Any and all movements have to have a distinct name, as not to be confused with any other past or present movements. Otherwise, titles from other failed or successful movements will be applied to describe a current movement, weakening both its distinct existence as well as adding a shade of grey to what that movement is and represents where that has lost any distinction at all.
There is a movement brewing in West Kentucky, regardless if the 'civilized' world is paying attention. Writers capture bits and pieces in print, artists capture the essence of the moment, musicians play in dirty bars, living rooms, and holes in the wall for their salvation. This movement is an escape from the garbage on the radio and TV, in print, and on canvas because it is real, genuine, and completely ours.
Paducah, Kentucky, is the home of the Blunk movement. They are not Hippies, they are not Punks. They are Blunks.
Until now, this movement was either tagged as either Hippies or Punks since it is far easier to use old labels from dead times then it is to define a new style and frame of thought. It is easier to throw old titles around so that the new ideas are already wrote off as dead out of the fear of change and growth toward new horizons. Change and growth are fearsome beasts to tackle.
Defining a movement and philosophy is a task within itself. A movement name must be concise yet memorable without being overshadowed by its predecessors. Alternately it must be descriptive and expressive enough to be an open door, as not to lock out anyone of any style from participation.
The first sign of trouble most likely will be the re-use of the term Punk as a root of etymology for Blunk. Locals and members of this movement, though, will recognize it as a homage to both the Punk influenced and outright Punk bands in the area. Love letters to the genre include The Wish You Weres, The Hi-Fi Ninja, Middle Class Trash, Some Skank, and Parasite Diet.
The root of the use of Bluegrass stems from the location of the movement and the sudden outburst of bands using traditional Bluegrass instruments in a non-Bluegrass setting. Examples of this style are Bawn in the Mash, Gnawin’ On A Hog’s Leg, and Boot Dagger.
To answer the question -
A: Blunk is:
1. A creative movement (all writers, artists, and musical acts) that exhibits the DIY ethic of Punk and are centered in West Kentucky.
2. A style of music using Bluegrass instruments in a non-traditional Bluegrass setting.
3. Bluegrass + Punk = Blunk
---
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Damien Hirst is A Turd.
The Independent: Damien Hirst in Vicious Feud with Teenage Artist Over A Box of Pencils
A Quote (and I howl with laughter!): He then created a "wanted"-style poster that read: "For the safe return of Damien Hirst's pencils I would like my artworks back that DACS and Hirst took off me in November. It's not a large demand... Hirst has until the end of this month to resolve this or on 31 July the pencils will be sharpened. He has been warned."
*snicker* Go team.
A Quote (and I howl with laughter!): He then created a "wanted"-style poster that read: "For the safe return of Damien Hirst's pencils I would like my artworks back that DACS and Hirst took off me in November. It's not a large demand... Hirst has until the end of this month to resolve this or on 31 July the pencils will be sharpened. He has been warned."
*snicker* Go team.
Jessica Frech - live at The Creme (08.28.09)
True to the southern frame of mind, Jessica Frech plays barefoot. An interesting quirk to an interesting show where the southern songbird from Nashville, TN glided into town for Owensboro Indie Connection’s show at The Crème (Owensboro, Ky).
“I used to cry when I was a baby until my parents would sing me to sleep,” she said, introducing her song Lullaby, “so I wrote this song to sing someone to sleep.” Taking cues from Meiko and Regina Spektor, Frech forms her own variety of folk indie rock with a warm southern twist. At seventeen-years-old, she shows promise to grow into a tour-de-force given a few more years behind the ink pen and guitar.
Frech’s new album “Grapefruit” is available now at http://www.myspace.com/jessicafrech.
“I used to cry when I was a baby until my parents would sing me to sleep,” she said, introducing her song Lullaby, “so I wrote this song to sing someone to sleep.” Taking cues from Meiko and Regina Spektor, Frech forms her own variety of folk indie rock with a warm southern twist. At seventeen-years-old, she shows promise to grow into a tour-de-force given a few more years behind the ink pen and guitar.
