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Friday, December 11, 2009

Meatwad on his father, Dylan, Neko and the joys of Christmas

ATHF xmas still 1

"Santa Left A Booger in My Stocking"  feat. Neko Case

Meatwad will be singing songs from the album, Have Yourself A Very Meaty Christmas at Criminal Records on Sat., Dec. 11 at 4 p.m. 154-A Euclid Ave NE. 404-215-9511.

Chad Radford:  What kind of man was your father?

Meatwad:  My father was a hard man to know and I saw him infrequently. Usually he would visit me every Thursdays around 8. This was back when he was a black doctor with colorful sweaters who had a son named Theo and a daughter named Rudy and they was all on NBC. We drifted apart over the years and I ain’t so sure what he’s doing now. Maybe he’s driving a big rig with a chimpanzee named The Bear. Or maybe he’s a Pokemon. My point is, it’s hard to believe where life takes you. And I can’t spend my life chasing someone who don’t want me. Mostly cause I don’t know what channel he be living at.

I have heard rumors that you are kosher. Is that true and did it affect your decision to make a Christmas album?

Oy gevalt! Meshuggenah! The media loves to draw attention to the fact that I am an orthodox Jew and a devout Buddhist with Scientological leanings. It is well-known that I was raised in the temple and a Rabbi done took out the braised pork out of head and abdomen on account of it don’t jive with my beliefs. All y’all jews in the Dirty South know what I’m talking about. Represent!

As for making a Christmas album, I am merely following in the footsteps of some very talented Israelites:  Kenny G, Bette Midler, Neil Diamond, and Pauly Shore. And this album ain’t about my faith. It’s about getting paid, ya’ll. I got to do this one for all the fans, and all them Christian suckers at Target that like to get six months behind on their car payments for one night of presents and screaming matches. Light a candle. It’s cheaper.

Have you heard Bob Dylan’s Christmas album and how do you think it stands up against yours?

I got one thing to say to you, Bob Dylan. Judas! JUDAS! How can you turn your back on your faith, just for some 30 pieces of silver? You think singing about Santa Claus is going to make you hip and popular with kids of today? For shame! And I don’t care that your album is going to charity and mine is going to a massive global media conglomerate, you gonna burn in hell for going electric on this album. I am deeply disappointed in you, Bob Dylan. I liked you better when you had integrity, when you was singing on that frilly underwear commercial.

At what point in your life did you decide that you wanted to become a singer?

Shake kicks the crap out of me on a bi-daily basis. Then one day, I seen this Jackson Five movie on VH1, and boy, that old man beat the snot out of them kids, too.  So I figured I might as well make the best of it and start singing, just like them Jacksons.  That’s how it works, right?  Someone beats your ass until you pee blood, and then you get talented and famous? Dang, I sure hope so.

Do you have a favorite song  to sing at Christmas time?

Everyone can relate to getting run over by a horned animal. I like “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” because it takes something bad, like grandma dying, and makes it easy for us to deal with. Nobody wants to mess with the death of a precious relative at Christmas, not while you’re trying to tear the dang shrink wrap off your Rock Band: Jonas Brothers edition. So, if one of your loved ones passes away during this holiday season, just tell everyone they got run over by a reindeer until the New Year blows over.  Don’t be a dang buzzkill!

Tell me about the song “Frosty the Red Nosed Snowman.”

It’s about class struggles.  Frosty is a long-forgotten yuletide celebrity, dealing with being upstaged by the younger, trendier bad boy, Rudolph.  Frosty sees his star fading, he ain’t able to get into the clubs like he used to.  So he gets the idea to make a red nose, just like his arch nemesis, in a desperate grasp for relevance.  Little does he know that a glowing red nose come with a high price:  Leukemia.

What was it like working with Neko Case on the song “Santa Left A Booger in My Stocking?”

She’s a professional, but also, she pretty. Many times during the session I would find myself getting lost in her big green eyes. They like two bottomless pools of Nyquil, the nighttime cold and flu medication. But also, I might have gotten lost in her eyes cause I took a lot of Nyquil, the nighttime cold and flu medication. It’s my belief that Nyquil wards off poison ivy.

Did you have any clashes over artistic differences with her or was it pretty smooth sailing?

It was smooth sailing because we recorded the song on her yacht, the Wounded Salesman.  On some of her takes, if you turn up the song real loud, you can hear me screaming!  I was trying to sun myself on the aft deck when a bunch of seagulls done bum rushed me and about pecked me senseless.  A quick dip in the pool and a virgin daiquiri helped calm me down, thank goodness.

If Santa were to bring you only one present this year, what would you wish for?

I would wish to give birth to the baby Jesus.  People fret and fawn over you like nobody’s business if you have a baby Jesus.  They bring you camels, Gold, Frankenstein, and Nerf.  At least that’s how the ancient story goes.  Then people make statues of you that miraculously cry.  Pshhh.  If I get a statue, I want mine to bread you some catfish.  Now that is somethin’ people can relate to.

If you were in Tiger Woods’ shoes right now, how would you handle the situation differently?

I don’t think I could have done much better.  If you substitute my addiction to  microwaveable mini-chimichangas for marital infidelity, I think the outcome would have been more or less the same:  A wife that is mad at me and wailing on my Lambroghini with a 3-iron.  But, I would have done one thing differently:  I would stop the car, and get out my own golf club, then we both smash the car together.  That moment would be all like, “Dang, what in blazes are we doing?  This is crazy,” then, we start laughing through the tears.  Then, the healing and the lies to the media and the auto insurance claim can begin.

Should we socialize national health care?

No way.  I hate going to the doctor, so the less access I can have to the doctor’s office the better.  He got that smug look and that cold stethiscoper, gagging my throat with a popsicle stick that ain’t even got no popsicle on it.  The doctor sucks, y’all.

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