SCOUNDREL SEASON: A RED FOX PHOTO AND VIDEO ESSAY.

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          Key to photos and videos:

          1. I present to you The Scoundrel.
          2. He runs nearby me and sits down rapidly.
          3. Parting company at night.
          4. Majestic scoundrel!
          5. Regal!
          6. Sometimes he’s just a head or ears.
          7. Bro just wants to be my dog. And he is! Every couple of days for a minute or two at a time — he is my dawg.

          All media from 2026, except: 

8.

We’ve posted this before, but we strongly believe the scoundrel from nos. 1-7 to be the kit who appears from 0:30 to 0:44 in this video (no. 8) I made about three years ago. He may be the only surviving member of a seven-kit litter. He has probably known me most of his life. I say simple things to him — “Oi mate! You’re a good-looking fox, man! — so he always knows it’s me. When we say “scoundrel” we mean “beloved trickster.” We mean “fabulous critter” and “savvy beast.” Our best friend from the wild animal kingdom. It is, in fact, our highest compliment for a beastly soul. His mother is still out there. I see her about once a year. She is persevering . . . and so am I. 

Now for some exit music: “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” by The Stooges (1969.) Find your sweetie pie and play it loud. Though Iggy Pop probably meant these proto-punk lyrics in an abundantly suggestive manner, we know that wanting to be someone’s dog can spring from a deep well of vulpine friendship, oi.  

THE SECOND-GREATEST ROCK ‘N’ ROLL SONG EVER RECORDED.

 

A glimmering system of points, equal parts diffraction,      

timbre, chordal, voicings, traces. Echoes without a source.

Behold “Disorder,” a masterpiece by UK “post-punk” band Joy Division. We deem it “second-greatest” (fractionally) to another Joy Division song, “Digital,” which we previously reviewed [here.] A widely-acclaimed, widely-covered song, “Disorder” leads off the band’s first studio LP, Unknown Pleasures, recorded in 1979. The best Joy Division songs combine danceable propulsion with a burrowing emotional sprawl. And the best Joy Division songs are unmatched in the world of rock ‘n’ roll, anywhere.

The term “post-punk” may erroneously suggest a “lessening of intensity” when, if anything, “Disorder” delivers a more intimate wallop than the (nevertheless enjoyable) anti-authoritarian rails typical of many earlier punk bands. Building upon forceful music that simulates the careening velocity of a careless and callous society, “Disorder” steeps itself in the lyrics of alienation as the singer attempts to wring meaning from the blight surrounding him. “Disorder” easily retains its relevance many years later in a [fill in the blank] world.

The “disrepair” in this song may reside within a society that abandoned

the “no man’s land” of decaying working class neighborhoods.             

Feeling, Feeling, Feeling, Feeling, Feeling, Feeling, Feeling

From the “searching” quality of the opening line — waiting for a mortal or supernatural “guide” — to the song’s puzzling divergence, “I’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling,” Joy Division’s singer, Ian Curtis, seeks to simply inhabit the (unknown) “pleasures of a normal man.”  Yet a kind of manic fright takes hold in “Disorder,” as commonplace yearnings perpetually escape his grasp. With the music as both a reminder of chaos and source of familiar patterns, Curtis attempts to definitively parse the gap between [having] the spirit and [losing] the feeling.

When first encountering the song, some may glance past the title, “Disorder,” despite its connection to multiple scaffolds of interpretation. In our review of “Digital,” we noted that Curtis dealt with severe medical conditions and regrettably took his own life. But the “disrepair” in this song may ultimately reside within a society that cannot “spare the insults” aimed at someone who might contend with an “ill-fitting” condition; notably, the same society also abandoned the “no man’s land” of decaying working class neighborhoods. Before the emphatic plea of the song’s finish, Curtis touches on, perhaps, an unresolved romantic disconnection, pledging “we will meet again.”

Curtis and his bandmates thus racket a variety of concepts — societal estrangement, urban decay, interpersonal rift — toward a ringing outcome. We imagine the setting of this song caught between the indifferent showers of sodium lamps, a dissonant nocturnal landscape where “lights are flashing, cars are crashing.” By affirming his abiding “spirit,” Curtis would seem to underscore a percentage of piety (or righteousness) yet the clipped language — “I’ve got the spirit, but lose the feeling” — further emphasizes the jagged dashing of this vulnerability. When shouting “feeling” seven times at the conclusion of “Disorder,” Curtis may be challenging all of us to be “permeable.”

