Spitzer’s Bust and the Bank Bailout

The $200 billion bail-out for predator banks and Spitzer charges are intimately linked

By Greg Palast
Reporting for Air America Radio's Clout

March 14th, 2008

While New York Governor Eliot Spitzer was paying an 'escort' $4,300 in a hotel room in Washington, just down the road, George Bush's new Federal Reserve Board Chairman, Ben Bernanke, was secretly handing over $200 billion in a tryst with mortgage bank industry speculators.

Both acts were wanton, wicked and lewd. But there's a BIG difference. The Governor was using his own checkbook. Bush's man Bernanke was using ours.

This week, Bernanke's Fed, for the first time in its history, loaned a selected coterie of banks one-fifth of a trillion dollars to guarantee these banks' mortgage-backed junk bonds. The deluge of public loot was an eye-popping windfall to the very banking predators who have brought two million families to the brink of foreclosure.

Up until Wednesday, there was one single, lonely politician who stood in the way of this creepy little assignation at the bankers' bordello: Eliot Spitzer.

Who are they kidding? Spitzer's lynching and the bankers' enriching are intimately tied.

How? Follow the money.

The press has swallowed Wall Street's line that millions of US families are about to lose their homes because they bought homes they couldn't afford or took loans too big for their wallets. Ba-LON-ey. That's blaming the victim.

Here's what happened. Since the Bush regime came to power, a new species of loan became the norm, the 'sub-prime' mortgage and its variants including loans with teeny "introductory" interest rates. From out of nowhere, a company called 'Countrywide' became America's top mortgage lender, accounting for one in five home loans, a large chunk of these 'sub-prime.'

Here's how it worked: The Grinning Family, with US average household income, gets a $200,000 mortgage at 4% for two years. Their $955 monthly payment is 25% of their income. No problem. Their banker promises them a new mortgage, again at the cheap rate, in two years. But in two years, the promise ain't worth a can of spam and the Grinnings are told to scram - because their house is now worth less than the mortgage. Now, the mortgage hits 9% or $1,609 plus fees to recover the "discount" they had for two years. Suddenly, payments equal 42% to 50% of pre-tax income. The Grinnings move into their Toyota.

Now, what kind of American is 'sub-prime.' Guess. No peeking. Here's a hint: 73% of HIGH INCOME Black and Hispanic borrowers were given sub-prime loans versus 17% of similar-income Whites. Dark-skinned borrowers aren't stupid – they had no choice. They were 'steered' as it's called in the mortgage sharking business.

'Steering,' sub-prime loans with usurious kickers, fake inducements to over-borrow, called 'fraudulent conveyance' or 'predatory lending' under US law, were almost completely forbidden in the olden days (Clinton Administration and earlier) by federal regulators and state laws as nothing more than fancy loan-sharking.

But when the Bush regime took over, Countrywide and its banking brethren were told to party hearty – it was OK now to steer'm, fake'm, charge'm and take'm.

But there was this annoying party-pooper. The Attorney General of New York, Eliot Spitzer, who sued these guys to a fare-thee-well. Or tried to.

Instead of regulating the banks that had run amok, Bush's regulators went on the warpath against Spitzer and states attempting to stop predatory practices. Making an unprecedented use of the legal power of "federal pre-emption," Bush-bots ordered the states to NOT enforce their consumer protection laws.

Indeed, the feds actually filed a lawsuit to block Spitzer's investigation of ugly racial mortgage steering. Bush's banking buddies were especially steamed that Spitzer hammered bank practices across the nation using New York State laws.

Spitzer not only took on Countrywide, he took on their predatory enablers in the investment banking community. Behind Countrywide was the Mother Shark, its funder and now owner, Bank of America. Others joined the sharkfest: Goldman Sachs, Merrill Lynch and Citigroup's Citibank made mortgage usury their major profit centers. They did this through a bit of financial legerdemain called "securitization."

