Snakefinger - There's No Justice In Life

This single was released on July 1, 1987, ironically the same day that Phillip "Snakefinger" Lithman dropped dead of a heart attack. Lithman was barely past his 38th birthday. No justice in life indeed.

Snakefinger is, of course, most closely associated with the music of the Residents. Lithman was involved in some of the Residents' earliest musical experiments, then went on to found legendary British pub rockers Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers. When that band broke up, he moved to LA to establish a career in mainstream pop music, then returned to San Francisco to help create the music that forms the core of the Resident's musical legacy. Lithman also released a handful of excellent, but largely overlooked, solo albums that tone down the avant weirdness of the Residents just enough to sound something like pop music.

As Ted Mills notes at All Music Guide, Snakefinger's solo work wasn't weird enough to capture the full attention of the Resident's cult audience, nor was it "normal enough for chart success or critical recognition." This is particularly true of his later solo albums, which were made mostly apart from the Residents, though still released through their label, Ralph Records.

These two tracks were also featured on Snakefinger's final studio album, Night of Desirable Objects, cut with his backing band the Vestal Virgins. On "There's No Justice In Life" it never sounds like he's complaining or bitter, just offering a very matter-of-fact observation on life's inherent unfairness. The b-side, a cover of the jazz standard "Move" (made famous by Miles Davis during the Birth Of The Cool sessions), is a revelation. Snakefinger was more than competent as bop-jazz guitarist. His famous manual dexterity is balanced by good taste and a strong instinct for group interaction.

There are precious few artists who can move so effortlessly between avant-garde strangeness, pub-rock, pop and jazz. Unfortunately, commercial success rarely comes to those committed to this kind of musical diversity (some might call it schizophrenia), no matter how talented they are. But then who ever said there was any justice in life?

Cassettes In My Closet

I have probably constructed a narrative with this blog that tells the story of a person who has always been into "cool" music. There is probably a kernel of truth in that narrative: My high school yearbook lists The Velvet Underground and Love among my "likes," and a Residents concert among my "most memorable experiences." While I regard my one time infatuation with The Residents as a bit embarrassing today, it still suggests that I was the kind of music fan on the lookout for something "different" and outside the mainstream.

If The Residents were the most embarrassing thing I used to like, I could probably collect my trophy as the lord of all things hip and go home. But any such narrative of perpetual coolness could only be constructed by selectively filtering out key facts. There is much more embarrassing music than The Residents lurking in my past: In Junior High School, I owned, listened to, and enjoyed music by the likes of Journey, Foreigner, Asia (I think I even owned their second album, Alpha), Toto, Duran Duran, Hall & Oates, Culture Club, Billy Joel, and even Air Supply.

Now I could argue that this is entirely forgivable considering I was 12-14 years old at that period in time, and by 15 I had completely purged such lame music from my collection. But owning an album by Asia or Journey (even if only on cassettes obtained through the Columbia House Music Club) is not a sin any right-minded hipster could easily forgive. Any person who once owned such music, no matter how long ago, should relinquish any right to be an arbiter of coolness. I hereby relinquish any such right.

What cassettes lurk in your closet?