December marks the beginning of the fourth month of shameless self-promotion and pointless vitriol spewed forth by The DNA Vibrator. Take a moment to read the archived months missives. As the DNA Vibrator has indicated before, this blog page removes what others may consider certain expected blog features, but removing those extraneous bits makes the blog more conducive to reading through from start to end, like a book. It is stripped down to the essentials. The DNA Vibrator may provide links to other sites or information it references ONLY if it suits the purpose of The DNA Vibrator.
September archive quote: "611 Pizza was like the bar, Cheers, except with a lot more tattoos, leather, black make-up, puking, pot smoking, and hardcore music." Look it up here.
October archive quote: "Because so many of you have come unbidden to look at The DNA Vibrator, The DNA Vibrator has come to realize that some of you may need The DNA Vibrator, the way punk needs bitch." Look it up here.
November archive quote: "Tips For The Traveling Band. TIP #8: Don't finance your other band member's equipment with a high interest rate charge card, no matter how fucking much you love each other." Look it up here.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/01/06
Working on a New Album.
In a flurry throughout the month of November, The DNA Vibrator has written and recorded, or salvaged and remastered 13 songs for a new recording, and its just getting started. It was going to call the new disc "The Return of the Purple-headed Stranger," but it has changed its mind.
It was going to call it that because, no bullshit, 10 years ago, DNA announced to the local entertainment rag that it was going to put out a new album, reeaal soon, called ROTPHS. I guess from a geologic perspective, 10 years is just a drop in the bucket, so DNA felt obligated to call it that. The title was funny enough, sure, in fact a cheap joke at the "vibrator" aspect of the band's name, and although The DNA Vibrator is not above cheap shots at its own expense, the songs didn't fit that title. The songs came from a slightly more mature place than ROTPHS. In fact, the best name DNA could think of for the collection is the same as the title of the home page of this website: "The Shape of Things to Have Come and Gone." [editor's note: the old blog was called "The Shape of Things to Have Come and Gone." The new one, is of course, the much cooler, "Twin Rockets Are A Go, Baby!"] Since many of the songs are about the family DNA has lost and the family DNA is raising, it seemed very apropo.
DNA is not for sure what it is going to do with the CD. It may distribute it through CD Baby a great source for independent musicians to distribute their works nationally, it may sell it through this website, or it may give it away as free downloads to anyone who wants it on this website. DNA is not in it for the money. Its always been for the chicks and the drugs.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/09/06
New album is either done or one half of a double CD
13 is a magic number. Its the number of songs which seems appropriate for this disc. Its the number that gets you in and out of the CD in under 45 minutes. It gives the best emotional roller coaster while listening. Any more and DNA gets bored. But, there are about 10 more songs that are ready to be recorded, or nearing that point. Based on some input from old friends, like the Hand of God Attachment, DNA will decide soon whether this will be a one disc or a two disc recording. Why not? Sometimes you have to strike while the iron is hot. Something in this feels to DNA like desperation. What if this is the last hurrah? What if after this, there is no more creative juice? If so, then DNA wants to out with a mother fucking BANG.
It will likely be in DNA's best interest to wait until after Christmas break to release anything to the local press. In Carbondale, when the students leave SIU for break, everything kind of retreats back into southern Illinois. Also, DNA is waiting to hear back from HFA (Harry Fox Agency) to secure the mechanical rights to a cover song it wants to put on the record.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/11/06
Back on the Political Front
Last month, because The DNA Vibrator has grown accustomed to writing only for its own sake, it wrote letters regarding our country's involvement in Iraq to the President, and to its local senators, Barack Obama and Dick Durbin. Look back here to see the letter, and the first response DNA got back. It was from the President of the United States. Of course it was a form letter, no, a form email, even lower, which likely put DNA on some kind of watch list. Smart, huh?
Next, look at the response DNA got back from senator Obama this week. Probably a form too, but honest to God, DNA thinks that a person, maybe even the senator saw it. You read, and you be the judge.
Dear XXXX(DNA can't simply give you its alias. That ruins the fiction!):
Thank you for writing to share your thoughts about the Iraq War. I appreciate hearing from you, and believe that we can do better in seeking an end to this conflict.
On November 20th, I gave a speech to the Chicago Council on Global Affairs detailing my views on the changes that need to be made. I have enclosed a copy of that speech for your review. [click here if you want to read it. DNA thought it actually made some sense.] I hope you will continue to share your thoughts with me as developments occur.
Thank you again for writing.
Sincerely,
Barack Obama
United States Senator
P.S. Our system does not allow direct response to this email. However, if you would like to contact me again, please use the form on the website: http://obama.senate.gov/contact/
For that, DNA probably got put on a hit this sap up for contributions list. But like DNA said in the last political post, we'll see what the different politicians are made of based on their responses. So far, Obama appears to care if DNA votes in the next presidential election.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/12/06
Busted Lips, Hospital Trips, That's What Recording Sessions Are Made Of...
The DNA Vibrator doesn't like to brag, but during its heyday, it was practically living in the recording studio. When you consider all of its studio ventures were creatively funded (student loans, equipment trades, studio work for others, saved up gig money, money made from house parties, hittin' up the parents cuz of a forgotten college "fee")that feat is pretty amazing, because the studio isn't cheap. If music is the high, if playing out live is the drug, then the studio is the safehouse you can go to to keep from getting busted by the cops. The difference in this analogy is that this particular safehouse charges anywhere from $20.00 to $200.00 an hour for you to stay there. Musicians like The DNA Vibrator would do about anything to keep itself in the studio. Like the song says, "Spent our 20's in and out of half a dozen different bands. Spent our money in the studio like each dollar was a grain of sand." Man, did we ever.
Was it worth it? Of course it was. What else would we have spent it on? Books? Booze? Ass? Music certainly trumps those useful, but not necessary, trifles. In the course of many trips to the studio, we became close friends with Scott Munson, a terrific film-maker, who was spending his time in Carbondale cultivating the atmosphere in which his band, IT, could breathe. He figured that he would be here until he got his big break, or until he finished his master's thesis, a moving piece which incorporated time lapse photography of the area outside of Yellowstone Park which he had shot over many years. If you wanna know more about Scott, he currently works as the sound engineer at the House of Blues in San Diego. His band, IT, is on semi-permanent hiatus, but produced some good music. DNA helped do some studio work on their second unreleased project with Scott and his good friend, Todd Freeman, an amazing guitarist. See how we're all just an inbred happy little family!
Well, while Scott was doing his time in Carbondale, he became a sought after sound engineer. He worked for Soundcore music, run by Carbondale native and music scene fixture, Joe C. The band Crank worked with Scott many times, in live sound situations, and in the studio. We planned for several months what we would need to do to get in the studio, and booked several sessions. The initial recording, brutally loud, frenetic, exploring many techniques that we were both learning on the fly, was completed about this time of year, back in 1993. After we finished, Scott went on his winter break from school and Carbondale, and we played several shows over the holidays. It gave us time to listen to what we had done, and figure ways to improve some tracks that had shortcomings.
