AP Wire 9/13/05 Nashville, Tennessee-

Chad Padgett, known to millions as the sex symbol/ maniac Cus Longbow, shocked members of the media this morning when he announced during his weekly press conference that he would be retiring his alter ego. “Maybe thirty years from now the world will be ready for a character of this guised genius”, the 33 year old said Tuesday. It has been widely speculated that Cus and his band of idiots (see Bachelorama) had felt greatly responsible for God’s vengeance upon the Gulf Coast and New Orleans in particular. “We were just having fun- it was a bachelor party. Those type of things take place all of the time in the French Quarter.” Still it is obvious that the weight of this catastrophe looms large in the mind of this once epic figure.

As the story unfolded, sources close to Longbow have offered other possibilities for this sudden departure. Specifically, Protofest Duh: a recent festival of sorts in which Cus was the Honorary MC. “I don’t remember much”, admitted Padgett. “Only the horror of my friend S.S. McGoo sprawled out on the hood of his car and puking on the bumper. I knew then that I wasn’t just hurting myself, but also those crazy enough to try and hang with me.”

The full impact of this announcement on our society will not be clear for sometime, however, it is certain that crackheads and teenage girls alike will feel a void where a hero and role model used to be. And as for the chance of a return for Longbow: “If the French media tries to tarnish my legacy, then sure- I’ll be back for Protofest 3: Run and Pee.”

Zandosis will play Justin’s Freedumb Festival on Sunday evening. It seems that Boston’s Sunburned Hand of the Man and the hottest band in the universe, the Magik Markers, will also be there. Who knew. Linky: soundsfromthepocket.com
Also, apologies to any/all afffected by the emails posted on this site; they were fabricated, and it was a joke. To a neutral corner, please. It’s not a party until something get’s broken. That’s all.

Just added to the bill: exmembers of 40 lbs of swinging meet who promise to perform an all space-mt. insta-comp of Royal Trux’ epik 2Lp “Twin Infinitives.” Anyone planning on bringing a grill sat let me know. Lorca isn’t what he used to be.

By popular demand, here’s the TENTATIVE order of operations:

1st: FREEBASS 8 p.m.
2nd: LAREMY WADE VS. WILSON & HEATH 8:30/45 p.m.
3rd: DIRTBRAIN (on the patio) 9 p.m.
4th: ANNA KRAMER 9:45/10 p.m.
5th: ERIK HINDS 10:30/45 p.m.
6th: THE RATTLER 11:15/30 p.m.
7th: BLAMEGAME 12:15 a.m.

If everything is a begreased palpating mass of efficiency, Tony & Ellen, who are FREEBASS, will take the stage and shred it into iron filings around 8 p.m. Some bands will play for 15 minutes; others will play for 45 minutes to an hour. Thankfully, I am not Perry Farrell, and can’t tell you exactly when and where you will set up, plug in, and create art; what you smell is not an air of professionalism: It’s a can of Treet, and a highball of Sloe Gin. Go figure.

Tailgating will happen, and is encouraged. Some will be @ Lenny’s by 6 p.m. The turntables will be activated around then. Come early, and often. That’s it.

CUS LONGBOW:
This year’s honorary Master of Ceremony just got over all the drugs he
did in college, and is presently locked in a pitched battle with those
he has done in the 10 years since. Chad Padgett explores the darkside
of joy, the humor in despair and the cushions of the couch for lost
dime bags. At Protofest: Part Duh he plans to channel the spirit of Jerry Clower as he walks the razor’s edge that separates Flava Flav and Burt Reynolds
(circa Best Little Whorehouse in Texas). NOTE: Those in the first four
rows are likely to get wet during this evening’s performance.