Frech’s new album “Grapefruit” is available now at http://www.myspace.com/jessicafrech.
A Kink in the Plans/A Kick in the Pants
I've talked shit about Paducah in the past. While the city has its pitfalls and problems, at least the Art (all inclusive) scene is doing something out there in Podunk, whereas Owensboro is fucking dead. There's the bar crowd scene but the music down there smells like cover bands. There's Friday After Five but it smells suspiciously like Downtown After Dinner - country and cover bands with unforgiving unwillingness to try anything new or fresh in the officially recognized cannon of the public.
---
Owensboro is irritating the hell out of me at the moment. Alex & I scouted around O’boro all day Wednesday looking for somewhere to have a live music venue…no after no after fucking no all day long. You'd think it was a no convention at the idea of music.
The only place in town that did live shows was this one pizza joint that went under ‘cause the were hustlers and stopped selling pizza. Their hustle was making bands sell their own tickets to the show; whoever sold the most got to play last, whoever sold the least got to play first. That’s fuckin’ shady, if you ask me.
We checked that building and its price to rent/buy and they’re still trying to hustle at the game. The amount of money they want to buy the building is stupidly high for its location - off of the main drag, the building is run down, it doesn’t even have the kitchen equipment in it anymore - and the rent is worse to the point of not being able to break even without hustling with a shade, too.
After a scout of the internet, a building on Triplet and 7th turned into a possibility - it’s in a shitty part of town, the building looks run down as hell, the windows even have bars on them! Sounded like a perfect idea, right? It’s interior was a peach ugly straight from the 80’s. The archways to the back - which tells me the building was built in the 50’s - well, one was open completely, the other had a swinging bar style door blocking it from the back. The bars on the windows made me laugh at the idea of the bars keeping the music inside, opposed to the bars keeping people from getting in from the outside.
The owner said no ‘cause there was only one toilet (so?) and it wasn’t up to code (ok, yeah)…but he did tell us to go talk to the furniture store a little up the ways (9th and Bolivar). They’d be the people to talk to.
The furniture store owner wasn’t there - but his daughter was. Misty lead us straight to the back where a wrestling ring stood, surrounded by mattresses in shrink wrap and other assorted stock items. Her outlook was totally sunny, thought it was a great idea, and told us to come back the next day and talk to her father. She mentioned that her boyfriend and her father were wrestlers (bf=current; father=retired) and the shows were held there.
Her father looks like what would’ve happened to Hulk Hogan if he weren’t in the WWF and stayed small-time. Long white hair, bald on top, still with the wrestlers showmanship of a bark telling Alex & I “no, no, I can’t, the insurance won’t let me. There’s too much stock around to worry about” and a pear shaped body to match, Um, ok, is there a problem with vandalism/hooliganism in Owensboro? was my thought on the matter after seeing facial expression after facial expression of business/building owners at the idea of an all ages club. Billy the Former Wrestler turned furniture salesman said that we should talk to the owner of the Singer store down the street, he had a club off to the side and rented it out for weddings and receptions.
The Dallas Room loomed quietly. It smelled like the Brown Jewel from the look in the parking lot - most likely it had the Frank Sinatra décor on the inside. (see: Crown Jewel [06.27.09])
The owner of the Singer store also owns this Dallas Room. He said he was a musician, too, with a straight Elvis swagger and the hair to match. His reasoning is that he tried to have shows and rent out the room for them but there were just too many hooligans who would smoke cigarettes in the building and tear up furniture. “I’d rather have the seventy-five and over crowd.” Yeah, the only thing they’re going to break is a hip. wormed its way out of my mouth in a very Daria fashion. The Singer/Dallas Room Owner’s grew wide eyed and laughed honestly at the black humor joke. “Well, I hope not!”
Goddddddddddddddddddddddddd. Why does Owensboro have to be so damn lame about live music?
Persistence is the key, though, and that's the plan of the game.
There's so much work to do and not enough time to do it.
