#Kajun Records

[odk-2]

Nathan Abshire and The Pine Grove Boys - Popcorn Blues (1960) Nathan Abshire from: "Popcorn Blues " / "Broken Hearted Blues"

Cajun | Blues | en Français

JukehHostUK (left click = play) (320kbps)

Personnel: Nathan Abshire: Lead Vocals / Accordion Ed Junot: Electric Guitar / Backing Vocals Junior Benoit: Rhythm Guitar Dewey Balfa: Fiddle Robert Bertrand: Drums

Produced by Jay Miller

Recorded: @ The Jay Miller Recording Studio in Crowley, Louisiana USA during 1960

Kajun Records

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Nathan Abshire June 27, 1913 – May 13, 1981 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathan_Abshire

#Popcorn Blues #Nathan Abshire #Cajun #Blues #en français #1960's #The Pine Grove Boys #Kajun Records #Jay Miller #Nathan Abshire and The Pine Grove Boys

[genericrecordreviews]

True Sons Of Thunder, Spoonful of Seedy Dudes (Jeth Row, 2011) / Stop and Smell Your Face (Little Big Chief, 2013)

These two are old, I know. But I read somewhere that TSOT are about to drop a new album, so I thought it’d be worth going over their first two one more time to get people up to speed on this band and their unique take on punk rock.

Now, you should be wary of “unique” takes on punk rock. In its history the genre has been taken apart and rebuilt so many times, now the only original ideas left are the bad ones. But, see, this doesn’t apply to wizards, and that’s what True Sons of Thunder are.

That’s why they can do what they do, which is basically to lift riffs from the rich catalogue of KBD punk they clearly absorbed in their DNA and spit them out in the form of songs that are grimy like the floor of a punk club’s toilet, rugged like a 30 year old leather jacket, mean like a drunk asshole at a show and funny like what happens to the aforementioned drunk asshole when the rest of the crowd’s had enough.

The screenprinted art on their first record’s sleeve feels like thick, sticky tar, and I can’t think of a better way to represent their music. Their songs fit perfectly in the tradition of great American punk—Crime? Rocket From The Tombs (they cover "Life Stinks”)? Stooges? Kajun SS? Stick Men With Ray Guns?—with a heavy, slow, bluesy Southern feel and a penchant for burying their work in buzzing noise. “Get On The Bus”, on their second album, is a straight, in-your-face punk rock anthem—with a layer of actual bus sounds tossed on top just to fuck with you.

Now, these are old school punk records and have an air of toxic white masculinity that can be off putting to many, and rightly so. I genuinely think that both musically and attitude-wise, any other band who tried to pull off what they do would make me fucking cringe. But that’s the thing: they’re wizards. They just have it. If there’s only space for one middle-aged rock’n’roll man-band in your record collection, you should save that spot for True Sons of Thunder.

Click here to listen to “Get Away” off Spoonful of Seedy Dudes on YouTube.

Click here to listen to “Mother May I Now Spell Cup” off Stop and Smell Your Face on YouTube.

Follow GRRAWR on Instagram to get a weekly record review every Wednesday in your IG feed.

#grrawr #recordreviews #truesonsofthunder #jethrowrecords #littlebigchiefrecords #punkrock

[immusicnerd]

Jay Reatard(Jimmy Lee Lindsey) родился 1 мая 1980 года. В 15 лет, под впечатлением от выступления Oblivians, Jay Reatard записал первое демо. Eric Friedl,глава Goner Records, после прослушивания демо, подписал его на свой лейбл. Свой проект Lindsey назвал Reatards. Первый релиз Reatards на Goner Records - 7'' EP Get Real Stupid. Единственным участником был Jay Reatard, где он поочередно пел,играл на гитаре,а в качестве ударных использовал ведра. Позднее,на первой самиздат кассете Fuck Elvis, Here's The Reatards (No-Fi Records) , в качестве барабанщика выступил Greg Cartwright из Oblivians.Для записи второго винила, Reatard нанял бассиста Steve Albundy и барабанщика Elvis Wong. Результатом работы трио стал LP Teenage Hate, записанный в 1998 году. Тогда же состоялся их первый европейский тур. В 2001 году, при участии Alicja Trout и Rich Crook, Jay Reatard организовал ��торой проект - Lost Sounds. Важное место в звучании группы занимал синтезатор, а также смена мужского и женского вокала. По словам Jay Reatard, Lost Sounds - это лучшее что он когда-нибудь делал. Одним из сторонних проектов Jay Reatard была группа The Bad Times, где он играл с Eric Friedl и King Louie Bankston. В 2001 году они выпустили self-titled LP. После единственного выступления The Bad Times прекратили существование. Еще одним сторонним проектом была группа Final Solution. Фактически, Reatard играл в ней будучи еще подростком, но в то время группа носила название Jackmonkeys. Из-за постоянных проблем дома, он поселился с участниками Jackmonkeys, где сам играл на барабанах. Под псевдонимом The High and Mightys группа дала концерт в школьном буфете, исполняя каверы на Oblivians. Позднее, после ухода нескольких членов, Jackmonkeys взяли новое название - Final Solution, записав несколько альбомов. В 2004 году Reatard ,вместе со своей бывшей подругой Alix Brown из группы Lids, организовал независимый рекорд лейбл Shattered Records, который выпускал в основном издания на виниле. На Shattered Records были представлены такие группы как Kajun SS, Jack Oblivian, Tokyo Electron, Reatards, Final Solutions, Terror Visions, Angry Angles, Carbonas, Rat Traps, Digital Leather and the Knaughty Knights. В 2007 году Jay Reatard временно оставил Shattered Records, вернувшись туда в 2009 и переименовав его в Shattered Record Club и выпустив свой последний сольный альбом Watch Me Fall. Сотрудничество с Alix Brown дало толчок к образованию еще одного проекта, The Angry Angels.Поочередно меняя барабанщиков Paul Artigues из Die Rotzz и Ryan Rousseau ('Elvis Wong') из Tokyo Electron, группа начала гастролировать в США с осени 2006 года. Еще до записи втрого сингла, The Angry Angels устроили тур по Европе. Записав несколько синглов на виниле, коллектив распался. В 2005 году Reatards и Lost Sounds прекратили существоание, и Jay Reatard сфокусировался на работе с проектами Terror Visions и Destruction Unit, предоставляя им материал и помогая записываться. В 2006 году Jay Reatard сделал упор на сольную деятельность, отказавшись реформировать свои старые проекты. В 2006 на In The Red Records под псевдонимом "Jay Reatard", вышел его сольный альбом "Blood Vision". После продолжительного тура в поддержку своего сольного альбома, в 2008 году Reatard подписал контракт с Нью-Йоркским лейблом Matador Records, выпустив на нем шесть синглов на 7'' в течение 2008 года . Вскоре после выхода первого сингла и публикаций в NME,Spin Magazine и Rolling Stone, Reatard начал играть на различных музыкальных фестивалях по всему миру. В октябре 2008 года на CD выходит Reatard's Matador Singles '08 LP, включающий все шесть синглов 2008 . Jay Reatard был найден мертвым в своем доме в Мемфисе около 3:30 13 января 2010 года.