We scheduled several more trips into the studio. One early spring night, The Reverend, Ralph, Dave, and The DNA Vibrator all met Scott Munson at Soundcore studio to re-do the vocal tracks on a song titled "Not Like Me." The Reverend and DNA were there with Scott Munson early, working on some stuff, and then were joined by the rest of the crew later. Now, forgive The DNA Vibrator if its memory is fading, but the events of that night have kind of blurred together. At some point, The Reverend had taken a break from laying down new vocal tracks, and was enjoying a beer. We all had taken a break for our favorite recreational drugs,(DNA is not trying to sound cool---for most of us, that was beer), when The Reverend heard something outside, and then noticed some guy by his old beat up Mustang. Then he noticed what the guy was doing. "What the fuck!" the Reverend yelled. Some motherfucker is outside throwing big fucking rocks at my car!" He tossed open the back door of the studio he was looking through, with each of us following up behind. We were not exactly sure if what we heard him say was what we heard him say, so we were not sure what we might find, but we knew The Reverend was shocked about something, and it took quite a bit to get him angry. Sure enough, there was this big motherfucker, hefting up cinder blocks and throwing them up against the side of The Reverend's car and window glass.
Now, before we go further, DNA needs to set this stage a little better. The back door of the studio opens up onto a hard to get to, very small, private parking lot for people at the studio, and believe it or not, for the poor bastards who rented the apartment above the studio. It was only accessible from an alley, and was not even visible from the nearest main crossroad. There was a streetlight on the corner, but large parts of the lot and back of the studio were in darkness. It is not a place you expect to see a linebacker demolishing a car. And this guy, let's call him Craig "I'm a big dumb fucking neanderthal" T.......no, no, you fucker, you don't get the limelight. DNA won't use your real name. For the sake of the story, let's just call him "the big dumb fucking douchebag dick licker," or the BDFDDL for short. Well the BDFDDL actually WAS big, a cornfed backwoods sister-humping frankenstein of a bitch. Knowing absolutely no fear, however, The Reverend came right up on him. The BDFDDL kind of looked surprised, like a bear might if someone stumbled upon it after goring a child. Faced with this uncertain and unplanned for contingency, the BDFDDL slowly backed away from the car as The Reverend shouted, "What the FUCK are you doing to my car!? What the fuck is your problem, man?" The BDFDDL didn't say a word, as The Reverend shouted this refrain right in his grill, but comprehension slowly unfurled across the troglodyte's brow. Clearly he did not think the car belonged to The Reverend. He though he was bashing in someone else's car, someone who he didn't expect to come out that door, someone who would have been intimidated by him. Without uttering a word, the BDFDDL lurched into his truck idling in the alley, and drove away. The Reverend was angrily yelling at him through the closed truck door. The Reverend raised his bottle of beer, as if to throw it at the BDFDDL, and then thought better of it. He would rather drink it than waste it. Then, the BDFDDL drove away. Weird, huh? Well, you ain't heard the half of it. Literally. It's getting late, and DNA has to quit now. It will pick the second half of this story tomorrow or the next day.
But, here is a teaser: The Police mash someone's face up against a police cruiser's door. Someone gets his nose broken. Someone gets his ribs kicked in. Someone qualifies for the State of Illinois' victim's assistance fund. Stay tuned for one of the more fucked up things we lived through as a band.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/13/06
Busted Lips, Hospital Trips, That's What Recording Sessions Are Made Of...Part 2
As the BDFDDL drove away, we all kind of incredulously replayed what just happened. As we were trying to make sense of his senseless vandalism, the neighbors upstairs, yes the very guys we brutalized with our recording sessions, came down the side stairs and gave us some insight to what just happened.
Apparently,the BDFDDL knew these guys, and (again the details get kind of fuzzy) they were either room mates or something at some point in the past. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the BDFDDL got drunk, and tried to break into his old "friend's" house to settle up a bill. They wouldn't let him in. So, the BDFDDL decided he would show them, and started heaving rocks at the car he thought belonged to one of his "friends." The old room mates upstairs were justifiably upset, as this big hulking fucker tried to break into their place, so before the BDFDDL even started throwing rocks at the Reverend's car, the residents upstairs already called the police. The Reverend asked the neighbors upstairs to please let him know when the cops arrived, because he would add his complaint against the BDFDDL to theirs.
Well, we returned to the studio, laughed off the bizarre events, and decided that since it may take a while before the police show up, we could get some more recording done. As we ambled back into the studio, Ralph, who had been by the back door, said "Hey guys, you are not going to believe this. That guy is back, and he's got a truckload of guys with him."
Scott Munson said, "Close the door. They come in here and they are trespassing on commercial property. That's a felony." None of us knew whether that was bullshit or not, but it sounded pretty good to us. However, we didn't think that the BDFDDL cared about that. His crew jumped out of the back of the truck, looking pissed off. He stormed around the front of his truck and in a few bounds was at the back door. He grabbed the door and jerked it open.
As Scott Munson began to protest, the BDFDDL roared, "Which one of you fuckers threw the bottle at my truck!?"
Forgive me reader, If the DNA Vibrator digresses for a moment. At this exact moment, each of us in Crank, and Scott Munson, all by nature nonviolent, as DNA has said before, were face to face with a cunt whose philosophy of life was in direct conflict with ours. In that moment, being reasonable people, living in our safe worlds, none of us acted. We suffered from the curse of too much college education: we analyzed. We each thought, "I wonder why he is so angry," or "Oh, I see. This is some big mistake. He thinks The Reverend threw a bottle at his truck when he raised it up," or "Y'know, if we could just talk to the guy, he would understand," BUT, DNA is telling you now, as we were all thinking these things, we all saw the ugly hate in his eyes. He didn't care if The Reverend threw a bottle at his truck or not. That was just pretext. He was looking to kick somebody's ass, or asses, and went back to gather up his homies to spill some blood, pump up some testosterone, and prove who the men were around here.
The bottom line was, we didn't want to fight, and he did. Now, a little known fact about the Reverend, was that he was trained in martial arts, and DNA doesn't mean that he fake kicked along with Saturday morning cartoons. Again, DNA is hazy about the details, because The Reverend rarely talked about it, but he was quite skilled in whatever art it was that he was associated with. DNA brings this up now, because you need to know that at any time the Reverend could have beaten this guy into submission. But the Reverend is like few men DNA has had the pleasure to know. He's the guy you want next to you in the foxhole. He's the guy you can count on when shit is about to go down. And true to form for those people who are inwardly and outwardly strong, he would rather walk away from a fight than end one.
The BDFDDL was seething. He reached across the four intervening people, to point a meaty finger at The Reverend. "You, you ain't so fucking big now, are you? You and I are going to step outside and settle this."
Imagine you are now watching this scene unfold. The back door of the studio is connected to a narrow hallway about 10 feet long, before it opens onto the main mixing room. As you are looking in, Scott Munson is standing closest to the door on the left. DNA is standing next to him. Ralph is standing next to DNA. Dave is on the right side, bumping shoulder to shoulder with the BDFDDL. In the center of the hallway, between Ralph and Dave, is The Reverend. We were cramped tighter than a football huddle. So ,when BDFDDL reached out for The Reverend, he was literally only a foot or two away. DNA said, "Hey why don't we all just step back a second and take it easy. [The Reverend] didn't throw the bottle at your truck. It's right there on the table. If he," "Unless you want your teeth knocked out, you little faggot, you better shut the fuck up," BDFDDL said, as he thumped DNA in the chest.
Up to this point, everything had been yelling and pointing, but right then, BDFDDL put his hand on DNA. Everyone knew from this moment on, that this was going to end badly. Not because DNA is a badass. To DNA's shame at the time, the opposite is true. No, things were going to end badly, because we now knew the BDFDDL had no problem putting his hands on us, because he thought he had no need to fear us.
