afrojet

Hiawatha Line: Back to the Future
I took the new Hiawatha-Line Light Rail Transit to a Twins game the other day. The first train car I tried to board was so packed with humans that I couldn’t even pound my way into a cabin. I did push my way onto the next train and was soon whisked away at a fine speed and deposited six minutes later right at the front steps of the Metrodome. It was fun being on the train which is still a novelty to everyone. There was almost a World’s Fair type atmosphere as everyone lavished praise on the new transit technology. Lot’s of folks expressed happiness in that Minneapolis now joins the ranks of major cities (Chicago, New York, Washington DC) with Light Rail Transit. What’s interesting to me is that this great leap forward for our humble city is really a great leap backward to a time when mass rail transit was the norm. Although the technology is much improved the concept is still the same. It’s like if I were to take my Macintosh computer running the current Panther OS and decide I would downgrade to good old System 7 just so I could create some retro graphics using the old 32-bit QuickDraw.

Hopefully the new Hiawatha-Line Light Rail won’t become a retro novelty (like the above poster implies) and will actually serve as the cornerstone for a vastly superior and forward thinking state-wide transit system. And really, I hope this means that we aren’t far off from getting our own MLX01 Maglev Line.

Newsflash: Sun Ra Predicts Saturn Radio Emissions

Astral Jazz Pioneer, Sun Ra, claims he was born on the planet Saturn, which is a dope little piece of science fiction that I’ve always found comforting when listening to anything from the Ra cannon. I have always believed it to be fiction however. Now I’m not so sure. Early this morning, while I was laying on the couch in a half comatose state waiting for the coffee to brew, I was listening to MPR’s report on Cassini’s first days in contact with the planet Saturn. Sure there were amazing photographs but what was really making the scientist shit flowers this morning was a strange joyful noise being broadcast from the large ringed planet. They played the audio. I was speechless. It sounded like they had just lifted a 12 second audio clip from any number of Sun Ra’s compositions. Like this little snippet (mp3) from ‘Journey Through the Outer Darkness”.

I think this is more than just coincidence.

Sun Ra is the original Afronaut and I think we all should have paid a bit more attention when Sun Ra delivered his Concert for the Comet Kohoutek back in 1973. Scientist then were baffled by the comet’s anomalous tail and continually changing form – far from the norm of usual comet behavior. Could it be that Sun Ra was in direct communication with the comet through his compositions? Perhaps, it’s entirely possible that had Sun Ra not played the infamous concert for the comet – a sort of astral lullaby – that the comet would have smashed into the planet and caused all kinds of problems. There are many mysteries to be solved in deep space but there are even greater one’s amongst the people who walk the earth.

The Stank of Dark Places
I’ve completely run out of my Shrek 2 cereal this morning. Now I’m jonesing for it. The donkey marshmallow were especially delicious.

Got to see John Vanderslice with Pedro the Lion at First Avenue last night. Vanderslice had a great set. I missed him last time through on his Spring Tour (photos), so I was glad to be around for this shot. Of the recent turmoil at First Avenue, you certainly can’t tell that anything has changed yet. I sincerely hope that First Avenue will be around for a good long time and continue to book bands that could not otherwise play a large room in Minneapolis without getting into bed with Clear Channel.

Last night while standing in line at security check and waiting to get a ticket, I was overcome with nostalgia from breathing in that sweet metallic musk that is so distinctive to the entrance of First Avenue. It finally hit me that the smell is the same stink you will find in almost all Greyhound bus stations across America. Which makes sense on the surface, for First Avenue was a Greyhound bus station before being renovated into a night club. On the other hand, that was 25 years ago. One would think that the pure stench of rock and the road weary incense of a thousand band/fan combos would have at least scented the bouquet of the place with a bit more tang and spice then your average bus depot. Perhaps the stench of the Greyhound is just too powerful.

We Got Jokes and Jokes and Jokes and Jokes
Had the good fortune to see Dave Chappelle at the Orpheum Theater over the weekend. It was a rambunctious crowd that attempted again and again to pigeon hole Dave with some of his signature lines from his show. To his credit he dealt with their heckling like a pro. And he was damn funny to boot. Of course, I also got to sit right in front of the guy who has to repeat, out loud, every punch line in order for its full comedic weight to settle into the dusted folds of his brain.

