Weekend Shows: 12/30/95 through 4/19/96
Man or Astro-Man?
Experiment in Weekends
Winter 1996
Documented by BirdstuffÕs Optical Reception
December 30, 1995
City: Gainesville, FL
Venue: The Covered Dish
Explanation for Astro-Mental Bulk Erasing
The last show in a vast time expanse that most of you inhabitants know as a year. Everything Ð brain circuitry, health system networks, and our own myriad of cantankerous electronic devices were on the verge of annihilation, but the gears still managed to grind.
This show was somewhat of a makeup show being as we had to cancel what was to be a short hit-and-run style attack of the retirement state back in the month of October. We had to rearrange studio time with the Professor of Sound (Steve Albini), and thus we lamely canceled these shows only a week in advance of their scheduled blast off. The album was to be recorded on location in a barn that rested on the Alpha HQ property in North Georgia. Every Astro-Being had been maxing out performance to get everything prepared for putting the finished decals on our sonic gift to the world Ð there was no way to play the shows and have our space opera ready for SteveÕs entry cycle.
Alas, with the Astro-Luck principle being the hopeless state-lotto style chance of reward that it is, Hurricane Opal struck in the Southland, and with over half of Atlanta being void of electrical juice, we decided that this might not be the wisest opportunity to do location recording in a wooden structure made for the housing of domesticated animals. Doubly fucked, we rescheduled both the Florida entanglements and the grammy-hopeful recording session, and then went on tour for the next 7,257,600 seconds.
The Show
Coco had picked Dexter X up from the Atlanta Center for Space Alien Integration at 5:30 a.m. Ð it seemed Dexter had packed his robotic Christmas vacation too tightly with Sevotech research as he had definitely contracted some bizarre earthbound ailment. Exhaust was scheduled to blast out of the Astro-Rocket muffler at 10:30 a.m. This was rescheduled because the Inventory Division related that the fine staff of Air New Zealand had lost our projection devices. This was the first time we had actually had something ultimately lost in the depths of air cargo. Somewhere in the world there are a bunch of caged poodles, an army of Samsonite, and two Wal-Mart cases that contain our projectors and Coco Space Suit #2.
In Gainesville, I immediately felt the loss of the Branock Device that I had also experienced while in Australia, on our first full-fledged Astro-Performance since our re-embarkment. The show was more of that Man or Astro-Man? Variety Show type than and actual musical performance. I really think the in-between-song monologues outweighed the notes that were played. I cut my hand open at the end of the show and got nice blood stains on the head of my floor tom. Dexter X does not remember ever playing this show.
For the weekends of January, February and March of the earth year 1996, I was unable to keep a synchronous record of the ongoings of the Astro-Troops. As the following dis-information is thus being written in retrospect, I aim to keep the description of what transpired over that time period on a much briefer scale in comparison to the normal novella style tour diaries I create. Yeah, whatever.
January 5-7, 1996
The Capturing of Experiment Zero on Magnetic Media
Since the weather had not allowed we Astro-Techs to proceed with our original plan of capturing all our latest hot picks on location at a top secret barn facility in North Georgia, we rescheduled for the first week in January, but this time at the classic standby of Jim MarrerÕs World Famous Zero Return Sound Facility in Wetumpka, AL. Mr. Albini was going to be sitting behind the wheel of the Alabama Sonic Sound Tractor, and this time we were going to keep driving the machine straight through Hurricane Opal II if necessary.
Steve was great as usual. The juxtaposition of Steve and Jim together was a strange one indeed, but everything went splendidly. We moved through most of the material fairly quickly. One of the Òaudible in the range of human hearingÓ vocal numbers entitled Ò9-VoltÓ was the only song that we put together in the studio. Ironically, this ended up being the song that we shot a video for. At one point in the session we all had a little too much of JimÕs Hyper-Sweet Iced Tea and decided to disrobe from our shirts just to liven up the session a bit. Steve has got quite a physique.
Mr. Albini received some rather strange phone calls during the session. Someone called representing a band that was made up of Iggy Pop, Steve Jones and two of the guys from Guns ÔnÕ Roses and asked him if they could fly him out to discuss some recording. Steve basically relayed back that he though the project sounded terrible and he didnÕt have any time to delve into something quite that silly. Also, someone from ÒRolling StoneÓ called to interview Steve about the English band Bush. In the April issue of ÒRolling Stone,Ó specifically the article on Bush, it even mentions that Steve was contacted at an Alabama recording studio. Hey, thatÕs our locale!
So, with pesky PR behind us, the tapes in an indestructible lead containment unit, and plane tickets to Chicago in the hot little hands of Star Crunch and myself, we headed to the Albini Estates in Greater Evanston, Illinois for the final mixing procedure.
January 8-10, 1996
Coffee, Take-Out Food, and a New Album
Steve was flooded with phone calls to return, e-mail, and various odd things to take care of when we arrived at his home base, but we still got underway without much of a delay. Everything was rather uncomplicated; we had done a decent job of ÒnailingÓ everything in the studio, so there was very little ÒfixingÓ or ÒtreatmentÓ type crap to be done. There were a few aesthetic arguments about sample placement, but mostly Star Crunch and I were in agreement on most of the mix. It was strange for me not having complete control over the mix, but I think it made for a more objective outlook on the songs and for a more congealed sounding record. During a break from our laborious task of sorting through 40 solid minutes of Astro-Noise, we were flipping through the channels on the television and happened upon a documentary on prison life. There was one ear-shattering, unbelievable segment about prison sex where Òtossing the saladÓ was a favorite technique. Jelly or syrup Ð the choice is yours.