“Disorder” steeps itself in the lyrics of alienation as the singer

attempts to wring meaning from the blight surrounding him.   

Coda

There is, of course, an “intangible” when it comes to the excellence of Joy Division. It may have to do with surprising variations in technique, as with the musicians — Peter Hook (bass), Stephen Morris (drums), and Bernard Sumner (guitar) — compelling their instruments to speak in idioms that reimagine our radial pulses. It may have to do with the unvarnished character of Curtis’s voice as well as his propensity for awkward (but beguiling) dances at the microphone. Songs like “Disorder” and “Digital” (in addition to other Joy Division masterpieces) burrow into us with the “acids of outrage” as well as asymmetrical “maps of grief.” A glimmering system of points, equal parts diffraction, timbre, chordal, voicings, traces. Echoes without a source.

Mark Lanegan

The vastly under-celebrated Mark Lanegan   

may have led the finest cover of “Disorder.”

Joy Division / “Disorder” / Lyrics and Discography

I’ve been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand
Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?
Lose sensations, spare the insults, leave them for another day
I’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling, take the shock away 

It’s getting faster, moving faster now, it’s getting out of hand
On the tenth floor, down the back stairs, it’s a no man’s land
Lights are flashing, cars are crashing, getting frequent now
I’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling, let it out somehow

What means to you, what means to me, and we will meet again
I’m watching you, I’m watching, oh, I’ll take no pity from your friends
Who is right? Who can tell? And who gives a damn right now?
Until the spirit new sensation takes hold, then you know
Until the spirit new sensation takes hold, then you know
Until the spirit new sensation takes hold, then you know

I’ve got the spirit, but lose the feeling
I’ve got the spirit, but lose the feeling
Feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling!

Discography
Joy Division. “Disorder.” Unknown Pleasures, Factory FAC-10, “Outside” track 1. Manchester, England (1979). Personnel: Ian Curtis (vocals), Peter Hook (bass), Stephen Morris (drums), and Bernard Sumner (guitar). Compositional credit: Joy Division.

TOP 10 WASHINGTON, D.C. SWANSEA CITY HOOLIGAN MOMENTS: A PHOTO ESSAY.

 

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     Key to the photos:

     1. The legendary “f off kid” incident
     2. All the hooligans @ Chez Sausages on Derby Day
     3. O City, said I (a)
     4. Not “tomato juice—neat” exactly
     5. Tight and respectable, as they say
     6. Before “The Towering Inferno?”
     7. “CVMbaya” (sic)
     8. Getting some “Vitta-min” D on the roof
     9. O City, said I (b)
    10. A greatly wounded bottle of Penderyn


The OG in these pictures would be Doug Lang, of course, born in Swansea and responsible for setting the hooligan mayhem in motion. We miss him dearly. At present, the Swans reside in the “Championship,” or one level below the Prem. “Up the Swans!” therefore, if not this season, then next, or the season after that, or the season after that, #YJB, #STID.

Still Swansea.

THE GREATEST ROCK ‘N’ ROLL SONG EVER RECORDED.

“Digital” succeeds as an anthem, a rail, a banger, 

 a prophecy, a cri de coeur, and much more.         

Behold “Digital,” a 1978 masterpiece by UK “post-punk” band Joy Division. A song that immediately leaps out of the speakers, “Digital” recommends itself for daily listens (and re-listens.) It flourishes, most obviously, owing to the many levels at which it operates, or rather, the multiplicity of ways that listeners can engage with its transformative hypotheses. “Digital” strikes a “sweet spot” where the necessity of momentum intersects with modulations in contour and the weights of outrage. No other rock ‘n’ roll song accomplishes this so effectively. [Yet, ha ha, also see our review of “Disorder.”]

You start with a “yen” or a “yearning,” then you press “play.” Then “Digital” transports you to an “inner place” that only you can describe. Maybe the “inner place” differs from day to day, but “Digital” carries you there anyhow. And you want the song to take you there again (and again.) And it complies, like a musical drug. “Digital” never slows down. You can get up, on your feet, and dance, if you want. You can stand in the shadows, if you prefer, and “head bang.” Or, you can sit back, allow for a bit of vulnerability, and simply let the song hurt you. These are maybe the three greatest outcomes, but hardly the only ones.

