I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House's Doghouse Blues

Tucked amongst the farmland scattered somewhere between Seattle and Bellingham, The Doghouse is the closest thing the area has to an old-fashioned roadhouse. The invitation-only, private parties held on an expansive property happen only a couple of times a year — special events, indeed. Fittingly, the wild Doghouse — the property's large, stage-equipped shack — hosted a reunion of Portland's infamously wild-and-woolly   one frigid Saturday night in March.

Around bonfires and kindly supplied heaters, numb hands held Pabst and Jack Daniels as the band's diehard fans waited for their turn at bat inside the Doghouse — which is about the size of a three-car garage. And there was a lot of diehard fans, from far and wide; I heard a rumor that someone had arrived from Nevada. SOB had played Dante's in Portland the night before, but one show was obviously not going to satisfy the group's still-loyal subjects in their former, far-reaching kingdom.

When I eased the Dodge Dart into the field-turned-crowded parking lot around nine, the party had been going on for quite some time, and a number of bands had already played. I sat with the guys and talked about everything but music, catching up on the three years that had passed since they last played a show. It seemed that nothing had changed, really. Bassist and deep thinker Mole Harris was still frozen in time, eternally 17. Drummer "Flapjack" Texas regaled us with a hilarious, bawdy story from his college baseball days. "Handsome" Jon Burbank was still baby-faced, and as nice a guy as a guitar monster could be. David Lipkind still resembled a super hero-musician-genius waiting for the release of stored-up energy that playing his harmonica brings. And brawler-turned-poet Michael Damron... Mike D seemed a bit older, a bit wiser, simultaneously stronger and more fatigued after three years of going solo.

Then the Doghouse beckoned, the bonfire-circle evaporated, and five oh-so-talented men transformed into a band one more time. Heavy coats were shrugged off, guitars were plugged in, a bottle of Maker's Mark was opened. A familiar, darkly joyous surge of dirty sonic power that we had all missed so terribly was unleashed.

It was so good to hear it again.

Click here to view an exclusive photo gallery of the reunion show.

Josie Cotton Meets The Ventures

A number of guest vocalists have dropped into the Ventures' world for a song or two over the years, but Josie "Johnny Are You Queer?" Cotton? Check this rare clip out, and you'll see it's not such a stretch.

After flourishing in the Japanese market in the 1970s, the Ventures enjoyed a lasting Stateside comeback that began in the early 80s, partly due to some inspired musicians paying tribute, either in the press or on record. Suddenly, surf music and twangy guitars were back. For example, the flip side of the Go-Go's "Our Lips Our Sealed" single, "Surfin' and Spyin'," was written as an homage to the band.

And then came Josie. After finding this 1985 performance of "Secret Agent Man" by accident on YouTube (looking for Cotton videos), I rang up Ventures co-founder/bandleader Don Wilson in hopes that he remembered some details about his encounter with the super-sexy New Wave icon.

"Of course I remember her," Wilson said, laughing. "It was love at first sight -- she was gorgeous, and that leather outfit..."

Wilson explained that the performance was part of a Japanese-produced special/documentary, filmed in NYC, that paired an eclectic array of Ventures admirers with the band onstage. Also featured were the Doors' Robby Krieger, Chris Spedding, Peter Frampton, David Johansen, the Doobie Brothers' Jeff Baxter, the Raybeats, Rick Derringer and Max Weinberg. According to Wilson, Cyndi Lauper was scheduled to appear, but when she couldn't make the gig, Cotton jumped in.

"And (Cotton) was great, she did a fabulous job, I think... great voice," Wilson added.

The special was never aired in the U.S., but is now available on DVD at The Ventures official website.

The Ventures -- who are about to celebrate an astounding 51st anniversary -- will perform at the Brian Setzer Orchestra's Christmas Rocks! Extravaganza, Dec. 17-18, at Universal City's Gibson Amphitheater.

Barbara's B - Sides

"B sides" have this traditional connotation of being throwaways, session discards that take up the space on the other side of a 45 rpm single. For the uninitiated, then, Trentalange's new 5-song digital EP might lead to confusion: "If these gems didn't make the cut, if they're not deemed worthy to 'sell,' how impossibly good are the albums?"

I'm sure that Barbara Trentalange didn't mean to show off when she released this free download Dec. 1 at Bandcamp.

In fact, she claims that these tracks, recorded between 2004-2008, just didn't fit with their respective album sessions. Whatever. The fact remains that the Seattle-based singer/songwriter's "extras" are more compelling than many of her peers' banner-year creations. I've referred to Barbara Trentalange as a chanteuse, a Siren; many local hipsters would agree that she' s one of the West Coast's best female vocalists. However, the former descriptions are criminally incomplete; the latter, myopically sexist. Multi-instrumentalist, arranger, songwriter; possessor of an amazing voice, beauty and style to spare, Trentalange is one of Seattle's finest and most multi-dimensional talents, period.

A brooding response to U2's "Love is Blindness," of all things, kicks off "B - Sides." A dirge-approaching, noir-ish mini-epic, "In This Darkness," as with many of Trentalange's creations, must be played with the lights turned low for maximum effect.

"Way Down Where The Wind Blows" should be a single, a hit single played regularly on radio. Former Screaming Tree Mark Pickerel's crisp drumming underscores vibrato organ and jazzy embellishments, with Trentalange's vocals flowing through the arrangement like a river of chocolatey goodness. A caffeinated Portishead meets Burt Bacharach.

Trentalange dims the lights again for two edgy, slinky, seductive numbers, "Lover" and "Changed Love" - two explorations of a popular topic with quite possibly dangerous undercurrents.

"B - Sides" does end with a bona fide extra; "Time" almost sounds like soundcheck riffing, the sort that has the bartenders tapping their feet while watering down the vodka.

This holiday present for her fans is bound to also serve as a gratis introduction for newcomers seeking new sonic thrills. The gift that keeps on giving.

For more holiday candy, one should check out Trentalange's oh-so-addictive latest full-length, Awakening, Level One at her official website.

"YouTube Friday" debuts with the Lonely H

Beginning today (knock on wood), I'll select a music video or film clip for contemplation, discussion and sheer enjoyment to pass the time on the most anxious of workdays.

First up, the music video for "The Singer" by the Lonely H, viewed above.

