- February 2009 -

Other Fein Messes

Now Playing: Don Wade: Oh Love

1st record/1st concert

I'm pretty sure that the first 45 that I outright owned was “Fireball” by Don Spencer. My parents had tried to palm me off with The Beatles "She Loves You" but I wasn't wearing it, even then. I do remember hearing and digging "Seventy Six Trombones" from The Music Man and Connie Francis' “Stupid Cupid” on MGM. And Lonnie Donegan’s “My Old Man’s A Dustman”. I never ever quite worked out what “cor blimey trousers” were…
Funny how things work out, as I became engrossed in music I'd list the charts and write them up in a notebook. My other passion at the time when I was 11 or 12 was Marvel comics. These two routes pretty much robbed me of what little sense I had. My grandmother was sure that no good could come of it and in many ways that made me dig my heels in, classic rebellion syndrome. I should really thank her for that now and realise that it would have been better to have laughed when she coloured in breeks (that’s underpants to you Americans) on the unclad girls that adorned my teenage walls instead of having a flakey. The first really big wave to engulf me was Glam rock. T. Rex, Slade and Mud led me to Alice Cooper, New York Dolls, The Stooges and The Velvets via Lou Reed. I remember hearing The Electric Prunes and The MC5 in art class. Fellow classmates would bring in their older siblings records. I liked the Jefferson Airplane but not the Dead (or the deid as they came to be known locally). I also remember liking Mogul Thrash and Quicksilver Messenger Service.

First live show was actually The Bay City Rollers playing my school dance when they released their version of “Keep On Dancin’”. I don’t remember much about that, probably because of underage drinking. There was a “festival” in my own small town in the summer of ’72 that had Status Quo, The Everly’s, and Beck, Bogart and Appice among others. First proper show was Alice Cooper at Greens Playhouse in Glasgow, November 1972. The opening act was The Phlorescent Leech and Eddie. Two or three weeks later I saw Led Zeppelin at the same place.
I got a Saturday job in the local record store, Orbit Records. When I think about the stuff that went through my hands and got to hear then I guess that's where I got to where I am today. That was something like 1972 - 1977, formative years to be sure. During this tenure I'd discover The Dictators, The Ramones, The Cramps and Suicide and didn't stand a chance.
The prediction that "poap music" (as my nana referred to it) would ruin my life perhaps came semi-true. If “ruin” means being able to hang out with kindred spirits across the world and being connected into a vast mainframe of enthusiasm, then I've been well and truly pole-axed. Being that the measure of a person's success is generally measured by leaving school, being ambitious and landing a plum job then I've failed miserably. My opinion however, is that I stumbled upon riches far in excess of mere pots of dough. This peculiar worldview makes even more sense with the western world being in full scale fankle. Our green may be tanking but they’ll never take our spirit. Maybe there’s some life left in this old goat yet, despite appearances. DJing recently in Spain at the behest of Suzy & Los Quattro, I got to thinking about just how lucky I am. It was beyond fun and the youngsters were digging it. Irrespective of what happens to the music business, there will always be the music.

Lindsay Hutton, from Scotland, started a fanzine called “The Next Big
Thing” in April 1977. He ran “The Legion of The Cramped” for 3 years
before the plug was pulled and has worked as an ambassador for what he
figures to be good music ever since.


Carlos Guitarlos @ Elvis Bash 09

Ron Jones Elvis Bash 09 Photo Gallery

Another Fein Mess
A.F. Stone’s Monthly
February 2009


What are you leaving behind? I’ll leave a stuffed iPod. I have logged 12,000 music entries, not whole albums, selected cuts. When I’m finished, in both senses, what will I have? An iPod for someone to reprogram.

My friend Bill loved NY doo-wop. Ten years ago he put all his favorite 50’s singles onto audiocassettes and handed the vinyl to a dealer to sell 1. Then he died. What became of “I Sold My Heart To The Junkman” volumes 1 to 6, his heartfelt group-sound tapes? I got them in a bag of audiocassettes to tape over 2. Ya just can’t transfer your taste.

So the digital transfers I’m making are time-sensitive. They are valuable only as long as I live. Some of the songs from singles are simply things I remember from adolescence which I want to ... reassure myself I lived those years? make that time period permanent?

In fact, this time 3 is ill-spent culling others’ accomplishments, like accumulating a book collection. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SPEND THE SECOND HALF 4 OF YOUR LIFE CREATING, NOT ABSORBING.

