…….And His Own Sweat Smells The Best

While in the back of a cab on a recent business trip, a co-worker was telling me a rather amusing story about a recent meeting where he had to borrow the suit coat of another co-worker because, well, he had forgotten to pack his deodorant and it was a warm day. I asked him about the obvious solution: why not race to the nearest store and pick some up? Apparantly, though, time was a factor and he risked being late for what was an important meeting. Or something.

After we finished the good-natured ribbing of our co-worker (always a good time), the conversation turned to deodorant and anti-perspirants. See, I’ve been an anti-perspirant guy for as long as I can remember. Deodorants may smell better, but anti-perspirants are the ones that block sweating. Anyway, one co-worker said he wore deodorant exclusively because anti-perspirants contain many borderline toxic poisons and cancer-causing agents. I was all like “hold the phone.” I had never heard this – ever – and I read quite a bit and try to stay on top of stuff like that. Surely I would have heard about this somewhere?

Naturally, I freaked out just a little. Until I knew more, I changed up the armpit system and the last couple of sticks I bought have been deodorant and not anti-perspirant and they’ve been purchased a Whole Foods. Could it be that I totally missed the boat on this and I’m heading for the ditch? I mean, I couldn’t really believe this was true, otherwise grocery stores and pharmacies wouldn’t have such extensive choices of anti-perspirants on their shelves. Or would they? I mean, can retail be trusted?

So tonight I turned to the most trusted resource in the modern world – the internet (please note sarcasm here). A spin around the web indicates that this is largely an urban myth, although it seems there have been some odd statistics around incidents of breast cancer in women who use anti-perspirants and shave thier armpits. I would imagine the number of women who do that is pretty high. And ladies, don’t freak – they’re having trouble making the connection at all and logic is logic.

However, it does appear that anti-perspirants contain some ingredients that probably are not terribly good for you. I mean, anti-perspirants essentially create gels that muck up your pores and prevent sweat from exiting your body. Now, last time I checked, sweating is one of the human body’s natural (and quite necessary) occurences, so think about it this way: just imagine you had something that prevented you from going to the bathroom. Hmmmmm. Admittedly, not a fair comparison, but I’m in the ballpark.

End result? I dunno. I haven’t switched back to anti-perspirant yet, but man, the deodorants (at least the ones at Whole Foods) don’t exactly give me a days worth of protection. I know, I know, just use it twice a day, you say. I guess that’s the only option. But on meeting days, I’m hitting the anti-perspirant yo, ’cause you never know. And I ain’t borrowing anyone’s jacket.

So what do you do, anti-perspirants or deodorant? Has anyone ever heard this myth or read anything to the effect that anti-perspirants aren’t good for you? Good god. If you’re still reading this – really – I feel bad for you.

A Selfish Reason For Not Minding The High Gas Prices


stockupdate
Originally uploaded by rustedrobot.

It’s time for the quarterly stock update. As you recall, last fall I bought stock through a brokerage for the first time and decided to put the money into renewable energy. At an 88% return-on-investment, it has proven to be quite a good decision. The visibility and stock of both Evergreen Solar and MEMC Electronic Materials continues to skyrocket, which is music to my ears. As stated before, I remain long on both and there’s probably still some room there for even more growth. Somebody tell me the difference between the stock market and Las Vegas?

Question on the side: don’t you hate it when you put on a jacket and it bunches up your long sleeves? Drives me crazy. Usually I remember to hold onto the sleeves when putting on the coat, but every now and then…..

I Was Born In A Little Bitty Tar Hut, Part IV


King Radio, Circa 2003
Originally uploaded by rustedrobot.

It was one of those extremely rare occasions when I was actually able to sleep in a moving vehicle. Under the circumstances, however, it wasn’t all that surprising, seeing as though I’d spent the previous two-and-a-half weeks in what we warmly referred to as “The Crankyville Trolley.”

The Crankyville Trolley belonged to Angry Johnny & The Killbillies, the first band we signed to Tar Hut back in 1995. It was old, it was orange and it didn’t smell very good inside. I’m still not sure if the latter was because of the van or its inhabitants, but one could safely assume the blame could rest with both.

