Gray Matter Kimmie

Well, fellows and fellowessess, I know I haven’t been posting anything, mainly because I’m lazy and I hate everyone, but also I was having a hard time thinking of where to start. So, like they say in the porno movies, begin at the beginning. So that will be the thing that I do.

Of the tribe, I must’ve met Landon first, because we were in 8th grade together, although I don’t remember talking to him much until 10th grade (about ten years ago - holy shit, and shit), when we were in the same AP European History class together (said class probably actually merits an entry unto itself for its role in, at the very least, my development as a writer of wacky historical songs [e.g., “Erik the Viking” on “Josh Rhodes - The Mono Sessions” and “Reformation Jamboree” on “The Boont Dusties - Songs Our Parents Might Like”.)

In 11th grade, however, the illustrious Garrett approached me and asked if I wouldn’t mind joining the “Facial Hair and Rock ‘n’ Roll Appreciation Club,” which basically consisted of most of the weird punk / indie rock kids sitting in the cool math teacher’s class at lunch on Fridays (speaking of deserving an entry unto itself, yeesh - this beginning at the beginning shit is harder than I thought.)

I gladly accepted, and have been thick as thieves with the Whole Sick Crew ever since. I’ve often thought that its weird how much of my life has been determined by that one little interaction. Anyway, save it for AA, right?

The first band of note from what would later be known as “The Boont Dusties Tribal Council” / “The Lull Records Collective” / “Those Weird People Who Moved To Arcata, like, Twelve at a Time”: The Amish Playboys. The first thing what I did with these degenerates: tried to be their drummer. Being at first a bass player (actually, much earlier a saxophonist, but who cares) you might say I didn’t have any fucking idea how to play the drums, but the noble savages in Delouse left their kit at the Butterfly Lounge (the unfinished addition to Garrett’s parents house) and the Playboys (who actually at that time were called the Wyld Stallyns) needed a drummer, so I said I would try it out. After two days of torturing all concerned, I finally managed to get the basic “bonk-a-chaka bonk-a-chaka” beat down. However, the other guitarist also knew how to play drums and quickly relearned in the same time, and poor ol’ Gray Matter Kimmie was out of the unfinished addition band. But luckily, they let me be their dancer, “Sir Drops-His-Pants-a-Lot.”

That name I earned at a Butterfly Lounge show, when opening for the Stallyns as The Dead Penguin Orchestra (ukulele + screaming = fun for the whole family) I showed everyone my “tightie-whities” (huzzah for lowering your sperm count) as punctuation for, I believe, the song “Necrophiliac Boogie Blues,” on which Landon was kindly accompanying me on the ukulele. Unfortunately, Landon’s dad chose this moment to walk in and Landon vowed never to speak to me again. Fortunately for me, El Dynamite Land-Phil drinks a lot and can’t remember all the threats he’s made.

The Wyld Stallyns, who would of course later become known as The Amish Playboys (though I favored some of their other name ideas: The Foxy Grampas and the Fez Dispensers), were not, as they say, a bad little band. Heavily influenced by The Mr. T Experience, and I suppose Green Day and Nirvana and all that early ’90’s rock, they jangled like nobody’s business and were actually fairly rhythmically tight for a high school punk band, although one that got to play a fair amount of shows, what with battles of the bands, weird park festivals in San Ramon, and middle school dances and all (true story: when Landon told me about that last one over the phone, I laughed for over a minute! [time out for sincerity: it was, by at least half, triumphant laughter.]) My particular favorite songs of theirs that I can remember right now were “Wolfman’s Got Nards,” “Anniversay,” “My You” and their cover of “I’m a Believer,” which was the basis of at least one dancing competition at the Lounge.

I guess it’s not particularly useful for me to describe music you can’t hear, since Garrett hasn’t put it up yet, though I don’t know if this is from his devotion to his other artistic / paranormal / masturbatory pursuits or because the demo they made doesn’t exist anymore, but I, for one, would dearly like to hear it. So everyone within the reach of my voice and smell pray to him of the formerly putrid toenail for him to shower, dare I say, “boons” upon us.

Yeesh. Anwyay, that’s the “beginning” I was trying to get at through all this muddled mess (hey, I love sidenotes.) But, forthcoming: entries on that wacky European history class, the Facial Hair and Rock ‘n’ Roll Appreciation Club (with special attention to Facial Hair Week) and, naturally, the Dead Penguin Orchestra, which, as previously stated, was yours truly on the uke, screaming about, God, I don’t know.

Eerie side note: there’s a band called the Dead Pigeon Orchestra.

Dorky side note: there was also a band called the Dumb Penguin Orchestra, but it was specifically formed by my comrade Jake to make fun of me at a Butterfly Lounge show. (Sample lyric: “I’m Josh Rhodes, I sing about killing babies” - something like that, I think.)