You won’t find a bigger Phil Lynott fan on the planet, but I have to say: I don’t like being rolled over or turned around, I’m not a fan of spinning until I hit the ground, and a cowboy’s life is assuredly not for me.

Are you kidding? You have to sleep on the ground and get up at the crack of fuck; you’re surrounded by 800-pound behemoths that urinate and defecate all day and all of the night; you’re responsible for driving a herd of these fucking things from Texas to Kansas City in like a fortnight; you’re expected to know how long a fortnight is; you spend the nights of that fortnight listening to some asshole play harmonica—no thank you!

And while I do spend a lot of time thinking about a certain female and prefacing statements I make with the exclamation, “Lord,” I’ll tell you what I don’t need: no coyote calls, no howling winds wailing, no getting took in Texas, no busting broncs for the rodeo, absolutely not!

In fact, the only thing I can think of that would be worse than being a cowboy is being a farmer. Either that, or a musician.

Dispatch 46
FBI lists "Joyggalos" as greatest growing gang threat facing America!

The FBI today released a report contending that the biggest threat facing the youth of America (and America in general) is the rising influence of a new gang who refer to themselves as "Joyggalos." The name derives from members' mad devotion to the music and teachings of Denver's post-punk three-piece band Joy Subtraction.

"A Joyggalo is someone who doesn't like the fact that, over the past forty years, rich people and their paid-off representatives have successfully redistributed the wealth of America from the bottom ninety percent of the population to the top ten percent," says one wild-eyed, undoubtedly communist, socialist, or fascist Joyggalo. "A Joyggalo is not afraid to parse political rhetoric, point out hypocrisy, and generally deride the compromised, money-driven nature of the current American political landscape," said another, even more wild-eyed Joyggalo.

"I cannot stress the seriousness of the threat that these Joyggalos pose to the very fabric of our society and collective well-being," stated Robert Swan Mueller III, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. "And that's why I'm devoting half of this year's FBI budget to the creation of the Joyggalo task force, a black ops entity answerable solely to myself, whose only mission will be the evisceration of this pernicious movement."

"If you doubt the seriousness of this threat," continued Mueller, "above is a picture of a Joyggalo, taken at an elementary school fundraiser, minutes before he went berserk and suggested that funding public schools through progressive taxation actually works. Thankfully he's since been shipped to Guantanamo."

My son got kicked out of school today for wearing this shirt and running around screaming, "Christ died for Romney's sins! Christ died for Romney's sins!" WTF?! Talk about persecution--any First Amendment lawyers out there? This will not stand!

Joy Subtraction Corporate Headquarters (Abe's house):

Yesterday's posting by Musicians Local 13 (Brian and Dave) is in no way accurate, official, or credible. This is just another attempt by union members to discredit management and thwart free enterprise. Everyone knows that when there's any union activity of any kind anywhere, jobs get killed and the economy gets throttled. Also, it helps the terrorists. In fact, union members are terrorists. That's right, America--terrorists are teaching your kids. Right now. Today. And they're doing your plumbing and electrical. They're everywhere!

Also, reports of Abe Brennan falling off the wagon are grossly inaccurate--the liquid he imbibed was ginger beer--okay, dad? Jeez, talk about a nanny state. And the hypodermic needle contained a flu vaccination--sure, it's a little weird that he self-administered it, but I guess Brian and Dave are private detectives now, and lab technicians, with their own lab and everything, which they use to test stuff and make pronouncements. Get over yourselves. Abe is still very much the singer and lead guitarist of Joy Subtraction, although the band may be minus a rhythm section if this shit doesn't stop.

Joy Subtraction, Musicians Local 13 Union Hall (Brian's house):

We, the surviving members of the band Joy Subtraction, are looking for a new singer / guitar player; we'd prefer these duties be carried out by the same person, but we'll entertain the idea of more than one new member. You know what, fuck it--we'll settle for a keyboard player, at this point. Abe Brennan is no longer affiliated with the band; he apparently started drinking absinthe and doing heroin again and has now disappeared among the vacant souls of Portland, Oregon's, seamy underbelly. This may or may not be a picture of him waking up under a bridge--the Portland punk who took the photo claims yes, and we sure wouldn't be surprised. In any event, the last thing the world needs right now is another power duo, so if you like to play guitar, if you like to sing, if you like not getting paid and not playing to people, then get us those resumes.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey: Final Night!

The last thing I ever got from my wife. And Don Dokken.

Going to drown my sorrows tonight at Satyricon in Portland, OR, with Dead Moon and The Obits--who's going?

Oh, wait--it's not 1988. FUCK! I hate the new millennium! Heading for the Hawthorne Street Bridge.

