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.
Around 5 years ago I was 13 and it was a snowy morning nearing the winter holidays, as I set off for the bus to school my mum told me to bring a jacket I ofcourse ignored her as I wouldn’t be seen dead in my red jacket with high visibility stripes. So I set of to school and had a good but cold day at the end of the day i got back on the bus and talked to my pals for about 15 minutes when the bus made a groaning sound and slowed to a halt and the engine sound cut dead. This was around two miles away from my house so I had two options wait for the replacement bus to arrive or to walk I descided to walk as it was not snowing. I was freezing but making good progress that’s when hail stones started to fall, I got pelted for a few minutes thankfully it did stop and I did get home safely but after that I understood the phrase mum knows best!
I live in Iowa……I went to see KINGS X in Cedar Rapids….met the band….we all got along well and enjoyed the green room time…. on a Friday night. The same night we all drove back to Cedar Falls and made it home safe. When I woke up I went out to my Jeep and the front left tire had a screw in it. I drove it out to Wal-Mart to get it fixed in the tire shop. I made it there but forgot my wallet……I started walking back to campus … Yep about 6miles…..Who else would be driving by on Highway 63 than KingsX? They pulled over because they noticed my TMR hoodie (side A/side B) they gave me a ride back to my home in the tour bus. What a great group of guys that saved my day because I went to the show. Thanks, TMR for making recognizable clothing and logos.
break in the schedule
Sufficient coolant leak
Well we thought we were doing the right thing
Now you cannot be too picky
In Cheyenne on a Sunday
Then up walked the mechanic
With the perpendicular teeth
Perpendicular teeth, oh yeah
By the 17th hour
They pulled us up in the bay
And funky tooth started diggin’
Down under the hood
After clearing a path to the water pump
And taking a four hour break
By hour 27 we were all good
Then we sailed from Little America, oh yeah
Only two days later
On the way down to Deep Elem
We broke down in Oklahoma
Where a wind come behind the rain
We got towed to a town called Perry
Where a woman’s car took priority
She had a kidney in a cooler
So two nights we had to stay
So she could deliver the kidney,
Please send tri-color in care of Keller Williams at account address.
Sorry I walk.
was a twenty-something in the Navy stationed in Norfolk during the mid 1990’s. Felt like a weekend trip to the Smithsonian and talked a couple of shipmates into joining me. made it almost all the way there before my ‘72 Chevelle crapped out on us in Woodbridge. was able to limp it to a Pep Boys who said they could get me going in a couple of days because the didn’t have the part. the military can and will throw you in jail for something as simple as not shaving, so I was immediately worried about not being at work Monday bright and early – awol – absent without leave. I called my ship and they said get back when I can. there was a carnival in town that night that took our minds off things. one of my buddies drank an entire bottle of Nyquil or similar because that was one of his favorite forms of entertainment. that seemed to work for him until halfway through the pirate ship ride and he starts hurling on himself and others. that girls with us weren’t so keen after that. life took it easy on us for the rest of the weekend. part was installed. left town not nearly as broke as I expected to. Chief gave me extra duty for missing a day of work. when I did finally make it to DC, got to see an impressive collection of resistance posters from war torn countries. magic.
I was 16. I had owned my driver’s license for all of a month. There were three of us (all girls) that we’re inseperable, and we took turns driving the group to/from high school because we were out of bus range. Like most 16 year olds, we were idiots. (Like we were in a terrible “band” that played Monkees covers for our parents, idiots.) And on that particular day, we had spent part of the afternoon painting a sign advertising some art department show, and then painting black mustaches on each other in tempera paint. Idiots. (I’ll also mention this is years before the whole mustache motif on mugs and shirts and whatever was a thing- so maybe we were ahead of our time, but I digress.) So it’s my turn to drive home. We have decided to leave the mustaches on because (say it with me now) idiots. I pull out of the parking lot, inching along because of traffic. My two friends are in the back seat and someone starts a slap fight. I turn around for a split second to smack both of them, and at literally 2 miles an hour, roll into the vehicle in front of me, which happens to be a school bus. Well, when you hit a school bus (in case you didn’t know), it’s a different level of violation. Everyone has to be evacuated from the bus. I’m getting yelled at by 8 year olds. And then the cops come. They demand we get out of the car, as we are now considered menaces to the innocent youth. So out I come. Sobbing. Terrified. Mustached. Did anyone get hurt? No. Is the car damaged? No. Is the bus damaged? No. Is my father going to murder me? Quite probably. My father will murder me and the embalmer will have to decide whether I would have wanted to be shown with the mustache. At this point, I’m crying so much that the mustache starts to run a little. It’s like the mustache equivalent of Courtney Love. The cop is so taken aback and confused, that between my sobs of My. Father. Is. Going. To. Kill. Me. all he can do is pat me on the shoulder and tell me it would be ok.
