We were the low end of the ticket. Charlie Pickett had played a lot in that area in the 80’s and was pretty well-known. He released a few records on Twin/Tone and those did pretty well up there. So we weren't necessarily going to bomb. We had a rehearsal (which was only reserved for big gigs) and that went ok. Charlie invited an old bandmate who was living in Los Angeles to meet us there and play a song with us, so we learned the song (not very well).

Trying to travel light, I packed my clothes in my snare drum. This ended up being a really terrible idea. When we got there, it was snowing. I LOVE snow and I was out in it without my jacket. Later on, we got to the venue for soundcheck and all that. That's when I got really nervous.

The place was bigger than I thought. And it was sold out. Got to meet The Sonics beforehand and listened to their soundcheck. They were gonna wipe the floor with us. Backstage, I got to hang out with Curtiss A who told me some great Replacements stories. Went and listened to The Suicide Commandos soundcheck and knew we were in trouble. Chris Osgood was a good friend of Charlie's and produced some of his records. He was very kind to me answering all my stupid questions. I had always wondered how old his Les Paul was from the pictures i’d seen and he got it off the stage and handed it to me. It was a 1952. The first guitar he ever got. WOW!

I don't remember too much of what happened before we went on, but I was scared to death. They had rented me a drumkit that was really nice. Charlie had them rent a Fender Super Reverb amp for himself (more on this soon).

It became time and we got up there and did our thing. The people I could see/hear knew the songs. It started off real strong. But after a few songs, Charlie’s (who is real sensitive about these things) amp starts crapping out. Badly. Sounded like the speakers. Charlie always played on 10. Didn't matter how many watts the amp had. Thank fuck it was only 45. That was it for him. He did his best to not let it bother him, but I know the man. I had my own problems. Using my snare for a suitcase lubricated the tuning rods and I was constantly tuning it. Time came for the ex-bandmate’s song and we fucked it up good and proper. All the way from LA to having the band shit the bed in front of a full crowd. I felt terrible. Thankfully, we put ourselves out of our misery. The crowd actually loved us. Maybe it was the ramshackle nature of it. I mean, The Sonics records were all about that rawness. I don't know. The other bands were amazing (i think we were second. I think Curtiss A went first). We all got excited for The Sonics and they didn't disappoint. They tore the roof off the joint. Something that really impressed at the time was the different ages of the crowd. You had teenagers and grandpas all singing every word. Impressive. I was standing in the wings loving every minute when two of my bandmates came up beside me and said (basically), “Man, Vullo, that drummer is cleaning your clock!”.

I had met their drummer, Dusty Watson, when they got there and stupidly I didn't know any of his work. He was playing with a huge smile on his face with such contagious enthusiasm and confidence. He was doing basically what I do (minus some stupid unnecessary Keith Moon rolls) better and more confidently. I’m sure my bandmates were kidding, but it really hurt down deep. I’ve never felt like music was a competition sport, but it was a wake up. I tried not to let it bother me enough to ruin the rest of the trip, but it was tough.

I don't have the type of ego that tells me i’m great. I have the negative kind. I was never big on confidence and now it was in the red. We had dinner with a few of the folks from the bands and a great time was had. I absolutely “disliked immensely” that this moment had to end and I had to go back to my job on Monday. The hurt was long-lasting. I totally considered giving up drumming (pretty weak, huh?). I went to my local drum shop to ask advice on how to handle and get over this. I asked “has anyone ever kicked your ass in front of you and how did it affect you?”.

I didn't get one answer I liked. These guys were all top-shelf drummers who I would never feel competitive with because they were otherworldly compared to what I was capable of. “Oh yeah, that's happened to me a lot. It just makes me practice harder”. That wasn't going to happen. I lived in a room in someone else's house. Eventually, the feeling went away enough to ignore it. Thing is, i’ve never been verbally critiqued. Most people either liked what I did or never called me again. No one ever said “You're timing sucks” or anything helpful. The only criticism I got (A LOT) is that I can be loud. That's not an insult. Elvin Jones was loud. John Bonham was loud. Keith Moon was loud. Stewart Copeland was loud. Drums are loud. It's what they do. Thanks for reading on this bumpy road.

