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SEXPOSÉ: The Gentle Readers Diary 1996 Archives

• May 1996 Edition
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• December 1996 Edition

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We went to Pensacola too, to Sluggo's. Susan's mom lives in Sandestin, so we spent a couple of hours at the beautiful beach before going to the club. Don is not a sun worshiper, it's official. I don't even think he took off his socks. Again, we played really well (why lie?), and the club had the nicest staff any of us have ever encountered. We'll be back there in August, I hear. I also lost my purse on that trip, at a Taco Bell in Andalusia, Alabama. I got my Visa bill and sure enough somebody made two trips to the Andalusia Wal-Mart, spending nearly $800. Champagne wishes.

I think we played the Dark Horse Tavern in Atlanta during May. All I remember about that was the singer for the band after us, whose nipples were extremely prominent. Billy Gewin, my friend Susi's boyfriend, commented that he felt compelled to hook jumper cables up to them.

Oh yeah - and we played Last Friday in Macon. Last Friday is great. It's been going 10 years now - all ages shows on the last Friday of the month. The kids are funny. If cigarettes were food, they'd explode. And you can't smoke inside the youth center, so the entire crowd ebbs and flows about every 10 minutes. You'll be thinking, "Gosh, they really like this song. Here they all come," and then it's like, "Gosh, they must've really hated that one, because they're all leaving." It wreaks havoc on the ego. I think we were all left thinking we sound good for about two minutes at a time at 10 minute intervals. Hard to rectify that. Babyfat was the other band on the bill, though it was just Michelle and Shonali. They seem to be between rhythm sections right now. The kids dug it. Low-fi and all that. It was really good.

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Anyway, we'll make this quick. We played the Dark Horse early in the month, which again seems a bit hazy. I do know that we played competently, and that the band after us (this just keeps happening) was very unusual, in that they had a background vocalist who wore a beautiful long white dress. Circa McCall's, 1974. She blew us away - just the sheer presence of her. Just standing still, in the same room, you were so aware she was there closeby. We need to work on that creating an atmosphere bit. I know the smoke machine is often scoffed at, but I think we could do it tastefully.

And finally, we opened for Syd Straw at the Point. She is truly amazing. Very nice, very funny and a great songwriter. I love her new record. We kicked her ass.

I just wanted to say that. I can't swear that is true. I don't think you can kick Syd Straw's ass.

In summary, let me say that we have many new songs which we are working into the set all the time. The second record is going to be hot hot hot. Checkout the Syd Straw album, it really is a cut above, and I also just bought the new Grant Lee Buffalo which is quite good. May I also recommend the Mysteries of Life and the new Versus EP? I think I may.

Until next month, keep stretching for the stars or whatever.

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Okay, just what is going on down there, anyway? You folks from HotLanta are fucking up the Olympics, then you blow people up--is everything okay? I mean, what is UP with your town, pal?

We started out the month July 4 at Smith's Olde Bar. In another incident of Booking Genius, we got to open for two heavy duty Southern rock bands with Old Dudes in them. One of the bands, Memphis Fever (and you thought I was kidding) had an awesome singer though. Cute little guy too. The whole band wore red, white and blue, and even painted their pickup truck like the flag for the occasion. The other band, who shall remain nameless only because I can't remember their name, had thousands of dollars worth of really nice equipment and acted like they were the Rolling Stones or something. I felt like telling them - look, it doesn't matter how good you are anymore because your music is BORING and you LOOK LIKE SHIT. But I didn't say that because I knew the next day for them meant making sales calls again and changing the baby's diapers. We had a good crowd, we played well, we didn't make one dollar because it was a free show.

There were three bands booked for the July 31 show at the Point: us, Mary Fortune Express and Sonia Dada. When we arrived, we found out that Sonia Dada had rented the club, and they wanted to play first, and start at 11 p.m. so both bands would have to play after they finished. After a volley of coin tosses and phone calls, it was decided that Mary Fortune would get paid and bow out gracefully. They were so smart. Andrew really wanted us to play because he had friends coming out.

