We Jam Econo
Pramas and I hit the Northwest Film Forum last night to catch one of the last showings of Rocket Fuel Film's documentary on The Minutemen, We Jam Econo.
To our surprise (and the apparent surprise of at least a dozen other would-be film attendees) the Northwest Film Forum was packed people milling around with plastic cups of wine while a live band (complete with stand-up bass) belted out They Can't Take That Away From Me. Pramas did his best to wedge his way through the crowd to the ticket counter, which was blocked off by a table of refreshments; there was no notice posted anywhere that the showing was cancelled or postponed, but neither were tickets being sold. While I lingered near the band and watched a projected slideshow of clips what I assumed were from movies or projects associated with the event, I overheard several groups of people discussing what to do now that there was a party going on in the film space.
Obviously this little shindig wasn't what we'd come for, and neither Pramas nor I are the type to crash someone else's party. As we were leaving, debating whether we should wait around for the 9:00 show or give up altogether, Pramas spotted a woman who looked like she knew what she was doing. She confidently explained that this was a fund raiser for The Film Company, Seattle's non-profit film studio. (And indeed, I can confirm that Michelle Witten, digital film editor and Rat City Rollergirl was in attendence because I totally coveted her outfit.) Our source jovially noted that they were reaching the point of the night when they hoped that the fund-raiser attendees would be writing the phat checks and assured us that the 9:00 showing was going on as planned. As we are not so much a part of the "phat checks" crowd (as Pramas put it, you don't know how econo we jam) we were happy to hear this and went off to a local eatery to kill a couple of hours.
Rolling in with a handful of other die hards, we made our way through the dregs of the fundraiser and into the theater just before nine.
We Jam Econo was a lovely tribute. Mike Watt was a cute and awkward young man who has grown into a sweet older man (if a bit befuddled, in that aging pot-smoker kind of way), still wearing what you would swear are the same jeans and flannel shirts, still earnest and honest and all about the music, still gutted over the death of D. Boone. George Hurley still seems like the most unlikely new wave surf drummer to make the third member of this trio. I was really struck by the honest working-classness of these guys, their peers intereviewed in front of their cluttered porches, leaning fences, claustrophobic courtyards and studios. Watt was interviewed in his 1990 Econoline van The Boat, which cracked me up as he spent at least half the time punctuating what he was saying with both hands, regardless of being on the road. The movie contains great clips and archival footage of the band as well as great ranging interviews.
Recommended.
To our surprise (and the apparent surprise of at least a dozen other would-be film attendees) the Northwest Film Forum was packed people milling around with plastic cups of wine while a live band (complete with stand-up bass) belted out They Can't Take That Away From Me. Pramas did his best to wedge his way through the crowd to the ticket counter, which was blocked off by a table of refreshments; there was no notice posted anywhere that the showing was cancelled or postponed, but neither were tickets being sold. While I lingered near the band and watched a projected slideshow of clips what I assumed were from movies or projects associated with the event, I overheard several groups of people discussing what to do now that there was a party going on in the film space.
Obviously this little shindig wasn't what we'd come for, and neither Pramas nor I are the type to crash someone else's party. As we were leaving, debating whether we should wait around for the 9:00 show or give up altogether, Pramas spotted a woman who looked like she knew what she was doing. She confidently explained that this was a fund raiser for The Film Company, Seattle's non-profit film studio. (And indeed, I can confirm that Michelle Witten, digital film editor and Rat City Rollergirl was in attendence because I totally coveted her outfit.) Our source jovially noted that they were reaching the point of the night when they hoped that the fund-raiser attendees would be writing the phat checks and assured us that the 9:00 showing was going on as planned. As we are not so much a part of the "phat checks" crowd (as Pramas put it, you don't know how econo we jam) we were happy to hear this and went off to a local eatery to kill a couple of hours.
Rolling in with a handful of other die hards, we made our way through the dregs of the fundraiser and into the theater just before nine.
We Jam Econo was a lovely tribute. Mike Watt was a cute and awkward young man who has grown into a sweet older man (if a bit befuddled, in that aging pot-smoker kind of way), still wearing what you would swear are the same jeans and flannel shirts, still earnest and honest and all about the music, still gutted over the death of D. Boone. George Hurley still seems like the most unlikely new wave surf drummer to make the third member of this trio. I was really struck by the honest working-classness of these guys, their peers intereviewed in front of their cluttered porches, leaning fences, claustrophobic courtyards and studios. Watt was interviewed in his 1990 Econoline van The Boat, which cracked me up as he spent at least half the time punctuating what he was saying with both hands, regardless of being on the road. The movie contains great clips and archival footage of the band as well as great ranging interviews.
Recommended.
THIS AIN'T NO PICNIC
working on the edge
losing my self respect
for a man the presides over me
the principles of his creed
punch in punch out
8 hours, 5 days
sweat pain and agony
on friday i'll get paid
this ain't no picnic
this ain't no picnic
this ain't no picnic
this ain't no picnic
hey mister don't look down on me
for what i believe
i got my bills and the rent
i should go pitch a tent
but our land is not free
so i'll work my youth away
in the place of a machine
i refuse to be a slave
this ain't no picnic
this ain't no picnic
this ain't no picnic
this ain't no picnic
But were they, in fact, "fucking corndogs?"
And boy, do I hope the context of that is obvious. ;)
They were, indeed, fucking corndogs.
Sadly for me, Working Men Are Pissed was not featured in the film and I've it in my head since yesterday.
I'll put it in simple words: workin' men are pissed!