What that means is that they took a bunch of junk mortgages, like the Grinning's, loans about to go down the toilet and re-packaged them into "tranches" of bonds which were stamped "AAA" - top grade - by bond rating agencies. These gold-painted turds were sold as sparkling safe investments to US school district pension funds and town governments in Finland (really).

When the housing bubble burst and the paint flaked off, investors were left with the poop and the bankers were left with bonuses. Countrywide's top man, Angelo Mozilo, will 'earn' a $77 million buy-out bonus this year on top of the $656 million - over half a billion dollars – he pulled in from 1998 through 2007.

But there were rumblings that the party would soon be over. Angry regulators, burned investors and the weight of millions of homes about to be boarded up were causing the sharks to sink. Countrywide's stock was down 50%, and Citigroup was off 38%, not pleasing to the Gulf sheiks who now control its biggest share blocks.

Then, on Wednesday of this week, the unthinkable happened. Carlyle Capital went bankrupt. Who? That's Carlyle as in Carlyle Group. James Baker, Senior Counsel. Notable partners, former and past: George Bush, the Bin Laden family and more dictators, potentates, pirates and presidents than you can count.

The Fed had to act. Bernanke opened the vault and dumped $200 billion on the poor little suffering bankers. They got the public treasure – and got to keep the Grinning's house. There was no 'quid' of a foreclosure moratorium for the 'pro quo' of public bailout. Not one family was saved – but not one banker was left behind.

Every mortgage sharking operation shot up in value. Mozilo's Countrywide stock rose 17% in one day. The Citi sheiks saw their company's stock rise $10 billion in an afternoon.

And that very same day the bail-out was decided – what a coinkydink! – the man called, 'The Sheriff of Wall Street' was cuffed. Spitzer was silenced.

Do I believe the banks called Justice and said, "Take him down today!" Naw, that's not how the system works. But the big players knew that unless Spitzer was taken out, he would create enough ruckus to spoil the party. Headlines in the financial press – one was "Wall Street Declares War on Spitzer" - made clear to Bush's enforcers at Justice who their number one target should be. And it wasn't Bin Laden.

It was the night of February 13 when Spitzer made the bone-headed choice to order take-out in his Washington Hotel room. He had just finished signing these words for the Washington Post about predatory loans:

"Not only did the Bush administration do nothing to protect consumers, it embarked on an aggressive and unprecedented campaign to prevent states from protecting their residents from the very problems to which the federal government was turning a blind eye."

Bush, Spitzer said right in the headline, was the "Predator Lenders' Partner in Crime." The President, said Spitzer, was a fugitive from justice. And Spitzer was in Washington to launch a campaign to take on the Bush regime and the biggest financial powers on the planet.

Spitzer wrote, "When history tells the story of the subprime lending crisis and recounts its devastating effects on the lives of so many innocent homeowners the Bush administration will not be judged favorably."

But now, the Administration can rest assured that this love story – of Bush and his bankers - will not be told by history at all – now that the Sheriff of Wall Street has fallen on his own gun.

A note on "Prosecutorial Indiscretion."

Back in the day when I was an investigator of racketeers for government, the federal prosecutor I was assisting was deciding whether to launch a case based on his negotiations for airtime with 60 Minutes. I'm not allowed to tell you the prosecutor's name, but I want to mention he was recently seen shouting, "Florida is Rudi country! Florida is Rudi country!"

Not all crimes lead to federal bust or even public exposure. It's up to something called "prosecutorial discretion."

Funny thing, this 'discretion.' For example, Senator David Vitter, Republican of Louisiana, paid Washington DC prostitutes to put him in diapers (ewww!), yet the Senator was not exposed by the US prosecutors busting the pimp-ring that pampered him.
Naming and shaming and ruining Spitzer – rarely done in these cases - was made at the 'discretion' of Bush's Justice Department.

Or maybe we should say, 'indiscretion.'

************
Greg Palast, former investigator of financial fraud, is the author of the New York Times bestsellers Armed Madhouse and The Best Democracy Money Can Buy.

