The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Friday, April 04, 2003

Welcome to another edition of HALFASS !!

I'm too beat to write a fifteen minute break this Friday afternoon (filing Legal papers on behalf of Warner Bros and DC Comics will do that to you. Did you know that there carnival performers out in Greece dressing illegally as Batman & Superman? ) - so since I didn't post a Half Ass on Wednesday, I thought I'd let you all take a peek of a rough draft of a concert review I worked on last Tuesday and Thursday evening. When is a concert review not a concert review, you may ask? Only when I write them.

Until Monday, have fun. I'll probably be up to my usual- watching shitloads of television, checking out flicks, seeking out rare prog CDs, attending the Shrine show here in LA and pulling hair out over Deposit Man rewrites.



KING CRIMSON- the Wiltern Theater, Los Angeles,Ca
March 29, 2003

Review by Cary Coatney

Rather than sitting home getting visually mauled by the pounding media coverage of Gulf War 2, I ventured outside into the real world to be sonically discharged by Trey Gunn's fretless Warr guitar at King Crimson's only Southern California appearance at the Los Angeles Wiltern Theatre. And all it took was a short hop and a skip on a bus and train ride from the San Fernando Valley to be bathed in Fripptronic forgetfulness for approximately two hours. The band were on tour to support their month long newest release: The Power to Believe. The cover to the album lends itself to be construed as a anti-war propaganda as it is adorned by two gas mask wearing soldiers positioned outside a hospital window while a nurse inside checks the vital signs of a infant sprawled out on a operating table as a regiment of troops marches outside. I'm sure it strictly wasn't intentional on artist P.J. Cook's part nor the band's decision to release the album two weeks before the madness of King George W the II fully commenced, but nevertheless, it's timing is strangly ominious.

Upon arriving at the majestic Wiltern, I go through the regular routine of picking out souvenir goodies such as t-shirts and program books that are offered at the usual extortionate prices. This year's offering was a unexpected spin on the tour book trend, being that a small twenty page booklet chockful of Robert Fripp's scintillating witticisms is accompanied by a CD chronicling excerpted interviews and press conferences (One reporter asks: Would you be willing to appear on the Howard Stern show? Fripp's reply: I don't think my buns are firm enough.) sprinkled with never before heard rarities from the Power to Believe sessions all neatly packaged in a DVD container- all for the casual plundering of a hefty $40.00, just a little less than what I paid to get in the show.

After grabbing some wine from the bar, ushers were kindly waiting to escort me to my seat in the 'K' row (a bit ironic, isn't it?), roughly thirteen rows from the orchestra pit- so the seat wasn't too shabby considering what I paid for the ticket. While being accompanied- I couldn't help notice that Robert Fripp was already on the stage setting off his sonic Roland Guitar synth-scudded soundscapes while all patrons were making themselves comfortable.

After Fripp sounded his last sustained note, there was a slight pause and then the rest of the members of the band joined on stage to launch into two opening numbers from 2000's Construkction of Light album most notably that album's opening track; Prozac Blues, which certainly felicitated the audience's response.

Most of the selections this evening were culled from the last two releases, placing emphasis on the new Power to Believe release- but a few gems from 1995's Thrak managed to slip through the repertoire crack.

I couldn't help but notice that Robert Fripp was constantly bathed in a luminous blue stagelight- I thought for a second that I made a wrong turn at the Las Vegas Luxor Hotel and was watching the Blue Man Group for the Geritol generation by mistake as Fripp hardly ever gets up from his stool when surrounded by rackmounted forts of electronic doodads.

What piqued my curiosity was Trey Gunn and this Warr guitar device that he is credited for playing. I found out on a website that the instrument was invented and named after a fireman out in California. It has 8 or 12 strings: mainly with 6 strings of the right hand part you play the melody and with the other 6 strings of the left hand part you play the bass line. When playing this instrument, you often use a tapping technique quite similar to what Tony Levin and others do with a Chapman stick. You can mute strings while playing with two hands, and muting pads or mittens are usually provided. You can add synthesizer effects and operate it on a battery pack through the control panels on the back of the body. You can do a lot of crazy stuff with the frets- but hey, what do I know? I associate more with keyboard players anyway.

What really diverted my attention through the show was a toss up between Pat Mastelotto's fluid drumming ( I mean, jeez what time signature does this guy operate on? ) especially in this evening's rendition of Level Five during the crack of the cymbals section as he reached with his right hand to do these outrageous sneak attacks on toms, snares, and other electronic percussion doo hickeys or- these giant windsockets that suddenly inflated across the stage during "One Time". I don't ever recall if the band signed any endorsement deals with Trojan or Lifestyles condoms or not, but there they were, foreboding and hovering menacingly throughout the remainder of the show.

