Posts Tagged ‘Mary’

Anything Can Stop Me Now!

May 11th, 2017

I am happy for my friends.

I am happy for Jake aka CasOne. CasOne put out an album with his friend Figure, So Our Egos Don’t Kill Us. Strange Famous Records, Sage Francis’ label, put it out. To promote the tour, CasOne went on a North American tour for about four weeks, with Figure joining him for most of the dates.


I’ve known Jake for years. We’ve recorded some of the worst songs in the history of electricity together (my fault). For example, I once tried to get him and Figure to collaborate with me on an LMFAO parody album. We never did that. Why make shitty LMFAO-type music with me when they can make pretty decent without me? For what it’s worth, CasOne was also with me on the Night I Played In Front Of a Bunch Of Juggalos While Wearing ICP Makeup.


I am happy for my friends.


Charles is also on tour. You might know him. He wrote “Hey” and “Monkey Gone To Heaven” and a bunch of other songs you like. He did the thing that some people didn’t want him to do and recorded and released new Pixies music and it was greeted by those people like it was a turd that came via UPS. Music that fits in with the rest of his famous band’s classic catalog. Music that is neither the greatest thing since sliced bread or the complete and utter nadir of recorded sound (c’mon, they’re not doing LMFAO pastiches or anything).


Charles is on tour with his famous band, intermingling the new songs with the classics. I saw them in Covington and it was the best show I’d seen them play since their initial reunion. The intensity was in the playing. Some nights are just magical and you can’t control whether they happen in Ohio or thereabouts. He is living his life, playing for people who want to see him and his band.


I am happy for my friends.


Colter Wall. I just met him last year. His debut album comes out today. A young kid with a weather-worn voice and the world on his shoulders. All of twenty-one years old. Already being trumpeted by Rolling Stone and No Depression for his songs. He’s on tour and has been for some time, with a three-piece band behind him and Mary managing him. They’re going to kick this album in the ass touring all over. The buzz is on him right now. I am genuinely excited for him and Mary that this is happening.


I am happy for my friends when good things happen for them.


I don’t feel happy right now, though. Because I’m not out there.


I have taken a lot of wrong turns, walked into a lot of dead ends, made a lot of bad decisions. I have lived a long time and not learned, earned, or gained what I needed along the way. Anything could stop me now. It has taken me all this time to understand that when I was twenty-one years old I could not sing like Colter, nor write a song like Charles, nor string together raps like Jake. The only thing I had was that I wanted to. I wanted to be famous and I also wanted to be good.


I have put in a lot of effort in order to learn how to be good. I just kept working at it. I got better at singing and writing songs. For a time, I was even an okay rapper but I was never as good at that as I was at singing. I sang lead on six TVH albums. I made a Kentucky Prophet album and an EP. I played a lot of shows, solo and with the band. I am a great singer. I sing like an angel. I am a dynamo. I should be heard. I should be doing something.


The problem is, while I was slowly getting better at music I also slowly let myself go. I let myself go and then I let myself go some more and by the time I realized how far I’d let myself go I was too far gone. I was so far gone I could barely perform. My body struggled with all the weight I had gained. I still struggle with it. I had taken a hands-off approach to my own health, and then I stopped caring about other things. I stopped caring about contributing to my band in a meaningful way. I was simply along for the ride. Yeah, I was good at music but so what? Who needs one more singer who writes songs trying to play in the world? I figured the way I was living things would either work themselves out or I would eat myself into an early grave. I decided that I was not necessary unless someone or something demonstrated otherwise.


But do you know who needs me right now? I need me. I need to be here. I need to sing and write and play. I need to keep going. Because if I sit around and just wait to die I’m only wasting all the talent and potential I have. And a part of me wants to chastise myself for what feels like wasted years but. . . that’s just wasting even more time.


I was unhappy because I am jealous of my friends who are chasing a dream, finding it and living the dream. But I have my own quest right now. I’m on the slow track back to a healthier existence. I’ve lost about twenty pounds in the last two months. I’ve got a lot more to lose but even now I feel a difference. I’m staying on it. I have a lot of catching up to do with my friends.


I have the songs, when the time comes and I am ready. I know because I have written them and I will keep writing them.


Anything can stop me now.

Swastikas On Parade

February 19th, 2017

(aka the best Christmas present ever)


(aka Did I just give Nazi paraphernalia as a gift)


I gave Mary a copy of The Residents’ The Third Reich ‘n Roll as a Christmas gift. The album cover is a drawing of Dick Clark from American Bandstand dressed in Nazi uniform. The album artwork is covered with swastikas. The music is relatively inaccessible, especially if you have no experience with the Residents whatsoever. Which Mary does not.


Explaining who the Residents are and what The Third Reich ‘n Roll will take far too long than I feel like writing. It’s an entire album of 1960’s bubblegum pop songs played very badly on purpose, mashed up and beaten to a pulp with a tire iron. Oh, and here’s the album cover.



