Welcome to Vancouver, Violent Femmes! Pictures, stories and ephemera, from Nomeansno to NO FUN (now updated thrice with added ZZ Top photo and John Wright quote)

In the spirit of offering a Vancouver welcome to the Violent Femmes, playing the Commodore Ballroom on May 4th and 5th, I put out a call on Facebook: Share your stories! Did you see the Femmes in Vancouver in the 1980s or 90s? What do you remember of it?

I have already posted my Lollapalooza anecdote and my 2009 interview with Brian Ritchie. I also remember a guy named Randy who I briefly went to SFU with bitching -- I think while we were talking at a John Cale/ Pere Ubu show at Club Soda, decades ago -- because he had read somewhere that Brian Ritchie was into "improvised music," but then the band got annoyed when Randy, going to see them live, brought along a harmonica to a show (not sure which, but one of the early ones) and started spontaneously playing along; he was told to stop. He was pretty annoyed, but I'm pretty sure that's not what Ritchie had had in mind...

Also, David M. of NO FUN (who opened for them on April 11, 1986), remembers that, though "they were very friendly...  there seemed to be some slight tension between the three main guys, Paul thought so too. It was probably nothing, and the show was ragingly good. Because I brought my cassette deck to record it [ie., NO FUN's performance, not the Femmes'], our set became our first live album, audio evidence of the only time my crotch was fondled on stage by an audience member, thus the full name of the album NO FUN Having Their Crotch Fondled On Stage, later shortened to the more prosaic NO FUN On Stage."

Note: Kent Lindsay of Atomic Werewolf (interviewed here about his connection to NO FUN and the New Heads and such) was apparently there and says it was a good show... David also remembers the band borrowing some of NO FUN's chairs for their horn section... But this NO FUN content threatens to take us somewhat away from the main purpose of this post....

Witness One: Bev Davies

All shots in this section are by Bev Davies, and are not to be reused without permission...

The earliest photos of the Violent Femmes in Vancouver -- or at least the earliest that anyone shared with me come from Bev Davies, who shot them on October 16, 1985, including a gorgeous photo of Brian Ritchie, who would have been about 25 here. I think this may have illustrated the interview I did with him for the Skinny, when that appeared in print: 

Two pictures showcase their previous/ original drummer, Victor DeLorenzo, one with a very femme Gordon Gano and one with Ritchie: 

Then there's one group shot of the Femmes, and here is where there was some confusion. I initially was puzzled by the Wayne-Gretzky lookalike below with the saxophone, who does not appear to be Peter Balestrieri. I am blown away to discover (via Brian Ritchie) that this is the late Steve Mackay of the Stooges, who also played sax with the Femmes... (And of course, John Zorn also played with them on Hallowed Ground; they've had some amazing horn players over the years). This was the first point of clarity that needed making... 

But then I got confused; I mentioned to Ritchie that it was cool that Steve Mackay and John Zorn had played sax with the Violent Femmes, and he commented back "And Dick Parry." Parry is also a legendary rock sax player -- you know him from Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. Somehow I misread Brian's messages, however, and thought he meant that the non-Femmes in the photo were Steve Mackay and Dick Parry (I mean, the Horns of Dilemma ARE a plural phenomenon). How about that! He does look a bit like the guy on the left... a bit older, a bit less hair, but that's kinda how these things work...

Brian Ritchie was NOT asserting, however, that the guy on the left in the photo was Dick Parry. I got that wrong, a simple misreading, but I had written previously, following Bev's information, that this was Wolfgang the WB Record Rep (AKA Wolfgang Burandt, I believe, deceased as of 2012). I briefly amended both this post and a Facebook post to say that that wasn't Wolfgang but Dick, whereupon Bev insisted that it really was Wolfgang, who was someone she actually knew (these were the days where having good relations with the record reps was important if you wanted to get photo passes). To convince me, she went into her files and found a DIFFERENT photo of Wolfgang the WB Record Rep, in the same fucking shirt no less, giving gold records to ZZ Top: he's third from the left. 

