Still,
life insist on manifesting itself as a hard, mean sadistic fucker that laughs cruelly
in your face, kisses you on the cheek and buries a jagged dagger in your back
at the same time. Everywhere you look: land-locked naval battles within a
landscape of muddy rivers, mattress outlets and cell-phone stores, is a city
elbow-deep in addiction death-tolls, pop-up thunderstorms and praise for the
skills of fine-fine-fine wobbling fruit who may or may not be drunk, stoned or
perhaps both or just really great fucking dancer! In what I can only describe
in comparison as a tragic Shakespearean twist, I awake the following morning
with a hangover!!! You know, a 'life hangover' resembling an old-fashioned
traditional alcohol, White Castle hangover of the classic variety…. Life is a
hard-fucker. Never forget that.
 |
| Self-explanatory photo provided by Lil' Billy C. |
I
find personal comfort in arriving early to functions and finding surprises and
low-hanging fruit like Lil' Billy Catfish firmly in place waiting and dangling his finger from
where a pecker would be poking out of his jeans if, in fact, he was that
certain kind of fruit) accompanied by The Broken Werewolves, single-fisting golden whiskey
standing in The Chameleons performance area smiling. That’s why its called
Fruit Salad you know–Because ('as Nanny's Chris P. would soon find similar
enlightenment) all the fruits (people) are mixed together in one container (the
world). That’s why it’s called Fruit Salad.
Later,
it would be brought to my attention by a friend-fruit concerning my liberal use
of 'little' in referencing Lil’ Billy Catfish: "I think he dropped the
'Little' from his name a while ago,” the fellow fruit said. I responded with
the confidence of a level akin to a successful retail fruit-department manager
"Good for him, but to me he will always be "LIL' Billy
Catfish!"
Why
you ask?? Why do you, the desperate Thwart reader ask this? Please note: If you
are reading Thwart, you definitely fall into the desperate category. Desperate for something... Anything… If you care to acknowledge it or not…
Your desperate (get use to it-its kiss or kill) there are lots of media-options
for all kinds of different fruit salads out there. You got this deep into this
Thwart-related piece of literature... You are obviously searching for something
deeper, something with more meaning... You are searching for girth. Life, the hard-fucker, has brought you here to Thwart.
You are a victim and hero at the same time. Relish this opportunity. Good for
you.
Being
completely honest and rather artistic too, I must clarify, I found Lil'
Billy at the Chameleon standing doing that dick-thing, drinking alone, in a vacant room, lit with LED
lights (his observation-not mine) smiling. Conceptually though, Lil' Billy
wasn't 'alone' he was accompanied by The Broken Werewolves, his broken Werewolves. Billy is much
more than a musician, he is an 'ArtCon', a performer of music as a conceptual art
form. Dare not ask, "Who are the Broken Werewolves Billy?" Because
like it or not, YOU are a broken werewolf! You are there, with Billy, just
trapped in human form. Billy sings songs with you, about you. Celebrating his highs and lows–your highs and lows–both in a
cacophonous chorus of smiles, spirits and yellow-ledger warnings of the
bourgeoisie declaring his one-man micro-nation aka 'Dressing Room.'
 |
Weven Stalls Sculpture/Question by Ryan Gelatin
|
Joined
by fellow ArtCon Weven "Pussy Steve" Stalls wearing a fragrant
Carnation in his hair, Lil' Billy Catfish and all of the present Broken
Werewolves played a great set of folk ArtCon ballads calling the world out in
all its hypocrite red-tape terror-fanatic mess. If the world is flat-out-fucked
as Mudhoney solidly stated on their 1989 self-titled release, then Lil' Billy
is a prover of that on a continual basis while Steven Walls erected a du
moment living
barrier of loose Chameleon tables and chairs following an Andy Kaufman inspired
message to the room saying "Can I ask you a question?" Which was
followed by all the rooms’ mixed-up fruits loudly screaming, "YES!" in
answering…
 |
Sleepy Drums
(L–R) JB, Michael H., Lo-Fi Jonnie photo provided by Rob S. |
Wevens
sculpture was the question that still remains unanswered and to this day Lil'
Billy Catfish and Stalls maintain lifetime, individual bans from The Whispering
Beard Music Festival.
Lo-Fi
City 'house band' Sleepy Drums erupted next. Spreading their brand of
Blister-Pop, a
genre coined by Midwest punk pioneers The Embarrassment (circa
Kansas 77-82), Sleepy Drums played as if they were a Jovian moon on a decaying
orbit heading straight for Jupiter’s infamous anticyclonic great red
spot–playing every song, every note how it should be played–like it was their
last.
Sleepy
Drums were joined mid-set by a host of '+ Friends' including Danny H. for a
couple oldie but goodie jams by Jetson Maneuver which, according to post-show digging with
Lo-Fi Jonnie himself, existed from 2001-2002 featuring 'Lo-Fi' on guitar/vox,
Danny
 |
Sleepy Drums with John H.
photo provided by Lo-Fi Jonnie |
Hall on guitar/vox with Andrew Wisenberger on bass and Steve Anderson on
drums that lasted for roughly a year and eventually beget two other bands
called Kindl and Shizer 9... More '+ Friends' action included the
infamous Rob 'Roller-Coaster' S. for a hearty rendition of "Dead
Flowers" by Lo-Fi City 3 contributor Sack Lunch and yet more surprises in this
late-night bowl of Fruit-Salad when Alessandro 'Midnight Dro' C. would
step-forth into the ever rotating Sleepy Drums (and Friends) banner for a brief
reunion of the late Dinosaurs
and Thunder.
 |
Nanny
(L–R) Aaron W., Eric Eric, Midnight Dro, Chris P.
photo provided by Lo-Fi Jonnie |
Adding
Guitarist Aaron W. to their line-up, Nanny gloriously kept it weird. Falling somewhere in the
hinterland in-between Eno, Neu!, and Roxy Music–the Chameleon crowd were once
more pulled away from either the Chameleon patrons on the rear smokers deck
ogling the boringly modern box architecture of whatever was built next door
(conclusion: "They really got it all figured out") or the bars TV
viewing of The
Big Game to
witness a set of ethereal, melancholy semi-analog/semi-digital danceable jams,
not only capturing but adding to and furthering the pre-determined ArtCon
aesthetics that salads like Nanny cultivate.
