PO Box 42129, LA, CA 90042www.razorcake.com

SSean Carswell is trying to kill me. Maybe he doesn’tknow it. First, it was sun poisoning. According to hisversion of the story, he was just trying to teach me to

surf. We just happened to forget to apply sun block. It was cloudy.I thought, what the heck. I had a full suit on, so only my head,hands, and feet were exposed. My special lady friend, Megan, hadjust shaved my head.

As I was bobbing in the ocean, trying not to fall off a piece offoam shaped in fiberglass, I got to see some dolphins up real close.Like four feet away. And they were wrestling. I also caught myfirst-ever wave and rode it for quite a long time. That made me feelreally good. It’s not a “dude-brah, gnarly” good. Just a feeling ofaccomplishment and the thought, of yeah, I’d like to do this againand again.

Not to hammer this point too often, but the people who makethis magazine aren’t rich. I can’t think of one of our contributorswho isn’t blue collar or working class poor. We have nobenefactors. The magazine doesn’t pay us any sort of salary. BothSean and I constantly have to find work. So when I stood up on asurfboard and rode a wave in, while hanging out with one of mybest friends, that was really cool.

At first I thought the pain in my chest was from wolfing downthe burrito after surfing. My second thought was that maybe it wasthe nachos and some vengeful jalapenos. I couldn’t fully catch mybreath, even when I went to sleep that night, over ten hours later.My third thought, about five hours later, was that my body waspoorly digesting all the sun it had absorbed

The next morning, my head was sticking to my pillow. I had topeel it slowly from the pillowcase. When I looked in the bathroommirror, it was pretty alarming. Imagine the tip of a hotdog the sizeof a human head. Imagine that rounded tip split at the seams andflayed open from over-boiling. That’s what my head looked like. Aclear yellow liquid oozed from my skull. Super. Over the nextseveral days, my head morphed into an angry patchwork of drylakebed scabs circumscribed by reddened scars.

I called Sean up sometime during the next week. We talkedmagazine. Then I asked him if he’d been sunburned too. No. Just alittle bit more of a tan, he said.

About a month later, after my head had fully healed, Seancame down to LA. We went to skate before we dropped off copiesof Bucky Sinister’s new book at the distributor.

Sean’s a sneaky bastard. He brought up the existential void.Right in the middle of skating a bowl. See, Nørb mentions it in hiscolumn in this issue, though he doesn’t use fruity terms like“existential void.”

We talked a lot about Nørb’s column and how it applies to us.I was thinking about it when I dropped in, carved the deep end,then sketched in a place I’d never sketched before, and smashedinto a transition wall. Stunned, I crawled out of the bowl andcaught my breath. “I’ll admit,” I told Sean, “there are times when Iwondered why I’m so interested in making magazines when itseems like, as Nørb put it, it ‘is merely another specific instance ofan ongoingly generic activity.’” That no matter what the activity,no matter how fulfilling and wished for, there’s still a large part ofus striving for something to fill a blaring, permanent nothingness.Instead of giving up, that’s why we continue. And if I think aboutit all the time, I go crazy. So I skate, learn how to surf, and read.

I dropped in again, a little sore. As I slashed the top of thebowl, my rear trucks hung up, I fell about ten feet, landedawkwardly, and had a hard time standing. Sean slid down andpicked up my board as I gingerly pulled myself up.

Ten days later, I learned that I cracked my rib with my ownhand. I know it’s not his fault. By this time, I hope you know I’mjoking about that Sean Carswell dude – and Nørb and all of theseRazorcake folks. But they are killing me. By helping me questionevery victory and every fall.

##2211

Thank you list: Color-separated, your lead singer’s in restraints thanks to Julia Smut for herhelp with the cover; 1-2-3-4 Go! thanks to Mike Frame for the Career Suicide interview and fillin the blank thanks __________ for whoever took the shots. (We asked but didn’t get aresponse. Sorry.); Books is good’n’stuff thanks to Jim Conklin for his indie books article and everyone’s a demon waiting to happen thanks to RobRuelas for the illustration; Personal Vietnam thanks to Mitch Cardwell for the Clorox Girls interviews and wide-angled thanks to ChrystaeiBranchaw for those pics; Schwangled is just fun to say thanks to Rochelle Fox for the Ends pics; Headbutt to the groin when you’re doing dishesthanks to Dan Glenn Fury for the Spontaneous Disgust interview; Out of the blue and killing it thanks to Chris Larsen for his illustration in Jim’scolumn; If I’m looking at it right, she’s not wearing pants thanks to Jennifer Whiteford; You can take a motherfucking photo thanks to DanMonick for his picture in Nørb’s column; The guy wanting pork chops in the vending machine picture was just as good thanks to Terry Rentzepisfor his illustration in Dale’s column; Pignuts in a clutch thanks to Tommy Wrenn for his illustration in Seth’s column; You are a very patient manthanks to Randy Iwata for his digital help with Nardwuar’s column; Yo! Ho! Ho! Rum good! thanks to Jeff Fox; Critical analysis one future 99cent bin CD at a time thanks to Aphid Peewit, Cuss Baxter, Donofthedead, Jimmy Alvarado, Liz O., Speedway Randy, and Puckett; Zine reviewscan be like pages and pages of emo played really, really slowly thanks to Greg Barbera.

Razorcake and razorcake.com could not have been finished without the invention of toilet paper or these folks:Sean Carswell, Todd Taylor, Josh Lane, Megan Pants, Skinny Dan, ktspin, and Felizon Vidad

Individual opinions expressed within are not necessarily those of Razorcake/Gorsky, Inc.Sean <sean@razorcake.com> Todd <retodded@razorcake.com>

AD DEADLINE FOR ISSUE #22August 1st, 2004

AD DEADLINE FOR ISSUE #23October 1st, 2004

EMAIL OR MAIL US FOR RATES

AND FULL DETAILS

AD SIZES • Full page, 7.5” wide, 10” tall.• Half page, 7.5” wide, 5” tall.

• Quarter page, 3.75” wide, 5” tall.• Sixth page, 2.5” wide, 5” tall.• Please make all checks out to

Razorcake.• We now accept electronic ads.

• All ads are black and white. • We don’t reserve ad space.

• If we need to invoice you, wewon’t run your ad until we havethe cash on hand, so make those

arrangements before the addeadline.

Razorcake is distributed by Big Top Newstand Services, 2729 Mission St., Ste.201, SF, CA 94110, info@bigtoppubs.com

Freddy, of the Riverboat Gamblers, and a sleepy friend, April.

–Todd

The Rhythm Chicken .................. The Dinghole Reports ....................... pg. 32

Art ..................................... Rummy Duck’s Fun Page............................. pg. 7

Seth Swaaley..................... Swinging Door Conversations ...................pg. 24

Designated Dale ..................... I’m Against It ...........................................pg. 20Jennifer Whiteford..................... Marlie’s Story ..............................pg. 18

Jim Ruland ........................................... Lazy Mick ......................................... pg. 8

Rev. Nørb .................................... Love, Nørb .................................. pg. 12

Sean Carswell ......................... A Monkey to Ride the Dog ....................... pg. 22

* * * * *

* * * * *

Nardwuar The Human Serviette ..... Who Are You? ............................ pg. 30

Liz O ........................... Guerrilla My Dreams .................................pg. 4

Maddy ..................................... Shiftless When Idle ..............................pg. 10

Ben Snakepit ......................................... Snakepit ......................................... pg. 41

Career Suicide ........... Interview by Mike Frame ........................ pg. 44

Riverboat Gamblers ......... Interview by Todd Taylor ................... pg. 56

Gary Hornberger ........................ Squeeze My Horn ............................... pg. 16

Book Reviews .......... If Things Go Wrong, We Eat Them ................... pg. 110

Dan Monick’s Photo Page ...... Yawns Are Hellos ........................ pg. 75

Chrystaei Branchaw’s Photo Page .......... The Triggers ...................... pg. 43

Clorox Girls .............. Interview by Mitch Cardwell ................ pg. 60

Independent Books ....... Article by Jim Conklin ............................... pg. 48

The Ends ................. Interview Todd Taylor ....................................... pg. 64Spontaneous Disgust ................. Interview Dan Glenn Fury ........... pg. 68

Record Reviews ........ The Musical Equivalent of a Shoe Box Full of Human Penises ............. pg. 76

Zine Reviews .... Kind of Like the Zine Equivalent to Hawkwind ..... pg. 106

Razorcake is bi-monthly. Issues are $3.00 ppd. in the US. Yearly subscriptions (six issues) are $15.00 bulk rate or $21.00first class mail. Plus you get some free shit. These prices are only valid for people who live in the US and are not inprison. Issues and subs are more for everyone else (because we have to pay more in postage). Write us and we’ll giveyou a price. Prisoners may receive free single issues of Razorcake solely via Left Bank Books, 92 Pike St., Seattle, WA98101, who have a book-for-prisoners program. Want to distribute Razorcake in the United States? The minimum orderis five issues. You have to prepay. For $7.50, you’ll receive five copies of the same issue, sent to you when we do ourmailout to all of our distros, big and small. Email <sean@razorcake.com> for all the details.

www.razorcake.com • PO Box 4422112299, Los Angeles, CA 9900004422

Issue #21 August/ Sept. 2004*

"So, we’re all in one spot. Is it a riot, now?" The Soviettes, "Channel X"

MARCHING FOR THE NEW ARMENIA

“I should like to see any power of the worlddestroy this race, this small tribe of unimportantpeople, whose wars have all been fought andlost, whose structures have crumbled, literatureis unread, music is unheard and prayers are nomore answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia. Seeif you can do it. Send them into the desert with-out bread or water. Burn their homes andchurches. Then see if they will not laugh, singand pray again. For when two of them meet any-where in the world, see if they will not create aNew Armenia.” –William Saroyan

This passage has become something of amantra for Armenians living in the Diaspora, ofwhich there are several million. Walk into anArmenian store and you may just see Saroyan’swords posted on a wall next to a print of MountArarat. Talk to an Armenian for just five minutesand you may just realize that this is not justsomething to be recited at will, but a sentimentby which many of us live.

As a third-generation Ameriguhye (Armenianby blood, American by nationality), I am morefamiliar with the sound of an 808 than a dumb-eg, more familiar with the work of F. ScottFitzgerald than Gostan Zarian. Yet, if I meetanother Armenian at a party, we will almost cer-tainly become friends. We will bond over newworld lives that are never quite free of the oldworld. Marriages may no longer be arranged andgirls may no longer be expected to roll the per-fect grape leaf, but we may still grow up in fam-ilies where everyone is auntie or uncle, regard-less of whether the person is a parent’s sibling,distant cousin or family friend. We may sharestories about what it was we said at the dinnertable that caused our grandmothers to clutchtheir chests and gasp “Amot (shame)!;” jokeabout how Armenian vegetarianism meanschoosing chicken kebab over lamb kebab; and,of course, swap insults in a language that fewothers will be able to understand.

However, the greatest bond betweenArmenians, no matter where we now live, is thatwe are the descendants of those who escaped thehistorical homeland on Ancient Anatolia andCilicia (Eastern Turkey) with little more thantheir lives. Nowhere is this more evident than itis annually on the Twenty-fourth of April.Referred to as Martyrs’ Day by Armenians inevery part of the world, April 24 was the date in1915 when two hundred and fifty leaders of the

Armenian community in Constantinople – fromintellectuals to journalists to politicians – wereexpelled from the city by the Turkish regime andlater murdered. While Armenians had suffered atthe hands of Ottoman Turks since the late 1800sin the form of scattered massacres and otherabuses, this date marks the beginning of what wenow call the Armenian Genocide. The first of itskind in the twentieth Century, in which a dyingempire, attempting to retain some sense ofpower, held a minority group responsible for itsproblems and then engaged in the systematicpurging of said group from its system.

Martyrs’ Day takes on a special significancein Los Angeles, California, as the city is home tothe world’s largest Armenian community outsideof Armenia. Armenian-owned establishments,ranging from the Zankou Chicken chain, toArmenian markets scattered across the city,close their doors. The signs in the windows notethat this is in remembrance of the ArmenianGenocide, where 1.5 million perished at thehands of Ottoman Turks. Generally, the signsalso mention that this Genocide is not officiallyrecognized by the United States and is flatlydenied by Turkey, who claims that the amount ofArmenians lost during this period of time was asimple consequence of World War I. Acrosstown, several events commemorate the date. InMontebello, solemn services are conducted atthe Armenian Martyrs’ Monument, while tworallies are held on Hollywood Boulevard in EastHollywood and an annual protest takes place atthe Turkish Consulate, located on a section ofWilshire Boulevard adjacent to the ritzyHancock Park neighborhood.

In the Armenian language class I attend everySaturday afternoon, the instructor handed outflyers for the latter event, sponsored by the AYF(Armenian Youth Federation), a subsidiary ofthe Armenian Revolutionary Federation, whichwas founded for the primary purpose of creatinga free, independent Armenia. Since the fall of theSoviet Union and subsequent emergence of theArmenian Nation, the group’s mission hasevolved to keeping Armenia free and indepen-dent, preserving Armenian culture in theDiaspora and fighting for recognition of theGenocide. They also include the lofty goals ofreparations and return of the land lost as a con-sequence of this atrocity. The march at theConsulate dates back to the early 1970s, whenmy father and his friends, college students at thetime, participated in the event.

My friend, Alice, and I decided that we had to

attend the protest. In truth, I was a bit nervousabout waving a picket sign in public for the firsttime, given my mother’s ravings, “Don’t getyourself arrested. Don’t let anyone take yourpicture. Remember the Patriot Act.” Despitethis, however, I felt compelled to shout outdemands at a building that may be nearly empty,given that Martyrs’ Day fell on a weekend thisyear. Close to ninety years ago, my great-grand-fathers left their homeland for life before theycould be gathered by Ottoman troops to alleged-ly serve in the military, a call that meant certaindeath at the hands of an army that was supposedto protect these citizens of the Empire. My great-grandmothers, no more than fifteen or sixteen atthe time, were led into the brutal desert of theMiddle East. All saw family, friends and neigh-bors brutalized or killed. All were reluctant tospeak of these events afterward. My grandmoth-er, the first-born child of Armenian immigrants,did not even know about the Genocide until shewas in her twenties. Even then, everything sheheard was told in vague terms. With all this, Ifelt that I had to march for the great-grandpar-ents I never met, whose stories are untold andwhose pain has been denied.

Alice, on the other hand, is not Armenian.She is an Irish-Scottish-Cherokee mix rearedbetween Kentucky and Cincinnati, Ohio, whohad never heard the term Armenian before mov-ing to Los Angeles two years ago. Alice’s intro-duction to the Armenian community was by hap-penstance. She was driving around town onenight when a group of Armenian guys in the carnext to her waved. The guys pulled over, as didshe, and a conversation ensued. Alice becamefriends with the group, such good friends in fact,that when her neighbors started to harass theguys by breaking windows and otherwise van-dalizing their cars, she moved. Through friend-ship, Alice became more interested in Armenianculture. She watched Armenian movies and lis-tened to Armenian music. She enrolled in lan-guage lessons at the local community college(where we met) and began to research the histo-ry of this ancient people, particularly theGenocide. The more she read, the more sheknew that she, too, had to march.

It is 2:00 p.m. when we arrive on the cornerof Wilshire and June and the sun is blazing asthough it is August instead of April. Already, wehave had a pretty full day and the heat seems todrain any energy we have left as it burns ourskin. That morning, we drove to the ArmenianMartyrs’ Monument, a structure that looks like a

LLLL IIIIZZZZ OOOO

LIZ

O

GGGGUUUUEEEERRRRRRRRIIII LLLLLLLLAAAA MMMMYYYY DDDDRRRREEEEAAAAMMMMSSSS

With each passing minute, the crowd grows in size until iteventually reaches 5,000 protesters. Bikers march alongsidechurch ladies and high school boys in System of Down t-shirtsmarch with college girls in stiletto heels.

frame for the Washington Monument and is sit-uated in the middle of a golf course. We had thewrong time and, thus, arrived five hours prior tothe start of the services. Thinking that we wereon time and everyone else was desperately late,we sat around and watched the Armenian Scoutsrehearse the flag ceremony for a bit. When wefinally realized how early we were for the cere-mony, and how late we were for class, we left.We made it to school on Armenian time, that is,approximately one hour behind schedule, onlyto realize that our teacher was letting class outearly.

As we round the corner at June, we noticethat a crowd is already forming in front of theConsulate. Like the bulk of Los Angeles proper,this neighborhood straddles the urban and thesuburban. The main stretch of Wilshire boastsone office building after another, but the side onwhich we congregate has the crisp façade of anupscale suburb – large homes marked by richgreen grass, gardens and driveways lined withsoccer mom cars. We walk around looking forshade and people to watch when we meet therequisite Lyndon LaRouche crew, distributingnewspaper print handouts describing the MiddleEast policy of the perennial presidential candi-date. We engage in a brief conversation with oneof the LaRouche volunteers, a conversationinvolving copious use of the word paradigm, asI look out of the corner of my eye and notice awoman peering out of a Consulate window. Herface is stern and she slowly shakes her head as ifto say, “Damn, it’s those Armenians again. Whycan’t they just get over it?” I smirk.

After managing to get away from theLaRouche crowd (nice guys, but it’s starting tosound too much like a Poli Sci class), we movealong to a shady sidewalk haven, where twoyoung guys wearing friendship bracelets in thecolors of the Armenian flag – red, blue andorange – sit around fiddling with a video cam-era.

Alice mentions something about sticking outin the crowd. She has a point. In a crowd ofdark-haired, olive-skinned Armenians, Alice iseasy to spot, mostly because her hair is soblonde that it looks like real butter and heraccent is as Southern as bluegrass. Here in LosAngeles, one does not encounter manyArmenians with naturally blonde hair andSouthern accents. Alice wonders if people find itodd that someone who is not Armenian hadjoined the march.

“Why is that odd?” I ask. “More odars [non-Armenians], should march. It shows solidarity.”Alice says something else and I offer to ask theguys next to us for an opinion. She giggles.

“Hey, do you think it’s weird to see an odarat the march?”

“Nah, dude,” answers one. “It’s way cool.”I give Alice the see-I-told-you nudge and the

guys start talking to us about Genocide, themarch, and how Alice and I really need to seeArmenia.

It looks as though the demonstration is aboutto begin, so Alice and I get up and walk over toa van where we can grab protest signs. We digthrough a deep crate of signs, trying to choosethe slogan that best fits what we want to say.Alice finds one with Hitler’s famed quote, “Whonow remembers the Armenians?” his justifica-tion of the Holocaust and one of many pieces ofevidence that helps prove that the Genocide didhappen. I choose a sign that reads, “Denial is thegreatest crime against humanity.” The signs are

tall, reaching to about chin-level, and so top-heavy that as we begin to walk, I fear that thegusts of hot, dry wind gradually growing instrength and speed, will knock the signs backand clobber the kids behind us.

On the wide expanse of boulevard next to us,a line of cars moves steadily, as though it isSaturday night on the Sunset Strip and cruisingis still legal. The motorcade follows a pattern ofcircling the blocks, with each driver’s heavyhand firmly implanted on the horn while passingthe protesters every ten minutes. Ranging fromHondas to Mercedes, the cars glide down thestreet as a symbol of survival and remembrance.Armenian flags hang from hoods and out of win-dows. Some have soaped “1915 Never Forget”

onto the windows. Others have gone a step fur-ther, painting the slogan on doors and addingred, blue and orange pinstripes and trims for therims. An elderly woman sticks her head out ofthe passenger window of one car. With her hairpulled tightly into a bun and her face revealingthe weathered appearance of a long, hard life,Alice and I think that she must have been inTurkey at the time of the Genocide, although shemay be too young to remember. She smiles wideand waves the flag out of the window as the lineof cars continues its procession.

With each passing minute, the crowd growsin size until it eventually reaches 5,000 protest-ers. Bikers march alongside church ladies andhigh school boys in System of 5

LIZ O

Armenian relief poster, by Douglas Volk, 1918

Down t-shirts march with college girls in stilet-to heels. The path we follow extends in quarter-block increments upon the nod of approval fromthe LAPD, who stand on the sidelines with armscrossed over chests as though they are fairlycertain that nothing out-of-the-ordinary willhappen here. The volume of the crowdincreases drastically, like at an Armenianwedding, where the words and phrasesbegin to overlap and each speaker pushesthe vocal chords louder, trying to beheard. The end result is something of acacophony of voices.

“Turkey run! Turkey hide! Turkey’sguilty of Genocide!”

“Shame on Turkey!”“Eastern Turkey is Western Armenia!”We are no longer moving in a single-

file fashion. Friends are trying to keeptrack of each other. I am trying to findAlice. Grandmothers are trying to keep upwith families. Parents are trying to grabthe hands of small children. One pigtailedgirl, no more than five, skips far ahead ofher parents, rubbing her index fingerstogether as if they are sticks and she istrying to start a fire as she screams“Shame on Turkey” louder than anyoneelse. Hers is the only voice that is distinctand it looks as though her parents are try-ing to catch up with her. I am reminded ofmy own childhood, of being dragged toArmenian functions and trying to runthrough tightly packed crowds as my dadyelled, “Lizzie, get back her. Grab mytatig (hand).”

As Alice and I catch up with eachother, we realize that we have beenstomping feet and hollering for nearly twohours. We decide that when we can actu-ally maneuver our way out of the crowd,we will find a place to sit. In the mean-time, however, we are resigned to emit-ting hoarse yelps as our picket signsknock branches off of nearly every treewe pass.

When we finally sit down on a bed of newlywatered grass, we realize that we might notactually be able to stand up again. We prop upour signs, lean back and just watch. The chantleader in front of us is a portrait of rage. He is atall, skinny guy in his late-teens or early-twen-ties with short, curly hair and eyebrows lackinganything resembling an arch. Despite his height,he stands on his toes and cranes his neck as hisfist thrusts into the air. His cries are so intensethat we can see his arms tense. His jaw contortsinto a position that is simultaneously droppedand clench. His eyes narrow to a point where itseems as though they have simply disappearedbetween the furrowed brow and crinkled nose.It is the sort of face and posture that does notbelong here, in Los Angeles, where suburbankids leading relatively comfortable lives aredemonstrating to right an age-old wrong. It isthe face of some other place and some othertime, of some sort of injustice and pain so greatit just is not in our experience. His is the facethat belongs on the front page of the LosAngeles Times, in an attempt to again sweep thePulitzers.

I stretch out as Alice slowly started to rise toher feet. An older woman taps her on the shoul-der and I, too, stand. The woman is at least

sixty, auburn-haired and

enveloped in a fragrance distinctly French. Sheseems a bit overdressed for a protest in her silkblouse and ladylike heels, but then again, manyof the elders in attendance are attired more forchurch than a three-hour march in 100-degreeweather.

“I just want to thank you for supporting ourpeople,” she says in the thickly-accented, lowpitched voice of someone who grew up speak-ing one of the world’s most guttural languages.

Alice beams. “That’s okay,” she drawls. “Ihave a lot of Armenian friends, so it means a lotto me.” She pats me on the head. “Here’s one ofmy Armenian friends now.”

Slowly, the group disassembles on Wilshireand reconvenes in front of the Consulateentrance on June Street, where an AYF leaderrallies the crowd from on top of a van withchants of “Baikar, baikar, meechev hakhtanag.”(Roughly translated to “Struggle, struggle untilwe succeed.”) He praises Canada for joining thelist of nations that have acknowledged theGenocide and shows his dismay with our owncountry for, once again, offering vague regardsof sympathy without ever mentioning the wordGenocide. The protesters join in a rendition ofArmenia’s national anthem, a song that Aliceand I can neither sing nor translate. We standmute.

As the crowd disperses and we walk back tomy car, Alice mentions the auburn-haired lady.The story comes up again several times as wedrive into Hollywood, get some dinner and headhome. She is proud of herself, and I am proud ofher as well. In a city where reporters qualify

statements about the Genocide with the word“alleged,” where people make flippant remarksabout there being too many Armenians in thecity, not realizing that you are one of them, it’snice to see someone who was not born into thisculture embrace it so fully.

As I drive back to the San FernandoValley through winding freeway pat-terns, I think about the Genocide. I donot remember when or where I firstheard about it. My guess is that thesubject probably came up whilequizzing my family on our roots for asocial studies project. I think about theimages that popped into my head onceI was old enough to read my mother’sragged copy of Franz Werfel’s FortyDays of Musagh Dagh, how the vio-lence was so gruesome that I could noteven grasp it. Even now, at the age oftwenty-seven, I cannot comprehendGenocide. I can tell you about earth-quakes, wildfires, riots – the sorts ofdisasters that are at home in LosAngeles, but pale in comparison to theworld outside our borders – but I can-not explain Genocide. I cannot explainhow it happens or why it happens andI cannot describe what it is like. Afterall, I was not there.

Sometimes I try to understand whathappened to my great-grandparents byputting it into the context of my home-town. I try to imagine if something likethis could happen in Los Angeles – cit-izens brutalized by an army paid forwith our taxes. Able-bodied men andintellectuals are round up under theguise of a draft only to be slaughteredon the outskirts of town – their bodiesdumped in shallow graves along thedark canyon roads that connect theseries of valleys that make up our city.When this is done, they move fromneighborhood to neighborhood, col-

lecting women and children, tellingthem to leave behind possessions before send-ing them out towards the Mojave. The youngand the pretty are kidnapped and sold to thehighest bidder, the others slowly follow desertroads for weeks, forced to scavenge for foodlike wild dogs as bodies drop like possum.Family will perish, as will friends, and if, bychance one does survive, it is with nothing morethan what remains of the clothes on one’s backand memories that a lifetime cannot erase.

Even now, with the specter of 9/11 loomingabove us, it does not seem possible. Not here atleast. However, Genocide lies in wait at the cor-ners of the world, hidden behind war and civilunrest. Just as the Armenian Genocide has beencarefully tucked away between the assassina-tion of Franz Ferdinand and the Treaty ofVersailles, so will other governments use war asa convenient cover-up for ethnic cleansing.

I do not care about reparations. Nor do I longfor a return of the land that was once my ances-tors, but is not my own. My home, my NewArmenia, is Los Angeles and, while we maynever get that simple “We know what happenedand we are sorry” from the Turkish government,at least by marching, I can help our neighbors inthis city understand our culture and history.

–Liz Ohanesian6

From the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration

LIZ

O

CCOORREE VVAALLUUEESS

While the U.S. Army continues to goabout the work of determining how far humanrights violations go in the Abu Ghraib prison-er abuse scandal – both up the chain of com-mand and laterally to other prisons and deten-tion centers in Iraq as well as in other theatersof operations – the administration assures usthe actions are largely the result of bad apples.But as every veteran knows, the thing aboutbad apples is every bushel has one.

I met my first bad apple five seconds aftermy arrival the In-Processing Center at theUnited States Navy Recruit TrainingCommand at Great Lakes, Illinois. I’ll neverforget him. He was a beady-eyed brute whowore a black turtleneck and a cop’s mustache– a Cpl. Graner look-alike. He didn’t displayany insignia or a nametag, and as the son of anaval officer, this made me more than a littlenervous. I don’t want to write the words heused to dress me down that chilly Octoberevening in 1986, but suffice to say theyincluded derogatory slang for homosexuals,euphemisms for the female anatomy, andunwarranted characterization of my girlfriendas un-handsome female dog.

The second was my CompanyCommander, the Navy’s version of a drillsergeant, a racist alcoholic who would showup at our barracks late at night, put us in for-mation, and dance around with a boom box onhis shoulder. When Janet Jackson asked uswhat we’d done for her lately, he’d confrontthe African Americans in our company andask them if they “liked that black bitch.”

A third encounter with a bad actor wasperpetrated by my supervisor in the galley, agovernment contract employee (read: cook)who invited me to engage in carnal relationswith a roast beef. When I declined the offer,he tried to coerce me by insinuating my rea-son for abstaining must have something to dowith my sexual preference. According to hisperverted logic, anyone who wouldn’t havesexual intercourse with a cow carcass must begay.

I could go on – I’m only up to week fourof my two-year hitch, and I haven’t addressedany of the hazing, physical assaults, and vigi-lante-style retribution that I, um, “witnessed”– but I would be belaboring the point. In aharsh, hostile environment like the military, afew bad apples don’t just slip into the mix,they are a big slice of the pie, and they repre-sent a substantial part of the orchard fromwhich the armed services actively recruit. Ithas been this way since Romans enlisted their

slaves to wage war and England conscriptedconvicts to man Her Majesty’s ships. It is sim-ply how it is done.

So I am more than a little chagrined by theSenate’s Armed Service Committee’s obses-sion with the Geneva Convention as a teach-ing tool. At a time when testimony aboutromper room style interrogations and afterhours prison porno dominates the headlines,inquiries into when and where the soldierswere briefed on the articles and annexes of theFourth Geneva Convention seems more than alittle out of touch. What is more troubling tome is the pervasive belief, both in the admin-istration and in our armed forces, that becausewe are dealing with a different kind of enemy,they deserve a different kind of punishment –even if it violates their human rights.

To understand why this belief is so com-monplace, one need look no further than thecore values that are drilled into every Armyrecruit throughout basic training. There areseven of them: loyalty, duty, respect, selflessservice, honesty, integrity, and personalcourage. Taken together, the first letters forma crude acronym for “leadership.” Cute, untilyou get to the dangerously vague definitionfor “respect,” which reads: “to treat people asthey should be treated.”

The problem with this definition is thatinvites interpretation. It may make sense inthe classroom as a ideal akin to the GoldenRule, but in places where soldiers are taskedwith keeping order, fighting an insurgency,and combating terrorism, the definition begsthe questions: How should a terrorist be treat-ed? How should an extremist insurgent betreated? (Which leads us to the still thornierproblem of the treatment of those who sympa-thize with them, their families, etc). Onecould make the argument that the members ofthe military police who perpetrated graveatrocities on Iraqi detainees at Abu Ghraib,the majority of whom were civilians and maynot have been guilty of anything more seriousthan being angry with Americans, were sim-ply treating these people the way they feltthey should be treated. The Army’s definitionof respect has been perverted.

* * *

When I first heard of the atrocities of AbuGhraib, I thought of that nightmarish scene inApocalypse Now where Martin Sheen, he ofthe presidential mien, disembarks his boat atLo Dung Bridge. When he asks a stonedsolider “Who’s in charge here?” he gets“Ain’t you?” for an answer. There is comfortin this scenario, because it suggests that if the

prison guards at Abu Ghraib had not been sopoorly supervised, the atrocities might neverhave happened. This explanation keeps thenotion alive that these abuses were exception-al, like a hazing ritual gone too far, a party thatgot out of hand. This, of course, is a lie.

What we are dealing with is a crisis ofleadership. The Army’s expertise isn’t killing,but supervision. Human beings do not requiretraining to kill; they require training to killconditionally and on command (and then tostop and put their weapons away). An unsu-pervised army isn’t an army, but the cast of aMad Max movie. Operations go badly, thingsgo wrong, but the Army is very, very good attraining, supervision, and oversight – all ofwhich was missing from Abu Ghraib.

Clearly, the prison was not staffed withthe kind of seasoned Army professionalscapable of running the prison the way it oughtto have been run. It was run by reservists whowere so uncertain of their place in the chain-of-command that military intelligence person-nel and contract employees could manipulatethem without much difficulty. It now appearsthat these individuals bypassed and/or ignoredthe chain-of-command and encouraged unsu-pervised guards to participate in the torture ofIraqi citizens. Army officials have testifiedthat the prison guards behaved atrociously. Atthe other end of the chain-of-command, thePresident told Secretary of Defense Rumsfeldhe performed superbly. What this scandal isreally about then is not the abuse of prisoners,but the abuse of power.

Of all the abuses I voluntarily enduredwhile I was in the Navy, those first five sec-onds off the bus are the most memorable. Tobe honest, I was almost grateful when the manstarted shouting at me, because it broke thetension, the awful anxious hours of wonderingwhat boot camp was going to be like. Dealingwith the bad was better than waiting for it tohappen. I was not so naïve as to expect that Iwouldn’t be screamed at and insulted. I wasthe son of a naval officer, after all. I suppose Ithought it was inevitable.

After eight weeks of boot camp, whilemost of my shipmates went on to one schoolor another, I stuck around Great Lakes for amonth of apprenticeship training. Toward theend of my stint, I bumped into someone Iknew in the mess hall. He had been temporar-ily assigned to the In-Processing Center whilehe waited for a spot to open up at his next bil-let. He invited me down to the center thatnight to “mess around” with the new arrivals.The novelty of being one of the first peoplethese recruits would meet was too rich to passup, so I went.

JJJJ IIIIMMMM RRRR

UUUULLLLAAAANNNN

DDDD

LLAAZZYYYY MMIIIICCKK

JIM

RULA

ND

These were my instructions, my training,if you will:

“You can do anything you want to them.”“Anything?”“Anything. Just don’t touch them.”I discovered very quickly that I lacked the

despot gene that makes screaming at strangersfor no good reason an entertaining way tospend the evening. It slowly started to dawnon me that the man who’d made such a strongimpression on me when I first stepped off the

bus hadn’t been an officer or a CompanyCommander or anyone with any kind of legit-imate authority, but a cretin who got his rocksoff hurling insults at people who couldn’t hurlthem back. My first impression of the organi-zation I’d signed away six years of my life to(two years of active duty, four years of activereserve) was defined by someone with angerissues who’d probably been in the Navy lessthan 100 days. It was ritualized verbal abuse,plain and simple, left in the hands of an unsu-pervised individual whose sole qualificationfor the job was the strength of his desire to dounto others as others had done unto him. Iwanted nothing to do with this, but found itimpossible to walk away.

Some poor kid was getting a double doseof verbal abuse because he’d puked on thedeck. Two sailors were making the sick

recruit drink cup after cup of water becausehe’d been unable to provide a urine sample,most likely because he was scared out of hismind. I sat him down at a desk and told him toput his head down for a few minutes.Whenever one of the screamers came over tothreaten him with some form of exquisite tor-ture, I angrily chased him off. I was deter-mined to make a favorable impression on thisrecruit, to dispense some measure of kind-ness, to let him know not everyone in the

Navy was as interested in tearing off headsand defecating down windpipes as my cohortsprofessed to be.

Maybe the Senate’s Armed ServicesCommittee is on to something. Perhaps thevalues the Army is asking the defenders of ourcountry to embrace are worth another look.Revisiting and, if necessary, rewriting thecore values of the world’s best-trained fight-ing force does not seem like such a bad ideawhen the perception around the world is thatit has none.

This type of revision has been donebefore, and with great success. In 1993, theU.S. Navy re-evaluated the way they trainedits sailors. Perhaps fear and loathing were notthe best emotions to be associated with one’sCompany Commander. Maybe they shouldpay closer attention to the way new recruits

were processed. Perhaps first impressions didcount for something. The Navy changed vir-tually everything about the recruit trainingexperience, from its motto, to the profession-alism of those charged with training recruits.They figured, quite correctly, that when youimprove the quality of training, supervisionand oversight, you improve the sailor. As aresult, the abuse I encountered when I was inboot camp is far less likely to occur today.

Mr. Bush, Mr. Rumsfeld and the rest of

their swaggering fellowship are right: a fewbad apples can besmirch the reputations ofmany, and we need look no farther than theWhite House to find the source of the rot. Butif the U.S. Army is truly committed to weed-ing out the bad apples, and I believe they are,they must revisit their core values. The thingswe ask our soldiers to do are more complicat-ed than ever before; the attributes we demandof every man and woman who puts on the uni-form cannot and should not be simplified tofit an easy-to-remember acronym that looksgood on a training aid or a barracks wall. Thevalues we instill must reflect the behavior weexpect. Nothing less than the character of ourcountry and the safety of our troops dependon it.

–Jim Ruland

I DISCOVERED VERY QUICKLY THAT I LACKED THE DESPOT GENETHAT MAKES SCREAMING AT STRANGERS FOR NO GOOD REASON

AN ENTERTAINING WAY TO SPEND THE EVENING.

9

JIM

RULA

ND

Illustration by: Chris Larsen, ChrisFingaz@aol.com; www.thefing.com

AAttention Razorcake readers!By the time you read this,I’ll probably have been

struck by lightning, attacked bykiller bees (or, as the Americanmedia likes to call them“Africanized bees”! Oh the horrorof TWCFA [That Which ComesFrom Africa]!), or had my collec-tion of cereal-themed merchandiseset on fire, Lucky Charms bobble-head and all!

Why am I anticipating such dis-aster? It’s simple! There is a pox onmy house, a curse on my being.Someone, somewhere, in a darkcorner has somehow created aMaddy voodoo doll (complete withRip Offs shirt, tight pants, and pinkConverse shoes, and clutching acopy of Trotsky’s My Life! Oh, thehorrible ACCURACY of it all!),and they have been repeatedly tor-turing this doll for the last fivemonths.

If you are, by chance, the per-son holding this doll, I beg of thee,STOP! We can negotiate! I have anumber of rare early ‘80s hardcorerecords to appease your blood lust!

If you are not the torturer inquestion, then read below to hear amonstrous tale of consecutivewoes! And, if you have any prob-lems of your own you’ve beenmeaning to get rid of, just send ‘emmy way. I’ve got so many others, Iwon’t even notice! Address yourhead wounds, allergic reactions topoison ivy, and unemployment tome, c/o Razorcake!

Now, time for the tales!First! As I probably previously

mentioned in an issue of Razorcake,my apartment in Brooklyn was bro-ken into while I was gone overChristmas, and the most expensiveitem I own was stolen – my laptopcomputer – taken, no doubt, bysome devious French labor histori-an, who found my paper detailingthe motivations behind the June1936 general strike dangerouslyrevolutionary – not to mention myaccount of the development ofCommunist cells in the Parisianmetal-workers’ union! If only Icould have delivered this informa-

tion to the American

public! Bush wouldn’t stand achance! Sadly, my plans werethwarted.

However, at the time, I thoughtnothing of it, figuring that this wasjust a freak occurrence. I filed thenecessary police paperwork andpurchased a sub-par replacement.Little did I know that it was just theopening salvo in a long line ofabuses, akin to when a computerhacker releases a crappy virus, onlyto unleash the real one later, afterproper testing. Why am I makinghacker references? I don’t know!

Second! So, several weekslater, I moved from Brooklyn backto the Midwest. Normally, thiswould be a cause for great rejoic-ing, as I am welcomed home by allmy old friends, complete withdrunken partying and Black Flagdance parties. The problem? Meredays after arriving home, I startedto develop a strange pain in mylower back. Then, a day later, thepain became sharp, horrible, andcompletely beyond anything I hadexperienced before. By the time Iwent to the doctor, I was almostunable to walk. The diagnosis?Shingles!

For those of you not in TheKnow, shingles is what you getwhen the chicken pox virus re-acti-vates itself, from deep in your ner-vous system. The virus then worksits way to the surface, damagingyour nerves along the way, andcausing a pain that I can onlydescribe as CFA (CompletelyFucking Awful!). If anythingtouched the area, it would result ina searing rush of pain not even SourPatch Kids or repeated Bananas-lis-tening could alleviate. So, in thecruelest rub of all, I could not wearpants, or even underwear, for aweek!

At the time, I was running thefamily business (a foreign languageinterpretation service with head-quarters in my mom’s basement) bymyself, while my sister and momwere in southern France. So, whilethey explored ancient Roman ruins,I sat in an office chair, completelynaked, popping Vicodin, and field-ing requests for Hmong inter-10

I ssat iin aan ooffice cchair, ccompletely nnaked, ppopping VVicodin, and ffielding rrequests ffor HHmong iinterpreters! NNot ppunk!

MMMMAADDDD

DDDDYYYY

MADDY

SSHHHHIIII FFFFTTLLLLEESSSS WWHHHHEENN IIIIDDLLLLEE

preters! Not punk!Third! At this point, I acknowl-

edged that I was clearly on a down-ward spiral, not least because, dueto shingles, I was unable to executemy plan to stave off destitution. Inshort, I was in no condition toapply for a temp job! So, instead, Ispent my days watching E! specialsabout how J. Lo spends her moneyand my nights, uh, watching E!specials about how J. Lo spends hermoney. And, slowly but surely,approached the most punk rockstate of all: bankruptcy. (Note: thisproblem would only get worse.Read on!)

Fourth! Despite all of thesevarious woes, I thought that, atleast by the summer, all would bewell. I had applied to be a programcoordinator for a group of studentsgoing to Rostov – a huge industrialcity in southern Russia. I had mul-tiple assurances that this job wasbasically mine – none of the otherapplicants spoke any Russian oreven read Syrillic. So, while pass-ing out from painkillers, I thoughtabout how, in a few months, I’d beexploring a crazy run-down indus-trial wasteland. And then, I got thecall. Rejection! Due to extremedingosity (a term in common use inthe Milwaukee punk scene, asnoted by William Safire), too bor-ing and bureaucratic to mention, Iwould not be going after all. And,in the cruelest rub, the person whowas selected didn’t even knowwhere Rostov was! Argh!

Fifth! Okay, so I wouldn’t begoing to Russia, I couldn’t wearpants, and I lost all my graduatework in French labor history. Fine.I would emerge victorious! I woulddevise another plan! I decided to goto the Z Media Institute in June.(The Institute is an intense journal-ism boot camp, including visitsfrom Noam Chomsky and lots ofrevolutionary drunkenness afterhours!) I completed the application,sent it in, and then, several weekslater, receive an email telling methat the program has been cancelledfor this year. Strike five!

Sixth! A week later, I left to goon tour as a roadie withMilwaukee’s finest, the ModernMachines (Note: one of the greatestbands currently in existence.Husker-Du influenced punk! Whentheir record comes out on Recess ina few months, expect a LuckyCharms comparison from yourstruly!) Finally, I thought, all theproblems of the past three monthswould be cured by lots of drivingand even more drinking. Salvationthrough punk rock! Yes!

At first, everything seemed tobe going well. Although clearly mycurse had rubbed off on the band,leading to the cancellation of sever-

al shows, the extra time was spentin Chattanooga, Tennessee, one ofthe coolest places I’ve ever been. Idon’t say this lightly, but I thinktheir punk scene might even rivalMilwaukee’s. Insane! So manygreat punk houses with huge porch-es, tucked into the sides of hills! Somany fun and crazy punks! Somany late night drunken hijinks!

So, I was feeling good (read:hung over) when the van rolled intoBrooklyn – my most anticipatedstop of the tour. I’d get to see myboyfriend for the first time since Imoved, plus friends, plus goodfood! Yes! So, I spent the afternoonwalking around Manhattan, buyingweird Japanese toys, eating pizza,and feeling nostalgic. Then we goto the show in a basement inBrooklyn. Two of my friends showup, and, after saying hi, I decided tostart fulfilling my duties as a road-ie, and start lugging a PA downsome of the steepest and most ill-conceived stairs in the history ofhuman descent. When I get to thelast step of my basement journey, Ipause and say to my friend Matt,“These stairs mean certain death.”And then, about three seconds later,I fell.

As soon as my ankle hit theground, I knew something waswrong. After a few seconds, it start-ed swelling up, and I began to real-ize that one of the worst places tosustain an injury is in a punk base-ment. I declined several methods oftreatment (from whiskey to un-identified painkillers) from well-meaning punks, and was carriedout of the basement a few minuteslater, to get into a car and drive tothe emergency room. The problem?As soon as I made it upstairs,Critical Mass arrived, blockingtraffic for blocks! After some initialcommunication problems, the seaof bikers parted, and I made myway to the hospital.

Fourteen hundred dollars later,I had an ace bandage, an air cast,crutches, and the knowledge that Ihad sprained my ankle. (A later fol-low-up visit revealed that I hadcompletely torn two major liga-ments. Expected recovery time?Six months!) But punk tours don’tget shut down by the inability ofthe roadie to walk, and so, the nextday, I was in the van, headed to thefinal show in Columbus, Ohio,with my ankle propped up in thevan. When we got to Columbus, Idecided to just stay in the van. Wedrove home after the show thatnight, and, by the time we reachedMilwaukee, I had been in the vanfor about twenty-four hoursstraight.

Seventh! When I returnedhome, not only did I have medicalbills of $1400, I was also unable to

work – again. Growing up in a fam-ily that was often broke andstressed about money, I have neverbeen one of those punks who glori-fies poverty. In fact, I try reallyhard to avoid it. So, being stuckwith all this debt, with about fivedollars to my name, may be punk,but it also stinks!

Eighth! So, after accumulatingseven woes, I was in serious needof stress relief. Normally, when I’mstressed, I go for a walk or a bikeride. But, with my sprained ankle,all I could do was… watch moreTV! I now know all about the top100 celebrity makeovers and thestruggle to raise quintuplets. Braindeath!

Ninth! Just when it couldn’t getany worse, my boyfriend and Ibroke up. I won’t get into all thedetails here, lest I creep myself outby becoming one of those way-too-personal zinesters. Let’s just saythat I found myself listening to thePegboy song “Strong Reaction”over and over, turning myself intoeven more of a depressed freak.

Tenth! The only comfort I hadleft was my favorite food item inthe world – the square pizza, asserved at the Pizza Shuttle inMilwaukee. So, I ventured there,armed with my last few dollars, inhopes of thick crust salvation. Andthen, the unthinkable happened.When I went up to the counter to

get my pizza, I took one look at itand realized, “This is not the squarepizza.” I asked the girl working thecounter and she informed me, “Wedon’t make the square pizza thesame way anymore. We decided tochange it a few weeks ago becauseit was too thick.” No! The final rub!My only hope left – to nurse myselfback to physical and mental well-being through the consumption ofpizza – foiled!

At that moment I began tounderstand better the mentality ofthose random people who, after along series of humiliations, haveone, seemingly minor thing gowrong, and then…they open fire onthe innocent Burger King employ-ee. Under the circumstances, thisseemed like a perfectly reasonableresponse. Luckily, I am a.) a totalwuss and b.) do not own a gun. Andso, the Pizza Shuttle employeelives for another day.

As of press-time, I have suf-fered no additional woes for the lasttwo weeks. However, I have noillusions that the curse has beenlifted! Who knows? Maybe nexttime around, you’ll be readingabout how I have requested admit-tance to an Amish community incentral Pennsylvania, where I havefound solace churning butterand wearing bonnets. Fuckpunk rock! I’m going Amish!–Maddy

MADDY

11

PUNK RROCK AND TTHE EXIISTTENTTIIAL MAKE-OOUTT DIILEMMA

... but first, this cursory dip into Rev. Nørb’s Advice Column Mailbag, sothat another Solitary Seeker of Sanguine Sageliness be Serviced Swiftlyand Successfully:

Hi Nørb,

Glad to see that you will be back to doing your advice column next month.Because I need some advice; actually, it’s more of a question in threeparts.

Part 1:How bad do you think the Packers will be beaten by the Browns when theyplay them in 2005? Do you think it will be like forty-none to nothing, ormore like seven hundred to nothing?

Part 2:When the Browns destroy the untalented group of rejects that are knownas the “Green Bay Packers,” do you think Bret Farvrererererr will startcrying like a 6-year-old girl who lost her lollipop?

Part 3:Will the inevitable defeat create a rippling effect of mass embarrassmentthat extends from Lambeau field outward until the entire state ofWisconsin secedes from the Union to form a independent republic called“New France”?

Would like to hear your response at your earliest convenience.

Regards,Scott O’Briendjscot77@aol.com

Dear Scott:To answer your tri-partite question, 1) No, in today’s modern times, i don’tthink you revealing your crush on the boy who sits in front of you in mathclass was “completely idiotic” of you. However, for future reference, it isgenerally held that there is a time and place for such disclosures; “in theshower after gym class” is roundly considered a poor location for suchevents. Further, you prefacing your declaration of unbridled love for himby commenting that it was “tight” that he had a “big one” was a question-able decision at best. 2) It’s really impossible for me to say whether himhaving a “big one” precludes him from being into guys with “the little boylook” or not. You’ll really never know until you ask him! In this case, thelocker room shower is actually a very practical forum for your conversa-tion on the matter; he, as you mentioned, might very well wish to“inspect” the “goods” a bit more closely before rendering a final verdict.And, finally, 3) your school is no more apt to host a mock “gay marriage”ceremony for you and the object of your desires than it would be to holda similar ceremony for a boy-girl couple. Don’t rush things! Play the fielda bit. He probably doesn’t have the only “big one” in that locker room!Good luck and God bless! P.S. The “soap thing” might not have workedthat day simply because he was under the impression that you were real-ly looking for the soap. Try it again next Tuesday and see what happens!

Løve,Nørb

...advice dutifully dispensed, let’s move on to the Existential Make-OutDilemma aspect of things (however, let the record show that my originalplans for this column were to write about me running a marathon. Now, iknow what you’re saying: “Gosh, Rev. Nørb, not that you running amarathon is a completely far-fetched concept, but... well... you running amarathon is a completely far-fetched concept! What gives?” – and, in this,you are not far from the mark: Running 26.2 miles would be runningexactly 25.95 miles more than the furthest distance i’ve ever run in my life[i mean, run in one fell swoop – if you took all the distance i’ve ever runin my life, and laid it cumulatively end to end, i’m sure 26.2 miles wouldbe only 23 or 24 miles longer than that]. I max out at about three blocks,and, though i am admittedly not built for comfort, i’m not so much BuiltFor Speed [yes, Stray Cats reference] as i am Built To Go A Long Way IfShot Out Of A Cannon. In point of fact, i will go so far as to say that ifucking HATE running. I LOATHE it. I DESPISE it. It makes me wheezeand my shins hurt and my feet sweaty and my ass all slimy and itchy.Curiously, however, i really like walking. It’s one of those archaic pas-times, like reading, that, on the one hand, should never have gotten asclose to the point of being parked permanently in the Junkyard Of Man’sObsolete Activities as it’s gotten, but, then again, is unrepentantly fairgame for being swept forevermore into the Dustbin of History [yes, MTXreference] just ‘cause it takes so fuckin’ long to do. So, anyway, i readsomewhere [some real reputable source... like the msn.com home page orsomething] that one of the things everyone should do before they turn 40is to run a marathon [or similarly-taxing alternate activity like climbing amountain or something {me, i stick with “marathon” – people built likeinverted thermometer bulbs are generally best advised to give wide berthto activities where falling down = death}]. And, inasmuch as i could prob-ably live a relatively satisfactory life without having ever run more than0.25 miles at a crack [and also inasmuch as the only reason i read the storywas because i thought they might hip me to some wacky sex shit i need totry whilst i still got the horsepower nested within my geekly loins], thereason given – “you better do it once before your body turns into a uselesspile of connective tissue and seawater” – actually kind of makes sense, inkind of a weird way: If i ever wanna know what running a marathon islike, i better do it soon [possibly before i’m old enough to know better].And besides, giving head to a dromedary while i shoot needle drugs witha pair of underage Pakistani male prostitutes can probably wait ‘til i’mnearing my fifties – or, at the very least, until a year or so after the trepa-nation i have tentatively scheduled for 2006. SO ANYWAY! About amonth ago, i decide i’m gonna “run” in the Green Bay Marathon. Excepti’m not gonna run. I’m gonna walk. Maybe i’ll run like the first block, justso’s i can say “yeah, i kinda ran some and walked some.” I’ll bring alongmy little voice recorder thingie, keep a log of whatever almost-surelyincreasingly delusional ideas i get during the race, transcribe same, andpass that off as this month’s column. I mean, it might be cool: I might hal-lucinate and stuff, like when Homer ate the chili peppers! Besides, whatthe fuck else am i gonna write about? Punk Rock and the ExistentialMake-Out Dilemma? This is the exact type of Trial By Fire [yes, Trial ByFire reference]/true-character-revealing “Journey of Discovery” thatRazorcake audiences go traditionally ga-ga for! REVEREND NØRB, THELITTLE LAZY FUCKER THAT COULD!!! I go to the marathon’s web-site. It costs sixty dollars to register. My ever-so-promising career as anOlympic cross-country gold medallist dies a-borning! SIXTY BUCKS???For fucking WHAT??? For some dork to stand at the finish line with astopwatch while i come straggling in behind the guys with the wheelchairsand artificial hips??? For somebody with a bad haircut to hand me a cupof water as i plod gamely forward??? For a t-shirt that i’ll be able to buy

TTHHIISS IISS TTHHEE EEXXAACCTT TTYYPPEE OOFF TTRRIIAALL BBYY FFIIRREE...... TTHHAATT RRAAZZOORRCCAAKKEE AAUUDDIIEENNCCEESS GGOO TTRRAADDIITTIIOONNAALLLLYY GGAA-GGAA FFOORR!! RREEVVEERREENNDD NNØØRRBB,, TTHHEE LLIITTTTLLEE LLAAZZYY FFUUCCKKEERR TTHHAATT CCOOUULLDD!!!!!!

RRRREEEEVVVV....

NNNNOOOORRRR

BBBBI

LLLLOOOOVVVVEEEE,,,, NNNNOOOORRRRBBBBI

REV.N0RB

I

ø

for two bucks at Goodwill™ next year??? Listen, Mac, for sixty clams ibetter get 26.2 miles of OPEN FUCKING BAR!!! I want margaritas andpricey import beers slid down the bar [which will run, smoothly and with-out interruption, down the right-hand-side of the course, from starting lineto finish line] at me as i pass!!! And i want fucking pretzels!!! Not that ithink eating pretzels while running a marathon is a good idea, it’s just TheWay Things Ought To Be™!!! In any event, there is, obviously, NOFUCKING WAY i’m forking over a sextuple-sawbuck [i.e., a dodecahe-dra-fin] to trudge agonizingly through the streets of Titletown™ wheni’ve grown so decadently used to a life of agonizing trudging, funded sole-ly by my property taxes... but yet... but yet... but yet, i remain curiouslydrawn to the idea of painfully lumbering 26.2 miles on foot for no otherreason than, seventeen-trillion years ago, some Roman soldier did it,delivered the immortal message “Nike” [as i understand it, Latin for “vic-tory” or “shoe” or some such shit] [and, btw, thanks a LOT, pal – we’llsummon your dipshit centurion ass from the grave when Planet Earthneeds ANOTHER bright idea], and promptly keeled over dead immedi-ately thereafter [struck down by the Ghost Of Chuck Taylor™ Future, onecan only hope]. I mean, hey, the only way i’m paying sixty clams to meetmy doom is if it involves needle drugs, boy prostitutes, and copious serv-ings of thick, hot dromedary cock, ya know? And then it dawns on me:Hey! I gotta stopwatch! [purchased, as one may or may not recall, specif-ically for Boris The Sprinkler’s Group Sex recording sessions, so thatquality control {i.e. performing the songs faster than the Circle Jerks did}might be dutifully maintained] Further, i also live just down the streetfrom the beginning of a nature trail with elapsed trail distance conve-niently demarked in half-mile increments! Why, were i of a mind to, icould just start my stopwatch, walk down the trail ‘til i hit the “13.0 mile”marker and walk back, stop my stopwatch, and call it good! Or walk downthe trail ‘til i hit the “6.5 mile” marker and walk back twice! Or, shit, justwalk back and forth between the“START” and “0.5 mile” marker 26times! I mean, i’ll have to bring myown margaritas and pretzels, but, imean, for sixty bucks i can setmyself up with some pretty goodhors d’oeuvres for this thing! Hell, ifi do this every week for a year, i’llhave saved up enough money for awidescreen plasma TV [less mar-garita expenditures]! I decide thatmy target date for DeathTrudge2004™ will be the Saturday after the“real” marathon. Since the followingMonday is Memorial Day, i willhave a good long time to recuperateand soak my leprous feet that week-end. Friday night, however, i windup working late. Having essentiallyforgotten to eat that day, i takemyself out to Green Bay’s legendaryJake’s™ Pizza for a late-night meal,consuming several pints of Pabst™and an entire pepperoni, bacon andchicken pie in the process. Gottastoke the boiler for tomorrow, yaknow? I make myself one mix tapefor my five-dollar Walkman™ [con-taining “Rock and Roll Guitar” byJohnny Knight, “Funny Things” byFirebeats, Inc., “You Stink” and“How Can I Meet Her” by two com-pletely different Someone-Someone-And-His-Somethingsbands, and a bunch of other stuff thati forgot because i was drinking at thetime] [and yes, that’s right – the planwas 26.2 miles, two feet, one cas-sette. I figured countless repetitionsof “You Stink” would advance mydelirium exponentially, thusly pro-voking even more out-there free-range brain ramblings from which toderive my column]. By mere attri-tion, i figure out how to get my stop-watch to reset to a bunch of 00’s

again. I set my alarm for 7 AM. I’ll have this fucker run by 4 PM! Theni’ll sit on the couch and get drunk. Righteously. 7 AM Saturday morningrolls around. I roll out of bed. For about six seconds, the well, goddammit,i’m really gonna do it light goes on in my brain. I stand up. The light tog-gles off. Another, bigger, brighter, redder, more urgently stroboscopiclight comes on in its place: It is the horrendous claxon of the universallydreaded JAKE’S™ MORNING AFTER alarm. Now, as everybody knows– or should – or, if not, should just shut the fuck up and take me at myword on this, as i am Rev. Nørb™, and have i ever lied to you? – Jake’sPizza is the best consumable foodstuff currently [and possibly ever] avail-able to the human race. Bar none. Carpet it with a quarter-inch layer ofdeadly, butt-igniting crushed red peppers, some parmesan cheese, a dasho’ salt, a few liberal [not so much “bleeding heart” liberal as more like“bleeding rectum” liberal] spritzes of Tabasco™ sauce all washed downwith delirious amounts of Pabst™ on tap, and you have got the meal thati, were i a condemned man [and who’s to say i’m not?], would request formy last meal [especially if i was on death row somewhere like Botswana,where the jailors’ procurement time of my trans-global death-vittles mightbe so drawn out as to extend into a full regime change, and, by extension,full amnesty {even if they phoned the order in ahead of time, which ihighly recommend, even if you’re not in imminent danger of being exe-cuted ((see also: Lyrics to “West of the East,” Boris The Sprinkler,1992))}]. That said, let the record show that Jake’s Pizza has certain post-consumer qualities that might best be labeled as, uh, shall we say “intesti-nally combustible.” You won’t be worried about “The Day AfterTomorrow” if you ate Jake’s last night – you’ll have a frickin’ force tendisaster movie playing in your ass right then ‘n’ there TODAY. My secondattempt at running a marathon is suspended in favor of sitting on the toi-let all morning: It ain’t my feet what’s gonna be doing the running today.Belly Gunner to Bombardier! Fourteenth payload of anal napalm at the

pphhoottoo bbyy DDaann MMoonniicckk

......HHAAVVEE YYOOUU EEVVEERR BBEEEENN MMAAKKIINNGG OOUUTT WWIITTHH SSOOMMEEOONNEE ((WWAAIITT!! SSTTOOPP!! PPEENNCCIILLSS IINN TTHHEE TTRRAAYYSS!! TTHHAATT''SS NNOOTT TTHHEE WWHHOOLLEE QQUUEESSTTIIOONN!!))......

