Sometimes figuring out politics is like chasing down a unicorn riding a leprechaun. Neither party truly exists and neither would ever agree to such an arrangement if they did. And this is why it is so strange to be included as part of the discussion… Even if they are only after my Lucky Charms… I don’t think Jeb has anything to be nervous about.
On Sept. 5th, The Rod Webber Band will play a set at Burning Vermin in Croydon, New Hampshire to celebrate the release of Rod’s 20th studio recording “Flowers for Peace”– and of course to help Vermin Supreme raise money for his presidential campaign.
The CD was recorded with Peter Philis at Studio 125 in Sacramento, California. Pete played drums, and engineered all the tracks which were played live, with the exception of bass which was dubbed in later.
Several Days of Peace, Love, Hyperbole, and Lies, Including Musical Acts and Special Guests. Vermin Supreme will be making a very important announcement!!
Be a part of this historical event.
FUN !!! GAMES !!! PRIZES !!!
Vermin Supreme2016 is attempting to reach the threshhold for federal matching funds. We need to raise 5k in each of 20 states ( in sums of up to $250) in order to do so.
We will use any proceeds for a presiDental primary tour and producing wacky stunts,along with awesome swag to give to doners. All funds raised MUST be spent on legitimate camPain expenses during the primaries.
THE ROAD TO THE WHITE HOUSE BEGINS HERE. GET READY PEOPLE !
No one will be turned away for having too much or too little money.
Volunteers needed for set up Thursday and Friday before the event.
Jeb invites me up for our tradition of a Bible passage and a prayer. I paraphrased a bitfrom 1 Timothy 3:1-7. “It is noble to seek the office of overseer, however, he who does should be above reproach, sober-minded, not quarrelsome, having only one spouse and not a lover of money.” I mentioned it mostly anecdotally, as something that I thought would be fitting to ask Donald Trump about– but have been unable to.
Jeb read from George Washington’s “Earnest Prayer.”
“I now make it my earnest prayer that God would have you, and the State over which you preside, in his holy protection; that he would incline the hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and obedience to government, to entertain a brotherly affection and love for one another, for their fellow-citizens of the United States at large, and particularly for brethren who have served in the field; and finally that he would most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility, and pacific temper of mind, which were the characteristics of the Divine Author of our blessed religion, and without an humble imitation of whose example in these things, we can never hope to be a happy nation.”
As I sit in a McDonald’s for their WiFi around the corner from the convention center in Birch Run, MI where Donald Trump gave his speech last night, I listen to a table full of locals, (white men), who meet here every morning. One man stands out as he recalls the previous evening with the GOP man of the moment.
“Trump only charged twenty five bucks for the event, but Hillary charges twenty two thousand a plate.”
(Most of her events are free.)
“Were there a lot of people there Earl?”
“It was packed. I’m not going to let $130 bucks go to waste. It wasn’t so much the speech, it was seeing my old friends. They asked my opinion, and I said I have no opinion– shook their hands and said thank you very much. I always hung around with republicans. I don’t know why. But they liked me and I liked them.”
“How’d you vote?”
“I never know until I get out of the booth. Every time I vote, it’s been that way.”
Another man suddenly changes the course of the discussion. “I heard a law on the MI law books, if a woman cuts her hair or colors it without your permission, she’s outta there.”
“In the old days, you’d just backhand her.”
One of their female acquaintances walks in to say hello to them. Suddenly the tone changes.
“Good morning,” says one.
“Howdy,” says another.
Discussing the fate of a young McDonald’s employee taking orders from a Hispanic man, one says, “it’s better than being pushed around by a bunch of niggers.”
And so the conversation goes.
The event itself was standard Trump, except that he was late, giving his fans plenty of time to fill up on Bud Light 24 ounce cans which they were selling at the event. So it shouldn’t have been any surprise that after the show, the drunken opinions of some of the attendees began to emerge.