The final highlight was putting the closing touches on the LP bonus track, ÒThe Space Alphabet.Ó The track was spawned when an Òunderwear onlyÓ clad Star Crunch made the late night discovery that he could play guitar behind an education record that recited the Òspace alphabet.Ó Anyway, the worldÕs nicest record type guy, Corey Rusk, head boy of the Touch and Go friendlies, came out just to play the part of one of the letter reciting kids. It was hilarious. So, what comes after ÒSÓ again anyway?
January 19-20, 1996
New Orleans and Lafayette, LA or Maybe Not
Our coordinates were set to conquer the State of Louisiana on this weekend. Unfortunately, I was attacked by one of your dreaded earth viruses. So, instead of rocking the land that France sold to the U.S. for some 15,000,000 smackeroos in 1803, I ended up throwing up my outer-dimensional digestions and watching the Cartoon Network all weekend. Yet, no need to fear, Man or Astro-Man? will fix that with a hot and spicy sonic outer space Cajun soul food in a sizzlinÕ pot of make-up show stew sometime in the future.
January 25, 1996
City: Tallahassee, FL
Venue: Grand Central Cafe
This was the first of several terrorist-style weekend attacks with old school earth compadres, The Woggles. The venue seemed more set up to serve vegetarian lasagna than any decent portion of rock ÔnÕ roll. This was a landmark show because it marked the entrance of the green light/red light, start/stop song system. Coco arranged it so that everyone had an a/b switch box hooked up to two 25 watt green and red Òparty bulbsÓ from Wal-Mart. Green Light = everyone was in rock mode, no excuses, the song must begin. Red Light = trouble in the air, somebodyÕs equipment is fucked, time for a stall. Needless to say, even this simple, effectual system was unable to unburden the Man or Astro-Man? in-between-song reset time.
The show sounded strange, and thatÕs in a bad way, but it was good to be back in Tallahassee, FL. There was a tarp covering the back window of the stage so we decided it was unfair to have the people who couldnÕt get in to look at a blank wall. We Òtore the wall downÓ so that the people of the outer perimeter could at least catch a glance at the back of our heads. Luckily it just so happened that it was the side on which I put the tingly dandruff shampoo.
January 26, 1996
City: Jacksonville, FL
Venue: The Milk Bar
This one was about as filled to the brim with ridiculous activities as is possible for one single Astro-Adventure into Sight and Sound. We started off by going to WoodyÕs BBQ with WVFS, and long time Man or Astro-Man? Tallahassee propaganda man, Tom Richardson. The waitress there kept telling us that if we got as popular as Nirvana to be sure to tell everyone that we ate at WoodyÕs. I didnÕt feel it necessary to alert her to our already attained popularity outside of Planet Earth.
On the drive to Jacksonville, we did our usual truck stop shopping spree. TodayÕs dent to the Cosmic Cash fund was some $65.86 on rubber hand puppets. We decided that anyone who wanted to do a Man or Astro-Man? interview would have to interview the puppets instead of the actual band. Collectively, we/they were: Star Crunch/Jumpy (a yellowish frog with attitude); Coco the Electronic Monkey Wizard/Juan the Smoking Monkey (barroom bad habit monkey extraordinaire, also the only puppet with clothes); Birdstuff/MoMo (a stupid innocent dog with a large, unflattering pink tongue hanging out of his mouth); and Dexter X/Fing Fing, obviously inspired by MoMo (a sadistic, demonic-looking black cat).
After the show, the puppets did the only interview they would ever do as Juan the Smoking Monkey immediately left the group. Well, actually we lost him. Maybe the $65.86 wasnÕt quite justified for the amount of time our little rubberized friends put in, but at least now we can say, ÒYeah, we already did the puppet thing.Ó
Back to the actual show, for logic unknown, they had really gone overboard on the backstage food thing, and there was this huge jar of mayonnaise just resting there, waiting for some devious purpose. For some reason, I thought the earth-types would enjoy being covered in this white, coagulated condiment. They didnÕt. However, one spectacular sight was seeing the Lounge Lizard, after trying to clean up the mess, run around aimlessly without the benefit of sight, screaming, ÒAHHH! IÕve been blinded by mayonnaise!Ó
Later, the soul of the Lounge Lizard was condemned to even more astro-torture as he got himself locked in the freight elevator. It was almost 20 minutes before Manfred of the Woggles heard him screaming for help, and even to make that frantic shriek audible, Mr. Lizard had to break the shaft window with his ever handy mag-light.
After the notorious mayonnaise incident and the escape from the freight elevator, we headed (albeit against Mr. BirdstuffÕs wishes) to stay with a psycho, art major, female earth freak. After trying to put anatomy parts in an interlocking sequence with all the Astro-Men and half of The Woggles, she would not be satisfied until Coco would form an unholy space copulation union sequence with her outside in the Van or Astro-Van? Star Crunch, the Lounge Lizard and I were entertained from her upstairs apartment window for nearly an hour before we lost interest in this earth femaleÕs quest. She had obviously failed. The next morning there was a note letting us know that she had gone to class and we had to be out by noon because her parents were coming to visit. Oooh! What a believable threat! Her parents are stopping by Ð yeah, right. Well, when her dad called at 11 a.m., we soon changed our nonchalant house warming attitudes. Her father let us know that we could use every last bit of five minutes to get the hell out of his daughterÕs apartment.
We decided to eat at a cafe right across the street so we could see when he would show up. It actually took him 35 minutes to get there. Unfortunately, the Branock Device had firmly snatched the mental 5-iron and had the genius stroke of locking our van keys in her apartment. Her parental unit was by no means excited to interact with the Branock Device in any way. The final and most ironically devastating astro-bungle came when Branock pulled the wreath down off the front door. I have never seen a human being, or any humanoid creature, roll his eyes back in his head as her father did at that particular moment. It was as blatant as a meteorite crash in your living room that it was time for us to initiate our direction towards Pensacola, Earth.