REV.N0RB

I

ready! It proceeds to rain outside for the rest of the weekend, parallelingthe “Rainforest O’ Brimstone” conditions my toilet bowl is also under.My journey of self-awareness and Trial By Pretzel – and, more to thepoint, my column idea for this issue – are as dead as the nitwit who ran26.2 miles to yell “Nike!” the first time. On the bright side, the margari-tas were pretty good, and my feet feel great!) (and, of course, at this pointin time, one might do well to ask the rather dodgy question of “Comenow, Rev. Nørb! Surely you cannot expect us to believe that you pinnedyour entire hopes for this issue’s column on the – shall we say – ‘some-what unlikely’event that you actually competed in an [admittedly unsanc-tioned] marathon??? A marathon NOT involving Pinky and the Braincartoons or something??? Surely you are a more of a natural-born bet-hedger than that! We flatly refuse to believe you had such blind faith inyour own [completely unproven] abilities to suddenly go staggering for26. 2 miles one May morning that you approached the problem withoutsome manner of Plan B to fall back on in the [highly likely] event you

failed to complete [or, in this case, even start] yourgoal! Villain! Dissemble no more! Tear up theplanks! It is the beating of his hideous heart!!!WAIT!!! Wrong rant!!! Villain! Dissemble no more!Reveal to us the nature of your Plan B, and yourreasons behind its non-utilization!!!” [actually, nowthat i think about it, there’s already a flaw in mystructural logic, because why wouldn’t you thinkthat “Punk Rock and the Existential Make-OutDilemma” was my Plan B? Well, HA! You’rewrong! It wasn’t! Plan B – for that teensy-tiny0.0000000004% of a chance that i found myselfunable {through no fault of my own, i can assureyou!} to write about the hard-won life enhancementand great personal discovery of running 26.2 mileson a whim – was to write about the various items o’ bric-a-brac on theshelf in my dinette {i think it’s called a “dinette.” It’s kinda like the spacebetween my living room and my kitchen where my kitchen table is. Iwould rather call it the “perineum,” but i thought that might come off astoo formal}. I know, i know – not exactly the most soul-baring, insight-dispatching columnar topic conceivable, but, i dunno, i got like 999 45sand Colonel Klink™ bobbleheads and shit up there, one would assume acolumn revolving around whimsical bric-a-brac anecdotes of that naturecould at least provoke mild distraction in our well-to-do readership. Inany event, Plan B was made all the more appealing to me owing to thefact that my new computer is dutifully stationed on the kitchen table nottwo feet from my ritzy bric-a-brac shelf – all i’d hafta do is just swivelmy head around {Linda Blair style or otherwise}, look at my variousItems O’ Clutter, and type stuff about ‘em. Piece o’ cake! Especially if idon’t look at what i’m typing while i type it! Alas, Plan B was not to B:In celebration of finally extricating myself from the commode Saturdayafternoon, i used the occasion to completely and fatally mangle my com-puter’s operating system, to the point where it won’t even let me reinstallits operating software. Jolly good show, old bean! Needless to say, writ-ing a column full of loving odes to the various mounds of shit piled up onone’s shelf at home loses a vast amount of its appeal when one attemptsto write said column at work {as is my plight}, so, you know, fuck it {icould, of course, fill up the rest of the column by describing the items thatfill up the walls of my room here at work... let’s see... photo of ChristinaApplegate with pair of bare boobs pasted where her eyes should be; photoof stripper with big boobs i went on a date with about ten years ago, photoof stripper with even bigger boobs i have not gone on a date with, Loli &the Chones flyer... HEY!!! WAIT A MINUTE!!! LOLI & THE CHONESFLYER??! WHAT THE HELL is THAT DOING HERE??!}] So anyway,FUCK IT! “Plan C” is in effect! Plan C is to write about how Plan A andPlan B fell through, then make something up off the top of my head at thelast minute. Thus Punk Rock and The Existential Make-Out Dilemma.Thank you). Well, anyway, have you ever been making out with someone(wait! Stop! Pencils in the trays! That’s not the whole question!), andmaybe you don’t know them very well, or maybe you’re both kindaloaded, or maybe, fuck, who knows what, and all of a sudden you’regripped with this intensely uncomfortable realization that the personyou’re making out with (in the specific) is actually always just ThePerson You’re Making Out With (in the generic), that is to say, that

despite the individuality of the individual and the uniqueness of the cir-cumstances involving the unfolding of the making out process, et al, thatthe specific person you’re making out with might as well not be a specif-ic person at all (i say this implying no negative personal connotations onthe part of any and all parties concerned), just as, say, when one eats lunch(no Dead Boys reference), one is indeed consuming a specific lunch at aspecific time at a specific location, but also engaged in simply one par-ticular instance of the ongoingly recurring Lunch Eating process? Like, ifyou’re eating lunch, you’re both eating lunch specifically (THAT partic-ular Soft Taco Supreme™ minus tomatoes and THAT particular BeanBurrito™ minus onions) and generically (merely your current episode ofthe daily lunch activity), the relevant corollary being that the specifics ofwhat you’re having for lunch don’t matter a hell of a lot when you’re notactually eating that very lunch. I mean, neither the details of yesterday’slunch (Yesterday’s Lunch... didn’t they have an album on Panic Button?)nor those of The Lunch of Tomorrow (Welllcome... to the luuuunch... of

tomorrrrrowwww!!!) has a vast amount of impacton the lunch of The Now (unless you ate at Jake’s,in which case there’s a certain window of influencethat must be respected)... and i already forgot howi got to talking about food. I thought i was talkin’about makin’ out with CHICKS, dude! Well, yeah,anyway, you’re makin’ out with someone, and all ofa sudden you just feel yourself broadsided by thishuge existential void (Void reference) because you– for reasons quite unclear – stop perceiving your-self as making out in the specific, and start thinkingabout how you’re merely making out in the gener-ic? That tonight’s making out – which you workedSO GOD DAMN HARD to achieve! – is merelyanother specific instance of an ongoingly generic

activity? Another semi-random element of the Make-Out Partner variablearray somewhere between the Lower and Upper Bound? That’s tonight’smaking out will be yesterday’s lunch if, God willing, you make outTomorrow or Tomorrow Night (Rev. Nørb reference! Booyah!)? And,therefore, the person you’re making out with, for all making-out relatedintents and purposes, might as well be the first or the second or the eighthor the forty-second person you made out with in your life, as opposed tothe forty-fourth? Or they might as well be the person you make out withon March 23rd, 2008? Or might as well be a hallucination? A dream? Anandroid? A rather shapely mollusk? I mean, one can get this feeling ofpointless interchangeability with pretty much any repeated activity, butexperiencing it during really mundane shit like eating lunch doesn’t usu-ally wield the same soul-squishing heft as it does when one experiencesit during non-mundane shit like making out. I mean, for cripes sakes, i’mMAKING OUT here!!! A little fucking peace and quiet, wouldja???You’re just minding your own business, going about your Sacred Dutiesof Tongue Wrestling and Space Groping, and, suddenly, BOP! You real-ize that the identity of the person on the other end of your tongue is large-ly – actually, pretty much totally – irrelevant (which is, i hasten to add,not to imply that this person HAS no identity. It simply has become amoot point whether they do or not) – and, instead of finding yourselfmaking out with That Specific Person With Whom You Are Making OutAt That Time (i.e., a real person with a name and measurements and aphone number which you’re trying desperately to acquire), you find your-self making out with The Person With Whom You’re Making Out – mere-ly one of numerous (yeah baby!) manifestations of a single generic con-cept. Your activity is rendered devoid of all higher significance! THUSDO YOU DESPAIR! Luckily, being horny and drunk, you are able toovercome this wave of emptiness and cosmic insignificance and get backto business in jig-time! Yet thou hast tasted – howe’er briefly – themetaphorical black sperm of the Existential Make-Out Dilemma’svengeance!!! (this has something to do with Plato, i think... as i recall, theold boy posited that in some otherworldly dimension, populated only byour thoughts [i can’t remember if said dimension was passed off as “heav-en” or “the ether” or what – but, like everything else in this column, it’shardly relevant], there existed the one true idealized concept of every-thing in existence [“idealized” here not so much in the “one’s fantasycome true” sense, but more in the sense of how a truly and absolutely“perfect” circle only exists as an idea in our brains and math books, they

14

REV.N0RB

I

LUCKILY,, BEINGG HORNY AND DRUNK,, YOU ARE ABLE TTO OVERCOME TTHISS WAVE OFEMPTTINESSSS AND COSSMIC INSSIGGNIFICANCE AND GGETT BACK TTO BUSSINESSSS IN JIGG-TTIME!

can’t be found in real life ‘cause they’re always a little bumpy and wob-bly or whatever], and all we encountered here on Mudball Earth wasrough approximations thereof. Like, somewhere in our thought-dimen-sion [or whatever he called it], there existed the perfect concept of “table”– so every table we run into [literally or figuratively] on Earth is just arough take on the One True Perfect Ideal Table [explained the mostfamous way, Plato say we be all chained up in a cave, with our backs tothe light source, and the Higher Order Of Things {i.e., Tables ofPerfection} carrying on behind our backs, so all we know of said HigherOrder Of Things is what we can glean from watching their shadows on thewall in front of us. What this has to do with the Plato’s Retreat™ sex clubi am quite unsure]. The Existential Make-Out Dilemma, then, is merely acontinuance of the Plato’s Cave concept, but applied to the relativelymore weighty issue [meant strictly metaphorically, i assure you!] of make-out partners instead of mere idealized home furnishings!!! How ‘boutthat?) However! The psychic and spiritual discomfort brought upon theindividual by the onset of the Existential Make-Out Dilemma is asNOTHING when compared to the unspeakable, formless horror thatoccurs when those Platonic concepts – concepts which were only mildlydisturbing when applied to idealized objects existing beyond our vale ofperception (and most of that stemming from the idea that we had to bechained up in a cave with the guy in order to dig the gist of his pitch) –concepts whose intense tongue-twizzling terrors were quickly dispelledby our pagan woody’s incessant calls to ACTION! – are applied to that lastbastion of meaning.... that last stanchion of hope... that Last Train ToClarksville... (GASP!)... PUNK ROCK!!! I mean, i’ve got thousands offucking punk records. Maybe you do too. I’ve got thousands of fuckingpunk records, and four of my top five of all time are still the first four iever bought: Ramones Leave Home, Ramones Rocket to Russia, SexPistols Never Mind the Bollocks, The Clash s/t (US) (with the free 45!). Imean, what the fuck? Was i just lucky? In the right place at the right time?Or maybe i was just impressionable? Like an orphaned baby duck thatwinds up thinking he’s a raccoon because that was the first thing he saw?Or have all you other punk-record-making fuckers been asleep at theswitch for the last twenty-odd years??? Discount (NO! NO DISCOUNTREFERENCE!!!) my lunatic ravings at your own grave peril! For thoseof us who have bet a gargantuan stack of chips on the lifelong belief thatIf We Just Go To The Record Store And Come Out With The Right

Record, Everything Will Be OK, to have ten zillion punk records piled upin a heap at home and to be standing at the record store looking for thatmagical punk record #ten-zillion-and-one that’s really gonna do it thistime –! – and then to suddenly suspect that, holy fuck – barring someamazing statistical aberration right up there with the Virgin Birth and theCubs winning the World Series, there IS no “right” record in EXIS-TENCE – there is no “right” record likely even POSSIBLE – why, ‘tistruly to stare into the bleak and untenable chaos of the eternal abyss!!!Dude! I mean, you can come out of the record store with a GOOD record– you can still even occasionally come out of the record store with aGREAT record – but can you come out of the record store with a recordthat’s better than the best record you’ve ever heard in your life, bearing inmind that your top five of all time hasn’t changed whatsoever in 24years??? Suddenly, The Record You Bought Last Week (specifically) isjust the record you bought last week (latest in a long line) – the ten-zil-lion-and-first imperfect shadow of Plato’s Perfect Punk Platter that somecreep keeps waving around behind your head in a cave somewhere. Well,FUCK! That’s a hell of a thing! All of which (finally) brings us to this lit-tle kernel of joy, folks:

THEOREM OF INESCAPABLE PUNK ROCK DOOMThere is only one punk rock record, and you already own it*.

*presuming the existence of what mathematician Kurt Gödel called a“sufficiently powerful formal system” in his famous UncertaintyTheorem. In this case it basically means that the theorem does not applyuntil your record collection has reached a certain (unspecified) criticalmass.

...well, that’s just about all the time i have for today, kids! If it’s any com-fort, i’m even more confused by all this than you are! I think i’m going togo home, put on a few Ramones albums i got when i was fourteen, andmake out with a table!

Get on the stick, you fuckers!

Løve,Nørb

REV.N0RB

I

LLook back, laugh, and have a beer!Wait, you’re 40! It seems that youthand punk are not one and the same

anymore. Two weeks ago I attended the 40th

party of my friend Tim, who used to be thefront man for Visual Discrimination, a bandwho had one foot in O.C. and a leg in L.A.and a small but loyal following. It’s hard tobelieve that twenty years later he has a cozylittle place in Anaheim and two kids. He trad-ed in the mic for cycles and jet skis, and stillcatches foul balls of the side of his headwhile coaching little league. A week after theparty, I was playing golf with Steve, who wasa guitarist in the same band. The funny thingabout golf is that it’s considered an old man’sgame by the young guys at work.

So I started thinking, “Did we sell ourrock and roll souls for the riches and luxuriesof the grown-ups?” Well, this is how I see it– I’m writing for this zine you’ve gotbetween your hands, which is primarilymusic-based and I review comics, which are

considered child-like, depending on who youask. Then I thought back to Tim’s party.There was Andy, who runs a record shop inSanta Ana, RD who is still drumming in acouple of bands, and several others that stillhave a foot in hell and a hand reaching toheaven.

My whole reason for questioning any ofthis is mainly because my faith in youth wascrushed when one day at lunch with one ofthe eighteen-year-old, self-proclaimed “punkrockers,” I jokingly said that my goldenmoment was being on stage with X, uponwhich he replied, “Who’s that?” Could thisbe true? In a mere two decades, could all thebands that paved the way for our rebelliousyouth been forgotten? Are the twenty-year-olds living in the “Me! Now!” world unwill-ing to give thought to the elder statesmen?After all, even Mike Ness showers praise onthe likes of Chuck Berry and Johnny Cash. Imyself listen to Bill Haley, Louis Prima, andDean Martin, to list a few. Of course, I

There's so much you can seriously learn from Jews in spandex.

GGAAAARRYYYY

HHHHOOOORR

NNNNBBEEEE

RRGGEEEERR

SSQQUUEEEEZZZZEE MMYY HHHHOORRNN

16

should have realized that I should never use one igno-rant sap as my group total. Yes, that also makes melook kinda dumb, but until any of you get your ownforum to write in, I’m still the guy who gets to takecredit for his own foibles.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah. At that party, even ifthe tattoos were fading in color and becoming contort-ed from their original shape, by no means does thismean that some old punker has sold out. It just meanshe’s got money to buy the better things in life – a littleolder a little wiser. I myself just hit thirty-nine. Few ofyou were there to have a drink and help me celebratewhat’s left of my thirties (you know who you are).Anyway, that’s more beer for me to consume. It wasgood to see that even if there are more important thingsgoing on in our lives, we can still grab a little bit of thegold and rock and or roll.

HIGHWAY 13, #10$2.95 U.S., Les McclaineWay back when, I believe I reviewed Highway 13 andI loved it, so when I got issue #10, I figured I’d read itjust for my own enjoyment. It turns out that there areonly two more issues slated for release. That’s right.Twelve issues and Highway 13 is over. It seems, due toa decline in readers one of the greatest comics I’ve hadthe pleasure of reading since taking this job, is closingthe doors. What the hell are you people reading? Ifyou’re a fan of the old black and white horror classics,such as vampires, Frankenstein, and werewolves, thenyou should love this stuff. I know I’m not the only kidthat grew up on Warner classics, Japanese monsters, oreven Elvira’s crap. That’s what Highway 13 is. Thiscomic is written so well that you sit outside your localcomic shop on a daily basis waiting for the next issue.It’s written with a bucket of humor but it still has theright amount of adventure. It leaves you hanging at theright time. So, as I remember, the first issue I read hadRick Rodgers, his buddy, and werewolf in a race forsouls – the ultimate pinkslip – with some hotrod ghoul.In this issue, our pair is up against this trippy cult in thefirst story and against a group of werewolves in thesecond. That’s right, two stories in one comic. Prettycool, don’t ya think? Since I love this comic so much,I’m not about to give you anymore about the story line,but I’m going to encourage you to get off your ass andget a copy. Then, after you’re done, tell somebody togo get their own copy, so that maybe this wonderfulcomic won’t become unlucky thirteen. (SLGPublishing, PO Box 26427, San Jose, CA 95159-6427,or highway13@yahoo.com)

ZEEK the MARTIAN GEEK #6$2.50 U.S., by Brian CattapanHere we go. Zeek is meek. I’m not sure, but I just can’tfind the fun in a snaggle-toothed Martian and aVenusian flower that love disco. Most of what we seein these pages are bad ‘70s musical references. I takethat back. There are some bad ‘80s references, too.

GARY HORNBERGER

arcade game from the ‘80s, Space Ace. Iloved that game and I also liked Dragon’sLair. Anyway, the story line is pretty basic,just like I said before, but for some unknownreason, the Mexican gangsters really do itfor me. You know, all that stereotypical gunplay and verbiage. It’s all good. There’s nota whole lot to report on this one, but I didenjoy reading it. Perhaps the story line willpick up now that the couple have been intro-duced. (Rocket Comics, 10956 SE MainStreet, Milwaukie, OR 97222,Rocketcomics.net)

3 CAR PILE UP #1 & #2$2.50 U.S.Just got done reading these two and let mejust say WOW, that’s some good stuff. In #1there are some cool stories. The koala one isweird but I like the idea of letting anyonehang out. My favorite is “Idiot Box,” a col-lection of political observations. If you evertook critical thinking in college, that’s whatit’s like. If A and B then C. You’ll under-stand when you read the judge Scalia rulingon kindergarten teachers. Issue #2 continuesthe great thinking with the “Harvest,” wherean army of warriors gets the grab on someHalloween candy. Then there’s the “bulimicconsumer,” which you’ll agree with, andlaugh about, when you see the reason for thetitle. It’s written by Dan Custer and it hassome pretty witty observations on life. And,finally, once again we wrap up with “Idiotbox.” I loved it. It’s an indie comic with onehell of a ferocious bite. This is one that’scheap and worth every penny. A collectionof made-you-think commentaries.(mpb151@stu.all.edu, www.vividreams.com)

RIVERWURST #4$4.00 U.S., $6.00 CanadaIndie, indie, indie. What can I say bad aboutthis collection? Not one thing! This is one ofthe best and biggest collections of stories outthere. If there’s something you don’t like,turn the page. You’ll soon get to somethingyou will like. This pulp is so pumped, it willwear you out. It takes some time to go backthrough just to find my favorites. One sticksout like a sore thumb, because for a minute Ithought I was reading Mad Magazine. It was“Monstrous Clichés” and let me just say itmust take a great deal to entertain a thought.I would like to know if that is the sameCandye Kane who was married to the bassplayer in The Paladins and in fact had herown band that she would gyrate to? Onceagain, Riverwurst goes deep and out of thepark. Thank you. Good night. (Riverwurst,PO Box 511553, Milwaukee, WI, 53203,teakrulos@hotmail.com)

AMERICANJISM$12.00 U.S., by Joe DennyThe last one always seem the most difficult.This one goes a little overboard. It’s kind ofthe shock jock of comics. The characters goway over the edge, which, for some, will behumorous. Though I found some of thisbook funny, I will say it goes way over theedge. Drive thru food and abortions. Gay sexin a church. If this guy has a phone, it mustbe ringing nonstop from special interestgroups wanting a pound of flesh. Your mindhas to be way open to fully enjoy the humorthat lies within these pages. Just remember Itold you so. (Joe Denny, PO Box 432,Sag Harbor, NY 11963)–Gary Hornberger

17

GARY HORNBERGER

Zeek dresses like Travolta one page, is in sweat suit andheadband on another, and still on another page we findhim in trucker hat and a “reality bites” shirt. Zeek has noshame, yet none of this do I find humorous. The problemwith this comic is that it’s promoting half-baked com-mercialism. We’ve been seeing this so much that itbecomes bland. It was a good attempt but it fell a littleshort for me. (Cattpancomics@yahoo.com)

PIRATE CLUB #1$2.95 U.S., by Derek HunterWho are the losers here? I’m not sure because everycharacter has their own shortcomings. We start at theclubhouse where we’re introduced to the official mem-bers of the club: two guys, one who’s in charge, I think,and one who thinks he’s a bear. You tell me: are theseguys cool? I find it hard to believe. Anyway, they goover to some old waste management worker’s house tolisten to stories similar to Moby Dick. Yeah, it’s a bull-shit session. So this guy gives them a boat that they turninto a pirate ship with the help of two other idiots and anironing board. That’s kinda funny. Here’s where I getweird. I like it. Yes, a group of angry kids who thinkthey’re pirates is amusing, if not completely funny, tome. Check this one out. Maybe angry pirates will makeyou laugh, too. (SLG Publishing, www.pirateclub.com,or derek@pirateclub.com)

JEWISH HERO CORPS #1$3.95 U.S., by Alan Oirich & Ron RandallI saw this on the shelf at the comic store and thought tomyself, how in the hell are they gonna pull this humoroff? That’s right. I did the quizzical dog right there in thestore. I convinced myself that I had to see this to the end.I got home and started reading immediately then foundout that this comic was not intended to make light, but toinform. All anyone wants to know about the Jewish faithcan be learned from Menorah Man, Dreidel Maidel,Minyan Man, Magen David, Kipa Kid, Shabbas Queen,and Matzah Woman. I’m not shitin ya. It’s all here andin color. This book stops just short of making the badguy Hitler. I’m still confused as to what is going on. Isthis funny or am I to take away from this comic a betterunderstanding of the Jewish faith? There’s so much youcan seriously learn from Jews in spandex. I don’t knowif it is sacrilege to like or dislike this comic. I mean, thisshould have been put out by Curveball Comics. So, atthis point, I’ll tell you to peek at it in the shop and onlybuy it if you think you need to study it. Then get back tome. (Sayach Comics)

MIGHTY MITE THE EAR MITE$6.95 U.S., by Tony MillionaireFrom the guy who brought you sock monkey and drinkycrow, comes the pulp fiction story line of Mighty Mite,all wrapped up in a four-inch square hardback book.This is the nifty story of how a hungry, cold circus mon-key and a singing ear mite find each other. The mon-key’s story is cold, without color or words, whereas themite’s is colorful and full of song. In the end, all is incolor, leading us to believe that a singing mite in a mon-key’s ear is a good thing. The art in this book is superband gives one that warm, fuzzy children’s book feel. Anear mite might make a young child cry, but us old folkfind it endearing. The bizarre is what makes us laughand this is as bizarre as it gets. I thought this book wasdelightful and now I’ll probably go look for some backissues of the sock monkey. Truly a great find.(Fantagraphics)

El ZOMBO FANTASMA #1$2.99 U.S.There’s nothing like Spanish wrestlers who get killedand are reincarnated to become guardian angels. See, Ipicked this one because the artwork is real similar to that

(This column is an excerpt fromJennifer’s novel, Grrl.)

September 14, 1991

I’m exhausted. I slept untileleven and I woke up exhausted.Exhausted exhausted exhausted.Last night was amazing in so manyways and crazy in so many others. Ishould start from the beginning.

The student centre (where theshow was) was this really weirdbar/café type place with a littlestage and all sorts of stairs and lev-els with tables and bars on them. I’dnever really seen anything like it.We wore what I said we were goingto wear and I used magic marker towrite “riot” on one of my arms and“grrrl” on the other. Nettie wrote“queen” on one of hers and “bitch”on the other. My ponytails lookedgreat. We walked in, found thestage and then WOOOSH this girlgoes by us and Nettie grabs my armand says, “It’s Hannah Scott!” THELEAD SINGER! She disappearedbackstage before I could talk to her.It wasn’t very crowded in the bar.

I pestered Nettie into askingsome bartender guy what time theshow started and he said at ten PM.It was only 8:30 so Nettie decidedthat she’d better call her mom. Sowe walked over to the phones and Iwas standing there digging out aquarter for her when I look downthis ramp and Hannah Scott iswalking right towards me! Shelooked so cool! She was wearingthis top that was kind of like a biki-ni top with ripped-up fishnet stock-ings – like a shirt over top of it –and a really weird plaid skirt withkneesocks and Converse. She hadlots of black eyeliner on and red lip-stick. Nettie was talking to me andwhen I didn’t answer she looked upand there was Hannah and Nettiejust went, “Oh my God!” andHannah said, “Hi. Is this where thephones are?” We just noddedbecause I had no idea what to say.

Hannah got on one phone andNettie got on the other one and Itried to pay attention to Nettie and

not eavesdrop on

Hannah’s conversation. Fortun-ately, they both got off the phonesat the same time and I whipped outmy 36(d)ead zine for Hannah tosign. She smiled and signed it andthen she said, “So now you have togive me your autograph.” I waslike, “What?” and she said that shedoesn’t consider herself to be acelebrity or anything becausethere’s nothing that she does thatany other grrrl couldn’t do so whenshe signs something for somebodyshe always gets them to sign some-thing for her because all grrrls areequally important. Or somethinglike that. Anyway, she had this littlenotebook in her bag and it was justFULL of signatures and little notesthat I guess were all from peoplewho are her fans. She opened it to ablank page for me and I wrote myname and I drew a little cartoon ofmyself with big boots and my poofyskirt and ponytails. I drew awomen’s symbol on the skirt of mydress. I felt kind of weird but alsokind of cool. Hannah looked at itand smiled at me and said, “Thanks,Marlie.” And even if she doesn’twant to be considered a celebrity Imust admit that just hearing her saymy name made me feel like I wasfloating in space. Then she gave itto Nettie to sign and Nettie had thisHUGE smile on her face, whichwas really funny to me becauseNettie hardly ever smiles. She usu-ally just looks all scowly and cool.So I was smiling and Nettie wassmiling and Hannah was smilingand it was just so great. I even gotup the courage to ask Hannah if Icould interview her for Music Boxand she said YES! She gave me anaddress to send the questions to andsaid she’d send the answers back tome after the tour was finished. Thenshe said good-bye to us and wentdown the ramp and I guess wentbackstage.

When she was gone Nettie andI just grabbed each other’s arms andstarted jumping up and down and Ihad to cover my mouth to keepfrom screaming. We were like,“She was SO NICE!” and we werejust laughing and wanting toscream. It was great because Nettie

doesn’t usually act like that, but Itotally would have jumped up anddown whether or not she did it too.After we calmed down we decidedthat it was time to go and sit by thestage to make sure that we got goodspots. More people were starting tocome in and I was happy becausemost of them were grrrls thatseemed like me and Nettie. And abunch of them had stuff written ontheir arms too! One girl had “Bitch”like Nettie and I saw one girl whoeven had “whore” written on herlegs. I wasn’t sure what she meantby that, but I guess it’s just likewriting “bitch.” It’s what boys thinkof us anyway, so why not scarethem by letting them see what theyare thinking written on our bodies?I smiled at all the grrrls and theysmiled at me and at Nettie but I did-n’t have the courage to go up andtalk to anybody. They seemed to bea little bit older than us and I wasstill ashamed of my big red “under-age” wristband. But then I saw thatmost of the other grrrls had red onestoo. I started feeling a little bit better.

The opening act was a bandcalled The Sylvias and they wereAWESOME! They had a little tapewith three songs on it and I boughtthat. They are just from Toronto somaybe we can go and see themagain. Nettie and I were right upclose to the speakers right at thefront of the stage. It was the bestplace to be because we could seeeverything perfectly. We were soclose that if I’d put out one handthen I could have touched the gui-tarist’s skirt. Right when TheSylvias were finished playing Inoticed this big pack of boys com-ing into the room. They didn’t looklike the boys who were alreadythere who all looked kind of skinnyand maybe gay and they were allwith grrrls who I guess they werefriends with. These new boys werelike the boys from school withbaseball caps and ugly sports teamt-shirts and stuff. I was wonderingif they were in the wrong place andmaybe they were going to leave butthey just sat down at one of thebars. I pointed them out to Nettieand she put her scowl back on and

told me to “keep an eye on them.”After that I kind of forgot aboutthem.

I was just too excited for36(d)ead to come on. We didn’thave to wait for very long. Theycame on stage and there wasHannah looking so cool and toughand all the other grrrls in the bandwere just as cool and the first thingthat Hannah did was ask that all theboys go to the back of the dance-floor and let the grrrls come to thefront. Most of the nice-seemingboys just shuffled to the back likethey were even expecting thatthey’d have to do that. I immediate-ly turned around and looked at theguys at the bar and they were alltalking to each other and looking atHannah and pointing. Nettie waswatching them too and we justlooked at each other and raised oureyebrows. I really didn’t want any-thing bad to happen. Hannah said,“Now all the women are safe todance!” and then she raised her onearm up really high and yelled,“THIS IS THE REAL REVOLU-TION! FEMINIST FURY NOW!”and they all started playing“Carnivore” off of the record. Theaudience just went nuts and westarted jumping up and down andNettie and I were screaming thewords along with the song. All theother grrrls were doing it too andwe were all dancing in this big packat the front and I didn’t even worryabout any boys grabbing my ass orpushing me because it was all grrrlsand it was SO FUCKING GREAT!

Hannah was amazing to watch,just like she was in Seattle and shewas jumping all over the place andtwirling the microphone around andcrashing into the other band mem-bers. And sometimes someone inthe band would make a mistakewith what they were playing and allof them would just look at eachother and laugh and keep goinginstead of acting like it was the endof the world. It made me want toplay guitar in a band SO BADLYbut a band like that where I couldmess up and it would just be funnyinstead of being this big big deal.

The concert went on like that18

I pointed them out to Nettie and she put her scowl back on and told me to "keep an eye on them."

JJEEEENNNNIIII FFFFEEEERRRR

WWWWHHHH IIIITTEEEE

FFFFOOOORRRRDDDD

JENNIFER WHIT

EFO

RD

MMMMAAAARRRRLLLL IIIIEEEE’’’’SSSS SSSSTTTTOOOORRRRYYYY

for a while and Nettie and I werehaving totally the best time butwhen Hannah introduced the song“Dead Men Don’t Rape” thoseguys who had been sitting at the barjust started coming through thecrowd of girls and pushing theirway to the front. One of them puthis hand on my shoulder andshoved me so hard that he knockedme into Nettie and we both felldown on the floor. They all startedscreaming at Hannah and she wastrying to calm them down and getthem to back away while at thesame time telling them how stupidthey were and everyone in the audi-ence was just stunned and all thegirls who had been pushed downwere trying to help each other upbut we were being totally silent.The worst part, I thought, is thatsome of the guys were laughing.Like it was funny to come in to aplace where girls were having funand make everyone feel angry andscared just because you’re biggerthan them and you feel threatenedby what they believe.

Hannah was still yelling back atthem when Nettie and I finally gotback on our feet. Everyone else was

quiet and watching. And thenNettie just shuffled past me andpushed the guy near us with all ofher strength! He was so surprisedthat he almost fell over, whichwould have been really funny, buthe just kind of stumbled and thenturned around to look at Nettie whowas about half his size but shelooked really angry and REALLYSCARY! Then SHE started yellingat the guy saying things like,“FUCK OFF! LEAVE US ALONE!GET THE FUCK OUT OF HEREYOU STUPID DICK!” and evenHannah was quiet and we all start-ed to watch Nettie. And then a fewseconds later another girl startedyelling and then a whole bunch ofus did and eventually the guys justkind of backed up and walked awayand yelled some more insults butthen walked out of the bar and did-n’t come back. Everyone was kindof shocked but we cheered and a lotof grrrls were hugging each otherand Hannah was kind of smilingand then she said, “On with theshow!” and they started back intothe song. When I looked over atNettie she was watching but totallycrying huge tears and looking

just… worn out I guess, and totallymiserable.

It was too loud to ask her anyquestions but I knew that she wasthinking about that guy Robbie andI thought that it totally sucked thathe could still make her upset whenshe had just been so tough and wewere learning all this stuff aboutour own power and how we can behowever we want to and no mencan control us. But I guess he iscontrolling her. She seemed fineafter a couple of songs and evenstarted kind of dancing again andwhen it was over we all screamedand howled until they came back onand did another song and thenHannah jumped into the audienceto talk to people and the band start-ed putting away their instrumentsand I knew it was totally over. I wasglad that we’d gotten to talk toHannah earlier because she had somany grrrls surrounding her afterthe show that I knew we wouldhave never gotten to talk to her likewe did by the phones.

Nettie seemed fine cominghome and we talked mostly aboutthe show except that we didn’t real-ly mention the guys or anything. I

didn’t want her to get upset becauseI didn’t know what I’d do and lasttime she seemed almost mad at mewhen I tried to help. It was reallysad because I was thinking about allthis stuff we’re learning and howit’s supposed to be better for girls totalk about their feelings and experi-ences and share them with eachother instead of keeping everythingall junked up inside of ourselves.Nettie and I totally agree with thatwhen we’re talking about otherpeople, but I guess we’re not goingto do it for ourselves.

I have to call Sheena and tell hereverything about the show, but Idon’t think I can tell the story allover again just now so maybe I’llhave a nap first. I’m still so tiredfrom everything. I’m almost look-ing forward to going back to schoolon Monday where everything isboring and predictable.

M.

–Jennifer Whiteford<matilda@bust.com>

JENNIFE

R WHIT

EFO

RD

“Everybody was cranky/Even the maids were mean/We ran into a miracle/ There

was beer in the soda machine”–“You Didn’t Mean Anything

To Me” from the Ramones’ 1981Pleasant Dreams LP

Beer in the soda machine,indeed. How many of you hops-hankering peeps wish that coldbrew was readily available in yourworkplace’s soda machine? Well,you can all put your hands downand stop drooling like Homer J.Simpson, ‘cause it ain’t happeninganytime soon (not here in the States,at least). It’s like this: I’ve beenworking for a large vending compa-ny over the past years, and as aroute driver, it’s kinda funny howoften I’ve heard this request at anumber of my accounts: “Hey, man,how ‘bout some stickin’ someBudweisers in there?” “Dale, how‘bout stockin’ some Coronastoday?” These folks with the sug-gestions are kidding, of course… orare they? It wouldn’t surprise meone bit if these on-the-job jokesterstook full advantage of an opportuni-ty to purchase frosty treats fromtheir soda machine at work. Can’tblame ‘em for tryin’, right? Toquote my beloved mother, “It neverhurts to ask. What’s the worse theycan say? No?” But besides all thehalf-baked jokes or so-called “wittybanter” some people like to indulgeme with while I’m out working onmy route, there’s a whole lot moreunwelcome things to handle besidesthe verbal diarrhea spilling fromtheir pieholes. Don’t get me wrong– there’s a gang of folks I’ve cometo be good pals with on my routeover time; really cool and funnypeople. On the other hand, I’vecome across some USDA Grade Apricks as well, and the following isa list of things that anyone wouldfind unacceptable if they were inmy boots during the course of mywork day.

1. Beggars/ A.K.A. Being a Fucking Leech

This kind of person is the onewho thinks that if I was nice enough

to flow them something on one par-ticular occasion (e.g. a candy bar,bag of chips, cup of coffee, or soda),that it’s perfectly okay to “coinci-dentally” show up every damn timeI’m there to service their accountwith the look of a starved seagull ontheir face. Now, don’t go thinkingthat I don’t take care of my regularcustomers, because I do. I like tobecause these folks ALWAYS offerto pay, whether or not I’m kickingthem down, and they insist on pay-ing more times than none. It’s likethe same mentality a bar owner haswith his regulars – you take care ofthem, ya know? Besides the seagullscroungers, you also get the typeswho try to schmooze somethingoffa you. I can’t stress enough justhow frigging aggravating it is whensome dope strolls in and figures thatsince the machines are opened andgetting serviced that they’re free tosay stupid ass things like, “Hey,everyone, the machines are open!Does that means it’s all free today?”Like they think they’re the first onesto come up with something as, uh,clever as that. To stop ‘em dead intheir dumb animal tracks, I alwaysreply with the “Cool! What are yougonna give me in exchange fromyour company here?” answer. Itusually shuts ‘em right up, and withthe exception of the ones who knowyou’re onto ‘em, they get all flus-tered and give you the “I was justkidding” remark. No you weren’t,because if you were kidding, youwouldn’t stand there and press theissue. Beat it.

2. Helping Your Damn Self,Making Demands

Instead of Suggestions, and General Acts of Being a Creep

(Also Known As BeingA Rude Motherfucker)

I want to ask you all a question.If you’re at your local bar, do yougo grabbing bottles of beer or liquorbehind the counter that don’t belongto you? For some unexplained rea-son, I often get a clueless personwalking up to me while I’m work-ing and they think it’s totally cool tograb something out of the machine

I’m working on or off of my cartwithout saying a word. Then theyproceed to hold out their money tobuy it, continuing to say nothing.And if you’re one of these pushytypes who do this, let me explainwhy this pisses off a lot of us route-men. For starters, if I’m at a busyaccount and this happens, theneveryone watching thinks it’s okayto practice this annoying self-serv-ing attitude. Wrong. For example,how would you feel if you were amail carrier and some impatientdickhead three houses away on yourroute started rooting through yourmailbag slung across your shoulderall because they don’t feel like wait-ing? Not cool. Also, none of the shiton my cart or in the machinebelongs to you to begin with, sokeep your fucking hands out of it.Let me come to your workstationand start grabbing shit. Not too coolnow, is it? There’s also the no-ques-tion types who come in and tell mewhat to put in the machines withouteven thinking to ask me if my com-pany has the item they’re demand-ing. If we do in fact have whatthey’re requesting, I always go outof my way to get them the itemthey’re looking for to buy in themachines. No big deal if it’s possi-ble. But coming in demandingsomething, especially when you’retelling me to do it? I know the age-old adage “the customer’s alwaysright,” but that doesn’t mean a cus-tomer’s given free reign to act like aripe-for-a-rap-in-the-mouth childstar, so knock that shit off. I had alady come in once, sighing heavilyunder her breath, and then started tocomplain about their machine’sselection. She crabs on about howthere wasn’t enough health-con-scious items in the machine andhow “Some of us here have heartproblems and are watching our cho-lesterol.” I really thought she waskidding at first and told her, “Hey,ma’am, it’s a vending machine!Carrots aren’t gonna fit in the spi-rals, anyway.” She didn’t take toonice to my kidding. I soon found outthat she wasn’t kidding and startednipping at me, “So, what are yougoing to put in there for us, then?”Getting annoyed with her yenta-like

behavior, I asked what she wantedand all she could say was“Something more healthy than whatyou’ve got in there!” I mean,c’mon, people! It’s a fucking vend-ing machine, not a health food shopor produce stand! What the hell!?Would you call your cable companyand complain that the SpiceChannel or the Playboy Channeldoesn’t show enough family enter-tainment? Wake up and smell thelogic, folks. These are the sametypes who like to bring lawsuitsagainst fast food corporations withtheir “look what your food has doneto me” jive. Absolutely oblivious.

3. Liars and Refund SlipAbusers (Also Known

As Being a Shitbag)

These types somehow try toinsult my intelligence as much asthey piss me off. Here’s a niceexample: someone comes up whileI’m servicing the machines with arequest of a refund because amachine took their money and did-n’t deliver their selection. Simpleenough, right? While getting themtheir money back or handing themtheir product they didn’t receive, Ialways ask what happened as tohow they lost their money. I do thisbecause if it’s an easy enough thingto fix, I can take care of it right thereon the spot so I can save on a ser-vice call of one of our mechanicscoming out to repair it. If they tellme they lost money after it tooktheir money once, they’re usuallytelling the truth. The machines doget jammed or malfunction. It hap-pens. But then I get someone whocomes up to me to tell me they wantall their money back because afterthe second or third time they triedputting money in, it wasn’t work-ing. Second or third time? Wait aminute… it stole your money onceand you kept putting money in?You’d be dumbfounded how manypeople come to me with this. I askthem this out loud and usually oncethey hear me repeat what they justsaid, I get the deer-in-the-headlightslook, which means they’re probablymore of a dolt than they appear tobe. Then I’ll get the ones who cross

"Hey, ma'am, it's a vending machine! Carrots aren't gonna fit in the spirals, anyway."

DDDDEEEESSSS IIIIGGNNNN

AAAATTEEEEDDDD

DDDDAAAALLLL

EEEE

DESIGNATED DALE

IIII ’’’’MMMM AAAAGGGGAAAAIIIINNNNSSSSTTTT IIIITTTT

their arms insisting “Well, it did!” I then have to put on my kinder-

garten teacher’s voice and explainthat if it takes any of your moneyand I’m not here, to stop feeding itmore money and go see who’s incharge of giving you a refund. Allof our accounts have refund bankswe set up and we balance themoney in the refund boxes withrefund slips people fill out. But,along with these refund banks, wealso get people who like to assumethe refund boxes are a convenientway of getting a free buck or two.Here’s an example: A while back,our company used to have cigarettemachines at some of our accounts,and the cigs were running around$2.50-$3.00 a pack. At one of theaccounts there was a guy whothought that if he filled out a refundslip, no problem, he’d get hismoney back for his “malfunc-tioned” attempt at getting a pack ofsmokes from the machine. And hedid this quite often. The funny thingwas, he was the only one at theaccount who was losing money inthe cigarette machine – no one else,just him. One of my company’ssupervisors actually got his infofrom one of his many refund slipsand went down to talk to him per-sonally to “see the problem he washaving” with the machine. Afterpersonally humiliating his ass in astraight-up professional way, oursupervisor requested it would prob-ably benefit him to buy his ciga-rettes somewhere else since he was“having such a difficult” time withthe machine (about once a week tobe exact, the fucking thief).

4) Coin-Rattlers,Hovercrafts, and Other

Assorted Assholes.

Sometimes we routemen haveto service your machines at the timeof your company’s break time, andwe make every attempt to keep outof the way, like servicing the lesser-crowded machines if the break areais crowded. And if we’re in the way,we usually make every attempt toget our customers what they need.A quick word of advice – if theroute guy servicing the machines atyour work is in this situation, don’tbe an unruly turd and say shit like“Why do you have to come hereduring our break time?” We’re notchoosing to be there in the midst ofyour break. You think we like beingasked (re: told) by a dozen peopleor more at once to sell them some-thing with the money gettingshoved in our faces or complainand whine about our “bad timing”?If we had to wait for every compa-ny’s break time to be over at everyone of our route stops, we’d neverget anything done. Believe it or not,the whole working world doesn’t

take breaks at the same exact time.Stop, think, and cut the guy somefucking slack. Patience, believe itor not, isn’t a four-letter-word. Andmore times than none, if the route-man sees you’re on break, he’llflow you what you need ‘cause heknows your on limited time anddoesn’t wanna hold you up anylonger than you want to be.

Here’s another piece of helpfuladvice – if you happen to have ahandful of change in your hand andyou see us working, please decidewhat you wanna buy without shak-ing the change in our ears like atambourine while hovering overour backs like the Grim Reaper. If

you want something, speak up,‘cause we’re usually more thanhappy to help you out. But if you’resome sorry-ass vying for attention,go buy a damn dog and stop it withthe coin maracas, okay? I can’tcount how many times I turn to askwhat I can do for someone doingthis and they usually don’t get it ‘tilthey see me staring at their hands.Think about how you would lovethat at your job: me hunched behindyou at your desk or wherever whileyou were working and I’m shakinga palmful of change in your ears.Common courtesy isn’t a four-let-ter-word, either.

5. Equipment Vandalism(Also Known As “I Need My AssWhipped ‘Cause I’m Acting Like

a Spoiled, Scraggly Kid”)

These people usually don’thave a damn thing to say, especial-ly if they’re caught red-handedmessing with a machine, whetherthey’re shaking it, beating on itlike a chimp, or the ever-favoritepractice of kicking it. If I happento walk upon someone doing thisat one of my stops, I usually shout,“Hey! Is that machine mouthingoff again? What did it say thistime?” or my favorite, “Hey! Ifyour car doesn’t start, do you gooff and start kicking it or beating

on it?” Again, not a damn thingoutta their mouths except, “Well, itstole my money!” To which Ishoot right back with “Do you dothis when you’re in Vegas andyou’re losing?” Think about it.And for the record, I wouldn’t rec-ommend trying to tilt machines totry to get some free goods, espe-cially soda machines. If a sodamachine is fairly loaded with cansor bottles, that thing will comedown like a ton of bricks, andyou’d best not be in its path, orsquash. It’s happened, believe mewhen I say it’s happened. But, Isuppose if you’re dumb enough,have at it, professor.

I recently walked in on somegenius stepping back and kickingthe front pretty hard. After askinghim what the hell was his problemwas, he turned around, surprised tosee me with my loaded-down cart,waiting to get into the machines.His reply was that his co-worker’sbag of Cheez-Its were stuck. Andhis co-worker nodded her head inagreement while pointing to thehung-up bag. Because he got caughtwith his dick in his hand, he startedto get an attitude with me. I toldhim, “Look, asshole, would you likea sit-down with me, you, and yourboss? I’m sure he’d approve of youacting like a fucking child!” Hecame back into the break lounge afew minutes later and apologized,and not only because the fear of hisboss, but I really think he stoppedand saw how much he was actinglike an economy-sized douchebag.

There’s also those aggressivetypes who like to take out the frontglass with a bowling ball, baseballbat, or with their own foot. Howresourceful. And for what? Becauseyour bag of whatever didn’t fall orgot stuck? Or just because you feltlike it? Mind of a lower colon, I tellyou. There’s the brilliant individu-als who like to scrawl their taggingmark with a glass etcher, too… howcreative. Your parents would beproud of your disrespecting ass.

But there’s a certain someoneout there who didn’t just take thecake; he also hijacked the baker ofthe cake with this sickening stunt.One early morning, as I approachedthe outside area at one of myaccounts, I noticed something was-n’t right as I rolled up to the bank ofmachines. On the front of the deliv-ery door (that rectangular door youpush in to get your purchase belowthe display glass) appeared to bemud smeared all over. I’m thinkingto myself, “Damn, someone gotway too happy with the mud in adirt clod fight around here.” Well,guess what? It wasn’t mud, unlessyou call the foul, runny, fecal riverthat shoots out of your ass mud.That’s right. Some vile bastardbacked their ass up to the deliverydoor and left a king-size mound ofsemi-soft See’s candy inside thedelivery bin. And if you’re wonder-ing, the smeared front of the deliv-ery door appeared to be their pathet-ic attempt of doing dog wheelies toget the aftermath of their ass bark-ing off of their behind. The son of abitch wiped their ass on the frontmy machine! Some people like tosay their job is or can be shitty, butfor one uneventful morning, I couldcop the phrase in a literal sense.Let’s hear it for the human race.

I’m Against It.–Designated Dale DesignatedDale@aol.com

21

DESIGNATED DALE

Illustration by Terry Rentzepis: www.alltenthumbs.com

I went to the polls in November, 2000 wearing an Against AllAuthority t-shirt. I handed my driver’s license and voter registration cardto the old lady who was volunteering there. Before she looked at the cardor my ID, she looked at my shirt. “You’re not really, are you?” she asked.

“Not really what?” I asked.“Against all authority.”It took a second for it to register with me. I’d worn the shirt because

it was the least smelly one on my floor when I got ready to leave that day.It was no political statement. It was just a shirt advertising a Florida punkband, as far as I was concerned. And was I against all authority? Well, shit,I don’t know. Sometimes yeah. Sometimes no. It’s a complex question andthe last thing I wanted to get into was a discussion about autonomy andclassical anarchism with an old lady volunteer at the north Merritt IslandMoose Lodge. I just wanted my ballot. I shook my head and said, “Nope.”

I got my ballot, walked into an open voting booth, and stamped outmy vote for Ralph Nader for president. I was a Florida resident at the time.Again, this was the 2000 presidential election, which was decided basedupon the votes of Floridians. The election that most people feel was lostby the Democrats because liberal voters – and specifically liberal Floridavoters – voted for Ralph Nader.

I left the polls and went for a bike ride that day. There’s a trail not toofar from the Moose Lodge where I voted. The trail winds through someswampland. It’s meant for bikes, but there are a lot of twists and turns andplaces where it’s only about as wide as a normal pair of handlebars. Rootsstick up in unfortunate spots, Florida cacti line the edges of the trail, andit’s real easy to wipe out. Still, it makes for a fun ride, and I could cutthrough the trail on the way back home instead of riding along the high-way. So I twisted and turned along the edge of Sykes Creek, barely avoid-ing flinging myself into a strand of mangroves a few times. I kept think-ing about the election while I rode. I knew it was dangerous to do this. Ineeded to be thinking about where I was going and not where I’d comefrom, or I was gonna wipe out.

The trail lasted for about two miles, at which point it opened up intoa wide clearing. I stopped the bike there, drank some water, looked aroundthe swamps, and thought about the election. At the time, I was two monthsaway from moving out to California to help start Razorcake. I was think-ing a lot about the starting this new magazine and thinking a lot aboutwhat I’d write for it, and I decided that I’d write my first column about the2000 presidential election. I’d talk about why voting for Ralph Nader was-n’t a wasted vote. My thinking at the time was that a.) it’s never a wastedvote if you vote for who you want to win and b.) if Nader got 5% of thepopular vote, which was a legitimate possibility, then the Green Partywould get the same government funding that the Democrat andRepublican parties got. So my hope wasn’t that Nader would win. I mean,I did hope that, but I didn’t realistically see it as a possibility. What I real-ly wanted was a third party. I also wanted to discuss the notion that a votefor Nader is a vote for Bush, because there’s a huge logical fallacy in thatnotion.

See, in the 2000 election in Florida, a vote for Nader was a vote forBush. Also in the 2000 election in Florida, a vote for Gore was a vote forBush. And if you didn’t vote in Florida but you were a resident of the statein 2000, you voted for Bush in that election, because the Electoral Collegedetermines the outcome of the presidential elections. I know a lot of peo-ple don’t understand how the Electoral College works, so here’s a quickexplanation. All of the votes in a state are tallied up, and the person whogets the most votes in the state gets all the electoral votes. If Florida has25 electoral votes (and it did in 2000) and Bush gets more votes for pres-ident than any other candidate in Florida (which, officially, he did), thenit doesn’t matter if he won the majority of votes by a margin of one vote

or a million votes, he gets all 25 votes. The electoral votes

are counted up and the guy who gets the most wins. Oregon in 2000 had7 electoral votes. All of them went to Al Gore. So, in Oregon, a vote forBush was a vote for Gore. The number of electoral votes depends upon thenumber of people living in a state. California had the highest populationin 2000, so they got the highest number of electoral votes, 54. All of themwent to Al Gore. So if you didn’t vote in California in 2000, your non-votewas a vote for Al Gore. And so it goes.

I rode my bike home that day and framed my first column in my head.As I saw it, things were looking up. A third political party had a legitimatechance of building itself up to counter the Republicans and Democrats; Iwas about to co-found a punk rock magazine; and bike riding was still fun.It didn’t feel like the dawn of a new era or anything, but I felt optimisticas I peddled home.

Of course, I didn’t know then what was about to happen. Not onlywould the election turn into a huge farce, the discourse of the electionwould be hijacked. Cable TV, newspapers, and news magazines bombard-ed us with too much minutia about hanging chads and Republican staffersprotesting and bogus recounts. It was all so ugly and so pointless that eventhe dumbest rube watching the dumbest TV broadcast had enough senseto take a step back and draw one solid conclusion: this is fucked. We alldrew that conclusion. We turned off our TVs and stopped reading about itin the papers and just said, “Let me know when they pick a winner.” In theend, most people didn’t even care that the president wasn’t elected; he wasselected by the Supreme Court.

Because the whole election had been so overexposed, because every-one, including me, was sick of it, I scrapped my idea for a column.

Now, it’s almost four years later, and we have another election com-ing up. As I write this, the Democratic Party hasn’t yet made their officialdeclaration that John Kerry will be their candidate, and already, everyoneis sick of the election. There’s been so much dirty politics that most peo-ple have made up their mind who they’re voting for already, and most peo-ple have done this because they really want to block out the next severalmonths of angry, factually challenged, painfully repetitive news reports.At least in 2000, the election wasn’t a total farce until after all the voteswere in. This year, the election is a total farce before we even know forsure who all the candidates are.

I don’t know if this is paranoid of me or not, but I think this is inten-tional. The majority of eligible voters in the US don’t vote, and I think thatthe two major parties want to keep it that way. It makes sense. The twomajor parties don’t represent the interests of the majority of the eligiblevoters, so why should they want those people to vote? And what betterway to keep most people from voting than to make them so sick of theelection that they just turn off from it? I don’t think that the mass mediablows up issues because people are interested in, say, torture scandalsinvolving Iraqi prisoners or because these reports bring in higher ratingsand the higher ratings sell more ads. I don’t believe that for a second. Ithink the mass media overexposes these issues because they’re lazy.They’re gonna sell ads any way you look at it, and by running the samestories over and over again, they can cut costs on things like journalistsand news. It’s a fact that most of what you see on TV news and read innewspapers is generated by a PR firm somewhere. And I think that the PRfirms working for the Democrat and Republican parties are intentionallyfeeding negative stories to the mass media knowing that those stories aregoing to be overexposed, and hoping that the overexposure leads to apa-thy and lower numbers at the polls. I don’t know this for sure. I don’tknow how much of it is intentional. I do know that people are apathetic.People are sick of the election already, and as the overexposure continues,fewer and fewer people will be inclined to go to the polls.

There’s a real danger inherent to elections, though, when most peopledon’t vote. A good example of this is the 2000 election.22

SSSSEEEEAAAANNNN

CCCCAAAARRRR

SSSSWWWWEEEELLLL

LLLL

SEAN CARSWELL

AAAA MMMMOOOONNNNKKKKEEEEYYYY TTTTOOOO RRRRIIIIDDDDEEEE TTTTHHHHEEEE DDDDOOOOGGGG

It was all so ugly and so pointless that even the dumbest rube watching the dumbest TV broadcast had enough sense to take a step back and draw one solid conclusion: this is fucked.

Think back to 2000, the time when everyone was arguing about hang-ing chads and votes for Buchanan and how Nader supposedly fuckedeverything up. Though there were several differing opinions about theelection, one thing that everyone agreed with was that the election was“unprecedented.” Everyone said that we’d never seen anything like thisbefore. There was even a really cool documentary called Unprecedentedthat examined all the improprieties surrounding the 2000 elections. Noteveryone agreed with the documentary, but everyone agreed with theterm: unprecedented. And the only problem with that is that the US elec-toral history has a long, rich tradition of elections being rigged. The mostfamous rigged election occurred in 1948 in Texas. It set a precedent.Here’s the short version of what happened.

In 1948 in Texas, there was a US Senate race between Coke Stevensonand Lyndon Johnson. Coke Stevenson had been a governor of Texas andentered the election propelled by a popular, two-term administration.Johnson was a wiry guy whosepolitical future was iffy at best. Ifhe didn’t win this election, hispolitical career was pretty muchshot. Knowing that he couldn’tcompete with Stevenson on tradi-tional grounds, Johnson insteadbacked himself with a tremendousamount of money from corporatecampaign contributions, dumpedthat money into polls, andmatched his speeches with fluctu-ations in the polls so that, by theend of his campaign, he said onlywhat the polls showed as whatpeople wanted to hear. When thisdidn’t prove to be enough forJohnson, Johnson started buyingvotes. Johnson poured a great dealof money into counties in south-ern Texas that were run by a polit-ical boss named George Parr. Onelection day, when the votes start-ed pouring in, Stevenson took astrong early lead. Early returnspredicted that he’d win. Then, astrange thing happened. Johnsonstarted winning in places wherethe pre-election polls showed thathe was behind. Stevenson’s leadstarted to dwindle until, finally, allthe votes were in and the electionwas too close to call. For several days, official vote tallies trickled in fromthe different counties. Often the official tally didn’t match the originaltally. The election grew closer as more votes came in. The lead switchedhands several times. Essentially, both Stevenson and Johnson had friendsin charge of certifying the vote in different counties, and the outcome ofthe election depended not upon who received the most legitimate votes,but upon who handed in the last tally, a friend of Stevenson’s or a friendof Johnson’s. When it looked like all the counties had reported, aStevenson friendly county handed in a final tally that put Stevenson up by117 votes. What they didn’t count on, though, was a small county underthe thumb of political boss George Parr. The man in charge of the vote inthat county was one of Parr’s deputies, Luis Salas. Earlier in the election,Salas had reported 765 votes for Johnson in his county. To win the elec-tion, Johnson needed 882 from Salas. So, in his official report, Salaschanged the 7 to a 9, much like you’d change and F to an A on your reportcard, and Johnson won the election by 83 votes. Of course, Stevensontried to fight this result. He took it to the Federal District Court. The mostdifficult obstacle Stevenson faced in proving that Johnson had stolen theelection, however, was the fact that Stevenson had stolen a good chunk ofvotes himself. Finally, the Supreme Court of Texas chose to award theSenate seat to Johnson rather than allowing a full-blown court case toshine such a bright light on corrupt electoral practices by both candidates.

In 2000, there was the presidential race between Al Gore and GeorgeW. Bush. Gore had been a vice president of US and entered the electionpropelled by a popular, two-term administration. Bush was a wiry guywhose political future was iffy at best. If he didn’t win this election, hispolitical career was pretty much shot. Knowing that he couldn’t competewith Gore on traditional grounds, Bush instead backed himself with atremendous amount of money from corporate campaign contributions,

dumped that money into polls, and matched his speeches with fluctuationsin the polls so that, by the end of his campaign, he said only what the pollsshowed as what people wanted to hear. This didn’t prove to be enough forBush, and so he started pouring money into the southern state of Florida,where his brother, Jeb Bush, was governor. Though Bush was behind onelection day polls, he didn’t need to win the popular vote. A win in Floridawould be enough for him to become president. On election day, when thevotes started pouring in, Gore took a strong early lead. Early returns pre-dicted that he’d win. Then, a strange thing happened. Bush started win-ning in places where the pre-election polls showed that he was behind.Gore’s lead started to dwindle until, finally, all the votes were in and theelection was too close to call. Official vote tallies trickled in from the dif-ferent counties in Florida. Often the official tally didn’t match the originaltally. The election grew closer as more votes came in. Essentially, bothGore and Bush had strongholds in different counties, and the outcome of

the election depended not uponwho received the most legitimatevotes on election day, but uponwho could muster up more votesthrough recounts and absentee bal-lots. When the numbers from therecounts started to come in, itlooked like Gore would win thefinal tally. At this point, Jeb Bushstepped down as the head of theelections. He felt that it wouldn’tbe fair for George W. Bush’sbrother to be in charge of the out-come of the presidential election.Instead, Jeb Bush left Secretary ofState Katherine Harris, who wasalso the head of the George W.Bush campaign in Florida, incharge. No surprise, with Bush’scampaign head counting the votes,Bush won. Gore felt that therecounts weren’t fair. He took it tothe Federal District Court. Themost difficult obstacle Gore facedin proving that Bush had stolen theelection, however, was the factthat Gore hadn’t been forthright inhis handling of the election, either.Finally, the Supreme Court choseto award the presidency to Bushrather than allowing a full-blowncourt case to shine such a bright

light on corrupt electoral practices by both candidates.I can’t say for sure that George W. Bush rigged the Florida election. It

seems to me that he did, but the evidence is so hard to dig up and so ques-tionable that, like in the case of the 1948 election in Texas, we won’t knowthe whole truth until it’s all ancient history (most of the information I hadon the 1948 election wasn’t made public until 1990). The 2000 electiondoes follow a very similar pattern to the 1948 one, though. In my moreparanoid moments, I think that George H. W. Bush, who was twenty-fourin 1948 and who is also a former head of the CIA, studied the 1948 elec-tion and used it as a model in helping his son to get elected as president.

Still, George W. Bush has already served most of his term from thatelection. There’s nothing we can do to change that. I understand that. Butwe can do something about the next term. We can turn off our TVs, or atleast mute the political ads, before we get sick of hearing about them. Wecan select our information more carefully so that everything is not over-exposed. Because, when you get right down to it, a person who pays noattention at all to the election is better informed than a person who onlypays attention to Fox News.

And, if you take nothing else from this column, remember this:George W. Bush knows that people like you hate him. He’s going to try tomake you so sick of hearing about the election that you’ll stay away fromthe polls. If you stay away, it’s easier for him to rig the election so that hewins. But he can only buy and steal a finite number votes. After that num-ber, legitimate votes really do count. Bush’s biggest fear is that people justlike you will vote against him, because no one can buy enough votes tostop a landslide.–Sean Carswell

23

SEAN CARSWELL

(above) george parr’s men pose with the ballot box they stole.

Whatever It's Worth

“Sometimes we’re not prepared for adversity.When it happens sometimes we’re caughtshort... And I have advice for all of us. I got itfrom my pianist Joe Zawinul who wrote thistune. And it sounds like what you supposed tosay when you have that kind of problem. It’scalled… Mercy…. Mercy… Mercy.”

–Cannonball Adderley

Carol said she couldn’t do it anymore. Shesaid making the relationship work was morethan she was willing to put up with and really, Icouldn’t blame her. Carol had direction. She hada career. She was going places. As for me, I wasjust kind of drifting. Just didn’t know what itwas I wanted to do. Maybe Carol had someattraction to that in the beginning, but you knowhow it is, things only last so long.

Eventually it got to the point where we werearguing every night. Seemed like it was alwaysabout the most trivial shit. Like me leaving theempty milk carton in the fridge or forgetting tomake the bed. Both of us knew that these pettythings weren’t the problem though. Basically,we’d just grown tired of each other.

Towards the end I started hitting the bottlepretty heavily and most nights she’d go to sleepearly and I’d pass out on the couch. I’d wake upin the early mornings to infomercials and theannoying sounds of Billie Dee Williams orDionne Warwick’s voice. Believe me; that’ll doa number on whatever migraine you’ve alreadygot working. I don’t know, maybe a lot of cou-ples are able to go on living the rest of their lifelike that, but for us, the writing was on the wall.

So I took what little I owned, the cat Jo-Jo,and got my own little studio downtown. It wasdefinitely a step-down from the two-bedroomplace Carol and I had in the year and a half we’dlived together, but I figured, hey it’s cheap; I justneed a place to sit and think and figure thingsout. You know.

Well, it sort of went downhill from there. Istarted showing up late for my job at the hotel.During the last couple of months I’d been able tohide it pretty well, but now my boss could smellthe liquor on my breath. All I did was set up forthe banquets so it’s not like I was around theguests, but I was getting out of hand. I had a 5o’clock shadow going and the blood-veined eyesweren’t helping any.

To top it off, Carol wouldn’t answer any ofmy phone calls. Well, sometimes she would, butthe conversation would be short and blunt and Ifelt like I didn’t even recognize her voice any-

more. I’d say I needed to see her

and she’d say she didn’t think it was a good ideaand then I’d get the slurred tongue going, saysomething smart, and she’d hang up. It’s crazy.It’s like you’re with this person every single dayand night and then boom; just like that, it’s allover. There’s nothing to show for it. It’s like itnever even happened. But still, the memorykeeps playing over and over inside your head.You’re picturing a life that no longer exists. Andnow you’re trying to figure out who the hell youare. And it’s not like Carol was the only girl I’dever had. There’s been plenty. But she was thelast and that was all I could really think about.Eventually, I got fired.

The next three weeks are kind of foggy. Ilocked myself in the room, spending countlesshours in front of the television watching lamesoap operas and pathetic sitcoms. One night Iremember seeing this commercial advertisingfor a show about a talking baby. You know, theplayed-out smart-ass, Look Who’s Talking bit.You’d think it would’ve all ended with Mr. Ed. –“Hey there, Willllbuuuurrr” – but no, some sick,demonic producers out there just wouldn’t let itgo. “Fifteen million viewers tuned in last weekto Baby Bob.” It was bad enough that 60% of thecountry thought George Bush was doing a finejob as a president, but a talking baby?

I lost it. The bad blues were coming down onme and I couldn’t get rid of them. I’d spend mydays and nights screaming at the television, jot-ting down undecipherable pages of words in anotebook and reading way too many bitter 19thcentury Russian novels. I kept having re-occur-ring dreams about mean midgets and peoplechasing after me down dark hallways.

The breaking point came when I foundmyself pissing in a non-discreet alleyway in themiddle of the afternoon. I’d been hitting the Jacksince early morning at some old man bar andnow here I was with my pants around my anklesright there in broad daylight, for the whole cityto see. I remember some little boy yelling out,“Mommy, look at that man. He’s naked!”Wherever you are kid, all I can say is sorry forthe traumatizing show, but thanks for the sober-ing observation.

I was down to three hundred bucks, a weeklate on the rent, and without a job. So I took along look in the bathroom mirror, shaved the dirtoff of my face, and thought, it’s time. I appliedat some of the other hotels downtown, but noone was hiring. Then on to the restaurants whereI filled out a bunch of applications and fumbledthrough a few interviews, but no one calledback. I’d wake up in the morning, go grab thepaper and search through the classifieds. Still noluck though. If I didn’t get some money comingin soon I was going to be out on the streets.

I finally called the place that had an ad forwarehouse work.

Hiring 100 new employees!

So I went over to the employment office andsat in front of some college girl who looked waytoo attractive to be in this line of work, filled outsome papers, and had myself a job. You got to bepretty weary about any job that hires you in lessthan five minutes, but I was desperate. She toldme it was a two-month temporary gig and onlypaid six bucks an hour, but there was an oppor-tunity for advancement. The poor innocent angelsaid it with such earnestness that it was hard tokeep myself from going into hysterics.

The following morning I woke up at 4:30. Istood at the bus stop in the dark, November coldalong with a couple of other lost souls, thinking,wow, slip up a little and life will do a completeback-flip and kick your ass right in the gutter. Isat on the bus, staring out the window, tellingmyself, as bad as the job is I’ll just do a coupleof weeks, cover the rent and by then, hopefullyone of those other jobs will have called me back.

An hour later I felt like I had just steppedinto some sort of Orwellian nightmare. Sure, I’dworked some warehouse jobs after I got out ofhigh school, but I’d never been to a place of thismagnitude. It was the size of at least two largecity blocks. Stacks and stacks and more stacks ofboxes and pallets were piled everywhere.Madmen on forklifts zoomed up and down theisles as comatose-eyed people huddled over bigpressing machines. There were flashing red andblue lights and buzzers and muddled voicescoming from the speakers above. Yes, and allthis madness before the blessed hour of sunlight.

They put me in the back of the warehousealong with about a hundred other people. As Ileaned against the conveyer belt that stretchedabout fifty yards the first thing I noticed was thatI was the only person who wasn’t black. It did-n’t bother me; I just thought it rather strange.Most of the jobs I’d had before usually had apretty diverse group of people. But I wasn’t hereto think. I wasn’t here to pass social commen-tary. I wasn’t here to dissect the racial distinc-tions associated with wealth. I was here to getthat little bit of green and hopefully be on myway.

The conveyer belt went into motion andeveryone started working away at the maga-zines. My job was to stick address labels onChristmas catalogs. The average American prob-ably never even passes a second thought whenthey see their name and address on a magazinethey get in the mailbox. Honestly, I’d never evenonce thought of it before, but here I was now, a

24

SSSSEEEETTTTHHHH

SSSSWWWWAAAAAAAA

LLLLEEEEYYYY

SETH SWAALE

Y

SSSSWWWWIIIINNNNGGGGIIIINNNNGGGG DDDDOOOOOOOORRRR CCCCOOOONNNNVVVVEEEERRRRSSSSAAAATTTTIIIIOOOONNNNSSSS

An hour later I f elt like I had just stepped into some sort of Orwellian nightmare.

part of the whole cock-eyed orchestra; one moretiny, invisible cog in the vast, tumbling corpo-rate washing machine.

Ironically, the cover of the catalog was aglossy picture of a white woman’s hand with ashiny 14k diamond on her finger. For hours thatwas all we stared at. This damn rich chick’s fin-gers and her diamond that probably cost morethan we made in a year. Talk about rubbing it in.After about twenty magazines we’d all throwwhat we had on to the conveyer belt, digthrough a box and continue on.

Four hours must have gone by when I start-ed to feel the ill effects: the standing in the samespot, the never movingmore than a few feet. Theknees started to lock up.The eyes were going blur-ry. The theme song for theI Love Lucy show poppedinto my head. Jeez! Justhold on man, just hold on, Ikept whispering to myself.

I shouted over to anolder gentleman acrossfrom me, “What time isit?”

“Quarter ta’ nine.”“Hah hah, funny, no

really what time is it?”“I already told you,

almost nine,” he grunted.Oh lord, this wasn’t a

warehouse, this was aninsane asylum. This was atwisted vortex of time, amaniacal world whereminutes were seconds,where hours were minutes,where time stood still witha joker smile wrappedaround his ears. And still,the magazines kept com-ing. There was no end insight. Whenever the bigbox was getting close tobeing empty a forkliftwould come by and placeanother box right next to it.By the time you made itoutside for break you had just enough time tolight a cigarette, take a few puffs and then runback to the line. If you were late you gotdocked. Two marks and they sent you home.

