Thanksgiving is like a slow moving freight train. Seeing it from a distance it seems as it’s not even moving. Then you look up and it’s bearing down upon you, relentless, purposeful, and unstoppable. You either get on board or get run over.
So why resist.
You’re going to have to wait until Monday for Part Two if The Story of The Wackers.
Why?
Because I have found a folder full of live recordings from the ’70s, and another folder FULL of video footage from the Wacker Reunion in 2011.
There is a lot of work to do on them, so there goes my weekend.
Gigabytes of raw footage like this small sample.
MONDAY ON DBAWIS
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A 1976 Jeep Laredo tore through the desiccated Malibu hills. Dirt and pebbles, abruptly torn from their slumbers, rose in umbrage in its wake. These uber-skinny, impossibly windy roads are L.A.’s great equalizer. No matter how rich and famous you are or how Versailles-like your digs, every time you pull your imported sports car out of the driveway, you risk receiving a mouthful of delivery truck. Or Jeep – because the girls were testing every known law of physics, especially centrifugal force, as they careened their way back to The Cult Mansion.
This lunch had been repeated a few times because it’s so damn satisfying. It takes paying attention to timing to have everything ready at the same time, but when it all comes together, the homey colors, soulful flavors and fresh crunch make a most nourishing one-bowl meal.
I was losing sleep writing about The Five Crazy Assholes (Our Personal Tour Name, and how we refered to ourselves more often than not), when I was gifted with a copy of the fan magazine this was originally printed in…and PLEASE, I cannot find the PM with your name on it and you deserve credit for this, even though I used the old, weathered scans of my copy when I couldn’t find yours, so get back to me and I’ll insert your well deserved credit. Okay…where was I…oh yeah, Yellowed with age and at wonky angles, I did what I could to make it presentable because you deserve to read this account because it was written by two eccentric and incredible dear friends who are no longer with us…although I keep them close to this day. More next Friday, but I need all you Wacker Friends and Fans to follow the directions at the end of the column….
‘BU HOUSE: CHAPTER FIVE – BOY MEETS GIRLS
A highly exclusive brand of eventide that you just can’t get in Bellflower or Willowbrook had fallen upon the land and sea. The beaming moon stood guard over the Earth’s most cherished children as they slumbered in their king-sized feather-mattressed beds. Hills full of wildflowers graciously wafted their delicate scents through the mild evening air. Little fuzzy bunnies hopped to and fro in gardens of purple kohlrabi, prickly caterpillar bean, white tomesol, black krim tomatoes and rainbow carrots. Shit nobody has ever heard of and even fewer people eat. Little did the local lagomorphs and ruminants suspect that the tubers and legumes they were blithely nibbling on would cost them upwards of a year’s salary if they were to purchase them at a Gelson’s or Mrs. Gooch’s.
ENOUGH already with this daylight saving nonsense. The cost to the country, and it’s citizens, has been recorded and shown to be of little to no benefit to the nation.
Bullseye Records of Canada
