or: A Tribute To Ben Spangler [1975-2007]
Ben Spangler died in
Perhaps the most fitting epitaph would be the last two lines of his last recorded song (“Dollar At The Bottom Of The Pool”): “As a dog returneth to it vomit, I wasn’t down but now I’m up above it.”
(I'm not sure who to credit for this touching photography, no pun intended. But that's Ben on the left, with and former lead guitarist Donnie Evil on the far right.)
Suffering from bipolar disorder, that did not stop Ben from achieving that classic status as a singer/songwriter - in fact, I'm sure it helped. Whether alone on his guitar, or best yet with his band the Touchers, Ben was always creating his own worlds and presenting them in such a fashion that it was effortless to dive right in with him if you wanted. You’re either along for the ride or not, and when you are, the songs do their job in making you think of nothing else.
The Touchers were a shapeshifting collective of musicians (over a dozen in and out) founded, fronted and focused by Bipolar Ben. They were “dedicated to the demise of sexist, homophobic, unoriginal rock and roll.” At CDBaby (a truly independent online music store), the Touchers’ album The Shotgun is placed into its own unique amalgamation of genres: “happy sadness indie rock honky tonk surf punk..” Without hearing Ben strum and shriek for yourself, this is the best words are going to do to describe it; simply put, it must be felt. But Ben’s words - humane observations [“If you think that good guys always win/You got another thing coming”] often laced with incisive humor [“Mama told me I was an unwanted pregnancy/And it seemed easy to believe”] and delivered always with sincerity and passion - left to their own devices still get the job done.
A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TOUCHERS DISCOGRAPHY
Headless Breakfast (2000) Showcases “Bipolar Ben & The Touchers” at their rawest and loosest. These songs are like all good young rock band births – they’re wildly experimental, punkadelic and playful, prone to fits of sudden outbursts and giddiness. Quite unusual for what was to follow the Touchers, this album features female vocals, keyboards and a violin amidst the echoing drums, throbbing bass and distorted guitars. With 17 tracks at 44 minutes and forty-four seconds, the album is one sprawling epic of demo sessions for an up and coming songwriter.
Bloodbath (2002) The beginning of producer Chuck Goodwin's (unofficially titled) “Strictly Bozeman” Trilogy (recorded, mixed and mastered entirely in
The Shotgun (2003) In many ways, the third Touchers album is their most ambitious. Apparently recorded in the span on the day (in the same order as the songs appear on the record), The Shotgun features smoking hot new renditions of established Touchers material, with an emphasis of the same blistering soul and distortion that accompany the tight new batch of tunes. The mix of new and old songs, with the fantastic-sounding tightly-executed fury, is the closest to hearing a premier Touchers live experience (even more so than on Touchers next album, Live Below: April 1 2004, their first and only official live release). [19 tracks at 44:56.]
Pretty Baby (2005) The Touchers version of "The White Album," except when the Touchers got so bloated of new material that they had to pack in twice as many songs as a normal record, they could still keep it at less than an hour. 26 tracks of entirely new, never before released jams that feature Touchers at their biggest, most diverse sound yet. And while it may be the cleanest sounding of all their albums, it’s also got some of their filthiest riffs and darkest melodies amidst brighter turns at rock, punk and country.
The Underwater Fascist (2006) [Originally known as The Long Goodbye.] Ben got the attention of "the Northwest sound" producer Jack Endino (if you like grunge, punk or metal from the 1990s, you probably heard of him) and recorded 17 songs in his studio in
Blithe (2008) The posthumous album, recorded with a new lineup (the hip-hop band Eightrack Mind’s rhythm section) and finalized by Ben before he died. More of the half new/half old routine, resurrecting (and arguable besting) some Touchers classics not recorded since the Headless Breakfast and Pretty Baby sessions. Recorded and mixed by both Chuck and Jack, and even with the new band, it’s still solely Ben’s world, and if he knew it was coming, he must’ve died smiling knowing that Blithe made every Touchers album a great album. [14 tracks, 44:09]
SPINNING AND DRIVING: The Maddening Meanderingss Of Bipolar Ben
I think Melville said that “a good poem spins against the way it drives.” It has also been said that good poetry is hard to come by, because most people write openly about their thoughts and reactions; but honest emotion is not mysterious, and a poem needs that sense of ambiguity, to call to question our perception of it, in order to justify itself. If such is the case, then you could strip away Ben’s sonic craftsmanship and he’d still be one fine writer with some of the best poetry of this new millennium. As good a pop hook as Ben could come up with, he also knew how to find the right words to support the sound.