January 27, 1996
City: Pensacola, FL
Venue: SluggoÕs
We were all excited to be back to some known formative training ground. In fact, SluggoÕs was one of the primeval location for the Alabama space four to converge upon. Some of our most warped and uncanny Astro-Encounters happened here with earth entertainers such as the Labrea Stompers, The Woggles and Southern Culture on the Skids. This particular small etch in the gargantuan time paradox that is Man or Astro-Man? was no exception to our law of eccentricity. Everyone was extremely obliging and kind, the PA (as usual) got a flat, and the only hindrance to those nutty slam dancers was the one of those nutty slam dancers was completely nude and none of the other guys wanted to get close to his dick. However, truth be known (which it rarely is in this giant deceptogon egg you call planet earth), the most intriguing of the nightÕs events occurred after every last life support tube was packed in that Wal-Mart converted space crate.
Hardly half an hour point position past SluggoÕs (this was at about 3:30 a.m.), Coco pulled our modest vessel over to fill up on rocket fuel at a Pilot gas station. I was inside inspecting the snack factory when I heard some huge gas station attendant yell in a ÒWhat the hell is the 11th grade?Ó redneck accent, ÒYeah, him and his riding buddies think theyÕre real fucking funny.Ó What the...? Dexter and I met eyeballs. Soon after, Coco came in breathing heavy, pulse racing and asked the lady counter clerk for the guyÕs name.
ÒLook, I donÕt care, he has no right to act like he did. I want his name, I want the company office number, and I want to talk to the manager,Ó Coco barked.
To which the middle age, gum-smacking, ÒhighlyÓ evolved creature replied, ÒLook, ya donÕt have talk dat way. I hurd ya call Õim a ÕA-holeÕ.Ó (She actually said ÔA-holeÕ instead of ÔassholeÕ.)
ÒIt doesnÕt mater. ThereÕs...thereÕs...,Ó Coco spluttered, trying to calm down and return his complexion to at least a light blood red. Ò...no reason to react that way no matter whatÕs been said. WhatÕs his name? I want to know his name!Ó
Mrs. Hee-HawÕs brain somehow reacted which led to the verbal response of, ÒHis name is...Ó (I canÕt actually remember, but it was something like Ò...Chris.Ó)
Coco went back outside. Shortly after that ÒChrisÓ came back in and said, ÒHeÕs lucky I didnÕt rip his head off.Ó
I returned to the van to find out about the rest of the rather curious events that I had just partially witnessed. The initial stimulus for all this was Coco being unable to get the gas pump to disperse fuel properly. At that point, the guy yelled what Coco translated as, ÒURXLOOGH! NUNBLAAAMC! DETRONAC OBA!Ó Gibberish.
Coco, not knowing what the hell was said, then pressed the call button to communicate with who later became known as ÒSludge Woman.Ó This is where escalation of the event processes took place. The guy ran out and said, in a very postal tone, ÒLook, I told you to tell her to turn the pump on!Ó
Coco then activated the call box and recited, ÒUh, the asshole told me to tell you to turn the pump on!Ó
ÒChrisÓ freaked. Broke. Lost whatever little sense of inhibition that was locked inside his shoe size IQ brain. He squealed, ÒDo you wanna start some shit with me?Ó In what was reported to be a violent, undexterious, redneck seizure, he then pushed Coco upside our Chevy space craft. Yeah, Mr. 6Õ 7Ó (and this is not an exaggerated statistic), high school drop out, NRA laminated membership card toting, havenÕt been laid since you got goofy with your cousin Sue Ann after the reunion, double-wide trailer envious, shit brain, Coco (who is a 5Õ 6Ó humanoid being) wants to enter into a physical confrontation with you. Anyway, would it really matter if Coco had said, ÒYesÓ? Mongo-Boy had already thrown him against his van.
The guy, for lack of a better term, then Òloosened up,Ó and that is when he came inside with the Òdriving buddiesÓ line. One of my main regrets about being inside during the riot was missing a half-awake, shoeless Star Crunch venturing outside the side door in his socks to see what had hit the van. Frustrated and humbled, we left the Pilot feeling that we had just spent $24 to get abused and intimidated.
On the highway, we were all talking about how ridiculously unjust the situation had been and how we should do something about it. After a bit, Dexter, Star Crunch and myself got Coco riled up enough that he turned (45 minutes from the gas station, mind you) back around to go call the police. About 30 minutes on the way back we began to worry if this was going to be worth it.
The cops showed up and were actually pretty cool on the situation. They told Coco that he would have to come back to whatever rinky-dink municipality that we were in on another day if he wanted to file actual charges. But all Coco really wanted was a mere apology from the overreacting goon. ÒThe ManÓ went in to talk to the guy, then brought him out to apologize and shake hands. How sweet. The guy said, ÒI guess I was just stressed out.Ó He looked like a real lunk-head having to bow down to some crusty little guy half his size like Coco. The best part of it was that by the time all was said and done, it was 6 a.m., time for the manager to show up. She was not in the least bit happy about an employee of hers attacking a customer for not hearing properly. What a moral victory for the Astro-Psyche! Revenge is so nice, especially when itÕs against huge, hulking Jocko-Rednecks. The Lesson: DonÕt fuck with Astro-People! We demand proper service!
February 9, 1996
City: Knoxville, TN
Venue: Mercury Theater
Another typical southeastern terrestrial joint (good people, evil PA). The snow made for interesting traveling and even more interesting weapons: namely snowballs and flying icicle stars. I think some of our highly evolved hyper-species traits temporarily diminished themselves and the world got a glimpse of our most basic instincts. Rule of the mob. It was sick to see how three Astro-Men would gang up on one sole loner Ð two of them providing a distraction and the third pelting the victim in the back of the head with a cupped ball of snow slush. After the warring tribes settled on proper peace treaties, we played a very strange set.
