Tag Archives: Marvin

Usual Rubbish

Hanky land.

What the fuck, was that a week just then? I know I’ve said this before, but time seems to be speeding up. I should ask Mitch Macaphee if the Earth is spinning any faster than a few years ago … and if HE has anything to do with it. (Always worth asking.)

Well, it’s been kind of quiet around the abandoned hammer mill for the last week. Just the sounds of quiet toil. Ah, the joys of wage slavery! Not much to report. Matt’s been out in the field, tending to his various populations of beast and bird. We’re working on the next album, punching up some of the Ned Trek numbers, albeit slowly. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is learning Swahili in his spare time (or perhaps Kinyarwanda … he can never make up his little battery-driven mind about anything.)

Besides recording, what have we been doing as a “band”, specifically? Well, if you REALLY want to know, probably the best way is to listen to the second half of our podcast THIS IS BIG GREEN – the part where Matt and I spend about an hour talking about nothing and next to nothing. For instance, our most recent episode featured the following weighty items:

  • What a way to wake upImagining Henry Kissinger trying out for the Monkees back in the late sixties, like Charles Manson did. Hanky’s Monkees, it might have been called. Or perhaps not. (This stemmed from our recollection of an earlier episode when we pondered whether or not Davy Jones might have been killed by primate poachers.)
  • Waking up and finding that not only are you in the Pleistocene era, but you are in fact Charles Nelson Riley.
  • Giving a rough-edged rendition of the Popeye theme song.
  • Way too many lame imitations of Peter Lorre (if you can imagine such a thing).
  • Once through the “Happy Anniversary” version of the William Tell Overture to mark our podcast’s 4th anniversary.

I know, it’s hard to imagine that any single podcast could contain so many wonders, but it’s true. And honestly, it’s just like hanging out with us in the Cheney Hammer Mill basement. Just as riveting.

Usual Rubbish

Sing the right one.

Let the eagle soar! Higher than it’s ever flown before! From sandy beach to rocky shore … let the mighty eagle soar!

Oh, hello. Didn’t know you were there. I was finishing up my morning shower just then. Why am I singing John Ashcroft’s signature composition? Well, you know how they tell you that the best way to ensure proper hand washing is to sing “Happy Birthday” while you’re doing it? Well, I thought I needed a song to sing while I wash my ass. And that was the first song that sprang to mind. Just thought I’d share that. (Hiya, Mr. Attorney General!)

So what have we been up to lately? Well, bits and bobs. You know the drill. Everybody’s got their onerous responsibilities to discharge, and Big Green is certainly no exception. Brother Matt has been up to his eyeballs in animal related work, of course. I have been toiling away at my nine-to-five, pulling what’s left of my not-yet-gray hair out. (In bunches.) We’ve got a lot of parts to put down on our next album … it’s just getting to it that’s the problem. Still, where there’s a will … there’s a … will? How does that go again?

Jesus.We’re thinking about another interstellar tour. Now that Pluto is a better-known venue, that seems like a good place to start. Easy to find for our regular audiences. Small, yes. Cold, certainly. And a certain lack of amenities. But Big Green is a decidedly plain clothes gig, man. We don’t kowtow to the suits. That kind of thing is what we call “weak sauce.” We’re sticking it to “the man” – especially Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who has apparently entered some kind of beatnik phase. I think he’s been watching reruns of Dobie Gillis. Or Gilligan’s Island, perhaps. He’s rocking a mop top just lately – not sure where he’s going with that.

Well, best get back to work. We will be posting our next episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN before too terribly long, so keep that iPod warmed up.

Usual Rubbish

Density rising.

You may say I’ve got a lot to learn. Seems like this is the perfect spot to learn. No, I’m NOT playing Vegas … not yet, anyway. (Though I did spend a summer in Reno once. Long story, which I’ll spare you.)

Raining like hell here at the Cheney Hammer Mill. Wish we had invested in that new roof a few years back, when we were overflowing with Neptunian shekels from our last interstellar tour. Those were the days …. NOT. Yeah, the water is coming in like … well … water from the sky. The mansized tuber is loving it. Not Marvin (my personal robot assistant), though. His brass finish is getting tarnished in the humid summer weather we get up here in upstate New York, and this is certainly not doing it any good. (Kind of vain, actually, that robot. I think he sees himself as a Tyrone Power lookalike. He needs to download some newer movies.)

Over the last few weeks the humidity has been rising. Our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee, inventor of Marvin, insists that it is atmospheric density, not the humidity, that is rising. He has been hammering away at some kind of device that he claims will control the weather, or something to that effect. I could share with you what he told me, but it might cause you some distress. Suffice to say that throughout his diatribe, he managed to end each sentence with the term (and I quote) “BWA-HA-HA-HA!”  I have asked Y'know, I kinda see it.anti-Lincoln, our resident language history scholar, to find me a gloss on that. So far no luck.

We’re still working on our next album, working title “WORKING TITLE”. (We were thinking of renaming the band “Various Artists”, just so that we would show up in the Columbia House 8-track tape catalogs.) It’s slow going, to say the least. We’re re-thinking parts that we put down over the past two years, building on old tracks that were hastily recorded and shipped out via our podcast, THIS IS BIG GREEN. Some are rougher than others. And we’re starting with the roughest ones … I hope. (These are pretty freaking rough!)

So, we’ll keep scratching. Keep your eyes open …. especially if you’re driving.