route from the bookstore to the record store to the grocery store, and finally going in the McDonald's, then repeating my route. Did it fall between records in the five dollar bin at Red Cat? Is it under the lip of their counter? No. Did the clerk at Nesters find it? Is it buried in my backpack, from when I stuffed the Members record in it?

The Nesters girl eyes me skeptically when I try to explain myself to her: I'm speech impaired, my voice additionally rough because of my cough, and I'm obviously agitated, looking desperately under shelves in the bread section, near the till, under the sidewalk out front, pacing around like some sort of nut. She's clearly an immigrant, and I know from experience that, if you come from a conservative Asian society where people are simply not allowed to fall so far between the cracks as they do here, it is hard, at times, to tell whether someone in Vancouver is damaged/ a potential threat -- to distinguish, say, between addicts excavating Skytrain Stations, looking for buried treasure, and people with funny voices telling you their ring is missing. I can sympathize: if I were her, I'd probably regard someone behaving like me like a possible problem, too (because white people are crazy, y'know?). 

Eventually, at my suggestion, she takes my name and phone number, and I head to McDonald's to ask if anyone has turned in a ring, there: this time, my interlocutor is a blank teenaged female, actually from here, who thinks telling me no one has turned in a ring will placate me.

"But if someone did turn in a ring, and you didn't see it, what would the staff do with it?"

"I don't know." Said with slight exasperation. 

"Do you have a lost and found?"

"No." She looks at me emptily, like she doesn't know what I expect her to do. 

Another staff member (an immigrant, in fact) overhears and weighs in: "We'd give it to our manager."

"Can I speak to your manager?" 

I do (the manager is an immigrant too, but I don't ring her "crazy" bell; maybe she's married and has been in spots like I'm in, but she treats me very politely. Still, there's not much to be said: I give her my name and phone number with the words "lost wedding ring" and run back to Red Cat, eyes in the gutter left and right. Nen and the girl have closed up, but I knock on the glass. Nen, sweeping, looks up and shakes his head: no ring. I rush back to the bookstore, explain the situation to Al, and look up and down the aisles, in case I dropped it there. I had looked in this bin of used CDs: maybe it fell in there? I had looked through this rack of records: maybe it fell in there? I used the toilet: maybe it fell off in there? 

I do not find the ring, and increasingly frantic, jot back outside to search areas of sidewalk where the ring might have fallen off (it's actually quite difficult to remember the exact route one took, in such situations; we move about on autopilot, storing no memories. Did I use this crosswalk or that one? Was on the left or the right?). 

I feel utterly defeated. I head back to the store. Al -- who knows Erika, as well -- is scouring the aisles. And here I begin to seek moral meaning of the events: did I lose my ring because I bought records when I should be saving my money? Because I thought grumpy thoughts about my wife offsetting the bread purchase onto me? Because I was unfairly dismissive about Lucy Wainwright Roche, before having heard her mavelous music? Or was it, indeed, cosmic payback for having kind of judged the "crazy crackhead," or however I inwardly thought of him, who was so desperately digging in the dirt?

Al says something about having checked the garbage, and that reminds me of something: I look in a garbage can outside the store that I threw something in on the way by, earlier. There is an inch of standing, brown water, with floating cigarette butts in it: what if the ring flew off into the bin and it's concealed by the water? If I knew it were actually in there, I'd reach in and start feeling around, but it could be anywhere on the block: I really, really don't want to grope in the garbagewater. What would passerby think?

I feel defeat brewing. I've now missed four buses, am nearly an hour late for dinner, and I'm starting to accept that I'm not going to ever find my ring again. It's gone. I'll have to tell Erika. What do I do?

I return to the desk in the bookstore and make one last search of the desk where I'd been sitting, while Al looks about the aisles. Suddenly he says, "Aha!"

He's always been lucky at finding things, he tells me. (Erika will observe, when I show her this photo, that Al "looks like a magician").

That was my day. The only certain meaning I can get from any of it is that I shouldn't have gone out at all this weekend; I've been sick, and should have stayed home and rested. Losing both my wallet and my wedding ring in one afternoon is not good.  

But that's not quite the end of the story. I snap a photo and say, "Hang on one second." The McDonald's and Nesters people don't merit a heads up -- they weren't particularly sympathetic -- but I run back down the street and knock on the Red Cat window again, where Nen is still cleaning the floor. He looks up; I show him my ring through the glass door, now back in place on my finger. He grins and gives me a thumbs-up.

Then I take the ring off and put it in my wallet, where it's safer... unless I lose my wallet again.