I heard someone said that any one Touchers songs would be most other bands’ best song. I don’t know it that’s quite true, but I do know that Ben wrote and played well over 100 compositions with the Touchers (including covers of John Lennon and Butthole Surfers, amongst many others in between), and most of them are classics, pure and simple, joyous, raucous rockabilly rollin’. In honor of his 32 years on this earth, I have transcribed and am transmitting thirty-two of his works to be studied, adored or admonished. I am doing this on February 22 because I wonder how he’d be celebrating this day if he were alive today (he was a huge Drew Barrymore fan, even going so far as to name one of his songs after her birth date). So please, enjoy. Or don’t (your loss). Whatever.
[NOTE: The Touchers reinterpreted their songs all the time, so I have sometimes cut-and-fused lyrics from different versions of a song into the same transcription in an effort to give Ben’s words a more cohesive flow for storytelling. I have my own theories of his lyrics being self-referential/prophesizing (just look to the lyrics of “The Mattress Song” or look at song titles like "Death Trap," "Everybody Loves A Funeral" and "Ghost Dance"). But ignoring that, the prose is still ripe for picking and polishing.]
ALWAYS KNOW YOUR DEALER
Melissa, gotta call her everyday
She’s always dealing with the other squealers
Melissa, she’s gonna get her own home
She’s always on the roam with the other dealers
Melissa is gonna wear that black dress
Take care of her little mess with the other squealers
Melissa, you gotta call her everyday
She’s got a beeper
Always know your dealer
Met him at the bus stop on
He said, “I missed my address, missed my address”
Said he once left town back in ‘63
Been drinking since ‘
“I’m in love with a girl, she drinks and she’s horny
She came up from the South, she can read me her warnings”
I said down, down, down in the gutter:
The people seem weak but there’s a secret at heart
Wanna figure it out, wanna see in the dark
Want to get rich, so sick of being poor
I said, “I’m out on the street now, in the 7th Ward”
Said we’re lower and lower, lower and lower
We’re so far gone, can’t think what to utter
I say down, down, down in the gutter:
The people seem weak but there’s a secret at heart
Wanna figure it out, wanna see in the dark...
BIG WORRY
He was sloppy and a–readin’ back in ‘64
Making friends with Georgie Orwell’s 1984
When she found that man you know she had a son
Cold roses in the garden and the dead guy with a gun
All the sea folk came cheeky, and my father he did try
His uncle was a rich man that was too wealthy to die
From that egg there comes a seed
From that seed there comes a boy
In the summer of my origin
My head got mighty boiled
He gets home only weekends anymore
What we know is that she’s waiting
Smoking a Cuban cigar
He gets some for the weekend
Yeah, he’s hopping back for shore
In three days, my big worry…
I won’t see you anymore…
Well he knows just what the facts are
But he doesn’t know romance
He wants to find a lover
But he’s too afraid to dance
In the Navy, all the seamen, they are pining for the shore
The constant sight of water turns them into a big whore
In the Navy, all the semen, it just spatters on the floor
From that egg there comes a seed, from that seed there comes a boy
I am the son of shotguns, I am the son of whores
In three days, my big worry…
I won’t see you anymore…
The street was lost in ‘21
The KKK and Beelzebub
Went down on Black Wall Street
The kerosene paint did its job
But not as well as the mob
Way down on Black Wall Street
And I know you cannot fall…
They shot down mobs
In their beds
And strung them up
Cold and dead
Way back in 1921
When it was said that they won
The world wide war number one
Laid down on Black Wall Street
And I know you cannot fall
And I know she was used to men to please
She liked to take the sleaze
She liked to terrorize
Her feet were put to fire
And I know…
BLOOD FLOOD
Like a dead man in a dead land
In a big room, it’s a big tomb
Like a big bang, like a big bang
What we need is a flood
To wash away all the blood
That we spilled on the ground
Without a care, without a sound
We’re gonna kick in the dirt
Buying drugs, buying guns
Cos they rock to the beat
Of the North and the East
Like a dead girl in a dead world
It’s a big room, it’s a big tomb
Like a big bang, like a big bang
What we need is a flood
To wash away all the blood
That we spilled on the ground
Without a care, without a sound
We’re gonna kick in the dirt
Buying drugs, buying guns
Cos we know they’ll be dead
In the end, without friends
CHILDREN WILL BUY IT
The children will buy it
Or at least they’ll probably try it
And no one will take the pain today
The children will buy it
Or at least they’ll probably try it
And no one will ever be the same
They sat down for execution
They said “It’s time for choosing”
And no one will take the blame today
The children will buy it
Or at least they’ll probably try it
And one will ever be the same!
