Journal, News, Guests by Jim Fitting
Spooky (like election day)
The results are in and it's a tea party! Put away the good china and call up the March hare to find out whither the hatter went...Perhaps he 's buying the dearly departed Billy Ruane a drink somewhere, or spinning some sort of wax cylinder mix tape for him.
What a week. This world ain't for the faint hearted (unless you work in Washington DC). But enthusiasm has lost a star player. There's nothing to be said that hasn't already been written, but Mr. Ruane will be missed dearly. Nevertheless we will keep playing our favorite bars (or wherever they will have us) knowing that no unbuttoned hurricane will be busting down the doors just as the set ends to present us with a magnificent bottle of Russian fox jizz and a tin of sardines (The rare Canadian type of course). That's not gonna happen and the gigs don't stop for nothing. So hoist one for Billy and keep doing what he loved best; and we will keep rolling from Quincy to wherever... Were we in Pittsfield last week plying our momentary art in the slipstream of all hallow's eve? It was the Mission Bar, specializing in tapas and talkative zombies going on and on but ending up in a miasma of enthusiasma. And wasn't that a parade down the main drag before our set, featuring the great pumpkin on a ladder truck? There were the thriller dancers in complete costume and choreography and a back of the pick-up truck be-heading thrown in too. That will keep us rolling...
Right back to the Lizard Lounge twice a month. And wasn't that Malikowski hiding under a hoodie behind the soundboard? And wasn't that Laura Cortese down at the Stone Temple; where we were drinking coffee from our favorite cup and visiting the president's crypt on Halloween eve, trying not to get spooked.
One Thursday it was Jocie singing Mary Mary and birds got to fly, fish got to swim, and a whole bed of notions I swear. And then Friday getting off on the right foot with Pancho and Lefty. Dancing in the aisles while Dietrich Strausse chased around the table with changes to spare and nuns with guns too, his wild eyes making us misty...And who remembers it was the boss that wrote that song about spirits in the night. Boo. Bo Diddley said you should've heard just what I seen. Who do you love?
Rest In Peace Billy.
What a week. This world ain't for the faint hearted (unless you work in Washington DC). But enthusiasm has lost a star player. There's nothing to be said that hasn't already been written, but Mr. Ruane will be missed dearly. Nevertheless we will keep playing our favorite bars (or wherever they will have us) knowing that no unbuttoned hurricane will be busting down the doors just as the set ends to present us with a magnificent bottle of Russian fox jizz and a tin of sardines (The rare Canadian type of course). That's not gonna happen and the gigs don't stop for nothing. So hoist one for Billy and keep doing what he loved best; and we will keep rolling from Quincy to wherever... Were we in Pittsfield last week plying our momentary art in the slipstream of all hallow's eve? It was the Mission Bar, specializing in tapas and talkative zombies going on and on but ending up in a miasma of enthusiasma. And wasn't that a parade down the main drag before our set, featuring the great pumpkin on a ladder truck? There were the thriller dancers in complete costume and choreography and a back of the pick-up truck be-heading thrown in too. That will keep us rolling...
Right back to the Lizard Lounge twice a month. And wasn't that Malikowski hiding under a hoodie behind the soundboard? And wasn't that Laura Cortese down at the Stone Temple; where we were drinking coffee from our favorite cup and visiting the president's crypt on Halloween eve, trying not to get spooked.
One Thursday it was Jocie singing Mary Mary and birds got to fly, fish got to swim, and a whole bed of notions I swear. And then Friday getting off on the right foot with Pancho and Lefty. Dancing in the aisles while Dietrich Strausse chased around the table with changes to spare and nuns with guns too, his wild eyes making us misty...And who remembers it was the boss that wrote that song about spirits in the night. Boo. Bo Diddley said you should've heard just what I seen. Who do you love?
Rest In Peace Billy.