Extra credit -https://bigtakeover.com/concerts/the-sonics-with-the-suicide-commandos-charlie-pickett-and-curtiss-a-s-jerks-of-fate-first-avenue-minneapolis-mn-saturday-march-1-2014

I was a late-comer to getting excited/angry about politics…and, frankly, I wish I never engaged. I’ll get to the story.

I noticed things were getting ugly around the GWBush years. Ugly in the sense that the general bad feeling was in the air, not just the newspapers. I had started to let my opinions be known in the form of a t-shirt or a bumper sticker. I had an “Attack Iraq NO!” sticker on my car and people weren't afraid to let me know how much they hated me for my opinion.

I worked a below-entry level corporate job then. And many times, in the garage and under my windshield wiper, I found threatening handwritten notes offering to correct my opinion, so to speak. And religious pamphlets. I also had a shirt (that I would never wear to work!) that had the outline of the US map and said “Anyone But Bush”. This is where this story starts.

At this time, I was trying to put together a radical music project with some ex-bandmates from different bands who’d never played together before to see if the anti-chemistry would work for what I was aiming at.

We were heading to our first in-person get together and decided to meet for lunch at Whole Foods. Two of the folks were vegetarian, so that was why it was chosen. I didn't have that kind of money so I probably had a $5 energy bar. This was in Boca Raton (as a side note, i’d like to say that I NEVER go to Boca unless I have to. Lots of rich shitty people with bad attitudes).

My bandmates had gone before me, picked out their food, checked out and were waiting for me outside at a table. I got into line at the cashier that was a few-people long. As I was waiting, some guy in a baseball cap and the kind of clothes that rich people wear when slumming…like pressed jeans that the maid did for them, decided I would be a good target. I was wearing the AnyoneBush shirt. I knew what was coming before he opened his mouth.

I can't remember exactly what was said but something to do with YOU BELONG ON THE FRONT LINE!! HOW DARE YOU WEAR THAT SHIRT! I’M GONNA FOLLOW YOU OUTSIDE AND KICK YOUR ASS!!

I said “Firstly, you do understand that you are in an extremely liberal place right now and are vastly outnumbered?”. And then I told him I would meet him outside and we’d discuss this. The cashier and all the people in the line were rooting for me and saying “what's wrong with that guy?”.

I got outside before he did and was already sitting with my mates. He comes out the door all pumped and puffed. Then he gets a look at me. My mates were musicians so they weren't exactly threatening but there was three of them. His face lowered and he started walking away. So, naturally, I had to make it worse. “Where ya going? We were gonna discuss! Don't make me follow you!”.

I didn't and the story is over. I wouldn't have hit him unless I had to. I really felt sorry for him because he seemed really unusually stupid.

As a little kid, I used to lust after pictures of guitars. I used to obsess about how certain players would hold their picks. I would use a magnifying glass to get a closer look at John Lennon's Rickenbacker (especially the Ed Sullivan photo on the cover of Something New). I got a guitar long before I could ever play it.

My grandparents probably got sick of hearing about it and sent me a sub-Indonesian mostly Telecaster-shaped guitar from JC Penneys. It didn't have a brand name on it. I used to just bang on it to The Beatles’ hits. Then I got interested in playing the drums. I got my first full drum set when my stepfather did a drug deal that came with a set. They were made by Stewart and they were orange sparkle. Absolutely fucking sexy.

I used to just stare at them as much as I played them. Anyway, because they were cheap and well-used, the rack tom mount eventually stripped and I had to duct tape it completely flat in order for it to work. Eventually, I got used to it and never went back. I also secretly enjoyed seeing other people playing my kit and struggling with the handicap. I won’t even get into why i tilt my snare drum away from me. Needless to say, a lot of people think i’m from Mars.

Back to the real story. I learned how to play guitar from chord charts in the back of the American Guitars (Tom Wheeler?) book that I got from the local library. A friend of my stepbrother's taught me how to make a “power chord” and taught me Blitzkreig Bop. I ended up borrowing a real crummy acoustic guitar (it was branded Global) for a while and that was May 1980. Because it was crummy, I was getting used to playing a guitar that was uncomfortable. You could slice cheese in the space between the strings and fretboard. But I was obsessed. Completely. I remember playing that thing before school and immediately picking it up when I got home and playing till the sun went down.