There was an even amount of women andmen. There were some kids just out of highschool, your thug-lookin’ guys, and then theyoung women talking about their crazy kids.The thing that surprised me though was that atleast a quarter of the people had to be over fifty.It just didn’t seem right. These people ought tobe walking in the park. Watching sunsets.Playing with their grandchildren.

I wanted to think that this was just sometemporary job, a way to make some quick, extramoney for the holidays. But gauging from thathollow, weary look in their eyes and thehunched-over backs and the stubby fingers, Igot the feeling this was just one of many in along line of minimum-wage labor jobs.

The boss was a short, pig-nosed runt of awoman. She kind of looked like a dementedbear. She would constantly walk up and downthe isle, glaring over our shoulders, shouting

out, “People, make sure you are putting thesticker in the upper right hand corner! We’refinding too many catalogs with the sticker onthe left-hand corner! We can not have this!”

I had a deep, nauseous welling of hate forher in my gut, yet at the same time a part of mefelt sorry for her. I wondered how much timeshe had to do on the line and the machines to getthat position of high ranking. Judging by hermannerisms, I figured probably a while.

I can’t even begin to put into words what itwas like to hear the last buzzer at five finally gooff. Actually by that time, I was void of all feel-ing. All it took was a day and they had me. I

wasn’t one of those strong-willed menial labor-ers, one who could block it all out and just focuson the job. No, a full day under my belt and Iwas already a lost cause, my brain one big ballof mush. I thought about the hotel job. Nextmonth I would’ve been on my third year there.Man, I’d really messed up. Looking like someheard of sedated cattle, my fellow workers and Ifiled out of the warehouse and headed for thebus stop.

The minute I got home I turned on the hotwater in my tub and put a plug in the faucet. Iput my naked body into the hot water and justsat there, looking listless up at the ceiling. Icouldn’t even remember the last time I’d takena bath. It’d been years. Every muscle in mybody was throbbing. My cat Jo-Jo sat on the toi-let seat and stared at me with his big, melan-choly eyes and meowed. I thought about Carol.I couldn’t help it. She’d probably already foundsomeone else. I remembered back in the hey-days when Carol used to stand naked in front ofthe closet mirror before getting dressed forwork. She’d constantly stare at her ass. She was

all insecure about her figure and thought shewas getting big, but I loved her ass. I’d just liein bed under the covers and laugh at her.

“What’s so funny?” she’d say. “You are, sugar.” “I’m getting fat.” “You’re crazy.” “My ass is big.” “Nuts. It’s perfect. Come over here.” “I gotta’ go. I’m late for work.”“Come on. You got a couple minutes.”Carol would give me that dirty smile and I’d

throw off the covers and she’d get on top of me.Man.

I pictured the lostreflection, grabbed mydick and pulled away. I letit go a few minutes laterand watched the whitecream float to the surface.Jo-Jo just gave me thosedumb eyes and stretchedout his legs. What the hellwent on in the mind of Jo-Jo? I thought. Like whatwas he really aware of?Did he know the differ-ence between a RayCharles tune compared toBeethoven? Could Jo-Jotell when I was sad andwhen I was in a goodmood? Did he dream? Ofcourse he dreamed. I couldsee him twitching when heslept. But what the hell didhe dream about? Catchingmice? Humping othercats? Yeah, after ten hoursof mind-numbing work,this was what you wereleft with.

An hour later I waslying in bed with my eyesclosed. My body felt limp,lucid, like it was a part ofthe mattress. Through thewalls I could hear some-one on the floor belowmine listening to the

gospel station on full blast. Then there was theguy down in #4 who’d been playing the sametune on a trumpet for the last month. It soundedlike a Duke Ellington song, but it was all out oftune. The crazy notes floated up the stairs andinto my room. My head sunk into the depths ofthe soft pillow as the strange sounds of the nightfloated around me.

The next morning I stepped off of the busand walked along the one-lane road in the thickfog towards the warehouse. As the ice-like windplayed games with my pale-skinned face I couldsee the sun beginning to show its face over thehorizon. A flock of birds flew over a field ofwheat stocks that brushed against one another. Itproduced a sort of hypnotic whisper. I stoodthere on the side of the road and took it all in. Itwas so quiet and still. Everything around meseemed overwhelmingly extraordinary, so damnfantastic and beautiful.

Ten minutes later the buzzer from the depthsof hell was calling me back to the line.

It was hard not to let it take a hold of me. SoI tried to ignore the magazines. After a couple

SETH SWAALE

Y

ILLUSTRATIONS BY TOM WRENN

25

“People, make sure you are putting the sticker in the upperright hand corner! We’re finding too many catalogs with the

sticker on the left-hand corner! We can not have this!”

days it was like tying my shoelaces; I didn’teven need to look at what I was doing. I let themind fall into a trance; one filled with pureimagination and rusted visions of a long lostyouth.

For some reason I started thinking about thisgirl I used to have a huge crush on back in thesixth grade. I don’t know why, but the memoryof Lupe Herrera just popped right into the head.What an angel that Lupe, what soft lips, thoseSpanish snake hips, and oh, I use to go nuts inthe back of class staring and drooling over her.But hell, she’d never give me the time of day.And then there was George Gomez, who’d beenheld back twice and ran with gangster kids whowere in high school. George and I never gotalong. We were always going at it out on thesoccer field during recess. He got Lupe – thegood girls always go for the bad boys – but thenthe next year we all went to junior high and

things changed. Lupe became a Chola girl andnow she had those cement-coated bangs shoot-ing up half a foot over her head and hadreplaced her sweet summer dresses with blackjeans and white tee shirts. And then a coupleyears later I heard George – a.k.a. Trigger – wasdoing time for murder. And now where werethey? Was George still staring at life through acell? Shit, maybe he became one of thosedot.com millionaires. Was Lupe now somebeautiful suburban mom married to a richlawyer? Was she some fat cow who had fivekids and lived on welfare?

Then the memory that comes to mind is of afew years earlier: the times my father and I wentto Dodger games. We’d drive up to Los Angelesearly in order to beat the rush hour traffic. Therewas this park not too far from Chez Ravine andwe’d both play catch while Mexican families sataround benches, the husbands kicking soccerballs to one another, the mothers charbroilingcorn… the smell of tortillas… children laughingin foreign tongues. I can still see the swoopingPalm Trees doing their little dance. Even nowthe growling sounds of the conveyer belt ismiles away and I can feel the hot, Santa Anawinds blowing through the city of Angels as thatneon sun lights up the Southern California sky.

The two of us would go eat at some wholein the wall, empty Chinese restaurant. I alwaysgot the Moo Shi Pork. I remember that much.Then up the winding road to the stadium. I knewall the players’ back then: Fernando…Guerrero… Gibson… Hershieser.

Walking into the ballpark…the distinctsmell of freshly cut green grass and oily mittsand buttery popcorn and greasy Dodger dogswafts through the stands. We were always wayup top behind the plate in the cheap six-dollarseats where the players looked like ants, wherethey hardly ever hit a foul ball. Still all of uskids would continually slap our gloves in thehopes that someone might hit one up there justso we could go to school the next day and bragabout it. After the 7th inning my father would tryto convince me to go so we could beat the traf-fic, but hell no, I’d tell him, “We’re staying tillthe end.”

“But they’re down by four runs, there’s noway they’re going to win,” the tired old manwould say, his thoughts more concerned about

the long drive home and only getting six hoursof sleep before he’d be back at the office.

“What are you talking about? Don’t youremember last year when we left early and wewere out in the parking lot and Marshall hit thatgrand slam in the 9th? Jeez. Come on Dad.”

That wild-eyed kid sits in those bleachersfull of hope. The world is a magic dream. Sittingthere he has no idea that he’ll be some washed-out loser twenty years later. I see him sittingthere, but at the same time, I can’t even recog-nize him.

And this is when the thoughts begin to turndark and brooding. The day goes on and onefeels as if there’s no end in sight. The repetitionbecomes maddening. One even begins to relateto the reasoning of the murderer. Dostoevskyhad it right on. How can one not commit murderin this state of mind? I look around at these

vacant eyes staring down at the magazines. Afew people down at the end of the line are talk-ing, but I can’t quite hear them. Everyone elseseems to be in some sort of trance. What arethey all thinking about? How the hell did we allget here?

Next to me on the line was a guy who Iguessed to be in his late twenties. He was goingthrough the stacks of labels and magazines at afrenetic pace. I wanted to tell him that no matterhow fast we went, we were still going to getpaid the same. I was only going on my secondday, but if I didn’t talk to someone soon I wasgoing to go insane and strip naked and do thedamn hokey-pokey on top of the conveyer belt.So I said to him, jokingly, “Damn man, you’regoing to kill yourself going that fast.”

“Nah, I gotta’ go dis fast. Tryin’ to see howmany I can do every hour. So far my best isforty-two stacks. Gotta’ keep mis’self busy.”

As I pondered over that thought, I noticedthat his entire upper front row of teeth were sil-ver. He had two faded tattoos of teardrops undereach of his eyes. Another tattoo on his neck readin big Old English letters, BAD DOG. He defi-nitely wasn’t the type I’d ever think of raisingmy fists to.

“So what’s your name?” I asked.“Kenny.”“I’m Dave. So how long you been here?”“Three months.”“Three months? Jeez. I don’t know if I’m

going to be able to finish the week.”“Man, I wish I could get a betta’ job, but I

can’t cuz of my recah.”“You’re what?” I asked, unable to under-

stand his slight lisp. “My recah.”“Huh?”“My recah. Can’t never get a job with that.”“Oh, you’re record. Right.”“Yeah, I was in from ’95 to ‘2001. I did

some pretty bad shit back then, but I’m differentnow. I’ve changed, you know. Well, at least I’dlike to think I have. Can’t get no jobs though.Before this I was working for Tops.”

Tops was one of those day labor places thatpaid minimum wage for grueling hard labor. Ihad walked into the place a week earlier and satdown waiting for my name to be called along-

side an older man who had H A T E tattooed onhis knuckles. Enough said.

“The one over on Howard?”“Yeah, for a month I was working at a ceme-

tery diggin’ graves.”“Damn.”“Hard shit man. Didn’t pay nothin’.”Seconds later the pig-nosed, scrawny boss

was yelling at me to quit talking. I came close totaking one of my stickers – “Evelyn Jones, 1845Washington Blvd.” – right on the bitch’s lips,but somehow I held back. I even mentioned it toKenny after she left, hoping to maybe throwsome humored light into the day, but he justignored me and continued to go at the maga-zines like a possessed madman. I suppose therewas some sense of tragic, yet comic irony in allof this, but at that moment I was just too tired tolaugh.

That Friday it turned out they were layingoff half of the crew. Christmas catalogs wereout. I forget what the next job was going to be.Easter? Just imagine having to stare at a damnpink bunny for ten hours a day. Talk about voic-es in the head. A lot of the people were up inarms. What the hell were they going to do now?I felt bad for them. These people had children totake care of, food to put on the dinner table,numbers to play. For me, it was a different story.I needed the money, but I also wasn’t responsi-ble for anyone else. If I fucked up, it was all onme.

I picked up my paycheck and as I walkedaway the manager called me back.

“Hey Dave.”“Yeah?”“You do good work. I’ve been watching

you. We’re going to be put some people on themachines. You want to work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, although I knew I hadno intention of ever setting foot in that placeagain. That night I cashed my paycheck, boughta bottle of Carlo Rossi, and went back to myapartment. I took another long, hot bath, dis-cussed the virtues of life with Jo-Jo, unpluggedthe alarm clock, and let myself temporarilyescape into that blissful world of dreams.

A week later I got a temporary job workingat a warehouse on the other side of town. I stillhadn’t heard anything from the hotel or restau-rant jobs. My new job had now evolved fromstickers and catalogs to adjusting defectivewindshield wiper tubes. It was nice to knowthings were moving up. I would readjust a knobon the tube to a certain measurement, mark itwith a pen, and then continue on to the next. Allday I sat at a table in the far corner of the build-ing staring at these long black tubes that lookedlike octopus legs. Stretching… Pulling…Bending. Almost… Not quite… OK. Mark the1st one. Nine more to go. Next bundle.Stretch…. Pull… Bend.

By noon my hands felt like leather and Icould hardly move my knuckles.

The only thing that kept me from walkingout the door was Maurice. Maurice came insometime after lunch the second day. He wasfrom the same employment office that had got-ten me the job. Maurice was 53, black, and with

27

That wild-eyed kid sits in those bleachers full of hope... he has no idea that he'll be some washed-out loser twenty years later.

SETH SWAALE

Y

the deeply wrinkled face and the cracked finger-nails, I got the feeling he’d probably beenthrough a lot. He was dressed in a camouflageArmy outfit. He told me he never did any timein the military. The clothes were his father’s.“Hell, I just like the way they look,” he said.

Maurice told me how he had spent the pastsix years living in West Africa and down in theCaribbean in St. Lucia. He’d been involved inimport and exporting mining in Guinea and thenhe’d worked for a tourism company in St. Lucia.He was doing fairly well financially but, withthe constant coups in Africa and the sad state oftourism after September 11th, he lost a lot of hismoney and had to move back home and livewith his parents. His plan was to work here for acouple years, save up as much money as hecould, and then go back to Guinea when thingshad settled down.

“There’s a lot of money to be made overthere. I’m telling you. People don’t know aboutthis. Diamonds. The place is full of diamonds.You mine them there and then sell them here inthe U.S. Five hundred bucks and you can comewith me over there. No joke, you’ll live like aking.”

Maurice told me all kinds of weird storiesabout life in Africa. It was a nice refresher fromthe mindless monotony of black rubber.

“It’s not like here, Dave. You know, a lot ofthe land in Guinea is still owned by tribes. If youwant to be able to mine on their land you haveto barter with the tribal leaders. Money holdsvery little value to them, so instead you have totrade with animals and food.”

As he told me this I pictured one of thosePBS documentaries where the random foreignerand cameraman are surrounded by this crowd ofscantly clad men with spears in their hands, bigsharp ivory objects going through their noses;the woman all sitting down with their boobshanging out: little infants sucking away.

“You know one time I went to visit this tribeand as an offering to me they milked a new-borncow. It’s a ceremonial thing they do for a visitor.Well, when they were doing this I saw there wasblood from the cow mixing in with the milk.There was no way I could drink it. They’ve gotall kinds of diseases over there. Those people’sbodies are used to it, but that shit can kill some-one like you or me. Well, I told my translator totell them that I couldn’t drink it. The leader gotall offended. He didn’t understand why I would-n’t drink the milk. Anyway, after a lot of confu-sion, we explained to everyone that my bodycouldn’t handle it, that if I were to drink thatmilk I would get violently sick. Finally, theleader understood. So instead, what does he giveme? A mango. Hah, hah. You gotta’ love it. Afuckin’ mango. Well, a couple days later I had acrew of five guys and we were mining for dia-monds.

“It’s pretty different over there. The peopleare beautiful and kind, but very poor. Poorerthan you could ever imagine. I mean I had moth-ers coming over to my house with their sickchildren thinking I was a doctor. The only rea-son they thought that was because I had a bagwith pills in it. But they were pills I had to takebeing a foreigner so that I wouldn’t catch malar-

ia. I even had local hospital offering to train mein a day to be a dentist.”

“A dentist? Jesus”“Yes, no lie. They were going to have me

pulling teeth. I tell you, you get a whole newperspective of life when you see things likethat.”

With Maurice telling me stories like this thedays seemed to go by quicker. I’d find my imag-ination drifting off into foreign lands wonderingabout an entirely different world.

Maurice was probably the most intelligentperson I’d ever had a chance to work with. Heknew all about literature and history and poli-tics. At one point he almost had me reconsider-ing my long existing bias about the fact thatShakespeare was one of the most overrated writ-ers in history.

“The entire of story of life is in the plays ofShakespeare. That’s the beauty of his work,”Maurice said with such conviction.

Now and then we’d get into heated debatesabout the validity of the Bible. He kept trying toexplain to me the importance of my name andthe religious connotation’s it represented. I toldhim he was full of shit. He just smiled andwould calmly continue his argument, although Igot the feeling he could’ve cared less about theBible either way.

But what the hell was an intelligent guy likeMaurice doing at a crap job like this? Maybethere was more to the story than Maurice wastelling me. I could just see it: Maurice the ban-dit, stealing diamonds, crazy African rebels withmachine guns chasing after him, the interroga-tion, the thirty days in solitary with nothing butbread and water, the escape from prison.

I would’ve thought that at his age and withthe things he’d experienced Maurice would’vebeen bitter about what we were doing, but it did-n’t seem to bother him. He had a look of tran-quility and always maintained a smile on hisface as he pulled away at the tubes. It was thatlook that said, “Sure, god knows I fuckin’ hatethis shit, but I ain’t gonna let it get to me.” Hisexpression said, “I know where I’m going and ifthis is what I got to do to get there, then so be it.”I envied him. It was really something.

One day the boss came up to Maurice and Ijust as we were about to leave. He looked at thecrates of tubes that we’d gone through and said,“Guys, I just want to tell you I think you’redoing a good job, but I counted up the bins andwe’re only getting 1900 done a day. Now thecompany is paying for 2000 a day, so we need topick it up a little. All right, guys. See you tomor-row.”

Just like that. He said it without even flinch-ing.

As the boss walked away I felt my face heatup. “You gotta’ be kidding me Maurice! Whydoesn’t that tie-wearing slacky sit his ass downall day!” I yelled.

Maurice just shook his head, as if this was-n’t the first time he’d heard something so idiot-ic, and said, “Two thousand a day, hah hah hah,now that’s some funny shit, two thousand aday.”

A couple days later Maurice and I got laidoff. Apparently the company had screwed up allthe measurements. Some corporate life-longbusinessman came out from Michigan just tobreak the news. There was all kinds of confu-sion. 16” or 15 ½”. No one could figure it out.They had to send all the tubes back to GeneralMotors and they weren’t going to need us.

As we were walking back to the bus stopMaurice said to me, “Man, I just don’t feel likegoing home right now.” I got the feeling thatbesides work Maurice didn’t get out a whole lot.He lived in a pretty rough, drug-infested part oftown; the kind of neighborhood you see everynight on the news where some senseless murderhas occurred.

It was only ten in the morning, but I knew ofa place so we went to a bar and drank the beers

away. We were both out of work and broke anddidn’t really know what was next. We just satthere, throwing back those cold ones, makingfun of the old bitter, woman bartender whowould slam your change down on the bar andseemed to always have a scowl on her face. Wekept sharing stories of old jobs and old girls andall the places we wanted to go one day, and Idon’t know how to say it, but, well, it just feltright sitting there alongside with Maurice. Youcould see it on our faces. Both of us had thatdown home dirty blues feeling, like, man ohman, but at the same time, thinking, well, thing’sare bound to get a little better.

“I’m really glad I got to know you Dave,”said Maurice, placing his hand gently on myshoulder.

“Thanks Maurice. You too. It made the blis-ters worthwhile,” I smiled back.

We walked out the front door and into thehazy, noontime sun and promised to hang outagain soon. Maurice said he was going to goback to the temp place later that afternoon andsee if there was any other work. I wasn’t reallysure what I had planned.

As I was walking down the street back tomy apartment I heard Maurice yell out, “HeyDave!”

I turned around. “Yeah?”“I just wanted to let you know that the com-

pany is paying for two thousand a day! Hah HahHah! Two thousand a day! I’ll never forget thatone! Peace, brother!”

I smiled and gave Maurice a good old fash-ion salute. There was a sense of victory in thatwave. Sure, maybe a small victory, but victoryall the same. That feeling that the Man, whoev-er that was, wasn’t going to get the best of us.

I made my way back to my apartment andfor the first time in months, I wasn’t thinkingabout money. I wasn’t thinking about the factthat I didn’t have a job. I wasn’t thinking aboutthe fact that I didn’t have a girl. I figured, hey, Iguess this is just one little stage I got to gothrough. If I was lucky, I’d be able to look backon this whole ordeal years later and laugh aboutit. Not really a funny laugh though. Just a good,long laugh. And for whatever it’s worth,that was enough.–Seth Swaaley

29

Sure, god knows I fuckin' hate this shit, but I ain't gonna let it get to me.

SETH SWAALE

Y

Nardwuar: Who are you?Ice Cube: [laughs] Ice Cube.Nardwuar: Ice Cube, welcome toVancouver, British Columbia,Canada.Ice Cube: Thanks, man.Nardwuar: I’m really excitedbecause you’re shooting this movieAre We There Yet? in Vancouver,and Vancouver is playingVancouver. Is that true, Ice Cube?Ice Cube: Yeah, Vancouver is play-ing itself.Nardwuar: Which is totally amaz-ing because it never happens thatway.Ice Cube: Yeah, most people comehere and shoot every other city butVancouver, but a lot of movies areshot right here and we said, “Yo, wethere. Why the hell won’t we useVancouver?” You know?

Nardwuar: Thank

you very much for acknowledgingthat, Ice Cube, and I wanted to askyou a bit more about the movie AreWe There Yet? I understand thatyou’re fighting a deer in the movie.That sounds exciting. Ice Cube ver-sus a deer!Ice Cube: [laughs] Yeah, and I kickthat deer’s ass too! Don’t worryabout nothing y’know. It’s a kids’comedy, family movie and it’s a tripto see me with a couple of kids,y’know. I think that’s funny initself. Nardwuar: And Nia Long is alsoin the movie. She was also with youin Boyz ‘N the Hood too?Ice Cube: Yeah, Nia Long. We’vebeen following each other’s careerfor the longest. She’s been downsince Boyz ‘N the Hood. She was inFriday with me and now we’vecome full circle. And Jay Mohr is in

it, y’know, comedian. Really funnydude, so we got a good movie.Nardwuar: Ice Cube, I’d like tothank you again for setting yourmovie in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Idon’t know if you’re familiar withwho lives in Vancouver, butTommy Chong used to live inVancouver. Did you know that, IceCube?Ice Cube: It seems like it, with allthe bud you got going on aroundhere. Tommy Chong coming fromBC. Y’know, that seems aboutright.Nardwuar: Tommy Chong used tolive in Vancouver, but now unfortu-nately he’s in jail. But on behalf ofthe people from Vancouver, BritishColumbia, I want to give you a pre-sent, Ice Cube, for actually settingyour movie Are We There Yet? inVancouver, and this is a presentfrom Tommy Chong and the peopleof Vancouver, British Columbia,Canada. This is a Cheech andChong incense burner for you, IceCube. [Nardwuar hands Ice cube aCheech and Chong incense burner]Ice Cube: [laughs] Yeah. I’m lov-ing this. Y’know, this is one of myfavorite gifts. I’m feeling this, man.Nardwuar: A Cheech and Chongincense burner, just to let the kidsknow. An incense burner.Ice Cube: Yeah, we’ll keep someincense burning in here, no prob-lem. But I like this man. I dig this.I was a big fan of these movies. Wekind of loosely based our Fridaymovies on these Cheech andChong movies.Nardwuar: That’s what I wasgoing to say. You’re like the nextdescendant of the Chongster, aren’tyou, Ice Cube? Ice Cube: Everybody gotta have agodfather, so I guess TommyChong and Cheech, those are ourgodfathers. Me and Smokey, meand Day-Day.Nardwuar: Ice Cube, the first timeI heard N.W.A. I was scared.Ice Cube: Good.Nardwuar: [laughs] It reallyscared me!Ice Cube: You look scared now.Nardwuar: Well, you’re niceCube, so I’m not that scared.Ice Cube: [laughs]Nardwuar: You’re the nice Cube,but thinking back, you guys

weren’t the first to do the gangstathing were you? Well, I guess thefull-on West Coast thing, butSchoolly D, he did a bit of thegangsterisms too, didn’t he, fromPhilly? Does Schoolly D get anyprops at all, Ice Cube?Ice Cube: Yeah, Schoolly D getsmuch props. He was definitely oneof the originators of gangsta rap,you gotta say that. Also, you gottasay KRS-One, y’know, BoogieDown Productions. They wasdoing some hardcore records backthen. There’s a few people whocame before N.W.A., but no peoplecame like N.W.A. Y’know what Imean? So N.W.A. gotta be theworld’s most dangerous group.Nardwuar: Yes, I am still scared.Ice Cube: Good.Nardwuar: But I was wondering,Ice Cube, Schoolly D could break-dance. What’s your dancing abilitylike, Ice Cube?Ice Cube: I have none.Nardwuar: You’ve never triedany?Ice Cube: Nope, I’m like SirNoise: devoid of funk. I will neverdance. Nardwuar: Ice Cube, one othergroup that I’ve been interested in isthe rock ‘n’ roll group Cameo.Some people give them a bad rap,but what is the coolness about theCameo, because I think they’repretty amazing, aren’t they? [handsIce cube a Cameo record]Ice Cube: Yeah, Cameo’s off thehook. I mean, on this record, “BeYourself” was dope, “Flirt” wasdope, “Alligator Woman” was offthe hook, so… I mean, this albumonly has eight songs, man. I don’tthink you can get away with thatnowadays. Nardwuar: But Cameo sometimesget a bad rap, don’t they? I mean,they don’t always get the respectthey deserve. I think nowadays theOutkast are even having Cameo’sbass player on some of theirrecordings.Ice Cube: I don’t know if Cameo’sgetting a bad rap. I mean, who gottime to dis Cameo?Nardwuar: Certainly not me,speaking here to Ice Cube on theset of the movie Are We... Are WeThere Yet?Ice Cube: Are We There Yet?

30

NNNNAAAARRRR

DDDDWWWWUUUUAAAA

RRRR

WWWWHHHHOOOO AAAARRRREEEE YYYYOOOOUUUU????

NARDWUAR

Vs. Ice CubeNNaarrddwwuuaarr

Nardwuar: And I was wonderingIce Cube, your good homey friendSnoop Dogg. I interviewed him alittle while back and I showed himthis record by Flip Wilson. [handsIce Cube a Flip Wilson record] AndFlip Wilson is wearing a dress here.And I said to Snoop, “Would youever wear a dress?” And Snoopsaid...Ice Cube: “Hell no!”Nardwuar: “Hell no!” Now whyis that? Why would Snoop notwanna wear a dress and would youever wear a dress there Ice Cube,like Flip Wilson?Ice Cube: Hell no! And I don’tknow why he wouldn’t want towear a dress, but I ain’t into it. Ileave it up to Flip.

Nardwuar: Ice Cube, on yourbrand new LP with the West SideConnection, you guys have a songcalled “Pimp the System.”Ice Cube: Yeah.Nardwuar: And on it, you samplethe Archbishop Don Magic Juan.Ice Cube: Yes. Nardwuar: Now who is that guy,the Archbishop Don Magic Juan?He pops up everywhere. He’saround Snoop. What’s the historyof the Archbishop? Ice Cube: He’s just one of the OGplayers. He’s been doing it a longtime, give us a lot of love inChicago when we come through.So we gotta give it up to theArchbishop, you know what Imean? I put him in a movie or two.He was in Friday After Next. Youknow, he’s our man. Nardwuar: He’s always poppingup everywhere. It’s cool to see himat all these awards shows in the

background. Like The Archbishopis down, isn’t he? The Archbishopis in the house.Ice Cube: Yeah, the Archbishop,he’s an alright dude with us. Oh,take your records back. Nardwuar: Thank you very much,Ice Cube. Ice Cube: I like this (Cheech andChong incense burner).Nardwuar: Yes, that’s for you.That’s for you to keep here. A giftfrom Vancouver, British Columbia,Canada. Ice Cube: Can you smoke this?Nardwuar: Incense only there, IceCube. And Ice Cube, I was wonder-ing about your first group here, theCIA. [hands Ice Cube a CIA record]This is your first group.

Ice Cube: Yeah, this is my firstgroup.Nardwuar: And this was beforeNWA. What was the CIA like andwhat happened to the rest of theguys? Ice Cube: Criminals In Action,that’s what CIA stood for. And, uh,you know you got Sir Jinx. He wenton to produce for me on a couple ofrecords. And then you got my man,KD, and I put a record out on himin ‘97. So, you know, everybody’sstill around. Where’d you find this,dude?Nardwuar: Just in a record storecalled Beat Street in Vancouver.They’ve reissued that. That’s a reis-sue. It’s a bootleg!Ice Cube: Produced by Dr. Dre. Nardwuar: Produced by Dr. Dre.And I was wondering that, IceCube, what was it like back thenwith the CIA scene? What was itlike, the pre-NWA? ‘Cause I’ve

seen pictures of Ice-T and he’slooking pretty crazy, dressed upelectronica. What did you look likeback then in the CIA era?Ice Cube: Trust me, I didn’t looklike none of them dudes, y’know. Istill dressed like myself. See, wewas broke so we couldn’t affordnothing but khakis and T-shirts. Sowe just dressed like ourselves backthen. And, you know, it was cool.We were all struggling, we was alltrying to get on. It’s not my favoriterecord. But we was on wax, we washappy.Nardwuar: Ice-T was into that sortof electronica thing, wasn’t he?Like, was wearing some crazy out-fits, wasn’t he?Ice Cube: Yeah, I don’t know. I

think he was into the breakdanceand stuff. Back then in the ‘80s, youknow what I mean, breakdancing,you had on the spikes. Nothing likewhat you got on, but similar. Nardwuar: Ice-T was down withit.Ice Cube: I don’t know about allthat. But I know, dude, he worespikes, yeah.Nardwuar: Ice Cube, lastly, Iwanted to ask you a bit of a contro-versial question about The Sourcemagazine. Lately, they’ve beengoing on and on about “Is Eminema racist?” What do you think aboutthat Source versus Eminem situa-tion that’s going out there?Ice Cube: I don’t care. Who cares? Nardwuar: Because Eminemapparently recorded something thatwas racist on some tape that wasaround for ten years. What are yourfeelings about digging up tapesfrom the past and putting them out

in the mainstream?Ice Cube: Who cares, really? Imean, to be honest, who cares ifhe’s a racist or not? Who cares?Nardwuar: Well, thanks so much,Ice Cube. Anything else you wantto add to the people out there at all? Ice Cube: I love this, man. Thanks.I appreciate this (Cheech andChong incense burner).Nardwuar: That’s from the peopleof Vancouver and me, NardwuarThe Human Serviette, for you IceCube. Because you actually shotyour movie in Vancouver and actu-ally based your movie inVancouver, which is very, very rare. Ice Cube: Yeah, this is the bomb,man. I’ll let you smoke it with melater.

Nardwuar: Incense again, just forthe kids. This is a kids movie, AreWe There Yet? An incense burner.And actually, lastly there, Ice Cube,do you still buy in bulk?Ice Cube: Yeah man, I buy a lot inbulk. Yeah. Nardwuar: All right, well, thanksso much. Keep on rocking in thefree world, Ice Cube. And dootdoola doot doo...Ice Cube: [laughs] Is this dudecrazy? West Side for life all dayevery day. It don’t stop ‘til the pen-nies drop, you know!Nardwuar: That will work. “Youknow “is almost like “Doot Doo”!Ice Cube: Are we there yet?Nardwuar: I think we are.

To hear and watch this interviewcheck outhttp://www.nardwuar.com

NARDWUAR

Nardwuar:Iccee CCuubbee,,tthhee ffiirrsstt

ttiimmee IIhheeaarrddNN..WW..AA.. II

wwaassssccaarreedd..

IIccee CCuubbee::GGoooodd..

The Dinghole ReportsBy the Rhythm Chicken(Commentary by Francis Funyuns)[Edited by Dr. Sicnarf]

Ladies and gentlemen, hens androosters, your doubts of my contin-uing ruckus campaign may besomewhat founded after 11½months of non-ruckus activity onmy part. However, I would neverlet the silence last a full year. Aftersuch an extended hiatus, I knewthat I had to brew up some type ofultra-whizbang sure-fire all-outaudio-visual assault to make up formy slothy avoidance of your ruckusneeds. I, the Rhythm Chicken, hadnot performed in 11 ½ months, with

that last show being

in Kohren, Germany during their“Men’s Day” drinking festival lastMay. I had not performed onAmerican soil in eighteenMONTHS! During these interna-tionally troubling times, I’m suremy patriotism was in doubt, until afew weeks ago. I had to find thebest way to re-introduce my ruckusto my own people and the time hadcome. I finished my job inMilwaukee and granted myself afew weeks off before returning tomy northern Wisconsin woodshedto work my tail off for yet anothersummer in the Door County touristtrap. I knew I had to use my timewisely and execute a far-reachingventure to spread my ruckus toareas not yet tainted by my rhyth-

mic virus. I chose to piece togethera double-ended tour to SouthernCalifornia and the Kansas Cityarea. They both have escaped myrhythm wrath for far too long!

Milwaukee folks have beenrequesting Chicken shows for thelast six months since my return. Iwanted to kick off the Americantour in Milwaukee just before leav-ing, but I also wanted it to be sort ofunder the radar. I had it all plannedout in a nice, tight schedule, but, ofcourse, the doo-doo had to go awry.Friday was my last day of work andI worked till midnight. My planeleft around 6:00 Saturday morning.This was supposed to be a fun,action-packed six-hour windowbetween my last day of work and

my departing to the warmCalifornia sun. Well, as I thinkMurphy’s Law dictates, if a chick-en’s car will die at the most inop-portune time, gol’dangit, IT WILL!Yup, my car called it quits. When Igot home after my big, exciting lastday of work there was a message onmy answering machine from somegirlie at American Airlines inform-ing me that my connector flightfrom Dallas to Burbank had beencancelled. I had to wait an addition-al few hours in the aestheticallymind-numbing Dallas airport. I fig-ured God was trying to saveSouthern California from mydimension-warping chaos… that orhe really wanted me to see lots ofWrangler jeans, shiny cowboy32

RRHHHHYYYYTT

HHHHMM CC

HHHH IIIICCKK

EEEENNNN

RHYTHM CHICKEN

TTHHEEEE DDIIIINNGGHHOOOOLLLLEEEE RREEEEPPPPOOOORRTTSS

All photos by Todd Taylor • Rhythm Chicken in Winchell’s Donuts

boots, and perfectly bent yet metic-ulously positioned $100 cowboyhats worn by gold-card Texanmales who walk way too stiff.C’mon, they can’t ALL be stifffrom yesterday’s rodeo!

After calling Todd, this maga-zine’s fine overseer and also my LAhost, to let him know of my latearrival, I thought I could still makethe best of the few hours ofWisconsin bar time I had left. Iwalked to the Cactus Club and itsnewer neighboring punk-type tav-ern, the Palomino. Once in thePalomino, I shared my dilemmawith the bartender Bill, part ownerof Milwaukee’s Rushmor Records,who, from time to time, sponsorsthe Rhythm Chicken in the SouthShore Frolics Parade. Without hesi-tation, Bill tossed me the keys to hisnew truck and said something to the

effect of, “Bring the ruckus here!”This was the first thing to go rightin a long string of events that wouldcontinue over the next nine days.

Dinghole Report #39: RuckusReturns to Your Hemisphere!(Rhythm Chicken sighting#……..)

Now armed with a very viablechicken-kit transport, I zoomedhome and brought back my one-of-a-kind $75 drumset. A few headsturned as I hauled the kit in and setit up in front of the jukebox. I wason a tight schedule and could wasteno time as bar time drew nearer. Ipulled on the Chicken head andinstinctively rolled out the ruckus-barrel that is now almost five yearsold! It felt strangely familiar as Ipounded out that same ol’ punch-to-the-gut rock that hasn’t seenthese shores in eighteen months andthen halted to valiantly raise mywings with pride. It was after mid-night, hence, already Saturday.May 15 will now and forever beknown as RR-Day, the day thatruckus returned! I got the crowdmildly worked up and then pulledout my ol’ nearly forgotten friends,THE RUCKUS LOGS! With thesebehemoth mallets, I unleashed truesuper-sized ruckus on the unsus-pecting tavern. I have returned!

Dinghole Report #40: Ruckus Goes Next-Door!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #…..)

Seeing as how the Palominoand the Cactus Club are literallyback-to-back, I knew what had tobe done. I quickly hauled my gignext door and set up in front of the

“King’s” room, as it is labeled.Before many knew what was goingon, Christreater, this evening’s bar-tender, turned off the music andyelled to the proles, “Hey, every-body! It’s the fuckin’ RhythmChicken!” and my thunder steam-rolled the packed bar. I pulled allthe familiar tricks out of myChickenhead. I worked both sidesof the bar against each other in arhythmic yelling match. I raised mywings to riotous applause, thenanxiously pounded a few thuds onthe bass drum, demanding more. Ipushed them over the top by onceagain pulling out the ruckus logsand giving them the biggest soundin ruckus rock today! Bar time wasnear so I ended my rock opera bydiving onto my chickenkit andthrashing about until a pint of Blatzwas thrust into my wing. I was

appeased. The next chicken gig washundreds of miles and mere hoursaway!

—Francis and Sicnarf mumblefrom the corner where they are tiedand gagged!—

Silence, you two! I’ve got toomuch material to cover this issue. Idon’t need you slick-slacks makingthis column any longer than it’sgonna be anyway. Just sit back,hush up, and rejoice in the freshruckus! So, Bill drove me and mykit home where I made a fresh potof coffee, packed my bag withsome extra drumsticks, and show-ered while I had the time. Soonafter drying off and donning my EdGein shirt, Ruckus O’Reily pulledup in front of my soon-to-be formerhome to drive me to the airport. Icrawled into his car with my bagand chicken head. He instantlyasked, “You’re still drunk, aren’tyou!” I replied, “That and I’ve gotmy Ed Gein shirt on. I’m going toSouthern California and I gottaREPRESENT!” LeavingMilwaukee that morning, the tem-perature was a balmy fifty degrees.

My later flight to Burbankended up landing a half-hour earlyso I thought I’d sit outside and soakup some of that West Coast ambi-ence. I walked out the exit to a wallof liquid butter they call that warmCalifornia sun. This is May,dammit! How can they stand theHEAT? I stripped off my two-dollarthrift store Harley Davidson leatherjacket and sat on the sidewalk withmy bag and chicken head attractingquizzical looks. Todd and Megansoon pulled up and after proper

salutations we were on the highwaysouthward to Escondido. The tourcontinues with little rest! I was atypical farm boy tourist gapingwide-eyed at the cultural oddities inthis strange land: In-n-Out Burgers,an endless string of strip mallsalong the highway, and theirHardee’s are called Carl Jr.’s. It’s awiggly world.

We arrived at Tiltwheel manorin Escondido. Soon, team Tiltwheelreared its still-drunken head. It was‘round 2 PM. They had to play thatnight in San Diego and leave thenext morning on another tour. Theywere like three hung-over, wet rats(of course, I mean that in a veryendearing way!). I watched themconsume more and more beers non-stop all day. Yikes, these boys musthave Wisconsin roots!

Tiltwheel’s frontman, Davey,

escorted Todd and me through theirpractice room of miscellaneousmusical mish-mash. He piecestogether a fancy orange makeshiftchicken kit. The hi-hat clutch isheld together with an ill-fitting lugnut. The drum throne is a backlesswooden chair with a GrabassCharlestons sticker on it. The bot-tom snare head is in shreds. Thefloor tom has part of a cymbal standfor one of its legs. I fully embracethe kit as Chicken worthy, for it’salmost better than the one I haveback home! Later, Todd and I findout that the drums were actuallyrumored to be the set used to recordBad Religion’s How Could Hell BeAny Worse? album. Punk!Tiltwheel found some warm cans ofNatural Light and continued drink-ing. Na zdrowie!

Dinghole Report #41: West CoastHymen Torn Wide Open!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #…..)

Seeing as how Todd appears tobe the only one still free of ruckus-juice and its wily influence, heassumes maximum responsibilityand becomes the evening’s desig-nated driver. The rest of us pack thevan and pile in. We soon happenupon the sight of the RhythmChicken’s first ever West Coast gig.In nearby Kit Carson Park we see agroup of people celebrating in awholesome extended family typefashion. It turns out being aQuinceañera picnic party! ROCK!Team Tiltwheel, along with JackDoyle, Josh Mosh, MattyAwesome, Todd, and Megan, alljoin the Rhythm Chicken world-wide roadie army by helping set up

for this monumental rock show. Iassume my wooden perch and pullon the crusty chicken head. Justmere hours since my early morningruckus in Milwaukee, I proceed topound out my first-ever ruckus rockwest of the Rockies! I executedflawless Midwestern Pabst rockand then halted to raise my wingsand accept my new fans’ adoration.My performance was met with mildclapping from the family, but rau-cous hoots and hollers from the RCmilitia. God bless rock, and therock started to roll! Tiltwheel con-tinues drinking.

Dinghole Report #42: RC Rocksthe Pounder Hounds!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #…..)

Back in the van, Davey, being alocal, starts listing off possible

venues for impromptu chickenrock. I stop him when he sayssomething about a place calledPounder’s that he describes as a“mullet bar.” My image of allCalifornians wearing OP clothingand surfing while drinking Sunkistsoda is blown away. Bring me thismullet bar you speak of. Soon weare parked directly in front ofPounder’s and setting up the chick-en kit on the sidewalk. A few gen-uine mullets notice and slowly oozetowards the action. I pull on thehead and begin to rain holy hell onthem with drumsticks on chicken-skin. When I halt the ruckus one ofthe hockey-hairs yells out,“YOU’RE ALL FAGS!” Fuckinay!I’m starting to feel alive! The gearsbecome well oiled and the ruckusmachine growls into high gear.Tiltwheel continues drinking.

Dinghole Report #43: ChickenStorms Mission Beach in Belmont!(Rhythm Chicken sightings #…,..,..,…&…)

I love having a good number ofroadies in an area thick with foot-traffic. This harbors what I like tocall “rapid fire ruckus.” TheChicken can perform quickassaults, one after the other, in astring of randomly found venues, averitable carpet bombing of ruckus!My trusty roadie army sets up theChicken kit under some sort ofarchway welcoming people to thebeach while I run down to the waterto dip the tips of my chicken ears inthe Pacific. I quickly return to thekit and assume my throne. A crowdalready accumulates while I begin

RHYTHM CHICKEN

It almost seemed as if the whole day lead up to this blissfullydrunken Wisconsin petting zoo gone bad.

spraying them with my wild-assChicken rock! The Chicken earssway about as I rock the beach towithin an inch of its life! Manybeach-goers are taking photos andvideotaping the Midwest oddity. Icontemplate the possibility of anyeffect I may have on the San AdreasFault. A few prom date couples fil-ter to the front row, somewhat puz-zled. After a few more doses ofrhythm rock, my militia quicklygrabs the kit and we move to thenext ground zero, the Sand Bar. I

set up on the sidewalk directly infront of the open-air bar andunleash my Wisconsin mayhem onthe California boozers. TeamTiltwheel are right up front and getthe rest of the drinking crowd allriled up, but before long the door-man for the Sand Bar shakes theChicken’s shoulder and busts theshow.

The militia quickly grabs thekit and we move over to the rollercoaster. The Chicken quicklyassumes his throne as children arelocked into the not-yet-moving Tilt-

a-wheel next door, a

captive audience! The ruckus flowsin total reckless abandon while JoshMosh is right up front kickin’ it intooverdrive. ROCK! The militia grabthe kit again and we move backtowards the beach until I findanother prom date couple anddecide to play right in front of thesetwo, a personal romantic serenadeenticing them to fornicate later thatevening (which I’m almost positivethey did!). Even though the gig wasfor this single couple, anothercrowd gathered around burgling

their romantic thunder. MattyAwesome and Jack Doyle grabbedthe various drum parts and we wereoff again to the next bombsite, AREPEAT ATTACK! This time theChicken kit was set up on the side-walk ACROSS THE STREET fromthe Sand Bar in a disabled parkingspot! GIMP ROCK! Baby, I’mbreaking all social barriers! I threwout some audio ruckus and thecrowd gathered and yelled whilemy faithful roadie army was yellingand hollering as much as ever.Chaos was being had at the beach!This gig finished to the sound of

cheers and we tore down and head-ed up the street. While walkingdown the sidewalk a girl wearing aFat Boyz Pizza shirt personallyinvited the Rhythm Chicken to playin her place of employment up thestreet! THIS WAS BETTER THANAN INVITE TO THE PROM! Weimmediately hiked up the street toFat Boyz, walked in the door andset up while customers looked on,bewildered. I pulled on the headand let the rock roll. The staffbehind the counter all came up

front and yelled and clapped. TeamTiltwheel were there in a drunkenhaze hollering and crooning. Thecustomers stopped eating andenjoyed the house band, me.Various beach walkers and pedes-trians stuck their heads in to see thesupposed first rock show at FatBoyz. I’ll take one large thick crustwith an extra side of RUCKUS! Ifinished up the gig and we loadedout to the applause of the unsus-pecting pizza-eating audience. Asbefore, Tiltwheel continued drink-ing.

Dinghole Report #43: Standing Ovation of Liars!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #….)

It was almost time to headdown to Chaser’s for the Tiltwheelshow, but Davey knew of one moreprime stop on this particularChicken tour, The Liar’s Club.This was apparently some barwhere the Tiltwheel boys knew oneof the bartenders (surprised?) andthey knew a Chicken gig would bepeachy keen in the establishment.

The militia hauled the Chicken kitin through the packed bar and I setup on the little stage in the back ofthe club, right in front of the juke-box. I even grabbed a nearby barrelof beer in the back corner to set infront of my sliding bass drum. Yougotta utilize the elements of yourenvironment to your advantage.The crowd looked on and won-dered what the cluck I was therefor. As soon as I pulled on the cher-ished crusty head and commencedmy rock opera, they caught onquick. I pulled all the drunkenaudience tricks and led them on to34

Chicken Rocks the Fast Castle Laundry Room Theater! Notice Matty Awesome’s leg, spilled cat food, and April Vena Cava’s ruckus-approving smile.

RHYTHM CHICKEN

a riotous pitch before standing andaccepting their applause. A beerwas thrust into my wing and I wasappeased. We sat around enjoyingour beers in The Liar’s Club, butthere was a punk show to get to andwe had to haul out. As the militiaand the Chicken hauled the kit outthrough the crowd they gave us astanding ovation! Ruckus be withyou. Ruckus be with you. TeamTiltwheel and I were on the way tothe evening’s Tiltwheel show.Tiltwheel continued drinking.

So, we arrive at Chaser’s, a SanDiego bar which I’m informed isonly used for shows as some sort oflast resort, I think, but then againmy memory was starting to resem-ble Swiss cheese again. We pulledinto a spot behind the club and justsat in the van drinking for a whilebefore entering the club. I venturedinto the club and sat at the bar nextto “Boy Band” Paul. I bought a

beer and he informs me that I’m aperformer and I should get drinktickets, so who am I to disagree?He hails the already unhappy bar-tendress and tells her that I’m oneof the bands and she hands me astring of drink tickets. I start reallyenjoying the show. The first bandwere somewhat rockin’ in a some-what rockin’ sort of way. I put mytickets to use. Tiltwheel continueddrinking. The next band, the GiantHaystacks, held my interest withtheir Minutemen meets Gang ofFour brand of rock and roll may-hem, and I’ll be damned if thatwasn’t George Hurley assaultingthe skins! Tiltwheel started movingtheir gear onto the stage area, whiledrinking.

Dinghole Report #44: Chaser’sLadies Room Arena Rock!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #…..)

This was the only real punkshow appearance during theSouthern California leg of my tourso I wanted to make it count. I hadto play in the ladies’ room! Whereelse would it seem any more appro-priate? I set up in the corner of thefemalien shitter and the door waspropped open. I took one last pulloff my beer and pulled on theChicken head before breaking outthe opening drum roll. The wingswent up and the house went nuts! Iwas ready. They were ready.KABANG! Using the girlie’s toiletas my drum throne (the only onemore deserving than the officialwooden Grabass Charlestons back-

less chair) I emitted deafeningchaos out into the club. I poundedthe Chicken skins with no mercy. Iled them on. They begged for more.I threw a fit! I raised a ruckus! I puteverything on the line and lit thefuse! It almost seemed as if thewhole day lead up to this blissfullydrunken Wisconsin petting zoogone bad. I gave California full-blown ruckus and they ate it up. Istood to accept all worship, thecrowd roared, and the ladies’ roomdoor was closed like the droppingof a curtain at the opera.

I quickly tossed my kit in thecorner and used up my final drinkticket before securing my spot nearthe stage for the Tiltwheel set. Incase you hadn’t picked up on thisyet, I saw these boys from muchearlier in the day. They woke uptrashed, continued drinking, anddrinking, and drinking, and drink-ing, and I watched them get sloppi-er and sloppier. I was anxious to

see what kind of borderline passedout early-Replacements type setthey would spill onto the audience.They assumed the stage, picked uptheir instruments and babbled a bitwith slurred words and drunkensmiles. I was fully expecting chaot-ic drunken slop rock. From noteone till the end of their set I wascompletely blown away. They were110% dead-on solid! They com-pletely rocked this chicken andmade it look almost effortless.They must have been so legallydrunk that they might’ve beendamn close to legally dead, yettheir wall of rock hit me like a cin-der block to the forehead. Theywere the eye of the storm in SanDiego that night. Various audiencemembers were whipped up into afrenzied ruckus so much that theystarted grabbing at the large pooltable light above the band, effec-tively ripping it out of the ceilingand the whole room went dark.Okay, I figured that now they hadto start getting sloppy, but nope.They continued rocking just ashard and no one could see any-thing. I quickly ran to grab the lightabove the entrance in the otherroom and plugged it in holding thelight as high above my head and theband as I could, simply because Iwanted to witness the rest of theirblazing set. Damn, these guyscould rock! After many encores,they finally ended their divine rockand continued drinking. This is thepunk.

And so RR-Day came to anend. It started with the Rhythm

Chicken bringing his ruckus hometo the south side of Milwaukee intwo early morning gigs, then somecoffee and packing, then some air-planes and airports, then someCalifornia highway time, thensome rhythm ruckus aroundEscondido and San Diego, andfinally a fuckin’ punk as peachesrock gig. A mighty fine day if I dosay so myself! But was the dayreally over yet?

Dinghole Report #45: Chicken Rocks the Fast Castle Laundry Room Theater!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #280)

So would my SouthernCalifornia hosts let RR-Day endwithout some after hours ruckus?Technically, I believe the full 24hours of RR-Day had expired, butthe time dimension has a tendencyto warp and stretch when facedwith the power of ruckus! We all

piled into the van and headed to theafter bar party at Josh Mosh’s FastCastle. A few attendees talked theChicken into some early morningruckus. I chose the laundry room, Ithink. That’s where the photos sayit happened. The photos also showthe Chicken pounding out hischaotic scriptures right next to theCAT FOOD! ROCK! The photosalso show Matty Awesome rollingaround in front of the Chicken, andfinally the Chicken rolling aroundin his own drumset. Ruckus be withus.

Dinghole Report #46: Ruckus on 4th Street!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #….)

The next morning Todd,Megan, and I woke and mopedaround in a haze for a few hours.The Tiltwheel boys already hadgotten us all breakfast burritos andwere preparing to head out on yetanother tour. “Boy Band” Paul waspreparing by cleaning his pants. Wesaid our farewell salutations to themighty Tiltwheel and their gang asTodd, Megan, and I headed up toSan Pedro to keep our ruckusrolling. We rolled up 4th Street andfound the 4th Street Punk Housewith all the punks hanging out onthe porch. Still in my Ed Gein shirt,I set up at the end of their littlewalkway and rained Wisconsinrock on their abode. The porch-sit-ters cheered and soon had a beer inmy hand. God bless punk househospitality!

Dinghole Report #47: San Pedro Under Attack!(Rhythm Chicken sightings #…,…, &….)

A second Chicken roadie armywas soon drafted: Rawl, Kid Kevin,Tony, Lena, Erin, Jacob, Todd, andMegan. They each grabbed a part ofthe Chicken attack kit and we wentout into their neighborhood to dis-pense some rapid-fire guerilla gigs!Since landing in California I felt theuncontrollable urge to push theenvelope and actually play INSIDEa Jack in the Box fast food restau-rant. The time had come. I wasfully expecting the gig to be haltedbefore it began, but NO ONE SAIDA DAMN THING! A bunch ofpunks haul a drum set into Jack inthe Box and set it up right in themiddle of all the tables of diningfamilies and whatnot. Shouldn’tthis look at least somewhat suspi-cious? Let the ruckus roll! I pulled

on the head and figured I shouldquickly get to it before someonedecides to stop the gig. There I was,in San Pedro, California, perform-ing like some sort of weird-ass in-house band in JACK IN THEBOX! For me it was a momentfrozen in time. It felt so right. Totop it off, while we all exited withthe chicken kit the staff holleredout, “Is that it? No more?” It’s awiggly world. We walked oneblock down and found a fine look-ing street corner with a stoplight.Green means go, but red lightmeans captive audience! I rockedmy ruckus for two red lights on thestreet corner, pointing out passingcars and getting loads of honks andhollers. San Pedro was taking a lik-ing to my Wisconsinist ways. Then,I kept seeing the Payless ShoeSource up the street and thought tomyself, “Hmmmm, don’t think Iever played a shoe store before!”While we were heading up to thestore, my eyes caught a littleWinchell’s donut shop and I wassold. The little indoor area in frontof the counter was only about twiceas big as the Chicken kit. Perfect!The punks filed in to set up theirparts of the kit and then watchedfrom outside. The girl behind thecounter just looked on, confusedand perhaps a little scared. TheChicken head went on and soon thedonut racks were vibrating tomy………….. DONUT SHOPROCK! I didn’t even get busted bya “rookie cop!” Okay, that was bad.Anyway, there was something aes-thetically pleasing about my riot

When I halt the ruckus one of the hockey-hairs yells out,"YOU'RE ALL FAGS!" Fuckinay! I'm starting to feel alive!

RHYTHM CHICKEN

rock in the little glass donut hut.While we all hauled off with the kit,Todd kindly purchased a donut.Tiltwheel were probably on thehighway somewhere, drinking.

Dinghole Report #48: Ruckus at Point Fermin!(Rhythm Chicken sightings#….,…, &….)

We all trekked down to theshore for some oceanside ruckus. Inan area known as Point Fermin, wefound a biker bar called Walker’sBurgers with plenty of Harleysparked out front. While setting upamongst the motormonsters facingthe front door, a tall, road-wornbiker lady came out to ask exactlywhat it was I thought I was going todo. I said, “Just a one minute rockshow?” She looked at the drumsetamongst her customers’ Harleys,rolled her eyes, and said, “Okay.You’ve got one minute and you’reon the clock starting NOW!” Assoon as I pulled on the Chickenhead she became a little more light-hearted and went back inside. Herclientele roared for the show as myroadie army roared from behind. Aswe were carrying the Chicken kit tothe next gig, a member of my mili-tia overheard the quote of the tour.Some bystander yelled to someoneelse, “Hey, there’s some defiantdrumming going on over there!”Holy shit! DEFIANT DRUM-MING! Ain’t I an ausgeflippter!Nearby in the park we saw the largeoutdoor amphitheater stage empty,just begging for some defiantdrumming! Using science to myadvantage, I roughly calculated thefocal point on the stage under theconcert shell to yield maximumChicken volume. There were rowsand rows of empty seats, except forthe first row with a few of my mili-tia relaxing to enjoy the concert. Irolled out some thunder as myrhythms emanated outward overthe park and down the shoreline. Afew passers-by and families in thepark halted their activities to enjoythe rock assault. Less than an hourago I was playing in Winchell’sdonut shop and now I was on thebig stage! Being a native of theimmediate neighborhood, Rawldirected us to the prime spot for aChicken gig, the Korean FriendshipBell. I had never seen a friendshipbell before, and was informed itwas the site of a big scene in themovie Usual Suspects. The touristsgathered around the large structurealready had their cameras out whenthe group of punks carried a drum-set up the stairs and positioned itdirectly in front of the bell. I pulledon the head and I could alreadyhear the cameras going off. At thispoint I grinned under the Chickenhead, thinking of how many family

vacation photo albums the RhythmChicken is in around the world. Iwonder how many family vacationalbums Pearl Jam are in? I com-menced the ruckus and the gather-ing crowd took photos, albeit some-what confused. The friendship bellrock show was a smash hit. I fin-ished up and stood valiantly withmy wings in the air feeling the coolocean breeze. So this is California.

We said farewell to the 4thStreet punk crew and made our waytowards Highland Park to finallysettle in at Razorcake HQ. Westopped at the Food 4 Less where Igot the necessary ingredients to cre-ate my first-ever California versionof Rhythm Chili. I marveled at thecoolness of being able to buy cactuspaddles. Wisconsin has deep friedcheese curds. California has cactuspaddles. What did disturb me wasthat Pabst is a Wisconsin beer, thepride of Milwaukee no less, whereI can usually pick up a case foraround eleven bucks, and yet herein LA I was able to get the samecase for an astounding $8.99! Thistruly defies logic. We settled in atTodd and Megan’s, where weinstantly started assuming qualitycontrol over the case of Pabst.Tomorrow the Chicken was goingto rock Hollywood! Somewhere upnorth, Tiltwheel continued drink-ing.

Dinghole Report #49: Cocklesand Ruckus at Molly Malone’s!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #….)

The next morning we gatheredour senses and headed out to bring

ruckus to LA. First Todd and Ipicked up our friend Russ beforewe headed to Molly Malone’s tomeet up with Jim “Money” Rulandand his girlfriend Noel. A finebreakfast of beer and french frieswas had until the remainder of thisday’s roadie army arrived. KidKevin, Rawl, Kobe, and Troy fromSan Pedro all took the day off tojoin the Chicken traveling ruckusshow around LA. The troops wereat hand and it was time to unleashthe rock. We started with an earlyafternoon gig in Molly Malone’s.The audience consisted of my mili-tia, the bartender, one old guy andone Greg-Allman-looking fucker.Perfect! I pulled on the head and letmy Chicken rhythms fill the club.The bartender cleaned some glass-es. The old guy watched in a some-what drunken haze. The Greg-Allman-looking fucker refused towatch. My roadie army cheered andclapped. Somewhere nearingPortland, Tiltwheel were crackingopen some fresh ones.

Dinghole Report #50: ChickenRocks the La Brea Tar Pits!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #……)

In three different cars, we allsomehow met up outside the parkcontaining the La Brea Tar Pits.Now, to you Californians this maybe just another tourist stop, but tothis Wisconsinite it was the mysti-cal La Brea Tar Pits that BugsBunny was always trying to finduntil he took that wrong turn atAlbuquerque! This was BIG! So

here’s a group of punks hauling adrumset through the park contain-ing the tar pits and setting them upin front of the largest, most impres-sive tar pit, the one with the statueof the woolly mammoth gettingstuck in the tar. No security arrived.No one questioned a thing. Iassumed my wooden throne andstarted playing yet another one ofmy most monumental gigs.Pedestrians gathered around. Morecameras came out. My high volumeruckus rock caused ripples in thethick black tar pits while it echoedaround the entire park nestledamongst a downtown business dis-trict. An old man scooted past in hislittle old man scooter. All this chaosand mayhem occurred totallyunchecked. After tearing down afew of my militia members wererolling along on their skateboardsand suddenly, out of nowhere, weheard whistles and a couple securi-ty dudes came down hard on myroadies. NO SKATEBOARDING!Okay, so drumming quite loudly ina Chicken head in front of the maintar pit is all fine and dandy, butharmlessly rolling along on a skate-board is a crime against G.W., BigBrother, and apple pie? Now Iknow.

Dinghole Report #51: Knock, Knock, Knocking on Disney’s Door!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #….)

We all met up at the next highprofile venue: the new, warped-chrome fronted Disney ConcertHall. While setting

37

RHYTHM CHICKEN

High volume ruckus rock caused ripples in the thick black La Brea Tar Pits...

up on the sidewalk in front of thismonstrous architectural night-mare, a few dorky college guys onthe steps said, “Just go for it!” Itook their advice and just “goed”for it. I gave the pedestrians, thetraffic, and the concert hall securi-ty one hell of a dose of my ruckus.I thought that homeland securitywould surely be silencing the gigin no time flat. I halted andaccepted the applause and cheersof the gathering crowd. I contin-ued rolling out the thunder andhalted again. Cheers. One moreround of ruckus rock and I felt theshow had come to a successfulfinish. Once again, no harass-ment, no long arm of the law, nodiscrimination. Was CaliforniaREALLY this laid back? Jeez!

Dinghole Report #52: Chicken Salutes Olivera Street.(Rhythm Chicken sightings #… & ….)

Across from Union Station isthis small ped-mall area com-memorating the first Spanish set-tlement in LA, or some other sim-ilar historical significance. Afterfinding a large statue of someconquistador, we set up at its feetand I let loose some authenticBohemian Wisconsin rock. As mythunder rhythms echoed aroundthe site, more people turned theirheads and started to flock near.The gig rocked on and the peoplein attendance were enlightened.One male audience member wasoverheard commenting, “RhythmChicken, huh? Nothing wrongwith that!” Ruckus be with you,sir! We all retreated to the nearbychurro stand where we feasted onthese tasty delights. I enjoyed mychurro so much I felt it was fittingto serenade the lady working thestand. The Rhythm Chickenrocked the Disney Concert Halland a churro stand all in the samehour! Have I no mercy?

Dinghole Report #53:Chinatownland Means Ruckus at Hand!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #…)

Todd knew of this amazingspot for a Chicken gig in theChinatown area. It was directlyadjacent to the famous old HongKong Café, and it was a fenced inarea containing large white lettersspelling out “Chinatownland.”Perfect! The Rhythm Chickenrocked out another Earth-shatter-ing concert to the chicken militiaand the folks running the littletrinket stand next door.Somewhere, Tiltwheel continueddrinking.

Dinghole Report #54: ChickenRocks Pink’s While TiltwheelStill Drinks!(Rhythm Chicken sighting #…)

This day’s entire roadie armyagreed that the Rhythm ChickenHAD TO play to the line of folks infront of the famous Pink’s HotDogs. This was like a dream cometrue, which is surprising since I’ve

never heard of Pink’s before! Hotdamn, let the ruckus commence!The line of people outside theestablishment watched in mildanticipation while my militia set upmy stage on the corner of the build-ing. Then on went the head and onthe ruckus rolled! My ears wereflapping about tastily and my drum-sticks were flying around like twoturgid kielbasas! I raised my wingsand was met with riotous applause.Another rock solid-dose of ruckusand they were yelling and holleringyet again. One snappily dressed fel-low in the front of the line was tak-ing photos with his cell phone! Ah,what a modern world we live in.Inside Pink’s the wieners weretwitchin’.

Dinghole Report #54: Hollywood Attacked!(Rhythm Chicken sightings#…,…,…, &…)

Jim and Noel had to get alongso we said our farewells. Now theChicken’s roadie army wastrimmed down and ready for aguerilla rapid-fire assault on theland below the Hollywood hills!My crew and I all converged just upthe street from Mann’s ChineseTheater, the first victim in thisruckus blowout finale. I scouted outthe area and found the most optimalspot for my stage, directly in front,dead center. There were guidedtours going on all around. Therewere fake actors dressed up asSuperwoman and Bruce Willismilling about, signing autographs.There were TONS of tourists andmuch foot traffic. The time hadcome. My kit was set up on thewalk of fame, just two stars awayfrom Michael Jackson’s. I wastedno time and cut right to the ruckus.

My chaos rock echoed around thelarge entranceway and the peoplegathered around. I pounded theChicken skins, flailing about, giv-ing it my all. Once again, myruckus was playing the big stage!FINALLY, someone, somewheredecided this wasn’t supposed tohappen in a place like this. Onesecurity guy approached my stageand tried to communicate with

Troy, who was sitting in front of mybass drum, holding the RhythmChicken sign. Troy rightly ignoredthe man. Then a SECOND securityfellow approached and grabbed myarm. End of show. The funny partwas that he never told me to stop,he just told me I had to turn it downa couple notches! Well, I’m sorrysir, but the Rhythm Chicken turns itdown for NO ONE! We gathered upthe kit and moved on up HollywoodBoulevard. About a half block upthe boulevard we stopped in frontof the Metro Rail subway entrance-way. I set up and sent my high-vol-ume rhythms down into the under-world! Another crowd gatheredaround and cheered the Chicken onfor more. This time, a Metro Railsecurity dude approached theChicken and ended the show. Hethen informed me that if I kept thegig on the far side of the stars on thesidewalk it was fair game! Wemoved the traveling ruckus circusto the next street corner, Hollywoodand Highland. I was set up on thecorner and let my ruckus flow to thepublic. Cars honked, cameras weregoing off, people cheered, and goodmerriment was had by all. Then Ispied the Guinness Book ofRecords Theater across the inter-section and thought it would be afine closing gig. We hauled ourstage to the entranceway to the the-ater where I performed on top ofsome new sidewalk stars. A fewpedestrians stopped to enjoy myruckus. My roadie army cheered. Ipounded out my final Californiarhythms and then knew whenenough was enough. I stood andbowed to the entire state. Someonefrom across the street yelled out,“Rhythm Chicken!” and, as itturned out, it was a Milwaukee res-ident who had only seen the

Rhythm Chicken on the MilwaukeeFOX news, until now.

