I'm a writer living in LA, and I've been a Beat farmers fan since I moved out here in 1986 and got turned on to Tales by a friend. When I heard about Dick, I was in the middle of working on a project, and I had to stop to write this, just to get it out. I posted it in a newgroupd for screenwriters, and have actually turned a few grateful people onto the sound of the Beat Farmers. I thought maybe some of you might get something out of this, so I'm passing it on to you all. ------------ " I notice we got an abundance of snot nosed preppy hairballs in here tonight, in serious need of a firm handed musical spanking, and believe me, the mood I'm in tonight, I'm just the man for the job. " -Country Dick Montana Lemme tell you about the Beat Farmers. The Beat Farmers are a band from San Diego, a rowdy, boisterous group of guys who make music that defines for me what rock & roll is all about. For more than a decade, they've been cranking out what a lot of people call cowpunk. They obviously love country music, but they play it with far too much energy and passion to make it on today's bland bigass hat stations, so they're considered punk by the idiots who work in that genre and think they know something about country. They sound too country for the lizard suit wearing pony tail vipers who decide what gets played on rock radio. So they're called cowpunk, but what they really are is real rock & roll. With the exception of Rolle Love, the bassist, all the guys write and take turns singing. Each of them has their own distinct style, but somehow, they all mesh. Jerry Rainey loves sixties rock & roll, looks like the demented love child of Bob Dylan and Joey Ramone, and I bet he's the guy who's responsible for putting the Springsteen cover on their first album. Joey Harris is a hardcore country boy, and he writes some of the best real country songs you'll ever hear. Heartwrenching sometimes, gut busting rockers others. And Country Dick Montana, the drummer, the man with a voice that makes James Earle Jones sound like one of the Chipmunks.... A master of profanity, sometimes sideman to Mojo Nixon (He plays on the classic "Don Henley Must Die"), and one of the most prodigious drinkers you'll ever see. A Beat Farmers show usually goes on for hours. The boys slam through dozens of great old faves, and always toss in something weird or unexpected. They do a very twisted version of the theme to Green Acres (Guaranteed to offend your more politically sensitive friends) and a classic ditty called "Beat Generation" written by Rod McKuen (Who'd have a heart attack if he ever heard it). I've never found the song on any old Rod albums (And I HAVE looked for it, believe it or not), and I suspect that Dick may have taken some liberties with the lyrics. In any case, the song contains some lines that have taken on almost mystical significance in my life: "I once knew a man who actually worked from nine to five Just to pay his monthly bills was why he stayed alive So keep your country cottage Your house and lawn so green I just want a one room pad where I can make the scene" They're the only band I know who can segue from Big Rock Candy Mountain to Anarchy in the UK and make you believe 'em all the way through. And when Country Dick steps up to the mike, you'd best be wearing cheap clothes or an overcoat. The man is known for twirling full bottles of beer, and you WILL get wet if you're in the front. His campfires are legendary, when he'll plunk down in the middle of the crowd and get everyone to squat down around an ashtray (Subbing for the campfire) and run through some of his more profane and wonderful material in a most intimate way- "Are You Drinking With Me Jesus?", or "I Dreamt I was a Trendy Dirtbag in a New Wave Discotheque", and always closing with his masterful ode to his own wonderfullness, "The King Of Sleaze." And the man drinks like you wouldn't believe, which I believe I mentioned earlier. I've passed a couple of guys standing around Dick's inert form laying face down on the sidewalk after a particularly hot show. They're not employees, they're just appreciative fans guarding him from the kind of mishaps that often befall people who pass out in gutters alone. There's another great rock & roller who's finally getting some attention named Steve Earle, who I've loved for years. I remember seeing him play at the Palace many, many moons ago, after his second album, and Country Dick showed up to a do a few tunes, and I knew then and there that Steve MUST be cool, if Dick was willing to take the time to show up for the man. Anyway, I could go on forever - when you run into a fellow Beat Farmers fan, you can happily spend hours swapping outrageous stories about shows you've been to. I have a Beat Farmers bumper sticker on my car (The only one I have, except for Nixon/Agnew), and every now and then someone pulls up alongside looking thrilled and wants to talk. I've been pulled over by truck drivers, a nurse, a surfer, a bartender, and once a cop who stopped me for speeding, but let me off and yakked Beaties for a while. Their albums are out there. The easiest to find is their latest, Manifold, but it just ain't up to their usual incredible standards. If you can find their live album, Loud Plowed and Live, check it out. However, their EP, Glad 'n' Greasy has got the absolutely most ass kicking version of Powderfinger I've ever heard. Put it this way - before I heard it, I hated Neal Young. Anyone who can write a song that can sound this good (Not when Neal plays it, okay, but....) is a god. Anyway, my freind Paula just called me today and told me at a Beat Farmers show in British Columbia last night, Country Dick had a heart attack and died. I haven't felt this bad since Bill Hicks passed. Do yourself a favor, if you love rock & roll, seek out one of their albums. You won't regret it. Once again, the vipers walk the earth. The cretinous boors like Billy Joel and Michael Bolton and Trent Reznor and Boyz II Men and Counting Crows and Snoop Doggy Dogg, and all those safe, pablumic bands that make pretty videos and suck the MTV teat continue to swindle the public out of their money and their taste, and Country Dick is dead. Don Henley got back together with Glen Frey, and Country Dick is dead. I'm sure he died the way he wanted to - In front of people who loved him, a beer in one hand, mike in the other, and wearing that stinky, disgusting duster that's got the accumulated filth of ten years on the road gunked all over it. Anyway, I just got hired to rewrite a kid's film - make it funnier is the assignment. And I have a day to do it in, and I get this news just as I'm sitting down to work. Don't exactly make it easy to write jokes. But I'll manage. I've thrown on a stack of Beat Farmers discs, and I'm feeling better already.