they say only only two things come out of texas

but clearly more than that crawls out from under that rock since we have our brilliant president and now we have this brilliant email:

Tony –
Several Austinites said during SXSW that you were a total dumb fuck, but I defended you, said the blog was funny and you should be cut some slack as a poorly educated LA slacker (as opposed to the slackers HERE, where the term came from!)

Your take on the new Springsteen CD is funny. Your idea that he should be like he was on those “first three records he made” is even funnier.

Let’s see: how old were you when those first three records were made in the early 1970’s, Tony? Two years old? Three years old? Were you even born?

I don’t think you can begin to speak to what the Boss was like then or now, or what his personal musical and lyrical heritage was, or what his personal musical and lyrical journey has been.

You remind me of somebody who gets to be 25 or so and suddenly sees a slightly bigger picture than he’s seen previously and then BAM – you think you know everything and can tell people you’ve never known and will never know how they should do things. “Man, I saw Springsteen in ’85 and he rocked, why can’t he still be like that, because I want him to be like he was when I saw him as a teenager.”

You don’t know shit, as we say in Texas.

Dylan writes about dumb fucks like you in his book Chronicles, Vol. 1, by the way.

– Jackson in Texas

dear jackson,

first of all, i dont need you to defend me to your imaginary friends. infact if any of them have problems with me in the future, teach them how to type and have them leave me a comment in my offending post.

the truth is no one in texas had a problem with me during sxsw. least of all any austinites. i was kissed by roller girls, i was blown by college girls, i shared drinks with austinists, and i was smoked out repeatedly by local club owners.

hell man, even your fucking cops posed for pictures with and for me.

the only thing your so-called friends could have been upset about was they didnt have as sweet of a time those ten days as i did, while getting paid. im sorry they didnt have hot girls invade their hotel room and eat their roomservice, im sorry they didnt stay up all night and take pictures of dumbass movie stars, im sorry they didnt get paid to take pictures of top 40 bands and bottom 40 bands, and the real heart of texas, im sorry they didnt get to speak on any panels, or get stopped by the grim reaper himself who said tony pierce holy fuck i love the fucking busblog – somebody take a picture of us.

so if they were jealous, my condolences. hopefully they’ll live.

and btw – you dare call me a slacker? since 7/4/04 ive written 1,693 blog posts and average over 10,000 readers a week.

how many posts have you and your fake slacker friends written in less than two years, and what are their scary huge hits like?

im such a slacker that while in austin i even blogged drunk almost every night proving that even with a hand tied behind my back i could wipe the floor with losers like you who have excuse after excuse about why they dont post their brilliance.

and the kids loved it, almost as much as they will love this smack down.

if only your pappy slacked the night he stumbled home and climbed ontop of your fatassed momma.

so blow me. and blow yourself for not even mentioning one song from bruce’s new record proving you havent even heard it to know if im full of shit or not regarding my review you fucking emailer.

instead you wanna talk about my age. how old was i when the first three springsteen records came out? who the fuck cares? i was 100. i was 50. i was 69. i was eight. what difference on earth would it make? rosalita off the first record is still miles ahead of anything on this latest cold fish. or can i only have an opinion of the wild the innocent and the e street shuffle if i was in my 20s when it was released?

is this the texas logic that voted for bush as governor and then president?

maybe, perhaps, youve never listened to greetings from asbury park either. the crazy rhymes of blinded by the light, the passion of for you, the soul of spirit in the night, and the youthful idealism of growin up. show me where any of those elements are still alive in any of the last three records the boss has come out with. including the record you havent even heard so fuck you.

and please tell me that springsteen only got better after his third record, born to run – that he penned a finer american epic than thunder road, recorded a mightier anthem than the title track, or ever matched the theater of jungleland.

of course i loved the next three albums, darkness, the river, and nebraska which were all solid and wonderful. and its from that love of those three releases particularily the grittier tunes from that period – point blank, darkness, johnny 99, badlands, the river, drive all night, atlantic city, adam raised a cain – that i feel springsteen let us down on this so called folk record.

after you illegally download this new album you pathetic fool, listen to the piano that i talked about in my review, and tell me that it isnt passionless and robotic and generic and hokey compared to what professor roy brittan laid down on point blank, listen to the acoustic guitar on any of this new shit and tell me it sounds like that stark lonesome tone of johnny 99, and pay attention for one goddam minute of your life and hear bruces voice and tell me that this new record makes you even once say “holy shit bruce can fucking sing” like you did when you heard drive all night for the first time, after you finished sucking your mothers cock.