The Lonely H are near the top of a list of fantastic Seattle-area artists who deserve their Big Break. Out of the peninsula town of Port Angeles and now residing in Seattle proper (at last check, most or all of them were UW students), this band frequently falls under the "Too good to be true" assumption. However, they wind up proving themselves to be both too good and very true every time.

The group has recorded three albums, and its oldest member is 21. They are frequently dubbed a "young CSNY" or "young Allmans," and that has some merit. However, the Lonely H's sound is not an affectation developed by listening to "Wooden Ships" over and over; though the group is very familiar with the Woodstock generation's music, their songwriting is obviously organic and original.

And the long hair, sideburns and late-Byrds clothing? Also genuine, not a gimmick. Some of the most surprising things develop out on the Northwest coast, many miles and many trends away from Los Angeles and New York. Oh, they're aware of their image, and acknowledge it in an "aw-shucks" sort of way. Sometimes to unusual success. These talented young men — nice guys, all — told me once about a sightseeing jaunt, in full regalia, through SF's Golden Gate Park. A guy came running — not sauntering, but running — up to them from across the lawn, wanting to sell the band some pot. They respectfully declined, but I got the feeling they regarded the incident as a badge of honor.

If I were engineering their near future — and, no doubt some are — I would suggest skipping the natural urge to relocate to LA. Instead, the Lonely H should do a late-60s Beach Boys and spend some time in Europe — Holland? — next summer. Now, that would be a great, genuine environment for recording the next record.

"The Singer" is the Lonely H's most recent video, released this summer to coincide with a U.S. tour.  This beautiful song represents the "easygoing" side of their sonic duality. To hear a more rockin' offering, check out their video/single from last year, "For Barbara."

The Ventures’ Bob Bogle, 1934-2009

Above anyone else, Bob Bogle made me feel that I had made the "big leagues" as a music journalist. Ten years ago, I interviewed Bob and Ventures bandmate Don Wilson by phone for a story for The Rocket; they were to play a gig in Seattle, and I later arranged to meet them for the sound check and say hello to the rest of the band.

When I caught up to Bob that afternoon, he reached into his wallet, unfolded a piece of paper, and asked if he had gotten my number and address right when we had talked earlier.

Bob Bogle, rock 'n' roll legend, had my name and number in his wallet! I had made it! I told that story for years afterwards. The truth is, I was nobody special, but Bob made every journalist, fan, and fan/journalist feel important. In a band filled with the most gracious musicians one could ever meet, Bob was the nice guy. In a group of humble giants, he was the most humble. A guitar player's guitarist, he achieved a popular version of the American Dream: he was a construction worker with very meager beginnings who became one of the most-heard rock musicians in the world.

And now he is gone, and I am crushed. I knew Bob was very sick, and I thought this day might very well come, but the news of his death has hit me harder than I expected. Or I'm just selling Bob, and myself, a bit short. After all, I've been a Ventures fan since birth, and the privilege of catching a few minutes' worth of conversation with Bob Bogle here and there over the past ten years — well, that tops just about anything I've ever achieved as a writer.

I've enjoyed chatting and interviewing every member of the Ventures, but backstage, somehow I always eventually gravitated towards Bob. Everyone did. Mild-mannered, he was nonetheless a great storyteller, if asked. Before a show, he was often seated away from hustle-and-bustle in the room. Bob once told me, as he approached 70, that conserving energy was the key — in other words, he saved it for the stage. Oh, Bob had a sense of humor. I recall during that first interview how he and Don were explaining their decades-long relationship. They were best friends who never fought.

"We're not gay or anything," Bob added, "just best friends."

Professionally speaking, Bob Bogle was a supremely influential and very skilled guitarist, though he was more well-known for his bass playing and songwriting. He and Don, performing as a duo on that famous first tour of Japan, introduced the electrified rock 'n' roll guitar to that country. The two defined the relationship of lead-and-rhythm guitars in a rock band, and anyone who has ever caught a Ventures show could tell he enjoyed playing lead guitar — he would perform a couple of numbers, with Nokie Edwards or Jerry McGee switching to bass. However, Edwards and McGee were more accomplished players. So Bob simply became a great, great bassist, the band's anchor. A practical, humble man.

Bob told me on several occasions that he could never imagine retiring, could never imagine not being a Venture. And he got his wish. To my knowledge, Bob had spent time in a recording studio every year for almost 50 years. Amazing feat, amazing man.

I once prepared a sandwich for Bob Bogle, rock 'n' roll legend. I've occasionally let that tidbit drop ever since the first story got old. I think I will boast about both "events" from now on. After all, Mr. Bogle, a man who never forgot where he came from, somehow made everyone feel that they had made it, too.

My heart and thoughts go out to Bob's wife Yumi, the band, longtime Ventures manager Fiona Taylor, and especially Don Wilson, who was at his side for more than 50 years.

Photo: Bob Bogle, Steve Stav and Don Wilson, June 1998.

Fellow with a Gun

• An interview with one of Seattle's godfather's of rock, Scott McCaughey.

by Steve Stav, for Disheveled Magazine, Seattle, 2006.

As modest as he is, Scott McCaughey would be the first to tell you that he's nothing special. Certainly, it can be argued that there's tons of musicians around that can somehow re-create the melodies swirling around in their noggins well enough for other people to appreciate them, too.

But how many musicians do you know of serve as sidemen in one of the world's most popular bands almost as an afterthought to fronting three critically acclaimed groups of their own?

I know of just one.

For someone old enough to remember the Topsy Turvy days, it's sobering to think that McCaughey, utility infielder for Athens, GA/Seattle, WA barnstormers R.E.M. and an eternally Young Fresh Fellow, has been making brilliant records for almost 25 years now; even he would have trouble counting them all.

When McCaughey finally decides to sit a spell (in about 30 years), his new endeavor — the self-titled Yep Roc disc The Minus Five (aka The Gun Album) — will probably be near the top of the huge pile of discs at his feet. With R.E.M. on a year-long hiatus, McCaughey, Peter Buck, Bill Rieflin and John Ramberg have seized the opportunity to reassemble as the Five, with a fantastic, Beatles-meet-Buffalo Springfield-meet-the Byrds disc in tow that features a wet-dream team of guest contributors.

Just off the plane from a UK jaunt with Robyn Hitchcock, McCaughey recently rang me up to tell me all about it.

SS: The Minus Five has always seemed to me to be Seattle's version of the Golden Palominos.

