rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

You Are Not a Cowboy, You Do Not On a Steel Horse Ride

     As I make the move from artist to art salesman, going from that place where my art is my heart to the place where it's just another piece of product, I've been stymied by the whole 'marketing' thing. As a wanna-be rock critic I've not been able to help but notice, and bemoan, the stratification of the music I love into the dreaded niche market. Emo/Screamo/Alternative this that and the other, punkfunk, Christian Metal (!) etc.. So I've been banging my head against the proverbial wall trying to figure out into which box the Simmons-compiled 'Punk Rock Blues' CDs fit. It's neither Punk Rock nor Blues, nor any form w/a capital 'F'; it's simply what it is. Which makes a ton of sense to me, but none at all to the presumed millions out there who might possibly come across my stuff in cyberspace.

     Ah, yes, the people: that amorphously ill-defined globular mass of folks who booed when Dylan went electric and made kazillionaires out of Hootie and the Blowfish, to name one. The housewives and husbands for whom music is just another distraction. The type of people who believed Bon Jovi when he said he was a cowboy and on a steel horse did he ride. Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. and Ms. America, but Gregg Allman wasn't born on the back seat of a Greyhound bus rolling down Highway 41 either.

     Rock history, like most history, is mainly lies.

     So, maybe I should come up w/a few of my own?

     The bottom line for any musician/band is that they exist in space and time and fling their wares at the masses on stage and record. Anything beyond that truth is smoke and mirrors; the all important image. So, once again, I have to invent some kind of image to sell myself to the masses. Let's see....... I got the mental hospital/rehab hook. Perhaps I can sell my wares as a kind of end product of the entire baby boomer experience. Kid gets hip to rock in the '60's, halfway drinks/drugs himself to death, records the dissolution and comes out the other side sober, sadder, wiser, stronger and with a tale to tell and crap to sell! Sort of like Daniel Johnston w/out an ounce of the innocence. And by all means, buy as much Daniel Johnston as you can. He's so much better than me it ain't funny.

     Not bad, but hardly the type of persona that moves units in the 7 figure range, no? I've got to come up w/something less pathetic than 'survivor'.

     The 'has been who never was' hook has potential. Here's a guy (me) who's been making 'records' as long as, say, the Clash (even longer since I've never 'broken up', althought here were weeks when I wasn't speaking to myself and we all know that's what spelled the end for Aztec Camera) but never marketed them. The whole 'body of work from a stranger' hook. I don't know. There's got to be a way I can write my stuff up so it stands apart from all the thousands of other strangers who's bodies of work are crowding the freebie sites alongside of my tunes.

      There's always the 'frustrated novelist' hook, or as I call it, The Lou Reed Defense. This is when an artist attempts to escape a self imposed 'rock and roll ghetto' mindset to present himself as a serious writer who just happens to use guitars and drums to tell his story. Hell, Lou Reed ain't made a decent Lou Reed record in years, maybe I can present myself as the New Lou Reed. That whole New Dylan riff never hurt anybody, right? Right? Naw, Old Firbank's got enough trouble without having me on his faggot/junkie ass. Although the old death dwarf denies having been either anymore. (Give it up, Lou, we have pictures, fer chrissake!)

    Acvtually I am a frustrated novelist. Like many of my generation I've been writing at (as oppossed to actually writing) a novel for the last 10 years. It's semi-autobiographical (surprise!), but, really, so much shit has hit my personal fan that I spread it out across 3 different characters. Two musicians, one a succesful male singer/songwriter guitarist who moves through the early days of Punk, through New Wave sellout-manship, ultimately getting sober, finding God and a comfortable, albeit unchallenging,, Elder Statesman status as a Christian Rock Star, the other a female Punk purist who sings her songs of hatred for, and suspicion of, God and all his salesman well into her 50's. The 3rd leg of this crew is a rock critic, Eric, who knew both the other characters as kids and dogs their careers throughout the book.  Well, like life, someone gets 'saved', someone dies of drink and someones finds confort in their seething. As soon as I figure out which character, if any, is the hero here I'll put it all together. The themes I want to work with include artistic motives, the responsibility of the artist/critic/audience to the art and just what exactly constitutes 'salvation'.

