R.I.P.

Robert Craig Knievel
1938-2007

"... there's magic in my eyes."

Been listening to a lot of THE WHO SELL OUT lately. It's my favorite Who album, for one thing, which automatically makes it one of my favorite albums, period. And I finally tracked down the rare mono mix, which some people prefer. It's certainly different, but I haven't quite made up my mind yet.

You get a lot of different guitar solos, for one thing — especially in "Our Love Was." And a completely different version of "Mary Anne With The Shaky Hands." And it's a little punchier on the whole with a more pronounced high end, which I like.

One thing's for sure. I prefer it to the remastered CD, which has extra stuff stuck in the middle of the original album's sequence. Bad move. If I were President, that would be an offense that carried automatic jail time. But if you wanna stick some demos and stuff on the end of the original album, knock yourself out. Just don't mess with what I grew up listening to over and over and over till the neighbors could probably recite the lyrics to "I Can See For Miles." That's like painting a pack of Toastchee crackers and can of Copenhagen on the table in "The Last Supper."

However you hear it -- mono or stereo, vinyl or 8-track, CD or boosted off the Internet -- THE WHO SELL OUT is a masterpiece, taking the whole Pop Art thing The Who flirted with during that period and really running with it. From the tacky ads on the cover to the commecials between songs to songs that turn into commercials ("Odorono"), this thing is completely cuckoo. It's got Pete's Art School thing all over it. I can't imagine what it musta been like to hear this record brand new in 1967. (And as an Advertising practitioner, it's an weird justification of the kind of swill we crank out. See? It IS art!)

It's a shame they abandon the pirate radio theme toward the end of Side Two, but them's the breaks. It's also a shame that with all the Tommy Lifehouse Who's Next Quadrophenia rock opera concept album discussion, this one rarely gets mentioned — when it's maybe the time where Pete's concept really really works.

And Keith Moon goes completely nuts throughout with all sorts of engineer-y knob-twiddling giving his cymbols a real abrasive edge.

This LP has a soft spot in my heart because it was one of the first "rare" records I paid a "collector's" price for — $12 of my high school summer job hardearned (at Memory Lane Records outside Philly) for an original stereo Decca copy with the shrinkwrap still on it. It was a purchase I debated for days -- you'd think I was buying a Cadillac or something.

Have you heard the Petra Haden thing? It's great, a tribute this album certainly deserves.

Welcome to the new conference room.

I work in one of those glass-and-steel office buildings that Raleigh is so full of. These buildings all look the same -- and it doesn't seem like any are more than 15 years old.

The agency I work for occupies the entire second floor. But it's also where the lobby is (the first floor you enter through the parking deck), so we get quite a few strangers in our men's room. I went there today, and there were four guys already in there. Businessmen, each about 35. Khaki pants, blue oxford shirts, sportcoats, loafers. Hair full of product, standing up in a brush-looking kinda thing. (Come to think of it, they all looked a lot like sociopath/murderer/freak Scott Peterson.) Those briefcase-suitcase-airport-terminal-wheely things, all parked side-by-side outside the restroom door.

Two of these guys are at the urinals. The other two are waiting their turn behind them. I walk in, see all this humanity packed into the restroom and pause for a second. Do I want to wait? Should I come back later? Should I see if the stalls are occupied?

I step into the bathroom. Then it hits me. These four guys are all on their Blackberry/Treo/iPhones -- using their thumbs to frantically maneuver through emails or phone messages or child porn or whatever.

EVEN THE TWO GUYS WHO ARE PEEING!

I decided to come back later.

So, are some people arrogant enough to THINK their time is so valuable they can't even urinate without sharing their wisdom with the rest of the world? Do they think we're gonna be impressed? "Look at that, Austin. That's what I call multi-tasking!" 'Fraid not. It's more like "Oooooh! That guy's peeing and messing around with his cell phone!"

One thing's for sure. I ain't touching nobody's cell phone ever again. Who knows where it's been -- like, God forbid, a men's room in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Frame 352

From the Patterson-Gimlin film.