#музыка #русский блог #блог о музыке #русский tumblr #на русском #русский пост #русский тамблер #rus #чтопочитать #чтопослушать #чточитаешь #информация #интересное #грусть #блог подростка #жизнь подростка #взрослые #взрослая жизнь #передозировка

[scharfkugel]

(cups my hands around my mouth) Kajun Please Sir

Kajun Faycott!!

First impression: “Oh wow, a story mode character exclusive to a mini-segment with Mai Natsume”

Impression now: KAJUN IS THE CUTEST EVER AND I LOVE BOTH HER AND MAI!!!

Favorite moment: When Kajun and Mai first meet and Kajun is all “Hmmm hold still while I record all your measurements” and Mai is like “Is this really what girls do!?” Love these two cuties.

Idea for a story: Kajun gets Kokonoe outside of the lab for once and they go to a cafe and have coffee together. She also takes Kokonoe to karaoke where Kokonoe sings her heart out after getting smashed on dozens of drinks.

Unpopular opinion: I KNOW IT’S TOO LATE NOW BUT SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN PLAYABLE. MORI YOU FOOL, I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!!

Favorite relationship: Kajun and Mai of course!! These two make such a lovely pair. Mai is clueless and shy, while Kajun is a sweet and outgoing girl who brings Mai out of her shell and helps her make many friends. They compliment each other perfectly!

Favorite headcanon: Kajun has created a working love potion before. She knows because she secretly tried it on Kokonoe to some hilariously endearing results. One of the maybe-not-so-unintentional side effects is brief amnesia, so of course Kokonoe has no idea any of it occurred.

#blazblue #kajun faycott #asks #thank you so much fawn!! excellent character choice :3

[brieflymaximumprincess]

Full Moon Food

FANDOM: Being Human US RATING: General RELATIONSHIP: none WORDS: 1460 A/N: it comes from this post I made a while ago, saying the fact that Bishop never tasted chocolate made me sad... I guess it’s fixed now. XD SUMMARY:  Out of complete randomness, Aidan found out vampires can taste human food when it's given or cooked by a werewolf when the full moon ends. Maybe it can be useful to establish a truce with the King of Boston. If they can manage to make Bishop taste what Josh cooks. Tagging: @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @bishopsorphan @bishopsprogeny @annechuu @thanatosdementor @i-bleed-salt @spnyoucantkeepmedown @kajuned @artemisinwonderland @hardcorefangirlgroupie

Read it on Ao3.

“For the records, this is so not a good idea.” Josh said, raising the cooking whisk in his hands. “It will work.” “I sincerely don’t know how it could.” “Just go back to the kitchen and finish whatever you are doing. What is it anyway?” Aidan asked eagerly. “I made a risotto, some lasagnas, a chili con carne, some fish in papillote with vegetables and a quiche.”

Sally and Aidan stared at him with a blank expression.

“I got nervous, okay? I didn’t know what he could like.” Josh defended himself. “And did you have time to make that awesome cake you made me last month, by any chance?” Aidan asked.

Josh looked a little shy.

“I’ll add the icing it in a minute.” He admitted.

Aidan thanked him and assured him it was a good idea for the tenth time in a hour. His mouth watered at the thought of the desert and he jumped and fisted his hand in the air when Josh went back to the kitchen and only Sally was left to see him. It made her laugh even if she was jealous to not be part of the feast.

The doorbell rang and they all tensed for a second. Aidan breathed to relax and pleaded the two other to do the same as he put a smile on his face and aimed for the door. He opened it and greeted his maker, inviting him in.

Bishop entered the house, a suspicious glare on his face. He was still wearing his police uniform. As he followed Aidan in the living room, he inspected around him, more mistrustful as the minutes passed. Aidan and the ghost had smiles on their faces too bright to be true. The werewolf was too nervous to exit the kitchen and welcomed him from afar.

Aidan tried to engage a pleasant conversation, as casual as he could. His maker scrutinized him without a world.

“So, Bishop… Did you have a good day?” “I was home all day.” Sally nervously laughed. “Like most of the time. A real housewife, can you believe that?” “Why am I here?” The oldest vampire asked. “We thought, it could be nice if…” “Aidan, don’t make me lose my time. It’s rude.” Bishop warned in a growl. “A truce.” Aidan flinched. “We want to discuss a truce.” “Is that so?” Bishop smiled, seating on a couch. He laid his arm on the backrest and gestured Aidan to sit too on a armchair, like if he was the one owning the place.

At least, he was disposed to listen to them.

“You see, this situation can not go on like that. We can not watch above our shoulder and fear an attack of your… Men, every day. It’s exhausting. And as I already said, the hospital is my territory.”

Bishop tutted in disapproval and tilted his head to mark his point on that last statement.

“Recruitment and  paper falsification here  become to difficult to cover for Josh and I.” “We don’t need you to do that, Aidan. I never asked you for your help in that particular matter.” “But still, we have to do it and we can’t face your superiority in number…” “Precisely.” Bishop said. “So, what do you have to offer?” “It’s a little odd but we figured last month that Josh…” “Werewolves? Are you making alliances with dogs now, Aidan? You know they are not reliable.” “Hey!” Josh intervened stepping in the living room, a jar full of chocolate in hands and an apron still hanging on his hips.

He quickly regretted his interruption and forgot what he wanted to say when Bishop slowly turned his iced glare on him.

“No it’s not about any alliance with anybody.” Aidan tried to explain. “We discovered something interesting. And we thought…” Aidan turned to his friends to gather some support, finding none in a immaterial ghost and a scared cook. “At least I thought… You could be interested.” “What could you possibly have found out so exceptional for my nest and I?” “I have to insist on the fact that it can’t concern your nest but only you.” “I’m leaving.” Bishop announced as he stood up. “Wait. Maybe the most effective way would be to show you.” Aidan tried to hold Bishop back from going away. “You are wasting my time, Aidan. And you know I don’t like it.” “Do something.” Josh pleaded seeing the blond man leave.

