A Shattered Wig Night Oasis - 1/29/10

Courtney McCullough of the Lockhorns with artist
and 14 Karat Cabaret overlord genius Laure Drogoul.


Goodloe Byron, author of The Abstract and
Revisions Of, reading from his forthcoming free
book, The Wraith.


Blaster Al Ackerman with Geff Stewart and Beth Dinsick

Geff "Soft Serve" Stewart getting spiritual with it.

Courtney doing Lockhorns solo.

Poets Tom DiVenti and Chris Toll.

Actor, model, dancer, writer, Billy Bob Thornton look-

alike John Eaton on the left with artist and musician

Scott Larson.

Amanda Copeland of Sea Couch.

Dan Dorsey of Sea Couch and one of the Pasadena

music mafia. How the hell so many good musicians came

out of that hellhole in the same generation is a mystery

on the scale of "Village of the Damned".

Tears of joy and gratitude for John Dierker and his work.

Redbird getting up to some pre-set snugglin'.

Amanda Pollock of Redbird, formerly of Velvet Mafia and Cloaca.

Now I never served in Falluja or Nam or been a native in those places living sleepless in fear avoiding death by lead or fire volleys, thank God, nor have I served in the Red Cross during one of the many incidents that wipes countless humans off the Earth like a half asleep waitress wiping a coffee spattered lunch counter, nor have I shivered through nights of hypothermia in a small embankment up on an impassable mountain crag, but goddamned I'm freaking tired. And I never say "freaking". "Fucking" just seems so un-blog-like.

Four months of brain and soul penetration by a mortgage company to prove I am of standard enough fleshly issue to own a house, and a great great house it is with singing hardwood floors and jaunty one year old roof, followed by two weeks of muling two apartment loads of books and records has my yarbles and my lower lip dragging the pavement. Please, kind sir, a week of no moving, no work drama/collapse and no friends dying so I can get my dull on and spend all seven of those sweet days floating away on our new woolly mammoth of a couch reading book after book that I just packed and unpacked. Such sweet marvels, many that I'd forgotten!

That said, in the middle of this oddly domestic period of bliss mixed with crippling stiffness landed a Shattered Wig Night of Extreme Warmth and Grandeur. Not only did an old friend and former Baltimore rock star/provocateur/stream of consciousness wizard/wearer of supremely unique hubble jubble clothing Amanda Pollock descend from the Great North to play with her new duo Redbird, but Lockhorn songwriter and singer and old old friend of Normal's and Shattered Wig, Courtney McCullough, got flown in for his 50th birthday by his wife and mother.

My giddy feelings of love for Courtney and all the other acts on the bill this night could fill more Harlequin romances than your Aunt Padonia Road contains in her dumbwaiter. We got a huge crowd also, despite part of Saratoga St. being iced over by a broken water main and a huge huge show at the G Spot.

The night ended for me with a Time Machine moment when I was waiting for Courtney to arrive back from closing up the Mount Royal Tavern after the show so he could break in our new couch. We had attempted to find a bed at IKEA in time for his arrival, but we both were so fuddled from fatigue and IKEA's maddening mix and match overlit showrooms that we bolted after woofing down their cafeteria carbo-load wares (saving two of the rubbery "Swedish" meatballs for Max in napkins in my coat pocket).

I let Courtney in about 2:30 or so and he walked in holding Amanda's moon boots and looking sheepish. I was transported back 15 years or so except I should have been in Courtney's place. Asking him what was up he pointed down the shadowy street (lined with all our new unknown neighbors) to a graying ragtag post-bar time party headed our way.

Hopefully this show struck for others as it did me old roads and loves and the new and upcoming. But like watching "To Sir With Love" the first time and losing it when Lulu has her moment, this night was so tender it hurt.

