Jesse Sublett's Blog, page 11

A QUICK ONE

I haven’t had much time to blog lately, and still don’t, but I wanted to throw out some news.

Check this out: New compilation from Soul Jazz Records of London, England, KILL THE HIPPIES! KILL YOURSELF! a collection of great punk rock singles from late 1970s to 1980 including The Skunks (“Earthquake Shake”) and Johnny Thunders, the Normals, Pere Ubu… There’s a book tie-in — PUNK 45 sleeve art… what a great job these guys have done. The title alone makes me proud! I love it. Available NOW.

GREAT new compilation including THE SKUNKS, Johnny THUNDERS, etc.

Check this track listing, dudes. Track 14, Earthquake Shake.

I’ve been checking the copy edit of Broke, Not Broken: Homer Maxey’s Texas Bank War, which I wrote with Broadus A. Spivey, and will be published by Texas Tech University Press in Spring 2014. I’m really proud of that book. It’s been a lot of work for us, but it’s a big story and it merits the attention. The Spring catalog isn’t out yet, but you might keep an eye on the TTU Press page, or wait for my update.

I’ll be out and about during the Texas Book Festival this weekend as the ending of a very busy week. Thursday night I’ll be at the MEOW Con banquet (Musicians for Equal Opportunities for Women) as the guest of Kathy Valentine, which is nice. Talk about an icon for women in rock, Kathy, along with Carla Olson, were among the first female rockers in Austin. Kathy and I played together in 1978 and again in 1987-1989… (the Violators and World’s Cutest Killers, respectively), and Carla and I played together in 1978 and again 1989-1990 (the Violators and the Carla Olson/Mick Taylor Band, respectively). And it will be cool to see Suzi Quatro, another pioneer.

November 24, 7 PM, I’ll be playing at the Music Moves Mountains Foundation show at the One-2-One Bar. This one will be a tribute to the Monterey Pop Festival — details here. I’ll have some surprises for you in my little minstrel show, I promise. I’ll be playing upright bass and doing some Who covers and some blues. That’s all I’m saying for now.

Thursday, November 7, at Continental Gallery, it’s Tertulia again. I’ll be reading another strange comic piece with my beautiful wife, Lois Richwine. This will be a reprise of the last Tertulia event, when Lois and I performed my piece “HE & SHE in the Underworld.” This one is a follow up titled “HE & SHE in the Unfigureoutable.”

I’m still working on the Overton Gang book / a k a “Austin Underworld in the 1960s” and plan to be done with a presentable draft by New Year’s Eve. Wish me luck. Hell, send money, rye whiskey and espresso beans from Ethiopia. It will happen. I’m going on the record here.

Now, for a few shots by my friends, David Jewell and Bill Blackmon, of my recent shows with Kim Simpson at Whip In.

 

My bass. Great shot by Bill Blackmon. I really like how my hair looks in this shot.

Me & my bass by Bill Blackmon who is quite the artistic photographer

Me & my bass, by David Jewel, poet & photographer extraordinaire

Kim Simpson, left, myself right, by David Jewel

A WHOLE LOT OF NOWHERE TO RUN

First, a gig note:

Jesse Sublett & Kim Simpson, South Austin blues & murder ballads show, with Chapter 4 of Grave Digger Blues, Friday, Sept. 27, 9-11, Whip In, no cover. This is going to be a fun gig. I’ll play at 9, blues & murder ballads and another reading from Grave Digger Blues, your favorite surrealistic detective novel; and then my friend Kim Simpson will play a set of brilliant solo blues, folk and other material. You probably know Kim as the host of KUTX Folkways every other Sunday, and he also does a show on KOOP on Tuesdays. He’s a brilliant musician and we’re looking forward to this gig.

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 1

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 2

Now the art blog: A WHOLE LOT OF NOWHERE TO RUN:

A couple of years ago I did a driving trip up to Fort Worth, Brownwood, Mobeetie, Amarillo, Lubbock, Post, Wheeler, Shamrock, Wichita Falls, and a few other far flung places, for the purpose of research on a couple of book projects. I’d rather give details about those projects later and just post some images I’ve been working on with photos I took on that trip. And a thought that kept going through my head during that drive was the repulsed, freaked out reactions of Coronado and his little conquistador party as they toured the Llano Estacado about five centuries ago. These were killer Spaniards pursuing myths and rumors about cities of gold, Eldorado, and they were really disappointed not only not to find those cities built of gold but in the seeming total lack of scenery of any kind, not even a drive-in or a Denny’s, horse-head pump jack, freaky giant glowing white crosses, or the Jesus Christ is Our Savior Truck Stop.