Let’s dwell on “simply let the song hurt you” 

The guitar rides a series of arctangent waves, effecting a sort of inverse counter-pulse. It also chips away like a spike at a fierce iciness or the idea of a stony forbearance. As a final act, the guitar, by then untethered and “soloing,” washes over the late-day designs that we clutch, an irresistible force over-tiding our bittersweet ambition. Yet throughout the song, the hypnotic cycle of the “juicy” bass and crisp drumbeats catches you, steadies you, centers you. For the lyrics.

Which initially speak of something “closing in” and the fear of [calling] upon someone. The “digital” part of “Digital” may refer to the “day in / day out” dichotomy-monotony or string of “0 / 1 / 0 / 1 / 0 / 1” code agitating against the synaptic reveries of despair. Something is still “closing in” as “patterns seem to form,” an assertion which mirrors the pulsating music and vice versa. The “digital” commentary of “Digital” continues in the form of the singer [feeling] “it” — the something closing in — as both “cold and warm” or “0 / 1” all over again. Around him, the “shadows start to fall.”

“Digital” strikes a “sweet spot” where the necessity of momentum 
intersects with modulations in contour and the weights of outrage.

When, finally, we understand that the singer, Ian Curtis — by giving the world a chance and “[standing] by the door alone” — fears for the “you” character. The “you” could be “you” the listener, “you” the object of the singer’s affection, or “you” the singer himself. Either way, Curtis finally unveils the peril, how he recognizes the teetering nature of encroaching loss, as the “you” in the song “[fades] away.” He rails against this likelihood, by forbidding it — “don’t ever fade away / I need you here today” — but the song concludes on the inestimable and unavoidable property of erasure: “fade away / fade away / fade away / fade away.”

And the music, either confirming or contradicting its own lyrics, does not fade. It clamps shut. If we assign a value of “0” for loss and “1” for survival, “Digital” lives in the space between the two values, but travels, maddeningly, toward the unknown. In a way, “Digital” aggressively rails against or upends the ultimate unfairness of life, the “0” that looms for us all. The singer expresses no greater outrage than when he confronts the dimming lights of a body slipping away.

The singer, the band

Ian Curtis took his own life in 1980, just before Joy Division would have embarked on its first U.S. tour. According to numerous sources, “Digital” was the last song ever performed by the band, during a concert at Birmingham University. Perhaps we can speculate on a relationship between the lyrics of “Digital” and the tragic outcome to Curtis’s life, perhaps not. The three surviving band members — Peter Hook, Stephen Morris, and Bernard Sumner — formed the group New Order, which achieved popular success in the 1980s.

To the point of Curtis’s death, Joy Division had only been performing for three or four years. A U.S. tour could have confirmed the group as international stars. Yet, even with limited output — two studio albums, a small handful of “live albums,” and some ensuing compilations — the band has influenced numerous groups from the 1980s onward. By “numerous,” we mean “quite a big bunch.” It’s hard to prove such statements but it’s also hard to imagine post-1980 rock ‘n’ roll, including some of the most beloved bands “ever,” without the obvious influence of Joy Division.

Ian Curtis expresses no greater outrage than when he

confronts the dimming lights of a body slipping away.

Before we close

We turn to our panel of experts — The Machine, Sausages, and Fluffy — who advise us here at Blood And Gutstein from time to time on all matters cultural. These three estimable forces review “Digital” as follows:
     The Machine: “‘Digital’ strikes me as a work of utter genius in the rock and roll idiom, doing everything original and wasting not a single gesture. The restraint and compactness only make the variations more compelling; the tone of the instrumentation is completely unique (no one has ever sounded like Joy Division) and the lyrics give the song sheer f***ing terror.”
     Sausages: “The villainy you teach me I will execute.” (see: Shakes., Merch. of Venice, A3:S1.)
     Fluffy: “You know our love (of this song) will not fade away!”

Indeed. “Digital” succeeds as an anthem, a rail, a banger, a prophecy, a cri de coeur, and much more. We leave it to you, Dear Reader, to continue the journey from here. Lyrics and discography can be found below. Of course, Joy Division produced a host of other great songs — including “Disorder,” “She’s Lost Control,” “Atmosphere,” “Transmission,” and “Leaders of Men” — that compete with “Digital.” Go forward in Joy Division and you will not be disappointed. (Huzzah!)

