What We Do Is Secret

September 07, 2008

A few good music Iphone apps

I finally broke down and got an iphone. Here are the best (and free) music applications around right now.

1. Simplify Media

This is an great app that allows you to be able to access your music library on your desk top at home, anywhere you have wireless access. Futhermore, you can share your library with 29 other people, as they can with you. Apparently this is some "legal" limit.

This requires downloading a small app onto your PC or Mac as well as your Iphone or Touch. They are pretty bare bones from a look and feel standpoint, but they work. From your computer, you create an account with simplify media and give your music library a name. You can also control what part of the library you want to share. I kept it simple and just said my entire itunes library. On my Iphone, I get an equally minimal user interface (I've read that album artwork was supposed to work but it doesnt appear for me). Nor to I get itunes playlists. But I can play an album, or go on shuffling songs across the entire shared library.

It takes awhile for your shared library to become accessible thru the simple media list. I've got over 20k songs, and it took a few hours to get up to 14,000. However, that doesnt stop you from starting to listen to things on your iphone. The only complaint I have is sometimes it gets hung up buffering songs. I use pretty low grade DSL at home, but if I'm away from home and the Edge network comes into play, that may cripple the usability. I have yet to try that out.

2. Iphone Remote

Another good app that allows your iphone or touch to be used as a remote for the itunes on your computer. So the music is still playing on your computer, but you can see your entire library and playlists on your iphone. There's a lag in the artwork showing up on the iphone. It was about 8 seconds per album cover for me. Remote is just for playing; you can't make a playlist.

3. Pandora

The great thing about this app is it plays songs you don't even own. You start by entering a seed, either a song or a band. I entered "The Germs". It started by playing their cover of Chuck Berry's "Round and Round", then segued into the Adolescents' "I Hate Children", followed by the Misfits "Bullet", DC's Scream, then The Crass. They call it a "radio station". Pretty phenomenal. For guys who have happy remote trigger fingers, there's a limit to the number of song skips you can do for a given seed per hour. It is there to implement their advertisement model, which is minimal (6 ads per hour). I find that to be good, cos it forced me to listen to the entire song, and punk songs are short anyways. The negative is that two songs later, the Adolescents came on again.

4. Shazam

With Shazan, if you hear a song that you are digging, provided it's the standard recorded version, you just use your iphone to record a few seconds of the song and it will try to identify it for you. I downloaded it early on but still havent tried it.

posted by Henry @ 9:57 PM

May 09, 2008

Dump on the Chumps?

The question on everyone's mind is "just how many are there?" Helen Keller's "Dump on the Chumps" 45 is rare as hell, at least as found in the wild. But just as with The Meaty Buys 45, years of rarity in the wild could have meant someone out there was sitting on a big stack or box of them all these years. Which seems to be the case with this one. The seller of these was savvy enough not to sell them as a lot but initially to sell them one at a time, and just out of earshot of one another, meaning as the previous listing expired from the database, the next one got put up. This meant the casual shopper couldn't easily search through ebay for the last sold copy.

However, prices plummeted anyways as conjecture pointed to supply, with current prices just hovering north of $300, down significantly from its $1600 peak barely over a year ago. As these records were dumped on the chumps, unwitting buyers who have bought all way way down, a classic case of catching a fallen dagger. An economy case study of supply and demand indeed.

posted by Henry @ 1:24 PM

February 13, 2008

QUICK and the DEAD

Australia's Quick and the Dead most commonly appear as a a footnote in the history of the English band Skrewdriver, with whom they shared member Murray Holmes. Both were racist Aryan bands, but Quick and the Dead only put out one record, 1981's scorching 5 song 7" EP. Now, some just due is given the band with the release of "Intimidation is Intentional, Another Violent Night" (Coldsweat Records), a 4 disc set that's limited to just 500 copies.

p.s. There is a Coldsweat Records outta L.A., but this is the one from Oz.

posted by Henry @ 10:47 PM

February 10, 2007

Imperialist Pigs - Cork Screw Pork Sword EP (Fatal Erection)

First met Malcolm C back at a Gilman record swap, 88-ish, where I traded him a Sonics Rendezvous Band 45 for a first press Minor Threat Out of Step black back plus 25 bucks.

One year after the death of Poison Idea guitarist Pig Champion (nee Tom Roberts), Malcom's hardcore record label Fatal Erection rears its engorged head from a very overly long hiatus with it's 12th release being a top shelf dredge from the past - Tom Robert's pre-PI band, The Imperialist Pigs.

Froth-worthy would be describing it lightly. A mere one week after its release, the Imperialist Pigs' Cork Screw Pork Sword 7" EP sold completely out of its 900 press, instantly.

Sources say that a second press will be done with different color labels, some variation of the picture sleeve, and the addition of a sticker, which did not come with the first press. Pretentious asshole record collectors beware!

Side A is in-the-studio blazing breakneck headspin, 3 songs that punch you in the gut with purely fucked imagination. Tom's cranked up guitar skills are immediately apparent, while Eddie Avery's mixed-way-low vocals provide counterpoint. Luckily lyrics are included or you'd miss the precision invectives of hate/rage, as the vocals are spat out from what sounds like a closet or two away. They invade your subconscious.

The B is live, a month after the studio, with special double groove so depending on where you drop the needle, you get a random track. Indecipherable but clearly tortured in best way possible. Both songs great.

Not sure what is next for Fatal Erection but we hope they keep it "up" for awhile.

(While apparently other PI mainmain Jerry A was also part of the Imperialist Pigs at some point, these recordings were done with their earlier vocalist.)

posted by Henry @ 1:54 AM

January 01, 2007

Gizmos - Live in Bloomington 1977-1979 2xCD (Gulcher)

A two disc set relegating one disc to each major Gizmos incarnation, with Ted Niemiec being the only stalwart. Where and when in the hell could bands like this play their public library? A special time and place it was. Funnily, a pre-megastardombound Johnny Cougar plays into all of this, emceeing the show and even providing vocals on a song. Garage trash thuggery and dollops of self-deprecating humor abound by as many misfits as they could cram on stage. I've long endeared myself to the Gizmos cause but if you want an unbiased opinion, please go out and buy this.

posted by Henry @ 10:22 PM

October 13, 2006

Crawlspace - Spirit of '76 (Gulcher)

Been a long time since I heard a Crawlspace disc (which was the late 80's release of the "In the Gospel Zone" LP which I can only vaguely recall as being an epic proportioned slab that has permanent residence in my stacks), altho they have prolifically cranked out releases, sometimes insanely limited, that rival Sun Ra or Jandek in the ensuing years. This particular one piqued my interest cos of the Kenne Highland cover art (circa '73) as well as a boss choice of cover songs.

This shambling outfit led by Eddie Flowers (ex-Gizmos, curator of Slippy Town and among rock's most entertaining writers) manages to play in lockstep just long enough to lay down renditions of O. Rex's lo-fi masterpiece "Califawnia Gurls". If you really think they can't play their instruments, they get their shit together and play real tite on "Rat Fink" (originally a B-side to Allan Sherman's "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" 45 from 1963). Of the three Crawlspace originals, "Never Never" is the mind blower, plodding noodles of guitar bending with pained warblings, certainly trace inducing detritus. A cover of the Patti Smith version of "Hey Joe" begins with requisite rambling reminiscent of a spittoon.

If you like the Child Mo's` brand of thug rock of that ilk, you'll dig Crawlspace!

posted by Henry @ 12:50 AM

October 01, 2006

Dennis Most and the Instigators - You Talkin' To Me?

Perhaps the hardest working man in proto-punk, Dennis continues to put out new music as well as obsessively tweek, reissue and sometimes re-record the older stuff. I first came across his back catalog of recordings with Rave Up records' 2001 vinyl only release "Excuse My Spunk", which featured 14 songs from the era. All of those songs + 10 additional songs are available on this 2006 CD reissue on Red Lounge Records on German import. All the recordings are from the original masters and were remastered in 2005. Dennis' perfectionism pays off as this is the penultimate release of his back catalogue in terms of both completeness and sound.
Even though the music is culled from 8 different recording sessions, the remastering job as well as the fact that Dennis is a very consistent songwriter makes this release a cohesive one, tho there are 4 songs that are repeated in original form and then rerecorded in ;83. I'm impartial to the '83 sessions, as the songs are played faster (with the exception of "Tough Break", which is downright dirgey in it's delivery - I prefer the earlier more rockin' version), Check out his website www.dennismostinstigator.com for further lowdown, as Dennis has moved back to Massachusetts to be close to the band, and live shows are being lined up for 2007. This man is unstoppable.

I'm Not Dead Yet!
On the all new recordings front is this currently promo only 10 song CD-R that prove Dennis has plenty of juice left in him. The title track builds on a locomotive riff and Dennis' howling vocals. Then, a real heavy cover of the Groovies' Teenage Head. "Jump In The Sand" is hilarious with its "Watch out for the crabs!" counterpoint. This is one of his most enjoyable releases and hopefully it will get bonified release treatment real soon. Yes, Dennis is very much alive - let's all support him and and the cause! .

posted by Henry @ 9:57 PM

September 30, 2006

Hackamore Brick - One Kiss Leads To Another (Mr Nobody)

I first heard "Oh, Those Sweet Bananas" on a mixtape from my buddy Yuval in and around 1984 or 5. Apparently, it had been a favorite of Dale Lawrence (Gizmos, Vulgar Boatmen) and Yara Cluver (Panics), folks Yuval had grown up with and had helped cultivate his musical tastes (or at least plant some good seeds in his ear). It was such a great song I immediately had to track it down, and I managed to do so at Gary Sperrazza! (Bomp magazine) record store in Buffalo called Apollo Records in 1985 or so. I may have come across maybe one other copy in my 20+ years of vinylmania.

There were certainly other gems on the record. "Someone You Know" probably was a big influence on Dale Lawrence's post Gizmos career, a soft but powerful strummer, a real great song. But it was definitely "Sweet Bananas" that was the chosen nugget to propagate onto my mixtapes for others.

Got tipped off about this CD reissue on the Mr Nobody label from Agony Shorthand. was planning to ignore it, but had to shell out $17 for a USED copy at Amoeba today, primarily because I realized that "Searchin'", a B-side was included, plus the possibility of some liner notes. Unfortunately, there were no liner notes to speak of. The foldout simply contains a picture of the record's inner label, Sides A and B. But "Searchin'", is definitely worth getting it for. It's a flat out and out rocker, heavier than the LP's tracks.

By the way, here was the mixtape. Hackamore Brick was Side B, 8th track:

posted by Henry @ 11:22 PM

September 11, 2006

The Zombies at 12 Galaxies, San Francisco. 9/7/06

Part of Little Steven's Underground Garage tour, The Zombies played with Phantom Planet and Woggles the other night.

Phantom Planet is far too self styled and major-label-indie-darling for my tastes, sounding a little Radioheadish which is only OK if you are Radiohead, and they had the gall (disguised as homage) to actually do a Zombies cover right before the Zombies came on. The Woggles were self-aping fun, the lead guy was all over the place, and as much as I'd heard raves about them, this was my first time seeing them. Entertaining if not particularly memorable.

The Zombies were elegant, classy and soaring. Insanely and inanely, I had only gained familiarity with their classic "Odyssey and Oracle" just prior to the show, tho friends-pundits had been expounding them for years to my stretched ears. I had always imagined them as probable lightweights, but that album immediately grabbed me as a timeless cornerstone of Left Banke / Big Star triage. Blunstone's vocals were bright and on the mark, Argent's keyboard chops and song stylings were deft. They did do Argent's 70's hit "Hold Your Head Up" replete with the swirling pre/post ELP keyboard gratuitousness that was a bit out of place. The crowd was appreciative as was I.

The Garage was a bit corporate, but the nice thing was getting coupons for $1 Rolling Rocks through part of the night. A worthy project by Little Steven.

posted by Henry @ 1:53 AM

September 01, 2006

Radio Birdman - Great American Music Hall, San Francisco 8/30/2006

I bought Radio Birdman's Radios Appear LP from one of those black guys on the street in NYC selling random batches of cutouts...this was in the early 80's, probably '82. I filed it as a coulda-shoulda-been-a-contender, the victim of a castrated mix. Great songs, guitars way too low, shoulda been a howler. Hell, I was 20, what the fuck did I know. At least I had the goddamn record in my stacks.

In the latter 80's when WEA Australia put out the Radio Birdman Box Set (which we carried at Blacklist, the MRR related non-profit distributor for whom I volunteered) I was able to partake in the rest of their catalogue, particularly becoming enamored with the Burn My Eye EP, which appeared in 12" form in the box. A near perfect 4 track EP, with "Snake" making the cut most often on my angst ridden mixtapemaking obsessions.

It wasn't until Sub Pop's unlikely issue of their compiled greatest hits a few years back with perhaps a better mix (or was it my turntable needle all along ???) that led me to become a Birdman disciple able to sing the praises of the Radios Appear LP.

At this year's earlier Flesheaters reunion gig, Roehrs said it's only worth going out to shows 2 or 3 times a year now. Well, we both ended up at the Radio Birdman reunion gig on thursday. Two simultaneous orgasms down, maybe one more to go for the year (could the third be the upcoming Slits gig?)

Radio Birdman was playing on U.S. soil (which they never actually did to support their U.S. Sire records release) at last. Their second gig, the first being in LA the night before. After loading up on large hunks of meat at nearby Tommy's Joint (der Hof-brau institution), the aging fanboys loaded up our guts and hauled them over to the Great American Music Hall.

Nevermind that I'd have to suffer through opening band The Sermon again. The Great American Music Hall is notorious for putting on strange bills...Carmaig De Forest opening for Television was a joke, while Faun Fables opening for Slint was nothing less than infuriating. Fortunately, we spent our time walking around the block a few times while The Sermon delivered, but felt obligated to check out The Black Furies simply because it got real cold outside! The Furies on headphones might come off as a passable second rate MC5, but live they needed to be scolded for the most laughable stage patter I've ever heard. "We're on MySpace, we're on iTunes...we are ALL OVER THE FUCKIN' Internet" declares the lead frat boy singer...and what's scary is HE MEANS IT....MAN. Maybe this was a warmup for the CMJ convention or something. The bamalama quotient of Frat Boy coupled with the Wayne's World guitarist had many-a-roarin' in the stands.

But this is now all in retrospect, because the present and the near present was all preoccupied with the presence of RB. Somehow I was a few rows back of front and center but the initial mosh transported me straight into Chris Masuak's line of sweatfire...his Marshall Stack pummelling me with riffs peeled off effortlessly by the man behind the cool shades. Rob Younger was just to the right and front of me, looking a bit frail yet roaring couplets with mastery. Deniz Tek on the far right. Despite their new record in tow, they played mostly the oldies, with the fastest "Burn My Eye" I'd ever heard. As the "Yeah Hups" out of the audience started to grow and grow, they did do "New Race" too. Coulda done without the cover of "Search and Destroy", especially since their own material was so strong, but man, this was as close to the sun as I'm gonna fly this year, 4 more months pending regardless.

posted by Henry @ 7:34 PM

July 10, 2006

The Maggots - Let's Get Tammy Wynette 7" (Discourage Records 2006)

The Maggots 45 was another early Forced Exposure want list item...of course the mere name and title conjured up le punk roque je ne sais quoi. I found my copy (#43 out of 400 as writ on the back) for a mere $4 from a local college DJ that was known for his surf show on KFJC...this was probably '86 or so, mind you, so nobody was really the wiser. Although it missed a tiny little chunk of the picture sleeve on the front (just to the right of "Wynette" in the picture), I somehow never felt any obligation to upgrade it from the one I found (or to hunt for the mega rare little plastic/rubber "pet maggot" that some came with). The sleeve alone was worth the price, probably as close to the quintessential punk rock picture sleeve as you could possibly get. When I brought it home, I was immediately charmed by Vicky Berndt's sing-it-shout-it vocals, the backing siren, the brittle sound...funny lyrics, definitely a novelty but incredibly arch and creative. I quickly slid it into a heavy 4 mil plastic sleeve and hid it into the safe confines of a dark corrugated 45 box. Pathologies run deep.

A decade or so later I found myself hanging out in Discourage Records founder Abe King's apartment in North Beach San Francisco, where Abe and I got real loopy on something and then listened to punk rock hyper-rarities.... AND I got my first chance to touch a real vintage "pet maggot". Abe had befriended Ms Weems, the meistermind behind the band and the concept. Little did I know of the labor of love that was to follow...fast forward to 2006.

A mere 20 years after I first encountered the rec, the Discourage gents have unleashed a class A++ reissue, or should I say TWO. Naturally I needed BOTH versions, their super limited version (hand numbered and with a crazy mock obi-strip crawing with with Maggot photos, and on clear vinyl), and their "stock" copy which is totally essential because it faithfully reproduces the original picture sleeve (I mean, THE ORIGINAL as in the original paste up sleeve from which all the first generation picture sleeves were reproduced FROM).

This you can tell because of the hostage lettering of "the maggots" were actually rubber cemented on the orignal paste up, which is reproduced here in all of its glory on this picture sleeve, that you can't see on the original stock picture sleeve (as shown at the top of this post)

While the pet maggot didn't make the cut (makes for tough filing anyways), the original booklet that came with the pet IS part of the package, and damned if these aesthetes done a bang up job on it. Read it and you'll see what little geniuses these wiggle teens were with their clever hyperbolic tendencies.

Also included is the demo of Tammy Wynette. I like how the aesthetes at Discourage finagled the back of the sleeve to accommodate it. On the right is my original copy.
:

Re-mastering? I mean, noticably? I can't really tell and I wouldn't want it any other way. The thing should and does sound like a little piece of plastic spinning out of control, squeezing out sparks and barking like a chihauhua. As it should be. This is sheer wow and now you can touch it again.

posted by Henry @ 11:08 PM

April 06, 2006

Flesheaters at Slim's, San Francisco

Old age is such that I probably woulda not gone to this show if it had rained for the nth day in a row (and there's been a record n-1 here in californy), but fortunately, it didn't. As Roehrs noted, us guys only make it to two or three shows a years nowadays...

Then again, the Flesheaters were only playing four gigs, this being the first and the last to be at All Tomorrow's Party in the UK, and I never had the privilege of seeing them in any form other than their post, as the Divine Horsemen back in '85 at the Club Lingerie (with the Cruzados and the Leaving Trains). Not to mention this being their all star lineup with John Doe and DJ Bonebrake of X, Dave Alvin and Bill Batemen from the Blasters, and Steve Berlin of Los Lobos. Of an ever rotating lineup over many years with Chris D being the only constant, this particular one was not only the most star-laden one, but the one that spewed out their most inspired moment, the magnum opus "A Minute to Pray A Second To Die". Their second LP too full advantage of the awesome musical chops the band had to offer and evolved from the abbreviated staccato punk of "No Questions Asked" to extended, conjuring even more vivid imagery

Chris D's throat was as ripped as ever, starting a bit shaky but steadily gaining assuredness through the show. The band has pretty much been playing music throughout the period so they were actually pretty tight. DJ is an AMAZING xylophonist, as I had only previously witnessed on X's Unheard Music movie. A highlight was "Divine Horsemen", which closed the set, their groove in full stride, before their encores...a cover of the Gun Club's She's Like Heroin To Me (by the way, Chris D is rumored to have been quite a junkie in his time), and the Sonic's Cinderella

Nota Bene: Chris reminded us that A Minute To Pray A Second To Die (on CD) is now outta print as of last year.

posted by Henry @ 10:26 PM

December 11, 2005

The concept really doesnt seem particularly good, but damned if it's inexplicable charm is sorta irresistable (yet not honorary of a so bad it's good designation) of Angel Corpus Christi strikes again. "12 songs by for and about Lou Reed" and the charm oozes outta the seams. Luminaries Dean Wareham (Galaxie 500, Luna) and Sonic Boom (Spacemen 3) provide part of the vibe. Maybe it's her phrasing - she's got the cozy Laurie Anderson thing pinned but with a little more feeling. Maybe it's that and the touches of Rich Stim, Angel's husband and ex-MX-80 Sound. Every song has a "Da Da Da" lope to it that has a calming effect. But you can feel the earnest admiration Angel has for Lou, it does shine thru, even when she derides his hair ("Why don't you shave it all off and start from zero").

posted by Henry @ 1:02 AM

Hard to believe this was recorded just a few years ago (2000-2002 to be exact), and even harder to believe this picture could be from any recent decade. Lou Rone's a bit of a mystery, about as fringe as his jacket, tho it's known he had some involvement with the no waver Von Lmo. This is an all instrumental blend of spack rock, synth, polyrhythmic and largely unengaging drivel. Drug addled in the worst sense (most likely pot), or possibly just misguided vague Santana worship without the chops. Or am I just clued out? I mean things start out promising with "Transistor" which is a flatulation of hard space rock guitar over a mean beat, the kind of shit that takes you places. But then some MOR undertones kick in on the next song and never let go. Not even the occasional indendiary lick, which does indeed worm it's way in here or there, can shake it from it's creeping malaise.
(Gulcher Records)

posted by Henry @ 12:19 AM

December 10, 2005

The SeX Rays CD

Apocalipstick, the SF-based obnoxio sex camp trash purveyors who we covered back in a previous column, has re-"christened" (as if anything about them could ever be described in bliblical terms) themselves The SeX Rays. While key wordsmith and front woman/dominatrix Jackie O Nasstie has left the band, they are now bolstered by a trio of new sirens. Star Varga offers most of the new lead vocals, while Serena Toxicat (apparently an ex-Suicide Girl), and Barb Wire (ex Punk Rock Orchestra) add to the mix and fill in additional leads. It's obvious that the band is the vision of guitarist and singer KC/DC, and tho the band name and some of the players have changed, the core sound remains.

Hedwig comes to mind in terms of their theatrical campy trashy arrangements, but The Sex Rays are lacking any of the heartfelt innocence and uplift - it's all rather twisted and brooding and sinister, yet tongue in cheek at the same time. In fact none of the new lead singers are really hardly "rawk", but instead are obviously from theatrical/operatic backgrounds. This lends to a rather unique sound. The reworkings of previous Apocalipstick songs are better: "Lick" and "Whoop-Ti-Do!" are less maniacal without Jackie's vocals, but they come off as harder rocking more cohesive songs. "Can't Find My Boots" is a cool reworking of Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Were Made for Walking" that speeds up punkly and then crashes and burns in a miasma of vocal strangulation. A powerful and entertaining band that deserves to be heard.

Given that Jackie O wrote most of the delicious lyrics to these songs, it will be interesting to hear what they come up with nex. In the meantime, contact them at The Sex Rays: POB 590144, SF, CA, 94159. Their website appears to be down (www.thesexrays.com).

posted by Henry @ 11:14 PM

November 23, 2005

Back In Saddle...and Out Through The In-Box

With some wounds finally licked and upcoming time to kill, I thought I'd get back in the saddle and ride my way thru the stack of stuff that's been neglected in the in-box. No longer being tied to a monthly regimen in regards to submissions (since this blog is no longer tethered by the whipping goys of MRR), hopefully I can acclimate to posting on a less regular yet more frequent basis.

While my lovely parents, who are staying with me for the last couple and next few months were watching Chinese female body builders on cable, I began thumbing thru some of the stack. Amidst their oohs and ahs, I soaked in some of the vinyl gestalt that lay before me.

Top of the heap sat a couple of 45's from a very fine label, Plastic Idol Records, run by an even finer guy, Mario Solis. First of all, he's outdone himself in the packaging department because PIR-004 and PIR-005 are cookin' lookin' things. (The fact that there are only 500 of 'em make'em even look better, heh heh...) The Minds 45 is hot pink, with red hot vinyl, and splattered with bits of brains everywhere, on the front, on the back, in every band member's name, and even in one of their songs! The Dissimilars 7" on the other hand is on deep blue vinyl and introduce a fledgling attempt at an actual logo for the label, a cool skull'ncrossbones !? Yes, at Plastic Idol it is always all about the bands, but now that they've got a string of winners under their cap, it's about time they got to promoting the label too, cos people ought to be trained to pick up everything on the label. This recent pair cements that advice.

My dad was kind enough to turn down the television volume and let me play the A-side of The Minds, "We Got The Pop". The lo-fi production values immediately hooked me, since pop punk has gotten so overproduced, largely due to the major label bid. This garageyness is the way it should be, but it's been all too lacking lately. By the time it was over, my parents retreated to the kitchen to eat ice cream, usually the sign that the music is rippin' good, so I cranked it up (I have a soundproofed music room care of Charles Salter Associates, a preeminent acoustics firm here in the Bay Area). Yeah, the A-side is pretty good pop-punk, with the snotty vocals and buzzing keyboards adding an edge. The B-side sounded even better. "Brain That Wouldn't Die" skittled along the lines of The Dickies, with whom I'd been in worship mode lately. And finally, who can fault them for their choice of cover of the excellent Beantown band La Peste, whose "Don't Wanna Die In My Sleep Tonite" I hadn't heard since it had been reissued on CD a decade ago, they choose to close with. It's a much more raucous sped up version than the original, which naturally does it the right justice. Afterwards I ended up listening to the two versions of the song on the La Peste CD and theirs ranked up their with the live La Peste version. Perty good sheeyut.

The Dissimilars 45 comes with a lyric sheet. I'm not a lyrics guy, but after half of the A-side "Landmine" played through, I found myself reaching for that sheet, cos I couldn't remotely understand anything the guy was singing. And then when I read the lyrics I couldnt figure out which words went with which lyrics. But did it matter? Hardly, cos count me gripped in the most visely way. Scorching vocals and phrasing that is used as a blunt instrument. This is one of my favorite 45's of the year. While "Landmine" nears upon iconic in its "Touch Me I'm Sick" reminiscent grunge stylings, I like the flip side even more - "Turn Me Loose" is my set on repeat for the time being with its vocal madness, while "Pills" is just a fucking awesome. punk song. Slightly non-organic-beyond-punkness vibe that makes this lovingly fucked beyond reproach.

posted by Henry @ 4:53 AM

November 02, 2005

Brush with Greatness Series: #12
Inga Vainshtein

I sat next to Inga Vainshtein in an Engineering Management Information Systems course, 1982 or 3. Not yr typical Engineering type, especially in a school whose ratio was already practically 2 (guys) for every gal. She was hot in an overtly heavily mascara-ed, Nico/jaded look, accented by stringy hair. Less teutonic than Nico tho, instead, an obvious eastern european thing going.

Some 15 years later, I saw her in the news. She was sueing neo folkie Jewel for unceremoniously dumping her as manager, and replacing her with Jewel's mother. Apparently a pretty big lawsuit because news of that continues to dominate any web searches done on Inga.

I hardly remember the class at all, other than her presence. She wore sort of dirty striped pants, kinda trashy looking. We never talked all semester, except just once. I looked over at her and she looked at me, and I embarrassedly tried to look away by staring up into her hair. I saw a bug in it. I bypassed all my inhibitions and blurted out :

"There's a bug in your hair"
"Eeewww", she replied. She lowered her head , her wonderfully stringy hair glistened toward me.
"Can you pick it out ?", she asked..
"OK". I reached out and got what appeared to be a small beetle between my fingers out from between her hair. It was a little greasy. She lifted her head back up and I showed her the bug.
"Thanks", she said.
"No problem", I said.

That was the one and only time we ever talked. She dated Stona Fitch, the editor of the school newspaper, who later played with the indie band Scruffy the Cat with some of the ex-Young Fresh Fellows. Note to self: this could be a good degree of separation trivia question

posted by Henry @ 11:20 PM

October 09, 2005

FUCK ME IM LOIS

FUCK ME, I’M LOIS:
Tall Texas Tales of Superman’s Girlfriend
by Erin Arthur
edited by Henry

Erin Arthur (nee Erin Humphrys) was an original Texas punk and one of the lead singers for Dallas punk band Superman’s Girlfriend. This was an attempted autobiography I worked on with Erin back in 2001 or so. It was nigh impossible to capture all of Erin's adventures and find a way to tell them in chronology. This is the closest I was ever able to get. Please send on any corrections or omissions. Erin is a true original. She is an avowed internet junkie and webmistress of her cool site: http://TexasPunkJunk.homestead.com/OHLOISWELCOME.html - Henry.

It was ‘77/’78. I had been going to this bar in Dallas called Mother Blues ‘cos it stayed open till 5 in the morning. It was there I met this long haired guy wearing a pink plastic dry cleaning bag for a shirt! He was telling me about his band The Dot Vaeth Group, and telling me about punk .I listened eagerly ‘cos god, I was so bored with the 70's music and scene. His name was Pat Conley.

Anyways, Pat invited me out to his trailer in Azle, Texas to hear them practice. A few days later I got my friends and off we went to hear this punk band. They did The Ramones’ "Blitzkrieg Bop", then the Sex Pistols. I was hooked. I knew from then on it was PUNK for me!

The Dot Vaeth Group was Jim Nabors, David Townsend, James Flory, Pat Conley, and Doug Townsend. They had this friend Bryce Parker, who had a house in Hurst where we use to go drink listen to records and hang out. Bryce talked his sister into helping him finance a recording studio, which ended up in downtown Dallas. He named it "E.S.R".

We all went to see The Sex Pistols show at The Longhorn Ballroom in Dallas. Nervebreakers were supporting and for anyone who does not know, it was Bryce who threw that stanky raw fish up on stage and Barry Kooda (Nervebreakers, Barry Kooda Combo, Yeah Yeah Yeah, Punk Rock Dinosaurs) proceeded to gnaw on it like it was a tasty treat. The photo made it into Rolling Stone Magazine. (Barry has a great Sid story but I will let him tell it to you if he wants - barrykooda@barrykooda.com).

The “E.S.R” days were the best! We would hang out, drink, jam and just have fun! So in 1979 we were messing around. Jim ad libbed something about Lois Lane, and I screeched out, “Fuck me I'm Lois”! Superman's Girlfriend was born.

The first Superman's Girlfriend line up was: James Flory (bass), David Townsend (guitar), Doug Townsend (drums), Jim Nabors (vocals), and yours truly Erin Humphreys (vocals). We would play around Dallas, then Austin and Houston. We usually played DJ’s, Gertie’s, Magnolia’s, Lou Ann’s and a few other places around town.

Erin at Magnolia's in Dallas
(copyright Erin Arthur)

DJ’s New Wave Cafe
But we loved DJ’s most because it was strictly punk. It was all ours, and you know punks like to break stuff and fight! There was a clothing store next door called Electricity. They wanted to have a grand opening with a live band but they didn’t have enough room for a band to set up.

That’s when Dolores Nolly entered the picture and started DJ’s. I got the feeling the neighborhood pub was dead till the punks showed up.

Erin and Jim Nabors at DJ's New Wave Cafe in Dallas
(copyright Erin Arthur)

The Dot Vaeth Group played and Dolores was hooked I am sure she saw dollar signs too! So in 1979, DJ's New Wave Cafe on Greenville Ave. in Dallas was born. If those walls could talk! There were lots of characters. I remember one night Superman's Girlfriend was playing and Bobby Soxx (who would later form Stickmen With Rayguns) wanted to get up and sing a song, so we said ok. It must have been a Vomit Pigs song or something. Well he had taken a bunch of Quaaludes and when the song was done he would not get off the stage. The guys in the band finally had to drag him off kicking and screaming!

Superman's Girlfriend performs “Jesus Saves” at DJ's New Wave Cafe, Dallas 1979
(Copyright Erin Arthur)

There were only a few bands in the beginning: Nervebreakers, Vomit Pigs, Toys, and The Dot Vaeth Group. After DJ's opened, the whole scene just blossomed. Our pal Don Gray found a fourplex to live in, which became our after-hours new wave party palace. Eventually, the whole building was occupied by punks. It was called Bryan Parkway. It was there we met three kids who stuck to the scene and to us like glue.

Shit Cherie (VDegenerates), Sharon and Danny Flame.were outrageous, loud, and obnoxious. They’d do anything to get to hang around. Sharon and Cherie were eventually immortalized in the Butthole Surfers’ song “Pepper” off Electriclarryland. Cherie and I had a love/hate relationship. We would get into fights everywhere, scrappers! I called her my mortal enemy.
Eventually, Cherie had done something at DJ's: either broke something or Dolores had found out how old she was, I don’t quite remember. So we were all at the club, but everyone started talking and looking on the front stoop careful not to step in it and we were just dying laughing...well, Cherie had gotten pissed off and dumped some shit on the stoop I heard it was human but really did not look that close, so maybe hence the name "Shit Cherie" hahaha ! Oh yeah, they had two friends that deserve a mention too: Pogo (Kim Wolfe) and Elisha Reneau. Elisha got mad at Pogo one night and whacked him on the head with a cast iron skillet! He went to the hospital with a concussion! Cherie is dead now.

Aside from the VDegenerates, Shit Cherie shared a makeshift band with me called The Cut Rate Toxins. It also included Valerie Bowles (bass), John Lacey (guitar), Chris Williams (guitar) and Dan Burton (drums).

The Cut Rate Toxins, at the Metamorphosis Concert Hall supporting Deprogrammer.
It was the only time I ever shared a stage with Shit Cherie (shown singing)!
(Copyright Erin Arthur)

In 1980, Val and I moved to Oak Cliff to Will’s house (Telefones, Red Tapes) and we started messing around with the very experimental Red Tapes. This is when the song “God Reasons'” was done. This was released posthumously on the Tales From The Edge 5 & 6 double CD by George Gimarc, the local DJ from The [radio station] Edge, in 1992. The Red Tapes were Jack Crow, James Flory III, David Price, Will Clay, yours truly Erin Humphreys, and Valerie Bowles. Paul Quigg was in the early version of this band in ‘79.

We all did a lot of LSD and made some strange but what we considered good music. We called it our religious experience, HA ! We had an 8 track reel to reel in the basement of the house among synthesizers and other music making devices. We spent most of our waking hours recording and experimenting. In 1981 or so, Val and I moved to the Hodge Lodge.

I remember moving in with Val in her apartment and we headed down to VVV, the local record store owned by NCM's bassist Neil Caldwell. There was a record release party for this band from Manchester, England, The Fall. We went to their show at The Hot Klub afterwards. Michael Ritchy offered up his mom and dad’s house for the Party. So we all showed up and the party was on. While the parents were upstairs asleep, we all did some crank, shot pool, listened to music, lit every candle in the house, had snacks and lots of conversation until about 7 in the morning when his parents threw us all out.

Well, Val and I had made some new friends and we wanted to party some more, but they had to go on to Chicago. We had this friend Karen and she offered up the money to buy 2 plane tickets back to Dallas from Chicago. So we took her up on it. So drummer Karl Burns and Road manager Grant Showbiz were on their way back to Dallas. They wanted to see the lake so we did that, played lots of Defender at 7-11, ate lots of toast ‘cos we didn’t have much money, did some crank and had lots of bedroom fun! The day they were to go back a cop pulled us over on the way to the Consulate and we explained they had no time. He let us go so they barely got to the airport in time. We said our goodbyes and that was another mark in memory. The popular records we played over and over again during this time were Killing Joke, The Furs, The Go-Go's, and The Cure. But The Furs got played the most while our visitors were in Dallas. Cheers to Karl & Grant: The Fall Tour of America 1981.

The Hot Klub
By ‘81/’82 there were quite a few clubs to play by this time in Dallas, Houston, Austin and Fort Worth. Life was GOOD and we were having a blast! The Hot Klub got going good. Good enough to book bands like Iggy Pop, Siouxsie and The Banshees, The Stranglers, Richard Hell, The Stray Cats, Adam Ant. Our bands made pretty good money too, plus we got our drinks free and we got into the big shows free so it was a sweet deal. Unfortunately, DJ's kinda fizzled out...well, we all know there ain't no honor amongst punks!

Superman's Girlfriend at the Hot Klub in Dallas.
(Copyright Erin Arthur)

The Hot Klub would be where Superman’s Girlfriend played their last gig. The lineup at this time was the same minus David Townsend and plus Paul Quigg. Well I had been girlfriend of our drummer for a few years by now and the band was getting sour and so was Doug! Our last gig was in ‘80 I think and that night there was this party and there I met this guitar player who would later be in NCM, David Hill.

Unfortunately, I met Heroin too. That was a long trip and the only way was down, but we all did it (been clean now for 9 years)!

There was this house in the same neighborhood as The Hot Klub and they dubbed “Bachelor Hell”. But my friend Valerie Bowles (Teenage Queers) and I needed a place to live. So we talked Jerry Hodge, the guy that owned the house into letting us move in, against the majority vote of the men already living there. Suzi Mustang (Cringe) came later and we all had a room and that stereo blared 24/7, Bobby Soxx lived there and would play that Flipper’s “Sex Bomb” over and over and there was not a little stereo in that house it was a fuckin’ PA system! We renamed “Bachelor Hell” to "The Hodge Lodge".

We had great parties. There was this really drunk girl there one night and she left her purse by the back door. Bobby swooped in like a vulture and got cash and her camera ... then the rest of us finished it off. I am sorry to say but we were relentless and unless you were one of us, you were walking into dangerous territory. Especially if you were rich and wanting to be a punk! Eventually the house was sold, me and Bobby were there till the last he had plugged into the condo next door for electricity...but a few nights before all the guys took sledgehammers to the walls the staircase, now that was loud I carried my stuff down what was left of the stairs and got in my 68 Cadillac that barely ran and drove away then for a brief stay at my moms.

Summer of 1982, Austin, Texas
After a very brief stint at my moms, I decided to head to Austin. She gave meenough money for a bus ticket and off I went. Richard and Angel, who I’d met on their visit to the Red Tapes house, met me at the bus station and let me stay at their apartment. Richard was managing Jerry’s Kids, who were Brett Bradford, Steve Sonleitner, Rey Washam, Chris Wing (Sharon Tates Baby) and Bryan Finger. Brett and Rey would later form Scratch Acid with David Yow. So we got in all their gigs for free.

