JEFFREY MORGAN’S MEDIA BLACKOUT #659.319!

The Steepwater Band – Dharmakaya (Funzalo) :: Sometimes ya just don’t wanna think. Sometimes ya just wanna run on feral instinct alone and drain that keg, roll that doob, snout that line, crank that spike, and then howl rabidly like a speared boar for more more more how d’ya like it how d’ya like it more more more.

So if wretched excess is the religion you worship daily, then Steepwater’s Dharmakaya is the sordid soundtrack to your devout dissipation. Weaned on a steady diet of the Allman Brothers Band, not only do these four longhairs know their Johnny Winter and their Johnny Walker, they sure as shootin’ dish it all out in a nuclear hoedown of dirty fuzztone lead and slide guitar riffs.

The vocals are a gruntin’ outhouse mass o’southern refried moonshine that mashes up everyone from Paul Rodgers to Robert Plant with an added dose of nasty blues-steeped harp. Slap this record on auto-repeat startin’ at four on a Friday afternoon and by the followin’ Sunday morning you won’t know where you are, who you are, or what you used to be.

But first go take that beer bottle outta the freezer before it explodes, ya dumb spud.

SIZZLING PLATTER OF THE WEEK: Jawbone – Dang Blues (Jawbone) :: I was sitting in the lounge of the Empire Hotel. I was watching as the Maple Leafs and Red Wings slugged it out. A little woozy floozy staggered over to see. “Wussa score, Honey?” she slurred at me.

I tried to tell that woman that the game was tied late in the third. Instead she leaned over and squinted at me like she hadn’t heard a word. She jabbed a finger at me and looked like she was gonna scream. “Ainchoo that guy who wrote them mean things in that rag called CREEM? I saw your reviews, they’re all so full of misery.”

I said, “You’re thinking of Rick Johnson, so why don’t you leave me alone?” I told her ’bout a classic Motor City record I liked by Jawbone. “This guy’s a crazy one-man blues band, he plays a psycho harp. His slide guitar style’s really raw, it isn’t razor sharp. This kid rocks because he wasn’t raised on snobbery.”

She said, “I know about this Jawbone, the sidewalk’s where I heard this guy. He plays at all the music festivals although he never gets inside.”

I said, “Don’t worry, he will one day: Dang Blues cannot be beat. It’s filed in my collection next to Exile On Main St. His passion for music’s on display for all to see.”

I drained my drink and grabbed my jacket; I felt that it was time to leave. As I stood up she lurched against me, balancing herself on my sleeve. “Come on, let’s hear this Jawbone record,” she said with gin-soaked breath.

Just then the Leafs potted the winning goal in sudden death. The Michigan papers called it highway robbery.

Be seeing you!