That last line sounded familiar.  Wait, did I rip that from Al Pacino or Estelle Getty?  We’ll probably never know, alas.  So many mysteries….

Irregahdless, while Linus + I are trying to figure out how the hell to keep the crazy train rolling, please enjoy this cinematic presentation of one of our fine compositions!  Brought to you by the devastatingly handsome team at Built By Ninjas.

We could not be more grateful to our label, Oglio Entertainment + directors Jaret Reddick and Heath Balderston for putting everything together so fast.

Many thanks to our co-stars:

• Dave Foy, my longtime friend from Boston, (excellent drummer, btw) who owns a cop suit and saved our asses when our actual Palmdale cops fell through.  Nobody could have arrested us so authentically, although we disagreed with his “creative” choice to not rough us up a lot more.
• Bill Nye, my beloved nemesis and neighbor, who agreed to film the shot 10 minutes after I gave him no choice in the matter.  Not for nothing, but the money shot would have been when I marched across the street as Bill was gardening, shouting “Nye! You’re gonna be in our video!  Get your bow tie and lab coat. I’m grabbing one of the Emmy statues.  Meet us on the porch in 10!”  And he did.  Love that guy…

-xok

 andy, jody, alex. 

I’m gonna try and keep this brief, if possible.  

So, I get home from work tonight and there’s a text from my old roommate Pete that says, “I’m sure you’ve both heard but Chilton apparently dead.”

Hm.  Knot in throat.  Do 10 seconds of research.  It’s true.  Alex Chilton is dead.

Know what?  People die all the fucking time.  To me, I’m sure to a lot of us, rock star deaths are about as interesting as your best friend’s cousin’s great aunt breaking a hip.  

In 1992-ish, my band Letters to Cleo started palling around with another Boston band, *Gigolo Aunts.  At that time, they were covering a song by Big Star’s dead ex-guitarist Chris Bell called I Am The Cosmos.  From that time until now, that song always makes my heart stop, but more importantly, Bell’s bleak approach to the standard love song gave me my introduction to the band he left.  When I discovered Big Star’s #1 Record/Radio City, I finally knew what it meant to be the kind of fan that dissects and ponders every chord progression, every melody, every lyric.  What I learned, ultimately, is that the songs that kick you in the guts are the ones that take the aforementioned portions and make them cooperate with each other.  Unselfishly.  If you’ve listened to Big Star’s Thirteen, you will know exactly what I mean.

I’m a bit surprised by the fact that I’ve been crying all night.  I didn’t know I had it in me.  I guess it’s because Alex Chilton changed my life.  There aren’t many people/places/things to which I can attribute such a superlative.  And now he’s gone.  I dunno.  

I should probably talk about Big Star related song titles, lyrics and references that have popped up on pretty much every record I’ve ever made.  I should probably tell the story about how I crawled across the stage at the Paradise and stole Chilton’s (very full) ashtray when he wasn’t looking.  That ashtray, complete with all the stubbed out butts, followed me and Pete through several apartments, by the way.  I should tell a million stories about my love for Big Star and the secret handshake I share with people who feel the same way.  But that would take an impossible amount of time so I’ll leave it at that.

I send out my warmest thoughts of love and gratitude to Jon Auer, Ken Stringfellow and Jody Stephens, who were meeting Alex in Austin tomorrow for a Big Star show at SXSW.  I hope there will be a way to carry on his important legacy.

Yours Truly,

Kay 

Here’s a link to Bill Janovitz’ always excellent blog. Big Star related stuff, including me and USA Mike backing him up on a cover of Thirteen.  

 *link features a teenage chloe sevigny and the still remarkable phil hurley on lead guitar

*photo credit: justine ungaro 

 Let’s get up to speed, shall we?

• Linus + Kay recorded some songs under the name Palmdale.
• Palmdale signed an EP deal with Oglio Records
• EP #1 “Get Wasted” release date: 3.30.10 
• Get Wasted is a digital only release with special goodies for people who spring for all 5 songs.

If you’re reading this right now, chances are good that you’ve already streamed Get Wasted, the debut EP from Palmdale and are (hopefully) loving the shit out of it.

Or perhaps you’re looking to preview Get Wasted for free so that you can love the shit out of it like the 27 other people who’ve heard it.  Well you have come to the right place, nice person.  Click here and you can stream the whole thing AND download a song for free!

