For those of you who knew Robt Omlit. RIP, my friend.

Liner notes for
OMLITS, “ABANDONED IN MEXICO”
Recorded live at the Odyssey 2000 in TJ on September 9th, 1981


Song List
1. FUCK IT (sung in Spanish)
(Originally a Black Tooth song)

FUCK IT was inspired by Biker Carl, a long-haired leather guy who loved the Omlits and the Muppets and had a soft boy’s smile. I have three clear memories of Carl: the time Carl and I had a Thunderbird drinking contest on Thanksgiving and he smashed the bottle in the bathroom while the Twilight Zone marathon blared over the TV. Number two: the day Biker Carl went with me and Robt Omlit to the Anaheim Carnival as soon as it opened, and the three of us ran to the zipper where the carny shut us in one of the cages. We were the only three people on the ride and, I swear, the carny let the ride run for five minutes. And then the day Biker Carl was hanging out with the Omlits in Linda Omlit’s bedroom during a band practice and Robt said, hey Carl, let’s all four of us start a band. Yeah, let’s start a band where Carl sings, he’s the front man, and we’ll call it BLACK TOOTH (probably due to Carl’s poor history of dental care). And Carl smiled his missing-teeth little boy smile, grabbed the mic, and said, okay here’s the first song, and starting yelling over and over: FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT, FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, SO FUCK IT!! And Robt and Linda and I jumped in and started bashing out something like a tune to back him up. “FUCK IT” was Black Tooth’s only song, and when Biker Carl disappeared up in Oregon, the Omlits put it in their set. On this tape, Robt sings it in Spanish (“CHINGA CHINGA CHINGA”).

2. CATHY

CATHY is one of the very first Omlits songs, written by Robt Omlit and Troy Mills about a woman named, er, Cathy. I have no idea who Cathy was, except that she reportedly slept with a big lovely dyke named Lynne in addition to having a boyfriend. The original lyric was, “Cathy had her cunt sewn up,” and not “Cathy had her head chopped off.” I’m not sure why Robt changed the lyrics, unless he was hoping for airplay later on down the line. Yeah, right.
The very first Omlits line-up consisted of Robt and Troy Mills, his old high school chum. Robt was a perverse song writer and musician. He was out to break every pop music rule in existence. His maxims included: Don’t learn to play guitar, ever, and if you do know how, play so your guitar sounds like a sewing machine on the verge of a breakdown. "Cathy" was a frightening, chant-like song in minor key. "Harold," another early Omlits song, was a two-chord number, if you could call them chords. The only lyrics I remember are: "My name is Harold, I am an outlaw." The lyrics changed after that on a regular basis, depending on Robt's mood.
When I joined The Omlits, the band consisted of Robt Omlit on guitar and Linda Taylor Omlit on bass. I actually auditioned for the band in Linda's bedroom. I didn't have my own drumkit at first, and being not highly employable at the time and not having much cash, I resisted getting one. Robt and Linda put up with this for a week or so, and then they literally stopped speaking to me until I got a drumkit. I bought one for about a hundred dollars from Rick Hirschbine's little brother. The drums had white fake fur around them. I showed up at Linda's door with them, and was greeted warmly.
The Omlits became a noise band from conservative Orange County during the days when the phrase “noise band” didn’t exist, Social Distortion was a punk rock cover band, and Leonard Skynard albums were still selling in record numbers. The closest description to our sound was something called “no-wave” that was defined by a howl and a thump, Roger Corman movies and some church-induced nightmare, a trashy fuzzy shuffle that lasted for less than two minutes. I remember practicing in Linda Taylor’s bedroom several times a week, smoking raspy shake from Humbolt brought down by blind Peggy who would get falling-down drunk and stumble through liquor stores, swinging her cane from side to side in a wide arc and bringing down racks of Fritos, Hostess donettes and sunflower seeds. The clerks didn’t dare do a thing. They just stood back and stared at this small blind woman destroying an aisle of the store with her white-tipped cane, drunk and laughing and mad as hell at god knows what—the forces of nature, the Sioux massacre of 1862, or of 1962, for that matter, or, most likely the laws of money that force you to have some in your wallet before you buy your next bottle.

