Blue Oyster Cult “Burning For You” - 1981.

I like this song for two reasons:
1. The chunky powerchords are irresistible in the chorus.

2. The overall sound of the song makes me think of Southern California in the late 70s. It sounds like it belongs in Cheech & Chong’s “Up In Smoke” and not because the song title has the word “Burning” in it.
The song has a trippy, laid back kind of vibe to it with the flanged guitars. I can imagine about three 17-year-old long-haired surfers with homemade Van Halen and AC/DC tattoos in the back of a van with crudely drawn Led Zeppelin IV rune symbols on the side of it and black lights for headlamps cranking this song over the chirping of a water bong somewhere in the San Fernando Valley in the summer of ‘81.

The reason it’s a guilty pleasure is that, well, its Blue Oyster Cult. Notorious authors of “Don’t Fear The Reaper” and (wince) “Godzilla.”
Plus, just watch the video. It was obvious that this band wasn’t ready for the video age which isn’t bad, but, good lord, just look at the lead singer with the shiny gold shirt on. Not to mention that he looks like he stole his hair and mustache from a member of Toto.

I got to see them play in 2006. I didn’t plan on seeing them, it just so happened that they were playing a Drive-In movie festival in Atlanta. The reason? The festival was showing “Godzilla,” therefore, somebody thought it would be real clever to get these guys to play. The sad part was that BOC acted like people were genuinely interested to hear them play songs other that their three biggest hits.

I remember SCREAMING at them to play “Burning For You” while people stared at me, baffled by my request. Either people didn’t know that song or they expected to hear only “Reaper” requested. Finally, after punishing the crowd with the opening song of the set, BOC surrendered to my yelling and kicked into “Burning for You.” I went into some kind of ecstatic state that made me jump around like it was a Sex Pistols show from ‘77. My vertical leap was rivaling that of Spud Webb. After the song was over, I immediately returned to my tent for some much needed rest. I woke up what seemed like two hours later and BOC was still playing and they finally got around to playing “Godzilla.”

One funny side-note to that show was that the Supersuckers played before BOC and tried to do a cover of “Godzilla.” The BOC “manager” was flipping out and somehow convinced the Supersuckers not to go through with it.

Anyway, if you see me near a digital jukebox somewhere you can mark it down that “Burning For You” will soon be filling the air.

I was skeptical at first about the theory that vinyl sounded better than CDs, thinking some people were just resistant to change.

But then in the early ’90s, I saw the light. It came in the form of Neil Young & Crazy Horse’s “Rust Never Sleeps.” I had worn out my sister’s hand-me-down vinyl copy and decided to buy it on CD. Instantly, I could tell that the sound on CD was not as rich. It tended to sound flat and hollow. Needless to say, I have never bought another Neil Young album on CD. I just can’t imagine listening to “Tonight’s The Night” or “After The Goldrush” on a digital format. This will probably change, however, because I recently received an iPod as an anniversary gift from my wife.

My love for vinyl is more than just about sound. It is an overall feeling, experience. Unwrapping the album, gingerly placing it on the turntable, and dropping the needle gets the dopamine flowing. The first few crackles on the outer rim of the records keep you in anticipation of the sound to come.

Playing records takes me back to my late teens and early 20s. I can’t help but to remember the first time I put on Nirvana’s “Bleach” in my bedroom and being blown away by it. Or listening to the Ramones’ “Leave Home” that I got for 88 cents at Goodwill in Danville. What makes that find so special is that it contains the song “Carbona Not Glue,” a song that was eventually removed because of a lawsuit.

That Ramones record is probably the greatest find of my crate-digging career. Vinyl collectors are like archaeologists. We are always looking for the Holy Grail, although, it differs from person to person. My Holy Grail is The Count Five’s “Psychotic Reaction,” anything on the ESP label (especially the Godz or Fugs)or the first Misfits 7-inch. Sure, I could take out a small loan and just buy these records but I want to find these gems tucked away in somebody’s old collection that they’re selling or in some flea market or, of course, a used vinyl store.

