Happy New Year!

2007 promises greatness and acclaim. Of that there is no doubt.

Here's best wishes to all of you reading now and those that are soon to stumble onto this little oasis, inveigled like moths to flame. I'd love you to let the JBGs be your soundtrack to 2007:

• Finally, finally, FINALLY, in early 2007: local release of Disciple & Punish/Muff, 26 tracks of power-pop goodness, fuzzed out with some propaganda art on top of spartan liner notes.
• Many Boston and NYC opportunities to check out sister act The Bunco Men & Chewbacca.
• National release of Disciple & Punish/Muff in conjunction with West Coast tour and press junket, mid-2007.
• And all along the worktower: continuing progress on our upcoming CD. I'm going to be immodest and tell you that these songs will blow anything we've done before out of the water. It's not even close. This next one will be our Pet Sounds, our Twin Cinema, the one we've been meant to make since Day One, and we're stopping at nothing to make that happen.

Sound a little grandiose? Fuck it. Playtime's over. Come on along for the ride.

And happy, happy new year to all of y'all.

Help Me If You Can

At intermittent times over the last few months, I've been haunted by memories of the interstitial music PBS (Channel 2 in Boston when I was a kid) would use. I guess this was back when they weren't really playing commercials for upcoming shit, but rather throwing a still photo/drawing onscreen with something like "up next: Sesame Street" in the lower or upper right hand corner while some fairly evocative instrumental pieces played on the soundtrack.

The only two I've really been able to remember and identify having been used are "Take Five" and "Dueling Banjos."

There's one in particular that I'd give my eyeteeth to identify; here's a ridiculously bad attempt at description: a plucked acoustic intro, vaguely Spanish-sounding, jaunty (I always imagined someone singing 'the things that you just can't have' in time to that part...genesis of some really bad college songwriting, I suppose), on into a sort-of staccato, almost staggering proggy Yes bridge that was probably meant to be about astronauts had the composer deigned to lyricize, and back into that jaunty plucked part, now triumphantly played on a chorus of Martins.

I'm probably remembering poorly but I heard it the other night as a fadeout on Alien Man's show so it shouldn't be too off. (Ed. note: due diligence on Alien Man's site reveals the piece in question to be "Classical Gas" by Mason Williams and yep, my description was pretty much a shit sandwich.)

But anyhow, anyone who remembers any of the other pieces PBS used, give me a holler.

Thanks in advantio.

Experiment

All of you find "Dusted" by Guided By Voices online, somewhere, anywhere. Make sure it's the electric version.

Listen to it for the first time at MAXIMUM volume. Tell me what you think.

This isn't rhetorical in the slightest. Let me know if you can't find it, I'll get it to you.

Get Your Sal On

I'd totally forgotten we were even involved. This is pretty cool. Scroll down a bit for some Lower East Side Fung Wah smokeover blues.

The Falcon Cannot Hear the Falconer

As popular culture winnows itself down to sand, I let myself sit with TV Land's 100 Catchphrases or Greatest Quotes or Things People Said and Kept Saying (two, TWO permutations of the same three words at #s 55 and 17?!?) or Here's Roger From What's Happening Again. Anyhow, I was well pleased to check in with The Great One at Number 28.

How sweet it is, indeed. To the left: Greatness.

Invitation Claude Jade

RIP Claude Jade.

I was thinking I'd throw an old-tyme 8-ball out there today, being as it's Thursday. But this is worth items one through eight.

Crynus

I will never not tear up a little during Linus' little Christmas monologue. Luckily I was home alone last night for crying in the chapel volume 25. Then again, I had a meatloaf in the oven with half a red onion in the mix, so I suppose I would have had a good excuse on standby.

I love Christmas a lot.

Inspiration, Perspiration, Jerkspiration, Quirkspiration, Bombs

Chatting with a PR acquaintance of some renown yesterday, I'm asked, "hey, what's the name mean?"

In the spirit of full disclosure, what you got to your left is a total kickass Hogan-era tag team whose name I shamelessly--or whatever the word for 2/3 of shamelessly is--pinched back in the day.