The beauty of the van, which finally died just last year, was that when he first got it, Johnny gave a complete overhaul and made it very band-friendly. If there was ever a “Pimp My Ride” for indie-rock bands, Johnny invented it. By the time we slugs at Tar Hut came along, it was outiftted quite nicely, complete with a bed-like area in the back which could fit two, built directly over the storage area for all the equipment. It was set pretty high so it was close to the ceiling of the van (think MRI with cigarette smoke, the smell of stale beer and four musicians constantly making you laugh), but it was actually quite comfortable.

Furthermore, Johnny was a bit of a MacGyver – he actually cut in some windows to the side of the van and on the top, but did it so that nobody could ever see that there was music equipment inside. Simply another notch in his belt of bizarre genius.

Anyway, I had snuck back there during a late afternoon in March during the last long ride of a three-week tour – a trek from Philadelphia to Boston. When I drifted off, it was sunny and clear and I was looking forward to getting home, but worried my 1965 Ford Galaxie might not start since it had been sitting in Johnny’s parking lot in the cold for three weeks.

With drizzle starting to fall and the sun heading south, I awoke an hour or two later to hand-clapping and driving guitars on the radio. The guitar player, a 350-pound mountain of a kid whom Johnny called “PeeWee”, was the first person I heard talking, describing to me that his good friend Frank Padellaro was the ringleader of this new band and that they had many, many other songs that I should probably hear. This was my introduction to King Radio and I knew right away I needed to speak to the band as soon as possible about working together. Frank had been a member of the Scud Mountain Boys and since they had recently disbanded, I knew we might have something to talk about.

The song on the radio, I would learn later, was called “I-95,” a driving, catchy, insanely fun pop song about an irresponsible lad driving down the highway, sans any care in the world. As always, they had me at the hand claps.

It wasn’t more than a week later when I met Frank at one of my favorite Northampton, Mass. haunts – The Bay State (RIP) and I knew we’d be decent friends when PeeWee (real name: Ray) introduced me to Frank as one of the Tar Hut owners and the first thing Frank said to me was “you have great taste!” I wasn’t entirely sure if he was greasing me up, but he seemed very damn friendly and as time went by, that concern began fading.

Shortly thereafter, I had their debut album, “Mr. K is Dead, Go Home,” in my hands and it didn’t take long: this was just the direction we wanted to take the label – insanely catchy three-minute power-pop songs, backed with rich instrumentation and Frank’s unbelievably terrific singing voice, a voice which I believe was classically trained (my memory gets the best of me on that one) and to this day Frank ranks far and away as the best pure singer and talent we had on the label.

Angry Johnny was out of left-field and a mind-blowing creative genius (and the most FUN), The Ex-Husbands were the band all the girls liked, The Lonesome Brothers were solid veterans who had everyone’s respect and Martin’s Folly were the hip Brooklyn guys. But Frank Padellaro and King Radio were the most talented group of musicians we had on the roster, hands down.

Long story short, we had some minor successes with “Mr. K…” at college radio and I found myself happy because I had found a really good friend in Frank. He never asked us for anything we considered unfair, he was as smart as a whip, an extremly hard worker and very accomodating and friendly. As a CPA, he even did my taxes for a couple of years there. I truly enjoyed just about everything we did with King Radio on both a professional and personal level.

It kind of broke my heart when Tar Hut shut down, because we were about to release their second album, titled “Curse of the Bambino.” It is, in my eyes, a band at its very peak. The rich orchestration, the singing, the songwriting, just the whole package was even fuller, catchier and more beautiful than the first record by at least triple. “Curse…” was Frank really stepping on the gas, a creative mind zig-zagging deliciously around the recording studio.

We had a couple of other bands ready to go, also from Northampton and at that time, around mid-1999, I honestly and truly thought we had a firm grasp on “the next Seattle” moniker with Northampton. Not in the sense that we were going to be rich, but in the sense that there was so much great damn music coming out of that town during this period that it was overwhelming. We were ready to put it all out there, like a blackjack player on his last chips. All in. That’s a post for another time.

Fast forward to 2006: Frank is still around, producing great records by other bands. I haven’t heard from him in quite while now, but I really miss our conversations, talking and laughing about music, food, movies, whatever. King Radio released a third record that was a 180-degree turn from thier previous stuff – and still well-received, although “Curse of the Bambino” will never be topped. Actually, I hope he does top it someday. He probably will.