Every night we would head down to Sixth Street. There were great shows. Black Flag at the Ritz Theatre. Everyone played Austin. I saw The Clash with Stevie Ray Vaughn supporting them. I met this guy named Mike (played bass for ?), down on the street. He looked like Sid Vicious. He asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. For lack of anything better to do I said “Yea Sure”. Well I was in the process of moving into this house for the summer that had been rented for the college kids in the fall. So Mike took me back to the apartment where Angel accused me of fucking Richard (which I did not, by the way!) I was stoned and not in the mood for a fight so we just got my shit and left. I never saw Mike again after that, heh heh. Guess it was a bit much (or he thought I was a puss) for the Sid lookalike.

The Fear record had come out and we loved it. Richard and I made shirts with stencils and spray paint and blasted that record constantly. Well I got moved into the house and we had our own rooms and air conditioning too. Val came for a stay and never left she is still in Austin! Brett Bradford and his girl Karen (the college student), Steve Anderson, Valerie Bowles, me and Mark lived in the house.

David Yow (Toxic Shock, Jesus Lizard, Scratch Acid) was a regular. He and I got on great. In the meantime I had put out flyers to sing in a band. I wanted to be in a hardcore band 'cos that was the big thing at the time .But my reputation of being a bitch to work with preceded me I am sure, so no luck! Whaaaa! Jammed a bit at Gary Gutheries house but never a solid thing! Usually, it was Val, Mark and Gary and I in his garage we would do Joy Division type stuff.

The very best show ever was at ClubFoot: Killing Joke, July 1982, The club was hot and sweltering, packed upstairs and down. Gary's band Talmadge D'Amour was supporting which was strange cause they were a synth band...well when Killing Joke came on they were fuckin great you could feel the building shaking, the floor in front of the stage was full up with punks, skins, you name it: all in a mass frenzy of slamming and stage diving! The club owner decided to pull the plug for some reason and that crowd went absolutely apeshit. IT WAS GREAT! Well they plugged the band back in cause they were gonna sustain more damage to their club if they didn't!

Anyway, the summer was coming to an end and it was time to head back to Dallas. In '82-'83, I moved into Jon Lacey's (The Beautiful,Punk Rock Dinosaurs..2001).

Then, I got a job. Ahhhh !

Erin back in Dallas, at Jon Lacy's 1982.
(Copyright Erin Arthur)

The Mid-80’s, Dallas
The Twilite Room, Studio D,& Theater Gallery times were really great. I had landed a job as barkeep working for Charlie Guilder in ‘85 I think, at Charlies Liberty Hall, later The Twilite Room / Circle A Ranch. Saw some great shows there: UK Subs, The Exploited, Johnny Thunders, Butthole Surfers, TSOL, Tex & The Horseheads, Circle Jerks, & Fang when they were babies, to name a few.At Theater Gallery, saw Meat Puppets, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Scratch Acid.

Studio D hosted The Misfits where me and my friend Terry Jo came home with autographed LP, 45 & T shirts ‘cos she flashed em her tits! Stickmen With Rayguns were supporting a lot of these acts by this time and making a name for themselves.

Erin with pet
(copyright Erin Arthur)

Casualties:
Will Clay (Superman’s Girlfriend, Telefones) – Heroin Overdose

Discography:
7”:
Vomit Pigs/Superman’s Girlfriend split EP (EV 04) 1992 (500 on red vinyl)
Unquestionably Late For The Trend Compilation EP (EV12) (1012 press, 162 on green vinyl)

LP:
Are We Too Late For The Trend? Compilation LP (ESR)

Cassette:
Steel Rok Presents Compilation (1983)

CD:
as Red Tapes on Tales From The Edge 5 & 6 Compilation (1992)

Unreleased Recordings:
Backing vocals on “Hitler’s Come Back” with Bobby Soxx

posted by Henry @ 11:59 AM

October 04, 2005

Video Killed The Radio Star But Who Killed Marilyn?

Samhain Live 1984 DVD

Seldom found live video of Samhain, circa post-Initium, at the Stardust Ballroom, which despite the name was hardly a swank setup, as you can see from the stained ceiling tiles. Rather brightly lit for a goth-metal-punk set, but maybe that's to help out Al Flipside who did the videotaping on what was then probably pretty expensive equipment for the amateur videographer, for whom we must all be indebted. Danzig's in fine form as the always gripping front man as he rips through much of Initium, a few Misfits tunes (Die Die, Halloween II, Horror Biz); "Unholy Passion" is introduced as a "song about fucking", and "Arch Angel" features extra rare guitar playing by Danzig. You might wonder why Samhain was not playing huge stadiums by then, but them's were the times. Raw and therefore pure, it's a must for any ancient Misfits or Samhain fan, while those brought up in the digital age might stick with Danzig.

posted by Henry @ 9:58 PM

October 01, 2005

Dennis Most and AudioLove...Live 1976!

Dennis is an original, as in being a navigator of those treacherous musical waters while punk was just an undertow and the hardy few clung to their Creem magazines and Stooges records while trying to find their way. AudioLove was his prototype for the better known Instigators (because of their "prodigious" output of 2 whole 45's back in the day - hey, they were no one hit wonder). After having already gotten a good whiff of the band on the Dennis' official unearthing last year on Captain Trip's archival release of "Live at the El Cid, December 1976", I was real excited to get this DVD-R from Dennis to see what AudioLove really looked like.

First, it's from a slightly earlier performance than the El Cid, this being from October '76 at Xaverian Brothers High School in Westwood Massachusetts. It's shot pretty well, in black and white, on at least a couple cameras, maybe as many as 4, replete with guitar solo closeups. Dunno who did the editing, whether it was done at the time or recently, but it's good.

6 songs in totem, 4 of 'em covers. Their influences were like a hipster's who's who going back way back when: Question Mark and The Mysterians, Troggs, Stooges, early Floyd. Hip and well read, these thuggish looking leather jacketed guys were historians while making history. They embraced hard rock as proper proto-punkers did, unafraid of guitar solos or facial hair. No doubt every kid went home that night compelled to form his own band.

Postscript:
Thankfully, Dennis is still doing it. And during the last couple of years, along with mining his past for golden ephemera like this, he continues to forge ahead with his musical career and an undying enthusiasm and verve. I feel real lucky to know him.

http://www.dennismostinstigator.com

posted by Henry @ 10:18 PM

September 01, 2005

PUNK PROFILE Series

JAMES WOOD

As lived (and recounted ramblingly) by Saint James Wood

edited moons ago by Henry

James Wood is the man behind the “Joe Producer” moniker on the 45’s he put out on his legendary San Diego punk record label Radio Active, circa back in the day, as well as being a rock and roll performer in his own right. He’s kicked around more than a few regional punk (and proto-punk!) scenes and has been a true purveyor of the punk lifestyle. If you don’t believe it, go ask the San Diego Correctional Facility. Or count (what's left of) his brain cells.

Formative Years

I was born on a small island in Northern California called "Mare Island". It was some kind of naval institution. My mother used to say I was the result of some radioactive genetic experiments gone terribly wrong at the Navy hospital. My mom has an interesting imagination but I always hoped she wasn't kidding. My dad was in the Navy and as I was growing up we moved about once a year, sometimes more. I was in 3 different schools during the 3rd grade.

It was in the 3rd grade that I first got interested in rock and roll. I found a copy of Elvis's “Hound Dog” at a thrift store and I loved that damn thing. I knew early on that a white man could sing any damn music he wanted. Also found “Hanky Panky” by Tommy James, “Psychotic Reaction” by Count Five and “Talk Talk” by Music Machine. Also liked Fever Tree, Ultimate Spinach and all those wacked psychedelic bands. That was one hell of a thrift store.

Besides that it was all about rockabilly and blues for me the first 10 years or so. If you think about it there's a lot of similarity in punk and blues: 2 or 3 chords and a lot of emotion and you don't have to be a damned genius to play it. And people seem to obsess over both forms; blues and punk people are the most obsessive fans that there are. That's me.

The first show I saw was Canned Heat, some crazy psychedelic band called Smokestack Lightnin', and Fever Tree.

Proto-Punk

Hawaii was cool for a minute. I was in a band called The Eat Your Dog Band in ‘72 -73 that was mainly influenced by Beefheart, Iggy, Deep Purple, Jimi Hendrix and anything loud and ridiculous. We used to have these really cool hand drawn flyers like of a picture of a big pot-the kind cannibals had and a few dogs would be floating in it and the top of the flyer would say:

"All Dogs Head For the Hills! It's the EAT YOUR DOG BAND!”

Another flyer that had a picture of a toaster and ...well you get the idea; it was cool. Had to change our name to the Honolulu Doggs for marketing purposes. There was just a bunch of crap around except for us. I mean the next best band was called Sugar Bear.

The Eat Your Dog Band had one moment of glory. Somehow we got a gig at this huge arena where we opened up for John Mayall and Cheech and Chong. I was only about 17, we were scared to death and sounded like shit. The reviewer said we were cacophonous at a time when cacophony wasn't in vogue, so we were crushed.

The Honolulu Doggs were a big deal and we played with all kinds of famous people like Peter Frampton and KISS and Foghat and Elvin Bishop and Savoy Brown. The only reason we got the gigs was because there wasn't anybody else that was any good. We were pretty loud and fast when we wanted to be though we also played a lot of blues. I actually liked the blues at first and that was how I learned to sing, but after a while I started feeling funny singing these songs that old black men in Alabama wrote. I mean no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't a hoochie koochie man, and to this day I think Mick Jagger comes off as a total dork when he tries it.

Introduction to Punk

In 1976, a guy named Jackson Weir played some Ramones for me and blew my little mind. I mean I always liked Velvet Underground and Iggy and Captain Beefheart but I didn't connect any of them with the Ramones. My favorite music up until that point was pretty standard except for Beefheart. I always did love Beefheart.

The Honolulu Doggs moved to San Francisco shortly thereafter. The first punk show I saw was at the Mabuhay in ‘77 and it was a mind blower: Tuxedo Moon, the Whoremoans and the SIC F*CKS. I mean I was just off the plane from Hawaii and I liked the Beatles and then BAM BAM! It was earth shattering. I still like just about every early punk band though I can't remember a lot of them because of the damage that happens to you when you're into punk rock.

After I whacked all my hair off, the Honolulu Doggs freaked out and ultimately broke up. Then I got crazy into drugs for about ten years…

Bands I Was In

Here’s a list of some of the bands I was in during my life and the people I played with. I don’t really remember the timeline though.

THE EAT YOUR DOG BAND / HONOLULU DOGGS

A six piece band with two keyboard players that played everything from Frank Zappa to Dylan to Ohio Players to Beefheart to Muddy Waters to Hendrix to Hank Williams to Iggy to whatever in order to make money. Our original stuff was punky funky shit. My bother was the guitar god who ended up playing with Warren Zevon and plays in LA in a grunge band to this day. All the other guys got married and gave up.

SEIZURE

After The Doggs broke up, I joined the SF band Seizure. Danny Machine on bass, Jackson Weir on guitar. The drummer Brett was in the band because he had a lot of equipment and money cause his brother was in Journey. The horrible secret of our band.

We played the Mabuhay a dozen times or so, LA too. Our most famous gig was when Jackson played with a broken neck on a gurney. I think he’s dead now.

We were in LA to do some gigs and recording when the band kicked me out because I did not want to shave my head. They released their one single “Cuties Wrong Now” without me.

NOISE BOYS

Immediately after Seizure I fled to LA, where I started a band called Noise Boys. Buzzcocks-Ramones–Beefheart-Blue Cheer. A pretty good band that lasted a year or two and had a few cuts come out on a couple of Mystic samplers. Once again time loses all meaning sometime between ‘79 and ‘82.

NOISE GOD

Somewhere between ’82-’84, a couple of guys from one of the Christian death bands asked me to sing for Christian Death. I passed because I felt like (a) Roz was Christian Death (b) I didn't want to be known as the new transvestite, and (c) I liked the word Noise in my band names. So the band became Noise God. The guys from Christian Death were Mike Montano and China. Rik Agnew floated through a couple times but he was in about 4 or 5 bands it seemed and had some problems. Not that I didn't. The band finally gelled - we recorded a really great album and did a small tour with Lords Of The New Church, Stiv Bators’ post Dead Boys band) in San Diego, LA and SF. The Lords' manager really liked us, offered to manage us and take us to Europe with the Lords.

Several days before we were to leave town the bassist and drummer inform me they can't go anywhere as they are strung out on heroin and are fearful that they won't be able to cop in foreign countries. Not only that but they can't play that night without some money or drugs (we had a gig that night with Tex and the Horseheads and the Mentors at Club Lingerie) I got the feeling that they thought they were indispensable because of the Christian Death connection. Personally, I hated Christian Death, and never did like their parties where I was expected to have sex with men. No thank you. I just thought they had cool hair.

I kick the rhythm section out of the band and tell the powers that be that I need a couple of extra days to pull it together. I replace the idiot musicians and have the band ready to go within 48 hours. Then I get a phone call from the record company telling me I don't own any of the songs we recorded (I wrote all the lyrics), that they are owned by some fellow named Ronald Figueroa (now we know why he wanted to call himself China). China had disappeared. The record company cancels the tour. I started crying.

YOUNG & DEAD

Psychedelic hard rockabilly, all original. The bassist named Ron from Blood in the Saddle who used to play on the street with me a lot, drowned. Guitars by Mike Wilcox who said he was in the Vandals I think. Really cool sound Sixties garage punk and rockabilly and a mess.

BOP MARTYRS

JOHNNY BURNETT-GENE VINCENT-ELVIS-CRAMPS-originals and covers only band around doing what we were doing was the Cramps. We also did a little Wilson Pickett and other strange soul music. Then the Stray Cats hit and we stopped. The guitarist took our whole set list and started the Paladins. They were called the Top Cats at first. Pissed me off. I played keyboards and harmonica for them for about a week but got kicked out cause I smoked pot and they drank beer. Quote me: The Paladins stole my set!

EVIL COWS

HOWLING WOLF-MUDDY WATERS-BEEFHEART-CRAMPS: half covers half originals. The Rocking Dudes saw us and changed their names to the Forbidden Pigs and copied us just like a bunch of bands. We opened for the Chili Peppers and the Cramps in San Diego and that was the height of that.

THE COKERS

Alvin and Calvin Coker, two black twin brothers from New Orleans. We did Rhythm and Blues and Rockabilly and all points in between, mostly covers so we could work. Went through about 20 drummers but had a good time for a year or so. The Cokers quit when we changed the name of the band to Saint James & The Voodoo Rockers cause they said they didn't want to do no voodoo. They were scared. Kim Fowley came down from LA to check us out at one point for reasons I never understood. I think he liked the black guys. Alvin and Calvin were scared of Kim too. I think I was also.

SAINT JAMES & THE VOODOO ROCKERS

Good crazy psychedelic blues punk band, half originals and half covers. New Orleans stuff and Cramps and Clash. Played the Casbah a lot, opened for John Doe and Hunt Sales and the Big 3 and some other people. Played 4 sets a night at a lot of bars. Joel Kimak played drums for a while Saint John Wood my brother played for a while Dead Tim Griswold played for a while Dan Boggs for a while. Stinky from the Rugburns played for a while. Some of the best musicians in the world. Skid Roper started playing with me around ‘91 and never stopped.

THE SAINT JAMES CATASTROPHE

Every kind of music known to man, with punk wrecking it all. We opened up for G. Love, RL Burnsides, Bloodhoung Gang, Tricky, Unwritten Law. We were supposed to open up for Morphine, but then he had the bad luck to die! Got all those cool gigs because Tim Mays is such a good guy! Sometimes it's me and machines, Sometimes it's just me and Skid (Roper). Sometimes it's a bunch of people feeding back. Sometimes it’s samples and a punk rock kid on guitar...or whatever!

posted by Henry @ 11:50 PM

August 18, 2005

Beware of Hippies in Punk Clothing

I recently got an email from some pud named Paul Curran, who apparently took Mike Thorn's place recently as 'zine coordinator for MRR (either that or they added some sort of new position that involves getting on all fours and braying), excerpted below:
Henry, Golnar and I have decided that we want to discontinue your column in MRR. We feel that in recent months your column...has shifted toward a variety of bands and topics that lack cohesion and are often outside the realm of punk. We want to thank you very much for your years of input into the magazine, and wish you the best of luck. Sincerely, Paul Curran
I replied that I actually wrote about music, whereas "half the columns are post-pubescent musings that belong in their own diaries." However, my retort had too many SAT words to be effective rhetoric, and I was only left with my own navel to ponder.

Curious, I grabbed a recent issue, MRR #266, thumbing through it to see just who this Paul Curran was. Bingo. He used his passport photo as his column logo (to which I thought, hey, if you're gonna use your photo and not go all the way like Mykel Board, ie, flabbily naked and self mocking, then what's the point?). Looked familiar tho I'd never met or talked to the guy.

I skimmed through Curran's column, called The Learning Process. It was probably named after some Tony Robbins 12 step empowerment program that daddy bought him for his 30th birthday after being sick of supporting his lazy white ass. After I read it, I concluded that I had indeed learned something - that I might be dealing with a poseur, maybe even worse.

The blowhard wrote about three topics:

An editorial about the website myspace.com which had all the depth of a middle school sociology paper ("I don't need a website to remind me who my friends are...")
The death of his cat and the lovely funeral he and his roomies had for it
A shameless plug for his own band, their website, their upcoming record, and tour.

So it turned out that Paul himself was one of those glass half full (or should I say "half-assed full of it") columnists who wrote that sort of cheery peace loving unicorn jack off diary material I had only joked about. I couldn't figure out how any of his topics could possibly be considered cohesive, interesting, or even punk. If he was the voice of a generation, it'd be one composed of special ed drop outs. Lastly, plugging his own non-MRR related project for free in a 12,000 copy run zine seemed irresponsible and abusive of his position.

You never saw anyone like Tom Hopkins write "Hey I just got my law degree, so if you want to sue anyone's ass please email me". I certainly never posted my want list or tried to peddle any of my trade pile in my column. I don't even think Arnold Schwartzenegger ever wrote "vote for me" or "watch my movies" in the Editor's Note of any of those muscle magazines whose companies he owns.

For kicks, I then did a google search on "paul curran poseur", leading me to thousands of hits. Paul had been in Crimpshrine, a loved-among-the-kids Gilman/East Bay punk band circa '90, and therefore a bit of a celeb as far as punk goes. After that, he devolved into total indie shoegazing with the typical girl-singer-bid-for-a-record-signing band,The Delightful Little Nothings. Sheesh. Did Lou Barlow stray so far from the idiom when he leap from Deep Wound to Sebadoh (Gimme indie rock!).

I chuckled till the martini with a twist of lime ran outta my nose. Back when I was doing record shit (essentially funding bands and records), like 1990 or so, Kevin Army had actually shopped the first Crimpshrine LP (that he had just produced, later to be known as the Lame Gig Contest) to me! I passed on it. While I had enjoyed their "Sleep What's That" 45, I opted instead to help Mel on his Jawbreaker and Parasites LP's.

As far as the Delightful Little Nothings, well they rang a bell (more like a death knell) too because it turns out a good friend o mine had put out their 45 on his all-too-fey and about-as-far-as-you-can-shoegaze Candy Floss label. Heck, I even own a copy, heretofore unlistened to (although curiousity is starting to get the best of me) and squirreled away in some amoeba-probably-won't-gimme-shit-for-these pile. It probably sounded like Velocity Girl with a beveled edge and a faux brit accent.

I also found out that Curran was one of those tiresome no-brows who thinks he is a "real" punk just because he's poor (until the trust fund matures anyhow) with some shitty job and feels opressed. And then in his politics-lite, he blames Bush for his plight, rather than what are actually his own personal limitations.

Come to think of it, maybe Curran's limitations, like lack of brainpower, can be blamed on Bush. Maybe Bush is his father. May the force be with him.

I then decided to read Golnar's column, appropriately titled You Axed For It. I felt like I was reading a script for "Full House". The little princess wrote about three topics:

Her friends visiting and how nice and understanding they are

How swell her summer is going, although, as life may deliver some disappointments in life, she bought a white hoodie and fell off her bike, and got made fun of for it. (Gee, OUCH!)

A shameless plug for her own fanzine

I could see neither the cohesion, interest or punk in her column either (tho I did see enough fodder for a couple of decent sitcom plots out of it). And the same irresponsible abuse of power. I went back and looked at my column that I had just submitted to make sure it was all there. Yes, Shit Dogs.

The last time I saw Golnar was at Amoeba Records, where she stood at the used 45 section, flipping through them slowly and looking as if she was trying to memorize the different band names. I could see her lips silently form the words, "Minor Threat....Millions of Dead Cops...Misfits...". She then grabbed some cuddlecore CD, looked around to make sure noone was looking, and made a hasty exit.

I read some of the other columns. I noticed Al Quint did an embarrassingly long "think piece" on Creedence Clearwater Revival (John Fogerty, in particular) and even mentioned John Mellencamp. How punk was that? Now I know Al is a old school punk stalwart...but hey! Fortunately, Al hadn't plugged 'his own fanzine Suburban Voice in his MRR column, like Paul and Golnar had shamelessly done with their ther pet projects.

I started to piece together all of my research. It started to make some sense. I went off my medication and started obsessing all day and night. In a rare moment of french film blurred, it came to me:

MRR is being taken over by Hippies.

Back in the day, a hippie was both punk's anathema as well as its very raison d'etre. Peace, love and understanding, vegetables, communes, anti-war, shit like that was hippie. The punks on the other hand were about nastiness and fuck you, the ugliness of life, but always in a sarcastic tongue in cheek, self-mocking way.

Here are the reasons I believe we are dealing with Hippies, not Punks

John Fogerty OK - Shit Dogs NOT OK
Dead cat: Boo Hoo - Zolar X, whose lead singer is in jail: No Sympathy
SEC filings show that their parents own stock in Hot Topic, Inc. and The Gap.

It's been rumored that my writeup on Gang of Four was the last straw, because these kids say that Go4 is "major label" and not punk, and therefore not worthy of mention in the zine. This was no doubt the result of consultation with Arwen, the arbiter of all things punk-quote-unquote, who associates primary colored hair with the purity of her punkhood. Hell Go4 ere definitely way more punk than The Delighful Little Nothings never aspired to be, and their early LP's probably sold less copies in the US upon their original release in the late '70s than any post-The-Year-Punk-Broke Lookout! Records releases.

One well-wisher sent me these hilarious words of wisdom:

...maybe next time you'll write about the REAL important issues
concerning punk rock....like squatter "punx" in Tompkins square
park fighting for the freedom of public urination...my thoughts on
the matter are you should take a cue or two from that onetime MRR
columnist who shall remain nameless and write endless stanzas on
the merits of Moorehouse vs Frenchs mustard

As a well worn punk sentiment goes:

Kill The Hippies

Thanks for the help over the years: Ryan, Roger, Jeff, Mike, Dennis, Pier, Bob Gulcher, Jesse, Keith Earle, Clint, Kurt, Mario, Hilken, Doug, Ken, James Wood, Mike, Carolyn, Chuck, David IFUC, Jason, Paul, Abe, Danny, Erin, Kenne, Eric W, Tim Y and Mike Losh (RIP) and others.

posted by Henry @ 9:19 AM

July 08, 2005

MRR #268
August 1, 2005

Not Great Men...NOT!

The thought of my idols (pre-, punk, and post-) pushing-50, getting up on stage and trying to deliver the goods seems hardly a wise idea, but with the exception of the totally overrated and not godhead in the least Pixies reunion, there’s been a heckuva lot more than mere competence or mid-life crisis wanking – there’s been downright inspiration and second coming (Metal Urbain, Mission of Burma, Rocket From The Tombs). The last few months worth of Reunite on ice have managed to keep both ends burning and then some. First came Slint, a band that barely toured in their heyday of 15 years ago, and probably more of an influence than a band of any measurable popularity at their height. They played virtuously with a heightened sense of dynamics, fueled by Britt Walford’s amazing drumming, that brought majesty to the din of pre-post rock pre-grunge post-pigfuck scrawl - even as their lead singer Brian McMahon studiously stood off to the side and practically read his vocals.

When Slint

Most anticipated was the Gang of Four reunion at the Fillmore San Francisco...first of a two night stand. I'd last (and only ever) seen 'em before back in '82, Songs of the Free tour at the Ritz, with the Bush Tetras and Certain General opening (a quantum leap from REO Speedwagon, the previous show I'd been to). Soft spot was their Yellow EP, being the first non-MOR/AOR record I’d bought at the time, and secondly (and thirdly and so on), their “Entertainment!” LP with its tribal drumming and raining shards of guitar and sardonic vocals never failed to drop off my top 10 through all my post-adolescence pre-menopausal gyrations. Apparently still on the minds of the old timers around these parts had been their memorable gig with the Buzzcocks back in ’79.

Gang of Four came out swinging, singer Jon King in Mao outfit (somehow unbuttoned at the bottom to expose his belly button), Andy Gill still looking dapper. Dave Allen and Hugo Burhnam looked a lot less gawky than they did back the day – Allen looked like a grunge rocker. King was like Brian Ferry gone mad: histrionic and self mocking, literally running across the stage, writhing on the ground, shimmying, in a manner not at all befit of a grown man. Their playing was wound so tight they teetered precariously on the brink of having it all fall down, they on a perfect tightrope. Never mind post-punk, the four were as first generation punk as it gets. What’s god got to do with it when you have Gang of Four?

Then, beyond what could have been fathomed. The rebirth of the band Zolar X who find themselves 26 years after their breakup at a club in the armpit of the bay area, San Jose. However, among the skate punks were fans so fervent that fists shook at every faint smile put forth by the trio of aliens that comprise Zolar X. Former lead singer Zory Zenith being still in jail, Ygar Ygarrist now leads the songs with trademark munchkin-esque vocals. While last year’s “Timeless” reissued Zolar X in all their recorded glory, their live beings are altogether another matter, capable of generating tremendously heavy sound. They glam you not. Their sound is as original as past present future can be moving truly through a time continuum. The Sabbath reference in their press release is now discernible, the playing is pretty furious…never thought of these guys as punk, but look past the spandex and platinum wigs and the spockisms and the punk is there staring you right between in the ears. So very non-rusty, these guys got chops up the mutton and must be followed slavishly and revered wherever fine noise is purveyed. This mighta seriously been the best reunion of 2005 so far.

Jumpin for Pills

Had no idea that power poppers (and once half of Blondie) Clem Burke and Gary Valentine ever did time with the Ig, but it’s true. Back in ’81, these clean cut boys provided rhythm for Iggy Pop’s depraved leanings on his Party tour. Iggy Pop – “Live in San Fran 1981” is the document, recently released on DVD by Target Video. Mini-skirted. gap toothed, slightly junked and post-peanut butter, Iggy’s still manages to outcool the cool, tho this was sort of a down period for him. Right around the time he started work on his autobiographical “I Need More” book, along with being branded the Godfather of Punk, maybe he was already thinking he was in the twilight of his career.

“Fuck You Up and Get Live” is The Dwarves live DVD filmed at NYC’s Continental Club. Their legendary 15 minute sets of mayhem have devolved into sorta tongue in cheek cabaret middle age wanking played as goddamn tightly as staccato everything can possibly be, but the kids just love it. They are the stuff of which girls go wild and drop their tops, you get the picture. The video extras on this are bids…“Over You” is barely recognizable Dwarves, weird slick power pop whose edge has been beveled to pointlessness.

The Shit Dogs were most aptly described as punk-freaks, chubby flabby frizzy haired goofballs whose visual sense of humor bordered on the absurd: picture a cantaloupe with a pair of sunglasses on it, pseudonyms like “Wheelie Boodtongue”: they were hardly fashion plates or cock rockers or poseurs, they were barely recognizable as icons of punk. The first 45 is more imaginative with their own interpretation of punk prototyped, sometimes hard rocking, sometimes garagey, whereas the second 45 is more straightforward trios chord punk with the exception of the pseudo reggaed “Can Opener” that devolves into an art rant hard rock workout. Completists note that this comp omits the b-side of the second 45, as it also does parts of their 1983 LP. Their LP was a little more wide ranging, less focused, arty in a good way, loosely guitar-ed noodling, but then there’s the set of searing crunchers: “Cockroach” is their answer to “I’m a bug”. A must own for any sicko.

Far more polished but no less ridiculously named is Tot Rocket and the Twins, also comped by Rave Up for the “Television Rules” LP anthology. Also from the class of ’79 or so, these pretty boy guitar heroes cop Graham Parker’s “Nobody Hurts You” on their first 45 “Reduced”, then peel off a hot harmonica solo on the b-side, so where can it go from there? Anthemic guitar licked bids for getting laid on a regular basis and lotsa blow, it’s competent enough bordering on skinny tie but somehow not punkly so inspiring, at least in a killed by deathly way. For the evil twins of fans of Greg Kihn.

Fearless Leader’s “Little Devil” 45 was one of my faves of the latter ‘80s, a grinding little punk platter. Believed to be related to the Lazy Cowgirls or so the rumor went. “God Bless The Devil” is a disc full of previously unreleased stuff that was recorded much later in their career (1997). While the first half of the disc has less economic workouts (“Gotta Get My Shit Together”) the second half (songs like “Toxic Crotch” and “Move a Little”) are in the good time punk vein of the aforementioned 45. As to their relationship to the Cowgirls, well there is a “Clark” in the songwriting credits, which I’d take to be Alan Clark, the Cowgirls’ drummer, as there is also a “Wahl”, which is probably he of Clawhammer, but since the band members all have pseudonyms and don mock satanic makeup, the actual working members remain unknown. Life changing, no, but it makes the beer go down easier.

The Korps was the abbreviated (both in name and personnel) result of supergroup The Afrika Korps. The Kenne Highland/Ken Kaiser duopoly did just one and only record “Hello World!” as theirlittleoleselves, reissued here on CD by Gulcher (the home of Kenne’s earlier band The Gizmos.) Less obnox than the A. Korps, but still with plenty of the beer swillin’ ha ha, plus goodly sums of ye olde adolescent pangs of the big L. Whoever sequenced “Designs on You” (“Ain’t got no designs on you/If you think I want you you’re a fool”) right next to “Mad at the World” (“I’m mad at the world/Cos I can’t get a girl), just juxtaposed the two most opposing teenaged crazed girl thoughts. I also loved the doo woppy song about the “Blizzard of ’78” (which kept yours tru in high school till July if I recall correctly). Slightly touching, bordering on thuggish adolescent laughabilly, garagely satisfying.

posted by Henry @ 11:58 PM

May 01, 2005

MRR #266

The Shawpunk Redemption
As much of you record toting types must be aware and if ya ain’t I’m telling you now, Bomp’s Greg Shaw died not long ago, Bomp being the record label and the onetime fanzine, purveyor of garage rock and its splinters, heavy on the scene and now no more. Course he left behind lotsa lotsa ephemera, detritus and the like, collectibles and their ilk, nuggets and their brethren pebbles. That’s what nooks and crannies are for! Anyhow expect the goods to surface in some form or another, as Suzy Shaw is working with a few collector elite to sell off choice parts of the Shaw collection. Some appeared to make their way onto eBay recently, the most exciting piece being an original A&M promo Sex Pistols T-Shirt, DESTROY.

Fucking Up Your Turntable

Chinaboise was a mid-‘70s bid by then future MX-80 Sound member Rich Stim to “get a life”. If that was to involve scoring girls, this’d hardly seem to be the appropo vehicle, unless he was looking for twisted flower children to bed. Communal in the number of varied players on these recordings, but obviously personal since it was really Rick and Dave Mahoney trying to get it together, there’s a certain breeziness to it, probably supplied by Rich’s sax, as on the fairly straight ahead folk of a girl sung “Working Girl”, to the more decidedly avant-garde, like “Self-Conscious Pisser“, where the sax gets a little menacing, skronky, and with Stim’s anything but smooth sorta-sung spoken vocals, giving it a double edged sword, that is evocative of the Numbers Band without the chops. Not punk with a capital N, but every self-serving nut has gotta graze on the likes of this every once in awhile. On Gulcher, purveyor of choice Midwest madness, natch.

On the other side of the world, Warsaw Pakt from London’s class of ’77 see their “Needle Time” LP reissued on the Captain Trip label, this time with a booklet Mick Farren liner notes (in both languages, thankfully). While the band’s name might be best known as a footnote in Joy Division history (their existence led the band Warsaw to change their name to Joy Division) and their record best known for having been recorded, pressed and distributed in 24 hours, it also happens to be an excellent record, filled with fast, punky, and more than competently played songs. Other than the Brit accent, these guys may have looked more American than British (less fashionable, plus proto punk hairdos), even presaging cowpunk on. “Sick’n Tired”. “Even Money” is a minor classic. A CD take on the original LP jacket results in a hard to manipulate package, sorta like John Holmes.

Also from Captain Trip is Male, a German band a la The Clash in their look and sound, “Grosseinsatz” is a double CD that covers a career began in ’77, and features their lone LP “Zensur and Zensur”. All sung in German, and with Japanese liner notes, I’m outta luck if I can find out much about them. While the Clash-isms are competent and spirited they occasionally flash on brilliance. “1 Tag Dusseldorf” for example is nothing short of a thrill, which begins with a Wire-circa-Chairs Missing like grind that speeds up into bright shiny bursts of post-punk and “Polizei, Polizei” is as good as any brit shit of the same era. Unfortunately, they even followed the Clash into dub, which I coulda done without, but the punk stuff is pretty good shite. The bonus disc is promising. The stuff from ’94 rocks real hard, is a little less studied than their first LP. But their best song naturally was their very first, recorded in Dec ’76, called “Shit Family”, clocks in at 36 seconds, and pre-dates their descent into Clash-ophilia.

Maybe Alternative Tentacles slogan should be changed from “Giving art a bad name since 1979” to “Taking badness to dizzying heights”, as they just keep shoveling it. Buzzov*en, is junior varsity post crust thugness that shoulda stayed in the outta print, early ‘90s pile. Who needs nostalgia when you’ve got a case of bad déjà vu?

Speaking of which, when you begin to write lyrics like “If I had a Yugo, I’d drive through Hurricane Hugo”, isn’t it time to hang it up? Also on Alt Tentacles and leading me to seriously revisit my policy of reviewing everything that is submitted to me, Dash Rip Rock’s “Recyclone” is pure bad boogie nothingness. QED.

Tuneful garagey punk from Black Dahlias on Mario’s Plastic Idol records, whose releases I always like cos he doesn’t put out many and the ones he does are done up obviously quality all the way. Three blasts of the fun stuff worthy of spin.

Rave Up spews out a coupla polyvinylchloride platters from its extensive vaults…The Shady Lady release “Raving Mad” is a foray into new territory beyond its signature lost Punk Nuggets. The new series is called “American High Energy 70’s Rock’n Roll”, this one being Volume #2, and while the definition of Punk was sometimes stretched in their lost Punk Nuggets series, High Energy is, at least on this LP, a guitar solo rama lama shake down of cowbell glam excuse for the genre. While Thundertrain would epitomize that territory, this is barely salvageable but more or less the type of boogie that we struggled to get away from while growing up. Memories of getting the shit getting kicked out of me by farmer hick closeted boy-girls come to mind while the Hammond B3 and Moogs swirl in my head. Early ‘70s guitar solo hell with the occasional harmonica kick in the nuts.

Better is Rave Up’s reissue of Chicago’s Epicycle output from back in the day, those being and LP and a few 45’s. “You’re Not Gonna Get It” starts things, this supposedly being a monster track and the reason the 45 goes for three hun or so, pretty much befuddles me because it’s a lukewarm rant at best and about as KBD as my BVD. Besides, these guys always aspired for something bigger. With mature classic pop songs like “Radical Attitude”, these boys had chops but just like The Shoes, didn’t have the pin up good looks to propel them into Tiger Beat. Running from the crystalline to the hard rockin pop, this is mostly not punk but pretty darn well crafted poop.

Our friends at the Discourage Record Store in Portland have their first record out on their own eponymous label, and me gots the heppa rare 200 press version of it, The Nice Boys 45, them ex of the bands Exploding Hearts and the Riffs. Each copy auto’d by the band and a real low number (mine was 67). Tho someone drew a spurting peen a la GG on mine, remember these are The Nice Boys and they really are and they know how to rock (discourage@discouragerecords.com).

Video Loco

AMP Magazine’s “Video Archive for the Ages Volume 1” is a comp of 18 punk videos for the kids…that is punk served up post Metallica, post rap, post tattoo chain stores. The Briefs’ cartoon punk is the most retro and amusing, while Communique apes ‘80’s dream pop to near classic effect. The Network makes a bid as the new Mummies. Way too many of the other bands do the scorched unintelligible vocal heavy riffing schtick in the metallic and demonic (and just plain ick) vein.

Although much more attuned to my youth but unfortunately not any more relevant (as time did tell), is The Dream Syndicate, whose aptly named “Weathered and Torn” first came out on Atavistic’s VHS series in the early ‘90s, now reissued on the shiny silver platter. Filmed circa their major label “Ghost Stories” LP, when Steve Wynn would even admit to liking The Traveling Wilbury’s, the band is just too squeaky clean, led by collegiate pin up boy Wynn, their plodding Americana sound indicative of that era, but appealing mostly to Europeans, who slurped up bands like the Pontiac Brothers and Thin White Rope that were more or less ignored in the US. No faster did a band decline after their first magnum opus LP (“The Days of Wine and Roses”) and stick around for so many painful albums after as the Dream Syndicate. And all these years later, it’s not only irrelevant but downright embarrassing.

Much revered band Turbonegro broke up at the height of their popularity when lead singer Hank’s heroin addiction overtook his abilities. “ResErection” documents their long hiatus and then their ultimate reunion. It’s an amazing journey. Hank chills out by leading a very quiet life out at his grandparent’s idyllic little fishing village where he works as the tour guide for the local Fishing Village Museum and deejays at the town radio station, spinning and even singing along with old maritime ballads in all earnesty. He hardly seems like he was ever the wild front man. The journey then takes us to one of the members meeting up with Hank for the first time in four years to pitch the idea of a reunion, then to the band’s first rehearsal together, pre-show jitters at their first major event, and then the triumphant show itself. It’s practically Hollywood hard to believe, but man it is real. When they play “Hobbit Motherfuckers” it’s like Rocky standing on the steps of the Philadelphia art museum fists in the air in exhilarative triumph. They’re some kinda monster. Included is a lot of live footage, a must for any self serving megalomaniac.

