This is such a freakin’ good idea. See, when our “public servants” walk into office having “plans” and “introducing legislation,” they immediately start screwing stuff up, why is why Mayor Cass’s bold move should set a precedent, from POTUS on down to the local dogcatcher: once you’re elected and you have your inauguration (if you can get a zombie James Brown to play the inaugural ball, more power to ya), you take a powder for at least three months.

Godspeed, Mr. Mayor, but stay away from the drinks that have the umbrellas. You think they’re some sort of chick drink, but they will mess you up.

Now that I have the floor, I’d like to explain a little bit about how I became a citizen of Bootleg City, and how this week’s featured bootleg is a perfect example of why everyonr should live here. Actually, I’m not really a citizen, seeing as how I was here from the very beginning — I set my homestead here long before the city was a reality. They surrounded me. These guys came to my land.

And speaking of reality, it’s always been about live music for me. Seeing a band in concert playing their own music has to be the greatest thing in the world. I remember seeing a video of a thousand girls going nuts during a Beatles concert, yet I remember seeing the same girls going nuts when the Beatles got off a plane. Even early on, I instinctively knew that wasn’t about the music.

The first “live” songs I ever heard were on Frampton Comes Alive! (1976). The songs were nice enough, but I didn’t think they were anything special because I had no knowledge of the studio versions that came before. They were just songs on the car radio as my mom ran her errands and drove us kids around after school. I now know, of course, that very little was “live” about that album — it was more about selling an image (and, well, a record or two).

What sucked me in was Lynyrd Skynyrd’s One More From the Road (1976). I knew Skynyrd. The older stoner brother of a friend would play their albums nonstop in his room while the friend and I geeked out with comic books or something in another room. So I was familiar with Skynyrd, and I pretty much liked what I heard.

One day I heard songs coming through the wall that I recognized, but they sounded a little different; I realized that the guitar solo on “Gimmie Three Steps” was longer than usual. When it ended, I ran into the other room and asked my friend’s brother what it was.

“It’s the live version, little man.”

I wanted to hear the song again, so when it came around to the solo, I kneeled down to listen. I knew something was happening.

Then I heard it — the singer yelled out to the crowd, “Can he play?” as the extended solo began. I realized that when a song was played live, it was different. It was powerful. It was better.

But what sealed the deal was “Free Bird.” I know, it’s a cliche now, it’s a rock and roll joke. But you remember when you heard the live version for the first time, right?

“What song is it you wanna hear?” Ronnie Van Zant yelled. The Redneck Tabernacle Choir answered in unison: “‘FREEEEEEEEE BIRRRRRRRD’!!!”

If you think back, there was a silence in the crowd when Billy Powell started tinkling the piano. Playing those opening chords with a piano instead of an organ confused them, I guess. Then the audience recognized they were hearing the song they wanted and they fucking exploded.

I can still remember how I felt about that moment. It was the most fantastic thing I’d ever heard. Music, in a live setting, is an exchange between the band and the crowd, and those heartbeats between Powell kicking off “Free Bird” and the crowd realizing what it was changed my life.

I lived for live albums. I bought the studio albums of the bands I liked and I listened to what my friends recommended, but as I heard the studio versions of songs for the first time, one thought was always going through my mind: I wonder how this sounds live.

In the ’80s I became a concert junkie. I saw 40 to 50 major shows a year, hockey arena-type shows and countless theater shows. And when I got old enough, I hit the clubs.

The big ones, they were shows. Seeing a 30-foot inflatable dragon run through with a sword brandished by a five-foot Ronnie James Dio was a show. Watching Dr. Righteous, Lt. Varnish, and Colonel Hyde throw fake guitars through a wood chipper on Styx’s “Kilroy” tour was a great show. Billy Gibbons told off-color jokes between songs, David Lee Roth did karate workouts during the drum solos. It was all about the show. The show was whatever it took for the performers to connect with the audience.

But it still boiled down to the music created in the junction between the crowd and the band. I still live for those heartbeats between the start of a song and the recognition. However, I quickly learned that a live album isn’t the show.

Hell, for a while I thought every live album was a recording of an entire concert (I remember thinking that the folks who went to that one particular Foghat show had to be pissed they only got to hear six songs). As I started to read liner notes, I learned that live albums were often recorded on several different dates, with the band’s touring lineup changing from night to night. That wasn’t a recording of the show, and I found that live albums sometimes didn’t even contain the music of a show, thanks to overdubs and various other studio tricks, which ruined the magic for me (even my Skynyrd was overdubbed, sob sob). This was not what I wanted to hear — I wanted the ups and downs of an entire concert.

So, I got into boots. In the ’80s, if you were into boots, you were into the Grateful Dead and Led Zeppelin, and the Dead, live, were great. (Zeppelin was hit-or-miss.) But I wanted more.

I quickly graduated to the local NYC and Connecticut radio stations that played that Sunday-night concert from Westwood One. I got to hear Ozzy with Brad Gillis playing a ghost’s music from Memphis. I got Supertramp from LA, the Stones from Atlantic City. I taped what I could and listened to them all over and over again.

I know you’re now reading this and saying, “Dude, this isn’t a basement tape. What the hell does all this have to do with the Cranberries?” Simple — you may come across a bootleg by a band you don’t necessarily like or “get,” but when you hear them in concert you suddenly become a fan, at least for that show. Which brings us to this week’s boot …

I never liked the Cranberries very much. First off, there was the enormous amount of audio processing, plus Dolores O’Riordan’s voice, which more often than not was double-tracked to give it even more presence. “Linger”? Well, let’s just say that song was aptly named.