Frankly, DNA did not want to get beat on by this lummox, and if it could have backed away, it would have but it couldn't. The BDFDDL turned his attention quickly back to the Reverend. With a sharp jab, the BDFDDL punched the Reverend squarely in the nose. Blood flowed almost immediately. Scott Munson began to shout, "Get the fuck out!" over and over again, while the other band members closed ranks in front of the Reverend, but not before BDFDDL connected solidly with the Reverend's face again, breaking his glasses, and cutting his brow deeply. A huge hamfist brushed the nose of the DNA Vibrator, and connected solidly with Ralph's jaw. Dave was furiously attempting to restrain the BDFDDL, hold back one his his big arms, and also reach for the guitar hanging on the wall behind him. All of us were pushing him back as he was trying to claw his way in. While this was occurring, the BDFDDL began kicking Scott Munson. A solid kick to the stomach dropped him to the floor. He was kicked several more times, in the stomach and head. Scott never stopped yelling, and we continued to push the BDFDDL out of the building.
DNA has seen many things, but it is here to say that you did not want to see the look in the Reverend's eyes. He had taken the hardest shots this cocksucker could dish out, completely unprepared, and not only was he still standing, the one the BDFDDL wanted to exact his revenge against, the one who he had hurt the most, was now ready to fight.
You might be wondering what happened to the testosterone brigade who had hoppped out of the truck right behind the BDFDDL when he stormed in the back of the building. Although they initially seemed pretty supportive, as they saw and heard what transpired, they all kind of slunk back to the truck. We could see this through the back door. On one hand, DNA gives them credit, because they at least had some rational fucking sense, but on the other hand, DNA has always thought of them as the best example of what is really wrong with most people in our country. They were gutless, spineless wretches, not a fucking backbone in the lot of them, not a one willing to step up to their maniacal "friend" and try to stand up for what was right. Instead, they were willing to let the violence play out, something they had probably seen before from the big dumb cocksucker. Alas. What could they do? Feel bad, DNA guesses, was their answer, and be glad it isn't them on the receiving end of the BDFDDL's big right hand.
So, as the spineless gang were quietly retreating, as the BDFDDL was kicking and punching us at will, as Scott Munson was crawling along the floor trying to get away from the savage kicks, a miracle happened, an unlooked for event, a little detail that in the fury of the moment, we had all forgotten about. A police unit, responding to the complaint called in the the neighbors upstairs, had turned up the alley, and was slowly looking for the studio. Munson saw the car, which actually seemed at first to have missed the address and was going to drive on by. Munson screamed, "Police!" and found the strength to make it out of the building. He ran, hands waving, to the police cruiser. Just like out of the movies, he said, "Arrest that man! Arrest him!" He pointed in the direction of the BDFDDL. When the BDFDDL realized a police cruiser was stopped, he stopped, as if NOTHING HAD EVEN HAPPENED, and started to walk back to his truck. The spineless fuckers were already in the back and in the cab, trying to look as if just momments ago, they had not been the audience, with tacit acceptance of, this fucking maniac's rage.
The police initially did not know exactly to which camp it should be listening, but they were certainly looking at Scott Munson, who obviously had been kicked in the face, and looking at the big guy he was pointing to. At first, the BDFDDL tried to BLEND IN the crowd by his truck, but then he approached the police cruiser where Scott Munson stood. INCREDIBLY, the BDFDDL started to CRY, (DNA could NOT make this shit up) and wailed about how he was attacked by these guys here who threw a bottle at his truck as he happened to drive by. He had obviously been through this drill before, so convincing his act was, and the police at first didn't know what to do. They had been called there to investigate a possible break in, if you remember, not to mediate a disagreement or arrest a fuckhead for an unprovoked attack.
By this time, Ralph and DNA were already outside. The BDFDDL was crying by the police car, and a couple of the spineless fucks were talking to DNA and Ralph. "Dudes, he (BDFDDL) told us that six guys jumped him, and we were just here to help out a buddy." DNA said, "Thanks a fucking lot. Really appreciate all you did." The spineless fuck looked sheepish. He should have. They all were sheep. Back at the police car, Scott Munson was practically hysterical, because he couldn't believe that the BDFDDL was about to cry his way out of an arrest. That was, until the Reverend came out of the building.
Dave was walking with the Reverend, who had gathered himself up, and walked with a purpose to meet the BDFDDL. Before the Reverend realized the police were there, DNA believes his purpose was to beat the BDFDDL into the ground. There is no doubt, no matter how big this cocksucker was, the Reverend now had the frame of mind we all needed about three minutes previous. Kill. Pound this guy until he no longer moves, by any means necessary. However, as he strode out of the building, everyone stopped what they were doing. The BDFDDL stopped his crying. The police man stopped his conflict resolution training. The police saw the Reverend's face. Blood had soaked his shirt and hair. Blood was pouring freely from his nose, mouth, eye, and brow. He was bruised and swollen. Besides the Reverend's blood, the BDFDDL was unmarked. Yet, it was the Reverend who walked with poise and strength. The police looked at the Reverend and said, "Who did this?" the Reverend said calmly, "Him," and pointed to the BDFDDL. The BDFDDL had started to slink away from the policeman at this time. However, from the other side of the car, another officer, a former Mr. SIU bodybuilder, a man of truly epic proportion, quickly walked around the car. "You, stop." The BDFDDL froze, and for a moment, you could see the look in his eye, the look that any who has ever been a victim of random violence wants to see. You could see fear in his face, fear from realizing here was a man to whom the BDFDDL's physical size and temper would mean nothing, and if he truly wanted, could beat the BDFDDL into submission without breaking a sweat. For a moment,the BDFDDL acted out of desperation, and tried to get away. In seconds, he was pushed hard against the door of the police cruiser, and put into a submission hold.
Carbondale is a small world. It so happened that the former Mr. SIU knew Scott Munson, and knew of the Reverend. There was no more need for conflict resolution, just what charges were going to be pressed. The BDFDDL was handcuffed, his pussy friends were questioned, and an ambulance was called to take the Reverend to the hospital. The Reverend spent the night in the hospital, Scott Munson was treated and released, while the rest of us licked our wounds and spent a sleepless night pondering what ifs. What if the neighbors hadn't called the cops? What if the BDFDDL had greviously injured the Reverend permanently? Why didn't we drop that cocksucker as soon as he got up in our house and talked shit?
This event changed each of us in different ways. DNA for one, came to understand the limitations civilization puts on us when we trust it to take care of us. We all assume that everyone else will follow the same rules. But, everyone doesn't. At any time, someone may have a screw loose and want to use your face to put it back in its place. You may be just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, perhaps you may look like an easy target. Perhaps you get mistaken for someone else. In the end, it doesn't matter. DNA resolved never to be caught in that situation again. Even if it meant getting the fuck beat out of it, DNA would never be a victim and watch while the tool and his friends were hurt. We learned to protect each other. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for I am the baddest motherfucker in the valley."
DNA does not look like the type, but it would take whatever steps were necessary if you threatened the tool, his family, or his friends.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/20/06
My Very Special-est Musical-ickinest Influences From My Kinder-hood.
