Friday, June 27, 2003

Hi Ladybugs!



I am still on vacation but I've been missing you, so let's consider this a postcard. Having fun! Wish You Were Here!



I really am having fun, though. It finally feels like summer here, and it started yesterday. I christened my new house by staying up all night writing, with the front and back doors wide open and the birds singing all night. I felt like a fucked-up Snow White.



I have ten things to do between now and nine p.m., so I had better run. I will be back from vacation next week, and then we can discuss my next project after Badfinger. You see, a certain someone special has been bugging me that I need to get over Badfinger and contend, finally, with the Raspberries. I'm all, yo, I know the Raspberries bitch. I even have some mp3s of them, which is saying something, since I am mp3-tarded. I told him how I played the Raspberries on my visit to Cosmic Slop, too, but he didn't seem much impressed with my choice. (It's the one that goes "don't wanna say goodbye! Don't wanna let you see my cry! Still i don't want you to live a lie-high-high!")



I'm all, well have you ever listened specifically to the drums on Badfinger? He's all no.



See, I don't have time for that. You can't consider your work done until you've come to terms with the secret superhero of a band. If you've gone there, and really gotten down into the very core of the best secret part of the band, and you still don't think they're that good, then fine.



On a new topic: I happen to know a secret superhero songwriter who writes songs that are like living maps that take you to a magic land inside of time, or outside of time--someplace that's always right there, and you feel it, but you don't always know how to get there. His name is Mark Antonides, and he is playing this Saturday at the Kibbitz Room at Canter's. I will be there with a flower in my hair.



Mark has been in hiding, musically, for years. He is a complicated guy. He is utterly, wildly brilliant. And I mean that in complete earnest. The only reason you have never heard of him is because, like so many people with that kind of gift, he is insane.



And now I got to go. Love n stuff,

kate

Monday, June 23, 2003

pps: i have been saving the new RS with Clay on the cover for a rainy moment... I love love love the cover, though, with the headline "Growing Up Clay"... now that's some cute innuendo. I wonder if they mention his love of Judy Garland in the article? Oh, Clay, you are number one to me.





let's say i am going on a Harry Potter vacation, OK? the new book came friday, woo hoo!



:)
look, god!



i fixed the archives. see, i really don't need a man for every little thing. i feel like a regular Moxie. She is very techno-savvy. By the way, Moxie, if you ever read this, I am wondering what is going on with the hunky sweet thing you picked up at the Tsar show? I had a good feeling about that guy.



Are the bloggirls getting together again? (I think we should get together with Emmanuelle and anybody else for wine and stuff.





Oh shit, i just found out Matt won a shitload of awards at the LA Press Club Awards! Rock It, brother! You are an inspiration to kick ass harder, with more panache.



love,

kate



this is a wee test in trying to fix my archive bullshit!

:)
what it will be:



yo yo yo yo baby pop, yeah you c'mere gimme a kiss!



better make it fast or else i'm gonna get pissed.



can't you hear the music pumping hard like i wish you would?



now push it.









Ah, how I do miss Salt n Pepa. Oh, Salt n Pepa, where have you gone?



So salty, so pepa-y, so sweet, too.



Anywayz, I am getting tired of not finishing the Liz Phair review, but I am still moving and everything. Last night was my first night sleeping in the new cottage. I set up the bed frame and bed all by myself. It was like some kind of spiritual test, getting the horrible metal screechy scratchy evil and Satanic bed frame into and out of the car, down the hill and into the house--then setting it all up without breaking every window in the bedroom. I kicked its ass.



I need men for some help moving and stuff, and other things, and some rock, but I don't need them for everything, man!