Bev sarcastically quipped "Or is that Dick Parry giving gold records to ZZ Top? I rest my case" but really, the striped shirt ices it. Whereupon I re-read the chain of texts from Brian and realized he was never saying that Dick Parry was in the photo, just that Parry had played sax with them.

It is a wonder that I get anything right! But it was, at least, a productive misunderstanding. 

Also note re: stripes that in that previous group photo, Gordon Gano appears to have been wearing a sleeveless striped t-shirt under his sleeved striped t-shirt. That is quite a commitment to stripes. 

Two: Phil Saintsbury

Longtime Vancouver record dealer, man of culture, and scene fixture Phil Saintsbury has kindly provided a few gig posters and press releases from two Violent Femmes shows. Turns out there's a detail on the 1984 press release that kinda knocks ones socks off. I have tinkered with his original PNG of this to make the text a bit bigger, but this is the best I can do -- sorry if you have to squint!

The thing is: Nomeansno opened for the Violent Femmes? 

YES, I have Jason Lamb's book about Nomeansno, and yes, the story is in there, but I didn't read that part until just now! It's covered on pp. 51-52, along with an image of the gig poster from that night and testimony from Andy Kerr, Randy Strobl -- no relation to Rachel Strobl! -- and John Wright). The Femmes played with Nomeansno backing them two nights in a row, first in Seattle, then in Vancouver. This seems a very significant thing, if you're a fan of both bands.

Understand: there are a handful of astonishing bassists I've encountered, bassists whose work is the centerpoint to the band. I am normally not a gimme-the-bass guy; I like a good bassline a lot, and to the extent that I have picked up any instruments at all, I like the feel of a bass under my fingers far more than the feel of a guitar, but it's best understood as a support instrument, maybe sneaking to the fore occasionally with a flourish here and there; if it's doing its job, you aren't even really supposed to NOTICE it. Every now and then, though, there's a rock bassist who is so expressive and creative and interesting that they become the focus, the key, the main ingredient: and Rob Wright and Brian Ritchie are two such bassists (along with Mike Watt, Rachel Melas, and... d'yall know Rachel Melas? I mean, I might be biased because she was local -- I think she's in Ontario, these days -- and I met her once; but go listen to the Animal Slaves' Dog Eat Dog for some supple, slithery, expressively funky bass playing. I mean, the whole album is great, but Rachel's bass...). 

(The show where NO FUN opened)

Again, we threaten to unhinge the focus of the piece but understand that it is very interesting to try to imagine what Nomeansno would have sounded like at this juncture. Andy Kerr had only been in the band one year, and their only LP at this point was Mama; Andy explains in Jason's book that the set started with Nomeansno in two-piece form, with Andy joining in near the end. Nomeansno in two-piece form did not sound like later Nomeansno very much, but I haven't heard much live evidence from this period (though there is this). 

John Wright of Nomeansno (and now Dead Bob, playing May 11th with DOA at the same venue) confirms the some-two-piece/ some-three-piece material structure and says, "I do remember 'Self Pity' going over very well in Seattle. It was our first big show in Vancouver, at the Commodore no less. First time for a lot of people to see us. Did not meet or talk to the Violent Femmes."

"Self-Pity" seems the perfect spiritual complement to a Violent Femmes show. The previous link is to the Undergrowth cassette version of the song, regarded by some as the definitive take. 

I was unable to source a proper Vancouver gig poster for that NMN/ Violent Femmes pairing but here's one courtesy of the Angry Snowmans' Ty Stranglehold for the Seattle show:

Stranglehold's own top story was "of seeing Violent Femmes play was at the Infest Festival in High River, Alberta in 1993. While they were playing their hearts out, Chi Pig and I were drinking their beer! I can't wait to see them on Saturday."

Don't let him near your beer, Femmes!

Meanwhile, fellow Otwayphile Ian McClelland says of the Violent Femmes that he has "seen them many times over the years, mostly at the Commodore and once at the Vogue. They always put on a fantastic and energetic show. I can’t remember any unusual stories about the concerts I attended so I’ll have to blame the old memory bank but I think I can safely say everyone leaves very satisfied!"