McCaughey: It kind of started that way, for sure. I guess we've had less trade-off on the lead vocals than the Palominos, because I've mostly sung 'em. Though I do try to get other people to sing a song now and then, I succeed about once per album.

It started out with me recording with whomever — my friends, people I'd meet on the road — but it's more like a real band now, with other people added in here and there.

SS: How long did it take to get the new album together, with so many artists playing on the record?

McCaughey: It was basically recorded with three different lineups. I recorded a couple of songs in Chicago with Wilco; I did a couple of songs in Oregon with my old buddies from the Dharma Bums; and then I recorded the rest of it with Peter, Bill and John in Seattle over a period of about nine months.

I grabbed a few people here and there: John Wesley Harding and Kelly Hogan, when they were coming through Portland, put backing vocals on a song; I got Colin Meloy [the Decemberists] to sing "Cemetery Row" one day; I got Sean Nelson (Harvey Danger) to do some backing vocals; one day on tour with R.E.M. Bill and I went to Morgan Fisher's house in Tokyo, and he put some keyboards on a song.

SS: Now, Minus Five songs generally do not sound like Young Fresh Fellows material. Is this because the lineups are different, or do you have a slightly split personality?

McCaughey: The Minus Five definitely came out of my split personality, when it comes to writing. With the Fellows, I wrote more humorous, more 'rock' songs, but with the Minus Five I had these slow, sad, weird songs that I'd written that I figured would never make it on to Fellows records. 

So, that's sort of why I started the Minus Five, to get that side of my personality, songwriting-wise, to the fore.

Yet now, since the Fellows don't record or play that often anymore, sometimes the Minus Five ends up doing songs that would have likely appeared on Fellows records — 'Aw Shit Man,' could have been recorded with the Fellows, certainly.

SS: How did you come up with this recurring 'gun' theme for this record?

McCaughey: Well, I just sort of noticed it was happening with the songs, that's why it came to me at the last minute to put a gun on the cover. In individual songs, it came to crop up as some sort of symbol, but it's not the same symbol in each song.

I guess the closest song to being the 'theme' would be 'Rifle Called Goodbye' — it's sort of a symbol of change, disaster... [laughs]

SS: 'With A Gun' is almost a perfect pop song, what a great tune. How much did Wilco influence the sound of the finished song, compared to what you originally had in mind?

McCaughey: That song was just me strumming a guitar and singing...I wrote that about two years ago, right after the Down With Wilco record came out. 

I did about three shows with Wilco, they were playing as the Minus Five; we played material from that record. I thought, I have this new song...when we were rehearsing for those songs, I taught it to 'em and they immediately came up with this arrangement.  I just loved it, it just sounded so good — I had no idea what kind of arrangement to do for it.

I knew it was going to be on the next Minus Five record, somehow, and it had to be recorded with them.

SS: Your new song, 'My Life As A Creep' — pure Beatles. Did your obsession for the Fab Four begin when you were a kid, or was this something that developed over time?

McCaughey: No, I got into 'em when I was nine years old, they were the reason I got into music, really. When I first heard them, it was like somebody dropped an anvil on my head — and I've never been the same since. So, I came about this very honestly, it permeates everything I do. Now, that doesn't mean I've ever come up with a song that even deserves to be compared (to them), but (the influence) is always there.

SS: I've written more than once that you and Kurt Bloch are Seattle's current godfathers of rock. Are you comfortable with that tag?

McCaughey: [Laughing] Well... I would give Kurt more credit than I would take, that's for sure. He's got more fingers in more pies than I do, and he can do so many things so well. But, I'll be a godfather with him; any reason to hang out with Kurt is great.

SS: You're a remarkably humble guy. In one year, you can go from performing in small clubs to headlining arenas to playing beer-money gigs at the Sunset Tavern. Does your humility stem from being a Seattle musician for so long?

McCaughey: It's from not being very good (laughs). The thing is... Peter is a good example, he doesn't need to play another gig, as far as making a living goes. But he plays little club shows the minute he gets off a year-long R.E.M. tour; it's what he likes to do.

I feel great that I was able to play a pub in Bristol called the Fleece and Ferkin a couple of weeks ago; it was every bit as great as playing Budokan. It's a great night of playing music, either way.

SS: What is your most prized memento of your career?

McCaughey: Hmmm...I don't know. There's a framed picture that someone gave to me of me and Peter playing with Neil Young; that's gotta be way up there, about as good as it's ever gotten. I mean, backing Neil, playing "Ambulance Blues" for 15,000-20,000 people, that's as good as it gets.

SS: The Fellows toured quite a bit with the Replacements back in the day. Do you have a favorite 'Mats moment?'

McCaughey: [Laughing] Oh, man, I don't even know where to start... I have a 'most embarrassing' memory! There was this show we played in Portland where we threw a couch out of the second-story window of our dressing room.

Paul [Westerberg] wore every bit of clothing I had on tour with me onstage, and then threw my clothes into the audience — which I never got back.  I remember Paul doing a Tarzan swing on the chandelier, and the chandelier coming out of the ceiling.

I also remember playing saxophone during their set in San Francisco with no pants on, that probably isn't one of my fondest memories. I guess it was funny at the time.

SS: You both have calmed down a bit since then.

McCaughey: Yeah, I don't do that shit anymore. I'm all business now (laughs).

The Minus 5 • The Minus 5 • 2006 • Yep Roc Records

Originally published in Disheveled magazine, Seattle, 2006.
copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

Bird soars into the 70s... again

• An interview with Seattle’s Huge Spacebird

By Steve Stav, for Disheveled magazine, Seattle, 2004.

Ah, the Seventies. A decade of recovery from the 60s, a self-indulgent era dominated by Camaros, Trans Ams, cocaine and Steely Dan. A pre-Ipod, pre-Internet, simpler time of deep recession, high gas prices, cheap wine, condomless sex, house parties, avocado-colored furniture. We spent the better part of two subsequent decades bemoaning the 70s, and the music and culture that accompanied it. 

Of course, that’s all changed now; folks are deciding that the post-hippie years weren’t so bad — save for Dan Fogelberg, James Taylor and their sorry, sissy brethren — and those who weren’t even born yet are discovering that 8-tracks, Kiss, ELO and Hong Kong Phooey were pretty cool, after all.

Huge Spacebird — whose three members’ ages all hover around the mid-thirties — remember the decade well, especially the rock that continued to pump through their stereos throughout the 80s until present day.  