About halfway through our entertainment obligation it occurred to me, ÒWhat would people really do if we just stopped playing? What would they do? We already have their money...Ó I then got up from behind the drum kit and sat down. I alerted the rest of Astro-Crew #1 that if they wanted any rhythmic accompaniment, they would have to find someone from the audience to fill that duty.
The situation completely devolved. All the other Astro-Men quit and soon there was an entirely new band formed of audience members. While this was a largely entertaining circumstance, we soon realized that we better reclaim our instruments because our made-up audience, improv monster was actually pretty good and was giving us some decent competition. At the end of the night, in a desperate act of punk showmanship, Star Crunch threw his universally-famous Gretsch upon the stage floor. The thirty-one-year-old headstock promptly snapped off. Star Crunch said, almost with a tear in his eye, ÒThe last thing it said was ÔOver and out.ÕÓ Finally, during load out phase, The Lounge Lizard maneuvered CocoÕs bass cabinet so it fell through some 30 inches of uninterrupted air onto his foot. He let out the most blood-curdling, wounded animal shriek that I have ever perceived through the medium of sound. The Lounge Lizard finished the night with his size 13 foot chilling itself in the open snow.
February 10, 1996
City: Lexington, KY
Venue: Wrocklage
Explanation simple. Initial operations in the location of Lexington, Kentucky. Arrived to find bar peopleÕs band practicing horrendous alternative, college, jangle noise. Had to wait through the Gene Loves the Gin Blossoms atrocity to load gear on stage. Club people had never heard of band Ð left chairs on floor. Showtime. During entrance, Dexter and I duct taped a couple together. Bladder Unit heavy. Peed in cup while on stage. Girl mistook it for a beer and took a big gulp. Stupid stage divers constantly got kicked before jumping off by Coco and Star Crunch. Fortunately show was packed Ð people moved chairs for the Astro-Landing Site themselves.
February 15, 1996
City: Columbia, SC
Venue: RockefellerÕs
The blasted, fucking machine! What do you expect from some lousy, ineffectual earth vehicle with an elementary combustible engine. Our carburetor was even further gone than our fascination with the Jamaican space program. Well, there vanishes another $750 from the Astro-Fund for wheeled, interstate, point-to-point Astro-Transfer. All this happening on our debut adventure in the land of Hootie and the Blowfish, and everyone of course knows of our earnest affection for Hootie, the lead singer, and for the Blowfish.
We all took separate modes of transport to Columbia, with Dexter and I manning the Astro-Jeep responsibility. Overcoming erroneous directions of the highest degree, we arrived at RockefellerÕs to an accommodating group of homosapiens. I think the show just didnÕt have that in-between song lubrication that really make the gears of a Man or Astro-Man? performance grind. I really hope a Blowfish wasnÕt there to critique our performance.
The whole dayÕs adversities had broken the Astro-Stress threshold. After packing functions, Star Crunch and Coco entered into a verbal entanglement over whether or not we should purchase a used or a new van. Abruptly, a whole yearÕs worth of dirty laundry rose to the top of the psychological clothes hamper for both of them. Star Crunch was so embroiled by CocoÕs ÒabsoluteÓ form of debating that he almost hit him in the face with a half-full, liter-size water bottle (that means he would have gotten smacked with all the force Star Crunch could muster with a half-liter of bottled water, and thatÕs pretty damn hard). It was one of those things that replayed in our mental recall contraption as hilarious, but at the time, was a pretty intense happenstance.
Finally, on the way back to our peaceful HQ, Dexter and I were supposed to have switched off driving control, and he was going to take the initial turn onto the Interstate 20 hyperspaceway. I was still incredibly exhausted on our primary tradeoff when I looked down at the odometer and quickly calculated that Dexter had only driven 12 miles. That space shmuck tried to trick me into thinking heÕd driven for the agreed-upon two hours. I am never going to let him off the Birdstuff Òtactless actionÓ tractor beam for that one.
February 17, 1996
City: Boone, NC
Venue: Somewhere on the campus of Appalachian State University
There would be an entry for February 16, but somehow our slot opening for Mojo Nixon at James Madison University fell through the cracks of illogical Astro-Scheduling and was canceled. Early in the wee hours of the morning, our intricate, multi-scanning, dangerous atmospheric conditions alert sounded. Snow in the Appalachians! Excellent, all we needed was to be snow bound in the Chevy 20 just one day after the dire confrontation of Mr. Crunch and Mr. Electronic Monkey Wizard.
Nevertheless, beings of a superior race and their automated helpers were not to be stopped by mere meteorological conditions of any sort. We journeyed into the mountains only to be slightly delayed by some mild ice. The on-campus venue was rather strange. It was very admirable that the university allowed such shows, but there were loads of strange and convoluted alcohol regulations. You could drink if you were left-handed, were a citizen of the U.S. for at least 10 years, had never had a wart removed by laser surgery, had never owned a record by The Tubes (this was the most stringently enforced by the police), and of course, if you had a valid student ID. Landon, our hostess, was very accommodating, and the opening band, Squat Water, put on a fine show, but I thought we sucked beyond normal parameters.
After the ÒGreat Appalachian MisfortuneÓ we did a few fanzine interviews where we made fun of Dexter XÕs days with Supernova. I would have had more compassion if he had driven more than 12 miles on the trek back from Columbia the previous day.
