Jacaranda (the band) by Mary Allen

ed. note: We used to do music reviews here at The Literary Brothel, remember? This was an early piece from Mary Allen about a band named Jacaranda. They're still around; I linked their MySpace (which did not exist at the time of this article) at the end of the piece. To think, there was life before MySpace... -KV

ed. note 2: Yes, the piece is now called "Jacaranda" even though it was originally titled "Shawn and Jac A. Randa," whatever that means. -KV

Shawn and Jac A. Randa
by Mary Allen

My two favorite memories of Shawn from those 'good ole days' are something that I still tease him about.

The first was Shawn's description of how he "blazed some girl's trail." I laugh about it now, but back then, I nearly had a heart attack from his comment.

A year later, he told us his step-mother was a Playboy Playmate in the early 80's. He took great pride in relaying that to us and gleefully showed us the spread (literally). Apparently, she's had a couple of plastic operations and such done, so she no longer looks as good now as she did then.

Early this year he started sending me emails about this band he was in, Jacaranda. He said he did some vocals and played the banjo. At that point, I decided there was no way in hell I was going to catch the act. How many of us have friends who are in "bands" and have gone and supported them in an incredible display of camaraderie, only to discover too late that their friend's band is horrific and there isn't one positive thing you can say about the whole experience? That's what I dreaded. And the question kept popping up--how could a banjo improve a rock band?

But I decided to go. Thursday, 10 PM at a place called "The Garage" in the Valley. Excellent. So at 9:20 I leave my apartment, stop at the ATM, and take my sweet time. Thankfully, I hit every red light on the way. I almost turned back when the helicopters circled in the vicinity of where I was headed. "Why oh why did I come? Why didn't I bring any one with me?!"

After finding a parking spot and running to The Garage, I sized up the joint. Painted comic book orange red flames licking up the outer walls, people smoking out front and a jumbo billboard advertising Tecate beer to the right of the establishment were not welcoming signs. Shawn sees me upon entering… and I'm stuck there - with the news that they go on around 11:30, not 10.

I chat with Shawn for a bit, let him buy me a drink. He circulates with his other friends and I ask the others who they are there to see. "Jacaranda," "the last band, Jacaranda," "my friends' band, Jacaranda - they're great!"

That's a good sign. I ask them what makes them so great? (They have a banjo after all, ya know.)

"Oh, the energy, the good times, the 70's funk feel they transmit, and of course - they're my friends!" Alright. I can take that. However, this was countering all of the cool phrases that I was coming up with for a nascent article ripping them apart.

After waiting through a decent punk band, and a horrendously bad trio, Jacaranda finally takes the stage.

Tonight's theme was Pimp night - a previous theme that was fondly remembered was the Muppets - and the group fit the part well. Ostentatious gold chains, tight wildly decorated shirts, floppy felt hats, and sexy attitudes were seen in all 6 members. After previously hearing the terms "banjo," "70s funk," and "friends," associated with Jacaranda, then checking out the attire, I was even more nervous about what to expect.

After the first song, "Chewbaca," it was over for me. I knew I had to readjust my thinking. I'm a fan. I can admit it quite openly, actually. I'm a diehard punk fan, listen to opera, dig jazz, and was bowled over by a band that cannot adequately be labeled by one genre named Jacaranda.

The six members gelled in a way that surprised me considering they've only been around for a year and a half. They displayed an amazing melodic complexity that was a joy to hear.

I don't have much experience with 70s funkadelic grooves, aside from the occasional Blackspoitation movie, and now I want to go out and buy all kinds of Isaac Hayes CDs. And they not only did funk well, but early 50s rock/blues rhythms, a Southern religious revival style, and back again.

The guitar players were incredible, not in trying to outdo each other, but in complimenting each other's abilities. The vocal textures- from multi part harmonies to each singer's unique talents- employed on most songs were something that you don't hear every day and were impressive.

In addition to the rotating six players they have on the stage (Jason and Bob switch between lead/rhythm guitar, keyboards, drums, and vocals, Luis does lead vocals, tenor sax, and rhythm guitar, Shawn plays the banjo, dances and occasionally sings, Tom plays an awesome funk guitar, and Tony plays the bass), they brought up the occasional guest singers.

Nathan did a great job assisting on a number I believe is called "Sex in the Cineplex." Amy, a previous Jacaranda member, now residing in New Zealand, was on hand and led the group in "I Love Trees." The antics that Luis, Jason, and Shawn performed during their self described "boy band homage" - "Well Hung Boys" - kept the audience alternately singing along in mock celebration of teen pop and laughing out loud with the dance routines.

If you have a spare evening, I highly encourage you to see Jacaranda. Even if it is midnight. Even though they have a banjo and they have Theme nights. Very rarely do you get the opportunity to not only watch a great band perform, but get to carry on in the antics along with them.

