Friday, March 10, 2017
Well then there now: music. My band--never get tired of sayin' that--my band, Stew and the Sleazebags, couple nights back jammin' we done had ourselves a real live audience. Muddy's girlfriend was there. Eventually we'll prolly get more than just her, but that worked out good. She actually had some useable advice for me, even. Turns out, a man can have a diaphragm, too. And what a surprise this was, especially considerin' I can pretty well even sing from the damn thing. Guess I feel like I kinda gypped ya all them times I posted songs wherein I warbled from the other parts. Way I figger, few more prophylactics and we'll be good to go.
Along these lines, I should prolly also note that--and I truly do not mean to skirt the bounds of lewdness--there is between a guitarist and a drummer a physical love relationship, more or less, durin' the workin' out of a song which leaves a humble word-slingin' lead singer all useless and alone. Like watchin' a couple ol' hogs hard at fornicatin', ain't too damn much to do 'cept get a decent angle and raise a bottle toward the Lord.
Guess by now the neighbors done learned ain't no point interruptin'. That would only serve to make us angry. And the madder we get, the harder we play. So it's best to sit on the ground floor of history and just be glad for that instead of actin' uselessly rude.
Some folks might consider what we do a hobby, and others might think of it more like a profession, but both sides are wrong. Technically, what we got is a passion. And not just because of the diaphragm, nor watchin' hogs, neither. It's a passion fueled by sheer gumption. It's a way of spreadin' the proverbial cheeks of life, hunkerin' down, and just gettin' right on in there. Can't put a dollar price on that, same as with sex. Leastways not without bein' a whore. Sleazebags is one thing, whores is a whole separate deal. Ain't Stew and the Whores. Leastways not yet. So we give it for free. Woo wee, and how!
There's a lesson to be learned here. Lesson on dignity. How to do shit. Do shit right. But that's not for me to reveal unto you. That's God's job, and if He ain't done it good enough yet by now, that's His fuckin' problem.
So if it's superlative old school surf punk with a hard rock edge yer after--or hell, even if ya ain't after nothin' better than watchin' hogs root around with visible erections--cut loose some gumption and have yourself a listen.
LOTION IN THE BASKET
WENT TO TOWN
LUMBER BY THE TRAIN
DISHES FROM HELL
GIMME A CALL
NO GOOD REASON
WAY ON DOWN THE RIVER
STOOD ME UP
ONE MORE NIGHT
HEAR ABOUT YOU
MOTHERS WITHOUT MASTERS
On behalf of Muddy Ross and T-Bone Sculley, this is yer ol' pal Lightnin' Stew sayin' thanks fer checkin' in. Gonna have a review on the new King Kong movie in a couple days, plus a new chapter or two from THE GOLDEN CITY real soon.