DNA has found that since it has been working on a new album, and the work just keeps fucking coming, that there are many musical influences which are expressing themselves, influences which DNA realizes are very deep. If you were to ask DNA, or if you happen to know DNA, you would see that old school influences on the The DNA Vibrator include DEVO, The Police, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Fugazi, Bad Brains, The Ramones, Blondie, etc. Not so old school influences would include Rollins Band, Alice In Chains, Matthew Sweet, old Van Halen, Primus, Ween, Cake, etc. New school influences would include everything from Fiona Apple to Rob Zombie to Gnarls Barkley. However, the really, REALLY old school, the remedial musical education DNA got while listening to records while he was just a sweet lil toddler, included terrific Americana like Johnny Cash, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Roger Miller, Willie Nelson, Doc Watson, and Patsy Cline, to name a few. Oh, there was one strange trip to Wisconsin in which Dad was so excited about the new car he bought with an installed 8-track, that we listened to the two eight track tapes he got as a "bonus" when he bought the car. One was great: "Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison," the other, not so much: Neil Diamond's Hits, yes, plural, which included "My Baby Does The Hanky-Panky," (scandalous) and "Sweet Caroline." So DNA was exposed to the best and worst of music early in its current existence. Also, it grew up in the midwest, which meant that the nearest high power radio station was almost 300 miles away, WLS, in Chicago. WLS was a great rock and roll education.
So, there are several covers that have worked their way into this project. The first was a cover of "Folsom Prison." Three years ago, DNA had the idea of turning "Folsom Prison" into its bitch, which it has certainly done. However, you will have to wait to hear it until after Warner Unichappell agrees to allow DNA the mechanical rights to put the song out. Next, "Ghost Riders in the Sky" was completed, and it is also the shit, if The DNA Vibrator says so itself. The song, "Sandman," by America, will also make an appearance, along with the song, "16 Tons." If it gets the time, DNA will also finish its rendition of "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire." As far as DNA is concerned, every album should have a Christmas song on it. Fuck it, why not?
DNA is also considering doing a cover of "Jerking Back and Forth," and or "Mr. B's Ballroom," by DEVO, "No One Lives Forever," by Oingo Boingo, and just maybe "Justify," by Madonna. Do you want to be part of the DNA vibrators musical experience? If so, email me with your request. If it is something DNA can twist its stubby little fingers around, it will certainly attempt to throttle it.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/22/06
Re-unification.
Yesterday was a banner day. Through careful scheduling and luck, The Hand of God Attachment was able to drop by the studio and create some Christmas magic with The DNA Vibrator. No, you sick fuckers, not gay Christmas magic, rock and roll Christmas magic. He laid down a raunchy guitar part to the song, "The Three Deaths of Juan Belmonte." It was originally an instrumental, but will likely evolve into a song with some lyrics. The chorus music was based on a chant the guys in CRANK did years ago: "Three deaths, of Juan Bel-mon-te" over and over again. No, we did not know what it meant, exactly, except that it was taken from a Time-Life book article entitled, "The Three Deaths of Juan Belmonte." Who was Juan Belmonte? Friend of Ernest Hemmingway, yes, famous Spanish Torreador who reinvented the stance and attitude of bullfighters, sure, exited the world by way of the self-inflicted shotgun blast to the face, like his pal, Hemmingway, of course, but who was he, really? That's what the song tries to answer.
Also, in true Christmas spirit, Ralph, one of the collaborators of The DNA Vibrator, sent DNA an email of some song lyrics. Ralph said that he had DNA in mind when he wrote them. The song is entitled, "You Say Christmas, I Say Fuck It," and although DNA will not be able to get the song done by Christmas, as soon as the tool read the lyrics, DNA had written the music. It captures the dissatisfaction most of us have experienced with Christmas commercialism, bad family get togethers and the general un-christian attitude so many so called christians take, say, when having to fight over a parking spot in the Wal Mart parking lot. The song lyrics were the best Christmas present DNA has gotten in a long time. Thanks, Ralph.
The Reverend made an appearance at his old stomping grounds today, that is, Carbondale, IL, but because the tool had the day off of work, DNA and The Reverend missed each other. That's okay. The Reverend will just have to hug on The Hand of God Attachment to get a little HIT of that DNA Vibrator smell.
Also, as The Hand of God Attachment and DNA were talking music yesterday, DNA mentioned that the CRANK studio assault experience was the topic of DNA's blog posts over the last few days. The Hand of God Attachment pointed out (and when The Hand of God Attachment points, watch yer fucking eyes and anything else that could be smote) that he wasn't actually there. To which, DNA said, " You know, DNA is not going to let the facts stand in the way of you being there. DNA remembered that you couldn't make it that night. But, you WERE there in spirit. Fuck it. The story, the TRUTH of the experience, feels better with you there." The Hand of God Attachment replied, "People need to know that I wasn't there. I was too busy arranging to have the BDFDDL give The Reverend the beating he deserved"(for those of you who haven't read the previous posts, that acronym stands for Big Dumb Fucking Douchebag Dick Licker---the guy who beat us up). You can't argue with The Hand of God Attachment. The Hand of God Attachment is not bound by our morality or law. It is its own law. DNA pays homage and respect to The Hand of God Attachment. If DNA didn't, who else would play the kick ass guitar solos for its music? Okay, lots of people could, but who else would do it for FREE? So, in the spirit of accuracy, at the expense of drama, you need to know that Dave was not reaching to get a guitar off of the wall while The Reverend was getting punched in the face, oh, those many years ago. However, The Hand of God Attachment, yet to be recognized in its physical form, WAS present that night, and in the memory of the tool, was like our defense's 12th man. Of course, it was a 12th man who should have stayed at the JuCo instead of transferring to a Division 1 school, but IT WAS THERE NONETHELESS. There is no disputing that fact.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/25/06
Merry Christmas?
DNA questions christianity as an effective religion, but does not question the overall benefit that Christmas gives us as a nation. In the end, even when the balance sheet includes such negatives as hypocrites draining money from old peoples' savings, those who are morally corrupt preaching hate to others whom they deem morally corrupt, an unstated governmental policy of divine right when it comes to our military strategy, all of those BIG "christian" negatives are still outweighed by the individuals who pour out love from the goodness of their individual hearts, especially on Christmas. Two of DNA's family, the tool's sister-in-law and her husband, are doctors. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, they worked extended shifts in an emergency room. First, they worked feverishly on a person whose life ebbed away from them faster than they could stitch. Then, a traumatic gunshot wound victim kept them from celebrating a "regular" Christmas with each other. Not even for one moment could they look at each other over the last 24 hours without someone else's blood on them. Yet, while they were on duty, a woman came in and they helped deliver her Christmas baby. While she was in labor, her two other children were waiting in a room not far from the birthing room. DNA's sister-in-law talked to the children and asked what they were going to get for Christmas this year. They informed her that Santa missed them last year because they were living in a homeless shelter. They were afraid that Santa would not be able to find them again this year because they were at the hospital. DNA's sister-in-law said that she was sure that Santa knew how to find kids at the hospital. She spent most of her little free time finding other staff at the hospital who, between them, had presents there, with them, in the trunks of their cars, for example, that they would be taking home after their shifts. She was able to convince them to give some of their presents to these kids.
Sometimes that's all it takes. One little ray of hope. Now some of you might think that DNA made this Hallmark shit up to tug at your heart strings. For what purpose? DNA doesn't care if you like Christmas or the tool's sister-in-law or not. This happened. This is dirty, low, life, when a family is out on their luck and most of society does not care about them unless they are forced to care about them. That's why you needed to hear this story. Guess what happened when DNA's mother-in-law heard the story from her daughter? She wondered what business did a homeless mother of two have getting pregnant and having another baby in the first place. So, which are you? The one that rounds up presents for the kids, or the one that chastises the mother? Really?
