Usual Rubbish

Cheer up.

Get out of my room, Marvin (my personal robot assistant). You too, tubey. I’m having one of my captain sunshine days, as you can tell. In fact, I’m rear-admiral motherfucking sunshine today, mister.

This means war
In a bit of a mood today.

Oh, fuck…. I mean, fudge. Didn’t know you were listening in. Sorry you had to hear that outburst. Nerves are getting a little frayed around the hammer mill just lately. What the hell, I’ve been sleeping in an abandoned hammer-stock storage silo for the last 10 years, springs poking out of my mattress like in those old cartoons, the windows leaky and cracked, the mortar crumbling to dust between ancient bricks. Not to put too fine a point on it – this place is a DUMP. Now I know why they abandoned the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill.

What’s that? They condemned the place? What the hell, Marvin … you had that in your memory banks all this time? Weren’t you just dying to tell me at some point before this? Irrelevant?!? I’ve obviously got to talk to your inventor about upgrading your relevance sensor. To say nothing of your gaydar. The freaking boy scouts should hire your ass. (Damn, there I go again! Sorry, people of Earth.)

I’ve got a case of what’s called Dyspepsia Engineeris, an affliction that usually strikes individuals in the middle of a large music post-production process. Mixing an album consumes every ounce of your creativity, and hell … I’ve only got two ounces to begin with. Needless to say, we haven’t been producing new material, just finishing what’s already in the can. We have, however, dug up some old, previously unreleased stuff that we can play on our podcast, THIS IS BIG GREEN, in the spaces where we might ordinarily have published new production. We’ll pour some of that in before it posts, I promise you. And one day, one day, we will return to making music (as opposed to merely mixing it).

Well … now that I’ve chased all of my friends away, I guess I can get back to … to … mixing. Arrgh.

Political Rants

Truth about King-Father.

My local newspaper (and I’m sure just about everyone else’s as well) contained a minuscule item on the cremation of the body of Norodom Sihanouk, whom the paper described as being revered by his people as the “King-Father” of Cambodia. An AP story by Denis Gray was the source of this tiny item tucked away inside the Utica OD, which opened as follows:

Cambodians bade goodbye Monday with tears, chanting and fireworks to former King Norodom Sihanouk, their revered “King-Father” who led them through half a century of political tumult that took them into the abyss of genocidal Khmer Rouge rule and back out again. Hundreds of thousands of Cambodians thronged the capital for the elaborate royal cremation of the maddeningly mercurial leader whose charm often overshadowed missteps that to most of his countrymen have faded away in a fog of nostalgia for a simpler time.

Bombing Cambodia
Our gift to Sihanouk's subjects

While Gray’s story went into a bit more detail, this was most of what my newspaper carried. However, neither the original piece nor the excerpt bothered to mention the U.S. role in the catastrophe that destroyed Sihanouk’s country in the late 1960s and 1970s. Indeed, reading this, you’d think that their many troubles were the result of a bungling if “charming” monarch who misled his people into genocide. Gray’s piece gives only one vague hint of U.S. influence at any point, mentioning in passing that Sihanouk sided with the Khmer Rouge in opposition to “U.S.-backed government” in the early 1970s.

Talk about burying the lead! That “U.S.-backed government” was a coup regime headed by Lon Nol which we brought to power in the midst of an ever-widening war in Cambodia. Of course, we invaded Cambodia in 1970 – a fact that you’d be hard-pressed to find evidence of on a Google search, apart from a story on the World Socialist Web site. We bombed the living shit out of it from about 1969 until Lon Nol was overthrown in 1975. Then came the reign of terror, as well as countless deaths from starvation, exhaustion, and the usual outcomes of genocidal war. To read these stories, it’s as if before the Khmer Rouge arrived, Cambodia was a nation of happy, smiling people, no complaints whatsoever.

Naturally, I don’t expect them to get all of this into a 3-inch column item. But they could get a piece of the truth in there, couldn’t they?

luv u,

jp

Usual Rubbish

Pop goes it.

Lift the needle. Right about … there. That’s good. Now let’s do the next one. Excellent. We will soon have my entire LP collection transferred to 8-track cartridges, at long last.

Eight tracks
A little timely advice for Marvin

Oh, hello. Just catching up on some housekeeping. You know how it is, especially when you’re living the dream here in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. Time gets away from you, and you end up neglecting all that stuff you meant to do, had to do, were legally obligated to do, etc. I’m only just now getting around to filing my tax returns for 1983. I think my extension may have run out, but I’m not sure. There’s a stack of letters from the IRS I’ve yet to open….

Right, so I’m falling behind. I think we all are here in Big Green land. Fact is, cousin Rick Perry has a song by that name on our upcoming album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. It goes something like this….

I’m fallin’ behind, I’m fallin’ behind
T’ain’t never lost before
Always won when I tried
I tell them just what they want to hear
Just as sure as God made corn subsidies
No abortions, no exceptions
We’ll nail scripture to the trees.

Oh, I love Jesus more than any man ever dared
to love another man!
And I remember what he said in the sermon on the mount
Well, some of it.

(c) 2013 by Big Green

…And so on. Now I know that some long-time listeners of Big Green (and there are at least two or three of you out there) will see this and think, What the fuck are they doing? I thought these guys did pop music. This is just irony-soaked cowboy ballads! Well, that’s not exactly right, my friends. You see, Cowboy Scat is a collection of songs from a lost musical about the political trajectory of dear cousin Rick, each number performed by a different group (so the creation myth goes). Some of them are cowpoke groups, some rock, some pop, some weird German 80’s disco, some … well, you get the idea. And you’ll get it even more when we finish mixing the sucker and finally release it into the wild.

Which reminds me. When I do the budget for this release, I have to make sure to include a line for transfer to 8-track. Don’t want to leave any listeners out, no matter what decade they live in.

Weird ass music since 1986