From: owner-loud-fans-digest@smoe.org (loud-fans-digest) To: loud-fans-digest@smoe.org Subject: loud-fans-digest V4 #231 Reply-To: loud-fans@smoe.org Sender: owner-loud-fans-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-loud-fans-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk loud-fans-digest Wednesday, August 25 2004 Volume 04 : Number 231 Today's Subjects: ----------------- [loud-fans] from MOJO magazine's Smiths/Moz limited edition [LkDylaninthm] [loud-fans] FW: [paisley-pop] new web design up and running ... ["Larry T] Re: [loud-fans] WAOL ["Stefaan Hurts" ] Re: [loud-fans] from MOJO magazine's Smiths/Moz limited edition ["Fortiss] Re: [loud-fans] from MOJO magazine's Smiths/Moz limited edition [LkDylani] [loud-fans] wearing the rubber nose that he keeps in a jar by the door [L] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 04:18:31 EDT From: LkDylaninthmvies@aol.com Subject: [loud-fans] from MOJO magazine's Smiths/Moz limited edition I posted this to the Coupland and Belle and Sebastian lists, and figured it was Loudfans worthy. To get a good summation of the American Smiths experience, I find it in a British magazine. Cheers, thanks a lot, - --Mark S. np: The Hang Ups SECOND STORY Atlantic Crossing Quintessentially English yet loved by East LA Chicano homeboys, teenage misfits all over the states -- and a Rolling Stone editor by Rob Sheffield American rock radio of the 1980s was one big strip mall of suckdom. The air was full of Sammy Hagar and Phil Collins. Dire Straits wore sweatbands. Peter Gabriel furrowed his brow...But then, one night deep in the darkened underpass of the decade, a friend might play you this new UK band you'd never heard of, The Smiths. You'd hear a frilly guitar and an even frillier voice. Funny, insolent, seductive, bizarre, narcissistic, graceful:good times, for a change. The Smiths. Whoever these guys were, wherever they were from, we wanted more. For American kids in the 1980s, loving The Smiths meant joining a secret club, full of underground passwords and handshakes. Radio wouldn't touch them. But American kids began a word-of-mouth love affair that has lasted ever since. Think of Jon Cryer as "Duckie", pining for Molly Ringwald in the film PRETTY IN PINK, playing Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. Over here, The Smiths were a cult band, an "underground" band even. We never really understood what big stars they were in England. We had no idea what "vicars" or "moors" or "rusty spanners" were. We couldn't tell you where Dundee or Carlisle or the Grasmeres were. We were mesmerised by the way Morrissey pronounced words such as "plagiarise" and "delicate" -- was that a Brit thing, or just him? Nobody knew. We didn't get the British class system, so Morrissey never came off working class. To us, he sounded downright posh, full of the erudite vocabulary and stylishly erotic melancholy of English aristos in the movies. We couldn't tell the difference between the North and the South. We couldn't recognize National Health specs. References to George Formby, Rita Tushingham or Twinkle went over our heads. We didn't know what a "jumped-up pantry boy" was. His references were alien to us. In fact, just last week, here in New York, my girlfriend and I had a huge debate over what "forecourts" were. Neither of us knows. But we both love that line anyway. "On a Friday, on a forecourt..." We didn't care -- these words were talismans to whisk us away to Morrissey's private world. We worshipped Morrissey because he sounded so free. He didn't live by any of the rules that bound us. He sounded like he never heard of them, actually. He was quintessentially un-American. He stood for gayness, swishiness and just plain weirdness. The perennial "is Morrissey a racist?" debate didn't exist here. It would have seemed absurd, to tell the truth. In an American high school of the 1980s, ruled by jocks and bullies, Morrissey's extravagant sass was rebellious in itself. His rejection of rock macho made him a hero. I had passionate teenage friends with whom I had absolutely nothing in common -- except that we loved The Smiths. That was enough. The Smiths were never going to have big-time American success. For one thing, the band barely ever toured the US, and we never got to see those epochal TOP OF THE POPS performances. I remember Sire cobbled together a video for How Soon Is Now? but MTV gave the title as How Soon Is Soon? Oh dear. But that was the Smiths' US story in a nutshell. Later, MTV latched onto the excellent video for Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before, with a swarm of Morrissey clones following the man himself on bicycles through a humdrum town in the rain. It was tender, touching, hilarious. It was the closest The Smiths ever came to a bona fide US hit. And they'd already broken up. I still get free drinks from bartenders when they recognise my YOUR ARSENAL tour T-shirt. For some reason, in November, 1992, Morrissey played my town, the Southern hamlet of Charlottesville, Virginia. In the local high school auditorium. In front of about 600 or 700 