Danny Doom’s Booze Cabinet

That’s my little Lily Bean, celebrating Halloween the only way she knows how–using death ray stares to destroy and kill.

It’s too early for The Booze Cabinet to give out endorsements (I can’t get anyone in the office to even watch a debate) but this little tidbit from today’s Sneed column (serious news) has forced us to rule out one candidate in particular. In fact, this information has so appalled the staff that from here on out he will have to be referred to as “that asshole Mormon guy:”

GOP presidential hopeful Mitt Romney, who hit a Winnetka fund-raiser Tuesday, is not only a teetotaler . . . but he drinks decaffeinated Diet Coke.

Please! We’ve heard enough! Get. Him. Out. Of. Our. Sight!

It seems as if it has been a while since I wrote anything political (refreshing, yes?), so I would just like to say, in the spirit of fairness and equality, that I read Richard Roeper’s column today and like what a reader wrote in to say. The question was, what should W. Bush do with himself after he leaves office:

“Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, in the wind and snow of winter and the heat and humidity of summer, let him tend to the graves of the almost 4,000 men and women who have given their lives in the debacle of Iraq. They honored their oaths, obeyed their commander-in-chief and sacrificed their lives of promise to a lying, unprincipled warmonger.

“He can begin at the grave of my grandson, Lcpl Jonathan W. Collins, killed in action on 8/8/2004.”

Of course, we know what Mr. Bush plans on doing for real: “I’ll give some speeches, to replenish the ol’ coffers.” While Jimmy Carter, Bush Sr. and Bill Clinton work to repair our reputation and rebuild lives and homes, W. has the bank account to tend to, that lousy piece of shit.

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For those that weren’t there that might care, here is the setlist for the show Sunday as The Cure:

One Hundred Years
A Strange Day
Jumping Someone Else’s Train
Boys Don’t Cry
Play For Today
A Forest
The Hanging Garden
In Between Days
A Night Like This

What day is it? A little out of whack after a long weekend of rock and roll madness and good times. The Cure show was great and I think we really nailed it. My hair is black now. A little Aqua Net goes a long way. That’s gotta open up a few ozone layers, what I did to my hair on Sunday. Apologies to Al Gore and future generations, but rock and roll demands excess. We’re good at that.

Next up, another show, this time at Quencher’s on Saturday. We have to remember how to play our own songs again, and that might be tough. After that we can focus on finishing up the album and getting it out there. I think it’s sounding pretty damn good. We’re gonna have a hard time leaving any of these songs off, it may end up being a long player! I’m shooting for a double album with the gatefold jacket and four sides, with psychedelic imagery and hidden messages! Time to bring back the LP in this modern age. Of course, it’ll be on the computer too, for the New Schoolers.

I stayed late at work yesterday only to find that the doors lock at 5:30, and me without a key (lesson learned: never stay late!). Luckily someone came and let me out and I walked down the street to the Prize Beagle Studio and locked up my bike.

We were supposed to meet up at 6 but things were running late so I had time to kill. I walked around the Chicago/State area listening to tunes and taking pictures of churches and full moons until finally I got cold and decided to take refuge. I walked into Streeters Tavern on Chicago and took a seat at the bar. I asked for the cheap-ass beer and they offered Bud Light or some such crap and then I saw the chalkboard that said Foster’s was $4. Not exactly cheap-ass, but what the hell?

The bartender poured me a pint of the Australian beer and I took a sip. Shite! No wonder I had not one drop of Foster’s when I was Down Under. Actually, it tasted like the tap had not been run in a long time, and the beer had that yeasty flavor that makes me want to stick my head in the mouth of a crocodile. I drank anyway, the whole time contemplating whether I should ask the bartender for something else. It didn’t feel right though, and as the beer got lower and lower I knew I had passed the point of no return.

Finally I got the call and left a third of the beer on the bar and walked down to the studio, where I opened the door to find Rick stuffing the fridge with delicious Busch beer. Never tasted better, this Busch.

Down to business, we settled in front of the TV and watched the World Series for a while, but it was clear after the first inning that the Roggies had been gathering dust for too long. Adam worked on “TM,” which now has the official name of “Tiffany Meyers,” and we got the vocals just right. Rick had to throw a guitar part on “Greatest of the World,” which he did through a tiny Peavey amp and a fuzz box. Then we watched more of the debacle as the Red Sox took it to ‘em and Rick and I explained to Eric what the “Green Monster” was.