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About our new CD
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Music

NEGATIVE VALUE, the second album by SOUTHERN SEXUAL, is concerned with the financial economics of the music business, as well as the social and psychological economics of musicians' lives.

Music is a commodity and the title "Negative Value" refers to the average economic worth of that commodity. The supply of music exceeds demand to such a vast extent that most musicians must routinely pay to give their music away. For those who labor in the media or entertainment industries, music is a waste management issue.

It's easy to spot how the chronic dysfunction that characterizes every stage of the music industry evolved as the direct response to oversupply. Profitable gating mechanisms such as pay to play, record contracts, and radio promotion depend upon this condition. Less obvious are the effects of irrational overproduction on the lives of the music makers.

NEGATIVE VALUE doesn't have a narrative story line, it's a collection of expository songs written around these topics. The characters are essentially us, the band members, talking to you the listener, to ourselves, and occasionally a concerned third party.

It is not a nihilistic record. Despite all the obvious problems, there are still good reasons to make music. We point to those, and to some worthwhile role models.

The album was written and produced during an eight-month period from May through December 2007, with a laptop, inexpensive software, and a few good mics. No drums or guitars were used; this is not a "rock" album in any way. File under pop, electronic, or new wave.

Includes guest bits from Martin Krusche, David Magna, and Mr. Christopher.

VERY MUCH
A degenerate Taoist list-chant, to clear our path.

NEGATIVE VALUE
Alex Forst came up with the tractor metaphor.

BIRTHDAY
In this song, the band members, who are also lovers, are in the process of breaking up. Written in 1986, Sattie Clark and her group 17 Reasons Why recorded the "original." Sattie always sang an earlier version of the lyrics, she didn't like the final draft.

TAKE THAT
Set out to write a song about nothing; wound up with one that's kind of about everything.

PAY TO PLAY
Eliot Spitzer, former Attorney General of the State of New York, stuck it to the major record labels in the first genuinely successful and useful payola prosecution ever. Spitzer pulled down multi-million dollar settlements, handed the money to arts and music non-profits in his state, and is now New York's Governor. We don't endorse him or anybody politically, we think rock 'n roll should be put on trial.

WESTERBERG
Written in 1992 with David Magna, who sings on this recording. There was an issue of SPIN with Westerberg's mug on the cover, and the headline "IS ROCK DEAD?" We were like "hell yes rock is dead, and he's one of the people who killed it." Never properly recorded until now.

YOUR OLD LADY
Uncreative, couch potato sports fan types sense the fact that musicians have the natural social and sexual advantage. From an evolutionary perspective it's more important to be creative, able to improvise, adapt, and anticipate, than to be rich, smart, or good looking. In this song the band member is talking to a desireable woman's ex, or future-ex old man.

MY ORIGINAL
Sure, music is all different, but it's difference as found in nature. Artists and compositions and performances are unique in the way snowflakes and children are unique. Such differences are superficial and occur within a fixed range, and as part of a traditional practice, in music's case. If one tried to make a quilt or song radically different from all predecessors, it would be unrecognizable as such. An apple that varies too much from all the other apples is defective and un-marketable. Music that is different from all other music is heard as noise. The local bands that get paid the most are the cover bands, and the better they copy and clown, the more they get paid. The economic value of originality quickly goes into the negative.

AHMET
We have an inspirational photograph of Ahmet Ertegun on the wall in our studio.

DAY JOB
The bottom line.

All words ©2008 by Warren America (Todd Souvignier) All rights reserved. Published by Metric Lunchbox (BMI) Issued by Permanent Lifetime Records, New Orleans Louisiana.
http://southernsexual.com
myspace.com/southernsexual
info@southernsexual.com

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Thanks

Hard to express how much fun it was to tour the West Coast this month. Want to thank again everyone who supported us and put us up, including Bruce, Wiley and Claire, Chuck Arjavac, Mr. Stiff Woody, David and Kellie Magna, Brendan and Robin Smith, Peter Menchini, Jimmy and Marti Schein, Arturo, Joe "Mother" Lewis, Malcolm Canopener, Rob Waldman, Blake and Vic Souvignier, Uncle Steve Landsberg and Onsite Audio Northwest, Robert Taylor-Manning and all the krewe at the Kava Lounge, Winston's, Fat City, Lucky's, and the Rendezvous. Special thanks to Mom. Someone actually said we'd never do this, said we weren't capable of it. Well, just wait 'till you hear the NEXT thing we drop.