February 23, 1996
City: Gainesville, FL
Venue: The Covered Dish Ð The Event Known as Raunch-o-Rama
These ÒGarage ShockÓ-type shows or festivals are always such a disappointing paradox for me. Without fail, some of my personal favorite bands fill the bill: The Woggles, The Flat Duo Jets, The Mono Men, The Hentchmen, Phantom Surfers, The Drags, SatanÕs Pilgrims, Hasil Atkins, The Subsonics, Guitar Wolf, The Quadrajets, the Swinging Neckbreakers Ð I could keep going, but the point is that Man or Astro-Man? is always on the bill as well, and this greatly increases my difficulty in:
a) getting to see other bands
b) being in a calm enough state of mind to actually enjoy the show
There are numerous other peculiar problems which arise at these events as well. All me to pontificate:
One major, fucking problem is I hate shows with over a three band bill. Hey, if thereÕs that much entertainment to go around then, brother, save some for the next weekend. ThereÕs always so much equipment on stage that we canÕt do our full stage show, which, believe it or not, feels a lot like trying to open your high school locker when youÕve forgotten the combination. Furthermore, for some idiotic, fucking reason, we always play last which means that itÕs 3 a.m. and weÕre tired as shit playing for a shit-hammered audience whoÕve just seen 5 to 40 great bands. Not fun. All these bands that I have the greatest admiration for always see the most piss-poor Man or Astro-Man? shows. I hate that. Finally, the truth peeping its head outside of that dense wormhole, IÕm a Science Fiction Dork Boy. IÕve never really been a big supporter of beer, BBQ or sexploitation. So, cÕmon...do you like that Garage/Surf rock or not you fucking fag?
So anyway, after all that pansy-ass whining and philosophical rock malarkey, I really had a great time at the Covered Dish. This was most likely due to the fact that Bill Bryson is probably one of the most congenial promoters for live music on this pretty little blue-green shit rock you call a planet. Also, anytime Jim Stacy is running around in that gigantic, white clown outfit and doing a little circus ÒcalliopeÓ blues harp for the Quadrajets, you know the familyÕs gonna get their six bucks worth. All the other bands were absolutely superior to any generic indie-rock slush-core. I, myself, even got to crowd surf and play CocoÕs bass. Just donÕt ask, please donÕt ask why. Oh well, whereÕs the chicks and the brewskies?
February 28, 1996
Zero Return: Inside the Phantom Cruiser
Another day in the studio with the mystical, psychedelic frenzy that is the Man or Astro-Man? love machine. Okay, so we havenÕt quite progressed into psychadelia, but just wait Ôtil the year 1999 Ð Man or Astro-Man? ÒUnderground Fire 2.Ó On this day we did tracks for the most recent Jabberjaw compilation on Mammoth records and one for the Space Ghost compilation for...eeek!...Geffen.
Yes, unfortunately, weÕre still one of those lame-o idealistic indie-dork bands that have an irrational disdain for all things corporate. However, when the project itself, such as the Schoolhouse Rock Rocks! compilation on Atlantic is cooler that the label is evil, we have no choice but to lend a hand, and when Jan and Jace are involved, weÕve absolutely got to hop aboard the Inviso-Belt Band Wagon.
ÒDestruction by Destructo-RayÓ became a two and a half minute frenzied sci-surf ode to those famous Space Ghost power bands. The tune for the universally-heralded Jabberjaw, we entitled ÒEarth Station Radio,Ó and it featured sampled voices for strange alien vocal chords. I was very happy with both songs, and do hope that at least one of them tackles the American Top 40 with the same fervor as the ÒVÓ television series attacked the NielsenÕs.
March 7, 1996
City: Atlanta, GA (home of CocoÕs laboratories)
Venue: Cotton Club
After the ÒnegativeÓ charged energy particles that barraged us at our last Sonic Science Fiction displays at the Point and the Masquerade, we decided it was proper time to try a new testing ground. The Cotton Club is an excellent club with a very wide and level-varied floor arrangement so that about any given 3 square feet is a good place for an earthperson to stand and actually see the band play. Not to mention the unaccustomed hospitality that we received. The soundman (although it could have been the light guy) Ð hey, sorry to interrupt my extremely coherent entry like this, but why is it that people who do sound are ÒsoundmenÓ and people who to lights are Òlight guys?Ó Is this some form of condescension? Do light guys mind? I want to know! Anyway, one of the two sound/light guy/men had a dog that could climb to the top of a 12 foot ladder and, needless to say, this was much more entertaining than most pre-soundcheck boredom phases.
We were playing with Pain, who is a very fine earth performance group from Tuscaloosa, AL. Not only are they a quirked-out bunch of adult-size high school band geeks who do nutzoidian They Might Be Giants meets Oingo Boingo machine-gun-style circus punk, but they also get a flag in their ShoneyÕs burger just for being from Alabama. Their show was tremendous. Dan, their singer, put on a ÒcrashÓ helmet and started diving all over the place without bracing his falls whatsoever. Their music reminded me of getting beat up in junior high school. Hey, thatÕs it...itÕs Òmusic to listen to while locked inside a gym locker.Ó
Our show, however, reminded me of the Darth Vader energizer commercial. Most assuredly, our light saber just didnÕt have the spark to overcome the dark side. I still managed to enjoy my stint on the drum stool, but it really perturbs me to have to have mediocre shows in the home town region. A local film producer, Michael Williams, wanted us to be the band in a Òclub sceneÓ for a movie he was doing which sounded like fun, so we let them come out to shoot some of the performance. There were lights everywhere.
At one point in the show Coco was supposed to get up the mic with the TV helmet on and yell, ÒWhat are you guys? A bunch of fucking dead beats?Ó The slightly weird part of it was he was supposed to repeat this line seven times to ensure a usable take. When the time came, intense white light poured over the stage Ð it was so bright that I temporarily started to hallucinate and think that I saw a few of my dead relatives, beckoning me to the other side. Anyway, the Italian Space Stallion said his line at least seven time and poof, we jumped into ÒSferic Waves.Ó I though that all the home sector patrons would have ÒWhat the...?Ó expressions on their faces, but they all thought Coco was being Coco. I donÕt know if that is all that encouraging, but it does seem nice to have that official and certifiable Òhead caseÓ license, especially when you use it as much as Coco does.