“I reached some plains so vast, that I did not find their limit anywhere I went, although I traveled over them for more than 300 leagues … with no more land marks than if we had been swallowed up by the sea … there was not a stone, nor bit of rising ground, nor a tree, nor a shrub, nor anything to go by.” Francisco Vásquez de Coronado, 1541

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 3

 

“[Not] a tree, shrub, or any other herbage to intercept the vision… the almost total absence of water causes all animals to shun it: even the Indians do not venture to cross it except at two or three places.” General Randolph Marcy, 1852

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 4

Centuries later oil field trash, cross roaders, grifters, pimps and safe crackers would drive their Cadillac Eldorados over that failed trek to find the cities of Eldorado, and some of those knuckle head safecrackers were guys whom I’ve been researching and writing about (there, I broke my vow already not to discuss any of the projects), guys who were loosely defined later on as belonging to the Dixie Mafia, and the specific guys I’ve been writing about were variously called the Overton Gang, the James Gang, and since I’m writing the history and concentrating mostly on Tim Overton and his merry minstrels, I like to call them the Austin OG.

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 5

Anyway, these images have very little to do with the story, except for the fact that they do intersect with some of the places where the OG went and cracked the safes of small town banks. A heist at Mobeetie, up in the Panhandle is a big part of their story, as that caper went kablooee, bad, and there was a massive manhunt involving Texas Rangers, sheriff’s departments all across the Panhandle plus Oklahoma and Kansas, plus DPS troopers and troopers and state agents from Mississippi, Oklahoma, and so on, deputized ranchers on foot, in cars, on horseback, men with dogs, men in leased airplanes and helicopters. The heist crew was rounded up finally after three days. It’s a good story.

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 7

And when I went to Mobeetie, it had not changed much at all, still population about 200, a handful of houses and vacant lots and a few little businesses, including the First State Bank. You stand there or drive through there and the flatness doesn’t end, there’s that straight line horizon to nowhere, and I kept thinking about the five characters running out of the bank at 4 AM during March 1966, running out and being pursued across the snow dusted ground, and there’s barely a perpendicular stick or a rolling hog wallow as far as you can see, just a whole lot of nowhere to run.

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 8

The figure in these pictures is a Chinese burial suit from the Han Dynasty, 206 BC – 220 AD, made of jade and  copper wire, at the George Walter Vincent Smith Art Museum.

And I’ve included a couple of mug shots of the anti-heroes from my book, a book I really do hope to finish by the end of 2013.

Tim Overton, in jail, shortly after being apprehended in the 3 day manhunt in the Texas Panhandle, March 1966

Jerry Ray James, shortly after being apprehended in the 3 day manhunt in the Texas Panhandle, March 1966

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 9.jpg

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 10

Coronado was right about the Staked Plains No. 12

Coronado was right Staked Plains No. 11

Dude try and guess where I am right now.

 

join this corrida in progress

Spending a lot of time lately trying to avoid the news, hoping I will wake up and this madness about a new war in the Middle East being some kind of poorly written SNL skit or something. Or maybe our president and secretary of state have come down with a severe case of food poisoning, a leftover CIA plot from the sixties that didn’t work on Castro but some rogue agents decided to try on our current commander in chief. Because it can’t be real.

Slaving away on the book, the book I haven’t told you the name of just yet, and in the meantime, here’s some works in progress of the visual type.

Mermaids in a Can, work in progress

I’m not finished with the above one yet… I think I’ll put the can of mermaids in a new setting, like a garden of Eden setting, or maybe a table at Enoteca. Maybe I’ll consult Alan Lazarus about it. He’s a creative guy with a visual flair.

Have I mentioned the upcoming Tertulia at the Continental Club Gallery? The theme is Safety, and it’s Thursday, Sept. 12, 7:30-9. I’ll be reading with my lovely wife, Lois Richwine, in her acting debut. The piece is called “He & She in the Underworld.”

The full roster of presenters is:

David Jewell, James McMurtry, Margaret Moser, Jon Dee Graham, Jesse Sublett, Lois Richwine, Kacy Crowley, Dianne Scott, Kellie Salome, William Graham, Nettie Reynolds, Mike McCoy, Bernadette Noll, Katie Ford, Laura Buchanan, Chris Porter, Payton Keller, & Jena Kirkpatrick.

Tertulia, Sept. 12, 2013

I’ll bring copies of my latest novel, GRAVE DIGGER BLUES, so that any of you slackers who’ve been dying to buy one to enrich your soul and guarantee that beautiful, exotic women / men will want to take you home for lunch and make you their love slave for as long as you desire, and you can buy a signed copy (of the book, silly) for only $20.

GRAVE DIGGER BLUES, the novel that set the bar for surrealist noir detective fiction

Here, a few paragraphs from the current book in progress:

7. NOTORIOUS

Sometimes it seemed as though every Austinite of a certain age claimed to have information about the Overton Gang. Even random details can be of value, but more often than anything else, every new informant was dying to tell me the following story. Even when I assured them that I already knew all about it, nearly every one of them insisted on telling it anyway.

