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If I wake up in the morning covered in dust, hungover, and my sweat smells like pork it must be the day after the annual Degenerate Press Summertime Blast!
First off, I'd like to thank the bands - The Stimulants, The Helgas, The Bluejays, and Nineteen Forty Five. Excellent sets by everyone and I saw nothing but smiles in the crowd.
Thanks to degenerate SW for the administrative assistance over the last several weeks of party planning, as well as two pans of delicious beans.
Big big thanks to degenerate JM for roasting what may have been the finest pig yet. My god, that was some fine 'cue.
Titanic thanks to degenerate DC for hosting what may have been the finest DP party in 5 years. The setting was perfect and hopefully we can get it cleaned up enough so that construction can continue. With such seclusion comes drawbacks, of course. Sometimes the road to the Cornelius Cabin and Party Barn can be a bit tricky (ironically enough, the toughest part to navigate is where they put down too much gravel to keep people from getting stuck) and sometimes the natives don't look too kindly on folks they perceive as outsiders (also ironic since many of the DP staff were raised in them thar hills) so my apologies go out to anyone who had to suffer through the Deliverance-like scenes offered by some lunatic neighbor late in the evening.
And, last but most, thanks to those who attended, ate an entire pig, sucked down three kegs and almost all the backup beers, watched a tremendous fireworks display and had a rollicking good time! Please convey any compliments, questions, comments, complaints or general reports you have and let me know if they're off the record. Double-dog thanks to those few who donated money. It all goes back into the pockets of those who emptied theirs getting the mess together. The only thing that sucks about that party is that it's only one day and night. The morning after is somewhat sad 'cause it's back to civilization, back to reality, back to work so I can save up enough money to do it again! The next DP party is tenatively going to be Halloweenish here at the DP HQ (Oct. 27 or Nov. 3) so keep us in mind when planning your fall schedule.

Due to the holiday and pre-party preparations we neglected to broadcast last week. So here's what you missed, if it would have been there...
Wednesday we hit Northside Tavern for the Donnie McCormick benefit just in time to miss the opening act, Slim Fatz and a bunch of others on stage backing up Donnie on his chicken coop. Fortunately Donnie stuck around, moving to a spot behind a traditional drum kit for a set with a skinny girl that looked like she'd just walked in off the rough end of Howell Mill Rd. But despite her tiny size and less than impressive wardrobe, she could belt out a blues tune, wailing like a banshee. Donnie played with one hand and smoked with the other, a big grin on his face the entire time. The crowd consisted mostly of Donnie's biker buddies, a local group called The Outlaws, all done up in brand new leather with their club logo, a skull and crossed pistons, on their backs. Mixed in were a few too-clean yuppies and the Northside regulars, making it an eclectic crowd.
The next act couldn't hold our attention since we were starved. Unfortunately they had promised barbecue with the price of admission but they were using the word as a verb and not a noun. Out back they were grilling burgers and chicken, and they'd gotten a late start. SW was too hungry to wait for them to get the coals going and put the meat on the grill so we left as Sean Costello was belting out his first tune, same guitar wizardry as always, and the same look on his face as always - as if he's passing a kidney stone or something. But, as the late great John Lee Hooker sang, "The blues are in him, and they've got to come out. Let that boy boogie woogie." (Thanks to degenerate JH for reminding me of this quote.)

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