      It'll be called 'This Evening's Entertainment' and wll include a CD of original music written specifically for the book. Along with the character's tunes (even Eric gets a record and I can't wait to record his stuff!),. I intend to build a complete rock and roll mythology for the book's 'universe'. And in my rock and roll universe I give the King's crown to Little Richard, but in the book (for purposes of copyright infringement and an expressed wish to never be bitch slapped by Little Richard) I'm gonna call him the Lightning Bug. There;'ll be an obvious Beatles, Velvets, Pistols, Nirvana etc, but I'm gonna invent, write and record it all.

      So maybe 'Punk Rock Blues' is this: a stunning notebook of wild ideas from an unknown artist just now bursting forth from his self imposed shell of alcoholic isolation; a sketch pad for the upcoming major work which he's sruggled his entire life toward achieving. But these records, America, safe in the knowledge that I, Tim Byrnes, will use the money to not only write the Great American Rock and Roll Novel, but record the album of music to back it up.

     Somewhere Lester is shaking his head.

Posted by: timbyrnes at 18:46 | link | comments (3)

The Eagle Has Freaking Landed!!!

     OK, after much cursing, swearing and gnashing of teeth, I have finally succesfully uploaded BOTH of Carl Simmons' 'punk rock blues' compilations, as well as a 5 song sampler (available as a FREE download) at

http://www.lulu.com/timbyrnes

 

   yeahyeahyeah, I know we've heard it all before, but, in the inimitable words of my higher power, Bullwinkle J. Moose...

'This time for sure....."

 

Posted by: timbyrnes at 20:13 | link | comments (1)

Elvis Has Left the Building: And the Road Takes Another Brother Home

   Elvis the Cat: 2004 - 2006

     Regular readers of this page know that, along w/my best friend/dog Buster I have 2 cats (Bleeker and MacDougal). In addition to these 2, who live in my apartment with me, I have befriended (by feeding) a small colony of stray and/or neighborhood cats who live in an abandoned house off the alley behind my place. For the last year I've been feeding, petting and basically loving a long haired tabby I named Elvis, just because. This morning on my way to work I saw that Elvis had been hit by a car right in front of my place.

     Now, dead cats on the highway are just a fact of life, I know that. I also know that a cat who crosses the highway is bound to get killed. It still breaks my heart and tears me up. This cat, who I believe had a 'home' a few blocks over and just liked hanging out by me, had over the last year become a bright spot in my day. And regular readers of punkrockblues know that I don't find too many of them, right? When I ffirst came back from Denver and moved into my present apartment, Elvis was a fixture in our backyard/alley. Soon he was following me when I walked Buster, coming up for pets and food. He was the happiest cat I'd ever known. He'd hide under a truck in the alley and would pounce out, batting at Buster's head, always w/claws retracted. He'd run to me when I knelt down and he'd jump up to meet my hand when I reached to pet him. It became a ritual I looked forward to and one I will sorely miss.

     The one thing that led me to believe that Elvis indeed had a home, is that he was clean. I'm talking spotless. The other cats in my 'colony' (Handsome, Speedy, Doc, Debbie and Rochelle -Bleeker and MacDougal's girlfriends) all have the same street look about them. A scar here, there, matted furr, that hungry look etc, but not Elvis. Not until recently. Becoming a full grown tomcat led to the pursuit of the female which led to fights etc. The loss of innocence showed on Elvis. He showed up at my job 3 weeks ago, looking a little worn, fur matted, He wanted to come into the store but I couldn't let him in.

     Two weeks ago Elvis showed up at my door, limping on 3 legs. His front left pay had an abscess on it. I was pleased that he knew me well enough to come to me and I was blown away that MacDougal sensed that this cat was hurt and left him alone while I tended to his wound and let him 'sleep it off' for a few hours. MacDougal's reaction was far from this friendly the time I brought Elvis in 'cause it was snowing. In no uncertain terms my Mickey let Elvis know he was not welcome in our home. But when push came to shove, my cat showed a good heart and (I know this sounds crazy) he made me proud.