Did we listen to this abomination last night in mixed company? You bet we did.

Was it disconcerting to nearly everyone in attendance? You bet it was.


At one point, a very nice girl named BB wandered in during the playing of this album and said “it sounds like demons” before making for the nearest door. There were a lot of nice people at this little get-together. This was not the album to inflict on them.


Legend has it even ol’ Dick Clark had a copy of the album in his office as a joke, seeing as he’d been immortalized on the cover in Nazi regalia while holding a carrot. Another fact I learned, Germany has strict laws regarding Nazi imagery, which means that this album couldn’t be sold in that country what with all the swastikas on the artwork. Same thing with Kiss when they go on tour in Europe they can’t use their typical logo in Germany because it looks too much like the SS logo the Nazis used during the second World War. So they have a custom German Kiss logo that scraps the thunderbolt “S”.
Did the Residents make a video for The Third Reich ‘n Roll. Of course they did.

Is it strange? You bet it is.

This album is what it sounds like inside my nervous system at all times.



May 8th, 2016

(cue the Pet Shop Boys song)


Sunday evening is a big night for some friends of mine old and new. Mary dove into artist management and is working with a young singer-guitarist from Saskatchewan named Colter Wall.


For the last few months, they have been on a path of destruction. Colter as the live performer and Mary as the handler who helps him navigate through this strange America in the election year of ’16. Dive bars, shotgun shacks, saloons and other places where songs are performed. . . you name it, she has taken him there where he has mowed them down with his old-soul voice and songs.


May the 8th, Colter has a high profile opportunity. Opening up for Lucinda Williams at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Lucinda Williams, a heavyweight of Americana. The opportunity came up early last week and was too good to pass up.


For the last month, Colter has been steadily gigging around the country. This is the culmination of this touring stint and it snuck up on everybody. Will it lead to something in the future? I hope so for both of them. I need more friends to leech off. Seriously.

Fancy Lady Fashion For A B.S. Award Show

February 12th, 2016

Mary is in Los Angeles for the Grammys. I’m sitting at home in my sweatpants scratching my nuts. I would rather be in my position than hers.


Every year when my grandfather was still alive, we’d sit in front of the TV and on Grammy day, he’d flip through the channels and ask me if I wanted to watch the Grammy Awards show and each and every time I would reply “no”. I would have said “fucking hell no” had my grandfather not been anti-swearing.


Once upon a time in my childhood, I would have watched it. But as my music tastes took a different course from what was being honored at those awards, I grew more and more disinterested.


I hate award shows in general. Emmys, Oscars, Tonys, Grammys, MTV Music Video and MTV Movie, all the way down. I am either a premature curmudgeon or I have a good sense of what is healthy for popular culture. I haven’t decided yet.


Now that I’ve made that clear, let’s turn to Young Mary who is attending the Grammys. She is a businesswoman and the Grammys as much as any award show is meant for the business types. So I will be happy for her that she is attending a thing I wouldn’t want to go within a mile of. . . because she wanted to go. And she paid for her ticket. And she bought an outfit to wear. And that is where I come in.


I have not seen her Grammy outfit. She’ll send me some photos of it soon enough but I will not like it because it was not what I suggested. If you’re going to the Grammys as a professional music businesswoman you have to look the part.


Which is why I told her to go purchase her outfit from Fashion Bug. I also told her to accessorize with some earrings from Claire’s in the mall.


What nobody told me was that Fashion Bug closed all its’ stores by the spring of 2013. I would have directed her to the nearest Lane Bryant, but I was told that Lane Bryant specialized in plus-size wear and Mary is. . . I don’t know. I’ve only dealt in the world of plus-sizes. I don’t know what other sizes exist in the world.


I may not know a lot of about fashion or sizes but I did go shopping with my mom in the mid-90s before I turned eighteen and learned to drive. To be fair, my mom did the shopping while I walked around the store and didn’t send pictures of my teenage prick to girls because YOU COULDN’T DO THAT BACK THEN. You kids don’t know how good your life is now. In the 90s, other people but not me we had Gameboy, but they only showed two colors (gray and beige).


I may not know much about fashion or sizes but I did go to TJ Maxx with my mom. So that’s where I told Mary to go. You can get a good outfit at a reasonable price, I guess. Here are some suggestions I made to Mary.


Diane Von Furstenberg

Diane Von Furstenberg

Boom! Put this on! Lady Gaga aint got shit on you, does she? Let’s see how this looks with Mary using the wonders of Photoshop MS Paint.



Championship-level fashion, Young Mary!

I should mention that this is the only photo of Mary I have. She posted it on Twitter in January when she was turning her bathroom into a sweatlodge so she could cure a fever. I’m gonna have it painted onto a cake on her birthday.