We bid farewell to our SanPedro infantry. Todd, Russ, and Imade our way back to RazorcakeHQ where I started working on myRhythm Chili. Tonight’s RhythmChili was a special California vari-ant for it included finely choppedcactus paddles. Mr. DesignatedDale stopped by for a quick visitbefore he took off for New York. Iwas honored to shake paws withhim and stunned to see how muchhe resembled Milwaukee Chickenroadie Ruckus O’Reilly! Later,mild-mannered Jeff Fox joined usand Megan came home from work.Many Pabsts were had while theRhythm Chili simmered precari-ously. Later, we all settled down forthick, heart-stopping doses of myWisconsin-style chili with the slightCalifornia variant. All in attendancesmiled and Razorcake HQ soon wasin need of better ventilation! Thankyou, good night!

On my final full day in LA, theRhythm Chicken was able to relax.Todd and I made a quest to get asclose to the Hollywood letters onthe hill as we could to take a fewphotos to make my mother henhappy. Later in the day, I joinedTodd to a Highland Park townmeeting to discuss the nature of theskatepark they are planning tobuild. That night a few more guestsstopped by and I made them allwatch the movie Drop DeadGorgeous so they could enjoy thegood thick Midwest accent. ManyPabsts later we were asleep.

Early Wednesday morning,Todd drove me and my Chickenhead back to the Burbank airport. Itwas all over too soon. Soon I wasairborn to Dallas, and again toMilwaukee. Lord Kveldulfr metone ragged and fatigued Chicken atthe airport. We started shopping forour trip to Kansas City. We were todepart in mere hours. No rest forthe wicked Chicken, indeed.Unfortunately, the KC leg of thetour will have to wait till nest time.

Okay, Francis and Sicnarf. Iguess I can let you loose now.

—The Rhythm Chicken unties hisfriends and removes their gags—

[(HOLY SHIT! NEW RUCKUS!H I P - H I P - H U R -RAAAAAAAYYYY!!!! – F.F. &Dr. S.)]

Somewhere, right now,Tiltwheel continues drinking.

–The Rhythm Chicken

rhythmchicken@hotmail.comwww.rhythmchicken.com

39

RHYTHM CHICKEN

Ruckus Inside Jack in the Box

“Don’tcha comedishin’ out noscraps to me!” The Triggers

It’s a funny thing about hardcore; itis one of the most overused, misunder-stood, and misrepresented musicalterms there is. There is never a shortageof sub-genres to latch on to the term andmost of ‘em stink. My favorite form ofhardcore is and has always been what Icall original style hardcore. Fast, catchy,short, and simple. If it is Minor Threat,Negative Approach, Zero Boys, or any-thing that has fallen off that tree, then Ican dig it. It is seemingly such an easything to play and write, but eight out often hardcore bands can’t seem to get itright. It is far too easy to fall into tune-less thrash – insanely fast, no hooks,short for short’s sake. Much like blue-grass and blues, there is a template, andworking within that and still keeping itinteresting is challenging and far fromeasy. However, when it hits right, thereis nothing like it: a punch in the facethat you want. The past few years haveseen a rash of great, original-style hard-core bands. After a decade and a half ofboring bullshit, great bands like OutCold, Dead Nation, Real Shit, AmdiPetersens Arme, Out Of Vogue, Tear ItUp, and more have come on strong, get-

ting it more than right. Most of thesebands are as good, if not better, thanmany of the original bands. They takethe strengths of the original bands andbypass the weak shit.

You can add Career Suicide to thetop of that list. I have been in love withthis band ever since the first side of theinstant classic hardcore punk Sars EP(Deranged Records) blew out of myspeakers. I have gone on to pick up theself-titled 7” on Kangaroo and the greatLP on Ugly Pop. Career Suicide just getseverything right. I was excited as hell toget the chance to interview thisCanadian hardcore powerhouse andhere is the interview with singer Martinand guitarist Johah. They make goodrecords. Finding records like these isthe reason that I still invest way toomuch time and money on hardcorerecords. The payoff is incredible whenyou get your hands on a killer hardcorerecord after purchasing several over-hyped thrash ones. Keep your eyespeeled for upcoming releases, includinga split LP with garage punk band JedWhitey from Australia.

Mike: How did you all meet up and decideto start Career Suicide? Martin: Career Suicide actually formedwithout any of its current members. It wasforged out of a band that I sang in calledFuck Jonah. While I moved to the westcoast for six months, the remaining mem-bers of the band formed Career Suicide. Jonah: Martin and I had known each otherfor a year or two before I joined CareerSuicide, but I had never met Eric (originaldrummer) or talked to Noah (original bassplayer) all that much. I filled in for theirabsent guitar player (Marky Rodentpesci)one day and the first “functioning” line upof Career Suicide was born. I think it wasthe wrong choice, though. All of the mem-bers who have left Career Suicide havegone on to be successful somehow. Ericwas a mountie and now he owns his ownrecord store. Noah is a big shot TV produc-er and Mark is on his way to becoming anunderwear model. Mike: What bands had you all played inbefore? Jonah: I did a brief jog with Martin and theJuice (our current drummer) in Bored OfEducation years back and saw mild recogni-

tion in the Juice-fronted Scare Tactic butthings didn’t really start to pick up untilCareer Suicide formed. Also, my twinbrother plays in Fucked Up. Martin: As Jonah mentioned, circa 2000-2001 we played together in the city’s mostannoying band, Bored Of Education. We’dplay mostly improvised sets of snottypower violence that lasted forty-five min-utes on average and usually ended with usnaked and attacking the crowd or threaten-ing them at gun point. That really hap-pened. Between originals, we’d alternatebetween Diana Ross and ‘80s hardcoresongs, all the while claiming they werecovers of local mosh metal bands whichplagued our city at the time. This banddisbanded, but Jesse and I were able toreach even lower depths when formingFuck Jonah. Needless to say, the past his-tory of the members of Career Suicide isquite forgettable. Mike: What did you want to do different-ly with Career Suicide than you had inprevious bands? Jonah: I was always the whipping boy inprevious bands and I mean that literally.“Hey Falco, turn down your amp. You’re

stepping on my leads!” and then, smash,I’d get it. Or it would be like, “Do thirtypush ups before I take a shit on your back,”then, crash, I’d get it again. In CareerSuicide, I am more on a torturer trip than thetortured. Mike: What were your plans for the band inthe beginning? Martin: Considering the massive aversionto our previous musical incarnations, youcan imagine we didn’t have high hopes forCareer Suicide. I can safely say that theonly intention and motivation behind mak-ing music for us is to have a good time. Idon’t mean to make this a “humble begin-nings” speech, but you get the idea. Jonah: I wasn’t really around in the very,very beginning, but I think the plans wereto just “be a band.” The opportunity aroseto release records and tour so we tookthem, but there was never any set schemethat we intended to follow. Mike: What was the state of the hardcorescene locally when you started up? Jonah: It was okay. It seemed that a lot ofnew bands were forming and becomingmore popular, so I’d say when we started,things were on their way to taking shape.For a while there was a sort of unit oflocal and surrounding area bands thatwould rotate on playing shows –Haymaker, Fucked Up, Career Suicide,No Warning, Scare Tactic, Our War – but,as usual, the whole thing fell apart. Nowthings are seemingly stable and there areeven some new bands popping up. Checkout The Choice, The Action, andTerminal State.

longer one to Europe. Our daily livesprevent us from touring, really. We allhave other commitments outside ofmusic so sometimes it’s hard to findthe time to even practice, let alonetravel across a country. I go to schoolfull time, as does Jesse (drummer),and Miller (bass player) lives inOttawa so it’s hard to get us all togeth-er. I do really want this band though,so I have no trouble making time formost any endeavor that we decide toundertake. Martin: Plus, I basically detest every-

one in the band. Jonah: We do have big plans for touring,though. Most relevant would be a moreextensive tour to the United States, then

back to Europe, over to Japan, and ourlast tour ever will be to Hawaii. Mike: How did you record your full-length LP, how long did it take, andwhat are some things you might do dif-ferently next time? Jonah: It was recorded at a placecalled Audiolab, which is literally alaboratory. Dr. Hegge does soundexperiments on convicted felons andwe got a grant from the Canadian PenalSystem to record there. We’ve actuallydone every record there, but withoutthe government money. We’re alwayschanging equipment and guitars, buthopefully we can establish a “CareerSuicide Sound” that will be presentthroughout all our future records. Whenyou look at a review of say, the thirdrecord some famous punk band hasdone, often it will read, “Still good andhas that great (blank-blank) sound.”That’s what I want to do differently.

Mike: What music do you all listen towhen you need a break from fast andloud? Jonah: A lot of oldies, hit parader musicfrom the early ‘50s, early jazz and Latinmusic, Back From The Grave/GaragePunk Unknowns/Nuggets/Pebbles-typestuff and a bunch of ‘60s pop music. Martin: A lot of our musical tastes areinformed by pre-punk music, and I wouldlike to think that shows through in CareerSuicide to some degree. When turning theradio to an oldies station there are fewsongs I couldn’t sing along to. I’m alsointo a lot of ‘60s and ‘70s soul, as well as‘60s psych-garage. I can’t say there’smuch contemporary stuff I listen tothough. When on tour we’ll go from listen-ing to Merle Haggard to the Geto Boys toSlayer. Mike: What are your favorite classic andcurrent hardcore bands? Jonah: My faves of yesteryear are:Ramones, The Mad, Germs, Lewd, TheFix, Zero Boys, Bad Brains, Poison Idea,Gang Green, and Reagan

ter. We were never really prepared toplay live and the audiences kind ofhated us and thought we were boringand shitty. A few people had faith in us,but for the most part, it was pretty neg-ative. Now we have improved a wholelot and have received a heap of interna-tional attention, so most of these jerksare singing a different tune. We’re stillnot so hot on the outskirts of town, butin Toronto and outside of Ontario andCanada, people seem to like us a lot. Mike: How did you hook up withKangaroo Records in The Netherlandsfor the 7” single? Martin: Just a lucky coincidence, Iguess. A few years ago I was inAmsterdam for about half a day, wait-ing on a connecting flight and I endedup stumbling into a record store calledIndependent Outlet. I became fastfriends with the people who ran theshop, and through them, I got a demo toHenk, who runs Kangaroo. Thereseemed to be a number of great interna-tional hardcore releases coming out ofAmsterdam, particularly the Out Coldrecords on Kangaroo, so I was prettyeager to get demos around. Mike: How much touring have youdone, and do you have plans to domore? Jonah: We’ve done two major tours.One short tour to the U.S. and one

Martin: It’s hard to ever gauge thestate of Toronto hardcore/punkbecause it is so inbred. To an out-sider it may seem that there are agreat number of bands from thisarea, but I can only think of veryfew, if any, which don’t share theirmembers. This in and of itself islikely no different than most other

cities, however Toronto also seri-ously lacks a younger crop of kids.Due to a variety of regional laws lim-iting access to bars and live musicvenues by minors, kids often don’thave an opportunity to check out livebands and rarely get heavily involvedin quality punk and hardcore. Mike: What was the response whenyou first started playing out? Howhas it changed since? Jonah: Well, our first show had agreat response, which made thingslook bright for the future. But it def-initely got worse before it got bet-

4455

Youth, but there are a million more.Currently, there is not all that much I wouldcall my “favorite” but I’ve been into DirectControl from Richmond, who are excellent;Born In Hell from Boston; Violent Mindsfrom everywhere; the Teenage Rejectswere pretty much a hardcore band; andsome of those California acts that havepopped up the last couple of years –Annihilation Time, Knife Fight, and StreetTrash. Also, the Danes have produced somegood records in the past while – AmdiPetersens Arme, Young Wasteners, GorillaAngreb, and recently, No Hope For TheKids. Martin: The usual shit… The Fix, BlackFlag, Koro, Angry Samoans, RadioBirdman, Pagans, Ramones, Adolescents,and Urban Waste. As far as current bands,the last few records I played includedDirect Control, Young Wasteners, FuckedUp, Dead Stop, and The Prowl. Mike: What are your favorite classic andcurrent non-hardcore bands? Jonah: I don’t think I have a favorite “clas-sic band.” Maybe the Modern Lovers,Black Sabbath, or the Dictators? I don’treally have a favorite current non-hardcoreband either. I’m not really up on what’shappening in modern “music,” but howabout that Miss Dynamite song?Martin: I’d have a hard time picking afavorite classic non punk/hardcore band.Queen is awesome, but I would probablygo for Sam Cooke. As for current music,I’m also pretty ignorant to what’s going on,

to understand that despite the fact that itturned out to be our third official release, itwas actually our first studio recording.Unfortunately, it was marred with delays,which kept it from being released for nearlytwo years. Months before the LP’s release,we went back into the studio to re-mix andre-record some tracks, which definitelyfreshened the sound. I am happy with theLP and I think it’s got some of ourstrongest songs. But, my favorites are stillthe Sars EP (Deranged Records) and theself-titled EP. Funnily enough, maybe myabsolute favorite is still our first demothat’s available in 12” format on theToronto Omnibus compilation. Mike: What are your current plans as far asrecording? Martin: We’ve recorded eight songs for asplit LP with Australia’s Jed Whitey. Thosetracks have all been mastered and are justbeing held up by a lack of artwork. I plan tohave the covers and inserts laid out soonand the record will likely see release bysummer. Otherwise, we’ve already writtensongs for another 4-song EP to be releasedby a local label, Slasher, for North Americaand Even Worse Records for the rest of theworld.Mike: What are your future plans for theband at this point? Jonah: A regional tour of convales-cent homes and a record deal withFrontier, Touch and Go, orSubterranean.

but I’ve recently picked up some decentindie rock stuff. The Decemberists weregreat live. Mike: Do you think it is harder being aband in Canada compared to maybe theU.S.? What are some of the roadblocks yourun into? Martin: It’s definitely a nightmare everytime we prepare to cross the border. Wesink a ton of money in printing shirts, get-ting extra records to sell, renting a van, tak-ing time off from work and school, only toface the possibility that some border guardis having a bad day and decides to turn usaway on a whim. Luckily, we have beenable to slip by the last few times we’veattempted entry to the states. That’s aboutthe only drawback and it is really out-weighed by the benefits. Hell, we usuallydon’t have to drive longer than eight to tenhours to play a show, but despite that,we’re treated especially well just becausewe come from another country. Mike: Are you happy with your full-lengthrecord and were you surprised by theresponse to it? Jonah: Yes and no. Definitely surprisingthat it sold out within a month or two, butpeople’s reaction to it wasn’t as surprising.Most people say they like the LP, but enjoythe 7”s more, which we kind of knewwould happen. The LP is great for what it isthough: a pummeling hardcore record. Thenewer stuff is a little more carefullyplanned. Martin: For what it is, I think we are defi-nitely as happy as can be about it. You have 4477

Imagine that you’re a writer. Anunpublished writer with a finished manu-script. You’ve worked for months, proba-bly years, on this thing and now you wantto get it published. In the time that youspent conjuring up plot, characters andimages to create your story, you may alsohave been conjuring up images of youbeing wined and dined by all of the majorpublishers. I typically envision myself inthe Lost Generation of 1920’s Paris. ThereI am chatting and drinking withHemingway, Fitzgerald and their editorsfrom Scribner’s. Gertrude Stein gentlytouches my arm and whispers, “That bookis brilliant. Pure genius.” I smile. Damn,I’m smart, I think to myself. I’m going tobe a novelist, I’m going to be rich and I’mgoing to hang out with all of these heavy-weights.” But it’s not the 1920’s,Hemingway shot himself, and the chancesof getting rich as a writer are slimmer thana smoking flapper. Furthermore, the pub-lishing industry is not the same now as itwas then.

Over the past forty years, theauthor/publisher relationship has changeddramatically. The changes can be attrib-uted, in large part, to the conglomerationof publishing houses. In 1965, there weretwenty-seven major publishing houses.Today, there are five. Prestigious pressessuch as Doubleday and Knopf have beenbought out by publishing conglomerates,and the conglomerates are now comprisedof a number of previously independentpublishers. For example, Random Housenow shares ownership with Doubleday,Bantam, Dell, Dial, Villard, Ballantine,Knopf, Crown, Times Books, and more.The people who own these conglomera-tions do so because they help to widen andexpand market share, and their ultimategoal is to maximize profit on their invest-ment. However, many people in the pub-lishing and writing industry feel that theintense focus on profit is having a negativeeffect on the publishing of books, particu-larly on the publishing of literature.

The conglomerate presses obviouslydo provide many advantages for some oftheir writers. The cash that these behe-

moths control allows them to market, pro-mote and distribute in ways that are impos-sible for the independents. But this kind ofattention is typically only reserved forthose books and writers that have a provencommercial track record. While the bighouses do publish writers such as therecent Nobel Prize winners, V.S. Naipaul(Random House), J.M. Coetzee (Penguin),and Toni Morrison (Knopf), the majorityof their big-selling books tend to be lessliterary. And the real casualties of the con-glomerate presses tend to be their mid-listwriters. These are the authors who areoften writing solid literary fiction, but arenot selling the numbers it takes to be a bestseller. Unfortunately for these writers, thenew business philosophy of the big NewYork presses is to publish a huge amountof titles, and bank on some of them beingblockbusters. Those books that produce thebig numbers are obviously showered withpromotion money and attention to sustaintheir huge sales, but those that do not, themid-list writers, often have their books goout of print very quickly, and are rarelygiven the financial and personal attentionthat most books require to be a sales suc-cess. With over 3500 new books beingpublished each year and new research stat-ing that over eighty percent of Americansneither bought nor read a book in the pastyear, many, many authors will find them-selves placed as mid-list writers.

What follows are the stories of a num-ber of people who work in the publishingindustry. I interviewed writers, indepen-dent publishers, conglomerate publishersand self-publishers, and through theirexperiences and words, a clearer picture ofthe publishing world is illuminated.

Kaylie Jones, WriterKaylie Jones definitely knows some-

thing about the writing life. She has pub-lished five novels, and has helped to openthe MFA Program in Writing at LongIsland University’s South Hampton cam-pus. She became a Writer in Residence inthe NYC public schools after beingexposed to the poetry of underprivilegedchildren at workshops she helped to fund.

Furthermore, because her father is JamesJones, the author of From Here to Eternity,she grew up surrounded by the literary lifeboth in Paris as a child, and later in NewYork. In her interview, Ms. Jones talkedwith a frankness and passion that left mespinning.

As we discussed the plight of the mid-list writers at the conglomerate publishingcompanies, Jones had this to say: “Themid-list writers are screwed completely.There’s no way around this. But what’sunsettling is that the big publishers don’ttell the truth. They don’t say, ‘We don’tcare about our mid-list writers, we don’tcare about literature.’ They don’t say that,but that’s the truth. They have MBAsdeciding who gets published because ofcomputer graphics and focus groups. Sowhen they say they care about literature,that’s what gets me.”

Jones has good reason to be dissatis-fied with her publishing experiences. Shepublished her first two novels, As Soon AsIt Rains (1986), and Quite the Other Way(1989) with Doubleday, her third novel, ASoldier’s Daughter Never Cries (1990)with Bantam, her fourth, CelesteAscending (2000) with Harper Collins, andfinally changed to an independent publish-er, Akashic Press, to publish her latestnovel, Speak Now (2003). At first, her rela-tionship with Doubleday, before it hadbeen taken over by Bertelsmann, wasgood. But then a disconcerting patternbegan. “The day I handed in my secondnovel, everybody I worked with atDoubleday was fired. There was a hugecoup. That’s when Bertelsmann bought it.I was inherited by a younger publisher whostayed for a little while and then left.That’s been the story of my publishing life.Every single time I’ve changed and goneto a new publisher the person who I wasworking with was either fired or left to goto a bigger and better place. There was abig article in Poets and Writers when myfirst novel was published, saying that therewas a common scenario of writers beingorphaned by their publishers. When I readit I said, ‘They’re just exaggerating. Itcan’t be that bad.’ And that was in the mideighties. Since then it’s no longer an

Indie BooksAlternative Options in Publishing

Article by Jim ConklinIllustrations by Rob Ruelas

Indie BooksAlternative Options in Publishing

Article by Jim ConklinIllustrations by Rob Ruelas

Indie BooksAlternative Options in Publishing

Article by Jim ConklinIllustrations by Rob Ruelas

Indie BooksAlternative Options in Publishing

Article by Jim ConklinIllustrations by Rob Ruelas

anomalous nightmare, it’s the norm. It’swhat happens to everybody. There’s nolonger this old-fashioned mentor relation-ship between an editor and a writer.There’s no longer the notion of stickingwith a writer through thick and thin. Nosense of developing a writer’s career. Nowthey buy a book because it’s got a hookand they’ll be able to sell it. So if you’re amid-list writer, which I’m considered, andthey think you’re difficult to market, youcan be treated really badly.”

Another issue Jones has had with theconglomerate publishers is a lack of editor-ial voice. She said that on a number ofoccasions, her editors have asked her to“sex your books up, shine them up a little.”Her most recent novel, Speak Now tells thestory of a meth-amphetamine dealer whostalks a woman who works at a halfwayhouse for battered women. When Jonesbrought the manuscript to one of the bigpublishers, the editor suggested somerather major changes. “My editor said, ‘Ithink you should make the male charactera tits and nose plastic surgeon. It’s justglitzier and more interesting, and I think

the female character should be a magazineeditor.” But Jones would have nothing todo with it. “I know eight or nine magazineeditors and I’d rather kill myself than haveanything to do with these people, let alonewrite a character like that. I said, ‘Thankyou so much for your comments,’ and thatwas the end of that.”

Having become completely frustratedwith the big New York publishers, Jonestook her manuscript to the independentpublisher, Johnny Temple, at AkashicBooks. The relationship was an immediatesuccess. Temple loved the book and agreedto accept it. With the appropriate revisionsmade, and a great deal of editorial freedomfor Jones as a writer, Jones and Akashic

put the book out in 2003. This is the kindof publishing relationship that the writerwas looking for. “Johnny’s a really decentperson with the drive to do the right thing.He’s not doing it to get rich, but to keep agood range of stuff out there. There are alot of books out there that won’t get pickedup by the big presses, not because they’renot good, but because they’re not pigeon-holeable.”

Another advantage that Jones appreci-ates about her new publisher is Akashic’swillingness to stick with their writers. Inour interview, she juxtaposed the experi-ence she had publishing her last book withBantam. “Celeste, came out in the springand there was a flurry of very goodreviews from People, EntertainmentWeekly and a few other places. The bookgot a lot of attention and it sold very wellfor a few months, and then bang, it wasgone. With Akashic it’s been constant.They keep going and going. They neverput you out of print. The book is alwaysavailable. Even if it’s not up front in thebookstore, people still ask for it. Sales startto go up. It’s a slow build and people start

to pay attention. It’s a different thing. Ittakes a lot longer, but there’s a kind ofmomentum that builds up slowly, andthat’s happened with a lot of Akashic’sbooks.”

And some of Akashic’s titles havedone conspicuously well. Nina Revoyr’sSouthland was selected for the LA Times’Best Books of 2003, among other awards.Tim McLoughlin won Italy’s PremioPenne Award for his novel, Heart of theOld Country. And Daniel Chavarria’s TheEye of Cybele was long-listed for the 2004IMPAC Dublin Literary Award.

With the kind of relationship thatJones has built with Akashic, and the qual-ity writing that the publisher is putting out,

Jones knows that it will be a long, longtime before she would ever even considerreturning to one of the conglomeratepresses.

Joe Meno, WriterAt the young age of twenty-four, Joe

Meno published his first novel, Tender AsHellfire, with St. Martin’s Press. When hewas twenty-seven, he published How theHula Girl Sings, with Harper Collins.However, his experiences working withconglomerate publishing houses left himdisgruntled. “It had become very clear tome how corporatized the major houseshave become,” he told me. “They are notso interested in telling stories. They wantcapital. This whole industry has turned intoproducing work for the least commondenominator, which isn’t what writing fic-tion is about to me.”

Joe Meno is not naïve. His day job hashim teaching creative writing at ColumbiaCollege in Chicago, and for years, heworked nights as the lead singer and guitarplayer for the punk band, The Phantom

Three. He speaks with the articulation ofan intellectual and the passion of a punk.And when it comes to making decisionsabout where he will publish his books,Meno’s choices seem to be guided by bothqualities equally.

As a new and unknown writer, Menowas initially very pleased to be publishingwith one of the big houses. “For about amonth all I did was go to bookstores – atthe time I was still delivering flowers –and here I was, published writer.” But hisrelationship with his publisher soon beganto sour. St. Martin’s Press, “had massivedistribution problems, resulting in sendingmy book out three months late, andbecause of the lag, chain 49

Sales departments at thebig publishing houses

wanted books they had

seen before - books they

knew how to sell. They

didn't want to take

chances selling books

with no “handle.” They

shied away from anything

new, anything they

couldn't pigeon-hole.

Sales departments at thebig publishing houses

wanted books they had

seen before - books they

knew how to sell. They

didn't want to take

chances selling books

with no “handle.” They

shied away from anything

new, anything they

couldn't pigeon-hole.

Sales departments at thebig publishing houses

wanted books they had

seen before - books they

knew how to sell. They

didn't want to take

chances selling books

with no “handle.” They

shied away from anything

new, anything they

couldn't pigeon-hole.

Sales departments at thebig publishing houses

wanted books they had

seen before - books they

knew how to sell. They

didn't want to take

chances selling books

with no “handle.” They

shied away from anything

new, anything they

couldn't pigeon-hole.

Sales departments at thebig publishing houses

wanted books they had

seen before - books they

knew how to sell. They

didn't want to take

chances selling books

with no “handle.” They

shied away from anything

new, anything they

couldn't pigeon-hole.

bookstores automatically sent their copiesback. St. Martin’s also offered no help inpromotion.” When Meno prepared to writehis second novel, he was told he “shouldwrite a book just like my first, so it wouldbe easier to position. I didn’t want to andmy editor there left, and so did I.”

Meno moved to Harper Collins, butthings didn’t get much better. Althoughthey were more helpful in acquiring somepress and reviews for the book, ultimatelyMeno was disappointed about the relation-ship. “They were all set to do a paperback,I had gotten some great reviews for HulaGirl, but then my editor quit, and the bookwent out of print.”

And the problems did not stop there.When Meno submitted an idea for his thirdnovel, Harper Collins proved less thanenthusiastic. It was to be a book based onthe true story of growing up punk onChicago’s south side and a study in racialintolerance. It would focus on the events

surrounding a Chicago high school’s seg-regated prom in 1992. However, editors atHarper Collins found the material to be toocontroversial and asked Meno to alter hisplans. Shocked by his publisher’s unwill-ingness to tackle important and controver-sial topics, Meno had some thinking to doabout who would publish his next book.

So what did Meno do? He decided toleave Harper Collins and submit his newnovel, Hairstyles of the Damned, to PunkPlanet Books, an imprint of JohnnyTemple’s Akashic Books in New YorkCity. He had heard that the editors, Templeand Dan Sinker at Punk Planet, were com-mitted to publishing quality fiction, regard-less of the market, and the profit and lossreports. As their website notes, AkashicBooks is “dedicated to publishing urbanliterary fiction and political nonfiction byauthors who are either ignored by themainstream, or who have no interest inworking within the ever-consolidatingranks of the major corporate publishers.”

“Johnny and Dan are not doing whatthey do to simply make more money,”Meno states. “Neither am I. It seems theirgoals and expectations are aligned veryclosely with mine.

“An independent house can take risks,in form, content, style, all the things thatmake writing interesting. The corporationscan’t do that. They have to let the marketmake those choices. But you don’t write abook as a response to the market, or I don’tthink you should. This same thing is hap-pening in music, film, TV, these major

media companies, which have

their fucking hands in every market now,are making choices about content, notbased on meaning, but based on which willmake the most money. People like Johnnyand Dan are setting up presses to put workout they feel strongly about, as a responseto how empty the publishing world hasbecome.”

Meno’s new book is due out inSeptember. The author has been verypleased about his relationship with PunkPlanet. “It’s amazing,” he says. “TodayI’m going to the photo shoot for the bookcover. Dan and Johnny asked, ‘What doyou want for the cover?’ No one everasked me that before. They worked out therelease for September so I could tour andthey have been supportive in setting upreadings. More than that, they keep thank-ing me, like they’re grateful to be workingwith me, which is a complete turnaround.Their hearts are in it, you know, it’s not ajob to them, it’s what they love.”

Patricia Geary, WriterLike Joe Meno, Patricia Geary is a

professor. Unlike Meno, she doesn’t playguitar in a punk band. Instead, she decidedto pursue quieter interests by teachingyoga, and creative writing at University ofRedlands. However, don’t let the image ofserenity overtake this picture. While Gearyis definitely a kind, calm and eloquentwoman, she didn’t hesitate to voice heropinions about her experiences in publish-ing.

In 1982, Geary published her firstnovel, Living in Ether, with Harper andRow. At the time, Harper and Row had notyet been taken over by the Harper Collinsconglomerate. It was still functioning pri-marily as a literary publisher with a smalloffice and a highly literate and dedicatedstaff. Geary was thrilled with her experi-ence there. “My relationship at Harper andRow was very personal. I could meet withmy editor and work with him for threedays. He was always very careful and veryinterested. At the time that Living in Ethercame out, I went to New York to meet myeditor at Harper and Row and it wasn’t avery big office. I met everyone workingthere, they gave me copies of their newbooks that were coming out, and my editorinvited me over for dinner that night. Itwas very cozy. The whole experience hada literary presence.”

Geary’s debut novel went over well.However, when Geary produced her sec-ond novel, her editor at Harper and Rowwas not satisfied. So Geary went back towork to produce another book. By 1987,

Geary had written Strange Toys. But hereditor at Harper and Row had retired towrite his own books at that time, so Gearychanged publishers and went to BantamBooks.

By 1987, Bantam was a large con-glomerate press made up of Bantam,Doubleday and Dell. Geary became inter-ested in Bantam when they proposed pub-lishing Strange Toys in their new literarytrade paperback line. The publisherspromised a beautifully produced book andheavy promotional backing from the press.Geary was thrilled.

But then something strange happenedin the halls and offices of Bantam. Lateone night, Geary’s editor had a falling outwith the director of the new literary linethat would publish her novel. Because ofthis personal dispute and office politics,the head of the new literary line droppedall of the editor’s writers, including Geary.But luckily Geary had a contract with

Bantam that ensured her book would bepublished within two years. With the hopeof her novel being published by Bantam’sliterary line crushed, the publisher printedher book under their science fictionimprint. Geary was not pleased. “The bookwasn’t science fiction at all. If you had tocategorize it, I guess you could call it con-temporary fantasy.” But, essentially,Geary’s writing is literary fiction with ele-ments of magical realism. Her publisherswould be targeting the wrong reading mar-ket.

But once again, strange eventsoccurred. Despite Strange Toys not being“science fiction” one of the judges of thePhilip K. Dick award for science fictionloved Geary’s writing and she was award-ed the prize in 1987. But winning the prizehad both positive and negative effects.

In the short term, the award suppliedGeary with some much appreciated public-ity and acclaim. But in the long term, ithad less benign consequences. BecauseBantam liked Geary’s writing, they boughtthe rights to Living in Ether from Harperand Row, and republished that book andStrange Toys in their science fiction line.Not surprisingly though, Geary’s literarynovels did not fare particularly well beingmarketed as they were. “I actually have adecent sized fan base that followed mefrom one publisher to the other, but there’ssuch a difference between a big, beautifulliterary hardback as opposed to an airportmass market paperback. It’s normally twototally different groups of readers.”

Unfortunately for Geary, her publish-50

It wasn't exactly the Ramones at CBGB's,but the audience loved it

It wasn't exactly the Ramones at CBGB's,but the audience loved it

It wasn't exactly the Ramones at CBGB's,but the audience loved it

It wasn't exactly the Ramones at CBGB's,but the audience loved it

It wasn't exactly the Ramones at CBGB's,but the audience loved it

er’s mismarketing left the readers whowanted to read her literary prose unable tofind it, and those who wanted science fic-tion disappointed to discover that her writ-ing was more literary. The pigeonholing ofher books as something they were not leftGeary in a publishing no man’s land.

When she presented Bantam with herthird novel, Geary’s editor said that it wasunmarketable because it wasn’t sciencefiction. The problem, of course, is thatGeary doesn’t write science fiction. Shethen took her new novel to a number of theother large publishing houses, but heardthe same response: “If it’s not science fic-tion, we can’t market it.”

Completely frustrated by the situation,Geary stopped trying to publish her novels,focused her attention on teaching creativewriting at University of Redlands, andspending time with her family. But shedidn’t stop writing.

From 1988 to 2001, Geary had writtensix novels that she hadn’t even tried to getpublished. “I just gave up,” Geary says. “Ijust became tired of the whole scene.” Butthen Geary was rediscovered.

Felizon Vidad is a co-founder and edi-tor at Gorsky Press, an independent pub-lishing company in Los Angeles. After re-reading Living in Ether and Strange Toys,Vidad decided it was time to discover whatGeary was up to in 2001. When Vidad dis-covered the writer was up to six newbooks, she knew she was on to something.The editor contacted Geary in Redlands,and a beautiful relationship began. Gearygushes when she talks about her new edi-tor. “Felizon is so smart, she cares, and shereads a lot. You couldn’t ask for a bettereditor. She addresses everything from themicrocosmic aspects, to the whole outlookof the novel. We work really well together.”

And together, after thirteen years ofhaving her work go unpublished, the writerand editor put out Geary’s third novel, TheOther Canyon, and hope to get Geary’sother novels back in print with Gorsky.Geary was once again happy with her pub-lisher.

When asked to compare the differentexperiences she had at the different press-es, Geary said that the conglomerate press-es, “definitely don’t have the time to spendwith their writers and that was my experi-ence with Bantam. My editor there wasreally nice, but she didn’t have much timefor me. She gave me some good generalsuggestions on my book, but she wasputting out dozens, and she just didn’thave the time. I know from a lot of friendswith recent experiences that publisherswant books to show up pretty much readyto go, and if your book isn’t ready to go,no one has the patience, time or money towork with you, unless you’re a big name,of course.”

Different motivations at the differentpresses are another key difference that

Geary noticed. “In the small press every-one is involved in the project, which is:‘Let’s make this book as good as possible.’With the big presses, the editors have topitch their books and they have to arguefor the commercialness of their books –that the book is going to sell. And if theypick a book, and it doesn’t sell, thennobody is going to listen to them abouttheir choices in the future. None of thatexists in the small presses. Everybody’sinvolved in making the best book possiblewithout it jockeying and competing withall of the other editors’ stuff. It reallycomes down to competition at most of thebig presses.”

Competition and the all-mighty buck isnot what Geary is interested in. She states,“For me, because I’m fortunate enough tohave a job where I don’t need to earn all ofmy money from writing, I just want booksto be out there for my students and otherpeople to read. I just want to produce good

writing. It’s not important to me to makemoney off of it.” And with that, it becomesquite evident where one of the major dif-ferences between the conglomerate pressesand the independent presses lie.

Jeff Fox, Writer, Magazine

Producer and Self-PublisherJeff Fox is a self-publisher with a

sense of humor. He started publishingfanzines with titles like Maximum Rockand Raoul, and Die Evan Dando Die.Then, from 1994-1996 he publishedHollywood Highball Magazine, and from1998 to the unforeseen future, Fox hasbeen and will be publishing BarracudaMagazine. After laughing at Fox’s jokes, Iquickly realized that he’s not just a funnyguy. He also has an extremely solid graspon what’s going on in the publishingworld, and he’s got both feet planted firm-ly in reality. When we dis-

51

Rob

Rue

las,

s_za

mor

a072

7@ho

tmai

l.com

cussed his initial forays into the publishingarena, I asked if self-publishing was aresponse to the way that the conglomeratepublishers were operating. “I suppose. Butonly in the sense that I started out doingzines at the copy shop down the street andI can’t imagine Conde Nast would havebeen interested in a punk rock parody zinethat would sell fifty copies of each issue.”

Though Fox enjoys the creativity andsense of satisfaction of independently com-pleting his projects, he never forgets thatpublishing is also a business. “Would a bigcompany want to do Barracuda? Unlikely.My idea for a magazine could never gener-ate enough money for them to think it wasa profitable business venture – assumingthey even liked the concept, which I doubtthey would. But that doesn’t mean they’redoing anything ‘wrong’ in terms of that.That’s their business model. That’s howthey do business and I understand that.Anyone who comes up with some crackpotidea for a magazine and thinks some cor-poration is just going to bankroll it, likesome benevolent king, much less bankrollit and then let you do whatever you want,is living in a fairy tale.”

And of course, Fox has a strong point.Whether it’s in magazine publishing orbook publishing, the owners of the housesare in the business to make money. This isa world that is increasingly driven by capi-talism, and we should no longer be sur-prised that business people put profit aheadof art. Disappointed – yes, surprised – no.As Fox later stated, this situation is“understandable, but it’s poison to anykind of creative process.”

Johnny Temple, Writer,Musician, Indie Publisher

However, there are publishers who aretrying to find a happy medium in themoney vs. art dichotomy. Johnny Temple,the publisher of Jones and Meno atAkashic Press, is one of them. BecauseTemple does not have the capital to markethis books the way the conglomerates do,he has to get creative. And luckily, Templeis a creative guy. Since the early ‘80s hehas been heavily involved with the musicscene. He’s toured around the world withsuch bands as Soul Side, Girls AgainstBoys, and is presently playing with GinaGershon. With no previous publishingexperience, he started Akashic five yearsago, and has enjoyed a healthy amount ofsuccess.

Temple says that he’s trying to takelessons he learned as an early punk musi-cian to stimulate the independent publish-ing industry. “Independent music is muchmore successful and vital than independentpublishing is. In the very early eighties,around 1980, there were no punk networksfor bands to travel through. Punks andmusicians created those networks. There

are a number of us trying to do a similarthing in the independent publishing world.Instead of trying to just emulate the bigpublishers and trying to gear all your mar-keting into trying to get a big review in theNew York Times, it has much more to dowith community and networking betweenlike-minded people in different cities. Sowe’re trying to foster underground literarycommunities that can make indie publish-ing more vital, the way that independentmusic is.”

A perfect example of this kind of inde-pendent literary community comingtogether and organizing is Jim Murnoe’sPerpetual Motion Roadshow. On his web-site, Munroe describes the Roadshow as,“an indie press touring circuit, an unholycombination of a vaudevillian variety showand a punk rock tour. There’s one loop inthe Northeast that goes May-Oct, and onerun of the west coast between Vancouverand LA during Nov-Apr. Each month,three new lively indie performers pile in acar and do seven cities in eight days, doingshows with the bold guarantee: No BoringReadings or Your Money Back!”

At the Roadshow I went to, there weretwo energetic readings of short stories andone audience-interactive short story/ dra-matic masked performance type thing. Itwasn’t exactly the Ramones at CBGB’s,

but the audience loved it, and the authorssold some books, got their names and facesout there, and appeared to have a goodtime.

Another way that Temple keeps hiscompany afloat is by publishing books thattarget a specific audience, and marketingthem in unconventional ways. BrooklynNoir is a new crime fiction collection writ-ten by twenty different writers and set inthe different neighborhoods of Brooklyn.To publicize the book, Akashic is doingthe first ever fifteen-neighborhood booktour of Brooklyn – a tactic that most of thebig publishers would find undesirable.Temple states, “most publishers focus theirmarketing money in places like Manhattan,Chicago and San Francisco, not places likeBrooklyn. But it’s a book that focuses onthe people of Brooklyn.”

Another title that Akashic is puttingout is A Phat Death by Norman Kelly. Thebook is a murder mystery that is set in thehip hop music industry and examinesAfrican American politics. Templebelieves that this kind of novel appeals to anumber of demographic groups that are notoften targeted by the big publishers. First,there is the regular reader who enjoys mur-der mysteries. But the book will alsoappeal to those readers interested inAfrican American politics, and youngerreaders interested in hip hop. To marketthe book and get it in people’s hands,Temple is not advertising in the NewYorker or Reader’s Digest, but in TheSource and Fader. Furthermore, Akashic isdropping off copies of the book at beautysalons in African American neighbor-hoods. With this kind of “out-of-the-box”thinking, Akashic is selling more books,and continuing their success.

However, the bottom line is definitelynot the only thing Temple takes into con-sideration. Railing against the money-minded ethos of the conglomerates,Temple says, “I think that as these giantcompanies gobble each other up withfewer and fewer titans controlling themainstream publishing business, it’s goingto speed up this process of everythingbecoming profit focused, which doesn’twork well with art. It doesn’t work wellwith music, and it certainly doesn’t workwith literature. There aren’t that many peo-ple who are engaged with excellent qualityliterary fiction, for example, so to applythis rigid business model to something likeliterature just doesn’t fit well. But that’sthe direction that you see the big compa-nies taking. So I think that the small com-panies are going to continue. I think it’s awonderful time to be an independent pub-lisher, and in the next five years more andmore attention will be paid to the indepen-dent publishers because they’re doing sucha great job of finding stuff that is beingignored.”

53

Richard Marek, Conglomerate

Publisher, Indie PublisherRichard Marek has worked in the

world of publishing since 1965. He hasworked for a number of large publishinghouses, including Macmillan, St. Martin’s,and Random House. He has served as edi-tor, editor-at-large, publisher and presi-dent. In 1992 he decided to get a taste ofindependent publishing. While still work-ing for Crown Publishing (a branch ofRandom House), Marek decided to runDelphinium Books, an independent pub-lisher based out ofBrooklyn. He explains: “Iwas a member of the main-stream until the streambecame a trickle. I negoti-ated huge deals, made hugepaperback sales, wasresponsible for budgets inthe mega-millions, went tomarketing meetings andsales conferences, puzzledover jackets and advertise-ments, worried, exalted,and became depressed as Iwatched with growing dis-may as mainstream pub-lishing moved further andfurther from care and nour-ishment for individualbooks and writers towardthe “blockbuster only” phi-losophy that predominatesnow. So my true pleasure,the books that ignited my publishingblood, were those I acquired forDelphinium. Real books. Real writers.”

While some may suggest that writers’negative experiences with the conglomer-ate presses could be dismissed as bad luck,publishers like Marek suggest that theseepisodes are not anomalies. Without themega-sales to back them up, publishinghouses are hesitant to stick with their mid-level writers. Marek states: “I was beingforced to try to acquire ‘big books’ only –nothing experimental or new; no‘unknowns’ unless the subject was trulycommercial, nothing that did not have apotential sale of 25,000 copies.” Salesdepartments at the big publishing houseswanted books they had seen before –books they knew how to sell. They didn’twant to take chances selling books with no“handle.” They shied away from anythingnew, anything they couldn’t pigeon-hole.

Unfortunately, Marek notes, “largepublishers will give up on a book almostimmediately if its advance sales are smallor if there are quick returns. The big pub-lisher simply can’t afford to go further.Too many new titles are clamoring forattention; there are too many demands ontime and energy.” And this seems to beone of the biggest pitfalls of publishingwith big presses. They have lost their will

to nurture lesser-known writers, and havelost the patience needed to allow them toimprove as writers and to attract a reader-ship that will support them in the future.

Marek says that when it comes tosticking with a new author or book, “theindependent publisher can keep a book inprint, try one approach after another, andnurture the book if it is at first a sicklychild. The small publisher simply cannotafford not to go further. A very good nov-elist recently told me that he was going tosubmit his next book to a small press. Heknew he would get a smaller advance, but

he knew too that his book would stay inprint far longer and that his work wouldreceive the one-on-one attention he hadnever gotten from a large house.”

To illustrate his point about big pub-lishing houses, Marek tells a story of whenhe was editor-in-chief at Dial Press. “Eachsummer I went to the writer’s conferencein Breadloaf, Vermont, to lecture to thestudents about publishing. One of the fac-ulty members was a fellow named JohnIrving, the author of three well-reviewedbut unsuccessful novels, and we struck upone of those ardent friendships one some-times experiences at writers’ conferences.In due course, I was offered an exclusiveshot at his new novel. But because Irving’sroof had fallen in, he needed an advance of$14,000 immediately to repair it. I hadenough clout at Dial to be able to buy sucha book purely on my say-so – and I turnedit down. None of John’s earlier books hadsold nearly enough copies to warrant suchan advance and, more importantly, I didn’tlike the first chapter. It struck me as show-off and too clever for its own good. Aweek later, at a party, I ran into a colleaguenamed Hal Scharlatt, then the Editor-in-Chief of EP Dutton Press. He told me hehad just bought a novel for $14,000 which,when finished, would be the most success-ful book of his career. I winced. ‘The

World According to Garp?’ I asked tremu-lously. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.”

Marek continues, “The fact that Halwas right and I wrong in a commercialsense isn’t as much the point as the factthat Hal was there, as the head of a rela-tively small, independent house. What if,like today, there had been only five bigpublishing houses? It’s possible, evenprobable, that the book would have beenpublished, but books of so delicate a natureneed more than mere publication. Theyneed the passion, enthusiasm and whole-hearted dedication Hal brought to Garp’s

publication, and in myworst dreams I see a Hal oftoday going to his salesdirector – who is undertremendous pressure toadvance more copies of thelatest Dean Koontz – andtrying to tell him about thebook. The sales managermight listen. He mighteven be caught up in Hal’senthusiasm. But in the endhe’d say to Hal, ‘I justcan’t advance many copiesof it. Who could with atitle like that?’”

Finally, Marek goes onto compare the “good olddays” of publishing in the‘60s, to the kind of workindependent publishers aredoing today. “In manyways, the time moonlight-

ing for my own independent press,Delphinium Books, were the happiestyears of my life in publishing. Man, it wasfun! Indeed, I used to sneak away earlyfrom my Crown office to go into my cubi-cle at home. For in 1995 I was doing whatI had done thirty years earlier and nolonger could in the mainstream – look fortalent, edit it, foster it, work closely withthe author, worry over every detail. I didn’thave to sell 25,000 copies to make a profit.I didn’t have to present my ideas to an edi-torial board that was dominated by a salesdepartment.”

And with that, Marek takes us back tothe beginning. To the good old days whenpublishing still had some finesse, a littlemore artistic integrity, and a dedicated per-sonal touch. Marek suggests that we don’thave to go back to the ‘20s, and my imag-ined cocktail party with Hemingway andthe rest of his crew. We don’t even have togo back to the ‘60s, before the beginningof the consolidation of the publishing com-panies. In order for writers, editors andpublishers to enjoy the integrity and dedi-cation that Marek discusses, it’s starting tolook like all we have to do is find an inde-pendent publisher that valuesthose qualities. And it sounds likeit won’t be that hard to do.

55

The premise is simple: straight-ahead, high-energy rock’n’roll. Theirony? Most of the bands that wave thatflag the hardest, well, they aren’t sogood. It’s almost as if they’re waving thewhite flag of surrender instead of hoist-ing a banner that symbolizes fun, truerecklessness, and songs that you want tohear so loud you’ll only be satisfied whenyou feel a trickle of blood roll from yourear down your neck. For me, this mapwas laid down long ago by the likes of theWho, Black Sabbath, Cheap Trick,AC/DC, and Motörhead. An endlessstream of bands have stomped over thesame ground, but over the last severalyears – as will happen with grass if it seesan endless stream of foot traffic – noth-ing new was seeming to grow out of whatwas once laid down as heavy and sturdyas rocks. If I had a nickel for every bandthat pleaded for ladies’ bras and pantiesto become magically unfastened andthrown up on stage due to their sheerrock prowess, I could take everyone

reading this right now out to

a nice burrito lunch. Sure, these bandshave the expensive duds, fancy gear,found-it-at-Guitar Center’s “hot licks”-seminar guitaring, and pro sneers butthey were missing… well, they weremissing something as serious as heart.

It makes sense, that when I got to sitdown with Mike, the RiverboatGambler’s lead singer, that this bandwas less about rock of the past, and somuch more about backyard parties inDenton, Texas and being poor, strange,and anxious. The more Mike talked, themore it made sense that their CD hasremained within arm’s length of mystereo since its release. The Gamblershave a healthy admiration of recent andcurrent groups you’d be hard-pressed tohear in their sound, but if you take acloser listen, it’s undeniable that they’rekindred sprits to bands like Toys ThatKill, The Bananas, Hickey, the ChopSakis, and the Marked Men.

Live, the Riverboat Gamblers havebeen responsible for thousands of beauti-ful bruises, all across America. Bruises

that people wear like badges of honor.Gone is standard rock posturing and inits place are five guys ripping you a newone, smiling all the way through their set.Keep your eye on Mike. He’s not afraidto smash down those barriers separatingband and audience. Even with restraints,I don’t think he could sit still duringtheir set. Just check out this issue’scover. That’s about seven feet of airbetween him and the ground.

Mike Wiebe: VocalsFreddy Castro: Guitar, VocalsJessie 3X: Drums, VocalsPatrick Lillard: BassMark Ryan: Guitar, Vocals

Todd: So you have a nickname?Mike: We’re always changing them, likethe Wu Tang Clan. We’ll probably changethem on each album. On the next one, Ithink it’ll be The Rookie Sensation MikeWiebe.Todd: Were you Teko, is that right?Mike: I was Teko, but that’s another side to56

my personality, see.Todd: What’s something that someonehas said about your band that they meantas a compliment but you didn’t take it as acompliment? For example, if somebodysaid, “Dude, you guys sound exactly likeBlues Hammer.”Mike: I’ve definitely read reviews thatwere like, “Seventies cock rock to themax!” Anytime redneck is described inthere. We hate rednecks. I grew up gettingmy ass kicked by rednecks and I do notwant to emulate rednecks in any way. Andjust that cock rock thing, I don’t knowwhere that’s coming from. UnlikeRazorcake, most people aren’t that good atreviewing records and a lot of times theyhave a limited frame of reference. I don’tknow how many times we’ve been com-pared to the Strokes. Seriously, I’ve readlike ten reviews where it said, “For fans ofthe Strokes and the White Stripes.” I actu-ally like both of those bands, but they havenothing to do with us. It’s just so left andright field, you know?Todd: The longer I’m dealing with stuff,the more I realize that most people’s frameof reference only lasts around three years.Mike: And then another weird thing, too,and this happens occasionally, people willbe like, “Yeah, you guys were really goodtonight, but last time you weren’t. I wasn’treally that into you, but you’ve really got-ten good now.” And I’ll be like, “I thoughtthe show last week was all right.”Todd: Take me through what happened toPat.Mike: Pat’s the bass player, and we wereplaying in Thee Parkside. We started intoour fun-filled, rock and roll…Todd: Ruckus?Mike: Ruckus, and we were probably likea song or two into it, and I didn’t evenreally swing the mic real hard. I kinda likethrowing it around, ‘cause I kinda feel ner-vous standing still on stage. I think I lookdumb. Anyway, I wasn’t paying attentionand I kinda threw it back. He was lookingup in the air and it just came down perfect,like right on his front teeth. It crackedthree teeth way up in the gumline where, ifthe gums hadn’t been there, they would’vejust fallen out. One of this teeth also gotchipped kind of in half to where you couldsee down in the regular enamel, and thatgot embedded into his lip. I don’t think itfractured his jaw up there at the top, but itfucked it up real bad. He made it throughabout four more songs, but he was justswallowing tons of blood and was gettingwoozy, so we took him to a hospital andspent lots of money on him. We’re still notdone. They’re gonna put metal rods inthere and put fake teeth in there, but it’s areal slow process, ‘cause the metal rodshave to heal and stuff like that. But it costus tons of money. Thanks to everybodywho helped out. Tons of people had bene-fits. People in Sacramento had a benefitfor it, and then there’s that Musician’s Aid

and Sweet Relief. I think Eddie Vedder setit up or something like that, weirdlyenough, and anybody who’s on the road, ifsomething comes up, you should checkinto it, ‘cause it’s for all the broke peoplewho can’t get insurance ‘cause you’re outtouring and stuff like that and can’t get areal job. They covered some of it, too.We’re still pretty far in the hole, but it’sgood that it’s such a slow process ‘causewe can pay it off over time.Todd: Is it true that he’s going to get sil-ver or gold teeth that say “BOO YEAH!”right in the front?Mike: We’re begging him to. He wants to,but I don’t think his momma wants him to.We want that.Todd: Do any of you have health insur-ance?Mike: One guy, Mark Ryan, the new gui-tar player, he might have it. He used towork full-time at a group home for retard-ed people and he was high up. I do that,too, but I’m just like a schlub. He waskind of high up, but he unwisely quit to gotouring with us, so I don’t know if any ofus have it at all. I used to have it. My folkswere helping me out with it for a long

time, but they kind of gave up on that.Todd: Where’s the most phenomenalplace that people have reported your bloodending up at a show?Mike: In their semen. No, uh… There wassome on a ceiling one time. It was prettyawesome. I’ve had lots of people come upand say, “Look! Stains! From You!” Andit’s pretty funny to see the reactions whenyou’re bleeding. It’s just like, “Ehh.” I’mnot into like the GG Allin, GWAR thing.It’s never on purpose. I’m not going topick something up and cut myself. I haveself-esteem problems, but not that bad.Todd: Have you ever been kicked out of avenue as a band?Mike: Yeah, a couple times. It’s usuallysound guys. Now, I always bring my ownmic. A lot of sound guys are the most analretentive, Guitar Center-workin’, longhair-havin’, knowin’ the names of all theequipment dorks, Yngwie Malmsteen-lis-tenin’ heshers ever. “You do not drop mySM50!” And they always freak out. If amic stand gets bent, they’re like, “That’s a$200 mic stand!” “Where the fuck are youbuying mic stands at? You can get ‘em forfourteen dollars, man.” There were a cou-

ple times where it just got real tense at theend of the night and the sound guys werejust real aggressive and stuff like that, butthere’s been a couple where things got realnutty and stuff got broken where the soundguy was like, “Man, that was so fuckin’cool. I don’t give a fuck. If you guys woul-da sucked, I’d be mad, but that was cool.Let’s go drink. Let’s do shots of Jage.”Todd: Have you ever been banned from aplace, and now that you’re getting morepopular, are people inviting you back?Mike: I don’t think that’s ever happened.It’s weird, in Denton there are all these barsthat are owned by the same corporation,and these aren’t bars where we play.They’re just regular bars where you go tohang out. I’m kind of fighting with my dol-lar. A bunch of friends and I got bannedfrom one for different incidents, but it’s allone corporation, and someof them, I used to like togo drink at. Some of thebartenders who do cometo shows are like, “Whydon’t you come hangout?” “You know why.Because your boss is afuckhead, that’s why.”Todd: How much do youthink Denton has formed what you do?Because from what I understand, Dentonhad a fucking awesome house party/ back-yard scene, and even though it’s not a largepopulation, bands cross-pollinated all thetime and it was pretty vibrant for such asmall place.Mike: It’s so weird that it was so small andit had so much going on and Dallas wasright next door. Dallas is really lame, likethis wannabe LA. Everything that’s nega-tive and weird about LA, like all the creepystuff, Dallas wants to be that. Like, whywould you aspire to that? But, yeah, westarted in ’97, but for the first three or fouryears, we just didn’t really care that much.We were all in four bands and there were somany house shows going on. It’s weirdwhen I go to another town and bands haveto talk about how hard it was to get a showin a certain town when they’re starting out.For us it was like, yeah, it might have beentough in a club, but fuck it, we’ll throw ourown show this week with a band that wereally like coming through and we get tohang out with them and stuff. It made uskind of naïve, business-wise. When we’dplay a club, at the end of the night, even areally good show, they’d be like, “Here’s$30, but you owe us half that for the beeryou drank.” And we were like, “Oh, okay,that’s cool. We got $15, guys. Let’s go putthat into a quarter of a tank of gas.” Todd: And you know they made a lot ofmoney.Mike: Some of those places, yeah.Todd: Is there anything true to the rumorthat you’re a very aggressive karaokesinger?Mike: Wow. Where’d you hear that from?

Todd: We have sources.Mike: I got kicked out of a bar for mykaraoke dealings, actually. My Jay-Z “CanI Get a What-What?” was so fly and sosoulful and I brought such a newness to it,and I think I broke a table when I was doingmy rhymes that I got ex-corted out of theEx-po that night. Wow, I hadn’t eventhought about that in a long time.Todd: Have you ever been threatened to besued by a fan?Mike: No, but I’ve totally worried about it.There’s only been a couple times that any-body has gotten hurt at all, and one of themwas Bryan but now he’s with us, so fuck it.I was kind of goofing around on a ceilingfan, and the whole fan just came down andkind of winged him. The one I felt real badabout was we were playing some show andthere was a pool table, and I was just goof-

ing around and I hit my head on a light, likethe ceramic pottery around the light, and itbroke and cut this girl’s head and I just feltso bad. I try to be really careful, especiallywith all that. That would suck. Not just toget sued, but for somebody to actually getreally hurt. She was real cool about it and Iwas like, “I’ll buy you a beer. I’ll buy you abeer. You want a shirt? You want a CD?”There’s been bruises and stuff, but that’sprobably more like crowds bumping aroundand stuff.Todd: Did you start off being that ener-getic?Mike: I think it wasn’t quite as energetic. Itkind of just grew more and more.Todd: Do you feed off the crowd?Mike: Yeah. When we started out, we werea little bit more jokey. At that time in ourarea, indie rock was getting so huge. I meanlike the crying on stage kind of emo, reallyout-of-hand, ultra-pretentious. At the time,we thought that even the name was so stu-pid: Riverboat Gamblers. The songs were alittle bit more jokey and stuff. A lot ofthem, thank God, aren’t recorded, butthey’re a little bit more goofy, like [ingoofy voice] “This is rock and roll!” Butour roots came in more, the more punk rockside kind of developed. When it started out,it was more sedate but then it just startedsteamrollering.Todd: What names did you bandy aroundbefore the Riverboat Gamblers? Why’d youstop on the Riverboat Gamblers?Mike: I think we probably actually had thename before we had the band, even. Therewere a couple of bands that we were start-ing that we had thought of that name for. Ithink we all have a couple projects with a

name that we’re actually going to plug in.Black Boogaz, my rap group that I want tostart one day. It’s with a “Z,” Boogaz.Todd: Are you guys big fans of JamesGarner, who was a riverboat gambler?Mike: Oh yeah, I love him. I love him. It’sweird, he’s on that John Ritter show, andthat’s lame, but yeah, Rockford Files isawesome. [hums theme song]Todd: How did you guys get your firstrecord on, essentially, a reggae/ska label?Mike: Me and Kris Pierce and Fadi andJesse from the Gamblers, we were in apunk band with horns but there was neverany ska in it. We were really going forRocket From the Crypt, only we fell horri-bly short and thank God that band isn’taround. And actually Mark Shaw, who wasin Tiltwheel, played in that, too.Todd: What was the name of that band?

Mike: Kid Chaos. Don’tlook for it. But anyway,this guy, he’s from DCbut he ended up signinglike six bands from theDallas area, and theywere all different. Hesigned one band calledthe Paper Chase, whowere real noise/experi-

mental, and a pop group and an indie rockgroup. I don’t really know how that hap-pened. That was kind of a weird deal. Weowe them a record. It’s going to come outsometime, maybe this summer. It’s like B-sides, covers, and songs that other peoplewrote for us, which is pretty cool. It’s prettyfun making the record, but I don’t reallyknow what’s going to happen with it. Whenit’s done, I’m going to be real honest ininterviews, like, “It’s a fans-only kind ofthing.” I mean, I’m happy with it, but it’snot our Sgt. Pepper’s.Todd: I read somewhere that at approxi-mately 30% of your shows, someone in theband ends up in the emergency room.Mike: That’s totally untrue. I think that wasjust Gearhead trying to hype up the band.We owe too much money with the three orfour emergency room visits as it is. I canonly think of three incidents. The teeththing, I cut my hand in New York…Todd: How many stitches did that take?Mike: About sixteen or seventeen. Butthat’s cool, I actually don’t owe any moneyfor that. I went to Bellevue hospital, wherethey send all the crazy people, and therewere crackheads freaking out. One guy wasscreaming about how he was RichardPryor, and this one guy who burned his toplip off from a crack pipe, was just so highand didn’t know and kept smoking. I wasthere for six hours and they stitched it upbut never sent me a bill. I gave them myreal name and everything. That’ll probablycome up in two years or so.Todd: Since we’re at South by Southwest,celebrating people getting signed, has anymajor label offered you anything ridicu-lous?

Mike: There’s been sniffing around, butnobody’s held up a check and grinned oranything like that.Todd: “That monster truck is yours.”Mike: Rick Rubin came out to one of ourshows in LA, which is really weird. Therewas this weird whispering all through thecrowd, and people grabbing us and saying“Rick Rubin came out. He never comes out.You have to do the best show ever.” It’s sohard to know who to trust. Like I said, wejust started really touring and taking it outin the last three years, and it’s really onlybeen the last year that business actuallystarted becoming a part of it. I try not tohave bad attitude about it just because it’s anecessary evil.Todd: It’s just somethingthat you have to face. It’s ashame that the DeadKennedys got totally side-lined because of accounting,but that’s one of the newwrinkles to punk rock ifyou’re going to do it now. Ifyou’re not going to sign to amajor, you’ve got to getyour shit tight. You need tobe surrounded by people youtrust and know what canwork for you.Mike: For a long time, I’dthink, “Well, we’re just anindie band. We’re just punkrock. It doesn’t really mat-ter.” We just had low self-esteem about everything,you know? We neverthought we were seriousenough to take it seriously.Hopefully, it’ll all work out.Todd: I think that now sincea lot of majors are crum-bling, it’s nice to see thatthere’s very honest, long-lasting indies that are like,“Here’s your business plan.”You don’t have to really doanything differently, youjust have to pay attention towhat you’re doing, makesure you keep your receipts,that type of stuff.Mike: Yeah, the musicindustry, the major industry,is crazy right now.Everyone’s getting fired. Idon’t know if that’s a goodthing or a bad thing.Todd: I think it’s a good thing. It’s one ofthe times where before they were like, “Oh,it’s nothing. We had to shift things a littlebit, but we’re okay. We can still makesomebody who will sell three millionrecords.” That may not be true right now.Mike: Especially in rock music. There arejust so many scenes and it’s so diverse. It’sgetting harder for them to package.Todd: Things are definitely becomingmore regional.

