… but you really should know Jack. Jack Grace is one of the fundaments of the New York country music Man-in-Black-and-Blues scene — and yes, there is country in Gotham. You’d be surprised. There’s plenty of it.
New York’s Urban Opry is lean mean underdog stuff, so don’t look for glitz and rhinestones and waily hanky-tonking of the “Achy Breaky Heart” variety. Expect wit and whiskey, rough edges and rough riders, gleeful denim and yoked shirts fine enough to make Joseph tremble. Expect hats. Impeccable, improbable hats. Expect charm, stubborn politesse, and, well, Grace. As in Jack. And remember, Jack Grace is not Johnny Cash. He just sounds like him, sometimes.
As I’ve noted elsewhere in Pepperland, the Jack Grace Band mailing list is a wealth of fun and head-scratching joy. From his “dogs” email sign-offs —
Dogs dreaming about a car made of meat (mmmmmmmmmm),
– to the heights of everday cocktail anxiety and discovery, Jack’s occasional missives wander down the mailspool innocently, full of weird scenes from the fantasy factory.
Jack on Christmas Songs We’d Like to Hear:
1) Capt. Kirk’s “I’ll Have a Blue Christmas, Without Spock”
2) Mayor Bloomberg’s “All I Want For Christmas Is A Personality”
3) Saddam Hussein’s ” I (gulp) Won’t Be Home For Christmas”
4) Britney Spears’ “Hey I Wrote A Really Crappy Christmas Song”
5) George Bush’s “Even At Christmas, I Suck”
Jack on July 4th:
Burt Reynolds and I had one helluva fourth of July party over at Madonna’s place in the Hamptons (Madonna was away and Burt had the keys). We ordered fifty bushels of oysters, nine cases of steaks and whole buncha booze and just told the store to deliver it to the Madonna residence and to bill us later. We invited a few hundred close friends and a few people we hate but like to pick on and let the fireworks begin. Sly Stallone was the first to throw Britney in the pool (a trend that continued through the night), but once Don Rickles began making out with Connie Chung … we knew the party had truly begun. Maury Povich jumped on Rickles, Reynolds jumped on Povich, Chung jumped Reynolds and Britney … got thrown in the pool. I didn’t know how to break up the fight, it was quickly escalating into a battle, thank god Chuck Norris began lighting all the fireworks he had smuggled up from Mexico. Norris knows how to put on one helluva fireworks display, everyone was engrossed and all was well until the finale exploded on top of the house and set Britney’s hair aflame, I grabbed her and threw her in the pool, the house was another matter it didn’t burn down but it stank of smoke so we left Norris to clean it up and moved the party to Alec Baldwin’s. Burt immediately started viciously picking on Billy Baldwin, so Burt and I got thrown out and headed over to Billy Joel’s place for some Chinese food, we grabbed the keys to one of his boats, collected Rickles and boated over to Nipsey Russell’s place on Fire Island for a nightcap and a chance to sleep it off.
Jack on how it’s More Fun To:
1) eat cheese with Nipsey Russell at the Playboy mansion, than it is to watch Dick Cheney pretend to smile as if he has any morsel of humanity inside his rotted blown out dung for a soul.
2) drink Martinis with Burt Reynolds in the green room with Professor Plum than it is to have a car break down on the GW Bridge at rush hour with a 5 pound bag of cocaine in your trunk.
3) have sex than it is to have a goiter.
4) listen to Neil Young’s “On The Beach” (while on the beach) than it is to have to take an office job under a fluorescent lamp next to a really big Dave Matthews fan.
5) dance to Led Zeppelin’s “Dancing Days” than it is to dance to Donald Rumsfeld’s “The Eagle Will Soar”(or whatever the hell that song he penned is called).
Dogs inventing can openers,