I can’t even begin to tell you how many men, women, children, and other undiscovered gender bending petri-dished strange asked, begged, and - in some cases - demanded to DJ this gig. Alas, only fo slots, and yours truly had to fill one of ‘em. Here’s the breakdown:

DJs DIRTY PILLOWS, GEHENNA, HEAVEE KREEM, and LIFERAFT:
Kreem is expired and sour, plating scratch pad LPs heavy on gauzy static and light on flight. Voidoids vs. the Meatballs OST; this is neither pleasurable, nor perforated. Herb Alpert’s Doyouwanna blast, and a soupcon of salacious singles. Expect the Unexpected. Liferaft, another air mattress altogether, is the first one into the pool, and the last one to exit, even with a Baby Ruth bobbing in its azure waves. Unreliable sources whisper the possibilities of Liferaft ladling up some fatty beatz, friendly funk, and a few post-punk epix. Gehenna is nothing but nihil. Avast, Alcoholica! Embrace Exodus; Decry Death Angel, and spell it wid me: S-A-C-R-I-F-I-C-E! Gehenna will bring the black wax from the noir Norse; expect at least thirty minutes of Darkthrone, right along with an hour of Joe Walsh. Literally bringing up the rear is Pillows, a nebulous, pointallistic presence on the wheels of steel. Pillows is determined to get your feet tapping to a melange of early Cars, Chanteuse Francais, and assorted wily woodwins. Achtung.

LAREMY WADE vs. WILSON & HEATH (Caveat: Don’t feed the Medesian Goat).

I say this: Laremy Wade, also known by some arcane latinismus, is a tall guy with a mohawk who’s has been sticking a power tool in Agnus Dei’s orifiaces ever since he learned how to say “Marriettam Capta Est.” We thought he went to Iraq, but he’s stuck around to lead the volley in the Kultur War’s first round, tentatively titled, “Let Them All Bathe in the Blood of the Lamb.” As a single track on my iPod attests to, Wade is every filthy nun’s nocturnal emmission. From similar loci that spawned Xasthur, Beherit and say, early Throbbing Gristle, Wade’s gutter vox do the St. Vitus dance w/ great fervor; hearing this malfunctioning phonics impale itself on overdriven acoustic figures is a fine handful of thorns. Protofest debut will feature 1/2 or all of the homoerotic homonculoids, Wilson, and, er, Heath. Malt liquor required.

BLAMEGAME (can play an entire song before you can correctly spell “don caballero.” They are legion.) Their website sez this: Blame Game was collectively excreted from the bottom of some evil Beast in the year of nineteen hundred and ninety-nine. This Beast (most likely a Nub-Shuggarath or Yeti) felt it humorous to curse three young members over and over again to see how long it would take them to put pistols in their mouths. The band decided that youth was indeed the key to beat the Beast once and for all. With Chris’s wisdom and old age, Alex’s hypnotic pulsing rhythms and George’s sweet guitar licks, the trio beat the Beast back and almost defeated him. They then called upon the services of a fellow bottom feeder to deliver the final blow. Andrew wielded a mighty axe and lightning fast fingers. Outcome unknown….

ANNA KRAMER (will have a band w/ her, too). We all say this: Forget tautology; Anna is Anna, and she’s also pretty much Pete DeLorenzo in feminine form, too. [You said that - not me.] The last time I “played” w/ her, we were covering a Stones song that I didn’t know, and I was content w/ derailing the whole process: tossing pot lids against the wall, rattling sixteenth notes on the snare, kicking the kickdrum across the studio. Throughout the whole atrocity, Anna’s hands worked her guitar; her mouth made words. Once I’d had my fill of suds, I actually settled down long enough to listen to what her and Pete were doing; I wish they were still doing it today. You would, too.

THE RATTLER (Jeff and Justin and D’dar as the artists formerly known as “Ladies Night/Nite/Knight”).

Here’s Hamrag Yattlerot of Clawddady on The Rattler: Hughes & Co. are much better than Humble Pie with or without Olestra, sounding like a garage band pastiche of the Faces and The Minutemen. Jeff Patch’s bashing post-gogo boogie metal groove is happenin’, so who cares that the lyrics are the simple-minded “hip shaker / love maker” nonsense. Gimme two.