DOA's Treason: Potent and Timely, plus a new video with Mayor Mike Hurley!

DOA's new album Treason has Joe, Mike Hodsall, and Paddy Duddy - the fiercest lineup of DOA of the 21st century - continuing to mine the sweet spot they found on Hard Rain Falling and Fight Back, making tight, fast, lean-and-mean, guitar-driven political hardcore without frills or false steps. There's a savage version of "Fucked Up Donald" which is easily the most welcome-and-appropriate reworking of "Fucked Up Baby" since the days of "Fucked Up Ronnie." There's a revamp of "Just Got Back from the USA," one of the catchier tunes from Fight Back, and another song about corruption in the Trump regime, "All The President's Men." (Almost all of the political songs are directed at the current situation in the USA, with even "Wait Til Tomorrow," about the plight of refugees, taking in US treatment of them, talking, for example, about children ripped from their mother's arms on arrival in the USA). And there are plenty of killer licks from Joe, like the one behind the title track, "It's Treason," which, at 1:42, is the second-shortest song off the album ("Fucked Up Donald" is 1:11). If I had Chain Whip's 14 Lashes around, it would be fun to compare the runtime, to see which album presents a full hardcoremeal in the shortest amount of time. Treason is a fast, fun, gut-punch of a record...

...and it even breaks new ground, which is impressive for a band that's been around over forty years: Paddy Duddy takes the lead vocal for a song about the experience of playing in DOA ("It Was DOA") which is the funniest self-referential DOA song since Wimpy wrote "Big Guys Like DOA" some decades ago (if you missed that, it's at 23:52 on this rip of The Black Spot; as someone constantly hoping for 3XL t-shirts at shows, and often being disappointed, I was kinda delighted to discover someone had written a song along these lines. BTW, Joe, if you're reading this, I still want a 3XL "repent you fucking savages" War on 45 t-shirt!). Keithley wrote the lyrics for "It was DOA," and plays himself in the song, but it's narrated  mostly from the point of view of a long-suffering DOA member. Fun to see that Joe is comfortable poking fun at himself: "I’ll only give you five bucks a day/ but if you’re any good, you’ll get a raise in pay/ Your bed’s all ready on the floor of the van/ if you need to take a piss, just grab a beer can.”

Another first on Treason: DOA covers a Neil Young tune. DOA's reading of "Hey Hey My My" is nearly perfect, and, believe it or not, is almost better than Nomeansno's, with one small reservation.

Much as I love Nomeansno, when they covered that tune for the FUBAR soundtrack, they made a sort of mid-tempo dirge out of it, focusing on the feelings of mortality present in the lyrics; just like "Victory" (as Rob Wright once observed when playing the song live) is actually about failure, Nomeansno emphasize the mortality behind that song's denial of mortality, making it kind of a depressing experience overall, befitting the period in which it was written (around the time of One, Nomeansno's darkest, heaviest album). DOA goes simpler, faster, tighter, playing the song like a straight-up rock anthem - but, like that other great "conflicted anthem" of Neil Young's catalogue, "Rockin' in the Free World," that's kind of how it's supposed to be; when Rob Wright, on the FUBAR soundtrack, sings, "rock'n'roll will never die," you think about dying, but when Joe sings it, you think about rock'n'roll - which is truer to the song's point, making you complicit in the denial at hand, if that makes sense. The only thing that holds DOA back from beating Nomeansno's version is that - in the spirit of lean-and-mean, I guess, or maybe because it would be hard to replicate a lengthy solo live without a rhythm guitarist - DOA rips through the song in just over three and a half minutes, with a very brief, almost shy-seeming guitar solo; Tom Holliston does a much better  job of capturing the flavour of Crazy Horse-style guitar worship, soloing energetically throughout the Nomeansno version, which lasts a full two minutes longer, most of which is down to soloing. That is the only thing that keeps the DOA cover from owning the Nomeansno cover hands down: the longer, more Neil-ish solo.

That said, "Hey Hey My My" is going to be one hell of a welcome song to hear live if DOA get back on the road (their Treason tour. meant to lead up to the American elections, was interrupted midway through by COVID-19, and 22 dates had to be cancelled, Joe tells me). Maybe he could team up with a second guitarist so he could do a Crazy-Horse sized solo? (BTW the new Neil Young and Crazy Horse album is sounding pretty good, too).

In any event, this is three absolutely killer albums from DOA in a row, now. (Great cover art, too!). It is maybe a little less packed than Fight Back (the best of the three, if you wonder), but it's still pretty fresh. I gather the vinyl pressing of Treason has been held up a bit, but it's open for pre-orders, here; the CD, meanwhile, is already pressed and should be available for online orders soon.

One other bit of news for DOA fans is that Joe has enlisted Burnaby Mayor Mike Hurley (DOA's newest bassist?) in recording a new song, "We're All in This Together," apropos of the COVID-19 crisis. Usually Joe's music career is the thing that bleeds over into his political life, but it's neat to see it happening the other way around this time. I met Mike Hurley at a pre-election rally, was impressed, and voted for him (and Joe, too). Joe explains, "I wrote the song as a rallying cry to help keep people's spirits up during the pandemic and also to thank our front line workers. We also emphasize social distancing, as you will see from the video." There's a short version here, and a longer one, with a second verse, here.

