Here are the dates we have so far. Our time on the road will be extremely limited on this record, so if your city is not listed below, please consider meeting us at one of these places:
MARCH
5 HOLLAND GRONINGEN VERA CLUB http://www.vera-groningen.nl/
6 BELGIUM BRUSSELS AB
http://www.abconcerts.be/nl/concerten/p/detail/buffalo-tom-06-03-2011
7 HOLLAND AMSTERDAM MELKWEG
http://www.melkweg.nl/artikelpagina.jsp?language=nederlands&batchno=5&offset=48&artikelid=199111&disciplineid=muziek&agendaitemid=199110
8 GERMANY COLOGNE LUXOR
http://www.luxor-koeln.de/di-08-03-2011-buffalo-tom/
9 Off / TRAVEL
10 ENGLAND LONDON DINGWALLS
http://www.dingwalls.com/
11 ENGLAND MANCHESTER Sound Control (A hometown homage to "She's Lost Control"?) www.soundcontrolmanchester.co.uk
12 SCOTLAND GLASGOW ORAN MOR
http://www.oran-mor.co.uk/
APRIL
8 BOSTON -- PARADISE ROCK CLUB
28 NEW YORK -- BOWERY BALLROOM
29 PHILADELPHIA M ROOM
30 WASHINGTON D.C. THE BLACK CAT
Showing posts with label buffalo tom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label buffalo tom. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Just an Old Buff Tom Story for Christmas
People have asked We Three Buffalos Tee for stories from the road. We have relatively few good ones worth telling. Certainly none of them are Zeppelin level. No arrests or major property damage. No bans from any hotel chains. So we usually come back to a small handful, and in particular, this one from Paris. It happened so long ago, probably 1990, and that fact in an of itself shows how few stories there are. In fact, I would not be surprised if I have not already told it in this space. How sad would THAT be?
I searched Dan and Camille Speca's site, which documents almost all of the live shows we have played, This particular show seems to be missing. In fact, I do not see any shows in Paris in my quick scan, and even though it was not a hot spot for us, I know we have played at least two or three times there, once opening up for the Gun Club. Anyway, it is just as well, as this show should be expunged from the official record.
It started out just as our previous trip to Paris had. During that first european tour, in 1989, we had a day off or two and figured we would drive down to Paris just for the day, even though we had no shows in France that first year. But we had all our gear and records with us (we sold vinyl as merch' - goes to show how far back this was). When we got to the border on the way in, we were stopped and taken aside by the French customs agents, who took one look at the rock band with a Dutch driver and a van registered in the Netherlands, with boxes full of rock records and t-shirts and decided we were worth a search. The first BT album, some of you may recall, had a series of symbols in a hand-drawn logo designed by yours truly, a semi-arbitrary assemblage of a peace sign , a heart, a yin/yang, a cross, and -- naturally -- a hypodermic needle, for no apparent reason except to invite problems.
The French agents did not need to see anything more to order us out of the van. They brought a dog in to sniff through everything. The van was completely emptied and each section was taken apart, ceiling and door panels removed, and all our bags brought inside the building. Tom's duffel, filled at this point mostly with dirty laundry, was placed in front of us as we watched them search each item, with the dog sniffing all of it. And they strip-searched everyone but me. I was actually a little offended.
We were afraid enough of border crossings to know not to have anything on us and none of us had any sort of drug habits that would require taking such risks. So, after a few hours, they finally and reluctantly let us go on our merry way to enjoy the fair city of Paris as warmly welcomed tourists.
The next year, we came back to actually play a show. We were never very popular in France, but we had been booked at an ad hoc club in an old abandoned hospital campus that was being squatted. With our history at the border, we figured it would be best to get an early start. I believe that this time we were coming from Zurich, with its infamous Needle Park, home to hundreds of junkies. But that might have been the first visit, I forget. Needless to say, we were again held up for hours at the broder, with a similar bienvenue committee. Instead of being early, we had to speed into Paris so as to not arrive horrendously late. Of course, we were stopped by the police again on the highway, who seemed to have a sense of curiosity similar to their countrymen back at the border. "The French police wouldn't give me no peace/They claimed I was a nasty person..."
By the time we pulled into the right location, having circled the serpentine back streets of Paris looking for this squatted club, we were quite tardy, a fact made clear by an otherwise pretty lady running toward the driver-side window of our van, screeching her head off at us in a Gallic tempest of unmitigated fury. Stephen, our tour manager was a young guy from New Zealand, but I think it was Jan, our long-time Dutch soundman who also acted as our tour manager at times, who was driving and received the brunt of this vitriol. The poor guy was often stressed and took the job quite seriously, and, unfortunately, he understood some French. He mostly took it, though he tried here and there, in the milliseconds the mademoiselle paused, to explain what happened. She was having none of it. She started in on us in hilarious broken english that made her sound like an enraged female Inspector Closeau. The day in France was not off to a good start.
We were finally allowed to drive through the gates, past huge security guards dressed in DEA black, cargo pants tucked into boots, each holding German shepherds on short leashes. Yes, this was the "rock club," a walled campus that was like entering a prison.
We drove in and started to unload our gear, trying our best to ignore the ongoing stream of abuse from Fifi, who we soon deduced was the promoter. While Bob -- who was our graphic designer and was out selling merch for us -- unloaded the van, Jan, who did not see Bob, slid the van door shut on his head. Bob was woozy and eventually had to be taken to the hotel to rest. He may have gone to the doctor. I know he did eventually, I just don't recall this detail. It turned out that he got a concussion of some degree which made him nauseous.
