Here is a little bit of inspiration if you are having the typical Monday blues:

From our faithful Sweet Talk Readers (Thanks JV) we bring you another jaw dropping music video; the kind you wish still played 24 / 7 on MTV.
Kevin Wyatt kicking ass as he normally does:

The talented absurdity of this band has always made me chuckle, not to mention that in a way they are family:

My wife and I have already started practicing for Halloween.  If you are a Bollywood fan, it simply does not get any better than this.  Keep an ear out for the Toni Basil “Hey Mickey” themes.

For my own version of March Madness I decided to create a bracket of all the “Life on the Road for a Musician is Really, Really Hard...no REALLY” videos.  If you are of legal drinking age and own a TV you are aware of the genre we are discussing.  If you were abandoned as a baby and raised by a wolf pack you may not, for your edification here are some of the essential criteria:

* Lyrics about the Hard Part of Rocking so Hard
* Slow Tempo, Semi Ballad (This is serious and important)
* Missing Family Shots (Hey man we’re not orphans, if so we’d be in a punk band)
* Boarding Private Airplane Shots (This is how we roll)
* Hysterical Fans Weeping Shots (we make women swoon / bare breasts/ and men raise their fists / bump chests)
* Pyrotechnics at the Song’s Climax (duh)
* Sweat from all the Hard Work (Don’t let the smiles and repetitive high-fivin’ fool ya; It’s hard work, and all those CRAZY cool lights are f&*ckin hot!)
* Contemplative Limo Shots (hey man it’s lonely out there)
* Mustached Roadie Passing Out Towels and Opening Doors Shots(they’re our Boyz!)
* Stretching, Shadow Boxing, Jumping in Place (It’s just like goin’ 15 rounds EVERY NIGHT)
* Drummer Drumming a Chair / Couch Backstage (You do what ya can to get fired up, it’s hard bringin’ it EVERY NIGHT)
* Booze, Lots and Lots of Booze, (it’s crazy hard out there and sometimes you need to unwind)
* Sunglasses, Preferably Mirrored (hey man it’s bright out there. I’ve been up all night and I don’t want people to see my bloodshot peepers, in fact don’t even try to make eye contact with me)
* Lots and Lots and Lots of Contemplation (We think hard)
* Slapping Hands with Fans from the Stage (hey, they paid big bucks to be up front, or they’re hot)
* haunting repetitive piano / semi acoustic guitar lick w/ a little finger picking (Hey man we can play; not everyone can play this part; it’s hard)
* Hotel Rooms, they all look the same (you probably don’t know this; we are on the road a lot, so we stay in lots of hotels, we figure we’d show you what we do in them)
* Looking out the tourbus at the long stretch of road / horizon/ mountains (we tour nationally, and some places look differently than other places, sometimes it’s hard to remember where you are)
* Girls, Chicks, Groupies, etc (hey we rock and chicks are the reward if you rock this hard)
* Check out the Arena When it’s Empty, to Get a Feel for the Stage (It’s not just about Showtime, you gotta put in some hard hours)
* Silhouette Shots (Sometimes it’s dark sometimes it’s light, but it’s always hard)
* YOU MUST HAVE LONG HAIR (It takes Commitment to Rock this Look, and Commitment is Hard)...............................................................................................................................

Although entertaining, the first few rounds proved unsuccessful for any darkhorse upstarts, which paved the way for some real heavies to dance into the final four.

Representing the North East Conference: Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive”

Representing the Midwest Conference (Via Detroit): Bob Seger’s “Turn The Page”

Representing the Southern Conference (Via Detroit): Kid Rock’s “Only God Knows Why”

Representing the Western Conference: Journey’s “Faithfully”

This week is “Faithfully” vs “Turn The Page"” and “Wanted Dead or Alive” vs Only God Knows Why”

All votes will be tallied so please do you part and show your support through the comment section below

In my early incarnation as a writer, I wrote a very personal script about a young man losing his best friend in an accident.  A few years after the fact, a few other friends came together and actually produced and directed this script into a movie.  This movie made the film festival rounds and gained some small recognition. This was nearly a decade ago.  Well on March 18th, you, yes you, can finally own it on DVD.  Here is the link on Amazon.

Brother George is by far the hippest of the hep cats out of Little Rhodie, so it’s no surprise that he wrangled this clip for Sweet Talk. Seeing an amazing video such as this one makes me feel,
a) completely flummoxed that I do not have one ounce of patience to pull of this type of endeavor
b) artistically inadequate
c) old and full of cobwebs
d) I should really charge up my video camera, suck it up and venture outside

enjoy

No, this is not the begining of some sick joke from the desperate minds of Uncle Tupelo fans everywhere, but an honest to goodness tale of astronomical coincidence from Tweedy’s mouth.  The best part is the end of the story where Tweedy mimics the conversation.  Oh, to be “that” guy.