During the first six weeks of the 1968 federal conspiracy trial in Del Rio, Tim and 12 other defendants were held without bail in the county jail. Between court sessions, Tim and the other 12 were locked up in the cramped holding cell in the bottom of the federal courthouse. During the daily consultations with their lawyers, Judy’s attorney, Max Flusche, would bring her down there and keep an eye out for the jailer while Judy took care of Tim’s needs. To accommodate him, she would back up to the cell, drop her panties and bend over for him, every day, in front of the other lawyers, prisoners, God and everybody.

“He’d screw her between the bars and we’d jigger for them,” said Vern Knickerbocker, attorney for Freddie Hedges and two other defendants in the ’68 trial. He banged his fist on the table every time he laughed at one of these stories.

I asked him, “How close were you?”

“Close enough to see her tattoos,” he said. “I saw them many times.”

&&

Moe a k a Chavez

Epic Love

I’m not sure where I’m going with this one.

I don’t think I’ve posted the two versions of “Olive Trees, St. Remy d’Pce”, except from dim photos I took, as opposed to nicer scans. Anyway, here they are.

Olive trees St. Remy again

Olive Trees, St. Remy d’Pce

And then there’s this one. The title should be obvious.

I fall to pieces

RUTH BADASS GINSBERG, THE BIG G

On a COMPLETELY different note, I enjoyed my session with Kim Simpson yesterday on Folkways on KUTX-FM, which is KUTX.org online. I never thought I’d be on Folkways in my life, that’s for sure.

RUTHIE “BADASS” BADER, SCOURGE OF THE RIGHT WING ACTIVIST JUDICIAL

So I was reading this story on Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and I liked her tough comments and I liked her tough pose in the photo equally, so I made a little crude surgery using Apple Preview, and this is what I came up with. The fist is courtesy of the mighty, mighty Muhammed Ali, the Greatest.

The blog is pasted below, including its links to Ginsberg’s interview in the NY Times.

Ginsburg Says She Plans To Stay On High Court No Matter The President

by EYDER PERALTA

In a rare interview, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg says she plans to stay on the court, no matter who is president.

Ginsburg, 80 and the leader of the court’s liberal wing, spoke to The New York Times at length on Friday. The whole piece is a worth a read, but here two highlights.

On her potential retirement, she said:

“‘There will be a president after this one, and I’m hopeful that that president will be a fine president,’ she said.

“Were Mr. Obama to name Justice Ginsburg’s successor, it would presumably be a one-for-one liberal swap that would not alter the court’s ideological balance. But if a Republican president is elected in 2016 and gets to name her successor, the court would be fundamentally reshaped.”

As for the court’s recent string of high-profile decisions, Ginsburg said:

“The last two terms, which brought major decisions on Mr. Obama’s health care law, race and same-sex marriage, were, she said, ‘heady, exhausting, challenging.’

“She was especially critical of the voting rights decision, as well as the part of the ruling upholding the health care law that nonetheless said it could not be justified under Congress’s power to regulate interstate commerce.

“In general, Justice Ginsburg said, ‘if it’s measured in terms of readiness to overturn legislation, this is one of the most activist courts in history.

Keeping it Pencil Thin on Saint-Germain

UPDATE: I just realized I keep getting the name of Montmajour Abbey incorrect. Montmajour Abbey is the correct name. In French it is Abbaye Notre Dame de Montmajour. Wiki it here.

Clockwise, Lauri, Lois, Jesse, Jake at La Rotonde

Me & Karl Lagerfeld, you know, ran into each other & I said, Hey man, you need a black cat like mine, or at the very least, a pencil thin mustache. Well, he met me half way. Cool guy.

So I was walking down the street, singing “Last Kind Words” by Geechie Wiley, which is, like the saddest song in the whole world, in the history of history. It goes like this:

The last kind word I heard my daddy say

Lord the last kind word I heard my daddy say

If I die, if I die in the German War

I want you to send my body, send it to my mother, Lord

If I get killed, if I get killed, please don’t bury my soul

Just leave me out, let the buzzards eat me whole

When you see me comin’, look ‘cross the rich man’s field

If I don’t bring you flour, I’ll bring you bolted meal

I went to the depot, I looked up at the sign

Cry some train don’t come, there’ll be some walkin’ done

My momma told me, just before she died

Lord, Oh precious daughter, don’t you be so wise

The Mississippi River, you know it’s deep and wide

I can stand right here, see my baby from the other side

What you do to me baby, it never gets out of me

I mean I’ll see you, after I cross the deep blue sea

And I ran into that Karl dude, see above. And then back at Hotel Bellechasse, there’s our pals, Jake Riviera and Lauri Riviera, checking in just two minutes after we got there, not unexpected, but a welcome sight, and it means a pleasant evening is in store.