---
Owensboro is irritating the hell out of me at the moment. Alex & I scouted around O’boro all day Wednesday looking for somewhere to have a live music venue…no after no after fucking no all day long. You'd think it was a no convention at the idea of music.
The only place in town that did live shows was this one pizza joint that went under ‘cause the were hustlers and stopped selling pizza. Their hustle was making bands sell their own tickets to the show; whoever sold the most got to play last, whoever sold the least got to play first. That’s fuckin’ shady, if you ask me.
We checked that building and its price to rent/buy and they’re still trying to hustle at the game. The amount of money they want to buy the building is stupidly high for its location - off of the main drag, the building is run down, it doesn’t even have the kitchen equipment in it anymore - and the rent is worse to the point of not being able to break even without hustling with a shade, too.
After a scout of the internet, a building on Triplet and 7th turned into a possibility - it’s in a shitty part of town, the building looks run down as hell, the windows even have bars on them! Sounded like a perfect idea, right? It’s interior was a peach ugly straight from the 80’s. The archways to the back - which tells me the building was built in the 50’s - well, one was open completely, the other had a swinging bar style door blocking it from the back. The bars on the windows made me laugh at the idea of the bars keeping the music inside, opposed to the bars keeping people from getting in from the outside.
The owner said no ‘cause there was only one toilet (so?) and it wasn’t up to code (ok, yeah)…but he did tell us to go talk to the furniture store a little up the ways (9th and Bolivar). They’d be the people to talk to.
The furniture store owner wasn’t there - but his daughter was. Misty lead us straight to the back where a wrestling ring stood, surrounded by mattresses in shrink wrap and other assorted stock items. Her outlook was totally sunny, thought it was a great idea, and told us to come back the next day and talk to her father. She mentioned that her boyfriend and her father were wrestlers (bf=current; father=retired) and the shows were held there.
Her father looks like what would’ve happened to Hulk Hogan if he weren’t in the WWF and stayed small-time. Long white hair, bald on top, still with the wrestlers showmanship of a bark telling Alex & I “no, no, I can’t, the insurance won’t let me. There’s too much stock around to worry about” and a pear shaped body to match, Um, ok, is there a problem with vandalism/hooliganism in Owensboro? was my thought on the matter after seeing facial expression after facial expression of business/building owners at the idea of an all ages club. Billy the Former Wrestler turned furniture salesman said that we should talk to the owner of the Singer store down the street, he had a club off to the side and rented it out for weddings and receptions.
The Dallas Room loomed quietly. It smelled like the Brown Jewel from the look in the parking lot - most likely it had the Frank Sinatra décor on the inside. (see: Crown Jewel [06.27.09])
The owner of the Singer store also owns this Dallas Room. He said he was a musician, too, with a straight Elvis swagger and the hair to match. His reasoning is that he tried to have shows and rent out the room for them but there were just too many hooligans who would smoke cigarettes in the building and tear up furniture. “I’d rather have the seventy-five and over crowd.” Yeah, the only thing they’re going to break is a hip. wormed its way out of my mouth in a very Daria fashion. The Singer/Dallas Room Owner’s grew wide eyed and laughed honestly at the black humor joke. “Well, I hope not!”
Goddddddddddddddddddddddddd. Why does Owensboro have to be so damn lame about live music?
Persistence is the key, though, and that's the plan of the game.
There's so much work to do and not enough time to do it.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
Radioactive City Roller Girls fundraiser @ KC's (08.28.09)
H'ok, so:
Last night's show was fuckin' amazing - I can't write too much more about it quite yet for a variety of reasons - BUT MAN. Gnawin' On A Hog's Leg = A+
Last night's show was fuckin' amazing - I can't write too much more about it quite yet for a variety of reasons - BUT MAN. Gnawin' On A Hog's Leg = A+
Autia @ Bobby Inkslingers (08.22.09)
"This is Fire's goat. He's fucking it but we're just holding the tail," said Treetop of Autia as they filtered in the door to Bobby's off to the side. The venue space and front step were suspiciously empty, a little ghost town of sound for an evening.
Ah, the horrors of a show not to be missed...yet the show was missed by everyone.