In other Palmdale news, we’re going to have a free listening party at Molly Malone’s in Hollywood on Monday March 29 from 6-8pm.  Swing by on your way home from “work” or whatever super important thing you pretend you’ve got going on. We’re cheap dates and easily persuaded to do dumb stuff so I can practically guarantee that if you buy us a beer, we’ll grab some acoustic guitars and play a coupla tunes for you.  

Love,

Kay + Linus

So here is Angie’s theme song, directed and edited by Zoe Mabel.  Enjoy!

Then to dump sugar on the awesome cake, one of Angie’s + my top Twitter crushes, Shane Nickerson decided to do his own version.  ZOMG!!!!

 Overall, this week was chock full off silliness but the big news for me was the discovery that if you do a Google image search for “liberal assholes” you get this: 

 The photo was taken by Zoe Mabel and originally appeared in my 2008 blog titled “Chardonnay Swilling Liberal Elitists.” Obviously, Conroy and I are giddy.  This image appears TWICE before you even get to one of Sean Penn.  SUCK IT Sean Penn!

xok 

To begin, it is worth mentioning that the 2009 experience for me was not unlike getting unceremoniously dumped by a succession of brain damaged boyfriends who weren’t even cute or good in bed and I never should have liked in the first place.  Which is to say:  The harsh treatment that I received from the year 2009 was completely fucking uncalled for and probably, mostly my own fault.

 I’ll be the first to admit that I did not adapt well to the abundant feast of bad news, failure and ego bruising that I got hit with last year but at the same time, I am not bitter.  It’s more of an Irish amnesia kind of thing with me, that I forget everything but the grudge.  Definitely not the same thing as bitterness. Am I right or am I right?

Besides, from my rich experience in the entertainment business, crushing disappointment and mercurial conditions are a few of the more charming attributes that keep me chained to the radiator like a neglected but eager puppy.  And when I say business, btw, I mean nothing of the sort.  I write songs and sing them, so c’mon, who the fuck are we kidding?  What I’m trying to articulate is that although I peddle in a low art form and should have done something more substantial with my life, like scraping gum off the asphalt at Dorchester High with my teeth during summer vacation, I am sort of unemployable in any other field.  And the Boston Public Schools aren’t hiring.  I checked before I even mentioned it.

Here’s the thing: I know for a fact that the worthy accomplishments in life are born when life gives you lemons.  Lemons that flirt with you at the bar all night then make out with a girl you don’t like and give her a ride home in a new Porsche 911 only to find out later that you got stuck with the bar tab and your car won’t start.  So  then you turn those lemons into vodka + sleeping pills!  Stupid lemons. Wait. I forgot what I was talking about.  Whatever it was, I’m sure it was pithy.

Sometime around last Spring, I ended up doing the ol’ FB re-connect with my old pal, Linus Of Hollywood.  We were all, “Blah, blah, blah… Let’s get together and write hit songs for Disney starlets!”  

 This kind of songwriting mission rarely bears fruit because it’s a thankless, speculative and usually futile task unless you’re:

• Stupid
• A masochist 
• Dr. Luke 

Ignoring any of that, Linus and I got crackalackin’ and started writing.  

As a teenage hit making juggernaut, the collaboration was sort of hopeless due to our lack of giving a shit about that kind of music extremely high standards. We kept writing anyhow.  Then things got kind of awesome.  So we started a band called Palmdale and now I’m happy again.  LET’S TWENTY-TEN!!!!!

Coming Soon.  Get Wasted, the boneriffic debut by Palmdale!

- xok 

I Tweeted tonight about  blowing up the Moon thanks to a current news story that oddly mimicked one of my favorite Mr. Show skits.  A lot of people thought I was an asshole for wanting to blow up the Moon. 

I am kind of an asshole, but it has little to do with my opinions about space + shit.  

Ladies + Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Henry and his armpit hair, Gordon.

Just because you yell really loud at your opponent, it doesn’t necessarily follow that you are in possession of “truth” or “superior reasoning.”  In fact, typically it’s just the opposite.  In my experience, yelling is for people who have lost control of their emotions, usually in anger and/or frustration.  The thing about yelling, is that the yeller pretty much loses all credibility the minute they start yelling when the situation doesn’t seem to warrant it.  I know this because I’m a) a lead singer and, b) a mother.