Mayor Hurley adds, in the press release for the song, “Joe wrote this great song, and I hope it energizes and fortifies people to stay strong. It captures the community’s grit and determination that we see all around us today, and calls on us to double down on our commitment to each other and beat COVID-19.”

Some decent bass playin', there, Mayor!

My COVID-19 test story

Anyone have this experience? You have a scary health problem. Let's say you have a chest pain, say - a sudden, unexpected one that disturbs you - and you end up being taken very seriously by doctors, given preferential access to medical equipment, rushed to the front of the queue at the emergency ward, because it could be your heart, and medical wisdom rightly decrees that they have to take this seriously. You end up strapped to monitors, running stress tests, and, afterwards, peeling sticky shit off your chest where the diodes or doohickeys - the thingamabobs, man - were attached, and find that the doctors are reassuring you that YOUR HEART IS FINE...

...except you actually didn't go to the doctors to be told that. You went there because you had a sudden, unexpected pain in your chest. You didn't ever actually think it was your heart, in fact; you were just actually hoping that they would be telling you what was wrong with you. Instead, all they were able to do was to rule out the biggest, scariest possibility. "What was actually wrong with me, then?" "Sorry, we don't know." And not only don't they know, they aren't all that interested. "But I didn't go to you to rule out my heart, I went to you to explain the pain I had." "We can't, sorry." "Isn't there something else you can do?" "Well, if you get the pain again, come back and see us. Otherwise..."

That's the nature of medical wisdom right now. There's actually a lot of stuff doctors don't know, but the behaviours that are in place are based on what little they do know. It's a dark universe, and medical wisdom is a small flashlight indeed. And the thing about the experience above is that afterwards, there's always a sort of disappointment that kicks in afterwards, where you realize that in fact, our systems are only really good at dealing with things that they recognize. Otherwise, there are limits to how effective they are, blind spots galore, and often the things that they do tend to look at overshadow the things that they don't.

That's why Google can be useful, still, even in the decade of fake news. As much information is out there, if you are sick, it's useful to do Google searches for your symptoms and see if other people are reporting them widely, especially if your symptoms are not usual ones. It's why I still get comments on a post I did fifteen years ago on sleep apnea and ear infections; doctors didn't know that there was a correlation between the use of CPAP machines and ear infections back when I first when on CPAP, and I got some killer ear infections from following my doctors' advice to the letter. The anecdotal evidence has since accumulated sufficiently that some ENT doctors have heard the news, but I still get comments on the post - because people who find themselves in a medical blind spot are turning to the internet and, weeding through the bunkum and the supplement-sellers, are finding support for things medical professionals didn't know about, that somehow got overlooked.

Similar things are happening with COVID-19, though at a faster clip. For example, there was no mention for the first couple of weeks of the shutdown, while everyone was trying to figure out what COVID-19 did, of the loss of taste and scent, which are now known to be common symptoms. Their inclusion in the list of symptoms came from mounting anecdotal evidence, not from a laboratory or university; it was people reporting their symptoms in sufficient numbers until they finally got noticed.

But while loss of taste and smell have now been, uh, "canonized" as official symptoms,  interestingly enough, the gastrointestinal manifestations of COVID-19 are not being written about so often, still. Almost every article on the disease lists the known symptoms for the most DANGEROUS type of COVID-19, which is the respiratory variant, where dry cough and difficulty in breathing are things to look out for. But vomiting, nausea, and diarrhea are also symptoms of COVID-19; and in some cases, are the only symptoms, not being accompanied by any of the usual respiratory ones. If you've had an upset stomach and a couple of weeks of diarrhea, absent of other symptoms, you might still have COVID-19 and not realize it, because in fact unless you Google "COVID" and "diarrhea" (which is what I did), you might never hear about this at all. 

Fittingly, even the two articles linked in the previous paragraph seem to contradict each other, with the first seeming to suggest that patients with gastrointestinal symptoms are less likely to be cured, while the second suggests the form of the disease is "milder" for patients who don't have the respiratory variant. (I am hesitating to say that the difference in symptoms is caused by different strains of the virus, note, because I don't know that this is known, yet, though there is, indeed, more than one strain of COVID-19 out there, and some behave differently from others). I've been asking doctors about these things, because, you see, on Wednesday morning of last week, I woke up nauseated and aching, and spent the first hour of the morning alternating between rounds of vomiting and diarrhea, trading bathroom occupancy with my wife, who has also been battling nausea and diarrhea. We both have other health issues, and are on meds that can have side-effects, so at first, it didn't seem a big deal; in my case, I thought that the symptoms I was suffering from came not from COVID-19, but as a delayed reaction to the Metformin I've been taking (I have type-2 diabetes). Nausea and such are common side-effects of Metformin, so I was pretty confident that that's all I was experiencing.

