Allman Brothers "Hot 'Lanta"

"How was Hot 'Lanta?"

Words on the page can't really express the emotional complexities and layers of meaning that were infused into the reading of this line when it was spoken to me.  On the page, you can't hear the melody and counter-melody running through it.

Some background . . .

I had moved to Virginia at the end of summer, 1993, to take a job at an NBC affiliate in their creative services (that is, commercial making) department.

This was a blind move---I did it for the job.  I didn't know a soul.  So I was working hard to insert myself into whatever social scene was available.

I'd grown up in Massachusetts, had spent four years at a very liberal University (UMass) and had lived in Florida---not as liberal, but not as reserved either---for the previous two years.

Now I was living in The South, which was a new cultural landscape for me.  It wasn't the head-snapping, cultural 180 that I think some people who've never spent time in The South expect it to be.  But there were things that were different.  Social mores that I was ignorant to.

I'd gone to The Lemonheads show in Atlanta with a couple of girls my age.  We crashed overnight at a friend's place in the city.

This is something I wouldn't think twice about.  In my collegiate world, there was no difference between hanging out with guy friends and hanging out with girl friends.  No one in my college orbit would have thought so.

But for some of my in-The-South co-workers an overnight trip with female co-workers?  That was risque.  Perhaps scandalous.  At least something to raise an eyebrow at.

Especially for the girls' father.

Who happened to also be my co-worker.

Yes, her Dad was my daily partner.  A talented cameraman, photographer and all around creative mind, he brought to life whatever creative vision I had for, you know, the local car dealer or beauty school.

He was a very cool guy.  Smart, multi-talented, creative and down to earth.  A big and gruff self-described "redneck" on the outside, but a sensitive artist lurked below.

But he was also a Dad.  A dad who lived in a world where you protected your daughter from things like (gasp!) single guys.

Just to be clear, the daughter was a friend, not a romantic interest.  But in this world I was living in, for many, men and women (boys and girls), did not mix without the specter of sexuality hanging heavy over the proceedings.

I was not really aware of this when I went away for the overnight to the concert.  But on the first morning back to work, someone pointed out to me that the Dad was a little weirded-out that his daughter was out overnight with this new-young-dude-in-town.

And now we were about to be in the van together for a long haul.

We had a commercial shoot that morning, which meant we'd be riding a long stretch in the production truck, just the two of us together.

We rode in silence for the first few miles, but I think we both felt the awkward tension that someone was going to have to alleviate.  He addressed it head on.

"How was Hot 'Lanta?"

Here is what was infused within those four words.

"I'm trying to be cool about this, but I'm not really sure what your intention is with my daughter, because I think you are a nice guy and I like you but if you so much as touch her I am ready to kick your little Yankee ass up and down State Street because who goes off on an overnight with a young girl to a big wild city like Atlanta without sexual intentions, so just tell me I've got nothing to worry about and let fucking drop this subject so I don't have to think about it anymore."

I was nervous, I rambled, but I tossed out a quick run-down of what a fun, wholesome time we had and about how the friend we stayed with had comfortable sleeping accommodations with separate rooms for boys and girls, and that the band was good (he asked if they were "New Wave"?) and the city looked fun but that after the show we didn't party it up because it had been a long drive so we just retired early after the show.  Oh, and there was no drinking.

That seemed to suffice.

His four words were all he cared to say or think about the subject. And we never talked about it again.

Don't let it escape your attention this song, that invokes the memory of today's post, this song you are about to hear while you imagine Dad and I are driving off through the southwest Virginia countryside not talking, is an instrumental.



Hear the song on Youtube.

The Lemonheads "Great Big No"

"The new phone book's here! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people.  Things are going to start happening to me now!"  --- Steve Martin in "The Jerk"

I don't exactly know what I was thinking was going to happen, but that wasn't stopping me.

They'd just announced that they'd be shooting scenes for a new music video during the next song.  So I was going to be in it.