I’m gonna fast-forward. So, currently, most of my instruments have a handicap or two. Playing the same shit over and over bores the crap out of me. I was in one band for 20 years playing the same shit. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. I developed a way of keeping myself both creative and awake that still serves me. The old spanner in the works. My guitar might have some part that barely functions or scratchy pots or microphonic pickups. Having to overcome these odds has helped me stand out in the sea. I knew I would never be great. But I also knew from some of my heroes that being creative or different could make up for “prowess”. Keith Levene of PIL is a great example.

I don't think the general public would understand where he was coming from, but I got it. Robert Quine is another. Peter Green slays me with the emotion he can wring from only a few notes. Quine does it with violence. Pain. Anguish. Anger. That's real. I’ll take that over anyone on the cover of GuitarWank magazine.

Yet again, back to the story. This guitar started life as a 1993 Fender Stratocaster Vintage Series ‘62 reissue. A guy I did sessions for had it around his studio. I wasn't in love with it or anything, but i’d do his recordings with it as it felt like a handicap. I had a Fender Precision Sting signature model (made in Mexico) bass that he was all horny for and he wanted to trade. I did not need another Stratocaster, but he wore me down. We traded and I never played it, changed the strings, or had it set up to my liking for a few years.

Recently, I had an offer for some sessions that required a Ramones-type sound and I don't have any functional guitars with humbuckers or even powerful pickups. So I tried the JB that's in there and it did the trick. A good friend/ex-bandmate refretted it for me and rolled his eyes when I said I wanted to try some radical wiring to make it stupid to play. Then I thought it would be cool to put an army man or something in the empty pickup slot to make it…mine. I had an old nun finger puppet and that seemed a better choice. Getting it to fit was another matter. I’ve bored you enough already. Thanks for reading.

Enjoy some related photos…

When my family unit imploded, I went to therapy (i had been going to try to repair my marriage. My wife refused to go) and it was advised that I journal. Write all my feelings down. After three pages of deep suicidal thought, I gave up knowing I would NEVER want to read this shit.

The reason I say this is because that's what I'm about to do. Just random crap that's bothering me and hopefully most of it is true and not reflection. HERE’S YOUR CUE TO GO DO SOMETHING BETTER WITH YOUR TIME…if you happen to be reading this.

Something that's been on my mind more than not is the endless battle with loneliness. I do have quite a few friends that have stuck by me, and I suppose it would be easy to just go to them and whine but i’m not built like that. I don't like to burden people with my stupid bullshit. Everyone has their own problems and don't need mine. So I isolate. I’ve always been mostly a loner because I never felt like I fit in. Any time I joined a social gang, it always imploded with drama and clique-ish behavior. I don't feel comfortable in large groups because i’m so laser-focused on one thing and I don't know much about anything else.

I don't like sports (which used to get me picked on mercilessly) and I haven't watched commercial television in decades. Not for any real reason other than I get sucked in and can lose days staring mindlessly at it so I stopped and never went back.

In the way I live, I don't like too many options. I get confused or overwhelmed and I don't choose anything. I love record shopping, but I usually don't browse too long. It gives me anxiety. Too many choices. Never enough money. I usually make a short list and stick to it. Not to mention, where I live, the record stores are usually blasting some kind of music that I can't handle so I split.

Thinking about that, there have been many times when that did work on me. One specific time comes to mind; I was in Minneapolis to play a gig and met up with a Facebook friend and ended up at Electric Fetus. I could have easily bought the entire store. They were playing a Damien Jurado cd and it stopped me in my tracks. The sound and emotion coming from the speakers was drilling through me. I asked the counter person what it was and it was a bonus disc from his latest LP. Weirdly, I didn't gel with the main LP. I still listen to it regularly and it still moves me.

Today, I think I made a mistake by posting something I shouldn't have said. It keeps preying on my mind so I just stuck it out there and now I'm regretting it. I laid myself bare and there's a good chance I could get roasted for it. I’ve become a lonely old man. Oddly, it runs in my family. My Dad died alone years without a mate (truth be told he was hard to like and be around). My Mom got tired of being manipulated by childish men and has been alone for probably 20 years. I’ve never been single for this long. Not even close. I’m not attractive. I’m not wealthy. I don't own anything nice or fancy. My secret was music. Playing in front of people. Women would make conversation and sometimes it developed into a relationship. My last girlfriend I met at a gig. We lasted 11.5 years. She was so cool. An artist. We were very different and all bets were on us not making it very long. There was very deep mutual respect. And trust. I never checked her phone and she never did that to me. Cheating is not in my nature anyway. She was very unemotional in the beginning and I changed that pretty early and we had a loving relationship.