My doctor, when I called him, was less sure, and suggested I go in for COVID testing. Turns out the facility we've seen being erected on Boundary Road, a few blocks from us - with white tents and signs limiting admissions and telling you to keep your windows up until told to do otherwise - is a drive-thru testing site. Within an hour of my phone consultation with my doctor (doctors are doing phone consultations now), I had a confirmation email telling me to report to the site between 12 and 6. At her insistence, Erika drove me; we gloved up and made makeshift bandit masks for ourselves, with Erika stapling parts of a former bedsheet around our faces, since even if we were not in fact infected, we would be going to a space where, presumably, there would be some actual sick people. We checked in at the gate, were given sheets of paper with test results and instructions for how to proceed while waiting (it would take three to five days, we were told), and got in a line of vehicles waiting for their turn at the main tents. I snapped a few photos, up until we got to the sign that said we weren't supposed to be taking photos. Oops! 

When we got to the front of the queue - which was operating just like a restaurant drive-thru, though with more protective clothing for people staffing the tents and the option of doing walk-ins - we asked the nurse if Erika could get tested too. "Do you  have symptoms?" We said yes, and both went through the checklist, the nurse checking off some boxes and not others. I don't recall if diarrhea, vomiting, and nausea were on her list, but the usual suspects - fever, aches, cough, sore throat, shortness of breath - all were. Finally, we drove up, and Erika was tasted first. They swabbed us - sticking a long, thin swab not much like a q-tip so far up our noses that our eyes watered - and made no mention of the fact that if you have the gastric variety of the disease, you really also need (apparently) to provide a stool sample.

When I finally got through the number we got, the nurse I spoke to explained that at the moment, stool tests were not available, nor were antibody tests. She said something that amounted to "we're doing the best with what we've got," and told us we should still self-isolate for ten days since the onset of our most serious symptoms, since the test result might not be entirely conclusive.

However, the results were, indeed, negative. We don't have COVID-19.

I have no idea, in fact, if that's good news or bad news. If the "diarrhea version" of COVID-19 is the milder version, and confers immunity, it might actually be kind of desirable to have it and be done with it, since when it is gone, we might be immune to the more serious version. But those are big ifs, and in the face of so many unknowns - as a Facebook friend pointed out - we're probably better off with the negative results.

And so it goes. When I woke up the next morning with nausea, again, just to test it out, I went off Metformin for a day, and found the day after that I had no nausea at all, and that my stools had returned to a normal consistency. It probably was the Metformin all along - confirmed by my having gone back on it last night and having an upset stomach and diarrhea again this morning. Meantime, we're doing our best to stay in: we've skipped exercising, taken no walks, and have ordered our first groceries-by-delivery, which are due tomorrow, I believe.

Meditate with Stephen Hamm!

I have not yet meditated with Stephen Hamm's two new Theremin meditations, nor joined him for his Sunday meditations. Truth is, I am an infrequent meditator, so much so that even though I am on a Lou Reed kick lately, I have also not even tried Lou Reed's album of meditation music, the final studio album Reed recorded. I have only ever owned one album that was overtly for meditation, Music for Zen Meditation, which my late friend Thomas Ziorjen once called Music for Zen Medication, by Tony Scott. I don't know that I ever meditated to it. Sometimes I have zoned out to a bit of ambient noise, Lustmord, or fall  asleep to 'music to sleep to' by Robert Rich, and occasionally, flooded with neurotransmitters, I have sat and listened to landscapes and soundscapes, eyes-closed-alone-on-the-riverbank, like, with bats swooping up sips of water and/or eating the little bugs that swarmed above it, out in Maple Ridge... which is as close to meditation as I have done, I would have to say. To the extent that I have meditated, I have never really meditated WITH anyone, unless you count team Headspace sessions at work. I am not sure I am ready to meditate with Stephen Hamm! 

But I can let you all know about it, so those of you who could use a good calming down right now (or some social contact, or music, or a combination thereof) can avail yourselves. Hamm writes:

Hello! 

I'm excited to announce as you Theremin Man two new instrumental Theremin meditation pieces for your enjoyment. There is a download attached to this email and if you'd like the other one please visit stephenhamm.ca to download. 

And join me every Sunday evening at 8pm PST for a live performance of chill and relaxing Theremin music and meditation at https://www.facebook.com/hammband65/ 

Enjoy! 

Stephen

Who knows, maybe by the end of COVID-19, I'll be meditating online with y'all...

FLAT EARTH lays it out. FLAT.

So here's a band that I'm enjoying: FLAT EARTH. In particular, I like "Lizard People People," which my friend and fellow music fan Judith Beeman noted is a real "stomper" of a tune. The wit of the lyrics, written all in caps - by FLAT PAT of the band (at the right)  - needs a minute to sink in. As you will see, the band is singing from the point of view of flat earthers, who are differentiating themselves in classic in-group/ out-group fashion from the David Icke camp, consolidating their identity by taking down their "rivals." Take a minute and listen, and read along:

WE ARE NOT THE LIZARD PEOPLE PEOPLE
THEY ARE FUCKING CRAZY CRAZY PEOPLE
HOW THE FUCK ARE LIZARDS PEOPLE, PEOPLE?
HAVE YOU SEEN A LIZARD BE A PERSON? YOU FUCKING HAVEN'T!