Her father went down to the desert
Her father went down to be killed
You could say she’ll never fix it
Cos she could never be rebuilt
Everybody celebrate!
It’s Columbus Day!
She starred in a movie about an alien
She went downtown to get a drink
You could say she’s got big features
Being a kid with pyro-kinesis
Everybody celebrate!
It’s Columbus Day!
COUNTRY KILLER
No no no no no no no no
Beelzebub, he has a tub (it’s a curse…)
He will drink all the poison (it’s a curse…)
Drinking till oblivion (it’s a curse…)
She’s on her head
She looks good dead
She’s on my mind
I want it back!
She’s on her own
She’s gonna crack
Throw the children in the air (it’s a curse…)
Got a gun so I don’t care (it’s a curse…)
Drinking in the Devil’s lair (it’s a curse…)
CRACKHOUSE
If you want to find a cure for being such a bore
Well then you and I could be the best of friends
Cos in the land of everything it’s hard to find a thing
When you’re shopping at the local discount store
And if you want to fight a lot and wage war on your friends
Well that’s sure to be arranged before you die
And if you want to find yourself and never be again
Well there is a little place you could try
Cos there’s a little crack house down on
Where they don’t expect that much out of time
DEATH TRAP
If you can find it
I want it, don’t hide it
I never know better
No better than you
I could be why
You think and you try
I think it’s like nothing
Yeah, nothing you know
Into the mountain, into the death trap
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
In 1942, they came to find out
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
Started out something
You thought you could leave it
You never knew no one
Yeah, no one like me
I could be someone
You thought had a reason
I love you much better
Yeah, better than me
Into the mountain
Into the death trap
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
In 1942,
They came to find you
Don’t care ‘bout nothin’…
No, nothin’ at all…
DO THE NEW PLAGUE, BABE
I know they’re up to something
That’s just the way we are
I killed off all the big shots
I killed off all the stars
I like it, so much so
They got a lot to try
I’m thinking procreation
They want to multiply
Their job is not knowing
They just believe their eyes
A new plague, babe, it’s coming
They dance until they die
I got no shoes
I got bad news
Spent all my money on entertainment
And I got some friends who are near the end
They gave up at age eleven
And there was some time
For your mind to rewind
Lost my head back in the 80s
And I got some friends who are lesbians
They gave up at age eleven
February Twenty-Second, Nineteen Hundred Seventy-Five
THE GALVESTON GIANT (blithe)
Blithe went down to Desert Reno
She said he said to bring the beat down
She flagged their gaze with her smile
She knew that they had come for miles
He checks his brain without warning
Oh my god, what a morning
Knew they all would know his name
But still this bitch was like a flame
If you see her ghost, gut the motherfucker
Betray the host, can’t have one without the other
Then the great white hope went down into the corner
If you see her throat, cut the motherfucker
Well she was a good goliath
Whose victory did start a riot
They all looked on and screamed in silence
300 years of revenge violence
She brings the pain without warning
Oh my god, what a morning
Knew they all would make a change
The world would never be the same
HEADLESS MEDLEY [HEADLESS CHICKEN/HEADLESS]
You were the headless chicken
You tried so hard to live
You died, your head was severed
Just like that condemned kid
You ran for fifteen minutes
You bled atrociously
Most men are just like you tricks
Evil in all their glee...
Without age
And the help of your friends
And your mom
You could play
Everyday
And never give back
To the dark
There was this girl
She made the world
But she wanted to move on
Without rules they grew wings
They started to drop bombs
Said I was headless…
Yeah he’s gonna buy a meal with a two-dollar cup
For the ten-year-old with the bonnet on her head
Who feels dead inside as the cops drive by
But the cracked out streets are giving her what she needs
But you don’t come here no more
No you don’t get anymore
And the cracks in the street are entrapping her feet
And the word on the street is that the people are mean
In the ghetto
You’ll never get out of the ghetto
You don’t want to be in the ghetto
You don’t want to breed in the ghetto
Don’t want to feed in the ghetto
LAX DELAY
There is a man in the land
With the pieces in his hand
Lives in
Where he drives a fast car
And this girl on the scale
Going down to visit jail
Just to be a movie star
She’s gonna be in LA…
You gotta admit
She’s playing the game
And those girls on the scale
Going down to do their nails
Gonna lie
Just to be a movie star
And those boys on the stage
Going out to be in a race
Gonna die
Just to be a movie star
There’s gonna be a delay
They’re gonna be in LA
You gotta admit
They’re playing the game
LEFT HAND IS UNCLEAN
She came, thirteen
She was the queen
She said “My son,
What have you done?”