fans. None of us had any idea why. In the UK, he was selling out stadiums -- I hate to think what he thought, singing Glamorous Glue to a room of cultish American kids clutching gladioli. He probably had his booking agent drawn and quartered for that. But it was, roughly speaking, the Greatest Night Of My Entire Life. The second Morrissey hit the stage in his gold lame shirt, I stood on my chair and screamed and sang along with every word. So did everybody else. The big hairy leather guy on the chair next to me? Even he knew all the words to Sister, I'm A Poet. For the finale, The National Front Disco, Morrissey whipped off his shirt and tossed it to the bacchants up front. My friend Dennis managed to grab a piece of it. I went by Plan 9 Records, where he worked, to see the little square of gold lame with my own eyes. It was like a fragment of the Shroud of Turin. Gent that he was, Dennis let me smell it. I held the fabric up to my face and inhaled deeply, letting the fumes of sacred Morrissey sweat drift into my lungs. It smelled like heaven. ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 09:43:44 -0400 From: "Larry Tucker" Subject: [loud-fans] FW: [paisley-pop] new web design up and running ... Thought there may be some that might find this of interest. Tim gave me a pre-mastered sampler back in June and on the basis of that abbreviated listen I think his new album may be the best he's ever done. Larry n.p. The Hang Ups - s/t > -----Original Message----- > From: Tim Lee [mailto:tim@mompub.com] > Sent: Sunday, August 22, 2004 7:27 PM > To: leelife@bellsouth.net > Subject: [paisley-pop] new web design up and running ... > > Hey Friends, > > Things are pretty crazy around the Lee house as we prepare for the > release of my record, "No Discretion," on Paisley Pop Records which > will be available here in Knoxville (at the Disc Exchange) this > Tuesday, Aug. 23, and nationally on Sept. 7. > > In the meantime, I just wanted to let y'all know that Susan has > redesigned and updated the website ( www.timleemusic.com ). The new > design reflects the killer artwork Susan provided for "No > Discretion," and she has updated everything, including bio, pics, > upcoming shows and links. We hope to have some MP3s on there as well > in the next couple of weeks, including some of the outtakes from "No > Discretion." > > Also, as a reminder, here are our dates for the coming week: > Fri., Aug. 27 - Athens, Ga. (Caledonia Lounge w/Magnapop & Charles > Bissell of the Wrens) > Sat. Aug. 28 - Knoxville, Tn. (Patrick Sullivans CD Release Party > w/Westside Daredevils & Velvet) > Sun. Aug. 29 - Knoxville, Tn. (Patrick Sullivans WKVL Americana > Jukebox live radio show w/Mic Harrison) > > I need to thank the fine folks at WKVL/West 105.3 in Knoxville, who > have already been playing tracks from "No Discretion" and pushing our > CD Release Show. They're good folks, and I'm looking forward to being > on the air with Derek one afternoon next week. Plus the whole band > will be on Benny Smith's Americana Jukebox on Sunday night. If you're > in the Knoxville area, support this station. I can't think of another > commercial rock station that plays local music, Big Star, Velvet > Underground, Wilco, Gillian Welch, Guided by Voices, Steve Earle, > Jimi Hendrix, the Posies, Jimmy Cliff, Lucinda Williams, Bob Dylan, > and ... well you get the idea. This station has been a real shot in > the arm to local bands. > > Hope to see y'all all soon ... > > yr. pal, > > Tim > > > > ------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor - --------------------~--> > Over 1 billion served! The most music videos on the web. > Click to Watch now! > http://us.click.yahoo.com/Xkrq7C/IARHAA/n1hLAA/KPJolB/TM > - --------------------------------------------------------------------~-> > > To Post a message, send it to: paisley-pop@eGroups.com > > To Unsubscribe, send a blank message to: paisley-pop- > unsubscribe@eGroups.com > Yahoo! Groups Links > > <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: > http://groups.yahoo.com/group/paisley-pop/ > > <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: > paisley-pop-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com > > <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: > http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 10:11:01 -0400 From: "Stefaan Hurts" Subject: Re: [loud-fans] WAOL On Sun, 22 Aug 2004 16:03:30 EDT, LkDylaninthmvies@aol.com said: > "MULTIPLE STUMP DISCOUNTS" (from the back of a local tree stump removal > service van) Charlton Heston put his vest on... ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 10:20:35 -0500 From: "Fortissimo" Subject: Re: [loud-fans] from MOJO magazine's Smiths/Moz limited edition > Atlantic Crossing > Quintessentially English yet loved by East LA Chicano homeboys, teenage > misfits all over the states -- and a Rolling Stone editor > > by Rob Sheffield > Morrissey whipped off his shirt and tossed it to the bacchants up front. My friend Dennis > managed to grab a piece of it. I went by Plan 9 Records, where he > worked, to see the little square of gold lame with my own eyes. It was like a fragment > of the Shroud of Turin. Gent that he was, Dennis let me smell it. I held > the fabric up to my face and inhaled deeply, letting the fumes of sacred > Morrissey sweat drift into my lungs. It smelled like heaven. Gah. And they wonder why Morrissey fans have a bad reputation? - ------------------------------- ...Jeff J e f f r e y N o r m a n The Architectural Dance Society http://spanghew.blogspot.com/ :: "In two thousand years, they'll still be looking for Elvis - :: this is nothing new," said the priest. ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 14:18:42 EDT From: LkDylaninthmvies@aol.com Subject: Re: [loud-fans] from MOJO magazine's Smiths/Moz limited edition In a message dated 8/24/04 11:27:59 AM Eastern Daylight Time, tonerbomb@warpmail.net writes: > Gah. And they wonder why Morrissey fans have a bad reputation? > Yeah. I agree, Jeffrey. Gah. I thought the end was a little over the top, but I included it as it was part of the original article, for integrity purposes. As much as I love Moz, I don't LOVE Moz. I just find him a fascinating character. Thinking about what that girl did with Costello's glasses in 200 CIGARETTES now... - --Mark S. Now THIS is disturbing, yet I do understand his reasoning behind it: "I felt sad and I felt envious. Kurt Cobain had the courage to do it. I admire people who self-destruct...they are taking control. They're refusing to continue with unhappiness, which shows tremendous self-will. It must be very frightening to sit down and look at your watch and think, 'in 30 minutes I will not be here'." (Morrissey in 1995) "CHOOSE LIFE" (Wham! 1984) ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 15:23:39 EDT From: LkDylaninthmvies@aol.com Subject: [loud-fans] wearing the rubber nose that he keeps in a jar by the door I thought some of you would get a laugh out of this. On the Coupland list, we had commented on how cheesy the following synopsis from Amazon in the UK was of Doug's new book. So, I did it like the "Mad Libs" game from when we were kids. It went over well, so I hope you like it too. Like Woody Allen said in "Annie Hall": "If only life were like this." No more posts today, - --Mark S. Hot on the heels of the hugely acclaimed bestseller Hey Nostradamus! comes a major new novel from Douglas Coupland: the wonderfully warm, funny, life-affirming story of Liz Dunn, a woman who has spent her whole life alone and lonely -- until now...'My name is Liz Dunn. The Liz Dunns of this world take classes in croissant baking, and would rather chew on soccer balls than deny their children muesli. They own one sex toy, plus one cowboy fantasy that accompanies its use... Look at me: I am a traitor to my name: I'm not cheerful; I'm drab. I'm crabby and friendless. And lonely.'Liz Dunn is 42 years old, and lonely. Her house is like 'a spinster's cell block', and she may or may not snore -- there's never been anybody to tell her. Then one day in 1997, with the comet Hale Bopp burning bright in the blue-black sky, Liz receives an urgent phone call asking her to visit a young man in hospital. All at once, the loneliness that has come to define her is ripped away by this funny, smart, handsome young stranger, Jeremy. Her son.Eleanor Rigby is a tale of loneliness and hope that introduces Douglas Coupland's finest character yet. Illuminated by a wonderfully gentle, searching wisdom, it se << - ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ - ------------------------ Hot on the heels of the largely dismissed flop Hey, My Boil Needs To Be Lanced! comes an insignificant new novel from Mark Staples: the clinical, boring, please-Jesus-call-me-home story of Jan Brady, a woman who has spent her whole life depressed and introverted -- until now...'My name is Jan Brady. The Jan Bradys of this world take classes in Marcia hating, and would rather gnaw on Marcia's trophies than deny their children fruit roll-ups. They own no sex toys, but have at least one Smurf fantasy... Look at me: I am a traitor to my name: I'm not well-adjusted and subservient to Marcia. I'm a total freak. And depressed. Jan Brady is 42 years old, and clinically depressed. Her house is like 'a seventies sitcom set', and she may or may not grind her teeth -- there's never been anybody to tell her, except for Marcia and Cindy, when she was a child. Then one day in 1997, with a mushroom cloud burning bright in the blue-black sky, Jan receives an urgent phone call asking her to visit a young man in hospital (the person on the phone was British, you see. They always say cute things like "in hospital" or "cheers, thanks a lot"). All at once, the depression that has come to define her is exacerbated even deeper by this sullen, challenged, violently ugly young stranger, George Jr. (son of George Glass). Her son. Eleanor Rigby is a tale of mental illness and despair that introduces Mark Staples' most two-dimensional character yet. Illuminated by predictably obnoxious, sophomoric cliches, it se << ------------------------------ End of loud-fans-digest V4 #231 *******************************