Aidan opened his arms in a sign of incapacity. What could he do? So, Josh probably made the most foolish act of his whole life. He positioned himself between a powerful and angry deadly creature and the door and shove a finger dipped in chocolate in his mouth. The vampire’s eyes turned black on instinct, impressive fangs appearing in a flash.

Knowing Josh was a werewolf, Bishop had the reflex to not bite him immediately but what really stopped him was a strange taste on his tongue. Something he never had before. A taste of sweetness and a flavour he never experienced before. In a flash, his anger let place to surprise. His black eyes turned to blue again as Josh stayed frozen, waiting for the snap and the pain to come.

In place of what, the vampire sucked on his finger.

“What is that?” A very confused Bishop asked. “It’s chocolate.” Aidan supplied, excited like a puppy. “It’s what we tried to tell you. Last month, we discovered, totally randomness, that I could taste the food Josh gave me.” “How is it possible?” “We don’t know but for a day and a night, after the full moon, when Josh stops to turn into a werewolf, I can taste all he feeds me.” “What? How? And why don’t we knew that before?” “Maybe because vampires make a sport of slaughtering werewolves?” Josh ironically proposed, before offering the jar of chocolate to protect himself from Bishop murderous glare.

Which the vampire accepted, in front of a surprised trio. Bishop swallowed a complete spatula of unctuous chocolate, making some of it rest on his chin.

“Do you like it?” Sally asked. “I don’t know.” Bishop answered, his mouth full. “But I never tasted chocolate before.” “How sad.” She commented. “Does it work with everything?” Bishop asked, his eyes full of hope. “It’s very new for us too but we haven’t found an exception yet.” Aidan answered with a hysteric laughter. “Come with me. I cooked some things if you want to try.” Josh invited the vampire to the kitchen.

He made him sit down at the table and started to fill a plate with all he could put his hand on. Bishop started to taste all he could with eagerness.

“It doesn’t feed us. It can’t replace blood, and it won’t calm the need for blood but it’s a unique experience, I can say. Food, I didn’t realize I missed it before.”

Bishop wasn’t listening, he was eating like he was starving. He even stood up and reached for the fridge, using Josh to grab whatever he found in it, to try the different tastes.

“A real bulimic” Sally commented looking at the weird dance.

The more Josh gave him things to eat, the more Bishop seemed to crave for it. But his face was so happy and the random tastes were so overwhelming for him, he just could stop.

He had to eventually, after eating near everything the kitchen had to offer, his body reaching his limits. Bishop sprawled on the couch in the living room and hummed in happiness and contentment.

“I knew you would appreciate. I thought of you the first time I discovered i could actually taste food.” Aidan confessed.

His maker, smiled tenderly to him.

It became a regular thing. After every full moon, Bishop came to Aidan’s house and shared a meal with him, Sally and of course Josh. The cute werewolf quickly became one of Bishop most beloved person. Sally never missed a lunch either, even if she couldn’t eat, she loved to see the vampires reactions to food. Aidan developed a major sweet tooth and loved everything greasy. As for Bishop, he loved spicy food above all. Far from feeling used in this mater, Josh just loved to cook for them. They were enjoying all he could make so much, it fulfilled Josh’s old desires to be a cook.

In exchange of it, naturally, Aidan, Josh, Sally, their house and the hospital were declared off limit for any vampires in Boston by Bishop. He even went further to defend them from all potential threats, as important they all became to the King of Boston’s eyes. Bishop bonded with Sally, Josh and Aidan on that monthly rendez-vous. A real undying friendship that would never fade.

#being human #being human us #bishop #aidan waite #josh levison #sally malik #james bishop #just a silly little fluffy fic #about food #mine #my fanfics #yes it's the first time i write for this fandom #but hey you know why

[osobypostacieludzie]

Johnny Rebel ( Clifford Joseph Trahan, C. J. Trahan ) - jest muzykiem Cajun / country, który nagrywał utwory wspierające południową segregację rasową. Trahan użył tego pseudonimu przede wszystkim w nagraniach rasistowskich wydanych w latach 60. XX w. na J. D. "Jay" Reb Rebel Millera, Crowley, Louisiana. Jego utwory często używają rasistowskiego mędrca epitetu i często wyrażają współczucie dla segregacji z czasów Jima Crowa i Ku Klux Klanu. Prawie wszystkie jego utwory służą jako platformy do oczerniania afrykańskich Amerykanów i ruchu na rzecz praw obywatelskich. Trahan po raz pierwszy nagrał pod pseudonimem Johnny Rebel w połowie lat 60., kiedy ruch praw obywatelskich i czarny ruch inicjacji osiągnęły swój szczyt. Pracował w studiu nagraniowym J. D. "Jaya" Millera w Crowley w stanie Luizjana. Miller rzeczywiście wyprodukował sesje i wydał nagrania na swojej własnej wytwórni Reb Rebel. Pierwsze wydawnictwo Trahana - piąte dla wytwórni Reb Rebel - było 45 RPM singlem "Lookin 'for a Handout" i "Kajun Ku Klux Klan". Nagrałby pięć kolejnych singli dla wytwórni, w tym "Nigger, Nigger", "In Coon Town", "Who Liks a Nigger?", "Nigger Hatin" Me”, "Wciąż szukający materiałów informacyjnych", "Some Niggers", “Nigdy nie umieraj (One Just Smell That Way)”, "Trzymaj się z dala od Dixie" i "Move Them Niggers North”. Co najmniej dwie piosenki Trahana "Keep a Workin 'Big Jim’" i "(Federal Aid Hell!) Pieniądze należą do nas", nie dotyczyły rasy, ale kwestii politycznych - mianowicie wysiłków prokuratora okręgowego Luizjany Garrison do rozwiązania zabójstwa Kennedy'ego i piosenka krytyczna wobec amerykańskich federalnych programów pomocowych. Dwie z tych piosenek zostały ostatecznie wydane w formie albumu przez Reb Rebel Records pod tytułem "For Segregationists Only". Po przerwie trwającej około trzydziestu lat Trahan powrócił jako Johnny Rebel w 2001 roku, kiedy wydał swój singiel "Infidel Anthem" nagrany w odpowiedzi na ataki z 11 września 2001 roku. W 2003 Trahan wydał album It's the Attitude, Stupid !, w wytwórni płytowej Try It Man. Co najmniej dwie osoby lub podmioty zgłaszają prawo własności do katalogu Johnny Rebel. Obecnie nie jest jednak jasne, kto jest właścicielem nagrań. Piosenki Johna Rebela zostały pokryte przez innych wokalistów, takich jak Big Reb i niemiecki zespół Landser. W 2005 roku jego piosenka "Some Niggers Never Die (They Just Smell That Way)" została wykorzystana w filmie Co to jest? reżyseria Crispin Glover. Trahan rzadko pozwalał sobie na fotografowanie przez kogokolwiek innego niż bliscy przyjaciele i rodzina, chociaż twierdzi, że rzeczywiście są jego zdjęcia w Internecie. Mówi, że nie ma pojęcia, skąd pochodzą te zdjęcia. Dziś Trahan jest właścicielem szkoły jazdy w Crowley w stanie Luizjana i pojawił się na pierwszej stronie artykułu Crowley Post Signal 10 grudnia 2008 r. (O pisaniu piosenek). Kompilacja CD jego prac pokazuje po prostu zakapturzony Klansman wraz z przedstawieniem Konfederacyjnej flagi bitewnej.

