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Things I Will Keep #9: BOBBIE GENTRY, Local Gentry

Bobbie Gentry
Local Gentry
1968, Capitol Records

As a man whose life is a perpetual mess, I’m drawn to things that are neat and tidy. There’s a memorable anecdote in Anthony Bourdain’s book Kitchen Confidential in which the young Bourdain, still learning the ropes of the restaurant life, witnesses a head chef jump on a line cook’s ass for keeping a dirty work area. The chef points out the refuse and splattered sauce everywhere and tells the guy “That’s what the inside of your head looks like now. Work clean”.

“A messy station equals a messy mind,” Bourdain goes on to clarify.

I couldn’t agree more. In some of the most misguided times in my life, I was also a giant slob. Messy car, messy home. A sloth with no discipline. My surroundings reflected that. Your home and the space where you work are mirrors of your own mind. If it’s fucked up, you’re fucked up. Take the time to clean and organize and, in my experience, your mental clarity benefits as a result.

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Don’t Go Shopping on Thanksgiving Day

I’m ashamed to say that I did that very thing two years ago. Best Buy had some Blu-rays and some computer bullshit that I wanted and that were all drastically marked down for their big Satanic sale that started at 5 PM on Thanksgiving. What would have normally cost me $800 instead amounted to about $6.95 at the big sale, I calculated.

So, I did bad. I made the villainous decision. I sold out one of my country’s most important holidays. I danced with the devil by the pale moonlight. I went to Best Buy on Thanksgiving evening.

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #17: CRYING YOUR KNIFE AWAY

Guided by Voices
Crying Your Knife Away
1994, Lo-Fi Recordings

I’ve been writing about Guided by Voices in 1994 for four months. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Anyway, that year they put out five, six, or maybe even seven records depending how you’re counting the 7″s. In fact, there’s one record from this year that I, Mr. Fanboy Weirdo himself, don’t have: a split single on Anyway Records with Belreve. The GBV side is “Always Crush Me”, a song that turned up the next year on Alien Lanes, so I don’t feel much urgency to get it though I’d certainly buy it if I ran across it at a good price.

In any case, I think we here at The Constant Bleeder have this crazy year’s output covered well enough.

And now, a party…

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #16: I AM A SCIENTIST

Guided by Voices
I Am a Scientist EP
1994, Scat Records

“I Am a Scientist” is Robert Pollard’s mission statement. If you’re confused by his voluminous output, his five albums a year, and his thousands of songs, just put on “I Am a Scientist” because it explains it all in plain language and with a perfect pop melody that soothes savage beasts. Gun to my head, it’s the definitive Guided by Voices song.

This EP offers a different, hi-fi take on in it. It’s a different version than one on Bee Thousand, but it’s still on the rough side. The band recorded it live in the studio with old school punk rocker Andy Shernoff working the knobs, and it naturally reflects the way the band played the song on stage. It’s louder and more driving, shined-up just enough for mainstream radio, but not obnoxious in the slightest. It still serves the melody. It does what it should do.

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A Ramble About the Unfortunate End of FILMSTRUCK

Internet streaming of movies is one of the best bad ideas of the current age.

On the surface, it’s amazing. It’s convenient as all fuck. It doesn’t get more convenient. You can sit in your living room, drunk, stark naked, at 3 AM on Thanksgiving Day, and punch up a movie on your TV. You don’t have to look for a credit card. You don’t have to pay for everything that you watch. If you don’t like something, you can ditch it and look for something else at no extra charge. Doesn’t matter. It’s a buffet. It’s the perfect thing for our 21st century fucking lazy asses.

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A Very Short Monster Story

It was late at night when everyone in the village heard the roar of the monster from up on the hill. Sleeping families awoke. Dogs barked. Horses thrashed at their posts. Birds flew off in a panic. Drunks in the pub looked up from their whiskey. Even in the brothel, eight naked men and thirteen naked women went motionless for a moment at the terrifying sound.

Keats, the little scientist, in his lab on the outskirts where he designed bombs for the big guys far away, heard the monster, too. He was always careful at his work, but the sudden, ear-splitting sound of the monster startled him so much that he knocked over an entire row of test tubes, all of which contained some of the most dangerous contents in the world.

As a result, he blew himself up. And the entire village. And the monster. Flames miles up in the air like a giant bouquet. No survivors.

People in the next village, thirty miles away, heard the blast, but it wasn’t very loud. A few people awoke, but they went right back to sleep. The birds still flew off, a few dogs barked and not one horse thrashed. Their drunks kept drinking and their brothel kept hopping.

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Things I Will Keep #8: THE CRAMPS, Psychedelic Jungle

The Cramps
Psychedelic Jungle
1981, IRS Records

I fucked up Halloween this year. Past Octobers for me have been blizzards of horror movie watching and reviewing. A little Bela Lugosi on Tuesday, a little Peter Cushing on Wednesday, something from the Netflix junk heap on Thursday and so on. I also always get in at least one silent movie, one Hammer film, one slasher, something from the 60s drive-in, and a little 70s Eurotrash vampire lesbian action.  Here in Dallas, we also have great theaters with horror repertory screenings every week and I’m known to hit several of those and write about each and every goddamn one.

This year though, not so much–and I’m not even sure why. I’ve hardly watched any movies at all. Has writing posts here and playing with my recently adopted cats really taken up THAT much of my time? Maybe.

I’ll do better next year.

As for what I have done this month in the spirit of the season, I’ve been picking at H.P. Lovecraft stories, via the Whisperer in Darkness collection, by the bedside lamp at night and enjoying the oozy, creepy atmosphere. Dismember the Alamo was fun.

And I’ve been listening to The Cramps and making my quiet little old lady living room sound like a much cooler, more dangerous place.

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DISMEMBER THE ALAMO at the Richardson, TX Alamo Drafthouse, 10/27/18

You know what the weirdest thing is about sitting in a movie theater for nine hours to watch five horror films in a row?

When it’s over and your eyes feel like poached eggs and your ass is numb and your legs are stiff and you sorta zombie-walk back to your car and all of the popcorn, beer, milkshakes and pizza that you’ve taken in are starting to do weird things in your stomach… you kinda still want to sneak in one more movie. (Whether you prefer that sixth movie at home or in a theater depends, I guess, on your feelings about using public restrooms.)

It’s insane, but when the show is good and you lived through it, you become a proud weirdo.

And these Alamo Drafthouse bastards do this thing well.

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BUBBA AND THE COSMIC BLOOD-SUCKERS by Joe R. Lansdale

Joe R. Lansdale
Bubba and the Cosmic Blood-Suckers
2017, Subterranean Press

Joe R. Lansdale gave my favorite piece of writing advice ever when he said “Write like everyone you know is dead”.

Don’t have anything to prove. Don’t worry about what the people you know might think about you. None of that shit needs to be on your mind at all. No one can tell a writer how to be good, but you can tell them how to be free.

And clearly Lansdale follows his own advice because that’s the only way that a man in his 60s who’s been steadily publishing novels and short fiction since 1980 (if not a little earlier) plops out with a profane piece of pure nutzoid pulp like this.

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