The Sound of the Suburbs

Well, last night I burned it down to Redondo Beach, coughed up the most well spent fifteen bucks in ages and settled in to a long night with The Mermen.

Who, you say? The Mermen, living proof that Gods Walk The Earth. They are three guys from San Francisco -- Allen Whitman, Martyn Jones and The Big Kahuna himself, Jim Thomas. Jim is the guitar man, Allen bass, Patrick backbeat/percussion. They are righteous hippies in the best sense of the word, powering out instrumental surf meets Electric Ladyland meets rock and roll that blows you away.

Jim Thomas doesn't simply PLAY the guitar. He tames the wild Strat beast, coaxing ethereal edge sounds out of his axes, taking you on a trip of sonic beauty the likes of which we haven't heard since Jimi.

Whether it's long, dreamy soundscapes anchored by Allen and Martyn's killer rhythm or shorter slash and burn surf rockers that leave the hair on the back of your neck standing up, The Mermen pulverize like a Mariano Rivera cut fastball. Go download Honeybomb immediately.

They are not famous. They never will be. But they personify American Art in the musical motif with a sound that bespeaks California Dreamin' more than Tom Petty, Beck and The Red Hot Chili Peppers combined. And during the many times I have bellied up to the bar with them, I have never discussed professional basketball, but I guarantee you they ain't Laker fans.

The Franklin Mieuli of the music world, they dance to their own drummer, rock to their own groove and simply don't give a shit. And Jim Thomas is a seminal artist in this or any other century, a musical genius whose work will outlive us all and crash onto the beach like the eternal wave until time stands still. He is The Real Deal.

Which is why I worship the ground they walk on, and then some.

That brings us to the NBA off-season, thus far the sports page equivalent of the Bulls-Celtics EC semifinal series. In other words, damn entertaining.

First of all, Sheed a Celtic. Now I have always hated the Celtics, but after seeing their playoff grit and the inevitable Laker title, I may turn green next spring. Still, seeing this guy get a fat payday after (as usual) coasting through a regular season in Detroit, distinguishing himself mainly by going to a Minnesota card club with Allen Iverson and making his way onto Page Six as a result, then completely QUITTING during the Cavs' broom of Detroit in round one ... yeah, Rasheed, you so deserve a sweet deal and a chance at another ring.

Well, at least we'll be spared Sheed's nauseating pre-game Ring Around The Rosie dance he continued to lead even as The Pistons barfed their way to extinction in May. Yeah, I can just see the Fleet faithful embracing that travesty, let alone Doc Rivers and Messrs Allen, Garnett and Pierce. Not.

Here's hoping Detroit signs Glen Davis, who I'd take straight up in a deal for Wallace since he a) plays hard all the time, b) has made a clutch shot in his career (Orlando, Game 4) and c) doesn't do a stupid dance (see above).

Like Karl Malone, Rasheed Wallace never made a big shot in his pro career. Remember the Laker-Portland Game 7 when LA came back big to beat Sheed and Scottie Migraine Pippen, another guy who never made a big shot? Where was Sheed? Choking. Where was Sheed in Game 5 v. San Antonio in 2005 when Detroit could have taken control of the series? Oh, yeah, doubling down on Manu and leaving Big Shot Bob Horry wide open to drain a three that led to another Spurs' title.

To give him his due, Wallace prefers to be a cog in the machine, a good teammate, etc. But when it's crunchtime he disappears like Claude Rains on a sunny day.

He'll fit right in with Boston because he'll be the sixth option after KG, Pierce, Ray, Rondo and even Eddie House who has no fear and walks the walk.

Here's hoping Joe Dumars picks up Big Baby, because as much as he's done to rebuild the Pistons with Gordon and Charlie V to complement Prince and Stuckey, who the f is going to rebound the basketball in Detroit?

Not Antonio McDyess, who wisely moved to San Antonio where he will thrive, along with Richard Jefferson. The Spurs will give LA all they can handle in the WCF next year, and could go all the way if Ginobili is healthy.

Dallas gets Shawn Marion. Whatever. The Mavs will come up short. If Jason Kidd had an offer from Mitch Kupchak, it just proves his ex wasn't the crazy one. As my good friend Mike O'Hara always says, it's always about the money with these cats.

Which brings us to AI. One word for The Answer: Globetrotters. They'll let you control the ball, which is all YOU care about.

Cleveland: Good luck. Shaq is still a force, but I think the problem is in the backcourt. Get Andre Miller and you have a chance. Sorry, Mo W. You had your chance.

Miami: Adios Flash. I predict he lands at MSG, since there's no way they get LBJ.

Portland: Your time is coming but not next year.

And lastly, Kobe Inc. Jerry Buss will rue the day he guaranteed Ron Artest five years. Whenever the wheels fall off the bus at Staples -- and that's one Bryant leg injury away -- dogpound Ron will implode and take the city with him.

And as an Angeleno, I can't f-ing wait.

To quote the great Martyn Jones at the end of Haunted House: "Honeybomb, Honeybomb ..."