Toro Piscine!! Like what it looks like, bullfighting for the kids.

Olive Trees, St. Remy d’Provence, first attempt. May Van Gogh & all those guys rest in peace. Don’t get up on my account, OK?

So like what kind of a great predicter of the future was Nostradamus? How did he not predict that we were coming? Bummer. We left a note, will let you know if we find out WTF.

Olive trees, St. Remy d’Pce. Second attempt drawing the trees across from the swimming pool at the villa.

Philosophie magazine. What timing!! I saw the posters everywhere in Paris & I’m like, How did they know I was coming?

I finished Anne Carson’s Grief Lessons (Four tragedies by Euripides)before we left for Provence, and the images and plots and hysterical, brutal scenes were still ringing in my head, and I’m running into characters from those tragedies in bronze (at Musee Rodin, at Musee d’Orsay, etc.), and then there’s this poster everywhere, for Philosophie magazine, and I just had to buy it. Not just for the guy with the horse head, and just about any time there’s a guy with a horse head, it’s disturbing enough to get my attention, but as it turns out, they’re holding the

23rd World Congress of Philosophy in Athens now. Excellent! If I could I would go, even if all the talk would be over my head. So I bought the magazine and I’m slowly translating the whole thing (it’s in French), with the help of Babelfish. Looks like they’ve got heavy duty articles on Theseus and the Minotaur, Oedipus, and all that great stuff that’s been spooking me out for the past few years or so.

I also bought a couple of graphic novels at the bookstore by Deux Magots, and we went out shopping with the girls (except, now that I think about it, Jake and I would park at a bistro or something and have a couple of drinks while our wives shopped, then when they wanted to move on, we’d find another bar close to the new shopping area). Later that night we ate at La Rotonde, and it was just as good as the last time we ate there, maybe better. Next day we ate at the mother of all brasseries, La Coupole. We ate a lot of places and I took a lot of iPhone pix.

The house in St. Remy d’Pce.

The cover of the new Fleetwood Cadillac Mac CD by Jesse & Daphne

La Rotonde. Sure, it looks better in person.

Lois, lobby of Hotel Bellechasse, Saint Germain.
Last dinner in Paris we went to Cafe Louis Philippe with Jake & Lauri, with Michael & Linda Moorcock and Martin & Lynn Stone. Michael as you may know is an author and Martin Stone is a musician and rare book dealer. Martin plays with Marianne Faithful and has backed up a good many legendary blues guys. Anyway, it was a superb meal there and it was very funny, this black and white tabby found us soon after we were seated and she made herself at home between Linda and Lynn, parked there the whole time, accepting bites, and when we left, she escorted us downstairs as we bid goodnight. We were just saying that France is the most dog friendly place we’d ever seen, but you know, when you think about it, France is very, very catlike. If you disagree, tough luck, I’m not gonna argue with you because you’re wrong.

[caption id="attachment_5303" align="aligncenter" width="3264"] breakfast at the villa

[/caption]

library in Marais

Daphne with our chef, who is also a livery driver

on Bellechasse.

Shopping on Saint Germain.

view from Abbey, wild white horses

Abbey Montemajour

This gargoyle is the Monster of Tarasco who would eat sinners as they tried to cross the marsh by the Abbey

Hey is that a man in your mouth, or what?

Daphne, resting at the monks’ graveyard at the Abbey

Ivan has a bright idea before putting the fish on the grill

Greetings from France

Arles.

Moe ghosting the patio at chateau, St. Remy d’Pce

> Coliseum in Arles, where they still have bullfights.[/caption]

Eyaglieres, where we had our first 3 hour lunch. Provence is fine.

Agent Double-O-Ivan. Russian sniper camera, junk shop outside Eyaglieres.

Powered by 3 double espressos & too many chocolate croissants… Shopping in St. Germaine… sitting across from Musee d’Orsay… having a nice day, in general. The weather has cooled down quite a bit. Last week it was hot in Paris and also in Provence.

Bull painting in Arles shop. Cool. Bull iconography everywhere you look.

Every day, hiking through the markets in St. Remy d’Pce, Arlenes, & other villages, ending the day feeling like a baked potato. Fortunately the chateau where we were staying with P&I and Bob & Daphne has a pool, so after a quick immersion and some aperitifs, all was fine with the world again.

At the chateau, St. Remy d’Pce. Like I said, toreadors & bull imagery abounds.

I instantly dig the lifestyle here and other than everything costing about double, I find nothing to dislike. I was looking for a current corrida poster but did not score one. So many bookstores.

