Gray Matter Kimmie

Of all the bands in the Lull stable (hey, I mean, we DO eat out of feed-bags and poop on the ground) I think that none have captured the spirit of sheer, flippant, radiant, corrosive and annoying joy quite so much as the Perpetual Elvis Machine, a group composed of moi and moi’s dear compatriot, Jake Fiolek.

In 1999 I first met Jake in a 12th grade psychology class that I was taking with him, along with Landon and Garrett, of Amish Playboys fame. Afterwards we would always walk towards our next classes together, and one fine spring (I think) day I brought a harmonica and Jake brought some weird “Mega Mouth” thing, which we would later refer to as the cacophone, and we did some serious minstreling. Actually, not really, but it was fun, and we eventually decided to start playing around the school to see if we couldn’t get some spare change. We played on the steps of the theater, in the quad and in the school cafeteria (where I accidentally kicked off a shoe, landing it above the door, and had help in retrieving it from, of all people, the fucking principal, who seemed, I’d say, patronizingly amused.) We never got much change, although we had a sign and everything (”Change, Please”) - but goddammit it was fun. At first we were calling ourselves Change, Please, after the sign, but there was a better name awaiting us.

The class that Jake and I went to after psychology was English, taught by a teacher who Jake liked and I regarded as insufferably pretentious (the feeling was mutual.) She had a clock, one of those cheesy Elvis ones with swaying legs, or, as I dubbed it, the Perpetual Elvis Machine. Jake said that if he ever started a band, he’d want to use that as the name. So…

Before long we’d worked out a few songs, although I don’t believe they had any set music. Among them was “Lactivorous Orchiocele” which I think is how you would say a milk-eating testicular tumor in nerd, I mean, medical terminology, for which we made a bitchin’ music video - actually, I think we might have made the song for the video, since it was for credit in a Video Productions class.

We also played in grocery store parking lots, which was fun. Never got a lot of money, for reasons known only to the gods.

Particularly emblematic shows I can think of include the time we played in Casey Gallagher’s empty pool, in which guest keyboardist Robert Thombley did a scorching weed-whacker solo, as well as the infamous Battle of th Bands gig at our high school. They had a rather ridiculous system of determining who won it, which was that everyone put quarters in the jar of the band they liked best. Bad enough, but worse is that they let people start dumping quarters after the first three bands, which I’m sure gave an unfair advantage to them. Anyway, during the show we, joined by several others, did an abstract, squawky cover of “Over the Rainbow,” had punk rock dancers we had to eject from the stage, and upon the lowering of the curtain about 12 minutes before our time was up, I had the foresight to yell, “Throw your change at us!” thus affirming the Perpetual Elvis Machine’s origins as money-grubbing whores, and bypassing the moronic judging system, netting us about eight bucks of sweet shiny silver. As the curtain was gliding shut, Jake and I took it on ourselves to start distributing things from what I believe was a bag of plastic crap, cheesy paraphernalia and the like, to the obvious displeasure of the administration. Them’s was the days.

Later on, during the year after high school, 1999-2000, we recorded our first album, God Bless Militant Imperialism, and then our second, Songs About Cats, Yo, after moving to Arcata, 2000-2001. Those are up on the site, and I believe speak for themselves. Although I will give special mention to my epic ballad about my pet pumpkin, Algernon. Which is titled, of course, “The Ballad of Algernon.” And yes, that is a reference to “Flowers for Algernon.” Sort of.

As a parting shot, here’s our press bio, which can be found on our official website:

We are the perpetual elvis machine (CAPITALZE). yOUR ARE Not. This is not to say yuo are a ad person (U’re a bd persoNe) but rather therfore ergo you (thepronoun in Question) are not us.
we Are allthingsconcidered less dangerous THan “A bag of GLASS”wellmaybe too 2 bags Of GLaSS (ONfire)

bROWnIe PERPEetuaL eLVis REcipe MAchine

2 eggs
1/2 jar marshmallow creme
1 box nails
4 quantities love
%^ brownie mix
3.5 pirouettes
2 eggs
1/4 cup water
30 lbs. anti-brownie mix
2 eggs
4 eggs

Well see they play songsabout good natured things.

list of shows:

march ‘99 ————————————————-
—————————–
————————-
BattlE of the bahnds
6th of 6. high school. nihilistic noise rendition “over the rainbow”. Intended duration: 15 minutes. Acutal duration: 3 minutes. Disqualification. Curtain. Apparently you can’t ask your audience to throw change at you.

june’00.whoops ‘00

Kasey Gallagers (pool) empty. you probablyD ON;T know him. but he’s cool.

Cap’n Inconspicuous (multi-instrumentalist) cuts hand on guitar bleeds on guitar. anonymous Josh (multi-instrumentalist) vomits through harmonica holder. Guest keyboardist does bitchin’ weedwacker solo.

April ‘00
HIgh school preSents : Rock for rocks sake you sod. Perpetual ELV1ss machine not in highscool told you can play when th bands are done.

july ‘99
free show to benift greg. we received no proceedes youDonT k now GreG.

