Tag Archives: Mitch Macaphee

Usual Rubbish

Thankfulness.

I made a list of important things to include on the blog post. Now where did I leave it? What’s that? I used the back of it for a grocery list then threw it away? Right, well … they weren’t THAT important.

As is apropos of the season, here at Big Green, there is a lot to be thankful for. Sure, we may seem like just another cynical rock band, iconoclasts, always questioning authority, taking the road not taken, bending pretzels the wrong way, riding bicycles with square wheels, etc. But that doesn’t mean we’re ungrateful. Hell no!

I’m thankful for the roof over our heads. At least the parts that don’t let the rain in. After all, we spent a good portion of the year in the potting shed, so being back in our own squat feels like a million bucks, even if it leaks from time to time.

I’m thankful for having a personal robot assistant. Hey, not everyone can say that, right? Not only do I have the full and (somewhat) able assistance of Marvin (my personal robot assistant), I also enjoy the benefits of having his inventor Mitch Macaphee close at hand as our resident mad science advisor. So if Marvin needs an oil change, new air filter, set of tires, software upgrade, etc., the shop is right downstairs. It’s that easy!

I’m thankful, also, that I finally got the next episode of Ned Trek edited and sent over to Matt for finishing. Freaking took me weeks, people. This one is a musical, too, so not only can you look forward to a completely ridiculous mashup of classic Star Trek, contemporary conservative politics, and Mr. Ed, but you’ll get no less than eight new Big Green songs, all for the low, low price of absolutely nothing. And instant delivery, on demand. Beat that, Jeff Bezos!

2000 Years To Christmas

Speaking of billionaire dreams, it’s that time of year again … and this time around, we mark the 20th anniversary of the release of our first album, 2000 Years To Christmas. It makes for a great stocking stuffer, though I don’t recommend wearing any stockings stuffed with this CD, unless you want a one-way ticket to the podiatrist. You can get a copy, digital or disc, from some random slave of Jeff Bezos, play it on your favorite streaming services, or get it direct from the Big Green collective – just use the payment methods described on our music page, or email us for alternative arrangements. We will be giving away free discs to random people who ask for one, so don’t be shy …. talk to us.

Usual Rubbish

Coverland.

Where’s my great American songbook? I know I left it around here somewhere. What’s that you say, Marvin (my personal robot assistant)? There’s no such thing? That’s just a metaphor for everything written before nineteen sixty? Okay, gotcha.

Look at me, for chrissake. I’m turning the Hammer Mill upside down looking for something that doesn’t even exist outside of our tiny little minds. No, there is no Great American Songbook per se, though I have had “fake” books over the years – the Boston book, the Real book, the Real book with lyrics, etc., all illegal as hell. Strange thing to be declared contraband, but you had to have them …. even if you just played in a contraband. (A band that plays everything backwards, that is.) Seriously, fake books were an essential survival tool in the world of itinerant musicians.

You may well ask why I would need a compendium of old songs. And well you may. Keep asking – eventually I’ll find an answer. Yes, well … as you know, times being what they are, we need to, as the corporatists are fond of saying, diversify our revenue stream. That means selling nuts on the street corner (Marvin’s job), bilking the local vicar (Anti-Lincoln’s job), blackmailing the neighbors with anti-gravity rays (Mitch Macaphee’s job), and plunking out cover songs in the local coffeehouse / bar (ulp … my job). And like filling in for the local retail clerk, none of us are any good at our new jobs. (Particularly Marvin … he keeps over-roasting the filberts in his toaster oven.)

You guys know anything from the Real Book? No?

Not that I’m entirely new to the work. Long-time listeners of Big Green will be surprised to learn that we have, in fact, played covers in front of yawning audiences. I even have video demo tape of covers we did back in the early 1990s which I may even be imprudent enough to post someday (with some encouragement). We used to cover all sorts – Talking Heads, Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie, The Band, Neil Young, Taj Mahal, fuck all, you name it. What I’m doing now is more like what I did when I was 19 or 20 – folk-pop music from the 60s and 70s, which was, frankly, contemporary music when I was 19 or 20. Hard for me to believe that anyone wants to hear those songs again, but I don’t know …. maybe it’s been long enough. And I need some freaking coin in my hat, dude.

So start busking, right? Where’s my “Real Book”? I mean … someone else‘s Real Book.

Usual Rubbish

Staying afloat.

Where did I put that bucket? Is that mine you’re using? Well, give it back, damn it. Go find another one to carry your golf balls around in. Jesus H. Christmas.

Yes, greetings from the one-man bucket brigade here at the abandoned and partially submerged Cheney Hammer Mill. Perhaps you heard about all the flooding we got here in upstate New York after that Halloween storm? Well, the old water kept on rising in our neck of the woods, and it ain’t pretty. Trouble is, back when they built these old mills, they located them close to the water for a variety of reasons. Practical, yes …. back then. Now it’s a positive nuisance! The canal behind the Hammer Mill sloshed over in the first 24 hours, and we’ve been flapping around in scuba flippers ever since.

Why am I bailing this place out alone? Because everyone else, well … bailed, frankly. Can’t blame them – this sucks. They’re all off to higher ground, except for Marvin (my personal robot assistant) who has been scouring the neighborhood for discarded golf balls this past week. He’s somehow gotten into his brass skull that they have some intrinsic value. Anyway, he’s pretty much useless with respect to the flood waters. So is our resident mad scientist Mitch Macaphee, who traipsed off to Madagascar as soon as the going got a bit rough. I ask you …. what’s the use of having a mad scientist if the son of a bitch can’t control the goddamn weather? Am I right?

A bit damp for my taste. What about you?

Okay, so … the saving grace of this mill is that it’s shot full of holes by our crazy upstairs neighbors, so a lot of the water is just leaking out through the bullet holes. (And no, they’re not helping me with the flood waters. They’ve trundled off to crazytown for the weekend to see some relatives.) I’m helping it a bit with this bucket … literally the one bucket we have in the joint. Aside from the bucket we use to carry a tune around in. That’s a joke, son. You’re supposed to laugh at this juncture. Or perhaps not.

Anyhow, when the water level gets low enough in the studio, we can start working on those mixes again. Water and music don’t mix, in my experience. Aside from Yellow Submarine, Octopus’s Garden, and that Jimi Hendrix song from Electric Ladyland …. a merman I would be, or something. Help me out here. Grab a bucket, for crying out loud.