An Extra Special Shattered Wig Night of Extreme Grandeur & Warmth - Friday, Jan. 29th

Shattered Wig Night Of Extreme Grandeur & Warmth -1/29/10


Redbird
John Dierker
Sea Couch

Goodloe Byron
Al Ackerman

With very special guest floating about in the crowd brandishing a cocktail: Courtney McCullough



Could it be nearly the end of whatever this last decade was called? The Oughts? The Naughts? How it flew by, taking with it most of my head hair and a lot of what was left of my belief in the goodness of humanity or faith that we can beat all the weird new viruses and microbes and booger bears and religious extremist wack jobs.

But then again the Harry Smith Anthology of Folk Music just get reissued on vinyl as did Roscoe Holcomb's "High Lonesome Sound" and The i.e. Series Reader has been published after much anticipation, so I guess there's still some spin left on the over-heated gumball of Earth, even if the polar bears are already being slated to go out next after the art of civilized debate.

How did I get on this, dear reader or two. Maybe it's because I just came from visiting an old friend in the ICU, a wonderfully strange old friend who just happened to be the guy who introduced me to my beloved, where I saw him without consciousness or words stuck to more tubes than I've ever seen in one place. The fact that we had to put on astronaut gear before we could even see him lent an extra otherworldly helplessness and removal from what we know as life. This after hearing the gifted guitarist Jack Rose died at 38 from a heart attack last week. We wish our friend well and all of us each one struggling with this sometimes cold and eery world.

The good and gooder news is the lineup for the next Shattered Wig Night that just happens to also be a bit of a birthday party for former Baltimore bon vivant, musician and Normal's employee, Courtney McCullough. He has just hit the half century mark and his wife Sabra and mother, Sri Rebecca the Desert Vixen, bought him a plane ticket back to Harm City from New Mexico so he could catch this show. I will take this moment to brag that I got lucky and was able to get Brett Sparks of the transcendent Handsome Family to play at Courtney's true birthday party at the Press Club in Albuquerque. There is a small, tiny chance I may be able to land the Family here when they come through Baltimore in the Spring.


As luck would have it, two days before finding out Courtney would be here, I had gotten a call from Amanda Pollock, another Baltimore legend who ran back in the '90s, looking for a booking. Amanda is an incredible vocalist, kind of in the soul folk category, who has done time with The Barnyard Playboys, The Velvet Mafia, Cloaca and many others, but also has always been mainly a solo vocalist with her own guitar accompaniment. She has a new duo in New York called Redbird and I'm excited to hear what she's been up to the last year besides writing twisted memoirs for her writing class.

Also performing is another great duo, this one local - Sea Couch, consisting of Dan Dorsey on banjo ukulele and regular uke and his fiance Amanda Copeland (she of the brightest smile) on banjo. Both warble pleasingly. Dan has the most clean picking style I've heard lately. He also plays in The Same Damn Thing and was in the Pasadena supergroup The Jumping Off Point and Other Moments of Grace. He also did this show's flyer, pictured above, saving me from another one of my tacky '80s School cut and pastes.

Knowing that Courtney would be in town for this special event, I had to muscle his favorite musician, John Dierker, into playing. Solo. Naked soul up against the wall of Oblivian demanding answers.

Our visiting reader this show is a novelist I've been wanting to book for a while, Goodloe Byron, author of The Abstract and Revisions Of. The Abstract truly reminds me at times of Flann O'Brien and Phil Dick, which is some fine company. Plus Goodloe is an interesting 21st Century Lamont Cranston kind of presence so I'm curious to hear him hold forth.

And of course it wouldn't truly count as Shattered Wig Night without Blaster Al. He's been on a particularly good roll of late, despite his recent mugging right on the front porch where he and I live with the reclusive millionaire Shuggie Berndt. The streets of this town are starting to really feel sinsiter again. Times are beyond hard. Rigor mortis stiff to the point of twisting.

At the 14 Karat Cabaret. Doors open at 9pm and the cover charge is a whopping $6 since we're top heavy with performers, aged ones, ones that have various monkeys to keep in silk smoking jackets.