Sorry if I yelled.

1 The dealer, a lifelong friend, immediately entered a shattering personal crisis which led to his abandoning record sales. When Bill asked for his singles back he was told “I don’t really remember which were yours, they’re mixed together with everyone else’s.”

2 I still have them. But I can’t stand that much doo-wop either!

3 “This Time” by Troy Shondell (real name Gary Shelton) is one great crashing record!

4 The linear point is age 40. But since real life doesn’t start til 20 it’s 50.

Generation Gasps

Can you keep track of how newspaper people, under 30 for the most part, divvy up the human race by age? Generation X, Y - and then? Doesn’t anyone consider that real people don’t categorize themselves? Baby-boomers (1946 - 64) have some experiences in common, but you can’t easily say they share anything: the post-WWIIers came before television, but the 1963 crop barely felt the Beatles. If everyone my age was just like me it’d be a wacky and unproductive world.

Any pitch to the Big Chill Generation kills me. The big chill refers to people emerging from college and finding that the world is a cruel, cold place.

“Music for the Bitterly Disappointed, Crushed By Life Generation.”

Musical Thoughts

Is it wrong to like the imitator more than the source? Louis Prima is a copy of Louis Armstrong, but I like him more! When Joe Jackson first came out I thought “Finally, an Elvis Costello I can like.” The Knickerbockers were as good as the Beatles, but just for one record, and “I’ll Make You Mine” by Bobby Vee was pretty good too, but there were no faux Beatles (unless you say it aloud and are from the South) ... When I wrote my “L.A. Musical History Tour” I repeated what I read, that the Hollywood Palace ( in the book as The Palace, now called the Avalon) had as its rock history the Rolling Stones’ 1964 appearance on the Dean Martin tv show. When I went there for the recent Elvis show I goggled the ‘house’ pictures backstage and saw one of-- Elvis on the The Milton Berle Show! Who would mention only the Stones when ELVIS was there? ... In a Sandy Denny CD, annotator Clinton Heylin writes that an early-80’s album release was delayed by record company wrangling “compounded by a vinyl shortage.” Not to mention “an opportunity to buy the Brooklyn Bridge” ... At the Elvis show, the censor in Lightnin’ Willie’s band changed “I’m gay every mornin’” in the Elvis song ‘Paralyzed’ to “I’m happy every mornin.” What if ‘gay’ comes back as a normal word? ... Do you go nuts or is it just me when Phil Spector is cited as “famed for his work with Tina Turner and The Beatles”? There were a couple of other records ... The spoken intro to “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” by Little Richard on Vee Jay is 20 seconds long, but on the 2004 Pazzazz (Germany) release of the Vee Jay stuff you get 20 more, from the master tape, not the single ...

Racism In L.A.

Until the late 1950s there was a Black chapter of the Musicians Union. When that barrier fell and all musicians were listed equally, the Black musicians’ dates dried up. They’d worked constantly at places that wanted Black bands. When the racial ID was removed, pffft.

A friend of mine worked with an old forgotten musician to get him back in the public eye. The once-was was a Mexican entertainer, and my friend painstakingly made charts from his records, conducted the band that backed him, and got him noticed again. So when the time came for the guy to be honored by the city, a guy called my friend, who is white, and said “We’re honoring so-and-so, could I get the charts from you?” My friend objected, saying he was the guy’s bandleader. The phoner said “Oh, no, not for this. This is strictly for Mexicans.” The music went uncharted, but at least it was racially pure.


I could hear the first notes of the national anthem, commencing a sporting event, issuing from the bar next to the restaurant. It was a woman, so I braced myself: all women today, of any color, sing just past their vocal capacity and build to strangled soul-yodeling. Aretha Franklin started it, and you can’t damn her entirely for it, but what a profound stinking shit-step it was. Sure enough, when the tv thrush reached ‘the la-and of the free” an inch past her vocal range and dipped a bit then leaped into the final “home, of the, “brrr-aay-oh-ay-ayee-eye-AAAAAYYYY-v!,” I reacted.

I realize, as you do, that what I just described could be applied to many Aretha songs, and with some word changes to much soulful growling that I enjoy. Dance as you will about architecture, you can’t explain music. In 1968 Jose Feliciano sang the national anthem at a World Series game with some melodic wavering that was met by a firestorm of criticism and deportation-demands for sullying the sanctity of our national converted drinking song. The fans’ booing was included on the subsequent single released by RCA.