[drugsareforfucktards]

I'm not lost

Who am I? - I like to listen to music - I love to talk about the things that randomly come to mind - I like deep conversation (cliché I know) - I don't like big groups - I hate surface relationships (if I can't connect with you deeply, then it'll never work. Any kind of relationship.) - I can be alone, I just don't like to be alone so much - I hate doing homework (I just won't do it) - I love to give people my whole heart (I just need to learn who to give it to so I don't hurt myself) - I like spending time with people. it can even be just laying there and not talking. I just like being with people - I love adventures (ask me to go on a random adventure with you and I will always be down) - I get moody (but the right people know how to work with it) - I hate doing the same thing for too long (too long in my book is rather short for some people) - I hate being restricted by money or time (but who doesn't) - I love going to concerts with people who love to dance - I love to go crazy at concerts - I like learning about new things (that's why it's so hard for me to choose a career path. I just want to do it all and learn all the time) - I like to debate - I don't like being second. Or an afterthought. (it sounds psycho in my head, but when I write it down, it looks like a completely normal thing. maybe I'm wrong and it is still psycho) - I am very giving - I like to think the best of the world and of people (I don't want to lose that. I almost did when I thought my efforts of trying to make the world around me a better place were unreasonable and unrealistic) - I like to be in the open water, but I'm not the best swimmer. - I like to play guitar, but I'm not super great. - I wish I could create music how Porter Robinson creates music - I love music festivals - I hate it when my hair isn't perfect - I'm a terrible student, but I don't mean for it to come off like I don't care because I care so much. - I want to be in a relationship, but I can't see myself being in a relationship with anyone. (There just isn't anyone that I've connected enough with for me to be confident in the fact that I won't become jaded after a few weeks. Except there was one person, but that's irrelevant now) - I like the wrong people - I like to skateboard but the roads in my city suck for it - I love my dog - I hate when people don't give me the attention I give them (another one of the ones that sounds crazy in my head but doesn't look so crazy written down) - I waste so much money and I don't really know how to stop (I think everything I want is something I need) - some specific food/drink I like: kajun kettle crawfish monica, blue Powerade, blueberry vanilla kind bars (chewy w/ a crunch), Mariquitas Plantain chips, vanilla almond milk, Martinelli Apple juice, Parish Brewing Canebrake - I like jellyfish - I don't appreciate physical things as much as I appreciate experiences - I don't like driving for a long period of time by myself, I love driving long periods of time with people though. - I love soccer - I like to work with kids - I love to learn about outer space/astrophysics/theoretical physics and talk about it - I love the ocean and the green of the world - I like all kinds of movies (passengers, interstellar, finding nemo, the incredibles, master & commander, gladiator, and weekender are some pretty sick films) - I get so hyped over Planet Earth episodes - I like watching cooking shows - Some of my favorite shows: UK Skins, US The Office, Gossip Girl, Planet Earth, Freaks and Geeks, Game of Thrones, New Girl, and more probably. - I was going to avoid putting favorite bands/artists in this because I don't want it to be so long but I also don't want to leave anyone out because they are all so important to me in their own ways - But here's the list: Fall Out Boy (beginning - 2008), Porter Robinson, Fleet Foxes, Green Day (beginning - 2004), Chance the Rapper, Mac Miller, Sigur Rós, Enter Shikari, My Chemical Romance, Underoath, Odesza, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bombay Bicycle Club, Paramore, the Strokes, Disclosure, Bring Me the Horizon, MyChildren MyBride, Brand New, Frank Sinatra, Duke Dumont, Zeds Dead, Gramatik, System of a Down, Tchaikovsky, the 1975, Taking Back Sunday, Senses Fail....(there's absolutely more, but if you were to catch me listening to music it would most likely be one of these artists) - I like to edit audio in films - I like to write, mix, and record music - I like to try new foods - I enjoy cooking new things, but I get annoyed when I have to cook something I've cooked several times before. - I don't do much planning, but I like to think it's a part of my spontaneous personality (although I do recognize that in some situations, planning is very important) - I have terrible sleep hygiene. I'm a light sleeper, it takes me forever to fall asleep, I wake up several times during the night, I get sleep paralysis extremely often, and I get panic attacks at night. - People say I'm insanely chill, and I know I give off that aura, but I'm a severely stressed out person on the inside. It's interesting how that works. - I'm super laid back about things, but I guess you can say some of those things I'm laid back about stress me out even though I'm laid back about it......? I'm doing this because I don't know what I want out of life and it's getting really hard trying to be happy, trying to do things, and trying to move forward with my life. So I made this list of things that I know about myself so I won't feel so completely lost. I do know parts of who I am. I have to stop forgetting that.

#for me #myself #and I #personal #but if you want to get to know me #here's some of it

[el-vicio-us]

Gonerfest 13 (2016)

I'm in the homestretch of completing the photos from Gonerfest 14/XIV/2017, so in preparation for that, I'm going to pull last year's Gonerfest review out of the archives and post that.

I wrote about and photographed it for Razorcake last year.

I'd clean up and edit the piece before posting it, but I feel like I'd never run out of edits and corrections, so the text is presented in toto.

To read it with captioned photos and embedded samples of some of the bands listed, go to the Razorcake page. [Yeah, I linked it twice. What.]

Links to additional photos of the bands at Gonerfest 13:

Aquarian Blood

Black Lips

Blind Shake

Bloodshot Bill

Chook Race

Control Freaks

Counter Intuits

Fred and Toody

Hash Redactor

Iron Head

Kid Congo and the Pink Monkey Birds

Midnite Snaxxx

NOTS

Oh Boland

Opposite Sex

Pity

Power

Reigning Sound

Spray Paint

Useless Eaters

Rev. John Wilkins

So here, and so there:

In 2005, a couple of friends and I skipped out on college for a week to drive from upstate New York down to Memphis for Gonerfest II.

This year, I went again.