im sorry if you think that the seeger sessions is beyond reproach because its got bruce springsteens name on it or because tony pierce has an opinion about it different than people in austin who by the way got me sick while i was there making out with them. im sorry if you care more about the age of people or the names of people or the zip codes of where bloggers pay their taxes.

me, i just care about the music. i dont care that you eat out your brothers ass or vote for unbelievable failures or smoke shitty weed, i just care when talented geniuses lose it, not because they owe me anything, but because i think it can be prevented.

theres not a lot of people who could write the first six bruce springsteen records. and theres not anyone who could write a bob dylan record. but even you, even with your head up your ass as deep as it currently is, could have made this new quote unquote bruce springsteen record. which is why you defend it and why i call bullshit on it. and if you have anything else to say to me put it in your own blog that nobody reads.

my gmail account is for nudes of your momma. your whiny bullshit just clutters it up.

and before you apoligize, remember this, i remind you of no one. so save it.

nic + raspberry + amy + pitt + kanye west added to coachella

bring your own lampshade, somewhere theres a party

amoeba records held a sweet party of sorts, last night at 7pm, and the guest of honor was a half hour late. paul westerberg arrived fashionably late, took the stage. and when he did, he tripped and fell right on his pretty face.

and nothing had changed and all was good in the world.

amoeba was packed for the free show to launch the new westerberg double album released by Santa Monica indy label Vagrant. so packed that they had a line of people outside the cavernous record store allowing people to enter only if people left.

westerberg played an hour of material spanning his entire career from the painfully direct “unsatisfied” on 12 string acoustic, to some of his newest tunes on electric. the crowd shouted out requests and westerberg fired back self-effacing retorts.

“she’s applauding every time i hit the right chord. thank you.”

afterwards, those who chose to wait over an hour to have their cds signed and take pictures with the former Replacements front man, were treated to a very generous treat. westerberg took his time with each and every fan, taking pictures, and personally autographing whatever they placed in front of him.

i happened to have my super secret hand-written journal on me since i came to the record store right after work and i said, “would you mind signing my diary so i can put above it, ‘today i met Paul Westerberg’?” and he said, “well, what’s your name?”

and i said my name and he wrote:

Today I met Tony.

Paul Westerberg

and then i went outside and screamed like a girl.

theres a dvd of the performance + sexy mother folker + morgan freeman (the white one) writes about tribecca + here too

there were lots of kids at the wedding this weekend

in fact everywhere i go there are kids. i was at the post office this morning and there was the cutest girl with a little baby who was just crying and crying and crying and i was thinking i can barely make it to the post office in the morning how on earth would i be able to do it with a screaming kid in my arms?

i respect my friends who have kids. and my sister. and i have no idea how my mom raised me and my sister alone. fucking a. because of that when i look around at my nephew and neice who look a lot like me, and when i see kids who are being super cool i think to myself, see i dont need to procreate, the human race is doing quite well.

i see new schools being built all around hollywood. i see cute mexican ladies carrying their babies down the road. i see latin maids strollering the white kids down the sidewalks of beverly hills. i see the outlaw bitch’s nephew working hard as a cabbie in toronto (pictured).

the interesting thing is when i was in college i was totally ready to have a wife and kids. i was super ready. or so i thought. and i asked my girlfriends every day to make that dream come true and i know this is going to sound like rationalization but i know God loves me because he never let those girls say yes.

this year ive gotten to travel to three different countries. ive gotten to make out with women far out of my league. and ive gotten to stay up as long as ive wanted and sleep in pretty much whenever i pleased.

heres the plan for the rest of this week. lost tonight. sleep early on thursday. early drive to palm springs on friday, kid rock on friday night at a casino in palm desert, coachella all weekend at the buzznet party house in the desert.

how on earth could i have done that with kids?

on a different topic the sopranos were great on sunday. sad but great.

ok basart tune out cuz im gonna talk about the sopranos from two sundays ago.

the one where the fat guy had to drive away from jersey on account of being gay.

my girl danielle tells me that they werent in new hampshire or wherever it was where the state motto is Live Free or Die. that they were actually in her old town in jersey. its just gorgeous there.