Goodbye cruel world; hello Willamette River.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 5: Portland bum? Or al-Qaeda sleeper agent?

It's actually Courtney Love--unfortunately for her, when she comes to she's going to think she's still in Pasadena five days ago.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 5.5: Here is the Hawthorne Street Bridge, Portland, OR . . .

. . . and here, on the Hawthorne Bridge, is one of the Pacific Northwest's infamous "jumping stations." In 1981, the state legislatures of both Oregon and Washington passed the so-called "Mercy Law" whereby every bridge with a 75-foot drop or higher must have jumping stations spaced every fifty feet for those citizens who can't take the gray drear for one more second and must launch themselves off a structure high enough to shatter their body and kill them. To their credit, lawmakers mandated that only those aged 16 and older can use the suicide queues.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 4: Willamette River, Portland, OR: Moored in perpetuity, here sits the S.S. Sodom, the personal submarine of El Duce from Seattle's The Mentors. The self-described "rape rock" band used the submarine to tour the West Coast many times, but the boat has remained in stasis since El Duce's improbable death by freight train. It now serves as a floating museum, although many a Portland punk can remember the sub, drifting lazily down the Willamette, El Duce, Sickie Wifebeater, and Papa "Sneaky" Spermshooter on the bow, fishing rods in their hands, fishing for all they were worth, while sunlight glinted off the water, like God winking at wayward boys in the primes of their lives and the depths of their filth.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 3: Satyricon Urinal: Rescued before Portland's legendary punk club was demolished, this is the actual urinal into which Jerry A. from Poison Idea once regurgitated an entire, whole chicken--and that's not the crazy part: the chicken was still alive!

Until he ate it again minutes later.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 3.5: Sisters of Reparation of the Sacred Wounds of Jesus, Portland, OR. This is the nunnery that Courtney Love lived in for six months in 1988 thinking it was a Portland State University dorm.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 2: Going to Pine Street Theater tonight in Portland, OR, to see Husker Du (with The Detonators opening!)--who's going?

Oh, wait--it's not 1985. Shit. Never mind.

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 2.5: Multnomah Falls, OR, 20 minutes east of Portland. This beautiful landmark provided Greg Sage with the inspiration to pen that mighty Wipers classic "Over The Edge"; the artistic epiphany came when, after hiking to the top while enduring a series of all-too-familiar accusations and insults, he couldn't take it anymore and pushed his crazy girlfriend--you guessed it--Over The Edge . . . of the falls.

Here's me, following in Greg Sage's footsteps (fortunately for her, my wife ran off with Don Dokken yesterday, so she's in no danger of being tossed off the falls)--I kept getting weird looks from everyone on the trail, and I couldn't figure it out, until I heard someone whisper "Unabomber" behind my back. I think my kids are going to turn out great.

Here's the view Greg Sage's crazy girlfriend saw just before she felt his hands on her back, launching her into empty space.

Rock-n-roll odyssey begins this week: travelling to Portland, OR, to visit the ghosts of punk rock past—we’ll pogo with The Wipers, hit on the Neo Boys, eat ourselves to death with the surviving members of Poison Idea, sell drugs to The Rats. The majesty starts . . . now!

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 1: How do I know this is going to be the best trip ever? Because I ran into Dokken at the airport! I'm not kidding! From right to left: me, Don Dokken, Jon Levin (guitar), Sean McNabb (bass). That's not a groupie hanging on my leg, that's my daughter! No jokes or someone's getting punched!

Rock-n-Roll Odyssey Day 1.5: It's all '80s kitsch and postmodern irony until your wife and kids run off with Don Dokken! Then it's Pain! Fire! Murder! Revenge! Die! Die! Die! Motherfucker!

Retro dispatch series!

Dispatch 40

Joy Subtraction calls for own encore!

In a move equally audacious and tactless, Joy Subtraction called for its own encore at their record release show at the Hi-Dive last Saturday night. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Joe King of The Fray, who attended the show incognito. “I was embarrassed for them. And disgusted.” As the band’s set came to what would ordinarily be a close, lead guitarist / vocalist Abe Brennan said to the dwindling crowd: “Don’t worry, we’re not done yet! Here’s the encore!”

     “Not worried,” yelled an audience member on his way out of the club.

     “We were just giving the people what we thought they should have wanted,” said bassist Dave Lamothe. “Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands, especially when you want something to happen, but then it looks like that thing’s really not going to happen—what are you supposed to do? Go gentle into that good night? I don’t think so.”

     The band apparently kept playing after all audience members had left, and after the soundman had killed the PA, and after the bartender doused the lights, prompting the doorman to make his way to the basement with a flashlight to throw the main breaker.