Guitarist Mark Hoyt, bassist Jeff Taylor and drummer Peter Lansdowne have been friends since high school. They've also been been rockin' since their teens, in such fondly remembered NW bands as Stumpy Joe, the Purdins, and Sister Psychic. They formed Huge Spacebird in the mid-90s, but it wasn’t until late 1998 that their brilliant, 70s-influenced sonic creations were captured on disc.  For more than a few fans and critics, that eponymously titled debut was an instant classic, and remained a jukebox staple in several Seatown establishments for years.

Last month, the Bird resurfaced after many months away from the public eye with Three, their second album (released on Book Records, a consortium created by current Seattle rock godfathers Scott McCaughey and Kurt Bloch), in tow. Though the band correctly insists that Three is not a ‘70s album” per se, the disc captures the decade’s feel-good spirit like no other in recent memory. 

For fans of fuzz guitar, Joe Walsh, Thin Lizzy, super-heavy rhythm sections and memorable lyrics that you can actually sing along to, Three is a months-early Christmas present. A meticulously crafted jewel filled with sonic surprises, the album is the kind of record that makes an astonishing first impression, and keeps getting better with every listen.  It would have been a sure-fire Top Twenty album in 1977; in this century, Three has to be worth another seven years of jukebox notoriety, at the very least. 

Before and after a mind-melting set at their Oct. 1 CD release party at the Sunset Tavern (in which guitar god Bloch, who contributed to Three, joined them for several numbers), I spoke to Mark, Peter and Jeff — two apostles and a bass player — about friendship, their career, and, of course, about making great records.

SS: Where’s (guitarist) Andrew McKeag?

Jeff: He’s back ‘out.'

Mark: He’s touring with the Presidents [McKeag has been filling in for Dave Dederer on some PUSA tour dates - SS].

Jeff: We were a 3-piece, originally.  Andrew joined us for awhile a while back..

Peter: And from time to time, he’d play shows with us.

Jeff: There would be shows we’d be playing, and he’d be busy doing other things, and hadn’t practiced with us for awhile.  He’d show up at a gig out of the blue with his amp and go, “Hey dudes!”

Peter: Andrew remains a really good friend to the band.

SS: The most obvious question for the band would be: Why did it take seven years to spit out another album?

(All laughing)

Peter: We probably started this album three times.

Mark: The first one was paid for…we had free studio time, and some friends of ours paid to put it out.

Jeff: We then built our own studio, and it’s taken some time. We call it 'Arthur Studio.'

Mark: There’s a lot of material that’s really old, and some that’s really new. We were in the process of building the studio, so there’s stuff (originally) done in a “four track” style, where we began by getting loaded and working on songs. There’s songs that are 12 years old, and others that are a year old. (The CD) may not be as focused as the first one.

SS: I haven't seen your name in the club listing the last two years or so.

Peter: We played a lot in the first five years, not much in the last couple of years.

Jeff: Every time we’d go to some recording, it seemed like a show would come up. We would stop working on the new stuff, and have to put a set list together, practice it. We only have so much time, with our day jobs.

SS: How do you manage being musicians with day jobs?  That must be frustrating, and humbling. I know it is for me, as a writer trying to pay the bills.

Jeff: It’s hard work. We have a really groovy practice space, and Thursday we get together there with beers. Once the music starts, things are good.

Peter:  I think we all really look forward to Thursday nights.

Mark: I love it, it’s a good reason to get away from everything.

Jeff: I think we’ll practice every Thursday until we’re dead.

SS: Peter, the one question I've always been wanting to ask you is why did you get rid of the oversized, old-school kit you used to play? 

Peter: [Laughing] I had three or four drum sets at the time, and I sold that one, thinking that I kinda outgrew ‘em and could just play with the set I had started with, I’ve had that one forever. I bought my wife’s wedding ring with the money. Drums come and go…

SS: Was that a Gretsch? I remember the kick drum and the floor tom were massive.

Peter: It was a Ludwig...it was the exact same kind of kit that Bonham played in ’73… they were huge, and they was hard to lug around. I miss that drum set, actually… It was the coolest drum set, ever. I bought it in Burien, and paid about a third of what it was worth.

SS: How has the Seattle music scene changed over the last five to 10 years?

Peter: To tell the truth, I really don’t go out to shows very much anymore, unless I really want to see somebody, as opposed to the old days, when it didn’t matter who was playing.

Mark: I think we used to have a lot more friends that played in groups that we’d go see… some of ‘em are still around, in other bands.

SS: It's like Old Home Week around here tonight, though... Rusty Willoughby, Scott Sutherland, Kurt... everyone's here.

Mark: Yeah, a lot of good friends. I don’t know if we’re out of the loop or what, but it seems like there used to be more going on.  When the Rocket and Backlash were around, more things seemed to be happening.

SS: How did you first meet up?

Peter: I moved from Hawaii to Burien, and met Jeff the first week of school, in 1984. I met Mark in 1986, when he was in Stumpy Joe and I was in the Purdins.

Mark: I tried to get Peter to join then, but he wouldn’t quit the Purdins.

Peter: I liked Mark right away…we wound up hanging out and drinking beer for 20 years.

Mark: Around '94, Peter and myself were out on tour together in Sister Psychic and were ready to move on. We started sending Jeff postcards from the road telling him about the hands of fate and whatnot, and to be ready to play when we got home. Needless to say, we got home, quit that band and formed the Bird with Jeff. Haven't looked back since.

SS: I get a kick out of the fact that you've been friends for so long now. How has your relationship with one another changed over the years?

Jeff: We are extremely lucky to be better friends than ever. Best friends even. As far as playing together for so long goes, it's weird how much ESP you end up with. I can tell what drum fill Peter is going to do by the look on his face.  'Oh, quads comin'....two times!'  Mark and I will often go to the same chord at the same time when we're jamming or making stuff up with not so much as a glance at each other. Peter and Mark were born to play music together and it shows, they're both just so damn good. Things have evolved. The Bird has gained consciousness and has started demanding that we record. We're like an unstoppable rock monster at this point.

SS: This is not meant to be insulting at all, but some of the material on Three sounds like it could have been on the soundtrack to a great 70s movie or TV show. Specifically, what are some of your influences from that era?

Mark: No insult taken. The mid-to-late 60s through the 70s were in my opinion the best times for genuine rock,  with or without herbal moon cigarettes. Most of that music just shines brighter to me. I’ve always liked Deep Purple, Creedence, psychedelic stuff.

