Twangy

Brandon, the guitarist/keyboardist in The Wallpaper Thieves, has just made one of the most inspired moves thus far in the short life of this band. A couple of weeks ago, he dusted off his 1984 Kramer Baretta.


That's Eddie Van Halen, of course.

So Brandon has owned this slab since he was 16 or so, but stashed it for the past decade in favor of more subdued guitars like his Telecaster and more recently a Les Paul. Good guitars, but both missing something. And my god does this apex-of-the-hair-metal-era axe have it. When I was 12 or 13 (1987 or so), a Kramer Baretta was generally preferable to a swimming pool filled with greased naked ladies. All the badasses played Kramers. The closest any of my peers came was an Ibanez RG550, like the one C.C. played on Look What the Cat Dragged In. Neon yellow. Hot.

Yeah, so ANYWAY, Brandon pulled his Kramer out of the closet, set up the bridge, locked down the Floyd Rose tremolo and plugged the beastie into his Orange half-stack. Good heavens... This is what's been missing. All three of us wear our influences on our sleeves. You listed to the music and it's not too difficult a task to come up with a list of 10 or 15 bands who we blatantly rip off. However, Dave, the guitarist with Grappling Hook, who isn't even a fan of new wave or pop, paid us a compliment when he said there's no way to put a finger on us. But throughout the quagmire of chattering influences, what was MISSING was the cock rock. I think we had a perception of slickness and songcraft, but were missing the flash. Back in the day, Brandon was regarded as one of the hottest shredders in Central Arkansas. No shit. Time and taste have tempered the chutzpah of face melting solos, but without a doubt some of that festers in his soul still.

So as we're playing through the set today, Brandon is pulling off Van Halen-esque divebombs and flutters with the whammy bar, pinch harmonics, squealies, tapping runs, all that jazz. A few years ago this would have been hokey or some play on hip irony. But now it just works. The songs are rocking, he's wailing, and it all kicks ass. I haven't been so excited about a musical project in years. It may seem wistfully naive to think guys in their early 30s are basing major life decisions on a band. To be honest, this project is really the main reason I'm out here in NC. It goes beyond the band though. It's an essential creative outlet, something important that's been missing from my life for many years. In lieu of sex, we rock. We rock! And laugh our asses off. And I don't really give a shitty shit if no one else thinks we're any good whatsoever.

I've also been spending hours on my MIDI setup, teaching myself to play keyboard. I've written three complete songs on the Moog patch and a couple of more complex "things" on the Oberheim patches. One will be in the "working" roster soon. New Style American Girlfriend. That's the title. It involves switching between bass and keys and back three times. I can't wait to play for people. Drunk and leaping.

Quotables

Mittens,

I forgot to tell you that I enjoyed a long weekend at the beach with the ladies over the Labor Day weekend. While there, conversational topics took a number of (as you can imagine) twists and turns. The culmination of the weekend, I think, can be summed up in the following quote:

"I would let a guy stick a peeled banana up my vagina if he would let me shove raw hamburger meat up his asshole."

I thought that you would really want to hear this.

Yours,

Monkey

I have gray hairs (a poem)

I do.
In my beard.
I might count 20, more or less,
If I could be arsed to count..
Where did they come from?
Why are they here?
What do they mean?
Why am I seeing them just today?
Gray hairs.
In my beard.
Better than the clap.

-Mittens

Argh.

Mittens,

Would girls actually need to be present for you to dance like you've never seen a man dance? Isn't Billy Idol enough?

You know what sucks? I mean, I know a lot of things suck, but you know what one of those things is? Asking for a raise and getting turned down. It sucks. Especially when you really feel you deserve it. And when you have told yourself that if the raise didn't come through, then you would start looking for another job. Because the only thing (in the job realm) that sucks more than not getting paid what you think you deserve at a job you genuinely don't like - is being forced (by pride or circumstance) to whore yourself out to the job market.

I can't complain about this more than is necessary, because I am well aware that I am in a fortunate position given I still have a job and it's unlikely I will be fired. But, I know you will attest to the fact that getting out into the job market demands (at some points) for you to acknowledge you are largely applying for jobs you don't even want in the first place. And if you are subjecting yourself to that sort of soul-squeezing reality, then you must actually hate your current job. And I do. I feel little to no pride in the work that we produce, I am not convinced the work has a balanced return-on-cost benefit, I think my job involves a lot more tedium than it does creativity, and there isn't even an option for me to progress to a more interesting position. This is it! This is as far as I can go. The only thing that could possibly happen is that they would give me more money. And they won't (until February at the very earliest). Fuckers. So, now I have to become a whore. I guess all of this is to say: look out Mittens... there is a new working girl on the block.

Where in the hell have you been, anyway? Are you eating any vegetables? What happened at that second interview? TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

Don't give up on me posting either. You have no idea what I have up my sleeve... my wizard's sleeve. BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!

Heart, Monkey

Consistency

If I'm at a party, and if maybe I've had a few beers and a few gin & tonics, and if there are females present, and especially if "Rebel Yell" comes on the hi-fi, I will dance like you've never seen a man dance.

There should be more parties.