Ruby Jane Smith – The Pleasurecraft

December 8, 2010

Austin Music Hall

Mental health is a bit of a sticky wicket – especially where musicians are concerned. It’s no wonder. The constant vacillation between unbridled egomania and soul-crushing self-doubt is bound to leave a few frayed ends. It’s difficult enough for the average person to cobble together a sense of identity and self-worth. Musicians tend to compound the difficulty by pressuring themselves to be much more interesting than they really are – to be larger than life. The type of wacky, harebrained behavior that would land the average person in the loony bin (if such bins still existed) is actually tolerated and even encouraged in musicians. After all, normal isn’t very entertaining is it? The result is a whole slew of aberrant dress and bizarre behavior. Consider the questionably pedophiliac, body-mutilating, androgynous insanity of Michael Jackson (arguably one of the greatest entertainers of all time), or the karate chopping, UFO-sighting, rhinestone jumpsuit-wearing (also questionably pedophiliac) Elvis, who may or may not have been involved with the FBI, CIA, and extraterrestrials. Throw in a goat, a monkey, and a 50-gallon drum of Vaseline, and you have one seriously bizarre clusterfuck. Unfortunately, in the music world that’s the kind of thing it takes to get noticed. Liberace was probably at one time a fairly unremarkable Polish kid from Wisconsin; Madonna was just a high school cheerleader from Pontiac, Mich.; the members of Kiss were just hardworking metal musicians from the boroughs; and GG Allin was just a boy from Vermont who was born with the name Jesus Christ Allin, cross-dressed for the last three years of high school, did a stint at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Clown College, and made a career(?) out of urinating, defecating, flinging feces, bleeding, and vomiting onstage. OK, so maybe Jesus was crazier than a shit-house rat from start to finish, but he still managed to get gigs, and that’s the point really. In the music business, there is always someone willing to encourage and reward insanity. Lady Gaga is a pretty good singer and all, but could she make it without the meat dress? Or the bubble dress? Or the Kermit the Frog dress? At some point her career will slow down and she’ll end up paying Franc Fernandez to design her a dress out of dalmatian puppy hides, human placentas, or maybe circumcised foreskins. At some point you either decide to wear the hamster carcass earrings or end up doing matinee shows in Branson, Mo. In music, you’re either on your way up or on your way down. In one night you can go from windmilling power chords in front of a club full of screaming fans to washing your underwear in a gas station restroom on the interstate. One month your album is at the top of the charts; the next month it’s not even on the charts. One night you’re on Leno, the next night you’re on Leno. It’s no surprise that many musicians try to even out the peaks and valleys with drugs and alcohol, which are always easily available. Often as not, they only amp up the insanity, and bartenders and drug dealers aren’t necessarily predisposed or trained to deal with complex emotional and psychological issues – especially if they’re not getting paid. Thankfully Austin has an organization that offers musicians opportunities to seek help from people who are trained to deal with psychological and substance abuse issues. It’s called the SIMS Foundation, and this Saturday it’s hosting the SIMS Benefit Bash at the Austin Music Hall, a fundraising concert featuring a who’s who of Austin Musicians: Eliza Gilkyson, Ian McLagan, Will Sexton, David Garza, Graham Reynolds, Kat Edmonson, Don Harvey, Brownout, Lauren Larson, Ruby Jane Smith, Amy Cook, Mark Andes, and Scrappy Jud Newcomb, among others. For less than the price of a round of Jäger shots, you can show some musicians how much you appreciate them in a way that actually does them some good.

September 30, 2008

It would be really awesome if Jesus returns to earth in a tricked-out intergalactic spaceship with chrome trim, rocking George Clinton party-colored dreads and sparkly, high-heeled, Funkadelic zip-up disco boots. That shit would be fly. Maybe throw in a little acid house woofing out of some wicked monster subs screwed on to the chassis – something like a skanky, bass-heavy remix of “Love Train.” Jesus shimmies down the landing ramp, throwing ass, thrusting crotch, flashing his godly white overbite, grooving like the son of the inventor of groove itself. Oh, and don’t forget the 18-carat diamond encrusted dollar-sign money clip. What would Jesus do? You have to think God would be whispering in his ear, mimicking the voice of Lil’ Wayne, rapping, “Got money, and you know it. Take it out your pocket and show it; and throw it, that a way, this a way … And of course G Junior would be flinging handfuls of hundreds to the unsoaped, outstretched hands of the poor, because really, what does God care about scratch? He invented that shit too – both denomination and devil. The poor will be all cheerful, patting themselves on the back knowing they were smart enough to stay meek so they could inherit the kingdom of heaven. After all, they’ve been holed up for years home-schooling with legions of other knuckle-draggers and slack jaws, learning creationism and how the hip bone connected to the thigh bone and all that, but mostly hoping Jesus shakes a leg and brings on the Rapture before they end up in the same dead-end, minimum wage shit jobs as their parents. After all, Jesus was a carpenter, so you’d think he would show up for the job early. He did the first time around, but (also like a carpenter) he knocked off early and left us to finish His work. At first it was all, just love each other and hope you don’t get slaughtered by the Romans, but then the Romans got hold of the Bible and plunged Western civilization into the Dark Ages, which sadly seems to be when most Christian fundamentalist textbooks were approved. Fundamentalist dogma is pretty much the same today as it was back then. It’s easy to cast aside a couple of thousand years of scientific advancement and social progress when you’re a dumbass, and fundamentalists seem particularly talented at churning them out – if only so succeeding generations of dumbasses can continue to make their way to textbook approval committees and school boards. In America, we attempt to be polite to hair-brained fundamentalist knuckleheads, mainly because our country was founded by them. That doesn’t mean we have to agree with them or adopt their simpleton textbooks however. Even if the Moral Majority really is a majority, it would truly be immoral of the immoral to let them set the educational agenda. Soon enough, we’d all be wearing pilgrim hats and buckle shoes and fucking through holes in blankets. Thankfully, here in Texas, we have the Texas Freedom Network, a watchdog organization that presents a mainstream voice to counter the regressive agenda of the religious right. This Saturday they’re having their 13th annual fundraiser at La Zona Rosa. You can nudge along the progress and enlightenment of Western civilization simply by eating delicious food, bidding in the silent auction, and dancing to Ian McLagan & the Bump Band and fiddle prodigy Ruby Jane Smith. Or, you could just sit around waiting for the Rapture.