LIZARD PEOPLE ARE A MYTH!
DESIGNED BY THE GOVERNMENT TO MAKE YOU FORGET
THAT WE'RE LIVING ON A MOTHERFUCKING DISC
EVERY DAY YOU'RE LIED TO BY YOUR PARENTS

WE ARE NOT THE LIZARD PEOPLE PEOPLE
THEY ARE FUCKING CRAZY CRAZY PEOPLE
HOW THE FUCK ARE LIZARDS PEOPLE, PEOPLE?
HAVE YOU SEEN A LIZARD BE A PERSON? YOU FUCKING HAVEN'T!

THE MOON LANDING WAS FAKED- THAT'S A FACT
THE ILLUMINATI IS REAL- THAT'S A FACT
THE DA VINCI CODE IS REAL- THAT'S A FACT
EVERY DAY YOU'RE LIED TO BY YOUR MUM AND DAD

WE ARE NOT THE LIZARD PEOPLE PEOPLE
THEY ARE FUCKING CRAZY CRAZY PEOPLE
HOW THE FUCK ARE LIZARDS PEOPLE, PEOPLE?
BUT SHOW ME A LIZARD THAT'S A PERSON- YOU FUCKIN CAN'T!

With that in mind, and knowing very little about FLAT EARTH, I wrote the band and got answers to some questions from FLAT PAT. I have no idea if the physical 7" of FLAT EARTH's debut still exists... but, just sayin', you might be able to pick it up at the door of Neptoon Records. 

Since the band has an unusual point of view (and asked I not reveal certain things about them), the following will have to speak for itself. Having asked FLAT PAT if I could do an interview, I got this back, all in caps, with the subject line FLAT EARTH INTERVIEW TO SPREAD FLAT FACT.

HELLO ALLAN THIS IS FLAT PAT OF THE BAND FLAT EARTH THANK YOU FOR GIVING US A SPOTLIGHT TO SHINE UNDER THERE IS SO MUCH WE HAVE TO GIVE TO THE WORLD NAMELY THE TRUTH ABOUT THE SHAPE OF THE EARTH!!!!!! FLAT IS FACT
-FLAT PAT

So I wrote my questions, and this is what I got back. My questions are in italics, and FLAT PAT's answers are all in caps. 

What are you wearing on your heads in the bandcamp photo (see above), and why?

HI ALLAN THE FLAT HAT IS A STYLISH WAY FOR US TO KEEP OUR IDENTITIES HIDDEN WHILE ALSO LETTING PEOPLE KNOW WE MEAN BUSINESS ABOUT FLAT EARTH FACTS.

I am not sure what you are saying about the moon in "the moon is real". Could you explain? Do flat earthers deny that the moon is real?

IN THE SONG I SING "THE MOON IS REAL / A REAL FUCKING SCAM / THE MOON WAS BUILT AND BROUGHT HERE BY THE MOTHERFUCKING MAN" WHEN THEY LANDED ON THE MOON I DON'T KNOW IF YOU KNOW THIS ALLAN BUT IT RANG LIKE A FUCKING BELL! FOR FORTY FIVE MINUTES. THEY DON'T SHOW THAT ON CABLE TV!!!!!! WHY FAKE THE MOON? WELL IT WOULD BE FUCKING EXPENSIVE SO THE COVER UP MUST BE MASSIVE. REALLY MAKES YOU THINK.

When I was in high school, there was a flat earth society, but they weren’t real flat earthers, they were just being contrary, and thought it was funny to say they were flat earthers. I don’t know if there actually were real flat earthers back then. How do real flat earthers feel about ironic flat earthers? It must be very offensive to them! (Or, uh, "you.").

I DON'T THINK THERE'S ANYTHING REALLY FUNNY ABOUT FLAT EARTH. I MEAN IT'S FUNNY TO THINK YOU COULD FALL OFF THE EDGE, BUT FOR MANY REASONS THIS WOULD BE VERY DIFFICULT (THE 150 FOOT ICE WALL, FOR STARTERS). PART OF THE WHOLE POINT OF THE FLAT EARTH ETHOS IS THAT THE PERCEPTIBLE WORLD IS MORE REAL THAN THE IMPERCEPTIBLE WORLD, AND FOR THAT REASON AN IRONIC FLAT EARTH SOCIETY IS JUST AS REAL AS AN EARNEST/AUTHENTIC (AND TRADITIONALLY MORE LEGITIMATE) FLAT EARTH SOCIETY, IF NOT MORE REAL.

Would you agree with this observation (apparently from Ayn Rand!): “Don't bother to examine a folly—ask yourself only what it accomplishes.” What is your sense of the meaning of that? What do you think of Ayn Rand? 