Shit hits the fans on GG Allin and the Murder Junkies’ “Savage South 1992 Tour”, captured on video in varying shades of brown and red. Thank god for pixilation. While GG manages to menace the audience in Austin and South Carolina, the San Antonio kids don’t fear the pooper as they run up one by one on stage guerilla warfare style, deck GG and then jump off. Finally the show ends in mayhem as a bunch of them rush the stage and beat the (whatever remaining, which ain’t much) crap outta him. Lotsa blood drawn via self flagellation in the head with a microphone and running glass across the chest, Iggstyle. The music is plodding anti-music constipation, but that’s hardly the point. The retardo neanderthalic exploits are the main draw, and they are put forth with as little thought put in as possible.

Fan mail from a third striker now in the can for the next four years at Sacramental, that being our man Alfred #1483739. He informs us a stint at Napa State Mental Hospital after being found incompetent to stand trial…we commiserate by answering his one and only question, which is, where can he buy The Cramps at Napa State Mental Institution? Well, we recommend he check out the MVD (music video distributor) website (www.mvdb2b.com) where all sorts of these very best things can be bought and cherished.

posted by Henry @ 9:39 PM

March 06, 2005

MRR #264

Out to Lunch

Although I’ve typically found the extremes of Punk somehow unconvincing (even GG Allin is a caricature), I’ve always found Lydia Lunch authentically frightening. She was very adult when most Punks were fresh faced, and Goths came off as poseurs. Try listening to her “King of Siam” LP in the dark at night, alone. The same chills as Suicide’s “Frankie Teardrop”. I didn’t know what to make of it. I never thought about seeing her live. She seemed like nightmares planted in your head. Meanwhile, Texas correspondent Lona Leigh had the guts to check out Lunch on her recent spoken word tour. She had this to say:

Last January, when Lydia Lunch came to town, I purchased four tickets to her spoken word show, In Our Time of Dying, at the Axiom, Houston TX (yes, the Axiom of lore), but ended up turning three of them back to the box office.

"Lydia who?" No one knew, and I could garner no interest. Perhaps this could be interpreted as a statement about my social life. But I also see it as symptomatic of where Lunch exists –or doesn’t –in the public conscience. Despite several brushes with notoriety and instances of artistic acclaim, Lunch remains obscured from the myopic vision of the taste makers and trend setters, although I am not sure why. It seems clear she is a relentless progenitor of ideas that work their way (albeit slowly) into the mainstream -her discography is too lengthy to delve here. Still, she is largely under-credited.

Lydia Lunch was born in Rochester, New York, 1959. She went to New York City in the mid 70’s with the idea of becoming a writer. In a 1997 interview, she named Patti Smith, Richard Hell and Television as her musical heroes, but clings to literature as her creative raison d’etre, and cited Henry Miller and Jean Genet as her greatest influences. For Lunch, music is mainly a backdrop/sound scape for lyrics. And she disassociates herself from the New York punk scene, claiming she got lumped in because of her predilections toward primal scream art and black clothing, that on an artistic level she really had very little to do with punk. She identifies herself much more closely with the "no-wave" movement, which she explained was about confronting personal insanity, apathy and self-oppression. She has worked with the likes of Brian Eno, Richard Kern, and Henry Rollins. Her band, 8 Eyed Spy, put her in touch with a more traditional rock and roll listener, but she never commercialized. She outs 8 Eyed Spy as being "too catchy" and "too accessible". Despite offers from record companies she quit the band, believing steadfastly that repetition is unnecessary and ultimately uninteresting, that she didn’t want to play the same songs for ten years, over and over... Which may be factored when considering why her underwhelming popularity. Moving quickly from project to project and genre to genre, her audience can’t find her, much less keep up with her.

The crowd at the Axiom was mainly the funky-punks, with a few book-toting, hip-to-be-squares and Friday business casuals rounding out the mix. The recently reformed Axiom, which seats 90, was full. And the booking agent told me he optimistically added an extra show at the last minute, which was also almost sold out. I wanted to take this as a sign Lunch (or her marketing director) does know how to connect.

In person, Lunch is something of a schizzed Scheherazade who, with the fervor of a shit-slinging anthropoid gone bananas, harpoons and lampoons everything and everyone from her neighbors to the cops to the political establishment. But her favorite target: Herself. On stage she appears overwrought by the toll that her personal relationships have taken on her. If you believe that she is not abusing her poetic license and that the hyperbolic expressions she uses are not mere exaggeration, you’ll find her delightfully demented and almost unacceptably sincere. Despite the expletives and the deviant humor, her work rings true. She gravitated toward "fucking and fighting", self-inflicted psychosis, and ritualized drug use as her themes. I winced several times during the segment where she described her boyfriend’s descent into mental illness and addiction, which she seems to have facilitated by pandering to his constant needs for coddling and tit-biting, and by plying him with substances. Whether she believes in karma, I couldn’t hazard a guess, but from the sounds of her she definitely has suffered enough to deserve a clean slate. Just when you feel about to cry: Get down off the wood and give Jesus the cross!, she resurrects herself -a tattered phoenix flying the middle-finger - dropping a stink-bomb of a 1,000 year old egg in your lap: You’re no better than me, and, what are you going to do? and, this is what male and female is about, is how she wraps it up. She is willing to set herself up to be judged, but only for so long…She is a quintessential confrontationalist, challenging the audience to get busy and take the plank form their own eye. She seems to want to show us ourselves by lancing her boils in public. When she exposes her nasty bits, she kinda wakes the audience up to themselves. If she didn’t reek of fringe (and a hangover), she’d be the ultimate, if not accidental, testimonial speaker for the Scared Straight program. I hope I don't see her ranting on a corner in the East Village someday, like Lenny Bruce.

You won't be able to speed track through Lunch's most recent CD album, "Smoke in the Shadows", for the simple reason that the songs are story-like and are presented mainly in a conversational style which commands attention. Plus, they're peppered with plenty of truths to ponder. My most favorite, "Temptation is Greater than Memory", could be the first reasonable explanation for why I keep doing certain things. The album is really cohesive, yet each song has the distinct flavor of a different place and time, and she nails each one: At once you feel yourself sipping side cars and grinding with the initiated, and then, you're on the stoop with a can of Colt in East Harlem. This album represents what Lou Reed would like to be. It is a brilliant cacophony of sounds and styles, much like New York City itself. My favorite track, "Lost World", has such a great beat, it's so smooth and cool, it will get your imagination going. She takes her themes of sex abuse (the consenting adult kind), drug and alcohol abuse, and well, abuse, to new levels and you may find yourself thinking about the album even when you're not listening.

I suppose that popularity control has been a part of Lunch's game, in the name of keeping it real. Still, I hope a lot of people will hear this album, since she is on the level of a Waits. Big boys got nothin' on her.

Fucking Up Your Video Deck

There was some major grunge kinship between Minneapolis and Seattle during the latter ‘80s. Maybe it was something in the flannel. Or maybe it was a non-toeing the line type Marine named Tom Hazelmyer, who bounced back and forth between the two places, swinging his big seven inches via Amphetamine Reptile Records, first vehicle for his own masturbatory affair, Halo of Flies, and later for denizens of similarly noise worshipping hoods. As Sub Pop’s bastard cousin, it subsequently hit some paydirt with the band Helmet, head swelling to self-mocking proportions when it rechristened itself “AmRep Industries”…

“Dope Guns and Fucking Up Your Video Deck Vol 1-3” is a DVD that digitizes the three individual VHS tapes of the same name, plus a baker’s dozen of extra videos. Presented as sort of a monopolized MTV station wherein all the videos are of the pigfuck variety and the host is one tight and barely funny mutha, Dr Sphinctor, the testosterone high can be a rather swift kick in the groin, but it’s a good a way as any to get the gestalt of underground white boy aggro pre and post-Nirvana. The exception might be Helmet, whose attack might be more aligned with Metallica.

Page Hamilton, the leader of Helmet, also did time as a past member of the Branca Ensemble, an ever rotating army of electric guitarists of whom Lee Ranaldo was also alum. “Symphony No. 8 and 10”, performed live at The Kitchen in NYC is also out on DVD on the Atavistic label. Glenn Branca, the ex-No Waver who’s got hair that Donald Trump would kill for, pushes his riff meisters so hard that they look in perpetual masturbation without the cum shot. Tho the visuals don’t really add a heckuva lot to the experience, the music itself is gripping, majestic, and transporting. This is what Prog Rock only aspired to be, stripped of the self-important blowhard.

While highly influential ‘80s zine Forced Exposure was responsible for bringing Branca into my consciousness, they tried unsuccessfully with their devoted gushing over Sun Ra, the outré Jazz artist. Given my staunch RnR leanings at the time, it was a no go. Over the last coupla decades, however, I’ve begun to realize that it’s practically inevitable for any proper rock’n roller to eventually explore, if not embrace, the land of free Jazz and its ilk. Sun Ra is certainly one of the most special artists as it was not just his music but his entire being, the outer space thing, plus the fact that he got an entire Arkestra’s worth of folks to embody his way out leanings, that appeal to the punk aesthete in me. “The Magic Sun”, is an experimental art film by Phill Niblock from 1966, only 17 minutes long so it ain’t got the bore attached, that shows Sun and his Arkestra in a different light per se, that is in a stark negative white and black of close-ups of the band as they play. If 17 minutes seems too little for your money, the extras, being Sun Ra espousing his tripped out philosophies, should be well enough to put you in the buying mood. More cred than the entire Clash catalogue put together.

Meanwhile, also on Atavistic’s Unheard Music Series is another Sun Ra related baffle – “The Cry of Jazz”, which was done in 1959, his Chicago period. It’s a documentary rant on race and Jazz music that showed that blacks were the punks of that era, and Jazz was their punk. Even its proclamation of “Jazz Is Dead” as it’s been misappropriated and stripped echoes that of Punk as it has been by the army of Blink 182’s. Worth a watch, tho unlikely repeatedly.

Ending on a lighter note, DEVO's “Live in the Land of the Rising Sun” DVD is a 2003 show in Japan. Fun backstage stuff wherein Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerry Casale chat while sitting with their respective Pugs in their laps. The nice thing about the DEVO aesthetic is that it translates reasonably well to post middle age. The guys may all be much wider than they used to be, but they can still execute the jerky moves. Jerkiness is easily retained in the muscle memory. Even their outfits age well. The Energy Domes are perfect for balding heads and those Plastic Jumpsuits cover up the flabby bodies. I think they must have thought this through a long time ago.

The show is great by the way. It's also cool to see one of the extras on the DVD which is a 1980 live performance of "Gut Feeling", which if not at their peak it'd have to have been damned close.

posted by Henry @ 5:19 PM

March 01, 2005

MRR #263

Video Killed By Death Stars

From the punch in the gut style that defined the ’77 guitar-based punk sound were The Dead Boys, whose CBGB’s set from that year makes it to DVD (Dead Boys – “Live! At CBGB 1977”), and man, it’s a thrill. Stiv Bators is the ultimate revenge of the nerd, a scrawny cross eyed rodent looking twerp who comes out swinging with everything he’s got: spit, snot, acne, a “we mean it maaaan” snarl, equal parts hate pain and angst all balled up, and lots and lots of chewing gum.

Punk fashion was still not yet codified, at least in the U.S., and while half of the audience look like the dumpy Philip Seymour Hoffman character in Boogie Nights, you got guitarist Cheetah Chrome up there in a cub scout shirt with his retardo inbred look and Stiv Bators whipping off his white sports coat to reveal what appear to be slices of bologna safety pinned to his T shirt and a red scarf around his neck…and then there’s the goddamn music! Chrome’s the idiot savant guitarist flicking precise guitar licks in every direction, Stiv spits it out with a sneer, writhing on the ground at all opportunities with miles and miles of style. Punkest moment: when Stiv blows his nose into a tissue and then eats it.

The hits from the first LP are all there, “Sonic Reducer”, “Flame Thrower Love”, “Ain’t Nothin’ To Do”. Apparently intended for the television show 60 minutes and shot on 3 television cameras, it’s not clear whether or not it ever actually aired. Great interview with Cheetah Chrome, who’s all grown up and now an intelligent guy (and back to being just Gene O’Connor again). Best rock and roll video reissue of the year.

Across the country and a year later, The Screamers were captured by Target Video, the SF-based video label that captured numerous important punk bands on VHS. First released a couple of decades ago, The Screamers – “Live in San Francisco Sept 2nd 1978” is now on DVD, not that it makes the grain any less grainy. Unique among punks for their instrumentation (synth and drums only) coupled with the riveting charisma and chops of leader Tomata Du Plenty, who by then already had extensive experience singing, lip-synching, and generally performing in all sorts of troupes (he having even been a Coquette, the infamous post-summer of love SF-based glam drags), the Screamers are tremendously engaging on stage, their punk imbued with performance art, voguing, odd robotic mannerisms, and of course, the screaming in a teutonic angst.

One cannot help but notice the audience and how, despite their enthusiasm, cannot seem to find quite a way to dance to the stuff, with its staccato double keyboard jerkiness. Only Tomata does, with contortionism and lots of hand waving. Equally engaging as the live performance are the videos that the band made at Target Studios (5 are included, 2 of them being different takes of their best song “Vertigo”). This one’s a close second on the best video of the year.

(Note: Tomata was also the lead in a movie called Population One, an apocalyptic low budget affair filmed in the early 80’s that is not without its moments but most is without them. Avoid that one unless you’re a completist).

Less overtly punk in the music but equally so in imagination and ethos are The Cramps, whose “Live at Napa State Mental Hospital” also gets reissued on DVD. Also from 1978, it was shot on handhelds, in a backdrop (or should I say foreground) of wandering and confused fmental patients, a crudely shot and low budget affair that echoes the trashabilly of their music. Singer.Lux Interior is a far less polished front man than either Stiv or Tomata, spastically thrashing or staggering about, but how can he be expected to keep it together? The crazies keep grabbing his mike and screaming, or keep grabbing him and screaming. The real treat, however, is seeing Bryan Gregory, the goth prototype standing cool thru all the madness with his flying V. Worth watching.

Not Punk But Close

More branching out by Alt Tentacles finally finds a winner. Pilot Scott Tracy’s “Any City” is immediately engaging postpunk genius bubblegum. Enigmatic strange and friendly at the same time, warm synths, operatic overtones, effortless, and destined for some greatness, tho I can’t say any more cos the pages’ll stick together. See http://www.pstairlines.com/ for (more or) less details.

The Yuppie Pricks on the other hand, with “Broker’s Banquet” also on Alt Tentacles are entrenched firmly in punk and hard rock of the garden variety. Obnoxiousness abounds (“Hummer in my hummer”) with Jello-like vocals but without the smart lyrics, even spoofing The Damned’s “New Rose” with “New Rolls”. Didn’t The Upper Crust already mine this territory?

He began as a “real punk” (self-described as “bad new wave” but isn’t that the point?) as an eighth grader in the Happy Cadavers (“With Illustrations” 7” EP, 1982, featuring the undeniable classic “I Saw My Baby In the Meat Section” - so full of that intangible so-bad-it’s good that I actually traded my DOA “Prisoner” 45 for it back in ’86 or so!). A short hop skip’n’a through the long and still burgeoning career of David Grubbs takes us to Bastro, nestled chronologically between Squirrel Bait and Gastr Del Sol, somewhere in the latter half of the ‘80s. Their first 2 LP’s (“Diablo Guapo” and “Sing the Troubled Beast”) previously on Homestead are collected here on Drag City’s CD reissue. Post-post-punk and pre-post-rock, wherein musicianship does rule as thinking man’s punk (at least for the studious college boys), here the jagged line progression of Mission of Burma to Minutemen to Big Black to the Post Rock movement becomes apparent. “Krakow, Illinois” is their “Jordan, Minnesota”, while “Shipbuilders” their “Steelworker”, so while wee bit dated in the Albini big ugly staccato-ed noise department (not to mention the at one time drum machine), these fellas obviously got chops to spare (they were later recruited to be part of the reformed Red Crayola). I’m impartial to the Sing the Troubled Beast part of it, but Diablo Guapo’s “Decent Skin” is about as magnum an opus as they go. Well worth exploring if you missed it the first time around, this has got a live companion that Drag City released simultaneously.

posted by Henry @ 1:29 AM

February 01, 2005

MRR #262

Live From The Basement
Every so often the twisted vision of a few become the blueprint for a movement. Usually, however, it just serves to roil up a scattering of other riff raff. That’s the case for The Screamin’ Mee Mees, one of those rock and roll debris stranded in the Midwest (St Louis, in their case) with a lotta hot bother and nowhere to stick it. Their circa was the ‘70s tho they grandfathered themselves straight into the ‘90s, at least that’s what Gulcher Records have served up on the retrospective “Live from the Basement 1975-1997”. It’s hard to beat the varied insanity found on their first 45: “Hot Sody” provided inspiration for Gizmos and Afrika Korps. “Struckout” is anarchic strum with a “Yeah Yeah Yeah” chorus. “Pigs” combines bashing and strumming with gruff philosophizing, strum only to be matched by the Teenage PhD’s or The Injections. “Max Factor” may be inept musically but it is genius lyrical wordplay. “Too Young To Shave” provides two chord direction for The Urinals sound. After that 1978 debut, a 15 year gap in recording followed, and then the duo (Cole and Ashlin) started right where they left off. Sort of. They extend beyond the crude garage sound and explore lo-fi and sci-fi. Lyrically less overtly goofy, but hovering in and around drug casualty territory in an endlessly entertaining Roky Erickson John Trubee way. Essential.

Meanwhile, The Screamin’ Mee Mees “Garbage Collage” lives up to its name as a lesser companion to “Live from the Basement”. All tracks culled from their early years. The first bunch of tracks are so less crazily delivered that it sounds like just a regular guys strumming acoustic and singing. It’s obvious their works of pure genius were the result of a lot of experimentation, as well as exploration of pedestrian styles (surf, folk, country), and these are the cast asides. A Mojo Nixon/Skid Roper rehearsal tape comes to mind. A few interesting tracks where the electric guitars and more fuck you singing style comes kick in but most of this is noodling to the nth degree.

Catchy, if textbook buzzsaw guitar pop punk with a bit’o snot tossed in can be heard on The Retreads “Highway To Helsinki” CD (Gulcher Records). Nothing to hate about’em even tho they’re nothing new and lotsa bands are doing it, but in fact, I kinda really like them, in that McCrackins and Sloppy Seconds sorta way.

Hinman over at Agony Shorthand falls into the trap of comparing Gizmos to Gizmos, those being the two Bloomington, IN Gizmos, both on the Gulcher label, both with the same damned logo, and for a short time there was some shared transitional membership. He’s obviously a fan of the first, with its borne-of-the-Dictators proto crude two chord stylings with heaps of lowbrow humor slathered over the top. But the second Gizmos are its own band worthy of notice, and Gulcher Records has recognized that by finally putting out a full CD collection’s worth of ‘em, "Rock & Roll Don't Come From New York!", superceding the short CD EP they did a coupla years back. It’s well deserved. Midwest irreverence in a fresh faced non-snot way, real songwriting that sound punky on the surface but are really aching to be something “more”… Leader Dale Lawrence contributes great liner notes that clue us in on the Gizmos to Gizmos saga. Footnote, Dale later hooked up with the Vulgar Boatmen, transforming them from a party band to proto alt country.

Speed was purported to be part of Japan’s first new wave/punk scene, so their “Live at Loft ‘85” (on Captain Trip Records) is a bit late in their career. However, the beautiful 6 page booklet is all in Japanese so who the fuck knows? Despite looking like punks, the music is mostly unmemorable mid-tempo plodding workouts. We scratch our heads and don’t like…

Alternative Tentacles Records continues to explore the decidedly non-punk with The Flaming Stars’ “Named and Shamed”. Why the press release had to name drop Toe Rag studios as “where The White Stripes recorded “Elephant”” might show where the label is trying to extend its appeal to demographically. But mainstream bidding aside, this is actually quite a decent record, even if the essence of the band is a bit hard to pin down other than their vocalist sounding like Lloyd Cole. There are a lot of varied styles, with shades of Velvet Underground (“The Marabou Shuffle”), and then Orange Juice meets The Wedding Present on “Ranger on the Fifth Floor”.

More non-punk on the same label is Munly and the Lee Lewis Harlots, with a DVD and CD package. Stark brooding rootsy shit with banjos, strings and plaintive crooning that snoozes me. The DVD is the same as the CD except with some still photos and lyrics, adding nothing to pique my interest.

Atavistic Records continues to plunder the Chris D vaults with “Ashes of Time”, a reissue of the late ‘90s reunion of the Flesheaters. The songs are pretty much a straight line logical progression of Flesheaters to Divine Horsemen and back, with elements of both. Rootsy Guy/Gal harmonizing on the choruses. Rock and roll guitars. Noticeably, Chris D’s histrionically twisted vocals of past (aka the “ripped throat”) are toned down as well as mixed lower into the mix, drawing away from the power of their sound. Perhaps he’d overtaxed his voice over 20 years of Flesheating and singing. Also, the production work is not the characteristic crisp and brittle Chris D sound; it’s a bit on the muddy side. However, you still are left with 15 tracks of unmistakable Chris D imagery, ripe with blood, daggers, snakes and crucifixions, wieldy couplets slightly syncopated off with the music, a heavy rocking backdrop with the occasional organ swirl. “Nobody Lives Forever” is the most Divine Horsemen-like track, a slow ballad with electric violin, while “Gates of Flesh” is ZZ Top-ish. Most quintessentially capturing the Flesheaters power riff stance are “Salty Black Water” and “House among the Thickets”. No Byron Coley liners on this one.

Punk, Not
Having found its way to me only recently was 2003’s best non-punk reissue, the band 28th Day’s “Complete Recordings” (Innerstate Records). While Skyclad Records put out an unauthorized version at least a decade ago, this one is all band sanctioned. While chock full of the mid-80’s REM jangle and the paisley underground 60’s homage in a college rock slipcover, it's got the inimitable imprint of one Barbara Manning who went on to be the beloved Miss Indie Rocker throughout the 90’s (and beyond !). It has been at least a decade since I last listened to their one and only (1985) LP, and this brought back a rush of the era. While “25 Pills” was ever still the anthem, it was “Pages Turn” and “Lost” that rung most true for me to mark the passage of all this time and hearken back to a time when everything seemed to matter a little bit too much. “Only In Their Dreams”, a boom box recorded demo, finds kinship with the lo-fi majesty of Guided By Voices.

Goodbye 2004
As I sit here, a couple days shy of the end of 2004, I think back and wallow in what an apocalyptically shitty year it’s been, not just for me but for many people I know around me, and certainly for all of those affected by the Tsunami tragedy. As a reversion to the mean of the particularly good post WWII times we Americans have enjoyed it’s quite a whipsaw bitch slap. Here’s to a better year.

posted by Henry @ 10:28 PM

January 01, 2005

MRR #261

Time Stands Still

Well missing last months column has led to a big backlog of submissions to cover this time around, so no random musings, thankfully.

I saw Chris D’s Divine Horseman just once, on an LA junket, plus or minus the day d. boon from the minutemen died on the highway, mid-80’s when I was thirsty and miserable. It was at the Club Lingerie, The Horsemen played in between The Leaving Trains and the headlining Cruzados, Tito Larriva’s post-Plugz bid-for-something-bigger. The power of Chris D’s voice in a countrified framework, with Julie Christenson’s soothing backups to shape it into stark compelling vivid storytelling as country music should be. First out on Restless records, “Time Stands Still”, the best Horsemen document is now out with a hand fulla extras on Atavistic’s continuing streak of Chris D worship. Cynics may cry pussy whip, with a song like “Tenderest Kiss” being obvious Julie/Chris D. goo goo eye shit, but that never appeared on the original release, which had all and out classics like “Past all Dishonor” and “Hell’s Belle” which combine great lyrics, singing and playing. Those looking for a testosterone boost look elsewhere: this is punk all grown up.

Swans alumnus Jarboe is alive and well at http://www.thelivingjarboe.com with re-releases of her post-Swans career. Her solo debut “Thirteen Masks”, recently reissued on Atavistic, first came out in ’91. With fellow ex-Swans, including Michael Gira, and James “Foetus” Thirlwell contributing, as well as Tony Maimone ex-Pere Ubu and a host of others, she spews forth an industrial faerie goth, a tribal chanteuseian cabaret. She comes off as the edgy equivalent of Heather Nova on “The Never Deserting Shadow”. “Wooden Idols” is an updated talked in cadence “Fever”, while “Red” is a twisted “It’s the End of the World as We Know It”. “I Got a Gun” cleverly cops Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love”, replete with the orgiastic yelps. Her experimental side comes out on “St John”, with its ambient whoops and animal noises and noodling. While somewhat a patchwork of styles, it’s inimitably Jarboe.

Followup was Jarboe’s 1993’s “Beautiful People Ltd”, in she collaborated with Lary Seven. It’s more cohesive stylistically than its predecessor, a moody and lush atmospheric set that shows her strong intimate vocals. It’s so well done it sounds practically mainstream, not unlike Sara McLaughlin. The extra half dozen tracks or so are all mixes, with a pulsating industrial feel that brings the darker side back into her music. Expect two more Jarboe reissues in the not too distant future, also on Atavistic ( www.atavistic.com ).

A chanteuse of a less dramatic feather is cover queen Angel Corpus Christi, who clocks in with two (re)releases on the Gulcher label. Originally issued in 1990, The 80’s compiles songs from her various releases during that decade. The underlying beauty of songs like Alice Cooper’s “18” and Lou Reed’s “The Day John Kennedy Died” are wrought out by Angel’s simple innocent voice. However, she also has a penchant for some Casio driven post-Trio cum The Nails’ “88 Lines About 44 Women” stuff. On “John Cassavetes”, this works. Her “Theme from Taxi Driver” is a hoot, with Suicide’s Alan Vega interjecting whoops.

If only Gulcher would provide more in the way of liner notes or press releases… but even Angel’s website (www.angelcorpuschristi.com) fails to elucidate any further…perhaps on purpose? “Divine Healer” is an undated release, tho given the fact it is composed of tracks mixed by no less than four different people may be yet another compilation of sorts rather than a proper album. However, it holds together quite nicely thank you, even with covers as disparate as “Home Sweet Home” (Motley Crue), “Eve of Destruction”, and “I Want Everything” (Luna). While we get more fun “88 Lines about 44 Women”-styled wavers and some good time rockers “Rock and Roll Shoes”, things get transcendent with her most personal songs, the melancholic “You”, and the uplifting “She Said”. A particular mention should be noted for her cover of “Eve of Destruction”, replete with an accordion “Taps” lead-in, a faux helicopter backdrop / backbeat, and Rushmore-esque special effects. Definitely my favorite release of hers on Gulcher, whenever or wherever it was recorded!

The Mad’s “We Love Noize!” is an essential recording on Japan’s Captain Trip Label. We get all the tracks from the two original 45’s on their Disgusting label, as well as the tracks from the Brain Transplant releases. A live CBGB’s set rounds things out. Liner notes in Japanese, but repro’s of the lyric sheets in English. A vehicle for Screaming Mad George’s orgiastic visions of gore and blood and snarl punk. Punk full of imagination, in three chords form, but they be of twisted form, with a proto-Gwar-ian stage presence to match.

“Meet Me In The Time Tunnel: Obscure Powerpop From the Land of the Lost 1978-1985” is another in a long line of way-too-many-words-in-the-title CD comps, from our favorite compiler Keith “Earl” Grave, best known for his “Shielded By Death…” series. This one’s a Japanese import on the Wizzard in Vinyl (tho this is a CD) label. And fug-if-it-ain’t pretty dodgamned redeeming! We got reps from Keith’s specialty area of Connecticut and Western Mass, like stalwart Dennis Most, but then this comp stretches across the US from NY (TV Neats) to San Francsico (Matcheads), then international with Scotland’s The Zips, Dunderheads (Denmark), Tokyo (The Shamrock) and Australia too. While KBD-ers may froth over the Matcheads, Headaches’ and The Zips tracks, there is so much more! Dennis Most’s brother Mark makes and appearance with his band from the day Butch Minds The Baby, and even do their version of “Destructive Love” (Mark wrote the song, after all). Harder edged punk by The Silencers, The TV Neats come up with a ringer with the mod rocker “Who’s courting Who”, in-joke band Foreign Objects kick unexpected ass with the heavy “You Go Home”. Arguably the best track (and listed as a “bonus track” on the CD) is the surprising The Shamrock’s “She’s Flying” (1980) with astounding Beatlesque inflections and soaring harmonies all infused with fast extra power pop energy. One of my favorite comps of the year, and real good if not always consistent, liner notes. (www.wizzard-in-vinyl).

Freak Accident?

Uncharacteristically melodic and straightforward as far as a record label like Alternative Tentacles goes, is the new release by Freak Accident. At least, that what the all important lead off track sounded like. A step sideways from post-major-label-Husker Du worship. However, it’s all downhill from there, and it’s a very slippery slope. Freak Accident appears to really be one Ralph Spight, who might have done right as a member of Victim’s Family, but here he has embarrassed his record label, and himself. It’s lyrically bad (“Synthetic fabric touches my synthetic skin/I am an android but they call me alien”, but there are gobs more to choose from). The songs are bad. Skid Roper without the humor? Tom Waits in waiting? Gimme Indie Rock! Next!

Also out on Alt Tentacles is a reissue of last year’s “The Red, White and Black” CD by The BellRays. The live BellRays is not something to be missed: hard driving MC5 influenced rock by punk rock stalwarts fronted by the woman with crazy hair, too tight everything…and let’s not forget the lungs, THE LUNGS, THE BIG BLACK LUNGS of Lisa Kekula, the soul of a woman wailed out, purged, sputtering madness with eyes bugged out to there. On record, it’s the challenge of translating that onto tape. While you can’t reproduce her sticking her face into yours with a mouthfulla growl, the attitude is all there.

Who woulda known that a formative Lazy Cowgirls (Vicennes, Indiana circa 1978), would get drafted to back up the proto-punked vision of one Bill McCarter? Driven by an effervescing VU undertow, the “Secrets” EP, never before released, had it been, woulda been one of those lost nuggets ripe for rediscovery many years later. Four songs of simple majesty that belied neither Bill’s later foray into recorded history with Eddie Flower’s wigged out Crawlspace, nor the Lazy Cowgirls’ dive bar punk rock-isms. In 2001, a post-Crawlspace McCarter would realize a bigger vision in his Stalingrad Symphony and “Struggle”, their free rock opus that is shared in this release. A 40 minute instrumental mindfuck, the sort that would make Wayne Rogers (Twisted Village) weep at the loins. Worthy stuff on the Gulcher label (www.gulcher.gemm.com)

Mr Kite was one of those enigmatically cool Japanese punk bands on the Tokyo Rockers Compilation LP, which came out in 1979 along with its companion comp Tokyo New Wave ’79. I was lucky enough to track down both of them (in mint condition for $15 apiece!) in the late 80’s at a little record store in Alameda, California and they immediately captured my imagination with crazy looking and crazily named bands, killer cover art, and intense art-punk visions. Mr Kite’s lone contribution was “Innocent”, reprised here on “Live Innocent”, out on Captain Trip Records, does little to dispel the enigma: liner notes and lyrics all in Japanese. From various live recordings, as early as Feb ’78, the playing is excellent. Who are their influences?

Kiss Mah Ass

Read the column in MRR #261 'cos it ain't online..

Dead In the Suburbs

No more renting from evil slumlords in San Francisco, which we will chronicle in an upcoming column.

posted by Henry @ 11:31 AM

December 01, 2004

MRR #259

Just a self flagellatory slap on the back on making it to four years oozin this cheezwhiz. Unfortunately for you literati I have no plans to quit as long as reissues from the era continue to worm out and my brain can spout euphemisms for half-baked thunk. In case the belligerati start to mutter, don't let us forget that Tim Yo, god rest'im, HAND PICKED me from a pile of bodies (OK, it was actually only me and now-ex-but long-time-shitworker Jeff Yih) on the floor at a Motherfucker 666 pre-mosh-pit show in early 90's to write for thee hallowed mag. I impressed him with my long pole in the tent no doubt, but I never took him up on the invite till a whole decade later, in a post-Tim, god rest'im MRR environ circa 2000. So consider me bequeathed, grandfathered, tar and feathered till kindom come. I've really had handfuls bordering on oodles of people tell me over the years that this column is the only reason why they read MRR (yea, and the newsprint is the only reason why they wipe their asses with it too, right?)...anyhoo, cheers, OK?

Apollo Geez…

A mere coupla years ago I posted a “Year End Poll” (that I no longer do) in which I awarded the “Most insulting (record) Trade Proposal”, wherein both parties (both good friends of mine) remained unnamed…well, despite the jokey nature and the anonymity, that got the blood boiling on the side of the implied insultor, and heck it was the straw that broke the goddam of heaven sent vitriol.

Diatribe, proposed punching and ass kicking, and lotsa four letter words strung together later, I found myself with one less friend. Sheesh.

While our mutual pals shook their noggins and shrugged in disbelief, no one, including ourselves was able to straighten out the situation, and friendship replaced by the white noise of polite incommunicato.

Implied insultor had told me why he had gotten so mad - the implied insultee has been an indian giving shite on that trade, and furthermore also some earlier trade shadiness. In other words, the situation had built up to that point. In my goal of not getting punched out, I spent more time dodging fists and pseudo-fists than really listening to what he had to say, so I shelved it in my head.

Meanwhile, the so-called implied insultee side of the trade proposal and I became even better friends than we had been, to the point at which we rarely even talked about records anymore. Instead we ventured into real friend territory, talking incessantly and obsessively about girls and relationships and stuff. I’d even go so far as to say that he was my best friend despite living in different cities. It was practically a gay crossover burgeoning love…smooch!

But it all came down to a pile of records.

So implied insultee kept mock complaining about the bursting-at-the-seams massiveness of his trade pile, which indeed was beefier than my actual collection. This lead to the proposal that I buy a bunch of it. The prices were to be 2/3 of Mike B list prices (Mike B being the longtime market maker of set sale punk worldwide for the past decade). We decided on which records they would be and the total price (which was several thousands of bucks by the way), and implied insultee “set them aside” for me. This entire process took several months because we spent most of our time talking about his dating problems.

Well, it didn’t take long for the chink in the armor to expose itself. Literally a few days. “Oh by the way, some people came over the other day and flipped through the records and offered more money for some of them. You’ll now need to ‘outbid’ them in order to still get them”.

What the fuck?

Needless to say, I hung up and we pretty much never talked again. A couple weeks later, my “reserved pile” that I spent so long picking out started appearing piecemeal on eBay to any highest bidder. That was the ultimate bitch slap.

It wasn’t until now, a year later, when the whole thing paged itself back into my head. Implied insultor had been right all along. The implied insultee was an indian giving shite. His pathology is one that gave rise to the word collector scum. And it cost me my friendship with implied insultor, and scum pleasing tendencies also cost my friendship with implied insultee.

Here it is. I offer public apology to implied insultor about trivializing his reaction to his anonymous mention in that Year End Poll. Despite his innate hot headedness and occasionally smelly pate, his reaction was not to be fucked with, cos I feel the same boiling over when I think about implied insultee’s lame ass ways. Let’s bury the hatchet in that lame ass, where it will invariable have to share space with lots of other ephemera.

Perhaps one day, we will be friends once more. Over and out…roger…copy that.

The Six Degrees of Zolar X

The obscuro alien pre/post glam band Zolar X were but a footnote in the annals of whatever. Imagine Spockalikes with mid length hair, the occasional antenna, peroxide by the bucket, encased in skintight anything...

But a helluva footnote they were! They should get bestowed missing link honorarium status for providing one or two degrees of separation from such opposing ends of the rock spectrum as Big Star, KISS, and Rock Bottom and the Spys. Despite being L.A. based, Zolar X somehow found themselve doing their first recording session (1976) by Jim Dickinson and Terry Manning at Ardent Studios, home of Big Star. While playing out live, Zolar guitarist Ygar Ygarrist became friends with a very curious Ace Frehley of KISS (no doubt sharing fashion and makeup secrets - Frehley was the Space Alien KISS member) . A Post-Zolar Ygar later found himself in the drug addled punk combo Rock Bottom and the Spys (whose lone 45 stands revered in KBD nerd boy circles). QED.

Despite a few anti-bids for something bigger, several recording sessions yielded nothing more than one slightly posthumous (and semi-legit) 12". That was 1982. Now Alternative Tentacles has done the band some justice with it's release of "Timeless", which compiles these sessions wrapped in lotsa photos of the photogenic band and nice liner notes (tho those denying their descent into farsightedness will cry "uncle").

While their northern California counterparts The Twinkeyz stayed in garage rock territory (Twinkeyz were a better documented late 70's band with a similar prediliction for alien inspired music, if not the whole getup/lifestyle), Zolar are theatrical sped up glam, guitars mixed a little low and Zory's all-too-bid-for-Broadway vocal stylings rather cloying. They have their moments ("Rocket Roll", "Space Age Love"), but there are other songs that succumb to the worst of the 70's AOR sound, not at all unlike Styx or Kansas.

There's only one place for this much theater and that's the theater. This stuff would be best revived as an off-broadway Hedwigian review, with full costume. Beam me up!

I Know How It Feels...Bad!