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Our West Coast Tour: 9/30 – 10/14/07 by Warren America
Category: Music

Saturday, 9/29: Anne & the kids picked me up and got me to Armstrong Int'l Airport for my 10:45 AM flight. They say the first rule of touring is everyone gets sick on tour; I woke up this morning with a sniffle & cough. Using Day-Quil to keep it in check. Kitty picked me up at the San Diego airport, then gave me her car keys and went back to work. I drove out to Guitar Center in La Mesa and picked up my new Korg X50 keyboard + stand, etc. Spent a few hours getting acquainted with the new toy, then rehearsed with Kitty.

Sunday, 9/30: Spent the morning and afternoon exercising, rehearsing, and just chilling out. 9PM gig at Winston's a bar in the San Diego neighborhood called Ocean Beach. An awesome little bar in an awesome little surfing community. We appeared with Fing, an awesome original rock group – very creative, loved the live vocal processing – and with Yeah You Right, Kitty's "New Orleans-style" band. Kitty worked really hard on promoting and performing this gig – and the Kava date – and I totally dug meeting her cool circle of friends. Note: Kitty is fronting TWO of the bands on these San Diego gigs.

Monday, 10/1: Explored Ocean Beach, ate sushi, got a tattoo, then rehearsed. Yummy Greek-food dinner with Kitty, Wiley and Claire.

Tuesday, 10/2: Exercised, rehearsed, hung out, made dozens of phone calls, then did some recording. Did vocals for "Take That" – both Warren and Kitty nailed their tracks on the first take. Tried to do the same on "Negative Value" but it wasn't jelling so we scrubbed early.

Wednesday, 10/3: Gig at Kava Lounge, this cool and fonky bar sitting right between the freeway and the airport, next to a power station. A zillion years ago this was the original location of the Casbah; they're now a few blocks down the street. Wonderful staff at the Kava, great sound, and another terrific crowd of Kitty friends. Appeared again with Yeah You Right, which means Kitty pulled double-duty as a vocalist. Lacking a dressing room, and being the big exhibitionist, Kitty did her costume change right in front of everybody, then proceeded to get the most amazing 1940's style hairstyle. Think Lily Tomlin as Ernestine, or Sean Young in Blade Runner, but bigger and higher. The pie man served vegetarian peace pies, and the whole thing was a benefit for Common Ground Collective in New Orleans.

Thursday, 10/4: Picked up the rental car, a Chrysler 300 G Hemi (think: wannabee Cadillac). It's a righteous pimpmobile, and I got the GPS option because I always get lost in LA. Loaded up and hit the road. Hit some evening traffic in LA but it was no big deal. Gig at Fais Do Do was a fantastic success, and our dear friend Chuck Arjavac (Sado Nation, Wipers, Anger Transfer) took us afterwards to Wabi Sabi, a first rate sushi joint in Venice. Chuck, who is a great raconteur and coiner of nicknames and catchphrases, told many hysterical stories, including one about things you can do at work to make people think you're insane, such as saying "as it was written in Prophecy" during meetings. Well, "as it was written in Prophecy" became the all-purpose catchphrase and in-joke for the tour. As in: Let's go explore goofy Venice beach bars…as it was written in Prophecy." So we had one drink each at a scary karaoke bar, then drove back to Playa Del Rey and spent the night at Chuck's place.