 AYN RAND HAD A WARPED BUT SINGULAR VISION FOR HER WRITING. I REALLY APPRECIATE WRITING THAT SEEKS TO ACCOMPLISH ONLY ONE THING- IE THE DISSEMINATION OF FLAT EARTH FACT! UNFORTUNATELY THE TENETS OF OBJECTIVISM PRECLUDE THE BUILDING OF A CREATIVE AND COMPASSIONATE SOCIETY AND FOR THAT REASON WE HAVE DIFFERING VIEWPOINTS.

I am not one of the lizard people people, but I understand (I think) why people want to be lizard people people – I understand what they accomplish with their folly: they can have people to blame for their problems who are not actually people, so they don’t have to worry about being accused of discrimination. (Of course, various Jewish folks have thought David Icke is using the lizard people as code for Jews, but my understanding is, Icke actually means lizard people). Would you agree with this – that lizard people people are looking for someone to blame for the way the world is, and choosing lizard people, because lizard people can’t complain about being discriminated against? 

I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH- WE ARE NOT THE LIZARD PEOPLE PEOPLE. I FOR ONE HAVE NEVER SEEN A LIZARD PERSON IN MY LIFE AND THERE IS NO PROOF OF THEM, AS THERE IS OF SASQUATCH. LIZARD PEOPLE OBVIOUSLY DON'T EXIST BECAUSE I HAVE NEVER SEEN ONE. SASQUATCH THERE IS A VIDEO OF HIM, BUT THE VIDEO IS 50 YEARS OLD SO HE IS DEFINITELY DEAD BY NOW. BUT LIZARD PEOPLE- NO VIDEO, NO LIZARD. BY THIS SOLIPSISTIC WORLDVIEW, WE CHOOSE TO LIVE.

While I generally do agree with you that the lizard people people are fucking crazy crazy people, and am glad you wrote a song about them, to my surprise, I think I understand why people want to believe in lizard people MORE THAN I UNDERSTAND WHY PEOPLE WANT TO BELIEVE IN THE FLAT EARTH. Why do people want to believe in the flat earth? Like, if the earth is flat, qui bono? What does the folly of flat earthdom accomplish?

THE POINT OF FLAT EARTH IS NOT AS MUCH ABOUT IF THE EARTH IS ACTUALLY FLAT (OBVIOUSLY YES) BUT MORE ABOUT ASKING YOU TO QUESTION WHY YOU BELIEVE THE EARTH IS ROUND! YOU CAN LOOK AT THE EARTH AND SEE CLEARLY THAT IT IS FLAT. YOU BELIEVE IT IS ROUND BECAUSE WHO TELLS YOU??? YOUR PARENTS, THE GOVERNMENT, ASTRONAUTS, RACCOONS. WE ENCOURAGE PEOPLE TO BE OUTSIDE IN THE NATURAL WORLD BREATHING AND FEELING AND EXPERIENCING LIFE THROUGH YOUR OWN PERSPECTIVE WITHOUT THE WEIGHT OF HISTORY AND ALLEGED SCIENCE TRYING TO TELL YOU WHERE THE SUN SLEEPS OR WHAT'S SMALLER THAN AN ANT.

What bands are you influenced by?

WE ALL TAKE TURNS SIGNING UP FOR TRIAL SPOTIFY ACCOUNTS AT THE LIBRARY COMPUTER. WE HAD NEVER HEARD MUCH MUSIC BEFORE WE GOT A LIBRARY CARD. NOW OUR FAVOURITE BANDS ARE CRASS, THROBBING GRISTLE, DESPERATE BICYCLES, STEVE TREATMENT, AND THE NOSEBLEEDS. LAST YEAR WE ONLY KNEW SONGS FROM DIFFERENT YOUTUBE ADS. NEXT YEAR WE'D LIKE TO BE VERY FAMOUS. IT IS A NATURAL PROGRESSION THAT ENDS WITH US BEING AWARDED THE ORDER OF CANADA.

You seem to deny the existence of things that you cannot see (small things that are smaller than ants, for example). But you cannot see your thoughts. Do you deny the existence of them, too?

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING SMALLER THAN AN ANT? I THINK NOT.

 Have you played any gigs? What bands would you like to share bills with? Who are your favourite bands with non-mainstream views? (Are there any other flat earth bands out there? Are they serious flat earthers, or ironic flat earthers, or…).

WE HAVE PLAYED EAST VAN'S FLAT EARTH FESTIVAL 'FLATLANDIA' FOR THE LAST COUPLE OF YEARS. WE HAVE ALSO PLAYED AT THE RICKSHAW THEATRE AND THE RIO RECENTLY. MORE OR LESS AS HEADLINERS.

THERE ARE NO OTHER BANDS BRAVE ENOUGH TO ADMIT FLAT FACT BUT READ BETWEEN THE LINES IF THEY DON'T DISMISS IT IN THEIR LYRICS THEY ARE AS GOOD AS SAYING THEY BELIEVE IN IT.

How do flat earthers feel about Christopher Columbus? Didn't he prove that the world was round?

