1988_03 The Daily Collegian March 1988

              Friday, March 11,1988 Page 7
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Entertainment
Wc
ow and Flutter
A bunch of idiots
"Give me love and give me
pain/Lance my ambition and
watch ii drain." — from "Guitar
Train," by Jolly Carcass
It was 10 p.m. on a Friday
evening. I hadn't slept in 37
hours, my roommate was
nowhere to be found and I was all
out ofThomas' English Muffins.
There was only one action that
could be taken: a full-out guitar
noise jam session.
1 have this band. Jolly Carcass.
It consists of me and three others
who have very little Idea of how to
play music, only that It should be
loud, fast and vaguely disturbing
to the mentally handicapped.
I went in to the Collegian and
attempted to contact my
"drummer" and 'bassist". They
had been drinking cheap wine for
four hours and listening to Steely
Dan and the Sex Pistols. Mark,
the ''drummer,'' lold me thai it
had been a "cosmic experience.'
Two hours later they met me at
school. Tony, the "bass player,"
was retching violently in the
parking lot. 1 got the feeling that
this would be a good practice.
When we went to my place to gel
our equipment, Tony got sick
again. This would set a pattern
that would be followed for the
next seven hours.
When we got to Donnell's house
(the "singer"), Tony locked the
door of his truck and wouldn't get
out. Wejumped on the truck and
shook it up and down till it rolled
like a small cabin cruiser lost in a
great oceanic hurricane, but still
Tony wouldn't budge as his spasm-
racked body lolled about like
some weird Raggedy Andy doll.
We quickly tired of this sport,
as it was apparent that Tony was
going to be as useful to our band
this evening as Elvis' corpse
(which is not entirely a bad idea.
MEMO: workonil.),sowewent
Inside to drink and play scary
music. Donnell was in the process
of absorbing every single second
of recorded Lou Reed. The music
had a calming influence on us,
especially when we picked up our
guitars and started to play along,
calming that is, until Mark
decided he wanted to Listen to Lhe
Steely Dan album he clutched
furtively to his chest. "But we
HATE Steely Dan," Donnell and I
chimed together. It had no effect
on Mark'sgrape-scddenmind. We
were forced to listen Lo "Play the
Hnrae" 18 consecuLive times, until
as these. I doused all the vents of
his truck. In fact, coated every
square inch of his truck with it.
But it was no use, he had passed
out again. We fled the scene,
fearing the mighty spray (which,
it should be noted. smells nothing
like what It's advertised to smell
like but rather like some evil
memory of a dead rotting cat
carcass you once found
undemealh a pile of brush in your
backyard.).
Our "manager," Kurt, showed up
about an hour later. Tony had
come ouL of Lhe truck and was on
Lhe ground. his body trembling
with his dry heaves. After he was
done. Tony crawled back Into his
truck and fell firatefulrv asleen
...we would now have to push his car
out onto Shaw Avenue...we had no choice
i n_ got up io go to me oatnrooni.
whereapon I pounced at Lhe slereo
and put on some Husker DO.
This thrust us Into a more
reflective mood, considering that
our cherished Buskers hadjust
broken up, so we went outside Lo
retrieve Tony. We started the tidal
wave routine again. He sat up
abruptly in the Liny cab, blinking
his eyes in panic as if he had jusl
beenbroughtoutofthewomb. He
looked green. "No no no no! Please
let me stay here! Please! Please!
No! NO! JUST LET ME SLEEP!
PLEASE, PLEASE. PLEASE.'.'be
screamed piteously. We decided
Lhat harsher acUon was
neccessary. Bringing out the foul-
smelling "Fart Spray" lhal we had
once purchased at ajoke shop and
kepl around for emergencies such
ruirt took Lhe spray and tossed it
far into the next parking lot.
vowing lhat il should never be
used again. We went inside Lo
practice, playing "Wild Thing"
over and over with a mounting
hysterical tension. We wanted to
be rock stars, we wanted groupies
and limos and free drugs; "Wild
Thing" was the ticket to the top in
our confused minds, saturated
with drink and noisy abandon.
-oOo-
Atfoura.m. someone suggested
we go have breakfast, which
sounded like a decent Idea; mere
was a Denny's down the street.
