Rubberneckers in a carcrash world.

I'm standing above the Mississippi river. I'm a few hours away from a hangover. To my right is the "JAX" beer sign, it is reminding me of the "Emser Tile" sign that used to shine through my window when I lived off of Santa Monica in Hollywood. My thoughts are interrupted when one of the members of the rock and roll band that I sing and play guitar in tells me that he just talked to my dad.
"What?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says. "He said someone called his phone from your phone and asked him if he wanted to buy some DJ equipment. He was just wondering if you were alive."
SHIT. This means someone has broken into the car. And decided to rub it in by punching "DAD" on the phone that they stole.
The rock and roll band starts heading towards the car. We are in pretty good spirits all considering the circumstances. We are not that surprised. Windows get busted and things get jacked in New Orleans.
We make it back to the parking lot that we spent 60 dollars to park the car and trailer in. There is broken glass, but the trailer has not been opened.
The thieves got away with:
1 Phone
1 mixing board
3 microphones
They left:
1 GPS
1 Sattelite Radio
! $2500 Motif keyboard(really?)

We are surveying the damage and waiting on the police. We don't realize that one of the members of the rock and roll band has slipped away. We only realize this as we see him walking back towards us, lunatic style, informing us not to worry because he took care of everything by smashing up some police cars.
This is somehow supposed to be reassuring.
We tell him to take off, but he does not. He heads back to the scene of the crime to retrieve his phone. He is immediately arrested. The rest of us have whiplash from the incident.
The sun is up.
The cops will not help us because one of us smashed up some police cars which pretty much voids some hoodlums stealing a few items from our ride.
I walk to a bar at the corner of Conti and Dauphine and get a bloody mary. It is absolute magic.
I walk to the Cafe Du Monde for some coffee and a beignet. It is also magic.
I return to the room and sleep until 2 in the afternoon. The hotel gave the rock and roll band a late check out. Thoughtful.

The window is being fixed and I'm bored. One of the members of the rock and roll band is trying to get "Keith Richards/Moon" out of jail. Then, I realize that I am bored and only a block away from Bourbon Street which is the equivalent of being hungry at a Ryans Steakhouse with a twenty dollar bill. I stuff some jasmine in my shirt pocket and start drinking.

I am in the backseat of the car heading to Hattiesburg. A call comes in saying that Keith Richards/Moon has been released. We did not think this would happen for another 72 hours. We drive to Hattiesburg. One of the members of the rock and roll band gets a ride with a friend back to New Orleans to retrieve Keith Richards/Moon. The rest of us start playing to an empty house. The proprietor of the empty house says to knock it off since the house is empty and takes us to another bar and buys us beers.

I am driving somewhere between Atlanta and Augusta. The rest of the rock and roll band is sleeping. The sun is coming up. I am blaring a radio preacher. I am hoping he has the wrong idea. I could drive forever.

I am sitting on Folly beach with Keith Richards/Moon and one of the other members of the rock and roll band. I have not slept since Jackson. We are polishing off the cooler of leftover beer that amounted on the road. There is wind but no chill.
Somehow, it is better because of all the bullshit, even though it shouldn't be.

The Junk Food Theory...

A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with my brother. He asked me what I was up to and I said I was going to see a movie. He asked me what movie and I told him that the only movie out that I really wanted to see was "Its Complicated." Let me make a note here, I really did not want to see "Its Complicated," I just wanted to go to the movies. I had cabin fever, felt like getting out of the house. You see, I enjoy the movie experience as much as I enjoy the movie, often more.
Anyway...
He asked me if I had seen "Avatar."
No.
Go see that then.
I said, everything that I've heard about that movie says that the effects are great, the story sucks. More style than substance.
Yeah, he said.
Well, that's exactly the kind of movie that I don't enjoy.
He said: You used to like movies like that.
This is true. And sometimes, I still do. If they made a "Blade 6" I would go see it.
But, there are a lot of factors, and I digress.
The thing is, tastes change. I'm not saying that Avatar is shit, I have no idea, it just doesn't look like something I would like.
I know myself pretty well, better than James Cameron, anyway.
My tastes seem to be a little more sophisticated, but not really. I still really like B Movies-but for the camp value more than anything else.
And that's the thing.
When I was a kid, I liked Doritos and Oreos. I guess I still do...but Doritos and Oreos aren't on my grocery list...
And most of pop culture/mainstream media and entertainment is kind of like junkfood.
It comes in a bright, colorful, fancy package, it has a whole lot of additives, it is overpriced...
And some of it IS ENTERTAINING. Sometimes you're in the mood for it.
Just like Doritos do taste good...
BUT
You can't eat Doritos all the time, Doritos are bad for your health.
And you shouldn't be on a diet of Top 40 either, because too much of it is bad for your soul.
GRANTED...
At one time, I genuinely liked the band "Third Eye Blind."
GENUINELY.
But tastes change.
And now there are things about other music that appreciate that most pop bands leave out...I also appreciate the things that lets call them "roots" bands leave out that most pop bands find the need to add.
APPRECIATION.
If I was a kid, and I had to choose between a homegrown, freshly sliced tomato and a bag of something crisp and salty...it was crisp and salty in a land slide.
Now, I appreciate what goes into that tomato, and respect the effort, nature, all of that organic shit.
You get over the kid stuff...and hearing John Prine and Billy Joe Shaver make it impossible for me to go back to the kids stuff.
Someone else can probably express this better than I can.

