Goodbye, Taco Bell

The Taco Bell at Boston University's Warren Towers is turning into a Starbucks. This is the worst news I've heard all day. Now I have to go into Cambridge or Slummerville to get my Grande Soft Taco fix ("I'll have seven, please"), and you know how much I love crossing the fucking river. Ugh.

Rock of Love 2 kills me

I’m exhausted after tonight’s Rock of Love episode, where we are left with a 37-year-old* soccer mom (Ambre), a rubber fallen angel who once fucked CC DeVille (Daisy) and a purple pending lawsuit with tits (Destiny). Nice top three. He should just go back to Heather, who he had to send home after it was clear she was drunkfucking with the leftover skanks. I don’t think we’ve seen the end of Heather. This shit won’t work out with any of the remaining tran-umvirate, so we’re either destined for Season 3 or Bret’s running off with last year’s runner-up. Ok.

But it was nice to see Bret showing his compassionate side tonight, overlooking the slut-tastic tidbit that CC DeVille (most likely) "unskinny bopped" Daisy Duck back when Poison couldn’t draw dick on tour (ie the '90s). Open up and say ah, Bret, because It was a House of Whores, and it turned into a House of Horrors. History repeats itself.

It’s truly amazing the spawn of a Real Doll and Janice from the Muppet’s Electric Mayhem is in the Top 3, but there’s something about Daisy that I love. And it’s not the Nightmare Before Christmas tattoo.

Tonight we say goodbye to RoL's Baby Without a Well, Jessica, who was too good for this show anyway. But before she ghosted we saw her varsity golf talents, shedding some light as to why she dated Bagger Vance, who dropped by the house last week.

Hey also, who paid for the ad for Boston pop-sprite Casey Desmond around 8:40pm during Rock of Love on VH1? Cool to see a local musician on VH1, even if it’s through paid advertising.

*Up next, the always entertaining Parental Visit, where we find out Ambre is 37!!! Oof. But she doesn’t look a day over 42. Am-Bray! Am-Bray! Am-Bray!

D'backs Doug Davis is no joke

Though he's giving new meaning to the phrase Cancer in the Clubhouse, mad props to Arizona SP Doug Davis, who will squeeze in two starts (April 3 and 8) before undergoing surgery to remove a cancerous thyroid on April 10.

Trainwreck City, pop. 2

Oh boy. The Queen B and I, post-Audiogasm. 4am, March 19, 2008.

Dise Lounge goes silent

Another day, another Boston live music venue goes kaput. I'm semi-sad to see the Dise Lounge go, and not just because the last thing we need in this city is another Irish Pub. But the Lounge, in its five years or so, housed many cool things, including the pill, Start, and several art showings. I DJ'd the Light 2.0 Placebo afterparty there backintheday, met the wonderful and amazing Bartender Michelle there and that's where the pill's first Halloween show (The Information/The Cure & the Cignal/Happy Mondays) went down. In fact, much of the pill's new guard was shaped at the Lounge, breaking away from the seedy underbelly of North Station, and taking the pill from a subterranean word-of-mouth scene to a visible force in Boston nightlife.

And hey, maybe when they renovate/remodel, they can erase the "pill fags must die" graffiti on the wall outside the men's room.

Riders in the Storm

Ok, today’s topic is band riders.

Now, in my experience, most “riders” are developed by “artist management” toolbags who sit in a cubicle all day, with some balding Boss Man wearing a blue dress shirt with white cuffs demanding they milk as much as possible from a venue or promoter who has graciously offered to host a touring band. (Now yes, I know bands get ripped off all the time. But my experience of bands getting ripped off when it comes to veggie platters and cereal is fairly limited, so read on...)

But what’s funny about these riders is that the band is often oblivious to these demands. When I approached Joel from Elkland before their pill show around 2005, I told him about the list of demands tattooed on the back of my hand, including “assorted meats and cheeses,” by the donkey schleps at the William Morris Senior Center Agency. His reaction was nothing short of horror, and apologized profusely. We haven’t heard from them since.

Currently, I’m in negotiation to have a band (which shall remain nameless) play the pill this summer. They’re not very well known, but are way cool and decent guys that I’ve worked with in the past (I’ve both booked them and wrote about them for a national music mag). They used to handle booking and business negotiations among themselves, but now they have “management” and “agents.” Oh boy.

