On The Rocks

The Worcester Phoenix
June 16 - 23, 2000

[On The Rocks]

Think tanked

The joys of summer when the writing's easy

by John O'Neill
Sometimes you have one of those weeks where too many random thoughts are swimming around the old noggin', this week is one 'em. And summertime is a lazy time for writers: check around for
various lists, complaints, I've-been-noticing pieces. We wish we worked in TV so we could do re-runs. Consider this the easy-out equivalent of a summer-reading list without the hassle of spending the money on the books or of having to devote free time thinking. There will be no quiz in the fall.
Has Christopher English lost his mind, or is he just a little slow at reading between the lines? The Atlantic League team owner who wants to play ball here has given the city extra time to reconsider putting a baseball stadium on Prescott Street. The city favors a 6000-seat ballpark on Franklin Street. In light of the Worcester Phoenix's recent report the city is trying to muscle the state into paying for stadium construction -- and is trying to woo the Red Sox into relaxing the farm-team territorial rules so a bona fide, Major League-affiliated team could play here -- isn't English's proposal perplexing? It's like telling your ex-girlfriend she has a week to decide if she's going to the prom with you after she dumped you for the star quarterback.
No matter how Worcester's baseball-team drama finally plays out, one thing is for certain. The franchise name should be the Wormtown Knightcrawlers. Roll your eyes if you want, but all successful franchises need two things to make money: 1) a relatively competitive squad, and 2) good merch. That's why you'll find teams like the Lafayette Bayou Bullfrogs, Solano Steelheads, Hickory Crawdads, and Arizona Diamondbacks. (By the way, has anyone ever spotted a wild IceCat?) It's all about selling hats, T-shirts, key chains, and we're-number-one giant foam fingers. All the music folk know Wormtown is a positive moniker, no matter what know-nothings believe. Who doesn't at least not mind worms? With the "k" tacked on the front, they sound almost regal. So Knightcrawlers is open for discussion; Wormtown is a must. Are you listening English?
There will be plenty of big names at this year's Newport Folk Festival (from August 4 through 6)-- including "star" (read: tepid-at-best writing-wise, though they pay the way for the roster's real talent) performers like Natalie Merchant and Shawn Colvin. We say the show will belong to either Slaid Cleaves or Ray Wylie Hubbard. Both can claim their latest album as their best, and both can stand boot to boot with Steve Earle, Joe Ely, Townes Van Zandt, or Willie Nelson (who they open for at Newporton the Saturday bill). Hubbard is a perfect mix of outlaw cowboy, stand-up comic, and coffeehouse folk singer. He also lays out forceful country-influenced ballads and poetic ruminations that beg for a larger audience. Meanwhile, Cleaves's second disc, Broke Down (Rounder), is a top-to-bottom winner full of down-and-out dreamers, unfulfilled redemption, and loss scattered across his graceful and ugly landscape. If comparing him to Hank Williams seems a bit too much, it probably is -- after all, only Hank could do that much with only three chords and one woman -- but Cleaves shares the ability to make you feel his lament down deep.
It's a funny thing how the music industry works, especially when it comes smart songwriters forced to hitch a ride on the "alt"-country wagon. Nashville props up Lucinda Williams, the Jayhawks, and Wilco and figures that's fair trade for crapping out dreck like the Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain, and the other pretty-face(less) crowd of today's country music. It's a shame the powers-that-be insist on keeping their heads so firmly nestled between their butt cheeks, otherwise Cleaves might be the next great star. Long story short, if you're gonna go to the festival only one day this year, make sure your ticket is stamped 8/5/00. If you're only gonna buy one disc to set your soundtrack for summer by, it might as well be Cleaves's.
Lots of Wormtown bands are headed into the studio. Sixties-style jangle popsters the Crybabies are currently recording with Roger LaVallee at Tremolo Lounge, whenever major-label signee Marc Copley and his people aren't eating up all the available time. LaVallee's own threesome, the Curtain Society, are working on some new tunes themselves. Rick Blaze guitarist Dave Cuneo should have his second disc ready to go soon; it will get international distribution through Australia's Vicious Kitten Records, home to Blaze's latest release, Manhattan Babylon. The mighty Upsidedown Cross have an offer on the table from Ca pricorn Records that could involve the band's back catalogue as well as their upcoming disc, Hate. Milk have a new five-song EP out titled Yellow Frequency. Bassist Tony Dilorenzo is out of commission after taking a little ride the wrong way down a ladder. Milk will remain a three-piece with Wayne Winslow handling four-string duty till Tony's broken wrist heals. Walter and Valerie Crockett are in the process of working on their third disc. The working title is Emily's Dream. Garrison's just released A Mile in Cold Water (Revelation) debuted on the CMJ charts, finishing as the number eight album added to station play lists nationwide. There is some serious talk of a posthumous Westies release from the folks at RMI Studio. The Westies had a disc almost in the can when the band decided to hang up their leathers. In a related note, guitarist James Lynch has moved up the punk ranks and now tours the world as the rhythm guitarist for the Dropkick Murphys.
From the "You Gotta Be Joking" files, the Patrolman's Benevolent Association (PBA) of New York has called for a boycott of Bruce Springsteen's 10-night run at Madison Square Garden. It seems the boys in blue have their undies in a twist over the Boss's song "American Skin (41 Shots)" and its believed reference to the shooting of (unarmed) West African immigrant Amadou Diallo (who was plugged 41 times by four NYPD officers after they somehow mistook his wallet for a weapon). Head PBA flunky Patrick Lynch accuses Springsteen of "trying to fatten his wallet by reopening the wounds of this tragic case at a time when police officers . . . are in a healing period." The idea of ol' Bruce needing to "fatten his wallet" is laughable -- the guy could play for free for the next hundred years and still be obscenely rich. It's interesting to see the fabulously touchy over-reaction by the PBA. Those four dopes would be hanging from their thumbs this very moment if they didn't happen to be white and policemen. I mean, did the NYPD really think this mess was going to go away just because the cops managed to elicit a favorable verdict? Even old O.J. has to eat a little poo now and again, so why should Lynch and company be shocked? Our advice to all involved is to try and keep a cool head. And Bruce, if you know what's good for you, you'll make sure to take out that fattened wallet of yours nice and easy at your next routine traffic stop.
Anybody who missed the Superdrag show (and from my head count, that's most of you) sure passed up a good evening of pop music. Any band that decides to forego their big radio hit in favor of a Big Star cover is good by us (to the tune of $30 worth of discs and T-shirts, to be exact). You know, kids, if you don't support the national stuff that comes to town, there might not be any someday. Just a little cautionary wisdom from your old pal Johnny.
John O'Neill can be reached at johndelrey@yahoo.com.