SS: Is it true that everything can be traced back to Deep Purple?

Peter: Even stuff before Deep Purple can be traced back to Deep Purple.

SS: What advice, if any, has Kurt Bloch given you over the years that sticks in your minds?

Jeff: Kurt's very existence is advice to live by. Kurt showed us how to operate our studio properly and continues to do so. He's such a nice and brilliant guy. 

Mark: Don't let the bastards grind you down.

SS: What prompted you to cover Neil Young's "If I Could Have Her Tonight?"  It's one of my favorites on the album.

Jeff: Neil Young has always been a huge inspiration for us. We owned an ADAT together and kept it in Mark's basement. Mark has this excellent Tascam mixing board we were going through. He went down there one day and fired up the optigan and layed that shit down.

Peter: [It was during] an early attempt at starting Three although it wasn't called that then. It may have been called "Endless Bummer" at the time, no one can be certain.

Mark: That whole first [Neil Young] solo album smokes, I always liked that ethereal stoner vibe he got with Jack Nitzsche. Strings, man... There are plenty more where that came from, we've got tapeloads.

SS: "Jalopy" and "Come Back Again" are other favorites.  What can you tell me about writing them, or the inspiration for them?

Jeff: I am no stranger to creating the vacuum of space on the bass.  We played this country show for some reason, and at our one practice for it I'd been watching Mark's fingers and was doing OK. At the show we were sitting down. I couldn't see Mark's hands and if he'd turned around he wouldn't have have been facing the audience. I quickly realized I had no idea how the songs actually went. The result was unfortunate... It seems that rock jam gymnastics don't play well in a country song. In short, the song "Jalopy" is loosely based on the Bird, a bad Sunday show, then sounding fine on Friday... with some references to stripper girlfriends thrown it to spice it up a little. No, they didn't actually work at Sugar's...Sugar's just sounded better.

Peter: I wrote "Come Back..." about my wife, before she was my wife. I wanted to flatter her and make her feel bad for dumping me. It worked... magic. I came to the band with two verses and a chorus. 

Mark: The first two verses are all about his love for her, I added the dark cloud third verse and the funky ending.

Peter: Mark and Jeff came up with some stoney grooves and it just fell together. This is typical for the Bird. I don't even try to finish songs that much anymore. It always changes at practice.

SS: Now that the disc is out and has 'sat' with you awhile, what's your favorite song on it?

Jeff: "Come Back Again" wins for me. "Rock Chylde" gets nosed out in a photo finish.

Peter: "Jalopy."

Mark: The last one I really listened to was "Beverly," so I'll say that one. Jeff is truly a badass, and Peter, too, for that matter... It'll be funny when the Bird turns into a jug band and we are old and gray.  Funny, and funky. 

Huge Spacebird • Three • 2004 • Book Records

Originally published in Disheveled Magazine, Seattle, 2004.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

New ways to feel lonesome

• Ballard-based singer releases “Reckless Burning”

By Steve Stav, for Ballard News Tribune, Seattle, Sept. 2004.

"The 'lonely' sound? I think it was always in me, though earlier on, I had been smitten with more 'rocked-up' stuff. Everything from the title to the concept of this record came from me going through a divorce, and Phil (Wandscher) leaving his band, Whiskeytown (a popular Raleigh, NC-based combo.) We (had) met each other at the right time in our lives...when we first started hanging out together, we were both estranged from our 'communities,' so to speak. We spent a lot of time alone, out in the wilderness fishing and camping; a lot of these songs come from being out in the open space. There was a lot of loneliness, there was a feeling of being very 'lost' in my own hometown for a period of time." -- Jesse Sykes

Sitting in the misty-yet warm spring air on Market Street, an apologetic Jesse Sykes was fumbling for words to describe her enchanting new album, Reckless Burning.

It was mid-afternoon (mid-morning for those in the music biz), she had had a fitful sleep, and hadn't had her coffee yet: nonetheless, the Ballard-based singer-songwriter was fielding questions rather eloquently.

She continued, "Yes, (the songs) are very 'lonely' sounding, but there's also hope and forgiveness. Ultimately, I was falling in love when a lot of them were being written; it was a weird time-I wasn't in a band, we weren't actively playing music-it was an absolutely pure, peaceful time. I didn't know that there was a record coming down the line; at the time, I didn't care.

"I began to get inspired to get in the studio, and had been saving money. I just wanted to do something creative, and to have fun...I think we got something that was much more than what we had anticipated."

Reckless Burning is much more than anyone could expect from a semi-unknown band gigging about town for a year. With a haunting blend of Cowboy Junkies-like lonesome sparseness with a lush, Chris Isaak-echoing, lonesome twang-the common ground here being 'lonesome' -- the record's desolate sound reverberates through the most tender parts of a listener's psyche. These nine narrations of heartbreak, longing and regret won't quite have you reaching for a bottle of sleeping tablets, but the disc does make you want to slide deeper under the covers, or pour another drink. Though the album's lyrics and concepts are her own, the upstate New York native is quick to credit her band, the Sweet Hereafter (the name inspired by an ethereal epiphany of a dream), with making her ideas come alive.

"Phil, Anne-Marie Ruljancich (the semi-legendary Walkabouts' violinist/cellist) and I began playing together-it started out with a little gig at the Sunset," recalled Sykes, whose slightly breathy, emotionally intense voice drifts through the album like a ghost. She added," When it came time to get more players, I just kind of chose people that I admired from afar (including Evangeline drummer Kevin Warner and Bill Herzog, who's worked with Joel Phelps and Neko Case) and they said yes. I'm honored that they wanted to be a part of it, and that they wanted to stick around afterwards. Without them, I couln't have done this."

Though each musician's talent is easily recognizable- from Wandscher's striking guitar style to Warner's subtle pulse-all of the disc's dark paths lead back to Tucker Martine, a local producer and musician whose reputation as a superb "facilitator" had grown in leaps and bounds in recent years.

"Tucker Martine is one of those guys who...any sort of vision that you have, or are aspiring to evolve, Tucker will push you in that direction and open it up," Sykes said. "The sound that Phil has one this record is much like on 'Reckless Burning,' the first song...that weird, echoing stuff (a fantastic use of feedback and reverb, reminiscent of whale songs) was Tucker's idea."