Mike Gravel is still on the ballot! So Democrats have a third choice even though the voters guide says he is now a member of the Libertarian Party. Look for Elmer Fudd and Mickey Mouse to draw more votes than ol’ “Give ‘em Hell Gravel” or as he is better known, “Who?”

I hope the state is taking notice to the early voting and primary turnouts and can do something, anything to alleviate the crush of voters that will undoubtedly be casting ballots in November. I would hate for North Carolina to become the new Florida or the new Ohio. I remember people waited for hours at some Burlington precincts back in 2004.

Even though this is just a primary, elections excite me. As a journalist, there is a certain rush of adrenaline that goes along with waiting for the returns and then hammering together headlines and packages in a white-knuckled frenzy right before deadline. I doubt it will be that exciting tonight but it will be a good test run for November. 

Update 1 p.m.: Hillary needs to stop calling me. If my wife finds out I’ll find my stuff out in the yard tonight. Bill called me yesterday. Just waiting on Obama and Gravel to blow up my phone. And how could I ever get tired of the “No to Land Transfer Tax” calls? I have enough of their mailers to re-paper the sunroom.

I also got a call from DirecTV trying to sell me HBO and Cinemax under some complicated contract. Like the run-up to the Iraq War, it sounded too good to be true. I wasn’t fooled then and I won’t be fooled now.

I received a MySpace bulletin today from Laurie Feamster, co-owner of the Clay Street Tavern, that her husband Jeff and her had sold their establishment. The new owner is Wendy. Didn’t catch her last name but she seems cool. 

They were there today to say goodbye. On the jukebox, I played some Warren Zevon and Tom Waits. Those were the first selections I played when I stepped into their place back in the summer of 2005.

The good news is that Laurie and her husband Jeff are staying in the area. Great people.

Cheers to Laurie and Jeff on their future plans. I hope to see them around more often outside of the Tavern.

Also, I welcome Wendy and her parents. I look forward to a new friendship.

You know you’re at a small-town festival when the first sign you see reads “Funnel Cake.”

Quite a crowd of families and teenagers came out Friday night for the 20th Annual Mebane Dogwood Festival.

The scene reminded me of my teen years attending Festival In The Park in Danville. It was a sprawling event that takes place in Ballou Park every May. It was the closest thing to a fitness program that the city ever came up with for the simple fact that you had to constantly hike to get to different areas. Thirsty? Let’s turn around and head up to the food area. Want to see some arts and crafts? Let me do some stretching first. Want to go try to win a Journey mirror from the crooked carnie? Get on your walking shoes.

However, the festival’s sprawl ended in the late ’80s thanks to one man, Geraldo Rivera and one incident on his TV show.

After that show, a rumor ran like wildfire through the Danville community that, get this, satanic skinheads riding in limosines were looking to abduct blonde hair, blue-eyed girls from the festival. Needless to say, many parents wouldn’t allow their Sun-In dyed hair and blue contacts-wearing daughters to go to the festival.

From then on, the festival’s size was scaled back and most of the booths were set up along the park’s main road.

By the way, another “ripped from the headlines” rumor started in 1992 after the L.A. riots. Something about black gangs shooting, you guessed it, blonde hair and blue-eyed girls.

The Dogwood Festival on Friday night was sparsely populated with booths. Plenty of people showed up to see Mason Lovette. I have to confess that I never did hear the band play. Part of the reason was that I was busy walking around and the other part is that everytime I went near the stage, it sounded like a song was ending or they were tuning up.

I did see the guitarist from the best punk/hard rock band ever from Danville (C.O.D.) taking money from children at a carnival game booth. He should remember the Festival In The Park in 1992 where his band stirred up a mosh pit that caused the Danville police to swarm in and nearly started a teenage riot.

We returned to the Dogwood Festival around noon Saturday to see a totally transformed event. Booths lined both sides of Clay Street.

My wife saw a pocket book booth that pulled her in like a Death Star tractor beam. We bought some homemade Indian bracelets. We watched some cloggers and some kids try to break dance on the asphalt. Ouch! Puppets waved and yelled ”bye” to our lost souls from a ministry kiosk.

