THE SKI-DOOS LIVE! ("Neap," 9/11, and that Sad day after)

THE SKI-DOOS LIVE! (“Neap,” 9/11, and the Sad day after)

Just before I was asked (told) to leave town in 1971, the Ski-doos were in their heyday. In some ways, I think the Ski-doos thought of themselves as a Captain Beefheartish, U.P., alt-Detroit-garage band whose mission was to counter the pretentious, long-winded, cliché, protest jam band that reigned as “the” hippie band in Marquette from 69-71. If Zappa was right, that every town must have a place where phony hippies meet, it was the Walrus (I was a member of the band) that played those psychedelic dungeons. Way before the think globally, act locally, liberal dictum held sway, the Ski-doos were writing crazy songs like “Action 8,” and “The Prom,” that parodied small town parochialism and terrorist greasers, “Eddie’s Lookin’ Fer Ya.” Writing songs about the absurd, sometimes surreal, people and events that made up the Marquette experience, they were really a low-budget performance art band that featured Rabelaisian lower body humor lyrics, and spontaneous drunken dance routines. They were a breath of fresh air that blew over most people’s heads. I wish I had known Sudsy better then. I think my wiseass ways and his ironic persona would have been a good fit. Of course, the Walrus’ pseudo hipness, a blind spot we never could overcome, always prevented us from achieving what really counts, and what the Ski-doos always were--COOL!

Date:
Fri, 16 May 2008 21:42:17 -0700 [05/17/2008 12:42:17 AM EDT]
From:
Robert Glantz
To:
rlt@umich.edu
Subject:
Re: Rob Labby Memorial Page

Randy

I read your post about Rob’s films. You’re right; Neap is an absurd morality play in which the greaser played Steve Pomeroy gets his comeuppance from a couple of other cartoon characters. Peter Balwinski, the guy in the straw hat, is the archetypal techno-wimp, the AV Club president who always gets pushed around by testosterone- and-Pabst fueled greaseball. After being humiliated by Steve, Peter then pleads before a blue-screened temple. His prayers, if you will, are directed to an avenging god. And they’re answered by the appearance of an alien in a papier mache “spacehat.” Played by Danny Belmore, the alien produces two small rockets, the Alpha and the Omega.

It’s Revelation 1:8, Yooper-style: “I am Alpha and Omega,
the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord.” The bombs fall, the world ends. The AV Club prevails.

It’s cartoonish as all get-out, but prescient in a weird, Labby-esque sort of way when you consider that Rob slipped into terminal dementia on Sept. 11, 2001. The guy went out watching the ultimate special effects sequence on TV, the twin towers exploding in flames, from his home hospice bed. He died the following day, Sept. 12, about ten hours before I was scheduled to land in Green Bay to visit him.

Meanwhile, I also read your post about your troubles with Pickles, et al. I hope the hell the snub-nosed .38, Oxycontin and methadone are from your checkered past. Not that I’m anti-gun. I have the Glock 19 on the desk as I type this. It’s usually in the gun safe, but I break it apart and hide the pieces around the property whenever I leave town. Nor am I anti-dope. But the combination of the two can lead to trouble. You know what I mean. Keep the dream and yourself alive.

Sudsy