A Farewell Toast and A New Feature
Gentle Drinker, It has been several moons since my last column, and should you wonder, should you worry, should you want to know where I’ve been, then look no further for I am back for one last Drink of the Month column. When I first began the task of providing gentle drinker everywhere with notions for potions, it was because of my own lack of expertise that I committed to 12 moons of adventure in mixology. Since then, we explored the wonders of bock beer, our old friend the sidecar, pinot grigio, and our friends at the beach the Blue Lagoon and the Summer Hummer. We reveled in the joy of having Long Island Iced Tea at the movies, the melon-and-coconuts inspired Tropicana, and then shit got all weird with the killing of the Defensemaster but we drank mead like the warriors we are and trudged on. Then we imbibed the hot buttered rum as the days grew cooler, and sadly enjoyed our last Bloody Mary’s at the Uptown. Fall came in with a penchant for panty-dropping, and the Appletini provided just the right lubricant around the waistband. Anchor Christmas Ale welcomed the holiday season, and Toad Hollow champagne and homemade Irish Cream rang in the New Year. Miller High Life was our February DOM, and in a belated and final trip to the liquor cabinet, let us reach in one last time and pull out…a Coke!
No, I have not become a teetotaler. But I have rediscovered the incredible Aquaburg music scene, and when I go out, which is a LOT lately, I don’t drink because in the first place it costs perfectly good money I could be spending on CDs, and secondly, the shit just makes me tired and it’s hard to stay up until 2:00 when I’m drunk. So I go out and drink Cokes and watch some badass live music. This is the part where I go into the history of the drink, Coke was invented and then they changed it and blah blah blah, it’s sweet and has caffeine and at the Varsity they give you free refills.
I have observed a need for some quality reading on Festung Europa, and in response to that I would like to announce the launching of the Gig of the Month column, which will monthly (roughly) feature an Aquaburg band playing in an Aquaburg bar. And while I have done my duty to blogdom over the recent years, I pass the pen to a great man who is almost like a brother to me, a brilliant musician and a loyal friend, former keyboardist for the incredibly influential cover band Room 101, may I present Mr. Shock Doc Olafson!
(trumpets sound, etc.)
Um, yeah, thanks for the intro, G. And it’s called Minneapolis, not Aquaburg. Um, I’m going to be writing about shows I see and sharing them with you, hopefully for quite a while. The one I want to start with is actually not over yet, so you will get a chance to see this online. Mark Mallman is a local keyboard player who plays a style of pop-music I would call “arena rock”, with a big sound and accessible lyrics, as well as flashy keyboard solos and a showman sensibility such as holding the keyboard behind his head while he jams, standing up on the chair or on the keyboard as he plays, that sort of thing. For a taste of his music I would suggest a song he wrote about his grandfather, a boxer, called “Knockout on 22nd Street”. Mark is the sort of artist who could be great if it wasn’t for his deep eccentricities, which, paradoxically, seem to be part of his greatness. He reminds a bit of the comedian Andy Kaufman in that he does these odds things that seem totally crazy, but are in their own weird way very brilliant. Eleven years ago he did a music marathon – one song that lasted 26.2 hours. Five years ago he outdid himself and played for 52.4 hours WITHOUT STOPPING ONCE. Why? Because, in his own words…
Why did Henry David Thoreau go into the woods? Why did Alice fall into the rabbit hole? I am not a magician or a stuntman attempting to set a world record. I am an animal in a stage-cage undergoing a metamorphosis of boot-stomping rock and roll and whirlwind synth-scapes. As a monk goes into silence, I go into my third temple of rock to expose the raw nerve of creativity itself. Ask me why, and I will say ‘because.’
I love it. And this weekend he is outdoing himself again. A 78-hour Mark Mallman marathon is underway, and as I write this he is 1 day, 10 hours, 6 minutes and 8 seconds into his 78-hour performance. I was there, at the Turf Club, last night to watch the ninth hour first-hand. He was surrounded by a rotating cast of local musicians (including a female drummer with an Iggy Pop face but the best jugs I’ve ever seen) who would play for an hour and then one-by-one trade their instruments with the next shift, without missing a note. Mark would coach his backup band in what the chord progressions were going to do next, and then sing from his 500+ pages of lyrics he has prepared for this event. The vibe in the bar was very good; lots of admiring fans, smiling, laughing, dancing, and generally having a good time. It’s still going on until Sunday at 10 pm CDT. Check it out at www.markmallman.com. Watch it for an hour. It’s something you may never see again.
Until next month,
Shock Doc Olafson
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