I'm sorry I'm so distant and boring lately. I have too much going on. I should really just do like Tony or Matt and say I'm going on vacation, so it'll be clear and clean and neat. OK, I am going on vacation. I will be back in a week. Full of juicy tales of music and love and dead-people crushes.



xoxoxo

me

Sunday, June 22, 2003

Hi Jubilyjuicenfranken



I have to apologize on behalf of Blogger, the most retarded Blogger, for the disappearing archives. Blogger is so crazy that not only does it make all your archives disappear, but when you click on the help button pertaining to the problem, it says "Internal Server Error." How retarded can one crazy retard possibly be? They must be getting so many queries about the problem their server just exploded.



well anyway i better go anyway.



liam lynch just sent me a new fake song, a white stripes song. he goes, "stole your heart and a piece of pie!" i want to make a fake white stripes song!



maybe it would make me love them again. every time i think of them right now, i want to cry. how did it happen to my favorite favorite band?



that's a topic for another time, because I have to write two movie blurbs and then get packing to my new cottage, where i will spend the evening unpacking and moving in and making it my home. yesterday four L.A. saints helped me move, with trucks from two other lovelies, and it was amazing.



xoxox

me

Friday, June 20, 2003

this time it's not my fault...



blogger was retarded for TWO DAYS and i couldn't reach you. could you feel me longing?



still, i haven't much to say because i am STILL moving... in fact, tomorrow is my big PUSH day. I tell you, moving is when you really find out who your friends are. i always knew it, but my big brother ben is really my friend. (no offense, ken, i know you have a bad back.)



i just read this quote in an email from the democratic party and thought you'd enjoy it:



"I guess if Ari had to rebel, being a Republican is better than being on drugs, but not by much." --Alan Fleischer, father of White House press secretary Ari Fleischer



Everything is leaving now. Pretty soon even the walnut whale (my armoire) will probably be gone, gone to some new home. this will be like a giant burp I have been needing to make for two years. Sorry to be disgusting.



speaking of bodily functions, though, i just got a new book in the mail called "the big bang"--nerve.com's sexual manual. written by two megasuperbabes, Em and Lo. I think i read the whole thing yesterday in about an hour. it has some very funny one-liners such as, female ejaculation is the misunderstood Goth teen of the sex world. i am not sure what that means but that's ok.



i know we try and run a family blog here, and i am not generally open to discussing sex in specific terms. so let's just say that the book got me all excited all over again about the prospect of being young, healthy and unattached to any humdrum ho-hum boring old dude who never surprises me and never makes me see the stars behind the stars.



have you ever read "The Secret Garden"? It is my favorite book. i have a very secret gardeny feeling right now.



xoxoxo

moi

Wednesday, June 18, 2003

yo fred



still packing and moving and whatnot, so this will be a very typical blog-type entry, like a normal blog. sooooo broke it's not even funny. last night instead of going to the rodney premiere i unpacked and bonded with my new neighbor/landlords (we had frozen pizza) and then lady k took me out for a congratulatory whiskey for the cover piece, except i wanted beer instead of whiskey, and we had a grand time at my current fave bar, the roost. except now you can't smoke inside. which is probably good since i want to smoke less anyway. it was such fun hanging out with K. i don't know. we spanned the landscape from bikini troubles to the way love exists within/outside of linear time, so basically, we covered all my favorite subjects.



a girl came and bought and removed my filing cabinet. my house is disappearing around me like a fading magic photograph. it's about time.



i wish i could tell you more things but i just really can't.



love n stuff

me



Tuesday, June 17, 2003

Love Tram:



In the middle of packing up and moving to my new place, so i can't write much.



What can i tell you?



I am happy. i also have that extra thing. i've got a bunny in my bonnet.



i really have to go pack now.



Sloopy hates the new white stripes album. he wouldn't stop barking at the wall. weird.



if anybody speaks to hoagy carmichael psychically, tell him I have a crush on him and want to hang out with him in a dream. and if you speak to anyone else psychically who's in the Other Place, why don't you tell me what they have to say, if you don't mind. i am getting interested in communication with dead people. they're not dead though, it's weird.



love,

kate



Sunday, June 15, 2003

Lovers, Dreamers, Fighters, Seekers:



My hero of the week, and I know it's been a long time, is Hoagy Carmichael.



God bless you and keep you, poet, comic, lover, seeker, and thank you for your music.



Hoagy Carmichael tried to be what he shouldn't. Who doesn't? He was born in 1899 in Bloomington, Indiana. His mom played piano at the movies, and he learned piano at home, by ear. I still think that's the best way, but maybe that's just because I was never much good at music lessons. Anyway, he dropped out of school at 16. And why not?



