We did it! More specifically and much less modestly, I did it — I won Tuesday’s election!
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!
Wow! People are really fired up about this Tuesday’s election in Bootleg City! As mayor, it warms my heart to see such civic pride and faith in democracy. Don’t forget to vote, everyone. Remember, we’re all in this together.
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.
The mayoral election is only 11 days away, and if the endless online chatter here in Bootleg City is any indication, voter turnout is sure to break all kinds of records! Keep in mind, of course, that if you break any and all kinds of vinyl records within the city limits, you’ll be shot on sight by Lindsey Buckingham. I’m sorry, but I can’t control that animal.
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.
I believe the children are our future. I also believe my future in politics would’ve been cut tragically short on November 3 if Jethro Tull frontman Ian Anderson hadn’t returned all the children of Bootleg City to their parents in one piece yesterday. He was angry that he’d traveled all the way here from England to receive a 35,000-year-old flute, which, due to a clerical error of some sort, turned out to be only 35,000 seconds old. Unlike the children of Bootleg City, the flute was returned in several pieces, but only after being met with strong resistance from my skull.
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.
Mention Jonathan Demme’s 1984 concert film Stop Making Sense (Palm Pictures), and a lot of people are likely to respond with a two-word summary — big suit. While David Byrne’s oversized suit is an effective and enduring image, he doesn’t don it until late in the show, and he doesn’t have it on for very long. Byrne accurately predicted that the big suit would make his head look small, but it’s a sideshow. The important matter is that Stop Making Sense is one of the finest concert films ever made, a nearly perfect blend of musical innovation, passionate performance, and cinematic brilliance.
It begins with an empty stage. Enter David Byrne with his acoustic guitar and boom box. Byrne treats us to a solo version of “Psycho Killer” that has all the dementia and danger you want out of that particular song. While Byrne is playing, Tina Weymouth’s bass riser is rolled on, followed by Weymouth herself, joining Byrne for “Heaven.” So it continues until all the core members of Talking Heads, including drummer Chris Frantz, and guitarist/keyboard player Jerry Harrison are present. The band is augmented by guitarist Alex Weir (of the Brothers Johnson), keyboard player Bernie Worrell (Parliament Funkadelic), percussionist Steve Scales, and backup vocalist Lynn Mabry (Brides of Funkenstein), and Edna Holt. Once everyone has arrived on stage, the full band blasts through a torrid version of “Burning Down the House.” (more…)
As election day approaches, it’s important for a political candidate like myself to line up celebrity endorsements. One of my opponents, David Byrne, has the support of famous people-slash-political activists like Jane Fonda and Danny Glover, while another opponent, Bob Marley, has lined up a bunch of dead celebrity endorsements, including Robert Palmer, Nina Simone, Mickey Rooney, and John Lennon, who would’ve turned 69 today. How am I supposed to compete with—
… 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.”
It’s hard not to get paranoid when you’re an elected official.
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?
Feel that tension building in your neck, that stress in the spinal cord that feels just like a piece of rope with the twine extra-wrapped? Feel that chafe of fraying fibers, rest to snap inside there? Let it go, man. Just let it go. You’ll feel all the better for it.
Candlebox – 10000 Horses from Happy Pills
David Bowie – It Aint Easy from The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust
Dead Sea Effect – Battlefield I-5 North Commute from Those Of Us About To Die Salute You (2008)
Great Buildings – Heartbreak from Apart from the Crowd
Michael Knott – Cool from Fluid
Pete Townshend – White City Fighting from White City
Sepultura – Roots Bloody Roots from Roots
Spy Glass Blue – Ignorant Side from Shadows
Starflyer 59 – Your Company from Leave Here a Stranger
Talking Heads – The Lady Dont Mind from Little Creatures
Truck – Coffee In Church from 4X4X4 (2003)
Undercover – The Eyes Of Love from Balance of Power
An overwhelming 27,000 people showed up to see David Byrne play a free show at the Prospect Park Bandshell in Brooklyn on Monday night. The show was the opening of the 2009 Celebrate Brooklyn concert series. Celebration was easily the theme of the night, whether you were celebrating the fact that it didn’t rain, the fact that you managed to actually get inside the bandshell (many were detoured by the long, snake-like line, which purportedly began just before 11am), or the fact that you were seeing a legendary performer for free (or the cost of your donation).
The show’s focus was Byrne’s work with Eno, covering the Talking Heads’ three pivotal, mid-career albums, and their two collab LPs, 1981’s My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, and last year’s Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, with the latter release unsurprisingly taking the most focus. (Which explains the absence of hits like “Psycho Killer,” “And She Was,” and “Road To Nowhere.”) Still, Byrne brought out some of the bigger Talking Heads players, all of which got the crowd going – “I Zimbra,” “Crosseyed & Painless,” “Once In A Lifetime,” “Burning Down The House” (See video below!), “Life During Wartime,” and the group’s funky Al Green cover, “Take Me to the River.” The hopeful attitude of the newer material was especially fitting, as Byrne serenaded, “I’m counting all the possibilities,” in “My Big Nurse.” (more…)
The album art for Bitte Orca, the Dirty Projectors’ upcoming fifth album, shows band members Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian, their faces painted over in connecting red and blue circles. It harks back to the cover of Slaves’ Graves & Ballads, the band’s 2004 release, which some consider to be their strongest to date. But it also seems to hint at the enhanced prominence of the band’s female members, who joined the Dave Longstreth founded and fronted group around late 2006, early 2007. Longstreth, oft portrayed as the eccentric genius type, has been the driving force of the Dirty Projectors — but is notedly absent, vocally, on Bitte Orca’s first single, “The Stillness Is the Move.”
Coffman and Deradoorian handle all the vocal duties, stretching their voices in similar ways to Longstreth, though they steer clear of the screeching, wailing, almost painful emoting that he would push. Putting the ladies in the spotlight has a softening quality, furthering the Dirty Projectors’ gradual movement away from heavy bass and drum tracks, which they became rather known for earlier on in their career. The band also continues to explore different song stylings, with “The Stillness is the Move” feeling strangely connected to soul or R&B.
Lyrically, “The Stillness is the Move” is as much an argument for accepting the natural flow of things as it arises questions of purpose. “There is nothing we can’t do,” Coffman and Deradoorian sing in the chorus, though it’s hard to decide if this is more from a perspective of being able to handle whatever comes one’s way, purposefully seeking out challenges or both. In the opening verse, they ponder, “Maybe I will get a job / get a job as waitress / maybe waiting tables in a diner / in some remote city,” suggesting an ease with a simpler life, then arise images of achievement and growth in the second verse with, “On top of every mountain / there was a great longing / for another even higher mountain / for each city longing / for a bigger city.”
It’s not all easy going, though, as the music strips down to a shaker and tin-can-type blip, as the women beg bigger questions – “Isn’t life under the sun just a crazy, crazy, crazy dream?” “Why am I here and not over, over, over there?” “Where do you and I begin?” But the existential crisis doesn’t last long, as the guitar kicks back in, the empowering chorus returns, and the song sees the addition of strings and synths for its last portion, fading out the song to its soothing finish. (more…)