Sometime in 1981, while straddling equal penchants for both Journey and the Sex Pistols, I was played a record by my friend Andy played that knocked me into left field for good. It's instrumentation was so munged that I thought it was something was fucked with the playback equipment. But it wasn't. And while the washing machine cycle of twisted notes rumbled forward, a cackled voice would break in to shout "I KNOW HOW IT FEELS" followed by a bit'o silence, then..."BAD!", with the music or whatever it was lurching forth again. It had it all. Angst and adenoids. That was my first introduction to Half Japanese and the quizzical world of the Fair brothers, Jad and David.

While a CD Greatest Hits and a reissue of the awe inspiring and sometimes laborious triple LP Half Gentlemen/Not Beasts made the rounds a decade ago or so, their best records lay digitally dormant till Drag City has dragged them out and stuck them together recently.

Arguably the band's best moment "LOUD" originally came out on LP in 1981 on the Armageddon label outta the UK. Skronking saxaphones, retardo jazziness, joyous and pained cacaphony, art damage, overlaid with Jad's braying. David Fair was still very active at this point in the band and did most of the songwriting. Lyrics run the "gamut" of bad high school experiences ("All you teachers are so ignorant and I hope you rot in hell") hopeful love ("where's a love that would save my life?"), and music worship ("Baby wants music"). They play and sing like little animals run amok in the zoo. "New Brides of Frankenstein" foreshadow a move toward horror themes, which they explore full on in "Horrible", the 12" EP that followed. There, various monsters and associated fears haunt them ("Think with a Hook", "Rosemary's Baby") culminating in the amazing "I Walk Through Walls", a purging fest of pain, screaming, and primal therapy. The 45 that started it all for me ("I Know How It Feels..Bad") and their tracks from a flexi done for the Take It! magazine, Byron Coley's pre-Forced Exposure outing complete this super reissue.

Can I Please Crawl Down Your Chimney?

As we approach holiday time again, the Gulcher records comp “Xmas Snertz – Have a Very Gulcher Christmas” makes its way back to the top of the stack. Released last year, it’s bound to be perennial listening for us ne’er doo doo wells, with the deep and hard Gulcher roster contributing, like Angel Corpus Christi, MX-80 Sound and solo, Walking Ruins, Gizmo types like Kenne Highland, Ted Niemiec, Phil Hundley and Eddie Flowers’ Crawlspace. Mach Bell from Thundertrain trades in snowbells for cowbells. Guests to the label include Pansy Division, and the Automatics. Stocking stuffers . Gulcher is at http://www.gulcher.gemm.com

posted by Henry @ 1:33 AM

November 01, 2004

MRR #258

Dickless on a Friday Night
THE DICKS played their reunion gig at the Eagle Tavern in San Francisco last week. I missed it.

The Hammer Hits the Nail
L.A.’s The Flesh Eaters roar once again. Atavistic recently reissued of all the early tracks that first appeared on leader Chris D.’s Upsetter Records label, as well putting out a new studio release, “Miss Muerte”. Byron Coley, having been Chris D’s most vocal proponent over the years, contributes elucidating liner notes.

The “No Questions Asked” CD has the earliest stuff, compiling their first LP of the same name (1980), their first 7” 4-song EP (1978), and their tracks from the classic LA punk compilation “Tooth and Nail” (1979). All of these records are quite rare, even with Chris D having dredged up more copies in the late ‘80s. (Rumor at the time was that Chris had a drug habit that was calling.) Copies of the LP surfaced for about $15, the 45 was actually re-pressed (with a yellow inner label instead of white and a second generation picture sleeve), and copies of the compilation appeared with no printed inner sleeve.

“No Questions Asked” is dominated by the fast, thrashy brittle early L.A. Punk sound with the rare spazzed out guitar solo (despite naming his label after Lee Perry’s Upsetter, Chris D managed only one dub-influenced song, “Cry Baby Killer”). However, it is Chris D’s histrionic “ripped throat” vocalizing, inventive phrasing and imaginative lyrics transform the economic backdrop into remarkable music. Syllables are bleated without coming up for air, struggling to syncopate with the rhythm of the music with the constant threat of spilling over the lines. At times the songs sounds almost as if they are skipping, as on “Home of the Brave”, as couplets are staccato-ed like a wounded typewriter. Lyrics are conceptual viscera, filled with imagery and wordplay.

“Disintegration Nation”, the A-side of their 7” EP, bristles with energy and proves itself the high watermark of their early period. You get three versions to choose from here, with the 45 version, a demo version and the prototypical Tooth and Nail version, then called “Version Nation”.

After the “No Questions Asked” LP came out, The Flesh Eaters got signed to Slash records for two great LP’s, then returning back to Upsetter for their “Hard Road to Follow”, reissued here in its entirety with a handful of extra tracks. Less inventive than their first in its delivery but Chris perfects his vocal yowl to a fever pitch, adds female counterpoint and the instrumentation is tight as a drum. The result is a powerful punch in the gut and an essential bookend to the early Flesh Eaters era.

New for the band is “Miss Muerte”, more than 25 years after their initial blast. Chris D’s vocal delivery is diminished a tad (at times he sounds like Adam Sandler being strangled), the music is mid-tempo hard rock fare and the lyrics struggle a bit for inspiration; however, it is a decent record, the hooks are there, the energy still bristles, and it still is, after all, the inimitable Flesh Eaters. Check out www.flesheaters.com for more information about the band.

Gulcher Gulcher Goo
What happens when a few Midwest tards get together and start a band with nothing more than modest intentions? The result can be sheer brilliance, as with Bloomingon IN’s, RED GLANCE, whose 1982 recordings have been issued as the “Swirls Away” CD on Gulcher Records. Leader Phil Hundley had a solo track on the 1981 Red Snerts Compilation and did some time as hey mr. tambourine man for THE GIZMOS, but his vision gets realized with this band. Their simple sound belies top notch songwriting. The title track evokes WIPERS with its somber minor chording. Hundley sings like a retarded Bryan Ferry on “When I Closed My Eyes”, while “Valerie” is a slice of classic rock. Great stuff.

Proto-hair-band THUNDERTRAIN offers a 1979 hot live set on their Gulcher Records release “Hell Tonite!” Great sound and a great performance transcend the cock rocking genre of rama lama rock’n put-your-hands-together boogie to make for a truly bic-flicking good time. Cool cover of SLADE’S “We’re All Crazee Now”.

Originally on MX-80 Sound member Rich Stim’s cassette label back in ’85, “Accordion Pop” has been inexplicably reissued on CD. Solo artist Angel Corpus Christi is the conspirator, whose unstoppable one woman output might only be matched by Azalia Snail. With earnest covers of songs as wide ranging as Roger Miller’s “King of the Road” to the Velvet Underground’s “Femme Fatale”, the result, with no vocals or accompanying instrumentation, just straight accordion, is unnerving and soothing at the same time, bordering on an in joke with no takers. Where things do get interesting is her old school mash-ups, one of which is John Lennon’s “Imagine” and The Stones “Can’t Always Get What You Want”. Think about it.

Vampire City
Dennis Most and the Instigators further refine their hard rocking punk on “Vampire City”, a full lengther on the Trash 2001 label out of Germany. Sharing many of the same tracks as last year’s “Wire My Jaw” CD on Dionysius, these are all new recordings with the latest incarnation of the Instigators. It’s a burner from end to end, full of hot guitar licks, heavy heavy bass (courtesy of punk stalwart and keeper of the torch Keith Grave) and the Dennis’ great snarling chops, culminating in the title track, surely one of Dennis’ best penned songs, a magnum opus power ballad that soars and burns into the brilliant chorus, “Everybody wants too much from me/Squeezing out those things that feed you/Closer now, let me feed you”. Keep the torch lit!

Punk diary - Sunday, May 2 1981 I was supposed to see Rude Boy, the Clash movie at the Film Society at Kresge Auditorium. Instead I got high for the first time.

posted by Henry @ 11:53 PM

October 01, 2004

MRR #257

Out of the Closet

I remember when I first heard of THE HOMOSEXUALS. I was at my friend Sally’s sometime in the mid ‘80s. I had by then become a self-annointed record collector, armed only with the Forced Exposure want list and whatever I could learn from others. Sally was a far better read and informed collector than I was. When I first graduated from college I called her and asked what her biggest want was. It was THE PAGANS’ “What’s This Shit Called Love” 45. (Fuck, mine was a white label promo of JOURNEY’S “The Party’s Over”.)

She looked over the Forced Exposure want list (which I was then masquerading around as my want list, with one or two things scratched off of it.)
“Wow, ‘God Punishes The Eat’ [7” EP, by THE EAT]…” she remarked. “That’s actually not that great of a record. I’ve got it and you know, I’d even trade it for something that’s probably not as valuable but a lot better.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like anything by THE HOMOSEXUALS. If you find one of their 45’s I’ll trade it to you straight up, but you should find a copy for yourself too ‘cos they’re great”.

Within a few record swaps or so, I had managed to find a copy of their 45, “Bigger Than The Number”. While the obtuse packaging was thought provoking, it was the music that captured my imagination. It was hard to pin down. Weird pastiches, song patchworks. Elements of funk and dub reigned in with post-punk artiness and then cast out on a line far far out there...a glorious mess! However, the thought of rare sought after punk beckoned. I put it in the mail and in return, got THE EAT. Sally was right. Sure, the packaging of THE EAT was cool, but the record wasn’t all that great. I added “HOMOSEXUALS – ANY” to my want list.

I stepped up my efforts on finding HOMOSEXUALS records without knowing anything about the history of the band, about them, or their discography. Over the next year or two, I managed to find their first 45, “Hearts in Exile” (replete with old school computer paper lyrics insert), a copy of “Bigger Than The Number” for my very own, The Homosexuals EP (a 12” in a purple paper sleeve), and The Homosexuals LP. If only for the Black Noise connection, their record label, I also picked up the George Harrasment LP and the Sir Alick and the Phraser 7”, not knowing that they were Homos related.

After the stockpiling spurt and a lot of late night listening binges, I pushed the mystery of The Homos into the back of my mind for more than a decade.

It wasn’t until Johan Kugelberg and Chuck Warner, armed with internet access, sharp writing skills and taste making influences brought The Homos back onto my radar screen. Interest in DIY (the anti-genre that The Homos might most conveniently fall in) via Chuck’s Messthetics CD compilation series and hyped2death website, and Johan’s written rants in the hallowed-be-thy-zine Ugly Things stirred the pot. Word got around fast and soon I found that there were a lot of closeted HOMOSEXUAL fans out there.

Earlier this year (see my column in MRR #253), Recommended Records, who put out the “The Homosexuals LP” twenty years ago, reissued it with extra tracks on CD with Morphius Records. And hot on its heels has been this end all, which is now the here and now and forever our lives will never be the same all, it’s in my hot little hands, here it is:

“Astral Glamour” is composed of 3 CD’s, a triple crown, packaged in the most fucking lovely way, heavy duty and de-fucking-luxe all the way. It’s got 81 vault flushing songs by our heroes, enough to keep the CD changer in complete ecstasy. Morphius Records again is a conspirator, this time with Chuck Warner and his Messthetics label, his outlet for DIY CD reissues and compilations. On this, they’ve outdone anything and everything. Chuck’s even devoted a chuck of his website to The Homos with a full discography and info about this release.

Even devoted and hardcore collectors of this band will need this release. Tracks from the Venceremos cassette, which apparently was beyond insanely rare are all included. What is not, are its more distant relatives, releases on the It's War Boys label, a splinter label, nor from L.Voag or anything else he did post Homos. Given my prior ignorance, these were also records I never happened to have discovered back in the day so to these ears remain unheard.

The CD booklet is incredibly put together. The band’s history, as told by lead Homo Bruno Wizard, takes you on an amazing journey of their brushes with fame and their staunch anti-fame. Being able to finally learn more about them serves to edify, and yet defy and further mystify.

A one sitting listen is mind bending. Television Personalities, Desperate Bicycles and Wire are guide posts, but then a left fielder like the nearly 6 minute instrumental “Re Entry” evoke flashes of Discipline era (King) Crimson in the best way. Elements of dub are also be found, which their post-punk contemporaries like The Slits also mined. While covering a lot of ground with their experimentation, The Homos do have a sound, and the melodies as snippets provide fodder as epic soundtracks.

By the way, the tracks are NOT ordered by release, and some of the mixes are lovingly fucked with, which, if you’re familiar with Chuck’s compilation work, comes as no surprise. And it plays right into the Homos aesthetic: their releases on their Black Noise were not released in sequence either. Certainly the best reissue of the year, if not the last few. Meanwhile, check out Chuck’s website for many other releases worth exploring. Whew!

Room Starts Spinning

Another batch of releases on Rave Up Records brings them at over 40 staggering releases in just a few short years. There appears to be no letup and my hand is getting carpel tunnel from covering their shit. Bless’em, and may the punk pasta machine keep a cranking…

Boston’s CLASSIC RUINS is their 38th release, with the “Room Starts Spinning” LP. The RUINS were rootsy rockers with proto punk and garage undertones. If they sound like they share the same sensibility as THE REAL KIDS it’s probably because their original line-up included half of that band. Frank Rowe, however is the mainstay and main man of the band, and has proved as enduring an artist as Beantown compatriots John Hovorka, Willie “Loco” Alexander and Jeff “Monoman” Conolly.

A progression from Rowe’s previous band BABY ARM, the CLASSIC RUINS were one of the first artists on the Ace of Hearts Records roster, who were ultimately best known for being home to MISSION OF BURMA. While Boston HC was mined by the likes of Taang, Modern Method, and X-Claim Records, Ace of Hearts, represented a cross section of the real Boston sound. Roots, Garage, and Power Pop were embodied by their early roster, INFLIKTORS, NEIGHBORHOODS, CLASSIC RUINS, and LYRES.

CLASSIC RUINS “1+1/ Nyquil Stranger” was their great 45 released in 1980, and both tracks appear on this comp. The Ruins later moved to Chuck Warner’s Throbbing Lobster label, with their only LP “Lassie Eats Chickens”, whose sessions comprise part of this comp. The LYRES’ neo garage classic “How Do You Know” gets the CLASSIC RUINS treatment , worked up into a chug reminiscent of THE EMBARRASSMENT’S “Sex Drive”. Really catchy songs make this highly recommended.

We last covered Syracuse’s PENETRATORS almost 3 years ago when Rave Up released a hot live set of theirs back from 1980. This time lead PENETRATOR Eliot Kagan has compiled an LP’s worth of great studio tracks from his pseudo solo project SPIKE, aka SPIKE PENETRATOR. Mining the same garage/retardo aesthetic as THE AFRIKA KORPS but with a subtler sense of humor and falsetto insensibilities, this is thug rock at its finest.

“I Rock I Ran (Again)” by the TOXIN III is Rave-Up Records’ 40th release. There is a CD version of this that came out on Hyped to Death Archives but I don’t know which came first. The brilliance of their “Confederastika” flag logo (Confederate flag mutated into a Swastika) proves that these guys have the best twisted of imaginations.

The track “I Rock I Ran”, from their collectible 7”, prove their musical chops to be as punk as their imaginations…it’s a locomotive broken-washing-machine instrumented shit kickin’ blast! Three chord musings give way to sophis-stacatto on “It’s Dead”. It is nihilistic art punk with jazzy overtones. Exploring even further “Middle Class” is a FALL-like rant, with its lackadaisical “Bang Bang Shoot’em up” reprise and cloying guitar drip.

THE STAINS was not a particularly original name for a punk band. This one hailed from Portland, Maine, and given their all-the-way copped Brit accents and covers of SEX PISTOLS and DAMNED, their imaginations ran thin. The retrospective LP “1980” is their KBD 45 plus live tracks, with not a lot of charm in their ineptitude this is crude punk.

Pardon His French

Punk archaeologists Artifix Records goes on a dig and hits paydirt with CATHOLIC DISCIPLINE’S “Underground Babylon” CD. The short lived LA band was led by Claude Bessy (better known as Kickboy Face, the rabid writer/fan/editor of Slash Magazine), as a vehicle for his prolific prose, concepts, and very very French accent. They were first immortalized in Penelope Spheeris’ LA punk scene expose-documentary “Decline of Western Civilization”. I remember seeing the movie while in college, ’81 or ’82-ish and thinking that CATHOLIC DISCIPLINE sucked, especially that faggot French guy! Later that year, our college mate Eric V from L.A. turned us onto Slash Magazine and it all became clear that Kickboy was actually a fucking genius wordsmith behind that fucked up accent…

CATHOLIC DISCIPLINE lasted 6 months in the latter half of 1979. Eschewing any steps toward stardom, never entered a studio and even turned down a chance to tour Europe with ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN. Their musical vision was Bessy’s amateur musicianship/apocalyptic punk ranting backed by seasoned punk musicians (bordering on “who’s who of” supergroup status) but all purposely playing instruments other than the ones they were proficient in, including the stray cowbell. The result is a brilliant post punk posturing. They are captured here in the form of live shows, including the November ’79 show that was immortalized in the “Decline” movie. A couple of Bessy solo tracks circa 1990 are tacked on and prove his durability as an artist till his death.

It took a year for Artifix to complete this project. The packaging is ace, from great flyer repros (in particular Chris D.’s praying hands in handcuffs graphic) to never seen before photographs, to the liner notes that manage to cover the entire history of the band without any self-aggrandizement or mythmaking. The reality was the legend, and they were legendary. I only wish there was a lyric sheet or a Franglais dictionary.

Count Me In

THE COUNT ME OUTS are from the Boston area with their first CD release, and it’s been gracing my car stereo for awhile. Melodic power chord punk with boy Chris D twisted road snarling and girl LILIPUT counterpointing, “Religious Thriller” is a coulda-been MAGNAPOP song. This is big rock.

The eagle-eyed will realize that guitarist and female vocalist Hilken is one of the two fabulous Punk Rock Aerobics girls. We covered her awesome book in #255. Support the cause !

posted by Henry @ 10:28 PM

September 01, 2004

MRR #256

Things that go Blatt in the Day

My old chum Ken Katkin tipped me off. The old college radio station was gonna be moved to another part of campus and they were looking for volunteers to help pack up the shit. WPRB in Princeton had been housed in the basement of Holder Hall for as long as I was last there, which was 20 years ago. Since I was gonna be in town anyhow, I responded to the call to arms via email to one Dan R, who turned out to be the current program director. “A chance to finger the vinyl I useta spin”, I blathered.

I showed up one morning, I forget which, and everything was the same as always. It was sort of a pit down there. The lobby greeted you first, with its how-now-brown couches, stucco and wood paneling, corkboard, old black and white pictures of various poses of DJ cool and pseudo-cool. Winding my way down the hall, Studio A was still there on the left. A few people were crammed in there. Everyone appeared to be in a daze, lazy hazy daze, moving kinda slowly and not talking. “Uh, is Dan around?” A poofy haired skinny indie nerd kid replete with the wire framed glasses, typical college DJ fodder, nodded. He looked like a splitting combo between Ken Katkin back-in-the-day and Jeff Saltzman (who you wouldna known but he nearly died of the same thing Peter Laughner did, and around the same age too). We chatted briefly before I grabbed the chance to pack up all the 45’s. It was a pale shadow of its former self. I came across the Gulcher 45’s, DANCING CIGARETTES, PANICS and JETSONS. Then THE DANGEROUS BIRDS classic “Alpha Romeo”. I savored every split seam, rumpling, and the stickers on the back with the review on them, a check mark for good, a double check mark for fucking good, sometimes accented with a “+” or two for good measure. The reviews were written in longhand, and signed with the reviewer’s initials. I saw some I recognized. “EW”…Was that Evie Ward or Eric Weisbard?

As the four or five of us quietly boxed shit up, I heard a booming voice rush into the door as it opened. A gray haired guy in an old PRB shirt stepped in. His eyebrows arched in a slightly familiar way, but it was his voice that did it. It was pedantic, omniscient, and slightly retarded at the same time. Holy shit, was it Bill Rosenblatt ? He cased the joint and left. I turned to Dan and asked, quivering, “I think I knew that guy.” “He’s the President of the Board of the radio station. His name is Bill Rosenblatt”, Dan replied. I nearly lost my cookies. When Bill came back in, I mustered a hello.

Bill was the overbearing prog-rock lover who ran the station when I was a peon. He’d call you in the middle of your graveyard shift (2-6am) and remind you that you had a second (or a minute) of dead air. Or that you talked over the news. Or that your segue sucked. And you could hear the relish in his voice when he stuck it to ya. So after a few minutes of niceties, he spent the rest of the afternoon talking about himself and nothing about music. For the prog rock holdovers that ruled the station in 1980, other than the occasional drool over pomps like GENESIS, KING CRIMSON, BRUFORD, WHETTON (finally the supergroup ASIA put the nail in the coffin of prog-rock, thankfully), it was all about power, anality and the sound of their own booming voices.

After all, WPRB was never left of the dial, despite being a college radio station. Nor did it have the paltry single or double digit wattage whose signal would be lost when you took off your retainer. It sat prominently at 103.3 FM, fifth largest station in New Jersey, and on a good day good (or bad depending on who was DJ-ing), could be received from Philadelphia to NYC. It was certainly one of the very few commercial college radio stations, and as a for profit venture, had a full sales staff, produced and conceived its own ads, and made enough profits to have its own car, build out a studio B and C, and able to augment its record library with frequent buying trips to the nearby Princeton Record Exchange. Thus it attracted those who were attracted to its potential as a media powerhouse and resume builder.

When some of us started flocking to the station in 1980, the real passionate music fans emerged. Yes, we were not always the most competent DJ’s and we did get fucked up sometimes and do acid and mushrooms and get hurt slam dancing, nearly flunking out on occasion…but it was always so much about the music. Music needed to save our misfit lives as misfit kids. It was about FLIPPER, and BAD BRAINS, FLESHEATERS, X, GUN CLUB, MINOR THREAT, BLACKFLAG then early REM, REPLACEMENTS, VIOLENT FEMMES. It was weird shit like AMOR FATI and JOHN TRUBEE, THROBBING GRISTLE AND CAZZAZZA X. “Why can’t I get just one fuck” was more than the frat boy mantra reverberation it is now; back then it was a screaming burst of nerd boy frustration. It was living show to show, record to record, driving to Maxwell’s and City Gardens…Jeez, those were the days!

Anyhow, after what seemed like an eternal damnation of Blattspeak, I finally cut outta there. I shoulda skipped the “free” pizza. Sometimes an attempt to recapture a glorified past even if only for a couple of hours only puts you square up against the ole goon squad.

Reviews

An ish or two ago, mebbe more, we told ya all about Sacto’s Plastic Idol Records. This time they strike with the band FOUR EYES, who drop in with their first full length on the shiny disc format. FOUR EYES (http://www.thefoureyes.com/) are self-described geek-popsters who write songs about the non-pent up side of nerd fare, like sci fi, fantasy games…for fans of the DESCENDENTS and their brethren.

From the archives of our favorite godfather of punk Dennis Most, is a 1976 live set with his pre-INSTIGATORS band called AUDIO LOVE. They forge their way through a combination of originals, such as an early version of “Excuse My Spunk”, and well chosen covers from the likes of Syd Barrett, LOVE, ZAPPA, BUBBLE PUPPY. ..these guys were well versed in their proto-punk primer. On Captain Trip Records outta Japan, meaning you get two sleeves, one in each linguini.

OK, anyone remember when some of the Dangerhouse master tapes were up for grabs on eBay ? I forgot who won them, but our favorite bootician has used a couple of them to kick the doors out of this months reissues market. ALLEYCATS with their “Nothing Means Nothing Anymore” gets both “live band” shot and “lounge” shot picture sleeves faithfully repro-ed, as well as a coupla hun on clear wax. RHINO 39 gets yellow wax treatment on 200 of it’s press as well as repro of its original sleeve. Nice work. I was sent a digital photo of the master tapes from the jolly man for proof. Get it where you can.

Just when you thought it was over, The Shielded By Death compilation series reaches its third installment. Again on Bacchus Archives, compiler Keith “Earl” Grave dips into his vast vault of vintage punk and hardcore in the Connecticut and Western Mass area. Ramblin’ liner notes grace the innerds of the pup.

Reissues of note: “No Questions Asked” from THE FLESHEATERS, along with their first 45 plus some early demos, can be found on the Atavistic Label. Henry Rollins’ imprint label reissues the classic DC compilation “:30 seconds Over DC”, and THE ABUSED’s “Loud And Clear” appears on CD, not sure it’s legit or not.

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Book Reviews Section

Chatterbox: Biography of a Bar: San Francisco 1986-1990 by Alfie Kulzick

The Chatterbox was a classic dive bar in San Francisco during a somewhat confused period of indie and punk rock, when hints of metal and glam were mixing into the scene, people were growing their hair long again, with grunge on the horizon but not quite yet a phenom. JOHNNY THUNDERS was the prototype and faux zebra provided backdrop onstage. Guys wore muscle shirts and frizz was everywhere.

Alfie Kulzick was the owner of the Chatterbox and this is her book. It’s obviously a labor of love, practically a coffee table book, a glossy paged affair. What she lacks in writing skills she makes up in pluckiness and authenticity. While their biggest claim to fame NIRVANA was a no show for their only scheduled appearance at the club, the club was never about fame or fortune. Chatterbox was a neighborhood San Francisco thing, and local indie music dominated.

There are a lot of great photographs in this book, thanks to Steve Shiotsu who contributed a lot of them. Along with the history of the club, Ms Kulzick accompanies the photos with plenty of stories. The book does a great job of harkening back to the innocent and fun times of a tight knit community. The end of the book has a full chronological listing of every band that every played there (with show fliers sprinkled throughout). Sadly, the Chatterbox ultimately shut down primarily because of financial reasons.

Footnote: The Chatterbox became The Chameleon afterwards which was also a well loved club. It is now Amnesia, an upscale bar.

--Henry Yu

“Flying Under The Radar” by KC Wilder (Infinity, 2003, $13.95)

Author Wilder has been through several incarnations in his life. As a onetime scene reporter for our own MRR, as Bob Z, infatigable fanzine writer and editor, and more recently as KC/DC, glam punk guitarist and songwriter for San Francisco-based shock rockers APOCALIPSTICK, one constant throughout has been his creativity.

This book is a compendium of prose, poetry and art by Wilder under a concept he calls Data Surrealism, sort of a 21st century update on Dada. However, his long list of influences (reflected in the Forward) are decidedly 20th century, an illiterati of cool, pre-cool and proto-cool. The poems begin in young boy-adolescent-growing up-youth-then-adulthood-jaded-manchild consciousness. The joys of skateboarding, a crush on the schoolteacher, a mishmash of experience and emotion and sensation written in a beat style with punk undertones, Lester Banks and Richard Meltzer wordplay, Ginsberg craziness, Bukowski tuffness cum tenderness.

Post growing up brings more complex adult themes, scenes of the city (Wilder lived in and around NYC for many years), the alliterative and hilarious “Penis Perspiration”, San Francisco, travelling, politics. These are interspersed with Wilder’s drawings, collages and photographs. Very entertaining, funny and touching stuff. Check out Wilder’s website (http://www.frankmedia.com/) for more from the man.

--Henry Yu

posted by Henry @ 11:08 PM

August 01, 2004

MRR #255

Book Reviews Section

“Punk Rock Aerobics” by Maura Jasper and Hilken Mancini (Da Capo Press, 2004, $17.95)
Punk Rock Aerobics , a seeming over extension of the mass proliferation of punk into every nook and cranny of our lives, is not the brainchild of some Nike suit and tie nodding his head to BLINK182, or a post-Hot Topic spandex ploy. In fact, it’s beginnings were as humble and home grown as punk was itself, its founders Maura Jasper and Hilken Mancini and progenitors as true to their genre as the Band-Aids were in the movie Almost Famous. That is, they love the music first and foremost, true punkers and record collectors as they are, and the Aerobics concept is their expression of that.

I took part in PRA’s first venture outside of their native Boston, when they did a one off Aerobics class at CBGB’s a coupla years ago. Mike Watt ex of the MINUTEMEN was billed as the DJ, but he just leaned against wall and smoked the whole time. The music rocked with the expected (RAMONES, STOOGES) and the unexpected (TELEVISION PERSONALITIES), we lifted bricks instead of weights, and hell, the whole thing really WORKED ! It was not just a joke although we all laughed, but there was a real workout to be had and the music provided a perfect backdrop to the choreographed moves.

So, a book. A BOOK? Why not a video, for chrissakes? Remember the “Preppie Handbook” from 1980? This book will join that book as an icon of American subculture. It’s a perfect blend of humor, passion and real honest to goodness information.

Jasper and Mancini are Boston punks. Aerobic moves like “La Reste” (a spoof on early Boston punkers LA PESTE), “Roadrunner” (the MODERN LOVERS tune), Unnatural Axe and Mono Leg (“presumably named for Boston fixture Jeff Connelly aka Monoman) are specific nods to their hometown, while they stretch punk to post-punk to the satisfaction of those musically well read by suggesting cardio routines to the likes of SWELL MAPS and THE POP GROUP. With a chance to speak their peace in this book, they recommend their favorite punk books, movies and records. Their tastemaking shows that they are totally old-school in the know and are not just any girly punk poseurs.

Da Capo Press first began doing reprints of jazz books, later getting into rock, then rock journalism, and now doing first runs of books, of which this is one. They’re also to be commended for giving these punks an outlet for their fine work.

-Henry Yu

posted by Henry @ 12:30 AM

June 01, 2004

MRR #253

Ramblin’

Morphius Records (www.morphius.com), based in Baltimore MD, has proven itself a burgeoning indie powerhouse, as a manufacturing arm for other indies, a distributor of tres cool prod, as well as being a label of its own. In fact it is home to one of the most anticipated and thrilling re-releases of the past year, ”The Homosexuals’ CD”. Originally, entitled “The Homosexuals’ Record” during its incarnation as already-posthumous-to-the-band vinyl in 1984, the CD version adds 5 additional tracks to the classic LP. The band harkens back to the early post punk scene, and while contemporaries WIRE and GANG OF 4 found a greater audience, the music of the HOMOSEXUALS was every bit as gripping. Perhaps the only thing that stopped them from fame was their name. They also had a penchant for obtuseness, leaving a trail of oddly assorted 45’s under a variety of pseudonyms stuffed with bits of computer paper and the like, resulting in a hard-to-get-yr-arms-around discography.

The songs are short pastiches of slash and burn punk rant, staccato melodies, concise noodling and spare experimentation, creative choppy bursts, and then there are the beautiful majestic other-worldly pieces . While it is easy to conjure comparisons to Pink Flag-era WIRE, THE HOMOSEXUALS have their own sound and aesthetic: a world abstruse yet organic. “Walk Before Imitate” is as classic a slice of post-punk as it gets. And if the greatness of the music isn’t enough, the liner notes are excellent, and meaty enough to get a grip on this slippery combo.

Meanwhile to note, Chuck Warner has extricated himself from some unfortunate legal wranglings over the semi-legit compilations on his Hyped-2-Death to resuscitate as a 100% legit archivist and reissues house. His label will be putting out a HOMOSEXUALS triple CD retrospective that is certainly not to be missed.

Under the Morphius umbrella comes the continuing saga of the Hearpen (nee Hearthan) Records Label, the original record label of PERE UBU. With its first eight 45 rpm releases nestled in the ‘70s, the label rebirthed in the mid-‘90s with a box set reissue of the first four early UBU records, followed sporadically over the last 9 years by various CLE-isms, a combo of new and reissued material, most notably the ROCKET FROM THE TOMBS releases.

Hearpen’s latest outing is PERE UBU’s “One Man Drives While The Other Man Screams: Live Volume 2: Pere Ubu On Tour”. Originally issued by the now long defunct and one-time label to UBU, Rough Trade, this documents the band’s live prowess, which was considerable, during the 1978-1981 period of its long career. By that era, UBU had already worked the punk outta its music, as the 1980 album “Art of Walking” would make obvious. However, this live set never drowns in artiness. Like CAPTAIN BEEFHEART’S amazing voice, vocalist and lead UBU David Thomas uses his voice like an instrument, squawking, squealing, ranting, musing scat. The band performance is great, wound tight around Thomas. Certainly a must for fans, but I’d venture to say that it’d be well suitable as an intro for the uninitiated.

Lastly on Hearpen/Morphius, another reissue, “Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town”, an album originally released in the ‘70s by the band 15-60-75, also known as THE NUMBERS BAND. Fellow Ohioans to PERE UBU, THE NUMBERS BAND formed in 1970 pre-everything and proto-nothing, but without a doubt they were an influence and formative to the UBU aesthetic. THE NUMBERS were a blues based band whose long jams are inexplicably economic, that is the songs are exactly the right length despite being, for example 10:56. What is most amazing is that this album was recorded live when the band opened up for BOB MARLEY on his first American tour in 1975. I’m at a loss for words because this is a perfect record and yet it is a live record, it is not punk, it is the blues, and every song is so fucking long – but it cannot and does not leave you once it gets inside. For me, it has. Check out www.numbersband.com for additional details.

Alongside Morphius stands another reissue hero, Acute Records, www.acuterecords.com. Their METAL URBAIN CD “Anarchy In Paris” collects all the prior output and then some, of this legendary early French punk band. Punk without drums, punk without bass, punk sung in French, and what the fuck synthesizer? Well, all of these seemingly bad choices make the band so amazing and sound like no other. The synthesizer spurts out unexpectedly. The French is angry. A drum machine picks up where the drums left off. (This is where Albini copped ideas for BIG BLACK.). This is inventive punk.

Now to really see how it’s done, go see the band live.

The Hemlock in San Francisco was stage to METAL URBAIN for two consecutive nights last month, as the band has reformed and is doing a very well received tour of this continent. Jello was there. Vale was there. Tom Guido was there. The MRR sad sacks were there, among which Ray and I brought up the rear. Eric Debris was the only remaining member with enough hair to spike up. He knew what to do. His movement was economical, but we couldn’t stop looking at him. The intensity was gripping. It was obvious that he was the mastermind of the band. The synth player rocked back and forth like a David Lynch character. Actually the rhythm guitarist looked like a David Lynch character also. The new guitarist rocked. The guitars were very very loud. The synths injected shocks of noise into the mix. This band is not to be missed live. I saw the Mission of Burma reunion. I saw the Television reunion. This is the one. They blew away their records. They blew away their CD. Take a song like “Ghetto” and replace the tinny synth sound for a thick fat noisy shit blast….They blew me away.

posted by Henry @ 11:20 PM

May 01, 2004

MRR #252

Gold Mining In No Cal

Northern California's oddball indie rock stylings harken back to the pre-indie rock days of $27 SNAP ON FACE, one of the lone monuments of early/mid-70’s madness, followed by post-glam-proto-wave THE TWINKYEZ in the later part of that decade…fast forward way too many years of punk-cum-mass-media infiltration and I get a load o’ surprise, a new voice from the same town, free from the usually-suspected influences, as fresh as anything I’ve heard in a while. Ladies and gentlemen, may I bring you, DUCHESS OF SAIGON.

A followup to a previous platter, their “Hootenanny” EP is also of the 7” vinyl only variety, thankfully, and despite the former reaching #2 on the Village Voice 2002 music poll, dares to evolve from any schtick or formula for success. The results are joyous wonderment. DUCHESS OF SAIGON just may be the best of the current rage of boy/girl-guitar/drum bands.

Combining a staccato-ed CHAIN GANG drum style with spastic guitar chunks, 4 short songs use Mary’s ethereal backing vocals to counterpoint Richard’s grounded musings. “Hootenanny” uses BEACH BOYS harmonies a la “Ca Plan Pour Moi” era PLASTIC BERTRAND, while the mysteriously named “B.D. Wong” mines LILIPUT/KLEENEX’s quirky wave warbling. “Giddy Up” channels Kate Pierson B-52’s other-worldly thereminizing. Carefully captured ineptitude adds indie charm with BEAT HAPPENING/K Records undertones. This is Fi as in Lo-Fi minus the Lo. The hybridization results in something yet new. This band is poised for greatness or at least damned-goodness !

As the first release on Mario’s Plastic Idol Records (yessir, named after the Texas punk-wave band of yore), this is promise of more great things to come. Only 500 copies on gray marble vinyl, so check out www.plasticidolrecords.com to dig it up.

Also hailing from Northern California (N. San Juan to be exact) is the band FREE RADICAL. Their 6 song demo CD is shoutalong punk of the old school, politically tinged mohawk rawk. Pretty good recording that captures this trio’s energy, the playing is fully competent, tho lyrically they hit bedrock occasionally (“why not kiss a baseball bat?”). For the crusties out there, a homerun fulla good hooks. Check out their nice website (www.freeradicalband.com) for all the details.

Send Me Shit

METAL URBAIN rolls into San Francisco for two dates at the Hemlock in March, that’s the ticket. Good luck to eBay bidder Dozadog who bid a staggering $8000+ for a pile of 200 old British punk records, of which many have never been heard by the collectorscumiscenti. Hear all about it on the Killedbydeath newsgroup.

posted by Henry @ 12:19 AM

April 01, 2004

MRR #251

May The Circle Remain Unbroken

The road from burlap to gabardeen to velveteen to latex and nylon and whips and furs and chains in the back is paved with new contortions. The San Francisco band APOCALIPSTICK recently came into our consciousness (www.apocalipstick.us ), bringing us out of our winter cocooning tendencies to Gilman Street. A show of magnanimous proportions ensued. Immediately upon taking the stage, panties began flying, KC/DC’s guitar began to wail and frontwoman and sometime dominatrix Jackie O Nasstie began ranting while Gina Lala Bitchatya gyrated a la BUTTHOLE SURFERS concept of go-go dancers on stage. Nasstie’s depraved lyrics were complemented by KC/DC’s glam punk musical stylings. Songs like “Rectal Inspector” and “Lick” served to infuriate and entertain, tho our favorite was “Whoop-Ti-Doo”, an infectious shouted rant in a twisted nursery rhymey delivery , “Whoop-Ti-Doo, I thought I saw you kissing Sue, I’m gonna have to kill you”. They closed their set with a rousing “Sonic Reducer”. KC/DC’s lineage goes back to the Tim Yo MRR days as a teenage scene reporter, so this man knows how to rock.