Pulling into the hotel lot after six-or-so hours of driving from one end of Tennessee to the other, I felt flashes of recognition as my surroundings aligned and overlapped with memories lying dormant, the distant cousin to déjà vu commonly referred to as, “remembering something.”

I drove past the outdoor pool, vividly recalling it as the place my comrades tried to baptize themselves back to sanity after a night of paranoia and hallucination wrought by their decision to partake in an impromptu fungal communion shared at the Armory after-party while Kajun SS and Evil Army performed.

We had the bright idea to spend that night sleeping in the van in order to save money on hotel rooms, but in lieu of wiggling our toes in the quicksands of dreamland, these guys had to sleepwalk through their own respective psilocybin nightmares while I clung to the grass and tried to let my equilibrium catch up to the way the world was spinning.

This time around, I was here to photograph, try to lock some things up in my long term memory for later use, and my only vices would be caffeinated beverages and late-night Taco Bell.

On Thursday afternoon, I got to the Goner Records store just in time to get manacled with a weekend pass wristband and given a Gonerfest XIII bag along with a seven-inch (with “Blood on the Line” by Aquarian Blood on one side, and “Demarche Fauve” by Couteau Latex on the other). I briefly peeped into the bargain bin where I had found a copy of a friend’s band’s LP when I had last come through. Months before, I was in the Goner store at the ass end of a road trip out West.  I’d found two copies, told him as much via text while in the store, and he immediately replied with a plea that I buy them so he wouldn’t have to see them there when he came down next. I’d bought one. The other was still there.

Once outside the store and on the corner of Cooper and Young, I had enough time to switch out lenses, second guess myself, rearrange them on the camera bodies, and repeat the act once more. To an outside observer, I imagine it looked a bit like a cup-and-ball trick in which I played the part of both magician and mystified audience.

Zac Ives gave a brief and endearing introduction expressing his pride in witnessing the trajectory Nots have taken thus far.

I’m not sure if I have ever seen a band rock a gazebo before, but if I have, none could touch the near-lethal dose of vigor and vim with which Nots did so. The only thing that might come close would not be a result of this hypothetical band’s talent or performance, but the delight I would find in finding an ample excuse to use the portmanteau, ‘shoegazebo.’

Natalie Hoffman is a killer. Though I couldn’t focus 100% on the performance itself while I was arranging things inside the frame of a little rectangle through my camera, looking back through the photos from the afternoon, I’m able to see the late September evening breeze in concert with Hoffman’s movements, sweeping her hair between shots from L’Oréal advertisements to Cousin Itt screen tests.

Similarly, Charlotte Watson is damned heroic on the drums. When I first heard Nots’ first album, We Are Nots, my first impression was that I loved the drums: steady, cymbal-sparse, and heavy on the floor tom. What I hadn’t anticipated was how animated Watson was while playing live. Her head and hair disembodied into their own independent entity, in constant motion except for when she needed to provide backup vocals, at which point she’d localize her movements for long enough to aim her mouth at her microphone. She moved in physical space with the dynamism of the statistical probability of an electron cloud.

Again, seeing photographs as she was sliced out of motion, it was like capturing paranormal activity that the naked eye can’t observe. Her eyes rolled back behind their lids to reveal only pearls of sclera in the interstices of brunette tendrils mid-whip, reminiscent of demonic possession or some psychic commune with ancient worlds that only Roky Erickson could understand.

After Nots finished, Goner-goers trickled in and out of surrounding establishments for sustenance and socializing until it was time for the post-prandial events. Having driven to and parked in the lot behind Hi-Tone with an excess of time and a lack of things to do, I decided to explore the surrounding area. When I got out of the car, I heard Reigning Sound soundchecking inside with “You Got Me Hummin’.”

Walking toward the rear entrance, I saw the back of a figure with blazing white hair that seemed to blend into the two fur pelts hanging from a leather vest that hung down past the knees, much like a cape or trenchcoat with none of the nonsense (or all of it, depending on one’s perspective). I briefly wondered if I had just spied a glimpse of Ric Flair, and if a Wrestlemania was taking place nearby.

It took a second for me to realize that was the back of the night’s MC, and should any trouble rear its head this evening, Jim Dandy would be there to the rescue.

Next I saw him, the leonine Dandy and his fierce white mane were on the Hi-Tone stage, introducing the first evening band, Hash Redactor. Returning from her earlier set with Nots was Meredith Lones on bass.

As much as I was aware of Lones’ talent while watching her with Nots, I was better able to see how much she was doing when she played in Hash Redactor. Unfortunately, either the set (or just the final song) ended prematurely when the singer’s guitar, amp, pedals, or some combination thereof, suffered some communication breakdown in the signal’s path to the speaker, and they stopped.

      The second band of the night was the Australian trio, Chook Race, the first of several antipodean bands to be featured this year. It was a shift to a sweeter, slower pace, the dulcet combination of Carloyn Hawkins’ and Matthew Liveradis’ voices are reminiscent of the Vaselines (which might be a lazy comparison on my part). They were a great act to coax the audience forward into the night.

Thus far into the post-Gonerfest doldrum haze of ordinary life, they are the band I most often listen to and always among the first I recommend to friends. They have nestled deep inside the marsupial pouch of my heart.

Just as Chook Race became the band heaviest in rotation after Gonerfest, the next band was definitely the one I listened to most in the days preceding the fest.

I was looking forward to the Counter Intuits because my only exposure to them had been listening to their albums. At the time, I had pictured a snotty twenty-something with a stupid/smart sense of humor. I was pleased and surprised to see it was a fifty-something dude who, to me, resembled an alternate reality in the multiverse in which Darby Crash never got lost in heroin nor strayed from the tried and true routes of beer, weed, and burritos.

This, of course, was Ron House of Great Plains, Psandwich, and Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, among others. The other main Counter Intuit is Jared Phillips of Times New Viking, a band I have also enjoyed but failed to keep tabs on over the years for no other reason than I’d just forgotten to.

Upon my first listen to Counter Intuits, I went nuts for the guitar parts that seemed straight out of the old Country Teasers’ playbook. I was glad to see they played a few of my favorite tracks from Monosyllabilly including, “Dementia/Dementia,” “Sunglasses After Death,” and “Password (Is Password).”

At one point, House seemed to forget his own words, so he pulled out a pair of black frame glasses and a seemingly swamp-assed sheet of paper with lyrics scrawled out on it, which was legitimately charming.

Useless Eaters easily were the tightest, most together band to play the Hi-Tone on Thursday night. They were absolutely the most intense. Seth Sutton was economical in his movements, but like a boxer adept at conserving and distributing their weight for doling out a knockout, the guy just spewed power. Lise Sutter provided additional textures of noise, and both Sutter and Sutton would return to the stage as a duo on Saturday to open the Hi-Tone show as Couteau Latex.

