L.A.'s gonna eat him alive, unless ...

Did you catch Conan O'Brien's final show last night? I remember when he had just come on 16 years ago as host of Late Night, with that wild red hair and goofy Andy Richter as his sidekick and all those ridiculous skits. And even though I was a fan of those early shows I remember thinking: This poor bastard doesn't stand a chance.

And 2,725 shows later, as predicted, O'Brien finally tapped out. As Richter, who left the show in 2000, proclaimed during his return on the finale: "I knew you wouldn't make it without me.''

Of course O'Brien isn't done yet. He's headed to the Tonight Show, succeeding Jay Leno in the premier night show slot beginning June 1. And good luck with that. Some believe O'Brien is somehow being sabotaged by getting Leno's enviable slot but still having to follow him (Leno moves into new territory at 10 p.m.) As John Mayer sang in a taped video greeting to acknowledge O'Brien's move to the early late show:

L.A.'s gonna eat you alive
L.A.'s gonna eat you alive
Look at me, I used to live in NYC
Now I'm as douchey as a man can be
L.A.'s gonna eat you alive

It's safe to say this cut won't appear on Mayer's next album, but I admire him for calling himself a douche, and for possibly inventing a derivative of the word.

As for O'Brien, the poor bastard doesn't stand a chance. Unless: he changes the format and puts the musical guest on first instead of last, and lets the artist hang around to close the show. Why has nobody thought of that?

Mysteries of the Cotton Queen

Here she is, what do you think of her? She's a vintage Gibson LG-2. I picked her up at Willie's Guitars in St. Paul a few years back. Nice small body, with surprising volume and very mellow tone and sustain. And the neck, my goodness, what a neck. You should run your left palm up and down that neck. You could melt butter doing that. This guitar was built for the songwriter in you, and no doubt she has helped write a few.

There's an old decal on the top of the soundboard that reads "Cotton Queen'' and takes you to mysterious places you've never visited, whispering stories you've never heard. There was a girl, maybe 15, who ran away from home in Alabama and made her way down Mississippi, along the Natchez Trace. She got away for good. And one day she became the Cotton Queen...

There was a surprise waiting for me the next time I walked into Willie's. Molly, who had sold me the guitar, handed me a World Traveler magazine. "I've been meaning to send this to you, but I figured you'd be back,'' she said.

Inside the magazine was a page spotlighting Willie's Guitars with a large color photo of Molly, sitting in the acoustic room, holding the Cotton Queen. Of all the beautiful vintage guitars in that crowded picking parlor, she had chosen that one for the photo shoot.

It was painfully cool, just like Willie's guitars.

Name that band

My son Zach is in a band that mostly plays basement parties in the Twin Cities. They've only been together a short while, and there is hope the gigs will improve as they tighten up their playing and write more original material.

They are Crimson Red Guitar.

The editor in me has a problem with the name, but the father in me is reluctant to intervene. No telling how many hours were spent -- and how much beer was consumed -- coming up with that name. Let somebody else tell them it's stupid and redundant. Or is it?

You'd like to think that any band's fortunes are determined by some magical combination of talent, energy and creative chops. The name shouldn't really make a difference. John, Paul, George and Ringo would have sold just as many records with "Crimson Red Guitar'' stenciled on the Ludwig drum head. Or would they have?

I'm not so sure. John Fogerty, with his unique sound, musicianship and song writing genius, was going to make it one way or another. But might it have taken him longer fronting the Golliwogs, which was the band's name before Creedence Clearwater Revival? We can never be certain.

If you've heard of the Nashville-based The Deep Vibration you probably know the story behind their name. They were previously The Attack! until they realized that a British group had beaten them to the punch -- 40 years earlier. (And just what in bollocks did the name do for them?)