Joy Division / “Digital” / Lyrics and discography

Feel it closing in
Feel it closing in
The fear of whom I call
Every time I call
I feel it closing in
I feel it closing in
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out

[instrumental break] 

I feel it closing in
As patterns seem to form
I feel it cold and warm
The shadows start to fall
I feel it closing in
I feel it closing in
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out
Day in, day out 

[instrumental break]

I’d have the world around
To see just whatever happens
Stood by the door alone
And then it’s fade away
I see you fade away
Don’t ever fade away
I need you here today
Don’t ever fade away
Don’t ever fade away
Don’t ever fade away
Don’t ever fade away
Fade away, fade away
Fade away
Fade away, fade away
Fade away, fade away

Discography
Joy Division. “Digital” b/w “Glass” A Factory Sample, A-side. Factory FAC-2A. Manchester, England (1978). Personnel: Ian Curtis (vocals), Peter Hook (bass), Stephen Morris (drums), and Bernard Sumner (guitar). Compositional credit: Joy Division.

 

SUPERMANIFESTO 2026.

 Fortunately, I never feel quite this rusty. 

We offer 2025 our best wishes for the future and at the same time, it can just as well go F*** off. A new year has dawned and we must make the — absolute! — most of it. Let’s get started, then, shall we? 

writer with no backup plan

That is me. Who are you? 

in the pines where the sun never shines

Citizen musicologist reporting for duty. I am officially many dozen words into my new book about the folk song “In the Pines.” Above, I give you a little nugget. Yes, many will focus on Kurt Cobain, et cetera, but how about the Carter Sisters, Mother Maybelle, and Chester “Chet” Atkins? It is 1950, in Missouri. The five are making radio transcription discs. Here is one of them. A minute of very admirable rock ’n’ roll jamming — ft. Anita on double bass, Helen on squeezebox, June clapping, and Chet wailing on electric guitar — is followed by Mother Maybelle speaking to the masses in her country drawl. Followed by the group harmonizing on “In the Pines.” Which is how they ended every disc. Musicians with no backup plan. I would say that it worked out all right, yes? My new favorite word, btw, would have to be “Yins.”  

music for the masses

Especially proud of this performance, this record, and my association with the improv band Fanoplane. If you have not done so already, check out Live At The Black Cat! at Bandcamp. If you want to play one song, then play “The Houses...” where “...” stands for, well, “dot dot dot.” It sounds like we might be back onstage sometime in February or March at Comet Ping Pong. Stay tuned. 

o, eliza, lil liza jane!

Thank you so much to everyone who contributed to our green-lit Seed&Spark crowdfunding campaign. We spent five torrid days in New Orleans running amok but came out of it with a ton of amazing footage. So, in 2026, we sure hope to finish the film and premiere it. We still need to edit, and fundraise for that, thus, if you know any “Angels,” send them our way. (Photo by Emily Cohen.)


still swansea 

O, City said I. #YJB. #STID. Same as Snoop Dogg, hahaha. 

conflict resolution: deer

Demonstrating my formidable peacemaking skills among these be-antlered ruminant hoofed critters. 

conflict resolution: fox & geese

Demonstrating my formidable peacemaking skills in the face of sly fox aggression versus honking waterfowlz. (sic) Let 2026 be a year of peace. Amen. 

and now, let’s dance.

Behold “Wild Weekend” by The Rebels from 1960. This is the perfect song to queue up on New Year’s Day — Jan. 1, 2026 — while you may need to shake off a biteen of a cobwebby hangover from the festivities of the night before. It gets you in the mood. The sax is not quite sleazy, but neither is it buttery. It gets us up, swaying around in amicable ways. 

Behold “All Night Long” by Big Joe Houston from 1954. Well, now it is time to jump! This is the kind of song that charges uphill pretty much the entire 2:35 and it, like, does not really slow down. I mean, the song had to end, so that happens. But some part of me thinks that Big Joe Houston and the orchestra are still playing this piece because slowing down would just be too dangerous!