But there was always rules and boundaries. She was fiercely independent and I loved that about her. She had really weird personality quirks that I got used to and allowed to control most of the narrative. To be fair, I wasn't easy either. I can be moody, but i’m very self-aware. One thing I remember about our relationship was apologizing a lot. For things that weren't my fault. She was the strong one and I only fought back when I knew I was being bent over backward.

Being alone for all this time has taught me alot about myself and shone a light on things I didn't want to see. But it also made me realize that I am not codependent. I’m surviving. I just have a lot of love and affection to give and my pillow has been the only recipient.

I disgust myself sometimes. Men are not supposed to show these feelings. Women aren't attracted to soppy wet rags. When my last breakup occurred, my band of 20 years (one of them) had fallen apart and it took a lot of my personal confidence with it. I almost never had to ask anyone out blindly. I never had that skill and was always shy when I wasn't playing. I thought it shouldn't be too hard to find someone else. I thought I was a good guy. Maybe I figured that would shine through. After a few rejections, I gave up. I think I wanted to save whatever confidence I had left. And I had to look in the mirror. I was 54 now. Not a spring chicken. No outward confidence or bravado to lean on. Out of the game and still programmed after 11 years. These things are reality. The game had changed. People don't meet in public. Everything is online. Everyone can review your life history before you can defend yourself. People are conditioned to tolerate less. The world has changed and i’ve yet to completely change with it. I should probably go back and count the number of contradictions in this.

I write out my monthly budget.

I write the tip on a meal.

I write jokes in my head.

I write songs no one will ever hear.

I write I LOVE YOU, MOM on cards.

I write out a few letters of the alphabet in piss in a urinal.

I write a list of things not to forget that I only see once. While I'm writing it.

I write my name on my fucking food so no one who can read will eat it.

I write shit like this.

Because i'm a writer.

Remember when writing was fun. You didn't have to follow any rules. You didn't have to have anything to say. You could write two words down and have fun with them. Make a game out of them. See how many other words you could make from them. That's writing.

Now that politics have rooted and screwed down into everything, I can't like the color mauve because it represents a dying breed of moths that weren't really adding anything other than color to the world anyway. Man, i’m a sick bastard! How dare I have this opinion! I must be a pedo, etc.

Sorry. Drifted off there. It was nice before words that were not designed to be insults (no matter the tone) became them. I speak very little in public for fear i’m gonna say something wrong the wrong way and become a highly-paid sensation.

If for some weird reason, you made it this far there's a number below you can call if you qualify for compensation.

3

I will start by saying the Pet Sounds LP has been my adopted religion for a little more than four decades now. It's currently on the record player as we speak/write. Yesterday, the fella who introduced me to it came over and we relived our youth through it for a while. I say a while because we kept stopping it to compare memories and feelings about specific parts. I met Peter Lavezzoli (he's in the photo where we're singing together) in sixth grade. He was in my gifted class (haha). We instantly bonded over The Beatles and became fast music nerd friends. Pete had a book of critics’ choices of the Top 100 best albums by anybody. He also had the resources to buy all those records. This was advanced shit for a 12-year old.

Pete would go on and on about the greatness of PS to the point of annoyance. He made me a cassette of it (taped from the speaker sound) and I didn't understand what the hubbub was all about. I had already been exposed to Classical, Avant-Jazz, Indian Classical and Stax-Volt from my Dad. This was something else. I was a massive Beatles freak at that point and I could hear some Beatle-ing in there.

During our conversation yesterday, I mentioned that we were lucky to have heard Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band first (we were both born in 1968) for a better frame of reference. After about three or four play-throughs of PS, I started to get it (a similar thing happened when I discovered Alexander Spence’s Oar). An emotional connection was made. It got into my feelings deeper than anything before it. It was a lonely world being an emotionally sensitive boy at 12. And this was rapidly becoming my close friend and confidant. For those who care, my first LP copy was the early 80’s Capitol green-label reissue. I absolutely wore that fucker out.