My booing, though the same as the 1968 fans’, was in homage to Jose.

Some of Sam

I have a friend who writes songs. They send me lyrics, paragraphs, lines and say “How do you like it?” Like what? It isn’t a song, it’s a bunch of words. Who could possibly tell if it’s a good song?

Words, ultimately, don’t matter. They can be good and that’s not bad, but a song is first and exclusively a musical creation, anything else is poetry or prose. Yet for years I complained that Sam Cooke’s records weren’t that good because they were so vapid. I was right but I was wrong.

Many records I loved dearly were bewhiskered tunes that held little currency: ‘I Only Have Eyes For You’ 5 by the Flamingoes, “Try A Little Tenderness” by Otis Redding, ‘Red Sails In The Sunset’ by the Five Keys 6.

Sam’s songs were for the most part teen opera 8 but he rose above the material with his sensational singing. I’m confident Sam, gone now 45 years, is as thrilled by my long-withheld blessing as you are.

5 Dick Powell, who sang this in the 1934 film ‘Dames,’ must have heard the Flamingos version. I wonder what he thought. (And shouldn’t it be “I Have Eyes Only For You?”)

6 The most stirring vocal group record I know. Tab Hunter’s 7 version wasn’t nearly as good, but not chopped liver.

7 Tab’s 1957 pop hit “Young Love” was on the Dot label. He was signed as an actor to Warner Bros. movie company which, miffed that their act was making money for another company, launched the Warner Bros. label to record him. No Tab hits followed, but others blossomed.

8 I first wrote ‘opa,’ til I learned that the plural of opus is opera.


I swear I heard an ad where a woman promised that a tampon is uber-absorbent. Can you imagine? Saying words that should only be written, or in this case shouldn’t? Imagine ad-watchers who don’t monitor current cliches hearing “oober-absorbent.” (“WHAT did she say?”) ... yet I am not yet fed up with crazy as an adjective as in ‘crazy good.’ My daughter uses it. I hope we both outgrow it at the same time ... Oh my god. The descriptive note for the film Jindabyne on the Encore cable movie service 9 opens with “Impactful.” My heart is murderful ... In the first sentence of the ABC nighttime news Jan 23rd, Brian Williams said “It has been theorized.” Within five minutes he reported that “there has been speculation” about something. What can you utter than HASN’T been theorized? The minute you say it it has. And speculation is the opiate of the ignorant ... When the snippet writer in the 1-31 L.A. Times lifted “going to hell in a handbasket” to lure you to an online Patrick Goldstein piece, was it in mockery? ... Do you notice ‘redact’ slipping in? Kill it ... L.A. Woman contributes the observation that 100 people cannot be evacuated from a bldg - it’s the bldg that is evacuated. A hundred people COULD be evacuated, but it would take days and days ... It’s the end of history. L.A. Times 1/29 hed “Couple’s back story unfolds” marks the full arrival, like bad money pushing out good, of this no-class film-script term ... Isn’t the constant parade of villains on tv new like something you saw in some old book? The missing child’s parents, the silly starlets, the wife-murderer, the Illinois governor. There’s always someone to hate beaming down from a tv screen. It’s a wonder 1984 took twenty-five years to get here ...

9 The woman who writes the descriptions always repeats two cast members’ names and that consumes more than half the three allotted lines:

“Fershlugginer,” 1999, Trajen X. Wunderleigh, Mary Mxyztplk --
Trajen X. Wunderleigh and Mary Mxyztplk star in ...

and then goes on to insinuate “a brilliant script” and “an exciting ensemble,” the relentless “coming of age” and, lord help me, “Critics didn’t like...” But don’t try and write to Encore, they have no address.

Near-Drowning, In L.A.

When any water falls the city comes to a standstill. News people crowd the streets and highways to report it. On tv Jan 22nd a gal stood on an uncrowded avenue reporting that it wasn’t raining there but it had been and ran her hand over a car hood, producing wetness. Can a special Pulitzer be awarded her? Like for the special Olympics.

And on Jan 30, wind was blowing. They showed palm trees leaning and a long closeup of a shopping cart on its side. “It’s really nasty out here” said the heroic newsman. And they say we’re soft.