Soldiering on, we completed a soundcheck in one of the many euro venues that resemble an airplane hangar, with a tin barrel ceiling, clearly the optimal conditions for the sort of hi-fi sound that warms the heart an exacting Dutch sound engineer with frazzled nerves and guilt compounded by arriving late and slamming his friend's head in a van door. But as you can tell, we were not so egregiously late as to miss a soundcheck; just enough to summon the blackest stuff from the bowels of a demonic French chick's damned soul.
As we made our way out for a quick bite, the bassist from the opening band asked Chris if he could borrow Chris' P-Bass. Chris, generous soul he is, sort of shrugged and said, sure, I guess so. When we got back in after dinner, the band was finishing up their set. I was first in the club. There was a rowdy audience watching and listening to the cacophonous racket, as the bassist repeatedly threw Chris' P-Bass up in the air, the strap holding it to his body, and letting it slam and bounce against his upraised thigh. I turned around to grab Chris, "look at what this guy is doing. You'll want to see this."
Chris came in and stood, mouth agape. He confronted the kid backstage afterward. "What the fuck? Why did you do that?"
The kid was very blase -- there's a nice French word for you. "Hey c'mon," he said. "Eet eese poonk rock, men."
Chris replied something like, "where's your bass? What happened to it, and why did you need mine?"
The guy just shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing wrong with his bass. He just wanted to use Chris's and got overexuberant. Chris simply did not know how to respond. But he let the kid have it.
Finally, the moment we were all waiting for, the time that we get to play; it is all about the music, man; the hour or so that makes it all worthwhile. We started our set to a packed crowd in this little room. The kids had paid around the equivalent of $20, which back then, for a band our size, was a lot of dough. I was actually starting to feel good. The crowd was definitely boisterous. And as a song or two went by, I felt myself getting beer spilled/thrown at me. Cups seemed to be flying. And one hit my right at the top of my guitar and drenched my torso.
Sort of half laughing, in my slowest, clearest speech, to try to convey my message to the French crowd, I said something like, "OK, I know it is a rock club and you all paid a lot of money to come and have fun, I have to politely ask whoever it is throwing beer up here to please stop." I heard a lot of yelling and jeering, people pointing fingers, and so on.
We started into the next song, "Mineral," which starts slowly, quietly, and with just me playing the guitar. The screaming continued and I saw a bustle in the crowd, just behind the first few rows of people, who started to look over their shoulders at those behind them fighting someone off, pushing around, trying to get out of the way, as this other insane-looking girl with a shaved head made her way forward, literally clawing her way up to the front. By the time it came for me to sing the first lines, she was in front of me yelling at me.
Mistake number one: I stopped playing and made eye contact with her, allowing her to engage me. She was still trying to gain ground and people were pushing her back. "What are you saying?" I asked. Mistake number two.
She yelled something to me in French or gibberish, or some combination of the two. Either way, I had no idea what she was saying. Mistake number three: I say, "hold on, hold on, what is she saying? Let her talk."
She wrestled her way right in front of me and yelled, "I thought eet would be refreshing to you! I thought you wanted to be refreshed!" She had been the one throwing the beers at me.
"No, ha ha, no that's fine," I said. I don't need...."
Splat! She spit right in my face before I could get my sentence out. Hawked a loogy right in my face.
Mistake number four comes next. Instead of walking away, which is something I am not too good at generally, and starting the music again, I instantly and instinctively spit right back in her cute little face. Well, before I could even straighten up, the skinhead chick was ON me, grabbing a hold of my guitar strings and my face, her nails slashing as she clawed up onto stage, kicking slapping, pulling my hair, my guitar clanging away. I looked to the side and saw Chris, again with mouth agape, but just standing there, along with Stephen, our guitar tech, stock still, the both of them. My face must have been in a panicked expression of, "a little help here?"
Finally, somehow, we were separated. Shaken, I left the stage and exited out the back door. In this setup, the dressing rooms were in another building up a flight of stairs. I was shaking and scratched up. We had only played maybe three songs. Fifi the promoter lady comes in, now all gooey sweet, begging us to go back on, telling us how the people loved the music and it was only one bad apple and so on. I told her to fuck off, that we had been badly treated this whole day, and that they have this heavy security presence and yet no one there to stop this one petite Tasmanian devil from nearly taking me out? She begged us, but my adrenaline was pumping and wanted to make her sweat, maybe a small riot from the outraged kids in the offing, so we refused to go back on for a while. She kept begging and we relented, telling her it was "for the kids, man!"
We were escorted back down the steps toward the entry to the stage. But we had to pass back through a courtyard between the two buildings. There, in a doorway, was the skinhead girl and two of the huge security guys and she was pummeling them while they tried to restrain her. They sort of seemed like they didn't want to hurt her, but she was trying their patience.
We played our set, which was good for a few laughs. People in the front were apologizing for her, telling me she was clearly on bad drugs. We wrapped up an otherwise uneventful and fun set.
Afterward, we were up in the dressing room again. enjoying a few drinks with some folks. I was discussing the bizarro incident with a French guy.
"Oh yeah, man," he said. "She was very high on something. She had been making problems all night."
"She was insane," I told him. "I mean, she really hurt me. And then we saw her outside going nuts on some big security guys."
"Yes, yes!" he replied. "You know, they had to shock her," illustrating some sort of movement with his hands."
"Huh? They had to shock her? What do you mean?"
He kept up the prodding motion. "Yes, oui. They had to give her electreek shock."
"What?! Like a cattle prod? A stun gun?" I asked (I don't think the word "Taser" had yet entered the lexicon -- english or french).
