Get well, Casz

Not too long ago, if your
sorry-ass band needed a sorry-ass bar to play in front of more sorry-asses
guzzling Cream Ale, you needed to look no further than Friends And Players
(corner of South Clinton and Goodman). And the only reason your rock ‘n’ roll
racket ever made it in the door in the first place was because of Casz (James
Comunale). Casz recently had a serious motorcycle wreck. He has been in a coma
since. He needs your prayers and perhaps, from those from F&P’s sordid
past, a visit. Call Strong Memorial Hospital for details. We’re rootin’ for
you, daddy-o.

            I recently flew with L.A. director/photo-great Mark
Miremont to San Francisco to cover the second annual Teas-o-rama burlesque
convention for Swank magazine. Feather boas, pasties, bumping, grinding,
jazz, about 300 beautiful women, and me. What else can I say?

            Caught new local sensations The Billy Picture by accident
when members of The Witnesses failed to appear at the Bug Jar. The Billy
Picture kicks ass. Go see ’em.

            The Dave Wakeling’s English Beat show brought back Aqua
Net memories of a time when radio was still cool and the only date I could get
was with Rosie and her five sisters. Gee, I wonder what she’s doing now.
Anyhow, Wakeling’s voice was tremendous and full of soul. It appears he was
only able to hire half a band, though. A giant behind a turntable, a
synthesizer, and a disc drive rounded out the human element. It was robo-ska.
Picture a skankin’ Steve Austin.

            I am not at all down with contemporary colloquialisms. I
come from an era when crack was a wise remark and bitches and hos were held in
slightly higher regard as dames or dolls. Well, just imagine my surprise when I
let “It’s all good” slip last week. I’m not sure in what context, but I’m
pretty disgusted with myself. Oh, and I somehow ended up eating at Denny’s
twice this week.

            Went and saw Spacetrucker, American Acid, Bee Eater, and
The Veins at The Club @ Water Street. What a bitchin’ venue. We’ve got plenty
of hard and heavy in this here town. Before the show, I was slingin’ drinks at
The Auditorium Center for The Vagina Monologues, so I missed the first
two acts (my vagina was disappointed). Spacetrucker rocked smooth and
melodious, while The Veins were just a beautiful wall of sound and fury.

            “And our beards have all grown longer over night.” It was
at this show I decided to grow a moustache. I think I’ll shave it off though,
as no one will kiss me except for my sister’s dog and Todd Dentico.

This article appears in Oct 16-22, 2002.