He came too quick
He got her sick
He knew too soon
He got the flu
And now you’ll never see her again…
She said The One
Is not the one
She said her son
Has got a gun
He came too quick
He got her sick
You know it’s true
The child was doomed
And now you’ll never see her again…
Never again…
MADE AND SOLD
I watched the news today
They’d all been killed
I went in on some whim
To get my prescription filled
It’s a cutthroat business, mom
It’s a game of words
The rules aren’t quite the same
They seem to have less worth
Made and sold…
Got a dirty look today
From the prettiest girl in town
She loved to comb her hair
Imagine the men going down
It’s a cutthroat business, mom
It’s a game of words
The rules aren’t quite the same
Using boys for wars
Made and sold…
Right away
From the start
There was pay dirt
And they said,
With a grin,
“It’s a go!”
And they came from the East
To make babies
And they lived on the land
They made and sold
They can never go home
Cos they knew it was gone
THE MATTRESS
In the morning by yourself
You could try to figure out
The things you did, the things you said
The way you live with your regret
In the morning, on the mattress
You could find a piece of you
In the bedroom, on the blanket
You could find a piece of you
When you died you took some pills
The way you lived you made no will
When you said those things to me
The way you lived you were never free
In the morning
On the mattress
You could find a piece of you
In the bedroom
On the blanket
You could find a piece of you
NEBRASKAN BEER WHORE
Told me a story about a friend you had
Came from
He looked down on the rich ones
He looked down on the poor
He looked down on the no ones
He looked down on the whores
But you can’t hide from what you are
No, you can’t hide from what you are
Told me a story about a friend you had
Went back to
He looked down on the mirror
He looked down on the soul
He looked down on the nothing
He looked down on you all
But you can’t hide from what you are
No, you can’t hide from what you are
NUMBER OF THE BEAST
He came from
He said, “Son, you’re my brethren,
Can I tell you a lie?
I think you are the number of the beast!”
Yeah you are the number of the beast…
He came from
He said, “Son, you’re a killer,
Can I ask you all to die?”
I think you are the number of the beast!
Yeah you are the number of the beast…
He came here from
He said “God is not neutral”
He said “God’s on my side!”
I said, “You are the number of the beast!’
Yeah you are the number of the beast…
RUSSIAN BRIDE
Got a gin and tonic on another rainy day
Got a Russian bride and I know she’s on her way
Gotta run, gotta bug you
But I don’t fix
I don’t fix a thing!
Got a look up closer
And another of your remarks
Gotta lot of peaches
And there ain’t no end in sight
Gotta run, gotta find you
But I don’t face
I don’t face a thing!
Got a gin and tonic
And another rainy day
Got a Russian bride
And I know she’s on her way
Hope I wake up sleeping
Hope I wake up and you’re dead!
I’ll wake up in your bed…
THE SHOTGUN
Way back when, 1987
He dropped down and he went to heaven
Ended up in a rut with a wife and kids
And the bloodstained mirror coming out of their will
Shotguns aren’t used to being useful
I was full and never had a spoonful
Shotguns aren’t used to being useful
I never had a thing and I never wanted you
There are people living ‘round in pretty pastures
And they look around like everything matters
Looking for things to sell that might be useful
And I never thought it’d take getting used to
Shotguns aren’t used to being useful
I never played with guns
But I want to be a target
SOMEDAY
I will never get to meet you
I’ll be the one you cannot see
I will let you down and never pick you up again
I will wait, crave away
Another fix to save the day
I will keep your picture by my bed
Cos someday you’ll be dead
And someday I’ll dead dead
(That’s right, the women are smarter)
There’ll be time when we grow old
To count the things that we have sold
I will let you down and never pick you up again
I will wait and fade away
Another truth to save the day
I will keep your picture by my bed
And someday we’ll be dead...
