SO here's the transcript from that call:
Ring, ring! Hello?
Hey Kathleen--I have some hot gossip for you.
Tell me!
Okay, so the Divorce played a show last night at the Derby in Hollywood, and Courtney Love showed up and hung out with them all night.
No way! I just read an article yesterday about her having checked herself into a state-recognized rehab program. It was all over the news.
Well, she was hanging out with the band, and she even played her new album for them and they said it was pretty good.
Of course it was. Linda Perry can write some annoyingly catchy songs. Who hasn't suffered a day or two with "WHAT'S GOING ON!" stuck on the brain? Oh my god, I nearly forgot all about how when that song was big some friends in a band did a cover of it but changed the lyric to "I JUST FUCKED MY DOG!" Hee!
You should call Shane Divorce and get all the details from him, because I think Courtney was hitting on his guitar player.
Okay, I'll call him right now. Thank you so much for the hot news. Bye-bye!
So I called Shane Berry of the Divorce and he gave me the firsthand scoop. But I should warn you that my new toy's a website (rinkworks.com/dialect) that translates any text into various dialects--like "moron," "jive," "cockney," and my favorite, "redneck"--so, using that site as a translator, picture Shane leanin' against a pickup truck as he says, "We were stan'in' outside th' Derby an' she was walkin' down th' street warin' a black an' white striped shirt wif th' price tag hangin' off of it. She said she bo'rowed it fum a mannequin fum some sto'e down th' street. She was also wrapped in yeller caushun tape. She walked into th' club an' hijacked th' stage while th' ban' af'er us was playin'. Ah reckon someone in th' ban' may haf known her, but I'm not sho'nuff. Af'er thet our git-fiddleist Garrett [Lunceford] invited her t'th' bar we were haided to, called th' Roost, an' she showed up wif three gals an' her han'ler. She mighta bin unner th' influence of sumpin', but it could haf jest been th' influence of her own magnetism, dawgone it. She pulled out a copy of her album, sayin' it was th' one master copy in exissence, an' axed me t'tell th' bartenner t'play it--but it'dn't wawk, so we went out th' car an' lissened it befo'e gwine back inside. Befo'e thet, though, we were outside havin' a cigarette an' she was talkin' t'one of her friends about how Chattanooga [Jack] White was older than her, which'd make him at least fo'ty, an' sayin' thet someone was stealin' her money, an' then she said th' bess thin': 'And you don't fuck with a Cobain!' Fry mah hide!"
So there you have it.
Finally, I'm proud to report that I refrained from kicking the two idiot Malkmus fans who heckled the Pernice Brothers during their awesome opening set last Saturday at the Showbox. The jerks hollered that Joe Pernice's songs sounded like Smiths and Cure ripoffs, and proceeded to shout "This band SUCKS" at backstage security queen Jonna McCurry, as if she gave a shit about their retarded opinions. Word to the dickslaps: If you must comment on Pernice sounding like someone from the past, get it right, for crying out loud. He sounds like Paul Heaton of the Housemartins.