As I waited in my spot by the stage, I saw someone bring out two black folding chairs with the letters T and F spray-painted in dripping red on the backrests. I began to dream up iterations of a logo that would combine the two letters into one, not unlike the ambiguous letter that indecisive grade-schoolers use when filling in a blank on a True/False quiz, hoping to invoke a sort of Schrödinger’s Cat duality where the answer exists as both sides of the coin and the grader will be hypnotized into seeing the answer that is meant to be there.

When Fred and Toody came onstage, the audience welcomed them with all the warmth, reverence, and appreciation that they deserve.

When I saw Dead Moon in 2006, Fred and Toody were joined by the late Andrew Loomis on drums. The drums were pulled to the edge of the stage to where the three of them were on an equal front, a staggered triumvirate of sound.

With only Fred and Toody onstage, their sound more resembled the production of their records. Whereas Dead Moon in a live setting was pounding and powerful, most of the recordings seemed to shift attention to the treble end of things, with the famed Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie” mono lathe playing some part in making the bass drum almost a figment of the listener’s imagination. It was an easy transition to hear the songs performed this way, in an acoustic/unplugged-type of arrangement, while still being completely electric and plugged in.

(Disclaimer: I feel the need to restrain myself for this one, or rein it in, so to speak.) Reigning Sound has been one of my favorite bands since I discovered them in 2005. Greg Cartwright is one of my favorite living songwriters, and I can’t help but nerd out when he comes up in conversation or his bands are hitting my earholes.

Through mutual friends, I have come to understand that people expressing such sentiments to his face sometimes make him uncomfortable. Because I know that, should it occur, my meeting the guy would result in unavoidably effusive and one-sided fanfare on my part, I can’t do it. Back when I used to partake in socially lubricative beverages, I would calm my nerves and grease the jaw with a little libation if I felt like I needed to express my adoration or appreciation for some artists or another. Sometimes I’d overshoot the mark. After a particularly awkward and slurred conversation with Dale Crover after a Melvins show, I learned my lesson and began to give a wide berth when any artist I loved came through.

I’ve seen Reigning Sound more often than any other band (with the possible exception of bands consisting of people I’m friends with). The first time I saw them was back in 2005 at the second Gonerfest, and by that time the lineup consisted of Lance Wille on drums and David Wayne Gay on bass. I had the chance to see them several times over the next ten years or so, including once with Mary Weiss of the Shangri-Las, which was another occasion I oozed adulation onto a performer. Mary Weiss is a gracious, kind, and patient person. (At least she was for the amount of time that I was confessing my love to her, which is all I need and more than I deserve.)   

I knew the original Reigning Sound lineup had been playing shows here and there, and I wanted to see them, but I couldn’t make it work until now. Drummer Greg Roberson employed a bit of an unorthodox technique by donning one white glove on his left hand, gripping a drumstick, then mummifying it all in a layer of duct-tape. I’d heard of people doing this when they have a break or sprain and need to play a show, but I think it was just to ensure the stick wouldn’t go flying when things got sweaty. Bassist Jeremy Scott played the role of the most animated person onstage, seeming to have to most fun playing the Reigning Sound songs of yore (though everyone was, both onstage and off, clearly enjoying themselves and seemed happy to be there).

Friday began with a daytime show at Memphis Made Brewing Company, the brewery that crafted and canned an IPA in recognition of Gonerfest.

Since my drinking days are over a half decade behind me, I don’t have any opinion to offer on the taste and quality of a beer, but even if I were still a tippler, I have never claimed to have the most refined palate in the world.

However, since my occasional Indiana Jones golden-idol/bag-of-sand switcheroo for a pint of PBR is a fistful of burrito while watching a band (both are more or less cylindrical and housed in aluminum to some degree, so it works out fine), in lieu of a beer review, I offer that of a Hot Mess burrito instead:

I chose the chicken burrito with habanero, the spiciest of available sauces, which I anticipated to be more painful than flavorful. Due to a lingering sinus infection, I treated the meal as a therapeutic remedy as well as a nutritious and delicious respite from the early evening sun. Though I assumed I was going to suffer through a painful experience for the sake of culinary-cum-medicinal exploration, capsaicin is no panacea, but it inflicted a sufficient rout-like retreat of symptoms that had been making me feel like I was turning into Rocky Dennis with quantum singularities tucked deep inside my tear ducts.

It was delicious. 10/10.

The most memorable set of the daytime show was by the Canadian band, Pity. Balaclava-clad and wearing black, they ripped into a set that seemed to pack a half hour worth of borderline powerviolence into probably fifteen or so songs that all collectively fell into around ten minutes.

I was reminded, both visually and aurally, of Henry Fiat’s Open Sore. Since I love that band and have never seen them in the flesh, this was probably the closest possible thing, as well as a band and performance that I appreciate and enjoyed as their own entity, independent of my associations with a likely defunct ensemble of masked and monikered Swedes.

Pity’s singer’s guitar suffered a double dose of immolation, first being lit on fire while still on his person before being tossed in the air. The band tore back into song, and again the guitar was lit, flung, and then it fell back to the ground. As Aristotle posited of gravity, being not completely wrong yet not completely right, things move toward their natural place. The guitar seemed to feel its proper place was on the ground. At least one fourth of Pity disagreed, possibly feeling it should be condemned to the fires of the sun, considering its intended trajectory and flaming head start.

The first band on Friday night at the Hi-Tone was Opposite Sex from New Zealand. They started with a song in which the guitarist and drummer began, while Lucy Hunter jumped up and down in front of her bass. It might have just been some pre-performance calisthenics overlapping into the show, but I imagined that she was conjuring up vibrations from her feet hitting the stage floor, then being soaked up by her bass and letting the strings ring out in an almost inaudible hum, sort of priming her instrument with resonance like a finger riding on the rim of a wine glass just before it sings.

Hunter began sing/speaking into the microphone while the drums and guitar carried on. When she picked up her bass, her playing became the pulse of the music, allowing the guitar to reel off into twangy noise. Her voice sounded both innocent and beyond her years.

The best surprise of the night, if not the entire weekend, came from the Australian band, Power. The first thing they did was clear everything superfluous from the floor and push the single microphone stand to the edge of the stage. (This might seem like an inconsequential detail, but I only noticed because some bands leave extra stands where they are, which can be a bit of a hurdle to overcome when trying to get good photos without blurry black bars running through them.)