March 8, 1996
City: Athens, GA
Venue: The Atomic Ð the event known as Trash Bash
[Note: See first half of February 23rdÕs Raunch-o-Rama entry]
I had been to the Friday night line up of Trash Bash and was extraordinarily pleased by both the Impala and Oblivion sets. them bands from Memphis sure know how to play that rock and roll stuff. Saturday night I missed the Svengalis (Buffi from the SubsonicÕs alternate universe punk band) due to Sevotron machine duties. The Quadrajets were a drunken frenzy of redneck punk noise. Chet smashed his James Brown autographed Les Paul because he had broken two strings and didnÕt have anything to do for half a song. The Woggles were in excellent fighting form, but were hindered by all the lame-ass go-go girls who wanted to shake their meat.
Unfortunately for the Astro-Melody output and the general well-being of the ears of anyone within a square mile of the Atomic, Henry Owings, instigator of all things controversially absurd, got Coco brain-demolished by alcohol libations. Mr. Dan Electro might have hit four correct notes all night. It was horrific. At the showÕs Òfinale,Ó a brutal and inevitable death blow after a hour of discordant bullshit, I could take it no more. I punched Coco in the mouth and we both fell off the stage and were fighting down in a mess of glass and spilt beer. We both finally landed outside with blood and gook all over us. Everyone who was leaving the club walked out and gave us looks of ÒWhat the fuck?Ó Thank you, we suck.
March 13, 1996
City: Monroe, LA
Venue: The Loose Caboose
We were originally supposed to play in Lafayette, LA on our way to the South by Southwest festival in Texas, but in a seemingly common effect by the Astro-Men, the club burnt to ashes the week prior to our scheduled invasion. Quickly Miss JulieAnne, our queen of intergalactic entertainment booking and routing in Earth Station Chicago obtained a last chance spot at some place called the Loose Caboose with the Cargo band, Garden Variety.
Please donÕt think of we Astro-Beings as homophobic or mocking (definitely think of us as juvenile, however), but we thought the Loose Caboose would be, or possibly was, a gay dance club. In reality, it was an ultra-miniaturized open air cafe with a stage that looked like a leftover prop from the set of ÒHoney, I Shrunk the Kids.Ó Oh geez, the hip B-movie reference would have been ÒThe Incredible Shrinking Man,Ó or maybe ÒAttack of the Puppet People,Ó sorry. Anyway, we unloaded the ÒscienceÓ with the Branock Device missing. (He had taken a gig with those amazing Chickenbilly Superstars, Southern Culture on the Skids due to the fact that we were only currently doing weekends.) John, a.k.a. Bam Bam, of the Quadrajets, was filling in on Astro-Slave duties, and it was a very pleasurable experience to be out with him in the Louisiana trenches.
It was a small collective of denizens of your planet that showed up, but I thought we gave off some strong Òspace entertainmentÓ radiation, and that it was an enjoyable time for every creature advanced or even slowly evolving. Also, this show was the world premiere (and where was MTV when the shit really goes down?) of CocoÕs tesla coil. Success! Beams of electricity in your face, earth slug! Some girl with a death wish wanted to light her cigarette off one of the archs. Luckily, Dexter prevented this dire action. The words Òlawsuit,Ó and ÒmanslaughterÓ will probably, very quickly, become new additions to the Man or Astro-Man? vocabulary banks.
March 14, 1996
City: Austin, TX
Venue: EmoÕs Ð The Cataclysm known as South by Southwest
We drove through the tunnel of night into the blistering heat of Texas. All the good Astro-People showed up in Austin in desperate need of a ÒGrand Slamming,Ó so we docked at the first-sighted DennyÕs. There were a few guys sitting on the ÒWait while someone clears the previous slup off your tableÓ bench who were clad in black leather jackets and general rockÕnÕroll regalia. There were probably over 1,000 bands in town and I didnÕt think anything of it until I thought that I recognized what was a bleach-blonde, short-haired Wayne Kramer. ÒHey man, check it out, thatÕs Wayne Kramer of the MC-5.Ó
No one believed me in the slightest. I began to doubt my own optical recognition and then with a voice that was more routined than a class of first graders saying Òpresent,Ó the hostess announced, ÒTable for Wayne.Ó Check one point for the ÒBirdstuff is always rightÓ vindication plan. We introduced ourselves and Mr. Kramer actually had heard of Man or Astro-Man? Very peculiar. Little did he know that ÒWayne Kramer stole our fucking table at DennyÕsÓ would be the running joke of the day.
Shortly past our excursion to the land of french toast, we stuck the machine in parking mode outside EmoÕs. Great parking space, but we were left wondering, ÒWhat the fuck do we do now?Ó I stayed and perspired human-like sweat while the rest of the squadron walked Òin the directionÓ of a music store with Andy the sound Guy from MaxwellÕs in Hoboken, NJ. The only problem was that none of the other guys remembered AndyÕs name or where he was from, so the whole time they just played Ò20 QuestionsÓ with him to try and figure out who he was. Coco started to get the idea that it was this promoter Alex Weis, from Tallahassee and busted out with, ÒSo, how do you like Tallahassee?Ó Andy simply responded, in a very unsuspecting tone, that he had never been there. The Astro-Dweebs realized how far they had sunk. It was strange that a month later Star Crunch and I saw him at the Fred Schneider show in Athens. We began wondering if Andy was actually stalking us.