This is fun. Let’s try it again.


Dress by Diane Von Furstenberg

Dress by Diane Von Furstenberg


Boo-yah! Strap on some shutter shades and call yourself LMFA2.0

I made her head bigger in this one so you could see just how sick and miserable she really was while sweating out a fever in the bathtub.

Does Claire’s sell shutter shades? They oughta.


Mary, wherever you are right now (L.A., where dreams go to piss themselves), I hope you the enjoy the ceremony (where a bunch of celebrities pat each other on the back while the world destroys itself). I wish I could be there with you (so I could scream at the top of my lungs “THIS IS WRONG. YOU ARE ALL WRONG”) but I’ll be with you in spirit (while I miss the live broadcast to watch Japanese wrestling videos).





Dressing Up A Lady All Fancy Like

January 15th, 2016

My friend Mary is a master of networking. You know how Michael Jordan is the Michael Jordan of basketball? And how Cadillac is the Michael Jordan of automobiles? And how Thunderbird is the Michael Jordan of horrible tasting wine that hobos and bums drink?


Mary is not the Michael Jordan of networking. Not yet, anyway. I say this because she knows I am fond of sports metaphors. She’s turning pro. When the going gets weird. . . and it has gotten weird.


Last October, she told me she was going to Keeneland for the Breeders Cup. Halloween, 2015. She’s not even a degenerate gambler or horse breeder but there she is, at the Breeders Cup. She showed me a picture of a dress she thought about buying for this auspicious occasion. I didn’t like it.


I had a good idea for the Breeders Cup. I wanted her to wear Daisy Duke cutoffs, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat and a spaghetti strap shirt with the name of a 70’s band on it like Kansas or Molly Hatchet. I also suggested she wear a bra underneath that the spaghetti straps couldn’t conceal. I wanted her to trash it up. She’s a Casey County girl and should keep it real for the squares at Keeneland. Cake on a bunch of makeup and call every older male “daddy”. Give ’em an embarrassed erection.


I’m looking at pictures of crop tops on Google images, and I’m thinking that should have been the way. Really push up the cleavage and don’t be afraid to use makeup to accentuate it. Worked for Annie Sprinkle.



Not Annie Sprinkle.


Okay, now take this outfit. Swap out the wool cap for a cowboy hat. Take up those cutoffs another three inches. Really showcase the front butt and DON’T CROSS YOUR LEGS. Also, put the words “BLACK OAK ARKANSAS ’73 TOUR” on the top and you’ve almost got it. Oh, and more makeup. Like obnoxious makeup.


Of course she didn’t do that. She wore something boring and whatever. Do you want to be a champion networker, Mary? You have to use rouge and plunge that neckline into the abyss. Carry around a half-empty bottle of bourbon. Be approachable. Put lipstick on your teeth before you leave the house. What would Michael Jordan do? He would put lipstick on his teeth and give everyone at Keeneland the fuck eye. That’s how he won six NBA titles.

#700, A Eulogy, A Love Letter

June 17th, 2015

This is the seven-hundredth post on the Kentucky Prophet website.


I have not been in a writing mode lately so I will take the time to share and link to Young Mary’s Record and the eulogy she wrote for her late boyfriend, Colonel Jon Hensley, which she read aloud at his funeral. It is funny, sad, touching and long-running like any goodbye worth bidding. No one knew him better over these last few years. Jon and Mary barely had two years together but they were closer than any couple I know. Tracy and Hepburn? Captain and Tennille? Jordan and Pippen? Amateurs, compared to Jon and Mary.


A few snippets from Mary’s eulogy, which you should read in full.


. . . he’d already been off the phone and heard me inside talking to the landlord and he knew just how my voice raised when I was happy and which one of my comments were genuine and which ones were fodder and he hadn’t even needed to come to the doorway.  “I can always read you,”  he told me.


The thing about Jon is – if he knew I had such an audience – he’d want me to have spent none of this time talking about him.  He’d have wanted me to tell you about how his mother and sister are the most beautiful and his daddy was the strongest.  He’d have wanted me to tell you about his Shooter Jennings and about how he is the most fearless  talented musician and the most loyal friend – He’d have wanted me to tell you about his Wanda Jackson – the first female to ever record rock n roll – the apple of his eye.  He would’ve wanted me to tell you that in 1980, Merle Haggard became the only non-jazz musician to be on the cover of DownBeat Jazz Magazine.   And how Dwight Yoakam is a revolutionary.  And how Marcy Playground Sex and Candy is the best pop song.  And how Bob Dylan did not suck on Letterman and if you thought so, you just don’t get it.


I laughed yesterday here in this funeral home and I saw a woman look at me, confused.  I could almost read her expression – wasn’t that the 30 year old widow? I worried immediately.  Like every other time, I’d found myself uncomfortable in social world, I immediately wished for Jon.