---
Fast forward to a few hours later. The parking lot was still dead, the front step a ghost town...modern tumbleweeds in the form of a Wal-Mart bag rolled across the parking lot - but you couldn't tell from the sound coming from inside the building. Windows rattled and concrete walls shook from the force.
Does the music go on, even if no one turns up to listen? Of course it does. Music is like bears pooping in the woods and trees falling with no witness to their sound - it's going to happen even if you aren't there to hear it.
"They're too loud," said Bobby, "we've got people trying to work here." There was a nuclear explosion going off in the front half of the building, true, but the empty house was to blame. Souls absorb music and connection, but on a practical level bodies absorb sound. Without the bodies - goers to the show - the music ricocheted from the walls like a nuclear explosion.
"It's too loud," Bobby repeated, heading into the parlor portion after volume control.
---
In the meanwhile, Mickey the floor mopper was not to be deterred. "I want some pussy!" was his mode of action for the evening, shuffling around the parking lot and talking to any chick in range. He tells me this because I am apparently off-limits - for what reason, I'm not quite sure, but that's cool - and goes into a discussion of his new tattoo.
"Check this shit out!" as he pointed to the Native American symbol that festooned the bulbous portion of his upper left arm. The shading work was magnificent, the lines straight and crisp, of an Indian packing a sword in one hand and a man's head in the other. This piece was the work of Bobby, head tattooist. "See, this was a pendent," he said cheerfully, "that a tribe wore around their necks, except it was sideways," as he lifted his arm to display the image how it was supposed to be seen. "Do you know why it faced sideways on the pendant?" No? "So when a brave was cutting off another's head, they could see the pendent right while they were chopping his head off."
---
The music suddenly stopped. Apparently, all the speakers were set to "1" and the volume was still amazingly deafening - there weren't any bodies to absorb the sound! - and out of disgust Autia had stopped playing.
Could you blame them? It wasn't The Man telling them to turn it down, it was one of their own covered in tattoos!
Ah, the horrors of a show not to be missed...yet the show was missed by everyone.
---
Fast forward to a few hours later. The parking lot was still dead, the front step a ghost town...modern tumbleweeds in the form of a Wal-Mart bag rolled across the parking lot - but you couldn't tell from the sound coming from inside the building. Windows rattled and concrete walls shook from the force.
Does the music go on, even if no one turns up to listen? Of course it does. Music is like bears pooping in the woods and trees falling with no witness to their sound - it's going to happen even if you aren't there to hear it.
"They're too loud," said Bobby, "we've got people trying to work here." There was a nuclear explosion going off in the front half of the building, true, but the empty house was to blame. Souls absorb music and connection, but on a practical level bodies absorb sound. Without the bodies - goers to the show - the music ricocheted from the walls like a nuclear explosion.
"It's too loud," Bobby repeated, heading into the parlor portion after volume control.
---
In the meanwhile, Mickey the floor mopper was not to be deterred. "I want some pussy!" was his mode of action for the evening, shuffling around the parking lot and talking to any chick in range. He tells me this because I am apparently off-limits - for what reason, I'm not quite sure, but that's cool - and goes into a discussion of his new tattoo.
"Check this shit out!" as he pointed to the Native American symbol that festooned the bulbous portion of his upper left arm. The shading work was magnificent, the lines straight and crisp, of an Indian packing a sword in one hand and a man's head in the other. This piece was the work of Bobby, head tattooist. "See, this was a pendent," he said cheerfully, "that a tribe wore around their necks, except it was sideways," as he lifted his arm to display the image how it was supposed to be seen. "Do you know why it faced sideways on the pendant?" No? "So when a brave was cutting off another's head, they could see the pendent right while they were chopping his head off."
---
The music suddenly stopped. Apparently, all the speakers were set to "1" and the volume was still amazingly deafening - there weren't any bodies to absorb the sound! - and out of disgust Autia had stopped playing.
Could you blame them? It wasn't The Man telling them to turn it down, it was one of their own covered in tattoos!
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