Ok, Lord, you want yerself some Hanks - I'm gonna give you some Hanks!
Hank #1: Hank Williams
That's right, Hank Numero Uno is the man who brought us "Move it on Over," which was later covered to great effect by George Thoroughgood. Hank was an enormously talented singer and songwriter who had the good sense to drop dead before he could suck. Dying is always a smart career move. Unless you're Len Bias.
Hank #2: Hank Williams, Jr.
Because somebody's gotta take a stand for tinted glasses, snakeskin vests, and eagles soaring proudly. Gotta problem with that?
This definitely an awesome album cover. My only question is what the hell is that vaguely futuristic device Hank is reaching for on the wall?
Hank #3: Hank Williams III
Kinda looks like an eviler version of grandpa, doesn't he? Hank III grew up to develop a taste for punk rawk as a youngin', and it shows in his particular brand of snot-nosed country. Check out his cover of Johnny Cash's "Cocaine Blues" if you get the chance. Actually, it looks like your chance is now:
Hank #4: Henry Rollins
My first exposure to Henry Rollins came when my friend Will and I somehow got to the Wabasha Street Northern Lights Records where we picked up Black Flag's "Family Man," based on nothing other than the fact that we'd seen Black Flag's logo in Thrasher magazine like a lot - ergo Black Flag had to be cooler than cool. To put it mildly, this album was a bit challenging. Side One was nothing but Henry's earliest attempts at spoken word, which were -- how can I put this?-- something of an acquired taste. Side Two was a whole bunch of experimental jams led by evil genius Greg Ginn. Later, I managed to get some of Black Flag's back catalog, featuring classics like 'TV Party.' Henry Rollins, being an overall cool guy, got me interested in poetry and spoken-word performance (y'know... sissy stuff) at a time when I probably would not have otherwise gotten within 10 yards of that stuff. So, tip o' the eyepatch to you, Hank Rollins.
Special Bonus Rollins Quote: “The blues is losing someone you love and not having enough money to immerse yourself in drink.”
So, what was the deal with bands in the 90's having male cheerleaders/dancers
So, I've been thinking about music in the 90's lately (I blame VH1). I firmly stand by my judgment made during that decade that about 75% of all music produced between 1992-2000 pretty well sucked. However, there were some interesting micro-tends. For instance, what was the deal with bands that had a member who did nothing but dance around on stage? I present the following case studies: 1) Ben Carr of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones: What you're seeing is pretty much all Ben does. Skank-a-dank. Wikipedia describes him as "an ubiquitous, but non-musician onstage presence, later credited as 'Bosstone.'" Now, this isn't such a big deal when your seven-piece band is playing monster venues on the Vans/Warped Tour. But, AC and my second date was seeing this guys in the 7th Street Entry back in early '92. There was no room on stage, no room on the floor - but somehow they pulled it off. AC got a contact knocked out when she got kicked in the face by a stage-diver. Miraculously, she actually found the contact on the floor. Later, I interviewed Joe Gittleman for my awesome 'zine, Blaaarg! and AC got kissed by several band members.
Special Bonus Video: Devil's Night Out
vainglorious tangent: the barkeep at Tin Cups keeps telling me that I remind him of Dicky Barrett. Apparently, Dicky is now Jimmy Kimmel's announcer. Who knew? 2) Beau Beau of Avail I will submit that Avail might end up being one of the best Punk Rawk bands of the 90's. They broke the mold of a genre that was getting stale and formulaic in a lot of ways (their covers of "Pink Houses," "Suspicious Minds," and "You May be Right" while blow your free-gone mind, man). So why not have live show that includes a guy with a beard that'd do Odin proud and an incisor deficiency as your all-purpose cheerleader? Tip o' the eyepatch to you, Beau Beau.
3) Bez of Happy Mondays
I'm going to admit that I was a pretty serious hater of Acid House back inna day. Granted, I put my 40 of Haterade down long enough to head over to Sunday Night Dance Party in the Mainroom after the all-ages hardcore matinee was over in the Entry. That was where the girls were. Duh. At any rate, no band exemplified Acid like Happy Mondays. Check out the film '24 Hour Party People' for a very entertaining glimpse into this particular chapter in music/drug/youth culture history. One of the Mondays' trademarks was having this geezer named Bez (who was X'd out of his gourd) dance like a jackrabbit with a thyroid condition in all their shows. Later, the maracas came out. For those of you who were rocking out to Richard Marx back then, Bez was basically the Flavor Flav of Acid House.
Here's a video of these freaks at the height of their evil powers:
Still not my cup of tea. You're twistin' my melon, man.
Sorry for the long absence. Been out scouring the high seas.
Alright, already. You're sick of coming here and looking at the world's manliest hairdresser. I got the message loud and freaking clear. But y'know what? The damn Spanish Main don't plunder itself! That's right, if I don't get up bright and early every morning, strap on an eyepatch and a cutlass and get out there and shiver some timbers, I don't get any dubloons. Welcome to the pirate economy.
The funny thing is, I've had a like a gazillion ideas for blog postings, and now that I have a chance to actually sit down and write I can't remember any of them. None of them involved funny pictures. Most of them involved rock and roll. Damn you, demon rum, you got my pappy but you won't get me.
Ok, here's a story. Once upon a time, I think it might have been 1996 or so, Admiral Nelson and I went to visit his brother at Michigan Tech, which is in Houghton, Michigan, which is in the Upper Penninsula (aka Da Yoop). Unlikely as it sounds, while we were up there, we visited The Gay Bar. It was awesome. Please enjoy the photographic evidence:
The Admiral shows his moves outside The Gay Bar. Sexy beast.
Oddly enough, I would have to characterize The Gay Bar's overall aesthetic as "not nearly gay enough."