"Yes, yes, 'stun gun!.' Can you believe it, man?"
Here is the kind of place we played: huge SWAT team security guys patrolling a prison-like campus with German shepherds and stun guns, waiting for an opportunity to send high voltage into an out-of-control skinhead chick, and yet not being able to rise to the occasion when they were actually needed.
Merry Christmas kids!
I searched Dan and Camille Speca's site, which documents almost all of the live shows we have played, This particular show seems to be missing. In fact, I do not see any shows in Paris in my quick scan, and even though it was not a hot spot for us, I know we have played at least two or three times there, once opening up for the Gun Club. Anyway, it is just as well, as this show should be expunged from the official record.
It started out just as our previous trip to Paris had. During that first european tour, in 1989, we had a day off or two and figured we would drive down to Paris just for the day, even though we had no shows in France that first year. But we had all our gear and records with us (we sold vinyl as merch' - goes to show how far back this was). When we got to the border on the way in, we were stopped and taken aside by the French customs agents, who took one look at the rock band with a Dutch driver and a van registered in the Netherlands, with boxes full of rock records and t-shirts and decided we were worth a search. The first BT album, some of you may recall, had a series of symbols in a hand-drawn logo designed by yours truly, a semi-arbitrary assemblage of a peace sign , a heart, a yin/yang, a cross, and -- naturally -- a hypodermic needle, for no apparent reason except to invite problems.
The French agents did not need to see anything more to order us out of the van. They brought a dog in to sniff through everything. The van was completely emptied and each section was taken apart, ceiling and door panels removed, and all our bags brought inside the building. Tom's duffel, filled at this point mostly with dirty laundry, was placed in front of us as we watched them search each item, with the dog sniffing all of it. And they strip-searched everyone but me. I was actually a little offended.
We were afraid enough of border crossings to know not to have anything on us and none of us had any sort of drug habits that would require taking such risks. So, after a few hours, they finally and reluctantly let us go on our merry way to enjoy the fair city of Paris as warmly welcomed tourists.
The next year, we came back to actually play a show. We were never very popular in France, but we had been booked at an ad hoc club in an old abandoned hospital campus that was being squatted. With our history at the border, we figured it would be best to get an early start. I believe that this time we were coming from Zurich, with its infamous Needle Park, home to hundreds of junkies. But that might have been the first visit, I forget. Needless to say, we were again held up for hours at the broder, with a similar bienvenue committee. Instead of being early, we had to speed into Paris so as to not arrive horrendously late. Of course, we were stopped by the police again on the highway, who seemed to have a sense of curiosity similar to their countrymen back at the border. "The French police wouldn't give me no peace/They claimed I was a nasty person..."
By the time we pulled into the right location, having circled the serpentine back streets of Paris looking for this squatted club, we were quite tardy, a fact made clear by an otherwise pretty lady running toward the driver-side window of our van, screeching her head off at us in a Gallic tempest of unmitigated fury. Stephen, our tour manager was a young guy from New Zealand, but I think it was Jan, our long-time Dutch soundman who also acted as our tour manager at times, who was driving and received the brunt of this vitriol. The poor guy was often stressed and took the job quite seriously, and, unfortunately, he understood some French. He mostly took it, though he tried here and there, in the milliseconds the mademoiselle paused, to explain what happened. She was having none of it. She started in on us in hilarious broken english that made her sound like an enraged female Inspector Closeau. The day in France was not off to a good start.
We were finally allowed to drive through the gates, past huge security guards dressed in DEA black, cargo pants tucked into boots, each holding German shepherds on short leashes. Yes, this was the "rock club," a walled campus that was like entering a prison.
We drove in and started to unload our gear, trying our best to ignore the ongoing stream of abuse from Fifi, who we soon deduced was the promoter. While Bob -- who was our graphic designer and was out selling merch for us -- unloaded the van, Jan, who did not see Bob, slid the van door shut on his head. Bob was woozy and eventually had to be taken to the hotel to rest. He may have gone to the doctor. I know he did eventually, I just don't recall this detail. It turned out that he got a concussion of some degree which made him nauseous.
Soldiering on, we completed a soundcheck in one of the many euro venues that resemble an airplane hangar, with a tin barrel ceiling, clearly the optimal conditions for the sort of hi-fi sound that warms the heart an exacting Dutch sound engineer with frazzled nerves and guilt compounded by arriving late and slamming his friend's head in a van door. But as you can tell, we were not so egregiously late as to miss a soundcheck; just enough to summon the blackest stuff from the bowels of a demonic French chick's damned soul.
As we made our way out for a quick bite, the bassist from the opening band asked Chris if he could borrow Chris' P-Bass. Chris, generous soul he is, sort of shrugged and said, sure, I guess so. When we got back in after dinner, the band was finishing up their set. I was first in the club. There was a rowdy audience watching and listening to the cacophonous racket, as the bassist repeatedly threw Chris' P-Bass up in the air, the strap holding it to his body, and letting it slam and bounce against his upraised thigh. I turned around to grab Chris, "look at what this guy is doing. You'll want to see this."
Chris came in and stood, mouth agape. He confronted the kid backstage afterward. "What the fuck? Why did you do that?"
The kid was very blase -- there's a nice French word for you. "Hey c'mon," he said. "Eet eese poonk rock, men."
Chris replied something like, "where's your bass? What happened to it, and why did you need mine?"
The guy just shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing wrong with his bass. He just wanted to use Chris's and got overexuberant. Chris simply did not know how to respond. But he let the kid have it.