"That first song is sort of like my' movie soundtrack," the slender siren explained. "It's kind of clichéd -- 'Imagine driving down a dark road at four in the morning -- but it's based on a true story about Phil and I. We were camping, and it was getting dark; for some reason, we decided to take this 17 mile logging road that was supposed to connect back to the highway-and it didn’t. It got really scary...I was stupid enough to let him get us in that position-I should have seen what was going to happen. There was that freaky Northwestern darkness, and rain coming down. There were ravines, and trees across the road; we were in a pickup that could handle it, but...

"It was one of the most terrifying experiences, on one level, but it was also one of the beautiful experiences. I had just fallen in love, and I was right on the fence, thinking, 'I might die tonight, but I don't care-because I'm so in love.' That's why I named the record Reckless Burning', and put that song at the beginning; to me, the record is about vulnerability... and forgiveness, in whatever context it might be taken."

With such an attention-grabbing debut, Jesse Sykes (who refers to the Ballard Avenue regulars as her "extended family") joins an impressive list of country-inspired, Seattle -spawned female vocalists, including Christy McWilson, Neko Case, Evangeline's Jennifer Potter, and the Believers.

However, she's quite aware of the unlikeliness of lightning striking twice, of achieving another extended moment of clarity and passion that inspired this disc.

"This record was like... fate," she said after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "There's part of me that's a little scared (about recording again), because there was something very magical about this (CD)... but, then, there's another part of me that thinks that there could be a continuation. I wouldn't want it to be an identical thing, but it could be sort of a 'sister' record, to some degree. Some of my new songs are coming from that residual energy... I'm still on a 'high' from making this record -- we all are -- and hopefully, we can tap into that energy again."

Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter • Reckless Burning • 2002 • Barsuk Records

Originally published in the Ballard News-Tribune, Seattle, Sept. 2004.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

Will play for food (drive)

• Vancouver, B.C. favorites get audiences into the spirit of the holiday season with an exchange food-for-CDs drive.

By Steve Stav, for the Ballard News-Tribune, Seattle, 2002.

Vancouver B.C. "Celtic bluegrass" sensations the Clumsy Lovers are making holiday donations of the most altruistic kind. Not only have they recorded some great Christmas music, but the band is giving it away at their concerts. Well, not giving it away, technically; they're trading the discs for food or money in order to feed hungry families.

"In the jam-band scene that we sometimes get associated with, they support a lot of food drives and environmental issues and so forth — especially at Christmas time," said the Lovers' ace fiddler, Andrea Lewis, from a Kinko's in Boulder, Colo. — where the road-weary group was printing more concert flyers. "But it doesn't always seem that the bands themselves are giving something of themselves, other than pushing these organizations. We couldn't afford to play a month of free shows, but Chris (Jonat, the Lovers' leader, bassist and idea-man) thought that we could cover the cost of going into the studio and putting out a two-song CD."

A Very Clumsy Christmas features two numbers destined to be perennial favorites. The first is a stunning version of Robbie Robertson's "Christmas Must Be Tonight," reworked in Clumsy Lovers-by-way-of-the-Pogues style -- followed by "Snoopy's Christmas," a bluegrass-fueled mish-mash of Peanuts tunes, including "Snoopy vs. the Red Baron."

"We're pretty happy with [the CD], we went into the studio and banged that out in half a day," Lewis half-hoarse from a nasty cold, commented nonchalantly. "We had a friend [Amy Stephen] come in and play accordion and tin whistle. We had talked beforehand about what we wanted to do, it was pretty relaxed -- no pressure."

The Lovers' amazing Christmas offering caps a triumphant year for the quintet, which also includes drummer Devin Rice, vocalist-guitarist Trevor Rogers, and recent-recruit Jason Homey, an award-winning banjo picker who has enhanced the group's bluegrass leanings.

The band has spent much of the last 12 months on the road supporting a stellar album of cover tunes that have been gig staples and fan favorites. Under The Covers With The Clumsy Lovers reflects the group's quirky, frenetic formula that has made them one of the Northwest's most popular live performers -- the top-notch musicians wander all over the pop-music map, re-inventing everything from Paul Simon's "That Was Your Mother" to Lynyrd Skynryd's "Sweet Home Alabama," to two Beatles songs, two Pogues numbers, and even the J. Geils Band's "Centerfold." Even the CDs cover is a clever take on nostalgia -- the band was photographed sleeping under the Canadian flag, in homage to the Who's The Kids Are Alright album. Lewis, a classically-trained violinist who wasn't previously familiar with the Who's classic cover art, remembers the photo shoot well.

"Flags are expensive -- that flag was $500, but you could rent it for $75," she said. "When we rented it, the lady at the shop asked what we were using it for. She said that that was fine, but that we couldn't take it outside. We said OK, but of course, the photo shoot was outside. We were very paranoid about not getting our shoes on the flag or anything. We carefully folded it up and Chris took it back...The lady began inspecting the flag, she opened it up and there were three pieces of grass in the folds!

"At that point, Chris was sure that we had a $500 flag, but she let it go," Lewis, the group's most attention-getting member, added.

At press time, the Clumsy Lovers had just concluded a nine-week tour that took them from their B.C. stomping grounds, through the West and Southwest, to the East Coast for their first-ever New York City performances, in which the band was enthusiastically received. The do-it-yourself dynamos will be taking five days off for Christmas before a playing a big New Year's Eve show.

The band will be back in the studio in January, starting work on a much-anticipated new collection of original songs that Lewis described as "taking five times more money and time" to make as their previous records. For the time being, though, the Lovers are thoroughly enjoying performing during this holiday season.

"People have been really receptive," Lewis enthused. "In Boise, for example, people donated about 250 pounds of food and something like $225. We went through over 150 CDs there.

"We're having a lot of fun," she added, "I don't think we've ever played Christmas music before."

The Clumsy Lovers • Under the Covers • 2002 • Clumsy Lover Records

Originally published in the Ballard News-Tribune, Seattle, 2002.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

The shit from Shinola

• An interview with Seattle’s Americana sweethearts, Shinola.

By Steve Stav, for Backfire magazine, Seattle, 2002.

When it comes to making music, there are basically two types of artists --those who record their compositions and then wait and see if a critic or label exec "discovers" them, and those who record and then venture out to make things happen, or die (or, at least, go broke) trying.