TV Times

A terrific PBS series on comedians noted the Phil Silvers Show had a disruptive anti-establishment tone that influenced, I deduced, a forthcoming generation. But Bob Newhart said that he and Nichols & May etc were called “sick” comics. No they weren’t, that was for Lenny Bruce (and that was a misnomer, it was for a ‘cruel joke’ trend among kids). And Lily Tomlin, on the absence of female standup comedians on tv in the 1950s, said “Being a comedian gives you power, and men didn’t want women to have that.” Oh, please.

I was surprised, though, that while they mentioned Jack Benny’s writing staff they credited only Benny with the long pause after “Your money or your life.” It’s famous but the writer isn’t; this was a chance to name him.

The Racism Is On

When I started writing rock reviews I was a rock zealot. The Carpenters threw me into a rage. “Where are Little Richard’s screams?” I would cry, or “This does not rock so Bombsville!” My universe was very small.

Jeff Weiss in the L.A. Times is a new one, and his ‘tude is racism. He was sent to review the smooth ballad singer John Legend and came back aroused that Legend did not conform to his idea of what a Black singer should be. Weiss thinks Black men must be scary.

In Weiss’s 1-15-09 L.A. Times review, Legend’s popularity and stage presence set his teeth on edge: he called the show “an-hour-and-a half love-in.” Singer sings, audience enjoys. What could be worse? He mocked Legend, clad in leather jeans, for being ‘incapable of posing menace.’ He sneered that he “looked like a consummate professional.” Does Weiss know this is not a putdown?

Angry kids with tunnel-vision are the rule in rock writing, and run rampant on unedited internet sites. But at a major American daily, a qualified pop music editor should step in to oversee these towheads.


In the 1/30 L.A. Times Geoff Boucher wrote a front page (!) story about the controversy over someone booked on the next Coachella festival.

Lester Lanin? Buddy Greco? Wilfred Brumley? No, Paul McCartney. Boucher has a near-coronary over this daring and risky booking at a festival that Boucher thinks is a gathering of penpushing idealogues.

They went through the same thing a couple years ago when Madonna played. Will the Coachella crowd (“hep like me” implied) accept her? Jesus Cripes, it’s a music festival, people go there to enjoy themselves not adhere to doctrines. Rock writers are as tedious as the Chicago 7.

This Just In -

Good Lord, the next day Ann Powers wrote essentially the same piece, tho quarantined to Calendar. With the newspaper down to, what, 12 pages, does anyone need pointless woolgathering like this?

The Elite beat

On 1/30/09, L.A. Times pissant Jessica Gelt cried that there are too many clubs in red-hot Hollywood and too few ‘beautiful people,’ herself implicitly included. Encountering Bakersfielders (!!!) at one club, she deprecated their talk and drink choices, but despite her stunning childishness the piece’s headline bespoke her quest for an “Adult” bar. This club visit ended on an optimistic note when she heard someone order whisky neat, which she said means that he is real. She is real. A real schnook.

Does everyone share this self-annointed nincompoop’s concerns?

On With The Shrew

Nikki Finke, whom I used to read for laughs in the Herald-Examiner, is still around! I just found her Hollywood column in the 1/30 L.A. Weekly.

She’s aged but she hasn’t grown. Hectoring the Academy Award choices, she laid into Clint Eastwood with unprecedented hubris and tastelessness, saying the Old Guard loves him because he still has his prostate and balls! (How does she know about the prostate?) She suggests the camera be “pried from his liver-spotted hands” to make room for younger directors.

This ageist and sexist shit is incredible! She hides behind her gender to sling vilification no man would dare if the roles were reversed.

She must be going through ‘the change.’


Art’s Rotogravure

The last days: Phil Friendly band, with Big Manny, John Palmer and Russell Scott, Dec ‘08

George Highfill, Ronnie Mack’s Barn Dance, 1-13-09

Ray Campi, Ronnie Mack’s Barn Dance, 1-13-09

David Anderle, Al Kooper. Book Soup, 1- 17- 09

Mrs. & Mister, oh, I don’t know. Twice-divorced Mia and Doug Fieger.
Doug’s a little puffy, but happy after a recent trip to Bali. 1-10-09


Funny Names

Brit Jonathan King’s publishing company is called King Of England.