Enter Lou Reed (actually, exit Lou Reed), who had just finished a performance at the Ryman Auditorium. Here's the account that appeared in the student paper at Belmont University, where the band had been assembled:

“It was pretty weird that night. The moon was like purple,” says [guitarist Jeremy] Fetzer, describing the scene outside the Ryman after a performance by Reed, whose rock legacy dates back to the Velvet Underground. Of course, you couldn’t ask for better conditions to seek the counsel of Lou Reed. And Reed’s behavior was also perfect for the occasion. “He comes down the stairs . . . No one’s really talking to him; people are just handing him things and he’s signing them,” [singer/songwriter Matt] Campbell recalls. “And so I lean in and was like, ‘Lou, we need a band name.’ And so he keeps signing things and his head’s down. And he kind of lifts his head up and goes, ‘Deep Vibration.’ ” “And that was all he said,” Fetzer adds.

So The Attack! became The Deep Vibration, and now they have a hot five-song EP on Dualtone Records garnering impressive critical acclaim, and next they're headed to the South by Southwest twangfest in Austin.

Has the name change boosted their success? I have no idea. Irregardless, I am strongly encouraging members of Crimson Red Guitar to attend a Lou Reed concert.

Pass the Biscuit, please

It was known as the King Biscuit Flower Hour and it was as comforting and reliable as a roach clip.

Ah, stoner radio what became of you? Sitting in a lumpy chair armed with Koss headphones, the Pioneer tuner locked on a favorite Orlando station, and a blue haze enveloping the room. Good times.

At least that's what an old friend told me it was like. OK, I did have a lumpy chair. And I did tune in to King Biscuit from time to time, back when FM radio provided the essential link to music we needed to hear and the world seemed like a more manageable place.

You didn't need to be a pothead to appreciate the great music streaming into households and hippie pads around the country on Sunday nights. It was a chance to hear concert performances by some of the top rock bands of the day, or catch the new sounds of emerging artists who were receiving their first major exposure. King Biscuit tried to be hip and edgy, and when the new wave and punk bands arrived it made room for them as well.

Having a flashback, Strumbum? Nope, it's just another anniversary that deserves proper mention. King Biscuit debuted on this date in 1973 with a show featuring Blood, Sweat & Tears, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, and a 23-year-old rocker from New Jersey who had just released his first album.

Fortunately, incredibly, many of the original recordings broadcast on King Biscuit were preserved, and some of them -- including the '73 Bruce Springsteen show from a New York club -- can be streamed free at Wolfgang's Vault. If you're not yet familiar with this superb concert archive, go to http://www.wolfgangsvault.com/

King Biscuit's eclectic run ended in 1993, although some stations were rebroadcasting shows until recently. As Neil Young would sing, the King is gone but he's not forgotten.

Nothing can stop the Duke of Earl

Good morning, I might have a joke to share with you today.

I'm waiting right now to receive a password in my email so I can return to Gene Chandler's website and read his Joke of the Month. Apparently there is a chance the joke contains "adult'' material and this roundabout is a way to dissuade kids from having some cheap dirty fun.

If you remember the name Gene Chandler you certainly recall his biggest hit, "Duke of Earl", which began a three-week run at No. 1 on this date in 1962. Damn, I'm getting old. "Duke'' still receives steady airplay on Oldies shows, and was one of the three songs played by Sha Na Na in the drug-crazed morning at Woodstock -- although by then hardly anyone noticed. (A reminder, there is never a charge for trivia obtained at Six String Sanctuary.)

Gene Chandler was actually Eugene Dixon before the success of "Duke'' changed him forever. Before long he was wearing a top hat and cape and appearing on stage with a monacle and a cane. I mean, can you blame him? He had become the Duke!

I don't remember the get-up. But I admit I still get fired up upon hearing the first lines of that memorable song:

Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl
Duke, Duke, Duke of Earl ...

(Give or take a Duke.)

Anyway, it's good to see the Duke is still touring. He was in Rahway, N.J. for Valentine's Day, and next up is Norfolk, Va., this Saturday. Before long he'll be visiting my neck of the woods, and I'll have a big decison to make.