So Sonia Dada goes on about 11:15 p.m. Have you ever heard Sonia Dada? In all seriousness, they are good but in a totally un-Gentle Readers kind of way. They have three black vocalists who harmonize like you wouldn't believe and the band is a bunch of white Berklee types (for a total of about 11,000 people on stage). Every note is exactly where it is supposed to be. By the way, one of the singers is a big Aaron Neville looking baritone guy. After the show a group of drunk girls by the bar cornered him and kept saying "I LOVE your voice but I really LOVE your LAUGH! Isn't it AMAZING?" I felt sorry for him.

So anyway, when they were done they proceeded to turn the house lights on and take an hour to load out of the club so they could get on the road. The club manager offered to pay us and let us go home but no, Andrew had SIX FRIENDS who paid to see us. He ran around like a Hyena giving birth to an elephant, (it's ok - he doesn't have internet access) hysterical at the prospect we might not play. So we did six songs (one for each of his friends), took our money and left. He was still waving his arms like a crazy man and talking in voice two octaves above his normal one when I left. I suspect he spontaneously combusted shortly thereafter.

None of us exploded in Centennial Park (although Susan just missed it). We've all seen some Olympic events. I personally thought the Table Tennis was great. Andrew made $1,200 laminating people's ticket stubs. Every once in a while he has a serious brainstorm, and this was one of those times. I'm afraid his idea to make a chair out of all his broken drumsticks misses the mark.

In keeping with our generally lame month, I bought the new Red Five album, hoping it would be good filler while waiting for a new Muffs release. Wrong again. It's lame. Check out the new Godrays CD (they used to be Small Factory). It's much better.

I know August will be a Gentle Readers kind of month.

Until then, Don't cry out loud,
Lee

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One morning on my way to work I pulled up at a stoplight right next to Don in his new car with the top down. It's a cool car, but it's like Don's whole torso, from the belly-button up, was above the body of the automobile. I kept looking at the ground underneath him for big red shoes sticking out. He's been working for the last month or so with a band from Houston, Texas, called Caedmon's Call. This will be their first record for one of those Warner Bros. labels and Don says it's really good, which it probably is since he doesn't always say that.

As for myself, I found the band a van. It's a beautiful 1984 Dodge Ram 150 with a V-8, windows and one bench seat. It's carpeted, and everything works, including AC, cruise control and the radio. It has 112,000 miles on it and it belonged to one family in Lawrenceville, Georgia. The horn honks when you pull the emergency brake as an added bonus. We got a swinging deal, we have plenty of room, and of course we look fabulous in it (we're trying to "up market" our image a bit, FYI).

Our web site has been up for over a month now, and we got our first set of stats back from our webman, Neal. He seemed very pleased by them, but I couldn't figure them out. I do know we had foreign people here (bienvenue! wilkommen!).

A funny thing is happening as people move through our web site. When they click to join our mailing list, we ask them some questions. Some are serious and must be filled in, like name and address, and several are not so serious and they are marked as "optional." Most people just put in the basic stuff and skip all of the goofy questions except for one. For some reason they feel compelled to answer the one that asks "May we supply your name to other companies whose latex products may interest you?". Why folks feel compelled to answer that one we can't figure out. They all fill in no, by the way. As if we were connected to some sex toy manufacturer who was counting on us for new catalog leads. We're enjoying that.

I won't go on and on about our shows this month, except to say that we had a bigger crowd than ever at the Dark Horse in Atlanta which was great. Branden Bush, formerly of St. Louis' Mercy Me, sat in with us at that show. He had a new Farfisa (new to him) which he wanted to get some use out of, and while I never thought, "Our problem is that we don't have a Farfisa," it sounded pretty damn good. He's an amazing player. He'll be taking his Hammond on the road with Billy Pilgrim in September. Our thanks go out to him and to the cold' lampin' Tom Cassell who runs sound for us on occasion and always makes it better. I pay him an extra $5 to make me really loud - don't tell Andrew.

Until next month, remember:

"He who seizes the (right) moment is the right man."
- Goethe

Rockin' & partyin' is all I crave.
Lee

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But those days are over. Susan and I are going to have to find something else to talk about, so we've both been listening to NPR a lot lately.