The ups and downs of the week:

BIG Up:  Finally watched the second episode of the new season of LOST (the single best Network show on TV), and was blown out of my knickers when in the first five minutes, Jeremy Davies’ character, sits on a couch crying watching footage of Oceanic 815, when a kyron pops up to tell us he is in Essex, Massachusetts!.  Yes dear readers, my hometown, population 2,800, where I was born raised and still reside.  Home of the Fried Clam!  BIZZARE. Think about it, you are a mid-thirties male sitting on your couch watching your favorite show, one that you have written about many a time, when there on the screen, a male character in his mid-thirties sits on his couch watching TV when the words Essex Massachusetts appear on the screen.  Talk about freakish and chilling recursive loops. Yes, I looked around me a couple of times and asked my wife repeatedly if she saw it as well. Eerie LOST-like Coincidence?  Perhaps not.  Let’s just say the mind of Executive Producer and frequent Director, Jack Bender is a steel trap.  Touché Mr. Bender, while you may have won this round be prepared for battle.  And yes, more than one person called and asked me if I knew Daniel Faraday.

BIG Down:  Depressed about No Depression.  Other than the incomparable rag that signs my paychecks, No Depression’s coverage of my favorite genre of music was first grade, top notch, and downright badass.  A shot of Jack in your honor, may you someday rise from the ashes.

Small Down: Shooting down the spy satellite. Wouldn’t it have been so much cooler to take bets on where this thing would have landed.  Talk about a modern twist on Jackson’s The Lottery.  I say let the sucker fall.  My bet is karma has a sense of humor. Watch out Cheney.

Small Up:  Spiders on drugs and Tootie holding a bong, why facebook is better than Myspace:

As an Editor At Large, I’ve had the fortune/misfortune of being present at some truly hedonistic and bacchanalian parties hosted by some serial rage-aholics, 50 cent, Kid Rock, Phish, Flaming Lips, etc. However, none of these “experiences” could have prepared me for the utter madness of hosting a dozen kids for my son’s fourth B-Day party.

The theme was “rock star dance party”. The idea started when my genius wife decide to make backstage passes for all the guests.  We are not talking crayon, glitter and string; we are talking watermarked laminates with sponsored lanyards. The goodie bags, seemingly omnipresent at every kid’s birthday party these days (side note: when did it become mandatory to give guests presents?  Is it so they don’t wig with envy when the actual person of honor starts ripping into gifts? Seems like a misguided parent placation that needs to stop immediately; kids should learn to suck it up....) included hipster sunglasses, rolls of Necco Wafers, Mardi Gras beads, and of course glo-stick necklaces.  Clearly Martha Stewart has nothing on my wife.

Everything was proceeding swimmingly until my son pulled out his big present, a black First Act acoustic guitar for kids, with silver wings spreading out from the sound hole like a harley’s screaming eagle carburetor (it kicks so much ass, Johnny Cash, God rest his black suited soul would have killed for one of these babies).
He strummed a few distorted chords, and like a Fugazi show gone awry these dozen lunatics started popping smarties, pounding juice boxes, and main lining lemon frosted cup cakes. 

Once the sugar high kicked into overdrive, couches and benches were shoved aside, the pre-amp cranked to eleven, the glo-sticks cracked, and the after show dance party reared it’s maniacal head. Unleashed, these wild eyed tweakers with sweat pouring down their once cherubic cheeks, shucked, jumped and jived with reckless abandon. Like smashing atoms kids careened and caromed. They did moves like the karate chop, the Fonzi, the bird, the Axl Rose, the wheel barrow, the Hanson Brothers (Slap Shot, not Mmm Bop) the windmill and the spastic Charlie Chaplin with such fervor and passion it’s amazing the cops never showed up.

The Soundtrack of the devil’s music kids call Rock and Roll.

“All Together Now” - The Beatles
“Hotel Yorba” - The White Stripes
“My Sweet One” - Phish
“Love” - G. Love
“Licking Stick” - Desmond Dekker
“This Old Man” - Victor Johnson
“Sparkle” - Phish
“Feels So Good” - Toots & The Maytals
“Ain’t Got No Home” - Clarence “Frogman” Henry
“For You Blue” - The Beatles
“Anyway the Wind Blows” JJ Cale
“Got My Own Thing Now” - Squirrel Nut Zippers
“Julius” Phish
“Get Back” - The Beatles

It was a sight only a true music junkie could loveand admire, that is until the music stopped and the sugar high came crashing to a halt.  At which point, the communal sucrose withdrawal caused a disintegrating meltdown of epic proportions.  Babbling hysterical blobs sucked thumbs and rocked themselves into various catatonic states, while twitching jonesers, on hands and knees, scoured the floor for dropped Necco waffers and discarded pastry morsels. Pandemonium, chaos, and complete system shutdowns all ensued, until finally the mothers stepped in to restore law and order.

Soon the house lights came on and the bleary eyed kids filed out in their Mom’s arms to the SUV’s and Mini-Vans idling in the driveway like suburban limos; strangely, it reminded me of the time I witnessed an early morning fire alarm at the Chateau Marmont.  Inside candy wrappers, paper streamers and empty juices boxes lay strewn everywhere, while a couple of three year olds remained crashed out on the couch.

I looked at my wife, the ring master and promoter of the successful event and laughed.  I answered her quizzical stare with, “Just think about when he turns Sweet Sixteen.”