A second press release from Phil: 

And a third gig poster -- thanks, Phil!: 

Three: Art Perry

Art Perry was at a 1991 Commodore show by the Femmes and shot several images of Gordon Gano, but it sounds like the rhythm section was in the shadows that night. Here are some lovely shots of Gano, however -- four shots with four completely different moods. 

All photos and captions in this section are by Art Perry and are not to be reused without his permission! 

Art was also at the PNE show in 2017 (I believe that's the one also with Echo and the Bunnymen, who are coming back this summer, note, also playing the Commodore). He was there with his 15 year old daughter, who is a "huge Ritchie fan," he explains. He has provided captions. Art disdains capitals so I have not tampered with that! 

Art's caption: lulu has been waiting FOREVER to hear the femmes live... bliss is in da house.

the violent femmes : gordon gano (vocals, guitar) + brian ritchie (bass, marimba) + blaise garza (sax) + john sparrow (drums) ... what a band !,

experimental + thumping + screeching + sublime, 

brian ritchie (lulu's favourite musician in the femmes) tossed a guitar pick into the crowd ... lulu ended up with it ... it meant the world because he'd actually played on stage with this pick ... after the show ritchie initialled it for lulu : a shrine in the making

lulu is now a true violent femme: her autographed t-shirt will never be washed: part of the shrine

Thanks, Art! (And Bev and Phil). That's it, that's all we have. I'd wanted more anecdotes but am delighted by what turned up in their place! The first Femmes album is a classic, but the second (Hallowed Ground) is vastly more ambitious and interesting, and I'll be catching the band playing both albums both nights (I'm hoping we will also get "Ugly" and "Gimme the Car," as well!). Tour kicks of May 1st at the Warfield in San Francisco. There are resale tickets available through Ticketmaster -- pretty expensive for the Saturday, less so for the Sunday. 

If Brian Ritchie has copies of his John Cage album on the merch table, you can thank me...! 

Decriminalization without safe supply = dead bodies in doorways.

So basically anywhere you go in downtown Vancouver these days, you'll see people in doorways who seem dead.

There was a time when I checked in with people who seemed like they might be: "Are you okay?" Sometimes I'd get a groggy answer, occasionally I would just annoy someone who was sleeping rough. Once I called 911 on someone lying facedown in a puddle of piss and saliva on a freezing night at the Skytrain, when I found I could not rouse him; he didn't seem dead, but seemed like he would be if something weren't done. That was around Christmas. While people walked by, I texted a friend to say I would be late and waited at the station and watched as eventually the EMTs revived the guy (maybe they gave him Narcan, or maybe just woke him up more intrusively than I'd felt comfortable with). They gave him directions to a shelter and encouraged him to go. He didn't seem particularly grateful or even all that interested in or aware of what was happening, but he shuffled off, maybe thinking to himself it would have been simpler if people had just let him die. 

Truth is, in such situations, it increasingly starts to seem like I am interfering in a lifestyle choice. I haven't really attempted much along those lines since that episode -- there was one guy helping his buddy and I asked if he wanted me to call 911, but he said he knew what to do (then went on a rant about how people treat drug users that made me kind of move away from him; he wasn't mad at me, but he was plenty mad). It's become normal to just walk on by, minding my own business, which seems preferable to asking people, every day I'm downtown, if they're still alive, which is sort of what it could turn into if I committed to getting involved: daily wellness checks on people who might not actually appreciate them, for whom it may in fact be too late.  

It's just not inviting, you know? I do not have the skillset or life experience to help in such cases, and don't really relish the idea of interacting with people in such dire straits. The other week, one person I walked by had his pants down, his ass fully bare to the world. He was lying on his side on a sidewalk on Homer Street, I think, unconscious, butt facing the road. It wasn't warm, but he was in no danger from the cold (assuming he was still alive; if he wasn't, my intervention wasn't going to accomplish much). I contemplated him for a minute; what do you say in such a case? "Excuse me, sir, do you know your ass is hanging out?" I considered snapping a picture (for a Welcome to Vancouver calendar, say, to be given out free at the airport as a corollary to Hope in the Shadows: the subtitle could read Despair in Broad Daylight). In the end I did nothing, walked back to my job. Parents ushered their children by him. I wonder what they told them, when asked, for example, "Daddy, why does that man have his bum hanging out?" 