Finally, the moment we were all waiting for, the time that we get to play; it is all about the music, man; the hour or so that makes it all worthwhile. We started our set to a packed crowd in this little room. The kids had paid around the equivalent of $20, which back then, for a band our size, was a lot of dough. I was actually starting to feel good. The crowd was definitely boisterous. And as a song or two went by, I felt myself getting beer spilled/thrown at me. Cups seemed to be flying. And one hit my right at the top of my guitar and drenched my torso.
Sort of half laughing, in my slowest, clearest speech, to try to convey my message to the French crowd, I said something like, "OK, I know it is a rock club and you all paid a lot of money to come and have fun, I have to politely ask whoever it is throwing beer up here to please stop." I heard a lot of yelling and jeering, people pointing fingers, and so on.
We started into the next song, "Mineral," which starts slowly, quietly, and with just me playing the guitar. The screaming continued and I saw a bustle in the crowd, just behind the first few rows of people, who started to look over their shoulders at those behind them fighting someone off, pushing around, trying to get out of the way, as this other insane-looking girl with a shaved head made her way forward, literally clawing her way up to the front. By the time it came for me to sing the first lines, she was in front of me yelling at me.
Mistake number one: I stopped playing and made eye contact with her, allowing her to engage me. She was still trying to gain ground and people were pushing her back. "What are you saying?" I asked. Mistake number two.
She yelled something to me in French or gibberish, or some combination of the two. Either way, I had no idea what she was saying. Mistake number three: I say, "hold on, hold on, what is she saying? Let her talk."
She wrestled her way right in front of me and yelled, "I thought eet would be refreshing to you! I thought you wanted to be refreshed!" She had been the one throwing the beers at me.
"No, ha ha, no that's fine," I said. I don't need...."
Splat! She spit right in my face before I could get my sentence out. Hawked a loogy right in my face.
Mistake number four comes next. Instead of walking away, which is something I am not too good at generally, and starting the music again, I instantly and instinctively spit right back in her cute little face. Well, before I could even straighten up, the skinhead chick was ON me, grabbing a hold of my guitar strings and my face, her nails slashing as she clawed up onto stage, kicking slapping, pulling my hair, my guitar clanging away. I looked to the side and saw Chris, again with mouth agape, but just standing there, along with Stephen, our guitar tech, stock still, the both of them. My face must have been in a panicked expression of, "a little help here?"
Finally, somehow, we were separated. Shaken, I left the stage and exited out the back door. In this setup, the dressing rooms were in another building up a flight of stairs. I was shaking and scratched up. We had only played maybe three songs. Fifi the promoter lady comes in, now all gooey sweet, begging us to go back on, telling us how the people loved the music and it was only one bad apple and so on. I told her to fuck off, that we had been badly treated this whole day, and that they have this heavy security presence and yet no one there to stop this one petite Tasmanian devil from nearly taking me out? She begged us, but my adrenaline was pumping and wanted to make her sweat, maybe a small riot from the outraged kids in the offing, so we refused to go back on for a while. She kept begging and we relented, telling her it was "for the kids, man!"
We were escorted back down the steps toward the entry to the stage. But we had to pass back through a courtyard between the two buildings. There, in a doorway, was the skinhead girl and two of the huge security guys and she was pummeling them while they tried to restrain her. They sort of seemed like they didn't want to hurt her, but she was trying their patience.
We played our set, which was good for a few laughs. People in the front were apologizing for her, telling me she was clearly on bad drugs. We wrapped up an otherwise uneventful and fun set.
Afterward, we were up in the dressing room again. enjoying a few drinks with some folks. I was discussing the bizarro incident with a French guy.
"Oh yeah, man," he said. "She was very high on something. She had been making problems all night."
"She was insane," I told him. "I mean, she really hurt me. And then we saw her outside going nuts on some big security guys."
"Yes, yes!" he replied. "You know, they had to shock her," illustrating some sort of movement with his hands."
"Huh? They had to shock her? What do you mean?"
He kept up the prodding motion. "Yes, oui. They had to give her electreek shock."
"What?! Like a cattle prod? A stun gun?" I asked (I don't think the word "Taser" had yet entered the lexicon -- english or french).
"Yes, yes, 'stun gun!.' Can you believe it, man?"
Here is the kind of place we played: huge SWAT team security guys patrolling a prison-like campus with German shepherds and stun guns, waiting for an opportunity to send high voltage into an out-of-control skinhead chick, and yet not being able to rise to the occasion when they were actually needed.
Merry Christmas kids!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
New Shows added
Some shows coming up: Buffalo Tom just added to the 5/20 NY John Wesley Harding Cabinet of Wonders w/eugenemirman, robbie fulks, janeane garofolo, paul muldoon, lenny kaye and Le Poisson Rouge 158 Bleecker Street,NYC. We may also add another show or two in the Tri-State area that same weekend.
BT has a date on hold late spring/early summer in Boston, TBC.
And BillBillyEdandPhilly (Crown Victoria of sorts) will be doing some of those Toad-like sets the first three Thursday nights in April at Precinct, Somerville, alternating sets with the fabulous Jenny Dee & the Delinquents.
BT has a date on hold late spring/early summer in Boston, TBC.
And BillBillyEdandPhilly (Crown Victoria of sorts) will be doing some of those Toad-like sets the first three Thursday nights in April at Precinct, Somerville, alternating sets with the fabulous Jenny Dee & the Delinquents.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Some Buffalo Stuff
Mark has posted some songs from the Nick Flynn/Buff Tom set a couple of weeks ago:
Also, we have contributed a live track to this cause:
www.righttracktunes.org Buffalo Tom "Thrown"live from the last Somerville Theater show, download for Target Cancer benefit.