One reason I feel compelled to be especially nice to Don is because we're ready to start recording our second album. I always feel closer to him at times like this. We went in last Saturday (Sept. 28) and did a new song, "Saving it Up," which turned out great. It's really exactly what we were looking for: raw and crunchy and lightly dusted with a dash of Georgio Moroder.

The highlight of the month for me was the Athens show. We played with the Fountains, who are great, and the crowd was large and gracious. I laughed, I cried, I bled on Susan's guitar. WPUP in Athens is playing our record and we'll be doing a radio interview there before our next show at the High Hat. I'm going to say the F-word on the air and try to make us seem dangerous and exciting.

Andrew went on a trip this month, by the way. He went to Montreal with his parental units, and he brought each of us a gift: cigarettes for Susan and Don and some QUEBEC! nail clippers for me. Pretty much says it all. Oh yeah - I've been slack the past couple of months, but be sure to check out the Liquor Giants (Matador), Craig Ross (MCA) and Lisa Germano (4 AD). All tremendous.

We have new Gentle Readers ice scrapers. You can have one if you email us or grab one of us at a show, while supplies last. I discovered that down here in the south everyone needs an ice scraper at least once a year, but nobody has one. They use their bank cards or something crazy like that.

Until next month, remember: Love is a battlefield.
Lee

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The reason I bring this up is because I find myself saying and doing very Helen Mills-like things lately, and it frightens me. I'm not even 30 yet, which as you know is the age where we officially Start To Die. Part of it probably has to do with living under a quivering canopy of leaping, chewing, chirping squirrels. It's totally disoriented me. I hear them on my roof. Hurling pecan shells at me at high velocity when I'm trying to sleep or when I'm sitting on the deck. Embarrassing me in front of guests. Driving my dog to the brink of madness. If I could shoot a .22 in Candler Park, it would be a bloodbath. I'd save the tails to give to people on our mailing list.

Weekends now I spend carrying around a warm mug of coffee, watching football out of the corner of my eye, constantly twitching from the knock, knock, knock of nuts pelting my house. Squirrels have chaotic little lives. They've drawn me in against my will. I've seen what no man should know. And ultimately, to get to the point here, I can't write a song that doesn't have a bit about the squirrels in it. All the new Gentle Readers songs are these frantic little assaultive numbers about the impending coldness which is Death to Our Kind Who Have Not Spent The Summer Always Moving, Always Working. I have also taken the liberty to choreograph the new material - usually a variation on Don and I moving up and down like pistons and Susan moving her eyes from side to side like Susanna Hoffs. This is awful. I just wanted to warn you because we're getting ready to go back into the studio and it looks like we might be making a concept album.

Enough about me. I guess that's it then.

Just kidding. Susan, Don and I all got new shoes in October. Pretty much the same pair of Doc Martens as a matter of fact. My grandmother doesn't understand why all the kids today want to look like they're ready to stamp out a forest fire. Of course she's the one who recommended that I wear a white bodysuit and silver slippers onstage. Susan changed the U-joints on the van. Andrew went the whole month without hosting a keg party. Don found out the Indigo Girls 1200 Curfews went gold. And you know about my month.

Get off your ass and go tell it on the mountain.
Lee

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Susan and I got to listen to a tape of it about 839,000 times on the way to Indianapolis for Thanksgiving and there are some outstanding moments. We sucked and we sparkled in equally splendid amounts. The highlight was a new song, "Real Smoke," which we played for the first time. It's nearly perfect. Susan played the lead guitar and she didn't hit one bad note - a first for the Gentle Readers. I kind of spent the entire show trying not to completely screw the pooch, as Don would say. I got a cord stuck in the wah peddle so it wouldn't turn off, making a giant sweeping sucking sound that drowned out pretty much everything else as I frantically kicked at the floor. Then I pulled my cord out during a guitar solo. I broke strings. I just barely held it together. After we finished people stayed and disco danced, and then Dayroom showed up and played a little bit. And then we played strip "Don't Break the Ice" until dawn.

