Tag Archives: Marvin

Usual Rubbish

Inside July (2019).

Look, I know it was a hard assignment, but frankly … you’re more cut out for that sort of thing. Why don’t you sit and relax for a while. Oh, right … best stand.

The squatters upstairs got a bit louder this week. Of course, it was the fourth of July holiday, so they started shooting off bottle rockets, M-80s, and what sounded like quarter-sticks of dynamite. We sent Marvin (my personal robot assistant) up to read them the riot act, and he got his ass handed to him. I mean literally – they removed his ass and handed it to him, then kicked him down the stairs. Not sure who to send next … maybe anti-Lincoln?

Well, with all that going on, I did squeeze in enough time to post another installment of THIS IS BIG GREEN, though it’s kind of a clip show, frankly. Some of the material will seem familiar to longtime listeners, some not. What can I tell you? It’s a little hard to mix new Ned Trek episodes with gun-happy muleskinners living upstairs, keeping us up all night with their noisy parties and other goings on. Partly as revenge on those mothers, I chose to include some vintage live recordings of Big Green’s club days, cranking them up as I listened back the episode, shaking the rafters a bit. (Some of them, I understand, like rafting in the Adirondacks … and are, therefore … rafters.)

Maybe if we just play super loud ...

So, here’s what we have this month:

Ned Trek 18: Captain Frickasee. This is an episode we originally cast back in 2014, based on the malevolent doppelganger episode of classic Star Trek … uh, just to narrow that down, the one where Kirk gets duplicated by a transporter malfunction (they used that plot device more than once). Willard’s evil twin, instead of being the very pinnacle of toxic masculinity, turns out to be a southern conservative politician … the one most Republicans pretend to be. (Apologies to those easily offended by jokes about southerners.)

Live Songs: This month’s TIBG features six “live” tracks of Big Green, circa 1990-1994. These include performances recorded in front of audiences and demos recorded live to tape in a somewhat more controlled environment. All tracks feature John White on drums, Matt on bass and vocals, and me (Joe) on keys and vocals. The songs are:

  • How ‘Bout The War? – This track, poorly recorded at some dive in upstate NY, features Tony “Ace”  Butera on guitar.
  • Greater Good – This was recorded at a backyard music fest at Jeremy Shaw’s house and features Jeremy on guitar.
  • Sensory Man and I Hate Your Face – Two excerpts from a video demo we recorded with Jeremy Shaw in 1993, clips of which can be seen on our video page.
  • Merry Christmas, Jane and Special Kind of Blood – Selections from a 1994 live-to-DAT demo we did at Jeremy’s house, featuring him on guitar. (We released these on our Live From Neptune EP. )

Anyway, that’s the week that was. We’ll be posting another show before too long with a new Ned Trek episode … as soon as we find our asses with both hands.

Usual Rubbish

One man’s ceiling.

Oh, Jesus … not again. If you don’t quiet down, I’m going to call the police! What? Of course they’ll come. The cops don’t hold a grudge. And besides, I doubt they even remember that little note l left on their cruiser last year. It was a joke, for chrissake.

Ah, hello out there. Back to domestic bliss here in the formerly abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. I say “formerly” because in our absence during our Ned Trek Live Springtime Tour Extravaganza 2019, not only did snapping turtles move into our basement studio, but some even more combative creatures took up residence on the third floor of the mill. I send Marvin (my personal robot assistant) upstairs to find out what the commotion was all about, and he came back with an upside-down pitcher on his head. We then sent him back up there with a bundt cake Anti-Lincoln’s aunt Mildred made, but they weren’t having it. They threw our peace offering into the courtyard! (It made a crater on impact. Auntie Mildred should have shelled those walnuts.)

Okay, now … let’s just try to keep our heads, shall we? After all, we don’t own this mill. We just squat here, and frankly it’s selfish of us to think that we can have this place all to ourselves. Still, those folks are noisy as hell. They party on until the wee hours of the morning, pulling together drum circles and howling at the moon. At one point we though we could out-gun them with our PA equipment, but that was a joke – our main speakers are about 40 years old and sound like freaking kazoos. And those people don’t seem to mind the sound of kazoos. In fact, they might enjoy Matt’s early composition, the theme from Destination Space, played by an orchestra of kazoos (all tracked by Matt himself). Then again … perhaps not. So let’s find it and crank it up to eleven! THIS IS WAR!

Better have another word with them, Marvin.

Damn. I lost my head in the span of a single paragraph. These are trying times indeed, my friends. On days such as this I rely on the sage counsel of Antimatter Lincoln, a man  who has seen his share of hardship and sorrow, who has navigated the treacherous shoals of total warfare, who held onto his vision for a better world through the worst of times. Well … I mean, his doppleganger did, anyway. Anti-Lincoln did the opposite of all that stuff; he basically watched the Twilight Zone and ate TV dinners for a living before he met us. (That’s when he moved on to beef jerky.)

Arrrgh. There they go again! Where are my headphones?

Usual Rubbish

Lights out.

I thought I told you to pay the bill before we left. Well, if you did, why the hell is it sitting here on the counter? Riddle me that, Batman! WHAT? Well, of course you can’t see it. The lights aren’t on …  BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T PAY THE BILL.

Man god damn, now I have to give lessons on household finance. I ask Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to do one thing, ONE THING, before we set off on our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019, and he screwed it up. I put the electric bill in front of him, hooked a pen into his prehensile claw, and told him to cut a check to National Grid, post haste. Nothing. And now we’ve come home from our less than triumphant interstellar tour to a dark hammer mill with a leaky roof and a family of turtles living in our studio. And no, they’re not subletting.

Yes, friends, we are back on terra firma, and none too soon. No, we didn’t get to the Small Magellanic Cloud. We kept flying towards it, hoping it would get a little bigger in our forward view screen, but no luck. Saturday came and went – that was the date of our gig – and so we chose to turn around. I asked Mitch Macaphee, our resident mad scientist, to send off some kind of automated vehicle in our stead, with a letter of apology sealed in its nosecone. Well, he sent some kind of missile out towards the Small Magellanic Cloud, but I’m not certain what it was, exactly. I guess they’ll find out in a couple of hundred thousand years. (Sometimes surprises are pleasant … and sometimes … )

In the studio? Uh ... okay.

Back here on earth, everything went to hell, as you might expect. The hammer mill is in a shambles – exactly how we left it. Aside from the lack of electricity, the air seems a little thin in here, like it’s been on a hunger strike since we left. I was hoping the mansizedtuber would have looked after the place a bit in our absence, but damn it, you can’t get good help around here, even if you grow it in a planter. Speaking of planters, we almost went nuts cooped up in that tiny flying saucer. That SOB made the lunar module seem spacious. It also made the LEM’s computer system seem sophisticated. (It wasn’t.)

I would like to be able to say that we made a pile of quatloos on this tour and that we now have the means to make this place habitable. Yes, that would be a nice thing to be able to say … I just can’t bring myself to do it.