The Lame as Usual News
January 2006
"Of course I'm not dead. No, I'm not dead . . . It's a bitch if you be watching the news, and those fuckers be talking about you dead."
--Richard Pryor, "M.S."
Just because we're called the Leaving Trains doesn't mean that we all like trains. I know I don't, personally. I think trains are stupid and stubborn and huffy and chained to circular ruts, unable to improvise and wander.
Whereas the Leaving Trains do nothing but wander . . . and wonder . . . and glare balefully . . . and laugh inappropriately . . . and cry jaggedly. You can see for yourself if you're 'round the Bay Area, Friday, January 27, when the Leaving Trains perform in San Francisco at the former Covered Wagon. The lineup for this show includes longtime members Dennis Carlin and Miss Koko Puff, unlike the Trains' previous appearances in San Francisco last year when I was part of a brief reunion of one of the mid-'80s lineups. It gets confusing, even for me. Especially for me.
These days, Koko, Dennis and I are occasionally joined by Melanie Vammen and Andrew Buscher when their schedule as new parents allows it. Luckily, it was this full lineup that was documented on the recent Leaving Trains live CD, AMPLIFIED PILLOWS (on Steel Cage Records). Bonus tracks by several ‘80s lineups of the band frame a recent radio broadcast with Melanie, Andrew and Dennis -- it's all told more than an hour of previously unreleased music, with celestially glamorous cover art by Winston Smith.
Dennis, Koko and I played our first show as a trio at Mr. T's Bowl in Highland Park, Los Angeles, on September 24, 2004. We were overly loud, even as a three-piece, and it was morbid good fun. The Trains were an unannounced last-minute addition to the Bob Cantu birthday hullabaloo, which included the Pervz, Kill Baby Kill, the live debut of Namella & Kaycee, and the annual "last show ever" by cover-band supergroup Donovan's Fairies. The whole night of elemental rock & ruin was great and silly and sometimes scary.
The party made up for the disappointment over being kicked off the Keats Rides a Harley CD-release bill at the Echo the previous week. That event featured the Urinals and rare reunions by The Last, S Squad and The Question, but the Trains were banished with little notice due to some incredibly petty backstage machinations. Our sincere apologies to the folks who came to see us, especially those who traveled great distances. Please realize that it was not the Leaving Trains' decision; we were as surprised and frustrated as everyone else.
Glom the dizzy photos in the gallery and grok the previous news page for details about the four reunion shows I did with drummer Hunter Crowley and the Hofer brothers last year in L.A. and S.F. (I may or may not add a reunion tour diary, too, if I ever get the time.) There were still some sparks of magic with this ‘80s lineup, given the varying musical abilities and levels of commitment, as not everyone in this lineup had picked up their instruments often in recent years. Even without enough practice, most of the old songs sounded pretty good, so it was a shame when the insecurities and needless competitiveness that first split this lineup apart in 1985 caused the same problems this time around. There was talk at first of doing more shows and recording some new songs, but the typical bitterness and jealousies dating back to high school brought an early end to the reunion project.
I didn't realize how stressful and limiting the Hofers reunion was until I finally started playing again with Dennis and Koko Puff, who are just a little wilder and more open-minded and fun-loving. Everyone is beautiful, in their own way, don't get me wrong . . . but I don't like waiting around so much. Decades fly by. And nostalgia can become a trap, too much looking back. A freak needs to be around other carnies, you know? Now that Koko and Dennis have more time, I'm hoping that we will finally tour this year, and record a new album. It seems like we've been buried under clouds for so long . . . Somebody, somewhere, please pull us out into the air like tufts of cotton candy . . .
--Falling James
Los Angeles
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