Hoagy had shit jobs--as a teen, he worked 12 hours every night at a cement mixer. That must have sucked. But in a way, it must have been good, too. Nothing like a shit job to awaken the songwriter inside you, and prick your ear to the call of the muse. That was when, in Indianapolis, he met a black ragtime pianist named Reggie Duvall, and his whole life changed.



I think Hoagy always knew in his heart he was destined for music, and for greatness, but he was a white boy in Indiana with duties and a set of expectations to fulfill. At 20 he moved back home and went back to high school. Can you imagine? 20 years old, trying to finish high school because, well, what else was he supposed to do? Work at a cement mixer the rest of his life? How did he know what else he might be capable of?



He finished high school and went on to get a law degree. Can you imagine the composer of "Pennies From Heaven" trying to be a lawyer in Florida, where he'd moved, in the 1920s? He couldn't either, in the end. He'd been writing songs all along, and playing in little college bands, and one day when he heard a recording someone had done of one of his songs, "Washboard Blues," he said Fuck It. After years of going back and forth, endlessly threatening to "drop this music racket for good," he quit law, moved back to Indiana, and decided to go for broke as a musician. He was nearly 30.



I guess Indiana was his creative magnetic home. One night, sitting on a wall at the University of Indiana (the "spooning wall," it was called), pining for a girl, a melody came to him. The song was "Stardust."



Hoagy wrote a lot of great songs (including "Georgia On My Mind"), but "Stardust" is my favorite. I think Willie Nelson maybe understands Hoagy Carmichael the best. He named his best album after "Stardust," and sang Hoagy's songs with a love so true and a heart so broken it couldn't do anything but beat on.



Hoagy loved "Stardust," too. Here's what he said about it--and I think he speaks for a lot of musicians, hearts ripped open by life, and by love, wondering at the moment of grace, when the muse descends:



"This melody was bigger than I. It didn't seem to be a part of me. Maybe I hadn't written it at all. It didn't sound familiar, even... I wanted to shout back at it, 'Maybe I didn't write you, but I found you!'"



Stardust



And now the purple dust of twilight time

Steals across the meadows of my heart

Now the little stars, the little stars pine

Always reminding me that we're apart

You wander down the lane and far away

Leaving me a love that cannot die

Love is now the stardust of yesterday

The music of the years gone by.



Sometimes I wonder why I spend

The lonely nights

Dreaming of a song

That melody haunts my reverie

And I am once again with you

When our love was new

And each kiss an inspiration

Ah, but that was long ago

Now my consolation

Is in the stardust of a song



Beside a garden wall

Where stars are bright

You are in my arms

That nightingale tells its fairy tale

of paradise where roses grew

Though I dream in vain

In my heart it will remain

my stardust melody

The memory of love's refrain.



Friday, June 13, 2003

Hi Spooky Spice!



The other day I made some calls to various politicians regarding FCC deregulation--Boxer, Feinstein, Waxman and Waters. It was great fun. The guys always sound so sexy. Like the guy from Maxine Waters' office told me that he's super into the issue, and she is too, and she's cosponsoring legislation to overturn some of the shit Michael Powell tried to pull June 2. This guy on the phone talked to me for like five minutes, like he had all the time in the world to talk to one tiny American girl. It made me feel like a person. In fact, everyone was super-duper cool except for Feinstein's office. You know, I think Feinstein is one of the lamest Democrats I've seen. What does she stand for? She's not even weird enough for me to go: She should join the Republicans. She's just totally nowheresville, as my mom would say. In fact, I think they should start a third party for all the nobodies and throw them all in there and call them the Dumocrats or the Lamocrats or maybe the Dimocrats or the Jerkocrats and be done with it.



Anyway, the Senate is cooking up stuff to fight back, and it's easy to make a call. The thing is called S.1046.



If you live in one of the Commerce Committee states, check out this link to find the number for your lady/guy to call. These states are: Alaska, Arizona, California, Florida, Hawaii, Illinois, Kansas, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Montana, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, North Dakota, Oregon, South Carolina, Texas, Virginia, Washington, or West Virginia.



