The White Stripes
"The Big Three Killed My Baby" b/w "Red Bowling Ball Ruth"
scum stats: original SFTRI pressing was 500 on red vinyl (I think), a shit ton on black, TMR version is 150 copies on tri-color and a shit ton on black
Week one of living in a world of three little girls crawling around this house has me generally optimistic about how the next 18 years of my life will play out. While some folks response to my having a three month paternity leave is "wow...no work!" it hardly plays out that way.
It should come as a surprise to no one that running a record label is FAR less work than wrangling a 5 year old, a 2 year old, and a newborn. Three months paternity leave is three months deep in the trenches. School pick-up and drop-off, pediatrician visits, ballet class, coordinating mattress deliveries, hanging on the telephone with customer service, runs to the pharmacy, grabbing carryout food, play time activities director, homework assassin, second string burper, furniture assemblyman, sleepy time therapist are all things I've tackled in the week since Navy Eleanor was born.
I just try and GET SHIT DONE as much as I can when I'm here. Don't let tasks pile up. Smile every once in awhile.
Woke up this morning to a dead battery in my car. Let my mother-in-law borrow it to run to the grocery store the other day, but had to back it out of the driveway because she felt uncomfortable doing so herself. It was raining, I turned on the headlights and she never turned them off. Ugh.
Usually this is something I would let fester, Uber in to work for a couple of days before finding the time and energy to address it. But on leave, I waste NO time.
Battery wouldn't jump and the most complicated thing I can do re: car maintenance is replacing a dead battery. So I am on top of this. I pull out my sorry excuse for a tool box, disconnect the terminals, throw the dead, ten-year-old battery in the back of my wife's car and ramble on down to Autozone to get a replacement. $140 something later I'm back in business. There's still some alert lights pinged on the dash, but hell, I really just drive this thing to work and back. I can wait those out.
So as I type here with fingers still greasy from the transplant, I can't help but think of how much the early existence of the White Stripes was tied to car troubles. "The Big Three Killed My Baby" was not tongue-in-cheek, it was a frustrationary tale firmly rooted in real life. The Third Man Upholstery van had no windshield wipers and woudn't start if it was rainy. But Jack figured out some way to wrap tinfoil around SOMETHING under the hood to get that sucker humming. I never did figure out what that was. Pretty sure that van only went out of town once, to Chicago in '98, for Two Star Tabernacle opening for Jeff Tweedy at Lounge Ax and then two days later the Stripes opening for the Sadies and the Waco Brothers. Jack and Meg sat in the two front seats and since there were none in the back (it WAS a delivery van) I sat on a bean bag. So dangerous. Oh yeah, there was no radio! We had to use a boom box on that trip (listening to demos by Poopy Time) but most of the time in that vehicle it was just the low hum of the wheels on the road. Meditational silence.
A two day tour in January 2000 was side-tracked as Meg's Ford Escort just stopped moving on I-94 right outside of Chicago. Had to cancel the gig in Youngstown, OH that night. Yes, the White Stripes did tour dates in a FORD ESCORT. Well, one date. Then the car died.
The first "official" vehicle of the band was a maroon van used starting around spring/summer of 2000. It ran well most of that tour, but something went haywire in Los Angeles. I'm pretty sure a large portion of the profits from that tour went to the $800 worth of repairs in Denver to fix the incorrect work done by the crew in LA.
So much uncertainty, so much resignation to the fact that the mechanic could say "you need a johnson rod" and ultimately having to be beholden to them and whether or not they decided to screw you that day. Cars still seem overwhelming to me, but I'm not as scared of them as I used to be.
"The Big Three Killed My Baby" was originally written for Andre Williams to sing with Two Star Tabernacle and we released the fruits of those sessions back in the Vault however long ago. But to me, it was always perfect when Jack and Meg tackled it. The b-side to their version was originally supposed to be "Stop Breakin' Down" and was pitched as an "anti-automotive" single. But "Red Bowling Ball Ruth", the song "inspired" by AC/DC's "Have a Drink On Me" seemed to be more appropriate here. Song title came from a bowling ball that was kicking around Jack's house at the time that was inscriped "Ruth" and was red. It may have come from the burned out East Warren lanes, but I digress.
The typeface on this single was originally set to be something different, but the designers (Andy and Patti Claydon) found out that it was $500 to use it, so they just ripped it off free-hand, or so I was told. The logo on the original SFTRI edition was a re-appropriation of the Tucker Automobile logo, and instead of it's slogan "The Symbol of Safety" it was labeled "The Symbol of Sympathy."
The huge photograph of a motor on the cover was something left over from a photo shoot or film shoot that Jack had worked on as a production assistant and years after he'd moved out of his Ferdinand house, I found the "insert your money here" tag underneath the rug in that room.
Whomever tells the best story here regarding car breakdown, car repair or anything in the car realm gets a tri-color version of this record. Cool? Cool. Back to diapers for me.
