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Happy Halloween
Website: Castle Builder DesignSaturday, October 31, 2009
 Smurf & Smurfette's jack o' lanterns.
Groupies
 Mark J. Bonamo, Robert Kennedy, Jr., Nate Schweber Kris Kristofferson Tribute, Rodeo Bar, Thurs. Oct. 29 Wednesday, October 28, 2009 I'm gonna' sing a couple songs at this gig, which feature a bunch of great singers from around NYC. Should be a good 'un! 
Brown Trout in the Fall
Monday, October 26, 2009 After three intense days of writing about a hacked-to-death priest, I got a day to unwind. Catching brown trout and looking at the fall leaves was a pretty good thing to do.   Caught on a midge Under this bridge Last one of the day, the hardest fighter and, ironically, the only one I think was definitely from a hatchery. I caught him on this TINY fly, a #22 midge (first ever trout on a midge!) 'Twas lovely out.
Last Night's Setlist
Friday, October 23, 2009 Was real proud to share a bill last night with four (count 'em FOUR) of my favorite artist-dudes; Matt Mays, Mike Ferrio, Chip Robinson and Kasey Anderson. Big thanks to Kasey for puttin' me on. Seems to me a great idea for a blog is for it to be a setlist archive. Herewith: Googie's Lounge, Oct. 22, 2009 (Solo acoustic) I Get Excited Crybaby Brick City Don't Think I Can't Stop (Just Because I Don't) I Thought You Were My Friend Bastard Like Me Gaps In My Resume Lawyers, Guns & Money (Zevon) Back To Jesus Proud Highway July 1, Near Helena, MT Reminder! Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Chip Off The Old Rock
Tuesday, October 20, 2009 Alas, my dear mom, Kay, is rocking harder than me these days. See her in this YouTube clip performing the Who's Magic Bus with the band "Peanut Butter and Didjeridu Jam," featuring my inimitable friend, Mandela Leola Van Eden. Taped this last weekend at the Bitterroot Brewery in Hamilton, MT. Sweet Little Rock 'n' Roller Saturday, October 17, 2009 Congrats to Butch & Amy.  World, meet Maxwell Theodore Phelps. 
Lunch at Ted's, With Ted
Thursday, October 15, 2009
 Went to lunch today at my favorite bison burger joint/Montana nostalgia spot, Ted's Montana Grill. Who happened to be at the booth next to me? The restaurant's namesake, Ted Turner himself. Kismet. Just before lunch I cheered a news story that said that Ted's gonna' buy a herd of Yellowstone National Park bison and save them from slaughter. Devoted readers of this blog (mom) know I've paid attention to this particular herd of buffalo. They were slated, poetically, to be shipped to Native American reservations in Montana and Wyoming to be used as food by the tribes. However John Brenden, an Eastern Montana cattle rancher in the state legislature, shot that idea to hell. The bison had been quarantined for years in Corwin Springs, MT in pens just outside the northwestern entrance to Yellowstone Park. There they were tested numerous times to make sure they are all disease free. But because of Brenden's fuss the buffalo were set to be killed. The issue here is that some of Yellowstone's buffalo picked up a disease called brucellosis from domestic cattle more than a century ago. Brucellosis causes cows to abort their fetuses. (Factoid: the Warren Zevon song "Play It All Night Long" has a lyric about brucellosis.) Today when bison wander outside Yellowstone they get hazed and shot to keep them from giving the disease back to cattle. Hence the poor buffalo's predicament. Enter Ted Turner. A story went up on the AP wire just before luncthime that Ted's gonna' buy some of these Yellowstone bison, which are one of the few genetically pure herds left in the world, and put 'em on his ranch near Bozeman, MT. Ted's long been committed to preserving buffalo and, by creating a bigger market for their meat, making sure there are more of them on American ranches. Minutes after that story hit the wires, Ted sat down to lunch with Martha Stewart at his restaurant in midtown Manhattan. I did too, with my old high school buddy Nate "Smithfunk" Smith, who I moved to New York with from Missoula, MT. For a hot second I thought it would be awesome to ask my waitress for Ted and Martha's check, so I could buy him lunch at his own restaurant as a way of telling him I think what he does for buffalo is really cool. Alas, I didn't have the nerve (Ted probably eats free at Ted's, you figure?) But before Ted left I did shake his hand. I said, "Thank you for buying the Corwin Springs bison herd, thanks for watching out for Yellowstone's buffalo." "Wow," Ted said. "It's a small world, news travels fast." Funny statement coming from the guy who started CNN.  Herd of bison in Yellowstone's northwest corner, some of which may be bound for Ted Turner's ranch
Dig It
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Cash for Junkers
Monday, October 12, 2009