The chopped turkey, egg, avocado and bacon salad with Siamese ingredients at The Main Street Diner in Alhambra is a Thai Cobb.

One of the songs on “On The Trail” on Shanachie Records is “Blood, Sweat and Steers.”


In the 1-23-09 L.A. Times, film reviewer XX Gumbel reveals that he mis-attacked “Chicago” in 2003 because he was angry that “The Pianist” didn’t win the oscar 10.

So, then, was he banished from the paper like the ones who fake stories? No, no, no. He’d showed his human side. Like the rock reviewer who admitted she couldn’t easily review a new album that was supplied on download because she didn’t know what other reviewers thought, the sin of personal unaccountability is charming to newspaper editors. It shows they’re just human like the rest of us.

Well, like each other: the rest of us live with personal integrity.

10 I knew he was a fathead just by his referring to the statue as a person, as in “Oscar doesn’t do things that way.” Only a twit speaks of a firsthand acquaintance with a hunk of lead.

Good Crit

I recently heard a 1968 speech by Pauline Kael, on youtube, in which she observed that the then-hot New York art scene was sustained primarily by the cross-plugging of the artists and the overly-influential jingoistic praise of New York critics. Ya think?

Good New York

In the 1970s, New York magazine had an ongoing contest to change meanings of words, phrases etc by altering one letter or adding or sequencing. For example, Add one letter to change a phrase: The Buick Stops Here. These were hilarious and justified subscribing to a magazine with a theme 11 anathemetic to the Best Coast.

They published two paperback books of winning answers. One took its title from the winning entry in the ‘Greeting cards you won’t see’ contest, “Thank You For the Giant Sea Tortoise.” I never submitted my two ideas because I thought of them after the contests ran:

Change One Letter to alter a title: 3 Days Of the Condom.

String together movie titles:
M/Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore/Absence of Malice.

Now I finally see them in ... the current substitute for print.

11 New York media people were not as hateful in the 70s. It was a long tradition to slam L.A., but to do it with panache. In the 1980s it turned - the next generation inherited entitlement but not style. Now the cuts are humorless and self-serving 12.

12 In the 6-29-08 NY Times magazine, NYer Rachel Cline reflected on ten years in L.A. She experienced an earthquake and turned 40; had a date with someone who said they’d been abducted by aliens (Haven’t we all?); spent a year depressed in bed; and when she went to the Oscars as a documentary narration writer, she was ignored. I think she would have been miserable anywhere.

Regular New York

When that plane landed in the Hudson mid-January, the NY media were at it again. “Those tugboats were there in minutes. What a great city. This goes to show how NYers pull together.”

Of course, if a plane crashed in Cincinnati everyone would ignore it or try to sink it. If the Cincy people helped, NY news people would say “Wow, the people of Cincinnati have big hearts like New Yorkers.”

The heroic on-the-Hudson pilot was from Danville, California. NY-based news writers and broadcasters somehow neglected to cite his “California spirit” or “true California grit.” When the 1989 and 1993 earthquakes hit SF and L.A. people flocked to help, yet the NY-based tv news could not mention the courage, the human kindness, the get-ahead spirit of these cities. It runs contrary to their mandate.

Another Larry David 13 Moment

Driving slowly on a sidestreet in Hollywood, phone to my ear, a guy around 30 walked past my window and said “You should not use the phone and drive. It’s against the law.” I nodded and hurried to finish the call lest this guy, who seemed pretty tightly wound, blew his top. Moments later we were both in the exclusive 99 Cent Store and I ambled up. The guy was with his mother, who hung her head down.

“I’m the guy with the cell phone” I said, engagingly.
“Well it’s against the law to use it when driving. I don’t drive, and people with cellphones constantly come close to hitting me.”
“But I didn’t, did I?”
“No, but it’s against the law!”
“So ... you believe the law should be obeyed.”
“Were you at a crosswalk when you spoke to me?”
“That doesn’t matter! You have to yield to pedestrians!”
“I always yield to pedestrians. But weren’t you jaywalking?”
“I can walk anywhere I want!!”
“You, personally? You have a permit?”
“That is not important.”
“I’m just speaking as one lawbreaker to another.”

I felt bad for the mother.

13 An early 21st century New Yorker (I’ve got to catch up!) article about the new Larry David series said one preview viewer 14 wrote “Who wants to see a bunch of screaming Jews?”