That’s right, the women are smarter
THE SUN
I think it’s all crystal
I think it’s quite clear
When a men can read the paper
And not even shed a tear
She came across the border
With money on her mind
So she sold her body
Oh no, they wouldn’t mind
She said she’d like to see the sun set town
Said the bullet hit her eye
Said, “You got to get to work on time,”
But you know they’re gonna bury you
I think it’s all useless
I think we all know
When you go to
And you see the money show
She came across the border
With murder on her mind
Now she sells her children
Oh no, they wouldn’t mind
She said she’d like to see the sun set town
Said the bullet hit her eye
Said, “You got to get to work on time,”
But you know they’re gonna bury you
Cos she knows they’re gonna bury you
THINGS ARE ONLY GETTING WORSE
Things are only getting worse
Humanity, yes it’s a curse
Killing one another to make a dime
Well I’m wasting all my time
Yeah I’m wasting all my time…
She looked like a healthy mother
She had a criminal smile
She knows she’s on my mind
But I’m wasting all my time
And I’m wasting all my time (it’s alright)
Things are only getting worse…
TWO SHIT ICEPICK (uh oh)
I want you, but you don’t even care
I love you, but you don’t give a damn
I love you, but you don’t give a shit
I want you, but you got the icepick
She had a son that never won…
He’s got bubbles in his blood…
I want you, but you are in demand
I love you, but you got other plans
I want you, but you don’t give two shits
I want you, but you got your icepick
UNREQUITED TEENAGE LOVE SONG
She’s a bright and pretty girl
Who’s popular
And I can’t say a thing,
I know she thinks about
Those other guys,
Playing on the football team
It’s a black t-shirt marathon of losers in my school
I know you can make it
Make it go away
I got your picture on my TV
So I can stare all day
No one really knows
What’s good for them
And no one knows my name,
I know she never says
Hello to me,
Playing by their games
There’s a black t-shirt marathon of losers in my school
But I know that you can make it
Make it go away
I got your picture on my TV
So I can stare all day
I know your Christian-set opinion
We can go to church
I think we got something to talk about
But we can make it work
VACANT
Said I,
“I can be the one you want”
We went down
Down to
Said I,
“I can’t find the vacant lot alone”
Alone…
You said,
“I can feel it coming on”
We went down
Down to
You said,
“I can be there while you’re all alone”
Alone…
Said I,
“I can feel it coming on”
You went down
Down to find the one you want
You went down
Down to find the vacant lot alone
WAKE DOWN
A girl named Penny walked up to me
Pushed a little red button inside of me
She said, “I wanna be your girl, I wanna be your friend”
I said, “Hey pretty baby, do you wanna sing?”
We sang, “Wake down!”
Wake down…
WATER WALTZ
To their ears came the sound
Of their ship going down
Flames all around
The captain was done
He picked up the gun
Decided a bullet was better
There was not time for another
Cos blood was thicker than water
Her parents, you see
They were buried at sea
There was no one for you
No one for me
First she was poor
Now drifts through the shore
Searching for her family
There was not time for another
Cos blood was thicker than water
YOU’LL GO FAR
I had a friend named Rocco
He lived in the back of a Scirocco
Sells on the streets, but he’s a good man
His kids gotta eat, but they got a new plan
Parents drink in their car
Competition at the local bar
With quick reactions, chances are,
If you’re in the mood, you’ll go far
I had a friend named Rico
Kept his habit incognito
He disappeared into the gutter
The thought alone makes me shudder
Parents drink in their car
Competition at the local bar
With quick reactions, chances are,
If you’re in the mood, you’ll go far
All titles and lyrics copyright of Ben Spangler
Administered by Beard Of Blood Records
APPENDIX:
If you're interested in more on the Touchers, here's some stuff to get you started:
The Shotgun on CDBaby (Good place to read reviews and hear some tracks for yourself. Don't forget to check out Pretty Baby and The Underwater Fascist while you're there!)
An interesting blog about a Touchers show (or lack therof). Also of note, a CN&R News article written and published just months before Ben's death, as well as an obituary (of sorts) written by a festival organizer and friend of Ben's in Missoula. (I think the "weblog from a Cactus employee" may be mine, back when I used to work at the local Bozeman record store and slang Touchers albums every chance I could.)
Sadly, I do not have any video of the Touchers performing to post here. It would have been great to share the live experience, even if not authentically.
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