Finally

This month sucks. I haven't even skied.

I am finally starting to feel better, but am still no where near 100%. More like 49% -- approaching a majority.

I have been sick for the last two plus weeks with this R-U-G-G-E-D viral throat infection. It has beaten me in every way possible. And hence, the posting thing has taken a back seat. Between trying to work and sleeping 12 hours a day or so, it just wasn't fitting into my day planner. (Please note: I do not actually own a day planner.) Sorry about that.

Anyway, in a few days, I'll be heading home to start my whirlwind EC Christmas tour. Maybe I'll even post from the road!

Happy Thursday!

Hope you're enjoying life as much as young Sherb here:

Kilby Court, please do not abort!

(Your mission, that is!)

This post is dedicated to Kilby Court, the little rock club that could, which I battled hard and visited again this past Monday in spite of the impending illness, doom and death I am currently enjoying.

I went to Kilby this time to check out Ms. Edith Frost along with a whole host of locals that I was looking forward to seeing, including Nate Padley (who I unfortunately missed) and Glade, complete with Sabra singing back-up. (Phew. That was a lot of linking.)

You have to love Kilby Court; you just have to. Sure, it's December 8th and its website still features the November schedule of artists. Ok, so you have to walk down a shady ally to get to the place. So what if the venue itself is simply someone's garage with a small stage and a PA system, complete with a side yard to mill about? Does it matter that said PA generally sounds like I am running it (i.e., not good)? Does it matter that its all-ages? Is it okay that during the winter months, Kilby is either 174 or 12 degrees, depending on the night? Absolutely not.

Only at Kilby can you enjoy the cooler kids that hit the cooler all-ages shows. Only at Kilby can you sit and enjoy a fire between bands. Only at Kilby can you run into about a zillion people that you know, each of whom shares a love for independent music, and despite the zillion of people you may know, only at Kilby can you check out a national artist with less than 30 people, or so.

Paraphrasing MC Welk, one of the several folks I knew at the Edith Frost show Monday and who also is a Kilby believer, 'It speaks volumes for the Salt Lake music scene that the best artists come to a venue without a liquor license.'

At least it's here.

Those generic night-time cold and flue gelcaps

... I took last night, kicked my ass. I now have a better understanding of the little tag hanging in the grocery store that reads something to the effect of: "We limit the quantity of this product per person." Honestly, I took those things about 12 hours ago and I am still a little loopy. Luckily, most of my symptoms are still hanging out with me as well. Damn, I need caffeine. Perhaps I should establish some sort of an international drug ring with these things, afterall, they were on sale.

James briefly visited me last week from Maine. I think it was he, the punkass, that brought the germs into my home.

MP, meet BD

In 1999, John Lurie (of the Lounge Lizards) created an alter ego named Marvin Pontiac and released his lost recordings.

The legendary Marvin Pontiac’s “Greatest Hits,” was released on the Strange & Beautiful Music label five years back. I picked it up yesterday. When I saw it, I recognized the cover art immediately, but I couldn’t place it exactly.

The story is, it’s the long lost recordings of a roots rock great and that somehow, twenty years after his death (killed by a bus, naturally), the tapes have surfaced. I couldn’t figure out why I knew this record that I had never listened to before, but looked forward to giving it a listen and doing some research. And now, of course, I remember. Crazy John Lurie released this funny-ass, bluesy record under pseudonym, except that he took it a step further than simply creating a pen name. If you have a second, please check out the bio on Mr. Pontiac; it is the life that any good roots rocker should lead.

My personal favs:
His disdain and mistrust of the music business is well documented and he soon fell out with Acorn's owner, Norman Hector. Although, approached by other labels, Marvin refused to record for anyone unless the owner of the label came to his home in Slidell, La and mowed his lawn.

Reportedly Marvin's music was the only music that Jackson Pollack would ever listen to while he painted, this respect was not reciprocated.

I have an alter ego, too, though not nearly as well developed as Lurie’s. His name is BabyDaddy (one word, capitalized “B,” capitalized “D”). While the bio is not complete, I will tell you this: his voice is deep, as is his soul and his appreciation for pirate-speak. Oh, and he beats the girls off with a stick. Literally.

Well, maybe not literally. Let’s say, he gently taps the girls away with a well-padded stick. Literally.