Behold “Gonna Be A Big Thing” by the Yum Yums from 1965. Well, if you have yet to offer your hand to your sweetie pie, now would be the time. Turn the lights down low. Face one another in an amorous pose. (You can take it from there.) Most of all, the Yum Yums promise us that 2026 is gonna be a big thing. You are You with no backup plan. Same as me. Let our hopes peak where the music stays. 
 

discography

Carter Sisters and Mother Maybelle with Chet Atkins. “Jam session / In the Pines.” RadiOzark transcription disc. 1950. Helen Carter (accordion), June Carter (handclaps), Anita Carter (double bass), Mother Maybelle Carter (interjections, maybe guitar), Chet Atkins (guitar). Joe Houston. Money 203-AA-45. “All Night Long” b/w “Way Out” (1954) Hollywood, Calif. Compositional credit: John Gray. Joe Houston (tenor sax); other musicians unknown. The Rebels (also known as The Rockin’ Rebels). “Wild Weekend” A-side b/w “Wild Weekend Cha Cha" B-side. Marlee ML-0094. Buffalo, NY (1960). Likely personnel: Jim Kipler (Guitar), Mick Kipler (Saxophone), Tom Gorman (Drums) and Paul Balon (Bass/Guitar); additional musicians, if any, unknown. Compositional credit: Tom Shannon and Phil Todaro. Yum Yums. “Gonna Be a Big Thing” B-side b/w “Looky, Looky (What I Got)” A-side. ABC Paramount 45-10697. New York (1965). The singers likely included Gwen Oliver, Cassandra Wooten, Jean Davis, and Nadine Felder, but the studio musicians are unknown. Compositional credit: Jerry Ross, Joe Renzetti, and Neil Brian Goldberg.

GAME ON WITH “IN THE PINES.”

The first commercial recording of “In the Pines” in 1926.

After publishing my 2023 book, Poor Gal, which chronicles the “Liza Jane” family of songs, I tumbled into a little state of blueness. All the research and writing had fallen away and, with nothing immediate to replace those efforts, I began to mope, I began to worse than mope, I felt that “dropping action” behind the sternum. To make matters worse, I had tripped on an uneven sidewalk during a jog, pinwheeled forward into a terrific clattering and cursing wipeout, and, according to one estimate, inflicted either grade-2 or grade-3 tears on five or six muscles in the left hip region, not to mention some spectacular cuts and bruises. Thus, I repaired to my lair in quite a not-so-fine fettle. Let me tell you: when you are hurt that badly, little things like leaving your water bottle in the other room really suck, because it takes time to straighten that s*** out. 

While walking was rough, I still did it, one foot at a time, I walked in the glens, I walked in the glades, I walked in the pines (!), I espied my friend the she-fox. I stretched, I walked, eventually I jogged a bit, and eventually I jogged a lot. Simultaneously, I remembered a song, I recalled “In the Pines,” a song I had studied alongside “Liza Jane.” Its origins story (found at Wikipedia, etc.) always nagged at me, like something was “off,” considerably off. “I know a thing or two about folksong origins,” I would start to tell myself. “Hmmm,” I would start to tell myself. Maybe I could explore and I maybe I could jot a few things down, la dee dah, no big deal. When, one day, I asked myself, am I really thinking what I think I’m thinking? Well, yes I am. I began a deep dive. To outline, annotate. All those things I once did for my first true love, Liza Jane, I was then doing for a different woman, one who shivered in the woods. 

The spread of the folk blues in the early 1900s  
would influence the formation of “In the Pines.”

In short, after much introspection and considering what I really wanted in a relationship, I thought it was time for me to start seeing some other songs.

By now, Dear Reader, I am many dozen words into my new book about “In the Pines.” When complete, the book will completely alter the origins story for the song, including who devised it, when it came together, and where this all took place. I have unearthed new evidence that will offer insights on what the original musicians may have intended the song to mean. Of course, I will get to Lead Belly, Nirvana, and all that jazz. The writing is going well. I feel refreshed with purpose. The blueness of not having a folk song to write about has been vanquished. And I haven’t tripped on a sidewalk in quite a while. My hips are splendid. You should see my Asian squat!

Having just returned from New Orleans where I co-produced The Liza Jane Sessions for a forthcoming documentary film about “Lil Liza Jane,” I post this update with a lot of joy. But I also intend this as a call-out to musicians, writers, editors, presses, creators of any kind who may have a special connection to “In the Pines.” I would like to hear from you. Drop me a line. Get in touch. Let’s talk some “In the Pines.” Let’s talk some folk blues. Let’s talk some “Lonesome Road.” Let’s talk the year 1915. Let’s talk about turpentine, yes, turpentine. Ah, I could keep on going, but mum’s a good word for now. Yes, mum will do just fine, in the pines, where the sun never shines. Forthcoming, my friends, forthcoming.

