Tag Archives: Marvin

Usual Rubbish

Running late.

I guess my alarm clock doesn’t work. Don’t understand it. I wound it up tight as a drum sometime last year. Stupid bloody thing. Oh, well.

Yeah, maybe we WON'T fly Antares.Sometimes it actually pays to be late. I’ll give you a for instance. There was this gig on Mars we booked for next month, and we were planning to take a private rent-a-rocket up there, having lost contact with our mad science adviser Mitch Macaphee. That’s fine. Only the rocket is an Antares Orbital CRS-3. Yes, THAT Antares Orbital CRS-3. The same one that blowed up real good a couple of days ago. Oh, yes. That’s the flight you WANT to be late for.

I know what you’re going to say. It’s an orbital CRS-3, Joe, not an interplanetary CRS-3. What the hell are you doing, taking an orbital ship on an interplanetary journey of this type? Well, my friends …. I’m glad you asked that question. My answer may surprise you. In fact, the reason why we’re doing that is that, as I mentioned earlier, we no longer have our mad science adviser, so we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. As good a reason as any. Better than most, in fact.

So, probably just as well that we didn’t take the CRS-3 to Mars. Looks like it may not have made it there in one piece. That scotches the gig, though – it was the only ride in town, now that NASA isn’t lighting candles anymore. For those of you who complain that we never perform live, I offer you this rejoinder: we would have done, except that the Antares rocket blew up. How are we supposed to perform live when that rocket blew up?

All bands have some excuse for what they do and what they don’t do. Big Green is no different. I will never say never, but most of what we do now is in the studio, stitching podcasts together, recording ludicrous songs, and asking Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to do his imitation of Joseph Cotton. Our only explanation for such sloth is, well, rocket engine issues.

Usual Rubbish

Post haste.

What the hell, was that September just then? Fricking amazing. This is truly the meltaway year. We’re almost down to the chewy caramel center. (I think of September as mostly nougat, frankly.)

THAT'S where we'll be? Huh...Well, I suppose it’s safe to say that we won’t be posting a September podcast. Yes, we recorded one. Yes, we still have a computer and internet access. No, I didn’t leave it in my other pants. It’s still under construction, okay? It’s in far more capable hands than mine, I might add. And I am confident that those hands are hard at work, editing wav files, and not shuffling cards or clicking a remote or (God forbid ) tapping on a phone. (This would not be a good time for me to get a text with a link to some lame video.)

I guess it’s hard to deny that we have essentially departed from our monthly podcast schedule. That is, in part, due to our titanic laziness, but also to the fact that our Ned Trek productions have become much more ambitious in recent months, demanding more and more resources, elaborate sets, casts of thousands, pricey special effects, craft services for the crew, exotic oils for  Marvin (my personal robot assistant), you name it. It isn’t easy to produce an epic. Nor is it easy to produce a hack-job podcast, but (and this is important) doing so is easier than the thing with the epic. Are you following that? Good.

I have to think that more than a few of you are wondering, “Well … he’s got time to write this stupid blog post. Why doesn’t he just use that time to finish the podcast, or write a song, for pity’s sake?” Good question. We in Big Green have always been of the belief that timely and accurate reporting is key to the success of any band. If you don’t know what we’re up to, we won’t know either, and THEN where will we be? In Coventry, that’s where! (Actually, I hear that’s quite pleasant this time of year.)

Anyway, where is this getting us? Must get back to finishing that September … I mean, October podcast. Stay tuned.

Usual Rubbish

Tonight’s the night.

That's it, over there.Well, shut my mouth. There appears to be some kind of celebration taking place up the street from the Hammer Mill. Maybe we should mosey on over there. Or maybe not. This street’s getting a little rough. (I don’t mean crime-wise. I mean the pavement’s in pieces, as in potholes the size of a Buick … some with Buicks stuck in them.)

It’s a natural fact – we need to get out more. Big Green is getting house bound, or mill-bound, if you will. Part of it is our reluctance to play gigs anywhere on planet Earth. That is, admittedly, a failing of ours. Mea culpa. I don’t know why we don’t perform on our mother world. Maybe it’s the gravity. My keyboards weigh a ton on earth, but when we play, say, Phobos, I can pick them up with one hand. Sure, there aren’t a lot of music fans there … none, in fact, but setting up is a breeze!

We’ve been asked to consider playing a club or a college here on Terra. Why, just last week, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) said we should set up in the old man bar on the corner and jam until they boot our sorry asses back into the road. Inartfully put, perhaps, but his corroded tin heart was in the right place. So the other night I dropped in at that joint, sat there and stared at the piano for a couple of hours. I didn’t make any noise, so I left. I’m going back again tonight to see if there’s a different outcome.

Old man bar on Earth, zero-gravity lounge on Neptune – it doesn’t make much difference to us where we play, so long as we know what the hell we’re playing. I’ve never been good at set lists, but I know that if someone on stage picks the songs, it’s less likely that we’ll have to play a bunch of stuff people ask us to play. Like something by the Scorpions, for instance.

Whoa, is that the time? Time to go out in the street and be sociable. Talk soon.