anyways that episode was one of the funniest tv shows ive ever seen and a definate Sopranos classic. rarely do i watch any tv show twice in a row, but i did last week. and laughed through both sittings.

sunday i laughed a little but it was sad. i kept thinking is bro gonna get killed because they keep saying someone is going to be killed.

im thinking tony’s son is gonna get killed cuz that fat kid is never in any episodes and if they were smart theyd kill him so there could be a nice little mafia war.

not that they need a reason to do it.

anyways i feel for tony. it clear how much he loves food and it sucks that his go-to grub joint blows.

bruce springsteen

we shall overcome: the seeger sessions
columbia records

bruce springsteen was the first ticket that i ever paid over $100 for. the year was 1985. the show was one of seven to be played at the sports arena here in los angeles.

i paid $115 to sit on the other end of the arena from the stage but not too far up. it was four hours long. i sang to every word. i went alone but i was there with 20,000 people who all felt the same way: the show was priceless; it was worth the LA traffic, it was worth the parking, it was worth the struggle to get tickets to see bruce springsteen at the peak of his popularity.

back in those days some critics compared him to dylan, some to elvis, some to u2. as u2 gets older they seem to be following along the same path as the boss – they seem to be showing their age too. and its unpretty.

this new collection of folk classics from the rich catalogue of pete seeger isnt as much of a tribute as it is an acknowledgement. not just that there are no more born to runs or rosalitas in our favorite rockstar from new jersey, but there arent any nebraskas left in him either.

its a new orleans death march. its a gleeful procession into the casket. its the last bloom of a wild flower determined to show one final sprout of color.

and ultimately its a testament that there is only one bob dylan, who has “traditional” albums before far better, and in a way where the songs become his. when dylan released Froggie Went A Courtin’ on 1992’s “good as ive been to you” he owned it. when bruce does it here, he fumbles, which is tough since the production is so clean and sterile.

the difference is theres no soul in the latest springsteen offerrings. you can say what you want about him marrying patty scalfia, but when he did he jumped the shark. his life might have been better but his music was forgetable, flat, and flimsy. the twinkle left his eye, the muscle left the melodies, the sweat was gone from the songs.

brass bands play and pianos tinkle on this collection but it may as well have been made by robots as theres no heart or majesty. theres no risk or reward. the devil is in the details and theres no sin therefore theres no salvation.

so why the picture of madonna? because she has taught us all how to age. shes taught us all how to keep pushing the envelope as we get older and squeeze out kids. shes taught us how to keep risking cuz she never stopped.

madonna will be in indio this weekend with the hipsters, and bruce will be in palm desert with the other old people who enjoy stale safe folkpopblues.

what mr bruce springsteen needs to do if he wants to make emotional music again is remember what it was like to write those first three records he made. he needs to remember what it was like to write those second three records. and if he cant remember he needs to quit using musicians that smell good, he needs to stop using producers who drive imports, he needs to stop playing guitars that sound right, if he wants to make a blues record or a folk record he needs to drink and get punched in the gut a few times, hard.

and he needs to stop singing like the goateed springsteen and recapture what it was to sing like the scrawny bearded hungry springsteen. or at least grasp why johnny cash could sing a nine inch nails tune in a way that would make you cry.

if the boss was smart he’d record his next album in a basement or a nut house or a haunted hotel or in the projects with the brothas whove never heard of him and dont give a shit if they did. and he needs to do some real songs like hank sr, robert johnson, morrissey, dylan, and billie. and he needs to be pissed off the entire time. tom waits could produce, but i recommend george bush. of course i’ll executive produce which will entail holding two signs. one that says sucks the other that says really sucks.

good non-dance records sound like they were recorded at night. this one was obviously recorded in sweden at noon. it’s plastic. its a pretty girl with makeup and hairspray and liposuction. we wanted a real woman with scars and scrapes and chipped nail polish with a dozen stories to tell as she smoked 100s and sipped out of a dirty glass.

when the pogues kick your ass at “jesse james” it proves that you live in a bubble that needs to be popped.

on the busblog scale of one to four stars this one gets one star. a pity star. for this is the record i would play for someone if i wanted to get them pissed off.

soxaholix + leonardo + bicycle mark interviewed me over the phone