Discography

Dock Walsh. “In the Pines” A-side b/w “Going Back to Jericho” B-side. Columbia 15094-D (1926). Atlanta, GA. Dock Walsh (banjo and vocals.)

Photograph of Mississippi Fred McDowell (public domain.)

BEHIND THE SCENES PHOTO ESSAY FROM “THE LIZA JANE SESSIONS” IN NEW ORLEANS.

1. After an all-day film shoot at the Dew Drop Jazz & Social Hall.   

Back row, L-R: Alyson Spery, Moi, Chris Finney, Brian Graves, Emily 

Cohen. Front: Dom Flemons, Joy Clark, Don Vappie, Washboard Chaz. 

For five days in early November 2025, the team of Emily Cohen (co-producer), Alyson Spery (cinematography), Brian Graves (director of photography), and myself (co-producer) raced around helter-skelter in New Orleans all on behalf of a certain Poor Gal, “Lil Liza Jane.” The team HQ’ed at a mega hotel, with the ladies in one room (524) and the blokes in another (526), although someone, mysteriously, lived in between us in 525. (Who dat? Dunno. Never saw.) We gulped coffee, dreamt of po’ boy sandwiches, told the mostly-true tales of our lives, wept, dried our eyes, weathered numerous cases of the sillies, and marveled at the fabulous hospitality of a truly great city, The Big Easy, while instruments and voices — “O, Eliza, Lil Liza Jane!” —soared.

From Preservation Hall to the Dew Drop Jazz & Social Hall, from Tulane University to the Jazz & Heritage Foundation Academy, from WWOZ Radio to the Louisiana Music Factory, from atop the riverboat Natchez to a sidewalk outside Willie Mae’s restaurant, from a second line parade to the murals, streets, and orange cats of the Seventh Ward: we captured music performances, interviews, and iconic images of NOLA. In short: we made some serious footage. And, once we edit this mayhem, I do believe an epic film full of heart and warmth will issue forth. Because the characters in the film love that poor gal “Lil Liza Jane” and love their great city of New Orleans. A lot.

Below, why not enjoy some images of the team hard at work, in yoga poses, mugging for the camera, and bonding over some cold ales. Huzzah!

2. Portrait of me as grip boy? Best boy? Best grip boy?
Dew Drop Jazz & Social Hall, Mandeville, Louisiana.  

3. The team at Preservation Hall, New Orleans. Foreground, L-R:

Brian, Alyson, Emily. At the table: Ben Jaffee and Dom Flemons.

4. Stellar Director of Photography, Brian Graves, at Preservation Hall.

5. Cinematographer par excellence Alyson Spery at Preservation Hall.

6. Ben Jaffee (L) and Brian Graves (R) outside Preservation Hall.

7. Alyson Spery filming “b-roll” in the French Quarter.  

8. Alyson embedded in a second line 

parade, Seventh Ward, New Orleans.

          Intermission: Liza Jane Sessions trivia

          Total film shoots: 11
          Most film shoots in a single day: 5 (!)
          Cameras: 2
          Estimated number of musicians: 35
          Age ranges of musicians: 8 to 76
          Collective instrumentation: banjo, bones, calliope, cigar box guitar, drums, guitar, keyboard, piano, saxophone, tambourine, trombone, trumpet, tuba, voice, and washboard
          Estimated variations of “Liza Jane”: 20
          Strings of beads thrown to us from balconies: 1
          Number of sunsets enjoyed on the north bank of Lake Pontchartrain: 1
          Five-day total of Sazeracs, Martinis, and Daiquiris: 7(*)
               (*sorry if this is disappointing!)

9. Emily Cohen, fundamentally aloof. 

10. Brian Graves: “Copy that.” 

11. Alyson Spery, wielding a fuzzy item. 

12. Goaded into a “flex.” 

Lucky 13. The team enjoying the sunset and some cold ones on the   

 north bank of Lake Pontchartrain after a long day of filming devoted  

to America’s favorite “lil” poor gal, “Oh, Li'l Liza, Little Liza Jane.” 

          Photography credits:

          John McCusker: 1, 2.

          Dan Gutstein: 3, 8.

          Alyson Spery: 9, 10.

          Emily Cohen: 4, 5, 6, 7, 11, 12, 13.