Tag Archives: Marvin

Usual Rubbish

Track it.


Hmmm… I know I left that lying around here somewhere. Ah, here it is. Not sure where I’m going without this little number.

No, it’s not my brain. It’s my list of songs. Sixty five songs and counting. Shoo-wee, right? That’s enough songs to fuel the enormous asbestos-clad boiler of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill for a hundred years. (Well, that may be a slight exaggeration.) What was it I heard Lincoln (or anti-Lincoln) saying the other day? Oh, yeah. “A chicken’ll make you a meal… or it’ll lay enough eggs for a thousand breakfasts. A lamb – that’s about two weeks worth of mutton. Or you can have warm wool coats from now until doomsday…” That Lincoln- just brimming with frontier wisdom. (Actually, I think he borrowed that from Royal Dano in one of his more nefarious incarnations on The Big Valley, Lincoln’s favorite T.V. drama.)

Where was I again? Oh, right. The songs. Yeah, we have an enormous backlog of songs, some never recorded, many represented by the most rudimentary demos. Lot more Christmas material, true. Fact is, our first album – 2000 Years To Christmas – was just as selection of numbers from a vast body of ludicrous Christmas songs, mostly penned by that keee-razy brother of mine. Probably about fifty of those in total, though only about a dozen have made it onto our record/perform list as of yet. Intriguing, no? (No? Hmmmm. Is that your final answer? Want a life line?)

Sure, there’s that. Then there are the songs that are complete and yet still in the can, never released commercially. Mostly these are recordings that have no proper album to call home. They are made in the usual Big Green way – lay out a polymer disc, slather it full of mastic, add music and apply pressure… much pressure. Then toss. Well… we tossed them a little too far, perhaps, and no one has had the energy to go and pick them up. Those will likely see the light of day at some point, though I don’t know exactly when. (Let me consult with my fellow nut cases and get back to you.)

Speaking of nut cases and music, an old friend of mine shared a champion little number with us the other day. Enjoy, campers!

Usual Rubbish

Making noises.

What was that sound I heard, coming from down below? Some kind of tectonic activity? A passing subway car? Or could it be…..  a tuber in distress?

Tubey and Marvin (my personal robot assistant) are still exploring the inner bowels of the Oit. I would post images they’ve sent via their cell phones, but you would hardly believe your own eyes if you saw them. Crikey, there’s a lot going on down there – much more than when we did that Jules Verne-like tour to the center of the Earth a few years ago. Amazing… but then, there’s a lot of space below us, if you think about it. (Even if you don’t think about it. ) So take my word for it. Don’t go there. Just don’t. It’s hot. It’s mean. It’s just plain dangerous.

So, what does this have to do with you? Well, not much. That’s the nature of the internets as we know them. A lot of random, stupid detail about people’s personal lives of interest to no one other than themselves. We are certainly guilty of that. Yeah, I know the standard jibe. Big Green is all yak and very little music, right? Well…. right enough.  Too much talking, not enough music – got it. And it’s been almost a year and a half since our last release, International House. So what the hell – time to get off our sorry butts and start strumming, pounding, screeching again.

Well, if that’s what you’re thinking, I’ve got some good news. (Well… let’s say some not bad news, anyway.) It so happens that we are working on a little project, way down yonder. We’ve got an enormous backlog of ludicrous songs that have yet to be properly recorded. So here’s the plan – record them AND play them live. And what the hell – let’s do a powerpoint, besides. Matt and I have been knocking our heads together, and we’ve started laying down some tracks with Marvin (when he’s available) recording reference drums until John White returns from his extended trip to Madagascar. (Where do you rent a gas car in Madagascar?) The virtual reels are rolling… that’s what that freaking noise is.

Oh well. Much to do (and less to say) around these parts.

Usual Rubbish

Who’s Teller?

Down and down and down we go, round and round and round we go… Ah, I forgot what comes next. Oh yeah – it’s either “ker-splash!” or “crunch!”

Hi, friends. If you’re just tuning in (or browsing over), we’re working on a little under ground expedition. That crevice that opened up in the foundation of the Cheney Hammer Mill (our adopted home) apparently goes down to the core of our humble planet, and we’ve taken it upon ourselves to determine just how goddamned deep that actually is. First we sent Marvin (my personal robot assistant) down there, with less than his full cooperation (we had Big Zamboola give him a shove of encouragement). Our latest foray is actually tasked with finding out what happened to Marvin. This consists of the man-sized tuber with a flashlight and a web cam attached to his… well… head (or anterior protuberance, whichever you prefer).

Dropping him into the crevice is like dropping a potato down a well. In fact, I don’t know why I’m using a simile – it IS dropping a potato down a well, waiting to hear the splash. I know what you’re thinking, but just remember… the man-sized tuber did nothing but oppress us as mayor of our little town, and so he owes us, in our estimation. (No, I don’t have a mouse in my pocket. I’m referring to the entire Big Green entourage.)

There are better ways to spend our time, to be sure, and we’ve been trying to find them (blindfolded, with oven mitts on both hands). Like managing to record, rehearse, etc. – and yes, we’ve been doing both, between our little house projects. Still working on that live project concentrating on audio-visual explanations of all of our songs. This came out of playing, listening, and realizing that, w.t.f., we’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, as Tom Coburn said to Justice Sotamayor. Take, for instance, this little number by Matt called “Edward Teller”:

You’re Edward Teller
Direct your lampshade to number fun
Those hidden equations are all pleasures to solve
Bless your huge genius
Now we all thank the son of a bitch

He’s tapped out our life support
And all he wanted was some swell friends
Threadbare daddy

Now, whereas some of us consider that entirely self-explanatory, others may wonder – rightfully – whether or not we have some mental issues. That’s not in question. (We DO.) We just want people to get the most out of our music, and that can’t be bad. (Or…. can it?)

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to join Mitch Macaphee in hauling that tuber out of the hole. More later…