 Here's a review I wrote for a little startup publication of the Cowboy Junkies show last night in South Orange, NJ. Pix by Kristen. Canadian country mystics the Cowboy Junkies hit stride more than two decades ago with their breakout album, The Trinity Session, recorded in a church in Toronto. On Sunday night, the quartet plus two sidemen tried to recreate that record’s signature, ethereal groove in the South Orange Performing Arts Center. It was the band’s first-ever appearance in South Orange and their more than 90-minute set earned them two appreciative, albeit sleepy, standing ovations. Singer Margot Timmons’s crystalline, melancholy voice was in fine form, even if she seemed at times shy about projecting it. Splitting her time between standing and sitting in front of her microphone, Timmons often shielded her face with her hands and at times she both left the stage during instrumental breaks and sat with her back toward the audience. Her most theatrical gesture was swirling a teabag around one of three steaming mugs she sipped from during the show. To her right sat a table adorned with (heavenly) wine and roses. Her most direct connection with the audience occurred when she dedicated two songs to local fans who had emailed the band. Timmons said that a baker named Fred had requested the song “White Sail” for a woman named Lynn. Timmons said she was touched both that Fred referred to his paramour as a “lady,” and that he gave the band a chocolate mousse cake. “Hang on to him,” Timmons advised. “He bakes.” The second request was from a couple celebrating their anniversary. The band, appropriately, performed “The Anniversary Song.” “Thank god it’s a happy song,” Timmons quipped. The crowd laughed. Michael Timmons, Margot’s brother, led the band and painted with deep, rich tones coaxed from a handful of guitars. A third Timmons, Peter, played drums. Alan Anton, who for much of the show was the only person who stood up onstage, handled the bass. Some of the most interesting sounds came from two Junkies sidemen. Longtime associate Jeff Bird blew harmonica licks reminiscent of Willie Nelson’s mouth organist Mickey Raphael. He also played piercing mandolin fed through a wah-wah pedal. Aaron Goldman, on loan from the opening band LeE HARVeY OsMOND, provided more traditional sounds on pedal steel guitar. The band started the night crescendoing into “Dragging Hooks (River Song Trilogy Part III),” and then segued into “Crescent Moon.” After “Hold On To Me,” Margot Simmons sent a song out to her tour manager, who had watched his beloved Boston Red Sox lose earlier in the day. In the hands of a band with less finesse, a statement like that could elicit guffaws from a Yankee crowd. The Junkies then tugged their fans’ heartstrings with a shimmering cover of the Rolling Stones’ “No Expectations.” Other highlights included a spooky take on the bluegrass standard, “Working on a Building,” and the band’s classic, “Misguided Angel.” By the time the Junkies played their final song, “Sun Comes Up, It’s Tuesday Morning,” they seemed so focused on each other it was as if the audience wasn’t even there. Almost as if SOPAC were a Canadian church. Mark J. Bonamo on Matrimony Tuesday, October 6, 2009 The Hooker and the Frankenraisin Monday, October 5, 2009 Despite what you may have heard about New York City, it's damn hard to find a hooker here. I've interviewed plenty of hookers in the region, but in eight years the only time I was sure I saw bona-fide hookers in New York City proper was the night I spent in jail. That was, until a couple Wednesdays ago when I was staking out a taxi operation in an industrial part of Queens for a big story. There was a hooker out on the street with me. We were basically doing the same thing; waiting for the taxi driver's shifts to change. She called them "dates." I called them "sources." Figuring that somebody who spent a lot of time mingling with these dudes might know about the guy I was looking for, I started talking to her. She was more than happy to talk back. "I swear I seen the FBI here, I could tell when that shiny, new SUV turned down the block there was a $40 blowjob inside," she said. "I mean, that was a NICE car!" Before too long the hooker, whose name is Linda, sussed me out as a potential client. "You got some money on you? You want a blowjob?" she asked. "No thanks," I said. As we talked, I leaned against my car, affectionately nicknamed "The Frankenraisin." The 11-year-old two-door red sedan had its trunk crunched by a semi truck on the New Jersey Turnpike in 2004, thus earning it the sobriquet "The Raisin," (the insurance payout financed the first New Heathens record). Four years later the driver's side door was smashed by a city bus, which earned me several traffic citations for driving an unsafe vehicle. I took it to The World's Greatest Mechanic, Matt Poppola at Paddy's Service Station in Newark, NJ. He scored a silver trunk and a green door from a junkyard and with that constructed the three-colored, four wheeled monster my car is today: The Frankenraisin. The hooker, however, was unimpressed. "That your car?" she asked. "Yep," I said. "Shit," she said as she turned on a heel and walked away. "You AIN'T got no money!" 
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