     Over the last 2 weeks, I'd see Elvis in the alley but it/he wasn't the same. No longer did he come to me. He was looking for women (a pursuit that has caused many of us hurt, no?) and running w/MacDougal. As a matter of fact, just last night both Elvis and Mickey were playing close to the highway. This morning I found Elvis' body, though I'm happy to report that both Bleeker and MacDougal made it home alright. I'm now seriously re-considering my 'let the cats out at night' policy.

    But cats will be cats and I got to let them be cats, y'know. Nothing real profound or even musical to report, just that I miss my friend.

Posted by: timbyrnes at 22:46 | link | comments (3)

Single Going Steady: Words to Live By

(....I've chosen this song as my 1st 'single' and have been posting it all over the free mp3 sites, including http:www/betarecords/timbyrnes. And I thought here and now would be as good a time and place as any to post the lyrics to the song. Hope y'all like it.    tb)

Lester Bangs

(words and music by Tim Byrnes)

Sing a song for Lester Bangs

Sing a song for those who live
Any 3 minutes and 26 seconds
Has so much it could give
Someone finds God on a scratched 45
Each and every day
Sing a song for Lester Bangs
It’s so sad he passed away

But ain’t it funny how we almost knew it then
That even if we held our breath it never had to end
And ain’t it funny now that we’re the ones who choose
To look to these losers as winners
When we have so much to lose

Sing a song for 8 Track
Sing for Quadraphonic Sound
Your Jeep Beats will be just as obsolete
When the next phase rolls around
There’s a kid out there with a hard drive somewhere
And he or she’s just learning how to lay (and they’re learning fast)
And that kid’s going to come along pretty soon
And blow us all away (and I can’t wait)

Sing a song for Sid Vicious and Elvis
And Lennon and Coltrane and Hendrix
Sing a song for the everyday airplane crashes
That took them all away
And while you’re at it
Sing a song for Lester Bangs
It’s so sad he passed away
So sad

 

Posted by: timbyrnes at 22:07 | link | comments (2)

Artist Becomes Art Salesman: Really Blurry Film at Eleven

Hey gang. I've been busy uploading FREE DOWNLOADS of songs from the 'Punk Rock Blues' collections. There's a 5 song sampler at

http://www.lulu.com/timbyrnes

and other freebies at

 http://www.funender.com/music/Tim Byrnes 

    Hope to have more info/music available soon. I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone who's been hanging out at this page  for the last 2 years and want y'all to know how instrumental yr input has been in keeping this crazyman (at least a little) sane.

     Back soon with that massive Sonic Youth piece I keep threatening to write.

peace and noise,

tim

Posted by: timbyrnes at 20:24 | link | comments (2)

Can Anybone Hear Me? Hello....hello hello......

     OK! Don't know if these last 3 posts are readable. When I call the page up the top post is 'I'd Rather Be the Devil' so I'm doing something wrong. In any event. 'Punk Rock Blues Vol 1. is now, currently and finally available at lulu.com/timbyrnes. Please check it out! Previews will be posted later this week, as I have to get to work now. Thanks again fer yr patience and interest.

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 22:34 | link | comments (1)

OK, gonna try this again. Here's a poppy little tune from one of the CDs I'm still uploading at lulu.com/timbyrnes. More to come etc. etc. Wish me luck

tb

Posted by: timbyrnes at 21:58 | link | comments (4)

Testing 123

Posted by: timbyrnes at 21:53 | link | comments

Crying Wolf in a Smoking Hole

     My buddy Tom left Fowler today. He arrived 2 weeks ago to the day, bringing with him all the chaos, deceit and shame of the common drunk. Before you think me heartless, though I suspect you won't - y'all been on my side through rogher and readier mixzes than this - I can say this with the voice of experience. 20 years ago, Tom was the last guy who'd drink w/me, and I the last who'd drink w/him. We were, in the ever shrinking social circle of the time, the scrapings on the bottom of the barrel. Common as common can get, we took seperate paths those many years ago.