Powered by croissants & double espressos. Paris.

Yesterday after we arrived back in Paris we went walking and we must have passed at least half a dozen. Stopped in two of them this morning and bought a couple of really cool graphic novels.

Moe aka Chavez, ghosting the chateau in St. Remy

Will write about them later and when we return, I’ll scan some pages and post them. Another book note, at Shakespeare & Company, I wormed my way into the teensy alcove or closet, whatever you want to call it, which is the poetry section there and checked for Anne Carson titles.

Iris the Messenger who brings Madness to Herakles to make him kill his family because Hera is fed up with this superhero trip he’s been on. Oh yeah, by Rodin at Musee Rodin in Paris.

It’s really hard to find more than one or two titles in any bookstores I’ve been to in the States lately.

Moe, aka Chavez, ghosting us in Paris.

Guess what? They had every single book Carson has in print. Bought one of them and spoke to the gal behind the counter who said the owner is a huge fan of Anne, so that’s why. Good for you guys. I bought GRIEF LESSONS (Four plays by Euripides, translated by Anne Carson, with intros and essays that are worth the price of the book, plus her translations of the plays are brutal, wicked, like classic Greek on meth. Awesome. Hysteria. Like running around outside naked when it’s raining razor blades. Anyway…).

Arles

Please note the souls being dragged off to Hell. Don’t let this happen to you.

Our first lunch in Provence. Yum.

Dorado. Great on the grill.

Dorado, grilled by Ivan, + sausages, salad, asparagus pasta, + other stuff.

The lavender people. Met this couple at the market in St. Remy d’Pce. See the purple car? They’re from Holland. They do this all the time. After taking their picture they said, We even buy purple toilet paper. We can’t get it in Holland. That’s Ivan on the left, synchronicity, wearing a purple Izod. Next day we saw them in Arles. Weird!

Safe for work, not that I approve of working

This has been one of my favorite LBJ photos for a long time. And as you may know, I’m a big LBJ fan, so I’ve looked at quite a few of them. This one is almost slapstick. It speaks volumes about the relationship between the two men, particularly up until about 1960. By then, Connally was able to do his mentor favors he needed.

One of my favorite LBJ pix. LBJ is left, Connally right.

I scanned the photo from the Jan. 17 Time magazine issue, which was designed to introduce a shaken public to the new prez by introducing them to his home state, “TEXAS: Where Myth & Reality Merge.” The content seems fairly hokey today, but it’s also fascinating. Oh, and in case it escaped your attention, the date is six weeks after JFK was assassinated in Dallas. LBJ may have been the Master of the Senate and one of FDR’s right hand men, but once he helped Kennedy squeak into the White House, the Kennedy clan kept the big Texan hidden from sight as much as humanly possible, much to their deficit.

Time magazine 1964, the TEXAS issue.

What I’m reading is Anne Carson. If you haven’t heard of her or you have and you just don’t remember or your brain is tired and you’d rather just read the NY Times piece on her from last March, here it is.

Her latest novel-in-verse, red doc>, was pretty great, but I liked The Autobiography of Red more. Nox was pretty great as well, and it was a brilliant reinvention of what we think of as a book, too (It comes in a box, and instead of pages, it’s an accordion fold thing, and that’s just the physical aspect; the book itself is a collection, sort of, of Greek translations, found art and poetry, and in general, a hefty dose of Anne Carson’s groove, which is pretty damn brilliant, funny, brain-twisting, and brilliant). But right now I’m reading Antigonick, her version of the Sophocles play Antigone. As you may know, Antigone is one of the Theban plays of Sophocles, the last, chronologically speaking, in the series of plays in the Oedipus cycle. The story is pretty brutal and grueling, but in Carson’s hand it’s strangely humorous in parts. Maybe it’s her impish mind playing tricks on me, but I find myself saying “wow” out loud, and laughing, and rereading pages several times, just to re-experience them. It’s one of the coolest books I own, one of the coolest things I’ve ever read.

Anne Carson, poet, classicist, pretty weird chick. You wish you were 1,000th as smart as her.

From Antigonick, by Anne Carson.

a page of text from Anne Carson’s Antigonick

Me & Kato & Marcia Clark who prosecuted his landlord, that 2-initial thug who (temporarily) escaped the long hairy arm of the law

 

The creative crew of Eye for an Eye, Judge Extreme Akim, Tom Huckabee, Kato Kaelin, Jeff Sheftell, MB, Jesse Sublett, Randy Bellous

Here’s the youtube link of Kato and me. For the explanation as to how this came about, scroll to the bottom of the post. It’s interesting, but not the main reason I posted this.

Kato Kaelin wishes Lois happy Valentines Day, 2005.