Bazoom Records has released the first APOCALIPSTICK EP called “Apocalipstick Now”, cover of which spoofs the Apocalypse Now movie poster. A Six Pack of your favorites. The energy comes through and you can pick up all the lyrics you missed in the live show. Check out their website for details on how to order it. KC/DC aka KC Wilder is also a writer and poet whose tome “Flying Under The Radar” has been released in late 2003. Read the review in the book reviews section.

Yankee Doodle Dandees

Keith Grave’s punk vault continues to grind out sonic assault from the Yankee Doodle state. While the LA-based Dionysius label has been the vehicle for his recent releases, this time around Australia’s Coldsweat Records (http://www.coldsweatrecords.com/) plays host to Keith’s latest project. Titled “3-Way Split: Hardcore From The Early Days”, this is a posthumous comp of three Connnecticut bands from Hardcore’s heyday, the early 80’s: TARGET CELLS, WHITE PIGS and CHRONIC DISORDER.

TARGET CELLS lasted only about a year, and only released a cassette tape called “Cerebral Hemorrhage”, which only sold 25 copies, which is waaaay to fuckin’ bad ‘cos these guys scorched. Simple brutish lyrics over a metal punk veneer. Occasionally they drown in the usual anti’s of the day (anti-bomb anti cop, anti-capitalism), but it’s their nihilistic introspective self-loathing stuff that finds a home to these ears, such as the FLIPPER-esque rant of “Matter” (“I hate matter, I hate, everything else, I hate matter, Most of all I hate myself”). This is vital and hooky at the same time. WHITE PIGS on the other hand, lasted a handfulla years and managed to put out quite a few releases. Their music falls squarely in the HC camp, staunchly 4-4 HC in their delivery, with the lyrics to match.

CHRONIC DISORDER (http://www.chronicdisorder.net/) cop a faux brit accent infused with the occasional Jello Biafra warble, coupled with really tight fast playing to thrilling effect. Urgent and literate. They dare to go against the HC grain. “SIWOV (self-indulgent waste of vinyl)” captures this (“I heard your song about the bomb, I heard you say don’t drop the bomb, Hey it’s just a fuckin” song”). Great band. Kudo’s to Keith and Coldsweat for putting together a great comp. On both CD and very limited vinyl pressing of 500, this is essential for the HC fan and a great listen for any dog fearing punk.

Long Walk Off a Short Pier

Three more releases on Pier’s Rave Up label after a few months off for the holidays.

No records were ever released by THE PUNKS but these long hairs were probably contemporaries of THE SONICS RENDEZVOUS BAND back in the day given their Detroit upbringing and circa (1976-ish), and most definitely unabashed STOOGES fans and devotees. Despite the unimaginative name they really weren’t punk at all but come from a late 60’s hard rock heavy jam background. Later they did change their name (to “THE END”), ironically to avoid the media hype at the time surrounding punk, so philosophically, they were true punks! Anyhow, fans of hard rock, MC5, SONICS RENDEZVOUS and STOOGES will like this tuff rock comp. More info plus their interview with Creem magazine back in the day can be found on the website www.motorcityjams.com

THE REALTORS spent very little of their band history by that name, quickly reverting back to their previous name JJ180 after the fucking Bay Area realtor scum tried to run them outta town. However, they managed to record one great 7” under that name, leading to ultimate discovery by the KBD detectives. The “Buy or Beware” EP as well as all of their previously released comp tracks as JJ180 are presented here in the form of alternate mixes. While “Guilt By Association” finds them at their most aggressive punk stance, other songs show their other influences, quirky new wave, surf, 60’s garage, even electronics. Their eclecticism probably had to do with being from the Santa Cruz area as well as their love of various types of rock of the era preceeding. While this may turn off the uninitiated hardcore punker, Homework types of the $27 Snap On Face school will fine reward. Awesome liner notes and information about every track and cool photos.

LA’s SHOCK were skinny tie’d, poofy haired, leather clad power pop new waver white boys who managed a coupla 45’s in their day, that being 1978, plus or minus. “This Generation’s On Vacation”, their best known anthem lends its name to this Rave Up collection. Side A contains all the released songs, including my personal favorite “We Were That Noise”, tho the title track is clearly the classic. Hard power pop with punk underpinnings. Side B gives us a have dozen never before released tracks (tho some of which may have seen prior light of day on the SHOCK/SILENCERS split CD compilation on Wankin’ Stiffs). Several are as good as anything that was originally released, “There’s Danger” and “Now That We’re Blessed” being standouts, with lotsa hooks to pull you in. Despite bass player Steve Reina’s liner notes coulda used some beefin’, this is overall a worthy release.

Expect another big year for Pier’s Rave Up label, with bands such as LA PESTE, CLASSIC RUINS, SHIT DOGS coming up in April, and STAINS, TOT ROCKET, TOXIN III by mid year…

posted by Henry @ 12:22 AM

March 01, 2004

MRR #250

Listen To This

Shit. I remember the day I held the Pagans’ Live LP in my trembling hands. Price tag said eight bucks. Shit. Terminal Records. Same label as the Cleveland Confidential 7” and 12” comps. Limited edition of 500. Stark black graphic on a hot pink background. A woman in shock as she is getting smacked in the stomach. It was one of my most wanted CLE wants. It had come out in ‘83, but by ’87 had long disappeared. I handed it to the guy behind the table. I want this, I said.

Jim Brick had the hairdo of a Real Kid, cherubic cheeks with a faint dopey grin splashed across them like Alfred E Newman, a fervent body odor, with an enthusiasm to match. He was the quintessential self-respecting Creem reader, tripping over The Dictators, Ramones and Stooges.

He said he was selling off some records so that he could buy a guitar. We quickly hit it off and traded numbers.
Sometime after that record swap, I drove over to his house in San Jose. He lived with his mother, a very elderly lady (or was she his grandmother ?). She was really old. Appeared to be from another country, maybe Eastern bloc. She yelled in foreign tongue. The place didn’t smell too good. We quickly retired into his room.

His record collection was small but impeccable. Avengers, Toxic Reasons. Copies of Search and Destroy and Slash. He couldn’t stop grinning and raving about his all time favorites, The Ramones. Shit, this kid was time warped in the best possible way.

He asked me about this band from San Jose called Los Olvidados. He raved about their singer Mike Fox. He was friends with them. He played a tape of their live show. He played another tape, this band called The Stiffs that Mike apparently was in also. They had a song called “Carve It” that was so ferociously rocking. We talked about putting it out on my record label.

That was the beginning of a long friendship.

Over the course of time, I learned that Jim was agoraphobic in the worst way. He would get into long stretches, literally months at a time, in which he could not muster the wherewithal to leave his house. I’d come visit, but there were lots of times he just couldn’t see anyone.

There was the time Scott Vollmer was killed. He had played guitar in The Stiffs and perhaps one of the other bands in the Los Olvidados axis. Jim was a friend of his. Scotty, as his friends called him, had tried to stop a fight at a party and ended up getting stabbed to death. Jim was crushed. We went to the Vollmer benefit show at the Stagecoach in San Jose.

After that, I didn’t see much of Jim. There was the time we drove up to San Francisco to visit the CD Presents warehouse to buy the Avengers album covers intended for the album on Go! Records that later was issued on CD Presents but with a different cover. We went to visit Earwax to buy punk 45’s. I stopped hanging out when I got a girlfriend. It happens that way.

Years later, when AT released the Los Olvidados comp, ole Jim was there in the liner notes expounding his love and admiration for the band with every bit of the same enthusiasm that he gushed on me. It brought a smile to my face. Jim, if you’re out there, drop a line.

Cone of Silence

From Artifix Records comes Komplete KAOS, rare outtakes, radio interview and video of the LA punk band KAOS. Led by Johnny Stringray who as part of The Controllers were one of the very first LA punk bands, KAOS formed from their ashes shortly thereafter. Chris Ashford’s What? Records lay home to their vinyl wreckage, the lone “Product of a Sick Mind”, a 3-song that came out in both 12” and 7” forms.

Komplete it ain’t, cos their previously released tracks ain’t here, but shit, this has diff versions of them anyhows, plus everything else they’ve ever done! And to top it off, vintage footage via Quicktime from the late Peter Ivers’ “New Wave Theater”. Tres handome packaging rounds out this excellent release.

Out in a coupla months on this beloved label will be a long awaited CD compilation from Catholic Discipline, the band fronted by Slash writer Claude Bessy, mostly seen on Penelope Spheeris’ first “Decline and Fall of Western Civilization” punkumentary. Stay tuned.

posted by Henry @ 12:41 AM

August 01, 2003

MRR #243
Book Reviews

“God Save My Queen: A Tribute” by Daniel Nester (Soft Skull Press, 2003, $13)

I found myself “not getting it” when I first tried reading this book, finally flinging it into a heap of dirty laundry across the room and muttering “what is this arty fart crap?”. Fortunately, I had a month to do my review, and like a favorite song, it grew on me and revealed itself on many levels.

“God Save My Queen” just might be literary kin to Liz Phair’s “Exile in Guyville”. While Phair responds to the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main Street” with songs about her ill-fated relationships, Nester runs through every QUEEN album (including the Flash Gordon soundtrack), song for song, in order, and through prosaic wordplay, diary-like snippets and creepy footnotes, honors them with unabashed gushing fandom, intimate thoughts, and in and too-in jokes.

Nester builds on adolescent themes such as alienation (imagine a chubby pubescent QUEEN fanatic growing up in the heart of Springsteen country where your dad brandishes guns while you read James Joyce), burgeoning sexuality (Huffy riding heterosexuality awakened by massive doses of Freddie Mercury crotch maven homoeroticism), the transition of the role of music as bubblegum to that of deep personal savior (alongside fueling the obsessiveness of a nascent music nerd), and the peach of immortality and self-aggrandizement of youth (goose-stepped to the bombast of QUEEN as soundtrack to puberty).

“And their jackets on the inner sleeve not yet out of fashion, hair wrapped up in scarves. My town of beer cans and leaf piles”.

This book is touching, highly literate, thought provoking and very funny, in every way as over the top as QUEEN ever was. Like the best songs, it grows on you with every read.

-Henry Yu

posted by Henry @ 12:47 AM

July 01, 2003

MRR #242

La Rat Cage Aux Folles

Donna took a real walk on the wild side. She was a he, as Dave Ratcage, honcho of Rat Cage Records (most famously home of the first BEASTIE BOYS 45) in the CBGB’s Hardcore heyday. Dave also wrote about the scene, doing the New York column for our own MRR back in the early ‘80s. In fact, his MRR column helped him move on to the next phase of his life:

“When I went to get a passport in 1987 I had no ID and so I used a copy of Maximum Rock and Roll with an article about me that had a picture of me with my name under it. And it worked, they accepted that as an identity. I had a birth certificate but no picture ID. In the photo I am standing in front of CBGB. I used to be Dave Ratcage when I was a guy.”A recent transsexual, Donna is based in Switzerland. She resurrected Rat Cage in the form of a website that sells CD’s and other merchandise. Unfortunately she ran into some problems earlier this year:

”I am living in a fucking nightmare since the (web) site was hijacked and everything ground to a halt. We hope to be back in service by mid April.”Even worse, she was hit by business problems:

“…my ex partner completely fucked my whole label up - I have been in a desperate situation.. We are starting to get things going again under the new name THE RATCAGE (because he has laid claim to the old name).”
Thankfully, things are back on track, the website is up (www.theratcage.com), and it’s set up to take orders again. Donna is grateful for the salvaged situation. “Stephanie is number one girl at Rat Cage. If I had her working for me from the beginning there would not have been these problems I am facing.”

One of the great CD’s offered on her website is the Rat Cage Benefit CD. On November 20, 1982 CBGB’s held a benefit for Rat Cage Records. In de rigeur hardcore matinee format, the show started in the late afternoon. Labelmates YOUNG AND THE USELESS, the amazing REAGAN YOUTH and a pre-rap BEASTIE BOYS each contribute a set. Fuckin’ great shit, the sound was hot and the gig captured in its entire glory on this CD. For those of you who ordered early, a special handmade triple CD version was available late last year but appears to be no longer available.

Support Donna, Rat Cage Records, and her great website www.theratcage.com, and get a piece of hardcore history with the Rat Cage Benefit CD.

Grade School

(eBay names are used as always to protect the guilty). So diorules obediently lists his vinyl grading scale: Mint, NM-, VG+, VG, VG-, G, most of whose accompanying definitions look pretty reliable. But then he goes ahead and grades his record EX+. What the… Then there’s his soul brother ligament (who’s a great seller by the way), who lists his vinyl grading scale as: M, EX, VG, G, F, B but then goes and grades his record NM.

Clearly, there are very few Mint records sitting around from our hallowed 77-82 era, and the gamut from the somewhat respectable looks-presentable-in-a-milky-clear-plastic-sleeve VG+ to the we’re-not-worthy-sorry-ma-forgot-to-take-out-the-laminator M has been stretched out to ridiculous lengths. Somehow, EX and NM have been wedged in, and then on top of that, a plethora of +/-‘s to eek out any little bit of extra cred. It’s like pricing something at $1.98 instead of $1.99. Then there are the extra +’s and –‘s. OK, C++ is a software programming language, VG++ is a little too obtuse.

Then there are the “but”-heads who proclaim “this record is perfect, except for a chip of vinyl is missing that does not affect play”. Also known as “ratcheting down”, these people draw you in with their claims of perfection, only to chop it down to actual size by the time the description is over.

I laud the blokes who grade it AND list every little flaw that relegates the record to that grade. Miscmonger does pretty good to back up a VG+/M rating he doles out: “Pic sleeve with some light creasing and small stain on back cover..Super clean disc!...VG+/M”.

English as a first language is used by some. “This record is in very good condition.” I meant in the same way that “this oki dog is really good”. I find that quite often people who say “very good” or “excellent” don’t mean VG or EX. In fact, I’d venture to say that “very good” and “excellent” usually both end up to be VG+. On the other hand, people who spell out “near mint” usually are close. And how about “Sleeve is in VERY NICE shape”, what does that really mean?

A scan is always better. Tuppenny803 claims that his “near perfect” copy of the first DEAD BOYS 45 has only “slight imperfections” in the pic sleeve, but the scan shows ringwear on both front and back, as well as a crease in the back. Actual grade: between VG+ to EX-.

Sellers with dubious grading: PLOPPYANTS. Soundofimpact sent me THE SECRET SYDE (Mutha ’83) record that I paid top dollar for in advertised NM condition, with a big crease on the corner. He appeared to be earnest about the situation although he wouldn’t let me return it.

Good sellers: Drowningboy, cjesmore, cta2 all get stamps of approval for me.

Saw My Baby In The Horn Section
Punk Rock Orchestra lurches forward – we first chronicled their humble beginnings a half dozen issues back, but the disparate quartets and quintets have since congealed into a 30-odd piece bonafied force. Gilman Street recently lay home to their debut in this assemblage, opening for MISFITS cover band PLAN 9, and I have to say that conductor and sometime arranger John Gluck has pulled some big shit outta his ass. Starting with the CIRCLE JERKS’ “When The Shit Hits The Fan” and running through punk classics by FEAR, DESCENDENTS, and SUICIDAL TENDENCIES, Gluck practically slamdanced in his conductor’s tuxedo that had “ROCK AND ROLL IS DEAD” emblazoned in metal studs on the back, while the orchestra aggressively bowed, blew, and practically attacked their instruments. Unlike their first gigs, the Orchestra now adds vocals to the mix, giving the punk kids little less to ponder. Stay tuned for more… ( www.punkrockorchestra.com ).

(NOTE TO GIRLFRIEND: the title is a spoof on the HAPPY CADAVERS’ song “Saw My Baby in the Meat Section” and has nothing to do with the 16 year old trombone player…)

Not Ralph Malphs’ Bro
Bad Attitude Records outta Finland (www.bad-attitude-records.com) does up a 4 song 7” EP for DENNIS MOST AND THE INSTIGATORS called “Wire My Jaw”. Recorded late last year, this shows Dennis in fine form. The title track chugs heavy metal. Desperately ironic vocals. “Tough Break”, a song from the KBD era is updated 2k style with a sputtering guitar break, that is indeed tough. Keith Grave on Bass. www.dennismostinstigator.com . Don’t buy this because Dennis is some old guy that needs the money. Buy it because it burns. Cool cover art too.

Speaking of Keith Grave (nee Donaldson), Dionysus Records has put out the CD version of his labor of love, the “Shielded By Death” Compilation (aka “Volume 1, Busted At the Lit Club”, also subtitled “Original Punkrock from Eastern CT and Western MA, 1977-1985” – how’s that for a mouthful?). This originally came out on vinyl a few years ago on Incognito (I reviewed that very fucker in the MRR Record Review section at the time). This version has a few extra tracks, excludes another track, and has different artwork, so you’ll want to pick up both! Since I have reviewed this previously, I’m not gonna do it again here, but I will say that the 27 tracks range from aggressive standouts like CHRONIC DISORDER and THE STERICS through pretty wimp-pop like THE NOT QUITE, and the funny wrestling rock of the FOREIGN OBJECTS.

Let the Chugging Commence
Sheesh. My mailbox runneth over with Italian imports. The pasta machine cranks out more punk noodling, Rave Up style!

THE COMMANDOS, tough leather clad kids from Worcester, MASS (endearingly referred to as “Wormtown”), start things off with release number 32. Originally on Brian Goslow’s famed Beast label, tracks from the two split 45’s that THE COMMANDOS were part of comprise the bulk of side A of this LP: “Stay Out Tonight” is a brilliant spat out basher that moronically plods through the same three words – 3 word rock!. “Suburb Rock”, with slightly more lyrics. The title track, “Fight To Win” is a track from later in their career, never before released, with much “improved” musicianship and production values over its predecessors, still very rockin’ tho but less KBD. “Fearless are the Damned” from the same sessions rocks fast and hard. Great record.

The first LP by WHITE FLAG was originally done up in only 300 copies back in 1982 – “R is For Rocket” gets reissued on side A of Rave Up Records number 33. Brutishly unique in its hardcore brew, a cross between FLIPPER, JOHN TRUBEE and RED KROSS, WHITE FLAG shocks and propels. Drug induction hour. The B-side is entitled “U is for Unreleased” and is two fistfulls of live tracks from their first ever gig (in someone’s backyard). These guys do a surprisingly tight and entertaining set and the sound is pretty good. Teen punk by non-teens. Nice insert too.

Extending the legendary SUICIDE COMMANDOS “Commandos Commit Suicide Dance Concert” LP released by Twin Tone in 1980, Rave Up releases a double LP’s worth of the same, the 1978 farewell concert in its entirety. This is THE definitive 36 track version – Garage D’Or Records released a 32 track extended CD a few years ago that apparently still left off some tracks. Same liner notes, but here you get it in 12x12 look-ma-no-reading-glasses format. These guys were way ahead of their time, winding down when their punk brethren were just starting to pick up their instruments and learning how to detune…

Super aggressive killer punk from THE LUBRICANTS is our last Rave Up Record of the month, and our hands down favorite in recent memory. Presented in roughly chronological order from ’77 to ’81, taboo and crude range of subjects are skewered in spades over 13 songs by these Milwaukee fucks. This appears to be a vinyl issue of a CD that came out sometime last year that I somehow never got. Twisted with really tight playing, sputtering guitars, snarling vocals. Their one and only 45 from the latter part of their career “Activated Energy/Transformation Vacation” appears at the tail end of Side B, but it’s side A’s earlier stuff that has me writhing in a pile of broken glass. I wanna destroy.

Out just the very next month is FIVE more goddamns sons o’ rave up releases. CLASSIC RUINS, REALTORS, SHOCK, THUNDERTRAIN, and THE PUNKS will infiltrate your mind. Shortly.

Suburb Rock
Worcester (aka “Wormtown”), Mass relived its thriving late 70’s punk scene on Friday May 2nd as part of the Wormtown 25th Anniversary. Our New England correspondent Chowderhead clues us in on the action:

The lineup consisted of the VEJTABLES, BOB JORDAN & THE HOLLOWBODIES, THE PERFORMERS, THE COMMANDOS, THE CRYBABIES, THE PREFAB MESSIAHS, and THE BELMONDOS. Upon entering the show's venue, Ralph's Diner (a fitting testament to the blue collar working-class vibe of Worcester), I did the logical thing and scarfed down a one-inch-thick cheeseburger and a Guinness. A couple of guys just off work asked the bartender what was going on. "Oh, some 25-year anniversary bands or something," she responded without the least interest. I refrained from blurting out that I had just driven an hour to be there, and made my way upstairs to where the first band had already started.

The lone VEJTABLES track I own is a live recording of "Chop Your Mother Up", decent harmless goofpunk, and their set pretty much followed in the same vein. THE HOLLOWBODIES on the other hand, sunk into unfathomably unlistenable guitar noodling. I'm torn between which was the low point of the night, that or the unattractive, slightly overweight woman who asked me if I liked her big chest, told me they were real and then proceeded to walk away while bouncing them off of my back. Maybe 25 years ago she was a passable 2 AM-er... Hapless witness and fellow collector Brian Dodier summed it up: "Better you than me!"

THE PERFORMERS took the stage next. As high school post-punkers in 1980, their best known song was "Overthrow", which was on the flip of a split 45 with THE COMMANDOS. Live, the set mixed aggressive melodic punk such as "Total Disarmament", "New York", a much-sped-up "Overthrow", and more indie rock sounding stuff. The punk rocked. Some of the other tracks didn't hit me first time around, although the wife/girlfriend fan base shook it up in the front row. Bandleader and all around swell guy Doug Geer just released a 23-song CD of old PERFORMERS studio tracks (contact jaylitch@aol.com for details).

THE COMMANDOS looked like they never left the stage in 25 years. Singer Brian Hopper and guitarist Jeff Crane wore black leather jackets, probably the same ones they trashed parties with years ago. Hopper said they practiced one and a half times before the gig. Crane still actively plays with RICK BLAZE AND THE BALLBUSTERS, so he didn't need much warming up. The crowd was clearly in anticipation. Opening with "Fight To Win" [as reviewed elsewhere in this column], THE COMMANDOS kicked total ass. They were louder, faster and ballsier than anything on vinyl, and I think their vinyl's pretty damn good. Hopper, Crane & Co. crunched through the Ramonesy-thug of "Stay Out Tonight" and "Suburb Rock" from their debut EP. “Annihilation" from their second EP also raged with high intensity. After throwing in a killer cover of "Kick Out The Jams" midway through the set, they ended the devastation with IGGY’S "I Got A Right". Needless to say, the next day my neck hurt from the violent shaking.

Various interpretations of "That was amazing" could be overheard after THE COMMANDOS’ performance. Hopper talked about about wanting to do more shows. Brian, Chuck Warner and I hung out for a while during THE CRYBABIES, a current garage band made up of longtime Wormtown scenesters. Keen "Back From The Grave"-style cover choices provided a perfect backdrop for quiet reflection. Each facing an hour's ride home, we all skipped out before the last two bands. Hell, I'll be on this COMMANDOS adrenaline high for a week. For more info, check out www.wormtown.org.

Take Me Home and Make Me Lick It

As you can tell, I review all drivel. Send them in a hermetically sealed package.

posted by Henry @ 12:49 AM

June 01, 2003

MRR #241
Book Reviews Section

Legend of a Rock Star: The Last Testament of Dee Dee Ramone by Dee Dee Ramone
(Thunder’s Mouth Press)

Legend of a Rock Star is Dee Dee Ramone’s last gasp, a tour diary about what ended up to be his last European tour. Whereas The Andy Warhol Diaries successfully celebrated the banal minutiae of life, Dee Dee tries to play up the rock and roll circus of his life, which he did live up to the end when he OD-ed at age 50. However, decadence is most glamorously worn by the young, so one cannot help but feel pity for Dee Dee when he does the grinding punk club circuit as an old man.

Thunder’s Mouth Press tries very hard, arguably much too hard to anoint Dee Dee into a deified status. The title of the book, “Legend of a Rock Star” would have been better reserved for the likes of Ramones leader Joey Ramone. The photo of Dee Dee used on the book cover is a caricature cross between a shirtless Iggy Pop-pose and a Keith Richards-pursed lip sneer, neither of whom Dee Dee approached. The forward, written by Neil Ortenburg tries to compare Dee Dee to Gregory Corso, the beat poet. “And yes, Dee Dee was a poet”, Neil urges. Lastly, the press release has the wherewithal to laud the book as the “rock ’n’ roll equivalent of Dostoyevsky’s Notes From The Underground.” Perhaps these people copped Dee Dee’s dope when he died and smoked it all at once!

As Dee Dee’s tour diary unfolds, it becomes apparent that all of the fanfare and high faluting accolades heaped on the man and his writing is inappropriately placed. Dee Dee was really just a simple rock and roll rebel who lived on gut instinct and simple principles, not some renaissance rock star auteur. While that doesn’t sound glamorous, it echoes the simplicity of the Ramones’ music and its bubble gum-cum-dark lurking subject matter. With this in mind, the charm of Dee Dee Ramone begins to come through.

Dee Dee’s writing is somewhat erratic, bouncing between an 8th grade sensitivity (“It’s not too bad being and old rock and roll star. It’s like having a tear in your eye and a smile on your face at the same time.”), waxing pseudo-intellectually about current events such as Mad Cow disease, and then sinking into puerile punk rock fag bashing (“Get the fuck away. I’m not a fucking faggot like you fucking are, motherfucker”) and misogynistic raving about girls and relationships (“Blowjobs are not being unfaithful”). At the same time, his touching love and devotion for his wife Barbara is reiterated throughout the book and some of his rantings and observations are funny, particularly seeing the rigors of touring the club circuit through the eyes of a 50 year old jaded punk

The last third of the book is a hodge podge of addendum to Dee Dee’s diary, essentially homage to the dead man in the form of news clippings, quotes from friends, associates, contemporaries and newspaper. This is interspersed with some of Dee Dee’s drawings (Dee Dee had become an artist in his later years), done in a simple folk art style, and a full discography of the Ramones and Dee Dee’s post-Ramones projects. For those of us who found punk with the Ramones such as myself (“Rocket to Russia”, junior year in high school), it’s a tearful ending, reality that our punk world will never be the same.

Dee Dee Ramone may have never been a real “rock star” or a legend, but Legend of a Rock Star does manage to capture the man who devoted his life to the satisfying simplicity of three chord rock.

posted by Henry @ 9:44 PM

May 01, 2003

MRR #240

Kicked Out Of The eBay Lows

Bummerb*tch came to pick me up at LAX. His roulette hairdo had dealt him a straight flush that morning, leaving him a mere 6’ 3”. I think he did this on purpose to get more matches on his favorite dating website. It allows the F seeking M to specify a penis length to height ratio that he would have otherwise failed if his hair poofed up to Limahl levels. Today Bummer was hanging with Li’l Birdman, whom he had tied up in the backseat. Unfortunately Bum forgot the gag, because Birdy was on some sort of speed and could not stop talking, his latest rant being his pet peeves. It was barely noon and Bum was hungry as usual. While his stomach grackled loudly, Birdy spouted his ever growing litany of peeves. No fish. No seafood. No crazy driving. No freeways. No spiders. The peeves grew as quickly as Bum’s trade pile. Bum was hungry but Birdy didn’t want to eat. He wanted to play the game of Sorry he had just gotten.

Bummer whipped out his Zagat’s guide and pored over it with the obsessiveness of a new Mike Bastarache Set Sale list. We ended up at what turned out to be a Hot Dog on a Stick, which Bum had touted as “sampling the local Santa Monica cuisine”. The so-called Valet parking consisted of a Mexican family screaming at a cop who had just ticketed their bitchen Camaro. We ate numerous battered foods while sitting on a birdshit-caked cement block. Later, in yellow trash tradition, we played air hockey at the arcade. Bum’s ogling over the swaying boobs of the girl playing next to us distracted him to score on himself several times. Fortunately, his oversized parka hid the action from the cops.

Uggly called. He said he’d come by. He appeared just as Bum and I decided to burn off some of our excess testosterone by doing some bench press. Uggly nervously eyed the 45 lb bar and passed. He was always the last kid picked in gym class and had no intention of getting buffed up. After a few sets, we headed back upstairs to talk about record collecting. Mad Max showed up shortly thereafter with the beer, followed by Metal Guru, Jtf27, Sheslostcontrol and then Mmmbender. Jtf27, like me, had flown into LA specifically for the event, the ROCKET FROM THE TOMBS show.

ROCKET FROM THE TOMBS were the penultimate proto-punk band infamous for having spawned the DEAD BOYS and PERE UBU in the mid ‘70s. Arguably, they transcended both with a powerful combination of art attack and low-fi aggression. Having broken up 27 years ago or so, this combo was scheduled to play a reunion gig as part of David Thomas’ DisastroDome event, and art-cum-music UBU sponsored thing that was to occupy the whole weekend. The final event would be an RFTT and PERE UBU show at a seated auditorium on the UCLA campus.

After a carbo loading pizza session, the evening culminated at the Roller Rink. Sheslostcontrol brought her own skates, but Bum had left his terry cloth shorts and halter top at his boyfriend’s house. Mad Max was rusty from his Rollerball days and could only muster weak moaning sounds as throngs of prepubescent girls ran over his skinny legs. Uggly warmed the bench as usual. Afterwards, the record nerds traded eBay war stories over glasses of water. It turned out that everyone had anonymously bought records from everybody else, and some even unknowingly had eBay bidding wars via their bid sniping programs while they hung out. It brought tears to our eyes. The night ended when Bum’s self-imposed weekend midnight curfew kicked in.

The next morning, Birdy came by for a marathon game of Sorry. His Adam Rich power pop do glistened in the mid morning sun as he kicked our behinds till the sun shone out of them. Bum and I took naps and went to Silverlake to check out a matinee show featuring CHEAP CHICK, an all-girl CHEAP TRICK cover band. Mad Max met up with us. The Chicks were awesome. Their Robin Zander wore the same outfit as on Live In Budokan and pretended to smoke a cigarette between songs. Their Tom Petersson wore the same blue Silk shirt and had the same dark tresses as her real equivalent, but ruined the effect by continually waving and winking at her kid during the show. Rick Nielson. While it was disappointing that their Bun E lacked the requisite wire frame glasses and cigarette dangling from her lower lip, they did rock hard and good. The afternoon ended with some long-assed napping on the parts of the geriatric collector crowd.

ROCKET FROM THE TOMBS. We sat in the second row, behind Smog Veil honcho Frank. Other luminaries such as Greil Marcus, Johnny Dromette, and Yo La Tengo’s Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley were spotted. Fuck, the band looked like a bunch of grandpas and uncles, but they were dressed in black. The hair factor was minimized from their heyday, but that didn’t keep us from swinging ours. The chops were there. The sound was incredible. David Thomas on vocals, Cheetah Chrome on slash’n burn guitar, Craig Bell keeping it all down on bass, and special guest Richard Lloyd from Television fueling the air with amphetamine driven guitar licks, dueling with Cheetah Chrome to form a two-eels-fucking-in-a-bucket-of-snot twin guitar attack. Whoa. There was electricity in the air. David Thomas was smiling at Craig as they harmonized/screamed to “Final Solution”, which was done in two parts, one mid-way during their 45 minute set, and in reprise form later. Its apocalyptic power was felt by the mesmerized audience. “Ain’t It Fun”, the grim Laughner blues rock epic later faithfully covered by GUNS’N ROSES on their Spaghetti Incident covers album, was sung by Cheetah Chrome (who, by the way is now referred to back by his original nee, Gene O’Connor). Gene also did “Sonic Reducer” the popular DEAD BOYS signature in its original RFTT rendition. Craig Bell led the band into a rousing rendition of his solo songwriting contribution, “Muckraker” - which was later redone by his band the SAUCERS (whose back catalogue was reissued recently as a CD on the GTA label). Of course “30 Seconds over Tokyo” brought the house down. Thomas was in fine form, alternately standing and sitting to catch his breath, vocally attacking the songs with histrionic angst.

Bum’s bedtime took us outta there during the UBU set (“Hey, where ya goin’…?” muttered Thomas), but we knew we had gotten our rock and roll for the night already, perhaps for the year, and who knows, maybe even our lifetime. Sheesh, we were THERE dammit! 27 years after the real fact, but we were THERE!

Postscript – went to Other Music while visiting my girlfriend in NYC and bought the reissues of CLE compatriots THE STYRENES’ It’s Still Artastic and THE MIRRORS’ Hands In My Pocket. Can’t get enough! We will cover these next month in a loving PHFUDD/Black To Comm sort of rant.

Hooked On Junk

Just got in a bitchen new Killed By Death type comp entitled "Hooked On Junk, Vol.1" (subtitled "Eighteen Forgotten Punk Losers from the U.S.A. 1978-1983"). Grapevine sez this one’s been on hold for the past year due to the excessive masturbatory practices of its compiler, known mysteriously as El Dopa. Nice crude artwork, tho I coulda done without the naked El Dopa pics. The liner notes might have been written by one of the Iousse cousins, as informative and funny as those near beer 32 year olds can possibly write. This one was a test pressing advance copy so the real cover will probably not be printed on human skin.

Okay, here we go. It starts off in real fine fashion with a good known track from SCREAM (their anti-social rant "Gov't Primer"), before launching into a generous helping of previously-unknown-to-me-punk-tuneage by the likes of the JOE HEBERT BAND via their nerd anthem "I Don't Want To Be a Preppy”, THE INFECTIONS (who at times channel Australia's FUN THINGS), RF7 with a track off their very rare debut “Acts of Defiance” EP and, from a super-rare acetate only, the misogynistic ravings by LA teens BODY COUNT.

But it’s THE DUCKY BOYS, hailing from Brooklyn before it became an art school campus and home to pretty boy rockers, who capture my imagination. The picture sleeve alone boggles the mind. Amateurism speckled with a pseudo menacing punk stance. Despite their name, there was one woman in the band, a chubby hispanic looking chick with a furrowed brow and a bowie knife. Ranks a distant second to the CHRONIC SICK LP cover for a hilarious manufactured punk look, but that’s hella good company. Military fatigues and a jungle background give it a crazed Viet Vet vibe. Musically, these effs contribute the title track. “Hooked on Junk” is crazed thuggery that bridges the gap between insanity and mere obsesso-neurotic-fuckfest-anarchy. Hook me up with an actual copy and I’ll do ya right (or just do ya).

Continuing, there’s Dolls worship from Georgia’s KRIS METHE AND THE MISTAKES and Maryland’s THE KATATONIX, high school punk from THE COMMANDOS (who, by the way are playing a 20+ year reunion gig this May back in their hometown of Worcester, Mass.), HELEN KELLER (a new rarity chronicled on the www.breakmyface.com website), LEGAL WEAPON, SUSPECT DEVICE (obscure CLE punk with a young pre-GBV Doug Gillard), THE RECIPIENTS (TX lunacy), POODLE BOYS, DEPROGRAMMER and the MANIKENZ. Sure, there's a requisite couple of lame-o tracks (I would've left off MALCOLM TENT and a pre-Minutemen George Hurley’s HEY TAXI), but they in no way detract from what is an otherwise very rewarding listening experience. Come on and come all, but most of all, come in my mouth!

Long Walk Off A Short Pier

The Raveup machine continues its mission of putting out lost punk nuggets from America, grinding out another handful of gems, and as this goes to print yet another batch beyond these have already been released. Nearing 40 LP releases in only a couple of years, Pier has undisputedly established himself as the mogul of punk reissues.

THE VIOLATORS from Denver Colorado is given its due with its Gun Control LP. Never having released anything during its late ‘70s heyday, this DEAD BOYS sounding band, led by the red leather clad Tom Pop, finally unleashes its primitive sounds in the form of studio and live tracks. For context, check out their contemporaries THE DEFEX, whose “Beyond Machine Gun Love” LP was also posthumously and lovingly released on Raveup. Super hard and aggressive vocals over relentless riffing steeped in trad hard STOOGES style punk. And not surprisingly, covers of the DEAD BOYS “Ain’t Nothing To Do” and IGGY AND THE STOOGES’ “I Got A Right” can be found in their live set. An enjoyable and worthy release.

Fast Music is how THE PRODUCTS described their music to the uninitiated (and unsuspecting). Now over 20 years later, their never before released long player sees the light of day as a followup to their 4 song 7” released in early ’81. These pretty boys cop a pre/post Rick Springfield look replete with the coiff, and musically they back it up. Side A is inexplicably light watered down new wavish-pop-but-not-quite-power-pop faux brit sung minor chord stylings. Side B’s is more promising, with a light punk sound on “On Your Own”, and a dark rocker “Punch The Man”. However, they never quite manage to ignite, and we’ll save our sycophantasies for other releases.

Beg borrow or steal at any cost…Fuck…the lead track from THE TRANSPLANTS’ Vegetable Stew sticks a battle of the bands fantasy in my head in which this Boston band squares off their “Suicidal Tendencies” song against that of Bloomington Indiana’s JETSONS. But hell, it ends in a tie ‘cos both are amazing punk songs! Where the eff did this band come from, ‘cos every track (originally home-recorded on a 4-track as well as live at The Space in Boston in 1979) rocks harder than the next! This is the best uncovered gem Raveup has found so far, great hard vocals ranted over a punk chug that’s steeped in proto. These guys got into punk really early, 1976-ish, and those early influences are apparent in these songs. Guitar solos might be spotted, but these songs are short and to the point. They start where THE AFRIKA KORPS left off and rock harder. On the live tracks they retro back to their garage roots with convincing covers by THE HAUNTED and THE STARFIRES. As if the great music wasn’t enough, the artwork on this is awesome, with a great theatrical cover shot of the guitarist standing on the mock dead body of over-their-top vocalist, who can be seen on the back cover looking like a shaggy Dead head burnout! These guys were real punks all the way and DEMAND YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. Truly a buy or die situation, so unless you have suicidal tendencies, you know what to do…

The Hawaiian shirted FOREIGN OBJECTS ain’t from the Aloha state. These New England DICTATOR worshippers adored wrestling, television, and the general lowlife preoccupations of the nerdboy agoraphobes. Despite a plethora of facial and chest hair and guitar leads, these guys rock medium hard with singalong sardonic punk wit (“Recycled Jizz”). “Sgt Sanders” presages the obnoxio rap of THE BEASTIE BOYS. Low sonic snot factor and hilarity make it a good wake-me-up record. Laff till the milk runs outta yr nose!

