Los Lobos! Trombone Shorty! A bunch of kids! And Jay Lane pulling faces at the camera the entire time! You could do worse with five minutes of your time. You could even donate to a good cause if you want.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: jay lane (Page 1 of 2)
What is this all about?
“The, uh, Wolf Bros have taken on a Pup.”
Don’t call him that.
“Kid’s coming on the tour with us. He’s gonna be New Josh. Just as cute, and far fewer regrettable interviews. And, uh, I can pay him much, much less. Kid’s a winner all the way ’round.”
Do you know his name?
“Not as such. But I could pick him out of a crowd. Especially if the crowd was made up of the Wolf Bros. He stands out.”
Matt Jaffe is his name.
“Oh, no. Matt is Matt Busch’s name. Can’t have two Matts on one bus. Terrible luck.”
Is it?
“It’s like going to the theater when you’re named MacBeth. Bad hoo-doo.”
Didn’t know that.
“Way more name-related superstitions than you’d imagine.”
I learned something here.
Hey, Bobby. That man needs some sun.
“You should see him up close. He’s the color of truck stop sushi.”
Truck stops have sushi?
“They have everything now. Truck stops have improved at an astonishing rate over the course of my lifetime. Used to be there were communal showers and real ugly hookers and the cafes served a dish called pastahoochie that you could only get at truck stops.”
Pastahoochie?
“It was like chop suey with a reddish sauce that was advertised as Italian in origin. Usually there was some beef in there. Beef byproducts, maybe. This was the old days, remember: sometimes, you got byproducts.”
Right.
“Only at truck stops, though. But now there’s chain restaurants and everything. There’s stops out there so big there’s room for competing brands. Like, you got a McDonald’s and a Burger King. That’s the big tent Reagan was talking about.”
If you say so.
“They got four haircutting bays. The barbershop is a rectangle, right? Customer seats along the long sides, waiting are in the front, shampoo stations in the back.”
Yeah, Bobby. A barbershop.
“Four of ’em. Lined up. And busy, too. I’ll match our truck stops up with China’s best any day of the week.”
I don’t know, man. China builds big and she keeps laying down highway. There are bound to be some gigantic stops over there.
“Sure, yeah. But can you buy an assault rifle at any of them?”
Absolutely not.
“Freedom wins again.”
Sure. Bobby?
“Uh-huh?”
Will you yell at your bandmates, the werewolf and the disgraced surfing instructor, for dressing too casually?
“No. I’m, uh…no.”
Okay/
Are you wearing yoga pants?
“All pants are yoga pants if you’re bendy enough.”
Why the sudden pivot to fitness blogging?
“Gotta up the follower count on the Gram. Monet has been coaching me. Trying to get some spockcock going.”
Sponcon.
“Spooncows.”
Sponcon, Bobby. It’s short for sponsored content.
“Ah. And what about the spoon cows?”
I have no information about them.
“Thoughts and prayers. So, uh, we’re just really talking about ads here, right?”
Yes.
“I’ve done plenty of ads.”
Some people would call that selling out.
“Fuck ’em.”
Sure.
“Most of the ads were for guitar companies and so forth. They’d snap a few shots of me and I’d leave with a trunkful of gear and an envelope of cash. Luthiers were a lot less reputable back in the 70’s.”
I’ve read that.
“What kind of stuff gets promoted on Instagram? Chapstick?”
No. Weight-loss teas and tooth whitening gel and hair-thickening gummy bears.
“All I heard was ‘snake oil.'”
Good ear.
“You should see my feet.”
I’m really trying not to look at those.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Core work. Gonna get me some abominables.”
Abdominals.
“Abracadabras.”
We just call them “abs,” buddy.
“Abelardandheloises.”
Way off.
“Abortionondemands.”
I’m gonna go watch P-Funk.
“Happy hunting.”
Walk me through what’s happening here.
“Well, uh, I’m in a theater somewhere playing Looks Like Rain. Same as most nights.”
I meant your outfit.
“Layers, man.”
That’s just a blanket, Bob. You’re wearing a blanket.
“Oh, no. This is, uh, a tactical serape.”
Not a thing.
“Sure it is. You just wouldn’t have heard about it because, you know–”
I’m poor.
“–you’re poor. Yeah. This is one of those secret garments for rich people. Like my bobbermost, which I am wearing underneath the tactical serape.”
What’s so tactical about it?
“Pockets.”
Okay.
Hey, Bobby. Did you know that Regina King’s name means Queen King?
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
Sure.
“Now, the clean-cut fellow to my left…is he secretly a mannequin?”
No.
“Like in that movie, Mannequin?”
He is not.
“Heck of a love story, Mannequin. And Kim Catrall. Easy on the eyes, that lady.”
It was a decent film.
“Decent? C’mon. It was part of the Catrallogy. Porky’s, Police Academy, and Mannequin. Heady days back then for a young starlet.”
What the fuck are you talking about?
“My shoulder hurt.”
And now?
“Much better.”
Ah.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Karate.”
I see that.
“I’m up to six invisible planks of wood.”
Wow.
“It’s all in the hips.”
Sure. Has Jay Lane always been that size?
“Oh, yeah. It’s, uh, hell feeding him.”
I’ll bet. You got yourself a lady Wolf Bro, huh?
“Yup, yup. She’s a hell of a bass player.”
Any idea what her name is?
“No. None whatsoever. But, you know, she’s easy to pick out of a crowd.”
Distinctive hair.
“Girl’s got curls.”
Tal Wilkenfeld.
“And, uh, Alaikum Salaam to you.”
No, that’s the young woman’s name.
“Good for her.”
Hey, Bobby. Happy birthday, buddy.
“Yeah, uh, thanks. The big seven-one.”
Is that big?
“For me. All of my best years have been when my age was a prime number.”
Okay. Your family do anything special for you?
“They called. I’m in Reno.”
Ew.
“Not a great town. It’s pretty much Vegas for dirtbags. And, you know: Vegas is Vegas for dirtbags.”
You excited about the Wolf Brothers tour?
“You betcha. Tons of fun. Although, uh, I didn’t know that Bob knew how to play stand-up bass.”
Bob?
“Dylan.”
Bobby, that’s not Bob Dylan.
“Well, then, he should stop screwing up the arrangements.”
As you may know, Sammy Hagar is now in the Grateful Dead. Will he be replaced by Gary Cherone in a few years? Perhaps. Will Summer Tour feature a rousing half-hour version of Bertha>Best of Both Worlds? Almost certainly. How does Michael Anthony fit into all of this? Somehow.
TotD is behind this addition: Sammy is–as pictured–already good at free t-shirt wearin’, and he lives close to Bobby so they can carpool. Plus, people forget that Sammy is a pretty good guitarist, so maybe he could strap on his axe and the Dead could really let that triple-guitar attack fly.
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