Fortunately, it was 1993, I was young, the crowd was young, and pushing your way toward the front wasn't a faux pas at a Lemonheads club show, in the same way it might be at, say, Symphony Hall.

We were in Atlanta for a Redd Kross/Lemonheads double-bill, and I was determined to have my presence recorded.  I wormed my way as far forward as I could, right in front of Evan Dando and hoped for the best.

And I waited.

Well, I mean, I jumped around up front for that song, then retreated back to where my friends were and enjoyed the rest of the night out in Atlanta.  Then I went home and kept my eye on MTV.

I used to watch "120 Minutes" religiously.  I'd tape it even, if I thought I was going to miss it.  But I definitely taped it when I heard that The Lemonheads label was finally getting around to releasing "Great Big No" as a single.

So here's the thing . . . I am in the video, but you really need a good pause button to find me.  You can't really do it on Youtube.

Right around the 1:22 mark, there's a shot where the camera looks over Evan Dando's shoulders, into the crowd.  I'm there!  I swear I am.

Surprisingly, my phone did not ring.  No agent called because they had "discovered" me in a crowd shot that lasts for 2/10ths of a second in a video shown after midnight on a Sunday night by a band releasing its fourth single off a record.

Despite Navin's promise, things did not start happening to me.

But it's still pretty cool.  Look Ma, I'm on the internet!


See the video on Youtube.

Evan Dando "Ballad Of El Goodo"

Here's another Weekend Post:

Like yesterday's post, here's a 90s version of a throwback tune.  This one is from a pretty good soundtrack to a pretty lousy movie, Empire Records.



Hear the song on Youtube.


See the trailer on Youtube.

Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.

Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show.  They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.

Click on the "Weekend Posts" label below, to see other posts like this.

The Lemonheads "Kitchen"

I grew up in the 70s, where drug humor was a HUGE part of comedy and satire.

I said, "I grew up in the 70s." Not, "I came of age in the 70s."

In other words, I was really a little too young to appreciate the humor in any first-person way. For better and worse, my idea of a person who used drugs was that of a sitcom buffoon. I entirely missed both the negative, unpleasant side of drug users, and the "Easy Rider" point of freedom, rebellion or mind-expansion.

I just thought people who smoked dope were, innately, hilarious.

I couldn't wait to hang out with folks like Johnny Fever and laugh at their hysterical hijinx.

And while I'd like to tell you that my first experience with real stoners was no such thing, every time I hear this Lemonheads song, I remember the roommate who smoked dope, listen to the album (a huge favorite our mine, and my generation, in its day) and have a total paranoid panic attack every time that police siren sound effect came in (around the 1:25 mark on the album cut). Always a "phone cops" moment.





Classic WKRP "Phone Cops" episode

Big Star "In The Streets"

Is this the "worst song ever"?!

When I pick up the request line at mvyradio, it's often a person with an opinion on the other end of the line. They want to let us know that they like, or they don't like something or other. But generally, the conversations are brief and to the point, especially if the caller has some negative feedback.

Last week, I was doing a Live Acoustic And Cover Tunes set of songs by the influential, but relatively obscure band Big Star. Their records were commercial failures in the early seventies, but they found a following among artists growing up in the eighties, who embraced power pop. R.E.M., Matthew Sweet, The Gin Blossoms and The Lemonheads have all sited Big Star as an important influence.

Most people aren't familiar with the band, but may know this song, because it was re-recorded by Cheap Trick, for the theme song to "That 70s Show," (albeit with drug reference removed).

So I played this track, a live version recorded at a radio station appearance, and I got a call.

Not only did the caller say that he didn't like the song, he told me it was the most horrible thing he'd ever heard. He hated the singer. He hated the guitar part. He hated the drumming. He hated the lyrics. He hated the quality of the recording.

In short, his sensibilities were completely offended.

He ended his call, back on Earth, saying, "I love mvy. I love what you do. But I hated that."

Certainly, this is not the best song, or the best recording ever. But is it that horrible?

Hear Big Star "In The Streets"

See a reunited Big Star on Jay Leno, here