Thank goodness for youtube and fleeting fame and dubious associations. Marcia Clark is coming to town, and if you forgot that she was the prosecutor in LA County when OJ Simpson was charged with slaughtering his ex-wife and her boyfriend, and if you didn’t know that she is now a hot, best-selling, cool crime novelist, and if you didn’t know that I was a producer for a reality courtroom show a few years back and the host was OJ’s house guest, Kato Kaelin, then you are in for a treat. Come to Noir at the Bar Saturday night, July 20, 7 PM, at Opal Divine Penn Field, 3601 South Congress, up on the side of the hill there, which used to be a strip club, years ago when Austin was more weird but less cool.

There will be readings by Marcia Clark, Tim Hallinan, Josh Stallings and me, my terrible self. I will be playing a couple of songs before the show gets under way, including a special one dedicated to Marcia. Our host is the ever affable and knowledgable Scott Montgomery of BookPeople, the store with the mostest, which will have copies of all the authors’ books on hand for sale, including my most recent, Grave Digger Blues.

Marcia is the author of three crime novels, Guilt by Association, Guilt by Degrees, and Killer Ambition, a series featuring Los Angeles Special Trials prosecutor Rachel Knight. Tim Hallinan is the Edgar- and Macavity-nominated author of thirteen widely praised books—twelve novels and a work of nonfiction—including the Poke Rafferty Bangkok thrillers A Nail Through the Heart, The Fourth Watcher, Breathing Water, and The Queen of Patpong. Josh Stallings, a Hollywood character, jack of all trades who has bummed around that crazy town and written films and video games and worked as a bouncer, taxi driver, etc., etc., is the author of Beautiful, Naked and Dead, and Out There Bad (Moses #2) , and others, including the noir memoir, All the Wild Children. (Hey, I’ve got one of those). Jesse Sublett, the author of this blog… hey, you should already know enough about me, and if you don’t, maybe you stumbled on this blog by accident, shopping for one of those sleep-number beds or something.

Hey I got your sleep number right here… talking about the big sleep….

THE STORY OF KATO AND ME (SHORT VERSION)

I posted the “Kato Kaelin wishes Lois Richwine Happy Valentines 2005″ as a kind  painful  memory association following  the disappointing verdict in the George Zimmerman trial. This may seem like a bit of a ramble, but here’s the deal. In 2005 I was a segment producer on Eye an Eye, a reality courtroom show produced in Dallas. Kato was the host.  I dug this up because Marcia Clark, prosecutor in the OJ trial, is now a hot crime writer  appearing at Noir at the Bar/Austin on Saturday. You’ve probably seen Marcia on MSNBC and other news networks lately, commenting on the Zimmerman trial. For months now, Scott Montgomery of BookPeople has been telling me how excited he is that Marcia is coming, because she’s not only a fine noir writer, but a fun gal. So I promised her, via Facebook, that I’d play a certain song especially for her on Saturday night, not to put her on the spot, but because it seemed like a good idea. A couple more photos from my experiences with Eye for an Eye appear below. It was a good gig, but strange. Kato was a real chick magnet. We were in Dallas for 3 weeks and every night at the hotel after work, women flocked to the guy like moths to a blonde surfer rock star. I mean, I’ve been around rock stars before, which you may realize, but I haven’t seen anything like this. Kato was OK, a gracious guy. Tom Huckabee was my counterpart on the production team. I prepped the plaintiffs before they went in before the judge, and Tom prepped the defendants. With each case, each of us tried our best  to screw up the other side. Kind of like when Tom was in the Huns and I was in the Skunks back in 1979, and the Huns had no talent and were all gimmicks, and the Skunks had talent, and not many gimmicks. Something like that, except Tom wasn’t wearing a glitter gold jockstrap, like the Huns singer did back in 1979.

This job was quite an experience. After a few weeks of preproduction, we shot 70 episodes in 21 days. You read that correctly: 70 episodes in 21 days. It was brutal and weird and funny. And when I say that, I’m not talking about the limp pasta salad from catering every day. The catering company, of course, was doing the gig just for the screen credit, so you can imagine, it was not a gourmet experience. Our first day on the job, the main producer had us all sign severe non disclosure agreements, then called up this car dealer and got Hummers for us to drive. The creative producers got assigned this cayenne red Hummer, and none of the other guys in my group would drive the thing, so I had to drive this ugly, embarrassing monster every day, and I’m not the best navigator of Dallas freeways (BTW that was not meant as a bad pun).

One of my favorite cases was the preacher who shot his neighbor’s dog. I represented the preacher, believe it or not, and I really thought we were going to win.

Anyway, there’s a lot of chatter on my Facebook page since I posted that video of Kato Kaelin wishing Lois happy Valentines day. Check it out. Some of it is pretty funny, some of it is retarded. Kind of like life.