Seattle-based Shinola, a band steeped in the performing precedents set by Springsteen and Petty's Heartbreakers, are artists of the latter variety. While their recording career hasn't been consistent (their first full-length, the '80s-bar-band-echoing Lucky Stars, was released in December) Shinola, by means of sheer persistence, has achieved some enviable feats over the past couple of years -- including playing the Gorge Ampitheatre's second stage twice and climbing their way to the top rung of a Lucky Strike-sponsored "Battle of the Bands" series.

Formed more than four years ago by whip-smart, half-Canadian, quasi-rednecked brothers T.J. and Kyle Martin, Shinola eventually recruited punk-rock bassist Kevin McGregor, an Arizona native and former semi-pro footballer with the delightfully lazy demeanor of a Carolina hillbilly. More recently, Mike Nelson, who has played in a number of Seattle bands over the last 15 years, has replaced their old friend Michael Bailey on drums.

Widely respected in Seatown's music community for their integrity and kindness, Shinola is also known for its sense of humor. Their banter is peppered with a seemingly continuous patter of put-downs -- the fine art of the insult seems to be an integral part of their communication with one another. And given this band's intellectually schizophrenic makeup, a typical conversation with them can cover topics such as politics, economics, samurai philosophy, deer season do's and don'ts, and the religion of NASCAR. However, as Classic VHI's forgotten videos flickered in the background, I steered the quartet towards the equally-fascinating realm of rock 'n' roll.

SS: You're always 'workin' it, hustling for gigs and so on -- when didyou start being so aggressive, business-wise?

TJ: After El Camino (the band's second EP), we very quickly came to realize that we weren't going to get any more people to our shows, we weren't going to get any better shows ... nobody walks into the Crocodile on a Thursday night and says, 'These guys are awesome, I'm going to make them famous!' We figured that if we wanted to get further along, if we wanted more than 50 to 100 people coming to our shows, we had to do it ourselves. There was no managers, no publicity agents, no booking agents that were doing anything for bands that didn't already have something going on. We learned everything by trial-and-error.

Mike: It's a basic attitude that you have to have ... we're the ones that have the most at stake. Either you go out and work and bust your 'nads, or you sit around and wait for someone to do it for you.

Kyle: The biggest thing that happened to Shinola -- as far as getting shows, making records and so on -- is getting a solid line-up. You can't go on the road until you get people that want to get in the van and do it -- and consistently do it.

T.J.: This is the first time we put out a CD where all of the same band members recorded the album, played the CD ielease party, and worked on everything that happens from there.

SS: This new album has got a great 'live' sound. How did you avoid going overboard with production?

Kyle: What's funny about Lucky Stars is that we captured what Shinola really is about -- we did these intense recording sessions; we didn't string it out. From recording and mixing to mastering and pressing, it took about four and a half weeks -- Bam! just like that, we had a CD in our hands. [Avast Studios engineer] Kevin Suggs has worked with us before, and he knew just what we wanted.

[Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" video appears on the TV]

Kyle: Joan Jett is totally cool.

Kevin: You won't see a girl like Joan Jett in Seattle.

SS: The thing I miss about the old days in Seattle is the grittiness -- the new money that came in washed everybody that looked like Joan Jett out of downtown.

Kyle: I was down by Pacific Place the other day, and I thought, "I am so underdressed here."

T.J.: Keep in mind, Kyle was wearing his John Deere hat.

Kyle: But the point is, everyone downtown seems to shop at Eddie Bauer --they're all dressed alike. It didn't used to be that way.

Mike: Unless you're a yuppie, you can't afford to live downtown.

SS: Who thought of the name 'Shinola'?

T.J.: I thought of the name. We had been going by the name of 'Shiner' before Gator Meat [their debut EP] came out. But there was a band out of Kansas City called 'Shiner' that was getting a lot of press and attention. We were talking to local booking agents that were asking if we were the Shiner from Kansas City, in our own hometown! So we decided that things had to change before we put the CD out.

SS: Did you take it from that old expression 'You don't know shit from...' or from the shoe polish company?

Kyle: Well, that's where 'You don't know shit from shinola' comes from... it was an expression that our dad used to say to us all of the time. We later found out that it referred to shoe polish!

T.J.: We went down to the UW School of Engineering, where you look up patents and such, and we looked up different names. I thought of 'Shinola,' and found out that no one had the copyright on the name to sell recorded material. An interesting little fact: we later had to have a lawyer send a note down to a band in Nashville going by 'Shinola'-Dolly Parton's nephew was in the group, and she actually sang on their CD.

SS: In retrospect, what was the best thing about your Lucky Strike odyssey?

(The band, simultaneously): Our van and trailer.

Kyle: We had a broken down old van, and we were thinking of how we were going to get a new van. All of the sudden, boom! Lucky Strike comes along and gives us money to travel -- supposedly money to fly and to rent gear with -- and instead we boughl a van and trailer.

T.J.: Thank you, Big Tobacco! Lucky Strike has a bold, yet smooth flavor!

SS: But none of you smoke...

T.J.: Well, yeah... the other great thing about that deal was getting to play the House of Blues on Sunset Strip and the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco. We played with a great band out of LA called Sunchild. But the best thing about that whole experience was, after it was all over, we still had that van and trailer.

SS: Kevin, what's your New Year's resolution? To quit drinking?

Kevin: [Reclining and seemingly half asleep, McGregor is nearly incapacitated by a bad cold] Nah, I really don't drink much. I guess it would be to get back into "football shape."

Kyle: You say you don't drink much, yet there's a glass of whiskey in your hand.

What is the band's New Year's resolution?

T.J.: We're gonna play a shitload of shows.

SS: Given this country's suddenly patriotic fervor, and in lieu of another Springsteen 'Born In The U.S.A.' tour, I take it that you're taking your encapsulated 'arena rock' act on the road?

T.J.: [laughing] We're an 'arena-rock' pellet.

Kyle: [laughing] Just add 'arena,' and you've got your 'arena rock.'

SS: But would it be fair to say the U.S. needs rock, and you're there to give it to 'em?

T.J.: Well, there's always been rock bands out there, and people into it. But what's happened is that a lot of people have gotten into other types of music, a lot of fluffy stuff you hear on the Top 40. But the wheel goes around, and rock is coming back.

SS: Music is generally considered a 'liberal' medium...

Kyle: Don't tell Ted Nugent that.

SS: So I find it odd that so many musicians have jumped on the patriotic bandwagon, a lot of them who, in any other time of military action, would be protesting in the media.