Yes, the majority of their followers are friends who ALWAYS show up to EVERY show. But that says something about the band itself. They are truly a fantastic band to experience. Especially if you have the cool lighting effects guy that was at the bar tonight.

After leaving punk concerts, I feel the need to get the rage out and drive fast. Driving home from the Jacaranda show, I had an insouciant and delightful feeling of having spent a couple of hours by being entertained by a great group of new found friends. I have a spot of two vacant in my car if you want to join me next time. Check them out at myspace.com/jacaranda

-MA

On Free Boobies - by Mary Allen

This was one of Mary's first pieces for our site, and one of the most popular posts. It's popularity was likely boosted by keywords such as "boobies" and "free," but nevertheless is an enjoyable read. It has been edited from the original, and yes, does contain adult content. What did you expect from a place called The Literary Brothel? -KV

On Free Boobies
by Mary Allen

Ever been with a friend after a football game, no plans and wondering what to do? Ever said, "Ok" to your friend's question, "Do you want to see boobies?" Have you ever been a girl in the above situations? Well, that was me this past Saturday night.

After the recent tragic and miscalled UCLA-Stanford game, Jeff and I looked to alcohol. A little unfamiliar with the area, we picked up the SF Weekly to find a comedy club or a cool band. After our fifteenth time thumbing through the Weekly, Jeff asks if I'm game to "see free boobies." I figured that if I ever want to complain about those vulgar establishments, I better know what I was arguing over, so I went along with the idea. Or maybe, I really did want to see "free boobies." Who knows for sure?

We found parking and walked. The outside was swanky: metal nouveau detail and a nice man with a suit opens the door for us. The woman inside seemed peeved when we mention, "Couples get in free before ten." (Ha ha! I'm not paying for something that I can get for free at home.)

The inside was velvet 1950's chairs, dim lighting, a water wall straight out of Sharper Image, neon signs, a full bar, and girls. All kinds of girls: three women were coupled in the crowd, nicely clad servers wandered about, and the dancers. I was ready to be turned on.

The female body is incredibly beautiful and I will readily point out a sexy woman when I see one. But four of the twelve girls performing would have been defined as "Rubenesque" in the late 19th century and "Plus Sized" at the end of the last. Two others had attractive bodies, not as round as some, but danced fairly well. One girl, Fire, shimmied up the dancing bar and doing acrobats worthy of a trapeze artist off of the L-shaped beam at the top of the pole. While I didn't find this the least bit appealing, I can certainly see how some men would be quite excited by a woman who is double jointed. Wow.

But most of the girls I really can't remember, since they bordered on the bland and boring. I did give a dollar tip to a woman who didn't take all of her clothes off. But I had to place it in her thong. That was mildly disconcerting. She did have a nice tan and no stretch marks though.

Jeff asked me if I would be "willing to have her boobies rubbed in (my) face" if he paid the $20 fee. My reply was something to the effect of "I don't think so." But after a couple more attempts at getting anyone to rub the oft-said "boobies" in my face, he revealed that it wasn't that he wanted to see it happen, but only because he wanted blackmail material, to hold the boobie-rubbing incident over me for the rest of my adult life. I sat firmly in my chair after that.

One of the dancers came over and we had a five minute conversation. It turns out that she's been dancing for 5 years, dances only 1 night a week, has another part time job, and is a mother. If Jeff and I wanted a dance, her rates were $20 for one song or $100 for a half hour. Nice. She added that I should sit closer to the stage to get more attention. I did, only to be blinded by more obnoxious disco lights and the chuckling faces of the dancers as they stumbled across the stage in their insanely awkward heels.

Overall, I was a little disappointed by my strip club experience. The alcohol was strong but outrageously priced, the girls weren't that pretty, and the seedy individuals I looked to mock weren't present. The most notable part of the evening was the fact that I was relieved of $16.75 for the two drinks, a tip, and thong money. So much for "free boobies."

Addendum:

On my six hour drive home the next day, I had time to think about it: Most of the women dancing or sitting in men's laps were not pretty. In fact, the one woman who did stand out was plain-faced but loved what she was doing. Or at least, that's what she appeared to be feeling. She enjoyed her body and had fun on the stage.

That was the one residual idea that came out of the evening's entertainment. The fact that if you enjoy who you are, no matter what your occupation or your body image, and you have fun living your life, you end up being sexy to someone. And if Jeff's eagerness, in addition to most of the other classier men in the establishment is to be believed, that trick works.

I'm not going to rush out and make a purchase at Trashy Lingerie, but I think I have spent enough time in vinyl to realize that I think I could do what Amber or Sabrina or Summer did. And maybe I can't get my leg over my head or shimmy up a 12 foot pole, but I think I can strut my stuff with relative ease. As long as I don't wear 7-inch stilettos with a one-inch platform base. While I don't think you'll find Mary at the Spearmint Rhino anytime soon, a couple of lucky individuals might see a very different side of her. See you soon, boys.

-MA