Raveup’s pop imprint Backstreet makes another impression with THE MANIKINS, an OZ band from Perth. Leaving a couple of 7” EP’s and a one shot cassette tape as a legacy, this LP takes the best of the cassette tape. Pop fans will probably remember this band from their wonderful pop gem “I never thought I’d find someone who could be so kind”, off their first 45. Hooks all over the place laid over tight playing make this a power pop meisterpeice, kin to early SCIENTISTS, their better known countrymates, but with more craftsmanship. 13 songs of skinny tie energy bridled in two and half minute frameworks. Great record.

Finally, Raveup spawns a bastard cousin called Shell Shock Rock, a label that plans to focus on Northern Ireland. Its first release is by some kids from Bangor called THE DOUBT. Their 4 song EP from 1981 called Contrast Disorder is reissued on Side A and contributes the title to the LP. “Contrast Disorder”, with its la-la-la’s, is a jolt of singalong adenoidal pop punk, while “Time Out” spits out I-I-I’s and oh-oh-oh’s amidst its fast and catchy backdrop. Recorded essentially after they had already broken up to document their best songs, these guys could play fast and tight. From their demo session comes “Fuck Nose”, an amazing instrumental with way loud rockin’ guitar, and totally cool punked up covers of BOWIE’s “Hang On To Yourself” and THE FABULOUS POODLES’ “Mirror Star”. A great start for this new sub-label and well recommended.

Send Me Shit
As you can tell, I review all drivel. Send them in a hermetically sealed package.

posted by Henry @ 11:04 AM

April 01, 2003

MRR #239

I’m So Excited
Gulcher Records (gulcherrecords@aol.com) stretches its musical repertoire with the release of the THUNDERTRAIN retrospective ”Teenage Suicide”. Sorta the US equivalent of UK pub rock, bar boogie rock happily coexisted with proto punk in early to mid-70’s. Visually, progenitors of the genre took on long locks, open shirts and tight flares posed by pretty boys with pastiches of glam that were really dreams of big arena rock filtered through low budget camp. Musically, rock star guitar solos and the occasional cowbell framed its high energy hard rock sound.

THUNDERTRAIN did a handfulla years during the era, their demographic extending from the teen girl crowd, as mash letters flooded 16 Magazine, up through the hip above underground: Max’s, CB’s, and of course their hometown pad, the Rat in Boston. Their recorded legacy was small but notable, with 1975’s independently released "I'm So Excited/Cindy Is A Sleeper" 45 on their pseudo-conglomerately-named United National label, and then the next year with their breakout “Hot For Teacher” 7”, whose brilliant title was coopted by Van Halen for their megahit in the 80’s. Their one LP Teenage Suicide extended the name further. Their lead singer Mach Bell later gained further success as lead singer for THE JOE PERRY PROJECT, a one-time splinter from the early 80’s AEROSMITH drugs’n’alcohol descent.

This CD not only has their best tracks, but also a radio interview and great liner notes, a 24 pager with rare photos and band history. And it’s all told as real as real without the rose colored rock revisionism, even their self-admittedly embarrassing brief foray into face-painted KISS-dom! Definitely a labor of love and a quality package all the way. Barkeep, I’ll have another beer…

Postscript to the Mach Bell continuum is his band LAST MAN STANDING who put out their 11 track CD recorded and released a year or two ago. He still looks great and sings even better than his THUNDERTRAIN days. Hard rock without a trace of indie or punk infused is his current gig, would unlikely appeal to fans of this rag, but if you secretly like Bon Jovi style arena boogie, you might want to check it out.

The counterpoint to the thuggery of Bloomington Indiana’s GIZMOS and PANICS were embodied in their art damaged counterparts, MX-80 SOUND and the DANCING CIGARETTES. While MX made it to the majors, the Cigs stayed closer to home, tho touring out as far as Buffalo and Omaha. Traces of skronk, sound pastiches, pained vocals, lurching stops and starts, and song titles like “Monsters Eat My Hell” and “Puppies in a Sack”, while obtuse, somehow manage to wash a warm feeling over me, or is it the booze? These guys looked like intellectual hippies with their frizzy hair, but played with an intense edge that finds kin with PERE UBU and their ilk.

“The Gulcher Recordings” collect the Cigs previously recorded output (a 7” EP as well as the great “Broken Windows” track from the Red Snerts compilation – also recently reissued on CD on Gulcher), and a fine sounding live set. Worth getting for the initiated and curious.

Blam Blam
From some scumpit in the US, another motherload of near beer hath been dropped. The same blammer that brought us the EATs and the PLUGZ’ 45 repros last year have come forth with more KBD-like madness. Mr. Blam gives us tuff rock in the form of the “Taking The City By Storm” 45, from the band that didn’t make Milwaukee famous, THE HASKELLS. Originally released in ’78, this new wavish looking record, in which the trio sports two striped button down shirts and a polo shirt, is really a hard rockin’ punker. Meanwhile, the reissue of the LATIN DOGS’ “Warning” 45 outta Michigan, 1981-ish, comes with a different sleeve - a cool live shot in which the kick drum hilariously has a teddy bear (real?) grafted onto it. Another great 45 to reissue. Finally, San Francisco’s SNUKY TATE get his due with the reissue of his “Who Cares?” monster platter. Nice sleeve repro on this one.

Sent to me in pre-release form, the GERMS’ “Lexicon Devil” EP, originally a Slash records release that quantum lept from their earlier inept “Forming” single, is one of the upcoming Blammo treats. It comes in white vinyl and a picture sleeve that declares it a “Special White Wax Promo 1 of 50 (copies)”, so don’t even think about it. However, when it gets fully released, the scum can swarm around the blue wax edition that a portion will be done on.

The other upcoming Blammo release is a reissue of the FIX 45, their superrare “Vengeance/In This Town” 45 that originally came out in a 100 copy edition from the then fledgling Touch & Go label. Slathering fandom in the form of a Ripper magazine interview appears as an insert to this 45, along with a counterpoint by Barry Henssler (“Necros”) on another insert, declaring the band as Judas Priest loving outsiders to the scene. Funny as hell, and heck you already know the music, midwest hardcore short and furious. Why pay $800 when you can feel this wax melt in your hand at the few bucks it’ll probably be.

Ex-Lax
Ordered thru the lamented and long gone distro Ajax Records, I discovered the MONKEY 101 single “French Feelings” on this Philly label Siltbreeze. It was one of my favorite records of that year, 1989. Over the years that ensued, a flurry of decidedly non-pedestrian releases came out on the Siltbreeze label, including notable one-offs by bands like SEBADOH. With other labels like Anyway and Datapanik, it became part of a triumverate of the best new non-grunge American shit.

Fast forward to last month. What Siltbreeze was doing selling a limey assed pansy goth shit JOY DIVISION record on eBay was question enough, and me bidding on it even more so. Anyhow, the 45 of “Dead Souls b/w Atmosphere on the Sordide Sentimentale label was one of the rarest of the Joy Div records in a numbered edition of just over 1500 copies. The fact that Siltrecs (the eBay name for Siltbreeze) billed it as “rare as hen’s teeth” further stoked the fires. It had been heavily bootlegged. Copies used to float around readily in the mid-80’s around town for about $10, replete with the full color folder reproduced. If genuine, I bookmarked it. After checking it a few times during the week, I finally decided to put in a bid but not first without jetting Siltrecs a few questions to verify the authenticity of the record.

“Is there a medusa's head on the paper label of the record? I cant quite make out the graphics…”, I wrote. The bootleg has a medusa’s head. No response from Siltrecs before the auction ended so I bid anyways cos if it was real, I wanted it. With a high bid near $250, I won. I sent him another email.
“…Looks like i won the auction! can you answer the other question i emailed yesterday, which is ,there should be a stamped number of the jacket. what is the number? thanks, henry”

I got this mysterious response that only Ray Ernst would be able to decipher.

“no, it's no (sic) the medusa "repro". it's the other version. up until i listed this item i had no idea there had been reprints. and so it goes... “. What the fuck exactly does that mean, mister indie fucking rock america? this tastemaker's eloquence suddenly dropped through the floor.

“hi tom, the number should be numbered out of 1578 copies - can you look for a stamped number? thanks,henry”. I responded. I tried to be more explicit.

“there is no "stamped" number. at least that i can find.”, he responded. OK, I think to myself. I’m getting some English now. As I would find, his English seemed to get better and better, especially of the 4 letter variety.

“hi tom,
is it ok if you give me a day to research where the number should be ? im sorry about doing this now, but i emailed the question yesterday (probably on too short notice). i can't pay this price for the boot, since the boot goes for $75 or so. the info i have on boot is that there is no stamped number and the inner label of the record is a medusa (woman with snakes in her hair).”

“Henry-
listing & dealing w/this record has been a huge pain in my ass. I suppose some of this falls on me as I had no idea that this was a boot or reissue or whatever it is, as it is the only copy I have ever seen. Now you tell me you don't want it.”

“hi tom, i did NOT say in my email that i dont intend to honor my bid.i am saying that i want to verify that it is original and not a boot before i buy it, and i wasn’t able to verify it before the auction ended. Let me do some research as to how the record was numbered

“henry-this was forwarded to me at the end of the auction. http://members.aol.com/lwtua/S5.htm” OK, this fucker has finally come clean and admitted that this is a bootleg. That is all I needed to know. Thanks, dude.

“so according to this, the copy is a bootleg, i unfortunately cannot honor the bid as such.” I said, along with apologies and willingness to make up the diff to the next highest bidder.

“i'll let you know what transpires w/the 2nd bidder. you really fucked this thing up & after i told you that is WAS NOT an original!”. Ungh.

All I can say is I hope Mr. Lax is more cooler with the bands on his roster than with his eBayers. Glug.

Poor and Forgotten
From the I-promised-to-mention-all-submissions-and-now-I-regret-it department comes a fanzine called “Poor and Forgotten” put out by Matt Johnson from a Massachusetts Correctional Facility. Unsure if it’s any good cos all I got was the plea for $1 and two stamps for the “free” copy. Sorry bubs, my stamps are for licking.

posted by Henry @ 12:13 PM

March 01, 2003

MRR #238

Married With Records
I got email from Chowderhead. It was probably about that trade. We had been trying to work it out for some time. A few years ago, I had found this rare record at a KUSF swap. Some guy from the east bay who had apparently been dumped by his girlfriend was depressed and decided to sell some records. Strange. Usually poor saps go out and buy records when that happens. Anyhow, I guess he had spent some time in the Boston area because he had this record that I was unfamiliar with but its picture sleeve was very handmade and punk looking. It was a two piece with primitive oddball photo collage graphics. Virtually no information on the sleeve, tho the inner label of the record would betray its Beantown origin. The guy wanted $10, which was sort of a lot to blow on a record I had never heard of, but then I remember passing on the TITS 45 for $8 at a KFJC record swap a decade ago because I hadn’t heard of it. I think I listened to it once. When I made my occasional trip to Portland, OR, I brought it up there and stuck it in storage with the rest of my belongings.

So after I had decided to trade it away to Chowderhead, it took awhile for me to get it back out of storage. It may have even taken a year or two. Anyhow, it was finally out and we were trying to determine the trade. We did this by email.

“Any thoughts on the trade?”, Chowderhead wrote.

“What’s up,C ?”, I replied.

“Well, a lot !”, he wrote. “I got married this past weekend !”.

“Holy! Congratulations man! And instead of consummating the marriage, you’re trying to consummate record trades? Jeez…”

“Well, consummating record trades general takes more than 30 seconds…”.

Get Used To It
Jim Jocoy’s “We’re Desperate” is a wonderful glossy nightstand book that nicely captures the visual stun of the first gen west coast punks. Jocoy’s polaroids capture art-damaged, junkied, bed-headed, on-the-fringe-and-beyond misfit characters that were the early punk scene. Beautiful people did not exist. The finely tuned punk uniform did not exist. The art crowd infused aesthetic and anti-fashion and revelled in lurid ugliness. Snot remains unblown, ear wax caked, pupils dilated. While you get spoonfuls of luminaries from the day, plenty of people in the book are just scenesters and stragglers.

Dischord Box
20 Years of Dischord can be heard over a series of 3 CD’s and read over a thick ass CD-sized book all handsomely housed in a sturdy cardboard box. Since I found it impossible to keep up with all the Dischord releases after the first dozen or so, this represents a great overview over its 100 plus releases over the past 20 years, since it opts to democratically go for breadth over depth. “Screaming at a Wall” is the only Minor Threat song on the 2 disc retrospective, as are only one tracks each from the early singles by bands such as Teen Idles, SOA, and Government Issue. The hardcore crudely rendered by Teen Idles and Untouchables as pure adolescent male rant are quickly upstaged by more sophisticated shards of the genre, and ultimately gives way to beyond-hardcore. Disc 3 is the really cool shit, all unreleased, mostly of the early era. The earlier slower version of Teen Idles “Get Up and Go” is so much better, you lament why the faster-is-better teenage boy bullshit got the better of their senses. Disc 3, if you play this on your computer, also has some primitively shot video clips, including a pre-Rollins Henry Garfield growling and air guitaring in an early SOA performance that is massively entertaining. The book has tons of great photos and stories. OK Touch and Go, it’s your turn…

posted by Henry @ 11:37 AM

January 01, 2003

MRR #237

Dancing With Myself

Somewhere along the way, the self-conscious awkwardness combined with toe-opening-curtains type obsessiveness subsided and I found myself willing and able to dance in the privacy of hordes. After some near brushes (not the kind you think) in my mid-30’s at the gay/straight disco palace Panorama in Portland, I found San Francisco to be far friendlier place for happy feet. There, reuniting with friends and fellow MRR compatriots, we managed to not let our (what little we had left) youth go to waste, and do a little dance, make a little love, get down…nevermind.

Sixxteen rooled the town for awhile. Even Jeff Bale would make an occasional appearance. Held at the Cat club over on Folsom and sometimes 333 Ritch, Glam and Punk were the order. You’d get Ziggy-era Bowie, T. Rex, Sweet, Eno on the glitter side, then get tuff with the Misfits (usually “Where Eagles Dare”), Gun Club, Clash, and then Hard rawk like the Runaways and the Crue and mebbe even early Halen.

The Cat club’s cool. Two dance floors, decent sound system, not great. The back room always attracts the edgier crowd – after all, it’s got Le Cage Awful, where many a deux preen or make out in luxurious slo-mo.. Front room’s got the bigger bar, better lighting, and gets the beautiful people on the make, which counts us pock marked low riding huskies out. 1984 is on Thursday nights and savvy try to get there shortly before 10, when the entry is still free, tho past is still a mere $5. Inside, things are still just warming up at that time, as Hall and Oates or Michael Jackson might be played to everyone’s horror in the front room. Tiff and Deb, traipse the full run of the dance floor (and sometimes careening into the bar area), combining the moves of Tony Basil and George Jefferson’s jive-head-bobbing to arrive at what is uniquely their own riveting synchronized-yet-not de stijl. With perpetually matching outfits, often derivations of Olivia Newton John’s “Let Get Physical” video, the girls are often mistaken for twins or shameless co-peddlers of eye shadow (Mary Kay on a binge), but are actually friends who look remarkably alike. When things finally get hopping, the back room lies host to the better dancing, as Synth Pop a la the Flock and OMD and Depeche and Sisters lead the hipsters toward minimal gyrations. The front room has the frats and the debs trading stares up and down their young bods, with the occasional fortysomething Ball boy flitting thru to dance with all the ladies to the likes of Go-Go’s, Clash, Prince. Back in the back, the occasional wayward debs will wander in and shake their tube tops on the podium, where we are all too cool to look, but steal glances heavily. Friday nights, also at the Cat, are home to Fake, the bastard spawn of Sixxteen. A lot more black clothes and Costco-bought mascara.

Once a month, New Wave City roams the city and ends up at one of a half dozen clubs that play host to it. With at least two, but sometimes three dance floors, it attracts the bridge and tunnelers, but we let them feel each other up in the smoking section. The regulars are there, the bad-dancing asian girl whose perpetual stage presence should be revoked, the trench coated fop, the stilettoed dominatrix with the chopsticks in her hair, the girl-shaped-like-a-man who wears a massive neck brace and somehow is able to dance-and-drink-from-a-straw while in traction. New Wave City always features an artist for the evening, and spins a heavy dose of them between the usual suspects. Sisters of Mercy, the Cure, Joy Division are examples of featured artists. The downside of this zoo is the $10 cover with no ins and outs. So make sure you smuggle in your ham sandwiches like a tail between your legs.

The ominously named Stud bar is home to the first and third Sunday-ed Death Rock Booty Call. Sunday night brings out the dead, and the occasional diet coke swillin’ lug. Tiff and Deb might be seen shamelessly promoting their leg-warmed duality by handing out autographed stickers of themselves or doing synchronized yoga moves while Naked Raygun or Black Flag is being blared. At its peak, everyone is frugging to The Fall or Gang of Four on a dance floor barely large enough to play Twister. Lots of gay/straight interaction, but usually via leather.and beads of sweat or gobs of saliva.

Other dance nights worthy of mention include Pop Scene, Death Guild, She Said (a raunchabilly night named after the Hasil Adkins song, you boneheads).

As our beloved Joy Div sang, “Oh Where Does It End….”

Drinking Is Great

The bars in Williamsburg, Brooklyn are plentiful and stocked with cool fish who drink like they are. The Red and the Black (a Blue Oyster Cult reference?) has a rock and roll night on Friday nights, tho midweek we could still hear Mission of Burma by the cozy fireplace. Sweetwaters smells antiseptic till the smoke wafts in and the beer gets spilled and the television spins B-movies. Galapagos is where the big apples are led to water, Pete’s Candy Store reeks of trendiness and indie bands. The punks light up to the Misfits and Black Flag at Union Pool. Boddington flows by the Trip at the Ale House on Driggs and the President of the Half Asian Ursine Snuggle Society holds court. The 4:30am east coast close works with my west coast biorhythms. One late night in October, while drinking with my elle, we heard the doom groove of the Wipers, not just one beloved track mind you, but the jukebox stuck on’em. One after another. Eventually the barkeep points me to the culprit. One John Lyons hanging out by the pool table. He, ex-of the mighty Portland band E-13 who shared light with the likes of Poison Idea on the fyrce Drinking is Great 7” comp. We bonded, as most who close the bar in the wee hours do, but also being fellow ex-Oregonians’n all. We made a quick late night phone call to one Malcolm Conover ex-Fatal Erection honcho to positively confirm both our pedigrees. As we parted, John left a bright shiny object appears in my hand. It plays E-13. A whole burned disc of ‘em. Scorching hardcore par excellence, whoa, everything they’ve ever recorded…I staggered home, luckily one block, and happy.

Shite Tacky Mush Rooms

Every submission gets mentioned, bar any unwashed lacy items. Ta Ta!

posted by Henry @ 9:30 PM

December 01, 2002

MRR #235

Yet Another RIP Punk Rant

Punk, if you still consider it alive, is 25 years old, which is older than Rock and Roll was when Punk first came along to turn it on its ear back in 1976. Rock and Roll itself was initially synonymous with rebellion but by its second decade became the stuff of targeted demographics, advertisements, self importance, 64 track quadrophonic, stadium tours and corporate sponsorships. Punk by its very nature was meant to be a backlash, a wake up call, a call to arms, in the way Pop Art brought low art into the consciousness of high art, a phenomenon that could only be marked by a short period of time, not a quarter of a century.

Don’t forget that Punk was already first declared dead by the cogniscenti in 1980, ushering in the Post Punk era. I agree, if you consider that Punk was an event, a thing that happened, a natural disaster. What has happened since then are merely the aftershocks, the reverberations, the wake. But don’t get me wrong. These can be as or even more important and certainly far more reaching than the initial blast. But can we really still call it Punk ?

You might be thinking to yourself why the bother? After all, isn’t Punk just a style of music, fast and loud and fucked up ? And haven’t there been bands been doing this style all this time? I think to define Punk as a style misses the point of Punk in the first place. Punk was a statement that you could Do It Yourself, that there were no boundaries between audience, fan and musician, that originality and creativity and outrageousness were more interesting than talent, and it was anti-establishment and non-mainstream and it was by and for the disenchanted misfit youth. It was best summed up by the DESPERATE BICYCLES’ mantra “It was cheap go and do it”. Once the statement was made, Punk was done. The torch was passed on.

So what has really been going on the past 20 years has been the aftershocks of Punk. Grunge was an aftershock, or perhaps more accurately, a response to Punk. Alternative Rock, College Rock, The Warped Tour, Lolapallooza, Doc Martens at Nordstrom’s, Chain Wallets at the Hot Topic, black Levi’s at JC Penney’s. I’m surprised there aren’t any tattoo parlors at the mall yet, or a chain of tattoo parlors owned by Supercuts. Walk into an In-N-Out Burger at 1am and everyone in there has “the look”. It used to be the ugly misfit kids who went and fucked themselves up visually some more, now it’s the Angelina Jolie’s and Drew Barrymore’s with the tattoos and the piercings, the greasy hair. What were badges of alienation and loneliness and poverty and depression are de rigeur cool hipsterism now. I know people who had their tattoos done in the 70’s who’ve gotten them since removed, or let their pierced nostrils grow back in a backlash to the new cool. Sometimes you just wanna say “Leave my subculture alone.”

The Classical

It all started when I won a first press of DOA’s The Prisoner 45 on eBay, (first press distinguished as a rubber stamped “D.O.A” in red on a black and white sleeve, versus the printed letters on the later pressings). Happily, I discovered that said seller lived in town. Too cheap to pay postage, I emailed the guy and asked how we might hook up. Long story short, seller was none other than one Dave Ferguson famous/infamous owner of the CD Presents record label. Last time I’d met the guy was over ten years ago when my buddy Jim Brick and I had driven up from San Jose to his warehouse to buy copies of the AVENGERS LP jacket that had been intended for the GO label. CD Presents had gotten into some legal scuffle with GO and subsequently issued it with a different jacket altogether. But that’s another story and another era. Currently, he is all about non-profit and his non-profit organization, IFUC (Institute For Unpopular Culture), has noble intentions: to fund the out there artists of this beautiful city.

In fact, Dave pointed out, he had this happening that he thought I should check out. He had had this concept of symphonic interpretations of punk and new wave songs. He had already gathered a few kindred groupings (in the “quartet” and “quintet” variety that you find in the hoity toity world of classical) who were working up their repertoires, and the happening, held at the Facility 3 art space in Potrero Hill, was where they’d make their debut.

After some tete a tete with cool artists (Margot Knight proved herself particularly interesting with a set of tripped out surrealistic photographs) and minds blown by Kerry Laitala’s experimental films, the strains of strings bowed and tuned creaked their way into the aural landscape, which up to then consisted of the THE VILETONES being blared out of the monitors. A double taking moment to be sure.

While somewhat spottily rehearsed (which matched the punk ethos anyways), the first group, a string quartet named Q80, lurched into X’s” We’re Desperate”. Lacking the staccato drum spasms of DJ Bonebrake, the arrangement was smoothed over as far as punk goes, but the shared Exene/Doe vocals were played out via the two violinists to satisfying effect. Next they tackled ENGLISH BEAT’s “Rotating Heads”, which translated pretty well, as surprisingly so did their MINOR THREAT’s “It Follows”, which took on a totally different vibe. The ferocious singleminded simplicity of the original was transformed into a complex multi-voiced think piece. My brain cells organized themselves into hydrogen atoms. They finished their brief set with THE PIXIES’ “Dead”, largely a failed experiment, and the B-52’s “52 Girls”.

John Gluck’s arrangement of DEVO’s “Uncontrollable Urge” was next up, performed by a half-dozen-membered wind ensemble. What made the original great, with Mothersbaugh’s spastic and organic vocals (“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!”) as a counterpoint to the mechanized and repetitive backing instrumentation, was turned upside down. Gluck had the vocals sweetly played out by a lone piccolo, like an little bird flitting about in a meadow scene. Shocking.

Finally, the over the top antics of one Aaron Seeman stole the rest of the show. After a somewhat tepid arrangement of TELEVISION’s “See No Evil”, an unnamed string quartet was joined by Seeman, who also goes by the nom de plume “Duck Man Do”, to do his arrangement of the DEAD KENNEDYS signature piece “California Uber Alles”. While the instrumentation provided easy listening, Duck did a vocal performance that was a warble for warble spot-on Jello. As if that wasn’t enough, he followed that with a solo accordion set, playing a bunch more DK tunes (“Kill The Poor”, “Forward To Death”, a totally killer version of “Drug Me”) interspersed with bad 70’s drivel (anyone remember Dan Hill’s “Sometimes When We Touch” ?). Perhaps we’ll see him next fronting a reformed DK’s on their reunion tour and quest for renewed record sales. Thoroughly engaging stuff.

Ferguson hopes to coalesce these combos and eventually build a full fledged orchestra who will play all this sort of stuff. Bleed for me!

The In Box

BAND OF FELONS (www.angelfire.com/punk3/bandoffelons ) thug their way thru 5 songs on the Drown My Sorrows EP on their own Go For Broke Records. Good obnoxious shit with a hardcore tinge, chockfulla the requisite “Hey’s” and “Whoa’s” as all proper beer swillin’ Mutha punks like to shout between swigs. Insanely dumbo lyrics (“Late at night, I won’t make a peep. I’ll smash your fucking heads in your sleep”) that worse yet are included in the liner notes…why not just include more pictures of this very handsome band instead? The back cover art slyly apes that of the first MOBY GRAPE LP, with bass player Eddie Shots subtly flashing his fuck youse finger (with beer in hand). Fuckin’ hilarious - these guys gotta good sense of humor. Musically, this stuff kicks a buttock. Guitars blaze on “No Place Like Home”. Powerful vocals on “Time For a Change”. Hardcore ranting on “Dick and Jane”. The lead track “One Foot Over The Edge” is so singalong and drinkalong that you might just find yourself under the bar in a pool of vomit and smiles and unicorns and rainbows. Get it!

Legitly, the Harbinger Sound record label releases the Stamp Out Normality! LP from the ever so coolly named PSEUDO EXISTORS. 1979 was their circa, UK their homeland. Two 7” EP’s they first put out on the mighty Dead Good Records, a Lincoln-based label that also put out records by the CIGARETTES and X-S ENERGY. Found on this comp are the tracks from these along with a buncha live tracks. This is the most handsomely packaged LP since JOHNNY AND THE DICKS. Thick stocked insert with beeyootiful vintage photos collaged with old rec reviews. A glossy poster repro of the record release of the Stamp Out Normality! 7” EP. PLUS, a way hep PSEUDO EXISTORS 1” button (badge to you limeys). Well worth buying.

I was first introduced to the WIPERS in ’83, on the release of their third LP Over The Edge. The raw doom rock stuck with me ever since, and over the years I diligently chased down the rest of their 7” and LP releases, up through lead WIPER Greg Sage’s solo LP Straight Ahead. I saw their awesome live presence only once, as the opening band to the farewell tour of BIG BLACK in 1987. Zeno records, which might be Greg’s label, started up a year ago or so, now Phoenix-based, and has recently released a WIPERS box set. It combines their first three studio LP’s along with extra tracks over three CD’s. A cool booklet with Sage’s liner notes describes their progression in style and recording technique (Sage recorded and engineered the LP’s himself). Sage’s pre-punk musical experience and older age lent to the WIPERS originality as a punk band. His first recording was as guitarist on the BEAUREGARDE LP, a wrestling record that came out in 1969, when Sage was 17. By the time punk hit their native Oregon, Sage was already in his late 20’s. His maturity shined through intelligent lyrics, and minor chord stylings of the music echoed the gloomy weather of Portland. Like BLACK FLAG’s anti-HC direction with their “My War LP”, the WIPERS refused to adhere to any punk idiom, and their second LP Youth of America stretched the title track to 14 minutes. A mere $20 PP for the 3 disc set thru the zeno records website. What a bargoon!

Scum
Who the hell has any time to handwrite anymore? Sasa Milutinovic from Sarajevo Bosnia not only sends me a color xerox photo of the burned out building that used to be his flat, but a meticulously handwritten letter pleading for my lazy ass to send him a tape of the most obscure US punk bands. Not a fat chance. Napping and petting my horsey are more important. If anyone wants to help the guy out, email me and I’ll pass on his address.

Amoeba Records in LA scored a big punk collection recently. Skimmed off the top? An OPUS and HELEN KELLER, fr’inst. Word has it that the pick of the litter will be available sometime in October, so pack your elbow pads. Looks like prices are drooping a bit as a number of reserves were not met on eBay recently. Items such as desirable as Oz punks THE NEWS – Dirty Lies, and high school lo-fi Texans DOT VAETH failed to meet min.

2002 Year End Poll
Most Ethnically Insulting Hairdo – Roger “Rice Bowl # 4” Mah
Least Likely To Find THE BUZZARIANS Picture Sleeve – Jason “Chowder” Litchfield
Best CD – SCREAMING URGE on the Homework Series.
Easiest Bids To Snipe – Rob “Lewdsnot” Noxious
Best Reunion Gig – MISSION OF BURMA
Lamest Hoarder of Pseudo-collectibles – Ray “You Owe Me A Diet Coke” L.
Worst eBay Name – Zoloft_Anaconda
Hottest New Wave Chicks – Tiff and Deb, weekly at the “1984” Dance Night, Cat Club on Folsom St.

posted by Henry @ 9:08 PM

November 01, 2002

MRR #234

Eating Ice Cream and Listening To Abba
Welcome to another month of words strung together randomly spilling outta the tip tapping fingers in a miasma of fill in the blanks and that ain’t just the brownies talkin’. Great movie 24 hour party people in which the factory records manchester scene gets romanticized from joy division to new order to happy mondays to bankruptcy leanings if you can get past the tony wilson head honcho narcissism. Mekons 25 year anniversary gig tomorrow night at Slim’s. Where were you?

Leave Home
A contingent of American collector scum converged upon San Francisco in August. He, infamous of the smelly pate and occasional unabashed peddler of rare OINGO BOINGO records on eBay with his wifey stayed at the liberal user of cap letters Roehrs household of mis-filed records. His dimples glistened in the fog. The mysterious and awe inspiring BD snuck away from 1.5 children to score a RANDYS 45 at some east bay record store. We fed him a Big Gulp of his favorite swill, orange juice and vodka, for nostalgia purposes. However, his memory bank had erased that in favor of more discographical facts. Kim Chee, now going by the name Opie for his OPUS hoarding tendencies stayed at my place along with his ex-blank-ex girlfriend who lies over the ocean. Jeff Yih ex-MRR and now dating machine and I brought up the rear. Pedestrian activities abounded. Rifling through the dollar boxes at Amoeba Records on the Haight. Reenacting butt plugging at Alcatraz, Smelly Pate always volunteering to be the plugee. Opie maintained his normal slant eyed demeanor, wide eyed only as we drove through the wreckage of the Folsom Street Leather Fair on our way back to the airport. “I saw his craaack”, he crowed as his g-i-r-l-f-r-e-n took pictures. “These will enhance our sex life”, she exclaimed. I could swear something was going down in SF record-wise, like someone on their deathbed or somethin’ but I think it was an all’n’all innocent gathering.

Those Damned Italians…
Pier from Raveup Records peppered with me some recent releases that got beat up in the mail between there and here, but they whirled around the turntable ok…

RED SQUARES hailed from Phoenix and their lone release the Time Change/Modern Roll 45 on the Nanxiety label can be found on many a punk want list. Raveup Records releases the Modern Roll LP, 12 songs of really good nervous, aggressive punk. “Modern Roll” comes from the same roots-punk axis as the first EAT 45. “Time Change” speeds along with sing along chorus and space rock guitar solos. The faux Brit accent gets hauled out for a buncha tracks like the excellent “City Girls” and “No You Can’t”. The LP ends with a few scorching live tracks, proving that they were no studio fluke (they played live nearly every day of the year in 1981). Great record.

THE GYNECOLOGISTS embrace the adolescent obnoxio-outrageousness of their Bloomington, Indiana kin Kenne Highland’s GIZMOS, infuse Reagan and television subject matter with fast aggressive hardcore leanings to brew a wonderfully fucked stew that reminisces more of Texas bands like BUTTHOLE SURFERS or REALLY RED. Culled from their two 7” EPs and Cassette that were released in the early 80s, Raveup’s "Bukkake Hit Parade" LP holds together like a pile of instant mashed potatoes. Even their cover of “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)” sounds offensively great. If not my favorite Raveup release so far, it’s damned close. Absolutely not a bad tune in the bunch, a loin weeper to be sure. Totally recommended, even if you can’t take a joke.

From WIPERS country aka Portland, Oregon come the fierce driving guitar attack of the STIPHNOYDS on Raveup Records release number 27. Pounding drums courtesy of pre-WIPER Brad Naish. Their “Afraid of the Russians” 3 track 45 leads off this LP collection, and proves that they along with ICE-9 and SADO-NATION to be one of best bands from that city. The bands two tracks from the 10-29-79 compilation are also included. The remaining never before released tracks, studio and some live tracks all well are mostly good to excellent. “Buried Alive”, “What Love Is” and “Bobby Bobby” are as good as any of their released tracks, “Leave Me Alone” is good; only “Disco Fag” is the only tired track. This is a really good release and worth getting.

THE STERICS were a clean cut looking bunch of lads whose power pop wasn’t even of the skinny tie variety. They sported more of the preppy look of THE NERVES. Similarly, their sound contained none of the nervous energy of their more hyper brethren. On the Backstreet label, the power pop imprint of Raveup Records, their 6 song 7” EP doesn’t hook you in but repeated listenings do worm their way into certain orifices. From Hartford Connecticut, and another release from Keith “Grave” Donaldson, the same thug who put out the excellent "Guillotined at the Hangar" comp, he was apparently the compiler/keeper of all master tapes from the ‘78-’84 era in that region. These tracks were recorded ‘79-81. Vocals reminiscent of Craig Bell’s Connecticut pop combo THE SAUCERS, the music ranges from a strummy glam post-Bowie outing on “For Lovers Only” to mostly straightforward pop’n roll, the standouts being “Fames A Fortune”, the EP’s lead track, and good noisy guitar on “Red Lady’s Friend”.

Catchy power pop a la Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl” can be found on lead track of the ALTER EGO 7” EP, also on Backstreet Records. This NYC based combo was one in a string of bands that included MALONEY’S TOUCH, who also saw a Backstreet release earlier this year. With feathered hair and the peroxided blonde bombshell Mamie Francis, these guys run thru the popular light genres of the time, boogie-ing their way thru the sax-filled “Leather and Lace”, the new wavey “Soap Opera Junkie” punctuated with staccato keyboards, a cool cover of HOLLY AND THE ITALIANS’ “Tell That Girl To Shut Up”, and a coupla decent power pop tracks.

Look no further for wimp pop than THE FLASHCUBES, who have an double LP Anthology on Backstreet records. Fans of THE NERVES and that ilk can rejoice. “Christi Girl”, their best known 45 track, first released on 1978, sounds surprisingly thin and pale on Side one, particularly when sandwiched between tracks recorded in 1993 that refine their chops to new heights. “It’s You Tonight” and “She’s Leaving” are so full of classic hooks they embed themselves in your head after one listen. Tracks recorded in 1979 fill most of Side two, and are mostly minor mighta been hits on another planet. Some particularly uninspiredly inane lyrics can be found here (“I’m taking inventory/It’s such a sad sad story”) and some minor riffage. Side Three kicks off with the great “No Promise”, originally released as the a-side of their second 45. Most of the tracks are decent pop, some with enough energy to be power pop, but mostly decently crafted stuff that probably won’t appeal to the punk rockers out there. Bonus points for the insert, which painstakingly covers the long and twisted saga of the band from their 1977 humble beginnings to their recent recording sessions and is one of the better liner notes, if too much information is not a problem.

History Lesson Part III
BACKSTORY is a band or a concept or a dessert topping outta Fresno whose online presence can be found at www.geocities.com/punksnax/BACKSTORYrootsofpunk. Their Roots of Punk CD attempts to portray the band as historians who are trying to teach y’all about punk and the roots thereof, rather than the half baked cover band that it really is (just kidding). Actually, these guys faithfully and earnestly plod through renditions of classic punk songs such as THE DEAD BOYS’ “Sonic Reducer”, proto-punk or “Chinese Rocks”, back to the 50s garage of THE SONICS and LINK WRAY from the 60s. From their photo, these look like some old guys trying to rock out but what the fuck, I’m 40 with a low testosterone level and I don’t want to get my ass kicked. These guys are awesome. Drink lots of beer.

posted by Henry @ 10:43 AM

September 01, 2002

MRR #232

Drugs Are For Thugs

Bob Richert at the revived Gulcher Records, continues his reissues streak with a string of tasty treats. A formidable internet presence (www.slippytown.com) done up by ex-GIZMO Eddie Flowers – even if you’ve had the opp to check it out, keep checking. It gets lovingly updated with unearthed ephemera. During a recent surfing expedition there I found a scan of a postcard from Gene Simmons griping about a middling KISS review by chief GIZMO and oft rawk reviewer Kenne Highland. The Red Snerts Compilation, a straight reissue of the 1980 LP is a welcome delight. THE JETSONS’ track “I Bet Not” made it to many a mix tape as my token clunk rock tune…The AFRIKA KORPS, prob my favorite post GIZMOS Highland outing, gets very deluxe digital treatment for their “Music To Kill By” LP, originally on the Iron Cross label. A logical progression from Highland’s O. REX, who released the legendary “My Head’s In ‘73” 45 on the Oral label, the AFRIKA KORPS is oodles of badenoidal garage rock. I remember tracking down the vinyl in the mid-80’s at the House Of Guitars in Rochester, NY. My only faze was a split seam in the LP jacket, which I later learned was as ubiquitous as a dog-eared STIMULATORS or a ringworn LA PESTE 45. I’ve never come across a cardboard jacket with such self-destructive tendencies! It weren’t till 1992 or so when I finally got a superclean unsplitseamed copy (from a collector in Greece, no less). The new ver’s got 8 extra trax, and thick liner notes and lotsa great fotos so even if you got the orig, this is a must. Meanwhile, AFRIKA KORPS “Live at Cantones 1977” is an enjoyable live set first seeing the light of day. The inimitable Highland stamp is all over it. The supergroup takes the stage and shakes their unruly hairdos. On the less thuggier side of things, MX-80 SOUND come at ya with their “Live at the Library”, a twisted late 70’s tour through their wiggy lenses. It’s artastic. The second GIZMOS incarnation push forth with “Never Mind The Gizmos Here’s The Gizmos”, which compiles their “Never Mind The Sex Pistols” EP with their fab “Hoosier Hysteria” side (a split LP they did with DOW JONES AND THE INDUSTRIALS) and a demo’r two. Finally, the hardcore edge of the WALKING RUINS, featuring a very much post-PANICS John Barge is found on their reissue of their 1996 release “Fall in the House Of Ruin”.