     I moved to smalltown Colorado, and after say 6 months of fitful starts and point-proving minidrunks(' See, I can have a few beers - just like normal people!') I somehow just stopped. Stopped the actual drinking, that is. The repair work on the alcoholic thinking continues to this day and, I suspect, will until I finally go legs up by the mailbox. Through it all these last 13 years, the jobs, the bands, the lung collapse, the divorce, the suicidal ideations (hey, there's a name for a band!) and all the other joy and crap I've scribbled about here there has been a small and constant war in my head. The urge for a beer, which comes at least once a day - still - vs. the knowledge that giving in will only make matters worse.

     So far, I'm still winning that war. So far, Tom is still losing it. Believe me, I feel for the guy 'There but for the grace of God' and all (I truly believe that and, believe me, that line went through my head innumerable times these last 2 weeks), and if I could I'd snap my fingers and let him feel what I feel without that monkey on my back, I would. But the sad truth is Tom's not ready. Without going into too much detail, these last 2 weeks have been spent mainly putting out his fires. One hour off the bus, me stuck at work, Tom hit the neighborhood bar and I had to carry him back to my house. The 1st night. He gets in my apartment, swivels my TV so it faces the couch, splays his frame out on said couch, demands the remote and passes out.

     Not off to the best of starts, OK, I've been there, we can make this work. The next day he drinks again and I finally work up the nerve to tell him I don't want alcohol in my house. He takes this as an affront. 'OK, this is all new to him', I think, 'We can make this work." Two days later, I'm at work when my neighbor pulls up and tells me Tom's wandering around the parking lot where we live, all drunk, hitting on her daughter and basically scaring the bejesus out of all and sundry. I have to call a co-worker, have her come in while I run home to basically give a 45 year old man the 'While yr under my roof....' speech. He spends 25 minutes repeating 'Well, what did I say?' like he could defend himself if only he knew precisely what he'd done. I would tell him, he'd immediatley forget and ask me again.

     The hardest part of dealing with this was knowing that not too long ago I was the same guy. The part of my past I've worked so hard to get past - never forget, mind you, one has to know where one comes from, if only to avoid going back - was now sitting in the middle of my living room and, in my opinion, totally dispespecting what I'd accomplished. More importantly, Tom didn't respect himself. He certainly doesn't respect his alcoholism. Disease, schmisease! That's a quibble not worth quibbling with. The problem (alcoholism) is self-correcting, key word being self. Tom's path took him down the darker hallways of crack, smack and multiple broken marriages. We talked long into most nights that he was here. Horror story after horror story from Tom, positive suggesstion after positive suggesstion from me (stop laughing, Simmons), all coming to the sad conclusion that Tom just isn't ready to do the work required to get sober.

      Including the all  important 1st step of accepting that you have a problem. It's been over 30 years for Tom and he's still only as far as admitting he has a problem. That's a far cry from Accepting. Accepting implies that yr gonna do something about it and Tom's apparently not finished with his dark ride. This saddens me, sure, but there was only so much I could do.

     So after a week of sneak drinking on Tom's part, (I mean did he really think he could do an end run to the liquor store? I work right next to the liquor store!) stories changing vis a vis jobs he had supposedly done and was gonna get paid for 'any day now', money he had promised to help earn his keep going into the registers of both bars in town, culminating w/some drunk Tom had been in the bar w/all day banging on my door at one in the morning wanting to borrow money for beer I finally gave up. Tom and I never had a screaming argument about it, he just knew I was fed up. He found someone to buy his computer and is probably checking into a crack hotel in Pueblo as I type this. His plan is to go to AA meetings, find a job and 'start over'. Which had been his plan in the first place but Pueblo does offer many more resources than one-horse Fowler so I wish him well and I hope I'm wrong when I think about how it's gonna go for him.

     There but for the grace of God go I. I can only hope that Tom gets something positive out of the experience. I know I have. I now have a little more respect for myself and a little more gratitude for my situation, as flawed as it may be. Also, Tom was able to convert my musicfiles before he left. I'm uploading them now at lulu. It's gonna take a few more days (and how many times have we heard that, Tim?) but all 3  Tension Envelope CDs, Simmons' 'Incomprehendium' compilations and, for now, the 1900 CD will all be available at lulu and elsewhere, both as free downloads (single songs) and for purchase (complete CDs etc.).