Merry Christmas.
September archive quote: "611 Pizza was like the bar, Cheers, except with a lot more tattoos, leather, black make-up, puking, pot smoking, and hardcore music." Look it up here.
October archive quote: "Because so many of you have come unbidden to look at The DNA Vibrator, The DNA Vibrator has come to realize that some of you may need The DNA Vibrator, the way punk needs bitch." Look it up here.
November archive quote: "Tips For The Traveling Band. TIP #8: Don't finance your other band member's equipment with a high interest rate charge card, no matter how fucking much you love each other." Look it up here.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/01/06
Working on a New Album.
In a flurry throughout the month of November, The DNA Vibrator has written and recorded, or salvaged and remastered 13 songs for a new recording, and its just getting started. It was going to call the new disc "The Return of the Purple-headed Stranger," but it has changed its mind.
It was going to call it that because, no bullshit, 10 years ago, DNA announced to the local entertainment rag that it was going to put out a new album, reeaal soon, called ROTPHS. I guess from a geologic perspective, 10 years is just a drop in the bucket, so DNA felt obligated to call it that. The title was funny enough, sure, in fact a cheap joke at the "vibrator" aspect of the band's name, and although The DNA Vibrator is not above cheap shots at its own expense, the songs didn't fit that title. The songs came from a slightly more mature place than ROTPHS. In fact, the best name DNA could think of for the collection is the same as the title of the home page of this website: "The Shape of Things to Have Come and Gone." [editor's note: the old blog was called "The Shape of Things to Have Come and Gone." The new one, is of course, the much cooler, "Twin Rockets Are A Go, Baby!"] Since many of the songs are about the family DNA has lost and the family DNA is raising, it seemed very apropo.
DNA is not for sure what it is going to do with the CD. It may distribute it through CD Baby a great source for independent musicians to distribute their works nationally, it may sell it through this website, or it may give it away as free downloads to anyone who wants it on this website. DNA is not in it for the money. Its always been for the chicks and the drugs.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/09/06
New album is either done or one half of a double CD
13 is a magic number. Its the number of songs which seems appropriate for this disc. Its the number that gets you in and out of the CD in under 45 minutes. It gives the best emotional roller coaster while listening. Any more and DNA gets bored. But, there are about 10 more songs that are ready to be recorded, or nearing that point. Based on some input from old friends, like the Hand of God Attachment, DNA will decide soon whether this will be a one disc or a two disc recording. Why not? Sometimes you have to strike while the iron is hot. Something in this feels to DNA like desperation. What if this is the last hurrah? What if after this, there is no more creative juice? If so, then DNA wants to out with a mother fucking BANG.
It will likely be in DNA's best interest to wait until after Christmas break to release anything to the local press. In Carbondale, when the students leave SIU for break, everything kind of retreats back into southern Illinois. Also, DNA is waiting to hear back from HFA (Harry Fox Agency) to secure the mechanical rights to a cover song it wants to put on the record.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/11/06
Back on the Political Front
Last month, because The DNA Vibrator has grown accustomed to writing only for its own sake, it wrote letters regarding our country's involvement in Iraq to the President, and to its local senators, Barack Obama and Dick Durbin. Look back here to see the letter, and the first response DNA got back. It was from the President of the United States. Of course it was a form letter, no, a form email, even lower, which likely put DNA on some kind of watch list. Smart, huh?
Next, look at the response DNA got back from senator Obama this week. Probably a form too, but honest to God, DNA thinks that a person, maybe even the senator saw it. You read, and you be the judge.
Dear XXXX(DNA can't simply give you its alias. That ruins the fiction!):
Thank you for writing to share your thoughts about the Iraq War. I appreciate hearing from you, and believe that we can do better in seeking an end to this conflict.
On November 20th, I gave a speech to the Chicago Council on Global Affairs detailing my views on the changes that need to be made. I have enclosed a copy of that speech for your review. [click here if you want to read it. DNA thought it actually made some sense.] I hope you will continue to share your thoughts with me as developments occur.
Thank you again for writing.
Sincerely,
Barack Obama
United States Senator
P.S. Our system does not allow direct response to this email. However, if you would like to contact me again, please use the form on the website: http://obama.senate.gov/contact/
For that, DNA probably got put on a hit this sap up for contributions list. But like DNA said in the last political post, we'll see what the different politicians are made of based on their responses. So far, Obama appears to care if DNA votes in the next presidential election.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/12/06
Busted Lips, Hospital Trips, That's What Recording Sessions Are Made Of...
The DNA Vibrator doesn't like to brag, but during its heyday, it was practically living in the recording studio. When you consider all of its studio ventures were creatively funded (student loans, equipment trades, studio work for others, saved up gig money, money made from house parties, hittin' up the parents cuz of a forgotten college "fee")that feat is pretty amazing, because the studio isn't cheap. If music is the high, if playing out live is the drug, then the studio is the safehouse you can go to to keep from getting busted by the cops. The difference in this analogy is that this particular safehouse charges anywhere from $20.00 to $200.00 an hour for you to stay there. Musicians like The DNA Vibrator would do about anything to keep itself in the studio. Like the song says, "Spent our 20's in and out of half a dozen different bands. Spent our money in the studio like each dollar was a grain of sand." Man, did we ever.
Was it worth it? Of course it was. What else would we have spent it on? Books? Booze? Ass? Music certainly trumps those useful, but not necessary, trifles. In the course of many trips to the studio, we became close friends with Scott Munson, a terrific film-maker, who was spending his time in Carbondale cultivating the atmosphere in which his band, IT, could breathe. He figured that he would be here until he got his big break, or until he finished his master's thesis, a moving piece which incorporated time lapse photography of the area outside of Yellowstone Park which he had shot over many years. If you wanna know more about Scott, he currently works as the sound engineer at the House of Blues in San Diego. His band, IT, is on semi-permanent hiatus, but produced some good music. DNA helped do some studio work on their second unreleased project with Scott and his good friend, Todd Freeman, an amazing guitarist. See how we're all just an inbred happy little family!
Well, while Scott was doing his time in Carbondale, he became a sought after sound engineer. He worked for Soundcore music, run by Carbondale native and music scene fixture, Joe C. The band Crank worked with Scott many times, in live sound situations, and in the studio. We planned for several months what we would need to do to get in the studio, and booked several sessions. The initial recording, brutally loud, frenetic, exploring many techniques that we were both learning on the fly, was completed about this time of year, back in 1993. After we finished, Scott went on his winter break from school and Carbondale, and we played several shows over the holidays. It gave us time to listen to what we had done, and figure ways to improve some tracks that had shortcomings.
We scheduled several more trips into the studio. One early spring night, The Reverend, Ralph, Dave, and The DNA Vibrator all met Scott Munson at Soundcore studio to re-do the vocal tracks on a song titled "Not Like Me." The Reverend and DNA were there with Scott Munson early, working on some stuff, and then were joined by the rest of the crew later. Now, forgive The DNA Vibrator if its memory is fading, but the events of that night have kind of blurred together. At some point, The Reverend had taken a break from laying down new vocal tracks, and was enjoying a beer. We all had taken a break for our favorite recreational drugs,(DNA is not trying to sound cool---for most of us, that was beer), when The Reverend heard something outside, and then noticed some guy by his old beat up Mustang. Then he noticed what the guy was doing. "What the fuck!" the Reverend yelled. Some motherfucker is outside throwing big fucking rocks at my car!" He tossed open the back door of the studio he was looking through, with each of us following up behind. We were not exactly sure if what we heard him say was what we heard him say, so we were not sure what we might find, but we knew The Reverend was shocked about something, and it took quite a bit to get him angry. Sure enough, there was this big motherfucker, hefting up cinder blocks and throwing them up against the side of The Reverend's car and window glass.