Friday, 10/5: Had donuts and coffee with Chuck, then ran an errand at Radio Shack. Stopped at Jet Rag on La Brea for some vintage clothing shopping, then down to Huntington Beach. Had lunch with Dan Brown, Warren's dear friend and un-indicted co-conspirator from San Fran, who's now with G&L and BBE. Then we drove up to Hollywood to do some shopping on Sunset and wait for our wonderful friend Woody. We got tired, so we checked into a room at the Riot House (Hyatt Hotel West Hollywood) and had some cocktails and nosh. Woody showed up, he and Warren went out for drinks, Kitty retired to bed.

Saturday, 10/6: Drove up I-5 to San Francisco. Car running well, discovered how to use the cruise control after only five hours of dicking around with it. Staying with Brendan and Robin (and their wonderful kids) in the Oakland Hills. Amazing barbecue salmon dinner, courtesy of the B-Man. Spent some evening hours up in Marin – Warren visiting Elizabeth and David in Mill Valley, Kitty visiting former Psycho Souls guitarist Paul Robinson and his son in San Rafael.

Sunday, 10/7: Breakfast with the Smiths, then Warren rehearsed on their old-but-good-sounding home electronic piano while Kitty got ready. Kitty woke up today feeling like she's catching a cold – not a good sign. 3:30PM load-in at Fat City – the old Transmission Theatre, across from Slim's on 11th Street, for those keeping score. Big stage, tremendous sound, and good vibes. Someone had expressed some nervousness about attendance at this show, and it turned out to be one of our best and biggest crowds. Cherished friends, every one of them. Kitty and Warren both lived in SF for many years, and many of our most wonderful friends are still there. Every one of them successful in their careers and lives. A big night for us, one of the best performances on the tour, and David Magna introduced the band, then joined us onstage to sing lead on "Westerberg." Thomas Dimuzio opened – always an honor to share a bill with him – and the Record Label Records posse closed out the night. Kush Arora, who coordinated the RLR thing, is a very special person to Warren, and Kush, if you're reading this, never has it felt or sounded better to have my ass kicked and be blown off the stage. You rule, dude, and you can show me up any time. Whew! A quick drink at Zeitgeist with Razor, Peter, and Randy, then high-speed driving across the Bay Bridge back to Brendans. Raided Brendan's fridge for lamb chops and other groovy things.

Monday, 10/8: Warren played electric piano while Kitty got ready, and worked on the Billy Preston vamp. Drove into North Beach and visited Jimmy and Marti at Schein and Schein, their impressive new map and book store. Jimmy & Marti have a rooftop garden with a 360-degree view of San Francisco and it's just as awesome and beautiful as they are. Lunch at Tu-Lan with our excellent friends Peter and Arturo. Drove to Napa, and got to the Magna's around 5. In the course of the drive we discover that the car is equipped with satellite radio. We'd been listening to the same jazz station for days, and hadn't noticed there weren't any commercials, or any limit to the station's range. Duh. We stow the iPod and listen to a LOT of satellite radio for the remainder of the tour, especially the Punk, Disco, and old-school Hip Hop stations. Upon arrival in Napa we setup the gear and tracked David's vocals on "Westerberg" then broke down the gear and went to the hotel. Bing Bang Boom. The Magnas and their children treated us to the most lavish and delicious meal of the tour, which I believe was described as Italian country style. I had a slab of beef that was the shape and size of a brick, and it was possibly the most tender and savory thing I've ever eaten, with fries on the side. Checked into our room at the boutique hotel, then had a couple drinks with David at a bar down the street, while Kitty retired. She definitely has a cold, it's in full effect.

Tuesday, 10/9: Kitty tries to line up a doctor visit in Napa, but to no avail, nobody's taking "new patients" even on a one-time emergency humanitarian basis. Everyone says "go to the ER" which Kitty's not gonna do. So we load up on remedies and supplements at the pharmacy and grocery store, buy two gross and greasy drive-through burgers, then set off for Eugene. It's a beautiful drive, light clouds and great visibility. Lake Shasta is beautiful, but alarmingly low. Ninety seconds after we cross the Oregon border it begins to rain. Kitty feels like dogmeat so Warren opts to check into the Hilton in downtown Eugene (as opposed to the floor at our friend's house). After food and a cocktail, Kitty goes immediately to bed. Warren walks over to the club, chats with the staff, then checks out some of the other bars in the downtown area. They've re-opened Broadway, which used to be closed to traffic, it was a bricked-over pedestrian mall. Last call at Latitude 23, across from the hotel. What Warren loves most about Eugene is the profusion of tipsy college girls.