Cheers,

Jesse

 

Wanna know what it’s like to be a hard working producer for a reality show? You get to drive one of these to the set every morning.

Betsy was the PA who worked exclusively for Tom and Jeff and I, plus MB, on the show. She was sweet and really great to us and I hope she’s rich and famous now.

 

Sugar Ray Phillips, a former middleweight fighter, was the bailiff

 

Here’s the audience. All of our audience members had to pass an IQ test. Hint: It was a 2-digit number.

Plaintiffs for one of the cases on Eye for an Eye, 2005 season

 

 

Sahar was a Russian mail order bride. The plaintiff wanted a refund. If I remember correctly, we sentenced him to six months in the funny farm.

 

DO ZOMBIES LIKE FRIED BRAINS?

DELFINA NEXT MORNING (sold). One way to keep cool in the summer in Austin. Not for everyone.

HEAT TOURISTS? You gotta be kidding me. I heard this story yesterday in my car, which was about 150 degrees inside because it’s black and it’s July in Austin, Texas. Which doesn’t explain exactly why it becomes a blast furnace even when I park in the shade, but I like a little mystery in my life. I only park in tree shaded spots because I love grackles anyway.

This story on NPR, called Heat Tourists, freaked me out a little.

Heat tourists in Death Valley. There’s a good reason they call it Death Valley.

Here’s an excerpt:

It’s no secret that Death Valley, Calif., is one of the hottest, most unforgiving places on Earth come summertime. July 10 is the 100th anniversary of the hottest temperature ever recorded on the planet — 134 degrees Fahrenheit — and the heat is drawing tourists from all over the world to Death Valley.

Like Terminal 5 at London Heathrow Airport, Death Valley becomes a melting pot of foreign accents. On a recent afternoon, Belgian tourist Yan Klassens admires the view of the Badlands from Zabriskie Point, describing it as “nice, awesome and colorful.”

But the 122 degree heat?

“Oh! Warm. Too hot! Very warm,” the tourists say. “We like it!”

Klassen and his friends Yulka Derlay and Frieda Van Campenhotte are visiting from Belgium. Voluntarily.

“Always a wall of heat,” Klassen says. “When you get out of a room or a building or a bus, with air co, and you get out, the wall of heat. Boof!”

It turns out these Belgians are among a throng of international tourists who come here in the dead of summer to experience this heat. In fact, July is now Death Valley National Park’s busiest month. And you can’t turn around without seeing Germans, Chinese or Kiwis. The term for this type of traveling is called “heat tourism.”

This is Your Brain in the HEB parking lot, 3 PM, July 11, 2013

But this being America and the age of ‘the free market solves everything’ [that's sarcasm, BTW], I thought, OK, a money-making opportunity here: I can rent out our garage as a bed & breakfast. It must get up to 180 in there by mid afternoon. Two-car garage, no ventilation, no insulation. It really sucks in there, bad. Then around five o’clock, when I get back from my satellite office at the espresso bar and Lois comes home from the Austin Chronicle, both cars in there, it’s a little tight, but Jesus Christ, the mercury zooms way up with those hot engines, probably up near 170, 180. Plus you get the fumes and the sound of the ventilation fans, hot radial tires and all that. It’s like a spa for the zombie generation.

 

Chavez at Sublett Garage Spa B&B. Complimentary Topo Chico & Breakfast Tacos. Booking now for summer 2014. Call 2 years in advance for ACL reservations.

Actually, I stole this idea from our cats. Often during the hottest time of the day, when we’ve got the AC blasting, Sam the Tabby and Moe a k a Chavez will petition us for entry to the garage. We let them out and they sprawl on the concrete floor and promptly lapse into some kind of euphoric coma. I guess the concrete conducts some combination of hot and cold and oil leak fumes? I dunno. It’s a cat thing.

Back to the NPR story:

And then there’s the guy in a Darth Vader costume. John Rice, the man behind the mask, is helping uphold Death Valley’s reputation as a magnet for the eccentric.

“Well, I am attempting to set a world record for the hottest verified mile ever run by a human being,” he says. “And I decided that wasn’t tough enough, so I would do it in a Darth Vader costume, to just, you know, add to the spice.”

Rice, who is from England and lives in Colorado, calls this mile the “Darth Valley challenge.” Several scenes from Star Wars were filmed just down the road. Rice returns from his run down the Tatooine Desert in less than seven minutes.

Which reminds me. A couple of weeks ago, when The Skunks played the Continental Club, I have this bizarre memory. Lois and I were sitting at the corner of the bar against the west wall of the club, with our pal, the writer Minerva Koenig. And we were talking and I was having a Bulleit rye, as usual, and I kept seeing this Darth Vader mask sitting in front of her. Actually it was a black plastic electric fan, but in the dim light of the bar, it became a Darth Vader head. This weird combination of dim light, alcohol, loud music and, sometimes, just the right amount of heat, is part of the magic and surrealism of the night life that has so many of us in thrall. There’s eight million stories about a night in a bar, you know. Make that eight million billion zillion.