If you live elsewhere, check out this link.



rawk ahn,

me

What's up, Freudian Slips!



As you know, I dislike--I mean, I have issues with--just about everything I write. But Matt says I should kinda promote everything I write regardless. That's his philosophy. Maybe he's right. Maybe it would improve the quality of my writing. So what the hell. Here's an article I just wrote during the whole Tsar concert/FCC protest period. The article isn't specifically about Tsar or the FCC but, in a deep way, that's exactly what it's about. You see, it's a sort of tribute to the great L.A. rock DJ Rodney Bingenheimer. (And with a name like that, it's got to be good!) As we all know, the FCC is the reason radio sucks so bad right now, and the reason people like Rodney are so embattled. And the first time I ever heard Tsar on the radio was during Rodney's show. It was a tearful moment for me and present band members. I wish I could see a documentary of all the times bands first heard themselves on Rodney's show. It would be a long movie, and it would change your life. You see, Rodney did what any normal DJ would do under normal circumstances: He got the Tsar record, and he played the hell out of it. He also spelled their name so you'd know where to look at the record store, and he gave info on their next gig. "It should be AMAZING!" he said. That's what DJs are sposed to do.



Jed the Fishy Fish called tonight to say he thought the article was "lovely," which was lovely, God bless the man. He said that everything I wrote was true. This is the best compliment you can give a journalist. Hate what they say, diss their style or their vocab or even their worldview, but tell them their facts are straight and they will smile the happy warm-inside smile. There's nothing but nothing worse than being inaccurate. And even though I take a lot of shots at KROQ in the article, he didn't seem to mind, or even notice. Since he is the only person at KROQ whose opinion I care about, I am breathing a sigh of relief right now. Because I'll tell you something: Rodney is Rodney and there's no taking that away from him, but Jed is every bit the hero Rodney is, in a different way. And I'll tell you something else: Jed played the hell out of Tsar too. He said they were in the tradition of "the best exuberant joy-pop." (Yeah, got that one burned on the old brain. Wish I'd come up with it.) He even went to their shows, and when I interviewed him ages ago he had a picture of them up in his kitchen. Jed's magic, because he still gets crushes on bands, after all these years and all the kornage.



Jed and Rodney are the only ones left from the old KROQ, and the only ones who get to choose their own stuff. They both loved Tsar, and I think that says a lot about them, and about Tsar. It also makes me feel that I'm not crazy for loving all of them so dang much.



I already wrote this entry once and Blogger lost it, so I tried to rewrite it from memory. Sometimes you can do that if you do it right away. If it ends up posting both of them, we'll see how good my memory is.



I also wrote a graf about how KROQ isn't all shit. I mean, I should give credit where it's due. I diss the heck out of that station but I love it like a child loves its mother--or, better, like a patriot loves her country. You know. You criticize the hell out of it cuz you believe in it. And secretly you still think it's pretty cool. I do think KROQ is cool, in ways that I probably can't explain to you. It's like this. Today I was driving and I heard Hot Hot Heat, and the Strokes, and Audioslave, which is the best classic schlock-rock. (Ditto Queens of the Stone Age.) A couple days ago Jed picked some fucked-up new Radiohead, which gave me that special "do I love this or hate this?" feeling, as he said. That day I also heard the new Jane's Addiction, which is actually good, and the White Stripes. So anyway, I was driving around, and I remembered the very real fact that this station could EASILY, easily have been shut down years ago when it was foundering, and turned into a Spanish station, or talk radio. Something would have taken its place, but there's no reason to expect it would have been any better than any of the new-breed corporate stations, and many reasons to expect it would be worse than KROQ is today. And a world where I couldn't hear the Strokes or the White Stripes on my local commercial rock station would be a cold, hard world, even colder than this one.



What I'm saying is this: It's nowhere near good enough, but, like the Czechs say, it could be even worse. And I'd rather have a crappy corporatized insultingly pale imitation of its former self than no KROQ at all. So I'm a sentimental foo. So sue me.



yar,

me



PS: Blogger has a new deal where I have even less control than before of the archives of this joint. Yo, that sucks, because now you tolly can't read anything old. So I am doing a new thing where the whole month is posted at once. Sorry if it takes too long to load or whatever.



