Bob Dylan Hoot Night

Luv Doc Writings, The Luv Doc Recommends

NOV. 6, 2007

A Bob Dylan hoot night is a genius idea. Damn near anyone can do Dylan better than Dylan: Bobcat Goldthwait … Fran Drescher … Jaleel White … Stephen Hawking – pretty much any voice that’s remotely intelligible and doesn’t sound like chicken fat being fed into a garbage disposal will do the trick. This is not to say that Dylan doesn’t have talent. He’s monstrously talented. Freakishly talented. Dylan’s oeuvre looms so large it overshadows the instruments of its delivery (including Bob himself). Dylan could squat and shit on the stage and the mojo from his previous work would likely score him a standing O. It probably takes a monumental amount of effort for Bob not to phone it in. It is either his blessing or curse to be in an eternal self-esteem building workshop. Imagine going through a day where everyone from aging hippies to college coeds to flying nuns slaps you on the back and insists that you’re something just short of the Second Coming of Jesus. Just because Bob often sounds like he’s speaking in tongues doesn’t make it true. Imagine the pressure he must feel and the restraint he must exercise to not just scribble out some trite little ditty like “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” claim it’s a metaphorical epilogue to “All Along the Watchtower” and then go skiing in Aspen on the royalties. Dylan’s songs have been covered by everyone from Accidental Porn to Zombie Girlfriend and all acts in between – many of which you’ve actually heard of. That’s currently 20,000 covers and counting. Most of it is exceptionally beautiful songwriting, but by that standard Leonard Cohen would also be stacking mad mounds of mailbox money. No, there is something else at work here. There are clearly a staggering number of people who hear Dylan sing and think, “I couldn’t murder that song any worse than he already has,” and it’s exactly that kind of pathos that butters his songwriting bread – or at least keeps him swimming in it. Think about it. No one covers Rush, Journey, or Queen songs for the same reason unless they’re in a wedding band, a piano bar, or on a drunken karaoke binge. However, if you can string together three simple chords with any semblance of rhythm you’re probably going to be knock knock knockin’ on heaven’s door. Does it mean you’re going to do it well? Not at all, it just means you’re probably going to sing it better than Dylan. The challenge is to give the song the treatment it deserves, not the treatment it has already gotten. Tonight local musicians from revered bands like Zookeeper, Zykos, the Stillwater Pioneers, the Idiot Winds, Mustangled Up in Blue, and the Tunnels will be attempting just that at Emo’s Lounge. In between bands DJ Jester the Filipino Fist will be filling the voids. Really, the question is: Who isn’t afraid to cover a Dylan song? Well, maybe Tom Waits, but his hoot is Friday night.

Sticky Fingers Stones Album Hoot

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MON., AUG. 7, 2006

Baby boomers break down into two basic categories: Ones who like the Beatles and ones who like the Stones. No doubt you could come up with a more sophisticated classification system, one that accounts for a Byzantine array of physiological, psychological, and sociological variations (type of PT Cruiser, for instance), but if you want to get a quick read of a boomer’s headspace, the Beatles/Stones thing is a good place to start. Try it sometime. Jump up on the bar at the Donn’s Depot or Eddie V’s and scream, “Mick Jagger kicks John Lennon’s ass!” Never mind the obvious stupidity of the statement, just watch the rhetorical melee that ensues. Stones fans will claim that the Mick is a true blue-collar rock & roller, and Lennon was a pretentious whiner. Lennonites will defend John as the second coming of Jesus (or something even bigger) and say Mick is a fat-lipped, exploitative poser. The truth is, both were skinny Brit kids from middle-class backgrounds. Methodologically however, they couldn’t be further apart. While Lennon aimed for the head, Jagger worked the body. Lennon smoked pot, protested, and sought spiritual enlightenment; Jagger swilled booze and drugs, dirty danced, and rode giant inflatable penises. Neither was particularly genuine in anything other than his love of American roots music. Nonetheless, how you come down on the Stones/Beatles issue says a lot about who you are as a middle-aged white person. Do you go for Lennon’s love-in imaginings or Jagger’s strut and swagger? Do you like tie-dye and sitar or leather and guitar? Or maybe you’re too young to know or even care. That would make you a good candidate for the “Get Yer Ya Ya’s Out With Sticky Fingers” Stones Album Hoot this Saturday at Ruta Maya HQ. If you weren’t even a zygote when the Stones released Beggars BanquetLet It Bleed, or Sticky Fingers, that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the Stones in your own way, especially when you have a diverse and talented group of young bands to reintroduce you to the material. Just a few of the bands playing Saturday include: Coopers Uncle, the Spiders, King Tears, Household Names, Jane Bond, the Arm, and Zykos. Don’t worry, if you’ve never heard of any of the preceding bands, you’ll still know the music … and vice-versa. It’s a win-win for young and old alike, plus it’s a benefit for Jeff Tonn, who is suffering from an undiagnosed illness.

Saturday Free Show at Emo’s

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SAT., JAN. 7, 2006

Enough with the goddamned football already. You may still be jacked up about the Longhorns’ crushing defeat of the mighty Trojans of USC, still basking in the heady glow of victory, still gleefully humming the glorious strains of “Texas Fight!” but it’s over. Time to move on. Time to wash off the huge, burnt-orange “T” you painted across your luxurious carpet of chest hair, the stem of which follows the dense treasure trail that traverses the summit of Mount Beergut, the “T” that was your personal, alphabetical contribution to the undulating “T-E-X-A-S” spelled out in stark contrast against the pasty white fanflesh of you and your drinking buddies, a sweaty, stanky spelling guide for slow-witted color commentators and bored cameramen. It was a stroke of genius, no doubt, and no one would ever question your school spirit, but you might want to get after that thing with some Go-Jo and a loofah before it gives you a rash. Rashes generally turn USC red before they go burnt orange, and you don’t want that hanging on your conscience. You’ve had a good run. In the eloquent words of former Texas gubernatorial candidate Clayton Williams, relax and enjoy it. Take some time off. Let the light beer, nachos, hotdogs, and their noxious byproducts and preservatives leech out of your system. You might even want to take up some sort of hobby, although the only way you can replicate those four-hour-long butt-numbing sessions in front of the TV is to take up an equally sedentary pursuit – maybe bass fishing? Golf? Sleeping? Hey, the world’s your oyster. Shuck it and suck it. Here’s an idea: Instead of coming early (which is pretty much a faux pas in every culture and meaning but Longhorn), being loud (this is Texas, right?), and wearing orange (once described as the “black of the Nineties”), maybe you can wean yourself by doing something where you come late, wear something dark, and generally act antisocial. A really good place for that type behavior is Emo’s, where, as luck would have it, they’ve been offering free shows all week long. Holy shit! You win again! This Saturday is a spectacular lineup featuring I Love You but I’ve Chosen Darkness, Zykos, the Lemurs, and Lord Henry on the outdoor stage, and What Made Milwaukee Famous, Glass Family, the Fall Collection, and Crash Gallery on the indoor stage. Make an effort to just drink Guinness. It’s pricy, but dark as a politician’s heart, and it serves as a decent meal in the absence thereof. Also, if you and your friends insist on painting something on your chest, you may want to go with Zykos instead of I Love You but I’ve Chosen Darkness.