Also, we have contributed a live track to this cause:
www.righttracktunes.org Buffalo Tom "Thrown"live from the last Somerville Theater show, download for Target Cancer benefit.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Ballad of Tim Wakefield ({Non}Cover of the Week 29)
Wake and me rocking Hot Stove Cool Music at Fenway 2005 (photo by Steve Latham)
Buff Tom was in the studio this week working on new songs. Work has also been very busy in my day job. I feared not being able to get to the Cover of the Week this week and, while that is technically true, I did get inspired by another dazzling knuckleball performance by 42-y.o. Red Sox legend, Tim Wakefield last night. So with 2 cups of coffee in me, I whipped this little homage up this morning. Also, finding it's way into the song is this article from the Boston Globe this AM.
When rock and rollers hit a certain (middle) age, many of them feel compelled to write a baseball song. But having one of our own still going at 42, well, that just begs a song. So in the tradition, hopefully, of Zevon and Dylan (and not so much Fogerty), here is mine:
The Ballad of Tim Wakefield
Lyrics:
The Ballad of Tim Wakefield
He don't need no injections in his ass
He makes the ball flutter, it don't need to go fast
Hitters swinging just like a cartoons when it passes
The knuckleball from Timmy Wakefield
I remember all the late innings of June
But there came a night with a big harvest moon
And an October game when a Yankee named Boone
Hit a long one off of Tim Wakefield
But fishing off of Melbourne in the off-season glare
Knowing that middle-aged men everywhere
Are harboring dreams that they could be up there
Pitching just like Timmy Wakefield
When the boys are all flailing as the weather gets warm
He always remain the calm eye of the storm
There are 18 year-old people who might have been born
When a night game was pitched by Tim Wakefield
Batters strike out, pop up, heads bowed low
And into dark dugout tunnels they go
And still confused as the video shows
They were defeated by Timmy Wakefield.
Boston may not be the easiest place
It's not every player they warmly embrace
So just go ask Keith Foulke if he would trade places
In history with Tim Wakefield
You know what they say about saving nine
Well Doug Mirabelli was his stitch in time
The State Police escorted him for no crime
We just needed him to receive Tim Wakefield
Taking the mound or offering his time
for charity's sake and then on down the line
There are plenty of people who will be crying
When they hang up the spikes of Timmy Wakefield
Dylan has written all about Catfish
I may never write like Bobby, Wake like Pedro won't pitch
But true Red Sox fans will always know what they wish
To have nine players just like Timmy Wakefield
Nine players just like Timmy Wakefield
Give me nine players just like Timmy Wakefield
Friday, May 8, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Amazingly Talented Mr. Dowling
I am tweaking the look of the page. Thanks in great part to our friend Steve Dowling, a kiwi by birth and temperament, and a Londoner by edict and mayoral proclamation, who has been coming to soundchecks and shows for years and taking great photos. The one I am using as the top shot is from the Netherlands in 2007, just about a year ago. He's a good guy to have on the road, as he is skilled at breaking up fistfights, paying off the local constabulary, and serving out local brews. Links to his page are on the right. Here are some other good ones.
See the link to his page in the links section on the right. From his site, you can also explore his Flickr site, which has many compelling pictures of Buff Tom and bands such as Iron and Wine, Calexico and more.
See the link to his page in the links section on the right. From his site, you can also explore his Flickr site, which has many compelling pictures of Buff Tom and bands such as Iron and Wine, Calexico and more.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Juliana Hatfield Responds to Post
If I had a dollar for every time a girl/woman told me it's not me it's her...
Our friend from way back, Juliana, graciously offers her version/explanation of the events described in my Dreaming post.
Bill, it's not you; it's me. Don't take it personally that I said I would sing on "Dreaming" and then I took off. You see, I suffer from a sometimes crippling disorder called "Rock Club-itis". It is a phobia; a fear of being in any rock club for even one second longer than I absolutely have to, in order to do my work.
Like an alcoholic develops a sick liver after years of tippling, a touring indie musician can develop an intensely strong physical aversion to being in rock clubs. A drunk is affected, over time, by too many drinks, too many hangovers; I have been damaged by too many hours hanging out in the darkness, sitting on too many dirty, beer-stained, puke-scented couches in cramped, freezing-cold and stifling-hot backstage kennels. I guess you could call this affliction a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. Or post-rock stress disorder. PRSD. The inevitable result of all my years on the club circuit; years of forced exposure (work; touring) to that stifling, harsh (everything always so LOUD! Too loud! Hurts my ears!), unsanitary and uncomfortable environment. (I won't even get into how a gig schedule screws up one's circadian rhythms.)
This is how bad it is: When I'm walking down a street and I spot rock club in the distance, I get queasy and nail-bitey and I have to cross the street in order to avoid passing too closely to the venue lest my growing anxiety (proportionate to how close I am to the club) overwhelm me and, like, throw me into a fit of hysterics or something.
And that is my explanation for bailing before you guys played "Dreaming". I wanted to sing with you, I really did, but as I stood waiting for the song to come up in your set list, I started to feel that old familiar nauseous/frightened feeling and the flashbacks started happening and the walls started closing in on me and I knew then that I had to flee the venue, for sanity's sake. I had hoped that I could stick it out until "Dreaming" rolled around but I failed. I failed you, Buffalo Tom, and I failed myself. I am weak.