Oct ‘((99

PLaayed in Front OF a GoROcher4y store. audience enthralled believe you me

Lyrical sample:

“”(sung to the tune of no wait .” “perpetual elvis machine. BESTEST BaNd YOU’ve ever seen.
“

Sample Leric “my ail mEnt isnot caused byA Malicious neCRomAncer, IBlame BaskinROBBiNS $ for my testicular cancer”

seelisten the Machine dontcall us that isfriendly guys. they tend to like CertiAn things. kittens catsyouname it (cake) they like it. if you like thinGs theres no tellin’ but You might Liike THemif u give ‘em achance or maybee too wait 2

ReCIPE perPEtual vEgan elvis brOWNie machine

4 quantities love
80 gallons water
2 eggs (optional)
5 books Scientology

Hey gang, I invented me one of them newfangled concepts. Hang on while I explains it:

So lately I’ve been practicing with this band the Broken Hearts, which is nice, because for once I’m in a band I didn’t have any hand in creating and am thus freed from the insidious pressure of being the evil mastermind, and also because I’m playing the bass, which is something I don’t normally do, although being of course a jerk-of-all-trades, I can. Unh!

Anyway, mi querida esposa Bethany mentioned that all the music was freaking our new rats out (which she named “Emerson” and “Thoreau,” to which I can only say “yeesh”.) She also related a story about her friend’s hamster suffering a heart attack and dying from prolonged exposure to really loud music, which I found strange, ‘cuz like I said:

“I can see being scared by loud noises, but you would think that when there was no corresponding threat after a while, you would shrug it off.”

“Yeah, but we have rational minds.”

I thought about it for a bit and then said, “Sometimes I get annoyed at animals for not being logical.”

Bethany said, “Aw, just like Landon. You guys are a lot alike, huh?” Because Landon, notoriously, hates cats for their inability to speak English.

“Yeah,” I said. “We both have contempt for all lesser beings.”

And, being put in mind of Landon, I thought of his concept and corresponding tattoo, “Xiphat,” which means “Zest for all things.” And I came up with my own snazzy new word, which is, of course:

KaFalb.

Contempt for all lesser beings.

Put that in your dissertation and smoke it.

Well, you don’t have to, but I’m abusing the format to upload something I wanted to post on the message board of my brother’s band, The Promiscuous Robots. Apparently I need a URL, I can’t just upload a damn image. You know, they’re not making it easy; this will be the first fan art image up there. Ah well. Yeah, go check out my brother’s band. You know it’s gotta be good, because it will be vaguely reminiscent of me. Actually, it’s not very reminiscent of me, but I guess it could still theoretically be good. Stay tuned for actual posts.

For our lesson today, class, we shall turn to the chapter of one of the stranger bands in the Lull roster, the Dead Penguin Orchestra.

The Dead Penguin Orchestra was composed entirely of me. It began as an “opening act” for the Amish Playboys, probably at a Butterfly Lounge show. The first and for a while only song, which I remember fondly, was called “Fortississimo” which I think means “as loud as possible” in music terms. At least that’s what it was supposed to mean. It consisted of me blowing a single note on a harmonica, screaming at the top of my lungs for as long as three breaths of air would permit (which it turns out is about seventy seconds or so) and blowing another note on the harmonica. I get the feeling that John Cage would neither eat his heart out nor roll over in his grave at it. Wait, is he alive or dead?

Anway, it was shortly followed by others, notably “Mr. Coffee,” in which a bag of the stuff pleads to be purchased at a grocery store or something.

It’s kind of (more) embarrassing to listen to now, but it was a big hit at the Lounge a few times. Oh yeah, importantly, after “Fortississimo” I borrowed my brother’s cheap-ass ukulele for performances. I never learned how to play a single chord on it during the… well, I would say life of the Dead Penguin Orchestra, but can you ever really disband a one man band? It makes it sound like I’m dead.

The ukulele was eventually destroyed in a freak AM-PM accident in our freshman year of college, where I tripped and spun or something. I actually can’t remember exactly how it happened, but I threw quite the tragic fit. It was funny.

When I was 17 the Amish Playboys helped me record a little EP, “Tales from the Baby Grinder,” which compiled about twelve? or so songs, in 17 minutes. All recorded in about an hour and a half so, as I recall. It certainly sounds like it.

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.)

Greetings friends and countrymen, this is Grey Matter Kimmie, Josh Rhodes, the (un)officialish scholar of the Boont Dusties. It is to me that even the mighty Garrett Kelly goes for analysis about the significance of our precious and precarious tribal council.

That’s mainly bullshit, but it does remind me of how often when I speak to many of the participants of the music herein, I get the sense of a meeting of a council of the wisest people in the vicinity, a sort of very limited Greek democracy kind of deal, or a goddamn conference of wizrards.

Anyway, I’m getting pretty drunk (off monk beer and Soviet vodka [not shitting you here: Stolichnaya Pertsovka, pepper-flavored vodka apparently made during the reign of the USSR, that no one at the house where I am now is sure of where it came from) and as such am unable to provide much commentary at present (notice and remember now the penchant for huge run-on sentences that is my blessing and curse) but rest assured (assured!) that eventually, sooner rather than later, I shall begin to expound upon the origins and, dare I say, the signicance of the music we have made.

Damn!

Oh yeah, also I write and draw comic books. Maybe I’ll put those up here. Maybe.