And just yesterday, on a short walk during a break at work, I passed a couple slouched in a doorway. They had some sort of gear in their hands (I didn't look closely; it feels impolite -- but one of them had a square of tinfoil next to him, so I guess he'd been smoking something?). They both seemed completely lifeless; living people just don't succumb to gravity so completely. One of them was folded over in that unnatural way that seems the hallmark of opioids of late, their head resting on their legs. 

I guess part of not wanting to check in is the very real possibility that eventually, if I kept it up, someone WOULD be dead; it seems inevitable. I wonder how many corpses I've walked past since that attempt to intervene that I made around Christmas?

Anyhow, those two -- the folded woman and the tinfoil man  were there as I walked out on my break, and still there, in the same position, as I walked back half an hour later (in-between, I saw someone getting ready to light a meth pipe, staggering along Hamilton, looking deranged). Maybe Vancouver will become like the end of Cronenberg's Rabid, with garbage trucks roaming the streets and people in hazmat suits chucking bodies in? 

I mean, I'm not sure what the right thing to do is, in these circumstances, but I can say this: I wasn't the only person just walking by them. 

...So here's a conclusion we can draw: harm reduction, in its current manifestation, is not working. I'm not sure exactly where it's failing, but it is clear that what we have is a mess, here. If you don't think so, you probably do not spend much time downtown. David Eby seems to prefer the idea of people dying on the street to people dying in a bathroom or SRO or crouched behind a dumpster, but I'm not sure it makes that much of a difference, if people are still dying. 

He also says, quote, "I don’t believe the answer is that the government opens up distribution centres for these drugs... I just think that's not right." 

Neither is having people stepping over overdoses on their way to work, or people in doorways smoking meth or crack or shooting up (even saw someone shoot up at a Starbucks awhile back). Decriminalizing leads to open usage -- it's practically the point, that people will be more public about their drug use. But it makes downtown -- practically dependent on international students for survival, most of whom come from countries where such things are unheard of, arriving here with no realization that this will be a feature of life -- very, very sad, very unhospitable, even frightening. No matter  how good we get at closing our eyes, it's everywhere, and it's only going to get more visible and more widespread.  

That's about the only good that decriminalization will do, that I can see: it will make clear how big a problem this city has. Can't see it doing much to solve it, though.   

A friend suggests that underlying all this is corruption: not wanting to piss off the drug dealers and gangs whose income is contingent on the current state of things. I suspect it's more a fear of pissing off the voter base: who wants to be the guy who gives free clean heroin away? The Conservatives would have a field day, and the working class Joes who resent every perk given people poorer than they would fume to no end: "Give them free heroin?! Why not just let them die, if that's what they want to do? Why do they deserve that, when I have to go to work?"

That is, to be clear, NOT my position. 

But if the problem is toxic drugs, the solution is simply and obviously not just having people doing toxic drugs in public. You also have to do something about the drugs themselves. Decriminalization without safe supply = dead bodies in doorways. Do we have to wait until it starts to affect real estate prices before anyone will take action?

Personally, my own unlikely solution is having specially run buildings, maintained by the government, where people with serious addictions can live rent free, with clean dope provided, and no expectation of tenants doing anything to earn their keep. Call it a version of a safety social net: if you fall through the cracks far enough, society foots the bill -- you're absolved, given housing, given food, given dope, and given some opportunity for dignity. The only catch would be you had to give up certain freedoms -- that you'd be separated from the general population to some extent. No shooting up in doorways, no lying bare-assed on the sidewalks: don't scare the tourists, don't die in the Starbucks bathroom, don't make your problem the problem of every non-addict who works and lives downtown. But that's it -- you follow the rules, and you're taken care of, period. Addiction Maintenance Centers, Dignity Centres -- not quite prisons, not quite hospitals, not quite social housing -- where addicts can live safely and comfortably, with safe, free dope at the taxpayer's expense... but separated from the mainstream of life in the city.   