But anyhow, that question got me to thinking on the ways in which a band's a germ, a project, a collective, a force writ large or small. Without naming names, I feel like a *lot* of the local and national bands I've seen and heard over the last couple of years suffer from a crippling, myopic sense of the outlying world as a captive audience at a third-grade arts and crafts festival. It's really rare I'm struck by a band with its pilot light set on purpose; songs feel offhanded, players are stuck in a costumerie, shows feel like toothless, dumb-pumpkin Halloweens. Everyone's shooting for honorable mention: trying and winning's too effortful; second place feels too much like losing, so you end up with a roomful of folks enjoying their own decision to be in a band--at the great, great length of leisure. This isn't what Brian Wilson had in mind when he wondered how nice things would be; it's everything that's wrong with how easy things are on easy street.

All that said, I'm not saying we win, maybe not very often at all in fact. But in conception, in perception, under the great room light of hope, our ideas are meant as fucking bombs, fiery things that couldn't possibly surface in any other form. Whether we work or not, whether *they* work or not, well, that's not for me to say. But thinking on things, I'm pretty frigging happy with how hard we've been working what we want to work.

And more than that, I'm curious what things you all are listening to these days, what things are jumping like hell through your speakers and headphones, what's feeling absolutely undeniable to you all. Lemme know, and thanks for the indulgence.

Tip of the Cap

Maybe this is old news, maybe not, but anyhow...if you enjoy the MC5/Stooges family tree, you owe it to yourself to check out the new Sonic's Rendezvous Band box set. Despite some controversy, it's a pretty fantastic release. For my money, SRB were better than any of their contemporaries and scenemates by degrees.

Slalomly Sware

Office gadfly: "Make sure you vote tomorrow!!!!"

Like Jack Tor S once said, "go fuck yourself, asshole."

Angry Sinner in the Hands of God

Dear God,
I love Borat, like love love love Borat a lot too, but can you like strike everyone dumb for the next couple of weeks so I don't have to go on a shooting spree? Or make me deaf, whichever works for you.

Except for Snidely. He's the only person I've ever heard do a good Borat. He also does a good Sonny the 535 9th Ave landlord. Bless Snidely, God.

Thanks,
El Luchador!

Beggars Banquet

Some new tracks, some old...have at it and blow your load.

JBG at Fresh Tracks.

Old favorites The Good Goddamn and Get Ready for the F-U Fuzz are FINALLY, FINALLY presented in their remastered glory as the intended combo track. I think they'll have a bio and, gulp, pictures up later.

VillaiN V Price

Coca Cola

So we just got signed by the independent marketing arm of Coke and its subsidiaries, or something like that, for distribution shit. Truth be told, I don't really totally understand how the thing works, but Amy assures me it's a really good thing and they're pretty selective and we'll make some money.

Hence, that's good. Onward and upward.

Why So Sad, Billy?

Took me like forever to find this picture. Man, I hate Billy Crystal.

I don't know who that woman is but she looks like a real piece of shit too. Fuck em both.

How's By You?

I always enjoy hearing about someone's sea change in opinion on a certain band or artist. Me, I guess I'd finger Stone Temple Pilots: when they first came out, Weiland's voice made me want to throw something through a window; now I think they're one of the best bands the 90s had to offer, right down to "Sex Type Thing." The tipping point was probably the 455th time I listened to "Interstate Love Song" and realized I should stop pretending I didn't really fucking love it. God bless the brothers DeLeo. Runners up: The Monkees--Mike Nesmith could write the SHIT out of a pop song. Anyone who just chuckled, go find "You Just May Be the One" and see what you think.

In the other direction...maybe Jonathan Richman. Loved "Roadrunner" like I was supposed to when I was getting into the 70s. Now, hmm, I kind of think he was never in the music business to begin with, just the Jonathan Richman business. Although he's by all accounts a real nice guy.

Alright, I'm done, now it's your turn.

Great Day in the Morning

Today we're sending out bestest birthday wishes to our brother Jon--a wonderful guy , the best brother anyone could ever ask for, and a fine, fine musician in his own right.

We love you Jon! Happiest of birthdays to you!