      That's the next curve in my road. Let's all hope for the best for Tom.

Posted by: timbyrnes at 21:21 | link | comments (3)

Sherman, Set the Wayback Machine for Childhood's End

     Been a busy couple of weeks here in the prb universe. An old friend, one I hadn't seen in 20 years emailed me, saying that he wanted to come out to Fowler (!) and 'start fresh'. Without going into too much detail, let's say that this friend and I have both struggled with drinking for many of these last 40 years. I'm lucky enough to be a little farther along in my journey (13 years sober, thanks fer askin'). Anyway, my buddy, let's call him Tom, 'cause that's his name, is also a drummer I'd worked w/back in the cbgb days, although he hadn't played for the last 7 years.

     Until yesterday, that is.

     Once again the healing force that is my bar band Flashback assembled in Dan's basement to exorcise what demons needed the excorcise. Things have been so day-to-day lately, financially, coupled with Dan being sick for a while,that Flashback had been unable to get together for the last 8 months. But, as usual, me Kenny and now Tom, showed up, plugged in, counted to 4, opened with 'Stormy Monday' and it was like we'd played yesterday. I mean we were sloppy, but we're always sloppy. It's part of our charm and what makes 3 guys in their 50's playing 'Sweet Home Alabama' a punk band.

 

    Oh, let an old man dream.

 

     Anyway, we played for about an hour, didn't sound too shabby and had the kind of pure fun that can only be had (by us at least) when engaged in mangling the classics. Corny as it sounds, playing, even just the 3 of us in an empty basement, is such a spiritual lift it makes one feel like a kid again. Not the kid who's getting jacked up by the football team; that classic metaphor for the real world, ie: that which will jack you up later in life. No, I'm talking about tapping into The Innocence. That place we've all been and still carry under Lester knows how many tons of baggage. But, for those 3 minutes and 26 seconds (or 18 minutes if it's 'Born on the Bayou' Psychedelia Lives!!!!) of any given poptone, the lucky musician can occupy a land of nothing wrong, a land of their own making.

     I'd forgotten the joy of playing. I've been writing one piece of crap song after another for like thelast year, all antigod and antieverything else, actually, flexing my negativity like it was a useful muscle/message; and to a certain extent it is, if only as a defense mechanism when one is feeling overwhelmed. But, and this is in keeping w/my punk rock 'philosophy', pointing out what sucks is only usefull for so long. After a while, the protests ring hollow and, boy, yr just wallowing in yr perceived predicament. In other words 'there's no future unless you make one'.  And no future, of course, without a past.

     Having Tom around is one of those 'cuts both ways' deals. I love the guy and I really want to help him. New guy in a strange town and all, but I have to confess a LOT of the old days have been coming back. It's not Tom's fault, it's just that I had some of my most harrowing drunken experiences in this guys company and seeing his face again (not to mention his predicament. He drank the 1st 3 days he was here) brought a lot back and not much of it good. War buddies tell war stories, but this cat's still losing the war and it hurts to not be able to deal w/this better.

     Enter Flashback. Tom helped out w/a little cash and we got my car insured, gassed up, picked Kenny up and went down to Dan's yesterday. As I said, the 3 of us played for about an hour. Tom sat, watched and genuinely enjoyed (I had been wondering how he'd react. Back in the day I REFUSED to play covers and that's all we do now). After 2 sets Tom got behind the drumkit and we played 'Red House' and 'Sweet Jane'. He hadn't lost a step and, for the 1st time since he got here, I saw Tom smile. Really smile. Dan's got a line on a couple of gigs and he suggessted, read that again: HE SUGGESSTED that Tom and he could trade off playing drums. Dan's still not 100% after heart surgery and, besides, as he tells it, he LOVES to work the room.

     So, maybe my pitiful little basement band ain't so little and pitiful after all. Whatever happens next with Tom; drink or no drink (and bastard that I am, I told him he could either drink or stay at my house. He can't do both. Too harsh, America?) success or failure, he knows and I know and hopefully now you know, that rock and roll is a well we can all safely drink from.

Posted by: timbyrnes at 20:52 | link | comments (4)