I have two problems with the festival however. The first is that it is was nearly impossible to walk down Clay Street because of the volume of people. Organizers may want to consider spreading things out because you cannot stop to look at items nor can you speak with someone lest you create a traffic jam of people. The other problem is that there needs to be a green space for the bands to play on. No one wants to sit on asphalt to watch a beach band in the middle of an 85-degree day.

To beat the heat, we took refuge in Clay Street Tavern and Dick & Jane’s. Red Oak and peach martinis taste good on a hot day.

We missed the “Mayberry Memories” stage show but “Barney” and “Gomer” were roaming around the festival. My wife was able to get Barney to say “Nip it in the bud.”

The Ribfest was confusing and a tad disappointing. I was under the impression that the rib cookers would offer their fare for sale. Instead, the public was invited to sample the food so it wasn’t a total loss. I just wish I could have had more because that meat was plumb falling off the bone. I had to settle for full rib and barbecue fixes from Smokin’ Joe’s and A&M Grill’s booths.

There was one booth that made the biggest impression upon us. It was a man singing karaoke-style gospel music behind a table with stacks of homemade CDs that resembles the Sierra Nevadas. He was singing when we first walked by his booth and, four hours later, was still singing. Windell Capel was in the middle of an anti-alcohol tune when we approached his booth. He had props including an empty six-pack of Michelob bottles set up among the tons of compact discs. We asked him which CD was the best and he sang to us which one was the greatest, the CD entitled “They Don’t Live Here Anymore.” He sang to us the “Buy 2, get 2 free” special and even sang while he signed the photo shown above.

We went home and put on the CD. The title track tells of our hero going to the “drug house,” the “liquor house,” and the “welfare office.”

Bring on the Alamance County Fair.

Last year, I was drafted to DJ at the Clay Street Tavern under my alter-ego DJ Boomer Boom.

I had a grand plan to enter through the back entrance of the Tavern at around 7 p.m. to “Ecstasy of Gold” with strobe lights and a fog machine rolling, draped in garb straight out of a Parliament/Funkadelic concert. Then I would climb into the booth and lay down some blunted up G-Funk for the next four hours that would make DJ Shadow trash his turntables.

The reality is that I ended up taking requests from the regulars to hear Bocephus, Skynyrd, Bocephus singing Skynyrd, Billy Squier and Zeppelin. I was able to slip in some Flaming Lips, Husker Du and even “Shake Your Rump” by the Beastie Boys.

This year I’ll actually make it outside to see what the festival has to offer and finally hear what that Mason Lovette Band is all about. Plus, there is a something called “Memories of Mayberry.” From what I can gather, it is Barney Fife and Gomer Pyle impersonators. Fine, “Gomer” just better not break out into “Help Me Make It Through The Night.”

Click here to find out more information about the Dogwood Festival. See y’all there!

I’m kind of torn about the project: On the one hand I like the possibility of having a movie theater or restaurants merely three miles away from me. Then again, I don’t like the idea of not being able to see stars at night because of the streetlights that will probably accompany such project.

Well, listen up developer. You want my blessing? Here’s my demands:

Restaurants

Eastern Alamance and western Orange is exhausted with Chinese and Mexican restaurants. What we need is an Indian eatery. And a 24-hour place at that. I mean, why should the Iron Skillet be my only option at 3 a.m.? And why do I have to drive to Chapel Hill or Durham to get my Indian fix? This area is screaming for such a place.

Also, I want a 24-hour Allen & Son restaurant. Nothing too fancy, of course. A table, a bottle of sauce, a smoker, an iced tea maker and some of that proof-of-god’s-existence barbecue. If Allen says no then go after the Barbecue Joint guy.

Retail stores

Where Cabela’s is suppose to go, I want a record store. A record store so big and extensive that there would be places to camp out at in between rows. A trip to the record store would require a couple days off from work. The store would stock original, pristine copies of Blue Cheer and The Godz albums for no more than $12 and not the $30 repressings on 180 grams of vinyl.