I would rather that than feel guilt and shame at walking by the possibly dead (to say nothing of the naked and deranged). I'd argue for making such places as comfortable and obliging as possible, if it meant people not dropping dead on the streets (and people not having to be afraid FOR them or OF them or having to live with the daily shame that this is what our city has come to).  

Oh, and it would put the criminal element out of business, for the most part (I don't want to believe that corruption is really the main issue here, but I can understand my friend's point). 

It's about the only thing that makes sense to me as a solution. I'm not sure why we don't go there. Does the government fear that they would be creating an incentive for non-addicts to just drop out of society and move into such an institution? I don't think many people who are not already desperate would find the prospect of life at a Dignity Centre or such very appealing. And somehow I don't think the guy lying butt-ass naked in a doorway (or slumped over with his works in his lap, three-quarters dead) would really care about loss of personal freedoms if it meant free drugs for life. It sounds fascist, but I can't see any other way out: Give addicts safe, legal drugs, look after them, and warehouse them out of sight for everyone's good. If there's a better idea, I'm all ears, but it sure is not decriminalization without safe supply. That's just a recipe for corpses.  

Record Store Day misadventures, plus RIP Johnny

Leaving Burnaby. All photos by me except the RIP of Johnny (far below)

I arrived at Neptoon for Record Store Day, yesterday, just before their special early opening at 9am. When I got there, the line stretched down Main to 20th and around the alley in back. There were people in lawn chairs. People had brought food. This is not a good sign, I thought; but I took my place at the back of the line and texted a friend that I'd mentioned dropping in on that I would probably be done around 10...? 

Uh, no, I would not be.

Understand, I am not here to complain, Other than the (count'em, two) records that I wanted, I had (and have) no agenda, being neither a Record Store Day enthusiast nor a hater. I used to enjoy the pre-COVID tradition of having RSD in-stores (for which Neptoon always had the biggest and best), but the actual number of Record Store Day releases that I consider essential and exciting any given year is not huge. The Pogues with Joe Strummer is probably the item I'm happiest to have gotten my mitts on (also at Neptoon, ten years ago). I think a couple of my Lou Reeds are RSD releases. I have a BOC album and a Big Star one that I think are RSD, and consider the 2LP RSD version of Hal Willner's Stay Awake a definite upgrade over the 1, even though there is no added material (it's just spread out to reduce groove cramming). But some years there's nothing I care about at all and I choose to avoid the phenomenon altogether; in fact, I've often perused the list with the hope that there will be nothing on it I need, and felt relief when such has been the case.

But this year there were two sure winners -- the Meat Puppets Live in Montana (RSD marks the first-ever pressing, on blue vinyl, of an expanded 2LP version of the old Ryko CD) and Neil Young's Fuckin' Up (a live revisitation from a private show at the Rivoli last year of his Ragged Glory material, almost none of which I have on vinyl in any form; there's going to be a cheaper, wider release of that soon, but the special edition available today will keep its value and then some, and the sooner I can listen to "Country Home" on vinyl, the happier I'll be). There were a few other things I dithered about -- Alex Chilton's Cliches, for example, or Motorhead's Remorse? No!, or the 2-LP version of Beefheart's The Spotlight Kid with an extended jam on "I'm Gonna Booglarize You, Baby" (I no longer crave the insanities or excesses of Trout Mask like I once did, and have come out of the closet as saying that his Spotlight Kid period is some of my favourite Beefheart ever, along with, say, Safe as Milk). Did Bev Davies need the Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs live EP? (I checked by email while in line). Of speaking of Stay Awake, did my friend Dan care much about the Sun Ra vinyl of Disney material? (Lately he's focused on Stomu Yamash'ta records; he passed). I didn't ask Bob if there was anything he wanted (sorry, Bob!) but I have no doubt he hit Ditch and Supreme Echo and so forth. 