Last time I booked them, they seemed pleased with the crowd and party. Upon their return, they demand this stuff:

1 Case Bottled water
1 Case Local Domestic Beer
2 Bottles of Red Wine
Veggie Platter
Cheese/Cold Cuts with Wheat Rolls
Seasonal Fruit
2 Cans of Albacore Tuna
1 Quart Orange Juice
1 Box Cereal
1 Quart 2 percent Milk
1 lb. Ground Coffee
Bowls, Plates and Utensils “pls.” (Oh, they’re courteous!)
12 Clean Towels
Bottled Water
DINNER FOR FIVE

Wheat rolls, albacore tuna and ground coffee!! This sounds like a day at Canobie Lake, not a rock show in Allston. Jesus fucking Mary.

Smashing Pumpkins suddenly concerned with "artistic integrity"

Apparently forgetting about the recent release of "Zeitgeist," the Smashing Pumpkins have sued Virgin Records for damaging their "artistic integrity."

The band filed the lawsuit Monday in Los Angeles, alleging Virgin used the Pumpkins music in a "Pepsi Stuff" promotional campaign tied in with Amazon.com. Virgin is not authorized to use the band’s music to sell outside products, the Pumpkins maintain, even though they've been the band's label for 17 years. They can, however, sell downloads and spare parts from the ice cream truck seen in the "Today" video.

Members of Zwan, Billy Corgan’s other music credibility suicide attempt, were not available for comment.

George Michael live in Boston

...July 27 at Boston's Toronto Dominion Banknorth Garden. Tickets ($47.50 to $152.50, hello guest list!) go on sale next Friday. I will try to not solicit gay sex from an undercover officer in the men's room under the enlarged photo of Bobby Orr.

Is this (take out order) made just for two?

It’s been an interesting and mildly fun past few days – frustrating car troubles late Friday, a redonkulous night at the pill (another sellout, eighth in nine weeks), a kickass draft in Orkney Road, good times seeing Zach Info’s new band Saturday night at TTs, and a quiet day around Harvard Sq. yesterday.

But clearly the highlight of the weekend came late last night after meeting BTF at her place of employment out in lovely and scenic Acton, Mass. Before heading home to watch that smug cunt Megan get tossed from Rock of Love II, we hit up some dingy-assed Chinese Restaurant that is so ghetto-fab it’s not only open late on Sundays, but Easter as well. Pork Friend Rice is my resurrection.

So we egg-roll up at the aptly-named Makaha, and chill in the bar-lounge that hasn’t been remodeled since the late ‘70s. As I was about to find out, the corner jukebox shares a similar grip on the moderately distant past.

I promptly began sucking down on an electric lemonade (but in a manly way as to not offend Joe Townie watching hoops at the bar) and waited for our traditional round-eye order or chicken fingers, wings and spareribs. Soon, a 30-something townie couple saunters in to the lounge and finds a place at the bar. After ordering what was no doubt an Easter-themed scorpion bowl for a deuce, they quickly made a beeline to the jukebox. I almost expected the girl to flick in a nickel, jab the beastly machine with her elbow and crack open a bottle of coke.

But what she did next astounded me. Of all the songs one expects to hear in 2008, regardless if I were in a time-warped New England suburb or not, I was not ready. I was not prepared to hear, out of nowhere… Tesla’s “Love Song.”


Ok, hold on. Who the fuck puts on Tesla from a jukebox in 2008? What jukebox still has the “Great Fucking Radio Controversy” in its collection? Did it flip the vinyl and play a 45? Was it actually on that “medium of the future,” the vaunted compact disc? Was there a “Nice Price” sticker on the CD sleeve? What kind of Twilight Zone shit was I dealing with here? And will this woman be offended once I start belting out the chorus? Would the townie guy kick my ass? Is Jeff Keith actually in the back making my Appetizer Combo Number 5?

My mind raced so fast I forgot how absurd that minute-long guitar solo intro was.


Now, don’t get me wrong – This song rules. And in fact, I made a point to hear it live when I saw Tesla at the Station Nightclub Benefit (I was on the clock, natch) in Providence last month. It was a fulfilling experience, and much better than anything Winger, Twisted Sister or the dude from Mr. Big brought that night (Michael Sweet singing Boston’s “Piece of Mind” with Gary Pihl and Todd Sholz was tops, though).

But of all the shit I was expecting to hear, that just wasn’t on my radar. As the song goes, “Love will find a way.” I thought that love was knocking, outside my door, waiting for you, with a love made just for two… but that was just my takeout order.

And when we hightailed it home to watch the leather-boot face of Bret Michaels send the most annoying reality show whore packing, I realized the joke was on me, and the late ‘80s will never ever go away.

Now if only Cinderella’s Tom Kiefer was the cop who pulled me over on the way home…

Kate Nash Confession

Before I head out for the day and embark on a 48-hour dance party/rock show suicide cycle, I will admit that I really love Kate Nash's new single Foundations. Add me to the population of WTF City. That is all for today.