The Land That Time Forgot

Last night I was in the right place at the right time: at the Balboa for the kick-off of a three-night run celebrating the work of JULIE CARMEN. One of those actors you instantly recognize, but can’t quite pin down. Baked and glazed in New York City, Julie got her start off-off-Broadway before snagging the role as the Puerto Rican mother opposite Gena Rowlands in John Cassavetes’ Gloria. Not a bad start. The Land That Time Forgot is a reader-supported publication.

People think all Econoline vans are the same. But they’re not all the same. You got your airport shuttle van. Which you don’t see much these days. (Uber killed the SuperShuttle.) You got your plumber’s van with the hockey-puck style lock on the backdoor. You got your panel van with no windows, otherwise known in certain circles as a “stabbin’ cabin.” Which is a little unfair to electricians. The “Church Van.” And the indie rock twelve-passenger-pulling-a-trailer model, to name a few.

Folks, We’ve been in the studio, so I’ve been focused on things besides my missives to you here—you know, songs and tempos and keys and the rest of it. We got down to brass tacks with our fearless leader Brad Jones at Tiny Telephone in Oakland, in an effort to sort the wheat from the chaff. Figure out which songs are standing up for themselves. Triage the situation. In short, it was a bloodbath. The Land That Time Forgot is a reader-supported publication.

Someone said to James, “Well, that’s one you can cross off your bucket list, right?” And James thought for a second and said, “Uh… not really. I didn’t even know it was a thing. Didn’t know it was a possibility. So how could it be on my bucket list?” I second that emotion, James. But there we were. Sitting in our dressing room at the Grand Ole Opry. Yeah—that Opry. The place with the famous circle of wood on the stage—cut straight out of the original house.

Hey folks, Chuck here. It’s been a minute, or three. Next week, me and my Cumbia Shoes are heading out for shows in Texas and a few other points beyond, including Louisiana, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and Connecticut before we head home. In anticipation of roaring down I-30 in the Ford Econoline: a plug for STYLE STATION! photo from junkytrinkets.com As if the road doesn’t present to you enough weirdness, without going out and looking for it.

I first saw Mose Tolliver’s paintings at the Yard Dog Gallery in Austin sometime in the ’90s. Weird stuff. Birds, bus passengers, snakes, fish, fruit, flying pterodactyls. Titles like Watermelon…My 3rd, Ray Charles Dancers, Wide Dinosaur Bird, Bow-Legged Sal. I was touring with The Silos then. We’d been hanging out with Randy Franklin, who—along with his wife, Jann—had recently opened a great gallery on South Congress called Yard Dog, with a bias toward Outsider and folk art.

Alex Chilton was born in 1950. Had he lived he’d have turned 75 years old yesterday. Here’s some thoughts I had about Alex that I wrote sometime back for Magnet. Tom Waits once described Alex Chilton as “the Thelonius Monk of the rhythm guitar”. That sounds about right. I heard it all for the first time live in 1986 at the 688 Club in Atlanta, Georgia. I was 22 years old; and in a band called Green On Red and we were playing on a bill with him that night.

Folks, I’d almost forgotten I’d written a few words about this a couple of months ago. Honestly, not long after that, I was up in Vancouver and managed to leave my laptop behind in a hotel room. That turned into a whole production just getting it back. Then there were a couple of trips across the pond to Europe for touring, so everything kept moving along. Anyway, I pulled this up again this morning, and here it is. Still standing.

There are those records you can slip to someone like a secret handshake, knowing with complete confidence there’s no way they won’t make the love connection. When I first heard JJ Cale’s Naturally, it hit me like some long-lost friend drifting in from the cosmos—or maybe just Oklahoma, which might as well be another planet. Naturally was one of the few things everyone in the Green On Red van could agree on. I used to listen to it in the dark with Stephie. Music brought us together.

Well folks, I’m in Norway now, but was in beautiful Vancouver last week. And I was thrilled to be part of a Lucinda Williams tribute over there. Teamed up with Steve Dawson and an All-Star Vancouver lineup to reimagine Lucinda’s legendary LP Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. When they asked me to be involved, I didn’t blink — “Yes! Count me in,” I said. The Land That Time Forgot is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.