After the show, everyone went and bought gallons of grape drink and retired to a quite home in South Minneapolis. Someone brought out a game I had never played before called Shut Box. Little did I know then, that the sole purpose of this game is to make me relinquish all the money that I have in my wallet and send me home broke. Even though it robbed me blind, I am into this game and am here to tell you that ya’ll should be playing this game all the time. I guess the game is pretty hard to come by but you can find them on ebay. Here are the rules of Shut Box. And in case anyone is interested, shutbox.com would be a cool name for a website and it’s not yet registered.

Beastie Boys Triple Trouble Frogger Game.

Saint Paul Saints
The Twins need to get themselves an outdoor stadium immediately. Watching the Saint Paul Saints, outdoors on a cool summer night, you can’t beat it. If you get there late (because you got distracted by a box of cold Red Stripes tailgating in the parking lot) then you get into the game for $5. Special ‘Fashionably Late’ price. That’s actually what’s printed on the ticket. At the Metrodome you’ve got your choice between warm shitty Miller Lite or Budwieser in a wide-mouth plastic bottle, at the Saints game they have Summit beer on tap. At the dome you’ve got a roof. At Midway Stadium, the night sky is an ever-changing tapestry of color and light. The only thing they don’t have at Miller Stadium is a baseball team that I know anything about. It didn’t even dawn on me to look at the scoreboard until about halfway through the sixth inning. But the ball game is background, like the Union Pacific trains rumbling slowly along, not 20 yards pass the back of the center field fence, or the Girl Scout pillow fights that take place in between the fourth and fifth innings. It’s just like one large piece of art. And on a good night it’s the best seat in town.

Actually the best seat in town is the giant Spa water pool tower in left field. Sometime during the fifth inning someone in our crew noticed that the spa seating, usually reserved for company types, was sitting abandoned. The call was made to scramble. We rallied along the outside track, spotted the tower, saw the reserved for “Rollover” sign, and in a move that would have made Chevy Chase in Fletch proud, we fast talked our way up to the deck, I believe I was named CEO of Rollover. We enjoyed several strong innings at the spa tower. We ate Rollover’s hot dogs, drank their beers and tried to steal their free ‘Saints’ towels. I think we would have been left unmolested in our high tower if that same someone hadn’t decided to actually fire up the whirl pool and take a dip. I think that must have set off some alarms somewhere and we were quickly surrounded by security and forced to abandon ship. Good diplomacy and level heads prevailed. There was nothing but good vibes traveling through our wandering party. We broke from security with hand shakes and smiles. Just another day at the park.

Born into Dodgeball
I Saw the Bukowski Documentary Born into This and I watched the movie Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story. I decided I would try and review Dodgeball in a Bukowskiesque type poem:

only children play dodgeball
when men do this they are whores

when other men

watch
they are
worse than whores

fist fights
cock fights
women in green dresses
fat dogs
that’s entertainment

dodgeball reminds me
that
the jails and madhouses
are
FULL
yet there’s no
PANIC

Summer Activities

This past weekend I had to deal with the consequences of the unfortunate play of our Minnesota Twins in Milwaukee. One overzealous Brewers fan hounded me day and night with drunken unintelligible rants left on my voice mail and inning by inning emails recounting the destruction of my team. It was all a bit more than I could take so I hastened out to the golf course both Saturday night and Sunday morning to try and bring calm to the situation and lift the dark cloud of disappointment. Saturday night was beautiful. The setting sun cast magnificent pink brushwork across the sky. My game was good. Sunday was a whole different story. I’m still getting use to some extra long clubs. I may as well have been playing with a shovel and gardening hoe. I did more gardening and sod removal on the course than one should legally be allowed. The golf cops continued to appear on speedy carts and I was sure that one of them was going to offer a citation or a cease and desist order. “Please Sir, you must stop.”

The Walker Art Center’s Summer Music and Movies series is on point this year. Six Steve McQueen movies outdoors. I can’t wait to see Bullit and The Getaway sprawled out on the Sculpture Garden lawn.

Even more summer goodness comes to The Minnesota Orchestra, where Chris O’Riley will be playing classic piano compositions of Radiohead’s music.

Who Cries For The Children?

