a peek into my life

by Bing Futch

I hope you’re having fun, you voyeurs. There was a time when I once dreamed of taking part in something that actually mattered, some sort of movement or sign of renegade activism. We live in a town that could easily be the nest for a great hatching of histories. I firmly believe that. The architects of Oral-ando will be able to not only build their own castles, but furnish them and not take a toll on the indigenous wildlife in the process. Sow your little mail-order packets of hope, determination and strife now–this mucky, soggy soil is bursting with nutrients and dope amounts of hallucinogenic mushroom pastures. Dreams soar here. Mine do everyday. So do the dreams of those that I hang with, a rotating assembly of everyday heroes. Young, old, professionals and hangers-on, bluesmen, punkers, rockers, metalheads, jazz fags and turbo tonkin’ boot-strappers. They’re all kicking the shit out of themselves for the same basic reasons, to be up on stage somewhere, selling the gospel and living the life. Face it, there are two kinds of people. Those that are mired in the establishment and those who simply make their own rules. If you punch a time clock or wear a name tag, chances are–you’re not passing any laws anytime soon.

I blink at the mere thought of working to someone else’s schedule these days, it’s been years since I worked for Da Man, or whoever is pulling the reins these days; perhaps Da Bug? In any case, when my eyes pop open and don’t snap shut, that’s when the day begins. The day ends when those eyes can’t remain open any more. Pretty simple schedule, dynamic and perfect for someone who can’t stand to be stuck in a rut. Man wasn’t meant to be diurnal, we’ve discovered how bad the sun is for us, accept that nocturnal is the way to go and watch how we all gain our lifespans back. For the past several weeks, through my camera lens and verbose exchange, you’ve gotten a good look at what I experience everyday, spiced up and focused to include perhaps one subject at a time. But today, with a huge gap in my editorial content and reasons that involve some of the very subjects I was to be interviewing anyway, I’ve decided to waffle on like an idiot and just tune you into some casual workings of the new year.

The guy with the green mohawk is DIRT from the ska-core band SKIF DANK. He’s a partner in the semi-new ORBIT 3000 nightclub in Daytona Beach, which is home to some of the more happening music events in that spring break haven. According to Dirt, they’re the only thing happening in town and from the roster of talent that have been flocking out to play the digs, I’m betting he’s right. I’ve got plans to head out there and party a bit with SUE BOWLES and COURTNEY LOWRANCE of SOSUMI, who will figure more into the story as I go on here. The picture was taken backstage at the House Of Blues during WJRR’s Battle Of The Bands competition. You wouldn’t believe some of the pictures that I’ve got in my collection. Blackmail level stuff, it’s absolutely insane and great for the upcoming coffeetable book that I’m writing.

This theme with kissing guys, it doesn’t really mean much, though it might express something repressed. I don’t know. I just got some make- up from Target and have been experimenting with eyeliner and mascara. I think I’m turning into a rock fag. They’re not as annoying as art fags and have better taste in clothes. The precious twosome are Joe and Matt from THROCKET LUTHER, also participating in the HOB event. Matt and myself were in a band together for three minutes, we were called DARKADE . A song called “The Bird, She Flies” exists somewhere on 1/4” tape and is a pretty good example of why we only stayed together for three minutes. I love Matt, I really do. But there was that one time, and I really wanted to dump water on him. This was back in 1993, of all times and of all places, Kissimmee. With Joe’s bro Eric on bass, these guys really kick ass and recently played in their P.J.’s at Will’s. Continuing some sort of a tradition there for displaying little or no clothing at all.

Heh.

“peek2”

Speaking of tradition, the Wellsbilt Hotel is being restored to house a museum of African-American history in an effort to transfrom the Parramore area into a nicer community. Producer Ulen Hodges hired me as an actor for a production about the history of the hotel which aired earlier this month (Feb ‘99). During one fantastic portion of the taping, saxophonist ELLIOT DYSON, drummer JO-JO and legendary jazz guitarist NATHEN PAGE recorded a spontaneous jam session for the cameras. The blazing set was taped inside the gutted hotel which is being retrofitted to meet current building codes. Though I can’t play the trumpet a lick, it was my prop that had to be carried all damn day during shooting, so I made like Denzel in “Mo’ Better Blues” and we got this picture. Look at Nathen looking at me like I’m an alien. He’s right, you know.

So, I’ve been playing out a lot and doing more essay writing than normal , I’ve fallen slack in my duties here as a columnist. The feedback I’ve gotten so far from you is highly encouraging and I’d like to thank all who have responded to my distorted views. I read the other online Ink 19 columns frequently and they never fail to be entertaining, especially the guy who works in the store–I laugh out loud at that shit. It’s great to be in such good company in the electronic press and in my musical life as well. In fact, my life has just gotten so amazingly busy and complex because of two distinctly interesting musical forces in O-Town. Somehow, I’ve ended up deeply involved with both of them in projects. So, this three-part peek into what your columnist actually does everyday will continue with insights into the music of LOGAN BELLE and SOSUMI, columns that were planned weeks in advance and then, fate struck and it became biography. Not to mention the bands who have asked me to do studio work on releases due out this year. Oh dear, I just realized that “1999” upside down is “6661”. That is some extremely frightening shit. In a sudden, “I never thought of that before” sort of way. Makes you wonder what else you’re missing.

We move along.