Plus, I am really shy. Jumping up on stage with a band during their show always SOUNDS like a good idea in theory, but when showtime rolls around and my guest appearance looms, I sometimes chicken out. I can't speak for Westerberg, but maybe he experienced something similar.
Oh, and FYI- I did actually play guitar in the first incarnation of the Blake Babies; you were correct about that. We were originally a quartet, with Seth White on bass, myself on rhythm guitar, and John Strohm on lead (Freda on drums). I later switched to bass, when Seth quit the band. From then on, the Blake Babies were known as a trio.
Regretfully,
Juliana Hatfield
Our friend from way back, Juliana, graciously offers her version/explanation of the events described in my Dreaming post.
Bill, it's not you; it's me. Don't take it personally that I said I would sing on "Dreaming" and then I took off. You see, I suffer from a sometimes crippling disorder called "Rock Club-itis". It is a phobia; a fear of being in any rock club for even one second longer than I absolutely have to, in order to do my work.
Like an alcoholic develops a sick liver after years of tippling, a touring indie musician can develop an intensely strong physical aversion to being in rock clubs. A drunk is affected, over time, by too many drinks, too many hangovers; I have been damaged by too many hours hanging out in the darkness, sitting on too many dirty, beer-stained, puke-scented couches in cramped, freezing-cold and stifling-hot backstage kennels. I guess you could call this affliction a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. Or post-rock stress disorder. PRSD. The inevitable result of all my years on the club circuit; years of forced exposure (work; touring) to that stifling, harsh (everything always so LOUD! Too loud! Hurts my ears!), unsanitary and uncomfortable environment. (I won't even get into how a gig schedule screws up one's circadian rhythms.)
This is how bad it is: When I'm walking down a street and I spot rock club in the distance, I get queasy and nail-bitey and I have to cross the street in order to avoid passing too closely to the venue lest my growing anxiety (proportionate to how close I am to the club) overwhelm me and, like, throw me into a fit of hysterics or something.
And that is my explanation for bailing before you guys played "Dreaming". I wanted to sing with you, I really did, but as I stood waiting for the song to come up in your set list, I started to feel that old familiar nauseous/frightened feeling and the flashbacks started happening and the walls started closing in on me and I knew then that I had to flee the venue, for sanity's sake. I had hoped that I could stick it out until "Dreaming" rolled around but I failed. I failed you, Buffalo Tom, and I failed myself. I am weak.
Plus, I am really shy. Jumping up on stage with a band during their show always SOUNDS like a good idea in theory, but when showtime rolls around and my guest appearance looms, I sometimes chicken out. I can't speak for Westerberg, but maybe he experienced something similar.
Oh, and FYI- I did actually play guitar in the first incarnation of the Blake Babies; you were correct about that. We were originally a quartet, with Seth White on bass, myself on rhythm guitar, and John Strohm on lead (Freda on drums). I later switched to bass, when Seth quit the band. From then on, the Blake Babies were known as a trio.
Regretfully,
Juliana Hatfield
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Fresh Video of Fresh Sounds from the New Kids and the Old Kidz
Buffalo Tom, Boston Arts Festival
Never follow kids or an animal acts. Better yet, invite them onstage.
Never follow kids or an animal acts. Better yet, invite them onstage.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Toad and the Regent Theater
I have been making promises I can not keep.
Chris Toppin could not make it to last week's show. And my old buddies (of which she is one) in the erstwhile Bathing Beauties, A.K.A Show People, will not be making it to this week's show. It will be more of the Crown Vic with Billy beard on drums. We will play more songs. Last week rocked, in my opinion. We will always miss Tom Polce until his return from Hollywood Babylon. But Mr. Beard is another superb drummer. We will maybe do 3 sets, one more acoustic than the others. We play a lot of old classic rock and soul songs so all you dads should come on down as a reward to yourself. We are like Taylor Hicks. You like him, right? Soul Patrol?
Also, JUNE 27 at 8: I will be playing a set of tunes before the screening of the locally made film that I composed the score for, On Broadway at the Regent Theater in Arlington Center and hanging out afterwards for a Q&A with the director, Dave McLaughlin and producer/actor, Lance Green (and maybe some others). It will be the final big screen screening around here.
Here is one of the pieces from the film:
I leave you with a song from Aretha and the choir:
Chris Toppin could not make it to last week's show. And my old buddies (of which she is one) in the erstwhile Bathing Beauties, A.K.A Show People, will not be making it to this week's show. It will be more of the Crown Vic with Billy beard on drums. We will play more songs. Last week rocked, in my opinion. We will always miss Tom Polce until his return from Hollywood Babylon. But Mr. Beard is another superb drummer. We will maybe do 3 sets, one more acoustic than the others. We play a lot of old classic rock and soul songs so all you dads should come on down as a reward to yourself. We are like Taylor Hicks. You like him, right? Soul Patrol?
Also, JUNE 27 at 8: I will be playing a set of tunes before the screening of the locally made film that I composed the score for, On Broadway at the Regent Theater in Arlington Center and hanging out afterwards for a Q&A with the director, Dave McLaughlin and producer/actor, Lance Green (and maybe some others). It will be the final big screen screening around here.
Here is one of the pieces from the film:
I leave you with a song from Aretha and the choir:
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
LP Auction for Charity
Hey all,
Rare LPs (only 700 copies printed) by the band Shellac (Steve Albni, Bob Weston, Todd Trainer) which were given only to those named on the LP cover, have been donated by the three members of Buffalo Tom for auction to raise money for the Callum Robbins Fund, for 2 y.o. Cal:
http://www.callumrobbins.blogspot.com/
These records have been know to raise $700+ a piece and it seems like a great rock & roll way to raise money for a kid with rock & roll parents.
