Tag Archives: One Small Step

Usual Rubbish

Tour log 10.11

Good evening, Mr. Phelps. Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to read this blog entry from top to bottom without falling over backwards. This blog will self-destruct in ten seconds. Good luck, Jim!

Don’t mind that first paragraph. I sometimes rent my blog space out to sixties television shows. Has something to do with the space-time vortex through which we ordinarily travel when on these interstellar tours. Don’t ask me to explain – I’m not an actual scientist. And unlike some of my blog renters, I don’t even play one on television.

Anyway, here’s a rundown of how Big Green’s [INSERT NAME HERE] Interstellar Tour 2011 is going so far, ripped straight from the pages of my log book.  

10.08.2011 – Negotiated our way through the asteroid belt. We needed to lighten our load somewhat, so we tossed a few things overboard, like Marvin (my personal assistant)’s Lowery organ he borrowed from our one-time promoter and second keyboard player, Tiny Montgomery. Mitch also chucked all of the foodstuffs. He hates foodstuffs. Food, he likes, but foodstuffs… not so much. Anyway… we started the search for the Olive Garden in orbit around Jupiter.  Tough sledding.

10.09.2011 – Actually started a gig on time – first instance of this since, oh, 1992. A couple of weeks. We played the big red spot on Jupiter. Weather was awful (seems like it’s always stormy when we play there), but the Jovian audience is the greatest audience in the world… if “the world” can be thought of to include Jupiter itself. Paid in Belgian waffles. Hard times have hit up here as well, it seems.

10.11.2011 – Woke up around 18:00. Missed yesterday entirely. Our hyperdrive engine soiled the bed, so to speak, so we’re creeping along at about 25 miles an hour, headed for Titan. Should be a Titanic gig if we ever get there. For now, I look out the porthole and see space turtles passing us. Note to self: when ship lands on Earth, fire Mitch.

10.12.2011 – Jammed with sFshzenKlyrn on Titan. He’s big into Lenny Breau, now. Watches him on YouTube, which apparently is available on the planet Zenon. You heard it here first. Glad to see no waffles in the pay packet this time. No nothing, actually – I guess the Titanians have discovered currency trading… and subsequently discovered they were no good at it.  Traded all their currency for Legos. Legos valueless in the outer planets (unlike back home).

More later. Isn’t it always the case?

Usual Rubbish

Tin can alley.

Better take this slow, Mitch. Those suckers look sharp, real sharp. Sharp as a … a very sharp thing. Got a thesaurus? No, it’s not a creature from the Cretaceous. It’s a book with…. oh never mind.

Well here we are, on the first leg (or arm, perhaps) of Big Green’s much anticipated (by us) [INSERT NAME HERE] Interstellar Tour 2011 – an aimless romp through the chewy center of the galaxy and from one end of our voluminous songbook to the other. Oh yes, we’re going from A to Z on this one. That was something we settled on in the rehearsal cellar, mainly because we couldn’t decide what the hell to play. So Matt pulls out this massive loose-leaf tome of songs from hell, arranged alphabetically, and we started paging through. From All Saints Come to You’re Dripping… it’s a veritable cornucopian magnum opus of Big Green numbers from back in the day. Our set lists are the stuff of nightmares, frankly. (And who’s this Frank Lee you keep speaking of?)

Okay, so… we lifted off rightly enough. At least that’s what I’m told. I was unconscious… or so I’m told. (How would I know I was unconscious when I was unconscious?) No, I bit down on a cough drop and fell over backwards, I’m told, then was strapped into my couch on the rented spacecraft of doom Mitch procured for us. Actually, that was probably the best way to get me on board the sucker – feet first. I was all for getting some other type of transport. Perhaps a long elevator or some ultra-lift shoes – something, anything that would get us closer to Betelgeuse.

Well, now, I may have been overreacting to the spacecraft. It’s actually not that bad once you’ve gone a couple of million miles in it. By the time I woke up, we had gone that and then some. Of course, now we’re making our way through the asteroid belt – perhaps the pointiest part of the solar system – on our way to an engagement in the Jovian system. Which, incidentally, we may be a little late for, as this is taking longer than I’d thought likely. In truth, I’d rather our pilot, Mitch Macaphee, err on the side of caution rather than treat us like one of his lame experiments. (Did I say that? Let it pass, let it pass….)

For now, I’m just strumming on Matt’s guitar, waiting, waiting to be told to start performing, sharing this tin can with a dyspeptic crew of oddball mofos. Oh, the solitude of space travel! How I miss it.

Usual Rubbish

Yours truly.

Our rocket test failed. Only two weeks to launch date and the thing can’t get off the ground. Some kind of rust blight has destroyed our food supply. And the gravity in the Hammer Mill (at least around Mitch’s lab) is intermittent and untrustworthy. Sounds like a good time to open the old mail bag!

Here’s one from fairly close by – a little town called Philadelphia.

Dear Big Green:

Your music is full of obscure references to old television shows. Why don’t you work more historical subject matter into your songs? That might attract a higher quality listener (like me).

Respectfully yours,

Horton Pompideau (signed in what appears to be grape juice)

Well, Horton. I’m glad you asked that question. In fact, if I were to make up a phony listener question, it would likely be something very much like that. (Fortunately, my strong ethical sensibilities keep me from stooping that low.) Actually, we do reference historical events, such as in the song Quality Lincoln, which was featured on the first episode of our new podcast, THIS IS BIG GREEN.  The thing is – and this is important – that song is as much about television as all the other ones. It’s like history thrown into the blender of television and turned up to “frappe” speed with the lid left off. So big chunks of history are flying out of the thing, and what you’re left with is a musical slurry of factoids, mostly unrelated to one another. That’s the creative process, man. Live with it.

Here’s another one:

Dear Big Green:

Final notice. Remit outstanding balance of $47.85 by close of business 12 September 2011. Non-compliance may result in criminal or civil penalty.

Warmly,

Ivan Pitcairn, Collections Officer
Hegemonic Energy Consortium and Worm Farm.

Oh, hey Ivan – long time no hear from. Didn’t I tell you the check is in the mail? If you have a problem with that, take it up with the postal service.  I only write the checks, not deliver them.

Okay, we’ve got time for one more. This looks like another local query… very local…

Dear Joe:

Get your butt back in the studio. And stop making up those ludicrous letters. We’ve got work to do, you fricking idiot!

Gratefully yours,

Matt Perry

Hey… it’s a little hard to argue with this writer. I have been slacking. Back to my padded (or at least sound retardant) cell, then.