Some people are grossly ignorant of the fact that Lester Bangs has been replaced by Chuck Klosterman as the only rock journalist in history who doesn't suck total monkey balls. These people are not my friends.
In this month's issue of Spin magazine (no direct link available, because Spin Magazine is THE MAN), he writes an editorial about his fantasy band: Tony Iomni, Tommy Lee, Bootsy Collins, Prince, and Karen Carpenter, in a band named Doomed Honeymoon.
While I don't exactly agree with his choices (I like boys and therefore do not like Black Sabbath), it did get me thinking about my fantasy band.
Here are the rules, as established by Chuck:
1. You can't take more than one member from any given group.
2. You can't pick Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley as your vocalist.
3. You can't pick Jimi Hendrix as your guitar player.
4. If you pick a bassist who sings, or a guitarist who sings, he or she can't sing in this particular band. They can only play their specific instrument only.
4.5. If you pick Les Claypool or Don Henley, you're a prick.
5. You can't pick John Bonham as your drummer. You also can't pick Animal from The Muppet Show.
After not a lot of debate on my part, my fantasy band would be the female equivalent to The Band, except with more rocking out and more mocking of weaker bands. I think I am cheating with my choices, but I don't care; it's my blog and my band. I began to think about a giant Polyphonic Spree-type extravaganza, but I decided against it. It will already suck at that time of the month with this band, and doubling the members will only lead to trouble.
And so, I introduce to you, the one and only High-Heeled Hellcats!
Lead Singer: Patti Smith (circa 1970)
Backup Vocalists/Gospel Choir: Corin Tucker, Sinead O'Connor, Bjork
Lead Guitarist: PJ Harvey
Guitarist: Joan Jett (circa 1985)
Bassist: Kim Gordon (circa 1990)
Drums: Mo Tucker (circa 1967)
Mixmaster: Kathleen Hanna
Scantily-clad Go-Go Dancer: Jake Gyllenhaal (hey, this is my fantasy here)
My band can totally beat up your band.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.