I love autobiographies and I love rock and roll in all its many hairy permutations, so what could be better than reviewing a stack of autobiographies written by musicians? That’s a rhetorical question, I’m going to do it anyway. By chance I may also speak of Rachel Dolezal (again), Compton’s Most Wanted, White Indians, survivalist cults, Saturday Night Live, jumping off a cliff after work and prophesies foretold.
Thrill to the new sound of me talking about Rachel Dolezal, dreadlocks, our old friend the Internet, Bob Marley and the Wailers, the Vocoder, the tinny clang of the 80s, electric guitars, triggers, metal kids, mistakes, Gramophones, fuzzy noisemakers, the Mellotron, Guitar Center, Louis Armstrong, transcendence, cocked wahs, bagpipes and momentum.
Well, I have a little chest congestion, so forgive the slight wheezing as I talk about President Obama, the Los Angeles Clippers, fast forwarding, neighbors, construction, This Old House as porn, people who are good at what they do, working on Sunday, the history of sticking windows into walls, the ceiling of the Sistine chapel, chatty Cathy, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, corrugated fiberglass, Styrofoam heads, evidence of a grow house, Ben Franklin, Mark Twain, Gandhi, bus stop ads, Adam Sandler's idiotic baby talk characters, Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock, Tracy Morgan, Marc Maron, racism, Bob Dylan and Joe Dirt.
Starring Mary Ellen Mark, Bukowski's LouJon press books, book art, letterpress, getting your hands dirty, kissing the paper, manual typewriters, nostalgia, home tanneries in Brooklyn, synthesizers, late 50s Les Pauls, craftsmanship, Kalamazoo Michigan, robots, green wood, perpetual motion, Detroit steel, making rich people more rich, buying Bukowski's boyhood home, gentrification, turning all of Los Angeles into one big Universal back lot, Giza, slaves, lunch trucks and the Library of Congress.
If you listen very carefully you may also hear me say something about ripping CDs, Google Play Music, The Philadelphia train wreck, the World Trade Center, Hiroshima, Jesus H. Christ, Antonio Villaraigosa, death, The American Journal of Psychiatry, communism, chicken pot pies (oh wait, I didn’t talk about that, I’m just really hungry right now), religion, watermelons, the 1%, Vinnie Barbarino and some other things that don’t have anything to do with anything.
Kickstarter, Patreon, tip jars, donate buttons – some days when I’m bouncing around the web it feels like I’m idling at a freeway entrance ramp and the entire web is a cardboard WILL WORK FOR FOOD sign.
I may also mention things like B. B. King, Charles Lindbergh, PayPal, fan sites, scanner bulbs, lyric sites, bots, forums, crime, gauze, three dollar bottles of wine, podcast networks and content creators, among other things.
You really deserve a gripping, original podcast every week. One where I’m rhapsodizing about something I love but that you just don’t understand, or me frothing at the mouth over (a perceived) grievous social injustice. That’s what you deserve, but this week I’m going to read you a bit of a book I’m working on instead.
The book is called "A Passport and a Clean Pair of Socks," and it’s about being in a band. Sort of. It’s a lot like this podcast: a central theme that I can’t stick to. But variety is the spice of life, amigos. Never forget that.
You may also hear me talking about office chairs, Malcolm Gladwell, technical people not being great communicators, baking pies, fundamentalism, the death of white America, dinosaurs, carbon, Rodney King, living in a cave in the desert, heads on pikes, Mad Max, Goethe and Mozart.
I might also mention airport security, the lack of seasons in Los Angeles, VCRs, fish heads, what I would do if I was smart, the Pony Express, Mark Twain, Costco, giraffes, world travel and sitting and doing nothing.
Also in this action-packed episode: The Podcast Awards, what entrepreneurs do, chickens, gas stations, bars, rock concerts and room service hamburgers.