Irrational violence,ringing in my ears,that strong dull ache filling my head to capacity on an early morning after a show apparently does little to curb my annoyance with classical republican parlance. McCain says "Carter was a lousy president." A statement that comes from his straight talk express. This bullshit is directly linked to his campaign’s attempts to rally the conservative base by tapping into the vein of old Republican hate for Carter,something no longer really explicit or definite,just something that the new twenty-something Bush-era Republicans are brought up _feeling_. Nevermind the Camp David Accords and his real belief in peace in the middle east. Look at Bush’s middle east peace policy – destabalize the entire region,catering to the Israeli lobby and threaten a third war while talking tongue-in-cheek about brokering peace in the last few months of his administration. Oh, and find bin Laden,if you remember who he is. Because I don’t. Carter was nailed by OPEC from day one,leaving America stranded in its childish addiction to the oil,an adolesence we seem to have a hard time growing out of. This ultimately affected economic policies that would end up defining the 80’s. Carter pushed human rights policies. Was the first president to address LGBT issues. His downfall in 1980 was tied to the Iran hostage crises as well as the American public’s direct-yet-limited view of the OPEC problem.

And he legalized home fuckin’ brewing.


Apparently,we’re the kind of band that throws together a new song in the two practices before a show,amidst the lead singer getting rear-ended and hammering through a McClusky cover. Then our bassist Maxtone blows the Ashdown’s power section last night. You couldn’t ask for more rock,except for maybe Smitherton’s van dying on the side of the road on the way to the venue (Club Anything,in this particular case). We’ll be at Conejitos at 6pm – call the Lambs if you want reservations,or just show up and claim a chair & a cup o’ tequila.

We’re going on First,ahead of Witch Beula and Lockjaw. Promptly at 10pm. We have a lot to get through. So sit back,relax. Enjoy a hot cup of whiskeypolitics.

Feelings… Is this thing on?

I think the Lambs of Abortion should sign up for WAMI. Because nothing says Rock and motherfuckin’ Roll like this fucking picture:

A WAMI Holiday Party. An exciting time to gather with your fellow fucking professionals and gain insight into longtime faith healers,safety regulators,and credit card dealers. Take it in. Is this the face of Wisconsin Music? Holy fuck some God,somewhere,is weeping in that dark hole he created all this from. He’s thanking someone for inventing the bad mixture of cocaine and heroin,so he can at least enjoy some Jimi Hendrix before some fat white man bought the rights to a soft drink GM commercial rewritten church lyrics campfire childrens songs,while GM shuts down an entire city with poor economic judgement while pumping dollar after dollar into our and their Ameircan Dream. Like bad sex, fucking the pillow,burned on cheap LSD,our secrets unfold before the great realization that the greatness we expected is shot and gone. So it goes. So strap on that fucking guitar and play like it at least means something to someone somewhere,most likely the one person who’ll never hear it,but its better than leaving nothing behind except a collection of emotional and financial debt to those American demigods. Those rat bastards will forgive and forget the debt you incur; make them pay for it.

Mostly it tastes like burnt shit and spilled gasoline. The way it should,goddamnit.

Strangest Places at BBC Saturday

So… It’s been said before,and I never really agreed with the concept. In various technical senses,this actually may be the last show SP does. Much like the Lambs cannibalized SP for members; SP is going to follow suit and cannibalize members of SP. I’ve been playing bass a long time,and its worked well for me (us),but I think now is the time for Guitar. You see,in a rare window into the dark,smoke-filled world of the Lambs,Jasper Oppenheimer IV is often late to practice,giving the rest of the group a lot of time to play whatever they want. Cole Hammond’s been working on playing in the Lambs vein,but it remains a slow-moving theraputic process,stepping away from the reverb and delay pedals so oft used in his bluer days of SP. Stetson doesn’t even own a reverb pedal. When left to their own devices,these little songs and jams and riffs span two completely different worlds. Stetson,as the Benevolent Dictator of the Lambs,won’t accept anything that doesn’t smack of rough-edged blues attitude sickness. But damn if it doesn’t sound like something good. Something neither SP nor the Lambs.

Cole and Stetson,longtime instrument rivals in SP,will try joining forces – this time with Stetson backing Cole on guitar instead of bass. That SP sound won’t be the same,or we won’t write it. And after 10 years,the moniker may finally die,but not the members.

But what of the questions that linger? Who will play bass? Will there be keyboards? Will Jono and company finally return the favor and cannibalize the Lambs? Will Jono step out in front of the stage?

Tune in next time, sometime,whenever that may be…

Until then,

Lambs Friday.

The death of Bobby Kennedy occurred on June 6th,1968,shortly after defeating McCarthy in the California primary,for which he was shot on June 5th. His brother Ted said of him "My brother need not be idealized or enlarged in death beyond what he was in life,to be remembered simply as a good and decent man,who saw wrong and tried to right it,saw suffering and tried to heal it,saw war and tried to stop it." He’s buried near his brother John. Who was also shot in the head. Bo Diddley’s dead now too. Somehow,the Lambs are still alive,and are playing another show Friday at Points East on June 6th,2008. And why not? We’re playing a couple new songs,Damien’s injured,another speaker sounds like its blown,Tyler’s incriminating lyrics and my father’s coming into town for the show. Like a bad night in the Good Samaritan Hospital,come see if we make it through the night after fighting the good fight loudly.