3. ELECTRIC CHAIR

The shortest Omlits song ever. The lyrics go something like this: “Yes, I saw you standing there, but I don’t care--electric chair/ Yes, I saw you standing there, but I don’t care-- electric chair/ Ha ha ha ha/ Ha ha ha ha/ Ha ha ha ha/ Ha ha ha ha”
A trombone player used to join us with his slide for the laughing part. We were officially The Omlits by this time. We got gigs at Woodstock II, the Cuckoo's Nest, Hong Kong Cafe. My most memorable Omlits gig was at the Hong Kong Cafe, with the B People and DNA. We showed up at 4 PM for a sound check, and were treated to the sight of DNA getting off of a city bus with their equipment. We had five hours to kill until show time, so we wandered around Chinatown and down Broadway. We scraped some money together and bought some 40-ounce bottles of Colt 45. Somehow we got a hold of some red dragon acid and I watched all the real or imagined dragons around Chinatown dance. By the time we played we were in fine form. The kids in the audience busied themselves by throwing ice at us, which was great because we were sweating like mad. We told the owner we wanted $5 and a bottle of gin. He paid us $50 instead, which we spent buying Zombies at the bar. It seemed as though we stayed there all night.

4. I CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU (sung partly in Spanish)

An Omlits cover of the Elvis tune. Need I say more?

5. BIG SURPRISE

Also one of the very first Omlits songs. Here are the lyrics:

You really gave me such a rise
I said, Open your mouth and close your eyes
I’m going to give you a big surprise
So I gave you a big surprise

You wanted something big and thick
You said, Gimme gimme gimme gimme your dick
I gave you dog food and you got sick
I gave you dog food and you got sick

(First verse repeats)

This was Sandy’s favorite Omlit’s song—Sandy who drummed for The Mechanics. The Mechanics had their studio in Fullerton; Saturday nights their loft was full of Bud cans, girls in black jeans. But I remember one night when they were at Tess' Cavala’s house and it was either too late at night or too early in the morning. The Agnew brothers were drunk next to the stack of BBQ buns. They were stooped over with their teasing and laughing; across from them stood Robert in a tacky sports coat. The heat waves rose from the BBQ and smoke drifted into the kitchen from the back porch. Our arms and faces were sunburned and we sucked in the ashy smoke while we yelled about the names of bands playing that weekend and how Cathy Para could get free Dodgers tickets and how our shoes stuck to the ground with all the spilled soda shining under the streetlights and how I had to go home but I couldn't.
I’m not sure who started it. One of the guys leaned on the kitchen counter and began teasing Robt, quietly at first, then louder: gay boy, faggot . . . . A few more started to chime in: fag, gay boy, here's a wiener for you--they said, pulling a hot dog out of a pack next to a stack of bread and silverware. Robt smiled his smirky boy smile that said I don't care . . . his eyes fixed on the stack of silverware. With a lunge, he yanked open the kitchen drawers, one after another, until he pulled out the longest knife he could find. The Agnew brothers stepped back onto the muddy carpet, but Robert ripped open his own shirt and cut a long X in the middle of his own chest--deep, too deep to bleed.

6. I’M IN LOVE WITH ETHEL KENNEDY (Sung partly in Spanish)

Our searing political statement. Here are the lyrics:

I’m in love with Ethel Kennedy
I’m in love with Ethel Kennedy
I’m in love with Ethel Kennedy
I’m in love with Ethel Kennedy

But I can’t stand Jackie Onassis
No, I can’t stand Jackie Onassis
No, I can’t stand Jackie Onassis
Jackie O—yuck!!

(Repeat until you can’t sing anymore)


7. TEQUILA
(written by Herb Alpert, I think)

The trashiest Omlits cover, ever—fittingly about tequila.
I remember Robt saying: "Rosy, I was either going to drink or kill myself. That was the choice." At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. He smirked and laughed. I can still see his sharp front teeth with tobacco stains on the back. A few weeks before, he had been diagnosed with spinal disc deterioration. "It means I have a bad back," he'd say. But the following week he could barely stand up by himself. And a bit later he was walking with a cane, popping Darvon on the hour, which the doctors gave to him as freely as candy.
The day he first went to the doctor, Mary Glass found a Ten of Clubs playing card that one of her boys dropped behind the freezer. She handed it to Robert with a wink, saying "This is for you." That's what did it, Robt said. That's really what happened. It was that Ten of Clubs. But two weeks before this, Robt was convinced Shawn Winken had cursed him. While he explained this, he smoked with his hand splayed out to one side and I smelled the beer, new on his freshly washed jacket. He'd started with a six-pack of Bud, his first drink in five weeks, then went back to the liquor store and bought Cocktails for Two--a screwdriver, whisky sours and Sex on the Beach. And then three months later he was dead, lost in a tract home in Anaheim with two bottles of pills and a fifth of vodka. He left a note. His mother said not to talk about it.

