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By Max Conroy
The other day I sent a letter to Jandek. Well, I sent it to Corwood Industries; to the same post office box that’s been used by Corwood Industries/Jandek for the last thirty years. I felt kind of lame for doing this because I thought of how many geeks like me have done it over the years. I was also thinking about stories that I’ve heard and read about where Jandek will send radio stations and journalists interested in his music crates of records for years on end, and if at all possible I want crates of Jandek records. I’m not sure if a shit-ton of Jandek records could possibly be healthy in any way, but I’d certainly listen to them and be obliged to review them. Naturally, we focus on vinyl here and Corwood only makes CDs now, so I also wanted to find out if Corwood has any records lying around the apartment. I had also seen in Jandek on Corwood that Corwood Industries would send letters in response to people searching for information about Jandek, presumably from Jandek, that have polite and firmly cryptic refusals to provide any information beyond the records:
The story must be crafted from what you have and know from the music. We cannot provide interviews or other exchanges of information outside of the releases at present. It’s probable that your crafted story would be more interesting than any other. Intrigue goes a long way sometimes.
The examples that I’ve seen of these response letters are typically written in slightly sloppy block lettering and are signed by ‘Corwood’ or ‘Your friends at Corwood’. I wrote the letter and asked for recommended records, since there are 53 of them, any promotional material to review, and asked if they had any vinyl left. In the letter I addressed Corwood as to whom I was writing, referring to Jandek only in the third person. I didn’t really expect any response beyond an order form for CDs, but would love records or even a letter written in the same format that I’d seen.
This was two weeks ago approximately that I sent the letter. I went to my mailbox today, opened it, and there was a single letter in the narrow box. It was a letter from Corwood Industries, the address stamped in the top left corner of the envelope. It seemed eerily appropriate that the letter seemed lonely in my mailbox, as it’s a rare day that it doesn’t get filled with a bunch of bullshit, wasted paper. I took care in opening it, not wanting to destroy the envelope or the letter and noticed that it was written in slightly sloppy, mostly block lettering, the paper looked like it had a rough time of it at Corwood or on the way from Houston:
We literally have no vinyl to offer. We sold all vinyl and moved to CD. Vinyl is in production at:
Jackpot Records, 203 SW 9th Ave, Portland, OR 97205
We suggest you inquire therein.
(No Signature)
I checked out Jackpot Records online and they only offer Jandek CDs. Perhaps I will see if they are going to manufacture Jandek vinyl. The letter seems typical, but there was no salutation or signature. If you’re out there, Jandek, Cousins would love to review some records or hear from you.
Click below to view the actual letter and to hear a jam off one of Jandek’s most recent platters The Myth of Blue Icicles.
Country Roads, Happy Easter, and Sally Lives On
by Cousin Geoff:
I hope you all had a nice holiday weekend. I spent mine in northern Michigan, all day out in the woods on snowshoes, shot some guns, found the best walking stick ever off a downed oak branch, and spent time with family. I also gave away one of my dogs. Sally the hound, gone, too much for me and my wife now with baby Ella. Despite her bad behavior (constant nervous energy, getting up on the couch, in the garbage, that old coon-hound howl at all the wrong times) I was sad to see ol’ Sally go. We’ve had a lot of good times in the past four years, but she’s just an up north dog, and not an Ypsilanti dog, and that’s just the truth. My other dog Zoe we’re keeping, but she’s feeling down and out because Sally was her constant companion. A sad story, but they are afterall, just dogs.
Driving home today, I heard Toots and The Maytals sing Country Road on XM, and I realized that a good song is a good song, and a good friend is a good friend, even if it ain’t nothing but a hound dog. Ann Arbor’s The RFD Boys (been meaning to write about these guys for a long time, and I will eventually) do a great version of this, more true to John Denver’s original, and very different than Toots and The Maytals, but still the same song.
The RFD Boys version:
Toots version:
It’s Easter and I missed church today but I haven’t been in forever anyway. So I’ll make up for it by including a few Jesus songs in this sermon. More proof that a good song is a good song - Jesus is a Soul Man. One of the Cousins’ favorites is the version by the Pathway Quartet - I compared it to the Otis Williams version in a previous post.