For a bit of context, my friends and I have a writer’s organisations, and sometimes we have a stand at book fairs to present it to people. A couple of years ago, a friend and I were going to taht book fair in Lille, 3 hours north of Paris, and a couple of days before we realized that we actually had to bring our own table and chairs. We scramble around a bit to find some we can transport, and also to find a car, because 1) our plan of going by train is not possible with a table and two chairs and 2) we’re two 25yo girls living in Paris, where don’t have the need or the money for a car.
My friend eventually borrows her grandmother’s car. It’s small, almost as old as us but hey, it’s a car.
So we set off, very early in the morning to get to the book fair in time, and I’m the one driving. About an hour, an hour and a half on the way, I sometimes feel like the car is slowing down, even with my foot on the gas pedal.
Until, at some point, it doesn’t respond at all. Luckily, the highway is almost empty and I park on the side. My friend and I know nothing about car, we’re on a highway away from our home, with a car that isn’t ours, and it’s maybe 9 am at tops on a saturday morning so we do as everyone in our position would and my friend calls her parents, who know only a little more than us about cars and can’t provide anything useful.
So i start the engine again, the car responds again to the gas pedal, and we keep going a few kilometers until we can find a place to park that is safer. We open the motor, see nothing as we know nothing, touch a few things without actually doing anything, and decide to keep going.
We spend the next two hours in fear of the car stopping, and our lack of enthiusasm about this book fair keeps growing.
Luckily, after two hours of constant anxiety, we get to the book fair (late), spend a not-so-great day due to the lack of visitors and our still growing anxiety (will we be stuck here for the night? who do we know in Lille who might accept us on their couch for the night?), and then leave early (in case there is a problem).
The car starts, and we’re in for the three longuest hours of driving in our life, wondering every minute when the car is gonna die. The three hours turn into four as we reach the traffic jams in the entrance of Paris, and when we finally park the car in the grandmother’s garage it’s the biggest relief we’ve ever felt.
We never knew what was the issue with the car, but it did apprently cost a great deal of money to the grandmother when she took it for repairs – and it was, I think, the worst drive of our lives for both of us.
9 years ago, riding in the car with my brother, and the timing belt blew. Luckily we were near an exit and were able to drift onto the exit and stop the car on the side of the road. Waited a good 4-5 hours for AAA to show up. Got to know my brother a lot better in those 4-5 hours than I ever did living with him when we were kids. About 4 years before that, I was in the car with my mom driving getting off the freeway and a rock flew into the windshield. Lots of glass shards all over the place and temporary hearing loss from the impact. Luckily that was the worst of it.
JEEP – Just Empty Every Pocket. Once upon a time, I owned a ‘93 Jeep Grand Cherokee. I loved/hated this thing. It was a deep emerald green color (minus the parts that began to fade and chip away due to a poor paint job) and this son of a gun would break down with an almost religious consistency. This story is about a road trip I took from Flagstaff, AZ to Las Vegas, NV. Myself and several friends had decided to take a break from the rigors of college life to attend a concert in Vegas. Now, normally a drive from Flagstaff to Las Vegas typically clocked in at just under 4 hours. Normally. We elected to take my Jeep as it was the largest vehicle any of us owned at the time, so we piled into the green machine and began the drive. A little more than halfway into the trip I noticed the Jeep began acting a little funny, but nonetheless we trekked onward, excited to have a little fun. Right as we were crossing the newly built Hoover Damn overpass bridge, the car lost momentum and gave a hiccup. 10 miles later we were broken down in front of a lovely sign welcoming us to Boulder City. Some welcome. I called a local repair shop who happily sent a tow truck to pick us up. Now, the tow truck was a single cab that couldn’t possibly accommodate the 5 of us, so we got to ride in the Jeep strapped atop the back of the tow truck. At the repair shop we pooled our money for the repair which was estimated to take the remainder of the day. I then rented a car to get us the rest of the way to Vegas for the show. After 7 hours, I was determined to attend this concert. We saw the band fun. and had an amazing time, until the next morning when it came time to pick up the Jeep. It had been “fixed”. I had a friend follow me to return the rental. No sooner had I returned the rental car and begun the journey home, the Jeep once again broke down on the opposite end of town in front of a sign welcoming us to Boulder City. We were trapped in the Boulder City Bermuda Triangle of Hell. Several hours later, the defective piece had been replaced. Failed upon a test drive. And then replaced again. We were finally on our way home. One week later, the Jeep had died yet again. This time I was only about 2 miles from my local repair shop so I found a friend with Suburban and a tow-strap… I couldn’t figure out how to disengage the drive-train and wasn’t confident about where to link the tow-strap to the front of my vehicle, so instead, we attached it to my trailer-hitch in the rear and put her in neutral. I hopped in the driver seat while my friend towed me backwards through town as I struggled to drive backwards without power steering. Thankfully we made it unharmed. 3 years later the Jeep was stolen from the Denver airport with 210,000 miles on the odometer. RIP and good riddance.