Now, before we go further, DNA needs to set this stage a little better. The back door of the studio opens up onto a hard to get to, very small, private parking lot for people at the studio, and believe it or not, for the poor bastards who rented the apartment above the studio. It was only accessible from an alley, and was not even visible from the nearest main crossroad. There was a streetlight on the corner, but large parts of the lot and back of the studio were in darkness. It is not a place you expect to see a linebacker demolishing a car. And this guy, let's call him Craig "I'm a big dumb fucking neanderthal" T.......no, no, you fucker, you don't get the limelight. DNA won't use your real name. For the sake of the story, let's just call him "the big dumb fucking douchebag dick licker," or the BDFDDL for short. Well the BDFDDL actually WAS big, a cornfed backwoods sister-humping frankenstein of a bitch. Knowing absolutely no fear, however, The Reverend came right up on him. The BDFDDL kind of looked surprised, like a bear might if someone stumbled upon it after goring a child. Faced with this uncertain and unplanned for contingency, the BDFDDL slowly backed away from the car as The Reverend shouted, "What the FUCK are you doing to my car!? What the fuck is your problem, man?" The BDFDDL didn't say a word, as The Reverend shouted this refrain right in his grill, but comprehension slowly unfurled across the troglodyte's brow. Clearly he did not think the car belonged to The Reverend. He though he was bashing in someone else's car, someone who he didn't expect to come out that door, someone who would have been intimidated by him. Without uttering a word, the BDFDDL lurched into his truck idling in the alley, and drove away. The Reverend was angrily yelling at him through the closed truck door. The Reverend raised his bottle of beer, as if to throw it at the BDFDDL, and then thought better of it. He would rather drink it than waste it. Then, the BDFDDL drove away. Weird, huh? Well, you ain't heard the half of it. Literally. It's getting late, and DNA has to quit now. It will pick the second half of this story tomorrow or the next day.
But, here is a teaser: The Police mash someone's face up against a police cruiser's door. Someone gets his nose broken. Someone gets his ribs kicked in. Someone qualifies for the State of Illinois' victim's assistance fund. Stay tuned for one of the more fucked up things we lived through as a band.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/13/06
Busted Lips, Hospital Trips, That's What Recording Sessions Are Made Of...Part 2
As the BDFDDL drove away, we all kind of incredulously replayed what just happened. As we were trying to make sense of his senseless vandalism, the neighbors upstairs, yes the very guys we brutalized with our recording sessions, came down the side stairs and gave us some insight to what just happened.
Apparently,the BDFDDL knew these guys, and (again the details get kind of fuzzy) they were either room mates or something at some point in the past. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the BDFDDL got drunk, and tried to break into his old "friend's" house to settle up a bill. They wouldn't let him in. So, the BDFDDL decided he would show them, and started heaving rocks at the car he thought belonged to one of his "friends." The old room mates upstairs were justifiably upset, as this big hulking fucker tried to break into their place, so before the BDFDDL even started throwing rocks at the Reverend's car, the residents upstairs already called the police. The Reverend asked the neighbors upstairs to please let him know when the cops arrived, because he would add his complaint against the BDFDDL to theirs.
Well, we returned to the studio, laughed off the bizarre events, and decided that since it may take a while before the police show up, we could get some more recording done. As we ambled back into the studio, Ralph, who had been by the back door, said "Hey guys, you are not going to believe this. That guy is back, and he's got a truckload of guys with him."
Scott Munson said, "Close the door. They come in here and they are trespassing on commercial property. That's a felony." None of us knew whether that was bullshit or not, but it sounded pretty good to us. However, we didn't think that the BDFDDL cared about that. His crew jumped out of the back of the truck, looking pissed off. He stormed around the front of his truck and in a few bounds was at the back door. He grabbed the door and jerked it open.
As Scott Munson began to protest, the BDFDDL roared, "Which one of you fuckers threw the bottle at my truck!?"
Forgive me reader, If the DNA Vibrator digresses for a moment. At this exact moment, each of us in Crank, and Scott Munson, all by nature nonviolent, as DNA has said before, were face to face with a cunt whose philosophy of life was in direct conflict with ours. In that moment, being reasonable people, living in our safe worlds, none of us acted. We suffered from the curse of too much college education: we analyzed. We each thought, "I wonder why he is so angry," or "Oh, I see. This is some big mistake. He thinks The Reverend threw a bottle at his truck when he raised it up," or "Y'know, if we could just talk to the guy, he would understand," BUT, DNA is telling you now, as we were all thinking these things, we all saw the ugly hate in his eyes. He didn't care if The Reverend threw a bottle at his truck or not. That was just pretext. He was looking to kick somebody's ass, or asses, and went back to gather up his homies to spill some blood, pump up some testosterone, and prove who the men were around here.
The bottom line was, we didn't want to fight, and he did. Now, a little known fact about the Reverend, was that he was trained in martial arts, and DNA doesn't mean that he fake kicked along with Saturday morning cartoons. Again, DNA is hazy about the details, because The Reverend rarely talked about it, but he was quite skilled in whatever art it was that he was associated with. DNA brings this up now, because you need to know that at any time the Reverend could have beaten this guy into submission. But the Reverend is like few men DNA has had the pleasure to know. He's the guy you want next to you in the foxhole. He's the guy you can count on when shit is about to go down. And true to form for those people who are inwardly and outwardly strong, he would rather walk away from a fight than end one.
The BDFDDL was seething. He reached across the four intervening people, to point a meaty finger at The Reverend. "You, you ain't so fucking big now, are you? You and I are going to step outside and settle this."
Imagine you are now watching this scene unfold. The back door of the studio is connected to a narrow hallway about 10 feet long, before it opens onto the main mixing room. As you are looking in, Scott Munson is standing closest to the door on the left. DNA is standing next to him. Ralph is standing next to DNA. Dave is on the right side, bumping shoulder to shoulder with the BDFDDL. In the center of the hallway, between Ralph and Dave, is The Reverend. We were cramped tighter than a football huddle. So ,when BDFDDL reached out for The Reverend, he was literally only a foot or two away. DNA said, "Hey why don't we all just step back a second and take it easy. [The Reverend] didn't throw the bottle at your truck. It's right there on the table. If he," "Unless you want your teeth knocked out, you little faggot, you better shut the fuck up," BDFDDL said, as he thumped DNA in the chest.
Up to this point, everything had been yelling and pointing, but right then, BDFDDL put his hand on DNA. Everyone knew from this moment on, that this was going to end badly. Not because DNA is a badass. To DNA's shame at the time, the opposite is true. No, things were going to end badly, because we now knew the BDFDDL had no problem putting his hands on us, because he thought he had no need to fear us.