Wednesday, 10/10: Kitty's cold is unabated, her throat hurts, but her energy is good so we explored downtown Eugene and then walked over to campus. Appropriately our first stop was at Lazar's Bazar, where we discovered stickers that say "Fuck You Very Much," a key line from one of our new songs. So we bought all of them, eighteen total. Gave Kitty the tour of E. 13th street, pointing out all the historic spots where we used to vomit, shoplift, skate, loiter, score, shoot crossbows, get hassled, etc. Places like the E-13 house and Bob's Superette. Bought postcards and stickers at the campus bookstore; turns out it's homecoming week, how appropriate. Dinner with Joe Lewis (ace guitarist and king of mod) and Malcolm Canopener (Fatal Erection Records). Warren's dad and brother arrive just before showtime – they drove down from Portland for the gig, and dad's cousin Patty and her beau are right behind them. This turns out to be the toughest gig of the tour, as Kitty's voice goes out halfway through the set. She probably shouldn't have sung at all, but she gave it her best and Warren just covered for her on the second half of the set. The family jets as soon as the set is over, then in walks rolemodel Rob Waldman, who I haven't seen in twenty years, asking if the set is starting soon. Talked with Rob for too brief a time, gave him a CD, then broke down the gear and got Kitty back to the room. Then back out for drinks, ending again at Latitude 23, where I chatted with the owner Ms Angie, and another set of tipsy and curvy undergrads.

Thursday, 10/11: After room service breakfast Warren makes a miraculous discovery: His new green and pink Sex Pistols tattoo has rubbed off on the inside of his white tee shirt from the 24-Hour Church of Elvis. It's a perfect mirror image of the tat. Warren says, in amazement: "Dude, it's like the Shroud of Turin…It's the Shroud of Touring…As it was written in Prophecy." Obviously some kind of divine cosmic rays caused the tat to impress itself upon the shirt, thanks no doubt to the Spirit and Image of Elvis contained upon yon shirt. And wouldn't you know it, just like that, the phone rings: Kitty's doctor has finally come through with a phoned-in prescription for antibiotics and cough syrup, so we drive out to some remote Rite-Aid in a part of Eugene I had no idea existed. At this point Warren decides he must buy a GPS for the Chrysler Sebring convertible, because the gosh-darn thing really works. We dive to Portland, then settle in at my brother's house – the house I grew up in. Mom died in May, every inch of the house speaks of her memory, and it really felt good to be back for a few days. Dinner with Kitty, Dad and Blake at a Chinese buffet. Played the piano I learned on, in mom's living room, next to the stained glass windows. Still sounds great.

Friday, 10/12: First day of recording at Uncle Steve's house in Lake Oswego. Steve, the owner of On Site Audio, a mobile and studio recording service, also has a home studio which is fantastically equipped. Plus an outstanding mic collection, which turned out to make all the difference on these sessions. We'd picked up a copy of Rolling Stone magazine when we stopped at 7-11 because Hunter S. Thompson was on the cover; we put the mag on display, Thompson gazing down upon the recording gear, for inspiration during the sessions. One of Steve's cool friends, a seasoned jazz drummer who plays with a superstar vocalist, was in the house, and gamely agreed to sit in on brushes. What we discovered is our drum tracks are already fully-built. It was hard to find somewhere to fit in that wasn't just redundant or excessive. We did several takes, he's a terrific player, sweet guy, and a great talent, but it just wasn't jelling so we thanked him sincerely and moved on. Kitty's voice, while improved, is still scratchy, so Warren spent the rest of the day doing his vocal tracks, and basically got all his parts down for seven of the ten tracks. A very productive session. Warren & Kitty grabbed sandwiches at McMenamin's in Raleigh Hills, then Kitty hung out at chez America while Warren went on a big date with his high school crush. After leaving instructions for her teenage daughter and friends, Miss Sexy Single Mom and Warren tossed back a beverage at the local licensed establishment. Then she suggested we test the capabilities of the GPS by programming it for "the Butte," a big eastside makeout spot. The, uh, demonstration was a big success. Warren is absolutely sold on the GPS at this point.