As a grown up, it is always best to err on the side of caution when it comes to acting out on impulsive feelings of rage when you don’t have both sides of the story and thus, don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.  Just ask my manager, Creamer.  He could write a book on the subject, having had to deal with me for the last 20 years.  (That would be quite entertaining, come to think of it.  He should do that!). But he’s my manager.  I’m supposed to treat him like a lesser form of humanity or a lightening rod for everything bad that’s ever happened to me and deserves my wrath when my hotel room is on the 7th floor when I SPECIFICALLY said I wanted the 9th and he needs to know how bad he fucked up RIGHT NOW at 3am via this phone call and by the way who’s the jerk who scheduled the in-store at 11 in the fucking morning??!!  a rental car. 

There are different rules for these sorts of things.  Anyhoodles……

Look, there are perfectly legitimate reasons to yell at other people, even in public.  If some Porsche Cayenne driving bitch is texting and applying lipstick in the rearview mirror while simultaneously tailgating you on Ventura right before she rear ends you when you stop at a red light, I think yelling might be a fair reaction.  Or if someone threatens to kill your sweet old Grandma, yell away! Do some shoving, even.  I won’t judge you.  

BTW, in order for that last scenario to be relevant, one would have to be entirely certain that Grandma was being threatened.  You would have had to witness the threat as opposed to jumping to conclusions based on second hand information. For example, if a neighborhood troublemaker with a flair for hyperbolic drama has a well known grudge against the supposed “Granny Killer” for beating them in “The Best Person Ever” competition last year, and they tell a highly unlikely story about this otherwise reasonable person meaning to do harm to Grandma, one may want to get a bit of clarification before unleashing the crazy.  

 The key to my point here is assessing a normal emotional response to any given situation, including perceived threats and injustices in order to figure out whether someone is full of shit or not.  In the last 2 weeks, I have been seriously puzzled by the behavior of a small but very loud group of Americans who have been called to action by another small but very loud group of right-wing entertainers and agitators (notice I do not say Republicans) to angrily and loudly stamp out any public community discussion of health care reform.  

Are there really Americans out there that have been so untouched by the unfairness and sometimes cruelty of for-profit health insurance in our country that they would honestly resort to words like “fascist” and “euthanasia” and even the (unfortunately) de-fanged “HITLER!” at the mere suggestion that we go back to the drawing board for a second?  Is this conversation so wrought with peril that some are driven to screaming diatribes and violence against  their elected officials and fellow citizens?  

Personally, I don’t know anyone, nor have I heard of anyone who would say “My health insurance kicks ASS.  If I had to change it, I’d be super pissed.”  The reason for this is that a statement like that would not come out of anyone’s mouth.  If they were being honest.  Here’s the thing:  Nobody is suggesting that anybody change anything so if you’re stoked about your amazing health insurance company then continue to enjoy the hell out that relationship.  But unless your health insurance provider is personally administering the happy ending after that therapeutic “massage” or even just paying the bill for the colonoscopy without making you and your doctor fill out forms for 6 months, I think we could all do a little better.

 It is worth noting that health care reform is actually a misnomer. Health care in America is provided by the best doctors, nurses and hospitals in the world.  What we are actually trying to address is “health insurance reform.”  For profit health insurance companies are what stand in between millions of Americans and easy, cheap health care.  If you have good insurance now, lucky you.  Just make sure you don’t lose your job, especially if you have epilepsy, had a mole removed a few years ago or heartburn. Because if that’s the case you can go fuck yourself if you try and get private, non-employer based insurance coverage. 

Back to the pissed-off people at the town hall meetings.  If there was a town hall meeting in my district I would want to attend so that I could argue in favor of health insurance reform.  Not to go and make a political point, but to talk about how the relentless drive to increase profits to satisfy shareholders has fundamentally changed how people are able to take care of their health needs.  The privatizing of the industry has benefitted few but those who stand to profit by unconscionable denials of coverage and refusal to pay  legitimate claims.  This has affected my family and our financial well being on several occasions.  I would want to make an impassioned plea to my elected officials for not only a public option but a single payer system that would be run by the government.  Yes, I would want to argue the merits of the dreaded socialized medicine.  

I care about this issue a lot and if my one chance to speak to my representatives face to face was shot down by a bunch of screaming people that were bussed in from Rancho Cucamonga, I’d be pretty unhappy.  To put it mildly.  