Top of the Pops
There was a buzz about the REZILLOS reunion, so we all got tix. You remember them, that B52s-ish party band from Scotland circa you know when. They were playing the Justice League with the STITCHES. The usual cold windy summer night in the City. Fueled by some Ethiopian food, we tread forth and mingled with lotsa the old punk crowd. STITCHES were amazing, their spastic frontman popeyed out and thrashing like Ian Curtis. Ferocious set. REZILLOS were marred by shitty sound, but were fun – Fay still looked pretty hot for a 50 year old and could still belt it out. Eugene looked thicked out in middle age and wore these lame sunglasses and sang like dirt. The skinny little twerp on guitar was the guy later in HUMAN LEAGUE in their heyday. He looked like he’d seen better times. After the show, a bunch of skinheads broke out into a fight and some people walked out with blood gushing out of their heads. Next big reunion gig is the MISSION OF BURMA coming up at the Fillmore in a couple of weeks. Ask me jerky questions…

posted by Henry @ 10:33 PM

August 01, 2002

MRR #231

Blammo
A mysterioso collector guy sends a motherlode of releases to my doorstep of the 7 inch variety. They reek of obsessiveness. Take the reissue of the PLUGZ’ Mindless Contentment EP originally released on Slash for example. It wasn’t enough to do a pressing with a repro of the standard stock sleeve, which he did do, but Mr Blammo also has done an orange vinyl pressing, numbered of 200 with a repro of the ever elusive “necktie” sleeve. For those of you who have never seen, the “necktie” sleeve was a promo only bugger whose light of day has been very rarely seen. Most of us scum first saw glimpse on eBay a couple of years ago when a posted copy went for a half grand. One, perhaps two have surfaced since then, with no more than 20 estimated in existence. Blammo is a co-label with Kablooey and Kaplow, which released the TAPEWORM and BOBBY SOXX reissues late last year/earlier this year. Also word has it that the FEAR boot of several years ago that had both of their 45’s melded into one was part of the same umbrella. In fact, Blammo plans to do another pressing of that on colored vinyl to be released later this year. But the crown jewel of this string of (re)releases is THE EAT’s God Punishes EP. Its reproduction values are stunning, replete with paste on cover, and lots of inserts, gig flyers, etc that was found in the original release. Even the original baseball card that was found in the orig was redone as a hockey card in this reproduction. Finally, a special pressing of this was done which is numbered out of 100 that includes a bonus 7” containing tracks that were originally recorded during the Scattered Wahoo Action cassette sessions but inexplicably left off.

Punk Rock Aerobics
While all too many of my female punk or ex-punk friends claim to have independently invented the seemingly absurdist concept of Punk Rock Aerobics (“I used ta do jumping jacks to the Ramones …”), while in NYC, I managed to catch the real thing being practiced as an organized group activity. Two Beantown gals, both with indie cred (Hilken a member of the band Fuzzy, and Maura a sometime album cover artist) have put together something that transcends initial giggling into a real bonified workout. With its first class held at the venerable CBGB’s, a few friends and I decided to don our torn spandex and check it out. After paying our $7 to the girls’ mothers at the door, we joined about 20 people who looked more serious into exercise than the occasional pogo. Hilken, a licensed aerobics instructor, led the charge with (s)punky vigor. After warming up with some stretching exercises to the TELEVISION PERSONALITIES’ Part Time Punks, heavier sounds accompanied some sweat breaking activity. EATER, REAL KIDS (“Do The Boob” while working on the pectorals), and the RAMONES (“Beat on the Brat” as you punched into the air) laid the soundtrack. Bricks were later brought out for use as three pound weights, followed by stomach crunches as done to Search and Destroy. We warmed down to MY BLOODY VALENTINE and KRAFTWERK’S Autobahn. Mike Watt (MINUTEMEN) was listed as the DJ, but all he did was lean against the wall and smoke! See the PRA website (www.punkrockaerobics.com) for upcoming classes. Funnily, the day after I saw my mug in the NY Times photo of said event. I’m the one with the Billy Idol sneer…

Baby Come Back
Dennis Most of Dennis Most and the Instigators writes in to say that his band’s mini-tour of Italy was a great success. He has recently recorded a CD called “Not The Normal Kind” which is in pre-release form. I had a chance to hear it and he sounds in fine form. Contact him at dmost@hotmail.com.

posted by Henry @ 11:43 AM

July 01, 2002

MRR #2?? (Also published as an insert in the INJECTIONS - Prison Walls LP (Raveup Records) )

The Rise and Fall of
THE INJECTIONS
and
RADIO ACTIVE RECORDS
by Saint James Wood
edited by Henry Yu

Any non-god worshippin’ collector in his right or wrong mind should be familiar with San Diego’s Radio Active Records. Their few early ‘80’s releases should be cornerstones (not placemats) in your most cherished box of 45’s . James Wood tells a tale that is part history of his record label and part saga of the label’s most infamous band, THE INJECTIONS. Read it and bleep – Henry.

MEET THE INJECTIONS
The year was 1979, or so, maybe. I'm not sure. And anyone who was there and claims to be sure is no friend of mine. The only happening place as far as new music in San Diego was the Skeleton Club started by Laura Frasier (she was a nurse, thank god). Even back then local punk rock impresario Tim Mays was involved, as usual, helping to kick-start the whole punk rock scene.

It was Saturday night and THE GERMS were playing or doing whatever it was they did. Darby the lead singer was working the crowd for spare change and daring his fans to like him. Most of the nascent punks there didn't know if they actually liked THE GERMS, but they certainly liked the feeling of primitive elitism, the anti-haircuts, the cool clothes, and the fact that Darby insulted each member of the audience personally. I remember Jim Call of THE PENETRATORS and I seriously discussing whether or not Darby was mentally retarded.

Whatever, THE GERMS played their loud, chaotic, obviously unrehearsed set. It was downright frightening and further proof that music as we had known it was finished. It really was scary if you were a musician who practiced and had any technical skills. It sounds crazy now, but back then, before punk rock, it was thought to be a good thing if you could play your instrument really well. This resulted in thousands of grown men sitting in their bedrooms, walls covered with posters of JIMI HENDRIX and CLAPTON, playing guitar six hours a day. The original idea of punk rock was to take music away from the guitar heroes, the technicians, and the record companies, giving it back to the people, even girls. Letting a girl in your band was a revolutionary act, and a fat ugly one like THE GERMS’ first drummer was madness according to the old school rockers. (That fat girl was kicked out of THE GERMS, or quit, or just got lost on the way to a gig and started the GO-GO'S eventually becoming a skinny Pretty girl.)

Before and after THE GERMS played, local misfits, THE INJECTIONS, got on stage and did their set. Even though they hadn't reached the level of mad confident incompetence the GERMS had - INJECTIONS lead singer, Lou Scum, was absolutely out of control and knocking on the door of Darbydom. Most of the audience ignored them. However, a dozen people stood in front of the stage hopping around and spitting on each other. Lou, drenched in sweat and spittle, was having a great time regardless of anything else. There were maybe a hundred punk rockers in San Diego at this time and all of them had come to see the infamous GERMS. Most of these punks, if not all, were in bands, starting bands, or capable of talking about starting a band very convincingly. After the show everyone stood out in front of the Skeleton Club and talked about their bands.

Tim Mays got on stage and asked if anyone had a place for some of the band members to crash. I foolishly volunteered, thinking it would be way cool to have my own Germ. Drummer Don Bolles and his girlfriend Dinah Cancer came over to my apartment. Compared to Darby and Pat Smear (later to be in NIRVANA), Don and Dinah seemed very nice and downright gracious. (They were, I swear to God). We had only been at my place for ten minutes when Don and Dinah scared my girlfriend Leilani and I by suggesting a group sex scene. They brought it up in an innocent casual way, and took it well when we left them alone in my apartment. Leilani and I spent the night at my mom's house in La Jolla.

The next night at the Skeleton Club I met Lou Scum who was working the crowd in a Darby-like fashion after THE INJECTIONS’ set. Lou heard that Don had been at my apartment. He was an ambitious networking punk, so he tracked me down hoping to make friends with me or anyone famous, or anyone who knew anyone else that had heard of a famous person. I liked Lou immediately. He was intense, lovable in an awkward way, and able to talk about four or five unrelated subjects at the same time. He grilled me for every detail about my run in with THE GERMS.

Lou was flabbergasted when he found out I'd met all of THE GERMS. The whole band had driven Don and I over to my apartment after the Skeleton club gig the night before. My girlfriend, Leilani, had just moved to California from Hawaii. Leilani's favorite bands were the STONES and NEIL YOUNG. She had that '70's shag DAVID BOWIE haircut and used every device from the worlds of science, folklore, and female fashion to make herself into a California Baby Doll Bombshell. LA punk rockers hated this look with an unholy passion, and had actually declared sort of a jihad against its practitioners. While we were driving from the Skeleton Club to my apartment, two horrible punk rock girls, who'd come down from LA with THE GERMS, harassed my girlfriend Leilana unmercifully. She had epilepsy, and the stress brought on a seizure. Darby, Pat, Dinah, and the mean punk rock girls were astounded by Leilani's attack. Lou wasn't there in the van, but he was astounded when he heard the story. He thought there was a secret meaning to the whole incident, and spent an hour trying to figure it out. After I'd known him for a while I realized he thought there were secret things going on behind the scenes, just out of his reach, always. After hearing the story of my close sexual call at the apartment, Lou berated me all day for not giving famous people whatever they wanted. After he tired of that, he spent the rest of the evening, and all the time I was with him the following day talking about his band that was going to be bigger than LED ZEPPELIN and the CLASH put together. Although I had seen them the night before and already knew it, he told me repeatedly that they were called THE INJECTIONS and three out of four of the band members were in the Navy. Lou (Bob O'Neil) Bruce Perrault, and Joanne, (Piggy Gargoyle) were all from back East where Punk Rock started. Lisa Astin, INJECTIONS’ bass player, was a native San Diegan I think, a civilian and also a member of the DINETTES, a fairly famous San Diego band at that time.

Lou talked, and he talked, and he talked about his band, about his singing, about his songs until he convinced himself, his band, and even me that THE INJECTIONS were destined for fame, or trouble, or world-class confusion…and trouble. THE INJECTIONS played again the next weekend at the Skeleton club and by god Lou, who had never been in any kind of band, was even more wildly entertaining, and he dragged the rest of the band along with him.

The 100 alleged punk rockers in San Diego that summer all started bands. They went to every show and were supportive and appreciated even the mediocre local talents who opened for the fancy LA and SF punks who traveled south in order to spread the word of the death of rock and roll. THE GERMS, THE DICKIES, THE WEIRDOS, TUXEDO MOON, THE NUNS, THE DILS, THE ZEROS, THE AVENGERS came and went, leaving THE INJECTIONS, THE XTERMINATORS, THE NEUTRONS, THE EXECUTIVES and a few others who either died or I've just forgotten. All these bands set fine punk rock examples, but Lou stood out somehow. It was thought by many that he might actually be mentally ill, a desirable trait in those early days. The Navy accepted him and he'd made it through boot camp, but anyone who'd gone through that knew mental illness wasn't a problem.

THE RADIO ACTIVE ROSTER
I thought it would be a good idea to put out several records at once. This was seen as a plan because a label with a roster that was fostering a scene might be more credible than just one band with one single. The label was to be called Radio Active.

In addition to THE INJECTIONS, Lisa's other band was pretty damn good, THE XTERMINATORS. Then there were these 15 year old kids called THE EXECUTIVES. Finally there was my band THE INTENTIONS (BEATLES-CHEAP TRICK-DEAD-PISTOLS).

The EXECUTIVES were rich kids from Del Mar and had parents who catered to their wild punk desires. Oddly enough this in no way hurt their music. The funny thing about THE EXECUTIVES was that they told everyone that they were a ska band, because that was the happening thing right then, even though you could see them play at every single party that was on the beach that summer and clearly hear that they were a jerky (rhythmically not socially) punk rock and roll band with no apparent ska influences whatsoever.

I was a little ambivalent about my own band. After some bad experiences with SEIZURE and NOISE GOD I sort of wanted to be a behind-the-scenes kind of guy for a while instead of a lead singer on the front lines being hated and adored.

Obviously the band I liked the most was THE INJECTIONS. Once I decided to put out their record word spread like crazy that I was stupid enough to put out their record. It seemed crazy to many because Lou came off as stark raving mad. Once again this was seen as a desirable trait to many but there was the usual contingent of capitalists who had been in "normal rock bands" last year. They were doing no good as rock and rollers so they thought maybe they could jump on this whole punk deal and somehow trick a record label or somebody into giving them a record contract. This was just before New Wave really hit so the poseurs could only latch onto punk.

These poseur capitalists heard that I was planning to start a punk record label so they tried to impress me by setting up meetings and holding showcases. They didn't realize that the bands I liked were people I'd met in one of the following ways 1) I had an actual fight with one of the band members 2) Met them in the fish tank in county jail 3) I woke up at their house or they woke up at mine with no idea as to how we got there. The poseurs didn't realize that the fact that Lou was probably actually really honestly clinically insane made him much more entertaining than someone who set up a meeting and had to ask their girlfriend's if it was OK if they got a punk hair cut.

FUNDING
In addition to the money the EXECUTIVES threw in, I'll tell you where a lot of the money came from. One day this totally insane character showed up at my house from San Francisco. He was friends with one of the girlfriends of The BATTALION OF SAINTS (who may have been called the NEUTRONS at that time). Anyway this guy, who I'll call Starhead, was a hippie who had only recently cut his hair and joined the punk rockers. Starhead had about 30,000 hits of LSD. It turns out he is strung out on heroin and LSD. I'd never heard of this condition but he insisted that he had been taking LSD and heroin every day for several years.

Starhead hung out at my place for a week or so. He thanked me for finding him heroin by fronting me about 5,000 hits of blotter LSD for a quarter a piece. This was not only a hell of a deal but to make it even better he disappeared and was never seen or heard of again. Well here was the money to subsidize a lot of recording and record pressings. There was more LSD than was needed and many people connected to the scene were permanently damaged thanks to Starhead's generosity. I actually gave away (well I thought I was going to be paid but....) a lot and traded a lot for strange things like records, girls and cars. Lisa Astin gave me 5 or 6 snakes for 100 hits. All the snakes escaped into the canyon behind my house, which probably explained the many cats that disappeared over the next few years.

RADIO ACTIVE RECORDS
I finally started Radio Active Records and assumed the name Joe Producer. With lots of experience in the studio, I helped THE EXECUTIVES write some songs and after producing the hell out of them, they sounded pretty darn good. By the end of two months, I had recorded and put out singles by THE INJECTIONS, THE XTERMINATORS, THE EXECUTIVES and INTENTIONS (that's me under the alias Jimmy True). I had also recorded 12 more songs by THE INJECTIONS that were never released.

We pressed maybe 500 copies of each of the records, definitely no more than a thousand. I think there was only 100 pressed of the INTENTIONS/Jimmy True.

THE END
Another one of our moneymaking schemes was to go into the Julian Mountains, chop wood and sell it. We still had a lot of the LSD unfortunately. So basically we had about 30 or 40 punk rockers with chainsaws and a lot of LSD running around in the woods, in the dark for two or three days. A lot of wood was cut and some money was made but things went terribly wrong.

Rumor has it that Steve Garris dosed INJECTIONS’ singer Lou Scum with a couple hits of the acid without Lou's knowledge. We decided to take Lou into the mountains with us thinking it might bring him down because he was having a lot of problems talking, walking, speaking, thinking: all the things you need to do in order to keep the world at bay. Lou later ran off and was found in the town asking some rather frightening looking bikers if they “had the key”. He also kept saying, “Time wounds all heels.” to everyone. Lou wouldn't follow us back to our cabin up in the woods. He was barefoot and started walking on the one small highway out of town. He insisted he was going to Oklahoma because “it was OK”.

It was at this point that I did one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life. I called the authorities (I refuse to say I called the police) and they took him to CMH (County Mental Health). My friends and I visited Lou at CMH and he still seemed very disoriented. Eventually his mom flew in form Boston and took him home. This pretty much ended the INJECTIONS.

Another famous punk and one of Lou's good friends, Terry Marine, may have also ingested way too much LSD and also lost his mind. He has been seen wandering the streets of San Diego the last decade or so praising Jesus, which is all fine and well but not like the Terry Marine I knew at all.

So in the end I fled back to LA trying to escape drugs myself (I didn't). The record company fell apart and many bad rumors and bad feelings ensued. Lou did recover though I don't think he ever started another band.

AFTERMATH
I once saved two boxes of the records with about 50 of each of the 3 bands’ records and seventy or eighty of the Jimmy True. These were later stolen out of my car in the parking lot during a BAD BRAINS/CRAMPS show.

Twenty years later, people from all over the world are writing, phoning, and showing up on my doorstep trying to get copies of these records. The most interest is in THE INJECTIONS, but I've been offered up to $150 for any of them. I did have a small box of the sleeves that were to go on the records that were stolen and I occasionally sell those to collectors for absurd sums I don't want to mention so as to keep the price going even higher…

Italy’s finest export Rave Up Records will be putting out the long lost INJECTIONS LP any month now. Rock on!

posted by Henry @ 11:55 AM

May 01, 2002

MRR #228

Mail Bonding
My bulging box of mailhood overfloweth with load. The variety is pulpy and derived from petroleum-by-products. Solicitations for nerdfare backfires with entries by bands like the PISS SHIVERS. So yrs tru plays it cool and reviews said roughage.

Please try to keep this magazine out of your mouth. Todd Killings drops off a coupla Horizontal Action’s, #7 and #8 to be precise. #8 roars with a grand GIZMOS innerview of the Kenne variety. Transcriber of Kenne-speak captures his lyricism perfectly paced like Beat poetry gone berserk. (www.horizontalaction.com )

Glam Preserves
Glam infiltrates the Rave Up Records roster this month with one from each coast. CHAINSAW posture their way in from the West, while THE BRATS stagger in from the East. CHAINSAW’S ominous smoking jacket cum leather look gives way to hard plodding bar band territory. Side B’s live set is slightly less tepid, but not enough to pull them out of permanent obscurity.

Five girly boys and way way too much hair. Too much pant around the ankles. Post DOLLS outfit THE BRATS, glittered and flared with Rod Stew hair and even the pursed lips cone hither with their “Criminal Guitar” LP, a combo of the usual miasma of practice and demo sessions, live tracks and the odd studio track. “Keep Doin” start things off with primitive wanna-be licks and a little too much boogie for these bones. Punk it hardly t’ain’t but if you wanna strut around in your underwear with a feather boa and do the Charleston, OK, you got it here. Historical document - yes. A stepping stone to something bigger - hopefully.

Rick Rivets, fresh from a hop from THE BRATS and a pre-Sylvain DOLLS, fronted the CORPSE GRINDERS, purveyors of trash rock and now unearthed on Raveup’s recent “Grind On” LP. Their lone 45 is represented via demo versions on side A, with the rest ranging from the very DOLLS boogie sound of “Bulldog” to the faster, punkier “Price of Meat” and “Infiltration”. Not sure what the overlap is with the LP that came out on New Rose in the 80’s since my copy is still in storage, but anyhow, pretty good record. Liner notes are great. My fave track is “Anything Goes”.

In A Roman Mood
I first saw this record maybe in the pages of the Happy Squid catalog back in the day, but it weren’t till some musical pals of mine did a cover of their “Son Of Satan” that put THE ROMANS on the map for me. Further observation had me finding these guys as ex-so and so’s, not just any, mind you, but bands that I really liked, like HUMAN HANDS, GREEN ON RED, DEADBEATS. Heck, supergroup is an ironic term for a band whose records spiraled into obscurity, but nearly forescore later, this re-ish’ll hopefully toss’em back at the top of the heap for their 15 minutes.

“You Only Live Once” was their first album, originally released in ’83. An eclectic blend of what was cool still sounds cool today. Surf, punk, goth, psychedelic, and tinges of the what was sort of the “New American Sound”, a route that a lot of LA bands were taking at the time, such as X on their “Fourth Of July” album or the post-DILS outfit RANK AND FILE or GREEN ON RED and MEAT PUPPETS go country. If this first release on the label is any indication, Warning Label Records might just become the new Razor & Tie, a label from the early 90’s that put out numerous and gratifying near hits and minor classics. Watch for them. (www.warninglabelrecords.com )

Phango Tango

HUNG PHANG is a cup, no make that an english pint, of hot arty piss led by old man Dave. A pervasive DEATH OF SAMANTHA vibe, with snarled vocals and minor chord riffage, slightly outta control sputtering, an out of tunefulness sprawl that deploys elements of the BURMA axis. Recorded awhile ago, this is a shoulda coulda woulda been a contender and who knows, maybe will see the light of day as a bonified release rather than a burned demo.

Piss Shivers

The P.S. make me laff and weep at the loins. Sophomoric to a fault with thuggy instrumentation to match, they might just provide limited globs of delight under the right influence. Near beer comes to mind.

posted by Henry @ 3:18 AM

April 01, 2002

MRR #227

Stories You Hate

We begin this month with a few vinyl stories you hate to read, submitted by a few of our scum brethren…

“Walked into a NYC store that mostly stocks new records looking for a just released NEW BOMB TURKS record, but found something much better in the "N" section: THE NOTHING “Uniformz” 45. For $4. And they had multiple copies since I later found out that someone else had gotten one earlier, also for $4. And none of them are left -- I've gone back a few times and asked. And this is a place that specializes in hardcore, and stocks most of the KBD-style comps...”

”There was a Cleveland mail order that I had previously bought a few less exciting things from, off excerpts of their catalog which were posted on their website. One night I discovered that they finally posted their complete catalog of 10,000 or so items on the web as a poorly formatted text list. It was so hard to read and full of crap that I almost gave up a few letters in. The dealer priced a 1980s PAGANS single at $50, but totally missed the only really valuable record on his list, a copy of HAMMER DAMAGE for $10.”

”I was on tour with my band in St Louis. Luckily the rest of the band slept in on Saturday morning. I had an hour to kill so I walked over to Vintage Vinyl having known their website (only a block away from the apt I was staying at, I doubt I would've managed to steal the van!). So I walk in and head for the singles. It's pretty meager offerings, with a small display containing mostly new singles, and a row of about 30 used singles. Start digging...jaw drops...MENTALLY ILL "Gacy's Place" 7"... $1 ... and what's this one, I don't recognize the sleeve, but it says MENTALLY ILL "Sex Cells"...$1. You get the idea. Other notables were WEIRDOS "Solitary Confinement" $8, VICTIM "Why are Fire Engines Red" $1, NNB "Slack" $0.50 ... My hands are shaking as I take the stack up to the counter, there must be a mistake. The clerk looks over my stack with a puzzled look. Oh no he's on to me! It turns out, during that entire month, all used product is 50% off...thank you!”

”Again, I'm at a gig with my band, this time in Homewood, IL at a club adjacent to the record store RECORD SWAP which has unfortunately gone under since. They have a huge bin of singles, probably 1,000 or so, and many appearing to have been sitting there for a good 15 years. I search through the recent arrivals and general used areas, but it's obviously well picked over. then i look below the bin into a cabinet and there more stacks of old stock. Keeping in mind that at this point I was still unfamiliar with many bands and what their sleeves looked like, I managed to do pretty well for $2.50-3 a pop. I remember the ICE 9 7", SHOCK 2nd 7", DOGS "Teen Slime" 7", ROSES ARE RED 7", and unknown to me at the time, a sticker announced "Chicago 70's SEX PISTOLS wannabes...does anyone remember?" THE EXIT "Who Asked You" 7". The sleeve was kind of off-putting, but with a SEX PISTOLS reference I had to buy it. A few months later I traded it for THE DICKS "hate the police" 7" + $100 which dwarfs my $3 investment…”

”My best find was several years ago in Zurich. There was a store doing a clearance on a bunch of old vinyl. There were several bins of 7"s which I went though which had some nice things like a SNUKY TATE EP and a some European things priced at a few dollars. I ended up chatting with the guy who was looking after the place and it turned out there were boxes of old 7"s down in the basement that had been there since about the mid 80s. Thousands of 7"s. They hadn't been priced out yet but he let me look through them. A few hours later I had a stack of stuff which included the DOGS "John Rock", multiple copies of just about every old Swiss punk 7", several copies of a bunch of things like FRONT PAGE, FILTH, TITS, etc. There was even some interesting hardcore like the first AGENT ORANGE (Holland) EP, the early TERVEET KADET 7"s, RATTUS, etc. I ended up with a few hundred 7"s and I must have exhausted all of my luck that day.”

Tasty Treats

Rob Noxious aka Rob Chambeau aka Roberto aka Guy Archembeault aka Guy aka Tony From Hawaii aka Surf Dude aka Mike and Ray E aka Mike and Ray Ern aka Mike and Ray Ernst aka Mike and Mary Lewdsnot aka Lewdsnot. The very name(s) send shivers down the spines of record collectors. He can smell vinyl from miles away. He will find you. He will hunt you down from his perch in Huntington Beach. He will trade want lists and pester you for every little scrap of vinyl you have.

His pathology runs far deeper than your average scum, however. His preoccupation with identity or escaping it defies logic. When I first met him in 1986, he went by the name Rob Chambeau. He has morphed through the years into numerous personas, which the internet has further enabled him to do. It almost seems farcical. One collector met him at a record show and Rob introduced himself as “Joe” or something, then proceeded to introduce himself to the guy’s friend as a different name. He once reasoned that he used a fake name because he’s French and no one could pronounce his name.

Another collector sold a few things to Lewdsnot on eBay. Lewdsnot’s “real” name was the Ernst brothers from a Huntington Beach P.O. box. Correspondence from the Ernst brothers professed familiarity with Rob, and went so far as to pass on a “hello” from Rob.
The letter went on to talk about this little record trading cartel of a few people in Huntington (all his other alter egos?) who shared info and records, and even had meetings of some kind, even mentioning a girl was involved as one of the traders.

“So I'm packing up the records and thinking how it looks like Rob's writing, so I dig out a couple wants lists, and it's really similar, but what really got me was all the little things he does that no one else does. He puts the return address in a triangle in the left corner and puts the "TO:" with stars and underlines. One of his writing personas tries to be cool, with various trademarks like "dig" (I dig xyz 7"), "tasty treat", etc. “

Rob also has an alter writing ego which is decidedly uncool. One collector characterized it as a Latka-from-Taxi-style English? One email from the Ern brothers went like this: "Yes, we would very much like to buy this wonderful punk/powerpop gem from you indeed. It would be very good and we send you money and thank you very much for any other fantastic vinyls you sell us please." This letter emphatically underlined the “Ray and Mike”, like he's really trying to convince somebody.

Even his age is denied. For years after he turned 28, which was 12 years ago, he has told people that he is 28. Current estimate is that he was born in 1962. Rob’s want lists are legendary in both their depth and his ability to get them into anyone’s hands. More than one of us have been contacted by him out of the blue. My first contact with him was the night before the Gilman record swap in Berkeley back in 1986. He called me out of the blue and read off his want list over the phone. It was filled with advanced obscurities that I had never heard of such as Tazers, Underwearheads, Braineaters, etc. Apparently he was calling from the Maximum house because the next day he was banned from the swap for stealing records from the Maximum house.

While at least one collector claims to have gotten a handwritten want list from him painstakingly listing every superrare punk record known to man, another claimed to have been Rob’s photocopy guy. “He'd send me his shitty, barely readable, dot matrix list and I'd run off hundreds of copies for free at my Kinko’s and ship them using their account. I got a few records in exchange but definitely less than what I should have gotten in exchange for thousands of $'s in copies….”

But most of all, it is his relentless pursuit of vinyl and getting the best trade that has been his trademark and a source of grief for many a collector. Rumor has it Rob was once on the "Dating Game" and won an all expense paid trip to New Orleans. His plan of course was to ditch the chick and hit all the record stores.

One of his ploys is to turn up at peoples houses without letting them know he’s coming. He did that quite a bit in the UK a few years back. He told me the reason he did this was so people wouldn’t have a chance to hide their best records. He has traveled extensively around the world through the years, including Australia, Europe and Japan, plundering and pillaging wherever he goes.

Another collector said this about Rob’s relentlessness. “He wants to make deals that satisfy him totally ("you have cool records but mine are better") and he is very pushy about getting a record. I wish I had hidden away the RED SQUARES "Time Change" 45! And you have to insist on getting the records from him first and insisting on registered shipping of records…”

Deep down in the psyche of the record collecting epitome, a sort of nice if not troubled person lurks. Rob, like most of us, had the sort of unhappy childhood that led us to punk in the first place. And thanks to him, I’ve been the proud owner of the HOLLYWOOD SQUARES 45. Nuff said!

Class of ’77

In December 2001, old LA punks got together for the “Class of ‘77” punk reunion gig, wherein luminaries of yore strutted their sagging asses. This month’s correspondent, a distant relative of Thrashhead, gives us the following inarticulate lowdown.

HAL NEGRO AND THE SATIN TONES - featuring Brendan Mullen, ex-Masque honcho on drums, doing lounge versions of classic rock. Shite. Brendan’s new book “We Got The Neutron Bomb” is totally amazing tho and well worthy of your attention.

CONTROLLERS – Overweight and sloppy.

GEZA X - Solo acoustic. Histrionic. About as appealing as it sounds.

PHRANC – Cancelled. Thank God.

MIKE WATT AND GEORGE HURLEY - George was behind the drum kit, Mike stood to the far left on bass, pointed to the empty stage and shouted "dave boon". Guitarless versions of MINUTEMEN songs. Edgy and meaningful. Ended with a :15 second cover of the URINALS’ “ack ack ack” that was intense. Probably the most "punk rock" moment of the evening. As Watt left the stage, he shouted "Start your own band".

DOGS – Tight blaze of guitar, with Loren pogoing around. Insisted on playing their new 45 "Class of '70" which sucks balls and includes a lot of corny revolutionary lyrics, but they redeemed themselves by ending with a brutal “Slash Yr Face”.

CHERI CURRIE AND SANDY WEST OF THE RUNAWAYS. I said, "Are you all right ?" "I wanna hear you sing, 'It's all right'". "C'mon, louder". This is the kinda rock star ramalama bullshit that drove me to punk in the first place. Ended with the stuttering "Cherry Bomb", which is d-u-m-b, but undeniably ridiculously catchy.

SKULLS - Manic and entertaining. Building models, victims, on target, kill kill kill!

THE REST OF THE SCREAMERS – Paul Roessler on keyboards and KK Barrett on drums. Distorted, arty and great.

ADOLESCENTS - A fucking riot. All the original members. Rikk Agnew has ballooned into a mountain of lard with a bushy black beard. Looked like Pig Champion. They looked like shit but sounded hot. "No Way" and the place just erupted.

FEAR – “I Love Living in the City” and “I Don't Care About You” were good, but they played way too fast. And Lee Ving in his jean jacket and long stringy hair is looking too much like Willie Nelson…

SOME OF THE CIRCLE JERKS – Keith Morris and Greg Hetson with a supporting cast. A couple of CJ tunes (“Wild in the Streets”, “Century City”), a pretty decent cover of "Nervous Breakdown". Woulda preferred "Wasted" "Fix me" and "I've had it". Then they dragged Cliff Roman up there on guitar for "We Got The Neutron Bomb" and "Solitary Confinement". Again, this veered into gross out rock star spectacle territory a la "rock’n roll hall of fame all star jam" bullshit.

BAD RELIGION, AGENT ORANGE, TSOL – Missed ‘em. Fuck’em.

posted by Henry @ 3:13 AM

February 01, 2002

MRR #225

Amoeba’s In Chaos

Naw, ain’t referring to the early 80’s midwest band of the same name, but rather the scene at the grand opening of what’s now the biggest independently owned record store in the country, Amoeba Records in Hollywood, California. On November 17, after a delay or two, the third Amoeba (the first in Berkeley, the second in San Francisco) finally opened on Sunset Boulevard, in what used to be a recording studio. I made the trip down from my San Francisco home base, meeting up with an unnamed vinyl sycophant I’ll refer to as Virgin Killer because of his love for the music of both THE SCORPIONS and HUGH BEAUMONT EXPERIENCE. Actually, scratch that. Let’s just call him Kim Chee.

With the store opening at 10:30 am on Saturday morning, Kim Chee and I made a light night of it on Friday. This consisted of going to the local Blues bar in Hermosa Beach and trying to pick up on sorority girls as they gyrated to a Billy Davis Jr. look-a-like (as in 70’s black pop duo Marilyn McCoo and Billy David Jr.) who, with a wireless guitar, was hopping up and down the bar. “Hey, the fug stepped in my Bud Light”, complained Kim Chee as his female target managed to slip her twenty something hips out of his thirty something paws.

5 am seemed beyond early, but with JACKIE SHARK and ROCK BOTTOM calling out to us from the corrugated cardboard boxes marked “OBSCURE PUNK” we could feel the adrenaline surging through our varicose veins. Kim Chee wanted to leave without brushing his teeth to save 8 seconds, but I reminded him that breathing on a rare record in that state could drive it down by a grade. Then again what does VG+++(+) mean anyways? We surged down the highway with pockets full of empty plastic record bags intended for our booty. We slowed down as we pass the U-Haul, both turning to look at each other. “Do you think we…?”. “Nah”.

As we dragged down Sunset, it loomed before us, the biggest record store in the country. A red carpet was laid on the sidewalk running down the block from the entrance nearly to the corner. As we pulled closer, the other diehards came into view. There were 4 people in line, and a security officer or two lingering about. It was about 6 am. After pulling around the block to park, Kim Chee and I got out and saw the side windows, through which you could see parts of the store. We clambered up on the ledge to look through them. Indeed it was a massive place. Where would the punk records be we wondered. We could see some records on the wall, which is where the obvious rarities went, but neither of us had brought binoculars.

After some unsuccessful rubbernecking, we got in line as number 5 and 6. The first two guys looked like hip hop / dee jay types, young kids with the occasional pimple, as pale as Beastie Boys. They were smart enough to bring lawn chairs. The other two guys were older, looked like they might’ve been gay but who can really tell at that hour. One of them had a script for a screenplay in his hand. Dunno what it was for but he’d occasionally read it during the 4+ hours we spent in line.

More San Franciscans showed up behind us. This would be what would become a large procession of San Franciscans in the diehard line. One guy was a 60’s psych collector who seemed sort of dumb. He said he only had $40 to spend. He had gone to the San Francisco Amoeba opening and said he had to leave lots of incredible stuff behind because he didn’t have the money. He was into Roky Erickson, but given that he didn’t even own the Sponge 45 and was still looking for the Gremlins Have Pictures LP on Enigma/Pink Dust, I wasn’t very impressed. He had come down with his buddy, a tall skinny guy who seemed to know more.

The line built up slowly, and we were surprised that none of the usual suspects were there: Rob Noxious, Mark Stoopid, Thrashhead. There were Jazz collectors, Soul collectors, not even an indie popster in sight. Good for us. Wasn’t till the red carpet almost ran out when I spotted fellow MRR stalwart Ryan Wells and his bud Mike from Broken Rekkids. Shortly thereafter, someone official looking brought some vats of coffee and fresh Krispy Kremes, and we were energized for a little longer. They also started passing out leaflets that showed the layout of the store, and the diehards began strategizing their proposed trajectory through the aisles.

The actual opening was a little anti-climactic. I mean there were no rock stars there to help inaugurate the thing. Some no name cut the red ribbon. Photos were snapped of a line of less than handsome people. Some photographers shot the people in line too, but the Hip Hop fuggers had let a bunch of their friends cut in line with them, and we didn’t even make the pictures. The photographers asked the people in line for their names. We gnawed on what was left of our donuts.

At 10:30 am, the doors finally opened, and we stumbled deliriously through the entrance as the employees and press hanging around cheered us on. Where’s the punk 45’s we asked. No one seemed to know. We did manage to find the walls of rare punk collectibles. We had been tipped off that there was a ROTTERS up there, but not which one. That was important. After all, the first 45 “Sit On My Face Stevie Nix (sic)” was much less rare than their followup, “Sink The Whales (Buy Japanese Goods)”. Well, it was the first one, and it was priced at $50, which is actually a bit more than you might score one on eBay. A quick scan of the rest of the wall showed even less promise.

Despite having gotten in line much later, Ryan and Mike had caught up to us pretty quickly and everyone was searching for the boxes. Some employee had pointed us to 70’s/80’s Rock/Pop so we started diving in, flipping through countless copies of Shaun Cassidy’s “Da Doo Ron Ron”. “I think I’m gonna be sick”, I moaned, as Kim Chee started pulling out copies for his jukebox. This has to be wrong, I thought to myself. I extricated myself from the entanglement of nerds and looked around a bit more.