Ahh, Ben. I feel your pain. I’m miss those days, but not really. My story is about a mishap rather than a breakdown. It’s a bit gross, so my apologies in advance. When my oldest daughter was 2 (now 18), her dad and I thought it would be a fantastic idea to take a 21 hour road trip to California. We were also in a van—a custom-conversion van, powder blue, with navy racing stripes and rusted panels (that I’m pretty sure was once used for drug runs in Florida—but another story). Whilst driving in the Nevada desert, our darling offspring decided to have an explosion. We’re talking up to her hair. Naturally, gas stations are few and far between in the Nevada desert. We finally came upon a truck stop after about an hour. We delicately removed her from her car seat and removed the car seat. Both her dad and I are now vomiting in the parking lot while trying not to drop our precious babe. He took the car seat in the men’s showers and I took her in the women’s—this was about a 1.5 hour ordeal. I thought it would be best to get diapers since her stomach may not be cooperating. I then endured her screaming at me (both of us looking like wet rats) in front of 1/2 dozen burly truckers “I PEE PEE IN THE POTTY!! NO DIAPERS!!” Humiliated and conquered by my blue-eyed little angel, I acquiesced to allowing her big girl panties. The smell on the remainder of the drive in the hot Nevada sun was something to treasure. I’m not sure that the van was ever the same. Cherish these moments Ben. They go by quickly.
Two friends and I went on road trip to Seattle in a 1969 Pontiac Beaumont, this car was a beater . It burned oil so we had this cloud of billowing smoke coming out the exhaust the whole trip, we would stop and dump a can of oil in it every once in a while . After a night of drinking American beer and a day of buying records we headed back across the border , we stop at the first gas station we came across because the engine was about to seize from a lack of oil. With what change we had we could purchase three cans thinking this would do the job. The dipstick didn’t register anything, scrounging around the car looking for loose change we managed to get two more cans . This time we got it up to the “add more” line so off we went and all I could think of was “please just make it to my house”.
Back in higschool, we all had our licences but my friend was the only guy to have cars. Cars………they were borrowed from his mother, his grandma ect………well, one day my friend had his grandma’s Oldsmobile Achieva. We decided it was good day to go and jump the tracks at “black bridge” which was a set of train tracks elevated from either side, it was actually quite a steep hill, picture an ant hill let’s say, that anything could catch big air time from…..bike, car, ATV, whatever you wanted, on a dirt road out back in the woods. Well let’s say we tried hard, air was achieved. The outcome was almost devastating, almost everything on the front end was broken because well……as a teenager you don’t realize cars don’t jump like bikes or anything else, they just nose dive. So, there was three of us in the car and it took all the little money we all had to keep us out of literally the worst place we could have been. Auto store…..wrecking yard……and was it auto shop that helped us….lol. Anyways the rest of the day and no school and some sweat and hey granny had no idea……it was a life lesson. I learned cars don’t jump well..lol.
This is not my story but my son’s. Somewhere about four years ago he was seeing a girl from New Zealand and she was visiting him in Vancouver, BC for six months. The took lots of roadtrips in his 1998 Toyota Corolla. Great car but it burned oil and you needed to check the oil every fill up. This was something my son was not very good at.
One of the roadtrips saw them and two friends head south down as far as Mexico in December. On their way home, in the mist of Nevada the oil light came on and before they could find a gas station and put oil in the engine threw a rod. They got the car towed to the nearest town. The had $8 left between the four of them on the trip. They needed a new engine and a place to sleep for a couple nights. So between emails and texts to me they got the engine part sorted out but not the place to stay. The car shop owner/mechanic saw them coming out of the grocery store with two loafs of bread and a jar of peanut to feed them until the car was ready. The mechanic asked if they had a place to stay, they answered no and he came through. Piled them into his car, got their gear from the broken down car and drove them out into the hills. The mechanic had a property in the hills where he was slowly building a place. No roof yet but plywood walls to at least keep the wind out. Some of the wood was splashed with that red stain that looks like blood. My son said it was right out of a horror movie where the kids just keep making mistakes and end up miles from anyone with a stranger. The mechanic came by the next day with some beers, deli meat and an update on the car. So after two nights out in the wilds of Nevada, sleeping under the stars they were able to get their car and get home. My son owes a debt of gratitude to that mechanic.
Parts of that adventure ended up in the song ‘Waves’ by my son’s band Sam The Astronaut.
“Strange times we live in a car.
In dreams we’re ghosts on a shore
We fall back to the floor
We are home”
lived in bullhead city, az my sr yr of high schooll, which was 30 mins away from the california border. i was forbidden to take my car across the state line but desperately wanted to go to a co-ed overnight lake party, outside of needles, CA. coming up with a good cover, my friend, Kim and i, headed to the lake party. It was nighttime and already dark outside. on the California interstate, we started to hear a click click click click noise, coming from, what seemed to be, the engine. we decided to turn the radio up & drown the noise out & keep on our way to the party. By the time we got to the party, the clicking noise was so loud nothing could drown the sound out. The ‘all knowing boys’ at the party said “ It sounds like you need some oil.” So we went around campsites until we found someone with a quart of oil, that we dumped into my engine. Then we partied the night away and didn’t think twice about the car again. The next morning, when it was time to go home, as soon as we turned the engine on, that god awful ticking noise was as loud as could be. We headed home, with another car following us, in case there was a problem. About 5 min into our drive, POOF! A loud noise came from the engine, something slams out of the bottom of the engine and a huge cloud of smoke barrels out of the hood of the car. The car just rolled to a stop and was dead. Dread and panic set in. We hitched a ride home with the car following us and I had to have 1 of the guys drive my dad and a tow truck, to my car on some backroad by a lake. It was a pricey tow from California back to Arizona. My dad was so mad he couldn’t even talk. i was promptly grounded and had to pay for 1/2 the cost to fix the engine. that escapade led to a huge fight between my parents and i and i tried to tell them i wanted to get emancipated. ha! my dad still laughs, so hard, at the emancipation statement