Sometimes I surprise myself...

Came across this band(band?)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xycnv87N_BU&feature=SeriesPlayList&p=DE53A978215C0424
AND I REALLY LIKE IT.
To be honest, it doesn't surprise ME so much, because I like electronic, tinkering music, and I like "Earth Wind and Fire" so...
It hurts me a little, though.
Because this band seems like the perfect band(band?) for RIGHT NOW.
Computer Savy, quirky, they make cool cover versions of songs, upload them, and get a million views.
PERFECT FOR RIGHT NOW.
Me, I become overwhelmed by technology/music.
And I long for the good old days.
The thing is, I know I can't beat them(not this band(band?), but "THEM" as an idea.
And I'm not going to join THEM-because nobody wants to see that. If I did that, the world would probably end before 2012.
That's comforting.
Damn. The more I watch that video, the more I think that it is everything that is RIGHT with music.
Unpretentious. Fun. good stuff.
I am officially a fan.
Pomplamoose may be the only band in the world that doesn't suck at all.
Well, them and Iron Maiden.
bye.

Okay, damnit...

So the deal is there is no deal.
I don't hate bands.
Its just this:
Bands, in general, when they decide they will invade your living rooms, bed rooms, cars, computers, Friday evenings...rather than just playing songs to noone...
Well........
They have to do things that "suck."
Music videos suck.
Shameless plugs suck.
Whether its U2 pushing ipods or a local band putting "flip" videos on youtube and announcing drink specials...bands have to do things that "suck."
This thing(blawg) is just a prank with words.
Just personified boredom.
And boozing.
But the thing is, some bands/artists get it.
John Mayer.
Yeah, he kind of sucks.
But......
He made a choice:
Be the best guitar player in his local scene OR:
Reveal his sexual encounters with celebrities and the fact that his genitals are apparently racist to the readers of Playboy magazine. a toss up?
BUT...If you and Johnny had a candid sit down, and you said, "Bro, you kind of suck," I think he would get it...
On the other hand...........
I think Nickelback probably scratches their heads daily...asking, "Why does everybody hate us?"
And they probably have conspiracy theories, etc...
But, if they would let down their guard, they would get it...yeah? maybe?
Probably not.
I was on Folly earlier.
Surf Bar.
I had some drinks.
Ended up here.
That should explain a lot.
Hearts. Hugs. Teddy bears.

Just to Clarify(part 2)...

So, the last part of the City Paper article, in which I stated, "Who are these turkeys?"
Yeah, that part...
Well, I started thinking that a lot of people will sit down at a bar, restaurant, toilet, etc, skim the City Paper, and think to themselves, "who is THIS turkey?"
Hey, I get it.
Its not lost on me.
Here's the thing:
I am NOT an elitist.
I do not think that I am better than YOU or anybody else.
However, I do think that your band sucks.
But, I also think that my band sucks.
Its about checks and balances.
(I think)
too big for britches.
Oversized noggins.
Halos.
Waiting in vain.
Walking in to parties, with apricot scarves-one eye on the mirror.
Christian Bale.
The skinny is this: songs make people happy, sad, dance, angry, bored,....................
But songs are songs. They don't build bridges and cure diseases and keep homeless folks warm.
Except for "Give Peace a Chance" because I think that song actually ended the conflict in Vietnam. Don't believe me? There were billboards to prove it.
http://www.ago.net/assets/images/assets/past_exhibitions/2002/ono_war.jpg
Busted.
So sometimes when there is an artist and a Jim Morrison moment, there needs to be the realization that we are not the Kings, but the Jesters.
Really, neither.
When you get to this point, IF you get to this point, (and I'm talking about reading, not a place in a career) refer to the headline under the title of this blog.
And don't say that you weren't warned.
I heart all things.
(except indie rock.)
Cheers.