Saturday, 10/13: Second day of recording at Uncle's Steve's attic. Kitty alternates between laying down her vocal parts, and doing percussion tracks. The woman plays a mean cowbell, and is rock solid on the tambourine and maracas. Lots of maraca jokes ensue. She sounds great on everything, but her voice is still not back to 100% so we'll have to set up another session, in New Orleans, in a month or so, to get her "spotlight" songs tracked. We wrap up and thank Steve profusely around dusk, then drive across town to have dinner with Kitty's friend George in the Pearl district. After which we walk up to Spartacus, the fetish store on Burnside, across from Powell's, to acquire some fine leather goods. Apparently they have a no flogging rule. We didn't notice the signs until the lady started yelling at us. Warren firmly believes no trip to PDX is complete without the purchase of quality leather goods, the kind you can't get in the South. Then we walked past the club where we SHOUJLD have been playing, past several other clubs, and finally had a drink for old time's sake at Satyricon. Which itself is nothing like the old times. We talked to a couple old-timers there, then drove carefully back to the family compound. Kitty went to bed, but Warren went out to the car and listened to the rough mixes in the rental car.

Sunday, 10/14: Because we'd opted to record for a second day in Portland, we had cut short our time in Seattle. Hit the road around 11AM, first stopping at Wanker's Corner, a semi-legendary pub with a very memorable name, south of Portland. Tee shirts were purchased for band and family members. Then we hotfooted it up I-5 to the King City. Hit some heavy traffic through Tacoma, but mercifully it let up and we made reasonable time to Robbie's pad on Capitol Hill. We had a couple hours to unwind, shower and dress, then soundcheck, a snack at the bar, and showtime. Kitty's voice was strong and Warren's keyboard skills were up; this turned out to be one of the best shows of the tour performance-wise, although it was also the least attended. Fortunately our dear friend Marco showed up, took pics etc., Robby drummed some folks in, and the sound was great. The Jewelbox is a wonderful stage, and Rob is a great and true friend.

Monday, 10/15: Rise at 6AM, out the door by 6:30, drop off the car at Alamo/Seatac at 7:30, checked in by 8:15 for our 9:30 and 9:45 flights (respectively). Which are delayed due to weather. Kitty gets out an hour later, is off the plane and home by 2Pm. Warren waits three hours for the flight to Dallas, and another six hours for a flight to New Orleans, which has also been getting weather. Finally home at 2AM Central, that's 4AM Pacific. A twenty-two hour day, but it sure feels great to be home. There's a big goal list on my door; I got a green Sharpie and checked off the item "Successful and Fun West Coast Tour in October." As it was written in Prophecy.

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New Orleans Magazine reviews our CD

Southern Sexual, the collaboration of Angie Shlonk on guitar and vocals and Warren America on vocals and electronics, encompasses a lot of what we love about New Orleans. Eccentric, spicy and irreverent, their new album, In A Failing Third World Nation features the Southern electro-pop sounds about corrupt politicians, Mardi Gras madness and sexy single moms. Put this on during a rowdy crawfish boil and things just might get hotter. Southern Sexual's influences – listed on their MySpace page – include Bob Dylan, Camel Lights, Skyy Vodka and of course, Hurricane Katrina.

SOURCE: http://neworleansmagazine.com/in-this-issue/articles/news/read-spin-2498//browse/1.html

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"This might be the future of the city’s bar music."

