Wednesday, March 6, 2013


Rev. Norb: Jesse Jackson is a douche.

Where are you?

Just to the right of the jukebox, thanks.

Maximum Rock N Roll or Razorcake?

Although I probably haven’t opened a copy more than two or three times in the last fifteen years, I’d have to say MRR, as it’s an institution in a sort of way that Razorcake can’t equal (through no fault of its own, of course). Also, my writing was a lot better for MRR…something about being able to rant and rave for like 3,500 words suited my style a bit better than my current 1,800 word limit imposed at Razorcake. Usually by the time I get done with my various introductory tangents and preparatory ranting and raving and what-not these days, I’m about 1,400 words into my column and have to hurriedly ring down the curtain right as I’m pickin’ up a decent head o’ steam. It was also really fucking easy to push the buttons of certain swaths of the MRR readership, which always made for a good time. I also thought MRR’s no-frills pulpy inkiness was the perfect format for a punk zine, whereas Razorcake has aspirations to a slightly more literary/graphic-y spirit. Then again, Razorcake lets me write record reviews, and would probably let me use the phrase “The Cadillac of Vaginas” in print without calling me up and seriously suggesting I undergo anger management therapy.

What was the worst Boris the Sprinkler show?

Oh god…we were playing at the Fireside Bowl in Chicago, it was one of our last shows. I was at a Bucks game in Milwaukee the night before, and some jerk-ass bashed in my window while my car was parked on 4th street, absconding with my PowerPuff Girls backpack, which was full of a bunch of cool shit I shouldn’t have left out in the open (money, weed, tie-dyed tights, my “The Knack Is Back” t-shirt, et al). I was so pissed off about this that the next morning, when I was sitting around Milwaukee waiting for the window repairer dude to install my new window, that I started drinking all this champagne I had in my hotel room on accounta it was Valentine’s Day and, ya know, a guy’s gotta be prepared. So I drink like two bottles of champagne in Milwaukee waiting for my window to be fixed, and then I got a pretty good buzz on, so I get some beer and I’m angrily drinking all the way down to Chicago, so by the time I get there, I’m fucking blasted. I realize about ten minutes before we’re supposed to go on that I don’t have any wacky stage garb with me – it was in the backpack, natch – so I’m just standing there in whatever the hell grubby shit I wore to the basketball game the night before. A fan helpfully hands me a roll of toilet paper, and suggests that maybe I can make myself an impromptu mummy costume or something, but some security guy sees me standing there, drunk with a roll of toilet paper in my hand, and tosses me out onto Fullerton Avenue on the grounds that I was “stealing toilet paper.” I have to go beg the promoter to let me back in so we can play, then I wind up falling off the stage and spraining both my wrists. It was a fucking travesty. I’m embarrassed about it to this day.

(not their worst show)

Any good stories about recording three back to back albums with The Leg Hounds?

Not really; the most interesting aspect of the story is actually that they recorded all three albums in one four-day recording session. I figured that people are always bitching that a band’s second or third album doesn’t sound as good as their epoch-making first album, so I’d just have 'em record their first three albums at once and sidestep that particular cherry pitfall. What’s interesting is that, although the three albums were recorded in one big recording session, they were mixed at different times, and Justin Perkins, the engineer, kept improving his craft by leaps and bounds - therefore, there’s this sort of observable sonic progression going on throughout the trilogy that gives the illusion that we recorded the albums months apart, when, as noted, that was not at all the case. Well, that and we stacked up a bunch of Olympia cans in a very nice beeramid in the control room.

What is power pop in 2013?

Power pop is a collective cultural muscle memory that informs us how to tie a skinny tie even though we learned it almost forty years ago in Cub Scouts.

Which band do you wish you saw, but wouldn't want to reform?

The Clash and Brownsville Station…I don’t imagine Joe and Cub will be putting the bands back together any time soon.

What would be the synopsis of a Star Trek episode you would guest-star on?

The Enterprise would beam a landing party back down to Sigma Iotia II, only to find that their previous culture based on 1920’s gangland America would have mutated into a game show planet after an old VHS tape of Family Feud was inadvertently left behind by a member of the Enterprise crew following the events of “A Piece of the Action.” I’d play Kooshgak Henkler, host of the highly-rated Fizzbin Sharks program engaged in a violent ratings war with the host of You Bet Your Kronk. Hilarity ensues.

Best band in Winsconsin?

It’s hard to argue with the candy-coated goodness of the SUGAR STEMS, but I think the no-budget glam whumpus of RAMMA LAMMA merits consideration.

Like I Do 45 by Sugar Stems

Favorite reverend: Reverend Horton Heat, Reverend Guitars, or Reverend Jesse Jackson?

Jesse Jackson is a douche because he complained when the Packers fired head coach Ray Rhodes, and Rhodes was a brainless dumbfuck who thought clock management had something to do with inventory control at Ikea. Reverend guitars are a quantity with which I am unfamiliar, but Rev. Horton Heat must be at least a little cool because he covered “Stop That Pigeon!” from Dastardly & Muttley in Their Flying Machines.

What's the meaning of life?

To seek the meaning of life. Anything else you wanna know?
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  1. I'm guessing Fizzbin Sharks is similar to Card Sharks. But possibly it involves real sharks of the hammerhead or great white variety.