In Hell, everything is in Metrocolor.

When I was a kid, my Dad collected movies. He still does, but now they're on DVD, not 16 or 35mm film.

Came across this image the other day (on the wonderful, excessive, tech-y, geeky widescreenmuseum.com), and it really sent me back to those film days.

It's a 35mm frame from Stanley Kubrick's 2001. (That chilling scene right before the intermission where you realize HAL is reading their lips.) Squeezed for anamorphic projection. With a round reel changeover cue. With both the stereo magnetic and optical mono soundtracks. And printed on whatever crappy film stock Metrocolor stuff was dumped on. Seemed like no matter how well you cared for the stuff, it faded to this sickly pink over time. I've heard that some films from the period were this faded while still in their theatrical release!

The weird thing is, your brain will eventually correct the color for you — if the movie's any good. For instance, James and I watched THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM about 14 thousand times (including back-to-back showings from time to time), in a 'Scope 16mm faded-brown "Color by Pathe" print. And we never complained. You can now get it in a beautiful widescreen DVD, by the way.

Same with 2001. The redone transfer in that new Stanley box is supposed to be truly amazing. Haven't seen it yet (it's on my Christmas list).

But as for the film itself, I've seen that thing about 50 times. And movies just don't get no better.

This might be the best record of 2007.

Or maybe it's the best record of 1927, which is what it kinda sounds like.

Whatever, it's really good. And, of course, Levon Helm is a National Treasure and should be on the nickel instead of some stupid buffalo.

So do yourself a favor. Go get this here thing.

Herbie Rides Again Part 2

Halloween was a success. Jennifer got the costume done. Candy was accumulated. And Presley realized her dream to be Herbie The Love Bug.

In case you were wondering, yes, it is an extreme butt-ache to escort a six-year-old that's wearing a four-foot-long foam Volkswagen, as seen below. (Some of you may recognize the house.)


She's already making plans. Next year, it's the Pink Panther.

Herbie Rides Again.

For Halloween, my daughter Presley wanted to be Herbie. The Love Bug. Number 53. The Volkswagen from the Disney movie.

I'm happy to say that her love for Herbie was inspired by my own love for Herbie. I've been nuts about those movies since I saw them as a kid, and as a result, there's a 74 Beetle sitting in our driveway.

I'm also happy to report that my wife created a really incredible Herbie costume for Presley -- an masterpiece of foam and cloth and other stuff -- and I'll be sticking pictures of Presley and her outfit on here as soon as I can.

We'll be trick or treating in Cary, North Carolina's Scottish Hills, a neighborhood I lived in as a kid -- when I was first wigging out about those Herbie movies. God, that was a long time ago.

Thanks For Brian Wilson

Since my Mom passed away (back in March), there have been days that weren't so hot. Guess that just comes with the territory.

Somewhere in there, I heard of a thing that has really helped me out. Every day, I think of a person that has been a positive influence in my life, or has had a positive impact on my life, and I think about how grateful I am for that person. Some of these I've written down; others I organize in my head and leave it at that. (For some reason, I've gotten in the habit of doing this in the shower every morning.)

Don't remember what the specific outcome of this was supposed to be (I was pretty damn skeptical about it, to be honest). But so what? It's been a great exercise, and along the way I've figured out that I'm either truly blessed or lucky as hell -- because I've bumped into some outstanding people in my 43 years on this mudball.

Sprinkled among all the family members, mentors and friends have been artists, writers, musicians, Randolph Scott and even a hot rod builder or two. Today, I am truly thankful for Mr. Brian Wilson.

Why? Well, I could just say, "Go listen to 'Surf's Up' on the Beach Boys bootleg of your choice." Or I could tell you that one of my goals as a parent is to take my daughter to see Brian perform. Or I could point to the beautiful painting of Brian my good friend Tomas Gardner painted for me.