We're really psyched to be reviewed by Offbeat, the magazine of record for Louisiana music! They said some nice things, and had some constructive criticism, all of which we really appreciated! Check it out:

http://offbeat.com/artman/publish/article_2372.shtml

I liked the part about the "keen pop sensibility."

It'd never occurred to me until reading this that the cadence of the verse on Disaster Ass IS similar to 88 Lines about 44 Women, a song I haven't heard (or thought of) in YEARS. The actual, swear-to-god inspiration on that song was a) the song "Smooth" by Carlos Santana with Rob Thomas, and b) the archetype of seeking sexual comfort in times of crisis. But hey, I do love that Nails song, so good call by the reviewer.

And thanks to Offbeat for including us.

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Wonderful Review from Bad Analogies
Category: Music

Mike "Mondo" Evans of BadAnalogies.com writes:

Inspired, or rather make that angered by the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, Southern Sexual lash out the only way they know how: to paraphrase David Johansen, let's fuck so we can forget. Except in the end forgetting proves to be harder than anyone's hard-on. The dynamic electro-punk duo draw droves to the dance floor with its primal "Calling Sister Midnight" era Iggy come-ons, but for all the "Swing Club" lurking, "Phat Disaster Ass" chasing, its the call to "Watch New Orleans Die" that lingers long after your "Sexy Single Mom" has caught her cab home.

http://badanalogies.com

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Awesome review courtesy of Where Y'at Magazine

Southern Sexual
In a Failing Third World Nation
Permanent Lifetime Records

Southern Sexual is the brilliant combination of Angie Shlonk on guitar and vocals and Warren America on vocals and electronics, creating a fetish punk spirited infused gospel of the trials and tribulations of New Orleans life. "Phat Distaster Ass" gives the listeners great creative lyrics that include, "Come back to my FEMA trailer," while "Watch New Orleans Die," samples a simple electronic backbeat to speak everything our inner self-demons think, but are afraid to say in public. MC ShellShock! is featured on "Swing Club," which can best be described as a cache' tune that you'll be singing in your head right away from the first listen, while "Sexy Single Mom," could definitely become the anthem to many NOLA women. The duo uses creative lyrics in preaching their sexually realistic fetish and truth inspired hard-core electronic gospel, creating a winning combination that has an addictive cult-like following. A personal favorite is "Crying on Mardi Gras," featuring Miss Kitty Baudoin, which sounds like a verbal mystery opera production, painting some intense visuals for the listener that any Katrina refugee still living here in NOLA can relate to. Lynn Drury adds her vocal contribution to "You Don't Say," which is pure true rock and definitely one of the best musically arranged songs. After listening to the CD, I honestly can't wait to see this band live since it sounds like a complete party that isn't afraid to speak the truth and say what we're all thinking. -Sheri McKee

SOURCE: http://www.whereyat.net/page.php?page=cdreviews.php

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our first review, courtesy of PUNK GLOBE

The legendary mag published by the equally-legendary Ginger Coyote jumped all over the CD in their latest issue:

From beginning to end this electropunk near-masterpiece drives toward both a primal home and a communal orgasm.

Thanks to reviewer Carl Macki, and to our great friend Ginger Coyote! Read it all at

http://www.punkglobe.com/southernsexual.html

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NEW CD NOW AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE
Category: Music

The debut CD by SOUTHERN SEXUAL, "In a Failing Third World Nation" featuring appearances by Miss Kitty Baudoin, Lynn Drury, MC Shellshock and Robin Beach, is now available for purchase through our manufacturer, Kunaki.



CLICK HERE TO BUY NEW DEBUT CD http://Kunaki.com/Sales.asp?PID=PX00ZCLVBI

For a limited time we're offering a special price of just $9.99 for the CD. Note that we don't work with any record label or distributor; Kunaki just manufactures our product and ships out orders. WE THE ARTISTS keep the lion's share of the revenue; more than 80% of your purchase price goes directly to the band members and their families.

ALSO: MP3 downloads of the album tracks are available for purchase right here on MySpace, through Snocap. Just $0.99 per track!

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