More mixing then, as Adam worked on “Lost Highway,” using some real freaky shit that had us all thinking we’d been dosed. All in all, we have rough mixes of most of the songs, but still need to get it down to the nitty gritty. A new song has been named “Promisekeepers,” and “Crushing the Bouquet” is better than expected, from my view; it should be out in time for the King of Hearts Dance, if not Prom.

Interesting take on immigration by Joe Klein of Time:

I am wildly in favor of immigration, legal and illegal. I realize that national security–i.e. terrorism–requires that we secure the borders, and that’s a good thing, if almost impossible . . . I find the tendency of some of the Republicans running for President to play to our very worst instincts–and I mean racism, in this case–is just nauseating . . . In the end, this sort of nativism has been a persistent loser in American political history; I hope it will be again in 2008.

I agree with him. I am in favor of immigration too, I could care less if they’re legal or not. I could also care less if they speak English. You can hear Polish, Spanish, or Pig Latin anywhere in this city, and certainly many other languages I don’t even know about. I think that’s alright. The people who want to build a wall on the borders? I’d like them out, please. Friggin’ un-American bastards! Reminds me of a White Stripes song:

White Americans, what?
Nothing better to do?
Why don’t you kick yourself out?
You’re an immigrant too?

Who’s usin’ who?
What should we do?
Well you can’t be a pimp
And a prostitute too

Hills are filled with fire . . . I’ve been looking at the maps of California showing where the fires are at and trying to find Oak Canyon. Back in . . . 2000? 2001? (whoa, just looked it up and it was July 4th weekend, 1999!) we went out to San Francisco for a show at the Greek Theater in Berkeley and then drove down to Orange County for another show out in Oak Canyon, somewhere outside of Irvine. The shows became legendary for the Sonic Youth theft–they had their gear stolen somewhere between the two shows and had to play with borrowed guitars in Oak Canyon. As far as I know, we were never considered suspects. Also on the bill for those shows were Sleater-Kinney, Guided By Voices, Mike Watt, Sunny Day Real Estate, At The Drive-In, and Superchunk. Just found a review here.

Anyway, it doesn’t look so good for Oak Canyon, the fires seem pretty close. Motel money murder madness/Let’s change the mood from glad to sadness.

UPDATE:

Speaking of Superchunk, Mac McCaughan testified about radio deregulation on the Hill yesterday. Good man, good cause.

In Rainbows is still great. In fact, it’s even better now than it was two weeks ago. I have yet to shuffle it either; the ten songs seem connected so perfectly that to mess with the order has not yet made sense to me. It is, of course, too short. But the second batch (with the discbox) will be coming along soon enough.

Wow. You’d think I knew something. We got Candy’s Room! We got Spirit in the Night from Asbury Park! We even got Thunder Road, which they haven’t played in five years. Full setlist here. It was pretty different from the night before, besides the new songs, which were a little lame but what can you do. I thought it unusual, but he did Darlington County, keeping the line “Our pa’s each own one of the World Trade Centers/for a kiss and smile I’ll give mine all to you.” Seems like that song might need an update, and I fully expected him to throw in a Chicago reference (Sears Tower!), but I guess rhyming takes precedence.

Other highlights: Prove It All Night, She’s the One, Tunnel of Love (kind of a guilty pleasure for me), Badlands, and the obligatory but still awesome Born to Run with the lights up just like they did the first time I saw them. We sat on an angle behind the stage (see seating chart below!) and it was great. The sound was pretty good too, which is unusual for the United Center, and while we were close enough to see everything there was also a screen staring right at us with close-ups.

Other thoughts: Little Steven Van Zant has to work pretty hard to make me forget Silvio. Actually, it doesn’t work; he IS Silvio. Patty Scialfa? I’ve never got that. Both as a backup singer and a wife to Bruce, I think he can do better. Sorry, had to say it. Max Weinberg and Max Weinberg 7? He can quit his day job. The United Center beers for $7.75? Utter bullshit!

UPDATE:

This editorial in the Tribune makes me want to go back to the Empty Bottle and drink cheap beer with Scout Niblett and be young. Yes, there were a lot of old farts high-fiving each other and generally acting like dorks at Springsteen, and that editorial sounds like it was written by one of them. In fact, we made fun of the air guitarists and air drummers throughout the night, big balding guys usually, who had no sense of rhythm. They would yell “Brooooooce!” and we would yell “Booo! You suck!” just for fun. But yeah, I never was much of an arena rocker.