Jane Bond

Wash Hamilton Tribute and Benefit Concert

Luv Doc Writings, The Luv Doc Recommends

NOV. 13, 2007

Sometimes it’s so hard not to sweat the little stuff. No matter how many times your grizzled old geezer relatives try to tell you the only important things in life are your friends, your family, and a rigorous regime of dental hygiene, you never seem to get the message. What do they know anyway? They’re already ravaged by senility, hair loss, osteoporosis, cataracts, tooth decay, and wicked halitosis, which makes it all the more uncomfortable when they ask you to lean in closer so you can hear what they have to say. Besides, it’s difficult to take advice from someone who shares more in common with the Crypt Keeper than say, George Clooney or Julia Roberts, especially when you’re transfixed by a huge, hairy mole, turkey jowls, or a spectacular dowager’s hump. Focus, damn it. They’re trying to tell you something, even if it’s a seemingly trite cliché like “don’t sweat the details.” People standing on death’s doormat don’t have a lot of time to fumble around for clever turns of phrase. They do however, have a certain amount of wisdom and a sincere wish to share it before it’s snuffed out entirely. They know that bad haircut will grow back, that asshole will quit tailgating you, your evil boss will retire, and that soft-porn amateur video you made with your last boyfriend probably won’t be getting as many hits on YouTube as you think it will – and even if it does, the important thing is that you had fun. So just chillax, yo. Pull back the handle on your zen recliner and look at the big picture. Maybe that fresh cat turd on your lawn isn’t really a cat turd at all but rather a pungent reminder to appreciate the fact that, for the most part, your life doesn’t stink. What a relief that your lawn isn’t entirely filled with cat turds. Of course, if it is, maybe that turd is a reminder that your cat has nearly used up its nine lives. Unlike cats, humans only get one life, and any old toothless coot will tell you to enjoy it while you can, though probably through some hackneyed phrase like “gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” This Sunday you can do just that at the Wash Hamilton Tribute and Benefit Concert, an eight hour extravaganza of music, memories, and merriment honoring one of Austin’s favorite bass players, who is currently dealing with end stage prostate cancer. Acts scheduled to perform include Ponty Bone & the Squeezetones, Shelley King, Zeke Jarmon & Friends, Jane Bond, Mandy Mercier, Boomer Norman, Los Jazz Vatos & the Sunset Valley Boys, plus surprise guests. There will also be a silent auction featuring donations from Wash’s friends. A $10 donation gets you in the door and scores you a mess of good karma.

Sticky Fingers Stones Album Hoot

Luv Doc Writings, The Luv Doc Recommends

MON., AUG. 7, 2006

Baby boomers break down into two basic categories: Ones who like the Beatles and ones who like the Stones. No doubt you could come up with a more sophisticated classification system, one that accounts for a Byzantine array of physiological, psychological, and sociological variations (type of PT Cruiser, for instance), but if you want to get a quick read of a boomer’s headspace, the Beatles/Stones thing is a good place to start. Try it sometime. Jump up on the bar at the Donn’s Depot or Eddie V’s and scream, “Mick Jagger kicks John Lennon’s ass!” Never mind the obvious stupidity of the statement, just watch the rhetorical melee that ensues. Stones fans will claim that the Mick is a true blue-collar rock & roller, and Lennon was a pretentious whiner. Lennonites will defend John as the second coming of Jesus (or something even bigger) and say Mick is a fat-lipped, exploitative poser. The truth is, both were skinny Brit kids from middle-class backgrounds. Methodologically however, they couldn’t be further apart. While Lennon aimed for the head, Jagger worked the body. Lennon smoked pot, protested, and sought spiritual enlightenment; Jagger swilled booze and drugs, dirty danced, and rode giant inflatable penises. Neither was particularly genuine in anything other than his love of American roots music. Nonetheless, how you come down on the Stones/Beatles issue says a lot about who you are as a middle-aged white person. Do you go for Lennon’s love-in imaginings or Jagger’s strut and swagger? Do you like tie-dye and sitar or leather and guitar? Or maybe you’re too young to know or even care. That would make you a good candidate for the “Get Yer Ya Ya’s Out With Sticky Fingers” Stones Album Hoot this Saturday at Ruta Maya HQ. If you weren’t even a zygote when the Stones released Beggars Banquet, Let It Bleed, or Sticky Fingers, that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the Stones in your own way, especially when you have a diverse and talented group of young bands to reintroduce you to the material. Just a few of the bands playing Saturday include: Coopers Uncle, the Spiders, King Tears, Household Names, Jane Bond, the Arm, and Zykos. Don’t worry, if you’ve never heard of any of the preceding bands, you’ll still know the music … and vice-versa. It’s a win-win for young and old alike, plus it’s a benefit for Jeff Tonn, who is suffering from an undiagnosed illness.

Jane Bond, The Converters, Scott Biram

Luv Doc Writings, The Luv Doc Recommends

JAN. 25, 2002

Just south of Avenue F on North Loop Boulevard exists a small pocket of businesses that has experienced something of a renaissance in the last decade. Much like the sparsely gravestoned pauper’s cemetery to the northwest, the dilapidated rows of one-story buildings on either side of the street used to be mostly vacant, with a few stalwart exceptions like Action Safe & Lock, Ararat, Room Service, Hogwild and Musical Exchange. However, since the glory days of Clintonian economic expansion, the little block is abuzz with new, edgy retailers like Forbidden Fruit, Donkey, and The Parlor, a pizza joint with a dark, Martian interior where the jukebox boasts a psychotically diverse selection of tunes, many scrawled in unceremonious ballpoint – a sort of punk refutation of the digital age. Most days of the week it’s all about pizza (regulars rave about it), pool (one table, no waiting), and hanging out beneath the large paintings of legendary Austin musicians like Willie Nelson and Roky Erikson, but Monday nights at 7:30 The Parlor belongs to Jane Bond, a captivating young singer/songwriter from up north who routinely packs the place with her devoted following before turning things over to two powerful roots/blues acts: The Converters and Scott Biram. This may well be the African Violet they call the “Austin Music Scene.” It’s up to you to nurture it. No cover, just toppings.