And of course what is a King Crimson show without a few strict enforcement of rules? You can't just get by without the no- photography rule. I know that a friend of mine back in the land of Oz learned of this the hard way at a past King Crimson show that this is indeed no laughing matter when he brought the show to a complete stop by snapping some personal glossies. But now in the twenty-first century, dear old Uncle Bobby has revised these rules with a new unconscionable twist: the no going to the bathroom during performance rule. If you're feeling a little rush of the floodgates coming on after a heavy consumption of Harp Lager, then my advice to you is to stand still and act like a dike. I learned of this the hard way without seeing the signs posted on each aisle door telling everyone that there will be absolutely no flash cameras allowed and no ins or outs during a song's performance. I felt a sudden need to use the restroom in the middle of Power to Believe II, so I wouldn't be stuck in a long winding queue at the conclusion of the show. It winded up costing me the performance of my favorite track off the new album, "Dangerous Curves". When the usher refused to open the door for me and some other patrons, the situation further exacerbated when "Dangerous Curves" segued into Lark's Tongues in Aspic Part 4 as he still refused to open the door for us! We have to convince him that it was a new song they were starting, but I think it was a clever comment from another hardnosed fan was the one that broke the ice; 'Hey, I didn't pay $60.00 just to sit out in the hall'.

Well, at least we got two encores for our inconvience and it was at this point that the audience really began to cut loose after sitting adroitly for so long (there were a scattered few who sparked up and passed around their socks, just by the aroma in the air, but unfortunely none of it made it my way) when they launched into Dinosaur. Even a male audience member stood up on his chair and loudly proclaimed his undying love for Robert Fripp that sort of got a chuckle from Adrian Belew. The second encore was one of my all time favorites of the title track from 1975's Red. And from there it was business as usual.

In conclusion, I felt the musicanship was tighter than ever- most than some bits and pieces registered highly on the 'wow' meter, but I had a sense that this elitist foray into what Fripp commonly refers to as 'nuevo metal' is too much pedestrian for my taste. To me, it somewhat alienates any connection to the older material. I realize that this is a different line up with a different background ( I mean, look, Pat Mastelotto ex-drummer of Mr. Mister? who would have thunk?) but with Belew still in activation, you would think Fripp would dug a few pieces out of the 81-84 trio of albums to at least satisfy some die-hards. (like something to remind me of my high school days) I remember hearing that Belew and Fripp were considering reviving 'Easy Money' for an encore on this tour. Sad, but I guess it wasn't meant to be.


The Construkction Of Light
Prozakc Blues
Eyes Wide Open
Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With
Facts Of Life
The Power To Believe I
Level Five
The World's My Oyster Soup Kitchen Floor Wax Museum
Happy With What You Have To Be Happy With
The Power To Believe II
Dangerous Curves
Larks' Tongues In Aspic Part 4

encore 1

The Deception Of The Thrush

encore 2



Cary Coatney April 3, 2003

Thursday, April 03, 2003


I wanted to clarify some of the characters in the Deposit Man and some ideas behind them.

To start things off- my lead character, the Deposit Man isn't really referred to as the Deposit Man at all. He is often called Prototype by the other main character of God throughout the series. The Deposit Man is supposed to be this conduit or mediator that transmits information or images of Earthly pop culture to the souls now occupying Heaven, but through a mishap in the filing of paperwork, his duties now comprise of weeding out the bad eggs wreaking havoc across the nether world. The Deposit Man often uses his abilities for his own selfish purposes instead of facilitating God's wrath. So therefore, he is a open book to others regarding what is on his mind and in vice versa causes others' private thoughts to be viewed publicly when coming in contact with them. The reason why I do call him the Deposit Man is because he is serving two separate wills, one belonging to God, and the other to his unseen nemesis, the Closet Freak, who for some inexplicable reason requires a momento from every soul that the Deposit Man eradicates . That is why a deposit box materializes out of nowhere at the end of each story either symbolically or physically so the Deposit Man can deposit this certain item. I came up with the idea of the snowy static skin to easily transmit televised images, but I credit ex-Munsters(tv comics) artist Ben Fogletto for coming up with the gumshoe wardrobe, but my current artist Larry Nadolsky made more 'definitive' improvements on the look.

My secondary characters are God (who metamorphes into a different creature every issue such as a crableg in one issue and a elephant trunk in the next. The theory behind this is to be fair to all creatures who share this mortal coil with us. Who's to say that insects or fish don't have their own deity to worship ? And not to mention whether there really is any concrete proof that God has human characteristics? The upcoming mini-series The Deposit Man and the Last Great Gate of Mortality has God taking on other various mysterious forms all in a blink of an eye.

Then there is Marty short for Martinez is another of the Deposit Man's physical nemesis. Marty at one time was the test subject to be what the Deposit Man is today ( as shown by his interchanging body tattoos) but somewhere along the line God felt him unworthy of the honor.

Esquire Row which is named combination of two popular men's magazines Esquire and Harper and Row, serves as the go-between in passing assignments onto the Deposit Man from God's desk. But, in his spare time, he is involved with radical political activities and has a bigoted agenda toward those of his own race and towards gays in particular ( as demonstrated in my Deposit Man Survival Guide to the Afterlife one shot released in late '01 Towards the end of my initial ten issue run, we will be learning some nasty awful things as to how Esquire was rewarded with this position.