Mike: Yeah, that’s cool. That’s really cool.Todd: How did you guys get mentioned inHarper’s? Fuck, they published MarkTwain when Mark Twain was contempo-rary.Mike: Man, I have no idea. That guy justhappened to be at our Philly show, forwhatever reason.Todd: What was the tenor of the article?Do you remember?Mike: It was about how Clear Channel ismonopolizing and taking over everything,which is a really scary thing, too. And itsomehow came up that this guy was tryingto be the rogue Clear Channel guy who wasgoing to try to make good things happen

even though it is a big evil industry, and heended up saying, “Oh, I saw this band theRiverboat Gamblers. They were reallygood.” And then it actually came up that hewas on NPR talking about the article andsomebody called in and said, “RiverboatGamblers! Rock on!” or something, and hewas like, “Yeah, I really like them.”Random dude: Cherry capitol of theworld!Mike: Apparently this is the cherry capitolof the world. I had absolutely no idea. That

may have been a sexual metaphor.Todd: Were you part of the RiverboatGamblers that got interviewed by dogs?Mike: Yeah.Todd: How did that happen?Mike: It was an email interview, and Idon’t know how the dogs managed to type,but they did.Todd: Good paw control.Mike: Yeah, actually there’s some newJapanese thing that’s like a collar for dogs,and when the dogs bark, it’s supposed totell you what emotions they’re feelingbased on their bark that just came out. It’spretty awesome.Todd: Have you ever gotten contacted by

the FBI?Mike: Mark was in aband called the Redsbefore this, and the FBIwas really checking outtheir website and stuffbecause it’s the Reds. Idon’t know if we as theRiverboat Gamblershave been, other thanconnections with theReds. Back when I wasgrowing up in Denton,when I was in highschool, there was thisband called theSemination Network.They were kind of likea techno thing, but itwas actually prettygood. They were allabout the “Free theInformation” hackerguys, and I got in realgood with them. At onepoint one of them kindof said something like,“Your name’s comeup. They look at us.They’re probably look-ing at you.” They werereal paranoid. They’rereally cool guys,though. Todd: On Somethingto Crow About, thereare two songs aboutsuicide. Why does thatcome up as a theme?Mike: The “Last toKnow” song, that’skind of saying that

you’re such a fuck-up that you’d screw upyour own suicide note. Somebody who’sjust so lame that they would write a preten-tious, lame suicide note as their last thing inthis world. I guess I’ve had sort of a trou-bled youth and now I’ve got a degree inpsychology and I work with that kind ofstuff. I still have a weird fascination withthe really fucked-up kids, like junior highkids who are suicidal and they have mentalproblems. I have kind of an affinity forthem, and it seems to be just a

59

really American phenomenon, the reallymisanthropic, fucked-up kid who just has nochance whatsoever, who just has the mostmiserable time growing up. Mine was prettymiserable, but I did have some friends.Occasionally, you just see these kids who...there’s just nothing you can do for them.They’re so young that they’ll probablyunderstand later on, but they just don’tknow any better.Todd: It’s just like blind rage. Not knowingthe difference between somebody who’s try-ing to reach out and help you and somebodywho’s trying to take advantage of you.Mike: They have no concept of how to letoff steam without completely fucking up. Ialways liked how the Ramones used to havereally poppy, catchy songs about being amale prostitute and turning tricks. I love itwhen songs do that – have contradictorysound with subject matter. I probablywouldn’t put those lyrics in a darker, heav-ier-sounding song. I would probably write itabout puppies or something.Todd: I think that works really well for youguys, too, because it’s very exciting andvery fun when you hear the record, but then

you look at the lyrics and

you’re like, “There’s some sad stuff goingon.”Mike: I like stuff like that where I reallylike a song. You know that band theBananas? They’re one of my favorite bands.Todd: I love the Bananas. They’re fromSacramento, right?Mike: Yeah, they actually played a benefitfor us in Sacramento about a month ago. Ithink he’s one of the best lyric writers, andthe songs are just so amazingly catchy, andsometimes he sings real fast, but when youread the lyrics, the lyrics are so fuckinggood. My favorite stuff is when it’s kind ofsmart and maybe touching, but funny at thesame time. I’d love to write like he does,like that. It’s smart and it can be aboutsomething serious but it’s still humorousand written in a new way.Todd: Also self-effacing instead of self-indulgent.Mike: I’m definitely not against writing alove song, but I would definitely want tofigure out a new way to write one, ‘causethere’s enough that are just, “You’re so pret-ty, I love you.” I’d want to figure out a newway to say that.Todd: I feel the same way with Tiltwheel,

too. You hear ‘em and you’re like, “Oh,they’re so happy,” and then you read thelyrics and you’re like, “Oh, Jesus.”Mike: Yeah, like “a thousand small whitecrosses and the blood on the highway.”That’s great.Todd: Who’s the show chicken?Mike: Oh, his other name is Jeff Humper.His real name is Jeff Long. He got the nameJeff Humper because the first time we methim, he was randomly walking up to peopleand humping their legs. He’s just one ofthose characters who ends up being part ofthe band in some way. He tours with ussometimes. We were on tour one time and itwas like ten AM in Louisiana and he wasdriving. We were all kinda groggy andsleeping, and he’s poppin’ tallboys. An hourlater he was weaving all over, and we werelike, “He’s wasted!” And we get behind thistruck that says “Caution: Show ChickensInside,” and he goes, “Motherfuckin’ showchickens! I fuckin’ hate ‘em!” At the time,he was really, really skinny, like emaciatedand gaunt and he had one of those phonyfaux-hawks, really short, and he’s kind oflike crimping it in the mirror of a gas stationand wobbling all over, and somebody said,“Jeff, I think you’re a show chicken.”Todd: When was the first time you pickedup an instrument and started to play andrealized that you probably wouldn’t put itdown for a while?Mike: I was in some bands in high school,but it wasn’t really my kind of music. It wasmore just kind of goofing around. I didn’tever get a guitar until I was in college. It sataround for about a year and then I startedmessing around with it and I figured out aRamones song. I was like, oh my God, Ican’t believe I figured that out. It just tookoff from there. I was definitely playing inbands before I knew how to play the guitarat all. It was just that ridiculous, retardedneed that we band people get to get up infront of people and make an ass out of our-selves. I’ve just had that forever.Todd: I usually don’t ask this type of ques-tion, but what drew you to recording in theSweatbox with Mike Vasquez? The thingthat comes to my mind are the two ToysThat Kill albums. Those albums are fuckingphenomenal because everything’s separatedbut the songs come out as wholes, if thatmakes sense.Mike: We’d recorded there before I’d heardthem. The first record was recorded there.With the first record, we were kind of goinginto it like, “Let’s just go record. Here’sTim Kerr at the Sweatbox,” you know? Thesecond one, I definitely went to Mike andsaid, “Toys That Kill, Toys That Kill. Let’sdo this,” because those records are fuckinggreat.Todd: I read this in an interview with theJohn Doe zine. What’s the frightening psy-chology of the groupie?Mike: It’s such a weird thing. I’ve had agirlfriend for a while, but like I said, grow-ing up was just miserable. I never had girl-

60

friends growing up. The frightening psy-chology of the groupie is you want to fuck aguy because he stood in front of a crowd forthirty minutes and jumped around. Rightthen and there, that night. And there’s noway that chick would talk to me if I justwalked into a bar. It should be great. Thefact that I’m troubled by it troubles me. Ishould be loving this, taking this all in.Some of them are real pathetic. The weirdthing is it exists on every level of a band.Probably the higher you get up, the higherclass of the girl, but the worst band that onlydraws three people, one of them is somechick who wants to fuck one of the guys forno reason. Todd: So you were having a scuffle withsomebody and a Japanese friend…Mike: Oh yeah…Todd: Tell me that story.Mike: There was a scuffle that went downafter a show. We actually played withScared of Chaka, who are another one of myfavorite bands. It was an outside party. I feelI was in the right but I got into it with thesetwo guys and people separated them acrossthe street and they were just kind of stand-ing around. I was still at the party outsidewith all the people and they were just stand-ing there pointing at me. Somebody waslike, “Look, let’s just go a couple housesdown, mellow it out, have a drink,” and I’mlike, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” So we wentdown and had a drink and I went outside. IfI had waited one more minute they wouldhave been gone, but as I was walking backto the party, they were driving up. So theystop in the middle of the road and they alljump out of the car and just leave it runningin the middle of the road. One guy runs overand we start getting into it, then the wholeparty comes over and starts breaking it up.

While all this is going on, this Japaneseguy who speaks pretty decent English buthas no driver’s license and is insanely drunk– he’s the craziest guy, he dresses like BradPitt in Fight Club; red pants and a big furcoat – he just jumps in the car and takes offwith it. I’m in the middle of yelling withthese people and I saw the car drive off but Ididn’t really think anything of it. Dave fromScared of Chaka was like, “I think thatJapanese guy was the one who stole thecar,” and I said, “No, no, no.” Then I get acall when I get home in broken English.“Mike, I cannot fight so good. I’m not goodfighter, so I steal car for you.” He drove itfour blocks away, just left it running on theside of the road, and walked back to theparty. Apparently, these guys are freakingout, and my friend just walks up, all loadedin his fur coat, and he’s like, “What’s goingon, dude?” They had no idea. I guess thecops drove them around and they foundtheir car. I really ought to be following himaround, waiting to save his life one day, likeChewbacca or something.Todd: Not in a presumptuous way or any-thing, but what’s the future for the bandmusically? Do you have like different

themes that you’re gonna try to do, like youwant to play faster or slower, or are you justgoing to let everything gestate and workitself out?Mike: Definitely let everything gestate. It’llkinda happen as it happens. We never reallyever said, “We need to write a faster song,”but it’s just different people bringing songsto the table that are musically different.Now we’ve got a new guy in the band, MarkRyan, who plays in the Marked Men, andhe’s adding a different element. He’s reallytalented and really tight, and his songwritingis more staccato, like if you’re listening tothe Marked Men or Reds stuff.Todd: Like the early Buzzcocks stuff, verybright tones but very fast.Mike: I love that stuff. We’re not going togo completely in any direction, but I thinkthat’s definitely going to influence us. I kindof foresee it always changing a little bit. Ireally don’t want to write the same recordevery time.Todd: It seems very well-realized but itdoesn’t seem calculated, like, “Here’s ourfast one, here’s our slow one.”Mike: It just kind of happens as it happens.

Like Rocket From the Crypt, every recordthey do is really different, but it’s all RocketFrom the Crypt. Everybody I know has adifferent favorite one, and there’s even peo-ple who are like, “I don’t like this one but Ilike this one.” I like them all, but in differenttimes, I like this one a whole lot or I likethis one a whole lot. I think that’s reallycool that it’s all Rocket From the Crypt butit’s all a little bit different.Todd: Like a larger palate.Mike: I think that’s awesome, but I wouldlike to experiment a little.Todd: Another thing is that fifteen secondsinto someone playing a Rocket From theCrypt song, you know it’s Rocket From theCrypt.Mike: When I hear them have strings on asong, I’m not like, “What are they trying todo?” It just happens that someone had thereally good idea that this song would soundreally good with strings. I would love tohave weird stuff like that happen, not forceit, but like, “Wow, a keyboard would bereally cool on this song, or a harpsi-chord or a kazoo. This song needs akazoo solo!”

Ahhhhhhhhhhh… Clorox Girls. A deepsigh of relief is unavoidable when itcomes to these guys. Their debut album(on San Francisco’s SmartGuy Records)will definitely go down as one of the finestalbums of the year. Hook after hook, tuneafter tune…. We’re talking pinpoint pre-cision, Jack! I met with The Girls knownas Clay, Justin and Zack recently to dis-cuss their motivations, their move toPortland, and their uncanny knack forcrafting simple tunes on subjects bothpotty-mouthed and grandiose. I’m stilltrying to catch up!

Clorox Girls:Justin Maurer – Guitar/VocalsClay Silva – DrumsZack Lewis – Bass

Mitch: So you’re album is officially outnow. Recorded by Kurt Bloch. Did he doany crazy guitar stuff in the studio?Justin: He would just come up to Claybefore recording drum stuff and just fuckwith the drums and tune them perfectly.Clay: Yeah. It was the same studio that ThePresidents of the United States of Americarecorded in. There are all these gold recordson the wall.Justin: Conrad Uno just shows up in sweat-pants and a Supersonics hoodie.Mitch: I’ve been bit puzzled by the album’slead tune, “The One.” Please tell me it hasnothing to do with alpha-males or TheMatrix.Justin: “The One” is about finding some-body who doesn’t stop blowing you away. Ithink I might have found her. [laughs]Mitch: You guys are a pop band, so natu-rally there’s gonna be relationship songs. Itappears that you guys have a far different

take on love songs than mostother bands. Tunes like

“Vietnam,” which sounds like you areinvading or something, or “Stuck in aHole,” which is poetic and smutty, reallystick out. Are these love songs or fucksongs? Justin: Love songs. “Vietnam” and “Stuckin a Hole” are really romantic. “It’s the timefor Vietnam/ It’s the time for me and you”sounds pretty romantic to me. Just fuckingput everything out there. Why be deadbefore you’re dead? Fuck yeah, we areinvading. Songs like those are just aboutbeing restless and badly wanting to besomewhere else. Where’s that somewhere?I don’t know, but I’m getting there. Beingin love is fucking insane. I think one canemploy love like a firearm or something.[laughs] War is so phallic. We are a societyfocused on sex and war. The album is justhow I feel about the world right now. Zack: I don’t think that any good lovesongs aren’t some form of fuck song.Maybe ours are very thinly disguised fucksongs. Then again, no one wants to hearsomeone singing “I Wanna Hold YourHand.” Everyone wants to know what willhappen after the handholding.Mitch: How do you feel about the reviewsand reactions you’ve got so far?Justin: Someone was telling me last nightthat, “You guys are a punk band, but you’rereally anti-punk.” That was the reason theyliked us, which I thought was strange.Zack: Well, we’re pro-Blink 182…Justin: Exactly! You have to embrace theplastic in order to reject it. You have tomake love to your enemies. It’s like goingto the mall. What better way to make fun ofthe mall than by going?Mitch: What about the comparisons to“retarded” bands like Masters of theObvious or The Spits? Your songs do havethat simple quality about them that wormsinto your head.

Justin: Some of it is warranted. I dunnoabout the M.O.T.O. comparisons, but TheSpits are genius. Simple songs are great. Wewrite simple songs. I don’t think it makes usretarded or incompetent. All in all, I thinkpeople want to put us in some kind of cor-ner. We are gonna play what we want. Wedefinitely are conscious of what we aredoing. I think there’s something about hold-ing back, too. I mean, theoretically, wecould play really technical stuff. Maybe. Itcould happen. You never know. I just thinkit’s good to hold back a tiny bit. If you lookat any great song, there’s not that much toit. It’s just a good song.Zack: [In dork voice] Duh… It’s just like agood song… and stuff.Justin: [dorking again] Yeah, ‘cause like…bands, like, now, like, just take themselvestoo seriously. And it, like, sucks.Mitch: Well, a lot of those retard commentswere written about the single.Justin: I think once people hear the LP,we’ll get more respect for the songs. Thesingle was just all of us saying “fuck it.”Clay: We basically just needed a record togo on tour with.Justin: And when we read the reviews ofthe single, they as always said we were“retarded” or “semi-incompetent” or what-ever. That was because we had a shitty bassplayer. But I kinda like that.Mitch: How old are you guys?Clay: Twenty-two.Justin: Zack and me are twenty. Oh… wedrink. I’ve been playing in bars since I wassixteen, playing drums and stuff.Mitch: Folks seem to make a big deal abouthow young you guys are. It’s like “how dothese kids even know about Red Cross orThe Gears?”Justin: [banging on the table and singing]“Who’s gonna play the last chord? Wonderwho it’ll be!” I was born in Santa Monica62

CLOROXGIRLSINTERVIEW BYMITCH CARDWELLPHOTOS BYCHRYSTAEI BRANCHAW

and grew up on beach punk even aftermoving to Bainbridge Island, WAwhen I was twelve. My dad sang foran LA punk band in the early ‘80scalled The Defenders. I rememberhearing them practice in my livingroom growing up. Of course, I alsoskateboarded to high school listeningto Black Flag, Germs, Adolescents, X,The Dils, and yeah, even The Gears. Istill think the only reason people com-pare us to The Gears is because of that“Jill Ruder Smokes Dope” song fromthe 7”, which is kind of annoying. Igrew up there, so I have a love/haterelationship. But I feel the same aboutSan Francisco.Mitch: So you guys used to live in theBay Area, but are now in Portland,Oregon. Why’d you leave?Justin: [burping] Well, Oaklandsucks.All: [laughter]Justin: Clay and I were living in thisvan, just backing into the BerkeleyMarina, ya know? Just turning tricks.We got really sick of it. Tons of scab-by old men. We were also sleepingbehind The Oaks Club on San Pablo.We lived in that crusty punk housewith the press all over the place. Backto the moving thing, I dunno. I likeOakland. I like certain parts. It has thischarm.Mitch: After hearing the LP, I thoughta few songs, “The Press” especially,dealt with Oakland’s charm.Justin: Well, “The Press” is actuallyabout Clay and myself getting evictedfrom the ever-dismal Punks WithPresses warehouse. The pothead crustpunks definitely did not party down tothe euphoric Euro beats of The VengaBoys, one of our favorite pop groups.Mitch: Are you finding any similari-ties between Portland and Oakland?Are these parties the same?Justin: People in Portland drink quitea bit, but nothing can equate to a ware-house show in Oakland. Brontez fromPanty Raid got some hearty fellatioperformed on him publicly rightbefore they went on to play one of therowdiest, drunkest East Oakland ware-house shows I have ever seen. Nothingin Portland really compares to that.Also, I think all of the tension inOakland causes really explosive sexu-al rock’n’roll type events. It’s justmuch more likely to occur there thanhere.Zack: My Portland “party” has beenstaying in the library until it’s time forband practice, then going back to thelibrary and staying until it’s time for ashow. I don’t think I get out much. Nocopulation on any lawns for me.Mitch: How do you see yourselves inthe Pacific Northwest scene?Justin: Our music is real differentfrom most of the bands there. The

trend in Portland is to start a band witha real shitty girl drummer, too manyeffects pedals, and a keyboardist whodoes nothing. All style, no substance“art” is way too prevalent and that“death disco” bullshit is just as popu-lar there as it is down in SF. We feel areal kinship and just friendship withthe bands that are actually fans ofmusic, and you can see those people atalmost every show. As to how we fitin? I dunno. I don’t think that we real-ly care about fitting in. We just wantto write good songs and have fun.Zack: I don’t think that there’s anyneed to fit in or not fit in here. InPortland, the amount and diversity ofbands allows us to remain a bit cam-ouflaged. There’s always a whole newbatch of people that come to eachshow. It seems like there’s some sortof in-between fitting in here – notquite being in a “scene” and definitelynot outside it.Clay: I just think people are realizingthere are other places on the WestCoast where you can be successful. Zack: I think that could explain theinflux of bands moving there or bandsfrom there getting a certain amount ofacclaim in some circles.Justin: I just think it’s so affordableto live there compared to other citiesout here. It has all the same dynamicsand like-minded people as other spots,but you don’t have to pay a ridiculousamount just to live there. I’ve noticedthat there is a lot less competitionbetween bands up there, too. It’s nohassle to borrow equipment, which issort of different here. If you aren’twearing all denim, you’re fucked.Zack: I think the unemployment sta-tistics are inflated there, too. Justineven found a job.Justin: Yeah! But I made more play-ing a twenty-minute set at TheeParkside than I did working for threeweeks at my job. Cultivate your mindor else you’ll end up like me, man.Yeah, he’s a college man. How canour band be retarded? Maybe nowreviewers will call our lyrics“poignant.”Zack: Poignant?Justin: Hella poignant! Fuck! That’sit. Just listen to the music, have fun,and go crazy at the shows. Throw foodat us. That’s authentic discourse – afood fight! In closing: PARTY!Uhhhhh… Seattle doesn’t party!Oakland doesn’t party!Zack: We party in our van. That’s theonly party there is.

PO Box 82428Portland, Or 97282

www.Cloroxgirls.Comwww.Smartguyrecords.Com

YOU HAVE TO MAKE LOVETO YOUR ENEMIES.

IT'S LIKE GOING TOTHE MALL.

Todd: What’s the hardest part about beingan End?John: Getting five lamebrains together atthe same time in the same place.Todd: What would you say the easiest thingis?Al G.: I like everybody in the band.John: They all rock, so it’s worth the wait.Todd: What’s the dumbest question you’veever heard from a fan?Alex: Fan? We haven’t had any of thoseyet.Monte: “Is it hard to play rock like that?”John: “Do you want to make out?” Ofcourse I do.Todd: Has anybody said, “Hey, just sendme ten CDs and I’ll pay you back later,”that type of thing?Alex: Nope. Nobody even wants ten CDs.Todd: Because on your message board itsays, “Send me five CDs and you’ll be bigat my high school.”Alex: Oh, wait, that was from John’scousin. That doesn’t count.Todd: This is kind of an abstract question.What was the last wish that you had thatwas solid gold?Alex: My daughter.

Monte: I wish I could fuck Halle Berry.John: I wanted to make out with MarilynMcCoo.Al G.: I want to play every day and nothave to work.Ian: I just want some money. That’s it.Todd: Monty, you were in the bandSchatzi, correct?Monte: Uh huh.Todd: Were you in the band when theyopened up for Hilary Duff?Monte: No. [laughter] Thank fucking God.They called me and said, “Hey dude, canyou play that show? Is that cool?” I waslike, “What show?” They said, “HilaryDuff,” and I was like, “No. I can’t do it.”Todd: So, for you, what’s the biggest dif-ference between being in a band that wouldopen up for Hilary Duff and being in theEnds?Monte: The difference is that we’re stillsort of hungry, whereas Schatzi, it was justanother crappy show that they had to play.There’s no “oomph.” And this band, we’rejust stoked to rock, you know? I think that’sthe key.Todd: So how did you come into this band?Monte: I played with the Born Deads and

then we started the Ends shortly after that.Then Schatzi had to go do their thing so Iquit, but then I was like, “No fucking way,”and I rejoined the Ends.Alex: He begged for his place back.Todd: So Al, you’ve left the band a coupleof times, to do things like walking dogs anddoing yoga and interpretive dance.Al G.: I’m still on my spiritual quest. I playwith guys in Houston who I’ve played withsince I was twelve, and I’m on lots of heavymedication so it’s hard to play in two bandsat once. In two months I get off my medi-cine so I’ll have normal strength.Todd: What medical problem do you have?Al G.: Hepatitis C. I have the liver of a sev-enty-year-old man, but I’m twenty-three. Ihad to go on heavy shit. Let’s talk aboutsomething happy.Todd: So you were in the Ritchie Whitesfor a while, too?John: That was me, too. We’re all Austinbands. I played drums for them on therecord and toured with them. I love thoseguys to death.Todd: Ian, are you an artist? A painter?Ian: Yeah.Todd: When was the last time that you felt

I tell people this all of the time: one of the biggest challenges facing punk rock today is that there’s just so damn much of it – inalmost every form imaginable. Fuck, even just the list of types of punk rock is long, from hardcore to gutter punk to punk’n’roll tostreetpunk to art punk to punkabilly to pop punk and beyond. No longer can you walk into a record store, see a record by a bandyou’ve never heard of or a label you’ve never seen, agree with the aesthetics of the cover art, and have a good chance of not beingburned by a crappy release. This is the down side to democracy.

I also understand that I’m in a rare position, one that I’m grateful for. I can sift through literally thousands of pieces of music ayear without having to plunk down my ever-thin pile of dollars on audio roulette. Music magically comes through my post officebox, and I can handpick stuff that piques my interest. I knew nothing about The Ends when I put the stylus down on the groove oftheir Jump Ship 7” and I’ve been a fan ever since.

Too many bands use one of the aforementioned subsections of punk rock like a noose. Like, “How can I stick my neck into thisscreamo thing?” The problem’s obvious. If there are strict parameters to the music, you’ll never exceed its limitations. You’re, fig-uratively, stringing yourself up.

Maybe it’s Texas punk’s history of allowing their bands to not follow rigid musical rules is why The Ends have taken the exactopposite approach. Since punk rock has cut such a wide path since 1977, why not harvest the best of it without being a slave to justone or two influences and create a new thread and bloodlink through it? There’s no reason for a band to not remind you simultane-ously of both the Buzzcocks and Johnny Thunders. All that shit’s putty waiting to be stretched, bounced around, and muscled intoanother form. Ultimately, with The Ends, there are bits of The Rezillos, Eater, Elvis Costello, The Stitches, and The Clash, butthese are merely signposts they’re whizzing by, not monuments they’re stopping at, climbing up on, and giving head to the statues.

Interview by Todd TaylorPhotos by Rochelle Fox

Alex: GuitarMonte: BassIan: VocalsJohn Venom: DrumsAl G.: Guitar

like a mechanic dreaming aboutShakespeare?Ian: Every fucking day when I’m sweepingup at work.Todd: Explain that a little, though.Ian: The painting? When I made that, I wasworking at a body shop and I saw all thoseguys just wasting away, drinking themselvesto sleep every night and getting up anddoing it all again.Todd: Are you involved with any of theEnds’ artwork?Ian: I don’t do meth, so I do the covers and

stuff. Anything that I can do half-assed, I’lldo.Todd: Are you a tattoo artist, too? How’sthat going?Ian: I just started. It’s going all right.Alex: He does good work.Todd: Does anybody in the band have anythat you did?Al G.: I have two.Ian: Yeah, you can’t get it on tape, butMonte’s got a couple.Todd: Why did Candi leave the band?Alex: She started teaching full-time, so she

didn’t have time for us and she’s gettingmarried.John: She started teaching retarded kids. Iwas like, “You’re teaching retarded kidsright now in the band.”Todd: What was the biggest adjustmentbetween Candi and getting Monte?Alex: She used to do a lot of high kicks andstuff in a dress. That was pretty cool. Montedoesn’t do any high kicks.Monte: It was really hard learning Candi’sbass lines, too. She’s a great bass player.Todd: Why aren’t any of your lyrics avail-able anywhere?Ian: I’m not real confident. I have a lot ofissues.Todd: To everybody except Ian, what’syour favorite lyric for the Ends, and Ian’sgoing to have to say if it’s correct.Alex: Oh, man. I don’t know any of thelyrics. [laughter] “Jump ship from yourwishful thinking.” Is that on the record?Monte: My favorite is “Make Me Dull.”Todd: But you’ve got to know a lyric.Monte: I don’t know any lyrics in that song.John: We don’t know the lyrics. He won’twrite them down.Ian: I write them down. I’ll show them topeople when we record and stuff, but theycan’t read them.Todd: What’s your favorite lyric, then?Ian: I love them all just like my children.[laughter] Shit.Todd: What lyric most typifies the Ends?Ian: “I’m just wrong.” Almost all of themare just about me, how much I hate myself.Todd: Is that the main theme?Ian: Not anymore, because I’m getting a lit-tle happier now. I’m getting married in twoweeks.Todd: How long have you known the lady?Ian: Since high school. We’ve only beendating for about four years.Todd: Why aren’t kids right in the head?That’s the only lyric I can get.Ian: Because it rhymes with whatever thenext line is. [laughter] That song was justabout getting stuck in a rut.Todd: So Alex, you run a label that wasnamed after a movie?Alex: Yeah.Todd: What was the movie?Alex: Ask Toby. He started the label. It wasa John Waters movie.Todd: Desperate Living.Alex: Okay. You can edit out the part aboutasking Toby.Todd: How did you become part ofMortville Records?

Alex: Toby, the bass player for the Motards,started a label, Austin’s best punk rock label,and he was running out of money and run-ning out of energy. I came in and wanted tobe a part of it and was able to get somereleases out that he’d had in the works for awhile. He said, “Hell yeah!” Then he movedto Mexico, so I’ve been running it for thepast year.Todd: How did you know Toby?Alex: Ever since I was seventeen, goingdowntown in Austin, I’ve known Toby.Everybody knows Toby in this town.Todd: What’s your day job?Alex: My day job is taking care of mydaughter. My afternoon job is bartending at aMexican restaurant. I’m opening my own barin about two months, playing in this band,and running the label. Those are pretty full-time jobs.Todd: Monte, what’s your day job?Monte: My day-time job is cooking at TheDog and Duck, and it sucks ass. It’s anEnglish pub.Ian: He gets to make all kinds of really grossfood.Monte: I get to make fish and chips. I get tomake salmon cider. It’s just a fuckin’ bullettrain. I do that, I go to school, and I just hada baby, so I’m taking care of my daughter.Ian: I work at a commercial art studio. I dostyrofoam sculptures and mold-making.Al G.: I help run a liquor distributorship. Ido most of the receiving and stuff like that.Todd: Do you put beer aside for these guys?John: He always takes care of us. [laughter]I’m currently unemployed, but I just gotdone running a day care for the last fouryears. I got a job working at a school for theblind, but I haven’t started yet.Todd: Did you ever get thrown up on?John: Yeah, I’ve had kids bite their tonguesoff and first graders call me a fucker andpunch me in the nuts. It’s good fun.Todd: Do any of you have childhood friendswho have become authority figures?Monte: I had a friend whose name was alsoMonte, and he’s a cop. I couldn’t believe it.Ian: I have a friend who’s a manager atJourney’s.Todd: What’s that?Ian: It’s a shoe store in the mall.Alex: He’s got a lawyer friend.John: I do have a lawyer friend. Todd: Is weird having friends like that?John: It’s kind of weird smoking pot with alawyer.Ian: He’s actually my lawyer, too. I got aDUI and I met his friend getting out of thetruck with a twenty pack of Bud Light, like,“Hey, dude, I’m gonna be your lawyer.” Hedid a great job.John: He was wasted the whole time.Todd: Everyone has to answer this. What’s

the absolute worst bathroom you’ve ever hadto use?Alex: Blue Flamingo. It used to be rightacross the street.Todd: Describe it.Alex: It had the standard piss and puke, butit was only like two feet and by three feet, sothere was just a lot of piss and puke.Monte: What’s the name of that place inChicago, the bowling alley?Alex: The Fireside.Monte: That is the gnarliest bathroom in thecountry. Have you ever been there? It’s theworst bathroom of all time.Monte: I went to take a shit there. It was thedankest room, no lights. There was water aninch deep on the ground and there was a toi-let in the middle of the fucking room thatyou couldn’t see into. It didn’t even have alid, no water inside, no paper.Todd: For you who have kids, what’s onething you’ll never buy them.Monte: A mic. [laughter]Alex: I didn’t want her to have a Barbie, butmy wife bought that. Ian: I think kids shouldn’t have toys. I thinkthey need to be trained early on to think thatdishes are fun. If you start early enough, hecould do whatever the hell you want him to.Al G.: “Dude, cutting the grass is kick ass!”Monte: “Taking out the trash is awesome!”Todd: What’s one thing you’ve learnedearly on that you didn’t think would be abenefit of being in a punk rock band?Ian: Long trips don’t bother me as muchanymore.Alex: Yeah, eight hours is a piece of cakeafter going twenty-six.Monte: I’ve learned to be able to drink areasonably large amount of alcohol and stillbe able to sort of pull off the songs.Alex: Some of us have even mastered the artof vomiting and soloing at the same time. Todd: How many times have you done that?Alex: Too many to count. But it gets youfrom believing in nothing to believing inplaying music. That’s the thing that keepsgoing, on days when you just want to shootyourself in the fucking brain. This is it.Todd: What makes you want to stop playingmusic? Alex: Seeing really, really bad bands getreally popular. I’m not going to name names,but some of them are in this town. It makesme feel like I’m really out of touch withwhat’s going on and maybe I should justplay in my bedroom for the rest of my life.Monte: For me, it’s playing a show that’spacked and then when you go get paid, theguy’s like, “Sorry, here’s thirty bucks. We’redoing the best we can.” And you know that itwas five bucks a head for two hundred peo-ple. I’m not in it for the money, but that’s alittle disrespectful.

Ian: I don’t smoke a lot of pot, but when Ismoke pot, I weird myself out a whole lotand I’m just like, “Why the hell am I in aband?”John: Being a drummer gets expensive, andwe don’t make any money, so it all comesout of pocket. Then loading it in, breaking itup, tearing it down, can’t find a good parkingspot, and you play for ten people.Al G.: Not being able to eat and not beingable to buy guitar strings.Todd: The converse to that. What keeps youplaying?Alex: Going to the practice room and some-body brings a new song that’s just awesome.It’s like, “Man, I want to learn that. I want toplay that.” Hearing that great song and beinga part of that process and being in the bandthat gets to play that song.Monte: For me, it’s being at Taco Bell onsome random day, and some dude will belike, “The Ends! You guys fuckin’ rock!Wooh!” And all you’re doing is buying aburrito.Ian: For me, it’s just hanging out with myfriends. I don’t really have a whole bunch offriends, so when we go to practice, it’s likehanging out.John: We all get along really well.Al G.: What else is fun? Playing in a band orbeating off. [laughter] I don’t know what todo besides play in a band and beat off.Todd: So Alex, you were saying youweren’t happy with the mix of Sorry… XOX-OXO. What don’t you like about it?Alex: It’s pretty rough. I felt like the roughmixes were a lot truer to what we weredoing. We had a really good friend mixdown the record and it didn’t turn out as wellas we hoped. We brought Monte into theband and he’s got a lot more experiencegoing into the studio and doing that stuff.We figured, what the hell, we’ve got it com-ing out in Europe, might as well give it a dif-ferent spin. On the other side of that, if youlisten to those songs, you do get an idea ofwhat the Ends are. You’re not going to comesee us and say, “That’s a totally differentband,” but at the same time, if we can do itbetter, why not?Ian: I chalk it up to not having much experi-ence mixing down. My ears were just shotanyway.Al G.: It has beautiful aspects, too, becauseit’s just a giant schwangled clusterfuck ofwhatever anxieties we had. And half of thosesongs, we almost wrote them in the studio.We just went in and said, “Let’s make arecord. Let’s do it.”Todd: Were any of your parents in the mili-tary? There’s a lot of military imagery in theEnds, like with the dive-bomber and theSailor Jerry-looking guy hanging onto thepole.

Ian: I’m a big fan of World War II stuff.Alex: He just goes through old art booksand uses what we think looks cool.Todd: Ian, did you discover you sound likeMike Lohrman of the Stitches or is thereanything you’re trying to change about that?Al G.: Actually, we did a really early recordand we mailed it to Mike Lohrman, so heactually mimicked Ian when they started.Ian: No, we know those guys and they’re allgreat guys. That’s just the way I sing.John: We’ll fight ‘em anytime. [laughter]Ian: When you double up vocals on arecording, it’s naturally going to sound likethat, because he does it a lot, too. I don’tknow. It bugs me sometimes but there’s nota whole lot I can do about it.Todd: What’s your ultimate vision of theEnds sounding like? What things are youworking on that you haven’t fully developedbut really want to nail down?Al G.: Honestly, I like the direction the bandis heading in, more towards an old schoolseventies rock sound with the slower temposand stuff. I’d like to see the band head morein that direction.

Alex: I think Ian’s going for T Rex.Ian: I’d like to see a little bit more thoughtand effort in the studio, just go a little bitmore crazy. I love that first Supergrassalbum a whole lot. I like how raw and nastythey can sound and keep poppy stuff inthere.John: We’re just trying to keep everything alittle different instead of just being the samething all the time. It’s more fun.Al G.: Just real rock and roll, whether itsounds like the first Cock Sparrer record orGeneration X or Johnny Thunders or theReal Kids, just songs that you can tell thatsomebody’s bleeding their guts out in themusic.Alex: It’s hard to push things in one certaindirection because we have three primarysongwriters in the band. We end up sound-ing like whatever the hell somebodybrought. We really don’t push anythingaway if it’s a great song, regardless of tempoor whatever, because if we like it, then wego for it. Once we add Ian on top, it’s goingto sound like an Ends record. He’s not goingto sound super sweet. We’re not going to be

really sappy no matter what we do, so wejust feel free to do whatever. There’s reallyno goal in mind.Todd: What would be the Ends theme song?Ian: I’d probably go with a Chumps song.“Goddamn American Eagle” is one of myfavorites. “Fuck You, I’m Rich.”Al G.: I’d have to say our rendition of“Johnny, Are You Queer?” by Josie Cotton.Alex: “Johnny, Are You Queer?” is ourtheme song.Todd: When was the last time you were in afistfight?Al G.: I’ve had some one-sided fights. Twoyears ago at South By Southwest, I got beatup. I broke three ribs, got my nose broken. Ibumped into some guy and I said, “Excusefuckin’ you!” The next thing I knew, I gotmy whole face pounded in.John: The last time I got violent was whenIan tried to wipe puke on me in Canada.Ian: It was my birthday, too.

The Ends: PO Box 4263, Austin,TX 78765www.theends.com

Dan: Individually, where are you guysfrom?Tommy: Coney Island, New York.Ponch: Saskatoon, Italy.Donuthead: Originally from Las Vegas,but my parents moved to California forthe migrant farm work jobs that are plen-tiful there.Bunny: Pending litigation, stemmingfrom my hometown’s attempts to disownme, I am legally prohibited to divulgewhere I come from. Let’s just say that Ihope I never, ever have to look at anoth-er calculator watch again for the rest ofmy life.Dan: What bands, if any, were you inbefore Spontaneous Disgust? Bunny: Um, does jumping up on stageand singing “Muskrat Love” with areformed Captain and Tennille count as“being in the band”? Dan: Sure, I guess. The rest of youguys?Ponch: The Dignified Pugilists,Gregorian Handplant.Tommy: Bea Arthur’s Maude Squad,The Jersey Jewbaiters, and PLH (PlayLike Hell).Rod: Photocopy Your Nuts and Anarchyin Lace. Two separate bands. AiL was anall-male Go-Go’s cover band, but wechanged the songs to have more Crass-like lyrics.Donuthead: None. I’m not a personableguy and lack friends. I have many pho-bias and a nervous tick that makes me

Donuthead: BassTommy: Drums

Rod: VocalsGator: GuitarPonch: Guitar

Bunny: Tuba, glockenspiel, “various percussion and occasional winds”

stand out, so I avoid contact as much aspossible. These guys are crazy enough totolerate me.Dan: Where does Spontaneous Disgustcall home? Bunny: No offense, dude. I second thatfuck you.Dan: [long silence] What are your dayjobs? Tommy: What’s a “job”? Is that alongthe same lines as work? What thefuck?… Rod wants to be a fuckin’ star.Tell him what you were doing yesterday.Rod: Standing in a shower, clucking likea chicken. I’m working on my SAGcard. It was a commercial for a sand-wich. I got a callback.Bunny: My main job is staying alive.After that, I figure all other “jobs” seemkinda irrelevant.Donuthead: I have never had a job. I getSocial Security for my ongoing battlewith my disorders.Ponch: Harvester of Sorrow.Dan: That’s your job?Ponch: Yeah. Harvester of Sorrow.Dan: Are any of your parents currently

securing bioengineering patents?Rod: My Dad used to work forMonsanto. He worked on the project thatincluded developing new strains of moreinsect-resistant plants – rapeseed, broc-coli, cauliflower, cabbage, basically anyplant in the entire brassica genus. Dan: Rapeseed?Tommy: Are you gonna keep interrupt-ing? Dan: Sorry.Rod: Rapeseed’s related to canola,okay? So, anyway, after he retired, hewent to work for ShamanPharmaceuticals as a consultant and wentto the Amazon. Helped isolate sangre dedrago – Dragon’s Blood. That shit’llcure any cut fast as fuck. We give it toDonuthead for his ulcers.Dan: Really?Rod: Check it, dude. It’s legit.Tommy: [poking me in the chest veryhard] Legit.Donuthead: [smiling] I no longer shitblood.Dan: The song, “The Slaughtering of aFew Sacred Cows. With Ketchup,” hasthe first use of a pan flute I’ve ever heardin a punk song. How does one come tothe conclusion, “After that guitar riff,start puffing like crazy”? Ponch: Dude, haven’t you ever listenedto Sleep?Bunny: Actually, that’s not a pan flute.You know those bamboo wind chimesthat are so big that you’d need a fuckingtyphoon to come along and get it to evenmove? Well, that’s what it is. Rod waskinda bored with being the only guystanding on stage with nothing but hisorgan in his hand, so he made his owninstrument. He got it from the front yardof the neighborhood asshole, who appar-ently derives some sort of sexual pleasurefrom collecting bamboo wind chimes – Ithink I counted forty-three of ’em, minusthe one that Rod nicked, littering thatdude’s front porch. Anyway, he took thething apart, glued it back together on apiece of sheet metal, added some forksand PVC tubing on the other side to serveas some sort of percussive instrument.You can hear him banging the tubes on“Britney Aguilera Makes My Pee RunRed,” by the way. He got it to sound likea pan flute by modifying one of them bot-tles of compressed air you use to clean off

BBy and large, today’s musical climate is ripe for eradication. Whether it’snationally televised talent shows where the voting is done by dickheadswith cell phones, or whether it’s former members of Guns N Roses vain-

ly attempting to cash in on their white-leather-and-bandana glory, organicmusic simply does not exist in popular culture. Underground music isn’texempt from these allegations, either. Bands that spout off rhetoric abouthow they’re “punks ‘til they die” but forget to mention that they have per-sonal stylists and a $75 deli tray in their dressing rooms are, unfortunately,a dime-a-dozen. If you were jaded or pessimistic, all hope would be lost, butfor the few of us that are hungry and restless, there is an answer:Spontaneous Disgust. With a history of nearly impossible-to-find releasesand a finesse-out-the-window approach not seen since the first time Whack-A-Mole machines were installed in Showbiz Pizza restaurants across thecountry, Spontaneous Disgust is at once as catchy as a urinary tract infec-tion in Baltimore, as hard as the milkman’s wiener when he’s doing yourmom, and as awe-inspiringly brilliant as absolutely nothing you’ve ever seen.Reference points are few and far between, but one thing’s for sure: if musicneeds to be eradicated, Spontaneous Disgust is here to do just that.

computer keyboards and using it to “blow” across the bambootops. Pretty inventive for a guy with the creativity of a retardedcoma patient, don’t you think? Donuthead: Punk rock over the years has become paint by num-bers. Who would expect a pan flute in a punk song? I think itpushes the boundaries of making a racket. My feelings were, “Idon’t care if people don’t get it.”Dan: What other names were discarded before you came upwith the name Spontaneous Disgust? Bunny: We all have our little obsessions, all of which we’llvehemently deny are an influence on the decisions we make.Gator’s been a huge fan of Manfred Mann since that blow to thehead he took at some “Freedom Rock”concert. Rod’s obviously got a dickthing going on… That said, I thinkthat my own personal obsessionsresulted in the brilliant names HerpesDuplex, The Monkey Strippers, TheNaughty Moms, Boba Fett’sSalamander, and Bunny Hitler and thePretty-Nice-Guys-If-You-Only-Took-The-Time-To-Get-To-Know-Them.Of course, none of these assholesliked a single one on ’em.Donuthead: I liked Feather BoaWearing Construction Guys, but I wasshot down. I liked the contradiction.Gator: We had tons of names.Manfred Mann’s Afterbirth Band, theDresden Firefighters, uh, what wasthat other one? Rod: Dave Grohl Has the SmallestWiener Ever.Gator: Yeah, Dave Grohl Has theSmallest Wiener Ever. We didn’t usethat one because we were scared thathe would [trying not to laugh {andfailing}] whoop our asses like rentedmules.Dan: Makeup isn’t just for black metalguys, you know… Why are yourreleases so hard to get? Ponch: If you don’t get it, that’s yourproblem.Tommy: They’re not so hard to get,people are just not trying hard enough.Bunny: What do you mean, “they’rehard to get”? I’ve had no problem whatsoever getting every oneof our releases. The Clash’s Combat Rock record, now that’s apain in the ass to get. Especially when you ain’t got any dough.Donuthead: Exclusivity makes for collectibility. Look at theweird pressing Pushead releases. They go for big bucks. I admitit; I keep a couple of copies for the future to put up on eBay ifthe band gets popular like the Locust. I don’t get much moneyfrom Social Security.Gator: I think the more appropriate question is, why are Beckreleases so easy to find?Dan: Touché.Gator: Nobody listens to music because it’s good. I mean, thinkabout it: Creed has sold, like, fifty gazillion CDs. Do you knowanybody who has one? Of course not. The only people who doare high school girls who want to peel off the lead singer’s vinylpant-shirt combo, and then there’s Bible-thumping redneckswho are so glad that they’ve finally found a Jesus Rock bandthat rocks harder than DC Talk. People that matter can get ourrecords.Dan: Who is the embodiment of Spontaneous Disgust, exclud-ing you guys?Gator: I’m gonna say Marlon Brando. I just ate a big plate ofspaghetti, and I’m feeling a little bloated. I also haven’t made a

good movie in years, excluding homemade porno, of course.Dan: Why have you released the 8-track only (Boobs MakeHugs Fun) and a 78rpm-only (More Beer in the Monitor,Please) EPs? Bunny: Okay, look. The problem with most music fansthese days is that music is way too fuckin’ accessible and,because it’s way too fuckin’ accessible, they don’t reallygive a two-penny fart about what’s coming out of the speak-ers. It’s all too easy, you know? Add in the fact that you canpretty much find anything you want to hear on the internetwith virtually no effort, and you’ve got a whole group ofmusic “fans” who completely take what they’re listening tofor granted. We’re old enough to remember, be it on the

radio or at the local mom and poprecord shop, how fuckin’ exasperating it was to find somethingworth listening to. We also remember how great it was to finallyfind something that looked interesting, take it home and have itbe so good that you would have to peel your head off the backwall. We figured that, since getting music ain’t all that difficult,we’d make it a pain in the ass to play it once you got it. And letme tell you, we haven’t gotten any complaints from anyonewho’s actually gone to the trouble of actually playing thosereleases.Donuthead: If people really want to hear the music, then theyhave to search for the vintage equipment. It gives people incen-tive to find dated equipment and see the beauty of the era theywere made in. Also, CDs and CD players are boring. The pack-aging is so limited. It’s another form of big corporations makingus into a generic society. Dan: How did you find a pressing plant to make a 78? Donuthead: I won’t tell you. I don’t care about the masses and,like Poison Idea said, “Record collectors are pretentious ass-holes.” Here’s something for the assholes. These are the ass-holes who have nothing better in life other than to brag abouttheir rare find. We fuel that.Tommy: ’Head, let me tell ’em.Donuthead: No.

Tommy: Yes, ’Head. [pokes DonutHead several times] Yes,’Head.DonutHead: Okay.Tommy: We have a hook-up overseas that does 78-rpm recordsdirt cheap. It’s one of the actual companies that used to press earlyAmerican music standards for our GIs in the first two world wars,believe it or not. Dan: But don’t you want as many people as possible listening toyour music?Tommy: Of course we want as many people listening to ourmusic as possible. What kinda fucking question is that? Now thereason as to just why we released those EPs on 8-track and 78 rpmis very simple. For instance, just because you might really be intocreating watercolor paintings doesn’t mean you can’t look at orcreate oil or acrylic paintings, right? So what’s the difference onhow the music’s pressed? The medium may differ, but the art isthe same. Take off the blinders, you fuck.Rod: All those industry crotch-sniffers have their t-backs in abunch about MP3s and theinternet ruining the music indus-try. Eat ass. Know why it’sgoing down? The music – byand large – is awful and it’s tooexpensive. No great mystery.We struggle. So should ouraudience. Take this to warning,though. Donuthead, he don’tlook like much, but if you putup an MP3 of SponDis up – justfor fun – in the hour he’sallowed at the library computer,he’ll hack directly your puny lit-tle computer and cripple itlike…Tommy: Your mom. Dan: Fuck, dude.Donuthead: I made a trojanhorse. Ever see Fantasia? Everytime you think you’ve gotten ridof it, it splits in two, like thosebroomsticks, until you’ve got anarmy of viruses. It’s fun. You’llbasically have to nuke your harddrive and start over.Dan: I’m still looking for a 78player. I’ve got the output to an8-track rigged through mystereo… So you guys releasedan album on cassette where youbought tapes at thrift stores andrecorded over them, is thatright?All: [nods of agreement]Dan: What kind of stuff did you tape over?Gator: Shit. Uh, AWB by Average White Band, One Vice at aTime by Krokus, umm… Brand New Man by Brooks & Dunn,mostly just random shit. Nothing decent, but nothing generic likePink Floyd, either.Rod: One of ‘em was the Jim Nabors Christmas album.Dan: Jim Nabors?Gator: Yeah, the guy who played Gomer Pyle, remember? He’snot as successful a singer as Andy Griffith.Rod: Or Don Knotts, for that matter.Dan: What type of vehicle do you guys tour in? Bunny: I dunno. What’s your mom driving these days?Tommy: A fucking Humvee, what do you think? A van. Except’Head.Donuthead: My mom drives me in the family station wagon togigs. I don’t think the other members can tolerate me in closequarters for any length of time.

Dan: Even the longer tours?Tommy: Even longer tours. Sissy.Dan: When’s the last time the van broke down?Tommy: When was the last time you picked up your teeth offathe ground with broken elbows, you ass?Donuthead: My mom’s station wagon is in tip-top shape. Mydad works on the car all the time. They know him by name at thelocal Pep Boys. The fake wood paneling is faded, though.Tommy: ’Head’s mom does work the merch table, though. Dan: When was the last time you were spontaneously disgusted?Bunny: I dunno. Probably the last time I had to shave your moth-er’s back. This interview’s running a close second. Dan: In A Clockwork Orange, Alex, the bad dude, undergoes“treatment” for all his gang rapes and car-jackings. It’s called theLudovico Method, a system of behavioral therapy that associatessex and violence with feelings of nausea and disgust. Does thathave anything to do with your song, “Satisfactory Alienation,”which goes “Stuff this in your memory hole/ Ludovico was a

pussy/ I sleep withmy eyes open/ evenwhen I drive/ mynuts cry”? Bunny: Absolutelynothing. It’s aboutGator’s gay Italianuncle. If you sawhow he looked in adress, your nutswould cry, too.Donuthead: I onlydeal with rhythmand mood.Tommy: [sighs] Ican tell you com-pletely read wayinto that song.Should I tell him thereal story?Bunny: It’s yourdime.Tommy: TheLudovico who wewere talking aboutin “SatisfactoryAlienation” was thisprick who ran aliquor store near ourrehearsal loft whenwe were first gettingthe band rolling.One night he cut offour store credit tab,which was sillybeing that we

bought scads of booze there constantly. We start arguing withhim and it gets into a very loud yelling match. Then he threat-ens to call the cops on us if we don’t get out of his store. Wethen grab all the beers we could carry, told him to go fuckhimself, and walk out. All the while this is going down, thatLudovico fuck’s tapping the side of his head, saying in thatthick accent of his, “I have you in my memory hole for whenthe police gets here, assholes!” So that’s the first part of thelyric. The second part is just a goof on Prince’s “When theDoves Cry.” I thought even you’d get that part, jerkoff.Dan: What’s your hobby? Ponch: Getting arrested.Bunny: Whittling, long walks on the beach, fudge-packingbaby seals…. For fuck’s sake, what do we look like, MarthaStewart fans?Donuthead: I recently got into ant farms. I likethe fact they don’t talk and they are separated 71

from me because of the plastic they’re cased in.Rod: ’Head’s ant farm is fun. I’ll go with that, too.Dan: Have you ever been arrested? Ponch: No.Tommy: Yes. Have you ever been beat for being a snitch?Donuthead: I hate to sound like the freak, but I am allergic to okra. Itried it once and I got real swollen and I felt like I was hallucinating.I jumped out of my bedroom window and ran down the dirt road thatleads to the trailer, naked, to the main road where there is a gas sta-tion. I ran up to a guy putting gas in his Ford truck and spit in hisface and I started pounding on his hood screaming that he was eviland I accidentally shit. I got arrested for indecent exposure and theysent me to psychiatric hospital for five months. I’m scared of theokra.Gator: Yeah, I’ve been arrested for [looks down shamefully] bes-tiality.Dan: You’re gonna have to elaborate on that one.Gator: When me and Rod were in high school, I, uh, I called thetoll-free NAMBLA hotline and had abunch of pro-pedophilia literaturesent to Rod’s house, and when hisparents saw it, they didn’t get mad.They’re the most supportive peopleon the planet, and they just sat himdown and told him, “We’re reallyproud of your decision to become amember of this North AmericanMan-Boy Love Association thing.We’re behind you a hundred per-cent,” which pissed Rod off waymore than getting grounded. So, inretaliation, he wrote a letter to someporno company in Greece andordered a subscription to Goat CockMonthly or something and had it sentto my house. I got home one day andthe cops were standing on my frontporch, waving it at me.Dan: Did you go to jail?Gator: I spent the night there. Bunny: Amazingly, I only gotarrested once. I tried to pass myselfoff as Iggy Pop at an AA meetingand they didn’t take to kindly to my throwing their coffee groundsall over the place.Dan: You guys have been compared to everyone from Happy Farm(a Swedish band) to Rot (a Brazilian band) to early, “unreleaseddemo” Enya. I take it that this is on purpose?

Donuthead: I say keep them guessing. Don’t be pigeonholed.Tommy: We have no conscious purpose. The best bands just are. Dan: What’s the worst accident you’ve ever been in? Gator: Does my conception count?Donuthead: I’m with Gator. For me was being born. It’s tough on myparents that I turned out the way I did and they could have avoided hav-ing me by using a condom or pulling out a little earlier.Ponch: I wet the bed last week.Dan: If you could have every TV in the world pop on for an hour and itcouldn’t change its channel, what would you show? Bunny: Hands down, Kookla, Fran and Ollie. Ever see the porno theymade? Sheer brilliance.Rod: Ever see The Killing? That’s a great movie. I guess edit it down toan hour.Donuthead: I would show, over and over, the intro to the children’stelevision show, The Electric Company. Do you remember that show? Iloved that show as a kid. I never really learned anything from it but Isure loved the song.Dan: Do you have an audience?

Ponch: Yes.Donuthead: We select the audience. Also, there is alwayssomeone looking for something fresh to get excited about.Bunny: Hell yeah, we have an audience! And we appreciateboth of them guys coming out every now and then to see us.Rod: Sad, and more true than false, my friend.Dan: What’s one dance move you’d like to teach your audi-ence? Gator: I made one up a while back. I like to call it the “DrinkLots of Beer and Pee on Piebald.”Dan: You’ve really got something against those guys, don’tyou?Gator: Well, yeah. Just listen to ‘em. They’re Piebald, forChrist’s sake.Bunny: The “Bend Over and Take It Like a Man.” Here, let medemonstrate how it’s done.Ponch: The Rabbit Butt. Or the Rabbi Butt.Tommy: Crazy-ass, breakdancing windmills, like in the movie

Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo.Donuthead: There was this dancewhile I was in junior high called theGigolo. It was real easy and if donesuper fast would look like line dancerson meth.Dan: What’s your stance on religion?“Easy Christ” doesn’t paint a verypretty picture.Donuthead: I don’t really know whatour lyrics are. I barely know the songtitles. I’m like a hired gun. I just playbass or at least try to and I like to findodd children’s instruments fromgarage sales to add sonic aural texture.And act crazy.Tommy: I’m personally not downwith organized religion. “Easy Christ”is about all the timecard-punchers whoshow up to church every Sunday to

“wash themselves clean” and then continue on with their regularway of living for another six days, twenty-three hours. (sarcasti-cally) Easy enough!Rod: Seriously, I think that people should be good to one anotherif they can be. Over the course of history, organized religion’skilled more people than the Black Plague. Tell me how that’s agood thing.Bunny: As long as the world comes to the conclusion that I amgod, treat me accordingly, and hand over the virgins before theyoff them, I have no problems with religion. Dan: Figuring if you made a video, you’d only release it on Betacassette, tell me what song you’d do and how the video would go.Tommy: Well, for starters, Mr. I’ve-Got-It-All-Figured-Out, wewere kicking around the idea of releasing a laserdisc, as well. Wefigured laserdiscs would be a nice break from the monotony of theDVD train everyone has been hopping on with their video musicreleases of late. And, yes, it will be out on Beta, as well. As far asthe video itself, we might go the Replacements route, but insteadof showing nothing but a close-up of a stereo speaker and such theentire time of the video, we’ll show a close-up of a VHS playerand DVD player. Rod: The video concept’s all done. It’s for our remake of aVibrators song. We’re doing a song called “Venus andRollerblades.” It’s this lady getting liposuction on this crowdedboardwalk, only she and the doctors are on rollerblades.Lots of blood. I’m working on the zombie angle.

73

DGFU Records, PO Box 5432, Atlanta, GA 31107

Andrew

Yawns Are Hellos

Anton

Pete

46 SHORT: Just a Liability: CDThis is not the band you would thinkRon Martinez of Final Conflict famewould be playing bass for. You wouldthink more spiked hair than baseballcaps. Well, this band has that South Baysound of the early ‘80s meets D.I.Nothing that made me want to kick ahole in the wall but it gave me tinges togo out and skate. –Donofthedead (Go Kart)

ACID MOTHERS TEMPLE:Mantra of Love: CDUsually, my first instinct when I see arecord that clocks in at forty-five min-utes with only two songs is to run for thehills, but for some reason, I decided totake a chance on this ‘un, and I’m glad Idid. Sure, there’s a heavy “hippie” vibeoozing offa this, but hell, I’m open tomost anything. The first track, thelonger of the two, is essentially a thirty-five-minute jam based on a chant thatmanages to invoke in sound both DeadCan Dance and Savage Republic, whichis always a plus. I was doing somethingaround the house when I initially putthis disc on and soon found myself sit-ting in front of the stereo in rapt atten-tion to what was coming out of thespeakers, which should say volumesabout the music’s trance-inducing qual-ities. The second song wasn’t all thatbad, either, but, boy, that first one was abit mind-blowing. –Jimmy Alvarado(www.alien8recordings.com)

ALAN REPLICA:Clockworks, Juliet: CD“Isolation,” the opening track onClockworks, Juliet, is the rare song thatlives up to its title. Synthesizers tricklelike raindrops and the forlorn melodyplays like a face pressed up against acold windowpane watching the night.Alan Replica sings on the verge of tears,all cracking chords and congested nasalpassages, as the song beckons listenersto continue on with the album. AlanReplica works with slow, plodding beatsthat increase in speed and intensity asthe album progresses. Soon, the stringsenter, and it becomes apparent that thisis one of the most genuine attempts atproducing high-quality synthpop tomake it onto album in some time. Thereis no trace of tongue-in-cheek ‘80s pos-ing, no cries for the rhythmless nation totake to the dance floor and make likedying robots. This is music for peoplewho find romance hidden within Japanand Ultravox records. –Liz Ohanesian (Ninth Wave;www.ninthwaverecords.com)

ALL OR NOTHING H.C.:What Doesn’t Kill You...: CDI have read Renae Bryant’s columns inMRR for a number of years and she hasmentioned her band many of times. Inever actively went out to purchase herband’s music and never went to check

out her shows. My loss.

If this release is any indication, I havebeen missing out on a lot. The songs aremid-tempo to fast. It’s straight-up punkrock with raw production that keepsthings aggressive. Her vocals areintense with anger and you truly believeher words because of how she delivers.I have read that she has had a lot of line-up changes throughout their history, butthat does not hurt the music here. Sheseems to have built a sold backing heresince there seems to be no weak link.The songs are strong and keep me atten-tive. Now I need to get off my ass andgo see them live. –Donofthedead(Rodent Popsicle)

AMONGST THE SHADOWS:Demo: CDFor the most part, I think a lot of what’sconsidered the “new metal” these daysis a truckload of hand-selected shit.You’ve got bands like Korn (yikes),Linkin Park (yow), the ever-annoyingLimp Bizkit (will Durst ever shut thefuck up? He and Lars Ulrich need to puttheir heads together and make an assoutta themselves), and Rage AgainstThe Machine (How’s that shiny, blackBMW driving these days, Zack? I betthey have a lot of those on the reserva-tions, huh?). I mean, how many timescan these bands take what was createdand deemed sacred from bands likeBlack Sabbath and piss all over it?Search me, but it obviously sells. I gottagive some credit to Amongst theShadows, though, due to the fact thatthey ain’t afraid to rock the way theyseem fit. I hear glints and glimmers ofMaiden in a lot of this demo and I gottasay, for a five-piece outfit whose agerange is eighteen to twenty-one, not tomention only being together for a littleover six months, ATS can be a band thatwill be turning a lot of heads if theykeep it up. My only piece of advice tothese guys would be to kick out somemore straight-ahead cuts for us olderfucks, like their “Under The Gun” track,‘cause that song’s happening in myopinion. And Mitch – drop a suggestionto the rest of your bandmates to coverPantera’s “Fucking Hostile.” I knowdamn well your band could do a fineversion, complete with your vocalistdoing Mr. Phillip Anselmo proud.–Designated Dale (band contact: (562)587-2389)

AMPS FOR CHRIST: The People at Large: CDIf Harry Smith’s “Anthology ofAmerican Folk Music” had consistedof Indian ragas and static-laden fieldrecordings (instead of the hissing andcrackling blues songs and child balladsthat it is), it might well have soundedlike this. Although I’ve heard somepeople criticize this album as littlemore than noise, it’s more immediatelyinteresting than the Deerhoof albumreviewed elsewhere in these pages pre-cisely because it combines noise withmore traditional elements of Americanmusic; it begins with a clear under-standing of something which is bothfamiliar and forgotten and proceeds tointerpret and update those structures inintriguing ways, yielding an albumwhich may prove to be the equivalentof an old Carter Family session ineighty years. Regardless of its futureimpact, it’s fucking awesome right nowand I can’t think of anything better tolisten to on this stormy Sunday as Iwait for the tornado watches to expire.–Puckett (5 Rue Christine)

ANGELIC UPSTARTS: Punk Singles Collection: CDThe collected A-sides from this band’sassorted singles are compiled on onedisc so’s you don’t hafta keep getting’up every few minutes to change therecord. All the hits are here, including“I’m An Upstart,” “Liddle Towers,”“Woman In Disguise,” etc., so if yerlookin’ for a decent overview of theircareer without the commitment of actu-ally buying an album or two, thisshould do the trick. My only gripe isthat it would’ve been nice to have acouple of the B-sides on disc as well,namely “Lust for Glory.” Ah, well,such is life, I guess. –Jimmy Alvarado(Captain Oi)

ANTIDOTE: Thou Shalt Not Kill: CD EPA reissue of a great 45 from this long-gone ‘80s band, who cranked out somechoice New York hardcore back whenthat term didn’t mean lame tough-guythug metal. The songs, eight in all, areshort, fast and to the point, naturally,and there ain’t a bad one in the bunch.Buy it now and be the envy of yourpunker pals or buy the latest New

Found Glory disc instead and look likea clueless poseur fop later. –JimmyAlvarado (Hellbent)

ARMY OF PONCH: Army ofPonch Vs. the Curse: CD EPIn an election year, we’re all looking forwedge issues in the culture war. We allneed them to make sure that we onlyassociate with people who are exactlylike us and won’t challenge us to changeourselves, our minds, or our opinions.Fuck, even I need one to ensure that I’mdoing my part to divide while claimingto unify, and I think I finally got it withthis release. I’ve concluded that I simplydon’t get Army Of Ponch. I don’t under-stand what all the fuss is about.Screamed vocals, disjointed and slightlychaotic music, chunky riffs that staycrispy even in milk – I think I need moremelodies with this, that what’s reallymissing is a sense of harmony. It’s notthat this is bad – I’ve just finally real-ized after a few separate attempts overthe time span of about a year that thisreally isn’t my thing. –Puckett (Sabot)

ARTIMUS PYLE: Fucked from Birth: CDHoly shit! I haven’t listened to this bandin a few years since their Civil Dead LP,but I was fortunate enough to see themlive recently. What I remember from thepast was laid to waste very moment theystarted to perform. As loud as they werelive, they are loud on this CD. Brutal,bass-heavy power riffage. The ampli-fiers sound like they are on maximumoverdrive. They do not rely heavily onthe powerviolence sound but incorpo-rate more of a dirge of feedback andatonal noise to create the sound of purepain. Like Kylesa and Dystopia, theytake noise and anger to another level.It’s an aural rampage that jerks you fromfast to slow without sacrificing the ener-gy. If music can be used to describe amigraine headache, this would be it.–Donofthedead (Prank)

ATOM SMASHERS: Drop the Bomb: CDI have a friend named Adam Smasher,and he’s way cooler than this CD! AdamSmasher once drove all the way toBrooklyn from Wisconsin just to see hisfavorite band, The Onion FlavoredRings, but then he got so drunk that hepassed out at the show before they evenplayed. THAT, my friends, is punk! ThisCD, on the another hand, is nowherenear as cool as that. Pretty standardgarage, of the sort that you’d expectfrom Rip Off these days. Not horrible,not amazing. You know, like mostgarage punk! If this were a cereal, it’dbe regular Chex. Take it or leave it.–Maddy (Rip Off)

ATOMSMASHERS/DeLOREANS: Split 7”Atomsmashers deliver some manner ofrabid thermonuclear attack concealedwithin the guise of a Trojan Zero Boyscover (“Hightime”) (good, i was gettingsick of “Civilization’s Dying”) and amarginally original original. DeLoreansplay in the traditional Italian punk rockstyle: Almost completely unmemorable,but with no visible defects. Maybe atrunk full of blow is no longer part ofthe standard DeLorean accessory pack-age? BEST SONG: Atomsmashers,“Hightime” BEST SIDE OF THECOVER: DeLoreans. Monkeys servingband members pizza whilst they peruseNew Warriors comic books surroundedby radiating wedges of magenta andblack is a very underutilized theme for

If this record would've come out in 1984, it'd be kicking ass on eBay right now. –Cuss

Please note: If you’rean established record

company, and you sendus a pre-release withoutall the album art, we’re

probably going to throwthat shit away... cock gobblers.