Two songs from “Curse of the Bambino,” never released on Tar Hut, but they still both hold a dear place in my heart (right click and “save as” to save them to your hard drive).

Dumbrella (1:49 of pop genius!)
Untitled (Frank’s voice at its very best)

Hard not to like those.

Wha….?


Bruins Email
Originally uploaded by rustedrobot.

Hmmmm….interesting. I received this email tonight from the Boston Bruins Executive Vice President. Interesting approach. Looks like he opted for the straightforward route. Click on the pic if you can’t see it clearly enough.

I Was Born In A Little Bitty Tar Hut III

I was thinking the other day about how great it would be to amass all the pictures we took from the Tar Hut days. Those of you who know Dave, one of the three Tar Hut principals, knows that he doesn’t go far without his camera. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if Dave rolled out of his mother’s womb with a camera and strap wrapped around his wrist. His hair: straight up in a pomp, of course. Anyway, the amount of pictures he took in that period from 1996-1999 was, in a word, obscene. We’ll get them online eventually. As I look back, I’m so glad he took them, because I never really understood the importance of a camera until a few years ago. Oh, regrets. I have many.

Regardless, it got me thinking yet again about time. How, in time, the memories of things you’ve done or people you dated begin to play with your mind like those lottery machines on TV that have all those little balls shooting around them before those little ping-pong numbers come rolling out. We remember high school, college or a certain job with reflective fondness, yet we tend to forget how much we couldn’t wait to escape them. We look back on some past loves (and for some of us, marriages) with fondness but then one day realize why you’re not still with them – because you forgot about the few annoying little habits they had or how much they drove you nuts or just how plain wrong it was. I’m sure some thought the same of me.

In trying to think about a post for my latest Tar Hut installment here, I was going to write about one of our bands, King Radio. That will come soon. (Hi Frank. Send me an email!) Instead I’m writing about a period in the spring of 1999, when Tar Hut, unbeknownst to any of us at the time, was experiencing a strange combination of exciting growth and inevitable crashing. Don’t ask. Some recent email exchanges between the three of us had me laughing pretty good and then an email came in from Dave – he had forwarded an email to us that I had written in May, 1999 regarding an impending record release. Yes, Dave even kept all the old emails saying that someday he’s going to write a book, bless his heart. So here’s what I had to say in that email, with names removed to protect the innocent:

I just got the CD in the mail with a mock-up of the artwork. I must say, the artwork is absoloutly horrendous. Just fucking terrible. XXXX was talking like it was the next Van Gogh painting or something, but the artwork is so awful that I broke out laughing in my car at the post office when I opened it. People were staring at me. That’s not really anything new though, because I sit there and talk to myself all the time. I have conversations with myself in my head. Sometimes out loud. With gestures. And I find myself growing more and more anti-social by the minute. The only desire I have lately to see bands is if they’re on Tar Hut. Anyway, the CD sounds really good. Like I said, it really grows on you. I told XXXX to send you both mock-ups, too, so you’ll see it soon enough.

Well, there you go. I sat here this past weekend, just short of seven years later, my eyes scanning that paragraph over and over, wondering who the hell that guy was who wrote that. It’s obviously me – the writing style certainly gives it away, but I found myself full of regret that I ever let it get to the point where I had no desire to see a band live unless they were on my own label. How completely, utterly obnoxious. I’d like to think I was having a bad day, but why bother lying? I wasn’t. Our records were selling but not as fast as we wanted them to, I was heading towards an inevitable breakup with a girlfriend of two years (of course, the correct move in retrospect – it almost always is) and I found myself – all the time – seeing bands and thinking to myself “how the hell do they get away with playing on this stage when [insert Tar Hut band name] could blow thier doors off in their sleep?” Yes, bitterness 101.

Yet the end result seven years later? I ended up sitting here laughing. Hard. I mean, that’s the only thing I can do. The three of us emerged from the smoldering wreckage with minor scars, but we all remain in constant contact with one another and back to how it used to be – three friends talking about music, saying or writing dumb shit and remembering the good times. To hell with the bad ones and if you come across one, put your boot in it like you’re stamping out a cigarette and then have a laugh. Don’t forget that pain, though – it has without doubt helped me learn a lot. Just keep it somewhere in the vault where it’s dark and dusty.

The artwork? That wasn’t the mark of a bitter kid. It really was terrible.