Wow, Lounge Ax! Another long gone venue. Speaking of, remember the Avalon on Belmont and Sheffield, down the block from Medusa’s(a juice bar by day, heavy metal haven at night, only the slyest or highest of teenagers didn’t get kicked out for the late shows) Anyway, the Avalon was also a heavy metal bar in boys town. I drove in from college, NIU, to see Johnny Chainsaw! Fun band. Stayed late, was creating my own mosh pit to Whiplash from Metallica, when I blew out my knee, popped it back in. Kept dancing, if that’s what you call it, popped out again. Had to have my tiny roommate get me down the stairs with a busted knee. I could have called my Dad, who lived just blocks away in Wrigleyville, but then he’d know I was sneaking into the city when I should be away at school. So I had the roomy drive us home to DeKalb. Woke up with a knee as wide as my thigh, called my Dad to take me to the doctor. He drove 120 miles round trip to pick up my dumb ass when it really should have been a few blocks! Kids and what Father’s will do to help them! He never knew I was in Chicago the night before.
I’ve been taking road trips to concerts with my sister like a religion since high school, but have never had any major car issues. God bless you people! …Like the Third Man Upholstery van, my ‘98 Honda Accord refused to start every time it rained. Could’ve used Jack’s mysterious foil trick. When I went to get the $300 repair, the guy at the shop smugly announced (to this clueless 17-year-old girl at the time), “Your plugs are ancient!” Whatever the hell plugs are. After a heavy rain one morning, my car refused to start. I shakily called the Target I worked at & explained the situation. Without a shred of symphathy, the woman at the end of the line tersely barked they would “have to take corrective action” if I didn’t show up. So I finagled a ride & can’t walk into Target without the phrase “corrective action” echoing through my brain… By the way Ben, I’m impressed your car battery lasted for 10 years! Pretty recently I was forced to replace my car battery late at night in the parking lot of a thrift store. The damn thing started right up. One of my proudest moments.
Was turning at a red light and the car in front of me had the passenger door fall off and an old man rolled out into the intersection. Needless to say, traffic stopped and everyone ran over to him. As I got there, the man’s wife, who was driving, was standing over him, yelling “I told you to get that door fixed!”. The old man looked up at all of us and said “50 years of marriage and nothing has changed!” The man was fine by the way, just a few scrapes. Needless to say, every married man at the scene got a big laugh out of it.
last winter on an icy night i drove back at home when suddenly a cat cross the street. my red, white, black car got out of control and i crashed into a tree. I wasn‘t hurt but i was lost in the night because i still do not own a mobilephone…so i start walking towards the next village. About five minutes later a car stopps and helped me out, ring the police and make my day … in this car i found my wife … in the end the best night i had … i save the life of an animal, found my love and plant a new tree… my tree!
Sorry for my english .. it‘s not my mothertongue – greetings from germany
My first car was a VW bus. We sanded it down and sprayed it with grey primer. An artist friend drew really cool stuff all over it and my friends and I all painted it. This was in the 90s. I didn’t even know how to drive a stick when I got it. My brother passed away in ‘96, and as an homage to him being a Dead Head we painted “FURTHER” on the front. It was a pretty cool looking bus. All that being said it was a piece of crap haha. No radio, which is a minor thing. The gas gauge didn’t work, so it was always a guessing game as to how far we could go on a teenager budget. We must have broken down at least once a week. To get into reverse you had to to a backward-sideways Z motion, which led us to just pushing this thing back, rather than fight with it. For a few 16-17 year old kids this bus was our liberation. It was our way to shows. It also spent a lot of time on the side of the road while we’d be walking to the nearest gas station. Left it on the freeway once and had to hitch a ride. I remember having $11 in my hoodie pocket one night when we were broke down on the freeway and it disappeared. I think the wind must’ve blown it away. I miss that bus. It was a huge part of my youth. The license plate had 007 on it so we named it Jimmy.
I got in one wreck, not good. I got in two wrecks, really bad… I was in a third wreck & wouldn’t you know it, it was transcendental.
So it was about 5 years ago and I was taking a group of my staff from a local scout camp to six flags great America. It was toward the end of camp, one of our last weekends off…me running on zero hours of sleep talk off in my trusty Jeep my friends and I affectionately called…the beast. Now my buddies girl friend works at six flags and informs us where we can park for free with no worries of getting a ticket…so of course I comply, park the beast and we make way to a gloomy day of roller coasters.
Fast forward to 11pm. Me zero hours of sleep, and my group make way to the beast only to find de was right. I didn’t get a ticket…I got a boot. Now I’m angry and mad and trying to get people to pitch in money to get this boot off and the beast back on the road. After about an hour of phone calls and help from mom and dad the boot is off and I’m upset, but back on the road and on my way to my bed. Now to get back to my bed I had to go through the biggest traffic jam/road work/accidents I’ve ever seen…moving about a 1/2 mile an hour.
My friend Brice proceeds to turn my overhead light on to investigate a newly found check engine light that has popped on in the Jeep. After realizing my car was over heating I start to panic…Brice goes to turn the overhead light off and it gets jammed…he hits it…nothing…hits it again…nothing. One more time angry he hits it and poof…my dash is gone now power no lights nothing. I panic we’re stuck in traffic no where to go, and no way to monitor my cars warnings….long story short my car kinda caught on fire on the side of the road near ohaire and my boss had to come and pick us all up…