East Side Story

Great news! Turns out my rectum is fine after all -the doctor says I can go back to eating as many mixed nuts as I want!

I’m trying to think if anything else happened this week...; nope.

There’s at least one thing ready to happen soon, though -tonight, in fact, for many of you, Friday, the 11th of October, to wit Tommy Carns and Aaron Spade, ex-Hitchhikers and prodigal sons, two good old friends having a bit of a reunion at the Prodigal Son in Hyannis.

They’ve both spent the last few years primarily in California, but Aaron came back to stay in July, while Tommy’s just in for a visit. Some of you may remember my raving about Tommy’s solo album “Get Up and Fall Down” (Indo) a year or two ago; he’s an interesting, idiosyncratic musician as well as an engaging performer and a compelling songwriter -as is Spade, whose “work” locals may know from the dreaded Incredible Casuals; they should perhaps consider going anyway.

I’ve known them both for years, having seen them as teenagers at a Nauset High talent show where Aaron did a ridiculously good Mick Jagger imitation on the Stones’ “Off the Hook” (great choice.) Aaron was also in The Greatest High School Musical of All Time, the Nauset High production of “West Side Story”; in fact, it was his friend Ed Andrews who was pressed into the pivotal role of Tony at the last possible second when the original actor became unavailable, giving the performance of a lifetime, a performance that high school theater people still talk about in hushed, reverent tones. It was a milestone.

I believe Aaron himself was a gang member, though I don’t recall whether he was a Shark or a Jet; certainly, the Puerto Rican-via-Hyannisport accents on the Sharks were another high point. I would pay big money for a video tape of this legendary production. I’d mow lawns... I’d even pick up my room.

Please, let there be someone, somewhere, who has the video tape. Call me any hour of the day or night -this is my private number: 508 240 2733. Call collect. I’ll do anything. You can come over to the manor for dinner; I’ll have the glittering, unbelievably sparkly, and relentlessly phosphorescent Mrs. K whip up a soufflé. (By the way, that’s pronounced “soo-flay”, not “soo-ful”; it’s practically French, y’ know.)

Some of you may remember my having a bit of an identity crisis here a couple of weeks ago over my unexpected approval of the new James Taylor album (I thought I was hipper than that.) As you may recall, I was pretty depressed over it, and I ended up trudging down to the record store to buy other records by washed up has-beens I’d given up on to see how deep the problem ran. I even bought a Bruce Springsteen album (well, used -I’m not entirely insane!), and was relieved to see that I still find him kind of grunty.

I mean, you know his heart’s in the right place, but on most of “The Rising” (Columbia), he kind of sounds like he has a touch of Bono’s Disease, which causes taking yourself too seriously. He sounds like an honest man, straining under the weight of a great burden -could it be the Mantle of the Future of Rock?

Fortunately, there’s an exception to the rule, which is a tune called “Let’s Be Friends (Skin to Skin)”, the latest in a long line of rip-offs of the song “Groovin’” by the Young Rascals. “Groovin’” is a wonderful song, and a lot of the songs that have trod in its footsteps have come out pretty well -apparently, you can scarcely go wrong with that whole summer-y, good vibes kind of thing, and the Boss doesn’t; in fact, he sounds positively relieved to be singing something that isn’t Important.

The song is an oasis, but it’s also a mirage, as the rest of the album seems duty-bound; even on “Mary’s Place”, the chorus of which goes “Meet me at Mary’s place -we’re gonna have a party”, he still sounds kind of grim, as if this party is going to be a lot of work, but if we all pull together, somehow we’ll pull through. Jeese. So I still don’t love Bruce Springsteen -I’m going to be well again! And did I tell you the good news about my rectum?

By the way, my next-door neighbor Anne McKenna pointed out that I spoke in error last week in my praise of HBO’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm” when I identified the show’s creator as Larry Gilbert -that’s not his name, that’s some other guy. The real “Curb Your Enthusiasm” guy is Larry David, and he is indeed funny as hell. So, sorry. Go ahead, sue me.

Dear Thurston

I used to write my column every Sunday night, but now that both football and the Sopranos are back on TV, I'm finding that not only has the going gotten tough, but I have not gotten going.

At this point, on Sunday I frequently watch two football games, the Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm (which is a great new find, a half hour comedy starring Larry Gilbert, who wrote Seinfeld; he's very annoying, and it's very hilarious, and it comes on HBO right after the Sopranos, before I can get up), then, the rest of another football game; at this point, I find myself ready for one thing and one thing only: Sportscenter on ESPN. Sunday has become the day that I watch television until my eyes implode.

After all that, I'm supposed to write a column that's all erudite and stuff? Fat chance!

I'm starting to think I might be better off making it into an advice column where you all write in about your deepest, most personal embarrassing sexual problems and I reply with glib answers and ridicule. Or, if you prefer, I'll be sensitive and caring -what the hell! It'll be a sort of "Dear Thurston" thing... yeah! This is a great idea!

Write me some damn questions about something you shouldn't have done to your girlfriend and I'll agree you probably shouldn't have done it -but gently, without completely crucifying you, usually, unless you seem to need a good kick in the pants, in which case my answer will really cut to the chase, and I'll be quite disarming in my candor and directness. C'mon, write me some questions! It'll be fun!

OK, don't, then.

DATELINE: WEST HARWICH! Noted musician Bruce Maclean (aka Link Montana) has moved there, and his band the Maplewoods (who will play at the Claddagh on Rt. 28 every Saturday starting October 12) have apparently changed from a trio of forty-ish males to a trio of teenage girls, on the evidence of the cover photo on a live CD they have in limited release. Actually, they still sound like guys, though -perhaps there was some mistake at the printer's...

Bruce was also involved in the recording of the new Greg Johnson CD, "Songs for Space", which you may start seeing some signs of (inquiries may be addressed to Greg at 266 Tonset Rd., Orleans, MA. 02653.)

Bruce said he'd also been spending some time at the Olde Inn at West Dennis, which he's always spoken highly of; he said both Dave Hickey (who plays there on Friday and Saturday) and Patsy Whelan (who plays Tuesdays) were well worth hearing, even though they play Irish music. (I've always been frightened of Irish music.)

DATELINE: ORLEANS! Noted soundman/entrepenuer/big time record executive Chris Blood reports that he just had a baby, eventually adding that wife Susan was also involved; the happy result is Lucy Amelia Blood, who is very, very small but already sports a winning smile; suitors may apply at the Trout Towers Casino.

DATELINE: EASTHAM! In desperate attempt to recover from suddenly liking James Taylor again, noted journalist Me listened to a Flaming Lips compilation of older material on Rykodisc called "The Symbolic Birth and Early Life of the Flaming Lips" (itself a compilation of material from two other Flaming Lips compilations covering the years 1983 to 1991.) They're strange, they're hip, they're young, -I always like them. It was boring as hell.

The identity problem continues...