Yesterday was a special day in Bootleg City. Every September 10 — or “One After 909,” as some folks call it — we celebrate Beatle Day, which kicks off early in the morning with one of the fabled creatures emerging from beneath a stack of old records to poke his head into the sunlight. (”Good day, sunshine,” the Beatle always says. It’s so freakin’ adorable.) If he doesn’t see his shadow, his group’s music will finally be made available online. The problem is, he always sees his shadow. Bootleg City could really use some overcast days this time of the year.
The loss of that online income has to be taking its toll on the two surviving Beatles, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, especially in this economy, which is why I extended an invitation to both of them to stay on my couch until the global recession is over. Each one responded by sending me a $10,000 couch. Spending money you don’t have — it’s a real sickness. And where the hell am I going to put these gigantic couches in my one-bedroom apartment?
The following tracks come from the bootleg “Rarer Than Rare,” with information about recording dates, concert locations, and other assorted Beatlemania minutiae included in the comments section of each MP3 file. Audio quality varies from track to track, but it’s the Beatles — what have you ever done for them?
More to the point, what have you ever done for me? Oh, by the way, I’ve got a couple of couches I need to unload. Each one costs $20,000. (You heard me …) And don’t say you can’t afford it, because those credit-card companies wouldn’t send you all those offers if they didn’t want you to use their money. Think about it. I haven’t.
Hey, y’all. Matthew McConaughey here, fillin’ in for Mr. Mayor of Bootleg City this week. Cassanova gave me a jingle-jangle the other day and said, “Matty Mac, do me a solid and make a celebrity cameo in the BLC this week so I can cut out early for Labor Day. Surf, sand, sun, and sobriety — I’m all over it this weekend. Except for that last part, brother, knowwhatI’msayin’? Hahaha! Cool. Later.” (I did use the words “Labor Day.” The rest is from the mind of Matthew. —Ed.)
Hard to believe it’s been over a year since I last talked to y’all on Popdoze so Bobby C. could have another week off. I’m a big fan of Sugar Water(Stop it, you’re embarrassing me! —Ed.), so I was sad to see it move from entree to after-dinner mint on Bobby’s menu when he became mayor of Bootleg City last fall. But we all have to make sacrifices when we take on new responsibilities, don’t we?
Take me, for example — my son, Levi, is almost 14 months old. Can y’all believe that? Crazy. I can’t even remember life before he was born. Part of that’s because of the weed, but life really does change once you’re a daddy. And my wife, Camila, is expecting our second one by the end of the year.
Whoa, did I just say “wife”? Back up, y’all — that was a slip of the tongue. Camila’s my partner. My main squeeze. My colleague in baby raisin’. But not my wife. Neither of us are into that right now. Maybe one day, but we’re not like normal people — we don’t need the tax breaks, know what I mean? When you’re rich, money has no effect on love.
I was dead asleep when the phone rang. It was three o’clock.
I picked it up and mumbled hello. I figured it was my ex-wife. She calls late at night sometimes to talk. She’s remarried, but it’s not going too well. I tell her not to worry so much, even though I never listen to that kind of advice myself.
Whenever she calls in the middle of the night, it takes me a few minutes to wake up. But it wasn’t her on the other end this time.
After I said hello, the voice said a few words, then hung up. All I caught was “building on fire” at the end of his sentence.
It’s rare that I get a chance to talk to the artists whose music I steal each week, so when the opportunity arises, I seize it, no matter the consequences. Recently, word got out that I’d be featuring “Waiting for Lou,” the bootleg of Lou Reed’s performance at Konserthuset, a.k.a. the Stockholm Concert Hall, on May 14, 1974. But soon after I received a call from Reed’s manager, who said his client was interested in a “chat.”
That made me nervous, since the godfather of punk isn’t known for his sunny disposition. He was described by Legs McNeil in his and Gillian McCain’s book Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk (1996) as being “old, and snotty, and like someone’s cranky old drunken father” when McNeil interviewed him in the mid-’70s for the first issue of Punk magazine. And director Mary Harron (I Shot Andy Warhol, American Psycho), who wrote for Punk and tagged along for the interview, noted Reed’s “famous nastiness” and said the interview didn’t end well “because of Lou lashing out or getting bored or whatever…. Lou started getting so hostile. I can’t remember why. He got very mad at Legs, he just hated him.”
With that in mind, I gave Lou a call a few Saturdays ago. Here’s what he had to say …
For this special edition of Bootleg City, I’m spotlighting the top 17 songs of the ’90s, a decade we can all officially start nostalgicizing on January 1, 2010. Until then we’re in limbo, if you’ll pardon the expression — the untimely deaths of Michael Jackson and JohnHughes in the past six weeks have put a damper on the last blast of ’80s nostalgia in this decade. But life goes on, of course, as does pop culture’s never-ending look backward.
