The U.S. Mods and the marvelous time warp

Summer 1980 was a summer of records. In addition to a record breaking heat wave in Texas, our band, The U.S. Mods, had a brand new record to promote. A 7" single of two original songs, I'm Gone b/w Government, it came complete with a black and white xeroxed cover, in the best DIY tradition. We placed a handful of copies in several local record stores, but the largest order came from Bomp mail order in California. Bomp bought thirty copies, or about one-seventh of the tiny total pressing of 200 (in retrospect, we probably should have done at least 500 copies). We now had a place in the Bomp catalog; what we didn't know at the time was that we were slated for a short review in Bomp magazine, issue #22. The only problem was, Bomp magazine ended with issue #21.

Cut to 2007. Our single has become, surprisingly, a Texas punk/new wave collectible - it shows up on eBay once every couple of years, going for around $150. My old bandmates and I have led separate lives of bands, colleges, jobs and marriages. A new book, titled Bomp! Saving the World One Record At A Time, by Suzy Shaw and Mick Farren is released in '07; it's a detailed history of both the record label and magazine. Near the back of the book is a lost treasure - the original page layouts of the never published Issue #22 of Bomp magazine. In those raw pages, staring across a span of twenty-seven years, was this:

The images were photographed from the original paste-up, so it's a little hard to read, but here's the text of the capsule review, in a column titled Juke Box Jury by Bomp's founder, the late Greg Shaw:

U.S. MODS - I'm Gone - Treblephone
The U.S. Mods are more "new wave", dressing like The Jam, no less, but their sound is pure prairie punk, circa '66. "I'm Gone" could've come out on J Beck, and these guys on a bill with the Jades, the Outcasts, and the Stereo Shoestring wouldn't have seemed a bit out of place. A marvelous time warp. (4328 Astor, Mesquite, TX 75149. Available from BOMP)

We've been mentioned in a couple of books, and every time it happens, I'm proud - but also a bit spooked. This review is even more of a ghost sighting - Greg Shaw has been gone for five years, and nearly three decades have passed between the time Bomp #22 was written and finally published. "A marvelous time warp", indeed.

Rejects, rarity, and recognition

A few days after we moved to Austin, elle and I were browsing the Half Price Books store on Guadalupe near 32nd. I was trying to take my mind off of a day of job hunting - I had been offered a tech support job at Unisys but didn't want it, so I stalled them while waiting for a reply from UT. I needed a diversion from worry, so I decided to look though all the 7" records in the store, something I hadn't done since I worked for the flagship Half Price store in Dallas.

But first, some background: There were a lot of DIY punk/new wave records released in Texas during the peak years of 1977-1982 (my band even made one). There is one, however, which is considered the grail - the Back To School EP by The Rejects. Here's why it's so sought after: 1. It's their only recording (If you don't count a live track or two) ; 2. It's surprisingly good; and 3. There were only 100 copies pressed - an impossibly tiny number for punk collectors worldwide to fight over - and that's assuming all of them have survived (I know, for example, that my band's record was thrown away by a few old girlfriends). There's a good article about The Rejects and this record here.

I had been flipping through the 7" records for about thirty minutes when I found the grail. Now, at that time, I didn't really know it was the grail; I knew it was a 1980 record from a San Antonio band; I also knew it must be worth more than the sticker Half Price had on it - 98 cents. I finished looking at the records, grabbed the Rejects and a couple other singles, and went to find elle.

As we were heading for the checkout, a kid in his twenties (who, it turns out, was a huge collector of Texas punk records) saw me carrying The Rejects and asked if I was going to buy it; I said yes. He immediately offered me $20, then $40 for it. I declined as politely as possible, telling him I wanted to buy it because I too had been in a band back then. He then said that I reminded him of someone, and asked where my band was from. I had no sooner said "Mesquite" than he blurted out "The U.S. Mods! I have your record!" It was the first time I've been even halfway recognized for being in the band, some 20-odd years after we split up.

Elle and I talked to him for a bit while in line, and before I reached the register, he made one final offer: 60 dollars for The Rejects. Again I said no thanks, but I did agree to take his e-mail address and contact him if I changed my mind. I did some research later and found out I had been correct to turn down the money - online auction results for The Rejects EP range from about $750 to $1000.

I took this, the first record I bought as an Austin resident, as a sign that things would go very well for us here.

on the hi-fi: The Rejects, Back to School EP
on the reading table: The Austin Chronicle, Jan. 23 issue.

The piccolo seductress

When I started at North Mesquite High School, I was still green 'n' keen enough to arrive early - before 8:00 am. Since first period didn't start until 8:25, I usually stopped by the band hall, where the Varsity band practiced during what was called zero period, beginning at 7:30. I would quietly take a place in the back to read and listen to whatever they were working on. My aim was to go unnoticed, but it didn't work - it led to meeting a girl in the band who I've since dubbed The Piccolo Seductress.