Ultimately I elected to not buy any of these other items, but (having just interviewed Derrick Bostrom for the next Big Takeover, note) I was not going to let Live in Montana or Fuckin' Up pass me by. 

And it seemed to make good sense to go to Neptoon. With apologies to old favourites Audiopile and Zulu, which are both fine record stores in and of themselves, to say nothing of another dozen record stores locally (Noize to Go is another favourite) that I won't bother to laundry-list, the easiest commute for me these days is the Red Cat/ Neptoon corridor, and Neptoon, I was told, were getting 15 of the Pups and 12 of the Neil Young. Red Cat were getting fewer of both (only 5 of the Pups!). I reasoned that while yes, there would be more competition for the stuff at Neptoon, there would also be more copies of the albums I wanted; and even though it was unlikely either of those records would sell out -- if past RSDs were any measure, where people were lining up for Taylor Swift  -- I figured just once, I wanted to have the experience of having stood in the Neptoon line, which wasn't even a thing last time I was there for Record Store Day. 

I could always use it as the basis of a blogpiece, I reckoned. 

So I documented my departure (see above) from my apartment at 8:15 AM, and posted realtime updates on Facebook of my lineup experience, some of which you are now seeing here. I grabbed a bus right outside my door to Main, grabbed another to Neptoon, and took my place in the back of the line, where I was, for a good long while, the last person. When I seemed to have exhausted my colour photography options, I switched to monochrome. Of course, I listened to the Meat Puppets or Neil Young on my headphones the whole time I was taking these. Damn, the Pups' cover of "Dough-Rey-Mi" sure is enjoyable. 

So here I am to tell you, that took awhile. Neptoon have a nice system worked out, whereby they -- in the form of Tim the Mute -- run a numbered list out to the people waiting that allows them to check what RSD releases they want. You put your name on it, Tim runs it inside, and they have the items you want bagged and ready for payment when you get to the door, where they let you in to pay one at a time. No one is allowed to stick around and shop until the RSD lineup is satiated, such that person number 125 in the lineup, for instance (which, it happens, was me) does not have to wait for person 124 to shop randomly for an hour. They prep your order, you go in and pay, and you leave, and the next person gets to come in. If there is a better way to do it, it would require them to have multiple debit machines, which don't come cheap, so...

...anyhow, that's how it works UNLESS Tim comes out and breaks the bad news that all the copies of the albums of 7"s or cassettes or such that you ticked have sold out. As he finished doing this to the teenagers (?) ahead of me, I asked what the sellout titles were this year: apparently Sabrina Carpenter's "Feather" was a hot one (RSD listing here) and Olivia Rodrigo and Noah Kahan's "Stick Season" was another (RSD listing here). 

Tim listed a few other titles, but there was not a band name among them that I recognized, nor could I tell you who Sabrina Carpenter or Olivia Rodrigo are (and hell, I don't even know how to pronounce the Weeknd, subject of a purchase I document below, let alone what his music sounds like; is it like "the Weekend?" Or maybe "the Weakened?" Try teaching the different stress patterns to those words sometime). 

Having spent all of 10 seconds on the above clips, I can say that my prime puzzlement here is that anyone who cares about this kind of music would care about owning physical copies of it. I do not want to (though I could) express this in a way that is dismissive, insulting, or hurtful to the fans of these artists, nor to the artists in questions themselves -- they are mostly just unknown to me, and as with Ms. Swift, I see nothing interesting enough in their work that makes me want to investigate it closely so that I might be equipped to fairly criticize or dismiss it; in fact, Audiopile's Geoff Barton was commenting on Facebook not long ago that he actually took the time to check out some Taylor Swift records and concluded that it was simply not for him, and my remark at the time was something like, "You actually had to listen to it to determine that?" 