When the band started playing, their energy filled that open space in such a way that made it feel like they had packed up and transported their entire practice space all the way to Memphis from Melbourne. (It calls to mind the haiku from didn’t-know-it-poet Garth Algar: “I mean, we’re looking/ Down on Wayne’s basement; only/ That’s not Wayne’s basement.”)

Power’s frontman looks like the sort of bully from the ‘80s movies who you secretly root for over the cloyingly innocent protagonist. While the mullet hairstyle might commonly referred to as being business in the front, party in the back, this was neither party nor business. It was 100% irony-free, no-nonsense, kick-your-dick-in-the-dirt for real.

They’re the kind of band who couldn’t give a shit less if you like them, but that won’t stop them from giving it their all when they play, because that’s the only way they know how to do it. I like to imagine they have only ever listened to AC/DC, Motorhead, and the only Metallica they’ll put up with is Kill ‘Em All. That might all have more to do with their look than their sound because as good as it was, the only thing I knew for certain is that they were awesome at being loud. Either way, if I had to ballpark the math, I’d be willing to drive between 5 and 10 hours just to see them play again, even if it was for fifteen minutes.

Buck Biloxi and the Fucks played next, which included the return of Nots’ Charlotte Watson on drums. The crowd went apeshit for them, despite Robert Watson Craig III growing mildly frustrated as roughly half the songs just collapsed and dissolved rather than meeting their intended endings. The more they fucked up, the more the crowd loved it.

The Blind Shake brought the most controlled form of chaos to the stage. The brothers Blaha were both dressed in black, bald or shorn, and both played MPLS guitars (Mike with a baritone, Jim with a regular six-string). They sang the same words, at the same time, providing a visual and aural stereo union before retreating from the mic stands to explode into their own respective forms of animation, Jim wrangling his guitar like a junebug on a string and choreographed faux-smash movements that looked potentially lethal to the instrument until he swept it back up and out of harm’s way at the last moment.

Black Lips were the last Friday act on the Hi-Tone stage, and it was their first Gonerfest since the very first one in January of 2005. Coincidentally, my old college friend, Zumi Rosow, plays saxophone for them now. I got to speak her briefly while she set up before the show, and we reminisced about the time I wrote a 10-page paper on Eraserhead for her in exchange for a few beers, or when I convinced two thirds of [what would later become] Mean Jeans to form a one-off black metal band and shoot a video of my sacrificing her with a six foot sword, and a moving death scene performance on her part as she writhed in basement dirt and A1 steak sauce for blood.

Black Lips were easily the wildest show of the weekend, as far as communal artist/audience participation weas concerned. They played a good deal off of Underneath the Rainbow, as well as some old favorites from Let It Bloom, and they played at least one new song off their forthcoming album. Between songs, Cole Alexander encouraged everyone to go to Murphy’s to see Tommy Wright III.

After their set ended, Zumi wanted to introduce me to Cole because we share a deep affection for GG Allin. After talking for a bit, Cole reiterated the importance of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see local legend Tommy Wright III perform. I had no idea who that was, but I was revved up on caffeine and didn’t feel like crashing yet, so I went.

Though it wasn’t part of Gonerfest proper, most of the same faces were present at Murphy’s after the Black Lips set. When I got there, Manateees were playing. Fronted by Abe White, their earlier recordings fall more under the umbrella of garage punk (I think), but when I saw them play, they seemed almost like a tight thrash metal band. They were great. I stuck around for a couple of songs by Tommy Wright III, but considering my pineal gland was still an hour in the future and operating according to Eastern Daylight Time, I finally opted to go rest up at the hotel.

Saturday’s festivities began at 1 PM at Murphy’s, alternating shows between the indoor and outdoor stages. I had been looking forward to seeing and hearing Iron Head from New Orleans, featuring King Louie on guitar. I love a lot of King Louie’s oeuvre. When I came to Gonerfest in September of 2005, his one man band rang in the weekend’s opening ceremony from the rear of the Goner store. I don’t remember what songs he played, but between numbers, he answered a cell phone call from Quintron and got the crowd to shout out a hello to him. Louie told a story about enduring Hurricane Katrina by grabbing hold of a soda machine as it floated by and boogie-boarding it through the river-flooded streets to greener pastures.

Iron Head was a spectacular mess, highlighted by solos and riffs that crashed and burned immediately upon departure, but that didn’t stop Bankston from going for each and every one with renewed faith and vigor in his fingertips each time. Between songs, Bankston and Drew Owen (on drums and vocals) debated over which one had played the previous song right. Bassist Jheri Macgillicuddy remained neutral and refrained from throwing his two cents in, but I got the impression he knew who was right and, as a matter of habit, just preferred to wait out the squall.

Oh Boland was by far the most charming bunch of the day. Their positivity was infectious, endearing, and unrivaled. It was clear they were thankful and happy to be there, a sentiment that was clearly reciprocated by the audience. The first song began and the singer, Bile Bunton (né Niall Murphy) approached the microphone bent over because the stand was raised only about three-fourths of a Danny Devito in height. I wondered for a moment if this was a sort of anti-Lemmy singing posture, but before I could entertain the thought much further, someone raised the stand height for him mid-song. It was a small thing, but it seemed a testament to their willingness to roll with whatever and embrace the situation at hand with high spirits and good humor.

Between songs, the drummer mentioned that they would need to sell their instruments before flying back to Ireland, so anyone interested should inquire further at their merch table. Murphy haggled himself down to offering his guitar to anyone who asked for it after the show.

The act I was most looking forward to on Saturday was Bloodshot Bill. I first heard him in the late-aughts and was bummed to find that he was forbidden from playing in the states at that time. I finally got to see him in Atlanta this past July, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Aside from being the best and most engaging one man band I have heard and/or seen, his vocal acrobatics incorporate grunts, hiccups, screeches, cry breaks, and a sort of ersatz Tuvan throat-singing that sounds at times like Charlie Feathers mud-wrestling a Tibetan monk with a menagerie of hogs, frogs, and barn owls cheering from the sidelines.

Following Bloodshot Bill was Control Freaks, featuring Friday night’s MC, Greg Lowery. The energy was high from the outset, and following a request from the festival organizers to keep on schedule by cutting the set short, the intensity maintained, though the vibe shifted from, “Let’s do this,” to, “Fuck it.”

Any restraint that might have tempered the release was then unfettered, and while the songs sounded great, the focus was more directed towards letting loose every ounce of their reserves, at least as much as possible within the confines of the time constraints.

The cocktail of excitement, anticipation, and frustration felt a bit like trying to cram as many shots into your mouth to get you sufficiently blitzkrieg drunk between the time a bar announces last call and when they forcibly remove you from the premises and lock the door behind you.

