NEWS & BLATHER

Years ago I had a friend, Laney, who booked shows somewhere around Ann Arbor in the late sixties and early seventies. She usually got forward-looking jazz players--that like six people went to see and now everyone calls genius. She also booked the occasional blues man--Skip James or Lightnin' Hopkins who brought out maybe twelve more people. The low turnouts were discouraging--but they were shows she wanted to see and she was a music supporter in the finest sense. She also had some good stories--especially about Lightnin'.

Laney had this thing that she'd do most times she had a chance (i.e. when her roommates weren't home). She'd sit in a rocking chair inherited from her grandmother and listen to the most fucked-up, chaotic, avant-garde jazz sides--slowly rocking back n' forth--the music blowing into her--angry and wild--and that's what made her happy and gave her peace.

Grady's' record store brings me peace--records everywhere--floors, bins, walls--something always on the turntable. Our band convenes there about once a month some people call it practice and sometimes it's like that--mostly it's some exploration or expansion--sometimes we go the other way--in--but mostly it's getting off the planet for a couple of hours--like in that rocking chair.

That's where we recorded this first album--all our crap--cases, amps, cords, empties--the usual--strewn all over the floor between crates of records and used magazines.

Grady is some kind of savant of low-fi recording. He divines where to place two mics on stands in the middle of the mess. With a cassette player next to his feet, he bends over with guitar and presses the on button.

This recording procedure, of course, is fallible. We've lost a lot of music--so what--it felt good to play it.

The artwork for the cover was taken from a page in Ventura artist Gavin Peter's sketchbook. Alison Casson made some modifications and added her own special voodoo. All the covers were hand silkscreen in Alison's studio over two weekends.

The guitar was built by Subway Guitars in Berkeley from stray parts that they had on hand.   Subway is known for their unique constructions and modifications.   I bought it September 1989.

Basically it is the body of a Jazzmaster mated with the neck and pickups of a Stratocaster.   For some inexplicable reason the bridge is from a Gibson.   Also the tone knob was modified into a push/pull to "invert≤ the pickups.

The original color was ocean blue, with a translucent yellow pick guard.

It had a plain but curious look that I liked.   It played and sounded great.   Although "Stratmaster" might have been a more complimentary name, the people at Subway called it "The Mongrel".   So I bought my Fender Mongrel and it immediately became my main guitar-- it still is to this day.

The Mongrel endured a lot of hard playing back in those days, as well as the rigors of touring, but always hung in there.   I've had one of the pickups replaced, as well as pick guard and the nut, and I think the neck was re-glued once.   Amazingly, the people at Subway would always recognize the guitar when I'd bring it in for repair.

In 2000, I decided to remake the Mongrel for the new millennium, so I gave it to an artist by the name of Fred Rinne.   My only instructions were to "make it redder" as I was playing in a red-themed group at the time.    I was well acquainted with Fred's sensibilities and knew it was not going to be an ordinary paint job.

The result was completely over the top.   Almost every inch of the instrument was painted red, including the neck, pick guard, fretboard and the strap!   At least 3 different types of paint were used-- although Fred was only using materials that he already had on hand.   The overall effect is hard to describe-- about 2/3 engrossing and 1/3 unsettling-- or maybe the other way around.   I thought it looked like the ultimate surf guitar, as glimpsed in a fever dream.

The red-sparkle on the body was excellent.   I saw this as an homage to the famous Gretsch look, though I'm sure Fred knew nothing about that.   He is not a guitarist nor had he ever painted one.

Then there was the hair.   Fred had imbedded mats of wig-hair, beneath the paint, at two different spots on the body.   This provided a unique and interesting texture, you might say.   A surrealist touch, or perhaps a comment on the Mongrel's age-- it was about to enter puberty.   The Mongrel was re-named "Red Justice" and went on to appear in the Patchkordz movies.

I took the guitar into Subway one last time, to get the paint sanded off the front of the fretboard.   Subway owner Fatdog took a long, unbelieving look.   He pronounced it the "ugliest guitar he had ever seen", but then took it back when I reminded him that he had originally built it