And then there's the Closet Freak, Spice Cakes, and Betty Fusco - all I should get to tomorrow- because I'm way over my
fifteen minute break


Cary Coatney

Wednesday, April 02, 2003


II'm going to share a little secret with all of you-

Last night I began to write a review of the King Crimson concert I recently attended. I got in around three good paragraphs before I started to nod off on the keyboard- but I got the thinking process in full gear so that I'm comfortable enough to finish up the review with complete confidence when I get back to it.

The Thinking Process goes like this- I punch out from work at five in the afternoon, then one of my supervisors drops me at Riverside Drive in Toucla Lake and I walk about half a mile to my evening office and while I'm walking, I'll run through my head of what the review will consist of and then when I finally get to my destination- I take a yellow tablet and make out a outline covering the entire gamut of what of everything I've been thinking from beginning to end, taking special note of where I will put the clever snide remarks to give it that special edge or voice. Also, I jot down of what I need to research as facts ( for example: I want to say a few words about Trey Gunn's mastery of a Warr Guitar- but some fellow Dephiforum members came through and saved me some vaulable google time) so I don't come across as a buffoon, even though buffoonery is a charactistic I openly emphasize- then I hit a dictionary or a thesaurus or two for some words that I can toss around to make it look like I have some modicum of intelligence- but only if I use those words correctly. There are some words that I come across that I fall instantly in love with because of the way they look or sound or plain simply of how they're laid out before me like some Picasso painting- Another example is the word ' scintillating' - a word I am aware of, but never had the opportunity of making it's acquiantance in the course of my writing. Another word I've been hearing thrown around on either network newscasts or radio talk shows is 'exacerbate'. I suppose it's usage has recently become more popular during war time coverage due to the fact that the situation has been getting worse and worse since the USA has jumped the gun in entering this insane war and it's not going according to schedule like the Emperor regime would like it to be.

I've been applying this techinque for many years when I first started to submit articles and letters to Comics Buyer's Guide. You see, there is indeed a method to my madness.

Well, out of time- and tonight I'll probably resume where I left off in my Deposit Man rewrite. Maybe tomorrow I'll touch lightly on the subject of character development.

My fifteen minutes are up.


Cary Coatney

Tuesday, April 01, 2003


Time is my worst fucking mortal enemy.

Yesterday and today I've had a brevy of bric- a- brac disappointments. Last night I was doing rewrites on my Deposit Man most troubled sixth book and I kept running into inconsistencies in trying to stage a turf war between Scientogolists and Self- relationship
Followers- and it wasn't coming out the way I pictured it to be. I'm going to keep trying to get it right while Larry begins the art chores on the fiftth issue (which I hope doesn't take another year to complete) I swear after I publish this mini-series- I gotta learn how to shit stuff out on a regular basis to keep the Coatney name in circulation.

On top of that- I need a break from this heavy workload that has been piling up of late- I can't hardly communicate on the Delphiforums while I'm shit deep in computing foreign video sales- then again, I suppose that is a good thing; after all I'm not being paid to jack off on the internet all day. But I wanted to start doing this regiment of ploting out stories on my hard drive. I'm having a bitch of time saving stuff on disk due to my changing around computers all the time- I have a computer at work where I try to download stuff on disk and bring it to an evening office where I do most of my private writing- but for some bizarre reason- the stuff on the disk doesn't turn up on the evening computer. I write my Deposit Man scripts at home on a old dot matrix dos system. I'm comfortable at home working on a outdated word processor where everything is spelled out.

I have plans to write a King Crimson concert review for a a dutch website and tinkering with the idea of writing an article of comic book related movie billboards around LA.

Consolidated and out of time

My fifteen minutes are up...



Monday, March 31, 2003


Rewriting scripts are a pain in the ass. Yesterday morning I get up at 8 30 AM to work on my rewrite on the sixth issue of the Deposit Man, and I get stuck on a line- a line I could write twenty different times and still not get it- now I understand why scripts doctors get paid a lot of money- they got to deal with the frustration of getting everything just right. The scenerio is this- County coroners and LA Police detectives are carrying out Spice Cakes in a body bag from a seedy East LA watering hole and someone makes a reference that the Deposit Man's nemesis- Marty was the one responsible and has been killed in a police shootout. The main detective handling the case makes a joke in reference to Marty having left ' a fluid ' mark in Spice Cakes' hair and wants to boast about his involvement in taking down Marty. The other cops not having heard the news asks how it went down. I fussed with twenty variations on how to ask how did it all go down- What do you mean(?) was one. How do you mean(?) was another. Leaving my house at approx noon- I slapped my head like forgettin to chug down a V-8 - To make the line to sound more chic- why didn't I consider " How you figure' - now that's a line a uneducated street wise cop would ask. I gotta change it tonight-

Shit, my fifteen minutes are up.


Cary Coatney