The Irish band’s sounds were studio enabled. To me, a little Cranberries went a long way, but for a few years in the early ’90s they were indie champs, with crossover appeal and an international following.

Not being a big Cranberries fan, my knowledge of the band is mostly limited to this particular concert from October 24, 1994. They were in Europe for some warm-up shows before their first major headlining tour of the United States, and they’d recently dropped No Need to Argue, their second major-label LP. Some of the reviews weren’t pretty.

Although some of the songs from the new album had been performed live for nearly a year, the Cranberries sound like they’re still getting the live-arrangement kinks worked out on other cuts you hear on the “Songs Against War” bootleg. To top it all off, the whole thing was broadcast live on German TV and radio.

On a side note, does anybody know anything about Alabama Halle, the club where the band performed on 10/24/94? It’s been around for years, and I think it might be named after Skynyrd’s most famous song. (No kidding.) Did some ex-military man from the States go back to where he was stationed during World War II and start a club? I don’t speak German, and the English-translated website offers very little in the way of clues. If anybody out there knows anything about this place, let me know, will ya?

So, were the Cranberries a one-hit wonder about to suffer the dreaded sophomore slump? Of course we know now that that second album pushed them from the level of international stars into the upper echelon of Friggin’ Huge. But in October of ‘94 they were unsure of where they stood; “Zombie,” the first single off No Need to Argue, was slowly creeping up the charts. Within a year, however, it would be the biggest hit of the band’s career.

If you ask my cynical self, “Zombie” is the work of a pragmatic producer: He stuck his head out the studio door during recording, wet his finger, and stuck it into the wind. The wind replied, “The kids are listening to grunge.” So Mr. Producer went back into the studio, dialed up the Big-Ass Marshall Stack Sound With Heavy Reverb setting on the mixing board, and “Zombie” was born.

On “Songs Against War,” thankfully, “Zombie” is allowed to breathe. Melody is so important in a pop song, and God only knows how many takes and edits were required to get O’Riordan to stay on key on the studio version. But in a live setting, melody takes a backseat to emotion. You can hear the anger and frustration in O’Riordan’s voice as she sings about the horrific subject matter.

“Dreams” was the Cranberries song you heard if you watched any kind of teen-angst TV show or movie in the mid- to late ’90s; here, it becomes a workout in discovering how much of a Celtic yodel is needed. And “Linger” is fantastic. It starts with a little intro that’s unfamiliar to me, but when the chords that actually start the song are played … well, like I said, those moments between the start of a song and the crowd’s recognition still make me smile.

All in all, each song presented here is far superior to any studio recording I ever heard from this band. There’s power here — band and audience worked as one to put on a show. And that’s why the live concert (and thus the “unauthorized recording” of it) is so vital to my listening pleasure. The Cranberries made me a fan, at least for one night, but just because that one night happened 15 years ago doesn’t mean it no longer counts.

At the tail end of ‘94 the Cranberries were on the threshold of the biggest step of their career, with a just-released album that wasn’t universally accepted right out of the gate. They eventually became huge. Their lead singer eventually became the richest woman in Ireland. And for a while there in the mid-’90s you could argue that they were one of the biggest bands in the world.

But not here. On “Songs Against War” they make mistakes. They were still trying stuff out. But in the end they came out and did their thing, and this bootleg is the historical document of that moment, never to be repeated, nor could it be. Which is why it’s the best Cranberries recording I’ve ever heard — until I find another concert, of course.

How
Sunday
Linger
Dreaming My Dreams
Daffodil Lament
I Can’t Be With You
Wanted
I Don’t Need
Ode to My Family
Ridiculous Thoughts
Waltzing Back
Zombie
Pretty
Everything I Said
Not Sorry
So Cold in Ireland
Empty
Dreams

I have some bonus tracks for you. (Consider it my payment to you for listening to me ramble.) While opening for Duran Duran on their first tour of America, the Cranberries were invited to play KROQ’s Almost Acoustic Christmas shows at the Gibson Amphitheatre in Universal City, California, on December 11 and 12, 1993. Perhaps the fact that their debut album, Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We?, had just gone platinum had something to do with it. Enjoy the Cranberries’ unplugged five-song set from the latter date:

Ode to My Family
Sunday
Linger
False
Empty

Thanks, Mayor Cass, for letting me take over for a bit and allowing me to wax philosophic about the glories that are live boots.

Now, as the Minister of Fast Food for Bootleg City, I’m off to see if I can convince Wendy’s to make me a triple Baconator. (Seriously, Wardlaw — Taco Bell? Ugh. Show some pride.)

Will it be the Jack Blades posable action figure? Dressed in authentic Midnight Madness-era stage attire, this incredibly lifelike replica of Night Ranger®’s bassist-vocalist comes preloaded with seven Jack Blades catchphrases. Pull his string and you’ll hear these unforgettable classics:

“You can stiiiiiilllll ROCK in Amer-i-caaaaaa!”

“DON’T tell me you love meeeeeee!”

“Looks like what you need right now is a TOUCH of mad-ness!”

“You still got some more RAWK left in you to-night?”

Plus three more exciting Blade-isms, all delivered by the unstoppable Jack Blades! (Requires two AA batteries to start. Batteries not included.)

But wait — there’s more!

New for the holidays, Dawn Patrol Toys is pleased to unveil the first-ever Alan “Fitz” Fitzgerald action figure. Modeled after Night Ranger®’s legendary keyboard player, often referred to as ”the original Silent Bob,” Fitz comes with his own miniature synthesizer, shades, and beret.