Preparing for the pinnacle of the weekend with Saturday’s final act, Kid Congo and the Pink Monkey Birds, I found a spot at the front of the stage as it cleared up between bands. While I prepared my photo gear for what I could guess would be the best combination of lenses and cameras for the show, a young guy approached me, said hi, and showed me two album covers he brought with him, one Death Party by Gun Club, the other Psychedelic Jungle by the Cramps. One or both of them had signatures on them. Throughout the show, he either placed them venerably on the edge of the stage while he drifted into the crowd, or he clutched them affectionately to his side. His excitement rubbed off on me, and I drifted from mulling over technical details with my cameras to getting pumped to see Kid Congo Powers play two feet in front of me.

Tom Scharpling introduced Kid Congo and the Pink Monkey Birds, and the lights were dimmed to a low red glow. Powers slipped effortlessly into the role of a curandero, bridging the gap between worlds with one foot dangling off into the ether and one firmly entrenched in the muck of the corporeal. He said a few words throughout the set, each phrase a small performance in and of itself. With his eyes perpetually focused off to some nowhere up and off to his right, each word he sang and spoke seemed directed toward some apparition in the upper corner of the room. It was as though his line of sight was some conduit of communion with his muse, and bringing his immediate attention to anyone in particular would break the spell.

Sunday afternoon, Rev. John Wilkins performed in the Cooper Young Gazebo. The weather was immaculate. Occasionally Wilkins’ daughter would take the lead and belt out her amazing voice while she drifted out into the crowd and engaged with the audience. Rev. Wilkins said a few words about his father, Robert Wilkins, and ended with a rendition of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” a befittingly annular theme for a closing hymn, considering our return to the (more or less circular) gazebo at the end of the fest.

Before I began the trek back home to Chattanooga, I made a couple of stops around Memphis. I went in the general direction of Graceland, since whenever I pass through Memphis, I consider going but end up spending a couple of hours in the Goner store instead. Considering I’d been getting gone all weekend long, I figured it might be the only time I felt like going.

 I had intended to check out the area and assess whether I felt like going in, but before I knew it, I was paying for parking, got the up-sell on a tour I had to wait over an hour for, and then elbowing through fellow Graceland-goers while I fought for space to pretend I was William Eggleston and photograph crannies of rooms and details of decor.

Meanwhile, my tour-mates had iPads slung from their neck and bobbing on their bellies while John Stamos’ disembodied voice piped through their provided pairs of headphones, rendering their spatial awareness a notch below their own normal levels, which might not have been great to begin with.

My heart went out to the angry woman in the bottom of the main house whose sole job seemed to be to remind each cluster of visitors that they shouldn’t sit on the bright yellow barstools. A large sign also indicated that they shouldn’t sit on the bright yellow barstools. Without fail, about one out of every five people who came into the room disobeyed and sat on the bright yellow barstools. I wondered if this exercise in futility was some exercise in karmic debt for the poor woman, or if the tamest circle of hell overlapped with our realm and was located in Elvis’ basement. Only past-life serial killers deserve such a fate.

Nearing the end, there was a line to stand in front of Elvis’ grave and take a picture of it, which I skipped. The whole Graceland experience was more meaningful to me when I was a Presley-obsessed ten-year-old kid and I went with my dad.

He couldn’t have given a shit less about Elvis, but he suffered through it just because it meant something to his weird-looking kid who spritzed his hair off the Moh’s scale with hairspray into the most generous definition of a pompadour, and who demanded that the silk bomber jacket with a gold-glitter Elvis on the back was not for old ladies, but actually meant for a ten-year-old dude who would unknowingly leave an indelible golden sparkle on everything he leaned against.

My last stop before leaving town was a short visit to Jay Reatard’s gravesite. I can’t claim I ever knew the guy, but I was lucky enough to have the chance to see the Reatards, Angry Angles, Final Solutions, the Persuaders, et cetera. The last time was when I got to catch some friends opening for his solo outfit in Chattanooga in 2008. I didn’t stay in the cemetery long, as I felt strange being nothing but a tourist, but I felt like if there was ever a time where it might be an appropriate time to do it, this was it. I saw that someone had left a green guitar pick as well as a devotional candle with Jay’s face on the angel’s body.

Only two days after Gonerfest ended, I had the chance to ride out the last ripples of the weekend and see two Gonerfest XIII veterans, Nots and The World, play with locals Coma Vigil in Chattanooga. I was glad I could see Nots again, this time not through a lens and without having to creep around surreptitiously with a camera pressed against my face. They killed it, as usual. I bought one of their special editions of Cosmetic that comes with a screenprinted cover, a small compact mirror, and some additional artwork bound up in cardboard and a rubber band.

In the time since the fest ended, I have been listening to the full-album playlist of over four hundred songs that I made in preparation for Gonerfest XIII, albeit now with new context and ancillary memories to reinform the way I hear it all now. I still struggle to find content by bands that are either not well-known, they don’t have many or any recordings available, or their names make it particularly difficult to narrow searches down to their specific material (e.g., Power, The World, Pity, et cetera).

I can only hope that I don’t wait another eleven years to attend Gonerfest XIV in 2027, though I hope both I and it are still around for that one as well.

[odk-2]

Nathan Abshire and The Pine Grove Boys - Popcorn Blues (1960) Nathan Abshire from: "Popcorn Blues" / "Broken Hearted Blues"

Cajun

JukehostUK (left click = play) (320kbps)

Personnel: Nathan Abshire: Lead Vocals / Accordion Ed Junot: Electric Guitar / Backing Vocals Junior Benoit: Rhythm Guitar Dewey Balfa: Fiddle Robert Bertrand: Drums

Produced by Jay Miller

Recorded The Jay Miller Recording Studio in Crowley, Louisiana USA during 1960

Kajun Records

Nathan Abshire

#Nathan Abshire #Cajun #The Pine Grove Boys #Popcorn Blues #Kajun Records #Crowley Louisiana #Louisiana Music #Ed Junot

[odk-2]

Nathan Abshire and The Pine Grove Boys - Popcorn Blues (1960) Nathan Abshire from: "Popcorn Blues " / "Broken Hearted Blues"

Cajun

JukehostUK (left click = play) (320kbps)

Personnel: Nathan Abshire: Lead Vocals / Accordion Will Kegley: Fiddle Atlas Fruge: Steel Guitar Lazy Lester: Harmonica Bass: ? Drums: ?

Produced by Jay Miller

Recorded in Crowley, Louisiana USA

#Nathan Abshire #Cajun #The Pine Grove Boys #Popcorn Blues #Accordion #1960's #Kajun Records