PPS: today my friend Garth introduced me to the best new word ever: fuckery. I am going to start using it all the time, immediately.



Thursday, June 12, 2003

Rowdy Chestnuts:



I am packing up my house now and listening to "Abbey Road," my favorite album by my favorite band. My desert island.



I have to say right about now, Side Two is highly "Pet Sounds"-influenced.



A certain someone once said something really smart. He said that usually a band's musical influences are not that literal--you don't necessarily directly rip off the sound or the lyrics of your favorite music (though you do). But your deepest influences are spiritual--you copy the spirit of the music, the way it makes you feel, the way it fits into the outisde world.



"Pet Sounds" and "Abbey Road" stand together in the world. They live in the same world.



I know everyone's always going on about "Pet Sounds" and "Sgt. Pepper's," but they're wrong. "Pet Sounds" and "Abbey Road" are brothers, and they're both standing at the water's edge, looking out to the horizon, watching the sun go down.



Packing is sad. I feel lonely. I want my buddies. I want someone to smile at me today. I want someone to call me and invite me to go somewhere.



I have the mean reds today.



Do you too?



When will they go away and leave me in peace?



The mean reds goes like this: I was watching an old movie today that I have to blurb, a black-and-white comedy called "Born Yesterday." There's a handsome young man who's a journalist, and he's in the lavish hotel suite of a crass millionaire whom he's writing about. The man offers him a drink, orders his lackey to get him a drink. He walks around the suite yelling at people to shave his face and shine his shoes, halfway talking to the journalist, halfway welcoming him into his life, the vortex of the present moment they're sharing.



Life is so fast and so precise and I can never quite catch it.



So I take the opportunity to think about how much that reminds me of things I've experienced before in my line of work. So many times I've jumped into someone's present moment, some person I'd only known in static pictures and articles, recordings or maybe in concert, but someone I'd never shared a moment with personally. Then they're there, real, and they're not too much taller than me, and they're almost always doing something. Maybe they're trying to focus, to step away from the milion things they have to do in the next two days. Maybe they're playing a video game, or talking to some assistant, or eating take-out. I always have the feeling they really don't have time to sit with me and talk about their first record--and, of course, that's all they really want to do.



No one seems to ask musicians about music. I mean, I'm guessing, from the way they react when given the chance. They want to talk about Kiss. A lot.



Anyway, so often I end up feeling jealous. They have so many people around them. They have so many people building their lives around them. So many people care what they're going to do.



I want to be like that.



I was watching the movie in my outrageously messy and chaotic apartment, with the shitty flammable green polyester thermal blanket with the balls all over it. God, I hate that blanket. My front door was open because the dog has to go in and out all the time and I'm always worried he's in the street. There was one of those doorknob flyers on the doorknob, from Raffallo's pizza, and it was tapping against the door in the breeze. I saw the guy who put it there--a young kid with a backpack. Those guys work so hard, and they probably get paid two bucks an hour. Walking through nice neighborhoods with their backpacks full of papers nobody wants to read, talking to no one, barely meeting my eyes, like they were mutes, or afraid of getting hit.



Anyway, so the little flyer kept tap tap tapping, tapping out a real little beat, almost like a heartbeat. Tap tap tap from the wind, the free wind that just blows around the city, blows up the street and up the stairs and through the door, because it is free, because it's wind. What did it want? Did it want me to come outside? Did it want to tell me something?



For some reason, that stupid flyer just made me want to cry.



I haven't worked on my Liz Phair review today.



welp, better pack.



Love n starships,

kate









Wednesday, June 11, 2003





Happy Tuesday, Pinwheel Larry:



I mean wednesday?



I have to tell you, I am working on a blog review of Liz Phair's new album. But it's a review with a twist: I am going to review the record, which just came out, without having heard it. I will base my opinions on hearsay, conjecture and prejudice.



Then, after having reviewed it, I will buy it and listen to it. And then see if I need to rewrite the review. (The problem is that I am completely broke at the moment. Maybe I can borrow it?)



I will also write a similar capsule review of the new Jewel album, but it's unlikely I will buy that one afterward.



