Best Laid Plans

Remember my previous post in which I outlined a dizzying, nay excessively ambitious/delusional plan of seeing four different bands in six nights (daunting for anyone, let alone a 39-year old father of a "terrible" two year-old, husband of a wife who is sick with daily nausea during this pregnancy, employee, and dreamer, more or less)? Well, couldn't see the Futureheads because wife had to work late and so I couldn't abandon the wayfaring Adrien; couldn't see Jay Farrar because my friend waited too long to buy tickets and so it sold out; and am up in the air ( a game-time decision) on seeing Dogs Die in Hot Cars (showtime at 9pm on north side of chicago, but two(!) frickin' opening acts before they go on, on a MONDAY!). Mercifully, I did see old faves American Music Club twice, and very much enjoyed seeing them play earnestly and vigorously. As anticipated, seeing them perform "Patriot's Heart", "Home" and numerous golden oldies was fine tonic for a beaten soul, and often transcendental. They have always been a bit haphazard at times, however. Despite very fine musicianship, AMC is often hindered by Eitzel's excessive and sometimes melodramatic, purportedly jazz crooning. He carries lines unpredictably and sometimes unnaturally, thereby disturbing the best intentions of the music itself. At times, this tension reveals postives in the way of realizing the words more in the foreground, but sometimes it's a rather sloppy affair. That aside, when they're on, they're on ... and for these two nights, they were on at least 80% of the time, which is 80% better than sitting and home and doing nothing. Enjoyed speaking with Eitzel after the show -- congratulated him on writing a song like "Patriot's Heart" and for changing the words to the great "Johnny Mathis' Feet" on friday night to "George W Bush's Feet". Also enjoyed seeing and meeting opener Will Johnson of Centromatic/South San Gabriel. What genuine humanism comes sparkling through in his songs. Very moody, indeed.

On Sunday, as I was waiting at a car repair shop for my jeep to get checked out (radiator leak or loose cap?), these two elderly African American brothers (literally, not figuratively) observed me cutting and otherwise preparing the artwork for my new three cd-compilation, Whorehouse Desert of the Patriot's Heart. Chuckling at the title and artwork, one brother explained why his brother was so overweight and had to walk with a cane. He proceeded to tell me how his brother was in Vietnam and was exposed to Agent Orange, by the U.S. Army itself, and how despite this fact -- directly contributing to his brother's numerous health-related concerns -- his brother was constantly getting denied full Veteran's benefits. His brother had taken his fight for full benefits as high as to Washington D.C., and believes that his brother's biggest problem is that he has survived the Agent Orange for as long as he has. He said all but five members of his brother's company had already died of such exposure. The man went on to decry our role in Iraq, trust in this government, belief in the "man," the media and he was generally bitter about everything. Everything except family. "It all comes down to who you love and who loves you back," he said. "I appreciate your cd cover," he said. "It's the truth."