But, really, it's this. Brian went way, way out there -- to the very farrest-away edge -- to create some incredible music for us all. Sometimes it was really, really hard for him to come back for that edge.

We should all learn something from his story.

But maybe most important, we should all just dig his music.

Behold The Power Of Film!

Came across this image recently at moviewallpapers.net. It's of the HAL 9000 computer from Stanley Kubrick's mighty 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY. I thought it was cool and did indeed make it the desktop on my computer. No big deal, right?

Well, it hadn't been on there a day before the comments started. It was creeping people out! That picture, not a whole lot more than a red circle, was giving my co-workers the willies.

Stanley, you sure knew how to make movies. But I sure wish you'd made more of 'em.

Can't get it off my mind.

I'm thinking about some Char Grill. And that means I ain't thinking about much of anything else.

I'd opt for the real one, on Hillsborough Street. Let's see, uh, cheeseburger — mustard and pickle, fries and a large Dr. Pepper. (I don't do no Pepsi.) Then, if it turned out that that wasn't enough, I'd go back for a plain hot dog.

In recent years, The Char Grill and Watkins Grill have become two of the main reasons we don't pack up and split the Raleigh scene.

There used to be a big fat brown cat that used to hang out at The Char, bumming fries and stuff offa people. I've probably plugged a dozen orders of fries into that cat. Haven't seen him in a long while, so I bet he's dead. All those fries probably did him in. That, or some loser whipping his Camry around the back of The Char too fast. You know, now that the Char Cat is gone, you see a lot more Char Birds. A big afternoon for my little girl is to sit in the back of our Chevy pickup, tossing french fries to the Char Birds. If one happens to actually catch it in flight, man, that's living! Ah, the simple things.

This Car Knocks Me Out!

Snagged this image offa Jalopy Journal (again). It's the 1920 T-Bucket Ford that graced the cover of (THE) VENTURES IN SPACE, one of my all-time favorite albums.

It was built by Mr. Fred Steele from Maynard, Massachusetts — who they say drove it all the way to California for the photo shoot! His car was chosen because it was white and would show up in the night shot they wanted for the cover.

While this LP has been listed by many, many musicians as a huge influence on their playing (and Keith Moon supposedly played it to death), I'm sure this T was a big influence on a lot of hotrodders in the mid-60s. This car stands, to me at least, as THE quintessential Bucket T. I'm really glad to know it's still around and still in such good shape. Now, if I could just figure out how to get a ride in the thing!

Good News That Makes Me Kinda Sick.

Just saw on The Jalopy Journal that Ed Roth's Orbitron showcar has been found. And while I'm overjoyed to know that one of the icons of my youth and a real Work Of Art actually still exists (unlike a growing list of other cool stuff), it's evidently been through hell.

According to the Journal's blog: "Turns out the car spent some time at a Mexican carnival and finally ended up being used as a trash receptacle in front of an adult book store."

Ed and his work deserve so much better than that. The owner says he's gonna restore it. Let's hope.

My Kid (And Somebody Else's Hot Rod)

There's this hamburger place down the street from our house called Grill 57. On the third Saturday of the month, they have a thing they call a cruise-in. It's pretty much a car show kinda deal where the locals polish up their Camaro's and Mustangs and stuff, eat hamburgers and just generally hang out and rap about cars.

We stopped by today and snapped this picture of Presley and a primered Ford sedan (with a sloppily-chopped top and some ugly rust spots). Looks cool here, though. I like a bit of a homegrown look. But that radiator cap's gotta go.

Presley was also hip to a beater Volkswagen Type III Squareback. No wonder I love her so much.

Damn Yankees.

I hope Joe Torre goes somewhere else and wins The World Series next year. And I hope a buncha guys split the scene over the next couple months.

That's the least the Yankees deserve for treating Torre like dirt.

