Lucky Guy by The Muffs
Covered by Crappy Jack
With a whole lot of respect

Lucky Guy

Tojo by Hoodoo Gurus
Cover version by Crappy Jack
With all respect and admiration

Tojo

For our Carson City fans. Most references in this song pertain to Carson, and we're indebted to that town for always treating us like royalty. The Blue Bull, as legend has it, was a bar in Carson, and things happened there...curious things...

The Blue Bull's Calling

Legendary live performance. Dates withheld by Crappy Jack for "security" reasons. Footage restored from original acetates. Crappy Jack would like to thank Homer Whitaker for his invaluable assistance in restoring this memorable show. Kudos to Whitey, Joe Tuesday, Muffin, Crandall, the Kid, Egbert, Rigby, Madame Wildebeest, and the crew at Sunshine's for the catering.

Bloodstains (LIve)

They said it couldn't be done. But, lo, Crappy Jack hath written a sequel song. Marvel, citizen. It's all that's left.

Sequel to Albuquerque Man

A song of longing. Of wanting the thing you can't have. Yes, you long, your longing is noted - in fact, it's brought a tear to the eye - but it doesn't matter, citizen. It really doesn't. And you know what? It never did matter, and it never will. 

For the maid? Lampshades, old jewelry, broken windows, the wind...

Maid in the Shade

Made specifically for these corona-addled times, "Coronavirus" is Crappy Jack's attempt to channel the fear, loathing, paranoia, anger, and outrage we're all feeling right now. Dance to it? Please do. Play it loud and sing along? Lord, yes. It's only 1:42, so you can play it over and over and over again, whether isolated and alone; isolated with pets; isolated with family members; isolated with friends. This is for you, world. This is the sound of now.

Coronavirus

"Carmelita," written by Warren Zevon, covered by Linda Ronstadt (and others). The Ronstadt version is the one we were inspired by, and its spirit is (hopefully)infused in what you're hearing now. A powerful song, a shattering song, a song you can't get out of your head thanks to Zevon's marriage of the simple and complex - or, complex heavy words laid over pretty simple and straightforward chords. May it offer some respite from the horrors we're dealing with now. Adieu.

Carmelita

"Michelle" is dedicated to a childhood friend of the same name who (purportedly) died of a heroin overdose in 2019. We once were very close, but the decades slipped by, we lost touch, and...you know how it is: you find out someone you once were close to has died, and the sheer amount of years between the last time you saw that person and the present shrouds the death in disconcertingly strange wrappings. You don't know how to feel, you don't what you feel, you don't even know if you feel, so you write a song for that once-upon-a-time friend. "Love need not ever die/if love once flickered in your eye." Yes.

Michelle

She OD'd

INTERVIEW WITH CRAPPY JACK'S DICK SCHWARTZ
Summer 2017

Q: You say the band's name comes from a diary. Please explain.
A: Let me tell you the story of the diaries first. In the summer of 2001, I was driving back from Lake Tahoe. I’d been visiting a friend there who’d been paralyzed in a freak bowling accident. Some free bowling advice? Release the ball at some point when you’re running down the lane with it. Otherwise, your spine might get released from the base of your skull. Anyway, as I’m driving home, cruising through Carson City, I see this huge hot-pink sign nailed to a tree. It says, “Garage sale this way,” with a helpful arrow pointing left. Now, I never, ever, ever, ever, ever have seen a garage sale sign nailed to a tree and been tempted to follow it, but that’s what I did this day. I followed it.
Q: Did it take long to find the garage sale?
A: Not really. It was on Roop Street, which we’ve since immortalized in song form. But we’ve immortalized the whole damn town in song form.
Q: It’s true. You guys have written a few songs about Carson City in your time.
A: Yeah, we have.
Q: So – you find the garage sale…
A: Right. There it is, garage door up, assorted garbage on the driveway and the lawn, and an old lady holding court on a rocking chair inside the garage. She was a classic, to the point where nobody would ever cast her in a movie…she was too stereotyped, too old lady to ever believe. She smacked her gums, she cackled, she had a white bun on her head, she was crocheting, her rocking chair creaked, she wore sensible white sneakers – let me tell you, man: she was more old lady than old lady, if you know what I mean. Anyway, she barks at me, “Boy, get your shit over here! I gots a load for ya.” Like she was waiting for me.
Q: I can’t say the old lady in my head speaks like that.
A: Fuck no, she doesn’t! [Laughs.]
Q: What was the load?
A: Notebooks…and, in the notebooks, diaries. There were drawings in them, one of which was the face we use as our logo. The most crucial thing was, there were lyrics in the diaries, which maybe weren’t meant to be lyrics – they may’ve been meant as poems – but they worked as lyrics in a big fucking way, man. The kid’s name who wrote them? Crappy Jack. 
Q: The origin of the name is revealed.
A: There it is. 
Q: I assume you purchased the notebooks?
A: I did. I walked up to the old lady and asked her, “Were you talking about those notebooks when you said you had a load for me?” She said, “Surely was, pumpkin.” “How much?” I ask. “Two bucks,” she says. “Cash. On the barrelhead.” Which was hilarious, because there in front of her, what I didn’t notice until that moment? A barrelhead.
Q: Two bucks? For how many notebooks?
A: Believe it or not, 82 notebooks. Crappy wrote everything, and I mean everything, down. What makes that exceptional are two things: one, the power of his words; two, how everything he wrote down…you just get lost in it. This boy led an action-packed life. 
Q: That’s a hell of a good deal for two bucks.
A: Fuck me! That’s the understatement of the century, right there.
Q: Okay. So, you buy them, you drive home with them…what then?
A: I show them to my brother, Mike. He’s wired, and I mean to the core of his being, to see words laid out in lyric form and blaze out killer riffs. It’s what he does. He plucked a notebook from the pile, opened it, and bam! [Dick claps his hands loud.] The song “Jeffrey,” etched in fucking gold, man.
(to be continued)

Mike Schwartz: guitar, bass, vocals
Dick Schwartz: vocals, keys, trumpet

Crappy Jack

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