If interested, bidding has started at Ebay. 2 of them are up so far. Look near bottom of page for 2 entries:
Shellac LPS
Thanks for your help on this and thanks also to all of you who have attended recent shows. We look forward to seeing more folks at the upcoming shows.
Bill
Rare LPs (only 700 copies printed) by the band Shellac (Steve Albni, Bob Weston, Todd Trainer) which were given only to those named on the LP cover, have been donated by the three members of Buffalo Tom for auction to raise money for the Callum Robbins Fund, for 2 y.o. Cal:
http://www.callumrobbins.blogspot.com/
These records have been know to raise $700+ a piece and it seems like a great rock & roll way to raise money for a kid with rock & roll parents.
If interested, bidding has started at Ebay. 2 of them are up so far. Look near bottom of page for 2 entries:
Shellac LPS
Thanks for your help on this and thanks also to all of you who have attended recent shows. We look forward to seeing more folks at the upcoming shows.
Bill
Monday, January 28, 2008
Nick Flynn in Esquire
I have little doubt that this will prove to be one of the most memorable things I read in 2008. From Nick Flynn, the writer with whom Buffalo Tom collaborated on the song, "Father Outside (Ink Falling)."
The Ticking Is the Bomb
I'd love to hear reaction. In fact, I would love to see any note from folks to see if anyone is checking in here apart from mentions in my email newsletter. A blog no one reads is like a town with no cheer, or a tree falling in the forest, or as Nick might say, "the falling is the tree."
Nice to see some of you out there in D.C. and N.Y. Hope to see more of you next weekend.
The Ticking Is the Bomb
I'd love to hear reaction. In fact, I would love to see any note from folks to see if anyone is checking in here apart from mentions in my email newsletter. A blog no one reads is like a town with no cheer, or a tree falling in the forest, or as Nick might say, "the falling is the tree."
Nice to see some of you out there in D.C. and N.Y. Hope to see more of you next weekend.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
january update
hey everyone,
sorry, again. i am an apologetic sob, ain't i? i just have been lax in updates. i had such great intentions when i started my music blog (http://www.billjanovitz.blogspot.com/). actually, i see that it was updated in december. that ain't too bad, is it? anyway, i can't see too many people hanging on every word anyway.
i wish i could say it is because i am busy. but i have been less busy than i was all 2007, i think. but american idol started last week. plus someone sent me an invitation to join this facebook that i have heard so much about, from all the kids and such. but i see that it has hit some tipping point (btw, that's the title of a great book by malcom gladwell) and more modern maturity folks like me have signed up. it is actually the most useful of all the "social networking" sites i have found. i never quite latched on to myspace too much. and linked-in has some professional uses, i suppose. no one has made them apparent to me yet, but i'm willing to suspend my disbelief for now.
but with facebook, one can post the music, vids, little logos that allow you to dupe yourself into feeling like you are politically, environmentally, or gastonomically aware, etc. but the event announcements thing, in fact the whole interface seems very user-friendly. so that's where i have most recently posted upcoming bt shows that i hope many of you will attend. kevin will continue to update the bill and bt sites, but they are so web 1 or possibly 2.0 and this band is, like, very web 3.2.
i see that the shows are selling well, so i hope to see some of you out there on the cold and lonely plains. and there is a buff tom listeners group or something like that, which of course i had to join even though i don't listen to them (only like the early stuff) when i can avoid it. of course, we will have to listen to each other prattling on (this means you, tom) for an 8-hour ride in a van to dc this friday. so we have that going for us. how much would you pay for a podcast of that. have any of you heard the troggs tape? something like that.
the downside of facebook, and perhaps the real reason for my laxity in updates and other such things such as bathing and acknowledging the existence of my children is that it has this texas holdem poker app. which has ruined me. mind you, i have achieved "big dog" status in a mere couple of weeks and am ever so close to attaining the ultimate status of "shark." however, these achievements don't seem to resonate with my wife, who has never really encouraged my aspirations and dreams and so i don't expect her to all of a sudden wake up and bow down at the feet of a facebook-poker-recognized "big dog" now, january 22, 2008. further, she doesn't even seem enthusiastic when i finally win a few hands and come out on the positive side of my bi-weekly poker group in my favorite contractor's shop (which seems like a setting out of a tarantino bloodbath but is nothing of the sort in real life). so again why would i expect her to wake up lucid one morning and thank me for my visionary foresight?
so i recommend you sign up for the f-book as well so you can waste more of your time.
but as usual, i digress:
buffalo tom
January 25
night time
black cat
washington dc.
january 26
joe's pub
2 shows -- both night time, one earlier than the other
in the shadow of the astor place kmart
near/once home of the scrappy yet sadly soon-to-be defeated new jersey giants
new york, ny
february 1
first avenue
home to prince
and husker du
and grant hart
and the replacements
and that city that gave birth to the mighty hold steady men
minneapolis, mn
because, really, when you think about it, why go play some place warm in february? we want to keep our pale - broken-only-by-our-patches-of-psoriasis-because-we-are-so-dried-out-by-the-boston-winters - glow. let's pick someplace more miserable than boston in the winter. yes, minn. will do. but how about tomorrow? shall we go to hawaii then?
no.
february 2
double door
one of my favorite cities in the world
chicago, we-be-illinois
i be illin' so you keep chillin' and like lowell george be willin' and in facebook poker i make a killin',
Bill-in'
sorry, again. i am an apologetic sob, ain't i? i just have been lax in updates. i had such great intentions when i started my music blog (http://www.billjanovitz.blogspot.com/). actually, i see that it was updated in december. that ain't too bad, is it? anyway, i can't see too many people hanging on every word anyway.