14 I don’t think preview-viewing pays, but I know a person recently arrived from Wisconsin who earns $40 as a ‘seat-filler’ when shows such as Dr. Phil are underattended. There’s an agency to supply them! If “What’s My Line” were still on the air, I’m sure they’d stump the panel.

Got to Get a Massage to You

There’s an “Absolutely Fabulous” episode where they spend their entire French vacation in an abandoned hovel because they couldn’t understand the caretakers who tried to steer them to the lush manor house. That speaks loudly to someone who has bumbled through life.

I got a massage. Afterwards, the proprietor sat me down with a cup of tea and what I thought was a flute concert (“Come. Tea. Flute.”) but was actually an apple.

The tea was lukewarm. Noting a candle-heated bowl of liquid on the table, I poured some of it in my cup and took a nice big swallow of liquid incense.

- 57 -

Mark On The Move

I’ve been to Austin TX for South By Southwest many times, but rarely had a chance to explore the city without the out-of-town throngs and hubbub. Arriving on Christmas Day ’08 and leaving after New Year’s Eve, I experienced at least a little bit more of what the locals call “The Real Austin.” I made it a point to concentrate on hearing local performers who rarely tour, and stayed at the Austin Motel on South Congress, right across from The Continental Club, with which its regular evening shows, “no cover” happy hour (6-8pm) and equally free Saturday matinee (3pm-7pm) shows, became a second base of operations.

Christmas Day’s Continental show by Austin fixture Dale Watson was terrific, two hours of often twisted Christmas songs (“Santa Claus Is Coming to Town And He’s Thirsty”) and banter, as Dale and band downed numerous tequila shots bought by fans (“I don’t usually drink, but since you nice people sent these up. . .”) and got looser and looser as midnight approached. When Dale did his hero Merle Haggard’s “If We Make It Through December” I was in heaven.

The Saturday matinee featured Warren Hood’s western swing band, with Warren’s singing and violin playing channeling Bob Wills and Milton Brown, and his keyboard player Emily Gimble (granddaughter of Wills’s Texas fiddler Johnny Gimble) singing the blues. Two-steppers filled the dance floor, further wearing down the linoleum in front of the stage. I saw Emily with her own group later that week when she filled in for a no-show band. A couple locals told me that it’s not unusual – except during South By -- to find Austin musicians switch gigs at the last minute. When we went to the Saxon Pub to see James Hand at the 6pm happy hour the place was empty -- the barmaid called the owner (her dad) and learned Hand had cancelled several hours earlier.

Other music highlights of the trip were discovering Band of Heathens (think Allman Brothers, The Band, Flying Burrito Bros. and Replacements mashed together) opening for the excellent John Prine-esque Hays Carll (“She Left Me for Jesus”) at Antone’s and Redd Volkaert putting on an amazing display of guitar picking at The Continental Club and singing several very humorous tunes.

But the most fun was seeing Todd Snider at Gruene Hall (pronounced ‘green,’ the oldest dancehall in Texas, near New Braunfels, about 45 miles from Austin). Last time I saw him in L.A. he played to about 50 people at The Mint, but in Texas he’s a star, and rocked several hundred people who knew all the words and loved his irreverent attitude, clearly influenced by local legends like Billy Joe Shaver, Joe Ely, and Jerry Jeff Walker - in fact, Todd talked about seeing those performers in Gruene Hall when he was a teenager, living in Houston.

I could go on about my side trip to San Antonio (The Alamo tour was surprisingly moving and educational, and the McNay Museum featuring an exhibit on sculptor George Rickey was the equal of any art show I’d seen in 2008), the huge amounts of Tex-Mex food consumed, my mastering of the Austin bus system ($7.50 for unlimited rides for a week!), the LBJ Library (tucked away in a corner of the UT campus) and the pleasures of watching a movie and eating dinner at the same time at Austin’s Alamo Drafthouse. . .

I once considered moving to Austin, but that much alcohol, cholesterol, and music available’d probably kill me. But what a way to go!

-- Mark Leviton

(Mark’s sixties-themed radio show Pet Sounds can be heard alternate Mondays 10pm-Midnight PST on KVMR-FM 89.5 in the Sacramento area and streaming at www.kvmr.org )

A.F.P.S. There is a great amount of media slamming in this ish, not perhaps but certainly due to the stifling of my normal tv outlet. I shall calm down. Or shan’t.

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