Frank Gutch Jr: Byron Isaacs: The Disappearing Man; Dumpster Diving (The Album Chronicles); and Notes of a Lugubrious Nature (Or Maybe It’s Luxurious… Damn it! Where’s My Dictionary?)

 Byron Isaacs is the kind of guy that makes you want to shout, Hey!  I know that guy!  I do, you know.  Well, not know know him, but know him.  Know his music.  Know his professionalism and his makeup.  Know his importance to the world of music.  Sure, I only met him once, but that once was enough to tell me who he was and is.  I mean, I know him.  Get it?

I would have to explain the whole degrees of separation thing for you to understand how we met.  What the hell.  I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version.

Frank Gutch Jr: T Bone. Got it? He’s from T exas… Glenn Patscha To Release Ten Year Old Album Because It’s a Killer!…plus Notes

But before we get started, it’s time once again to plug one of my favorite bands of all-time— those crazy elementary school teachers who change into demonic rockers at night:  No Small Children.  Coming off of a successful run playing the title tune from the movie Ghostbusters II, they pluck another rocker out of the air and it’s a beaut!  Lay back (if you can) and listen to what the percentage of us not tied to our iThings are hearing.  I Feel Better!!!

Frank Gutch Jr: Meet The Duck (and Other Tales of Woe); A Node to Billy Miller (RIP);

 

His real name is Steve Suhadolnik but they called him The Duck after a weekend in Seattle with his buddies Newman Newman and Dahlgreen left all three of them practically penniless because of Newman Newman’s hours-long call to his girl back in Indiana while the Duck and Dahlgreen took in a double-feature and (I am sure) trolled Pike Street for hookers.  See, The Duck had this thing for hookers, having spent a year in Bangkok living with one.  Number One, in fact.  He always told me, you ever make it to Bangkok go down to the Thermay Lounge and ask for Number One.  Then he would smile, just like in this picture, and smack his lips.

Frank Gutch Jr: Who’s Making Up the Rules, Marc Cohn at the Aladdin Theater in Portland Oregon, and Whatever the Hell Else I Want To Write About…..

I’m tired.  I mention this at the outset because this inevitably is going to turn in to one of those stream-of-consciousness tirades in which logic does not play a part.  But I don’t care.  I need to get something off my chest and I don’t care if you stop reading right now, but the stench of what is wrong with the music business has me gasping for air and there is little oxygen available.  But before I start…..