76

record covers these days. FANTASTICAMAZING TRIVIA FACT: From theAtomsmashers liner notes: “Many thanksto no one especially if come fromWisconsin.” Uhhh... you’re welcome?–Rev. Nørb (Rockin’ Bones)

AUTUMN PICTURE: Fait Maison: CDThis makes Pedro The Lion sound liketough-guy hardcore. Seriously. –Puckett(Hill Billy Stew)

BAD RELIGION: The Empire Strikes First: CDI have been listening to this for over amonth and a half. That is pretty goodsince I have so many CDs and recordsthat I haven’t listened to sitting next tothe stereo. I get so excited about everyrelease that they put out. I have been afan since they began in 1980 and contin-ued to purchase every release since then,except that I still do not own a copy ofthe first 7”. I still listen to Into theUnknown, even though they tried todestroy many of the copies and made itone of the most collectable of theirreleases. If you liked The Process ofBelief, I think this album is much better.As many longtime fans cite Suffer astheir ultimate record, I think this is on paror surpasses that record. Being on amajor label for a time, the band haslearned how to take advantage of a stu-dio. To me, the additional production val-ues add to the power of the songs. BrooksWakerman, already having an albumunder his belt with the band, shows thathe is starting to get comfortable and athome. The drumming on the song“Sinister Rouge” is incredible and on thealbum throughout. I almost forgot that hehad played for Suicidal Tendencies for atime. Greg Graffin can always be count-ed on to write lyrics that aren’t at a sixthgrade reading level. His reuniting withBrett Gurewitz as writing partner showsthat they need each other to bounce ideasoff of to get songs put together. They dobenefit from having punk hall of famersGreg Hetson and Brian Baker to backthings up and provide input. I can’t forgetJay Bentley, who has been there from thebeginning, minus a record or two. All Ican say that is if you are a new fan or alongtime fan, this doesn’t disappoint.Now I have to go out and get an actualcopy since I got a CD-R with no cover.–Donofthedead (Epitaph)

BADNADS, THE: Japanese Bloodbath: 7”Brutus-style hardcore with a thick, red-dish neck and a fetish for old schoolwrasslin heels like Bruiser Brody andAbdullah the Butcher. Basic no-frillsECW-core that fans of the Bump N’Uglies and/or Antiseen might enjoy,though I think both those bands do a bet-ter job of it. And while I’m on the sub-ject, why is it that all these wrasslinbands kiss the boots of all the samewrestlers? Sure Mick Foley was greatback in his hardcore heyday, but I’d liketo see some bands lionize some of themore thickly body-haired kookballs likeGeorge the Animal Steele and Mad DogVachon. Just to spice things up a bit.–Aphid Peewit (Scarey)

BELVEDERE: Fast Forward Eats the Tape: CDIt never ceases to amaze me how this cor-porate punk crap has managed to take thehyper-speed thrash beat, which used topump a brother up and make him aggro,and make it about as slow and boring asa John Denver record. –Jimmy Alvarado(www.unionlabelgroup.com)

BILL PARKER AND HISMOTHERSCRATCHERS:United We Stand: CDFake country music about Jesus andabout drinking and about as clever andinteresting as fingernail dirt. –Cuss Baxter (Wrecked-Em)

BIRDS MAY BITE: If Startled: CDThis CD rules for approximately six sec-onds. For those six seconds, it is a warm,breathy rush of melodic indie pop from1993. It reminds me of the Godrays,Velocity Girl, Fudge – every last one ofthe bands that focused on using guitartones to create an atmosphere, yet stilltried to shape the form of that atmos-phere via hooks. At the end of that sixseconds, the vocals kick in and the entirething falls apart. It promptly downshiftsfrom promising indie pop into bland, lilt-ing, headache-inducing guitar rock. Atabout twenty-three seconds in, there wasa brief flash of potential with a riff whichsounded like it came from a Longshotsong, but then the organs came in and theCD came out. –Puckett (Egg White Thought)

BLACK EYES: Cough: CDSounds like a high school marching bandon a wicked PCP wigout – all honkingsaxes, spastic drums, screaming andblowing whistles. Two cats yell their jazzpoetry at each other over the wailing andgnashing of their artrock noise ensemblelike some kind of terrible soundtrack tosome kind of terrible movie about some-thing terrible. But probably not as terri-ble as I make it out to be. –Cuss Baxter(Dischord)

BLACK LIPS: We Did NotKnow the Forest Spirit Madethe Flowers Grow: CDTrashy slop more rooted in the ‘60s def-inition of the word “punk” than the mod-ern connotation that word is saddledwith. The music sounds authentic to thetimes it’s trying to evoke, the singersounds drunk and the rest of the guyssound like they’re having a ball bashingtheir instruments in wild abandon.–Jimmy Alvarado (Bomp)

BLANK ITS: Johnny’s Tongueb/w I’m OK: 7”Raw as an itchy rash. Simple as retardmath. As catchy and blinding as syphilisin the 18th century. Much like the Ka-Knives, the charm of spazz, duct tape aslifestyle choice and fix-all, and the soundof a singer singing though a face maskand a snorkel overcomes the need forfidelity. Whereas Metallica uses lasersand NASA scientists to make what theycall music, the Blank Its use a small boxof blunt crayons. I like what they’re doo-dling. If this 7” was first grader art, I’dhappily magnet it to the fridge. Fans ofthe Spits, The Gories, and Superchargerare already hard wired to liking this.–Todd (Band Its; blankits@netscape.net)

BLOCKO / MINORITY BLUES BAND: Split 7”Blocko: Blocko tread that ever-thin icethat behemoths Leatherface and HotWater Music have been skating on andcarving their own distinctive designs infor years. The good news is that Blockobrings a lot of their own to the table. Theguitars swell, siren, and are playedurgently, the singer doesn’t strain toohard nor get lazy, and there’s a Jam-likesensibility (and “down at the tubewaystation at midnight” feel) hiding rightbeneath the concrete that makes them

2. Lost Sounds, 3x7” Box Set (Rockin’ Bones)

Underground Medicine Mailorder, Conneticut

K n o w C r a p M a i l o r d e r ,O r e g o n

Top 40 7”s

1. Dream Dates, The Mess You’re In (Ugly Pop)

3. Tyrades, I Am Homicide (Shit Sandwich)

5. Real Losers, Go Nutzoid (Wrench)

7. Suburban Reptiles, Razor Smile (Raw Power)

2. Some Action, self-titled (Gigantic)

4. Briefs, The Joy of Killing (Lollipop)

6. Nazis From Mars, American Express (Subway Star)

9. Krunchies, Interrobang (Criminal IQ)

10. Pegs, Robot Romance (Hostage)

1. Gorilla Angreb, self-titled (Kick N Punch)

3. Fe Fi Fo Fums, Electrofize Me (Boom Boom of Renton)

5. Locomotions, A Little Bit of Lovin’ (Perpetrator)

7. Alleycats, Nothing Means Nothing Anymore (Dangermouse)8. Headache City, Knee Jerk Reaction (Shit Sandwich)

9. Locomotions, self-titled (Yakisana)

10. Kodiaks, self-titled (Yakikasana)

8. Seger Liberation Army, 2+2=? (Big Neck)

D i s g r u n t l e d M a i l o r d e r , C a l i f o r n i a

1. BellRays, Warhead (Bronx Cheer)2. Briefs/Shocks split (Dirty Faces)

3. Weirdos, Destroy All Music (Bomp)4. Texas Terri/The Speed Kings split (Devils Shitburner)

5. Sick Fits, Mirror Creeps (Big Neck)6. Diffs, self-titled (Headline)

7. Starvations, One Way to Remind (GSL)8. Smut Peddlers, Exit Plan (Ransom)9. Die Hunns/Radio 1, split (Disaster)

10. Seger Liberation Army, 2+2=? (Big Neck)

These are the top 7”S since

the last mag.

Did you know that“CD” is short for“Aluminum Beer

Coaster?”

6. Tyrades, I Am Homicide (Shit Sandwich)

4. Real Losers, Go Nutzoid (Wrench)

very enjoyable to listen to. Their secondsong, “Black Coffee,” is a cover by apop band I’ve never heard of, All Saints.It sounds weird on paper, but Die TotenHosen covered the same song, and, forsome reason, it works well with thepunk rock treatment. Minority BluesBand: Deep in the vein of Hüsker-Dü-loving DIY Japanese punk, I can’t sayanything bad about ‘em. Catchy hooks,lots of similarities to Japanese brethrenlike The Urchin, for their immediatelycatchy energy and crazily precise play-ing, and Florida’s Tim Version for layerupon layer of sounds to wrap your brainaround. Super solid, no-fashion, no-pre-tense punk. Oh, and the best Japanese toEnglish translation? “Without you, nutsgo wrong.” Sweet split. Thumbs up.–Todd (Snuffy Smile)

BLUEBIRD: Falling Back to Earth: CD EPThis is mostly comprised of outtakesfrom a session that resulted in anotherrelease, Hot Blooded. You get loud,heavy alt-rock for your buck, prettygood for what it is, but ain’t exactly mypreferred bag o’ worms. –JimmyAlvarado (Dim Mak)

BOBBY BARE JR’S YOUNGCRIMINALS’ STARVATIONLEAGUE: From the End ofYour Leash: CDSeems to me like an orchestral alt-coun-try Flaming Lips. I probably got thatwrong, but who cares? Bobby Bare Sr?Mister Peanut? Hotdog Teade? HotdogTeade! –Cuss Baxter (Bloodshot)

BOMBSTRIKE/LEGION 666: Split 7”Bombstrike: Swedish D-Beat that car-ries on the tradition of a country thatproduces great punk bands. The vocalsare harsh and in a yelled fashion. Theguitars are important when you play thistype of punk. They have to be veryheavy with a lot of distortion. They fillthat requirement. The bass is also dis-torted and that is a plus. It makes thesound bottom heavy. The drums aremore than competent and they drivehome that bass heavy sound. Legion666: D-Beat crust with a down and dirtymetal sound by way of Canada. If youhaven’t bought their great split LP withBrazil’s Sick Terror, you are missingout. Their first song starts out with awicked metal intro and goes into D-Beatglory. Also included is a Crude SScover! Two songs each and worth theeffort of seeking out and purchasing.–Donofthedead (Schizophrenic)

BOOKS LIE: Hall of Fame ofFire (Plus Singles and B-sides):CDWhen I was in college several years ago,almost all the punks there were exclu-sively into grindcore, noise, thrash,emo, etc. What was a decent, harmony-loving punk who wasn’t given to publicemotional breakdowns to do? Well,when in Rome… I ended up going to afair amount of shows I would’ve nevergone to otherwise, and one of thoseshows was Books Lie. I actually endedup seeing them a few times, and, out ofall “those” bands, they were the onlyones I actually thought were all right.This CD is both a new album and lots ofsingles and b-sides. Hardcore with somemetal influence, definitely aHeartattack kind of thing! I’d be lying ifI said I listen to it all the time, but thefact that I listen to it at all, given mymusical tastes, must be worth some-thing! If this were a cereal, it’d be

Heartattack Ohs! Oh, subculture! –Maddy (Level-Plane)

BOXCAR SATAN: Upstanding and Indigent: CDSinger sounds like Captain Beefheartand sings a million words in every song.Sometimes the band sounds like theJesus Lizard, sometimes more likeBeefheart’s band, sometimes like Muleor the Cows. If you like that stuff, you’llget the picture. “I got back with a newtattoo of you kissing my ass.”Wholesome weirdness. –Cuss Baxter(Dogfingers)

BRAT ATTACK, THE:Destruction Sound System: CDThe first song, “Infighting andBickering,” excited me with its dualfemale/male vocals and melodic popsound that reminded me of the nowdefunct UK band Servo. I was hopingfor more! But no, the male vocals aredominant here. Where did that greatfemale voice go? Two tracks of averagepunk rock. Track four is “Enemy” andthe female vocals come back! Thevocals are soft and enduring and go intoBrody and Courtney country during thechorus. Tracks five through eight: maledude again. Yawn. Track nine, the dualvocals are back! You go, girl! Track tenis dude again. Skip. Track eleven hastoo much dude and not enough femalevocals. Track twelve: dude. Track thir-teen: dude. Track fourteen: dude’s trackup front, female vocals buried. Trackfifteen comes back with dude singingthe verses and female vocals in the cho-rus. Track sixteen closes off with a rockballad of sorts but dude is only a back-ground singer. So I’m not sure whodude is. On the CD there is Ben andDave who are listed as vocalists. Theyneed to step back and just play guitars.No more singing. The female vocals, Ithink, are handled by Seana but there isa picture of a Meaghan on the back thatsays vocals, too. Put them up front onvocal duties and this band would bemuch improved in my book. Soundslike I’m a dude hater, huh?–Donofthedead (Steel Capped)

BRIEFS, THE: Sex Objects: CD...something about this record GoldenShower of Hits... Golden Shower ofHits... can’t exactly put my finger onGolden Shower of Hits... GoldenShower of Hits... “Orange Alert,” pre-sumably a cautionary tale about theirlast Golden Shower of Hits... GoldenShower of Hits... and, while i can cer-tainly appreciate the unbridled crafts-manship it takes to introduce the lead toa song called “Halfsize Girl” with theimpassioned reminder to “keep itshort!” you’ve eventually got to admitthat Golden Shower of Hits... GoldenShower of Hits... so like aren’t songslike “Destroy the USA” and “No MorePresidents” just the aging punkly equiv-alent of those old tribute/spoof ‘50s typenumbers decaying rockers in the ‘70sand ‘80s used to occasionally include ontheir albums (i’m thinking that “Wham-a-lama-lama-lama rock and roll is king”song by ELO here but that’s probablynot a very good Golden Shower ofHits... Golden Shower of Hits... songsare actually the Briefs’ equivalent of“Old Time Rock & Roll???” CAN THISBE HAPPENING??? Now, granted iGolden Shower of Hits... GoldenShower of Hits... but overreacting ornot, i can’t help but Golden Shower ofHits... Golden Shower of Hits... youknow? On the brighter side Golden

Shower of Hits... Golden Shower ofHits... almost Seussian lyrics like “Ipicked it up, it weighed almost an ounce/ on the top was a name that I couldn’tpronounce,” “Mystery Pill” is the exacttype of midtempo, easily comprehensi-ble number college DJs (at least used to)wet their Golden Shower of Hits...Golden Shower of Hits... with someauthority that “Sally I Can’t Go to theBeach” is the best song with the word“Beach” in the title of the last fifteenyears, and the best song with the name“Sally” in the title ever! That’s right!Fuck you, Wilson Pickett! Fuck you, SirMack Rice! Fuck you, Dick! Fuck you,Jane! Fuck you, Spot! The Briefs arecoming to Golden Shower of Hits...Golden Shower of Hits... which is whatthe Toy Dolls started relying too muchon during their long, protracted declineas well, so really i woulda saved my“Clash City Rockers” larceny forGolden Shower of Hits... GoldenShower of Hits... with “Lifestyles of theTruly Lazy,” which is just stupid. Hey,Ronald Reagan died within four days ofme hearing the song “No MorePresidents,” too bad you guys weren’t aband twenty years ago. BEST SONG:“Sally I Can’t Go to the Beach,” but iwill also accept “Mystery Pill” as analternate lifestyle BEST SONG TITLE:“Killed By Ants,” because who in thispost-Adam universe even bothers torecall the punk/ant connection so viablyestablished by Eater in 1978? FANTAS-TIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: Thisrecord cover is red, yellow, gray andblack and therefore does not coordinatewith any of my outfits. Please do nottape it to me. –Rev. Nørb (BYO)

BRIEFS: Sex Objects: CDMan, it seems like these guys just getbetter and better as time goes on. Lastlong player I heard was their first(although I have an extensive collectionof assorted singles, so it’s not like I’mtotally in the dark about what they’vebeen up to since that disc hit the streets),and while I thought that record was justpeachy, this is one is miles above thatone when it comes to the “hit versusmiss” ratio. This is one solid piece ofwork here, and it boggles the mind thatthese guys aren’t played every five min-utes on your local quality radio station.Then again, one would need a qualitystation. –Jimmy Alvarado (BYO)

BROKEN BONES: No-One Survives: 7” EPOne of the early “crossover” punk bandsreturns with three new tracks of metal-lic, Discharge-influenced hardcore,which makes total sense when you takeinto account that former DischargerBones is on guitar. Not as intense as Iremember them being back in the day,but it still manages to do the trick.Limited to 800 copies, 400 of which areon white vinyl. –Jimmy Alvarado (Dr.Strange)

BROKEN BOTTLES: Drinkingin the Rain: CD-SingleHey! It’s the Adolescent Distortion ofLiberty! They’re so whiny and SoCal1981, the only thing sillier than the factthat they even exist is that they put out atwo-song CD! It does have a video, butit’s about drinking in the rain! Hey guys,drink in your houses! –Cuss Baxter(TKO)

BROKEN HEROES/ TOUGHSKINS: Split: 7” EP Broken Heroes: Two mind-bogglinglystupid songs, the dumber of the two

being “Smashing Hippies,” an ode tobeating hippies “with all your heart.”Apparently to these geniuses, however,“hippies” are anyone who disagreeswith the current war and are “spoutingall you’re [sic] commie shit.” Well, as aformer skinhead, let me just ask youthis: If you are so filled with “pride,”why don’t you fuck off to the nearestrecruitment center, join up and becomeanother “working class” corpse killed inyet another rich man’s war instead ofsitting safely at home and writing songsabout beating up those who may dis-agree with your blind, ignorant patrio-tism? Toughskins: Ahhhh, now I under-stand where these jerkoffs – uh, bands –are coming from, as the Toughskinshave laid it out for all to see in theiropening salvo, “Payback”: “I know youdream of the day when you comehere/own some seven elevens but yousmell weird… all you fuckers – paybackis a bitch – better pray to allah you don’twind up in a ditch.” These is racistbaldies, and I’m willing to bet thatthey’re of the ilk that says shit like,“We’re not racist, we’re just proud ofour country and who we are,” and thenproceed to spout off dumb, hypocriticalshit like the above. Well, now thatyou’ve been sussed, allow me to extenda middle finger to each of you. –JimmyAlvarado (Headache)

BUSINESS, THE: Smash the Discos: CDWhat we have here, kiddies, is the issu-ing of the Business’ “first” album, onethey recorded before Suburban Rebels,but lost and, thus, remained unreleaseduntil now. What you get are rough, yetstrong, versions of classic tunes like“Drinking and Driving,” “Smash theDiscos,” “Guttersnipe,” “Work OrRiot,” and pretty much the bulk of whatwas on Suburban Rebels, as well as “H-Bomb,” “Law and Order,” “Last Trainto Clapham Junction,” and a Sham andCrass cover, respectively. As with mostCaptain Oi releases, there are a fewbonus tracks on here as well, namelyversions of “Loud Proud and Punk,”“Real Enemy,” “Disco Girls,” “Dayo,”and the single version of “Smash theDiscos,” as well as lyrics to the tunesand some liner notes detailing thealbum’s history. Frankly, as a longtimefan, I’m fuggin’ stoked. –JimmyAlvarado (Captain Oi)

CAPTAIN EVERYTHING!:It’s Not Rocket Science: CDPop-punk that threatens to become ska-punk on the second track. Call it a guiltypleasure, call it bad taste, I like it. It’ssummer and this is super-catchy anddancey, so lighten up. – Megan(Household Name)

CASINO VOLANTE/WAISTCOATS: Split 2 x 7”Casino Volante are an English band whocontribute four essentially placid surfinstrumentals with reverb and whammybars and minor chords and all that otherappropriate shit. The Waistcoats areDutch neo-mods (mods more like“Keith Moon’s balls mod” than like“touch-up paint for your Vespa™mod”), who apparently thought i would-n’t notice that their corkin’, Farfisa™-driven instrumental “Jack’s Off Day”found herein is THE EXACT SAMESONG as their corkin’, Farfisa™-driveninstrumental “Jack’s Day Off” found ontheir All The Rage album. WELL, IGOT NEWS FOR YA! I NOTICED!YOU GODDAMN KIDSWILL NEVER GET 79

AWAY WITH THIS! I KNOW MYRIGHTS! I KNOW WHO YOU AREAND WHAT YOU DID! Luckily, “Jack’sDay Off”/”Jack’s Off Day” is myfavorite Waistcoats song, so i won’t bepressing charges this time. Roundin’ outtheir lot is a pretty cool cover of theMoving Sidewalks’ oft-covered “99thFloor,” a Yardbirds-styled honker, andan additional instrumental of much lessambient corkitude. The Waistcoats areworth a sniff, but unless you were look-ing for an excuse to stock your larderwith some more surf instrumentals, i’mnot so sure the split-double-seven-inchwould be the model of efficiency you sorichly deserve. BEST SONG:Waistcoats, “Jack’s Off Day” BESTSONG TITLE: Casino Volante,“Breathe, Elvis, Breathe” FANTASTICAMAZING TRIVIA FACT: I believe icovered this with the whole “Jack’s DayOff” thing. –Rev. Nørb (Rockin’ Bones)

CATHOLIC DISCIPLINE:Underground Babylon: CDTotal LA punk rock archival boner.Catholic Discipline, memorialized inDecline of Western Civilization, neverrecorded track one in a studio, was asupergroup of sorts, lasted only sixmonths almost a quarter of a centuryago (‘79-’80), and only played out ofLA once. And here are twenty-onetracks from live recordings and radioperformances on one handy CD. It’s gotthe feel of the Screamers LP that wasput together twenty-plus years after thefact. It’s half “this is weird, good, andwell played” and half the feel not unlikelegendary folk music collector AlanLomax’s scouring the south in the 1930sand 1940s for original music made byreal people in the field. Folks. Spiritover fidelity. Crudeness and honestyover any sort of professional validation.Varied recording levels, dropouts, anduneven recordings merely underscorethe “fuck it, we’re all going to be nukedanyway” attitude of late ‘70s punk. Thistime, with Catholic Discipline, it’surban, cynical, and fueled and shapedby a chain-smoking, heavily drinkingFrenchman. The vocal charge and cap-tain of the ship was Claude Bessy(Kickboy Face, editor of Slash, RIP).The band was co-formed by Craig Lee(Bags, long-time LA Weekly contributor,RIP) who plays drums. Phranc (NervousGender and long-time solo artist) onguitar, Rick Brodey (B-People, who wasmarried at the time to Alice Bag) onbass, Richard Meade on synths, whowould be replaced by Robert Lopez(Zeros, and currently he’s El Vez)rounds out the troupe. The idea behindthe band was that even though all of themembers were accomplished musicians(except Claude. It was his first band),they picked up instruments they hadn’tplayed before and started from scratch.Listening to this, and it may be throughtelekinesis or pollution, there are echoesof Catholic Discipline in more than sev-eral current Southern California punkbands. The Distraction, Radio Vago,The Fuse! and The Sharp Ease comeinstantly to mind – the angularity, thesharp and jagged use of instruments, themordant tempos, all tempered by analmost subliminal melody. My onlyslight criticism is that I wish there werelyrics to these songs. It’s not merelyarchival curiosity, but because Claudewas respected as one of the best writersin the original LA punk rock wave andit’d be cool read what he was singingabout. Excellent stuff. –Todd (Artfix)

CHASED AND SMASHED:30 Seconds Over Hillsboro: LPThe packaging and vinyl are immacu-late. The thick insert that has comic andlyric sheet. Blue vinyl. Chased andSmashed are in the same pajama partyof dirty, pop-liking, DIY punk rock asADDC, Allergic to Bullshit, andCrimpshrine, with a slight whiff ofFleshies thrown in for rockatude. Thatsaid, if they were put on a bill, I feel likethey’d be the opening band. Althoughnot terrible – there’s some toe tappinggoing on – Chased and Smashed isn’tterribly memorable. Pretty standardfare. –Todd (Onion Flavored)

CHAZ HALO: Amazing Graceless (Demos 2002-2003): CDChaz Halo’s old band, The DimestoreHaloes, are one of the most under-appreciated bands in punk rock history.Classic late ‘70s rock and roll soundcrossed with depression and loss andlots of Bukowski. I love ‘em! This CD isfull of newer Chaz Halo songs, heardhere backed by – ack! – a drummachine! Bad technology notwithstand-ing, there are some amazing songs inhere, like “Baby Comes Undone,” butthey all point to one obvious fact: Thisman needs a band! As punk rockers, it isour duty to patronize the arts, and so, ifyou’re living on the East Coast, and youplay an instrument, for the love of allthings punk, give this man a call! If thiswere a cereal, it’d be the test demo for anew breed of Corn Pops. Yum! –Maddy(Black Nipple)

CHEESEBURGER: Self-titled: CD-EPCheeseburger is a rock and roll master-piece; a stompy, ragged, AC/DC-in-Estrus tumble down a staircase clad in10-grit sandpaper. The CD’s four songsbristle with rocknroll drugsnpartyingcliches that never sounded so right,probably because the accompaniment isjust so goddamn perfect, even without abass player. Also a thing about a pirate Ican’t understand the words to. I loveyou, Cheeseburger! –Cuss Baxter(Aerodrome)

CHORDVETTS: Hana Fumi Hisae: 7”Deliriously squeaky trio of Asiaticfemales (oh no! El Guapo sighting! ElGuapo sighting!) whose five songsworth of protean 5.6.7.8.s-meets-the-Brentwoods garage-pop can transformEarth’s most manly subwoofer into atwo-inch tweeter in jig-time. Their ver-sion of the oft-covered Hollies standard“Come on Back” sounds like theMartian voice from “The Martian Hop”singing dub reggae over a backbeat cre-ated by a piece of bacon the size of aquarter-mile of four-lane highway siz-zling under the universe’s largest mag-nifying glass. Shucks, ladies, you hadme at “Martian!” BEST SONG: “IFought the Law” BEST SONG TITLE:“My Boyfriend’s Learning Karate”FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIAFACT: They actually spell the BobbyFuller Four song “I Fought The Low”on the cover and label. As far as the EQgoes, i would say in this particular battlethey were quite successful. –Rev. Nørb(I Don’t Feel a Thing!)

CHROMATICS: Plaster Hounds: CDArty and boring, but hey, I could imag-ine people into that sort of thing diggingthis. Yes, I am serious! If this were a

cereal, it’d be I Don’t Understand-Ohs.–Maddy (Gold Standard Laboratories)

COCKNEY REJECTS:Greatest Hits Vol. 1: CDBack when I was a kid, there was arecord shop, Roadhouse Records, nextto the youth center my dad ran inMontebello. Whenever my brother and Iwould go with my father to work, we’dpop over to Roadhouse to peruse theshelves and stock up on punk badgesand copies of Flipside. Because theowner of said record shop was a friendof my father’s, we managed to make adeal with him that if no one came in andbought the punk LPs he occasionallystocked within a month or so, he’d sell‘em to us for two or three bucks. Itworked out swell for all involvedbecause he’d clear a room for the lamemetal records that were popular at thetime and we got brand new albums for asong. To make a long story short, thiswas one o’ those records. I rememberrushing home, plopping it on the recordplayer and being blown outta the roomby what I still consider to be the UK’sanswer to Black Flag. Songs like“They’re Gonna Put Me Away,”“Fighting in the Streets,” and “PoliceCar” easily rival that band’s best workin terms of intensity, and, like BlackFlag, the Reject’s efforts helped spawn awhole new subgenre of punk rock, intheir case what became known as “oi.”Twenty-plus years on, the tracks herestill hold up and still generate that samesense of immediacy they did so longago. In addition to the original album’stracks, Captain Oi serves up the Flaresand Slippers EP and some BBC sessionsto sweeten the deal. In the grand pan-theon of English punk rock records, thispuppy ranks in the top fuggin’ three andas far as Rejects albums themselves, thisis, hands down THEE BEST of the lot.(Captain Oi)

COCKNEY REJECTS:Greatest Hits Vol. 2: CDCaptain Oi has seen fit to reissue albumnumber two from these boys, and we areall the better for it. While not as consis-tently awe-inspiring as the first album,with Stinky in particular not belting outthem vocals like he did on prior efforts,this is still one monster of an album,with classic tunes like “Subculture,”“War on the Terraces,” “UrbanGuerrilla” and, of course, “Oi Oi Oi,”the song that gave the movement itsname. Also included here are assortedsingles tracks and BBC sessions foryour listening pleasure. If you have anysense at all, you already own a copy ofthis. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

COMMUNIQUÉ: Poison Arrows: CDUnless Ted Leo comes out with a newrecord in 2004, Lookout! won’t releaseanything else that’s as good as this. Withthis follow-up to 2003’s A CrescentHoneymoon, the former members ofAmerican Steel begin mining a shaftthat most bands left behind in the 1980sand find that precious gems still exist.Falling somewhere between MarcAlmond’s cabaret pop and DuranDuran’s synth-driven guitar rock,Poison Arrows turns inward, tenderlyfocusing on the intricacies and complex-ities of human relationships which alltoo often lead to failure. Like all the bestalbums, it’s guarded and occasionallybitter (“Dagger Vision”) but there’s alsoa potential for redemption here, suggest-ed in songs like “Strays” in lines like“I’m coming home / With nothing but

losses / I’m coming home to mend thecracks / In the fragile détente of ourlove.” Unfortunately, it’s difficult tolook at this record in a vacuum whichexcludes Communiqué’s historybecause of the debates that broke outwhen American Steel released JaggedThoughts. In truth, those discussionsweren’t debates as much as a collectivequestioning of whether evolving beyonda stringent and dogmatic scene was sell-ing out. Most people didn’t think of thealbum as a progression; American Steel– one of the most vital and creative punkbands of the last two decades – broke upnot long after that. I’ve always won-dered whether those attitudes caused thebreak-up or were just another factorand, in that respect, Poison Arrowsseems like an answer record, an abidinggesture of defiance to people’s limitedand limiting expectations. JaggedThoughts was much closer to PoisonArrows than it was to anything else thatAmerican Steel had done and, while youcan still hear the echoes of the band’spunk rock history, they resonate farmore quietly now, held in notes and riffsthat only seem to provide a peek into arearview mirror at a past which is quick-ly receding into distant memory. I’m lis-tening to Poison Arrows for approxi-mately the 30th time in the last weekand still can’t think of anything elsewhich has been released this year whichis as elegant, stately, and touching, noram I aware of anything scheduled forrelease which will be able to catch up tothese breathtaking songs. Sometimes,making a clean break is the best thingthat can happen and the best decisionsomeone can make; in this case, there’sjust no question that it was. –Puckett(Lookout!)

CONCUBINE FORMING: The Guilt Will Kill: CDFrom the packaging, I was expectingsome patently lame straight edge metalor something, but what’s coming out ofthe speakers is some dualguitar/bass/drum machine skronk,which, compared to the former, is by allmeans a good thing. Their brand ofnoise was a tad redundant, but “Marchof the Robots,” ironically the longesttrack on the disc, was pretty dangedgood, and the unlisted cover of BillySquier’s “The Stroke” was good for alaugh. –Jimmy Alvarado (Big Neck)

CRUMBS, THE: Hold That Shit Right!: CD...if the Crumbs woulda kept on withthat Farfisa™ thing, they would’vefuckin’ ruled the last half of the pop-punk ‘90s. Just fuckin’ kicked every-body else’s ass. They were neither terri-bly original nor astoundingly proficient,but they were good enough – kind oflike an early-ish Screeching Weasel plusrock & roll plus those kinda sing-songmelodies the Jockstrap Murphys wouldlater do whiz-bang business with plusmaybe a little upbeat Dead Boys-typeguitar mischief for good measure – and,of course, they had the singer with thePeruvian accent that all the chicks foundsoooo unbearably precious – thus allthey had to do was stick that goddamnFarfisa™ in the mix for keeps, and it’sswimming pools and movie stars, forev-er and ever, amen. But they didn’t, andnow an evil man is president!!! Learnfrom this experience, children, lest yoube doomed to repeat it! That aside, thispackage gathers together the tracks fromthe Spaghetti & Schlitz™ 10” (includingthe almighty “Farfisa™ Song,” which isactually called... let me see... “Get All

Tangled Up,” i think. What a stupidname. They should have called it “TheFarfisa™ Song,” like everybody elsedid) and some singles and stuff – i’d bemore specific, but the origins of thetracks are so poorly documented in thepackaging that i’d hafta read thru aboutsix members’ various liner note remi-niscences to scrape together all thedata, and wouldn’t anybody whothought they really needed this stuffalready have it anyway? Next off, thisshoulda been released as Spaghetti &Schlitz (which is actually called... letme see... Get All Tangled Up, i think.What a stupid name. They should havecalled it The Spaghetti & Schlitz™ 10-inch, like everybody else did) + 10 orsomething, for two reasons: 1) Theoriginal Spaghetti and Schlitz™ coverphoto kicked ass, and 2) that wouldmandate that the eight songs off the 10-inch occupy the first eight slots on thedisc, WHICH WOULD BE REALLYHANDY, BECAUSE THE OTHERTEN SONGS ON THIS DISC ARE SOFRICKING QUIET AS TO BE LITER-ALLY PRACTICALLY INAUDIBLE,and if they were all buried at the end,the end user would only be required toget up and crank the volume (by like800% or something) on one occasion. Imean, i’ve been responsible for morethan my share of recordings with vari-able sound levels (“Sheena’s Got aMicrowave,” anyone?) but THIS isfucking RIDICULOUS. It sounds likethis: whisper whisper whisper whisperRRAAHHRR RRRAHHHR RAAH-HHRRR RRAAHHHRRR whisperwhisper whisper. I kinda fail to see howno one noticed this beforehand. All ican say is that it’s a darn good thing thisdisc isn’t called COMPILE That ShitRight! BEST SONG: The FarfisaSong! BEST SONG TITLE: “Dothan,Pill City, USA” FANTASTIC AMAZ-ING TRIVIA FACT: Worst Tommy Roecover ever! –Rev. Nørb (Recess)

CURL UP AND DIE: But thePast Ain’t Through with Us:CDEPThree tracks of mostly Morbid Angelicmetal, and a fourteen-minute finaleconsisting of beats, loops, guitareffects, static, guitar jangle, some moremetal, feedback, and some other quietstuff. Like a whole college radio stationin one song. –Cuss Baxter (Revelation)

CUT THE SHIT: Marked for Life: CDOn first listen, this twenty-seven songcollection of Cut the Shit’s two EPsgoes by like a blister forming. It hap-pens quick. It’s painful, bulging, sensi-tive-to-the-touch hardcore, but it’s funto pick at to see the pus ooze out, muchlike Dead Nation (who’ve been Tear ItUp for a bit now, but I really like thatDead Nation record, Dead End).Several listens in, it’s as awesome byboth what it is and isn’t. Thankfully,there’s no metal. It’s not jocky, but it’sas unforgiving as falling fifteen feetdown onto cement. It’s also not 100%blurring by. There are great song titles.I can easily get behind stuff like “IOfficially Have No Idea What It Is Thatthe Kids Want.” It takes a bit for theears to catch the pace – and this is whatI really like – there are some melodiesthat sound like musical notes lacedonto barbed wire being swung abovetheir heads the whole time, a la DS-13,Career Suicide, and Fucked Up. TheBored to Death EP part of this CD soldme on ‘em. Me likey plenty. –Todd(Gloom)

CUTS, THE: Self-titled: CDAs best i can tell (and my knowledge ofthis band is by no means comprehen-sive), this is the band’s firstly-recorded,but secondly-released album. I thoughtthe first one (i.e., the second one)plowed a passable demi-Television fur-row, i guess (probably better than theactual second Television album, as iremember it, but that’s not saying muchin either instance) – some manner ofmutational present-day East Bay takeon ‘70s Manhattan art-rock. This sec-ond album (which is the first one) kicksoff with “Do the Sleeper,” an aboveaverage (and, for them, comparativelystormin’) ‘60s-ish pop-rocker whoseopening riff kinda reminds me of theone in “Teardrop City” by the Monkees(which itself reminds me of the open-ing riff of “Last Train to Clarksville,”which drew heavily upon the openingriff of the Beatles’ “Paperback Writer,”so... you know, there ya go), spends awhile sounding like what the ChocolateWatchband mighta sounded like werethey the house band at Max’s KansasCity every Thursday night in 1976,takes one cool stumble into flat-outVelvet Underground (circa in betweenalbums 3 and 4) piracy (with the guitardoing that one Lou Reed thing that icould show you with my mouth butwould take far too long to dope out theproper written onomatopoeia for) andthen meanders into something moreJefferson Airplane oriented and there-fore beneath my notice. BEST SONG:Either “Do the Sleeper” or “Don’tLook Behind” BEST SONG TITLE:“The Spider” FANTASTIC AMAZINGTRIVIA FACT: The Pistons are up byone right now. –Rev. Nørb (Birdman)

CZOLGOSZ/ EN LA OLLA: split 7”Czolgosz: anarcho-politcal punk with astrong Dead Kennedys influence. Thename stumps me. Leon Czolgosz wasexecuted on October 1901 for theassassination of President McKinley.He had been a socialist who becamebored with the movement and moved toChicago to meet with anarchists, whothought him to be a spy and rejectedhim. He implicated one his few sup-porters, Emma Goldman, in the assassi-nation even though she was in anotherstate at the time of his act. After shewas released from jail for insufficientevidence, she still fought for him, andshortly before his execution he statedthat she had never had anything to dowith his actions. Oh, and their label,Sept 6, the date McKinley was shot,which has a PO Box address. That’swhat I’ve never understood about anar-chists. How can you tout anti-govern-ment rhetoric, but then directly benefitfrom a government institution like thepostal service? If I stood that firmlybehind those beliefs I guess I’d be sad-dling up my pony to deliver the mail.En La Olla: topical rather than politicalpunk in that they deal with general con-cepts rather than direct issues. Lyricsare in Spanish. The better side of thesplit. –Megan (Sept. 6)

DAVID ROVICS: Behind theBarricades: The Best of David Rovics: CDIt may sound odd to hear that I can’tthink of a single album I’ve reviewedfor this issue which is more punk thanthis one, especially considering thatthis is one person with an acoustic gui-tar and some bitter, scabrous humor. Itmay seem even more unusual when

you consider that this is a folk album inthe tradition of Woody Guthrie, PhilOchs and Pete Seeger. Then again, I’vealways had a fondness for folk songs.At a theoretical level, they are usuallyone of the purest expressions of DIY.At a practical level, they usuallyexpress the most radical politicsbecause they can embody the voice ofone person. I don’t think it’s really toosurprising that The Weakerthans, one ofthe more folk-inclined bands currentlyrecording, also express some of themore sensitively crafted political ideasin music. Rovics, a musician who Iwasn’t familiar with, works in a similarvein, although his songs are far moreovert and really don’t require any pars-ing at all. These songs are about as sub-tle as a bag of hammers because, as arule, folk music doesn’t want to bevague or misinterpreted. Back to thesongs, it’s fair to say that they’re blunt.You can’t really misread them or mis-understand them. They’re pretty pro-gressive – or, if you prefer, left-wing.They all seem to have a sad sort ofblack humor; as we all know, it’s fairlyeasy to laugh at horror these days,probably because we’ve all seen somuch of it. However, there’s also hopehere and perhaps that’s the thing thatmost draws me to this record… whileRovics isn’t pulling any punches, it’sbecause he’s using these hard-hittingsongs to help shape a better future and,as sad as it is to say, it’s highly unlike-ly that such a future can be built with-out a brawl or two. –Puckett (AK Press)

DEAD END KIDS: I’m SoBored with the U.K.: CDPretty generic ‘70s influenced punk.The promo sheet says they are an“incredibly important band.” Whatdoes that even mean? Maybe PaulRobeson or Woody Guthrie or MinorThreat were “incredibly important,”helping create and sustain political cul-ture and build community, but this?This is just music, dumb and fun, theway this kind of music should be.Unfortunately, this just isn’t fun orcatchy enough. If this were a cereal,it’d be unfrosted Mini-Wheats. Yawn.–Maddy (No Front Teeth)

DEADLY WEAPONS: Get Right in There: CD...the ‘90s Bay Area Garage Mafia havea pretty lackluster track record when itcomes to pulling off the “shorter, faster,louder!” thing (case in point beingGreg “Midas Touch” Lowery’s ZodiacKillers needing three attempts [andwho knows how many lineups?] beforegoing relatively yard with an album); iwould be hard-pressed to understandwhy Tina Lucchesi (you know...fromthe Bobby/Trash/Total/Whatever It IsThis Week Women/ Teens/ Babes/Whatever It Is This Week) felt com-pelled to take a similarly futile whackat this type of record as well, but i can’timagine it’s ‘cause she thinks she ain’tin enough bands. Maybe she’s trying tospread herself too thin for health rea-sons or something? Beats me. If i’msupposed to appreciate this on thegrounds of it being all FAST andVICIOUS and CRAZED and VILE, it’snowhere near FAST and VICIOUS andCRAZED and VILE enough to workfor me. If i’m supposed to appreciate itbecause it’s well-crafted, catchy TinaStuff (as, admittedly, most Tina Stufftends to be), it ain’t anywhere well-crafted nor catchy enough, and it allcomes off either as a shrill, pointless

version of something she did previous-ly (presumably of a less shrill, pointlessnature) or a day-late, dollar-shortattempt at something the Loudmouthsalready did far more successfully likefive years ago or something. The oneredeeming feature is the cool GregGinn knockoff guitar runs; presumably,given a few years of practice and sea-soning to properly hone their craft, theymight well aspire to be the next DickArmy. Congratufuckinlations. BESTSONG: As no one saw fit to include atrack listing with the review copy, i’llsay the one with the “Rise Above” rip-off leads. BEST SONG TITLE: I guessi’ll have to say “What a Way to Die,”because said Pleasure Seekers cover isthe only song i know to actually HAVEa title. FANTASTIC AMAZINGTRIVIA FACT: According to the pressrelease, 200 copies of the album are on“invisable” wax. I kinda wish this CDwas “invisable,” actually. –Rev. Nørb(Jonny Cat)

DECLARATION OF WAR: 4-song CD-RPretty bad, aimless, tuneless hardcore.If this were a cereal, it’d be “If-You’re-In-High-School-Don’t -Worry-I -Produced-Much-Worse-Punk-Rock-Items-In-My-Youth-Than-This Ohs.”–Maddy (self-released?)

DEERHOOF: Milk Man: CDWeirded-out avant-pop – Deerhoof isan acquired musical taste with lots ofblips, twitters, and odd sound texturesthat put them right in line with inciden-tal music from cartoons and the sonicportraits of labelmates Xiu Xiu, YoungPeople, and Hella. In some ways, itsounds tremendously Japanese –waifish vocals, skewed melodies andoffbeat sensibilities which veer fromplayful to ominous. Frankly, I’m stilltorn on this album and haven’t yet lis-tened to it enough times to determinewhether it’s utterly brilliant or some-thing that will wind up being passed onto someone else. What I know at thispoint is that this indie-pop is interestingenough to warrant the time necessary tomake that judgment. –Puckett (5 Rue Christine)

DEPTH CHARGE REVOLT:The Inaudible Growl: CDThis is pretty strange. The music is likewhen Bill and Ted get to the future andRufus shows them the music they cre-ated. Then there’s someone screamingon top of that really mellow, guitar-dri-ven stuff, but the levels are all the sameso the yelling is all muted and soft. It’spretty arty. –Megan (Drama Destroyed)

DESCENDENTS: Cool to Be You: CDJeez, where does one begin whenspeaking of the Descendents? Theseguys have been a personal favorite ofmine since White Morgan lent me theFat EP back in junior high school, andwhile they may not have always man-aged to consistently deliver the goodsover the years (the ALL album, whichadmittedly has some of their best work,is uneven at best), their “comeback”record, Everything Sucks, was a nicereturn to form, and this, their latest, is afine extension on that album. Theremay be a dearth of obligatory thrashershere, but it is nonetheless chock full ofsome of the finest pop a punk band evermustered – taut, tight as hell, melan-choly and tough as nails all at once.More amazingly, with the explosion oftenth-rate pop-punk bands inundating

the airwaves, these boys still manage tosomehow set themselves apart from thepack simply by playing with a level ofhonesty most of the new jack bandslack. When Milo sings an anthem tobeing a glasses-wearing nerd, he ain’tjust whistling Dixie, kid. My only gripeis that seven years is TOO FUCKINGLONG to make us wait betweenalbums. There’s got to be torture lawsthey’re violatin’ by having us sit andwait year after year after year for thenext fix. The copy of this I happen to bereviewing is destined to be played untilit disintegrates, and then replacednumerous times over the course of mylifetime. –Jimmy Alvarado (Fat)

DESPISTADO: TheEmergency Response: CD EPIs it really so hard to send out the actu-al release? Even if I wanted to reviewthis promo, I don’t have any liner notes.I can’t tell you what any of the songtitles are – about all I can say is that thisreminds me of Braid, Cap’n Jazz intheir more musically competent (andfar less interesting) moments and HeyMercedes. And with that said, since Ihave to pull this disc out of the CDplayer to read the title, I think I’vewasted enough words and time on this.–Puckett (Jade Tree)

DESTRUCTION UNIT: Self-titled: CD Overblown synthpunk from one or twoex-Reatards that goes from desperateand creepy to frantic and bright, allover the exhilarating place like tusslin’with a spastic waving a couple razorknives – knives so sharp you’re neversure whether they cut you until you seethe blood. –Cuss Baxter (Empty)

DIMLAIA: Self-titled: CDShould’ve been titled Screamo: TheSoundtrack to Jimmy Alvarado’s WorstNightmares. Nothing like piss-poorattempts at being all arty ‘n’ shit PLUSa fucker screeching in your ear toaggravate already raging neuroses.–Jimmy Alvarado(www.lifeisabuse.com)

DISCIPLINE/ARGY BARGY:100% Thug Rock: Split CDDiscipline: Think the Vanilla Muffinswith a gruffer singer. They were betterthan I remember them being. ArgyBargy: More of the same with an evengruffer singer than the one frontingDiscipline. Nothing really blew myskirt up on here or anything, but listen-ing to either band wasn’t exactly apainful experience, either. –JimmyAlvarado (Captain Oi)

DOWN AND AWAY: Set to Blow!: CD(Shout the intro.) I blew my wad onDown and Away’s split withSmalltown, but this full-length leavesme disappointed. Standardization’s theproblem. Most of these songs couldpass for b-sides to Dropkick Murphyssongs. (Raise fist. Mention the streets.)The production’s squeaky clean.(Chorus.) The chops are there. Theanthems are all in place (“Hey, ho,come on, let’s go.”), but it all seems sopat, so by the numbers. (Short solohere.) No chills. No fire. (Vague lyricsabout us vs. them. Us good. Them, theydon’t understand us.) No sparks.Nothing’s embarrassing about this CD,it’s just that so many boots have tram-pled these same musical avenues, yougotta have new bombs to huck – or, I

know it’s a stretch – songs that soundlike they haven’t been played a thou-sand times. That’s the disappointment.Everything on this record’s been donebefore, and better – like the DKM’s Door Die – and that leaves us standingaround in a big, ol’ streetpunk/oithought ghetto in very tight pants andcareful bootlace selection, staring atone another. (Grab the cymbal so itstops vibrating.) –Todd (Rockstar)

DRUGS, THE/ DRUGS, THE:Split 7”One’s from Brazil, and the other one’sfrom Holland. They’re both essentiallylo-fi, hi-energy garage punk, but theBrazil one sounds more like the Mad(!) or something from Back from theGrave, while the Holland one has onethat sounds like the Fartz (!!), and onethat’s more bluesy, with a laid-backpart and a rave-up part. Guess whichone has funnier personnel names.Funniest name from Brazil is Fred, butHolland has Peter Alias Mr. Boogie-Woogie and Hotdog Teade. HotdogTeade! –Cuss Baxter (Rockin’ Bones)

DUKES OF HILLSBOR-OUGH, THE/ ALTAIRA: Sometimes You Eat the Bar, Sometimes the Bar Eats You:Split CDThe Dukes of Hillsborough play aheavy blend of melodic hardcore. It’sthe kind of thing you’d expect from aband opening for Hot Water Music. Afew people whose musical taste Irespect have recommended the Dukesof Hillsborough to me, and I noticethat, whenever they make the recom-mendation, they add that the Dukes arereally good guys. After listening to thefour songs on the split, I think that I’d

probably like the Dukes a lot better ifthey were my friends and I was watch-ing them live and I was drunk. Withnothing but this recording to go on, I’mnot wild over it. The Altaira half of thesplit picks things up considerably. I’vebeen listening to these guys since theirguitar player, J., sent me their demo toreview. I liked the demo and things justkeep getting better. They owe a lot toTiltwheel, musically speaking, butthey’ve branched out enough on theirown to avoid being a Tiltwheel clone.Still, they get Davey to sing a song onthis split, and Altaira lay down fivesolid songs that make this split worth itfor their half, alone. –Sean (A.D.D.)

EGAN’S RATS: Shanghaied: 7” EPI see a bunch of a number of skin-ori-ented t-shirts in the xeroxed photos onthe back of the lyric sheet, but the mid-tempo punk stuff I’m hearin’ is moreakin to late ‘80s bands likeCrimpshrine. This ain’t a bad thang, butI found it kinda interesting. If they’reshootin’ for the whole skin trip, thelyrics are way above average for thatscene, with virtually no references todrinking and fighting, and their senseof not fitting into the greater society isinterestingly optimistic. Not too shabbyon the whole. –Jimmy Alvarado(www.geocities.com/egansrats)

ELECTRIC FRANKEN-STEIN: We Will Bury You!:2 x CDThere was a golden time back in thelate ‘90s when I thought ElectricFrankenstein was King Shit. I reallybelieved that their music could kill hip-pies. I thought they were the new DeadBoys, only heavier and with a few more

chins – not just sonically speaking, butheavier in the physical sense as well (asanyone can plainly see that it would takeabout 3.5 Stiv Bators to make one SteveMiller.) And while Steve Miller’s noGap underpants model, he’s a got a greatpunk rock voice – greasy and gritty andslimey like a wet paper bag full of ranciddog food and worms. Back then I waslistening to their live discs, How I RoseFrom the Dead, I Was a TeenageShutdown and Me No Like You constant-ly. And when I did an interview with theHookers and they slagged on E.F. forbeing old and fat and having too manychins, I liked E.F. even better. Whatcould be more truly cool than being thefarthest thing from MTV pretty people?And their old choppers weren’t exactlyfloating in a glass of water next to theirbed; E.F. had a sound that spit in youreye right before it tore your adam’sapple out with its teeth. Or at least thelive recordings did. I soon found out thatthe studio offerings didn’t quite havethat same bite. And right about the timeI made that discovery, they startedsquirting records out like bunny turds;these boys definitely don’t suffer fromAxl Rose Reluctancy Syndrome when itcomes to cranking new stuff out. Soon,for me, a new E.F. release became noth-ing to get excited about. They seemedhell bent to show everyone and Axl Rosethat it really is quantity over quality. Ontop of that, they further bogged downtheir fans – or me at least – with theirpreachy “Fight the Anti-RockConspiracy” twaddle. I generally don’tget an itchy reaction to “preaching to thechoir” type stuff, but this particular cam-paign seemed as ponderous as theirrecorded output was prolific. So it waswith some trepidation that I approachedreviewing this new double E.F. CD of

nothing but cover tunes. To their credit,they are all over the map here. They gofrom covers of the Circle Jerks toAC/DC to the Supersuckers to Crime,the Dead Kennedys, Blue Oyster Cult,the Misfits, F-Word, Fleetwood Mac,Johnny Cash and Pink Floyd. All in all,very admirable attempts. But when youget to the stuff you’d like to re-listen to– not as interesting. What it comes downto for me, is that the covers of “arenarock” tunes tend to show that slower,softish mid-tempo side of E.F. thatseems to have been more and moreprevalent on their more recent releases –while the more “punk” covers have moresnot and teeth and bile. Which I like.Sorry, I’m biased. “Ace’s High” by IronMaiden is a cool/cheesy tune, but E.F.’srelaxed remake makes the original soundmore “punk” than the E.F. version. Andpersonally, for me, if you’re goingaround with a comic book-inspired bandlogo that says “Electric Frankenstein –Punk Rock” and you’re showing up onthe monitor as “less punk” than a fenc-ing doofus like Bruce Dickenson, youbetter take a step back and rethinkthings. Like most recent E.F. releases, Ifind this one to be a mixed bag of reallygood and really uninteresting. The goodstuff is good, though. As usual, I wish Icould have gone into the studio andtrimmed the fat for them, using my razorsharp music critic scalpels. Because thisis, perhaps, the most “Frankenstein-ish”of all their releases and, while it doesn’tcome anywhere near to totally sucking,it doesn’t have the over-all power andignorance to drown sweet little innocentgirls in sun dresses either. A lurching hit-and-miss patchwork of random partssewn together with cheap yarn. Yourcall. –Aphid Peewit (TKO)

EPIDEMIC, THE: Self-titled: CDThe guys at Rodent Popsicle serve up areissue of an album that apparently firstsaw the light of day in the very recentpast. Some pretty rockin’ hardcore isdished up here, with a lyrical emphasison war, which makes perfect sense con-sidering what’s been going on in thiscountry under Herr Bush’s regime, aswell as a couple of ditties about policeoppression and sadomasochism to breakup the monotony. Some good work isput down here that should satisfy thejones of any thrash fiend. –JimmyAlvarado (Rodent Popsicle)

ERGS, THE: Dorkrockcorkrod: CDThere’s no delicate way to say this. Ithink The Ergs are geniuses. I adoredtheir Ben Kweller EP, but missed some-thing. I loved it as a simple pop album.On Dorkrockcorkrod (it’s a palin-drome!) it’s easier to hear a lot of thecomplexities that are going on behindthe guise of pop. It’s like Rivethead,where I just thought it was the hooksthat had me listening to it all the time,but then I began to pay closer attention.They’re all proficient players, and whenyou listen to what’s going on in thebackground of the songs you hear someinteresting things. I actually hear astrong jazz influence, but it never over-rides the pop (which has a lot morepower in the pop than the EP) and don’tworry, it never even steps close tofusion. Broken-hearted lyrics prevailfrom their Carpenter-style set-up (youknow, the drummer sings). Incrediblyinfectious – I listened to it fourteentimes yesterday. –Megan (Whoa Oh)

ESOTERIC, THE: 1336: CD EPIt’s amazing how easily suckass jockmetal passing itself off as hardcore canruin one’s day. –Jimmy Alvarado (Black Noise)

EXPLODING FUCK DOLLS:Crack the Safe: CDA collection of assorted tracks from aband that first made the rounds back inthe early ‘90s and are now apparentlyout playing again. The early tracks withDuane Peters on vocals are not that faroff from the noise his more recent bandshave been making, but the later trackswith some guy named Kris could easilypass for Clash outtakes. Better than mydrunken memories of seeing and/orsharing bills with them led me tobelieve. –Jimmy Alvarado(Disaster/Bomp)

FANG: Live Cheap: CDAlthough there is nothing in the packag-ing to verify it, what I am able to sussfrom listening to this is that you’ve gottwo or three live recordings here fromthis venerable Bay Area band, the firstfrom one of their recent reunion showsand the others from back in the ‘80s.Great versions of classics like “TheMoney Will Roll Right In,” “SkinheadsSmoke Dope,” “Landshark,” “TheySent Me to Hell COD,” and “Fun withAcid,” among others, can be found here,as well as some others I don’t recognize.Sound quality is pretty good throughoutand the performances are pretty spirited,which is about the best one can expectfrom a live recording. All in all, a niceaddition to your collection and guaran-teed fun for the whole family. –JimmyAlvarado (Malt Soda)

FLATUS: Crashing Down: CDMaybe I’m just not getting it, but thissounds to me like over-produced melod-ic punk with lots of breakdowns and,unfortunately, vocals that could best bedescribed as “operatic.” Not awful, butnothing new, either. If this were a cere-al, it’d be Total. In a pinch, it’ll do, butif you’ve got even a box of Honey NutCheerios handy, well, it’s all over.–Maddy (Black Pumpkin)

FLUX OF PINK INDIANS: Strive to Survive/Neu Smell: CDStrange what time can do to one’s lis-tening tastes. Like Crass and most of theother English anarcho-punk bands of thelate ‘70s/early ‘80s (except, I must pointout, Rudimentary Peni, who maintain analmost religious respect from me to thisday) I HATED this band with a passion.Their songs were the musical equivalentof fingernails on a chalkboard or stran-gling a cat and resulted in many a fanta-sy of jamming ice picks into my ears.Some of the boys in the ‘hood swore bythese guys, but I preferred bashing myhead into a concrete wall to having to sitthrough their brand of noise. Twentyyears on, however, I find a couple ofCrass records in my collection andmyself actually digging this reissue.Kinda unnerving. Next thing I know,I’m gonna find myself rocking out toConflict or something. –JimmyAlvarado (One Little Indian)

FLUX OF PINK INDIANS: TheFucking Cunts Treat Us LikePricks/ Taking a Liberty: CDEighteen tracks from this legendaryCrass-affiliated band. The TFCTULPLP and the Taking Liberty 7” were orig-

inally released in 1983 and 1984 onSpiderleg Records. Here you get bothwithout acquiring a scratched up origi-nal for an exorbitant price, but youmight have already guessed that obviousfact from the title. I don’t know if this isa defect or it was intended, but all thesongs are on one track. That sure takesaway the convenience of it being on CD.It’s like having a cassette. You have tofast forward but you cannot skip tracks.At least with vinyl, you can manuallylift the needle and move it past songsyou don’t want to listen to. I can’t sayI’m the most knowledgeable fan. I dohave the Strive to Survive... LP. Wasn’ttoo into the whole Crass thing. Liked theideology, but could pass on the music. Istill find it hard to listen to after twentyyears. If you got the patch on your cloth-ing and never listened to the bandbefore, go get this. Someone will even-tually call you on it. –Donofthedead(One Little Indian)

FOUR EYES, THE:Rock & Role Playing: CDSuper-nerd, super-pop fromSacramento’s The Four Eyes. Topicsranging from winning spelling bees andbecoming king of the nerds toDeathrace 2000. It’s all in good fun, andpulled together really well – playing foreleven years will do that, I’ve heard. I’mgetting the impression that they’re anacquired taste, but one I apparently havebecause I love it. –Megan (Plastic Idol)

FOUR LETTER WORD: Crimewave!: 7” EPThere are a lot of settings on Four LetterWord’s amps. The title track carriesthrough with a spy surf guitar that couldhave been lifted from JFA or Hawaii

Five-O. “Turning the Screw” – clean,jumpy, and snotty – is reminiscent oflate ‘90s pop punk along the lines ofNRA. “Friends in High Places” is astraight-ahead hardcore scorcher thatbares its teeth and looks at the Effigiesright in the eyes. “Johnny Foreigner”has more than a couple intersectingpoints to a mid-tempo Anti-Flag song.It’s all held together by explicit left-wing politics and the artwork nods toother inspirations, like the Posh Boy-inspired crest of the record label. It’s lis-tenable, enjoyable, and well crafted.–Todd (Newest Industry, $7 ppd./world)

FULL FRONTAL ASSAULT: The Universal Struggle: CDIron Maiden delves into the world ofspeed metal with the Cookie Monsterdoing his best Bruce Dickenson imper-sonation. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.newregardmedia.com)

G.D. LUXXE: Between Zero & Eternity: CDYou are in your twenties now, slowlybut surely pushing thirty. You grew upon punk, embraced the spirit of DIY,moshed when it was still called slamdancing. You developed a goth fetish,bought Sisters of Mercy albums, starteddressing in black. You graduated highschool, started hanging out at clubs,started listening to techno, starteddreaming about Berlin. You got olderand started to wonder what was next.You dabbled in seemingly every subcul-ture when you were young and, now thatyou are an adult, can you find a placewhere the influences collide? EnterBetween Zero and Eternity, the latestalbum from GD Luxxe (aka GerhardPotuznik). Here, the dark, sparse elec-

tronics of the nuclear winter in yourmind go head-to-head with a rockrhythm as frenzied as that pit where youonce took a Doc Marten to the eye as thevocals exude the sort of intense heat thatprompt bouts of teenage longing. Wereyou still sixteen, you would be sweatingKabuki make-up right about now. Inyour room, listening to this album, try-ing to decide whether or not, at yourage, it is still appropriate to jump on thebed in time to the beat, you realize thatG.D. Luxxe is the sound of the future. Itis music without the now-requisite newwave nostalgia, without the more for-ward-retro-minded acid house nostalgia.It is the sound that may just carry youand your friends into the next phase oflife. – Liz Ohanesian (Ersatz Audio)

GARAGELAND: Last Exit to Garageland: CDMost of the Flying Nun records I’dheard before this were gentle and liltingpop. This sounds like Pavement tryingto play punk rock while drunk as hell onsome fucked up distillation of theNuggets box set into moonshine. Itveers from power-pop to noise-pop toshoegaze to garage rock and somehowmanages to make the whole damnedmess cohere into something that actual-ly sounds like a consistent record. Itisn’t brilliant, but it isn’t common (par-ticularly not these days) and it’s well-done – sometimes, that’s more satisfy-ing that a jaw-droppingly good album.–Puckett (Flying Nun)

GEISHA GIRLS: Self-titled: 12” EPThere’s definitely a strong Gang ofFour feel here, with Robert Smith-ishvocals, which may sound like charted

territory in their own rights. GeishaGirls have created something that isinteresting and inventive, without com-ing off as overly arty. The bass anddrums seem to keep everything ground-ed as the guitar or vocals ventures, giv-ing it a balanced and full sound. Thebassist is also in the Checkers, and thedrums are the sweet beats of none otherthan Sexual Chocolate of the FourLetter Words. The recording (by Lavinof Civic Minded Five and Dan of NoFraud) captures the rawness withoutsounding muted or hollow. Only 500copies made (on three different colors ofvinyl, no less) available directly throughthe band or Disgruntled mailorder.–Megan (jsr, geishabooking@hotmail.com)

GET FUCKED: Self-titled: CDMonotonous bap bap bap bap bap bapbap bap bap bap bap bap bap bap bapbap bap bap bap bap bap bap bap bapbap bap bap bap bap bap bap bap bapbap bap bap drums underpin nearly riff-less treble guitar and screaming in whatamounts to a non-black, non-metalblack metal. Except sometimes it’s gooda little bit. –Cuss Baxter (Level Plane)

GHOST MICE: The Debt of the Dead: CDGhost Mice is two people – Chris andHannah – playing simple folk punksongs, with some harmonica, accordion,and even mandolin thrown into the mix.I’m so conflicted about this. Some ofthe songs are great – especially“Lightning Blot,” which is about howone of their fathers, who works at aCatholic cemetery, got a pay cut becauseof the church’s financial problems afterthe recent church sex scandals. But thenthere’s songs like “Up the Punks,”which, although it does come with a dis-

claimer (“this song is not meant to betaken too seriously”), sounds like a par-ody of the folk punk genre, with lyricslike, “Well, just take a look around andI’m sure that you’ll agree that we’vedone a lot of things to improve commu-nity/like organizing protests and servingfood not bombs/ sending books to all theprisoners that have been locked up forso long.” Ack! I think the main problemwith this is that there are some cheezylyrics, and then there’s just way toomany lyrics, period. A lot of the bettersongs, like “The Pines,” have less linesand more music. If I could take this CDand make it into a 7”, it would be CornPops. Right now, it’s Boo Berry. I justdon’t know! –Maddy (Plan-it-X)

GIANT HAYSTACKS: We Are Being Observed: CDFrankly, it’s amazing that theMinutemen template hadn’t been resur-rected sooner, but it’s awesome to see itas a transparency carefully placed downover modern times. The frenetic short-hand guitar, the popping, looping, andlunging bass, the loud but spare and on-target drumming, the vocal bursts, andthe cryptic, poignant, and witty lyricsare all there. The Giant Haystacks don’tsound like they’re hanging out byD.Boon’s (RIP) gravesite in San Pedro,but have further refined an alternate,updated universe that’s worthy ofDouble Nickels on the Dime’s legacy.I’m also selling them a little short withthe Minutemen comparison. I also hearthe raggedy edged, catchy pop of Gangof Four’s Entertainment and the confi-dent flexing of three guys who’ve nailedsmart, complex songs without wankingoff. Excellent stuff and highly recom-mended. –Todd (Smartguy)

GIRLS, THE: Self-titled: CDOrdinarily, i’d like nothing more than tocome out here with my Slide Rule andProtractor of Rock & Roll and illustratehow the XTC corollary transects the AFrames molecule, thereby enabling theDiodes transmitter to bifurcate throughthe Epoxies prism and into the Missionof Burma gonad from the Brainiac cen-tral basin, and then a little shuck andjive about the record having that newcar/new wave smell, but the band livejust smelling like sweaty guys withfunny colored hair just to ground it all inthe Wreck modulator, but then i remem-bered that the Girls were the guys whoheld up the Boris/Girls split 45 (eventu-ally unto death) so then, like, fuck it.Right? I am right! Oh, yeah, forgot theSaccharine Trust adapter. BEST SONG:“Derek I Can’t Go to the Beach” BESTSONG TITLE: “Making Plans forDerek” FANTASTIC AMAZINGTRIVIA FACT: Both this and theWildhearts Riff After Riff album,reviewed elsewhere in the issue, containunrelated songs entitled “Return toZero.” “Return to Zero” – apart frombeing the name of an amazingly horriblepost-Boston project ca. 1990 – is a con-trol button on an analog tape deck thatreturns the tape to whatever spot you setyour counter at. –Rev. Nørb (Dirtnap)

GO BETTY GO: Worst Enemy: CDFor over a year, I have seen their nameplaying venues all over the city. I havealso read much acclaim from the localcritics. Since I don’t go out that much, Ihave never crossed paths. But I had astrong feeling that I would really likethis band of four strong Latina women.I liked that they had the work ethic to

continually gig. Having been in a band,that is a lot of time to spend together.Their hard work paid off and they had aspot on last year’s Warped Tour and gotsigned. I have heard from others thatthis is a bit over-produced compared totheir live set. But for first listen, I’m notswayed by it. It possibly took awaysome of their raw edge, but the vocalsare fantastic. I hate to use this as a com-parison, but it has the magic of the Go-Go’s Beauty and the Beat LP. The vocalharmonies are dreamy and well-execut-ed. The guitars could have been pushedup a bit but they play into the fun andsassiness of their cutting music. Fivesongs are a tease but I will admit that Iwill be among the first begging for apromo copy of their full length.–Donofthedead (Side One Dummy)

GORCH FOCK: Self-titled: CDI don’t know if I can fully justify or clar-ify what I hear. Noisecore with two louddrummers, a trombone player, and someelectronic white noise in the back-ground. All that in the first song.Reminds me of going to a multimediaart event in the early ‘80s. An industrialband playing soundtrack to an artist’sexpression of imagery. A mixture oflater period Throbbing Gristle andEinsturzende Neubauten meets the earlyexperimental period of the ButtholeSurfers. Cool silkscreened chipboardcover. –Donofthedead (Perverted Son)

GOVERNMENT ISSUE: G.I.’s First Demo: 7” EPAnother archival slice of precious vinyl,once in the sole realm of collectors, getsthe official release treatment with theblessing of the band. Happy day. It’s afull-on 1980 harDCore sprint from along-running band that’s been through a

decathlon of styles. G.I. (the matrix etchclaims it stands for “GenitalInspectors”) were kindred spirits to theTeen Idles, SOA, and the east coastYouth Brigade. It’s both nostalgic andfun stuff. Although fast, you can alreadyhere the fungus of melody creeping inthat would later infect the band’s centralnervous system and steer them into dis-tant musical seas. After all this time, it’sfunny and charming that the lead singer,John Stabb, can’t figure out the chorusto his song, “War Zone Casualty,”because it’s so fast and so slurred. Johnalso mentions this in liner notes, but it’sworth repeating – G.I. has a lot in com-mon from the often-overlooked firstever American hardcore band, MiddleClass. This demo EP could have easilybeen the companion piece to Out ofVogue, and that’s a high compliment.Cool stuff. –Todd (SpontaneousCombustion; www.spontaneous.com)

GUNMOLL: Board of Rejection: CDI love this album! Right away when Iheard the first song, I knew this wasgonna be amazing. I just keep listeningto it over and over. You can make all theobvious comparisons – Hot WaterMusic, Leatherface, Pegboy,Jawbreaker, but somehow, this managesto still sound new. One of the best CDsI’ve heard this year. If you don’t pickthis up, you’re seriously missing out.Especially if you need some great wal-lowing music. Just put it on your walk-man, get on your bike, and ride aroundthinking about how sad you are. Do youthink I’m joking? This is what emoSHOULD sound like! If this were acereal, it’d be Lucky Charms! The high-est honor! –Maddy (No Idea)

HANDGUN BRAVADO:These Days Move Fast : CDI popped this in the player while drivingthrough the high desert between LA andVegas. In my opinion it’s one of the bestplaces to listen to music. Everything isso vast that you kind of have to focus onsomething, music usually being mychoice. Handgun Bravado have some-thing interesting going on here. On mostof the tracks the guitar seems to berhythm guitar, but with nothing takingup the lead. It doesn’t feel like there’sanything missing, and the tracks thathave a lead guitar just feel a bit fuller,not better. Vocals reminiscent of DannyElfman’s days with Oingo Boingo, andthe music has a Bad Religion feel to it.Interesting approach and not a bad listenat all. –Megan (Firefly)

HATE PINKS, THE: Parasites Like Me: CDTotal Killed By Death type stuff. Thisalbum gets the ridiculous lyric awardfor: “I’m going to get me that girlNatasha/Behind the economical cur-tain.” And the singer pronounces“badge” like “bay-dge.” Punk! And Ithink they’re French! If this were a cere-al, it’d be Apple Jacks. If you like‘em/KBD, you’ll love this! –Maddy(Unity Squad)

HATEPINKS, THE: Sehr Gut Rock Und Roll: CDMe: Okay, got guitars?Band: Oui.Me: Got bass?Band: Oui.Me: Got drums?Band: Oui.Me: Got sunglasses?Band: Oui.Me: Got ties?

