By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Fueled by weekly reports in the OC Weekly, my "impeach that bastard before he gets elected again!" fervor raged endlessly in the ever-patient ears of my faithful audience-friends I tortured all summer with tales of what I was going to do to Dornan this year. I stood on chairs, pounded my fists on tables, and foamed at the mouth like some half-crazed televangelist raising money to save himself from the providence his God cursed him to spend all eternity in should he fail to achieve a set dollar amount. In short, I was a convert.
So my diabolical plan evolved: make T-shirts and distribute them free to the local punks. Maybe even get a photo of a teen wearing one into the Weekly. Finances took an unexpected dip, however, and what was once planned as a coup to guarantee Dornan would never regain his throne became a thrift-store T-shirt with a design made on my computer and ironed on. I hope this gives you a laugh. I just wish I could vote against him in November.
The editors respond: But Dusty, you can. Didn't you see Bob Roberts?
MUSIC TO THEIR EARS
Buddy Seigal, have you noticed your mention several times of my favorite guitarist, Joe Maphis? His skill with virtually all stringed instruments and spectrum of styles of music has been unequalled and underappreciated. Maybe he wasn't as flashy and stood still while making his instruments-whether the pioneering two-neck Moserite displayed at the country-music museum in Nashville, a basic acoustic Martin, a fiddle, a banjo, a borrowed dobro or steel guitar-do the magic. Although best known as a country musician, Maphis was equally at home doing classical, flamenco, rock, jazz and other forms. That's probably why he was frequently called upon by the motion-picture and TV industries for soundtracks when he lived in Southern California.
Keep up your fine efforts in covering the variety of music in Orange County.
This is actually a thank-you letter to the Locals Only dude, Rich Kane. My penis and Khronic Break appreciate the publicity ("What's That Smell? Our biannual worst-of edition," Sept. 17). The other band members originally made me promise not to send you our music because they believe you have a fetish with dreaming up cruel, grotesque and even pornographic descriptions of struggling, undeveloped artists' material in order to get them to quit (or to get yourself off). But I think your reviews are hilarious, so I often read them to the other guys at rehearsals.
Your main complaint is lack of originality. Khronic Break is all about being different, and I was curious as to what you might say. So I sent a tape of our new single to you complete with a sticker bribe. I figured if we could survive a bad review from you, we could survive anything.
Our band is putting out music unlike the regular OC ska/punk or weak-ass funk you consume your time with. We're getting props from OC heavyweights like Clyde Grimes of the Untouchables. When we opened for the Untouchables, Clyde made a point of telling us how long he's been in the business and that Khronic Break is one of the most original and "coolest" bands that has opened for them. Local bros and now Warner Bros.' Dial-7 called us to fill in for them at a show at the White House. The owner of Big Fish studios agreed to engineer our single. As long as people like that are down with our sound, we have no need to meet the requirements of some self-gratifying, potty-mouthed pen pusher. But thanks again for the publicity.
I'm writing this letter to your wonderful paper because I realize a lot of neo-swing kids read it. A few months before the swing epidemic took full force, a bunch of friends and I became involved in swing. We'd go swing dancing once or twice per week-back when those were the only opportunities. When we had no money to go, we'd dance at home to Basie or Armstrong. As the swing scene progressed, we started meeting more and more snobby brats.
This neo-scene has become a snobby snit. In the rare instance I go dancing, all I see is a fashion show. These bratty children talk about how fun swing dancing is and then turn around and laugh at the people who come to have fun.
I'm sick of it. Look at those kids trying to mimic the past. Do you really think that the original swing kids gave a crap if that girl had a dumb rose in her hair or if that guy wore an ugly suit? I think not. The '90s have been all about a group of dumb kids who, thinking they discovered something, revived an old scene and then killed the true essence that began that scene in the first place. You were all dorks before you "discovered" swing, and you will continue to be after you give it up to follow the next fad.