I wrote about my own shitty health insurance experience here, but since writing that essay, my daughter was diagnosed with petit mal seizures, a condition which is not dangerous but one for which she will take medication for a few years.  Under our current for-profit health insurance system she will not be able to obtain private insurance because of this pre-existing condition.  My son, who nearly died in infancy of a respiratory virus, is in the same boat.  Sorry, Mr. Hannity, Mr. Levin and that other guy with the doughy face who’s always hysterical + weeping, personal responsibility does not apply here.  

But even if it did, so what?  When was the last time Dick Cheney or Rush Limbaugh quit smoking cigars, ran a fucking marathon and ate nothing but fish and vegetables?  Oh, wait.  They don’t need to.  They are both rich and have health insurance that neither is in danger of losing.  So if you smoke, eat McDonald’s, don’t go to the gym and lose your job, that’s your problem, fatass.  You should’ve thought of your personal responsibility to live up to a different standard than the rich blowhards convincing/scaring you to work against your own self interests  before your fat middle class ass became uninsurable, loser.

xok 

Dubya ran on a faux Reagan platform of humility when it came to America’s involvement in international affairs based on specious arguments that Clinton had meddled needlessly, thus resulting in lost blood and treasure for no reason.  I mean, c’mon! If people in Somalia and the former “Yugoslavia” or whatever can’t stand up for themselves, then fuck them.  Right? 

Well, apparently not.  Apparently when an American President of the Democratic persuasion decides to exercise patience and wait for shit to play out in oh, I dunno, a sometimes sloppy and maybe even violent way?  Somewhat like the century long struggle before Reagan got to say “Mr. Gorbachev! Tear down this wall!!”?  Apparently that’s unacceptable. 

 Oh, how things change when Republicans want to reframe the argument.  Happily, nobody gives a shit about their arguments anymore.

The human desire for freedom and self determination is inherent in all of us.  Having clear examples of the experiences that define the struggle is what gives people the balls to take to the streets and fight for that human desire.  

The Iranian people, dare I say youth, are not acting out and taking to the streets because of any fear they may (and probably don’t) have of facing down American military might.  Instead, what used to be an inspirational abstraction,  the idea of a free population in a Muslim society, is taking hold.  The power of Western popular culture, bolstered by technology.  A whole new world that no bomb or gun could ever match.

Well in that case, now would be an excellent time to write a new one since I am being held hostage on this flight from Dallas to NY after playing a week of super fun rock shows with my old band, Letters To Cleo.  And I am in a writerly mood.

 me + the boyz in nola.

greatest muffalletta ever.  i ordered the small and it was as big as my head. 

Our first show was in New Orleans at a big outdoor party in Lafayette Sq.  Guess who our opening act was?  Oh, The Saints’ press conference announcing that the City of New Orleans would be hosting the 2013 Superbowl.  That was all kinds of awesome, but I would be remiss if I did not gently recommend that the both team + city might want to get crackalackin’ on having certain areas of their shit together before then.

Dan Foreman, the promoter of the show, took us on a destructo-tour (Dan, trademark that stat!) of the Lower 9^th Ward and St. Bernard Parish, areas of the city that were decimated when the levees failed the day after Katrina hit.  I could not believe what my eyes were asking my brain to comprehend.  Words?  Naw.  See for yourself.   

sorry, mary. 

inside mary’s house. 

oh, the irony. 

4 years later, rebuilding slowly.. 

As I noted that day via Twitter, it was a bleak tourist attraction for sure, but it was fascinating.  I will be grateful forever that I had the opportunity to observe both the wreckage and rebuilding that are consequences of this unhappy American experience.

The rest of the week was spent sharing the bill with our pals Cruiserweight as we  rolled through the Texas triumvirate: Houston, Austin and Dallas. I ran into tons of friends along the way. I definitely consumed my yearly beer/BBQ quota in 3 days time and I have the big fat ass to prove it.  Nothing but wheatgrass and brown rice when I get back to LA.  Sheeyahh….

USA is on his way back to LA with Stacy and Paul so he’ll be squishing with Zoe + Henry within a few hours.  I’m on my way to NY to spend this evening celebrating my sister Elizabeth’s birthday in Brooklyn, a day recovering and meetings on Tuesday.  THEN I get to go home for squishes.  

-xok