Water on Mars. Good news & Bad News.

Maybe that’s what the cats are feeling in the garage. Maybe that’s what the heat tourists get out of it. I don’t know. All I know is every summer it hits me. You walk outside and your body slams into this wall of hatred. The sun hitting the back of your head like a hammer. Concrete conduction melting the soles of your shoes, broiling the bones in your feet. Get in the car and swoon and fumble for the ignition and turn on the AC to Max and you accidentally hit the chrome part of the seat buckle and it sears a brand into your skin.

And that’s at 10 AM in the morning.  I ask myself: Why do I live here? Every summer, it’s like this. I grew up here. I remember being a teenager and digging fence post holes for $2.50 an hour. One summer we dug through solid rock to excavate a hole for a cattle guard. We got halfway down before we thought to rent a jack hammer. We were working for this part-time burglar, a wack job with a long pointed nose that always had these whiskers sprouting out of the end, kind of like a prickly pear. And it was at the end of this three week job, one hell of a hellish job, that the SOB left town without paying us. He owed me $180 and I’ll never forget it. I still want that money.

Anyway. Why do I live here? Why does anybody live here past one summer? You think about the first suckers who stumbled across this area and set up camp. It had to be during the spring or late fall. Next summer comes around and they get their brains fried in the sun. Everything around them dying. A wasteland of grey weeds and wilted wildflowers, dry creeks and dust and rocks hot as a griddle in a cheap diner. Why didn’t they pull up stakes and move on to some more welcoming, less homicidal climate?

I don’t know. But I have theory. It’s called Heat Amnesia. Maybe that’s what keeps the Heat Tourists coming back? Maybe that will make our South Austin Garage Spa a big money maker. After a couple of summers of solid bookings, we’ll make enough money to move to Paris or Barcelona. It gets hot in those places too, but HEB-parking-lot-on-a-July-afternoon-hot. Brain omelette hot. No, it doesn’t.

I’ll keep you posted.

PS: Just got another shipment of my latest novel, Grave Digger Blues. Write me if you want to order a special signed copy.

Grave Digger Blues, a condensed excerpt from Chapter 2, with photos by Mona Pitts and my terrible self

THE SKUNKS COMMIT A CRIME

Ladies and Gentlemen, you have entered The Twilight Zone of Austin Blues. The Skunks have always been my favorite band.

One more blast from the 6.29.13 Continental Club gig, giving the fans and the room a taste of my Howlin’ Wolf obsession, doing the Wolf’s classic one-chord tidal wave, “Commit a Crime.” It’s been covered by 100′s of other bands, I guess, but I do think we do an acceptable rendition. Check it out unless playing cool shit at work will get you fired. Oh what the what do you need that job for anyway? Tell the boss I said to take a hike. Here’s the link.

THE SKUNKS “COMMIT A CRIME” 6.29.13 Continental Club

As I’m digging Billy’s propulsive heavyweight punch and the growl of my Fender Precision and that grizzly bear orgy erupting from Jon Dee Graham’s side of the stage, and watching Nakia moving around, shooting Jon Dee as if it’s some kind of solo act of his and the other 2/3 of the trio just happened to be holding up the wall, I wondered, you know, what if Antone’s had a band like The Skunks (trick question, there’s no other band like the Skunks) for their Blue Monday, or whatever blues show they like to promote, how would that effect the blues universe? If people came in to hear Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, Howlin’ Wolf, etc., and instead of those fine guitarists like Denny and Derek, respectable wailers like Lou Ann and Malcolm, … what if they had a band like us there, playing these songs as if the world was burning down outside and inside, which, by the way, it is. What if??

 

The Skunks, surrealism at 150 Decibels

Anyhow, this is our edition of “Commit a Crime.” Lyrics inserted below for your reading pleasure.

 

COMMIT A CRIME / I ASKED FOR WATER

 

I’m gonna leave you woman, before I commit a crime

I’m gonna leave you woman, before I commit a crime

You tried so hard to kill me,

woman it just was not my time

 

You put poison in my coffee, instead of milk or cream

You put poison in my coffee, instead of milk or cream

You bout the evilest woman,

that I ever seen

 

You mixed my drink, with a can of Red Devil lye

You mixed my drink, with a can of Red Devil lye

Then you sit down to watch me,

hoping that I might die

 

Church bell tolling, hearse come driving by real slow

Church bell tolls, hearse comes driving by real slow

I love you babe

I sure hope you don’t leave me no more.