After a couple reminiscent email exchanges with folks out West, it was brought to my attention that the incredible 1986 production of Hear N’ Aid won VH1’s The Greatest: 100 Metal Moments. As luck would have it I have a copy of this wonderful video after I stole it from some kids Bar Mitzvah gift bag. The deal was that 40 metal gods got together May 20 and 21, 1985, at the A&M Recording Studios to bang out a song called ‘Stars’ to help the starving kids in Africa. The song was written by Jimmy Bain and Vivian Cambell. The results are so good that I can’t even describe them. Checkout an audio sample of Yngwie Malmsteen’s guitar solo from the song. Also see how many of these Metal Monsters you can name.

Here is Karl Briers recollections on the video:

Hours and hours drooling over Yngwie/Lynch’s riffin’, shock and titillation at the raw fact of just how much Night Ranger’s (!!!) and Guffria’s guitarists RIPPED SHIT UP!!, scorn for the limp C- effort of Twisted Sister’s axeman; worship of Halford’s triple octave vocal incisions and Tate’s serpentine throat skills, disgust with Dokken’s comatose delivery; and of course, veneration for Smalls and St.. Hubbin’s commentaries– likely the only parties to emerge with every ounce of dignity and conviction intact.

Lyrics as follows:

Who Cries for the children I do. [Ronnie James Dio as himself]

Sometime in the night, when you’re feeling the cold [Meniketti]
Take a look at the sky above you [Ronnie James Dio]
Those are faces in the light if the the story were told [Halford]
They are calling you, calling you–yeah! [Dio]

We are magic in the night [Dio]
We are shadow we are light [DuBrow]
We are forever you and I [Meniketti]

We’re stars! [Chorus, including Blackie Lawless (WASP) making evil hand gestures, Nugent holding all of his hair in a huge two-armed hug, and some no-name from Y & T pointing to himself, and 30 others – JKB]

We can be strong
We are fire and stone [Eric Bloom, Blue Oyster Cult]
And we all want a touch of rainbow [Paul Shortino, Ruff Cutt]

But singers and songs
Will never change it alone
We are calling you, calling you [Tate]

We’re the beating of a heart
The beginning, we’re the start [Dokken]
Forever we will shine [Shortino]

[Chorus]

Guitar Solo 12 bars each — [guitarist after guitarist after guitarist spliced together, with a heavy (largely justified) edit bias toward Vivian Campbell [Dio] George Lynch [Dokken] and Malmsteen [Malmsteen] – JKB]

We are magic in the night [DuBrow]
We are shadow we are light [Halford]
We are forever you and I [Tate]

[Chorus] — lots more guitar solos.

By Mid 1987, Hear N’ Aid had raised and donated $1,000,000 for famine relief.

Why I Love Summer

Cacafuego

Too much going on. Work is kicking my ass these days. It feels like every time I come up for air there are a thousand buccaneers shaking their broadaxes at me; their chirpy talking parrots demand hard labor and threaten me with crude hand canons.

Today, I’ve been fighting them off with the ferocious new Beasties record. Fight animal with animal I say. I’d like to see those fuck-pirates take on the 5 Boroughs.

Two sets of neighbors are trying to outdo each other on the perimeters of my lot. Their motive is child entertainment and their weapon-of-choice is the outdoor playground. Huge metallic and wood structures that I would have been psyched to see at a public park back in the day now occupy 70% of my neighbors’ back yards.

Customer: “I’d like to buy this playground for my kids”

Sales Clerk: “Great. Would you like me to ‘Super-Size’ it for ya?”

Customer: “Hell yeah!”

All that’s missing are those creepy old micro teeter toters. Remember the ones that were about a foot and a half off the ground? They had those rusty half moon seats with drain holes. I still remember this one that looked like Donald Duck, buried in the sand up to his knees. Because of the way it was positioned each kid would actually be sitting in one of Donald’s outstretched hands. His giant head had a little square green cap on it. Donald looked like a drunk child taking his first baby steps when rocking at top teeter. I remember that the seats were close enough so that you could sit there and slap his head and it would make this horrible plastic echoing sound like a poorly mixed reverberating kick drum on an old Black Sabbath bootleg.

Donald Duck. Pirates. Beasties. . .Where do we go from here?