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS DIRECTED HOME ALONE AND YET WE ARE ASKED TO BELIEVE HE WAS ALIVE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. REEKS OF FRAUD. SOMEONE SHOULD SMACK A CAN OF PAINT RIGHT IN HIS SMUG ROUND FACE.

"Sweatpants" finds its day: a Brother JT interview

Sometimes a song takes time to find its audience. Case-in-point: Brother JT’s “Sweatpants.” Those lucky enough to be working from home during the COVID-19 pandemic will immediately understand the appeal to its ode to “wiggle room,” and even those who cannot identify with JT’s apparent erotic interest in a loose waistband will be amused by his self-made animation, which includes a Lucky Jesus slot machine that spews money out its mouth and images that seem to feature a robotic Brother JT flying, superman-style, into the smiling mouth that opens in a girl’s sweatpants-clad ass. It’s a bit unhinged – but so is our current situation. Could “Sweatpants” have finally found its time?

In the event you’ve missed out on the career of Brother JT, a bit of catch-up is in order. His-longer term fans know him as John Terlesky, the frontman of Pennsylvania-based, garage rockers the Original Sins, whose songs ranged from savage, tripped-out Stooges-worship like “AliceD” to much gentler, poppier, more upbeat 60’s-style confections like “Help Yourself.” The Original Sins toured afield – even playing the Town Pump here in Vancouver in the early 1990’s – and attracted a die-hard cult following (local cartoonist and collage artist ARGH! is another fan). Since they disbanded in 1998, Terlesky turned his focus to his more locally-based “solo” project, usually billed as Brother JT or the Brother JT 3, who didn’t tour this way even before COVID-19.

Brother JT’s CDs, however, make it to our shops, and they’re even more varied than the Original Sins’ catalogue. You can’t tell if you’ll get soulful, hip-hop inflected garage blues about taking LSD (like the monumental anthem “Head Business,” off 2003’s Hang In There, Baby) to deeply stoned, poppy, Becklike goofiness like “I am the Blob” (from 2007’s Third Ear Candy). He has also published journals of his automatic writing, sold collages and paintings, and put out an endless stream of very creative, slightly deranged rock videos, including the tripped-out talk show Trippin’ Balls with Brother JT.

And then there’s “Sweatpants,” the song under discussion, off 2013’s The Svelteness of Boogietude.

Reached at home, where he’s social distancing like a good boy, JT tells Alienated in Vancouver that “the line that resonates for me is 'no smiles or eye contact allowed in the juice store/just get your juice, pay your money, shuffle out the door', which is kind of how it is now except some people are wearing masks. In a way there's always been social distancing, if not measured in feet then just in fear of engagement with strangers. Probably being on the safe side, but a little sad nonetheless.”

The “juice store” is “not really” a metaphor for anything, Terlesky explains. “I just found myself getting juice (diet V-8 Splash, Berry Blend flavor) a lot there (the local GIANT supermarket). I suppose part of it is that 'juice' is just a funny word and could have various, possibly nefarious, connotations.” The music is “just me on Microkorg synth, guitar, drum machine and vocals (put through a Digitech Whammy pedal). I was recently rediscovering Ween's Pod album and realized it probably had a strong influence on me for this one.”

The video, meanwhile, was animated by JT “very slowly. I got some typing paper and drew each cell, then scanned them into my computer and added colors in Photoshop. Then I dropped the stills into Windows Movie Maker and added crossfades. Very primitive. As far as the content of the little story, I was trying to reduce everything to id-level expressions. The robot in question is drawn to the sweatpants by means of tractor beam (the biological imperative?) only to find himself on a spaceship to a planet with a Jesus slot machine that somehow redeems him. I think. So it's ultimately a hopeful song. I guess.”

What about the lyric, "Oh please Jesus make this fuckin song a hit cos I need money"…? “I thought it would be funny to ask something from Jesus while using profanity. Then again he hung around sailors/ fishermen a lot, and isn't the phrase 'swears like a sailor?’ It'd probably remind him of the good old days, walking on water, et cetera. But the song was not a hit, so maybe not.”

People curious enough to check out the Svelteness of Boogietude may also notice a song called "Muffintop." It is “tangentially” related, JT explains. “I feel a big part of the appeal of sweatpants is the lack of constriction afforded by stretch waistbands, especially to those of the zaftig body type (myself included). This excess flesh needs a place to go, often spilling over said waistbands, which can be not unattractive to some. Of course the mentality that finds no shame in (or even celebrates) this is also at the crux of the song.”

Thank you, Brother JT, for the interview and the music. I am wearing sweatpants as I write this.

Most of Brother JT’s self-released albums are free to download on his website. https://www.brotherjt.com/albums Follow his Facebook page for his ongoing “Psong for a Psunday” series. https://www.facebook.com/watch/BrotherJT/ And also see my large retrospective interview with Brother JT here: https://alienatedinvancouver.blogspot.com/2018/08/from-original-sins-to-brother-jt-john.html

Pictures from a Long Walk

Preamble: I write this in my sweatpants. 

