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Newsletter No 11: Our New Fighting Technique IS Unstoppable!
Hey-zeus. What was that line of Dylan's about drinking wine with railroad men? Something about it "strangling up your mind"? Well add that to the damage list. We don't know WHAT the hell happened at The Eagle (San Fran's Premier Leather Bar!), but we do know that since it happened Eugene's been having dizzy spells, keeps referring to himself in third person, and has been set upon by overly inquisitive men from India. He goes in for an MRI next week and let's hope to God that they don't find anything in there except his brain. IF that.
But in a lot of ways it was perfect. It was so perfect it's amazing we hadn't already thought of it. Casting about for years, picking up the rags and tags of audiences disaffected and disaffecting. We're talking here about the OXBOW fan base. We've meandered through some choice demographics here:
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1989: the Brits appreciated our stand on dental care. 1991: we were very popular with lesbians. 1995: the Germans felt some sort of spiritual affinity with our aforestated desires to invade Poland. 1996: trembling, wet-lipped boys stand urgently by stage side, too afraid to speak on the love that dare not speak its name. 1997: the Italians, and the second of the Axis powers, take us unto their capacious bosoms. We play for a woman whose dream in life is to go from running a club to runnin g a whore house. We were in heaven. 1999: the Japanese, weary of radioactive monsters, welcome the plundering West into their homes as OXBOW fucks over an entire nation. And it loves every minute of it. 2000&2001: the first years that we, like Johnny Hartman, got branded with the kiss of death. These were the years that we became "'the musicians' musicians." |
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Translation: you will die from an obscurity that will all but obliterate everything but critical acclaim. No blowjobs from celebrities. No drunken bows at the Grammies. No Pearl Jam-esque moments of pique that our deli trays weren't quite right. Critic's darlings because they know we'll never spoil it for them by being interesting to anymore than about 35 people. Lots of people love those stories about guys like Van Gogh, dying penniless and unrecognized. Some might say that being recognized for doing something artistically significant should be enough. Some might think we're complaining. Some might be wrong on all counts.
What we mean to say is that if it doesn't rankle you that pop culture is so, well, uh, rank, then you would have stopped reading this about 200 words ago. What we mean to say is that in 2002, after 13 years of living, maybe OXBOW in its adolescence has found a home, albeit a home between the leathered steel racks and pinions of the rougher trade, but a home nonetheless. In the midst of all the macho posturing and preening maybe we all just missed out on the fact that 99% of heavy metal from Rollins to Pantera (bands that in an upcoming article in the GREAT Grappling magazine Eugene has challenged, collectively, to a cagefight) is implicitly, uh, homo. Men with men doing manly things in the full-blown blush of manly accomplishment. We mean sure sure sure, it WAS rock night. And the number of tattooed, 300 pound, leatherclad bikers was woefully low (about 15 by our count) and the number of SF's finest musicians, music critics, and hipoisie was high, but the point is this: audiences of gay biker dudes wouldn't ban an OXBOW show like, say, the clubs in Bern, Switzerland, because they were afraid of all of OXBOW's cock energy. They indeed, might welcome it. Of course there is the downside of extremely low amounts of pussy afoot, HOWEVER it should be noted that OXBOW only ever attracted the HARDIEST, toughest chicks in the bunch anyway. We're not talking butch broads. We're just talking, um, adventure seekers. Anyways, anyways, anyways... |
ON AN ASS TO DAMASCUS
So the show, what we remember of the Jan. 10th, 2002 gig at The Eagle, was great. We played with Touched By a Janitor. And they were great. Dug Hilsinger formerly of the great band BOMB was great for having us. It was all great.
Except for that guy we hospitalized.
But there's always that risk at an OXBOW show. Always a risk that your desire for an evening of light entertainment could quickly become your desire for medical treatment for a head wound. However there is usually a causal connection between events that goes something like this:
1) YOU in a desire for light entertainment and a self-helping urge to get over your most recent dumping at the hands of an erstwhile lover try to convince your friends to go to an OXBOW SHOW.
2) Your friends ridicule you.
3) YOU go alone.
4) The bartender begins serving you drinks. Many of them.
5) OXBOW materializes on stage and you, after consuming all of the purchased drinks, decide you really want to hear OXBOW play say "Freebird." Or better yet "Stairway to Heaven."
6) YOU voice this desire. Loudly. Several times. Hmmm. It seems the band can't really hear you. So you move closer. Just to be sure.
7) Eugene introduces you to an obscure jiu jitsu move called Mata Leao. YOU wake up back at home in bed (if you're lucky) or at the local general hospital (if you're not).
Except this time it didn't happen that way.
Though there was the requisite trip to the emergency room. Long story much shorter: Eugene threw a bunch of flyers into the audience for an upcoming 3-day festival in San Fran where he happens to be doing a reading. Said flyers hit audience member in the eye. He had to be rushed to the hospital after subsequently being overtaken with nausea, pain and blurred vision.
Apparently he's okay. And not suing. And for this we are thankful.
Anyways, we'll be kicking off our upcoming month of shows in Europe in May with another show at the Eagle in April. Be there. Wear glasses.
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FUCKED BY PERFIDIOUS ALBION!
Well it had to happen. I mean especially after that tooth comment. But the big festival in England, also known as All Tomorrow's Parties (ATP), was being curated by our good friends in Shellac. They submit their lists, but is this list FINAL?!?! Nooooo... because obviously the Brits know better than anybody who should play. Well as of this writing we're hearing conflicting reports about whether we're on or not. Bob Weston from Shellac says, Yes. But the ATP web site offers NO insight. So let us help you fucking limey rock cocksucker motherfuckers with your decision making process: please put OXBOW on the bill. Thank you very much. |
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BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH
March 5, 2002. OXBOW's newest, AN EVIL HEAT, is being released worldwide on Neurot. Jarboe from The Swans is on it. So is Monte Vallier from Swell. A host of other fucking luminaries as well. It'll be cool. We're cranking out new t-shirts, upgrading this fucking website, getting ready for a European assault and battery this May (and later again in the Fall) and hoping that Greg Barratt from Tone Deaf Booking will let us light up America (or small portions of it) similarly. So what else is new?
1) Eugene's surgery has healed, almost (a week before the show his chest was still bleeding). He is still unemployed. He is being threatened by his former employer who is accusing him of lap top computer theft. He says "they can blow me long and hard." He will be fighting the very dangerous Machado brothers in early February. Five fights in one day. And he's still wondering if that fuck Duane Dennison will step up, like a man, and get his ass kicked for crimes previously mentioned (Newsletter No 2).
2) OXBOW is constructing a super audio chamber in Niko's basement. It will also double as a sex club.
3) The OXBOW video is proceeding apace. CASTING CALL: Actors/actresses who won't/don't mind getting hit in the face for a music video.
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NEXT SHOW?
In your living room. When you're not home. The show includes the removal of several of your audio-visual items, whatever's in your medicine cabinet and your shoes. Hotdamn! Isn't rock and roll great? [ Newsletter ] |
