Rhino Records: Posh Boy Night
We’ve been on a good tear lately, yeah?
Was it really only three weeks ago when we sat on the sunny riverbank of Vieux Port de Montréal , sipping on 7% ales and letting those gravy moistened frites slide down the gullet?
And then, with barely ebough time to wash the gravy stains out of the pants and Lipitor our cholesterol levels back into acceptable range, it was off to Punk Rock Bowling!
Fuckin’ PR Bowling.
The less said about it the better, really.
More a physical endurance test than a music festival, this year’s tournament had us literally spread across the city, Jagerbombed Zombies wandering in any direction the fierce Devil Winds cared to push us!
The usual damages:
A mysterious new chip has appeared on lateral incisor.
We are now Facebook friends with three separate women named Dixie.
A dozen Rhode Island gypsies appear on Alf’s front porch, having accepted his gracious invitation to come stay with him over the Summer.
But cell phones are replaced, bass players are eventually located.
And just 4 days later we are recovered sufficiently enough to report to our beloved Long Beach Airport for a quick overnighter at Rip’s Cocktails and Ales in Phoenix for a gig with our pals The Freeze:
It turns out that a sweaty packed gig in 102 degree temps is exactly what we needed.
The hard earned toxins purged from our sweating vessels, we rush to replenish with gallons of PBR and a final stop at Jack in the Box for dozens of mystery meat tacos!
As day breaks over an already scorching Phoenix moonscape, we stir in our nests of fast food wrappers.
A full day honoring Posh Boy Records ya say?
How times have changed!
Is there another L.A. record label, another man! that stirs up so many passionate feelings in the ‘ol punker community?
Maybe, but work with me here, people.
It wasn’t that long ago (alright, alright–so maybe it was!) that the mere mention of Posh Boy Records would cause any hipster in the room to launch into an uninformed tirade about how Robbie ripped off their friends, how he stole the artwork done by his sister, how he burned the crops back yonder of Pappy’s farm….sheesh!
It’s like the old saw about infamous Studio 54…if you have a story about being there, you probably weren’t!
But like the survivors of a playful hurricane that came through town and only smashed the VFW Hall, these bands gathered here today looked back proudly –fondly! on those Posh years.
We huddle together in the green room and tell stories of hard-won royalty checks and magical recording sessions, show scars on barroom elbows and photos of adolescent children……
The day is a benefit for the MusiCares foundation as well, and we were honored to be part of it.
Oh, it’s a worthy cause, alright.
Don’t we all know that guy, that one guy?
Useless as a human being, lacking the proper attention span to park a car between the lines or balance a checkbook, this character can somehow pick up a cheap Korean guitar and make it sound orgasmic.
Yeh–that’s called a musician.
The sad fact is that a lot of these chaps have neither the luck or looks to get in on Keesha’s touring outfit, nor the aptitude to work at Payless Shoe Source.
And then what?
Yeh, you got it.
That guy who’s been snoring on your couch the last couple months and drinking all the orange juice?
That’s a musician!
Donate if ya get the chance—-
Musicians aren’t exactly known for their swelling Roth IRA’s or their keen ability at daytrading, ya got me?
MusiCares provides a bit of relief for those cats down on their luck.
Besides, if you don’t keep this organization going, guess who’s coming to stay in the spare bedroom while they wait for their licensing check from Gossip Girl, hmm?
Say it with me:
The day finally gives in, and we huddle outside by the food truck.
We’re off for a bit, and excited about it.
Between bites off chewy Banh Mi, we talk of vacation plans, tickets to ballgames.
We’re perched on the eve of another Summer, and the gentle evening breeze off Santa Monica holds not only the scent of curry chicken, but the promise of long warm days ahead.
*additional photos courtesy of Lisa Hood Regalado, BigWheelMedia and Myles Regan