Fast forward to the 90’s when every bespectacled nerd boy music fan was singing it’s praises…probably without even hearing it because it signaled to the world YOU WERE COOL AND KNEW YOUR SHIT. I remember when they announced it was being released on cd and making sure I was there the day it came out.

Since then, I've had most of the reissues on different formats (obsessed much?) trying to find the best, clearest-sounding version. I guess I was figuring each new re-release would be an improvement sonically over what had come before. Thank goodness, the internet forum came along. I forget who it was that hipped me to the fact that PS is NOT an audiophile recording. Nor was it meant to be.

Everyone who loves it has a different opinion of the best-sounding version/format. I stopped wasting money on newer and way more expensive versions when I realized I already had it and it couldn't be improved on. Everything else is just record company greed. Leave it alone!

I was lucky enough to see Brian perform it in it's entirety a few times. The first time was with my ex-wife who loved it because she was forced to listen to it by my sickness. Brian had a local orchestra with him and the sound was amazing. By the time they got to Don't Talk, I had unexpected tears rolling down my face. To be in the same room with the famously-secluded Artist playing his Masterwork was too much. I looked over at my wife and it happened to her. We laughed at each other's sensitivity and looked around to see we weren't the only ones.

Throughout my life, in times of trouble/sadness/depression/lonliness, I turn to it and I still get the same results. When it's over, I feel like a cup that's been filled. And I still have trouble parting it out in the sense of listening to individual tracks. It's always the whole thing. It demands your complete attention. There’s no putting it on and walking away to wash dishes. Not for me anyway.

I’ve been without a mate for a few years now and I was hoping it would get easier to be alone eventually. When so much time has passed, it's hard not to beat yourself up for ways you could have handled things better. I spent years apologizing and not getting things right. My last relationship was 11.5 years long. I royally fucked it up by trying to bluff my mate with breaking up while I was trying to see if she still loved me. We had a rough three months before it happened and so I guess it shouldn't have been a surprise when she just let it go. At first, my pride wouldn't let me change course and I had to accept it. Some things I didn't know were how the world changes underneath you in that amount of time. Over time, I asked a few women out who I had thought were “showing interest”. That was not the case in either situation and I was not let down easy. I’m well aware that I am an acquired taste. If you get past the first layer of fear and nervousness, there are rewards to be reaped for sure. I do dishes! Since then, I gave up trying and figured I'm going to spend my life alone. I'm not a goer-outer. Most of my life was spent as a working musician. Getting women interested in me wasn't that hard. And that developed into a crutch. I would play and women would come up and talk to me. I didn't have to pretend to be anything I wasn't. I had no fear of being rejected because I didn't have to do the hard part; break the ice.

During Covid, I lost my confidence that had been slipping away anyway and decided to stop playing as much as I was. A while later, I was alone. I never had to talk to women, so I wouldn't even know what to say. So my moves were probably outdated by a decade. I asked out five different women and was rejected by all. My pickup line was “Hey, would you like to go to dinner or have coffee sometime?” I probably would have had more success with “Can I buy you something expensive?” It seems love isn't as valuable anymore. It's tangible things. I’m probably wrong, but I feel in today's climate (and in my age range), women want something more than love/attention/affection.

Sorry this is so ramble-y. I really miss the smell of another person. I don't need anyone to do anything for me except love me. Give me affection. Lay with me. Cuddles. The basics. Doesn't have to lead to sex at all. I was so desperate a few years back that I looked up Professional Huggers. There was one about 6 hours North of me, but I guess I wasn't that desperate. Hugs from friends are great and all, but they don't reach into your soul like one from a mate would. I put off dating sites until it got to be too much and I went for it. It lasted a week. Everyone they were sending me were not my type at all. Not necessarily just physically. Women with completely different values than mine. Lately, i’ve been having nightmares about my last ex. Reaching for her and her turning away and rejecting me.

I don't know what I’m saying here. I guess i’m just really lonely and wishing for a loving/sensitive/empathetic/patient/tolerant person who needs the same. And I know i’m not alone there.

In the meantime, if you happen to know any blind or deaf women…