We soon vectored off in the vicinity of Waterloo Records. Parking was like trying to find health food at a Dairy Queen. Eventually, after we got to load in, we were surprised to find out that another band was playing before us. Surprise Ð who else but Wayne Kramer and his cronies. Mr. Kramer was doing a TV interview in the back room. One of the questions the reporter asked concerned the Òpreachy qualityÓ of the new lyrics. Right as we walked by, Wayne K. replied, ÒYou know, if I didnÕt have anything to say, I would just be playing instrumental music.Ó He then turned back to us and added, ÒOh, sorry about that guys.Ó Ouch!
Besides Star CrunchÕs amp having a problem with a magnet underneath the stage which caused the guitar to fluctuate in volume, the in-store went off just fine. However, back at Star Base EmoÕs, the coordinates were going ballistic over all our TVÕs and visual necessities. We were going to have 10 minutes to set up the Technical Difficulty Maelstrom that is Man or Astro-Man? There was no way to properly put on our regular performance so we scratched the vast majority of the visual show. We were rather pissed to have driven 15 hours to do the record shmooze equivalent of an Auburn house party. Not to mention the only reason we were really doing this South by Southwest things was because there was a supposed ÒTouch and GoÓ night, and we were excited about getting a chance to play with Brainiac and Girls Against Boys. But neverminding the bullshit, it was indeed worth the arduous journey just to see Corey, Scott and Naomi, plus to get to be part of an audience while these aforementioned ÒsupergroupsÓ were on stage.
Alright, so I hated our show in absolute terms. Everything from our projection to our samples were raped beyond comprehension. The sound guy kept turning down the sampler channel so everything was cutting out. CocoÕs theremin wasnÕt coming through the PA, and he got so pissed that he started swinging the microphone over his head faster than Prince ever dreamed. Basically, we looked like a bunch of Astro-Pussies. At the end of our disaster-area-type showing, I threw my single headed floor tom up in the air and it landed smack on the top of my head like a helmet. Pretty slick move, eh? Not really. I forgot about all the lugs and screws that were inside the drum Ð my head was gashed wide open. I was running around, bleeding like mad, and I eventually fell down to the side of the stage. Half the people standing around thought it was a Òprofessional wrestlingÓ trick, and everyone from Touch and Go treated me like a big baby.
We all quickly got our shit into the Jupiter II trailer module. I passed out in my van compartment, but still got to catch a bit of Girls Against Boys. They were excellent, geez, maybe even sexy.
Coco was pissed because we didnÕt get our $150 fee, because someone had picked up our access badges to get inside the other shows (you had the option of getting one or the other). Coco said, ÒThis is more like South by Southdumb.Ó
We loaded into the Alien Interstate Transporter and headed for the Planet of Georgia and its moon of Atlanta and Athens.
Additional calamities occurred around the famous civil war battle site of Vicksburg, MS. Our trailer axle ball bearings had warped themselves and began to actually disintegrate. After four hours in the parking lot of Auto Zone, we finally replaced our malfunctions thanks to Coco the Electronic Monkey Wizard a.k.a. the MacGyver of Indie Rock. I was really amazed that John from the Quadrajets endured 3 days of Astro-Lunacy successfully. Oh, yeah, I canÕt forget to give a very special thanks to Mr. Tim Kerr for helping us survive the weekend.
March 28, 1996
City: Birmingham, AL
Venue: The Nick
The planet of Birmingham, place of the Astro-Hatching. The only thing worse than playing your home town is having to perform at the site of your origin. I arrived the night prior to the show and set up Òspace campÓ with the people who claim to be my earth parents. That night, I called the former, famous blue streak of Astro-Kineticism, Dr. Deleto, who had recently obtained a very cool computer job designing maps in Birmingham. While on the cordless phone, our transmission was interrupted by another phone conversation. The first words we heard were, ÒSo did you cum?Ó We could hardly believe this audio input. Then the conversation progressed with, ÒWhyÕd ya grab it? I would have done it for you.Ó Somewhere within 4 to 5 house distances of my cordless phone two fourteen year olds were carrying on a conversation about their first sexual experiences. It was great! No, that sounds like Tony the Tiger ecstatically proclaiming the Frosted Flakes motto. Really, it was just sad. I mean, Dr. Deleto and myself stayed up until 3:30 a.m. just to get all the juicy details, but hey, at least I learned a little about sex.
I met the other Astro-Dweebazoids at Magic Platter, where we were supposed to do a free in-store Òfor the kidsÓ due to the fact that our show that night at The Nick did not allow all ages participation. My 11-year-old fledgling protŽgŽ (alleged earth brother) and I had a great time at the comic book store a few door down. It isnÕt everyday you get to stock up on ÒRom: The Space KnightÓ comics with a relative. The in-store itself was tremendously enjoyable. During the set, Coco ran next door to some dance company and got a free lesson. ÒThe Freak in the Orange SuitÓ came back doing the fox trot basic to ÒEric Estrotica.Ó Also, Star Crunch finaled the set by running a CD (including the protective, theft-proof container) through the magnetic sensory door alarm. This sent all security light flashing.
The show at The Nick was a very fine showing for the Astro-Downhill Luge Team, but the in-store and kids were much more refreshing. It was typical: good size crowd, but with disinterested demeanor, no reciprocal energy and a less than hyper-kinetic show. At one section, we actually broke the machine down and fought (for nearly 10 minutes) on stage about what song we were going to play next. Neverminding the crossed-armers, Coco still whipped out the Tesla Coil and its beams of extinction. Two strangers to Man or Astro-Man? live performance experiments in Birmingham were one Lt. James Marrer of the Zero Return Recording Fleet (Jim is probably a stranger to anywhere but his studio), and Yoland Bates who is ten-digits down, the biggest (or most brain-controlled) Astro-Fan in 20th century existence. She flew all the way from Stoke, England just to see us play in Alabama (she has a fascination with the Heart of Dixie, but then again, donÕt we all?). All in all, it was a fulfilling night, but still nothing compared to covertly hearing one fourteen year old ask another, ÒSo what does it look like anyway?Ó Poor Birdstuff, mystified by a process that an anatomically incorrect form like his is incapable of having.