There was a set of boxes marked “Indie” around the corner that I started looking through. At first it appeared to be all ‘90’s indie but it appeared to be a lot more promising than the other ones. Pretty soon, Kim Chee and Ryan moved over and the flannel was flyin’…

Score of the day: a sleeveless MIKE REP AND THE QUOTAS, “Rocket To Nowhere” 45 found by Kim Chee. This was during our last ditch scrounging around after a long day of rounding out my UNREST collection. Apparently someone had pulled a stack out of a box so they could flip through the records properly, and stuck it in some spot off to the side. Kim, the lucky bastard also had found a FIX “Jan’s Room” (with spray painted insert, no less) for $1.95 earlier. While these found a hallowed spot in Kim Chee’s billowing trade pile, my HOSE 45 and or assorted 80’s crap lingered unproudly in my plastic bags. Ryan found a SCOOTER AND THE WORMS as his coup de grace. By around 3pm, we were pretty much toast and had to call it a day. One look back and the wreckage lay there, stacks of unwanted records piled everywhere, open boxes strewn about, and multitudes of glazed eyes. The line to check out literally had 100 people.

Post mortem. People have been making sporadic pilgrimages to the new Amoeba since then, only to find…nothing. So much for a year’s worth of buying in the Los Angeles area and tons of pallets of records in some warehouse somewhere. It ain’t on the wall or in the stacks at Amoeba. Could one suspect that the employees, who are not allowed to buy from the store for themselves for the first 30 days after the opening, are hording their stashes somewhere?

EXCESSORIES / CHICKENHAWKS

After the Amoeba experience, Kim Chee and I regrouped by taking our middle age naps. By evening, we were ready to storm again. We hit Zen Sushi over in Silverlake with our friend Katy to see local pop punk phenomsters THE EXCESSORIES and Cramps devotees THE CHICKENHAWKS from Iowa. Both were fabulous, and despite a small crowd of about a dozen, left us gasping from a good time. Zen Sushi just might be our modern day equivalent of Madame Wong’s, a Chinese restaurant cum punk venue whose heyday spanned a forescore ago. Afterwards we managed to catch up with guitarist Rich Coffee, whose career hearkens back to the days of GIZMOS. How cool is that to, after more than 20 years still be cool enough to be in LA’s best pop punk band?

Last Words

Got advanced copies of a couple of cool KBD-style comps that are in the development stage that’ll occupy my cassette deck for awhile. Will let you know more about them as I do.

posted by Henry @ 3:06 AM

January 01, 2002

MRR #224

Special Fuck Mr. St James Wood

Pier at Rave Up Records, Italy’s finest punk reissue house is pissed at ex-Radio Active Records honcho St James Wood and for good reason. He, like several other collector types, was fucked over by Mr. Wood’s shady vinyl dealings. Wood’s label released some punk’s infamous releases during the KBD era, such as those by THE INJECTIONS, THE XTERMINATORS and THE EXECUTIVES. Pressed in quantities rumored to be in the mere hundreds, and the existence of a handful of crudely made sleeves for these sleeveless releases have made frenzied collectors jump through hoops to track down the source, which is Mr. Wood.

Unfortunately, Wood is a drug addict of the worst kind. Last ish we reported on his latest incarceration, for a string of robberies that culminated in a Baskin-Robbins heist. In his dealings with collectors, he has been no more jake. Pier and others have been bilked of hundreds of dollars intended for copies of his rare Radio Active releases, without restitution to date. One of them had even called Wood’s father in San Diego only to have the elder Wood admit that the younger Wood was bad news, and not to expect to ever see the money. Longtime collector Mike Teo tracked Wood down in 2000 and managed to snag some of the aforementioned extremely rare picture sleeves for THE INJECTIONS 45. Unfortunately, the consensus is that these are new xeroxes of one of a couple of different sleeves originally made for the record. The collector world is a bit dogmatic about these things. An old xerox or mimeograph is cool if that’s the way it was originally issued, such as that of THE (Maine) STAINS Feel Guilty 45. A new xerox, even if made by the source, in this case Wood, ain’t really original and shouldn’t warrant the big bucks that Wood suggests.

So, while Wood languishes in jail as we speak, shed no tears for the man. And certainly send no cash.

Rave Up, in the meantime, continues its assault on the annals of punk by it’s release in September of a trio of smash records, including that lost 1980 studio session from THE INJECTIONS. Let’s give them a spin, shall we?

DENNIS MOST AND THE INSTIGATORS were a Massachusetts band best known for their “Excuse My Spunk” 45, which is naturally included as the lead off to Rave Up #19, the Excuse My Spunk LP. While the title track deserves its status as a minor KBD record (decent proto-punk with cool drum fills that sound like THE EMBARRASSMENT'S’ Sex Drive 45), it’s the heretofore never released sessions mostly from ’83 that provide solid entertainment, resulting in a pretty fuggin’ fine record overall.

First, the history. The band was proto all the way, with the usual suspects providing inspiration: ALICE COOPER, NY DOLLS, STOOGES and 60’s garage underneath it all. Then it’s the look. Dennis Most in his various incarnations from the wild MC5 hair cum black t-shirt look to the short 60’s mop with the paisley jacket – a decidedly non-punk mustache the only constant. The non-uniformed punk look: patchwork bell bottomed jeans and mirror shades further the credibility.

The credits for the post-KBD era ‘83 sessions look like the music will suck: acoustic guitar and synthesizer? Tambourine? One can hardly contain the excitement of a piano tinkle violating a potential punk killer (save maybe the TITS’ “Daddy is My Pusher” which uses it to grim effect).

However, “Penetrate” comes on and there’s no question. This is driving punk rock that belies its instrumentation. All of the ’83 sessions are better than decent punk, with standouts such as “I Hate Mel Torme”, “Ad-Vice Grip”, and “King of Sleaze”. Dennis Most himself being the only constant among the different sessions, it’s clear that he was the musical brains behind the band. While his liner notes are a bit thin (more info about the specific sessions and the making of the 45 as well as the history of the lineups he played thru woulda been cool), Rave Up has done a nice packaging job on this solid release.

THE PENETRATORS, whose previous releases were already reissued by Rave Up earlier this year, has a new (old) outing on Rave Up (as Rave Up #20), an unearthed live set from Kenny’s, presumably a club in their hometown of Syracuse, NY, circa 1980.

They were the epitome of anti-cool cool. Curtis, the black organ player looked like a reject from “What’s Happenin’”, with beret and rainbow colored suspenders (move over Rerun!); Paul took a John Cougar stance; Henry and Jack looked like Starsky and Hutch informants, and Spike like some distant cousin of Captain Stubing.

Toss’em together and you got not a garage band extraordinaire with classic songwriting that drips 60’s garage punk. Hell, songs like “I (Like) Brooklyn” and “Sweet Soul Music” prove these guys can write. Top this with fuggin’ decent live mix, a bit more bass injected than the usual tin pan live tape, and you’ve got a really hot live set that captures these guys in great form. Ranks up there with “All the World’s A Stage” as far as live recs go. Essential all the way.

Which reminds me of my SPIKE 45 story. Back when KUSF (the U of San Francisco station) started doing record swaps (about 1991 or so), I saw the SPIKE 45 for $7 and thought it looked cool but had to ask my vinyl guru about it, Brian. “Brian, I see this cool record over there that I need to ask you about. It’s by this guy SPIKE and it has a cool crude drawing on the cover”. Brian asked me where I had seen it. I should have known by the sort of fevered look that overtook him, because as soon as I told him, he walked over to the girl with $7 and bought it for himself. “Sorry, Henry”, he apologized, as the fevered look began to subside and he returned to the real world again. “I needed that record.” (A few months later, Brian managed to find a dupe to give me, so all was cool.)

After having done an article about Radio Active records in a prior MRR, I was eager to hear the studio session of THE INJECTIONS that Wood referred to as having been lost. Rave Up in the interim has managed to unearth these recordings, and along with the rare “Prison Walls” 45, has assembled their 21st and most recent release.

I gotta admit that I never figgered out why collectors proclaimed theirs the best of the Radio Active releases. I still think it’s the least punk of the bunch (not counting THE INTENTIONS’ pop 45), with it’s mixed low strummy guitar and non-ass kick. “Prison Walls” is nothing more than a slightly more aggro “99 bottles of beer on the wall” to me. Actually, I was always a bit more intrigued with “Lies”.

The studio sessions are well worthy of seeing the light of day. First of all, I think of the band as being even less KBD than I did before. I mean, their music is sophisticated and intelligent, with hard hitting post-punk overtones. The entire B-side is really good, with several political punkers such as “CCCP”. The standout track by far is “Panther Anthem” a great rant’n raver with the sporadic shout that kicks far more ass than the 45. The only tracks that are a little wimpy are “The Game” and “All The Good Men” both of which have a slight reggae feel to it. All I can say is Lou Scum coulda been a contender and it’s too bad his genius bowed to the effects of drugs.

Send me records you want me to rant or fuck over.

posted by Henry @ 12:23 PM

November 01, 2001

MRR #222

Pop Schtuff

Pop’s not got the scum droolin’ but many of the world’s top collectors have a not well publicized fetish for such fodder. Heck, the first rec I traded to Devereux was the “Red Lights” 45 by THE MARBLES on the Ork label. Mop topped boys with an earnest croon without any of the artiness of the early NYC wave. Ten years later, I traded another copy of that same rec to Roger Brain Transplant Mah in our very first trade. Not that I was hoarding the single – these were literally the only two extra copies I ever owned, and I wasn’t peddling them either. They just sat there innocently on my trade list in the non-punk section. I myself prefer the second MARBLES 45, “Forgive and Forget/Computer Cards”, which I think came out on the Jimboco label (best known for it’s pop-punk classic by NASTY FACTS). It’s a bit edgier, cooler sleeve too.

Priciest among the pop collectibles are invariably those first outings by later big bands. THE SMITHEREENS’ “Girls About Town” EP on D-Tone came out in 1980, and is tuff to come by. Bleeker Bob’s NY always seemed to have a copy for a cool $80-100 back in the late 80’s, which was a lot for any record at that time. Virtually no copies have found their way out since that time, I’ve only come across two, one of which surfaced at an FMU swap in ’93 or ’94, the other on eBay in 2000. The pre-BANGLES BANGS 45 “Getting Out of Hand” seemed to be more prevalent, a seemingly regular item on eBay altho pretty hard to find while the band was at their peak popularity.

The Power Pop axis has gained cred with the Powerpearls comps hyping such, leaving a wake of drooling Japanese. Among the eminently affordable yet thoroughly satisfying are the NERVES and its offspring. The band, composed of Paul Collins, Peter Case, Jack Lee, and Gary Valentine often shared bills with preeminent LA punk bands of the day as 1976 became 77. Their one and only 45 EP sported a plaintive version of “Hanging on the Telephone” by Jack Lee, whose stint in Blondie yielded a bit hit out of it. Jack Lee put out a very inappropriately named LP “Jack Lee’s Greatest Hits Vol 1” given that was his only output. Collins pumped out a quintessential must have pop classic “Walking Out On Love” which appeared on Bomp’s Waves Vol III Compilation LP. Clocking in at under a minute and a half, it is a perfect a power pop song these ears have ever heard. Later, he redid the song in far lesser form with his combo THE BEAT, also known as Paul Collins’ BEAT. Peter Case of course went on to THE PLIMSOULS, the best known of these bands. Their “Zero Hour” 12” EP on Beat Records is the one to get. By the mid-80’s he went acoustic and solo, adopting the singer-songwriter persona. Gary Valentine post Blondie founded THE KNOW, releasing a great 45 called “I Like Girls” in England. Rhino included it on their DIY Power pop CD series. Euro-label Penniman just released a 10” with the NERVES EP plus a coupla extra tracks.

Paul Chastain lay at the center of pop activity in Champagne, Illinois, beginning with the B-LOVERS and THE NINES, which came out in the early 80’s. Both 7” EP’s are good. Ric Menck, another stalwart did THE REVERBS a couple of years later. Chastain later went solo with his “Halo” 12” in the mid 80’s, pre-dating the Bus Stop record label, a vehicle for numerous side projects of the two, such as CHOO CHOO TRAIN (whose “This Perfect Day” 45 is a pop essential), VELVET CRUSH, and THE SPRINGFIELDS. This kept pop lovers satisfied till the end of the 80’s.

Jangle Pop reared its wimpy head in the south, Winston-Salem, NC to be exact. While artier popsters THE DB’s moved their talents to NYC, the success of REM cum Mitch Easter production led to a straightforward wimp pop bid for college radio airplay that was studiously followed by dozens of intellectuals. Girls entered the fray in bands like OH OK and the MUTETTES, while girly boys like TURNING CURIOUS and ART IN THE DARK were posing in their paisleys. Certainly REM’s first 45 on Hibtone set the standard with garagey fast tunes that resembled nothing from their pale contemporaries.

Not that you really cared.

Ghosts
Searching for inspiration in a world where NOFX logos are emblazoned on every other high school backpack, I found a taste at the Werepad (www.werepad.com for you nerd boys) the other nite. Firstly, an unassuming storefront over in the warehouse area of San Francisco (3rd and 22nd or so), you enter thru the metal door and after getting past the seven buck stiff and the hoof stamp, a new world opens up, a place where you feel naked without your go-go boots. Black and white swirls, multicolor flashing lights, curvy mirrors, projection screens with slumber party photos circa 1971, vintage sofas with little coffee tables where you can rest the drink from the hep bar, this is bad trip/mod fun.

Werepad usually caters to the movie geeks, with showings of trash movies, sometimes augmented with human intervention. Me’n fellow MRR stalwart Jeff Yih caught “Hatchet for the Honeymoon”, a 1969 Italian psycho thriller with enough camp to last you all summer, book-ended with a few short blasts from SF-based goof-garage schlock band THE GHOSTS.

THE GHOSTS were a spirited group of guys and gals whose predilection was to play their rnr under 200 thread count with the requisite above-the-neck orifice holes to maintain some contact with the outside world. As they launched into “Jack the Ripper”, THE BUTTHOLE SURFERS’ “The Shah Sleeps in Lee Harvey’s Grave” flashed thru my brain for the first time in ages. A nice lady passed out cookies shaped like ghosts. They did a cover of “Sex Bomb”. Occasionally, the holes got misaligned and a ghost would stagger around on stage, trying to get his/her bearings back. Occasionally the sheet got stuck between the drumstick and the drum, leading to a dull thudding rock steady. Fretwork was sometimes accomplished thru a sheet, reducing three chords down to two. The musicianship was nothing less than an obstacle course of perseverance. Charm pops wrapped in tissues with happy ghost faces drawn on them were tossed into the audience. Could these misfits be the “feel good” band of the year? Or were they a junior varsity MUMMIES? A band to watch out for.

“Hatchet for a Honeymoon” must have served as inspiration for “American Psycho” cos Christian Bale was a dead ringer for the plastic looking psycho-protagonist played by Stephen Forsyth, not to mention the similar emotionless monologue intro. Heaps better than the average B.

Email to henry@killedbydeath.com (note fuggin’ new cool email address – thanks Jesse!). Lastly, Pier from Raveup informs me that a flood of new releases are coming from his KBD hit factory. DENNIS MOST, INJECTIONS, and a live PENETRATORS will be out at the end of September, while KILL THE HOSTAGES, CHAINSAW, BRATS, SLUGS, KILLER BEES, SHITDOGS, MANIC DEPRESSIVES, NOTHING, RED SQUARES, CORPSE GRINDERS and ALCOHOLICS will be among the many releases coming over the winter months. He also warns us that the entire first pressing of THE SKINNIES 45 indeed was mispressed, leaving off a track at the pressing plant.

posted by Henry @ 9:57 PM

October 01, 2001

MRR #221

Punk Collectors Profile #1: Mike Losh

I first met Mike Losh at a Gilman record swap, probably 1990 or so. These swaps were by then already a bit dried up, so I was ok just hanging back and peddling some wares. Devereux and I were sharing a table and the kid walks up with a canvas bag with a few records in it. Skinny kid, average height. Same build as me pretty much. Some freckles, dark brown hair. Probably got the shit kicked out of him wherever he went. He was one of us. Completely nondescript except for a hint of a fevered look about him. Typical collector look. Not unlike the look of Jimmy, the protagonist in the film version of Quadrophenia in his wide-eyed sped up state.

After picking through my records, he pulled out the “Skateboards to Hell” 45, a post WEIRDOS outing from Dix Denney. It wasn’t all that good, save the WEIRDOS connection. I think I had found it for $2 at my last trip to Armond Schoebroecks’ House of Guitars in Rochester, NY. That place was pretty wacked out. Stacks of records everywhere, no order at all. You’d just have to block out a half day and get on your hands and knees. I remember finding the stray MARS EP, HUMAN SWITCHBOARD Live Fan Club LP, the AFRIKA KORPS LP, and some of the weaker power pop 45’s that Bomp used to distribute like THE NAMES “Why Can’t It Be”. Toss in an occasional CHESTERFIELD KING working the register and you had your complete time warp of a record store.

I forgot what else Mike pulled out, but as I suspected, the canvas bag contained his trade fodder. After all, this was a record swap, but usually it was a buy/sell sort of thing. The Gilman’s being as punk as they were often had a lot more swapping. I remember once one guy traded a stack of REALLY RED’s Teaching You The Fear LP to me. Mike pulled out a colored vinyl copy of each of the first two SAMHAIN records. I was not particularly excited about these, though I could picture frothing from some MISFITS collector. We traded. He asked if I had any Tesco Vee rarities, which I did not. Hmmm. Friendly enough guy, not quite as studiously reticent as some of us collectors. But young looking to be sure, as most of us seemed to be. Not much UV to soak up in a windowless room and stacks of records. Keeps the skin supple tho. I still remember when some 19 year old kid had the gall to call me an enterprising young 17 year old. I was 29.

Anyhow off he went. I don’t really remember seeing the kid at any more record swaps, but I must’ve. Seemed like the other collectors know of the guy, though I’d hardly’ve characterized him as an important collector. He seemed to flit by and pick up things that struck his fancy that day. He certainly didn’t seem to have a want list or anything quite that organized. Maybe that skinny bangs look struck a nerve with all of us. Or maybe we thought he was the second coming of SKAFISH.

Perhaps a year certainly not as much as two years later, I had moved out of the Bay Area to Portland, OR, where, in the early 90’s seemed sort of dead. I stumbled across an ICE-9 at 2nd Avenue Records, where it was priced at $9 and hyped as having had a member later of the MIRACLE WORKERS. I used a Chuck Warner catalog to inform me that it was a pretty fucking great punk record. After about 6 months there, I noted a record swap over on the east side of town. I went. Saw one of the POISON IDEA guys with his gal at a table. Hmmm, this could be cool. Bought a NEO BOYS from him. Things went downhill from there. Other than a pretty cool DOGS (LA) button (“The Dogs in Heat – Live at the Mabuhay Gardens 1978” it said, next to some really menacing canine tooth marks), I didn’t find a damn thing. However, a rather chipper skinny guy approached me. It was Mike.

“Hey man, what the hell are you doing here?” I asked. He explained that his sister lived in Portland and that he was crashing with her for a while. He went on to say that he had found a STYPHNOYDS 45 at a local shop. We traded numbers. I had sort of traded record collecting for strip clubs at the time. Portland was an incredible mecca for the stuff. And girls dancing to Joy Division or Minor Threat didn’t hurt either. Richard Meltzer had traded in punk for strip clubs and Jazz, what the hell?

I may have talked to Mike on the phone once or twice before he went back to San Francisco. If we did, it wasn’t memorable. Anyhow, he mailed me his trade list and want list when he got home. His trade list looked pretty meager, tho in retrospect I should have gotten the REALTORS “Buy or Beware” 45. I traded him a CHILD MOLESTERS “Diary of Madness” for BLACK RANDY’s :”Idi Amin” and bought the DESCENDENTS “Fat” EP and the first BUTTHOLE SURFERS 12”. Nothing exciting really. It was through some written correspondence that I discovered that he was one of those collectors who just wanted to hold a record, play it a couple of times, cuddle it, suck the soul out of it, then sell or trade it away. Kind of like butterfly collecting. Most did it because they didn’t have the money to build a collection, so they used what little they had to pick of a few items, then cycle thru to some other items. There was a NYC guy just like that, Nick was his name. He got sick of his VOMIT PIGS in 1996 and brought it to one of the FMU swaps. I snagged it in a three-way trade with Devereux, coughing up a superclean (to use Bastarache lingo) “Slash Your Face” on my end. Beats any trade I made with Ryan “Burnt Bread” Richardson.

Christmas holidays apparently brought Mike back to Portland. He gave me a call after New Years. We went to see the GG Allin movie, which had just come out. It was playing at the Cinema 21 downtown. Definitely a strange way to start the New Year. It was full of shit, literally, brutal, scary, farcical. I remember how Tom Timony of Ralph had raved about the Lisa Suckdog show in a similar way. It was like real life to the extreme, morphing into an event. Like when my neighbor Rolando who torched his truck for insurance money in the scuzziest San Jose neighborhood. Like when Re/Search did their show underneath Highway 80 in San Francisco late 80’s, with heavy metal machinery spewing off dog parts and blood into the audience.

The next day, Mike went back to San Francisco. If it weren’t for the movie, the time I spent with him would not have been memorable. I mean, he was an OK kid and all, but he was pasty and didn’t cut much of a swath. Frankly I couldn’t see why the other Bay Area collectors could even recall him. If his persona ever made it to TV, he’d be a cousin, tops. Like Oliver in Eight is Enough, or Leonardo Di Caprio’s character in Growing Pains, sans the charisma.

A week later, Devereux called me up. He said Mike had committed suicide by jumping off the Bay Bridge. Kid was only the fuck 22. Kid washed dishes in a seedy restaurant. Kid wasn’t so bright but he was one of us. Bless his soul and fuck the others. He wasn’t one of those aggressive wheeling and dealing collector schmoozer types who are too two well adjusted for their own good. He wasn’t some drunk fuck or a stoner dude. Or a frat boy with too much testosterone for Top 40. Just a nice skinny kid who couldn’t deal. A true punk. I should’ve cried but I didn’t.

Post Partum: tried to call Mike’s sister, no luck. No one seems to know the facts surrounding this case, but what the f..., the Kid’s disappeared anyhow.

posted by Henry @ 2:52 AM

September 01, 2001

MRR #220

RIP KBD
Due to the sad state of punk rock record collecting I will not be writing about it anymore. It’s become a passionless expensive low-touch pursuit for most of us peons.

Go to eBay, search for “kbd” (or easier yet, search for whatever “thw” or “modboy1” has already bid on), program your bidsniper software to bid a few hun with 5 milliseconds to go, for whatever item has one or more asterisks next to it (denoting a “top want”) on your want list, pay with a Visa card through Paypal with a few mouse clicks, send email to the seller requesting that disc be packed alongside sleeve rather than inside to ensure no seam splits in transit, and preferably with an extra slice of cardboard between the disc and sleeve to snuff out any possibilities of ringwear, and don’t forget a little tape over the top so that the record doesn’t rattle around in the paper sleeve and get paper scuffing. After recieving it, remove it from all the layers of packaging, curse the seller for overgrading it by at least a “+”, hold it up sideways to make sure it isn’t warped, look at it in 100+ watt light at a 37 degree angle. Play it once for grading purposes, call other collector friends to confirm that the click during the guitar break on the second track of the first side was just a pressing flaw (or call to gloat if they do not have the record and warn them about the pressing flaw), stick a cassette or CD or minidisc in the recorder to record it for everyday listening. Then file it away in a 4 mil clear plastic sleeve from Bags Unlimited into some acid-free archival-safe box marked “N-Q” in a temperature controlled room, preferably windowless. Ensure box still has adequate room to hold new purchase without inducing ringwear on its neighbors, and remains roomy enough to flip through the records without bending the tops of the sleeves. File alphabetically by artist name, excluding the “The” or the “A”. If the artist is a band member’s name, file by last name. If the band name is a person’s name, like LYNYRD SKYNYRD or MATT GIMMICK, file by first name. Likewise if the band name includes a person’s name as part of its name, like THE JIMI HENDRIX EXPERIENCE. Enter purchase into Excel spreadsheet called “killer-record-collection.xls”, by including band name, plus both song titles if there is just an A and a B side, or EP if there are more than two songs, the date purchased, condition (sleeve, then disc), price paid, and name of seller. Add miscellaneous comments (promo, autographed, green swirl vinyl, second pressing, with extra tracks). Eat macaroni and cheese to kill hunger pangs with minimal expense to adequately fund purchase. Repeat cycle until bored or jaded or getting married or having a kid or satisfying an overwhelming desire for a vintage muscle car or need to liquidate to fund lesbian paperback collection.

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Published in the Record Reviews Section

V/A – “Hyped To Death #41” CD
It’s about time we got around to the beginning of the alphabet (A-B on this one). It took only 41 releases on the H2D label to get there! This volume covers bands from the northeast and midwest regions of the U.S., the NY/NJ/Philly triangle and an outlying smattering to be exact. While there’s an attempt to avoid punk that has been “overexposed” by other comps, longtime stalwarts such as AMBIENT NOISE and JOHN BERENZY GROUP (whose chops were too proto to really be punk) make appearances, while newer discoveries such as AUNT HELEN and the AD’s stake out their own territory. The mid 80’s are enshrined with contributions by later punks such as ANGRY RED PLANET and THE BLISTERSBIZARROS, whose way proto Velvets grind deserves to be heard by. (HY)( (whose debut is a fave of mine), ADRENALIN OD and BLATANT DISSENT. Bonus points for the inclusion of Akron’s www.hyped2death.com)

V/A – “Hyped To Death #42” CD
34 Punk tracks from Western and Southern U.S. (including monster punk states CA and TX) from bands whose names start with the first coupla letters of the alph. Again, there’s an attempt to sidestep the usual suspects in favor of footnotes, but BOBBY SOXX sneak on anyhow. The best tracks are those by ANTI-BAND, BENEDICT ARNOLD AND THE TRAITORS, ACCELERATORS, ARYAN DISGRACE, is the first non-household name to crack my consciousness, with two demented tracks worth tracking down. BENEDICT ARNOLD AND THE TRAITORS from L.A. also serve up a couple of more than decent tracks. BOXBOYS skirt hard rock while THE BEANS from SF serve up a track whose gtr break drips arena rock. (HY) (www.hyped2death.com)

posted by Henry @ 2:56 AM

June 01, 2001

MRR #217

Break My Face / Slash Your Face

As instructed by the boys from Break My Face (http://www.breakmyface.com/), I put on a blindfold as I exited the revolving door from the baggage claim at LAX to meet the warmth of the California sun on my face. A minute or two later I heard a voice call out to me. “Hey bitch. We’re here.You’re going in the back.” “Ungh”, I replied weakly, doubling over from a hard punch to the gut. Before I could gasp for breath one of them grabbed me by my shirt collar and pushed me into the cramped backseat of the car.

Some fifteen minutes later, dizzy from a mild pistol whipping and spastic lurches and turns from the BreakMyFace-mobile, the car finally slowed down as a I heard a garage door open. We had probably arrived at the secret Brain Transplant bunker. It wasn’t until after the door was closed again when the blindfold was removed. My eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the light but I hazily made out a Velvet Underground poster propped against the far wall. In one corner, stacks of INSULTS LP’s languished horizontally. “Don’t these fucks know how to store records?”, I thought to myself. Two grinning mugs appeared. “Welcome, bitch.”, they greeted in unison. “The ground rules are: You are to wear these gloves when you flip through records here. You are not to look out any windows. You are to carry the blindfold on your person which we can use at any time. You are to withstand mild pistol whipping at our whim.” I nodded weakly. They then stood up to lead me up the stairs to the rest of the compound.

One, who I’ll refer to as BTX, was tall, indeed even taller by his poofed up hair. It somewhat resembled that of Limahl, the lead singer of Kajagoogoo. My guess was the guy was a “night bather”. It was easy enough to guess cause I was one too. A night bather takes his shower at night and sleeps on his newly washed hair. You never quite knew what your hair would look like in the morning. Other than that, BTX was a rather handsome guy. The cleft on his chin looked like it had been used to sharpen ginsu knives.

The other, who I’ll refer to as EV, was a short squat pasty looking guy. His only distinguishing features were a set of killer dimples. Otherwise he resembled H. Ross Perot in almost all respects, except his clothes. Funnily, he wore creepers that very much looked like mine, although it had a tag with the british flag on it. Ironic, since this commie claimed to be a U.S. punk fanatic. He probably had the Swede flag tattooed on his arse. His head smelled a bit too. I shuddered to think what sort of dry cleaning bill I’d rack up if I let him take a nap on my chenille pillows.

Apparently BTX and EV had either had a late night or forgotten to take their Geritol because even though it was only 2pm, they both wanted to nap. They took me upstairs to what appeared to be a bank vault, a stainless steel door with a large wheel for a doorknob. Emblazoned on the front was: “Secured by Tony of Hawaii Security Systems”. After BTX punched in the code, he pulled out some keys to unlock another set of deadbolts securing another door behind it. The stench of aged xerox and mildewed paper circa 1979 whooshed into my face as the vaccuum seal was broken. Inside was a guest double bed and countless boxes of 45’s and fanzines.

EV hopped into the double bed, winked, and purred lustily. “Come here, bitch.” I had forgotten about EV’s homosexual tendencies, in particular his voracious appetite for geeky male record collectors. “Uh, no thanks. I mean I already have the Uncalled 4 record.” I had heard about how EV had cornered a third of the Uncalled 4 pressing and used it to bait to us poor scum. Judging from the dwindling stack by the edge of the bed, he should have been well spent.

About an hour later, we all woke up about the same time. EV wanted to go to Melrose avenue to pick up a wig. “I wanna be a real bitch someday, but I gotta start somewhere.” After I was blindfolded and pistol whipped again, we left the compound. Melrose was crawling with high school students let out from Fairfax High school across the street. I stopped to ogle some cute Japanese girls, but BTX steered us into the Goth shop. The owner seemed to recognize him. “Hey, I got that glitter-phase Lou Reed acetate you were looking for, man.” BTX’s eyes lit up. “No shit, bitch. Can I put it on my credit card? I get frequent flyer miles for it.” EV began manhandling the wigs. “I like this blue one. Can I try it on?” I didn’t really have the heart to tell him he looked like shit, but luckily the synthetic materials in it appeared to aggravate his balding condition so he had to abandon that idea.

After a pitstop for coffee, we stopped at Head Line Records. It was there we ran into Thrashhead, the store’s poster boy. While he regaled EV with stories about constantly being outbid on eBay, I watched BTX run his finger along the spine of the Grim Klone LP on Raveup. “The typeset on the back of this record brings tears to my eyes”, he sighed. I saw EV pull out an Uncalled 4 single with a wink and hand it to Thrashhead as we headed out the door.

BTX wanted to stop off at the Hawaiian store. Ever since he had heard the Fuckin’ Flying A Heads, he dreamed of going to Hawaii and getting soaked into the punk scene there. Nevermind that the A-Heads had disbanded over 20 years ago. I went in with him to look for a good Hawaiian shirt while EV took a leak against the side of the building. This was one of several leaks EV would have to take over the next hour or so. Apparently coffee was one of the no-no’s on his bladder control list.

A rather meager score at the Record Surplus after dinner. I walked out of there with a Black Flag Damaged with the MCA distribution on the back cover unmarred by the Anti-Parent sticker, The Point 12” (pointless psych), and the Peter Dayton 12” (post-La Peste drivel). With EV’s bladder at the bursting point, we hurriedly headed back to the compound. After we each pounded a beer, Geritol withdrawal set in once again and the boys were sleeping peacefully by 9pm. I could only shake my head in disbelief as BTX had to sleep with his body draped over his record boxes so that the rest of us freaks would not raid his collection. I thumbed through a copy of Chris Stigliano’s great 1990 ‘zine PHFFFUDD. By the time I got to Tim Adam’s embarrassing rag The Pope, I was ready to sleep next to EV on the double bed.

The next morning we had breakfast at the Farmer’s Market. I had trouble chewing my bacon since the bruises from all the pistol whipping of the prior day had begun to appear on my jaw. EV’s strict vegetarian diet seemed pointless as his doughy body glistened in the morning sun. “Let’s go get donuts, bitch”, he demanded. BTX took us over to a donut stand which seemed to be quite popular with the locals. After wolfing down two of them, he became quite animated and eager to sing. On our ride back, the two of them began singing in unison though hardly in tune. “26 dollars and a six pack to my name !!" Fortunately as they wrapped up side 1 of Damaged, we arrived back at the compound.

In the afternoon, we went over to Nicole Panter’s house. She looked a bit like the actress Rosanna Arquette, a pretty woman with blonde highlights. She had a cozy little place with interesting art on the walls and indian pottery organized on a side table. Nicole had most notably been the manager for The Germs back in the day but had gone onto many other things. There were no traces of her punk past to be seen. Indeed she looked more like the creative writing teacher and yoga enthusiast than any punk maven. EV’s donut binge had yet to wear off. His questions surrounded peanut butter, which Darby had used onstage to purvey the sense of humor found in a lot of early LA punk. EV really wanted to know: what brand of peanut butter Darby used and whether or not there was corporate sponsorship involved. After Nicole regaled us with about an hour of stories about the old scene and tidbits of gossip about the people, past and present, and flipping through her exhausted little stack of 45’s, we headed back happily for another nap.

As evening rolled in, BTX and EV seemed to let their guard down somewhat. BTX said he would retire the pistol for the rest of my stay, as long as I would mix the drinks for the evening. EV, visibly disappointed with my lack of sexual prowess, said he would not try to force himself on me tonight. He even volunteered to help me make the drinks. We made a big fruity vat of rum punch and drank ourselves silly.

By 10pm, we were rip roaring drunk. BTX muttered “Fuck the blindfold, bitch. Let’s go.” I could barely see anyhow. Away we zoomed toward The Garage.

The headliner for tonight was The Dogs (of the Slash Your Face variety), playing their second time out in recent memory. Their first show, played a few months ago was rumored to have been killer. This time they took the stage with a different drummer, who I was told had been their last official drummer when the band broke up in the mid-80’s. The other part of the power trio I immediately recognized: Mary Kay and Loren Molinaire. The band photo on their 1978 Slash Your Face picture sleeve was so fucking boss and totally unforgettable: Mary Kay looking prim and proper like the girl next door while Loren had the toughest don’t-fug-with-me scowl.

As they launched ferociously into their set, the crowd went wild. Mary Kay is an incredible bass player and it was obvious their songs are more complex than your average three chord rock. This was highlighted by the cool chord changes on their “Slash Your Face” anthem. She was dressed to kill in a pair of jeans with leather laced up the sides, and tough but sweet as she smiled, her mullett swaying back and forth to the rhythm. She still had her good looks and her youth intact. Loren was the consummate showman, with tough guy patter. His hair was still peroxided, though thinned from the early days, but his energy level was undiminished. They romped through a longer set than their previous gig, covering all of their 45 tracks. Clearly “Slash Your Face” was the kicker. These guys are are good as it gets, not just as far as reunion bands go, but even against the kids.

That night I peacefully had the bed alone, since my snoring had driven EV down to the couch downstairs. In the morning, I was awoken by BTX running the hose out on the patio. “Oh Yes !!!”, I heard from out the window. Even though I had been instructed not to look out any windows in order to retain the secrecy of the Brain Transplant bunker, I had to look. EV was naked, bent over and dripping with what appeared to be the peanut butter sauce leftover from the previous night’s Thai food. BTX stood behind with the hose at full force. A Darby reenactment of sorts ? I quickly shut the blinds.

After an afternoon of hanging out with Bob, an old original from famed record store Moby Disc, some more napping, and a pistol whip or two, it was time to leave L.A. just as most television viewers were tuning into the Academy Awards. Next record scum rendezvous point: the WFMU swap in May.

Post Partum
Thanks to Loren of the Dogs and Aaron at Dionysus for getting us into the gig. Thanks to Jesse at for hanging out during my trip to Portland last week and swinging me some cool wax.

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Published in the Record Reviews Section

THE FLESHTONES – “Solid Gold Sound” CD
FLESHTONES are a NYC garage band whose heyday was the early 80’s, led by the Zaremba/Streng core. They took a long hiatus through the latter half of that decade, with Zaremba gaining minor celeb status hosting MTV’s indie rock special, The Cutting Edge, and Streng did side projects like the FULL TIME MEN with Peter Buck. I’m not exactly sure when they reformed, but I saw them play last year after seeing them last in 1984. The verdict is they’re still a total party band in the tradition of JOE KING CARRASCO, and while their live show is their forte, it’s transferred pretty well to disc here. Chockfulla “Hey Hey Hey’s”, the classic harmonica and organ fills, you get a new set of rehashed classics for the now generation. Look ma, no ballads…(HY)
(Blood Red Records, 2134 NE 25th Ave, Portland, OR. 97212)

LES BLACK’S AMAZING PINK HOLES – “We’re Glad We Are We Are Revisited” CD
I woulda placed this 1984 release in the top 10 of least likely to be reissued: noone cared then and I’d be surprised if anyone would now, tho perhaps that snazzy CLE punk website (www.clepunk.com) mighta helped stir the pot some. Wasn’t there a PAGANS connections? Heck I didn’t even have this record back in the day, (tho I did have their “Breakfast with the Pink Holes” LP). Here ya get the LP plus a big splooge of live circa then, and then some on top of that . This go around I’m hearing a definite early REPLACEMENTS vibe, with the trash rock and the humor and lotsa cover tunes. But they’re definitely their own band. Now I’m starting to wonder why these guys weren’t a lot bigger band. Mebbe cos the gtrist refused to wear diapers… (HY)
(Smogveil Records, PMB 454, 774 Mays #10, I.V., NV, 89451 )

posted by Henry @ 2:47 AM

May 01, 2001

MRR #216

Midwest Can Be Allright
My b