i wish i could say it is because i am busy. but i have been less busy than i was all 2007, i think. but american idol started last week. plus someone sent me an invitation to join this facebook that i have heard so much about, from all the kids and such. but i see that it has hit some tipping point (btw, that's the title of a great book by malcom gladwell) and more modern maturity folks like me have signed up. it is actually the most useful of all the "social networking" sites i have found. i never quite latched on to myspace too much. and linked-in has some professional uses, i suppose. no one has made them apparent to me yet, but i'm willing to suspend my disbelief for now.
but with facebook, one can post the music, vids, little logos that allow you to dupe yourself into feeling like you are politically, environmentally, or gastonomically aware, etc. but the event announcements thing, in fact the whole interface seems very user-friendly. so that's where i have most recently posted upcoming bt shows that i hope many of you will attend. kevin will continue to update the bill and bt sites, but they are so web 1 or possibly 2.0 and this band is, like, very web 3.2.
i see that the shows are selling well, so i hope to see some of you out there on the cold and lonely plains. and there is a buff tom listeners group or something like that, which of course i had to join even though i don't listen to them (only like the early stuff) when i can avoid it. of course, we will have to listen to each other prattling on (this means you, tom) for an 8-hour ride in a van to dc this friday. so we have that going for us. how much would you pay for a podcast of that. have any of you heard the troggs tape? something like that.
the downside of facebook, and perhaps the real reason for my laxity in updates and other such things such as bathing and acknowledging the existence of my children is that it has this texas holdem poker app. which has ruined me. mind you, i have achieved "big dog" status in a mere couple of weeks and am ever so close to attaining the ultimate status of "shark." however, these achievements don't seem to resonate with my wife, who has never really encouraged my aspirations and dreams and so i don't expect her to all of a sudden wake up and bow down at the feet of a facebook-poker-recognized "big dog" now, january 22, 2008. further, she doesn't even seem enthusiastic when i finally win a few hands and come out on the positive side of my bi-weekly poker group in my favorite contractor's shop (which seems like a setting out of a tarantino bloodbath but is nothing of the sort in real life). so again why would i expect her to wake up lucid one morning and thank me for my visionary foresight?
so i recommend you sign up for the f-book as well so you can waste more of your time.
but as usual, i digress:
buffalo tom
January 25
night time
black cat
washington dc.
january 26
joe's pub
2 shows -- both night time, one earlier than the other
in the shadow of the astor place kmart
near/once home of the scrappy yet sadly soon-to-be defeated new jersey giants
new york, ny
february 1
first avenue
home to prince
and husker du
and grant hart
and the replacements
and that city that gave birth to the mighty hold steady men
minneapolis, mn
because, really, when you think about it, why go play some place warm in february? we want to keep our pale - broken-only-by-our-patches-of-psoriasis-because-we-are-so-dried-out-by-the-boston-winters - glow. let's pick someplace more miserable than boston in the winter. yes, minn. will do. but how about tomorrow? shall we go to hawaii then?
no.
february 2
double door
one of my favorite cities in the world
chicago, we-be-illinois
i be illin' so you keep chillin' and like lowell george be willin' and in facebook poker i make a killin',
Bill-in'
Friday, November 23, 2007
Off on the Road
Hello -- We head off to Europe today for a week-long tour, which is about all that we can bite off and chew nowadays. We really look forward to it and the brevity keeps it all fresh, new, and interesting for us. It is a vacation. We also plan on sporadic weekend jaunts to certain cities in the US, a tour in Australia and possibly NZ in March, and something in Barcelona in May. Not sure if everything is 100% yet, but we are working on it.
Sorry for the infrequency of the posts here. Busy, busy. Maybe I will have some time to post photos and words from the road. Hope to see some of you out there.
Sorry for the infrequency of the posts here. Busy, busy. Maybe I will have some time to post photos and words from the road. Hope to see some of you out there.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Show People
You can't just tell them
You have to show people
A bunch of us were singing at the piano bar at Frank's Steakhouse in North Cambridge years ago. It's a legendary joint in the part of Cambridge that becomes pretty suburban and Irish. The last vestiges of Tip O'Neil-land and times still hang on, Frank's being one of them.
Amidst the regulars scuffling up to sing "Danny Boy" and "The Unicorn" and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," were sometimes Chris Toppin, Hilken Mancini, Winston Braman, a bunch of other people who came but would not sing, and me.
The piano player, a rather flamboyant chap, would look at us askance, trying to figure out if we were there on a goof, or subsequent times, if we were the people who he remembered being there before, the scraggly bunch who actually could sing and knew the words to some classic old tunes. We were.
He once asked on the microphone, "who are you people? Are you show people? You must be show people!"
When our side project, the Bathing Beauties, finally gave up trying to be a real band, Top and I decided to soldier on and finish the songs and recordings we had started sporadically in fits and starts over the better part of 10 years. That project needed a name. Show People. It is all recorded, mixed, and NOW MASTERED. So if you downloaded it before, it now sounds better on disc. I think Kevin will upload it at billjanovitz.com. If you need a new version, I am sure. But you can go get it at CDBaby. I want to send it out to some college stations, but I'm sure it will take my sorry ass a while to do so. But if you are involved in such an endeavor and would like to request one, send an email to janovitz.bill@gmail.com or post here. Eric Masunaga mastered it and made it sound infinitely better, great, in fact.
I will also post some tunes here as time goes on.
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