Actually they're kinda more pyjamas, but they work as sweatpants too. They're red, though, and the little tyrannosauruses on 'em with Santa hats make them more pyjama-y. Erika got 'em for me for Christmas and I've been working in them, most mornings; some days, during this strange time, I just leave them on, sleep in them, and then work in them again. (I do try to launder them more frequently, though, rest assured). 

In a few hours, the plan is to trade them up for real pants and take a long walk - not a Richard Bachman-sized Long Walk, but a long walk nonetheless. See, I've been thinking of Lou Reed, listening to a fair bit of him, and, tho' it is slightly irresponsible at the present juncture, there are these remastered Lou albums at Neptoon I want (Coney Island Baby, Street Hassle, and Berlin), plus a few other items; but I don't want to take the bus there. That would be my usual mode of transportation on a day like today, but at present, I fear the bus: fear that, as the official mode of transport of the people least likely to be able to insulate themselves from the effects of this virus - it will be like a petri dish on this sunny day. With air blowing around an enclosed space, and possibly sick people inside - no, thank you. I don't care if it's free. So is suicide, but I ain't into that, either. 

However, I see a way of killing several birds with one figurative stone:

1. I am getting less exercise than I need, since I no longer have to leave the house for work. Exercise is good. Cardio is good. My excess weight is definitely not.

2. Walking is my usual mode of listening to music, which means that, not having to walk or take transit, I am suffering from a rare music-listening deficit.

3. Google maps tells me that I can walk to Neptoon Records in under two hours. I can do that! I've taken longer walks, in fact. As long as I pack some fluids, wear good footwear, and pace myself, a two hour walk sounds kind of idyllic right now. And there's something really appealing about the idea of walking from Burnaby to Vancouver - a walk from one city to another. Unless you count a late-night walk I took from Maple Ridge to Pitt Meadows about 30 years ago - which may not count, since some people think of Maple Ridge and Pitt Meadows as part of the same area ("Ridge Meadows") - but was really interesting, actually, especially when a posse of 2AM skateboarders came down the barren highway on the same route, their sound pricking my ears from miles back, piquing my curiosity, making their actual appearance pretty impressive - it's not something I've ever done before. I'll pack some hand sanitizer, a snack or two... 

...and I'll take a long nap first. I won't write about the walk, I don't think, but I might take a few photos. Why not?  Here's the first one:

And here is my playlist for setting out, made especially for this occasion, so you can know my mood; and a follow up, because I figure I will dawdle. It seems here to Neptoon is just over my supposed daily allotment of 10,000 steps, so what the hell!

The photos: in which I discover a much nicer entrance way to Burnaby Central Park (the Trail of Hope than I had previously known  (I didn't spot the Marissa Shen memorial til afterwards, with a dead battery, when I got my wife to join me for her own walk in the park, because she needs the exercise, too, but RIP, Marissa). After that, I take a socially distanced walk in the park, photograph various squirrels, make a few pitstops, and make it as far as Nanaimo - kind of blown away how easy and doable it is - before I start thinking about crapping out and taking the bus, because my GPS tells me I won't make it to Neptoon in time if I don't cut some time off my route. I'm glad I did, because my calves sure hurt for awhile later last night.

Getting into the city I start to really feel how many more people there are. I realize for the first time that I am feeling grateful to live in the suburbs. I am amazed at some of the things I see folks doing, like it's normal or wise (smoking cigarettes in a respiratory pandemic? Fuck me, folks, I cold turkeyed off tobacco 20 years ago and haven't looked back. Surely you've noticed that some of the people taken by this disease, like John Prine, were smokers? If you set your mind to it, if you get really clear that it's what you want to do, YOU CAN QUIT, and this is a hell of a good time to do it. Even going on fucking patches or gum or such makes sense to get your lungs a bit stronger; you can have your nicotine and breathe, too). The longest lineup I see is outside a liquor store, and I feel judgmental (I realize I'm walking around in a marijuana-leaf shirt, but really, seriously, much as I have found value in pot over the years, I bought the shirt because it fit and was comfy, not because it had weed leaves on it; I'd just as rather it didn't!). Standing in line of twenty or more to buy alcohol, now, makes no sense to me at all. Some of the sidewalks are narrow, too, which is very noticeable when there are two or more people on them: at one point, I have to get off the sidewalk to allow a woman in a motorized cart to pass by (with a friendly nod and smile from both of us, befitting a general mood of all-being-in-this-together). And some people don't give a damn for social distancing, like the guy with the giant Super Great Pizza box who passes quite close to me. I feel myself bristle. Once I find myself on Kingsway, it ceases, quite literally, to be a walk in the park, and yearn to be back where population density is a bit lower, even though the streets of the city are mostly empty, compared to the pre-pandemic bustle.

Note the gas prices! (And that's actually not the bus I ended up getting on; a 25 turned the corner just as I finished taking this pic). 

