Let Us Toast To Unintended Consequences.....Roland Woodbe Back On U.S. Shores!

Man, it's been a while. The sayin goes that 'whatever don't kill you, makes you stronger' but I's has come across many a hard luck droop to know that ain't always the case. Take my word for it; the South Pacific is full've western bums what thought they was on to a better life. Strong? Sure, the scent they's carry is, stinkin to high heaven! So close to water, so far from hygiene. Beatin down. Couldn't take to island livin. It's a great equalizer, the line between romantic notion 'n desperation ain't but an r-c-h in diameter from each other. Whether it was runnin from a past, in pursuit of new adventure, or just plain laziness-thinkin that they's was gonna grow a money tree on a beach 'n while away the days in a daquiri haze-the new life didn't take 'n there them varmints is, laid out; one after another, sun burnt, toothless grifters, all of'em w/a scheme in their eye. An I was afraid of headin down a similar path. Shit,I'd only set up house in Kolonia cause I was overwhelmed by the beauty of Polynesia. Only! That's a good one. I had plum tricked myself into thinkin I was gonna be some kind've goddamn Paul Gauguin & was in for a storied life. And I'll admit, the Marquesas' is way more fertile'n most've Micronesia. Yet after a spell, they's was all the same. A man what ain't growed up on a diet've mud drinks 'n dog eatin can't be expected to stay that path for life. And on top've that, throw in a bunch've whinin, ugly Peace Corps workers, wives (both won 'n wooed), syphilis, endless fish head stew, the contents of a sunken WWII era Japanese bullion ship, a descendant of Joseph Darnand, coconut liqueur, two Filipino ladyboys, Nazi pen knives, Cash4gold lear jets, some blood on the tramac 'n well sir, you've got quite alot of explainin to do. Which I didn't have no mind for. So I lit the fuck outta there! Ranger X met me up to Hawaii & we snuck on down to Mexico in a souped up Polaris submarine what was rumored to have once belonged to Marlon Brando. It had a permeatin odor of rendered duck fat & as any avid fan've the great man already knows, he lived on nothin but roast confit & braised carrots while preparin for the role of Jor-El, so's his skin would reflect the perfect, Kryptonian sheen. So the claim seemed plausible. But Mexico weren't no salvation, so it was on through the locks of the Panama Canal w/a destination set for Florida. West Palm Beach to be exact. We was gonna bunk up w/a an old associate of Ranger X who was called simply, 'El Jeffe'. That's right, not 'El Jefe', as in 'the boss', this feller's name was Jeff, so's it was just a spot of fun atween him & The Ranger. Evidently El Jeffe had been very high up in the USAF chain of command & was the mole what got Ranger X his valuable cache's of hashish & whatnot many moons ago. They was thick, them two. Why, they could sit there 'n talk like twin clairvoyant's; finishin each other's sentences, eyes twitchin, heads bobbin, fingers dartin around. Was almost like a matin ritual. El Jeffe now was some kind've writin or readin instructor, none of that was ever explained in any detail. He sure had a load've books though. Claimed he'd written a few too, one what was entitled 'The History Of Zeal'. But it was under an alias. It had sold well he claimed, but was now very much out of print (& rare). He showed us galleys for some book he was workin on called 'Can You Find Jesus In The Gerkin? Secular Ramifications Of A Pickled Diet'. Again, he weren't usin no real name w/his pen. What a bird! Whatev's, he got me set up w/a nice little spot over to Greenacres which ain't but a toss from a bunch've golf courses. Plus now that Capt'n Siltbreeze has got my address, the records is comin in for review, so I'm back at it. I also got the buyout check from my ex partners in SNOUTS + a little something extra for lettin'em keep the recipes, so money ain't a worry. Ranger X done vamoosed to parts unknown, so it looks like I'm back to the blog in the mornin & off to the links w/El Jeffe most afternoons. I'm gonna have to learn how to golf left handed though. I'm just beatin the pants off these fellers down here w/a my regular game. They's all the time sayin "Woodbe, you should have gone pro", but I've been hearin that my entire life. About everything! You gotta be careful when believin what you's told. Mainly it's about listenin right so's to separate the bitter from the sweet. Dissect & filter. As the old sayin goes "A mind too open may fall out".

Fore!

Roland Seward Woodbe
Palm Beach County, Florida 2011

So's to kick right into the fray, let us consider this new S/T lp of posthumous proto-punk dunt from a feller what goes by the name've Dan Russell 'n issued by something called Aggravation Overdose. If we's to believe the printed history of Dan, he's been scabbin up the midwestern terra firma since the mid 70's, mainly in & around Flint, MI. But what is compiled here is tracks from 83-99 & it is a meaty buy to be sure. Like most folks what insinuated or skirted around the punk climes of they's city, Dan Russell & his bands was weened on early Crimson, Cooper, Sabbath, even some Be Bop Deluxe, all's of which can be discerned on this most excellent collection. if you's is fond've smokin your hams (or butter'n them beans) to the aggressive aural singularity what is MX-80 Sound, Debris, Crap Detectors & Vertical Slit, then this lp should be a must have for the vinyl larder. Email aggravationoverdose@gmail.com for more info.