March 29, 1996
City: Fairhope, AL
Venue: Armory/gymnasium-type place
How many bands from earth or space have the unique opportunity to rock a place like Fairhope? Besides being a stranded alien being, my teenage tenure in Alabama made me realize the difficulty of access in getting to experience any other forms of musical presentation besides Sunday night reruns of ÒHee Haw.Ó Thanks to promoter guy, Terry Hall, it was a very satisfying feeling to play for kids who werenÕt familiar with the ultra-connected realms of college radio, excessive venue and show choices to go to, or the ever-dorky local music press. Honestly, these types of shows are usually a lot more exciting because no one is jaded to any point of apathy.
For this show, filling in on Branock Device-replacement duties was the Cuban Cowboy himself, a.k.a. Falcon from AthensÕ fastest and drunkest punk band, Space Cookie. Also aboard for this lower Alabama trek was ÒYoÓ land Bates, our female space friend from the UK. Yoland was freakishly obsessed with Alabama. I kept trying to get her to go to San Francisco or D.C. or any place remotely exciting, but she insisted on being exposed only to the great land of the South. At least we made her visit the Space Center in Huntsville.
Coco kept on causing the PA to buzz during the other bandÕs soundcheck, and the sound guy was driving himself into a frenzy trying to figure out what was going on. I didnÕt have the decency to alert him to the 250,000 volt device lurking backstage. It was funny because when it came time for the Tesla Coil debut in Fairhope, Coco tripped a breaker and nothing happened. Monkey Brain sprinted a 4.1 second forty yard dash to the power box and had his little machine running instantaneously.
It was very much of a pleasure to get to play another show with TuscaloosaÕs Army of Genius Goofballs, Pain. They were even more entertaining than at our show with them at The Cotton Club in Atlanta. Fortunately, the Astro-Men once again came through with an intense quake of sound and action, so much that the partitioned stage separated itself at various points. It was the musical equivalent of being four shipwrecked victims, each floating on different pieces of drift wood. Okay, maybe that might be a little dramatic, but getting divided into various mini-stages during the set was still pretty cool.
Star Crunch lead our ear-splitting attack with a very proficient guitar attack, and Dexter X brought up the rear with his notorious robotic/space nazi stratagem. I, Birdstuff, even scored myself a few performance art bonus points. There was a basketball goal right above my head, and I took CocoÕs helmet in for a reverse bank shot. Two points for the Astro-Dweebs!
On the way home from AL to GA there was one of the most brilliant lightning storms that IÕve ever been witness to. I think this electricity stuff is going beyond a theme and becoming a very sick and twisted way of life.
April 4, 1996
Video Shoot for Astro-Chart-Topper Ò9-VoltÓ
ÒVideo killed the radio star,Ó eh? Well, when was the last time you heard Man or Astro-Man? on 99X during your lunch break? Although we had done a very low-budget visual representation on the ÒProject InfinityÓ track ÒSferic Waves,Ó this video stuff all seemed rather weird.
The concept was mostly that of one Mr. Star Crunch. Basically, it was a performance style video with a loose ÒelectricalÓ theme that was supposedly getting transmitted from deep space, thus toward the end of the video the signal began to Òbreak up.Ó This concept was inspired by Mr. CrunchÕs recent obsession with watching Nascar racing, specifically the segments when the race cars Òbreak upÓ as they go under bridges.
We were somewhat hesitant about shelling out money for such an ÒiffyÓ promotional type device. However, we all decided that it would be fun and approached it from more of the Òmaking a short filmÓ aspect than any MTV bullshit. I also suppose compared to most ÒbigÓ video price tags, it was a minuscule expenditure: $4,000, split between the band and the other three labels that our records come out on in the US, Europe and Australia.
We went through the song some 56 times before we found out that one roll of film had been exposed. We had to do a lot of the ÒNight VisionÓ shots over again. Our space pal from the British Astronaut program (if the organization ever existed), Yoland, had a jolly time providing background sparks by welding various metal objects. Welding actually used to be her occupation! So, with everything loaded out of the sub-basement in CocoÕs warehouse, we readied ourselves to meet Daisy Fuentes and take ÒThe GrindÓ by storm.
April 19, 1996
Live on WREK 91.5, Atlanta, GA
More infiltration of our North Georgian Underground Territory. This was a last gasp of local visitation before we entered the 3 1/2 month war on the public to promote our latest 5 and 12-inch propagation discs. The hour-long broadcast was a superb diversion and it ended up being (due to the fact that there were probably 30 people in the control room with us) much more like an actual show than some abstracted transmission.
Star Crunch kept interrupting our set to answer the telephone, maybe he really wanted a new job wearing a headset for Time/Life. Halfway through, my kick drum split itself open and did not think for itself enough to have forced me to buy its twin. Duct tape was no replacement. Falcon from Space Cookie, Harry Carry, Big Top, and Sevotron added a Chickasaw Muddpuppies styled kick drum attack by stomping on CocoÕs sampler lid. We ended our mega-hertzed onslaught by doing a 9 minute version of the ShatnerÕs song, ÒGreen Blooded Love.Ó The original song is a minute and a half long. Tortuous? I think so...just a fraction.
The next Astro-Crusade takes place in the American Heartland. On the off chance that we survive, there will be more star date entries to come.