Just exactly what I need: a reason to live.

http://www.myspace.com/spinetinglermovie

Great Bands I Miss #74: The Backsliders

Raleigh's music scene has never turned out to be the rocket to stardom people keep thinking it's gonna be. Not for a lack of great musicians, like Vanilla Trainwreck or my sickeningly-talented friend Jeff Hart. Not for a lack of folks that have gone out there and done something, like say COC, Ryan Adams and, uhhhh... Clay Aiken. And not for some bands that made some great records that about 12 people ever got to hear.

Case in point. We used to have a band around here called The Backsliders. And, man, they were something else.
Around '96, they were playing out constantly, and I was a music geek, single, bored out of my mind and all too willing to spend another night at The Brewery. What first attracted me to The Backsliders was that they'd evidently had their lives changed by the same Buck Owens records I'd found at a yard sale about two years earlier. Their songwriting impressed me, too. As did the way Steve Howell played that beautiful F-hole Telecaster. Don Rich or Clarence White woulda been proud.

On the strength of their incredible live shows, they developed a big local following, and their Brewery gigs were always packed. And hot. And very, very great. So it made sense when they signed to Mammoth that they'd put out a live EP recorded there. It's a great introduction to the band, and for those of us who were there, a great reminder of how those misspent nights weren't so damn misspent after all.

They followed it with THROWIN' ROCKS AT THE MOON, produced by Pete Anderson. It's a really good record, but after all those live shows, it seemed a bit, well, mannered. They toured for it, and when they returned to The Brewery, they were still great. But somewhere in there, the rot set it. And before long -- in fact, halfway through recording the next record -- they were pretty much done.

Nowdays, when I think of what a show at a club is like, those Backsliders shows come to mind. And you know, a PBR just ain't been as good since.

Hot Rod Update: Still don't have one.

I'm sorry to say that my driveway is still hot rodless. And the way things are lookin', it's gonna be for quite some time. Crap.

However, my wife picked up another copy of this paperback at a thrift store the other day. HOT ROD by Henry Gregor Felsen. Written in the 50s and in print for ages. I read it one summer in Texas back in the mid-70s, during a period when my cousin Koby and I were all about hot rods and street rods and show cars and all that stuff. We built the models. Read the magazines (and all the Felsen books). Collected the cards, from Odd Rods to the Don Russ Hot Rod cards. And just generally daydreamed about these things. The fact that Strawn, Texas, is littered with raggedy old Fords and stuff probably inspired a lot of it.

Back to this paperback. HOT ROD is the story of Bud Crayne, a Midwestern highschool kid who works at a garage and has a cool set of wheels and is always wrenching on it to make it go faster, drive better and be safer. His girl's La Verne Shuler.

Over the years, I've gotten several editions of HOT ROD, with all sorts of really cool cover art. But this one, from an early 60s printing, I believe, just kills me. That has to be one of the all-time most bitchin' paintings ever. The sweet cars. The cool-looking guy in his t-shirt and rolled-up Levis. The kicked-up dust. And that girl! You can have your Picassos and your Monets and all that stuff. I want this thing hanging over my couch.

Wonder who painted it? I couldn't find a credit on the book. Whoever did it, I've probably stared at that art longer than it took 'em to paint it. A masterpiece. The ones for some of Felsen's other books -- STREET ROD or CRASH CLUB, for instance -- have great covers, too, that seem to be painted by the same artist. They're all great, but HOT ROD really does it for me.

Always thought it'd be boss to build a rod to match the one in this painting. That burgandy color. The fenders. The chrome firewall. Yeah.

Fly on the wall time, big time.

Came across this photo on Alex Cox's web site. Left to right, that's Sam Peckinpah (THE WILD BUNCH), cinematographer Giuseppe Rotunno (AMARCORD), Sergio Leone (THE GOOD, THE BAD & THE UGLY) and Monte Hellman (TWO-LANE BLACKTOP).

How'd you like to have been there, soaking up some of that?

If you haven't been to alexcox.com, go. It's one of the best movie-related sites I've been to. Not just because it's got tons of stuff about his own films, but because he's such a nut about great Westerns. There's even his never-published book on Spaghetti Westerns, which you can download as a big fat PDF.