Tag Archives: interstellar tour

Usual Rubbish

A fungible outcome.

Okay, who’s going to Betelgeuse for the advance mission? Let’s see a show of hands. I meant now, boys, right now. Is that it? Nearly one hand. Call it none.

Man oh Manischewitz, do I have to do everything myself? (No, I wasn’t asking for a show of hands on THAT.) All I ask is a little cooperation on a deadly dangerous deep-space excursion, and I get nothing. Bunch of layabouts. Looks like I’ll have to do it myself – just me and Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Yeah, I mean you, Marvin. I know you didn’t put your hand up. What part of “my personal robot assistant” do you not understand, eh? Sheesh. I’m going to have to ask Mitch to program some obedience into that boy…. when he gets back from Mad Science-a-ganza in Sao Paolo. (Doesn’t sound hugely scientific to me, but…. my studies were in the humanities.)

Yeah, you see, Tiny Montgomery (our sometimes booking agent) has arranged a performance in the Betelgeuse system as part of Big Green’s upcoming [INSERT NAME HERE] Interstellar Tour 2011 – by “part of” I mean to say, it’s the only gig he’s booked thus far. (Tiny’s getting a slow start.) Naturally, we’re getting a little anxious about this seeming exception to Tiny’s near unbroken record of rejection by the managers of interstellar music venues from here to Andromeda. I thought it only prudent that one of us should go out there and check the venue out. And hell, everyone thought it was a GREAT idea so long as they thought I would be doing the honors. But enough about that.

I have to say, truth be known, I prefer recording and broadcasting to live performances most days of the week. That’s why Matt and I are working tirelessly (no tires needed, in fact) on our new audio podcast, THIS IS BIG GREEN!, the maiden episode of which should be posted in the upcoming weeks. What’s it about? Well, my friend, it’s the whole Big Green package – talk and jive, live performances (pre recorded, of course), rare sides, reviews, a promo or two. In short, we’ll know when we get there. But one way or the other, here it comes. No, you don’t have to thank us. All part of the service.

As always, we’re just trying to get you more of what you like least about us. Hmmm… did I say that right? Hands?

Usual Rubbish

Planageddon.

I’m not sure about that, Matt. I don’t know if I want to play that song. How about “Dinos”? No? Are you sure? Okay… you suggest one. “World of Satisfaction”? Naaaah.

Oh, hello. Didn’t notice you peering through that LCD screen. As you can see, we’re working on a set list for our first engagement on Big Green’s [INSERT NAME HERE] Interstellar Tour 2011. No, that’s not a place keeper – that’s the name Tiny Montgomery suggested last week, and none of us has come up with anything better (let alone tried to, you know, insert the name). It’s always kind of a back and forth on the set lists – that’s only natural when you have hundreds of songs. Yes, literally hundreds… all wrapped up in a little box. We take turns, reaching a hand into the box. I’ll read one song title and Matt will knock it down. Then he grabs one and reads it. I’ll say he’s an asshole. Then he throws the box at me. And I’ll yell, “MOM! HE’S DOIN’ IT AGAIN!” And then we’re BOTH in trouble.

Okay, so that’s freaking childish, I know. But not to worry – we always come up with set lists in the end. Then we freaking ignore then, nine times out of ten. No, we’re not affecting an artistic temperament. It’s just that, frankly, it gets kind of dark on the stages we play on, and those lists are just plain hard to read. So we start calling tunes. If we call the same tune twice in a single night, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) issues a loud beeping sound. Chances are we will remember what that’s supposed to mean and withdraw the selection. Hey…. everybody has their process. Ours is surely no less sound than the one used by, say, My Morning Jacket.  (I can’t say, because I don’t know what they do. I’m just picking examples at random – don’t listen to me.)

I’m just noticing how often I use the epithet “freaking”. You all know what I mean. In any case, preparing for an arduous interstellar tour is no picnic, as many of you know. There are songs to rehearse, air tanks to compress, space suits to air out, missiles to hire, maps to download – no end to the punch list. (It’s actually more like a punch and kick list.) Not getting a lot of help, either. Both Lincolns are dead to the world after a night of carousing. The mansized tuber is out in the garden, communing with his little herb-garden cousins. Mitch Macaphee has taken the next two weeks off to attend a mad science conference in Brazil. I feel like the prisoner of freaking Zenda. (There’s that epithet again!)

Not to worry. We’ve been down this bumpy road before, and it’s always come out…. well … bumpy. So be it.

Usual Rubbish

Frightinary.

Are you sure this is the right document? Say again. Can’t make you out, Tiny – speak louder. Then move closer to the telephone poll, that might help. Tiny? Arrrggh. Bad luck.

We’ve just lost Tiny Montgomery again. His carrier just dropped the call. By “carrier,” I mean the phone line tap he rigged up outside of his six-room lean-to in Madagascar. (That’s how he makes all of his calls, apparently.) Tiny’s been helping us pull together our next interstellar tour. He sent through the itinerary by primitive fax, and man… it’s scary as hell. Perhaps it’s a communications issue. You know – hard to get ahold of the better venues, especially when you’re using the modern equivalent of soupcans and string to make your calls. I get that. Tiny has his issues, and we have ours… and mothers, this itinerary is one of ’em.

Matt and some of the other members of our crew have suggested there are more nefarious factors at work in this whole thing. Tiny, some of you will remember, played Lowery organ on our 2001 interstellar tour (see the tour log) and actually did some booking on our 2003 tour. He may be sore that we haven’t kept in touch with him over all these eight odd years (and they have been odd years). Or maybe the way we treated him back in the day. What man can say? Personally, I just think it’s the result of the garden variety entropy that affects all of us eventually. Everyone as time went on got a little bit older and a little bit slower. And now that I’ve quoted Revolution #9, I can see the ice cream man cruising by. Happens nearly every time. There’s a reason for everything.  

Anyway, the itinerary. It mostly concentrates on dry alien moons. There’s the famous “whistling” moon in orbit around Aldebaran 4. (Heard of it? There are so many holes in it, it whistles as it orbits. True story.) Then there’s that craggy little satellite circling Mars – Deimos. Not much to speak of – a slab of stone. That’s the gig. Set up, fram to the nothingness, pack up, fly off. What the hell is the point, mo-fo’s? Then there’s an abandoned neutron star. That sounds like one for the books.

I’m writing back to Tiny as we speak. Writing as you blog? That’s called multi tasking, with the help of Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Demanding some clarification, hopefully by phone.