Band: Oui.Me: Some of them featuring the ever-dynamic “diagonal stripe” pattern?Band: Mais oui!Me: Are you standing in front of somesort of grid-type background, such asthe tiles of a subway station or under-pass, to contrast the mathematical regu-larity of the grid pattern itself with theimperfections of the physical form it hastaken on in its manifestation as abyproduct of mere functional utility?Band: (whispering) Uhhh... oui?Me: Got song titles that appear to becomposed by writing down a variety of“punk” sounding words – “Brainless”“Selfish” “Kids” “Gimmick” “Phoning”“Pills” “Bored” “Rotten” “Plastic”“Polaroid” – then picking those wordsrandomly out of a hat?Band: Oui.Me: Got inspiration?Band: ... quoi?Me: You know, “inspiration?” Like, doyou do anything but embrace and reflectpreviously established stylistic conven-tions?Band (offended): “Je suis une gim-mick!”Me: Yeah, but can’t you think of a bet-ter gimmick than just being punk? Imean, isn’t that sort of a given for apunk band? A default gimmick?Band: “Nous sommes la haine rose!”Me: LOOK, DO YOU HAVE A GIM-MICK OTHER THAN BEING A GIM-MICK PUNK BAND WHO ISPUNK???Band: “Garcon je danse bien?”Me: Look, if you want a gimmick, whynot sing in French? French is, amazing-ly, a perfectly good rock singin’ lan-guage. It also sounds really freaky,which is good. Plastic Bertrand sang inFrench, and HE was Belgian!Band: !!! Quel chien!!! Quel cochonBelgique!!!Me: I mean, instead of doing somethinglike wearing a diagonally-striped tie‘cause it looks sort of symbolicallyhiply jarring, why dontcha do some-thing REALLY hiply jarring for achange, and sing in your native lan-guage??? I can assure you that the whitemale Anglophone mafia who’ve beenrunning Punk Rock since its inceptionhave a lot more interest in hearingFrench dudes singing punk in Frenchthan they do hearing yet more punk rocksung in English. I mean, the only reasonwe put up with French punks singing inEnglish anyway is because sometimesthey say “Moo-zair-foo-kair,” which welove – which you don’t say even sayonce! So whaddaya say? Can you singyour next album in French? Huh? Canya? Will ya? Huh? Huh? Huh?Band: We do not speak the French!!!Moo-zair-foo-kair!!!BEST SONG: “Bored on Pills” BESTSONG TITLE: “(Killed By) PolaroidScreen” FANTASTIC AMAZINGTRIVIA FACT: “Fuck the rest of theworld, especially you.” –Rev. Nørb(Lollipop)

HIDDEN TRACKS: The Sweet Sounds of Excess: CDI swear, whatever I did to deserve get-ting so much indie rock to review, Iapologize! Please! End the deluge!Contains the line, “I wanna be yourwhore/I wanna be all yours.” Lots ofnew-school Dr. Frank-esque vocals,and, once again, tons of R.E.M. influ-ence. One pretty alright song(“Insomnia”). More of that, less of therest! If this were a cereal, it’d be adefective box, containing mostlySpecial K (and advertised as such), but

with a little sprinkling of Honey NutChex thrown in (fortunately) by mis-take. The end! –Maddy (Disposable PopRevolution)

HOLY SHIT!: What the Fuck?:7” EPAss my dick etc. What it reminds me ofis an old band by the name of KillingChildren from Ohio or somewhere. Ifthis record would’ve come out in 1984like that one, it’d be kicking ass on eBayright now. As it stands, well, that mightnot ever happen, but it’s a nice littleblast of Midwest (Milwaukee – the citythat Schlitz made famous) hardcorethat’s like chicken croquettes going intoyour ears. You can buy it for $4 ppd.–Cuss Baxter (Holy Shit!)

HORRIBLE ODDS, THE: Underground: LPStraight ahead gearhead rock for fans ofthat. Not enough for me to drive fast to.–Speedway Randy (Onion FlavoredRecords)

HORROR, THE: First BloodParts I & II: CD-RI like it when I’m not expecting some-thing. Like this release, I got an asskicking while I was not looking.Consisting of former members of theVoorhees from the UK, they take theshort, fast and loud route and pummelthrough twenty-eight songs. Done well,this style is extremely entertaining andis a great outlet. Fans of DS-13, theirformer band the Voorhees, or AmdiPetersens Arme will be won over by thisband. Now I have to go out and get theactual release and hope I haven’t missedthem live. –Donofthedead (Chainsaw Safety)

HOT’N’HEAVY/ THE SHARP EASE: Split 7”It’s fitting that Hot’n’Heavy should joinforces with The Sharp Ease for this split7”. Both are Los Angeles-based bandslacking in the pretension that oftenplagues the scene in this city. Both arethe writers of sharp, insightful lyrics andthe players of heavy beats. Both areknown for their highly energetic liveshows. Hot’n’Heavy could be part ofthe High NRG Riot, should somethingexist, as influenced by Kathleen Hannaas they are by Bronski Beat. Listeningto this album, it becomes obvious thatDolly Resendez and Rudy Blue are justas comfortable making zines at home asthey are dancing to Trans X’s “Livingon Video.” The duo offers two tracks onthis release. “Colored Vinyl,” featuringDolly on vocals, is a hyper-rhythmdance track in the vein of ‘80s Hi NRGmusic, but with a distinct punk twist. On“State of Confusion,” Rudy Blue takescenter stage with flat but endearingvocals, as if New Order’s BernardSumner grew up in Los Angeles, asopposed to Manchester. On the flipside,The Sharp Ease prove, once again, thatthey lay claim to the best drummer inLos Angeles. Christine Kings wields herdrumsticks like a Williams sister on thetennis court. Listening to her, I’m half-expecting to hear her rip off the skins.Yet, for all this power, she never drops abeat. Running through the rhythm isPaloma Parfrey sounding as if she is onthe verge of kicking someone’s ass – allanger and fiery passion. While this 7” isa strong testament to the sound of bothbands, it does not match seeing eithergroup play in a dark, skanky club. Themusic just isn’t the same without watch-ing Rudy Blue work the Jazzercisemoves in the middle of the crowd as his

boxers hang from under his gym shortsor Paloma Parfrey spitting out lyrics asshe jumps into the audience. –Liz Ohanesian (Spitshine; www.spitshinerecords.com)

INSTIGATOR: Sorry We’re Punk: CDPicked this up recently at a South Bayshow. Haven’t been to a show in theSouth Bay in over a decade. This bandwas the opening act. While they wereplaying, my brother told me that heremembered this band from the early‘80s. As the band played along, I vague-ly remembered the band. They playedan impressive set that brought backmemories of the early days and themany bands that never went anywherebut were good. After the show, I struckup a conversation with the drummer andasked him if he had played many a nightat the local punk club in Hollywoodback in the ‘80s. He confirmed my sus-picion and I immediately felt like I’dmet a comrade in arms. This release fea-tures the one of the first bands to playthe melodic beach punk sound. Theyalso have a sound that is very OC fromthat time period. Cross the Vandals withD.I. and, for some weird reason, I hearsome Youth Brigade. You can also hearwhere Pennywise might have gottensome of their influence in there, too, dueto proximity. Their live set caught mebut hearing a good recording of that setis even better. The old punk in me criedfor this. –Donofthedead (Instigator)

JOHNNY CHEAPO: Rock-N-Roll Sinner: CDImagine a less political Sloppy Seconds.Yes, you read that correctly. –JimmyAlvarado (Smut, no address)

JUNIOR ACHIEVEMENT: Fade to Black: CDThis is supposedly the first in a series ofdiscs highlighting Arizona’s treasuretrove of “lost” bands, and it is one hellof a way to start things off. This album,first released back in 1984, is a gem of‘80s hardcore punk rock with a gaggleof dark, catchy-as-hell mid-tempo hard-core done up in ways one rarely hearsanymore. According to the press materi-als, it was recorded on a two track whichis mind-boggling considering how wellit came out. There’s nary a lousy track tobe found here, and if the album ain’tenough, a soundboard recording of alive set is tacked on the end for goodmeasure. Now, I highly recommend thatall reading this inundate Malt Soda withletters requesting that they offer upConflict’s (the Tucson band, not the UKhippie punks) sole album, MightySphincter’s Ghost Walking double EP(hell, almost anything from Placebo’sback catalog would be swell) and any-thing they can manage to scrape up fromSoilent Green. Trust me, you’ll thankme for it later. –Jimmy Alvarado (Malt Soda)

KUKL: The Eye: CD & Holiday in Europe (The Noughty Nought): CDNever been a fan of Bjork, but alwayskind of wanted to hear Kukl, her pre-SugarCubes band, as they were on Crassand that was a recommendation of sorts.Now I can, because it’s reissued. 1984’sThe Eye is about what I expected: super-effected, Cure-esque guitar, arrhythmicpercussion, gothic touches like dongingbells, all presided over by Bjork’s grat-ing caterwaul. The next year’s Holidayin Europe, however, makes considerablegains in terms of non-irritation: Bjork’s

vocals are reigned in somewhat, thedrumming shaped up, and the inciden-tal noise fleshed out satisfyingly, givingthe whole thing a tone that’s more reg-ulated and more ethereal at the sametime, like they stepped up from beingpretend-weird to being actual-weird.That said, though, you’re not likely tocatch me listening to Kukl again anytime soon; just because it ain’t baddon’t make it good. –Cuss Baxter (One Little Indian)

KYLESA: “No Ending”/ “A 100° Heat Index”: CDEPPretty similar to fellow Georgian crustgrinders Damad, from which band arehalf of Kylesa: crushing detuned heav-iness, but with more audible, moreworldly vocals. The 7” has two songs,but the CD version has four (one is“Clutches” by Nausea) and a video.–Cuss Baxter (Prank)

LAHAR: Collapsing of the Soul: CDEPThree-song EP. Guessed the grindsound from the album title. Find the EPfrom the band Are You God? instead.–Speedway Randy (Wormfodder,www.odeum.org/wormfodder)

LAYMEN TERMS: 3 Weeks In: CD EPBefore the vocals kick in, the first songsounds so much like Metallica’s “One”that I can see Lars Ulrich nodding hishead as he hits that tom just oncebefore hitting the snare. Who’s show-ing off their classical guitar lessons,huh? –Puckett (Suburban Home)

LOCOMOTIONS: Self-titled: CDIf you purchased ten or more recordswith a Born On Date of 2003 A.D. andthe Locomotions LP was not amongthem, you are hereby charged withContempt of Rock, and will remain insuch a state until the oversight is cor-rected and the proper reparations aremade. As some sort of a fucked-upreward for you not being on-the-ballenough to have figured things out thefirst time through, said album is nowavailable on piracy-friendly CD formatwith two bonus tracks. I would repeatmy review of last year’s vinyl at thispoint, but the only part i remember isthe bit about DMZ locking their rabidredheaded stepchildren in the basementand them burning the house downinstead of playing “Mighty Idy” –which is, realistically, all you need toknow anyway. If you like punk rockand you like, say, The Pack, then if youlike the garage punk thing you oughttalike the Locomotions. Surely yougroove upon the whole furriners-bash-ing-shit-around aesthetic? ROCKAWAITS YOUR OVERDUE ACT OFCONTRITION! BEST SONG:Goddammit, i STILL say “SigmaAttack!” BEST SONG TITLE: i don’teven remember what i said last time.FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIAFACT: The press release mistakenlyrefers to the song “She’s Got Her” as“She’s On Her.” Good one, Tom!–Rev. Nørb (Dead Beat)

LOST PATROL, THE: SongsAbout Running Away: CDWho the fuck ever thought that DennisLyxsén would ever write an albumwhich is just slightly to the rock side ofKings Of Convenience? These country-inflected pop songs are a far cry fromThe International Noise Conspiracy,much less Refused. Frankly, once this

hit the CD player, I really didn’t listento much else for this issue. Whilethere’s nothing here as overtly politicalas Lyxsén’s other bands, the songsseem covertly political, primarilyfocusing on relationships – perhapsromantic, perhaps platonic – which arestill imbued with longing and desire.This is perhaps one of the most note-worthy characteristics inherent inLyxsén’s music – there is usually asense of yearning for something,whether a better political future or arelationship which doesn’t yield asense that something is still missing.One of the most interesting artisticideas at play here is a sense that disen-franchisement, that alienation andostracization engender a void whichpulls on other areas of a life; that beingremoved from or marginalized in thepolitical realm can in turn result in frus-trating or unfulfilling relationships andthat these frustrations can cascadethroughout one’s existence, coloringeverything they touch. Of course,maybe I’m just another asshole rockcritic who’s reading too much into a setof pop songs … but still, it moves.–Puckett (Burning Heart)

LOST SOUNDS: Demos and Outtakes Volume 2:3 x 7” Box SetWhile the terms “garage rock” and“new wave” have recently beensmooshed together like a forgottenpeanut butter and jelly sandwich in aback pocket, and most bands affectingthat pose sound like a soggy mess, theLost Sounds have tightened the screwson the hull of their monster of sound.From the eerie subject matter – includ-ing zombies and graveyards – to the b-movie world of lost planets, to thecrackling, jumpy, synth-addled, guitartramplings, the Lost Sounds started outby inhabiting distant worlds and arenow setting their eyeballs, glowinggreen with radiation, on this planet.The wide structure of the band – I hateto use the word “concept,” because somany concepts are too damn fruity, butthat’s what it may be – is analogous toMan… or Astroman? Substitutingmutant wolverine new wave in theplace of intergalactic surf opuses, theband is bigger than any one isolatedpart. A cacophony with it toes dipped inmelody. How all of the pieces cometogether is the really exciting part. Thisbox set’s a perfect example. You’ve gotthe music – fifteen songs on threeseven inches – but it doesn’t stop there.Included are also a booklet, a poster, apin, a photograph, and a piece of candy.Much like MoAM? The Lost Soundsseem to be as interested in creating anentirely new world as much as they arewith creating new songs. This collec-tion, as the title suggests, has alternateand earlier takes on a lot of their songs.It also includes one song that had neverbeen released before, “ChoppingBlock.” Awesome. Limited to 500.–Todd (Rockin’ Bones)

LOUSY BREAK: Don’t Waitfor the Next Time: CDWow. There’s dice on the front ANDback cover! Contains lyrics like: “Meeta girl drinking on a Fridaynight/Knowing she’ll get loose whenshe gets tight.” And, in the song “Fuckthe French,” we’ve got, “Land of fags,wine, and cheese/A nation of pussiesand chicks with dicks.” Wow. If thiswere a cereal, it’d be Berry Berry Kix.Yuck! –Maddy (Headache)

LUBRICATED GOAT: The Great Old Ones: CDOne time, I was at a Lubricated Goatshow, and I yelled for my favoriteLubricated Goat song “Japanese TrainDriver” after every song, and they neverplayed it, and I was swimming in a seaof Milwaukee’s Best, because at thattime they packed it in longnecks, and Iswam home in it, and I discovered that“Japanese Train Driver” is by GrongGrong. I was terribly embarrassed.Later, singer Stu Spasm moved to NewYork and got stabbed in the brain.Apparently, recently, he formed a newLubricated Goat and re-recorded severalextant Lubricated Goat songs and theysound pretty good. I no longer have anyof my Lubricated Goat records, so Ican’t do a proper comparison, but Idon’t remember Stu’s voice sounding somuch like Lemmy or the guy from theAnti Nowhere League. Must’ve beenthe brain infection. Prime AmRep post-punk. –Cuss Baxter (Reptilian)

MALAVISTA: Self-titled: CDEPThis one caught me by surprise. Ihaven’t heard anything from Malavistain a couple of years, and apparently,they’ve spent that time getting way bet-ter. This EP is five songs long, and thesongs bridge the gap between ‘80s hard-core like Los Olvidados and JFA andcurrent Orange County beach punk likeSmogtown and the Smut Peddlers. It’s alot more complex than it sounds on thefirst listen, and, if you know how muchI like all four bands I’ve just comparedMalavista to, you understand howimpressed I am by this EP. –Sean(Rezist)

MANIKINS, THE: Self-titled: LPLo-Fi Rip Off punk that would’ve prob-ably made for a great bunch of singles,but only manages to blur into one longdrone as a full length. There are somegood tunes on here, but it’s almost toomuch of a good thing, if you catch mydrift. –Jimmy Alvarado (Rockin’ Bones)

MARKED MEN, THE: On the Outside: CDWhat is it that makes the Marked Menso great at what they do? Is it those basslines that pop like an adolescent (read:pre-Guns N Roses) Tommy Stinson? Isit the way they took the bright, hookyguitars from the best late ‘70s powerpop bands, axed the commercial rocktendencies, and then duct-taped themonto ninety-second punk rock songs? Isit the creative drumming that somehownever goes into Neil Peart territory? Idon’t know. All I know is that theysomehow found an untapped musicalvein somewhere between Scared ofChaka and the FM Knives, only they’rebetter than both of those bands. And ifyou think that’s blasphemy, I’ll go onebetter and say that they’re the AmericanTeengenerate. –Josh (Dirtnap)

MARVELS, THE: Cheat to Win: CDI forgot how much Staffy’s vocals soundlike the Black Halos until I put them onback-to-back the other day. A few line-up changes since the last recording, butno worse for the wear. Michelle adds anice contrast with female vocals, andshe plays a pretty mean bass. Thisrecording captures their rawness muchbetter than the last release. Anthemic,rock’n’roll with a snotty edge. I haven’t

seen them in about two years, and theystill top my list of live bands. Wellworth checking out –Megan (Abbey Lounge)

MISTAKE, THE: Fuck Everything Up: CDOne of those chonka-chonka metalbands that plays their guitars nipple-high so that they can get the right chon-ka-chonka sound. According to thelyrics, they’re going to take back thescene from all you poseurs out there.Watch out, poseurs! –Josh (Prime Directive)

MODERN MACHINES:Thwap!: LPThe first time I listened to this record, Ithought it was just okay. Not great, notbad. I would’ve passed on it, but MaddyTight Pants really loves the ModernMachines, and since I tend to agree withMaddy’s musical tastes most of thetime, I figured that I’d give this recordanother chance. I took it home and, overthe past two months, I’ve listened to itdozens of times. After all of theserepeated listens, the songs started toseparate in my head. I could better rec-ognize the subtleties of the parts. I couldpick out parts where the Replacementsinfluence crept in. “Run It” has somenice echoes of the Big Boys. The heavyHüsker Dü influence is just about every-where, and that’s not a bad thing. I couldhear where they were trying to branchout in different directions. And, in theend, I’ve decided that this album isgreat. And it’s bad. And it’s just okay.By that, I mean that four or five songsoff of this album would make a great EP.Alternately, a few of these songsshould’ve stayed in the practice room abit longer before they were recorded.

And the record is just okay when theyhave a song like “Radio Tower” whichis going along great, then does a quicktempo change and launches into a partwhere the singer says he’s gonna fly,and I stop paying attention. I think thatthe Modern Machines have a good start-ing point. I think they’ll get better. Forthe time being, though, I’d rather listento The Crowd song they’re named afterthan listen to this record. –Sean (Onion Flavored)

MONSTERS, THE: Youth Against Nature: CDWacked-out garage punk from a Swissthree-man band featuring Swiss one-man band Lightning Beat-Man. That,and a wide-eyed, cough-syruped, fuzz-addled blast down some weird highwayfrom snow-blind northern Europe to asmoky roadhouse outside New Orleansin a car full of psychopaths on concretetires. –Cuss Baxter (Voodoo Rhythm)

MORNING SHAKES, THE:XXX-plode with the Sounds ofSex, Booze and Sin!: LP...i’m not sure if it’s a testament to thisdefunct ‘90s outfit’s latent greatness ormore of an indictment of today’s ven-dors of the Stinky Garage Molecule thata band which sounded “good” but notoverly raveworthy six-seven years agonow comes off as substantially aboveaverage (“SUBSTANTIALLY ABOVEAVERAGE!” My devotion knows nobounds!) in most regards. Singlestracks, album tracks, the ever-popular“lost tracks” and some keen covers by aband who never met a New Bomb Turkssong recorded in Billy Childish’s bed-room they didn’t like – i just hope wheni die somebody can cobble together apackage this useful out of my spare

parts. BEST SONG: i got to go with theDicks cover here, but if they wouldhave thought to medley “ThunderbirdESQ” into “Stealing People’s Mail” iwould say that. BEST SONG TITLE:“Devious Means,” outside authorshipbe hanged! FANTASTIC AMAZINGTRIVIA FACT: This is one of twoRockin’ Bones releases reviewed thismonth which sports a Zero Boys cover.Indianapolis: New Centre of theUniverse! –Rev. Nørb (Rockin’ Bones)

MOUSEROCKET: Self-titled: CDAlicja Trout is one busy lady. Not onlydoes she play in the Lost Sounds, theFitts, and Destruction Unit, she’s theguitarist and main vocalist inMouserocket. And much like John Reis(Rocket From the Crypt, Drive LikeJehu, The Swamis), being so busy andso involved (she runs ContaminatedRecords and distro out of Memphis,too) it doesn’t show at the kneecapsthat she’s stretching herself too thinbecause none of the bands she’sinvolved in are slouchy. Mouserocketisn’t as synth-driven as the LostSounds, art damaged as DestructionUnit, or wrecked garage as the Fitts.Delicate is a good way to put it. Thesongs are more eerie, sad, and organic.Overall, this CD reminds me of the bestof Bongwater, minus the more irritatingfuck-your-ear noise bits and tracks thatyou swear they didn’t know the recordbutton was pressed. So, all in all, itsounds otherworldly, yet it lends itshand out to the listener in a very acces-sible way, which doesn’t happen veryoften. It’s experimental but well real-ized with firm strokes. On first listen,my favorite track was the cover of theDamned’s “Alone Again Or,” but as I

got more familiar with the musicalscenery I like the album as a whole,from start to finish. The more I listenedto it, the more I thought of it almost asan audio accompaniment to a darklythemed children’s book. Mouserocketwould be perfect for a Where the WildThings Are or a Series of UnfortunateEvents movie, and that’s not a slight inthe least. –Todd (Empty)

MUGGERS, THE: Self-titled: CDWhoa! You skins and punks better holdonto your fucking boots because theMuggers are coming to kick your ass!This is some brutal fucking street punkfor you. They start out with a songabout John Walker Lindh, theAmerican who was helping Al Queda.It’s called “Turn-Coat-Kid” and it’s gotsome lyrics. “I know what you did/JohnWalker Lindh/I know what youdid/John Walker Lindh.” Then theyburn into “Standing Back.” It’s aboutgetting pissed off and killing some guy,then getting thrown in jail, whichsucks. This one also has lyrics, “Thismust be a dream/Could be sitting athome like a king on his throne/ Nursinga black eye.” Yeah. This is sarcasm ifyou didn’t catch it. – Megan wearingBruce Roehrs’ Pants (Radio)

MY SO-CALLED BAND: Weapons of Mass Distortion:CDEPFull disclosure: Chris Peigler, whoplays in My So-Called Band, does livereviews and columns onrazorcake.com. Weapons of MassDistortion is the most straightforwardand no-nonsense My So Called Bandrelease I’ve heard. As a trio, the songsare more direct and shorn of the occa-

sional meandering parts. If long-termenthusiasm, a fully tested arsenal ofethics, and living in a town (Charlotte,NC) with little to no appreciation forhonest, DIY punk rock could be dis-tilled into songs, My So Called-Bandnails it. What works the most for thisband is a greater understanding of punkrock in general while dipping into wellsdeeper than any one genre could pro-vide. It’s like they’ve cribbed notesfrom the play lists of past greats asdiverse as DOA to Naked Raygun tothe MC5 – like a skeleton – but it’s alljoined by a workmanlike ethos – themuscle – that keeps it from being mere-ly a musically cut and paste affair.Separate parts, yet joined, and it’s agood listen. –Todd (Suicide Watch)

NEW MEXICANS, THE: Chicken Head Talking Diamonds: CDSome high precision noise rock fromthis Seattle-by-way-of-Arizona/Kentucky/ South Carolina outfit. Songtitles like “I’m Going to Go Put on MyCape and Go Jack Off to Some BeatHappening CDs,” “Shit Hard, ClownShoes” and “Lesbian Llamas Are theFruit of Gnomes” pretty much let youknow where they’re coming from.Good, noisy stuff. –Jimmy Alvarado(Under the Needle)

NIGHT TERRORS: The Hit/(I Have) Night Terrors: 7”As a spazz, I can tell you that I actual-ly experience real life night terrors on aregular basis and I can also tell you thatthese Wisconsin boys are way lessscary than actual night terrors. But Idon’t think that they’re really trying toscare anyone. Except maybe peoplewho like to bath and use deodorant and

foo-foo stuff like that. This is a littleless manic than Teengenerate or SweetJ.A.P. and a little more garagey than yertypical Confederacy of Scum. band. Anice blend though. I would like to hearmore. Mungy armpit hair fun. –AphidPeewit (Goodbye Boozy)

NO MEANS NO: The People’s Choice: CDAnother band I’ve always loved buthave never broken down and actuallybought anything by (I have no credibleexcuse. I suck and I know it.) get the“best of” treatment here. For the unini-tiated, this is one of Canada’s treasures,a hardcore band for the musically liter-ate, meaning that while they can thrashit up with the best of ‘em, they do itwith an amazing level of technical pre-cision and songwriting complexity. Byno means should this be taken to meanthat they are a one trick pony, for inaddition to the aforementionedmoments of angry brilliance, the listen-er also gets for his buck smart pop andart damaged noise to serve up as thefeatured music at the next summer bar-becue. All their best tunes are repre-sented, from “Sex Mad,” to “Theresa,Give Me that Knife” to “The DayEverything Became Nothing” to“Dad,” so interested parties who wouldlike to dip their toes rather than throw-ing caution to the wind and jumpingright in are recommended to wadearound in this for a spell. In short, thisis most definitely worthy of your “mustbuy” list. –Jimmy Alvarado(AntAcidAudio)

NORTHERN LIBERTIES:Erode + Disappear: CDSub-Naked Raygun oi prog with somekind of weird effects on the guitar and

vocals that make it sound like it’splaying through a wooden beercan. That, plus the relentless pish,pish, pish of the hi-hat and thesinger’s droning tone add up to onefamously monotonous mundanity.–Cuss Baxter (Worldeater)

OBSERVERS, THE: Lead Pill: 7” EPEighties-tinged punk rock withsmart lyrics and some well-placedcynicism. The line “So I sold mysoul just to save some face in frontof the fashion police/Life is somuch better now that I’ve foundbeige,” from “Normally Normal,”was brilliant. –Jimmy Alvarado(Super Secret)

OBSOLETES: Is This Progress?: CDYes! Wisconsin does it again!You’d think having two AMAZ-ING bands (The ModernMachines, Fury of a ThousandZeuses) in one state would beenough, but we here in the DairyState constantly surpass all projec-tions for punk rock greatness! TheObsoletes feature two formermembers of the amazing andunder-appreciated pop punk bandYesterday’s Kids. This timearound, it’s way more pop, waymore influenced by classic countryand the Replacements (the albumincludes an obscure ‘Mats cover),and it’s so damn good! These arejust great songs, period. I can’tstop listening to it. My only slightcriticism? Slowed down vocals on“Little Gurl.” So strange, and sobad! But, minor complaints aside,this is, at least, Honey Nut Chex:simple and amazing. And, whoknows? After a few more dozenlistens, it may even become CornPops! –Maddy (145 Records)

ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW: Nights. Not. End.: CDThe first few second of this startsoff pretty rock’n’roll, followed bythe perfectly placed, growling,“Yeah!” A few more hot licks, thenthe sissiest dang voice starts tocroon. Continue to end of CD. Icried because I was laughing sohard the first time I heard it. Iplayed that intro five times beforestruggling through the rest of it.–Megan (www.oddsagainsttomorrow.com)

OH, BEAST!: Makin It in the Scene: CDHints of NoMeansNo, BlondeRedhead, swirly conceptualmaybe-punk rock, not as success-ful as those two big bands though.Everyone in their hometown prob-ably loves them but don’t stay thewhole show. –Speedway Randy(Perverted Son)

OPPRESSED LOGIC:Ones That Control: CDReminds me of Mystic Recordsbands like R.K.L., Don’t know,and Scared Straight minus the dou-ble bass drums. On first listen, itdidn’t really move me. Somethingin it took me back to the mid-’80sand the local LA scene. Bands likethese were a dime a dozen back inthe day but they’re probably con-sidered old school today. If thisband was local and I had seen them

many times live, I would probablyhave a different perspective. But asa newcomer, I was not blownaway. The almost out of tune soundof the guitars mixed with the dou-ble bass drumming on this rubbedme wrong. –Donofthedead(Blazing Guns)

ORGANZ/O’DEATH, MYCHILD: DRGZ! DRGZ! DRGZ!: split 12”Hand printed covers are nice.Noisy rock bands are nice.“Thrashy hardcore” Organz havethree bass players and fuck upeight songs so great (greatly?) youwon’t care that there’s no regularguitar. In fact, you’ll wish someother bands would get rid of theirregular guitars. O’Death keeps thefi kind of low, also lowers the vol-ume, and goes the spooky routewith piano and reverbed samplesover electrobeats. Just one crappysong on the whole record, and it’sonly one second long, so justignore it. –Cuss Baxter (Calls andCorrespondence Robot/ Winter/Nail in the Coffin)

OSCARS, THE: American Idol: CDLow-res cover art worried me, butsure enough this is the same bandthat released a rad Memphis home-grown 5-song EP on ContaminatedRecords. This one is on BootlegRecords and just as basement-cre-ated. Recorded at TronicGraveyard by Jay and Alicja and,sure enough, sounds like a descen-dent of the Reatards/Oblivians/etc,with some creepy inbreedingresulting in noise and moderatespeed. Then I finally recognized it:these are all those weird songs onThrasher’s skate rock comps Icould never find the whole albumsfor. Not really, just a metaphor.–Speedway Randy (Bootleg,www.oscarsindustries.com)

OUTCASTS: SelfConscious Over You: CDFunny thing it is, reading aboutmusic. At the risk of quotingForrest Gump, you never can tellwhat you’re gonna get when youactually give what you’ve beenreading about a listen. After read-ing about these guys and theirexploits in the fine book It MakesYou Wanna Spit, I imagined ram-bunctious, “take no shit” punkrock. What is actually on this, theirdebut album, is more akin to theIrish pop punk made famous byfellow Ulster punks theUndertones than, say, the CockneyRejects. Now don’t get me wrong,I ain’t gripin’ about what’s on here,‘cause the tunes are wicked good,but I just find it interesting when aband’s musical output doesn’tquite match up with their image.Closest comparison I can come upwith regarding what I’m getting atis TSOL, who had a reputation insome circles of being rather violentjocks, yet when you hear a songlike “Weathered Statues,” youcan’t help but scratch your head inwonder. Then I get to this album’sbonus tracks, particularly“Frustration” and “I Don’t WannaBe No Adult,” and they perfectlyembody what I expected them tosound like, all mean and pissed off‘n’ such. Ahh, fuck it, don’t mind

me and my neuroses. It’s a damngood album, plus it’s got the sin-gles versions of “Love is for Sops”and “Just Another Teenage Rebel,”which makes it just the bee’sknees. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

OUTLIE: Companions toDevils and Saints: CDRemember those protective bio-hazard crime scene suits they worewhen they hauled barrels of acid-washed human being chunks out ofJeffrey Dahmer’s apartment-cum-butcher shop? Well, as soon as Iglanced at this disc I threw one ofthose on and made damn sure thatall the snaps were snapped and allthe zippers zipped. This thing iscrawling with tell-tale signs thatseem to point directly to the vilenoxiousness known back in the dayas “emotional punk” and nowknown as simply as a “cash cow.”Arsty artwork and angel statuesand gawky song titles like“Anxieties of the Vain andUnknowing.” That, my friends, isthe musical equivalent of a shoebox full of human penises. But asso few times happens, I can happi-ly announce that my keen first-impression instruments steered mewrong on this one. Oh sure, everyonce in a while Outlie pirouettesdangerously close to the tough-but-snuggly world of emo, but all-in-all this has some punch to it. Andmore importantly, it is punch givenunapologetically – without theimmediate obligatory “okay, nowwe’re gonna show you that we’resensitive, too” malarkey. This hasthe melodies of early SocialDistortion mixed with the musicaldynamics of Quicksand. Actually,it maybe reminds me most of theLillingtons. And I like them. So Iguess I can take this stupid suit offnow. –Aphid Peewit (Porterhouse)

PAINT LIKE PLANE:Curse Chorus Curse: 7”Screamy silly noise stuff. I knownot such music, and I like not suchmusic. (Whenever I listen to some-thing arty, I usually feel like thelame kid in school who just cannotunderstand multiplication or, Idunno, direct objects. And, afterasking about it and having itexplained to him a dozen times,stops asking, and still doesn’t get itat all, but just feels dumb.) If thiswere a cereal, it’d be I-Don’t-Like-Noise-Music Chex. –Maddy (S-S)

PARIS TEXAS: Like YouLike an Arsonist: CDWhy, why, why do bands have totake cool film titles and makemusic so routine? Yes it’s a realtown but why does everyone refer-ence hip movies? Are you also lis-tening …And You Will Know Usby the Trail of Dead? Or even moreconfusing, the routine bands thatare named after songs by utterlydifferent and better bands. Texas IsThe Reason? –Speedway Randy(New Line)

PIRX THE PILOT:Famous in 47 States: CDDone right, an overblown, operaticvoice in punk rock can be a markof distinction. Tilt, the DeadKennedys, Misfits, Fleshies allhave or had folks who could belt it

out. Unfortunately, that’s the main hurdleI have with Pirx the Pilot. The mainsinger, Ernst (who also runs NewDisorder Records and is a really niceguy) is so high up in the mix, sounds likea less nasal Fred Schneider of the B-52’s,and the instruments almost always water-shed around his vocals. Regrettably, hisvoice – the instrument that most oftendominates the music – is my leastfavorite part of the band. If Erica took themic more, or they did more change offs,like in “Patriotism” and “Cloud Factory,”the equation might change a little bit.The music, sans male vocals, reminds meof early ‘90s college rock like Love andRockets with dashes of the Pixies, andscrapes of late period Bauhaus (they’rearty and a little doomy, and have a fixa-tion on Fozzie the Bear dolls) but morestraightforward punk, which is nice. So,it’s personal taste, which all hinges onliking a type of voice. Comes with twohome-made videos, which is admirable.–Todd (New Disorder)

PONYS, THE: “Wicked City” b/w “Little Friends”: 7”Simple, thick-guitared punk with a bit ofRichard Hell in the vocals; could easilyhave come out of New York in the late‘70s. It would have been a little toopoppy to have hit the Killed by Deathlists, but people would still be listeningto it now. Solid. –Cuss Baxter (Big Neck)

PRACTICE: More Practice: 7”This seven inch starts off with a ChipHanna-style marching drum beat. It’salmost enough to make you think you’relistening to an old US Bombs record.Then the guitars kick in and you’re in forsomething completely different. I heartouches of the second Clash album, ofDillinger Four basslines, of punk rockthat’s poppy without being Ramonesinfluenced pop punk, of so many influ-ences, really, that it makes the songs veryoriginal. Like the first Practice seveninch on Snuffy Smile, More Practice hasthree amazing songs that make me wantten more. –Sean (Snuffy Smile)

Q AND NOT U: X-Polynation: CD EPThese funky songs don’t fall that farfrom the tree of The Rapture, Hot HotHeat, Radio 4, etc. – or the rest of Q AndNot U’s work for that matter – but damnif they aren’t some of the most enjoyablepost-punk I’ve heard in a while. –Puckett(Dischord)

RAG MEN: Self-titled: CDTough-guy hardcore. One guy’s named“Bulldog.” –Megan (Eulogy)

RAKING BOMBS: Self-titled: CDArty noise that was about as exciting as amacramé contest. –Jimmy Alvarado(rakingbombs@hotmail.com)

REALLY RED: Teaching You the Fear: CDWhere do we begin with this record?Driven by the claustrophobia that camefrom living in Texas in 1981 and theparanoia of living under the threat ofnuclear war, Really Red released themost haunting, ethereal music that hard-core has ever seen. I’d put them in leaguewith the Big Boys and Naked Raygun fortheir ability to apply a British post-punkinfluence to their music in the same waythat government contractors put nuclearwarheads on rockets. Instead of tiptoeingaround icy guitars like Wire, they bar-reled through their songs full-force, with

the result being chilling and menacinginstead of artsy and detached. Lyrically,they were, hands-down, one of the best,most caustic political bands ever. Whileother bands of that time period wereeither accusatory (like MDC) or con-cerned with pushing people’s buttons(like the Feederz), what Really Redbrought to the table was sheer focusedrage, and it’s as vital today as it was overtwenty years ago. Essential. “For whatyou are, I could spit in your eye…” –Josh(Empty)

REIGNING SOUND: Too Much Guitar!: CD...a friend of mine and i were discussingthis album, and i told him i had only lis-tened to it once because it was a two-good-song piece of overrated horseshitwith an ugly cover by a pointless bandwith a lame-ass name, or other carefullyselected words of that nature. After furtherreview, i am quite unsure what manner ofGrumpy Pills i was popping that day (GOGrumpy Pill Popper! GO Grumpy PillPopper!), because, on follow-up inspec-tion, this record’s sounds sound prettyunfeigningly reigning indeed (maybe istill hold some manner of unfoundedbegrudgement against all things Oblivian,since 1. I got my ex-girlfriend anOblivians album for Christmas once andwhat good did it do me?, and 2. Somebodybroke into my band’s van while i waswatching them once [and stole my postagestamps! What for? To write home toMother and inform her of her son’s bur-geoning career as a window-smashingpostage stamp thief?]). After more thor-ough inspection, i have herein identifiedcompounds bearing the atomic signaturesof the Sonics’ “He’s Waiting,” thatPebbles-type tune about love not beingworth a dime, the Motors’ “Dancing theNight Away,” first-album Beatles,Swingin’ Neckbreakers beating HankBallard compositions into bloody pulpwith a reanimated George Harrison’s fifty-foot boner, mid-sixties Rolling Stones(yeah, and you know how every now andagain some jerk-off music twit opines thatsome song or another “sounds like thekind of thing the Stones used to write...when they were good!” when it soundsnothing like anything the Stones ever did,except maybe in this guy’s [mostly imagi-nary] mental rock history? Well“Drowning,” for ONCE, actually DOESsound like something the Stones used towrite [minus brief detours into Byrds-ismand peculiar Joe Meek Teen Death-ism]),Byrds-ism, peculiar Joe Meek TeenDeath-ism, the Standells, IncredibleShrinking Dickies-era Dickies (!!!) (well,okay, with different vocals) (it’s the lastsong, “Medication.” Go ahead.Knowledgeably refute my assertion!),and, the nuclear glue that keeps thisvolatile compound from melting downinto a hunk of lead upon contact withEarth’s atmosphere, the voice: Total MarkLindsay!!! I mean, i dunno how manyPaul Revere & The Raiders fans we got inthe house tonight, but if “Your Love Is aFine Thing” ain’t just a nine-volt-battery-lickin’ update of “Alias Pink Puzz”/”Hard‘n’ Heavy (With Marshmallow)”-eraRaiders A-sides, well, then... boy, i dunnowhat then. I never had to carry out on mythreats my before. Also contains a minorsmattering of the more Blues Explosionystuff, but the rest of the material is so buffi can’t fault anyone for throwing an occa-sional bone to the squares. BEST SONG:Right now i’m pretty whipped on “YourLove Is a Fine Thing,” but i think by nextweek i should be back into “I’ll Cry.”BEST SONG TITLE: “We Repel EachOther” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA

FACT: Annie had a baby, she can’t workno more. Wait, wrong band! –Rev. Nørb(In The Red)

RIVERBOAT GAMBLERS: Something to Crow About: CDOkay, this album was unleashed last year,but I gots to say something that needs tobe said. Not in quite some time have I hadmy ass go into spastic, rock’n’roll-induced fits upon seeing a band for thefirst time like it did when I saw TheRiverboat Gamblers this past May whileYvonne and I were out visiting my sisterJulie (NYC’s resident kick-ass partyrocker, and she drink’n’drives a prettymean Schwinn Stingray alongside hermain cohort, Tim, too). While out therefor Joey Ramone’s Annual BirthdayBash, The Riverboat Gamblers happenedto be playing that Friday a coupla dayslater. And under the strong recommenda-tion of our own Retodd, we made ourway out to The Knitting Factory to seewhat was one of the best sets I’ve seen insome time. To say you need to grab theirrecords or see them is a severe under-statement. Not to peg their sound, but it’sin the same ballpark of experiencing thebeautiful, awesome power of The Who,The Candy Snatchers, and the MC5simultaneously in a new and fucking bril-liant way. To simply put it, I’m gonnaquote Phast Phreddie Patterson for thisCD review the same way he was quotedfor his review of the Ramones’ self-titleddebut back in ‘76: “Anyone who doesn’tlike this record is an asshole.” Perfectlyput, Mr. Patterson. –Designated Dale(Gearhead)

ROACH MOTEL: Worstest Hits: CDAh, at long last we can all breathe a sighof relief. The Roach Motel CD is here,

war with Iraq will soon end, and every-one man, woman, and child will begiven a lollipop! For those out-of-the-loop (O.O.T.L.), this is George Tabb’s(really) old band. Songs like “My Dog’sinto Anarchy” and “Brooke ShieldsMust Die.” This won’t blow you awayor anything, but it’s just, I don’t know…is it punk to call songs like “Mom LikesDrugs” endearing? If this were a cereal,it’d be Honey Nut Cheerios. Cool!–Maddy (Destroy)

SCRAWL, LE: Eager to Please: CDEvery now and then you get a CD thatjust walks up, grabs you by the shirt andproceeds to slap you silly. This bizarrelittle ditty is one such record. This is likeone big schizophrenic nightmare, acookie monster vocalist backed by ahardcore band that every now and thenfeels the urge to fuck off into left fieldand delve into a little ska, metal, surf orlounge music for a few seconds, thengoes back to thrashing things up.Somehow (don’t look at me, ‘cause Ihaven’t a clue why) it works. Not quitesure I can say I dig it, but it is one mind-spinningly interesting listen, that’s forsure. –Jimmy Alvarado (Life Is Abuse)

SEWER TROUT: From theForgotten Memories of PunksFailed Hopes and DreamsLoom...: CD1988 did pretty much suck as far aspunk rock went – everybody kind offucked off and was either into REM-likecollegiate blandness or Guns’n’Roses-like bandana rock, and what passed forpunk rock at that point was dreary,monotonous and self-important (not tomention being kind of a fuckhead mag-net at that point as well). Thus, one of

the leading problems facing the scientif-ic community was “How can we makepunk that doesn’t suck?” It was kind ofan ongoing project that took severalyears to get right (and, in all fairness, itdid also take several years to get itwrong as well). Sewer Trout – whatwith their dippy humor and harmoniesand occasional sprigs of melody and IanWoodcock-esque bass runs – were obvi-ously something that, were i to havepopped in a demo of theirs or somethingwhile delivering pizzas in my ‘74AMC™ Matador, i would have doubt-less concluded were on “my” side. Thatsaid, i can’t imagine too many moreoccasions left in my life when i’ll needto hear “President of the AnarchistClub” or “Vagina Envy” to really set themood, let alone every recorded versionthereof. Hey, are cassettes cool againyet? BEST SONG: “Garbage In,Garbage Out” BEST SONG TITLE:“TSOL Esidarap” FANTASTIC AMAZ-ING TRIVIA FACT: Coors™ stillsucks. –Rev. Nørb (Sactoe PunkArchive)

SEXY: Por Vida: LPI was a bit conflicted on this. My friendRawl said it was great. My friend Joshsaid that one of them had to be physi-cally removed from his house afterspray painting their bathroom. I gave ita listen. It’s really fucking good. Spasticin the vein of Fleshies and The Bananas.My advice: Definitely pick up thealbum, but pat ‘em down before lettingthem in your pisser. –Megan (OnionFlavored Rings)

SHIVS, THE: Blind Drunk: CDPissed off gallop-core from a band Iknow nothing about. Song topics rangefrom getting drunk to railing against

Bush, religion, losing canes and, mostpoignantly, a psychiatrist whose writingof a prescription resulted in a person’sdeath. While they might not exactlybreak new ground, they do thrash thingsup pretty hard, which alone makes thisworth repeated listenings. –JimmyAlvarado (No address)

SICK FITS: Mirror Creeps: 7” More mid-tempo punk from these guys,very vaguely reminiscent of the FleshEaters without the poetic flair, althoughthe proceedings here are not as interest-ing as their CD EP from a year or soago. (Big Neck)

SK AND THE PUNK ASSBITCHES: The True Saviorsof Rock N Roll: CD“Whoo yeah, who’s your daddy?!”These are lyrics, and I don’t thinkthey’re trying to be ironic. If they trulyare the saviors of rock’n’roll, then weare in for some trouble, folks. I’minvesting in polka. –Megan (We Got)

SKEW WHIFF: Taedium Vitae: CDFor some reason, I thought this wouldbe a grindcore noise band. Far from thetruth. First thing I thought of wascrossover-period ‘80s UK punk mixedwith Discharge, kind of like the EnglishDogs or Broken Bones. It also has thatmodern day crust sound where themusic is metallic yet dark. Being fromBelgium explains a lot because theyhave easy access to the music men-tioned prior and Europe, in general, hav-ing a thriving crust scene. This isextremely intense and shows that thegenre constantly reproduces a goodamount of talented bands.–Donofthedead (Life is Abuse)

SMALLTOWN: The First Three Years: CDI’ve reviewed this previously in bits andpieces from their four 7”s. This CD cor-rals all of their previous works and addsone new song, “The One.” This Swedishtrio has the immaculate knack of polish-ing up the cues laid down, then aban-doned, by Stiff Little Fingers and thenreinspected by the likes of pre-LifeWon’t Wait Rancid. What you get isultra-catchy, smart and anthemic songs.To mark them as solely street punkwould be too cheap of a branding,although I could understand if they getput under that umbrella. They’ve gottight yet fluid songwriting, the crispattack and ultra bounce of early Jam, theblood-runs-freely, ringing energy ofCock Sparrer, and the teeth-clenchinggrit of a largely unknown band makinggreat, rugged punk songs. There’s not astinker in the dozen. This is a sleeperhit. –Todd (Deranged/Snuffy Smile)

SMUT PEDDLERS: Coming Out: CDFive LPs from a South Bay or OC punkband? It’s almost unheard of. As a mat-ter of fact, I can think of a handful. I’msure there’s more. The Circle Jerks’ VILP (not so good), Pennywise’s StraightAhead (proficient), and TSOL’sDisapear (I’m not counting the JoeWood ones, and, strangely, their latest,Divided We Stand is better thanDisappear), FYP’s Toys That Kill(excellent, excellent stuff), and theMinutemen’s 3-Way Tie (For Last) (nottheir best, but far from slouching andI’ve got a soft spot for D. Boon). OCand the South Bay breed a special, moreresilient fuckup. Bands just usuallycan’t stay together and tend to crackfrom member’s jail visits, egos, addic-tions, old-fashioned wig-outs, or anycocktail of the four. For a band to keepit together when the lead singer’s fixat-ed on skate parks and rattles on aboutpharmaceuticals better than your aver-age neighborhood Sav-on white coat,the wheels should have flown off thisdysfunctional wagon long ago. Not so.For all the yahoo, numbnutty attentionOC gets, it’s still nice to hear that nei-ther dank and rank rock’n’roll nor thefirst wave of English punk have beenabandoned for designer t-shirts andempty caskets of nostalgia with “1977”spray painted on their lids. The SmutPeddlers keep blapping along with awacky-assed lead singer with a heart ofgold and a short attention span, gun-rat-tling guitar work, and a wrecking ball,rock solid rhythm section. ComingOut’s a good listen, neck and neck withtheir last full length, Ism. My only com-plaint? Since I have the Exit Plan 7” andtheir self-titled 10” that preceded thisalbum, only half of the songs were newto me. –Todd (TKO)

SOOPHIE NUN SQUAD: Pasizzle Slizzle tha Drizzle: CDI came up with a loose sliding scale forthe Soophie Nun Squad. If the song hasdrums and electric guitars, they’re asgood as anyone out there. Earnest, fun,energetic basement punk that remindsme of bands like This Bike Is aPipebomb and the Grabass Charlestons.As for the other songs, well, I’m surethat it was a lot of fun to record a bunchof hip-hop songs and cheerleaderchants, but I’m grinding my teeth thewhole time. It’s probably fun to watchlive, but there’s only a handful of songsthat make the cut for me. Sorry. –Josh(Plan-It-X)

SOVIETTES: LP II: CDYou can’t accuse The Soviettes of simplyremaking their debut LP, which is ablessing. The funny thing is that it tookme about twenty listens to come to thatconclusion. LP II was a slow grow onme. Their debut was instantly glued tomy ear. Still in effect: irresistible charm,gleaming punk hooks, infectious energy,and the smart yet partying vibe. Think ofa broken, jagged lollipop. Very sweet,but watch out how you approach it. Itmight poke the inside of your cheek. TheSoviettes are still rife with sneaky songs.Until I sat down and read along to“Angela,” I had no idea it was a songabout a lady who shoots a man. Theinfectious “Portland” with the boppychorus of “Shelly, Shelly” is about an ex-friend who became a dope fiend. TheSoviettes also have the uncanny ability tomake political statements in serious, yetcharming, ways. (For instance, like howthe TV news focuses on diet trends andstars instead of world politics, but it’ssaid in a way that’s like an intelligentfriend making a comment instead of ablowhard pounding a podium.) It’s allvery conversational. Some changes fromthe first LP: each of the four membersmakes more distinct signatures on songs.There are much more varied temposfrom song to song, and my only caveat isthat a couple of the songs themselvesdon’t have as complex a texture as thefirst record. What had me scratching myhead at first was that LP II didn’t haveinstantly recognizable anthems, butthat’s okay. When I began listening to itfor what it was – a different album by atalented band that’s very far away frompainting itself into a corner – I just gotdown to digging it. Now it’s on highrotation. –Todd (Adeline)

SPIDER RICO: Self-titled: 7”Being a big-shot music critic, I know Ishould know this, but are theHellacopters still around? I guess it does-n’t really matter because that band,whether they realize it or not, left onemonstrous spider egg-sack behind andnow there are little Hellacopters bandsdangling like Michael Jackson babieseverywhere you look. Spider Rico is onesuch band. White trashy fun soundsshaped and filtered by the architecture ofsomeone’s garage. I wouldn’t kick it outof bed for eating crackers. –AphidPeewit (Kuriosa)

SPLITHABIT: Put YourMoney Where Your Mouth Is:CDAs smooth as a talcum-powdered baby’sbutt and just about as excruciatinglysappy as a Family Circus cartoon. In fact,as I listen to this, I picture the band withbig balloon heads like the kids in theFamily Circus – which somehow makesthe whole thing a bit more palatable. Butnot even cartoony visions of ridiculoushydroencephalus can save this cloyingheap of sweet dung. I bet even HillaryDuff would think Splithabit is lame. –Aphid Peewit (Double Zero)

STARLITE DESPERATION:Violate a Sundae: CDRaucous rock’n’roll with more than itsshare of punk rock influence. Not a badlisten by any stretch of the imagination.–Jimmy Alvarado (www.coldsweat.com)

STEREOTYPERIDER: Under the Influence: CDHere is a release every musician haswanted to do at one point or another.

Grab a bunch of songs that you have lis-tened to while you were growing up andcover them like they were your own.Well, this band chooses songs by TheCure, Archers of Loaf, Fugazi, ThePixies, Seaweed, Descendents andQuicksand. I know I wouldn’t have per-sonally covered these songs except formaybe the Descendents song. But thesewere their choices and not mine. I betyou it was fun for them to record this.–Donofthedead (Suburban Home)

STIFF LITTLE FINGERS:Guitar and Drum: CDThere’s no debating SLF’s legacy. It’s asrevered as ever. Just listen to the newestcrop of oi and street punk bands. Theblueprint they drafted is a trusty one.SLF’s songs, “Alternative Ulster” and“Suspect Device” alone, bands wouldstab their own mothers to write. It tookballs as big and hairy as coconuts to bean uncompromising punk band in themidst of a war: 1977 Belfast.Inflammable Material, their first, is anear-perfect album. They held their ownwith the Clash and the Sex Pistols.Granted. That heritage is in check, andthat’s not in doubt. That’s the goodnews. The bad news is that with Guitarand Drum – including The Jam’s BruceFoxton on bass no less – the pendulumhas swung from the SLF of old with grit,gasoline, and Jake’s unmistakably ciga-rette growl to run-of-the-mill shit-pop-punk territory. It’s so pro-dude, pro-equipment wank, gloss, and sheen withhot licks and tasty chords that it almostsounds like a “punky” soundtrack to an‘80s movie starring Molly Ringwaldhosting a bunch of crappy bands likeSimply Red, INXS, the Outfield,Genesis, and, at times, The FifthDimension. (“Be True to Yourself” has

more in common with “(The Age of)Aquarius” than any sort of punk rock.)It is varied. I’ll give it that. It gets drunkfrom sucking a wide variety of stylisticcocks. That said, there’s a couple decentsongs on here, remnants of SLF of yore– like “Who Died and Made You Elvis”and “Guitar and Drum.” If this wholeaffair was under the moniker of JakeBurns and the Big Wheel (since he’s theonly original member by a long shot), Iwouldn’t be so hackled up. Smalltown’snew CD annihilates the present-tenseSLF at their own game. No contest.–Todd (Kung Fu)

STRIKE, THE: The Oi! Collection: CDOutside of their Oi! compilation appear-ances, I never really knew much aboutthis Scotland band, so this overview, acollection of those aforementionedcompilation cuts and some demo tracks,was a welcome schooling in theirtuneage. Unlike many of their peers,they appear to have been able to main-tain some semblance of quality in theirsongwriting, which no doubt makes fora good case in getting in the fray, mak-ing your point and fucking off beforethe popularity starts swelling your headand you end up playing bad disco orsomething. If you’re looking for somefine ‘80s bald-boy music from a bandother than those whose names are usual-ly invoked, this is a good place to startyour search. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

SUNDAY MORNING EINSTEINS: Kangnave: CDSweden’s all-star punk band has arelease in the states. From what I haveheard, this band consistsof former members of 97

Svart Sno, Wolfbrigade, and possiblyAnti Cimex. Being seasoned veterans,these guys crank out fierce Swedish d-beat with some authority. Thunderingbass lines over bottles-broken-against-the-wall drumming. The ever-so-dis-torted guitar thrashing adds to thecrunch. Vocals yelled in the traditionalway: aggressive and piercing. Whatattracts me to international acts is thefull-force rage. These guys play withconviction and play songs that wecould never comprehend the anger ofsince we are not from Sweden. If youmissed out on their tour here in thestates, you really missed out. As incred-ible as this release is, their live set isjust as good or better. –Donofthedead(Prank)

SUPERCHARGER: Live atthe Covered Wagon: CDBad sound quality, super lo-fi, but thenagain it’s Supercharger, so you expectit. You know you want it. –Megan (Rip Off)

SWEET JUSTICE: Self-titled: CDA veritable cornucopia of ‘70s rockstylings, and I mean that in the bestpossible way. You get glam smooshedwith swaggering, post-Stones/Zepblues, Cheap Trick pop snuggled upnext to pseudo-reggae, with just a dashof Motown pop sprinkled here andthere. If there is any justice (sweet orotherwise), “Guns of Navarone” willbe a HUGE hit. –Jimmy Alvarado(realOmind)

SWEET JUSTICE: Self-titled: CDIf your mind can’t separate one songfrom another and all you listen to is

classic rock stations, then this is what itmight sound like. The first track, “Gunsof Navarone,” has a strong DavidBowie “Space Oddity” feel to it and isthe only track I thought was listenable.From there it goes through the obliga-tory southern rock track, Jesus ChristSuperstar, and Kansas. I felt like I wasgetting thrown all over the place. Meno like. –Megan (RealOmind)

SYSTEMS OFFICER: Self-titled: CD EPI was ready to tear into this EP becauseit sounds like a rip-off of Three MilePilot, and Pinback. Lo! Upon lookingat the liner notes, I realized the jokewas on me because this is, in fact,members of Three Mile Pilot andPinback. Fuck. That doesn’t make thissound any less like those other bandsthough. –Puckett (Ace Fu)

TED LEO / PHARMACISTS:Tell Balgeary, Balgury IsDead: CD EPListening to Ted Leo is like walkinginto a history class for a country thatyou’ve never heard of but recognizeinstinctively as your own. I spent thelast thirty minutes trying to researchwhat the hell the title track is about, andthe best I can come up with is an farm-ers’ rebellion in County Cork in the1800s. And honestly, it wouldn’t sur-prise me if that were indeed a startingpoint… but based on how much groundLeo covers and how quickly he moves,the end isn’t even in sight. “TellBalgeary, Balgury Is Dead” is one oftwo songs that appears on Leo’s full-length from last year (Hearts of Oak)but the version of “The High Party”which appears here – along with theother songs, including covers of Split

Enz, The Jam and Ewan McColl – fea-tures little more instrumentation than asingle electric guitar (cf. Billy Bragg),and that simply never fails to kill me.There are very few performers who cansustain interest with nothing more thana voice, an electric guitar, and a story totell. Ted Leo is one of them and I can’twait to hear what he comes up withnext. –Puckett (Lookout!)