And you’ll be lookin’ extra cool wearing the bonus pair of signature Alan “Fitz” Fitzgerald aviator sunglasses. These super boss blockers are a replica reproduction of the snazzy specs Fitz wore onstage at every single Night Ranger® gig as well as when he played keyboards behind the curtain for Sammy Hagar-era Van Halen. Finally, your chance to look mysteriously cool without having to say a single word!

You’ll be motorin’, for sure, but you’re probably asking yourself: What will be the price for flight? And what will you be listening to as you’re driving through the night on the way to another dreaded dinner at your in-laws’ house?

If Popdose has any choice in the matter, you’ll be listening to this week’s vintage bootleg, “Live Wishes.” Back in 1985 Blades and drummer Kelly Keagy, Night Ranger®’s other lead vocalist, were motorin’ full throttle toward superstardom with a slew of hits, including the song that powered every backseat make-out session and slow dance in 1983, “Sister Christian.”

“Motorin’,” as referenced in the song, seems innocent enough at first glance: you’re in your car driving around with your friends, just looking for a little fun on a Friday night. But according to legend, there’s a strong possibility you’ll find yourself driving around in that very same car, on that very same Friday night, looking instead for … casual sex! Suddenly, things aren’t feeling so innocent anymore, are they? And worse, perhaps your brother finds out about it, and goes home to write a song about your experience:

Babe, you know you’re growing up so fast
And mama’s worrying
That you won’t last to say
Let’s play

Brotherly concern translated into a top-five hit for Night Ranger®, and 25 years later “Sister Christian” continues to (inappropriately) touch music fans, like the ones who’ve left comments at SongFacts.com:

“Until recently, I had thought this was a religious song due to the title, and I misheard the lyric ‘You’ve got him in your sights’ as ‘And God gave you your sight’.” —Eric from Bend, Oregon

“Originally, I thought Kelly was singing ‘Motorhead ….’ haha” —Tim from Indianapolis

“I love it when they get to ‘Moterin what’s your price for flight’ I love the rocking part its so cool!” —LynnRocks20091

And in the end, rocking is all we really want to do, even if we’re not quite sure how to spell some of the words. (Consult your doctor if Moterin causes you to rock for more than 48 consecutive hours.) Indeed, the quintet of rock gods, originally dubbed Night Ranger® by the exalted rulers of the planet PWRChord, were beamed down to the Bay Area in the early 1980s with a single mission: to deploy blistering rock jams with melodic keyboard overtones to smoky arenas worldwide (these days they seem to focus most of their attention on the island nation of Japan).

“Live Wishes” is taken from a surviving audio document of one of Night Ranger®’s greatest triumphs. Recorded at the Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre in Irvine, California, on September 25, 1985, the band opens the show “dressed to kill and looking dy-no-mite” (which sounds kind of familiar for some reason …) as they play “7 Wishes.” Thirteen songs later the audience has been forced to surrender, but only after promising to withhold actual expressions of love. For nearly 90 minutes (conveniently edited due to compact-disc space limitations), Night Ranger® kicks severe amounts of ass.

So you say you’ve been looking for proof that you can still rock in America? We the people of Bootleg City pledge that if you download the following 14 tracks and play them at a volume slightly above 11, you’ll discover that thy will to rock shall be done.

7 Wishes
This Boy Needs to Rock
Sentimental Street
Sing Me Away
Rumours in the Air
Four in the Morning
When You Close Your Eyes
Faces
Eddie’s Comin’ Out Tonight
Night Ranger
Touch of Madness
(You Can Still) Rock in America
Sister Christian
Don’t Tell Me You Love Me

My victory even got some coverage from Associated Press national political writer Liz Sidoti, who wrote, “A slew of cities selected mayors …”

A win-win all around!

No question it was an exciting campaign right up to the very end, what with David Byrne dropping out of the race just one day before the election. He said it was a show of solidarity with Afghanistan’s Abdullah Abdullah, another big fat quitter, but I think he just couldn’t take the heat.

Green Party candidate Bob Marley, on the other hand, was a cool customer, never raising his voice at any of the debates or even bothering to give a concession speech Tuesday night. Then again, he’s been dead since 1981. (In case you were wondering, the “green” his party represents isn’t exactly the kind Ralph Nader supports.)

And then there’s Matt Wardlaw. Poor, poor Matthew. He didn’t take his defeat very well. He must have still been drunk when he shot me this e-mail Wednesday morning: “You must not have seen the final poll results, and apparently the steel-toed boot that I hired to kick your sorry ass out of Bootleg City went AWOL.”

Sorry, Mr. Wardlaw, but the guys I hired from Afghanistan’s Independent Election Commission say I received 99.9 percent of the votes that were cast, compared to Mr. Marley’s 33.5 percent and your -32.5 percent, so don’t get your hopes up about a recount — numbers don’t lie. People do, but not the guys from the IEC. (They told me they used the metric system.)

Mr. Wardlaw went on (and on and on) in his e-mail to say, “Nevertheless, I will be saving Mr. Marley a spot in my cabinet, and we’ll be working together, along with Mr. Byrne, to deliver a newly improved Bootleg City that all of the citizens will be able to be proud of, at long last.”

You mean your kitchen cabinet, Matthew? Because that’s the only place you’ll be stuffing Jamaica’s most famous human export, though it’s obviously not a proper resting place for the country’s ambassador of reggae.

This week’s featured bootleg is James Brown & the Soul Generals with Maceo Parker, performing at Klein Auditorium in Bridgeport, Connecticut, on November 27, 1987. It was a charity concert to benefit disabled and handicapped children, and the Godfather of Soul donated his entire paycheck for the night to the cause.

That’s how we Georgia boys roll, you see. Not that I’ve ever donated any paycheck of mine to a worthy cause, unless you count Bootleg City’s Anti-Prostitution League. It’s run by former prostitutes, but I was under the impression that it was a “fight fire with fire” sort of deal. It turns out I was wrong. (The less said, the better.)

The J.B. bootleg comes from Matt Boles, who wrote me from somewhere in the Ozark Mountains on Wednesday to say, “Well, man, I checked out the CNN. They kept talking about some bullshit election in Virginia and another in South Canada or someplace like that. But I finally saw it along the scroll, dominating exit polling data that gave the experts the ability to call you the projected winner with 10 percent of the precincts reporting.” Wow, even more national coverage!

Matt B. added, “I realized I actually did some work with that very charity back when I was in high school. I was a freshman in college by the time this concert came around. I would like to think I could have been there. Small freakin’ world, huh?”

Yes, it is, Matt. And life is too short, which is why I’ve decided to take my vacation now. Election campaigns can really take it out of a mayor. Besides, the honeymoon always ends so quickly, which is right when the criticism begins. Who needs that kind of pressure? That’s why I’ve decided to spend my first 100 days in office out of the office this term. In my place you’ll be hearing from some other citizens of Bootleg City, like Mr. Wardlaw, as well as government-distrusting mountain man Matt Boles, the “self-proclaimed Minister of Entertainment and Fast Food” for our fair city. See you in January!

[opening jam]
[intro]
Give It Up or Turnit a Loose
Living in America
Doing It to Death
Georgia on My Mind
Get on the Good Foot
What My Mama Said
Make It Funky
There’s No Business Like Show Business
[civic announcement]
How Do You Stop
I Got the Feelin’
It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World
Super Bad
Take Me Out to the Ball Game
What My Mama Said [Pt. 2]
What My Mama Said [Pt. 3]
Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag
Please, Please, Please
I Got You (I Feel Good)
I Got You (I Feel Good) [Pt. 2]
Out of Sight
[outro]
[closing jam]

Before I leave the office without actually leaving office, I’ll leave you with a campaign contribution from the King of Grief. I was hoping he’d contribute cash, seeing as how he’s royalty and all, but instead he gave me a remix of Yes’s “Leave It,” as heard in the end credits of the band’s 9012Live concert:

Leave It [Hello, Goodbye Mix]

Everyone except the mayoral candidates whose asses I’m totally going to kick on November 3, that is. On that note, here’s my final attack ad of the campaign season:

Last summer Matt Wardlaw was quoted as saying, “Taco Bell and I have a relationship that dates back to an infamous church youth group trip in the late ’80s.”

So what else is Matt Wardlaw not telling us that he already did tell us but not without it being taken out of context?

For starters, just last week Mr. Wardlaw told Mayor Robert Cass, “Not if you were the last immigrant grocer on Earth!” But why does Mr. Wardlaw hate immigrant grocers? And does he plan to molest them the way he molested 14 innocent Mexican-American tacos in 20 minutes back when Republicans were still in the White House?

On November 3, don’t vote for a molester of tacos or any other foods made by hardworking, minimum wage-earning, American Dream-having immigrants. Vote for Robert Cass. Vote for him for Mayor.

Paid for by the Committee to Re-elect a Mayor Who Isn’t Addicted to Vinyl or Any Other Mind-Altering Substance.

Start packing up your campaign headquarters, Mr. Wardlaw, Mr. Marley, and Mr. Byrne. Just like my last four years in office, this one’s gonna be a no-brainer. (I should probably use my prize money to hire a new speechwriter. Come to think of it, why does my current speechwriter keep mentioning prize money in my speeches? Was I supposed to get a check back in 2005 when I won the first time? Ed McMahon’s dead, so now what? Of all the luck …)

Remember, vote for your mayor on Tuesday. Vote “Yes!”

And speaking of Yes, this week’s bootleg is an audio rip of the prog-rock band’s 9012Live concert film (1985), directed by Steven Soderbergh four years before he made his first feature film, Sex, Lies, and Videotape. And speaking of sex, lies, and videotape, I’ve heard there’s a spicy Mexican combination plate featuring all three in Matt Wardlaw’s sordid past, but why don’t you ask him yourself, voters — I’m not one to spread gossip.

Once again, vote “Yes!” on Tuesday. But not for Wardlaw. Even though he’s the one giving you Yes. Vote “No!” for the Yes guy. (Please, try to keep up.)

The footage on 9012Live was recorded September 28-29, 1984, at Northlands Coliseum in Edmonton, Canada. I’m pretty fond of “City of Love” myself, because that’s how I like to think of Bootleg City. Of course, there’s not enough love for everybody here, which is why Matt, Bob, and David will be owners of lonely hearts come Tuesday.

Cinema
Leave It
Hold On
I’ve Seen All Good People
Changes
Owner of a Lonely Heart
It Can Happen
City of Love
Starship Trooper [Pt. 1]
Starship Trooper [Pt. 2]
[end credits]

With four candidates vying to be this city’s next mayor — and each one of us drawing roughly 25 percent of the vote in the latest tracking polls — I had no choice but to create negative attack ads (as opposed to positive attack ads, which usually feature footage of me engaging in surprise tickle fights). They’ll begin airing next week, but because I like you so much and know you’ll vote for me simply because you need all the friends you can get (we’ll discuss your wardrobe later), I’d like to offer you a verbal preview of each ad.

First up, the most inspirational opponent of the bunch but also, oddly enough, the least lively:

Bob Marley wants to be your next mayor. If elected, he promises to “stir it up” at City Hall and restore “one love” to Bootleg City.

All he asks is that voters “get up, stand up” to elect Mayor Robert Cass out of office. But how can Mr. Marley get up or stand up when he’s been lying down … for the last 28 years?

Could you be loved by Bob Marley? Isn’t the more urgent question “Could you be dead, Bob Marley?”

The answer is yes. Because he is.

On November 3, vote for a candidate who’s still alive. Vote for Robert Cass for Mayor.

Paid for by the Committee to Re-elect a Mayor Who’s Never Shot a Sheriff.

Next up, the oh-so-worldly David Byrne:

Once in a lifetime, a mayoral candidate comes along who can truly make a difference.

David Byrne is not that candidate.

In 1977, during a failed bid for the office of county dogcatcher, Mr. Byrne told reporters, “It’s gonna make life easy for me … I will relax along with my loved ones … Don’t you worry ’bout me.”

Do you really want a mayor who expects to relax once he’s elected? A mayor who will spend more time in Africa pretending to care about their music than in the city he pretends to call home?

If David Byrne doesn’t worry about the government, who will?

Don’t let David Byrne build a road to nowhere. On November 3, take him to the river and drop him in the water. (Metaphorically speaking, of course. Don’t hurt the guy or anything. Mayor Robert Cass doesn’t need another martyr like Bob Marley on his hands.)

Paid for by the Committee to Re-elect a Mayor Who Isn’t a Psycho Killer. (Qu’est-ce que c’est?) A Mayor Who Won’t Kill You. (Merci beaucoup!)

I also have an attack ad for my third and final opponent, Matt Wardlaw, but I’ll save it for next week just to keep him in suspense, not to mention awake and paranoid at all hours so he can tire himself out before the final push. Besides, I’m already showcasing one of his many donated bootlegs this week: Bad Company, performing at Hard Rock Live in Orlando, Florida, on May 21, 1999. Hmm … Matt Wardlaw … bad company … These attack ads pretty much write themselves, as you can see.

A supergroup formed in the early ’70s by members of Free, King Crimson, and Mott the Hoople, Bad Company took their name from director Robert Benton’s 1972 Western, which stars a fresh-faced Jeff Bridges. (The band also named one of their songs after themselves. Or they named it after the movie as well. Which leads me to wonder if Jeff Bridges has an unreleased pet project called “Living in a Box” sitting in a studio vault somewhere in Hollywood.)

I suggested to Mr. Wardlaw that he take his new campaign slogan from the title of another film starring “the Dude.” But which one? The Last American Hero? The Contender? Iron Man? What about Stay Hungry? Against All Odds? Fearless?

Or how about 1982’s Kiss Me Goodbye? I’ll take a rain check on the kiss, Matthew, but on Tuesday, November 3, it will be time for you, Bob, and David to say goodbye to your political hopes and dreams in Bootleg City. (I love being a politician. It’s like a free pass to be the cattiest bitch the world has ever known.)

Can’t Get Enough
Honey Child
Rock Steady
Ready for Love
Tracking Down a Runaway
Shooting Star
Seagull
Soul of Love
Movin’ On
Hammer of Love
Young Blood
Hey Hey
Feel Like Makin’ Love
Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy
Run With the Pack
Bad Company
Live for the Music

I’m relieved, of course, that the children are back safe and sound — as is my official hagiographer, who was still working off his hangover a couple hours ago — but I can’t help but be disappointed in Mr. Anderson’s timing. Sorry to nitpick, but if you’re going to steal a town’s entire tween-and-under population in an election year, it makes more sense to return them the day after Halloween, right?

That way there are only a few days left until the election, the whole abduction can be blamed on a combination of evil spirits and a Sweet Tarts sugar high, and the incumbent mayor can look like a hero for never giving up hope that the children would be returned, even if, technically, he gave up hope a half hour after they disappeared. Besides, with 18 days left until the election, there are countless ways my opponents or random circumstance could force me to screw up again through no fault of my own.

Speaking of Halloween, I’ve picked up another celebrity endorsement! It’s a … well, it’s a puppet. A 12-year-old boy puppet named Spook House Dave, to be exact.

Look, I know he’s not exactly Miss Piggy, but he’s a sweet, funny kid, and besides, do you know how hard it is to even get Miss Piggy on the phone? She’s like the Oprah of felt-and-foam-based endorsements. Ain’t gonna happen, no matter how many strings I pull.

This week’s bootleg comes to you courtesy of Matthew Boles — it’s Motörhead performing at Pontushallen in Luleå, Sweden, on November 27, 2000. Fans of umlauts and “angel As,” this is your week! Typography fans who are still angry about Ikea changing its font from Futura to Verdana, this is your week too! And fans of frontmen who are even scarier than Ian Anderson at first sight, you can’t go wrong with Lemmy Kilmister. Just keep him away from the children of Bootleg City, please.

By the way, I’d like to dedicate Motörhead’s song “No Class” to my opponent Matt Wardlaw, who will no doubt dedicate “Shoot You in the Back” to me. (No surprise there.) I’d also like to dedicate “Over Your Shoulder” to my opponent Bob Marley, who’s run a truly inspirational campaign this fall, especially when you consider the fact that he’s dead. (Medicinal marijuana really can work some minor miracles, folks.) I’ll certainly be looking over my shoulder for him on election day.

I’m just kidding — he doesn’t stand a chance. (I would say “He’s a dead man,” but really, what’s the point?) I’m sure Mr. Wardlaw would like to dedicate “Killed by Death” to Mr. Marley, but that doesn’t sound very sportsmanlike, now does it?

As for our other opponent, David Byrne, he’s no doubt a fan of “Going to Brazil,” since that’s where his head’s been this entire campaign. Voters, do you really want a mayor who always thinks global, never local? After all, if you throw me out of office on November 3, you’ll be doing yourselves and the environment a disservice. I mean, why add to Bootleg City’s waste management problem when you can simply recycle?

We Are Motörhead
Bomber
No Class
I’m So Bad (Baby I Don’t Care)
Over Your Shoulder
Civil War
Metropolis
Shoot You in the Back
God Save the Queen
Born to Raise Hell
Damage Case
Going to Brazil
Iron Fist
Killed by Death
Ace of Spades

… My sources have just informed me that Mr. Rooney is still alive. I’m sure they’re wrong, but I don’t want to embarrass them, so I’ll check Wikipedia after I get home.

So far the only endorsement I’ve gotten is from Jethro Tull frontman Ian Anderson, who made the trip to Bootleg City only after I convinced him that I’d gotten my hands on the world’s oldest instrument, a 35,000-year-old flute discovered by archaeologists in Germany last year. Once he arrived, I explained that my e-mail contained a few extra zeros, not to mention a gratuitous three and five.

Mr. Anderson wasn’t thrilled about traveling thousands of miles to receive a brand-new flute made in the Little Germany neighborhood of Bootleg City, but he did seem to enjoy the flute whipping he gave me, which was apparently a first. I was inspired to create a new tourism campaign with the following tag line: “Bootleg City: Experience the Unexpected (Just Be Prepared for Some Violence).”

I convinced Mr. Anderson to stay and give a talk to all the children of our city about the consequences a rock musician faces when he continues to play flute solos into his 60s. I left the City Auditorium during his speech so I could send my condolences to all the former Mrs. Mickey Rooneys of the world, but when I returned, the children were gone.

Some of these kids’ parents are still waking up from that disastrous Wizard of Oz screening. What am I going to tell them? “Sorry, folks, but a modern-day Pied Piper whose band won a Grammy in 1989 for Best Hard Rock/Metal Performance, Vocal or Instrumental, has run off and taken every child in the city with him. It’s a mystery as to why. I mean, everybody knows that award should’ve gone to Metallica.”

My opponents are going to have a field day with this one, especially Matt Wardlaw. He didn’t provide me with today’s bootleg — which was recorded for WMMR 93.3 FM at the Tower Theater in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, on November 25, 1987 — but I’m sure he’ll get a good laugh at my expense from the second song on Jethro Tull’s set list.

Then again, I’ve gotten lots of good laughs from the fact that Mr. Wardlaw’s sole celebrity endorsement, Simon Le Bon, ran off to Rio last week for some easy Olympics tie-in money as soon as the IOC made its decision about the 2016 Summer Games.

So sad, Matthew. Maybe Warren Cuccurullo is looking for someone to get behind this fall? It never hurts to ask, you know.

Songs From the Wood
Thick as a Brick
Steel Monkey
Farm on the Freeway
Heavy Horses
Living in the Past
Serenade to a Cuckoo
Budapest
[instrumental]
Wond’ring Aloud
Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day
Jump Start
Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young to Die!
Aqualung
Locomotive Breath
Wind Up

First there was the August catnapping that turned out not to be a catnapping. (Cats who take naps don’t make me paranoid, hence the use of the compound word. Nevertheless, they’re always watching. Don’t forget that.) But then came September’s disastrous outdoor screening of The Wizard of Oz and those particularly potent poppies planted purposely in front of the screen.

You could chalk that one up to garden-variety stupidity on my part since I’m the one who ordered the poppies, but let the records and tapes and whatnot show that I’ve never tried to hide that stupidity from my constituents, nor have I ever been smart enough to know where to hide it in the first place. But what if the poppies were switched out by one of my opponents in the upcoming mayoral race to make me look bad?

What if it was a dirty trick played by David Byrne, the talking head who impresses everyone with his inhumanly broad shoulders and worldly knowledge of worldly music? (Remind me to throw some money the anti-birthers’ way so they can do a background check.) Or what if Bob Marley’s trying to take my job from beyond the grave? If former attorney general John Ashcroft could lose a Senate seat to a nonbreather in 2000, what chance would I have in a town like Bootleg City against a pro-marijuana candidate? The man even has a self-penned campaign song called “Legalize It.” (Check yo’ self before you check my facts, Marley fans.)

Or what if it was Matt Wardlaw, the upstart candidate who entered the race this week? Isn’t it an odd coincidence that he’s the one who provides me with new bootlegs week after week? None of these “donations” were really for “the people,” were they, Citizen Wardlaw? I think this guy’s trying to sabotage my campaign so voters will give me the boot on November 3! Just take a look at the compilation he sent me this week — it’s volume three of Y100 Sonic Sessions, taken from live-in-the-studio recordings made  for WPLY 100.3 FM in Philadelphia in 1999.

I mean, for the love of Christ 2.0, a.k.a. Scott Stapp, Creed’s on this thing! Creed! The first band in rock history to actually be sued for sucking! Art is subjective, but apparently some fans at Creed’s concert in Rosemont, Illinois, on December 29, 2002, decided, “Nope, nothing subjective about this. Tonight’s performance just flat-out suuuuuuucks. And now you’re going to pay for it, Creed.”

Why are you dropping this A-bomb on me, Matt? What did I ever do to you? Look, if you want to play rough, we can play rough. But let me warn you, sir — if you have any Sanford or McGreevey or Letterman-type skeletons in your closet, you’d better bring them out now, because my team will find them. And if there are any Polanski-type skeletons in there, you might as well leave town immediately. For the next 30 days the gloves are off, Mr. Rock and Roll Hall of Shame! (Matt’s from Cleveland. He’ll never recover from that attack.)

I Alone (Live)
Malibu (Hole)
Kickin’ My Heart Around (The Black Crowes)
So Pure (Alanis Morissette)
Ana’s Song (Open Fire) (Silverchair)
Only Happy When It Rains (Garbage)
Our House (Madness)
Concertina (Tori Amos)
The Way (Fastball)
Kind & Generous (Natalie Merchant)
What’s This Life For (Creed)
All for You (Sister Hazel)
Someone’s Daughter (Beth Orton)
Don’t Drink the Water (Dave Matthews)

Me: You two have been making music together for nearly 40 years. What do you consider to be the secret to your success?

Oates: Well, Daryl and I have a healthy balance of give and—

Hall: (interrupting) Take one-fourth of John and three-fourths of me and you’ve got the winning formula. We’re the Beatles of the post-Woodstock generation, no question. It was the same with them in their day: three-fourths Lennon and McCartney, one-fourth George, and one-fourth Ringo.

Oates: I’m pretty sure that adds up to—

Hall: The most successful rock ‘n’ soul group of all time, right after the Beatles. Exactly.

Me: Alright … well, speaking of the Beatles, they achieved quite a lot in the ten years they were together, but you get a sense that after a while they felt overwhelmed by the whole aura of “the Beatles.” Did you two ever consider breaking up so you could establish your own musical identities?

Oates: Well, again, there’s the balance—

Hall: (interrupting again) Like tires, you know? Balancing tires. Some people say John’s the third wheel in this group, but he’s the fourth — because I’m three-fourths of the winning formula, right? We’re not a bicycle, we’re a … Well, I guess you need four tires for a car … and I don’t think of us as a tricycle, so … Okay, here’s the new formula — I’m four-fourths of why we’re successful, and John’s one.

Oates: That still equals five-fourths.

Hall: Hey, how ’bout that — just like the Beatles!

Oates: We’re not the Beatles. Please, just— … For the record, I don’t think we’re the Beatles.

Hall: Confidence, John, confidence! So what if no one buys your solo albums? You’ve always got us. And the sound I created for us. Hey, Mr. Mayor, did you know that? That I created the Philly soul sound? [Philadelphia International Records founders Kenneth] Gamble and [Leon] Huff came first, but my spiritualist says there’s a strong chance I was their great-great-grandmother in a previous life, so in a way I gave birth to them, and then they gave birth to my sound before John and I got the chance to—

Oates: (screaming) Enough! For God’s sake, what the hell is wrong with you?!

Hall: What? What’d I say?

Oates: I can’t do this anymore.

(Oates yanked off his lapel mike and stormed out of the room.)

Hall: I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Mayor. That was uncalled for.

Me: It certainly was. (screaming) Where do you get off treating a beautiful, sensitive artist like that?

Hall: Man, what is with you short people today?

Me: That’s what I’m talking about — you have a partner who’s on the small side who doesn’t have a Napoleon complex and this is how you treat him?

Hall: Hey, he knows where his bread’s buttered.

Me: He told you that?

Hall: Well … not in so many words.

Me: Daryl, I’m about to administer some tough love to you. Can you handle it?

Hall: Of course I can. As four-fourths of the most successful rock ‘n’ soul—

Me: Stop. Stop it. Stop talking. Stop bragging. And for God’s sake, stop using terms like “rock ‘n’ soul.” Look, everybody knows you’re a terrific singer and a talented musician. No one’s questioning that. So cut it out with the ego trips. You’ve accomplished a lot. Your legacy is secure.

Hall: What do you mean, “accomplished”? Why the past tense?

Me: Oh, c’mon, you don’t really think–

Hall: You’re not going to call us “1980s pop superstars” in the intro of this thing when it goes online, are you?

Me: No. Why would– … No, of course not.

Hall: (screaming) I knew it! How am I supposed to gain any traction as Hall & Oates– I mean, how can John and I gain any traction when people keep dwelling on the past? Yeah, the past was great. We were bigger than the Beatles and Jesus combined. But this thing is just beginning. The best is yet to come! Why can’t you see that?

Me: What I see is a man who should be proud of all he’s done. A man who shouldn’t let the critics get to him.

Hall: Wait, the critics don’t like me?

Me: No, no, I meant the old critics, not the new ones. Not the ones who discovered you through Chromeo or, like, the Death Cab for Cutie guy’s semi-ironic appreciation.

Hall: “Semi-ironic”? That’s not what [Death Cab's Ben] Gibbard said to me!

Me: What I read on Pitchfork a few years ago sounded semi-ironic, but maybe it was just me. Forget I said it, okay? Bottom line is, people love Hall & Oates, even if they don’t know it. C’mon, let’s stay focused here. We’re starting to make a dent.

Hall: Says you!

Me: Yeah, that’s right! Says me! And me also says you need to go find John and apologize for treating him like he’s a second-class citizen. Because as I recall, nobody’s bought your solo albums recently, either.

Hall: Whoa. That’s low, Mr. Mayor.

Me: No. That’s life, Daryl.

(I then put my hand on an adult-education textbook for emphasis. Daryl acted like he wasn’t impressed, but he totally was. Right then Oates walked back into the room.)

Oates: I, uh … I think my comb fell out of my back pocket. You guys didn’t see it, did you?

Me: Daryl, now that John’s back, why don’t you tell him what you just told me?

Hall: What, about us being bigger than Jesus and the Beatles? That’s old news to John, but if you want, here’s the backstory: see, in 1984 Jesus visited me in a dream and said, “I’ve decided to pass the torch to–”

Me: No! John, Daryl’s really sorry for the way he acted.

Oates: No, he’s not.

Me: Yes. He is. Tell him, Daryl.

Hall: Hey, he’s the one who interrupted a great interview.

Me: It wasn’t that great. Tell him!

Hall: John … I’m … I’m sorry, you know.

Me: And nobody cares about Hall if there’s no Oates.

Hall: Well, I don’t know about–

Me: You don’t know what you’d do without him? Neither do I. Because you guys are a team. You need each other. And people still need your music in their lives. Your music — the music you made together.

Hall: Yeah … yeah, he’s right … just like my great-great-grandchildren, Gamble and Huff. It’s written in the stars!

Me: Sure, whatever makes you understand the yin-and-yang concept.

Hall: Funny story — the drawing of yin and yang came from a cocktail napkin I scribbled some lyrics on in 1971.

Me: Aaaaagggghhh!!!!! I will not let you break my brain, lion face!

Oates: Hey, put the letter opener down!

(I re-sheathed the letter opener and backed away from Hall’s jugular.)

Oates: Look, it’s cool, Mr. Mayor. The truth is, my book agent loves these stories, and I got a good advance on my memoirs thanks to those Jesus bits. So keep ‘em coming, Daryl.

Hall: You mean it?

Oates: Yeah, brother. I do.

(Hall and Oates grabbed each other’s right hand as if they were about to arm wrestle, just like on the cover of their Rock ‘n Soul Part 1 LP. Then they stared at each other and began to sweat profusely, just like on the back cover of their H2O LP. I got the impression that they always make up this way.)

Me: Woo-hoo! I feel like Bill Clinton negotiating peace between Israel and Palestine.

Oates: Yeah, ’cause that solved everything.

Hall: Mr. Mayor, did you know Private Eyes was Arafat’s favorite album? …

… And so it went. But the fact that Daryl mentioned Private Eyes, one of the albums he made with John, instead of 3 Hearts in the Happy Ending Machine, his 1986 solo album, showed real progress on his part. I was proud of what we accomplished that day in Bootleg City, and what H2O will continue to accomplish as partners.

This week’s featured bootleg, courtesy of Addicted to Vinyl’s Matt Wardlaw once again, is an audio rip of Hall & Oates’s Rock ‘n Soul Live DVD, which also contains their 1985 Live at the Apollo performance, featuring David Ruffin and Eddie Kendrick(s) of the Temptations. The Rock ‘n Soul Live concert was recorded in March of ‘83 at the Montreal Forum, and the Apollo Theater set was taped on May 23, 1985.

Rock ‘n Soul Live
Family Man
Diddy Doo Wop
Italian Girls
Kiss on My List
She’s Gone
Art of a Heartbreak
One on One
You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling
I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)
Sara Smile
Wait for Me
Maneater
Private Eyes
Open All Night
You Make My Dreams
Room to Breathe

Live at the Apollo
[introduction]
You Make My Dreams
Get Ready (with Eddie Kendrick)
Ain’t Too Proud to Beg (with David Ruffin)
The Way You Do the Things You Do (with David Ruffin and Eddie Kendrick)
My Girl (with David Ruffin and Eddie Kendrick)
Everytime You Go Away
When Something Is Wrong With My Baby

Last week in Bootleg City, to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the classic MGM film about a girl named Dorothy and her three bachelor uncles, I put together a special outdoor screening in MacArthur Park. To make it even more special, I trucked in a bunch of poppies and planted them right in front of the screen.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as Leo the Lion finished roaring, people started passing out left and right. It turns out those poppies were opium poppies, just like in the movie. But can you really blame me for thinking sleep-inducing flowers were a fictional device created specifically for the film? Honestly! Munchkins? Flying monkeys? A land where gay men are granted basic human rights? All that stuff is make-believe!

But opium poppies, as it turns out, are real. And now I’ve accidentally put 2,000 taxpayers in a coma. And when they wake up, most of them will be opium addicts.

Hmm … I wonder if I can keep them asleep until after November 3. I have a feeling a few of them might not vote for me if they wake up in time for the election.

Posies don’t have opium in them, do they? Good. Because this week the featured bootleg is “The Last Show,” a document of the Posies’ farewell performance on September 19, 1998, at San Francisco’s Bottom of the Hill. Of course, the Seattle power-pop group then reunited in 1999, 2000, 2001, and every year after that, culminating in 2005 with the release of their first album in seven years, Every Kind of Light.

That same year the Posies’ two core members, Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow, teamed up with Alex Chilton and Jody Stephens for Big Star’s reunion album, In Space. Surprise, surprise, that lackluster fourth LP isn’t part of Rhino’s new Big Star box set, Keep an Eye on the Sky, which came out on Tuesday. But Auer and Stringfellow have been performing with Big Star for 16 years now, more than five times as long as original members Chris Bell and Andy Hummel. They may not have written the songs that children by the millions fall in love with whenever they hear #1 Record (1972), Radio City (1974), and Third/Sister Lovers (1978) for the first time, but they’ve clearly made their mark as latter-day members of the group.

Apology
Love Letter Boxes
Throwaway
Please Return It
Somehow Everything
Any Other Way
World
You’re the Beautiful One
Suddenly Mary
Terrorized
Dream All Day
Precious Moments
Hate Song
Flavor of the Month
Solar Sister
Grant Hart
Surrender
Daily Mutilation
Ontario
Flood of Sunshine