Frankly, DNA did not want to get beat on by this lummox, and if it could have backed away, it would have but it couldn't. The BDFDDL turned his attention quickly back to the Reverend. With a sharp jab, the BDFDDL punched the Reverend squarely in the nose. Blood flowed almost immediately. Scott Munson began to shout, "Get the fuck out!" over and over again, while the other band members closed ranks in front of the Reverend, but not before BDFDDL connected solidly with the Reverend's face again, breaking his glasses, and cutting his brow deeply. A huge hamfist brushed the nose of the DNA Vibrator, and connected solidly with Ralph's jaw. Dave was furiously attempting to restrain the BDFDDL, hold back one his his big arms, and also reach for the guitar hanging on the wall behind him. All of us were pushing him back as he was trying to claw his way in. While this was occurring, the BDFDDL began kicking Scott Munson. A solid kick to the stomach dropped him to the floor. He was kicked several more times, in the stomach and head. Scott never stopped yelling, and we continued to push the BDFDDL out of the building.
DNA has seen many things, but it is here to say that you did not want to see the look in the Reverend's eyes. He had taken the hardest shots this cocksucker could dish out, completely unprepared, and not only was he still standing, the one the BDFDDL wanted to exact his revenge against, the one who he had hurt the most, was now ready to fight.
You might be wondering what happened to the testosterone brigade who had hoppped out of the truck right behind the BDFDDL when he stormed in the back of the building. Although they initially seemed pretty supportive, as they saw and heard what transpired, they all kind of slunk back to the truck. We could see this through the back door. On one hand, DNA gives them credit, because they at least had some rational fucking sense, but on the other hand, DNA has always thought of them as the best example of what is really wrong with most people in our country. They were gutless, spineless wretches, not a fucking backbone in the lot of them, not a one willing to step up to their maniacal "friend" and try to stand up for what was right. Instead, they were willing to let the violence play out, something they had probably seen before from the big dumb cocksucker. Alas. What could they do? Feel bad, DNA guesses, was their answer, and be glad it isn't them on the receiving end of the BDFDDL's big right hand.
So, as the spineless gang were quietly retreating, as the BDFDDL was kicking and punching us at will, as Scott Munson was crawling along the floor trying to get away from the savage kicks, a miracle happened, an unlooked for event, a little detail that in the fury of the moment, we had all forgotten about. A police unit, responding to the complaint called in the the neighbors upstairs, had turned up the alley, and was slowly looking for the studio. Munson saw the car, which actually seemed at first to have missed the address and was going to drive on by. Munson screamed, "Police!" and found the strength to make it out of the building. He ran, hands waving, to the police cruiser. Just like out of the movies, he said, "Arrest that man! Arrest him!" He pointed in the direction of the BDFDDL. When the BDFDDL realized a police cruiser was stopped, he stopped, as if NOTHING HAD EVEN HAPPENED, and started to walk back to his truck. The spineless fuckers were already in the back and in the cab, trying to look as if just momments ago, they had not been the audience, with tacit acceptance of, this fucking maniac's rage.
The police initially did not know exactly to which camp it should be listening, but they were certainly looking at Scott Munson, who obviously had been kicked in the face, and looking at the big guy he was pointing to. At first, the BDFDDL tried to BLEND IN the crowd by his truck, but then he approached the police cruiser where Scott Munson stood. INCREDIBLY, the BDFDDL started to CRY, (DNA could NOT make this shit up) and wailed about how he was attacked by these guys here who threw a bottle at his truck as he happened to drive by. He had obviously been through this drill before, so convincing his act was, and the police at first didn't know what to do. They had been called there to investigate a possible break in, if you remember, not to mediate a disagreement or arrest a fuckhead for an unprovoked attack.
By this time, Ralph and DNA were already outside. The BDFDDL was crying by the police car, and a couple of the spineless fucks were talking to DNA and Ralph. "Dudes, he (BDFDDL) told us that six guys jumped him, and we were just here to help out a buddy." DNA said, "Thanks a fucking lot. Really appreciate all you did." The spineless fuck looked sheepish. He should have. They all were sheep. Back at the police car, Scott Munson was practically hysterical, because he couldn't believe that the BDFDDL was about to cry his way out of an arrest. That was, until the Reverend came out of the building.
Dave was walking with the Reverend, who had gathered himself up, and walked with a purpose to meet the BDFDDL. Before the Reverend realized the police were there, DNA believes his purpose was to beat the BDFDDL into the ground. There is no doubt, no matter how big this cocksucker was, the Reverend now had the frame of mind we all needed about three minutes previous. Kill. Pound this guy until he no longer moves, by any means necessary. However, as he strode out of the building, everyone stopped what they were doing. The BDFDDL stopped his crying. The police man stopped his conflict resolution training. The police saw the Reverend's face. Blood had soaked his shirt and hair. Blood was pouring freely from his nose, mouth, eye, and brow. He was bruised and swollen. Besides the Reverend's blood, the BDFDDL was unmarked. Yet, it was the Reverend who walked with poise and strength. The police looked at the Reverend and said, "Who did this?" the Reverend said calmly, "Him," and pointed to the BDFDDL. The BDFDDL had started to slink away from the policeman at this time. However, from the other side of the car, another officer, a former Mr. SIU bodybuilder, a man of truly epic proportion, quickly walked around the car. "You, stop." The BDFDDL froze, and for a moment, you could see the look in his eye, the look that any who has ever been a victim of random violence wants to see. You could see fear in his face, fear from realizing here was a man to whom the BDFDDL's physical size and temper would mean nothing, and if he truly wanted, could beat the BDFDDL into submission without breaking a sweat. For a moment,the BDFDDL acted out of desperation, and tried to get away. In seconds, he was pushed hard against the door of the police cruiser, and put into a submission hold.
Carbondale is a small world. It so happened that the former Mr. SIU knew Scott Munson, and knew of the Reverend. There was no more need for conflict resolution, just what charges were going to be pressed. The BDFDDL was handcuffed, his pussy friends were questioned, and an ambulance was called to take the Reverend to the hospital. The Reverend spent the night in the hospital, Scott Munson was treated and released, while the rest of us licked our wounds and spent a sleepless night pondering what ifs. What if the neighbors hadn't called the cops? What if the BDFDDL had greviously injured the Reverend permanently? Why didn't we drop that cocksucker as soon as he got up in our house and talked shit?
This event changed each of us in different ways. DNA for one, came to understand the limitations civilization puts on us when we trust it to take care of us. We all assume that everyone else will follow the same rules. But, everyone doesn't. At any time, someone may have a screw loose and want to use your face to put it back in its place. You may be just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, perhaps you may look like an easy target. Perhaps you get mistaken for someone else. In the end, it doesn't matter. DNA resolved never to be caught in that situation again. Even if it meant getting the fuck beat out of it, DNA would never be a victim and watch while the tool and his friends were hurt. We learned to protect each other. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for I am the baddest motherfucker in the valley."
DNA does not look like the type, but it would take whatever steps were necessary if you threatened the tool, his family, or his friends.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/20/06
My Very Special-est Musical-ickinest Influences From My Kinder-hood.