I mean, you do have to listen to it to actually put it down, I'll grant you that, since, who knows, the Carpenters, Rodrigos, and Swifts of the world may actually have some clever lyrics, some heartfelt gestures, even good songs -- but it takes mere nanoseconds of exposure to what they do for me to conclude that "This is not for me," and I am more than happy to just trust my instincts there. You can't fairly criticize, condemn, or dismiss something unless you experience it, but you CAN just ignore it. Like, while I cannot say that the hot food served at 7-11 is utter garbage, an insult to eating, unless I actually put some of it in my mouth -- because that would be unfair! -- I *can* just simply walk by it, uncurious. Does it have redeeming qualities? Maybe, who knows? May I never have cause to find out. 

Beyond this utter lack of curiosity, I still find it really weird that people are lining up for physical copies of mainstream pop. I have this prejudice that physical media people are also music geek people, and to put it mildly, this stuff is simply not the music that music geeks listen to. I expect Eric Dolphy fans to line up for RSD, or people who need the Mudhoney box set, or even folks who crave the Beatles items that came out this year, because I understand that jazz fans and grunge fans and Beatles fans are the ones who WANT TO GET IT ON VINYL. Obviously wrong, here, but I would generally assume that fans of the pop made by Ms. Carpenter and Ms. Rodrigo (or Ms. Swift) would generally be fine just consuming it via Spotify or iTunes or whatever the convenient platform of choice is these days. I mean, do Neptoon or Red Cat or whomever actually sell a bunch of Sabrina Carpenter when it is NOT Record Store Day? (You can be damn sure they sell Eric Dolphy and Mudhoney and the Beatles). I guess, in a way, it's a sweet that kids with such, uh, mainstream tastes in music still want to get their mitts on a rare 7", but it's hard for me to comprehend, y'know, that as a Meat Puppets fan, I have to stand in the same line with them. 

Whatever. By 11:30, when I rounded the corner onto Main, between my backpack and newish shoes and general state of mediocre health, my lower back and feet were getting pretty sore. I was  wishing for sunscreen, thinking about coffee. I took a brief seat on one of the planters along the wall. The lady working at 4Cats came out briefly to yell at us for blocking access to their doorway, but I suspect she was jealous that no one was lining up to get in her store. It's not like anyone had a hard time entering, if that's what they wanted to do...

Anyhow, with the sad Sabrina Carpenter ("or whatever") fans ahead of me being told that Neptoon was sold out of those releases, just as the door was in sight, it began to be clear to me that probably the Meat Puppets album was not going to sell out.. which observation (that I probably did not have to have lined up for these records a all) was kind of echoed by Tim, who flipped through my list and did an "uhh, you're probably safe." 

But with time to kill as I waited, I had actually perused the line ahead to determine who might be a threat to the Pups supply, and posted on Facebook what I hope people realized was a joke, that THIS MOTHERFUCKER RIGHT HERE was probably going to buy a Meat Puppets record -- hell, he actually looks like he could BE a Meat Puppet:

(I have no idea who that is or what he bought, note. He is no doubt not a motherfucker. In fact, he may well be a kindred spirit. I hope that all was clear: I was joking). 

There wasn't much conversation between myself and others in the line. The guys behind me borrowed a pen and asked if I knew what was in the Mudhoney box. A protestor (briefly mistaken by me for a spare changer) worked the line to let us know that he was hunger striking twice a week in solidarity for the people of the Gaza strip ("not eating two days a week would be a luxury for them"), who let us know that there were weekly protests at 1pm at the art gallery. Can I take your photograph for a blogpiece?, I asked him. (He said yes). 

By the time I got to the front of the line, I had been standing outside for two hours and 45 minutes. More than, actually. It was 11:45 when I finally went in, quickly snapped photos of efficient Ben and Rob at work (and Jim Cummins' Iggy Pop portrait), paid for my Pups (and Neil Young) and went on about my day. I probably did not have to stand in line at all, could probably go to Neptoon today, even, and discover, I dunno, 13 copies of that Meat Puppets release still on their shelves, minus the one that I and said motherfucker had bought... 