As for Sally, I think she’ll be happy up north. For some reason the Harry McClintock, Hallelujah I’m a Bum song pops in my head. Hallelujah, I’m a bum. Hallelujah, bum again. HalleluJAH, give us a handout, to revive us again. Well, as Bunny Wailer says, Time Will Tell. Good luck Sally, may Jesus and St. Patrick lead you down a good Country Road to help you be Reborn. Maybe there’s hope for you afterall. Then again, maybe Elvis was right.
Some things never change. The alarm clock rings each morning, and it’s time to get ready to go punch in again. For a lot of Michigan folks, this means working on the automotive assembly line. Detroit isn’t called the Motor City for nothing. But now that the rest of the world has caught up, we’re losing jobs left and right. Ford just announced they were putting 8,000 more people out of work. It should only add to Michigan’s unemployment rate, the highest in the country. The times are a changin’. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. According to the Detroit band Stix and Stoned, and Plymouth, Michigan’s David Walz, working on the line gives them a bad case of the blues.
The band Stix and Stoned was formed by a group of buddies who worked together at the Ford Rouge Plant in Dearborn, Michigan. They had those rou-ou-ouge plant blues, and they had ‘em bad.
listen to Rouge Plant Blues:
I recently discovered this record by Plymouth’s David Walz, called Country Old Country New.
And to my delight, the lead off track on the B side was Assembly Line Blues. Stix and Stoned were not alone as a local bar band who was factory rat by day, rock and roll dreamer by night. I’m sure that playing music was much, much better, and this only contributed to the blues they all felt while bolting in those door panels or assembling those steering wheels.
David Walz doesn’t look like he has the blues, but that’s because he was posing for the cover of his new album instead of sweatin’ on that line. Give his take a listen and see who makes the most convincing argument.
listen to Assembly Line Blues:
Who needs the blues? As many of the immortals have said, They ain’t nothin’ but a low down achin’ chill, and if you ain’t never had ‘em, I hope you never will. And if you listen to Stix and Stoned or David Walz, that’s all those auto jobs are good for anyway.
Justin whipped up a sweet batch of soul 45s this time. They’ll be selling like hotcakes, but you might catch a bargain or two because a lot are in VG condition. What does VG mean anyway? It literally means Very Good, but it really means that it’s just OK. But for a soul 45, that means it was well-played, the way a 45 should be. Now it’s your turn to enjoy it. A little warm crackling sound of well-loved vinyl never hurt anybody, now did it?
I went to an estate sale this morning on the south side of Ypsilanti. It was an old cool house filled with old cool things. I went in and asked if their were any records. They said they thought there were a few lying around somewhere. I looked everywhere. No records. I picked up a few antique instruments, thought about buying them.
Then I went downstairs. I was about to leave when I saw on top of a cabinet in the corner there were a pile of old walking canes. Intrigued, I took a closer look and found the truth stick. It looked like a cane, but there were hand painted pictures and symbols, Native American style. It was incredibly worn and aged, it looked like it was 80 years old. The price was 6 dollars. I paid for it and left, no longer caring about the records.
My friend Gerard has a truth stick. He was approached by a street vendor in Jamaica who tried to sell him a bunch of hand made jewelry and other stuff. He said no thanks. The vendor looked at him and said, “Ah, I know what you want.” He went to his truck and came back with a hand carved stick made from a hard, lightweight wood found in Jamaica. There were pictures and symbols carved in the side. Gerard happily paid the $20 for the truth stick and thanked the vendor.
Gerard took the stick up North to the Farm for the Campfire. My dogs got into a vicious fight over a piece of deer carcus they found in the woods. They never fight, but they went at it like they were going to kill each other. We tried throwing our beers on them, yelling, but nothing was working. They started to draw blood, and Gerard grabbed the truth stick and was able to pry them off each other and we grabbed each dog and stopped the fight. Then we sat and listened to the Bob Dylan theme time radio hour all night, listening to old Bob talk about truth and play songs about the turth while the truth stick sat wedged into the sand by the fire pit.
I wanted one bad after that, but I wasn’t really thinking about it until I found this one. It feels good in my hand. It’s short, it’s meant to be held when sitting down. Truth sticks are used in the Native American and other cultures when discussing the truth. People sit around the campfire in a circle and pass the stick around and contribute something to the community truth. In American cultures, a few people know about truth sticks, and it apparently is used in the same way, although usually with the help of mass consumptions of alcohol.
I wish I knew the story of my truth stick. But I’m sure whoever owned it before me, in that old house in Ypsi, is glad that I have it.