We also had a great show in Athens, again at the High Hat. It was a strange night from the get go. The opening band didn't show, we watched the very sad end of the movie "Glory" and drank beer at the bar, sniffled, then set up, and then took some band pictures. As we were soundchecking, a guy came up and played air guitar in front of the stage and then stayed and drank for the nearly three hours until we played. He and a buddy hooted and hollered all through our set which meant we hooted and hollered back and things just disintegrated into chaos. The guy started bringing me guitar picks (I guess he had them in his pocket?). Would you interpret that to mean A) "You are so good I'd be flattered if you'd use my pick," B) "You seem to be struggling. Try this," or C) "These things were poking me."?

Now for some tidbits I've been saving. Is this not the worst pickup line you've ever heard in your life: "Your underwear must be from Mars because your ass is out of this world?" My friend Zilka told me some guy tried this on her recently. English is her second language but COME ON. Any line that has the words "underwear" and "Mars" in it is bad. She know this.

Also, a couple of months ago we got this email:
"I am married to the bass player in your band, Don, but find that often I still don't know what is going on with your band-when you are playing, etc. As a matter of fact, I don't think he ever knows either, unless I ask him within five minutes of when he was told. So I thought perhaps I should get on the GR mailing list, or else you can start pinning notes to his shirt after practices."

I don't know who this woman is but hers is the third message we've received from someone claiming to be married to Don, though this one seems to have uncanny insight into his character. Actually it really is from Don's wife Dianne - a cry for help which will not go unanswered.

Finally, our Gentle Readers future initiatives include: release a second CD, tour the Southeast, get signed to a big fatty label, dominate the earth. In short, the Hootie Plan, minus the suckage. Wouldn't want you to think we don't have anything in the hopper. Lots of work. Lots of secrets.

"Vanity as an impulse has without doubt been of far more benefit to civilization than modesty has ever been." - William E. Woodward

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Here's what happened: Andrew left the band and we thought, well, we'll just do these next few shows without a drummer (we would have sucked). Our sometimes Farfisa man, Brandon Bush said, hey, I used to play drums. Maybe I'll come to a practice. He did, and he played well and we said you can be the man and he said I will until I can't. However, he had planned to spend the New Year in New York and so we had to find a drummer who could do two shows with us while Brandon was gone (New Year's Eve at the Redlight Cafe and Friday, January 3 at the 40-Watt in Athens).

I had recently seen a drummer named Linda Bolley play with Straw Village and with Captain Deneuve (the all-girl, all-star, Go-Go's cover band). Even though she is a girl, she was good and so I called her and asked her to sit in for some meager sum of money to be disclosed later and a can of beer at each practice. Having recently departed Straw Village and having an intense love of canned beer, she agreed. So, between practicing with Brandon and Linda, our month of December was spent like this: "That was great. I might lay off the hats until the second half of the chorus though. Don't ever listen to what Lee says. She doesn't know."

By the way, I don't mean to harp on this beer thing, but the first time Linda came to practice with us I just automatically started asking her when she wanted her beer. Let's get rolling, you know? Finally she took one and when I would glance over she'd tap the lip of the can against her mouth, raise her eyebrows, and smile, as if to say, "yeah." But I knew she took the beer out of obligation and Don and Susan thought I had been a little pushy about it too (they're ganging up now). But you know, some people don't always know what's best for them. I do, thankfully, and she should've had the beer earlier. Brandon would've.

We had our first chance to play live with Brandon at the Red Light on a Thursday night. His vintage 1983 woodgrain kit looked swanky under the red lights and he played great, except for the few times when his hands flopped against one another while doing a fill or reaching for a cymbal, causing his sticks to explode out of his hands. Luckily he was able to grab some more off the floor before too much of the song had elapsed. We have chosen to chalk that phenomenon up to rustiness since he hasn't played for a couple of years, as opposed to unusual clumsiness.

We rocked and to show how hard we rocked we drank Pabst Blue Ribbon draft. This is a key indicator. Anybody who grabs a Pete's Wicked Ale after a show is a wimpy loser who did not rock. They probably played an acoustic guitar. Or they own one.

My friend Diana Mercer (Miss Di's House of Chicken) told me recently that "Time is the awesome band-aid," and so that would be the inspirational verse I would choose to share this month. I might add, in keeping with this month's theme, that Beer is the Bacitracin.

Thanks for Reading -
Lee

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