In fact, while I was in line, someone in a "You've been Tromatized" Troma vest who looked a bit like Josh Nickel (but I don't think was?) came up to me and asked, "How long have you been standing out here?" Whereupon he showed me the records he had bought at Red Cat, without having had to stand in line at all. (I am assuming it was not Josh because I cannot imagine Josh buying Pulp or Verve records, but maybe I'm wrong there?). The person had Sonic Youth's Hits or For Squares, too, which also kind of tempted me. I had plenty of time to look it up on my phone before they called, "One-twenty-five?"

That's me! 

There was certainly no lineup at Red Cat when I finally made it there about 3pm (I had not gone direct, visiting a friend in the neighbourhood and having lunch at Sula on the way; I had my Pups, and was in no rush). Neptoon had been unable to fill my one non-RSD request (I'd asked Tim if they had Alejandro Escovedo's new record, and though he was willing, they did not; but it was still listed on Red Cat's website). It took a bit of finding, once I got there, but there was plenty of browsing going on at Red Cat (and a 15% discount). Everyone had their own personal record label pinned to their shirt. Paying for my Escovedo (the last copy!), I chatted briefly with Ford Pier as to why he had chosen to represent himself with My Fair Lady, and he said that he had thought it would be fun to draw the six Columbia eyes, and wanted a record that would allow him to do so. 

Ford and I also chatted about how he'd enjoyed his opening set for A. Savage of Parquet Courts earlier this week at the Rickshaw, without my letting slip that I do not really know my Parquet Courts. Apparently Savage's rhythm section had to go home early in the tour -- due to illness? I forget -- so Rickshaw audiences were treated to a very unique set, with Savage playing songs he normally would not have, including some Parquet Courts material. Truth is, if I'd gone that night, it would have just been to see Ford at the Rickshaw again. But, well, glad Ford had fun. 

And since I could plainly see that the Neil Young was still on their wall, I asked him, bracing myself: Did they still have the Meat Puppets Live in Montana in stock?

They did. 

*****************

A side note: people on Facebook yesterday and at Green Auto last night were talking in surprise and sorrow about the recent death of a figure named Johnny, who was a fixture at local gigs. I did not really know the man, myself; I had seen him around and maybe exchanged a friendly sentence or two -- he was a much-loved figure on the scene, apparently. Not really knowing him, I can't say much about his passing, save that he's someone I probably would  have enjoyed chatting with, probably had a fair bit in common with, maybe could have been friends with, if we hadn't been concentrating so much on the bands at the gigs that we were at together. I bet there were a few we shared (he went to vastly more shows than I did, is the impression I got -- "he was at everything," someone remarked last night). My condolences to his family and friends -- he seems to have been a genuinely nice guy, and I hope what follows is not in too poor a taste... 

(Lifted from the posts of a friend who credits the image as coming via Chain Whip). 

...But people who liked Johnny from the music scene might who were surprised by news of his passing might want to know that he did, in fact, know that he was dying (he was able to prepare for it, which is probably the preferable way to go -- who wants to go suddenly, with a bunch of things left unsaid and undone?); and that, realizing he couldn't take it with him, he sold his record collection to Neptoon a short while ago, much of which is still there. There was more than I can do justice to -- a lot of punk, a lot of garage, a bit of metal -- a bunch of Blasphemy, did that come from him? -- and I think maybe even a soul and R&B collection (though I didn't look through that). I had posted about it a couple weeks ago on Facebook, without naming whose records they were, but from the Pandoras to Thee Headcoats, from the Alex Chilton to Zounds, Johnny's collection spoke of a deep, adventuresome love of music (and a pretty decent dayjob!). It's easy to tell his collection from the usual stock, as it is stacked all around the used section in crates; you can tell looking at it was the collection of someone who either had died, was dying, or had really serious medical bills to cover, because (as I remarked to Rob when I brought a few of the records from it to the till the other week), no one ever sells a collection like that unless one of those three conditions apply. So if you were a friend of Johnny's, shared some of his musical enthusiasms, and are missing him, maybe it would mean something to you to own some of his records?

But, um, I actually got his Zounds record, so don't bother looking for that...