DNA has found that since it has been working on a new album, and the work just keeps fucking coming, that there are many musical influences which are expressing themselves, influences which DNA realizes are very deep. If you were to ask DNA, or if you happen to know DNA, you would see that old school influences on the The DNA Vibrator include DEVO, The Police, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Fugazi, Bad Brains, The Ramones, Blondie, etc. Not so old school influences would include Rollins Band, Alice In Chains, Matthew Sweet, old Van Halen, Primus, Ween, Cake, etc. New school influences would include everything from Fiona Apple to Rob Zombie to Gnarls Barkley. However, the really, REALLY old school, the remedial musical education DNA got while listening to records while he was just a sweet lil toddler, included terrific Americana like Johnny Cash, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Roger Miller, Willie Nelson, Doc Watson, and Patsy Cline, to name a few. Oh, there was one strange trip to Wisconsin in which Dad was so excited about the new car he bought with an installed 8-track, that we listened to the two eight track tapes he got as a "bonus" when he bought the car. One was great: "Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison," the other, not so much: Neil Diamond's Hits, yes, plural, which included "My Baby Does The Hanky-Panky," (scandalous) and "Sweet Caroline." So DNA was exposed to the best and worst of music early in its current existence. Also, it grew up in the midwest, which meant that the nearest high power radio station was almost 300 miles away, WLS, in Chicago. WLS was a great rock and roll education.
So, there are several covers that have worked their way into this project. The first was a cover of "Folsom Prison." Three years ago, DNA had the idea of turning "Folsom Prison" into its bitch, which it has certainly done. However, you will have to wait to hear it until after Warner Unichappell agrees to allow DNA the mechanical rights to put the song out. Next, "Ghost Riders in the Sky" was completed, and it is also the shit, if The DNA Vibrator says so itself. The song, "Sandman," by America, will also make an appearance, along with the song, "16 Tons." If it gets the time, DNA will also finish its rendition of "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire." As far as DNA is concerned, every album should have a Christmas song on it. Fuck it, why not?
DNA is also considering doing a cover of "Jerking Back and Forth," and or "Mr. B's Ballroom," by DEVO, "No One Lives Forever," by Oingo Boingo, and just maybe "Justify," by Madonna. Do you want to be part of the DNA vibrators musical experience? If so, email me with your request. If it is something DNA can twist its stubby little fingers around, it will certainly attempt to throttle it.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/22/06
Re-unification.
Yesterday was a banner day. Through careful scheduling and luck, The Hand of God Attachment was able to drop by the studio and create some Christmas magic with The DNA Vibrator. No, you sick fuckers, not gay Christmas magic, rock and roll Christmas magic. He laid down a raunchy guitar part to the song, "The Three Deaths of Juan Belmonte." It was originally an instrumental, but will likely evolve into a song with some lyrics. The chorus music was based on a chant the guys in CRANK did years ago: "Three deaths, of Juan Bel-mon-te" over and over again. No, we did not know what it meant, exactly, except that it was taken from a Time-Life book article entitled, "The Three Deaths of Juan Belmonte." Who was Juan Belmonte? Friend of Ernest Hemmingway, yes, famous Spanish Torreador who reinvented the stance and attitude of bullfighters, sure, exited the world by way of the self-inflicted shotgun blast to the face, like his pal, Hemmingway, of course, but who was he, really? That's what the song tries to answer.
Also, in true Christmas spirit, Ralph, one of the collaborators of The DNA Vibrator, sent DNA an email of some song lyrics. Ralph said that he had DNA in mind when he wrote them. The song is entitled, "You Say Christmas, I Say Fuck It," and although DNA will not be able to get the song done by Christmas, as soon as the tool read the lyrics, DNA had written the music. It captures the dissatisfaction most of us have experienced with Christmas commercialism, bad family get togethers and the general un-christian attitude so many so called christians take, say, when having to fight over a parking spot in the Wal Mart parking lot. The song lyrics were the best Christmas present DNA has gotten in a long time. Thanks, Ralph.
The Reverend made an appearance at his old stomping grounds today, that is, Carbondale, IL, but because the tool had the day off of work, DNA and The Reverend missed each other. That's okay. The Reverend will just have to hug on The Hand of God Attachment to get a little HIT of that DNA Vibrator smell.
Also, as The Hand of God Attachment and DNA were talking music yesterday, DNA mentioned that the CRANK studio assault experience was the topic of DNA's blog posts over the last few days. The Hand of God Attachment pointed out (and when The Hand of God Attachment points, watch yer fucking eyes and anything else that could be smote) that he wasn't actually there. To which, DNA said, " You know, DNA is not going to let the facts stand in the way of you being there. DNA remembered that you couldn't make it that night. But, you WERE there in spirit. Fuck it. The story, the TRUTH of the experience, feels better with you there." The Hand of God Attachment replied, "People need to know that I wasn't there. I was too busy arranging to have the BDFDDL give The Reverend the beating he deserved"(for those of you who haven't read the previous posts, that acronym stands for Big Dumb Fucking Douchebag Dick Licker---the guy who beat us up). You can't argue with The Hand of God Attachment. The Hand of God Attachment is not bound by our morality or law. It is its own law. DNA pays homage and respect to The Hand of God Attachment. If DNA didn't, who else would play the kick ass guitar solos for its music? Okay, lots of people could, but who else would do it for FREE? So, in the spirit of accuracy, at the expense of drama, you need to know that Dave was not reaching to get a guitar off of the wall while The Reverend was getting punched in the face, oh, those many years ago. However, The Hand of God Attachment, yet to be recognized in its physical form, WAS present that night, and in the memory of the tool, was like our defense's 12th man. Of course, it was a 12th man who should have stayed at the JuCo instead of transferring to a Division 1 school, but IT WAS THERE NONETHELESS. There is no disputing that fact.
Permanent Historical Record: 12/25/06
Merry Christmas?
DNA questions christianity as an effective religion, but does not question the overall benefit that Christmas gives us as a nation. In the end, even when the balance sheet includes such negatives as hypocrites draining money from old peoples' savings, those who are morally corrupt preaching hate to others whom they deem morally corrupt, an unstated governmental policy of divine right when it comes to our military strategy, all of those BIG "christian" negatives are still outweighed by the individuals who pour out love from the goodness of their individual hearts, especially on Christmas. Two of DNA's family, the tool's sister-in-law and her husband, are doctors. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, they worked extended shifts in an emergency room. First, they worked feverishly on a person whose life ebbed away from them faster than they could stitch. Then, a traumatic gunshot wound victim kept them from celebrating a "regular" Christmas with each other. Not even for one moment could they look at each other over the last 24 hours without someone else's blood on them. Yet, while they were on duty, a woman came in and they helped deliver her Christmas baby. While she was in labor, her two other children were waiting in a room not far from the birthing room. DNA's sister-in-law talked to the children and asked what they were going to get for Christmas this year. They informed her that Santa missed them last year because they were living in a homeless shelter. They were afraid that Santa would not be able to find them again this year because they were at the hospital. DNA's sister-in-law said that she was sure that Santa knew how to find kids at the hospital. She spent most of her little free time finding other staff at the hospital who, between them, had presents there, with them, in the trunks of their cars, for example, that they would be taking home after their shifts. She was able to convince them to give some of their presents to these kids.
Sometimes that's all it takes. One little ray of hope. Now some of you might think that DNA made this Hallmark shit up to tug at your heart strings. For what purpose? DNA doesn't care if you like Christmas or the tool's sister-in-law or not. This happened. This is dirty, low, life, when a family is out on their luck and most of society does not care about them unless they are forced to care about them. That's why you needed to hear this story. Guess what happened when DNA's mother-in-law heard the story from her daughter? She wondered what business did a homeless mother of two have getting pregnant and having another baby in the first place. So, which are you? The one that rounds up presents for the kids, or the one that chastises the mother? Really?
Merry Christmas.
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