I already started writing it, which is why today's entry will be short and lame. Sorry!



I am selling a pine four-drawer filing cabinet, if anyone needs one--it's cool. It's a normal filing cabinet but nice wood. I am asking 25 buck obo. Also I am selling a big motherfucking beautiful art deco armoire that's made of burl walnut. I am asking $800 obo on that. If you buy it I will help out on delivery. I have pics too. I am also thinking of selling a CD rack that holds like 400+ cds---15 bucks or so?



I really have to go the cottage now. Sorry so lame, keep the faith. Go read Tony's blog, where he has a cool entry about rock and riding the bus in L.A. I feel you, Tony.





love,

Kate

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

This posted twice because of technical difficulties. oops!

:)





Oh Let the Sun Beat Down Upon My Face:



Sorry so long. Let's see... busy weekend of communing with my peoples. Friday night I rented The Matrix w/my friend. We had gone to see Matrix II a couple weeks ago, but it was so confusing we decided to rent the first one and then go see the second one again. It was rockin. So many little details I'd missed the first time. Kickass motherfucking movie, man.



Saturday was an all-day, all-night BBQ surprise B-day for Jeff Solomon, bassist in Tsar and all-around superman. I just found out from his special lady that he also bakes cornbread--on top of fixing computers, playing rock, singing falsetto harmonies, tiling floors, doing construction and making babies... the list goes on and on. I guess he's what you could call a renaissance man.



Tony had a big photo essay about it. He asked me if I liked it. I said there weren't enough pictures of me. Just a lot of pictures of the same people I see all the time. Then I went back and looked at it again, and I realized: Holy Shit! Those poeple are the loves of my life! These are my tribesmen, my heroes, my family, my teachers. So what if they're the same people I see every day? Isn't that how it should be?



In this picture, for example, you will see three of the most deeply central figures in my entire life, now and forever: My best friend, my brother, and my special special.



No, I won't tell you which are which or who's who, so forget it.



(You'll also see the person who really inspired me to become a writer, and a fun one, and the first guy I ever got really busy with, ha ha. I have learned so much from my friends.)



I am so blessed. So blessed. Thank you, God, for the love and the magical beings you have surrounded me with. Thank you for filling up my heart so full and letting us all be together, still, after so many years. The past is dead and the future doesn't exist: This moment is new, this is the future. We are still young, beautiful and alive, and a little bit wiser than yesterday. This moment is enough. Thank you for it.



The boys played guitar and we sang into the morning. I can't describe to you some of the feelings I felt listening to my drunk friends singing songs of the heart. hearts don't grow old, do they. That's funny, but they don't.



I try to avoid talking about my personal life on the blog, but in this case, it's OK.



Now I have to go pack, because I am still moving into the fairy cottage this month, holy crap!

love,

Kate











Oh Let the Sun Beat Down Upon My Face:



Sorry so long. Let's see... busy weekend of communing with my peoples. Friday night I rented The Matrix w/my friend. We had gone to see Matrix II a couple weeks ago, but it was so confusing we decided to rent the first one and then go see the second one again. It was rockin. So many little details I'd missed the first time. Kickass motherfucking movie, man.



Saturday was an all-day, all-night BBQ surprise B-day for Jeff Solomon, bassist in Tsar and all-around superman. I just found out from his special lady that he also bakes cornbread--on top of fixing computers, playing rock, singing falsetto harmonies, tiling floors, doing construction and making babies... the list goes on and on. I guess he's what you could call a renaissance man.



Tony had a big photo essay about it. He asked me if I liked it. I said there weren't enough pictures of me. Just a lot of pictures of the same people I see all the time. Then I went back and looked at it again, and I realized: Holy Shit! Those poeple are the loves of my life! These are my tribesmen, my heroes, my family, my teachers. So what if they're the same people I see every day? Isn't that how it should be?