Just to Clarify...

Okay. Anybody that knows me knows I am a cynical bastard.
However, lately, I am trying to be more positive.
Funny, I've blogged about this before.
And if anyone is directed here from the City Paper article, I just want to say that I am not serious about any of the stuff I say on this blog.
I am not a hater.
I'm trying not to be one, anyway.
But, I am a crusty, old dude, that's seen his fair share of bullshit.
And sometimes, that bullshit gets under your skin until you just have to vent.
This blog is ironic, because the things that make "bandssuck" could be used to say "blogssuck:"
Self indulgence, delusion, bad taste.
Where am I going with this?
Nowhere.
Ahhhh...always nice to end up at square one.
Hugs.
Oh, go see "Crazy Heart."

Oldie but a goodie...

I haven't blogged since June...my mind has not been in that mode. The fact that blogging is self indulgent and pointless makes it something that I can only do in phases...but here is one I wrote in October of 2006, when I was living in LA. I must have been in a bad place...


Four Months and a Kick in the Teeth
Mac Leaphart and Los Angeles. Not a match made in heaven. But what did I expect? I hate traffic, pricks and bands that sound like Rick Dees Weekly Top 40. But LA has grown on me, and I have acccepted it to a certain extent. I just had to find the right spots around town, and slowly but surely I am sort of getting what the LA experience is all about. I thought maybe I could come out here and kick its teeth down its throat, you know, convince a few big shots that I was a badass and all that. I guess that was my initial goal. It didn't really happen like that, though. From my experience, LA has been more like the little kid that you baby-sat and the first thing he does is hit you right in the nuts and then it is hell for the next five hours and then his parents come home drunk and don't have any cash and precede to write you a check for jack shit. So now, my attitude has changed a bit. Now, I'd just like to pull the chair out from under LA -you know, have a little fun and try to take advantage of the opportunities that exist out here that don't exist in my beloved South.

So its been four months in LA for this 'ol boy. And I've done a lot of jogging, (at one point I was doing two-a-days out of sheer boredom) played a few shows, good ones, bad ones, bland ones-a few to completely write off the books. Specifically one at this place in North Hollywood that was a really rock bottom-ass dive causing me at times to sort of fear for my life, but not really-where this borderline crazy man kept asking me to play "Positively 4th Street" and the place was so dead that I finally told him that he could play it if he wanted to, and so I handed him my guitar-sat down at the bar and grabbed a beer while he preceded to play some Dylan and some ZZTop, and honestly, he was actually pretty good. He was still bonkers, though. I worked a job going from mailroom to mailroom around LA for a little over a month, surrounded by people that had given their lives to the mailrooms and copy rooms who were putting up with some kid with an English Degree that kept botching copy jobs and metered mail. So I did that, made a little money, and now I'm back to trying to wake up every day and start writing-songs, articles, my novel that I've been writing for the past four years. I have moments of intense inspiration-I wrote a new song-a ballad where someone dies (imagine that) but I also spend a lot of time on myspace, waiting and hoping for that new friend request or comment or message. Oh, what a great feeling, better than walking into a grade school classroom and seeing a projector-man, did I just date my old ass. So, yeah, I write, check the internet, play my guitar, write, check the internet, all the while drinking too much coffee and Earl Grey tea and usually end up drinking beers in the afternoon. So basically, my life is sort of life a Kris Kristofferson song right now (minus the myspace shit and the fact that I don't smoke cigarettes-I wish I smoked cigarettes-I'd be so much cooler if I did) , which seemed pretty cool when I was a much younger man, but isn't quite as romantic or appealing when it is actually my life. But still, it has somewhat of a nice ring to it, and I don't plan on spending the rest of my days like ths. So, as I am on the verge of returning to God's Country for a couple months, I feel like reflecting on my first stint in a LA a bit, but I guess I have already been doing that for a few hundred words, but I've never been much on chronology, anyway.