My normal method for finding dates in middle school had been almost completely passive; I often let my sisters do all the work. They usually had friends who were interested, but too shy to approach me directly (tell your brother I like him!). I was so accustomed to this indirect, through-the-sibling approach that I was taken by surprise the morning during my freshman year when a senior girl, who played piccolo in the Varsity band, walked over after rehearsal and introduced herself.

She was surprisingly smart and funny, and I found out during our conversation that I had unintentionally become the talk of the flute/piccolo section. She, the sassiest piccoloist of the bunch, had decided to act. She asked if I would be back the next morning, and we began meeting regularly between zero and first period. She was seventeen, I was fourteen - a huge age difference, or so I thought at the time (there's a picture of me in an earlier post from around the time we got together).

A wild and eventful six-month fling followed, during which we saw a lot of movies - she managed to get me into my first screening of A Clockwork Orange at fourteen (after we discovered we'd both read and loved the book). I was struck by how independent she was - she had a car and an after school job, and seemed to come and go as she pleased.

It was a relationship that couldn't last, though, no matter how great the companionship, conversation, and sex were. The same take-charge personality that led her to seek me out had a dark and abrasive side to it. The independence I admired was driven by a desperation to escape a mother she despised (I was witness to one particularly harrowing screaming match between them). We both soon moved on to the next lucky person that our practice of high-school-serial-monogamy demanded, but I'll always recall The Piccolo Seductress as the first girl in my experience to reverse the roles of hunter/hunted, which wasn't such a bad feeling for a change.

on the dvd player: A Clockwork Orange, deluxe edition.
on the reading table: 2600, Winter 2008-2009.

Aught-eight to aught-nine

I've been lucky - I've had many great years (senior year of high school, graduation year from college, the year I got married, the year we moved to Austin, among many others). I've also had a couple of years which were not so good, dominated by uncertainty and anxiety (sophomore year at college was like this). 2008, though, fits under the middle category of "good" years.

Good mostly, it turns out, on the job front. Elle took a job on campus this past year; this means we can drive in (or ride the UT shuttle) together and have lunch together. As a bonus, our commuting expenses have dropped to almost nothing, because we live about three miles from the UT tower where we both work. We both received major promotions this year. I even have a staff now so I can concentrate on the web UI full-time.

As good as 2008 was, though, I'd like 2009 to be less about the job and more about creative pursuits - I've got artwork to make, websites to design (I own several domains which are waiting for content), writing and podcasting to do, a house to renovate - elle and I are even planning a recording project.

So my resolution is this: while the past year was about the career, I'll work in '09 on those things that are mine.

On the TV: The Twilight Zone marathon is playing my all-time favorite episode now - "The After Hours" with Anne Francis as a truant mannequin:


A lot of stuff on the reading table this vacation:
Einstein: His Life and Universe (Isaacson); Babylon's Burning (Heylin); Ranters and Crowd Pleasers (Marcus); Factory Records: The Complete Graphic Album; The Best of LCD (WFMU); Big Star: The Story of Rock's Forgotten Band (Jovanovic); The Place of Houses (Moore); and Linotype Machine Principles (an obsolete book from 1940).

Thanks to William Burroughs

We mostly ignore the offensive christian implications of this week's holiday, but we do have three time-honored turkey-day traditions. One is a feast with family and friends. The second is listening to "Alice's Restaurant" (which can always be found playing on at least one Austin radio station on the holiday) . The third, though, is my favorite - I always listen to William Burroughs' A Thanksgiving Prayer, as I have every year since the late eighties.

on the hi-fi: TG24 - Throbbing Gristle
on the reading table: Striking Images, Chronicle Books

Billboard Liberation Front

I love the work of The Billboard Liberation Front as much as I hate the corporate criminals who ruin the landscape with huge slabs of advertising. The BLF's work is both thought provoking and subversive, forcing liars to tell the truth - at least until they can hire a crew to cover up the truth.

One of their latest works:
Here's the before--


And here's the same billboard after improvements by the BLF:


There's much more at their site linked above.

on the hi-fi: Joy Division, An Ideal for Living
on the reading table: House of Leaves (Danielewski)

Put the book down and look at the camera

Looking for "Mod" memorabilia of me and my old bandmates led me to these historical artifacts depicting the formative years of Weird's Last Stand. Travel back with me now, back to those golden days of yesteryear:

Me at eight years old, with my first guitar.

At 11 - Yuletide greetings from me and Santa Dog. It was about this time I started my first job working for my father in house renovation. You've never seen a more frail kid try to swing a hammer with his little stick arms in your life.


At 14, the boy with the most cake. I had yet to discover the evils of sugar. I'm still a few months away from giving it up to "The Piccolo Seductress" (see entry).


At 20 I was a member of a band called The Tickets (a great band name suggested by our drummer Tracye - it was, in fact, the only good name we ever had).


At 24. I think the person on the other end of the phone was The When Girl, so named because she always wanted to know when we were getting married.