In

Monday, June 09, 2003





Hi Luscious Gourd handlers:



i will write a proper entry later today. Getting a slow start on Monday morning after a rather rock weekend. I am going to meet my friend for coffee now, too. My dog is playing with his dying-baby chew toy. When he bites it, it sounds like he's killing a young human. It's totally rad. He loves it, but it never dies, so he keeps killing it. Go, Sloopy, go!



love,

kate



Thursday, June 05, 2003

Good morning Pizza heads:



I wrote a tipsy entry last night but Blogger was, as usual, totally high on crack. so here it is now. i'm not tipsy anymore. the end.



xoxoxo

kate


Sweet magic fucky fucks:



I should sooo be in bed right now, but if I were in bed, I'd only be dreaming, and that's what I'm doing right now, so what's the difference?



I had suuuuch a good night!



One of the embarrassing things about me is that I don't own any Beatles or Led Zeppelin albums (they're all on hand-dubbed tapes from high school). Another thing is I don't own Pet Sounds. And no, I don't have any Sex Pistols. Another embarrassing thing is that I've neevr been the Rainbow Roon. And right about now, i judt want to say, Yes, I'm a little tipsy, and I don't have the energy to fix all my typos, so i think you better just decide it's OK. So.



I've never been to the Rainbow Room. Till tonight. My frined from Minneapolis played thjere. The back room is like a wood-lined ship.. you feel you're on a rickety pirate ship, and it rock.s . There's also a little loft, up some stairs, where everything is extra-tiny. the tables are teeny weeny, the ceiling is four feet high, everyhting's small. cept maybe the dirnks, ibet.



by the way, the rainbow room is sort of THE rock/heavy metal hangout on the sunset strip of ALL TIME>



so anyway, the crowd tonight was sup0er chilled out and normal and un-Holywood. I almost felt like we were all in mineapolis. people were even dancing to his terrilbe cover of fleetwood mac;s "You make loving fun." wow! an dthey were these gorgeos balck girls, dancing to it. it just was really god.



so at the end of the night i got bored and went up to the loft to sit there and absorvb the history, lore has it that's where led zep used to do coke. and when you're up ther, you can feel the coke in your eyes, you can also feel 10,000 lazy blow jobs warming your bum through the red vinyl. (like those heated seats in a volvo) then these two guys show up with dirnks, and light up smokes---VERY illegal, don'tcha know. so it turns out this one guy, craig, has been rnning the place for thirty years. thirty years, he said, and his job is 24/7. it was past midnight and he said "i'll be back here at nine." he also runs the whicky. i mean, the whisky. i didn't wannt to say it, but i bet his famnily hates him and his job, can you imagine being married to the guy who runs the rainbow room?



they told me about everyone coming in there--bowie, ozzy and everyone in between --He said Micky Dolenz comes in and i just about blew a valve, man., cuz i've been having a mickey thing lately, don't you know. I just heard an incredible monkees; song written and sung by Mickey on Breakfast with the beatles on sunday and it made me get them in a deeper way than ever before. (He also played care of cell 44" or whatever by the zombies which was awesome.)



They said you came on the perfect night when it's not so crowdy and cheesy. they said, you can rent the loft for 100 bucks--and 20 drink tickets, which is worth 100 bucks in itself--so i know where my next b-day's going to be!



can you imagine--hanging out in the led zep den of iniquity for basically no money--because if you get 10 friends, it's 10 bucks each and two free drinks--in essence, it's FREE!



then i drove home and dug badfinger on the drive, and this time what i got was the drumming. what HERO THAT DRUMMER IS! I really fucking grokked the phil spector influence, whcih i'd never heard before. "Baby Blue" is all based on the phil spector drum at the start of "Be My Baby"--that BUM-bum bum BUM-bum bum.



"i guess i got what i deserved!"

(and let's not forget the jingle bells!)



the heroism, the desire to be understood, to be heard, and maybe, someday, to be loved---it made me cry with joy and feeling. this band is alive.



Long live Badfinger!

love,

kate

PS: thank you to all the beautiful ones who wrote nie things about me., sorry i'm so drunk!

Tuesday, June 03, 2003

Rocky Mountain, Hi!



I think some fancy important people are reading my blog to see if I'm any good and if I have any readers. So I have a super idea. Why don't you, if you're able, write some comment about this. You know, like, "Kate is all right, and you should give her a bunch of cash to write something amazing, and I will totally read it." Or if you want, write something really vitriolic and hate-filled, so it's obvious you're somehow captivated and threatened. Either way is fine.



