Pissing in the Wind with The Yellow River Boys

Three years ago, I found myself in middle of the Pandemic walking down the road that I grew up on. I’d been in town for about a year. About nine months more than I had planned to be there. I came to town the prior October to attend my brother’s wedding, celebrate the holidays, and save some money after the natural end of my last lease.

After the holidays it quickly went downhill. A tree fell on my car on New Year’s Eve, had to take care of my mom who contracted COVID, and I quit my job after a nervous breakdown. Adding to that my father had passed away the year prior, and I had yet to deal with the grief.

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I had started walking the once gravel road in order to get some sort of exercise. I had gained several pounds over my year long stay. During these walks, I’d been listening to my Midwestern emo bands. Some newer, some older. I was mixing in podcasts, comedy albums, and random genres occasionally.

I can’t remember exactly what turned me on to The Yellow River Boys, but I think it was listening to some Neil Hamburger. Neil being Gregg Turkington, and Gregg being the co-host of On Cinema at the Cinema with Tim Heidecker. And Tim being the main force behind The Yellow Rover Boys. Gregg may be a member as well though I can’t find official confirmation of that.

As I started walking down the road and the music started playing, I started laughing. Yeah, piss is funny. It’s a left field choice when poop jokes are a dime dozen. Beautiful and fun but common. Piss is different. I’d not heard so much commitment behind a piss joke.

It was the commitment that really cracked me up. The clear musicianship what went into each song. The straining vocals. The care. The deep digging soul. It was a joy. I don’t think I stopped laughing the whole album. I listened to it again the next day and at least three more times that week. I loved it.

I told my best friend about it, and he just laughed. Usually he and I were on the same wavelength, but I could tell even this one caught him off guard. He had to admit the production was spot on.

I grew up listening to oldies. Mostly 50s and 60s music on the radio. 104.3FM Oldies Station out of Chicago. That was my music when I was younger. That came from my mom. I also had a deep understanding of country music. 70s, 80s, and 90s. That came from my dad.

I remember sitting in the back of the car on the passenger side of the truck. Sometimes all of the family. My dad, mom, and brother. Sometimes just my dad and me. And country music playing. 105.5FM Your Country Station.

This reminded me so much of that music. I was singing along about piss. I was feeling the emotion that went behind Hot Piss Blues. The riotous joy of Hot Piss. I was there with Tim and the rest of the band. Somehow. And it was the dumbest shit in the world.

Simultaneously an homage to the genre and a send up. A badass attitude about piss. It pulled the current back a little more. Showed a little more of the Wizard and all you could do was laugh.

Laugh at the absurdity of it. The tree falling on your car, the Pandemic, the unemployment, the dead dad. For a hot, piss-fueled second you could see it all for what it was. An illusion. Unknowable. Impermanent.

Until the album ends and you’re back in Indiana on your childhood road with no money, no car, and no dad. Just a bladder full of piss and a ten minute walk back to the house.