Stow 24

White Guy: It tastes like yogurt, then (than??) it's not yogurt.
Black Guy: Give me some of that
White Guy: Yeah, right?
Black Guy: Sounds pretty good

White guy pays for chips and soda and whatever yogurt concoction. Black guy trails behind. They pause in front of magazine rack; black guy looks at FHM Magazine with Janet Jackson on cover.

White Guy (now speaking in the voice of George Jefferson): All I'm saying is: that look gooooood.
Black Guy: (nothing)

Just One Calorie or, The Big T

I need to know who's drinking Tab these days and where you're getting it.

Stymied finding it anywhere in MA.

Next up: JIF Tastetations

Move It or Lose It

115 plays yesterday over at the myspace. That's a high water mark for us, and even more awesome considering it was the Lord's day.

Listen, if you like what you read here and you like what you've heard over the days, months, years, wherever, whenever...we'd be well pleased if you'd make it an ancillary personal project to head over to there and click around, make comments, tell your friends, spread the word. Everything we're hearing tells us that labels, small and large, really do check into the # of friends and clicks a band is getting.

It really does make a difference and it would be much, much appreciated.

Thanks for listening.

N.B., Exile on Main Street, over and over again.

Hot Tuna

2 cans of low-sodium white albacore
1 hardboiled egg: white and yolk
5-6 hardboiled eggs: just whites
a goodly amount of Jack Daniels' Southwestern Mustard
1 chopped up Granny Smith Apple
5-6 diced green olives
capful of extra virgin olive oil

Smoosh it up. There you go. Don't say we never did nothing for you.

Stranglehold

Riding back from a nice evening watching football and eating baked ziti, I flip to the local classic rock station just in time for the Nuge's* absolutely titanic opening salvo to "Stranglehold"** and get to thinking that there might not be another song out there that turns to absolute crap so quickly and sadly.

Other candidates?

*I like some of Ted Nugent's songs. Particularly this one and the Amboy Dukes' "Journey to the Center of the Mind."

**Careful listeners will note this as Kevin Von Erich's ring theme.

Retrieved Wisdom

Cherry picked from years and years of playing swigs and gigs:

(preemptive strike: this whole "bringing (xxxx) back" construction needs to be destructed immediately before ESPN gets their hands on it and ruins football highlights for the 2006-07 season. And yes, Miss Timberlake, I blame you.)

1. The kid wearing an angora sweater, blocky glasses, and orthodox Converse is actually trying really, really hard. He didn't just fall into those clothes, as he'd like you to believe.

2. That same kid and his layabout douchebag friends will clog space at the bar nursing their 5 dollar PBRs and shoot vacant, prissy looks at anyone who cheers for you too loudly. They will then go home and listen to something they believe they esteem but aren't sure why. Also, the girl in the MC5 t-shirt is a cold, dead fish.

3. Booking agents are never, ever, ever, ever, ever happy to hear from you. But God love 'em.

4. Open with the easiest possible song in your catalogue. Nothing picked, arpeggiated; no breaks, no stops and starts. Follow that with the fastest thing you own.

5. You'll scarcely believe how rude and disrespectful that goodfellow with the acoustic guitar and terrible voice can be until he talks through your entire set. And then you'll know.

6. The ones who keep coming back, those are the ones you're playing for. Also play for the kid who should have won the Pinewood Derby in 1989. He's out there somewhere and needs a good song every now and again.

Circular File

B-Sides, rejected song and CD titles (which may someday emerge from history's dustbin, so don't get grabby):

British Tits on Clipper Ships
Francophile
Come on Come on, it's Baseball
Green Tarragon
If I Was Eddie
Empty Arms
Rasputin v. The World
Winter Walls
To Destroy Your Favorite Things
Jackrabbit Ted Roosevelt (Spain)
Theory of the Binge
I Don't Know...Poop?
That Old Man Manfred Mann
Assface
Front for an Ulcer

Why are you and Julio down at the schoolyard, Paul?

Paul Simon's the great musical Rosetta Stone for me; often enough what I feel like feeling about his shit tells me where I am on the continuum of my own--except as regards his foray into WORLD MUSIC: despicable.