A video rental store that stocks nothing but trashy B-movies and horror films from the 50s-70s. This would have to be a 24-hour place as well because who knows when I may want to have a Russ Meyer film festival at my house?

Movie Theater

Fine, have your 12-screen Olympus Mon of theaters, BUT three screens have to be set aside:

One screen would have to show classic movies that I never got to see on big screen: “The Godfather,” all Kubrick, Ed Wood, Russ Meyer, Billy Jack and Scorcese films, “Spinal Tap,” “Citizen Kane,” “Xanadu”…oh, wait, I saw that one.

The second screen would be dedicated to music films such as “The Last Waltz,” “Isle of Wight,” “Gimme Shelter” and “Woodstock.” State of the art sound equipment needed and plenty o’ volume.

And as a public service, the third screen would be a continous loop of “Up In Smoke,” “Reefer Madness,” “Dune” and “Gus,” the 1976 movie about a field-goal kicking mule. This screen will keep stoners busy and off the streets. 

(Roy wore that ugly tie. He would’ve been better off wearing that Kansas sticker .)

I believe I am finally out of the shock from the close loss to Kansas. Actually, I went straight from abject depression into allergy symptoms. Now, my insomnia (it’s 4:39 in the a.m. on Friday with Mel Street crooning “Smoky Mountain Memories” out of the XM on the TV) is due to allergy battling chemicals rather than stress brought on by anticipation of another Tar Heel game.

I long resigned myself to simply be grateful for Final Four appearances because those kind of banners simply look better in the Dean E. Smith Center rather than the pedestrian “Sweet 16″ or “Regional Finals” or the simple “NCAA” banners. National championships are gravy to me.

I watched the first 15 minutes or so of the first half at my house with my head in my hands and sounding like a skipping Marvin Gaye record by saying “What’s Goin’ On?” after every Heel turnover and easy Kansas layup.

“Alright,” I said to my wife. “Let’s go.” We hurried out the door and quickly drove about two miles down the road to a party. I got out of the car with a six-pack of Red Stripe and ran inside the house. The party hostess tried to introduce me to the crowd of people sitting around watching the game.

I brushed off the introductions trying to figure out what had happen since I left home. The Heels had it down to 17 at the half. I had earlier figured that 15 would be the magic number to be down by at the half. It’s pretty bad when you hope the University of North Carolina Tar Heels can get it down to 15. Hey, but it beats 40 to (shudder) 12.

During halftime I got reacquainted with an old friend from down south: Jose Cuervo. Good ol’ buddy Jose helps me to forget … how to stand, the English language, where I’m at. Jose helped boost my spirits for the second half.

The Carolina rally was classic and I got a feeling that the Heels might take the game to the wire. I started mocking Bill Self as a choke artist and commenting on his flop sweat. The spirit came over me and I got up and did a mini-sermon about the greatness of Wayne Ellington and dadgum Roy Williams. I had people believing. They were ready to testify. I was popping beer caps off with my Carolina Fight Song Bottle Opener. I was the Argyle King, I could do anything … then Danny Green’s three-pointer clanged out. I slumped and knew it was over. How many more days until Late Night with Roy?

Things I learned:

My superstitions failed miserably. The lucky Roy shirt, the barbecue, the Cheerwine, the 1982 Coke bottle, the boot I threw out in the yard around the 14 minute mark. All were useless.

My Jedi Mindtrick to choke Billy Packer probably doesn’t work.

Never go to a party during a Final Four game, especially ones that include pseudo-intellectual, hipster wannabes from (snicker) Fuquay-Varina who make snide remarks like “oh, wow, the ball went into the basket.” Sorry, deep person. You’re right, let’s turn off the game and put on the latest Iron & Wine snorefest and talk about how rockin’ Durham is nowadays.

Jose Cuervo tastes infinitely better when someone else buys it.

This is from a UCLA Bruins message board. There are some more hilarious film posters there featuring Hansbrough.

“You’re the best … around. Nothing’s ever gonna keep you down.” Confess, you know that song.

Show me, draw a foul.