Since it's been a year now since the blog started, I decided to do a greatest-hits compilation for your pleasure or embarrassment.



1. Harry Potter meets Cosmic Slop in the ELO Cave



2. Immaculate Heart is Crayzee!



3. Janes' Addiction is Sooo Great!



4. Clara Schumann meets Britney Spears, Or: Fuck, I used to be a good blogger.



sniff,

kate
Hi Big Mama Thornton!



I have a request, Big Mama. Will you please leave a note on the comments if you are reading this in a country besides the U.S.? Will you please tell me precisely what country--maybe even what town? That would be most rad. Also, will you tell me how to say something rad in your language? Like, "Get out of my dreams and into my car." Or something.



Has anyone seen the new Zeppelin DVD?



Can you rent that shit? I'm too broke to be buying any DVDs right now, even ones so good they might make my TV explode and pierce my eyes with shards of blazing truth.



I am wearing my old Led Zeppelin T-shirt right now. I got this T-shirt in an iron-on T-shirt store on Wenceslas Square when I lived in Prague. It's way cheesy: the flying/falling angel guy in bright blue and big Druidy letters: LeD ZePpeLiN. (You get the idea.) I can't believe how great this band is. Well, we've probably discussed this before. They're my second-favorite band of all time after the Beatles, and that's all there is to that.



Not that it matters, but last night I went to the fairy cottage where I am going to be moving. I cannot even begin to go into the details of how rich and outrageous I feel about this. It is very small, but it is some kind of dream. No--I know it's not a dream, because I keep lying in bed thinking about it, unable to sleep. I think about how I will fix it up just so. There will be flowers and color, and Sloopy will just about think he died already, he'll have so much dappled sunlight to lie in. Maybe real fairies will decide to make a home in a flower pot. I hear Silverlake is full of fairies.



I can't talk about it. I don't want to like ejaculate prematurely type-deal.



xo

me



Hi freaks!



So I got hooked into this whole "sitemeter" thing, where you can see how many people check out your blog, and where they're located geographically, sort of--well, what time zone they're in, anyway.



Hello, World! Welcome to Fantasy Island!



The trip was that at least one person way the fuck in what looks like Tahiti or Guam or something was reading ye olde rockblog today. What relevance can my parochial ramblings have to someone in Tahiti? I mean, wouldn't you rather read a mangoblog or something? (Do they have mangos in the South Pacific?)



In the midst of winter, I found within myself an invincible mango.



love,

kate

Monday, June 02, 2003

PS: I didn't mention the FCC thing because it's such a crashing bore. The NRA and the National Organization for Women and Catholic groups and civil rights groups can all oppose deregulation, and it doesn't matter to Michael Powell. Michael Powell understands corporate money, power and cronyism. He's a disgrace to democracy. And an insult to the people on whose shoulders he stands. What is the point of being smart, powerful and black if you're just sucking the Man's dick?

It's like all the women and neo-Uncle Toms in the Bush administration. Is this what MLK had in mind? Is this freedom? Being a puppet? Selling out the last vestiges of a free press and minority media?



I'm not saying every woman and person of color has to be Lefty, either. This particular issue goes way deeper than contemporary political lines. That's why it's important for the Left to get in bed with all the right-wingers, gun-toters, Jesus freaks and anyone else they can, to fight this bullshit. Stop making this a Liberal issue. It's not a Liberal issue. It's a democracy issue.



O, I'm fired up, I tell you!




Hi, Universal Masters:



I didn't go on a date on Friday. I was just pulling a Tony Pierce, don't ya know. Haw haw. But I had a way better time anyway, because Tsar played again. And not only did they rock like crazy, but a lot of very special people were there, too.



The hubbub after Tsar played involved the next band, whose lead singer got naked onstage. I don't care to go into the troubling details. I've never liked redheads. It's a real problem. All that red hair. That's how I spell GROSS.



I respected the freedom, though.



There was a nice party afterwards at Tony's house, too. Thanks, Tony!



Tsar makes me love rock.



the end.

Kate