Kyle: I'd like to get something right out on the table -- when September 11 happened, we were right in the middle of recording Lucky Stars. The concept of the album cover -- the stars-and-striped pants [Nelson's Evel Knievel leather trousers], the colors -- that was done before that happened. Actually, we had a meeting about the cover a long time ago -- we decided that we were tired of people bagging on America, that it's time to bring rock, and being proud to be American, back in style. It's so unfortunate that it took such a terrible thing like September 11 to wake up some people, to make them realize that America is an incredible country to live in, that they're lucky to be here.

Shinola • Lucky Stars • 2001 • Tough Rubber Nut Records

Originally published in Backfire Magazine, Seattle, 2002.

copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav

Back to the future with Little Bill

• During his 44 year career in music, Northwest rock pioneer Bill Engelhart has constantly reinvented himself.

By Steve Stav, for The Enterprise Newspapers, Lynnwood, 2001.

Although Bill Engelhart -- known since childhood as "Little Bill" -- is one of the pioneers (many say the pioneer) of Northwest rock 'n' roll, the Mountlake Terrace-based singer, bassist, and author doesn't live in the past much -- he can't afford to.

"I've never taken anything for granted... several times, I've thought, 'If it ended right now, I couldn't say that I haven't gotten enough [recognition],'" the slight, 62-year-old musician said from a chair in his plaque-and-record-adorned den. As Engelhart calmed his attention-starved Boston Terrier puppy, he continued, "I've always been grateful for anything that I get... so when people come up to me after a gig -- and thank God that they do -- and say something like, 'I first saw you 30 years ago, and I want to see you again -- I really enjoyed it,' that means a lot to me. You see, I don't play the same stuff I did 30 years ago -- I can't, I have to grow -- and to hear that they weren't disappointed, that's really something."

During his 44 year career in music, Little Bill Engelhart has constantly reinvented himself -- from teenaged R&B bandleader (he formed little Bill & the Bluenotes in 1956) to young pop crooner (his only hit, 1959's "I Love An Angel," led to tours with the like of Roy Orbison, The Ventures and Ricky Nelson), to down-and-dirty, dive-bar bluesman in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Though some critics have opined that his gravelly, hard-times-echoing voice is most suited for the blues, the 21st century incarnation of Little Bill is a diversified performer who doesn't stick to any one particular genre.

"I don't do 'all-blues' anymore... actual blues, 12-bar blues, I might play a couple during a set," he stated, "I don't want to be labeled -- I never wanted to be tagged as a rock 'n' roll singer, I never wanted to tagged as a blues man -- I just want to sing. So well do anything from the traditional -- 'Stormy Monday Blues' to 'Bye Bye Blackbird' or 'Johnny B. Goode.' It depends on the audience -- I want them to have a good time."

The self-effacing singer has another method to keeping his audience -- and his band -- on their toes, a method he learned from watching B.B. King during a five-night opening gig years ago at Seattle's long-gone Trojan Horse.

Engelhart explained that "No one in the band but me knows what the next song is -- and I don't either, until just before I call it.

"B.B. told me, 'Watch the crowd, you'll know what to play,'" continued Englhart, who, along with fellow Bluenote and lifelong friend Buck Ormsby, first met King at Olympia's Evergreen Ballroom in 1957. "Heck, the guys in the band don't know who's going to solo next until I look at them. It might sound like I'm a control freak, but that's not my reasoning -- I want to keep our sets interesting for the audience."

The Bluenotes' current lineup have enabled Engelhart to produce his finest body of work -- his most recent CD, "Naked Blues." Stripping away the usual horn section, Engelhart reduced the band to an trio -- himself, drummer Tommy Morgan (who's played with Little Bill since 1962) and master guitarist Mark Riley, a Bluenote veteran of six years. The result is a gritty, acoustic sound that is unbelievably authentic -- full of bottlenecked axe, brushed skins and Engelhart's road-worn yet powerful voice. Ironically, "Naked Blues" is sort of an accident -- it was recorded live in the studio, during a casual day's session to make a demo disc.

"I really believe it's the best record I've made since 'I Love An Angel,' and it's the most accepted, in terms of sales," Engelhart said. After pausing a moment, he added, "I don't think I'll record again. Without sounding too dramatic, I feel in my heart that It's the kind of recording that I've tried to make for years. It like my book (Engelhart's riveting autobiography, Next Stop, Bakersfield, now out of print) -- people ask me, Vhen are you going to write another book?' I'm not... I've said everything I wanted to say."

Oh, Little Bill Engelhart lives in the present and looks to the future, all right -- he plays around 150 gigs a year to audiences that are simultaneously getting older and younger. However, he's not yet tired of telling a tale or two when prodded; the Northwest legend, naturally, has a lot of stories bouncing about upstairs.

From his wheelchair onstage (victimized by polio as a child, he finds a chair the most comfortable means of performing), Engelhart might tell you the story of how he and Ormsby “discovered” another Northwest legend, the late "Rockin'" Robin Roberts, singing on a park bench at the Puyallup Fair. Backstage, packing the treasured bass that Riley once handcrafted for him, the singer might relate the tale of how Ormsby, then with the Wailers, found out that Engelhart had recorded, "Louie, Louie" -- and rushed to release his band's version before Engelhart did. Fishing a puppy treat from his pocket, he'll tell you how he wound up playing billionaire Paul Allen's super-secret birthday cruise in Alaska almost 40 years later.

Perhaps his best -- and most enlightening -- anecdote is this one, told from his Mountlake Terrace home, many miles (and seeming light years) from his boyhood home in a town whose famed "Tacoma sound" he helped create decades ago.

"In the old days -- when I was in my early 20s -- we used to go down to what was called 'Lower Broadway' in Tacoma and play music -- it was the 'black area' of town," Little Bill recalled with a grin. "It was like going to school... the bars, the pool halls and restaurants -- I loved everything about it, and the fact that I was accepted there..."

Years later, while on a trip to Seattle (he had moved all about the Southwest), Engelhart had an inspiration. "I decided to pull off the freeway and revisit Lower Broadway -- except it wasn't there anymore.

"The pool halls, the juke joints -- the buildings themselves were all gone," he explained, concluding, "I think about what good times those were... but then I think, 'Nothing lasts forever.' Things change -- that's part of life."

Little Bill Engelhart • Naked Blues • 1998 • Merrimack Records

Originally published in The Enterprise Newspapers, Lynnwood, 2001.


copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav