FIFTY FOOT ELVIS

I'm back, Baby!

2010-09-24T21:28:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it?

I think it's time to blow the dust off and try to fire this bastard up again.
For starters, sheck out my new design over at Threadless:

If you feel like it, vote for the damn thing. In fact, feel free to click that little, "I'd buy this" button.
Go ahead and click it even if you'd rather pound roofing nails into your knees caps than actually buy it.

Consider it your good deed for the day.

Funny Hats and Moral Dilemmas

2010-02-07T22:29:00.000-08:00

Let me just start by saying that I like Shriners.

I like the ridiculous hats, I like the tiny cars, I like how they've co-opted the trappings of Islam without the slightest understanding of what they mean. I like that "Shriner" is the very highest Masonic degree, as if the reward for all those years of secret rituals and plotting to rule the world is to dress up in silly hats, get drunk and drive a tiny car.

But most of all, I like it when they sell hotdogs in front of the grocery store for charity.

I don't know what it is, but somehow they use their mysterious Shriner voodoo to make these hotdogs taste better than any other hotdogs on the planet. The goddamn things are irresistible.

Also, I once stayed in a hotel during a Shriners convention. There was an occasion when I was on the "up" escalator with my wife and kids and a group of elderly Shriners and their wives were on the "down" escalator. These guys had the most fabulous jewel encrusted fezzes, sporting snappy titles like "Past Master" and "Supreme Potentate."

This situation created a superb opportunity to reach out and pluck one of these beauties from a passing head, but it also posed a formidable moral dilemma.

On the one hand I could ignore the fezzes and teach my kids a valuable lesson about exercising personal restraint and respecting other people's property. On the other hand, I could snag a sporty new lid and teach my kids a valuable lesson about seizing opportunities when they're offered, and only stealing hats from old people, because they can't run very fast.

As is often the case in these situations, I had only a split second to decide, and I opted for the high ground, leaving the fezzes untouched. So now I'm the proud owner of a sense of moral superiority, but that hardly replaces a cool new hat to barbecue in. Sometimes I still lie awake at night wondering, did I make the right choice?

It's a question that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

I Want To Be An Eccentric Recluse Too...

2010-01-28T20:28:00.000-08:00

So J.D. Salinger is dead.

Probably spinning in his grave too, now that he's back in the headlines.
Apparently he never stopped writing, he just felt that publishing was a terrible invasion of his privacy. You've got to admire the man's convictions. He wasn't a basket case saving jars of his own urine like Howard Hughes, he just wanted to be left alone. Can't blame a guy for that. Although, I suppose if you're going to save jars of urine, better your own than someone else's, right?

Anyway, I'd sure like to get a peek at what ol' J.D.'s been working on for the last 47 years.

Now, where did I put those mason jars...

The Boy Scout Chronicles Volume 2 - Jamboree of Despair

2010-01-06T17:38:00.000-08:00

When I first joined the Scouts, our entire inventory of camping equipment consisted of three heavy canvas army surplus tents.

They appeared to date from the Crimean War, and setting them up was an exercise in Rubik's-Cubian complexity. When they were finally up and you pulled back the flap to enter the dark, damp interior, you were hit with a stench so powerful it felt like a physical blow. The primary source of this odour was decaying canvas, but a sensitive nose could pick out subtle notes of mold, mildew and what I believe was Trench Foot. As an added bonus, each tent weighed approximately 3 metric tonnes and took on more water than the Titanic in wet weather.

However, after years of diligent fund raising (See Volume 1) we finally saved up enough pennies to replace these monstrosities and purchased four shiny new Canadian Tire tents just in time for the big International Jamboree.

When the big day arrived, Mr. P. strapped the new tents to the roof of his station wagon and we all piled inside, eagerly anticipating a dry and odourless night's sleep. (Or at least as odourless as would be possible following the traditional Scouting meal of beans and weiners.)

Now, if you know anything about the Boy Scouts, you'll know that knot tying forms a big part of traditional scouting lore, so Mr. P. had a wide range to choose from when securing the tents to his roof. We'll never know which knot he chose; the reef knot... the sheep shank... the clove hitch... all we can be sure of is that he performed the task with his usual level of competence, for when we arrived at Camp Shegardeynou, there was just a single, lonely tent left on that roof.

While Mr. P. scratched his head and peered at the car in confusion, our initial shock hardened into quiet fury as we pictured the terrible fate of our beloved new tents. There were two basic scenarios as we saw it.

The first, (and least awful) consisted of a series of 18 wheelers crushing the tents into unrecognizable wads of twisted metal and torn nylon.

The second, (and substantially worse) involved aluminum tent poles flying through windshields like javelins, family sedans careening out of control, multi-car pile-ups, flaming wreckage and unthinkable carnage.

However, neither of these theories were ever confirmed,no tents were recovered, and as far as I know, no charges were filed.

By the time Mr. P. headed out again on the three hour drive to fetch the dreaded canvas army tents, our anger had faded to a familiar dull ache of resentment. If they gave out merit badges for Crushing Disappointment, our troop would have been the most decorated in Scouting History.

And who got to sleep in that one remaining new tent?
Why, a certain heartless bastard by the name of Mr. P., of course.

Too be continued...

2009: Just the good stuff.

2010-01-03T20:30:00.000-08:00

What with massive financial collapse, swine-flu, terrorism, wild-fires, earthquakes, floods, and Octomom, 2009 won't go down in the books as many people's favourite year.
A lot of bad things happened to a lot of good people.
Still, we dug around and managed to come up with a few highlights:

JANUARY:
Daniel Lanois at Massey Hall.
The man puts on a quality rock 'n' roll show.

FEBRUARY:
Lux Interior of the Cramps dropped dead.
Okay, I guess that's more of a bad thing, really, but it gives me an excuse to post a Cramps link.

MARCH:
44 New styles of Gotham from Hoefler and Frere-Jones.
Love that "Condensed."

APRIL:
Pizza and wings with the family at Sammy's Pizzeria in, N.F., N.Y.

MAY:
Thoughtful and creative logo design appears to be back in style.
Check out these beauties on Francesco Mugnai's blog.

JUNE:
A particularly transcendent roast beef sandwich. Horseradish, mayo, swiss cheese, and romaine on wood-oven-baked sourdough bread.

Never underestimate the power of a good sandwich.

JULY:

Midnight rides on the mighty GS850.

AUGUST:
Finally, definitive proof that we don't have the world's most screwed up government: Jesse Jackson is crowned Prince of the Ivory Coast, succeeding the previous monarch, Michael Jackson.
I'm not making this up.

SEPTEMBER:
As we approached the 20th anniversary of the Berlin Wall coming down, newly released documents revealed a fascinating back story to the drama.
Thatcher, Mitterand, the Vatican, even beloved freedom fighter Lech Walessa, were all opposed to the wall coming down, and fought hard to stop it. At the same time, the Russians knew it was inevitable and were even considering tearing it down themselves.

OCTOBER:
I was a runner-up in the "Take a Picture" Veer contest.

NOVEMBER:
Watched Stephen King and David Cronenburg swap stories at the Canon Theatre. Some serious brain power on display that night.

Even managed to snag a signed book.

DECEMBER:

Grilled steaks in the fireplace, hillbilly style.

So there you have it.

Some good did come out of 09, but all in all, I can't say I'm sad to see the bastard go.
However, 2010's going to be a good one. I can smell it.

Peace on Earth and Good Will Towards Men

2009-12-23T07:08:00.000-08:00

Thanks to everyone who let me get creative on the asses of all
these jobs in 2009.
Let's do it again next year!

The Boy Scout Chronicles Volume 1 - The Hixon Street Miracle

2009-12-17T22:01:00.000-08:00

Like most small town boys of my era I was a Boy Scout.

Standing at attention in my beret and sash, flashing the official Lord Baden-Powell two-fingered salute, I was sure I looked just as cool as Sean Connery in "Dr. No," or maybe Clint Eastwood in "Where Eagles Dare." Dashing... manly... debonair. After all, what girl can resist a man with the words "Fruitbelt Camporee" emblazoned across his shirt?

However, before you get too far in forming a mental image of idyllic, Rockwellian youth, I should take a moment to point out that, just a few jamborees down the line, I was unceremoniously expelled from the troop and my scouting career ended in Nixonian disgrace. Much later in life, I was also kicked out of a Sex Pistols concert and to this day I'm not sure which incident I'm more proud of.

Now, Scout Leaders have earned a reputation as being second only to Catholic Priests in the pedophilia department, but in our troop, the only thing they were guilty of was extreme stupidity.

Our first illustrious leader was Mr. P. (I'm playing it safe here, as I'm a little fuzzy on the legal ramifications of pointing out someone's idiocy on the internet.)

Anyway, Mr. P. had us going door to door for about two years, collecting old newspapers and magazines to sell to recyclers at something like 2¢ a ton. One day, a guy gave us a large stack of Playboy magazines.

I don't know if I can properly convey in words how significant this was in the days before the internet. It was possibly the single most exciting moment of my young life. It was like finding the Holy Grail.

Unfortunately, like most good things, it was too good to last. We would have been okay if we'd just played it cool and hidden them quietly, but word of the miracle spread through the troop like wild fire and there was no controlling us. Soon we were all gathered in an excited huddle, marveling at the glorious new world Heff was opening up for us, a world of buxom beauties, witty repartee, and velvet smoking jackets.

Suddenly, Mr. P. burst into our midst, nearly frothing at the mouth in his religious fury. He angrily snatched the magazines away and hurled them onto the top of the nearest recycling truck.

It was a crushing, heart-breaking blow and I swear I heard old Baden-Powell roll over in his grave as it happened. I feel certain that Lord Robert shared our appreciation for tastefully posed women with air-brushed breasts, even if Mr. P. didn't.

We finished that paper drive in a daze, our hearts heavy with the knowledge that a once in a lifetime opportunity had been stolen from us. I think a little part of me died that day, and from that moment on, the Boy Scouts were never quite the same for me.

To be continued...

Man, Why You Even Got To Do A Thing

2009-11-28T21:43:00.000-08:00

My son turned me on to Achewood a while back.
In case you're even more out of touch than me I'll give you a quick overview.
It's an on-line comic drawn by Chris Onstad since 2001.
The art is nothing special, but the writing is truly exceptional.
It features a bizarre world in which anamorphic stuffed animals, pets and robots co-exist.
The main characters are two cats named Ray Smuckles and C. Roast Beef Kazenzakis.

Ray is wealthy and confident, wears a thong and drinks Ketel One Vodka.
He recently purchased Keith Moon's head on ebay.

Roast Beef suffers from severe depression and poor self esteem and enjoys computer programming and Guinness. He drives a 1965 Ford Galaxie (powered by the 427 V8, banned in 6 states) which was a gift from Ray.

The stories range from laugh-out-loud funny, to surprisingly sad and touching, to just plain bizarre. Sometimes all in the same strip.

A good place to start is The Great Outdoor Fight, a storyline which lasted several weeks and has been published as a hard-cover book.

"I Need You To Design Me A Logo. For Free."

2009-11-27T13:30:00.000-08:00

What graphic designer hasn't heard those words?
I once had a guy call to say he was short on cash and could he pay me in sweaters.
Difficult to feed the family with cardigans, but at least we would have stayed warm.

My pal Rob Keddy over at Casa Silas Bed and Breakfast in Nicaragua sent me this link to 27b/6.

It features some very funny writing on that very subject, as well as the most creative use of pie charts I've seen in a long time.

Artist of the day: Alberto Mielgo

2009-11-26T21:42:00.000-08:00

Check out this fabulous illustration by Spanish artist Alberto Mielgo.

The man sure knows his way around a paintbrush!
His style is kind of graphic and stylized, but the over-all effect is almost photo-realism.
It reminds me a bit of the painting you see in ads from the 50's and 60's.

He says that this particular image went through "six versions and many, many changes," but ultimately the whole campaign was cancelled. That's gotta hurt.

Be sure to also check out the graphic novel he's working on – beautiful stuff!

He's a bit of a renaissance man; comics, advertising illustration, fine art painting, video game and movie concept art, storyboards...

I came across his stuff courtesy of the boys over at Drawn.

Glenn Danzig: Teen Heart Throb

2009-11-26T21:16:00.000-08:00

I was listening to some stuff off the first Misfits EP - Static Age.
This is back in the Glenn Danzig days, before they had fully established their Horror Punk niche. Stuff like Last Caress and Bullet. That Danzig had a knack for writing catchy hooks and melodies that today's pop-punk bands would die for.

I can't help thinking that if he had ever set his mind to writing radio friendly pop songs (you know, kind that aren't about killing babies and forcing Jackie O to perform unspeakable sex acts) he could have given the Justin Timberlakes of this world a run for their money.

But, of course, he went solo to form the more heavy metal Samhain and under Jerry Only's leadership, the Misfits have become something of a joke. In fact, the apex of hilarity was reached when good ol' Jerry became an Ernest-Angely-style-Born-Again-Christian and begged forgiveness for all those sinful things he'd done as a Misfit. He briefly changed the band's name to Kryst the Conquerer, and insisted on playing only Christian rock.

But, t-shirt sales must have been slow, because pretty soon they were back out on the road flogging that same old dead horse they call The Misfits.

One More Reason To Learn To Weld

2009-11-24T21:22:00.000-08:00

Okay, here's another cool link:

buckinghamstudio

This guy wanders out in the California desert, scavenges old rusty metal wherever he can find it: abandoned cars, signs, barrels, tool boxes...
Then he drags it back to his studio and cuts, bends and welds it into cool art.
No added paint, all colours and surfaces as found.
Example:

Also, he's endorsed by Iggy Pop.

Once again, this gives me the urge to make stuff with my hands instead of the computer.

China, Leather, and the Circle of Life

2009-11-21T22:31:00.000-08:00

Okay. this is the part where I start ranting like a bitter old man.
I know, I know, I'm turning into my Dad.
But don't give me that smug look - it'll happen to you too!
One minute you're the coolest guy on the block in your engineer boots and your Ramones shirt, and the next thing you know, you're sitting at a stop light grumbling under your breath about the doofus in the baggy-ass pants and the facial piercings.

Anyway, the basic thesis we're going with here, is that everything today is shit.
Cheap shit made in China, to be exact.

Take gloves, for instance.

I used to always by them at Mark's Work Wearhouse: Roping Gloves, made in Calgary.
Nice thick cow hide, I'd get two or three years of hard use from a pair.

I went in this year and every item in the store is now made in China.

I grumbled and complained, but I bought a pair anyway, and the goddamn things are already falling apart.

It's the same with belts, I bought a new one last year and it's already cracked and split.
On the other hand, I bought a used belt at an army surplus store in the 80's, wore it for 25 years, got too fat and now my daughter wears it.

All of which leads me to these guys: billykirk

Two brothers who make leather accessories by hand the way they've been made for hundreds of years.
Bags based on WWII Belgium map cases.
Buckles hand forged from solid bronze.
Recycled Korean War surplus hardware.
100 year old antique machinery.

They got too successful to do it all themselves, but instead of out-sourcing to Chinese sweat-shops like every other greedy-ass-corporate-whore in North America, they moved to Pennsylvania and hired a bunch of Amish guys.

I like the way these guys operate.
Gotta get me one of those belts.
Great music in that video too, all "field recorded in the heart of Appalachia."

Plus C'est La Change...

2009-09-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

I was back in my home town last weekend helping my Dad load in 10 cords of wood for the winter. Driving through town he pointed out a guy named Earl that I had gone to school with.

Old Earl was sporting a pretty sweet mullet and a faded Levis jacket. And by the looks of things his mustache hadn't filled in much since grade 8 either.

Now things are changing pretty fast in the world these days.

Global Warming, Smart Phones, Torture Porn, Reality TV, Guys Riding Bikes In Spandex Pants...

All concepts that didn't exist just a few short years ago.

Which is why I found the sight of Earl so reassuring.

No matter how fast the outside world changes, I know it will always be 1979 in Earl's world.

Heck, it wouldn't surprise me if he still gets carded at the beer store.

Keep on rockin' Earl.

The Sum of the Parts

2009-09-29T19:22:00.000-07:00

I've been kind of digging The Band lately.

Stuff like "Ophelia" from the Last Waltz.

They were an incredibly tight band, but with a relaxed groove that can't help but put a smile on your face.

I read an interview with Levon Helm recently. He's carrying around a lot of anger and bitterness towards Robbie Robertson for claiming writing credits on most of the big hits. Levon says with 5 guys living, writing and playing together so closely, it's impossible to tell who wrote what. Robertson says everyone contributed to arranging and performing but the words and melody were his. All I know is, if I had to choose one of them to have a beer with it would definitely be Levon. Robertson always seemed like a bit of a pompous ass.

One thing is certain however; when they played together they had a magic that none of them could recreate separately.

The same could be said for any number of rock and roll legends: Jagger and Richards, Lennon and McCartney, the Alvin Brothers, Strummer and Jones...

Together they made magic, individually they are mediocre at best.

It's a weird synergy that even seems to work for talentless hacks like me when we get together in a damp basement to bash out old Ramones tunes over a few beers. Granted, it only raises the quality level from "absolute crap" to "barely tolerable" but, hey, we'll take what we can get.

On that note, our song of the day is taken from Jericho, a later Band effort after Robertson had left. It is unquestionably the definitive version of Springsteen's Atlantic City.

Sublime vocals and mandolin from Levon.

Great accordion from Garth Hudson.

And several improvements to the lyrics.

Check it out here.

All in all, it erases the memory of the source as completely as Aretha's "Respect" did for Otis Redding's original.

Workin' on the Chain Gang...

2009-08-31T21:33:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd post a new logo I just slapped together.

It's for the Food Services Team at the Weekend To End Breast Cancer.

This year they're calling themselves The Chain Gang.

Here it is on their aprons:

Here's another I did for them last year:

Lots of fun to work on and all for a good cause.

In keeping with the prison theme, check out this foot-stompin' slab of wax from Mr. Tom Waits. (Or "The Gravelly-Voiced Fucker" as my good friend Paully might say.)

Now some might be turned off by the production values on this number. And by "some" I mean the entire female spectrum of the species.

The instrumentation seems to consist mainly of pounding drums, a honking saxophone, handclaps, and some boozed-up lunatic banging on a steel pipe.

It's invigorating stuff, perfect with your early morning coffee or as a late-night pick-me-up.

Gets the old blood flowing! Crank it up and jump around the living room spilling beer on the priceless antiques!

But, production values aside, the real prize here is in the lyrics.

It's the story of a convict bragging about how he can bust out of any prison using nothing but a fishbone:

"Make one side dull, and then the other side sharp,

And on Saturday night I'll be in Central Park."

Followed by his gleeful announcement that:

"They're serving fish in the jailhouse tonight."

Absolute genius from the fertile mind of Mr. Waits.

Check it out here: FISH IN THE JAILHOUSE

Now that's a handsome man.

2009-08-23T20:07:00.000-07:00

Exhibit A

The striking gentleman you're looking at is Mr. Riley Puckett,

The Bald Mountain Caruso (1894-1946)

I've been listening to some of his music and I thought it was just

too odd to keep to myself.

A Brief Overview:

• Ruggedly handsome and snappy dresser (Exhibit A)

• As an infant, given wrong eye medication leaving him blind

• Guitar and banjo virtuoso

• First country singer to yodel

• Member of Gid Tanner and the Skillet Lickers (Exhibit B)

• Killed by infected boil on neck

All in all, a pretty illustrious career.

Exhibit B

Anyway, the song in question is a deceptively jaunty little number

called Nobody's Business. To some extent it's similar to the blues

standard of the same name, (Check out Otis Span's version) but with

a heavy injection of that weirdness that only Riley could provide.

Check out a sample verse:

Sunday morning gonna wake up crazy

Kill my wife and slay my baby

Nobody's business if I do

I can't understand why it wasn't a hit.

If you're interested you can check it out on ITunes.

Zen and the Art of Dog Walking

2009-08-15T19:32:00.000-07:00

Every night at exactly 8pm, my dog (Figure 1) starts poking his nose into my leg and staring at me with his big, brown, soulful eyes. You ignore his gaze at your peril. Those limpid, brown pools have a way of boring into your very soul and melting your resistance like Ron Sexsmith at a dessert buffet.

This behaviour indicates that it's time to go for a walk. Sometimes a walk is the last thing I feel like, but all in all, it's a good thing. It keeps me from sitting around and:

a) having another glass of wine

b) watching insipid, soul-killing t.v. shows

c) drawing silly cartoons (Figure 2)

d) all of the above

Figure 1

Figure 2

This week our nightly sojourn has allowed me to witness:

a) A truly awesome thunderstorm. And I mean that in the traditional sense of awesome, "to inspire awe," rather than the "Dude check out the awesome eyebrow piercing I got to express my individuality" sense.

You can't really experience one of those big, nasty summer thunderstorms until you're standing in the middle of it, drenched to the skin and half-blinded by the retina-burning lightning strikes. Good fun all around.

b) A stunning sunset sky filled with Maxfield Parrish clouds (Figure 3). A better man than me would have brought a camera and taken pictures, but that's not the way I operate. So far, I've never been mistaken for Ansel Adams, so you're not missing much anyway.

Figure 3

c) A majestic full-grown buck with an impressive set of antlers. For a split second there was a scene of heart-stopping, pastoral beauty as the great beast reared his head, silhouetted against the evening sky, and then my faithful dog (Figure 1) chased his sorry ass right back into the primeval forest.

Attaboy!

Speaking of Maxfield Parrish, it kind of pisses me off that guys like him and Norman Rockwell are considered mere "Illustrators" while hacks like Jackson Pollock are given the lofty title of "Artist". I saw the largest collection of Rockwells ever assembled at the Guggenheim a couple of years ago and, take it from me, that bastard could paint!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that all art should be realistic – far from it – but I do think that a great deal of modern art is a scam. Particularly the "blackish square above greyish square" variety.

Yeah, I'm talking to you Mark Fucking Rothko.

Real Men Wear Pink and White Shoes

2009-07-23T19:01:00.000-07:00

As an Art Director I get dozens of emails every week (sometimes every day) from illustrators and photographers looking for work. When I have time, I like to check them out; sometimes I get to see some pretty inspirational work. Occasionally, I might even hire someone.

Anyway, once in a while I get a piece from ace photographer Jimmy Williams. He took a series of photos of musicians in the south called Music Makers that is so incredibly good I had to post a link. Check it out, you won't be sorry.

They're all great, but my favourite is a gentleman sporting the excellent handle of "Bishop Dreddy."

He's pictured proudly holding his Strat in front of a white clapboard church in a snappy pink suit and matching two-tone, pink and white shoes. The rest of us can only dream of that kind of Sartorial Perfection.

This is Required Viewing, folks, so get on over their.

Now, logically, I should follow that up with something bluesy, but instead I'm going with a song I've been obsessed with for the last few days. It's by Richard Thompson, who I've always thought of as one of those pastoral English folkies, wearing fuzzy knit caps and singing heartfelt laments to pale, skinny blonde girls. However, it turns out he can rock like a bastard when he wants to and this is a fine example.

It's live from the Jools Holland Show and it's called Cooksferry Queen.

Light in the Darkness

2009-06-28T19:23:00.000-07:00

Just got back from walking the dog (Figure A).

For the first time this summer, the woods were full of fireflies (Figure B).

So cool. I love those little guys.

Figure A

Figure B

I guess they're just like us humans, shining their little light into the darkness, desperately looking for love.

I believe the Mills Brothers can further illuminate the matter.

2009-06-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

Just been looking sat some of the posters drawn by Aaron Horkey of Dead Arts Publishing and printed by American Burlesque. Stunning!

Holy Bejeepers Crispies (as my Uncle Jim might say) this bastard can draw!

Stuff like this and this and this make me want to either throw my pencils down in disgust, or pick them up and work harder than I ever have before.

Well, I just picked up a fancy new Boston Self Feeder 4 pencil sharpener for 75¢ at a garage sale, so I guess it'll have to be Option #2.

Okay, song of the day time. Check this out.

Sweet soul music from Doris Duke in 1969.

So tell me, how come Sugar, Sugar by the Archies was a top ten hit and this is a mere footnote in musical history?

The Best Dialogue I've Heard in a While.

2009-05-19T21:26:00.000-07:00

Watched Sergio Leone's Once Upon A Time In The West last night.

I'd seen all his other westerns repeatedly growing up, but never this one, which I guess is his grand finale.

In a brilliant piece of casting, Henry Fonda plays a remarkably evil villain, shooting women and children with a smile on his face. There is a point in the film where Henry is facing down a sniveling henchman, and the dialogue goes something like this.

Sniveling Henchman: "I wouldn't lie to you, you can trust me, Frank!"

Henry Fonda (Frank): "How can I trust a man who wears suspenders and a belt? You don't even trust your own pants."

Gotta love it.

Put up a new Flickr Set today, Scenes From a Junkyard in Texas.

Also, I think it's about time I threw another song of the day at you:

Well, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the BBQ is sizzling.

All that says just one thing to me: Teenage Head.

Yes, in spite of the fact that I saw them almost exclusively in dark, dank, smoke-filled dives, The Hammer's favourite sons are forever linked with summer for me.

Frankie bit the big one last year, but the tunes live on. Tempted as I am to pick something off the first 3 albums, I'm going to dig deeper and suggest a couple of lesser known gems from later on, both with an Eddie Cochrane theme.

1. Teenage Heaven. An astounding cover of the Eddie Cochrane classic off the Trouble in the Jungle LP. This one never even made it to CD but it's worth searching out. I dare you to try to sit still while this little bastard's on the turntable. Two minutes of sheer bliss. At times like this, Gordy "Lazy Legs" Lewis is the best guitar player in the world.

2. Gene and Eddie. Frankie's tribute to Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochrane from the Head Disorder album which I think came out on CD as well as vinyl. A rockin' little number with the kind of hooks that would have made it a Top Forty hit in a fairer world.

May Two-Four Part II

2009-05-18T21:30:00.000-07:00

Well, the pork was a success.

Maybe not quite up to the standard of The Pigman in the Outer Banks, but quite passable for a first attempt. I know it looks like it's been cremated, but it's supposed to look like that. Juicy and tender inside. That's my story and 'm sticking to it.

Some of you may be wondering why there's a German beer in the photo on such a Canadian/Commonwealth holiday. Well, my friends, I could have gone with Canadian or Moosehead, or even something British like Newcastle Brown, but let me just remind you that Queen Victoria, whose birthday we are ostensibly celebrating, was born and raised German.

So there.

And, since it is Ol' Vicky's birthday, I think a little Kipling is in order.

Please, note, this is mandatory reading. There will be a quiz later.

I started up the old motorcycle today and while I was watching fluids leak from every seal, I started noticing all the cool typography scattered throughout my garage.

So, in the interests of preserving our typographic heritage, I created this Flickr Set.

Here's a sample:

Rock on, dudes.

May Two-Four

2009-05-15T15:08:00.000-07:00

It's here. The best long weekend of the year.

May Two-Four. A time of rebirth and renewal.

A time to rejoice in wonder and splendour of nature.

A time to stand around in your underwear drinking beer.

I plan to celebrate by attempting to cook up some authentic North Carolina-style Pulled Pork, complete with Pit Beans and Slaw.

Now, I don't have a real smoker or any real skill to speak of, but I'm pretty sure I can pull this off with my gas grill, a few wood chips and sheer will-power.

It's bound to get ugly. This time tomorrow I expect to be up to my elbows in raw pork and vinegar-based barbeque sauce, fortified with alcohol and all the while trying to ignore the death rattle of the western economy.

2009-04-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I hate, it's getting a really terrible song stuck in your head.

You know what I'm talking about. You're in a store or an elevator or a doctor's office and they play some awful generic 80's tune like Rick Astley's "Never Going To Let You Down." All it takes is a few bars and that evil little fucker gets jammed into your brain like an ice pick!

Then, two days later, through no fault of your own, you accidentally sing it out loud and your friends won't let you forget it for the rest of your natural life. You'll be laying there at your funeral, staring up at them with your glassy eyes and that weird funeral-home-make-up that makes everybody look like Tammy Fae Baker, and they'll all be standing around the coffin snickering, saying, "Remember that time he sang Rick Astley?"

Bastards.

Anyway, here's your goddamn song of the day:

Okay, today's essential song is a little number called WAGON WHEEL.

This is one of those songs, like Zepplin's "Hey Hey My My" or The Replacements' "If Only You Were Lonely," that seems like an obvious hit single, and yet somehow got rejected and left off the album.

It has an interesting history. It started out as an almost-finished Dylan demo, recorded for the Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid soundtrack, but never used. Years later, Ketch Secord of Old Crow Medicine Show heard it on a Japanese bootleg. He liked it, but had trouble understanding the lyrics, so he wrote his own verses to go with Dylan's chorus.

I first heard it as a cover version by Tom Gabel of Against Me.

I highly recommend any of the three. Gabel's has that great Against-Me-acoustic-punk thing going on, Secord's is old-time-string-band all the way, and Dylan's is... well, Dylan.

Oh, and I almost forgot, there's also a pretty rockin' interpretation of Dylan's original by those manic hillbillies in Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band.

One listen and I guarantee you'll be singing the chorus to this one for days, but hey, it beats the shit out of Rick Astley.

JOHNNY, JOEY, TOMMY, DEE DEE

2009-04-17T21:15:00.000-07:00

Just watched the Ramones documentary End of the Century.

I don't know why it has taken me so long to see it, I've been a fan since I first heard Rocket to Russia in '77 and saw the boys on Don Kirshner's Rock Concert. In fact, that was a pretty ground-breaking episode – it featured both The Ramones and Bob Marley. Pretty astounding to see two entirely new forms of music on main-stream American television in 1977.

The Ramones I loved immediately, but I had to approach reggae by a more roundabout route, through the filter of The Clash.

Anyway, End of the Century is a fascinating movie. If you love rock 'n' roll, or just good documentaries, it's worth checking out. If you're like me you'll find yourself staring at the screen with a big goofy grin on your face, feeling like you're 16 years old again. At least until it all gets dark and bleak and ugly. But, hey, that's rock 'n' roll, baby.

FAMILY, RED MEAT AND SCRABBLE

2009-04-12T19:19:00.000-07:00

I'm currently basking in the glow of a day well spent.

My Easter Sunday Accomplishments are as follows:

• Entertained the relatives

• Bbq'd an enormous eye of round and a slab of salmon

• Wore a cowboy hat while doing it

• Drank a bottle of my Dad's home made wine

• Played Scrabble with my wife and kids

• Got my ass soundly kicked at Scrabble

• Designed a book cover and fired it off to the client

• Started a CD design

• Walked the dog

• Currently contemplating a sandwich from left-over beef

Now, I gotta say, that sounds like a pretty solid day to me.

Any day that includes family, red meat, Scrabble and wearing a cool hat is a good one.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that was the 11th comandment, wasn't it?

Well, I thought I ought to finish this Easter Sunday post with yet another Song of Faith.

I considered John Cale's sublime cover of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, but that goddamn song seems to be everywhere these days, so it hardly fits my criteria. I considered the Replacements' Tom Waits outing, Date To Church, but, I've got something else from The Mats in mind for a later date.

So, the winner today just has to be the lovely Neko Case singing THE VIRGINIAN.

Man, can this girl belt out a song! Some pretty impressive songwriting chops as well, although occasionally I have to admit I don't know what the Hell she's talking about.

This selection is a fine example of her "country noir" and lyrically meshes nicely with the waning minutes of an Easter Sunday.

Couldn't find it on YouTube, but if you don't know Neko, this should get you started.

2009-04-11T19:59:00.000-07:00

Here's a cool link that relates back to my first post.

Great photography and design showing talented people making high quality stuff.

www.americancraftsmanproject.com/gallery/

Gotta get me a pair of those boots.

I like to think that, as a graphic designer, I'm a bit of a craftsman myself, but stuff like this makes me want to drop everything and learn to blacksmith, or weld, or make guitars... create something start to finish with my own hands. There's just not enough time in the day to do it all. Too bad we need to sleep.

I came across that link over at ubiquitous designer Aaron Draplin's site:

www.draplin.com

Always something of interest over there.

RUSSIAN MOBSTERS AND SWEET MESSIAHS

2009-04-08T21:29:00.000-07:00

Finally got around to watching Eastern Promises.

Cronenberg at his best - great acting, great writing, disturbing and riveting.

That naked bath house knife fight is incredible.

Nobody does violence like Cronenberg.

So refreshing to see something like this instead of all those cheesy Hollywood action flicks.

Like sitting down to a big, juicy porterhouse after a steady diet of Big Macs.

And now they're talking about a sequel, with Cronenberg, Viggo and Knight all on board.

Given the ending of the first movie, for once that actually sounds like a pretty good idea.

Here at The Awful Truth we're always striving to make the world a better place.

Since it is our firm belief that everyone can use more music in their lives, we've decided to occasionally highlight an outstanding and woefully overlooked piece of music.

In honour of Good Friday, we're starting things off with an Easter appropriate selection: CHOCOLATE JESUS by Tom Waits.

Now, it's pretty tough to go wrong with old Tom, but this particular cut off his Mule Variations long-player is a favourite of mine. I've heard both literal and metaphoric interpretations of this little opus, but all I can tell you for sure is that, from the lo-fi production right down to the crowing rooster sound effects, this is one steaming heap of cool.

And speaking of Mr. Waits, here's a cool link in which Tom interviews himself:

http://www.antilabelblog.com/?p=288#more-288

Fat Men and Universal Harmony

2009-04-07T18:15:00.000-07:00

So there I was trying to think of a name for my blog.

I had itunes on shuffle and Leonard Cohen's "Closing Time" came on which contains the line, "I raise my glass to the Awful Truth which you can't reveal to the eyes of youth except to say it isn't worth a dime."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrPEM2qc-j8

It's a great little phrase; "The Awful Truth." It sounded capitalized. Elemental. Like it should be carved in stone. So I decided to steal it.

Only later did I discover that it has been used many, many times before, including as the title of Michael Moore's short-lived TV show. And that is where the problem lies. I'm not really that keen on being associated with Mr. Moore. I mean, I kinda liked Roger and Me and Farenheit 911, but it seems to me he is becoming the Rush Limbaugh of the left wing. And really, is the best way to fight the half-truths and misinformation of the right wing with more half-truths and misinformation?

Do we really need an obnoxious and morbidly-obese windbag, dripping sweat and spewing vitriol at both ends of the political spectrum?

Is this the only way to keep the universe in balance?

Anyway, getting back to the blog, the question I'm struggling with is, do I change the name? Any suggestions?

THINGS OF BEAUTY

2009-04-05T11:18:00.000-07:00

Some things are just better than others. When you hold them in your hands you can feel the quality, the craftsmanship, the inspiration that went into them. The kind of thing you buy once and you never need to buy again. Things made with care and pride and skill.

Things of beauty.

1. THE FENDER BASS

The first thing you notice is the weight. These bastards are solid and heavy and built to last. I'm an amateur bass player (Very amateur in fact. If you want to see just how amateur, check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOAVAe3Och0 but I warn you, it's not pretty) and I've got a '68 Telecaster. It has been bashed around, played hard and soaked in sweat and beer for 40 years and it still looks and sounds as good as the day it left the factory. Maybe better.

2. AMERICAN CARS FROM THE 50'S AND 60'S

The shear audacity of the '59 Cadillac. The recklessly cool suicide doors of a '63 Lincoln. The ingenious Breezeway window of the '64 Meteor. The satisfying ca-chunk as you slam the doors of any of these monsters. Cars were just better back then.

3. FUTURA

Designed in 1925 by Paul Renner, this is my "go to" typeface. You want retro, modern, classic, elegant? You name it, Futura fits the bill. It may have been influenced by Edward Johnston's London Underground font and the Geometric type of the Bauhaus, but Futura was a huge step forward in type design. It is deceptively simple looking. The 'o's look round but they're really not. The stroke weight appears even but it's really not. This is type design at its finest. Screw Max Miedinger, Paul Renner is the man.

4. THE COLT 1911 PISTOL

Amazingly, the design hasn't really changed in nearly 100 years. You can argue that the world would be a better place without them, that all they're good for is killing, and you might be right. But you can't argue with the simple beauty of the design.

Photo by Andrew Montgomery

5. OLD METAL SIGNS

Every factory, store and motel used to have these one-of-a-kind beauties. Bristling with arrows and stars, dripping with neon, exuding confidence, exuberance and fun, fun, fun! Too often now they are being scrapped and replaced by hideous, mass-produced, back-lit plastic signs. Where I live I've seen 3 amazing examples disappear recently. I like to think someone saw their beauty and rescued them, but the truth is they've probably already been melted down and made into Hannah Montana lunch boxes.

Things of beauty.

Made with skill and precision by men who loved their work.

Unfortunately, in our brave new world of built-in obsolescence and Chinese sweat shops, this kind of beauty is a rare thing indeed.

And that is the Awful Truth.