er 17, w
Lifestyles
Wednesday • September 17, 1997
he country
ouse teds ad
Chris
Martin
Columnist
ou
proba
bly
eard a ru-
orifyou
fent to Fish
lamp, along
rith the ter-
bly popular
or that
rut guy who
layed Zach
lorris on
Saved by the
’’ went to school here for a se-
lester but freaked out on acid.
No, seriously, the word on the
reet is a few of A&M’s finer stu-
ents actually come from Houston
d Dallas. It seems halfway be-
evable, like most urban legends,
iut those Fish Camp counselors
e like lascivious terriers when it
|omes to pulling legs.
As an employee of The Battal-
nand its parent company,
abisco, I am legally barred from
ublishing half-truths. Just in
|ase there is any dribbling of ver-
y to the vicious rumor of big city
udents, I will endeavor to edu-
te the metropolitan minority
the agony and the ecstasy of
all town life (and for the ulti-
ate experience, please feel free
listen to Dire Straits’ “Walk of
ife” or any song by John Mellan-
mp as you read.)
I came from a small town —
lippin, Ark., to be exact. It could
lave been worse — the town used
be called Goatsville.
The best way to get to Flippin
om here is to drive north until
3u see a Stuckey’s every quarter
lie, instead of historical plaques
itiarking every spot where Sam
Houston stopped to take a piss,
lontinue north through
Arkansas, past Toad Suck and
Pickle’s Gap, until you see the
first exit for the end of the earth.
Take the exit and hang a right at
the fourth trailer with old lawn
mowers and swing sets out front.
Ah, reminds me of prom.
How I got there in the first place
was my father, a Baptist preacher,
was asked to pastor the First (and
only) Baptist Church in Flippin
when I was nine years old. 1 had vi
sions of Lil’ Abner, complete with
barefooted oafs and tobacco-spit-
tin’ grannies. Good old Flippin
didn’t let me down.
Flippin is one of those places you
go where someone tells you their
name isTater or Biscuit, and you
laugh, and then realize you just of
fended Five generations of Taters
and Biscuits.
Of greater Flippin’s 1,032 resi
dents, approximately 999 labor the
days away in the local boat factory.
This includes yours truly when
he’s home begging for money.
Actually, I had a nice cushy job
in the air-conditioned office of the
advertising and photography de
partment. This position helped me
escape the pleasure of having fine
ly ground fiberglass embedded
into my epidermis on a daily basis.
This position also helped me earn
the endearing nickname of “photo
fag” from said plant workers.
Although Flippin is basically
the size of a footprint, it’s like an
Isthmus of Panama footprint full
of stagnant water and mosquito
eggs, providing fertile grounds for
ignorance, insanity and bad taste
in evening wear.
Flippin has the unique privilege
of being built on the nexus of a
busy intergalactic conduit. This is
the only way I can explain the exis
tence of locals such as Marty, who
SV 1 '
carried on daily conversations
with his mailbox.
As I heard it, one particularly
deranged acquaintance of Marty
called him up in the middle of the
night to tell him about the space
ships he saw landing in a nearby
field to steal cows.
Marty, the calm voice of reason,
quickly saw the hyperbole of such
a statement.
“Spaceships?” Marty said.
“That’s impossible. Everybody
knows that field is too rocky for the
spaceships to land in.”
Flippin High School, which re
ally should just be called Flippin
School, since all grades from
walking in Pampers to walking
with diplommas meet on one
campus. Flippin High readily
provided me with all the educa
tion I would need to fill out gov
ernment disability forms.
One quarter of my graduating
class — 44 strong — had procre
ated before graduation. I at
tribute the high teen pregnancy
rate, not to the lack of morals or
sex education, but to boredom.
If you think there is nothing to
do in College Station, try moving
to a town that considers the
combination of Coke and
peanuts a delicacy.
Before the angry mob mobi
lizes, I must say that, despite a
few quirks, Flippin is not all that
bad. It is quaint, quiet and occa
sionally beautiful. I hear that a
few people really do enjoy the
Flippin life. Just ask the leader of
the free world. He happens to
own a few acres of prime Flippin
real estate some people call Wltite
Water. Welcome to paradise, Bill.
Watch out for them UFOs.
Chris Martin is a senior
journalism major
By Travis Irby
StaffWriter
t;
sits B,
CS
I he Los
Angeles
based
Native
Tongue is set
to open for
Vallejo
Wednsday
night at Dixie
Theater. Its de
but album, Re
lease, is causing
many in the indus
try to take notice.
Native Tongue has
received critical praise
from such publications
L.A. Weekly, Pulse! and Rock City
News.
The band started with three
guys from Louisiana — guitarist
Dirty, vocalist John Flatt and
drummer Joel Tassin. They headed
to Los Angeles where they met
bassist Paul Shrader and guitarist
Glenn Cruciani.
Shrader said the core of the
band has been together for five
years, but the present incarnation
is only two years old.
He also said the band is guitar
driven.
“The CD doesn’t do our sound
justice,” Shrader said, “We really
pump it up live.”
Dirty said the band’s sounds
draw from a number of influences,
but southern rock is very promi
nent in the music.
“I like Stevie Ray Vaughan,
Skynyrd and a lot of blues artists,”
Dirty said.
Shrader said the band also has
other influences.
“I’m originally from Oakland
and growing up, one of my favorite
bands was Metallica, and I enjoyed
alot of punk,” Shrader said. “Glenn
is originally from New York, so he
also has his own set of influences.”
The band has been touring the
South since August in support of
Release. Last week, Native Tongue
has been in Houston opening for
Sammy Hagar, Nixons and Tonic.
Shrader said there is reason for
the band’s sampling of southern
hospitality.
“The record company knew
some of the guys were from the
South,” Shrader said. “So they fig
ured our sound would do well
here, and so far it has.”
The Louisiana members of the
band have found their perceptions
of home have changed.
“After living in L.A. for a while,
no matter where you come from,
you become a native,” Dirty said.
The band considers
its live performances
the best part of the
Native Tongue
package. They all
agreed the live per-
fomance is what
hooks new listen
ers.
Cruciani said
there is strategy to
reaching the audi
ence.
* “When we come to
a town we try and find
out what it is like,” Cru
ciani said. “We find out
what people like and what
the venues are like. In college
towns, we find out what the col
lege is all about.”
“In L.A. the crowd just stands
around with its arms folded,”
Shrader said. “They are always try
ing to analyze the music, not enjoy
it.”
“In L.A. ninety-percent of your
audience is your competition,”
Cruciani said.
The band members said they-
look forward to playing at the Dix
ie Theater.
“We really like it when we can
feel the crowd and their energy,”
Shrader said.
Even though Native Tongue has
played with some big name acts,
the members do not spend much
time socializing with other bands.
“We really like to get out and
meet the fans afterward,” Dirty
said, “We’ll sign CDs, hand out
shirts, whatever.”
Native Tongue prides itself on
its ability to market the music. Af
ter all, the members proclaim their
hobbies to be getting good re
views, heavy rotation and shame
less promotion.
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