I cannot really offer much insight on LA, as I have barley experienced the so called "City of Angels." But I have learned a few things from my limited experience. One thing about LA, is it is a pretty good place to be a bum. Probably the best in America. The climate is great-never too hot-never too cold-and nobody will really mess with you. You can sleep right on the sidewalk or in the park, or wherever you please pretty much. You can sleep in, too. Sleep all day if you want to. On the other hand, if you've got tons of money-LA is still a great place to be. There's a lot of places where you can show off and run up big tabs for people you're trying to impress that could less about you. LA is wonderful in that aspect. To tell the truth, its probably best to be either a bum or a multimillionaire in LA, because either way, you don't really have to worry about money. Because trust me, when you're a regular guy like me, the money goes, and it goes fast, and you've got nothing to show for it, except for maybe a some vintage t-shirts and jeans you bought down on Melrose.


The first couple of months I was here, I was surrounded by sirens and horns and Otis Redding. Sirens and horns are sort of the soundtrack to LA, you cannot really escape them, especially when you live a block away from a fire station. Otis was always with me at "Molly Malones" this bar on Fairfax and Sixth that I would play the open mic night, drink too many beers, and try to get the cute redheaded bartender with the kind eyes and not quite American accent to notice me. So I'd play Otis. And the Allman Brothers and Sam Cooke. All the songs that I thought might spark a young lady's interest, you know, like maybe she'd think that the pensive young man with his eyes in his beer and the really good taste in music was somewhat inticing. But to her, I was probably not pensive, I was just another drunk. The thing is, I'm just not cool enough. I'm really not. Okay, if I'm onstage, with my guitar and my songs of love and despair and blah-blah-then yeah, I can manage. But at an open mic night, any asshole with three bucks and a guitar can take the stage, so it doesn't really work the way it does at a "real" gig. But, I would go to Molly Malones anyway. Hell, I went there a lot when I first got here, even if it wasn't open mic night. My girl back home and I had decided that 2000 miles was a little too far to make things work, and so I was just feeling as alone as I could feel, spending all my money on draft beer and Jack Daniels like I had some kind of endless supply. So I'd sit at the bar by my lonesome, like all those guys that used to come to the Salty Nut and talk my ears off and try to hit on the waitresses, and I'd play Otis on the jukebox, to gain the title of "dude with best taste in music at the bar" and because my heart was broken and I needed to hear some heartbreak songs. And nobody breaks my heart like Otis. Nobody. Sometimes, when you're lonely and down, the only thing you want to hear are songs that are going to tug on your goddamn emotions even more, making it hurt like a hell, taking everything out of you until you just feel empty, but somehow making you feel good, not better, but good in a way that is only relevant to lonely souls with broken hearts. I definitely fit the bill.


Open mic night at Molly Malone's was a pretty good deal. You got to play two songs, and usually there was a nice built in crowd. There did tend to be a large quantity of Justin Timberlake/Maroon 5 falsetto belting crooners, but I alwyas got up and played my songs, and sometimes somebody would dig it. Usually, I'd just head back to the bar to knock back a couple more drinks. One night, a buddy of mine and I both played after we had watched the Braves game and had too many 16 ounce Miller Highlifes. We started hanging out with these Texas sority girls and also some girls from Canada, who were somehow friends-don't ask, becuase I don..t know-but we went back to their house that was supposed to be right around the corner, but it wasn..t as we sped through some alleys in a pick up truck belonging to some dude that I didn't know. Anyway, my buddy kept saying "Goddamn" and the girl whose house it was kept telling him not to say it, but he kept saying it and we got kicked out and had to walk about two miles back to my place. It might have been even farther. These girls lived on Crescent Heights on the other side of San Vicente, and we had to walk to Cochran, which is two blocks up from La Brea. If you are familiar with LA, that paints a pretty specific picture of a long-ass walk. So anyway, on any given open mic night, I was usually pretty drunk whenever it was my turn to play a few songs. One time another friend came and watched me, and afterward he told me that I was too drunk to play. To which I replied, "I wasn't too drunk to play, I was just too drunk to play well."


More to come...



Thanks and goodnight,


Mac