One man in possession of several conservative opinions was a guy named Joe Sylvester. Among the choice phrases in his racist rant was, “we’re going to whack the fucking shit out of ISIS and take their fucking oil. That’s what we’re going to fucking do. Fuck those God-damn Muslim pieces of shit. Is that what you wanted to hear so you and your communists can jack off together?”
I have been on the road now for a little over a year, (including short breaks), giving out flowers to strangers and most recently, politicians. It has been paid for out of pocket, and doing so has cost me several thousand dollars. I don’t mind. I am happy to do so, because I think it has made many people happy. Many thousands of people watch my videos on Vine every day– (and to a lesser degree, YouTube).
My recent travels have brought me from the east coast to the west coast, to the east, to Iowa, back to New Hampshire, crisscrossing 45 states since 2013. During my travels I have met governors, congressmen, senators, political activists, students and people of all walks of life.
I have prayed for peace with Gov. Jeb Bush and Senator Lindsey Graham, and I have ministered with pastors and other religious workers in the street.
I try to bring a sense of humor to my work– creating inspirational sayings in my videos– but also a sense of humor, playing different characters to entertain and brighten people’s day. To the countless people who message me, (many of them young people in need of serious advice), I answer all I can. (Though some days, I admit I fall short of being able to keep up and still maintain my busy schedule).
I hope to put together a documentary about my travels– which I have some experience with, since I have directed several feature-length indie films and documentaries, including projects with Greta Gerwig, Stan Lee (of Marvel Comics), and several other film stars you may have heard of.
But I can’t afford to do this forever. There is gas, food, cameras/ editing tools for sharing my experiences– and it adds up to a significant amount.
Today, I will try to give flowers to Hillary Clinton. (I tried once in Iowa, but the flowers were confiscated by the secret service). Right after that, I head out to give flowers to Donald Trump in Michigan. (I also tried unsuccessfully with Donald in Iowa.)
(**NOTE BY RW: I HAVE NOT BEEN INCARCERATED. I RECEIVED A *SUSPENDED SENTENCE* WHICH MEANS I SERVED NO TIME. ALSO FOR THE RECORD, MY CRIME WAS POSSESSING A CAP GUN WITH AN ORANGE TIP USED FOR A COMEDIC FILM.)
For the unexposed, Massachusetts native Rod Webber delivers a volatile mix of what’s been labeled industrial-electronic alterna-pop that delivers it’s own particular flavor of Caucasian hip-hop. Burned My Feet On Meat Street takes the listener through the near-psychotic isolation of Webber’s recovery a one-year prison stay, imposed for carrying a toy gun while filming a college art film.
Even though much of his post-incarceration neurosis might have been prevented by a competent lawyer, we are still left with a little gem of techno post-adolescent frustration that grows with each listen. Cuts like “Blister” and “Black Sheets” tell of fear, isolation and the lost years of a soul dealing with what may or may not be a society out to get us. Propelled by a Duke Ellington sample, “Black Sheets” provides a chilling look at isolation, to a reverb-drenched military march (a.k.a. a well-programmed drum machine). The song builds with Webber delivering a primal scream of release as the track ends.
“Killing Me” has more of an upbeat pop feel and explores the timeless pop subject of two people repressing a shared attraction. To the intended recipient of the message, Webber pleads “Please see it in my eyes/You’re feeding the fire/It’s feeding the fire.”
Despite a tendency to overuse television samples, Webber brings a welcome economy to his craft. with no track clocking in at over 4:29. Such length provides focus for the more ambiguous subjects while avoiding the dreaded self-indulgent verbal diarrhea that can cause one to reach for the “Eject” button. The advance word on Meat Street proffered a Beck-like creative approach, but to my ears, it sounded something like the Velvet Underground, had VU been in their prime in the mid-Nineties.
It’s reported that Webber has assembled a five-piece band and is undertaking a series of live gigs, while the corporate labels decide if this brand of angry industrial music merits a larger platform to perform on. It will be interesting to hear how live musicians will interpret these techno-ditties and to see if Webber’s vision expands to the next level. But for now, experience Meat Street in isolation, from whence it came.