The buses have done various things to enforce social distancing. At one point I get so intent on trying to capture a photo of the "rear boarding only" sign at the front of the #25 bus I get on, that I try to get on at the front. Luckily I catch myself, feeling a bit sheepish: I've read the sign, but didn't apply it to my actions. At Main, I have an amusing exchange with the driver, asking if I can *leave* by the front, since there are fewer people ahead of me (just the driver, behind plexiglass) than behind (about five other passengers, including a young couple having a busy conversation in what I think is Tagalog). But no, unless you need the ramp, you exit by the rear. In the end, I cut forty minutes off my hour-and-forty-six minute walk with the busride, and feel glad to have added it to the experience, even if it feels kind of high-risk, relative to other parts of the journey. It was fun to realize, though, after so long and unfamiliar a walk through my own neighbourhood that I actually knew the route for the bus I was on, had ridden it before, which made it feel a little less strange (first busride since my emergency dental work of mid-March!).

The rest of the walk down Main - past a few businesses like SushiMania and Bob Likes Thai Food that are open for business, but doing take-out only - is easy and familiar. Dave Gowans has told me that Red Cat is closed even for pick ups, but I think about poking into Carson Books and Records to see if they remain open - it's always fun to check in with Al Mader, AKA the Minimalist Jug Band, who works there in the evenings, and they had been open a bit later into things than some businesses - but I elect not to; I'm on a clock, since Erika is supposed to pick me up around 7pm... At this point, I've been out of the house for two and a half hours, and am starting to feel it in my legs and, uh, chest, which makes me mildly paranoid (except I can breathe fine; it's the muscles that are a bit sore).

Tim the Mute, who is working at Neptoon, hands off the records to me and we have a nice chat. I tell him about seeing Lou Reed in Tokyo, touring the Hal-Willner-produced Ecstasy (which is the Lou I was really hoping for on vinyl), and impulse-buy, with my remaining $10, a 7-inch single put out by Tim's new band, which I have yet to spin. He thanks me for taking a chance on his record (because tho' Rob has mentioned him, I haven't really listened to any of his stuff before). Later, as I sit on a rock around the corner, he re-materializes, and I ask if he's washing the money I handed him. He explains no, but he's sanitizing his hands. He's off to the post office, carrying a few Neptoon bags like my own, to mail out a few special orders, and we have a pleasant parting of the ways. 

Waiting for my wife on a rock on 20th - I'm sitting on a rock because I don't trust that the Main Street benches aren't covered in viruses! - I contemplate the trip. What if I picked up the virus? What if I'm asymptomatically carrying it? What if I got it on my hands when I handled money? Was this trip actually worth it, a good idea? Besides the walk in the park, I have to concede that NO IT PROBABLY WASN'T. There's no need for new records right now, better things to put money towards - even the plight of the sick and poor - and the good done by the exercise is counterbalanced by the needless risk of maybe picking something else up on the trip. But then again, I now have six new Lou Reed albums - including brand-new remasters, supervised by Lou himself, of Coney Island Baby, Street Hassle, and Berlin to explore. Well, anyhow, it's done. I look down at my bag and realize Rob has misspelled my name. 

This reminds me that I was thinking about the various ways people have misspelled my name over the years. Eugene Chadbourne tends to "Alan" me. I got Peter Stampfel to sign a bunch of stuff and he actually went back and forth from "Alan" to "Allan." McGuinness is a common enough variant - I have a Real McKenzies album signed by Paul where he puns on that, writing, "Is that My Guinness or Yours?" I'm glad Lemmy spelled my name right when I got him to sign my White Line Fever...

I find myself thinking, as I sit on the rock and wait for Erika, of my mother - of a specific day in the final week of her life, where I'd wheeled her out to the back garden of Maple Ridge hospital and we sat in the sun and breeze and watched a squirrel and shared a banana, and Mom told me - in simpler words, because of her aphasia, but this was the jist - that it was such a beautiful, peaceful moment that day, sitting out there with me, that she could accept it if it was the end of her life. She was still pretty clear headed that day, though the bypass grafts keeping her heart functioning had started to fail by then, probably, as a result of the stress of the infection her body was experiencing (it all started with a gallstone...). She would die about a week later, and with each of her quintuple grafts failing (I assume), she got less clear headed, but I always felt on the one hand grateful that she had that moment of graceful acceptance, and on the other, wondered if her accepting the possibility of death meant it was easier for her to let go - if she might have lived if not for that moment, you know? (Probably not - her system was badly taxed). If I catch COVID-19, I will be battling the same pneumonia that ended up as her technical cause of death, according to the hospital. I take a few deep breaths, sitting there on my rock, to check that there's no shallowness of breathing... My chest still feels a bit sore, but I've just taken a longer walk than I have in a month, so it's very likely nothing. Can I - should I? - cultivate that same sort of acceptance my mother had on that day, to soak in the beauty of my surroundings and how blessed the moment feels, how lucky I feel to be alive in it...? A lot of people are less blessed right now. I breathe, and try to feel grateful, and wait for my wife to come pick me up. 

Then we go to the same trail I was on earlier, and we take a walk together, then sit at the pond (the benches there feel less dodgy) and watch carp and ducks and chickadees. We'll go back there again today, maybe. It was pretty great.