Before we left we checked on Tony
again to make sure he hadn't
choked on his own vomit. Sure
an
i
ti
A
KFSR/Si
FM (Fret
The scene is now. Ballots wi
d the top bands will play in an F
If you'd Like your band to be
it either the Daily Collegian or h
> be considered must play altem
Applica
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa'T                   -2ff"
Not Richard Ivan Mann, KFSR
nnounclng
The 1st Annual
ibterranean Jungle
mo Music) Awards
1 be run sometime in April in the Subterranean Jungle,
"M Awards show sponsored by KFSR (date and time TBA).
considered for the awards ballot, fill out an application
J?SR's general offices, starting Monday, March 14. Bands
.rive music, or be eligible for inclusion on KFSR's playlist
ion deadline is Friday, March 25.
KFSR Top Twentv. March 11. 1988
1. Beat Happening (Rough Trade)
2. Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians (A&M)
3. The Fall (RoughTrade)
4. House of Freaks (Rhino)
5. The Godfathers (Epic)
6. Pajama Slave Dancers (Restless)
7. Green (Provda)
8. Midnight Oil (Columbia)
9. fIREHOSE(SST)
10. The Jazz Butcher (Relativity)
11. The Pogues (Island)
12. The Damned (MCA)
13.Felt(PVC)
14. Pat Ruthensmear (SST)
15. The Splatcats(Celluold/Movlng Target)
16. 7 Seconds (Giant/Positive Force)
17. Wild Seeds (Passport)
18. The Washington Sisters (Iceberg)
19. The aAccelerators (Profile)
20. E*I"E*I*0* (Frontier)
enough, hewas still alive, albeit
odiferous. That's when one of us
discovered that Tony's brakes
were off. This was not a good
discovery. It meant that we would
now have to push his car out onto
Shaw Avenue, right in the middle
of traffic, leaving Tony's fate to
God and his own sorry luck. We
had no choice. Then the wheel
locked. This meant he would have
to be left in the middle of the
parking lot at an odd angle,
leaving him vulnerable to any
j abbering pill-freak who might
come along looking for his
parking space doing 90 mph and
swerving wildly. We left on his
emergency blinkers; It was the
least we could do for him.
-oOo-
We arrived al Denny's, reeling
from lhe effects of drink and rock
godhood. After a prolonged baltle
by Mark to gel the waitress Lo give
him hash browns as part of a
Grand Slam breakfast, we setlled
down and reflected on the life of a
guitar hero. The conversation
went something like this:
Kurt: More coffee please.
Me: Yes. more.
Donnell: Can I have sausage
instead of bacon?
Mark: (Gurgle).
Things were going along quite
peacefully for the first time in
ihis sordid evening when we
heard a horn blaring frantically
and the screech of brakes. We
didn't have to look; somehow we
knew Lhat Ihey were Tony's
brakes.
We looked at each other, our
faces stricken with terror. Kurt
reacted the most quickly: "Let's
pay our bill and leave."
We walked out to the parking lot
just in time to see a still-smashed
Tony fly up the driveway and
narrowly miss Kurt's car. There
was no question: Tony was an
idiot, and we were going to die. We
would be crushed by an out-of-
control foreign pick-up truck
driven by a dangerously
Inebriated fool, and there was
nothing that we could do about it.
Somehow though, we managed
to get into Kurt's car before he
smashed us. We drove home
immediately, cursing out the
window at Tony. He didn't seem to
notice it, or anything else for that
matter. Back at Kurt and Donnel's
apartment Tony put on a twenty-
minute demolition derby driving
exhibition while we watched
helplessly. Someone casually
suggested that we make an effort
to stop his mad procession, but,
looking back, it only would have
made things worse. We would
have gotten him angry and he
would have hurt us. He was better
off this way; eventually he would
run out of gas or pass out, and
either way he would be stopped.
Neither event happened; he got
tired of turning donuts on the
sidewalk and drove off into the
night. We never picked up our
guitars again.
—T. James Madison
(Note: the persons, places and
events mentioned in the above
story have absolutely no
connection with Jolly Carcass,
Inc.)