I was beginning to think I’d never find a tough lawman to clean up Bootleg City, especially after my faux pas-filled interview with Marshall Crenshaw. (I won’t bore you with the details of my preliminary talks with the Police. They work well as a team, but who needs all that drama?) But last weekend, as I was digging through CDs at the one place left in town to shop for music — the local Christian thrift store, Heaven Is One Coffee-Stained Couch Donation Away — I ran across a copy of Law and Order by Lindsey Buckingham.
Of course! Who better to scare the crap out of criminals than the man who followed up Law and Order with Go Insane? Here in America we can’t get enough of “maverick cops” who have trouble “playing by the rules” and are willing to risk “life and limb” to nab the bad guys, possibly because they’re “mentally unstable” or just plain “suicidal,” and years down the road may end up making “anti-Semitic comments” to arresting officers while “hammered out of their gourds on Cazadores tequila” behind the wheel of an automobile. In order to catch the bad guys, you have to think like the bad guys, but sometimes that means you end up talking and even acting like the bad guys. But isn’t it worth all the apologetic “Whoopsy!” meetings with rabbis and the stints in rehab and the worldwide public condemnation if it eventually translates to some face time with Diane Sawyer?
It’s no wonder Mayor P.R. Nelson of Erotic City was upset when he found out I’d hired Lindsey — no one had told him that Stevie Nicks’s ex was available as a gun for hire in the first place. His brisk e-mail said it all: “How come U don’t call me anymore?” His second e-mail was even more to the point: “I hate U.”
Don’t worry, he’ll get over it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about freaky people, it’s that they keep on comin’.
When the economy’s bad, crime get worse. That’s why I decided to hire a new lawman to clean up this one-horse-because-of-all-the-horse-thieves town.
I know what you’re thinking: “It’s called Bootleg City. If you outlaw the outlaws and start doing everything by the book, aren’t you defeating the purpose of the place? Isn’t there some sort of town charter you’d be violating? Seriously, Mr. Mayor, how stupid can you be?” The thing is, I agree with you. (Well, except for that rude rhetorical question you tacked onto the end of your thought. That seemed unnecessary.) After all, the welcome sign at the edge of town says the following: BOOTLEG CITY — A PLACE FOR BOOTLEGGERS AND SCOUNDRELS AND EVEN RAPISTS, AS LONG AS IT’S JUST THE VIKING KIND OF RAPE WHERE YOU WANTONLY DESTROY THE LAND, BUT BE A DEAR AND JUST DESTROY THE POOR SIDE OF TOWN, OKAY? WE’VE BEEN MEANING TO LAY WASTE TO THAT EYESORE FOR YEARS NOW. THANKS, AND ENJOY YOUR STAY!
Eventually we got the whole thing sorted out and had a few laughs about it. He told me I was his new favorite waste of time, so I told him rape was my favorite waste of time but go-nowhere interviews were a close second. At that point he started looking for the door and said he had to get to the hotel and take a shower before his show.
Musicians are so hard to read. Maybe I just need new glasses.
The budget cuts continue in Bootleg City. This week I had to lay off the village idiot.
It was a tough call. On the one hand, he’s provided countless hours of “It’s funny because it’s not me” entertainment. On the other hand, he’s a symbol of a more ignorant time in human history, when those with limited mental capacities were openly encouraged to humiliate themselves, only to be mocked by society for their efforts.
Luckily, Bootleg City’s village idiot took it in stride. “I’ll be honest with you — I’m relieved,” he said. “My last job, I was there too long. The first two years were pretty good, but then it started to get really hard, and my boss turned into a real jerk, and everybody started blaming me for everything. Here I just could be myself, but six months was a good run. Any longer and y’all would’ve started hating me, probably saying I was only here in the first place because somebody pulled some strings.”
I asked about his plans for the future. He said he might look into adjunct faculty positions at Yale. I thought he was making one last joke, but he was serious. All I could do was smile, pat him on the back, and say, “Good luck, George.”
I’m not going to lie to you — even though I’m the most powerful figurehead in Bootleg City, I don’t have all the answers. That’s why I often turn to other mayors of other imaginary cities so we can talk shop, compare mistresses, and swap cookie recipes. Recently I called Mayor P.R. Nelson of Erotic City to find out what he’s learned at the top of the municipal food chain.
Me: Mayor Nelson, thank you for taking the time to do this interview.
Nelson: I would die 4 U.
Me: Why, thank you! It’s rare to have that kind of support from another politician. Now, Mr. Mayor–
Nelson: My name is Prince. And I am funky.
Me: Good, I was hoping we could skip the formalities right up front. You can call me Robert. Now, Prince, your critics have accused you of — and I’m quoting here — “doing something close to nothing but different than the day before.” Of course, you’ve been in office since the mid-’80s, so clearly you’re doing something the people of Erotic City appreciate, but does criticism like that ever get under your skin?
Nelson: I just can’t believe all the things people say. Am I black or white? Am I straight or gay? Do I believe in God? Do I believe in me?
Me: So it does get to you. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one. And for the record, I always thought you were black and straight. But speaking of God, in recent years you’ve been referencing him more and more in your speeches. Do you ever worry that you might alienate some of your more liberal supporters with your religious views?
Nelson: Am I the weaker man because I understand that love must be the master plan?
Me: I don’t think so, but let’s not pretend elected officials don’t have to hug the middle of the road sometimes to get the votes they need.
Last Saturday I discussed the global economic woes that have trickled down to many American cities in the past year, including Bootleg City. The recession has led to crippling budget cuts here, and now there’s even more bad news — I’ve had to sell the Bootleg City Boutonnières baseball team!
The Bouts were a symbol of civic pride and, most importantly, gratuitous wealth, but I’ll be the first to admit that the games never drew big crowds outside of prom season. Thankfully, we were able to unload plenty of “I Went All the Way at a Bootleg City Boutonnières Game” T-shirts during that time.
I first tried to sell the French-sounding team to Montreal, the former home of the Expos, but after my bad joke two weeks ago about Quebec’s biggest city being “a desolate backwater” — and my refusal to pronounce the English translation of “boutonnière” without making the second syllable silent — negotations quickly broke down. Your loss, buttonholes.
(By the by, the Expos were the best team in baseball in 1994 before that season was cut short due to an infamous players’ strike. It wasn’t until four years later that fans’ goodwill in the game was restored with the Mark McGwire-Sammy Sosa home-run race. Is it possible upper management encouraged them and other players, like Barry Bonds, to take steroids and display feats of superhuman strength so strike-jaded fans — not to mention their children, the next generation of stats hounds — would be lured back to the stands? Discuss.)
Eventually I was able to make a highly profitable deal with neighboring Tuxedoville: instead of buying the team outright, they’re going to rent it for each game. They have a strange way of doing things over there in T-ville, but you won’t hear me complaining.
Now that the Boutonnières are gone, all I have to offer you in terms of vaguely baseball-related entertainment is English pop-rock group the Outfield, performing at Harpos in Detroit in the fall of ‘85 and at the Caldwell Auditorium in Tyler, Texas, the following summer. (Trivia buffs, take note: “Turn and Run” is an early version of the song “Winning It All” from the Outfield’s 1992 album Rockeye.) Thanks once again to Matt Wardlaw for another fine bootleg. Even after all these years, “Your Love” still knocks it out of the park.
Yesterday was a special day in Bootleg City. Every September 10 — or “One After 909,” as some folks call it — we celebrate Beatle Day, which kicks off early in the morning with one of the fabled creatures emerging from beneath a stack of old records to poke his head into the sunlight. (”Good day, sunshine,” the Beatle always says. It’s so freakin’ adorable.) If he doesn’t see his shadow, his group’s music will finally be made available online. The problem is, he always sees his shadow. Bootleg City could really use some overcast days this time of the year.
Hard to believe it’s been over a year since I last 
It’s rare that I get a chance to talk to the artists whose music I steal each week, so when the opportunity arises, I seize it, no matter the consequences. Recently, word got out that I’d be featuring “Waiting for Lou,” the bootleg of Lou Reed’s performance at Konserthuset, a.k.a. the Stockholm Concert Hall, on May 14, 1974. But soon after I received a call from Reed’s manager, who said his client was interested in a “chat.”
Of course! Who better to scare the crap out of criminals than the man who followed up Law and Order with Go Insane? Here in America we can’t get enough of “maverick cops” who have trouble “playing by the rules” and are willing to risk “life and limb” to nab the bad guys, possibly because they’re “mentally unstable” or just plain “suicidal,” and years down the road may end up making “anti-Semitic comments” to arresting officers while “hammered out of their gourds on Cazadores tequila” behind the wheel of an automobile. In order to catch the bad guys, you have to think like the bad guys, but sometimes that means you end up talking and even acting like the bad guys. But isn’t it worth all the apologetic “Whoopsy!” meetings with rabbis and the stints in rehab and the worldwide public condemnation if it eventually translates to some face time with Diane Sawyer?
Even so, crime is out of control here, so I’ve started interviewing candidates for the job of police chief (and judge, jury, and executioner if they have a talent for multitasking). Unfortunately, due to a nearsighted oversight on my part, I misread the caption on one particular photograph attached to a candidate’s resumé and ended up scheduling an interview with a guy named 
Me: Mayor Nelson, thank you for taking the time to do this interview.