8. JAMES AT FIFTEEN

Robt’s tribute to the 70s TV show.


9. BAG OF BONES
(Written by Robt Omlit, recorded and sung by Korye Omlit)

This was the last song Robt wrote before he died. There is no recording of Robt playing this song. After Robt’s death, his brother Korye found the song written down on a piece of notebook paper near the bed. Korye wrote some music for it and, several years later, recorded it with his friend Calvin. I’ll try to transcribe what I can understand of the lyrics below:

I thought I was a football star, but I’m okay now
I think I’ll walk around to calm (?) my stomach
Wait—I don’t have a stomach
I’m just a skeleton!

I thought I was Jane Fonda, but I’m okay now
I think I need some Librium to calm my nervous system
Wait—I don’t have any nerves
I’m just a skeleton!

(can’t make out this line)
I think I need a cigarette to further wreck my lungs
Wait—I ain’t got no lungs
I’m just a skeleton!

I used to be one of you
But that was a long time ago
Now I’m just a bag of bones
And someday you will be also.

What else can I tell you? I can still see Robt in front of me, with a denim shirt hanging below his hips, a torn-up t-shirt underneath. Robt with tennis shoes he scribbled on with a felt pen, things like "El mektub mektub!" and names of his favorite bands. Robt with duck-down hair sticking out around his ears and his thick glasses sliding down his nose. Robt, who nicknamed Suzie "Dangerbird" and called Stacy "Medusa Plum Plum Plum." Robt with dirty fingernails, smoking a Kool extra long with his fingers splayed back. Robt with a plastic grocery bag of cassette tapes, saying "Listen to this! Listen to this!" And we listen and it's like the earth opening up and pigs going into labor, machines squawking at each other in languages only they can understand.
When I told Jeff Dahl about Robt’s suicide, he looked down and blew out his breath as if he’d been holding it for a long time. After a minute, he said, “Well, if there was anyone who was at odds with this world, it was Robt.” And this is true. If, at some rare moment, he wasn’t at odds with the world, he would do something to make sure he was. At one point, he changed all the Omlits song lyrics into Marxist critiques of capitalism. And when he became obsessed with botany, he changed the lyrics again into technical facts about flowers. He used to switch tastes midstream, telling hard core punks he was into sentimental poet Rod McKuen just to piss them off. When asked by Peter Ivers to name his influences, he blurted out “Bruce Springsteen and Darby Crash!” When everyone started donning black leather and dyed black hair, Robt bleached his hair out, got a tan, and wore surfer clothes. A few months after he died, I dreamed that I saw him again. He was standing by a waterslide, glowing, with a big smile on his face. I asked him how he liked it, and he said he was doing just fine, and--oh yeah, he was only listening to Van Halen now.

This made me start a blog. Really.

So, it's around 7 PM PST and, merely an hour ago, Obama concluded a lengthy press conference, addressing not only the economic crisis but questions about stem cell research, AIG bonuses, and being the first African-American president in U.S. history. I tune in to the C-SPAN channels on cable (okay, perhaps a bad idea, I admit) looking for some informed analysis of this presidential conversation. Punching in C-SPAN, I see an empty house of representatives except for two members speaking up front: Rep. Steve King (R-Iowa, 8th District) and Rep. Michele Bachmann (R-Minnesota, 6th District). Are they discussing Obama's recent press conference or even the U.S. economy? No. They are spouting off about how Obama as a senator spoke out in favor of partial-birth abortions (using the provisions of "rare" and "medically necessary" I'll have you know). Their outrage then spread to all abortions in general, calling those who want to preserve abortion rights "macabre." Note: This conversation, if you can call it that, was being broadcast live; it wasn't a reply of an earlier discussion.

What the f^&*?!

Is this really all that conservative Republicans have to bring to the table? Some lame version of oh, yeah, those Obamas and Clintons are all baby-killers, for those who may be channel surfing during the commercial breaks in Nancy Grace? We're facing an unprecedented restructuring of our economy, trying to put out fires still smoldering around the world set by the Bush admistration and its "I don't need no stinkin' social skills" international relations, and, "Christian" Republicans, this is really all you've got? To fume out loud because you can't completely control women's bodies? (Although you've tried damn hard, I've gotta hand it to you.)

This is beyond pathetic: It's downright frightening. And the scariest part is, a certain number of those listening who spend their free time in the garage reading Revelations and trying to hunt down connections between sin and sodomy in the Bible are going to suck it right up like jelly.

It's now 7:53 PM and this made me start a blog. Really and truly.