But I'm not doing anything until I receive that password.

Pssst: A presidential pardon

Good morning, it's Presidents Day, a golden opportunity to write something nice about ... Richard Milhous Nixon?

Now don't throw stones at me. This is going to be OK. Don't George Washington and Abraham Lincoln get enough credit already? One's the Father of our Country, the other's The Great Emancipator. We celebrate their birthdays every year and name schools and streets after them. Both appear on U.S. currency. Their faces are chiseled into Mount Rushmore. I'm not saying they don't deserve all of this, just ...

This is a music blog, and sometimes we even discuss music. And that's exactly why, it being Presidents Day and all, it's time to give a different Commander in Chief his due.

One magical evening during the Nixon presidency was captured for all of us. It was a night when laughter filled the White House, glasses clinked to countless toasts and some of the most beloved jazz artists of the day assembled for a poignant musical tribute.

That memorable night was April 29, 1969, and the guest of honor was Duke Ellington, who was there on his 70th birthday to receive the Medal of Freedom. And he brought some players with him: pianists Dave Brubeck, Hank Jones and Billy Taylor, saxophonists Paul Desmond and Gerry Mulligan, trumpeters Dizzy Gillespie and Clark Terry, guitarist Jim Hall, and vocalists Joe Williams and Mary Mayo. There were others.

And the band played on. They played "Take the 'A' Train'' and "Satin Doll'' and "Don't Get Around Much Anymore'' and "In a Sentimental Mood'' and "Moon Indigo'' and many other standards and medleys. And it was grand.

And it took 33 years, but the music finally became available in 2002 with the release of "Duke Ellington 1969: All-Star White House Tribute'' on Blue Note. It's a splendid disc.

There is no 18-minute gap.

The Last American Sport

I love the smell of burning rubber in the morning.

Hurray, the Great American Race has returned. The thing about stock car racing is you either get it, or you don't. And even if you don't, there's a chance if you read Tom Wolfe's "The Last American Hero'' you will discover some true meaning that otherwise would have escaped you.

I doubt the readers of Esquire magazine in 1965 ran out and bought NASCAR tickets and Junior Johnson memorabilia after the story was originally published. More likely what happened is they became REALLY afraid of Southern rednecks and vowed to stay the hell away from dusty bullrings like North Wilkesboro Speedway. At the same time, they surely developed an abiding respect for these hard-driving racers and the dirt and grime and hell and fury that make up the fabric of the sport.

But forty-four years is a long time and a lot of miles later. Stock car racing has morphed into a different beast than the one Wolfe depicted. It's been years since a songwriter has even tried to slip in a good line about racing -- or allude to Junior's "other'' occupation.

James Dean in that Mercury '49
Junior Johnson runnin' thru the woods of Caroline
Even Burt Reynolds in that black Trans-Am
All gonna meet down at the Cadillac Ranch

God willing, they'll still race hard for 500 miles today on the steep banks of Daytona, and the champion will spin a donut in the infield grass, stand on top of his machine and spray cola on his pit crew, and maybe even do a back-flip or climb a fence.

It's still the Daytona 500, you know? Where it all begins each year. Where Richard Petty won an amazing seven times. Where Junior Johnson -- Junior! -- in 1960 got his only win by beating Fireball Roberts to the checkered flag. Where the Allison brothers in 1979 ganged up on Cale Yarborough after a final-lap spinout, leading to this memorable quote by Bobby: "Cale's chin just kept running into my fist.''

And where Dale Earnhardt in 2001 died after smacking the wall on the final lap.

How tragic was Earnhardt's death? Stock car racing feeds off its heroes and villains, and Earnhardt was the consummate multi-tasker: he filled both roles, maybe better than anybody before him, certainly better than anybody since. It's been eight years, and racing still hasn't recovered. That's tragic.