So even as I recognize Capeman's prodigious gifts as a melodicist and yearn towards writing something as minor-key lovely as "The Sounds of Silence", there's no way in hell that Radar O'Reilly didn't chew his bottom lip in shame for his ertswhile biographer upon first hearing "Still Crazy After All These Years."

Checks Mix

So we record with this dude Mike McDonald, who's one of the nicest guys going. He routinely goes above and beyond to hit us with something we need. We couldn't be happier to call him a colleague and a friend.

Anyhow, he's finished work on our final mixes for Disciple & Punish. Go check 4 of em out at our myspace account.

Bless you and come see the show September 11, 8 PM, at the Abbey Lounge so you can hear some of this shit in person.

Real Old Man Music

The remarkable "Fly, Fly My Sadness" as recorded by The Bulgarian Voices.

Astonishing.

Old Man Music

Often enough, I wonder what sorts of listening I'll have settled into by the time I hit 60, 65--if I should be so lucky. Like, for instance: will a listen to Who's Next in its entirety mean nearly as much, feel nearly as big, as it does now?

I feel like I'm a fair amount more likely now to give a mid-period Van Morrison album a listen than I would have been five years ago; by the same token, I'm probably not keening to the new(ish) Motorhead quite as quickly as I would have a couple steps back.

Really revolutionary stuff, I know--tastes evolve and abrade. I guess I've just been thinking on where that's going to put me ten, twenty years down the line and how much a sea change we're talking.

Frozen Fruits

Really, just do yourself a favor and freeze some fresh blueberries. Eat them with popcorn or some crap if you want to. This will not hurt your teeth.

You should probably do this while listening to "Huffathon 85" from our new CD.

Le Rock, Le Roll, Le Sooth, Le Soul

Bostonians, see you September 11, 8 PM at the Abbey Lounge.

JBG side project Frank Kane and the Dorothy Hamills will be showing up and basically playing songs one through twelve of the JBG's new CD, Disciple & Punish. We'll hit you up with a few new ones, a few old ones.

Our buddy Ben from the Diamond Mines will be playing a solo set as well. He's got the goods, he's got the pipes, and he's a hella nice guy to boot.

And we'll kick things off right with the freakin freakonomic debut of Wilford Brimley's Life Lessons, ably steered by the capricious captain of For Those About to Rock.

Proceeds to go to Friends of Boston's Homeless. Anyone who likes the talk more than the rock should probably just send in a donation and stay home.

Name That Feeling For Us

Maybe it's particularly human, maybe it's particularly male, maybe it doesn't matter so much--this desire to get at a name for particularly inscrutable ticklings at the back of the brain, the front of the heart:

What is it, that feeling one might be feeling after a nice slow glass of Scotch on a lazy Saturday afternoon, sitting between the cats, thinking on how big everything feels but that it's fuzzy around the edges and soft in the middle? The song that keeps playing in the head: "House of the Rising Sun"; the word that keeps sounding: faraway.

(Smartasses who answer 'stoned' or 'drunk' will be ridiculed and then ignored.)

Ninth Annual Husker Du Appreciation Day

Here's a pint in the air for Husker Du. (Sound on. Sound loud.)

No one, no one put as much melody to that kinda ineluctable buzz as they did.

Stay Puft

Bruce Springsteen: Marshmallow Hands?

Something So Strong

It's just so stirring and wonderful when the perfectly-appointed song swells at the perfectly-appointed moment onscreen: "Just Like Honey" at the end of Lost in Translation; "Be My Baby" in Mean Streets.

One fan's shortlist of killer soundtrack songs waiting to happen:
"I'd Love to Change the World," Ten Years After (Outside Providence shouldn't count)
"Velvet Waltz," Built to Spill
"Line in the Sand," Motorhead

Have at it.

Wowie Zowie

Our friend the King raised a provocative question yesterday: stripped of his supporting cast and costumes, is David Bowie simply a better-dressed Billy Joel?

It's worth some thought.

Here's Where We Get Shit Started

Right here. Right now.
Give yourself a primer on what we're all about over at the MYSPACE. Like, over and over again. And then some more.

We'll keep coming back. Stay tuned.