TEDDY BOYS FROM THECRYPT, THE: Self-titled: CD-RNo information with this one at all, justband name and song titles. Which is ashame, because it’s really good ‘60sgarage-rock with a strong surf influ-ence. Cramps and Rocket From TheCrypt appear to be influences. Theinternet tells me that they’re Greek, butlittle else. –Megan (no address given)

TEN THOUSAND TONGUES:Self-titled: CD-RIf moo cows, wind chimes, and didgeri-doos are art, then maybe this is art-core. –Megan ((small) Noisemaker)

TEXAS TERRI BOMB!: Your Lips... My Ass!: CDTexas Terri popping back up on theradar again with a new incarnation anda host of notable guests on her newrecord. I’ve seen her in one form oranother in last couple of decades. Can’tsay that I’m a fan. Here, she plays thatpunk and roll, Hollywood bar rocksound: nasty and dirty with somestraight-up guitar wrecking. Her vocalshave a trashy, drunk sound yet they’restrong, and that puts her in the sameleague as a Courtney or Brody. Verysimilar in many ways, I think. I giveher much props for lasting and playingthis long. –Donofthedead (TKO)

TEXAS TERRI BOMB!: Your Lips...My Ass!: CDFuck a duck if this don’t rock! Think ofthe most brutal version of “I Got aRight” you know, then make yourselfhear a lady sing it and you’re hearingthis record. With help from WayneKramer and guys from the Dwarves,the Dickies, Alice Cooper’s band andothers, Terri tears all asses with snottyconfidence and attitude and decibels tospare. Fuck yeah. –Cuss Baxter (TKO)

TEXAS THIEVES: Killer on Craig’s List: CDWow, these guys are apparently mightyprolific. This is the second full-lengthin as many months I’ve heard fromthese San Franciscans, and I gotta say,they’ve managed to keep the qualityhigh. Ten more tracks here of skatepunk that sounds like it could’ve comeoutta Orange County circa 1983, whichis not to say they sound dated or any-thing, because they don’t. If you’relooking for some grade-A tunes fromthe MIA/DI school of hardcore, you’dbe hard pressed to find a band doing itbetter than these boyos, ‘cept maybeSmogtown, but they’re broken up soeven mentioning them is a moot exer-cise. I think I founds me a new favoriteband and I’m friggin’ stoked. –JimmyAlvarado (Dr. Strange)

THREE MINUTE MOVIE/THE MILES APART: Split 7”Three Minute Movie: man, these guysare tight. They lay down melodies thatshould bring a tear to Frankie Stubbs’eyes, Hisashi can really sing (and notjust in a punk rock way), and it makesfor that weird combo where I want tosing along (even though the Japaneselyrics translated into and sung in

English make no sense to me) butreally, the songs are way better if Ijust shut up and listen. This seveninch has two really cool tracksfrom one of my favorite Japanesebands. The Miles Apart: they havea tough act to follow. You shouldreally listen to their side first. Letthem work as the opening act forThree Minute Movie. The MilesApart temper their punk rock witha lot of Psychedelic Furs/Smithsinfluence. It makes the songs a lit-tle too self-consciously sad. –Sean(Snuffy Smile)

THUNDERTRAIN:Teenage Suicide: LPA reissue of a an album by an oldpost glam/proto punk band, whichmeans this is up to its eyeballs inDolls reference and bad fashionselections. It ain’t all that bad, andthe inclusion of a DMZ member inthe ranks is an interesting trivia bit,but I just ain’t feelin’ that crucial-tuneage-gotta-have-it feeling Ishould be getting’ from this.–Jimmy Alvarado (Rockin’ Bones)

TIGER SHOVEL NOSE:Cappuccino Twist b/wStupid Stupid: 7” This is some super sugary poppunk. It’s sweet like eating water-melon until you get a stomachache. Tiger Shovel Nose play twosongs here that are very much rem-iniscent of early ‘60s female rockand roll but with an edge. Like asped up Holly Golightly, or a bandyou would expect to be playing ina Quentin Tarantino movie: thesinger in a poodle skirt and the gui-tarist with hair slicked into a pom-padour and the protagonist tappingalong in a way that let’s you knowthat sooner or later, someone’sgonna die a bloody death. Luckily,though, the seven inch ends whilewe’re all still alive. –Sean (I Don’t Feel a Thing)

TOKYO DRIFTERS,THE: Demos Project, Vol. 3: one-sided LPSTOP THE FUCKING PRESS-ES, I FINALLY HEARD A VER-SION OF “I’M A MAN” THATDOESN’T SUCK. BO DIDDLEYINCLUDED! Sounds a bit likewhat i imagine the Dirtbombswould sound like if all of themwere Caucasian but none of themwere overweight and they knewpeople who could get them a real-ly good deal down at the harmon-ica store. I debate the functionalutility of my mentioning how thesecond song reminds me a bit of“Hoochie” off the second MobyGrape album, thus i shall con-clude my review leaving that lastline unsaid. Certainly kicks ass onThe Statics, if anyone would careto hear my opinion on that matter.BEST SONG: Since the powers-that-be did not feel it necessary toequip this release with track list-ings, i’ll say it’s one of the twocovers i recognize: “I’m a Man”or the Rolling Stones’ “Stoned”BEST SONG TITLE: I’ll say“Stoned.” Boy, that NankerPhelge had a way with words.FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIV-IA FACT: It said “ /200” on theback cover of my copy. I didn’tmuch like the looks of that, so

now it says “201/200.”–Rev. Nørb (Rockin’ Bones)

TOXIC NARCOTIC: 89-99: LPThis is a reissue, on picture disc noless, of a collection of tunes origi-nally put out a number of yearsago. Don’t remember how thestory goes, whether this is a collec-tion of tracks recorded over thecourse of a decade or a reworkingof songs a decade old, but, eitherway, you still get a sound pummel-ing from one of Massachusetts’finest hardcore bands. If you’venever heard anything by them, thisis the best place to start. –JimmyAlvarado (Rodent Popsicle)

TOXIC NARCOTIC: Beer in the Shower: 7”An interesting release to put out onpicture disc. Toxic Narcotic is aband that has the patch punk kidssew patches of their band on theirsweatshirts, pants, shorts, jacketsand backpacks. An interestingfashion statement in its own rightsince I don’t really like it. Butthat’s the grumpy old fat guy talk-ing. Well, the thrash punk bandwith a grindcore sound at timesputs out an instrumental EP that isIrish in flavor. At first, hearing thebagpipes felt like a cheap sell tocapture some of the audience ofFlogging Molly and the DropkickMurphys. Like another wave ofska punk or pop punk. But listen-ing to this a couple of times, I grewto appreciate it more. I like that theband did not clean up the produc-tion and continued to play with aheavy edge. The bagpipe becamethe singer or the lead guitarist. Itdefined itself as an alternative andan angrier expression of an Irishpub band. If these two songs aremixed into their normal live set, itwould set them apart by showingthat they are not one dimensionalas a band. I raise my glass.–Donofthedead (Rodent Popsicle)

TRAGEDY ANDY: It’sNever Too Late to StartOver: CDIf you didn’t get enough withJimmy Eat World and want out-of-tune harmonies, today is yourlucky day. Quite possibly the worstband name ever, too. –Megan (Pop Smear)

TRAILER PARK QUEEN;Wrong Side of the 4Track: CD-RWhen most folks think of famousMinnesotans they conjure upimages of the woebegone Lutheranraconteur Garrison Keillor, or thewizened folkie Bob Dylan, or(shudder) the ghastly purple discopixie Prince Rogers Nelson. I, forone, would like to see at least oneof those regional icons replacedwith a true local treasure, Berni theTrailer Park Queen, who is soon tobe a famous Minnesotan, I amquite sure. She is the female, punkrock version of Weird Al, but isoutfitted with a giant brassierepacked with a dangerous arsenal ofcutting wit and in-yer-face blunt-ness that makes Weird Alfred looklike Ronald McDonald by compar-ison. Highlights: a hilarious dildo-love version of Boston’s “More

Than a Feeling” called “MoreThan a Penis,” a re-take of theDK’s “Holiday in Cambodia”called “Holiday in Waconia,” and agroinal paean to Crispin Glover setto the music of “Crimson andClover.” You can take all yerAshton Kutcher trucker hats andyer faux thrift store wardrobes andpitch ‘em in whatever stupid lakePrince made famous in PurpleRain – true White Trashiness getsno finer than the Trailer ParkQueen. Long live the Queen. Thisis funny shit. –Aphid Peewit(www.trailerparkqueen.cjb.net)

TRAITORS: Bring Me theHead of Matt Skiba: 7” The title track, a mid-tempo,anthemic ditty, appears to be a jabat a former drummer, and the fliphas two ADD-inspired thrashers,the latter of which I am more par-tial to. Hey, my old friend, and for-mer East LA punk rat, Pat Houdektook the band pics. Neato. –JimmyAlvarado (Johanns Face)

TRAMPS, THE: Self-titled: CDThe Tramps are columnist AynImperato’s band. This album cameout over a year ago, but for somereason, was never reviewed inRazorcake. Since its release, theband has survived a move downthe California coast and a coupleof personnel changes. I’m not surehow the changes have affectedthem, but this album is pretty cool.It’s fourteen songs of solid punkand roll. Ayn sounds tough whenshe sings, belting out vocals thatare similar to Chica Baby’s fromthe Beautys or Pia Zadora’s fromThe Gits. In fact, this albumsounds a lot like what I imaginethe The Gits could’ve become ifPia Zadora had lived. It’s goodstuff. –Sean (Broken Rekids)

TRANSPLANTS, THE:Police State: CD...okay, i completely understandthe urge these long-kaput bandshave to – at long last! – issue analbum in their own hallowednames: Hey, we were doing thisshit twenty-five years ago, man,when hardly anybody got to putout albums! Now these fuckin’ kidscome along, and they got a wholefrickin’ catalog out before they’reeven old enough t’goddamn drive!We paid our dues! We put in ourtime! We demonstrated adequatesweat equity! We want our album!FUCK YOU! ... which is, youknow, fair enough. However, froma consumer’s standpoint, it’s kindahard to pop a boner over recordsthat are cobbled together haphaz-ardly from live tapes, practicetapes, and a handful of studiorecordings – often using multipleversions of the same songs. Imean, i understand why it’s gottabe like that, it’s just hard to get alllathered up over the results. TheTransplants (“early Boston punk,1976-1979!”) do have some prettygreat songs. “Suicidal Tendencies”is surely indicative of some man-ner of parallel evolution (devolu-tion?) whereby an AtlanticDivision version of “Inside MyBrain”-era Angry Samoans slith-ered from the primordial ooze con-

temporaneously with their Californiandoppelgangers. But, i mean, fuckin-a,“Suicidal Tendencies” is on here FOURDIFFERENT TIMES. “I’ve Had MyFill” and “It’s Your Own Fault” are onhere thrice. Even The Haunted’s ‘60spunque chestnut “1-2-5” merited multi-ple inclusions! I mean, enough! Maybeinstead o’ one band plundering everydecomposing archival recording oftheirs still in existence to fill up one CDwith material of which much might befairly referred to as “a stretch,” maybethree bands or something could gang upand release one CD with just their topshit on it. Then again, why deprive theolder generation of the lifetime of joyhaving a bunch of boxes of unsold com-pact discs stacked up in their shed foryears on end has given us young ‘uns?BEST SONG: “Braincase” BESTSONG TITLE: “Vegetable Stew,”although i don’t like vegetables. FAN-TASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT:Their song called “Police State” is thefirst song so titled that i can think of.–Rev. Nørb (Dionysus)

TRIGGERS, THE: Bad Dreamb/w Cut Open, Lost Soul:7” EPMaybe I’m making this comparisonbecause it’s so fresh in my mind. I justgot a best-of Joan Jett and theBlackhearts CD for free and it was okay.Joan Jett can sing – it sometimes soundslike she’s having sex, smoking, andkicking ass at the same time when shesings, which is all right by me – but herbackup band’s fucking awful. I guessit’s all played “well.” It’s all GuitarCenter licks and no soul. And I guess Ican comprehend why. Joan Jett’s voiceis the centerpiece, and major labels dothat – forefront the featured artist – butI still want to hear her backed by a punkband. Perfection is a death in and ofitself. Man, the Triggers kick ass. Theymade me realize that, maybe even sub-liminally, when I was growing up –starting around thirteen – that therewere elements to songs played on theradio that were pretty alright, but I’d fillit in with dirty guitars and screamingand puking and fuzz and distortion. Andmaybe that’s why I keep on listening tobands for almost twenty years straightthat are new to me, to fill in that bigradio station in my brain with more andmore songs. The Triggers have a ladysinging and it’s careening and wartypunk rock accented by terrifying mus-taches, alcoholism, pants shitting, andmissing teeth. More great stuff from thePacific Northwest. It’s like garage rock,where a van has crashed through theside of the garage, and nobody com-plains. Fans of the Orphans would findmuch to like with the Triggers. –Todd(Dirtnap)

TRUE NORTH: Somewhat Similar: CDTrue North owes a lot to Fugazi andRites of Spring. The songs build up ten-sion and release it in arty breakdowns.There’s heavy feedback in just the rightplaces. There’s a lot of Guy Picciotto-style screaming and singing. The lyricsare vague and poetic in that punk-rock-lyric sense. This is more than just some-what similar to Fugazi and Rites ofSpring. It’s close enough to those bandsthat you could probably play SomewhatSimilar to a Rites of Spring fan and con-vince him that this was actually a newside project from Guy and BrendanCanty. Still, what sets True North apartfrom the other Fugazi/Rites of Spring

influenced bands is that they actuallypull it off. The songs are originalenough and interesting enough andfresh enough to let you forget the influ-ences and just enjoy the music. Also,True North brings with them a lot ofenergy and rock, and those are the mostimportant things. –Sean (No Idea)

UNSACRED HEARTS: Self-titled: CDBig-city take on southern rock. Blech.–Megan (Serious Business)

USURP SYNAPSE:Disinformation Fix: 2 x CDLooks like a discography of sorts. Sixtysongs in total, from fourteen releases,that were from splits, comps and aCDEP. Too much to take in at one sit-ting. A lot of screamo mixed with blastbeats, emo, metal, and electronics.Discomforting to the ears and not some-thing to talk yourself out of suicide.–Donofthedead (Alone)

V.P.R.: Aural Assault: CDWashington, DC area band that playsthe hardcore. A mixture of Sick of it All,Strife, and some old-school NegativeApproach. Throat-shredding vocalsover metallic riffs. Only drawback is thecartoon artwork on the cover. It mademe believe that I was going to be listen-ing to a pop punk band. I have no ideawhat “V.P.R.” stands for.–Donofthedead (Squirrel Heart)

VALENTINOS, THE: Aerosol Dream: 7” Awful. Not even a cereal. Seriously.–Maddy (Tom Perkins Entertainment)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Babyhead: LPA trip through punk’s fringy recesses,with a host of styles and sounds comingoutta the dark to serve as soundtrack toyour worst nightmares, from the percus-sion/sax instrumentation of Klondike &York, to ‘60s-influenced tuneage ofBlutt to the skronk of the A-Heads to thebizarre spasms of the Piranhas, and thisis just scratching the surface of the auralpsychoses to be found on this hunk ofwhite wax. This could easily havedegenerated into an exercise in arty pre-tentiousness and the compilers shouldbe commended for instead coming upwith one of the best compilations of theyear. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.s-srecords.com)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Bastard Radio #16: CD-RIt looks like bands and labels sendmusic in and Bastard Records picks onetrack (more if they like them) andmakes a mix CD. This one has forty-three tracks, and I’d only heard a coupleof the bands before. It starts off with thelabel-sent tracks, which were mostlythrash/grind/hardcore. The individualband tracks were a bit more of a grabbag. Overall, a great comp to introduceyou to a large chunk of what might beslipping by your radar. Oh, and it’s onlythree bucks, and they also accept trades.I’ll look for future releases. –Megan(Bastard Radio)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: DeathRattle & Roll Volume 1: CDThe Sid clone on the cover led me not toexpect too much from this, so I was a bitsurprised at how strong this comp actu-ally was. Some pretty solid tracks canbe found here from the likes of theGrannies, Bottles and Skulls, Fleshies,

Midnight Bombers, and Endino’sEarthworm to name but a few. Color meimpressed. Cover still sucks, though.–Jimmy Alvarado (Wundertaker)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: HardcoreLjubljana 1984 - 2004: CDGood ole Bob Suren of Sound Idea outof Florida is an asset to the punk rockcommunity. If it wasn’t for his emailupdates, I wouldn’t know about a bunchof stuff that comes out. I received one ofhis updates recently and saw this. Iknow my brother has this and I haven’theard this compilation in a couple ofdecades. When I should have beenworking while I was reading the email,I called his store and ordered a copy.This compilation was released in 1984and was a compilation of Yugoslavianbands of the period. That was the periodthat I discovered that punk bands weresprouting up all over the world. Thebands from elsewhere were extremelyintriguing and fierce. They had theirown identity and were extremely freshto these ears. Compilations of the timeperiod turned me on to so many differ-ent bands. So the story goes, a fan ofthis release goes and contacts the origi-nal people involved and asked to re-release this comp. Since there was abootleg out at the time, there was noproblem getting the music. But he goesone step further. He looks up and findscurrent bands of the region to include inthe re-release. The bands fit perfectlywith the original bands. The spirit of theoriginal bands is seamless with the newbands. A great comp stands the test oftime and, with the addition of the cur-rent bands, makes this a worthy buy.–Donofthedead (BatAttak)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Kiss orKill Presents Los AngelesClassics Vol. 1: CDFelt like a total moron ‘cause I considermyself a pretty hip L.A. resident and,other than the Dollyrots, I didn’t know asingle fuckin’ band on this compilationof L.A. bands. I mean, c’mon, DeadbeatSinatras? Midway? The Letter Openers?Bang Sugar Bang? Didn’t have a cluethey even existed prior to this CD. I wasparticularly impressed with the trackprovided by the Randies, which is onesweet slice of pop confection goingunder the moniker “Boys In Stereo.”Fans of the Let’s Get Rid of L.A. compwould find much to like here, as any oneof the bands on here would’ve fit justnicely on that comp. I gotta get out moreoften ‘cause there’s apparently somemighty fine punk rock making therounds in town again. –Jimmy Alvarado(War Room)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Lude Boy Vol. 1: CDI gotta be honest, the initial reason Ipicked this up was ‘cause one of thebands on here goes by the name of theTumors. Megan knew of ‘em and saidthey weren’t too bad, but the reason Iwas so interested in ‘em stems from thefact that my last band was called theTumors, (not a stunningly originalname, I know, but I thought it was afunny name for a band when Yogi cameup with it over a pitcher of beer back in‘93) and I wanted to see what anotherband with the same name would soundlike. My opinion? Their brand of hard-core does the name justice, although I’dbe happy to put our “Eat It and Die,Pigboy” up against their “Die HippieScumbag” any day. Too bad they’veapparently broken up. We could’ve set

up some sorta package tour with at leastthree bands with the name “Tumors”sharing the same bill at clubs across thecountry. That rather long diatribe aside,the comp itself ain’t too shabby. While Ifind that I’m more partial to the hard-core tracks, (Down to Kill’s “OuttaControl” was a pretty nifty little ditty) Ido like the fact that they mixed up styleson here, with some mid-tempo stuff,psychobilly, street punk and emo slopgetting equal time.–Jimmy Alvarado(lude_boy@lycos.com)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Music for the Terraces: CDAdvertised as an anti-fascist footballcompilation, this release includes abonus disc that has videos and picturesto educate that they want racism eradi-cated from the sport. I’ve read throughthe years that the racist hooligans werebig fans of the sport in Europe and itwas a problem before, during, and afterthe games. I pretty much know that itisn’t a prevalent problem here in thestates since the sport here is multi-racialand it’s called soccer. I think we are theonly country in world that calls football“soccer.” I played it in school but neverbecame a fan. A mixture of street punk,pop punk and ska. Bands like KlasseKriminale, The Real McKenzies, TheBusiness with EK77, Derozer andScrapy are bands that I recognized. Aband named 20 Years of Hate play agreat ska tune and so do the Braces. Ithas a lot of German bands I have neverheard of. A good introduction to many.Also, anything that supports a cause thatI personally agree with is good in mybook. –Donofthedead (Mad Butcher)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: OldSkars and Upstarts 2004: CDAnother year and another volume inDuane Peters’ series of punk comps.The twenty-seven tracks are, of course,heavy on the punk’n’roll and “1977revisited” sides of the fence, but thosebands that manage to deviate from thosemolds are the one’s that contribute themost memorable tracks. Personalfavorites here include The Insaints’“Care On,” the Hollowpoints’ still-amazing (‘twas previously featured lastyear on a Dirtnap comp) “POW,”Monster Squads’ thrash attack on “FTS”and, of course, the Briefs’ two contribu-tions to the party. –Jimmy Alvarado(Disaster/Bomp)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Punkorama Vol. 9: CD + DVDYou know the drill. It’s a label samplerof twenty-four previously releasedsongs by bands on Epitaph’s roster. Thisone also includes a DVD with elevenvideos. We’ve reviewed each of thesebands in our pages, and I don’t want torepeat what was said. I’m keeping it forthe Randy video to “X-Ray Eyes.” Theyfuck up a trailer from the inside whenit’s rolling down the highway. Randy.Now, that’s a really good band. –Todd(Epitaph)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Resistance, Resistance,Resistance: CDNo Front Teeth has been doing a greatjob of releasing lo-fi street punk bandsthat do justice to bands like the Businessor Sham 69, and this album showcases afew of these bands, like BlacklistBrigade, the Briggs and Vinny Jack andthe Jabbs. But this comp goes beyondjust the street punk, paying tribute toOC punk rock with cool (though previ-

ously released) songs by the SmutPeddlers and the Hunns. There are twotunes by an earlier Duane Peters band,the Exploding Fuck Dolls (see Todd’sinterview with Duane Peters to learnabout the real exploding fuck doll).Texas punk anomalies Malavista rockthrough songs that will hopefullyinspire you to pick up their new EP. TheBriefs show up halfway through the CDand keep things fresh. And, really, thereare too many good songs here to men-tion all the bands. It’s a solid comp frombeginning to end. The icing on top of it,though, are two live JFA songs. –Sean(No Front Teeth)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Rip OffRecords’ Third Wave of Hits:CDImagine that the last comp from Rip Offhad been a championship winning team,with superstars like the Rip Offs, theMotards, and Loli and the Chones scor-ing big points. If that were the case, thanthis comp would be the team after thechampionship, when the superstars havebeen traded away and the franchise is ina rebuilding stage. The Rip Offs havebeen replaced by a less fleshed out ver-sion of themselves in The Infections.The Swindlers fill in the Motards posi-tion, but just aren’t up to the same levelas the Motards. The Spastics sound likea band that could fill in the shoes of Loliand the Chones. The Registrators arestill around from the second comp, andthey’re still putting forth a solid effort.And the new additions (ChineseMillionaires and Spites) are respectableplayers in their own rights, but withoutthe superstars, I just don’t see how thiscomp is going to make it to the playoffs.If you’re a fan, they’re still worth root-ing for. If you’re not sure if you’re a fan,buy the second comp and wait for thefourth when, when Rip Off should pickup blue chip prospects like the Kill-O-Watts and the Tyrades. –Sean (Rip Off)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Rock Against Bush Vol. 1: CDThis CD is being covered by everymusic magazine possible, from RollingStone down to us. I also see it advertisedeverywhere. My views are so tiny com-pared to the others describing this.There are always more than two differ-ent points of view in every topic. Butthe subject of free thought and open dis-cussion is an important one here.Having been in punk a long time, I seethe cycle of kids come through everyyear. One year they are here and, poof,they are gone. Such a small percentagetake advantage of the wonderful net-work it has to offer. So much of thescene seems to be about partying andbeing macho. You can get that in anyscene. There is so much informationthat is being bypassed because the per-son is apathetic or has such a low self-esteem that they are a puppet on astring. Bands on this release cater moreto the people I’m talking about – bandsthat play Warped Tour, get radio airplay,and can be bought in most chain storesthroughout the country. These are gen-erally the new kids to the scene. Thesebands play more established venues.These are not the same kids you see at aD.I.Y. show. They are not as educated.But one in fifty or one in a hundredmight grasp something and be com-pletely changed forever. This is a greatvehicle for this. Lure them in by offer-ing a band that they are a fan of and givethem a little more. The bonus DVD ischock full of information.

Documentaries, short films, musicvideos and even a comedy skit to egg onsome thought. Thoughts to create inde-pendent theory that is based on factsfrom not only mass media, government,and the education system but from out-side sources. Independent media notcontrolled by large corporations is get-ting harder and harder to come by. Soit’s scary that the most up-front politicalpunk bands of late have been BadReligion, NOFX, and the Descendents.They actually have a better reach thanthe most political of punk bands. Eventhough I’m not a Republican, GeorgeW. Bush and the Republican Party isalways good for punk. For some reason,when a Democrat is in office, people getcomplacent. Punk rock was great duringthe Reagan years and punk rock is greatnow. The scenes of punk rock may befragmented and separate but the angerlevel is up again in a united front.Getting new thought outside of the con-formist education and media system isalways good. So I commend all thebands on this comp, like Fat bandsNOFX, Anti-Flag, Descendents, NoneMore Black, The Epoxies, Against Me!and others and major label bands likeSum 41, Ministry, New Found Glory,Less than Jake, and the Ataris in partic-ipating. A second volume is in theworks for the summer. A lot of productfor what I believe is being marketed at alow price. It’s worth it just for the bonusDVD. –Donofthedead (Fat)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Shieldedby Death Volume Three: CDOne good thing to come outta the whole“Killed By Death” phenomenon thateven the bands that weren’t too thrilledto find they’d been bootlegged haftaadmit, some pretty interesting, other-wise obscure as hell tuneage has beenunearthed, and with the subsequentvariations on the KBD formula that con-tinue to come out, even more raritiesspanning the globe are seeing the lightof day, which brings me to this release.This is a collection of punk rarities fromthe non-XClaim/Modern MethodBoston/CT scene of the 1970s/’80s. Thestyles are pretty well mixed up, with afew bands offering up some hardcore,some representing the traditional EastCoast punk sound of the time, and oth-ers still opting to forge their own path,and all of them are good at what theydo. Funny to see some o’ the bands onhere ‘cause I wouldn’t have consideredthem “obscure,” but further considera-tion has made me come to the realiza-tion that only boring old scene barnacleslike me, Don, and Al Quint would knowanything about Cancerous Growth,Seizure or even 8th Route Army any-more. Fuck, suddenly I have this urge tobuy a rocking chair. I may be old, butthis shit still rocks. –Jimmy Alvarado(Dionysus)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Streetpunk Worldwide: CDTwenty-five tracks from an internation-al assortment of “street punk” bandsillustrating that one need not be baldand American to have a lame band withdumb lyrics. SO much bad shit going onin the world and the best you can comeup with is “Satan is a Skinhead”? Puh-LEEZE. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.rebellionrecords.nl)

VITAMIN X: Bad Trip: LPNaysayers, when whining about howhardcore died in 1986 or whatever yearthey stopped listening it, condemn this

kind of music as nothing more thanstunted vocabularies, monkeybeats,thudding guitar riffs, and an increasingemphasis on fashion and style. For themost part, they’re right, but every sooften, bands like Vitamin X or theGordon Solie Motherfuckers comealong and it’s just one chairshot to theface after another. Fast, but not ridicu-lously so, allowing the drummer to playsome of the most inventive stuff I’veever heard a thrash band play.Thankfully, the guitar sounds closer tothe Zero Boys than Youth of Today, andthe singer never veers off into cookiemonster territory or any “wasn’tMorrissey great?” interludes. Thiswhole record flies by like a tornado ofbuzzsaws, duct tape, dirt, and blood.Couple this with their last album, andyou’ve got yourself forty-somethingsongs of prime hardcore listening. –Josh(Havoc)

VOIDS: Kill a Generation: CDSome pretty good female-fronted hard-core here. Although I would’ve person-ally preferred to hear more rhythmicvariation from song to song to break upthe monotony, especially after thirty-four minutes, their songs and deliveryare good enough to keep one’s interestpiqued. –Jimmy Alvarado (Dr. Strange)

VULVETTES: This Is theScience We Believe In: CDQuite possibly the best impersonationof “Live at Target” era Nervous GenderI’ve ever heard in my life. Gloriouslynoisy and annoying in ways I’vehaven’t enjoyed since the early ‘80s.Highly, highly recommended. –JimmyAlvarado (Dragnet)

WEAVING THE DEATHBAG:The Devil’s Punchline: 7”Hyperspeed Wisconsin thrash along thelines of label-mates The Neighbors,with the socially conscious lyrics andthe going as fast as possible, thoughwith a couple slow parts for them to resttheir arms. –Cuss Baxter (Kangaroo)

WHAT THE KIDS WANT:Loud Quiet Loud: CDFemale-fronted pop punk in the vein ofthe Sissies, which only makes sensesince the singer/guitar player was in theSissies. Good stuff, well worth the fivebucks. –Megan (Smack Dab in the Middle)

WHERE EAGLES DARE: ToCome from Nowhere: CDI remember reviewing their In aThousand Words or Less CD a year ago.I pulled it out to hear what they sound-ed like. They had a straight-forwardhardcore/straight edge sound that wasenergetic and fierce. I pop this in theplayer and hear a lot of change and pro-gression. The hardcore/straight edge isstill here, but they must have been play-ing a lot of Mars Volta or At the DriveIn while in their touring van. The break-downs that were mosh in the pastbecame more emotive. Also, due to bet-ter musicianship, the music has moremetal elements. So the emo-screamo ismore prevalent, added with the youthcrew backgrounds. Still burly and theirshows are probably a bad place to be ifyou suffer from some body ailments.–Donofthedead (New Day Rising)

WILDHEARTS, THE: Riff after Riff: CDFirst off, this is the third-worst kickdrum sound i’ve ever heard on record

(behind only that of NOFX and theworst-there-ever-could-be Me First &The Gimme Gimmes). Second off, myAdvance Nu-Metal Warning System™emits horrifying blasts of dire static atperiodic intervals when i experience thisproduct. Third off, with a name this gayand graphics this lame (or is it “a namethis lame and graphics this gay?” I for-get exactly whom i intend to offendhere), i do not blame myself whatsoev-er for not having Clue One whom thisband was, even though they’ve appar-ently been putting out records since1993. Fourth off, this record kicks ass,so go the fuck figure. I mean, i’m run-ning the key algorithms thru my brain aswe speak: If Cheap Trick, who werecompelled to palliate their Anglophiliacleanings (e.g. The Move, The Beatles,The Who) with liberal doses ofMidwestern Arena Clod Rock for yokel-pleasing purposes, were, in fact, Angloswho were compelled to palliate theirmore melodic aspects with liberal dosesof the rube-rock of their time and place(Nu-Metal last time i checked), wouldnot Cheap Trick’s One On One album,then, sound much like Riff After Riff?Best answer i can come up with is“yup.” One second they’ll be playingthese BUGGACHUGGACHUG!DUGGACHUGGABUGG! guitarparts, with the singer sounding likeChad Price of All trying to hork up afootball, next second the guy’s singinglike Robin Zander, the sun is out, andeverybody’s drinking free wine coolers.Damnedest thing. And it actually works,that’s the nutty part. Rocks about ashard as a Joan Jett album (on average);my math says that logically this shouldbe the kind of record that almost every-one likes – insuring that there’s about a99.9% probability that it turns out to bethe kind of record almost everyonehates. ROCK THAT LAKE OF PISSACE FREHLEY ALIVE I STYLE,MOTHERFUCKER!!! BEST SONG:“Return to Zero” BEST SONG TITLE:“Stormy in the North, Karma in theSouth” FANTASTIC AMAZINGTRIVIA FACT: He’s gonna get HIGH,he’s gonna get LOW, he’s gonna getHIGH and return to zero. I guarantee it!–Rev. Nørb (Gearhead)

X-GIRL: Endangered Species: CDSynth and guitar driven, sometimesmoody, Japanese pop from three girlsdressed like they just walked out of anepisode of some animé show. It’s inter-esting, but that don’t mean it’s particu-larly good. –Jimmy Alvarado(Alternative Tentacles)

YETI: Volume ObliterationTranscendence: CDHey Rob Zombie, you should totally getthese guys to play on the soundtrack foryour next super-good horror movie thatI’ll totally go see. Ummm four tracks,almost an hour of play time. –Megan(Life Is Abuse)

ZODIAC KILLERS: Society’s Offenders: CDIf you’ve heard the Zodiac Killersbefore, you know what to expect here.Short, deceptively simple rock and rollthat never fails to draw blood.Apparently, there’s a video on here, butI couldn’t get my computer to play it. Iguess it’s because I’m a loserand should just drink my lifeaway because I am as dumb asa box of rocks and don’t reallydeserve to see it. –Josh

C ONTA C T A DDDDRES SE Sor posted on www.razorcake.com in the last two months.to bands and labels that were reviewed either in this issue

• 145; <www.145records.com>• 5 RC, PO Box 1190, Olympia, WA 98507• Abbey Lounge, 3 Beacon St., Somerville, MA 02143• Ace Fu, PO Box 552, NY, NY10009• A.D.D., PO Box 8240, Tampa, FL 33674• Adeline, 5245 College Ave. #318, Oakland, CA 94618• Aerodrome, 302 Bedford Ave, PMB #133, Brooklyn, NY 11211• AK Press, 674-A 23rd St., Oakland, CA 94612-1163• Alone, PO Box 3019, Oswego, NY 13126• Alternative Tentacles, PO Box 419092, SF, CA 94141• AntAcidAudio, PO Box 1778, Orinda, CA 94563• Arclight, 1403 Rio Grande Street, Austin, TX 78701• Artfix, PO Box 641, Moreno Valley,CA 92556-0641;

<www.artfixrecords.com>• Asian Man, PO Box 35585, Monte Sereno, CA 95030• Basement, PO Box 511, La Habra, CA 90633-0511• Bastard Radio, 2421 W. Jefferson, Phoenix, AZ• BatAttak, PO Box 153073, Tampa, FL 33684• Big Neck, PO Box 8144, Reston, VA 20195; <www.bigneckrecords.com>• Birdman, PO Box 50777, LA, CA 90050• Black Noise, PO Box 44-2622, Lawrence, KS 66044 • Black Pumpkin, PO Box 4377,River Edge, NJ 07661-4377

• Blackhouse, 422 E Reid Ave., Coeur D’alene, ID 83814• Blackout!;<www.blackoutrecords.com>

• Blazing Guns, PO Box 40236,Downey, CA 90239

• Bloodshot, 3039 W. Irving Park Rd., Chicago, IL 60618; <www.bloodshotrecords.com>• Bomp, PO Box 7112, Burbank, CA 91510• Broken Rekids, PO Box 460402, SF, CA 94141• Burning Heart, 2798 Sunset Blvd.,LA, CA 90026• BYO, PO Box 67609, LA, CA 90067• Calls and Correspondence; <callsandcorrespondence@hotmail.com>• Captain Oi, PO Box, High Wycombe, Bucks, HP10 8QA, England• Chainsaw Safety, PO Box 260318,Bellerose, NY 11426• Cut Lips, attn: Melissa/Greg, 37441st Ave. #4, San Diego, CA 92103• Dead Beat, PO Box 283, LA, CA 90078• Deadtank, 1007 Acosta St Apt. #2,Jacksonville, FL 32204• Deranged, PO Box 543, Station P,Toronto, M5S 2T1, Canada• D-Fens, PO Box 72275, Newnan, GA 30271

• Dim Mak, PO Box 348, Hollywood, CA 90078• Dionysus, PO Box 1975, Burbank, CA 91507• Dirtnap, PO Box 21249, Seattle, WA 98111• Dischord, 3819 Beecher St. NW,Washington DC, 20007• Dogfingers, PO Box 2433, San Antonio, TX 78298• Double Zero; <www.doublezerorecords.com>• Dr. Strange, PO Box 1058, Alta Loma, CA 91701• Dragnet, 3519 S.W. Elmore St.,Seattle, WA 98126• Drama Destroyed, PO Box 8005,Santa Cruz, CA 95061• Empty, PO Box 12301, Portland,OR 97211; <www.emptyrecords.com>• Epitaph, 2798 Sunset Blvd., LA, CA 90026• Equal Vision, PO Box 14, Hudson, NY 12534• Ersatz Audio, PO Box 02713,Detroit, MI 48202• Eulogy, PO Box 24913, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33307• Fat, PO Box 193690, SF, CA 94119-3690• Fearless, 13772 Goldenwest St.#545, Westminster, CA 92683• Firefly, PO Box 30179, London,E17 5FE, England• Gearhead, PO Box 421219, SF, CA 94142• Gloom, PO Box 14253, Albany, NY 12212• Go Kart, PO Box 20, Prince St.Station, NY, NY 10012• Gold Standard Laboratories, PO Box 65091, LA, CA 90065• Goodbye Boozy, Via Villa Pompetti147, 64020 S. Nicolo A Tordino,Teramo, Italy• Hardcore Holocaust, PO Box26742, Richmond, VA 23261• Havoc, PO 8585, Minneapolis, MN 55408• Headache, PO Box 204, Midland Park, NJ 07432• Hellbent, PO Box 1529, Pt. Pleasant Beach, NJ 08742• Hill Billy Stew, PO Box 82625, San Diego, CA 92138-2625• Holy Shit!, 2658 N. Booth St,Milwaukee, WI 53212• Household Name, PO Box 12286,London, SW9 6FE, UK• I Don’t Feel A Thing, PO Box 858, Tempe, AZ 85280• I Used To Fuck People Like YouIn Prison, Schaferstrasse 33a, D-44147 Dortmund, Germany• In The Red, PO Box 50777,LA, CA 90050

• Initial, PO Box 17131, Louisville, KY 40217• Instigator;<instigatorpunk@yahoo.com>• J & T, 113 U St, Washington, DC 20001• Jade Tree, 2310 Kennwynn Rd.,Wilmington, DE 19810• Johanns Face, PO Box 479164,Chicago, IL 60647• Kangaroo, Middenweg 13, 1098AA. Amsterdam, The Netherlands;<www.geocities/tysonkangaroo>

• Kuriosa, Thorbeckelaan 65, 7942CM Meppel, The Netherlands• Level Plane, PO Box 7926,Charlottesville, VA 22906• Life Is Abuse, PO Box 20524,Oakland, CA 94620• Lollipop, 7 Impasse Monségur,13016 Marseille, France• Lookout!, 3264 Adeline St.,Berkeley, CA 94703• Lovitt, PO Box 248, Arlington, VA 22210-9998• Lucid, 665 Timber Hill Rd.,Deerfield, IL 60015• Lude Boy, PO Box 4744, Portland, ME 04112• Mad Butcher, Kurze Geismarstr. 6,37073 Goettingen, Germany• Malt Soda, PO Box 7611, Chandler, AZ 85246• Nail In The Coffin;<www.coffinz.cjb.net>• New Day Rising, PO Box 1383,Miller Place, NY 11764• New Disorder, 115 Bartlett St., SF,CA 94110; <www.newdisorder.com>• Newest Industry, Unit 100, 61Wellfield Rd., Cardiff, CF24 3DG, U.K.• No Front Teeth, PO Box 27070,London N29ZP, UK; <www.nofrontteeth.co.uk>• No Idea, PO Box 14636,Gainesville, FL 32604;<www.noidearecords.com>• Oh The Humanity, 1004 M. St.NW #2, Washington, DC 20001• Omnium, PO Box 7367,Minneapolis, MN 55407• Onion Flavored, PO Box 190054, SF, CA 94119• Perverted Son, PO Box 49290,Austin, TX 78765• Plan-it-X, PO Box 3521,Bloomington, IN 47402• Plastic Idol, attn: Mario Solis, 410 Bell Avenue, Apt. 25, Sacramento, CA 95838• Pop Smear, 2269 Chestnut St. #970,SF, CA 94123

• Porterhouse, PO Box 3597,Hollywood, CA 90078• Prank, PO Box 410892, SF, CA 94141-0892;<www.prankrecords.com>• Prime Directive, PO Box 571,Balboa, CA 92661• Radio, PO Box 1452, Sonoma, CA 95476• RealOmind, PO Box 63516,Philadelphia, PA 19147• Recess, PO Box 1666, San Pedro, CA 90733• Reptilian, 403 S. Broadway,Baltimore, MD 21231• Revelation, PO Box 5232,Huntington Beach, CA 92615-5232• Rezist, 4300 Price Lane, Longview, TX 75605• Rip Off, 581 Maple Ave., San Bruno, CA 94066• Robot Winter;<www.robotwinter.com>• Rockin’ Bones, c/o GualtieroPagani, Borgo Palmia 3a, 43100Parma, Italy• Rockstar, Kurbrunnenstrasse 32-26,52066 Rockcity Aachen, Germany

• Rodent Popsicle, PO Box 1143,Allston, MA 02134• Sabot, PO Box 28, Gainesville, FL 32602• Sactoe Punk Archive, 1114 21st St.,Sacramento, CA 95814• Scarey, c/o Carlo, Casella Postale516, Succ. 76 10121 Torino, Italy• Scenester Credentials, PO Box1275, Iowa City, IA 52444• Schizophrenic, 17 West 4th St.,Hamilton, Ontario, Canada L9C 3M2• Sept. 6, PO Box 629, Boston, MA 02117• Serious Business, 538 JohnsonAve., Suite 205, Brooklyn, NY 11237• Side One Dummy, PO Box 2350,LA, CA 90078• Smack Dab In The Middle, 5339Moro Rd., Moro, IL 62067• Small Noisemaker, PO Box 71208Shorewood, WI 53211• Smartguy, 3288 21st St. #32, SF,CA 94110• Snuffy Smile, 4-1-16-201 Daita,Setagaya-ku, Tokyo, 155-0033, Japan• Soulful Warrior, PO Box 1174,Hollywood, CA 90078• Spontaneous Combustion, 3943 Cumnor Rd., Downers Grove, IL 60515• Springman, PO Box 2043,Cupertino, CA 95015-2043• Squirrel Heart, PO Box 5871,Arlington, VA 22205• S-S, 1114-21st St., Sacramento, CA 95814• Stardumb, PO Box 21145, 3001 ACRotterdam, The Netherlands, • Steel Capped; <www.steelcappeddesign.com>• Stimulator;<www.stimulatorband.com>• Suburban Home, PO Box 40757,Denver, CO 80204• Suicide Watch, PO Box 9599,Charlotte, NC 28299; <www.suicidewatchrecords.com>• Super Secret, PO Box 1585, Austin, TX 78767• Thick; <www.thickrecords.com>• TKO, 3126 W. Cary St, Richmond,VA 23221; <www.tkorecords.com>• Tom Perkins Entertainment, 7233Lamphere, Detroit, MI 48239• Trailer Park Queen; <www.trailerparkqueen.cjb.net>• Triple Crown, 331 West 57th Street#472, NY, NY 10019• Under the Needle, 1205 E. PikeStreet, Suite 2G, Seattle, WA 98122• Unity Squad, PO Box 1235,Huntington Beach, CA 92647• Voodoo Rhythm, Jurastrasse 15,3013 Bern, Switzerland;<www.voodoorhythm.com>• War Room, PO Box 93-1813, LA,CA 90093-1813• We Got Records, 7900 N.Washburne, Portland, OR 97217• Whoa Oh, 21-36 43rd St, 3rd Floor,Astoria, NY 11105• Worldeater; <www.worldeaterrecords.com>• Wrecked-Em, PO Box 240701,Memphis, TN 38124; <www.wrecked-em.com>• Wundertaker, PO Box 470153, SF, CA 94147-153

AMERIKAN HIGH SCHOOLSTORIES, #?, $?, 8½ x 11, glossy cover, copiedAwhile back, I reviewed some otherwritings by Jimmy Reject, theauthor of this zine. Those weremostly autobiographical, and,although, or maybe because theydepicted a crazy, GG-Allin-styledpunk upbringing (way different thanmy own, which was heavy onBakunin, pop punk, and poverty), Igot into them, in an almost socio-logical way. This new collection ofstories are fictional, and, frankly,shocking. Lots of stories involvingrape, including at least one thatdescribes the act itself. And it’s notdone in a way that is supposed tomake you hate the rapist. Instead, itcomes across as, “Oh, look at thispoor fucked up guy who is somessed up that he rapes a girl.”Jimmy even acknowledges in someof the intros that some of the storiesare misogynist, but that doesn’treally count for much. I wonderwhy so many of these characters seerape as a central part of their rebel-lion. Fucked up. –Maddy (JimmyReject, PO Box 2033, Ocean Bluff,MA 02065)

ARTCORE #21, $?, 8¼ x 11¾,glossy cover, offset, 40 pgs.

Welly, the editor and publisher ofArtcore, has got an undying love forthe foundation of punk rock withoutit letting it eclipse the contributionsof current bands. Often times withbands that have long histories, as isthe case with JFA, Welly tells theentire story, from beginning to end.It’s this attention to detail and asuper earnest attempt to get it allright on paper that is the glue whichmakes Artcore a superior punk zine.Original punk and hardcore havebeen covered, wrong and sloppily,so many times (like the abysmalAmerican Hardcore) that it’s justnice to read articles about bands thatring true and jive with my ownmemories and research. Welly alsodoes a great job of backgroundinghimself, so the bands’ stories aretold without a lot of interference. Inthis issue is a long section on theimportance of punk rock flyer art(with a guest contribution by DavidEnsminger, who does the equallyexcellent Left of the Dial fanzine), anever-before-published interviewwith Touch and Go’s Cory Ruskfrom 1982, and interviews withKnife Fight, Biscuit’s Texas Bombs(fronted by former Big Boy,Biscuit), 7 Seconds, MovingTargets, and Battalion of Saints. Myonly complaint is one I think Ialready know the answer to. (Morepages equals more weight, whichequals more postage.) It seems thatthere’s so much stuff that’scrammed in these pages that thetype size suffers and I find myself

going cross-eyed once in awhilewhen reading. It’s worth the effort,though. That’s for sure. –Todd(Artcore, Aberdulais Road, Gabalfa,Cardiff, CF14 2PH, Wales, UK)

BIG TAKEOVER #54, $4.95, 8 x 11, glossy, 320 pgs.Thinking that the Big Takeover’seditor and publisher Jack Rabid hasbeen at it for twenty-four yearsstraight is sobering. I’ve been at itfor eight years. To automaticallytriple that number is almost incon-ceivable. Issue #54 is massive. It’sobvious that Razorcake and BigTakeover’s current overall musicaltastes diverge quite drastically. Jackchampions a wide field of indierock like Stereolab and Belle andSebastian. I like Dillinger Four,Randy, Fucked Up, and TheRiverboat Gamblers. His tolerancefor contemporary hardcore andrevved-up punk rock is as minimalas my interest in “in-makes-me-sleepy” pop. What’s cool, though, isthat we both have a unwaveringlove of Leatherface, one of the best,most underrated bands on the plan-et. Also, and I can’t quite get theyear right, but up until that year,(it’s got to be around 1983-84) Jackand I see almost eye-to-eye acrossthe board about punk music. Whenhe covers early punk (like theWeirdos), I can’t think of betterinterviews that have ever been con-ducted with those bands. That allsaid, The Big Takeover is so big,thick, and covers so many bases,that I think it’s virtually impossiblefor a person who loves independentmusic – beyond being a mere, unex-ploratory genre fan – not to findsomething of use and entertainmentin its pages. Add to the equation thatJack’s one of the best interviewersgoing, there’s always interestingreading. I’m also a fan of testingpeople’s attention spans pickingmusicians’ brains, so the long-for-mat interviews that take up a bigportion of The Bigtakeover reallyappeal to me. In this issue, I foundmyself engrossed in the histories,stories, and memories of Rocketfrom the Tombs, The Weirdos,TSOL, Leatherface, The Under-tones, and The Zombies. Shit, if Ican say any hundred pages of amagazine are worth reading, it’sworth the five bucks. Highly recom-mended. After each issue, I alwayshave a new list of records I want tolisten to. That’s a good feeling.–Todd (The Big Takeover, 249Eldridge St., # 14, NY, NY 10002)

BLURT!, #1, $2, 4¼ x 5½, copied, 110 pgs.Blurt! is the latest zine from LewHouston – the guy who brought youVinyl A Go Go and Tales of aTraveling Panty Salesman. It’s acollection of vignettes about a guy

finishing college and striking out onhis own. The stories are pepperedwith liberal doses of humor, intelli-gence, and sensitivity. Lew’sCometbus influence is clear in hisheavy nostalgia and the way henever really lets the reader out of hishead. Still, he’s got a good eye fordescription – it’s easy for me to pic-ture the small Pennsylvania townshe lives in. And I have a lot in com-mon with him in the sense that hewrites about riding his bike, listen-ing to punk LPs, reading zines andbooks, and walking aimlesslyaround town, which are all some ofmy favorite things to do. All of thismakes Blurt! a good read. It’s morethan worth your two bucks. –Sean(Vinyl a Print Print, 135 WapwalloponRd., Nescopeck, PA 18635)

CHAOS & FRUIT PUNCH, #1,$3, 8½ x 11, 40 pgs.The thing about people makingzines about whatever the hell theyfeel like writing about is that a lot oftimes they come off as really slop-py, slapped together at the lastminute, and just plain dumb.Luckily, that’s not the case with thisone. Yeah, most of the stuff the guywrites about is pretty random and itdoesn’t always make sense (theinterview with the Canadian bandFucked Up), but for the most part,it’s pretty entertaining. Not essen-tial, but a good read nonetheless.–Josh (PO Box 13380, Mill Creek,WA 98082)

CHICKEN-HEAD RECORDSZINE, #10, $1, 8½ x 11, 24 pgs.

Simple, cool cartoons, a healthy fix-ation on chili fires, a drawing of amonkey saying, “It’s progress,bitch”… You know you’re going tolike this. Not a bad gig. –Josh (POBox 371147, Reseda, CA 91337)

CHUMPIRE, #169 & #170, a stampEvery issue of this zine that I’veread has been really tiny. Don’t getme wrong, there’s a lot of stuffcrammed in here, but the small sizeand the messy handwriting are not avery good combination. It looks likewhoever puts this out takes prettygood live band photos, but it’s hardto tell since everything is socramped. –Josh (PO Box 27,Annville, PA 17003)

CITIZINE, #5, $4, 8½ x 11, 60 pgs.As far as content goes, Citizine is apretty standard punk rock maga-zine: interviews, news, generic lay-out, and pictures that look likethey’re taken from press releases. Ican forgive the press photos in thisinstance, though, because it standsto reason that not too many peopleare going to have action shots ofTommy Ramone recording his newbluegrass album. The interviews(with the aforementioned Ramone,

Send all zines for review toRazorcake, PO Box 42129,

LA, CA 90042. Pleaseinclude a contact address, thenumber of pages, the price,

and whether or not youaccept trades.

110066

Bill Stevenson from theDescendents, Eric Davidson fromthe New Bomb Turks, and East BayRay from Skrapyard) all sufferfrom a lack of editing. I mean,“hello” and “goodbye” are integralparts of a telephone conversation,but they don’t exactly make forcompelling reading, and while it’sfantastic that you like the music ofthe bands that you’re interviewing,it’s not really necessary to tell themthat eight or nine times during theinterview. This is kind of like thezine equivalent to Hawkwind: itwould be twice as good if it werehalf as long. –Josh (2513 W 4th St.,LA, CA 90057)

DUCK BOX, #1, $2, 5½ x 8½, 22 pgs.This is a brief personal-type zine,but in a good, not-a-bunch-of-sucky-poetry-about-clouds kind ofway (and keep in mind that I said“brief”). There’s a couple of non-pretentious Cometbus-y things andan interview with the drummerfrom Jawbreaker. This is a goodfirst issue even though I have noclue what a duck box is. –Josh(Rick Arnold, 2440 Lyndale Ave. S,Minneapolis, MN 55405)

GET OFF MY LAWN! #21, $1, 5½ x 8½, photocopied, 26 pgs.The introduction to Get off My

Lawn is the perfect example of hownot to start a zine. Self-deprecatingis fine, but to say that the issuesucks and you don’t know why youdid it, and, man it’s late, makes me,the reader, want to put it down andgo read a book instead. But, intro-duction aside, Get off My Lawn is aquality read. Obituaries are some ofthe hardest things to write, butJohnny’s remembrance of his friendChris is tender, honest, and candid.Sections about Chris sleepingnaked, wang a-floppin’, pissing onhimself are balanced out with see-ing him grow into a man, and ulti-mately dying – at a party – fromliver failure. The other longer storyin the zine is about Johnny workingin a thrift store. I have the same atti-tude as he: “I just don’t give a fuck;they pay us minimum wage and stillmake us pay half-price for mer-chandise, so if you’ve got the ballsto run full speed through my store,up the ramp and out the glass doorswith one of our fur coats or an elec-tric guitar, my hats off to ya, I’ll goback to my phone call, thanks.” Thestory ends when an ultra-stinkydude called “Crusty” takes a shitstanding up, shakes the monster outof his pants, and leaves it on thefloor for the employees to mop up.Good read. The rest of the issue islive reviews and records reviewsthat exhibit a healthy appreciation

for Johnny Cash. Worth the buck.–Todd (5814 ½ Roosevelt Way NE,Seattle, WA 98105)

KIMOSABE, #1, 10 cents, copied w/ cardstock cover, 28 pgs.The best things about this zine arethe price and the crisp, clear proseof author Marc Parker. The worstthings are the fact that it’s anotherpersonal zine out of zinesterHeaven: Portland. And the endless-ly laying about watching The. O.C.stoned. There’s promise in Parker’sstyle and acknowledgement of theminutia in our lives. But somebodynamed Jeff Gomez already wrotethe book on Keroaucian go-nowhere zinester love and it wascalled Our Noise and it came outway back in the ‘90s. So whyshould I care about this twenty-eight-page chapbook? I guessbecause I’m a fan of the chronicler,journal writing and archivalism andpublishing. Yet Kimosabe stillcomes off in the end like watered-down emo. –Greg Barbera (MarcParker, 2000 NE 24 Ave. #221,Portland, OR 97213)

LET THERE BE DANGER #2,$2, 44 pages, copied, 4¼ x 5½

Wow. I brought this zine with me tomy stupid temp job where I sit at adesk and transfer calls all day. Ithought that I’d bring a few zines,

read ‘em really fast, and then spendthe rest of the day trying not to fallasleep. Then I started reading LetThere Be Danger. This issue is allabout Sean’s best friend Matt, whorecently died of cancer. Unlike somany zines about sadness, death ordepression, this didn’t have a self-pitying, woe-is-me, bare-all-my-emotions feel, although it is verypersonal. Instead, Sean tells storiesabout some of the most memorablemoments spent with his friend. Thewriting is good, and it’s just so sim-ple – to tell stories about yourfriend who died. I was completelycaught up in it, and I think anyoneelse who has known someone whodied too soon will be, too. Seanorganized the zine around a mixtape he had made for his friend, andeach song is one story. The zinereally reads more like a letter to hisfriend, and I don’t mean that in acheezy way at all. I wish more “per-sonal” zines could be like this.–Maddy (Sean Raff, 509 CuttersMill Ln., Schaumberg, IL 60194;lettherebedanger@yahoo.com)

MODEST PROPOSAL, #4, $3, 8½ x 11I’ve reviewed this zine before, but Idon’t remember what I said aboutit. Luckily, the editors were niceenough to reprint my review in itsentirety. I realize that “some parts

are funny and some aren’t” isn’t themost astute criticism of a magazine,so here’s what I think about thisissue. It’s funny as shit pretty muchall the way through (and we allknow how funny shit can be some-times). There’s a restaurant reviewsection consisting of The ChineseFood Place Near My Apartment(“If you thought the food lookedgreat in The ShawshankRedemption, you’ll love it.”).There’s not only interviews withreal-life comedians like BobOdenkirk from Mr. Show, PaulKrassner from The Realist, and NeilHamburger (“Q: Did Laugh OutLoud help you cash in on the reli-gious audience? A: That was theidea, but no, there was no cashingin at all.”), there’s also an interviewwith The Annoying Guy from theMovie Theater, which was the fun-niest thing I read all month(“Somebody interrupted me to askif the seat next to me was available.I told him no, as I was saving theeighteen seats around me for myfriends with b.o. that would bearriving twenty minutes into themovie.”) If it helps, think Chunkletfocusing on comedy instead ofindie rock. Their ludicrous endorse-ment of Margaret Cho notwith-standing, this is totally worth seek-ing out. –Josh (PO Box 3211,Tempe, AZ 85280)

MR. PEEBODY’S SOILEDTROUSERS & OTHERDELIGHTS, #17, $2, 5 ½ x 4 ¼, xeroxed, 38 pgs. This zine is a daily diary fromOctober and November 2001.“What a strange day. I woke up at5am with a thumping headache andcouldn’t get back to sleep,” andother daily stuff – including (XXXwarning) SEX! I couldn’t really getinto it, but, then again, I don’t readblogs or ever really get into diary-based zines. Maybe it’s becausewhen I was little I tried keeping adaily diary, and I kept getting so farbehind and frustrated, and I’d spendan hour frantically filling in the past100 days with “Ate dinner. Went tobed.” Ack! Repressed memories offood- and sleep-based diary entries!I’d be interested in reading his otherzine, Townsend, about growing upin small-town Massachusetts,though! –Maddy (Jay, PO Box931333, LA, CA 90093)

MY FAT IRISH ASS, #-5, $2, 8½ x 11, copied, 36 pgs.My Fat Irish Ass is about thirtyminutes of enjoyable reading. Itconsists of six zine reviews (includ-ing a positive Razorcake review),three live reviews (Misfits, MurderJunkies, Midnight Creeps), one CDreview, one book review, one storyabout a confederate house sitter,

one funny/sloppy comic about abiker, and thirteen pages of bas-tardized Family Circle and Dennisthe Menace comics. The livereviews are actually very well done,and the rest of the stuff is good fora few laughs. For something basedon a fat ass, this comes off short andsweet. –Sean (MFIA, PO Box65391, Washington, DC 20035)

NEUS SUBJEX, THE, #60 & #61,a stamp, travel-brochure sizeThe Neus Subjex not only proclaimsthat it “documents the GreaterCincinnati Underground Musicscene,” it also admits to being “lit-ter waiting to happen,” so I guessmy job here is done. Issue #60 isprinted on two different colors ofpaper. The Neus Subjex says, “Eatthat, monochrome fanzines!” –Josh(PO Box 18051, Fairfield, OH45018)

NEW SCHEME, THE #9, free, 8½ x 11, newsprint, 48 pgs.A top notch music zine out ofBoulder, CO., The New Schemetakes a bare bones approach to pro-duction – with its Spartan layoutand jaggedy white space around ads– but has better content than mostglossy publications these days.There’s interviews (Against Me!,Rum Diary, Bright Calm Blue, andAndy Low of Robotic Empirelabel), plenty of CD reviews thatcover a broad spectrum (Nebraskaindie rock, Japanese hardcore,Swedish metal, Gainesville melodicpunk, DC post-punk, emo), bookreviews that cover equally asdiverse subject matter (from placeslike Akashic Books andCrimethinc) and a couple of DVDreviews. All in all, not a bad read.–Greg Barbera (The New Scheme,PO Box 7542, Boulder, CO 80306;www.newscheme.com)

PROPAGANDA ZINE, #3, £1, chapbook, xeroxedPunk rock zine from the UK withinterviews on Strike Anywhere,Kevin Seconds, Anti-Flag,Waterdown and The DillingerEscape Plan. It is what it is. –GregBarbera (Propaganda Zine, 279 Main Street, CalvertonNottingham, NG14 6LT, UK: propaganazine@hotmail.com)

REVIEWER MAGAZINE, #21,free, newsprintIt lives up to its name. There’s a lotof reviews and a lot of ads for pornsites on the internet. I’m guessingthat if you live in San Diego(roughly translated, “San Diego”means “Saint Doug”), you couldprobably pick this up at a localbusiness establishment. –Josh (POBox 87069, San Diego, CA 92138)

RISE AND THE FALL, THE, 5½ x 8, printed, 32 pgs.,A zine about San Pedro, CA.There’s a lot I like about this zine –interviews with Killer Dreamer andToys That Kill, an article on thePedro skatepark by El Beardo, stuffby Hal Ba Dal – all good stuff. Butit’s put out by some dude whooffered a girl eighty bucks to jumpme after I got into a fight with hisfriend (I offered to take half and notfight back, but no dice), so I can’tfully like it. –Megan (The Rise andThe Fall, PO Box 1794, San Pedro,CA 90733)

ROCTOBER, #38, $4, 8½ x 11, newsprint, 112 pgs.When I first got this zine, I flippedthrough and saw that twenty-some-thing pages were dedicated toBehind the Music – the VH1 series.My first thought was, what kind ofloser would read all of this?Especially because it was printed ina tiny, 6 pt. font. Well, two dayslater, I was completely obsessedwith the Behind the Music articlesand going cross-eyed from the type.And here’s the funny thing – I’venever watched a complete episodeof BTM. I’ve seen it. I’ve watchedparts of shows a few times. It neverreally kept my attention. But read-ing about BTM in Roctober was fas-cinating, I guess because Roctobertook a team of talented writers anddistilled the episodes to key pointsof interest to a rock’n’roll fanaticlike myself. I was amazed. I alsoanswered the question of what kindof loser would read all of this witha resounding, “Uh... me.” Thiswhole issue is dedicated to rock-’n’roll and TV. There is a pieceabout Jerry Lee Lewis’s top TVperformances. There are reviews ofJohnny Cash, Eddie Cochran, andGene Vincent on Town Hall Party.There are about a hundred (literal-ly) other pieces covering every-thing from Gidget rocking out tothe Dingbats to Iggy Pop on Peteand Pete to Lee Ving on Who’s theBoss to “Lurch the Teen Idol.” Mostof the other rock’n’roll TVmoments are set in a larger type-face, so I didn’t go cross-eyed read-ing them, but I couldn’t put thiszine down. This issue’s coverage ofrock’n’roll TV was so broad inscope and so engaging that it blewmy mind. There’s enough interest-ing content in this issue alone tokeep you reading for weeks. This isfar and away one of the best zinesI’ve read in a long time. –Sean(Roctober, 1507 E. 53rd St. #617,Chicago, IL 60615)

SHUTTLEBUS, Vol. 2, Issue #2, $2, newsprint, 32 pgs.A Michigan-fried new school zinewith old school flair, Shuttlebus

covers a wide range of culture andmusic in the short time in takes todigest thirty-two pages. Excellentinterview with current freak rockdarlings Wolf Eyes, a funny essayabout meeting Richard Hell andbeing let down but not really,comics and more. Top notch. –GregBarbera (Shuttlebus, PO Box 7814,Ann Arbor, MI 48107; shuttle-buszine@hotmail.com)

SILLY LITTLE TROUSER MONKEYS, #20, 8½ x 11, newsprint, 20 pgs.This starts off like The Onion, withthe fake news headlines andwhathaveyou, but it’s just not veryfunny. And to think, there was somuch promise with an article on thedecline of cunnilingus rates. Thehighlights are one guy who becamedisillusioned with television whenthey cancelled Alf, and another partwhere I not only learned how tomake an Orange Julius, I alsolearned a short history of theOrange Julius. –Josh (webmas-ter@sltmonkees.com)

ZISK, #8, $2, 7 x 8½, 52 pages ofunadulterated awesomenessAhhh, baseball: the scourge of myexistence. I love watching baseballso much that I use it as an excusenot to do other things. I’ll think tomyself, “Yeah, I’m going to cleanmy apartment today,” or, “Gee, I’llget my zine reviews done withoutwaiting until the last minute,” butthen I’ll turn on the TV and end upwatching baseball for four hoursand I’ve accomplished absolutelynothing. Just between you and me, Imight take it a little too seriously,like when the Yankees come frombehind to win, I mutter to myselfabout how the other team is a bunchof fucking retards and how they’rea pathetic excuse for a franchiseand how they’d have trouble beat-ing a Triple A team, even though Iknow it’s not their fault that theYankees have a two hundred gazil-lion dollar payroll and put their ros-ter together like housewives shop-ping at their neighborhood grocerystore. And what’s with RogerClemens bitching about how if hecan’t go into the Hall of Fame as aYankee, he’s not going in at all. It’slike, if you love the Yankees somuch, why don’t you fucking playfor the Yankees anymore, youwiener? What was I talking about?Oh, yeah, the new issue of Zisk. It’sa zine about baseball, and anybodywho hates Roger Clemens as muchas me is solid gold. –Josh (801Eagles Ridge Rd., Brewster, NY10509)

109

Beat the Heat: How to Handle Encounters with Law Enforcementby Katya Komisaruk, 192 pages.

This is a guide for a variety of run-ins withpolice, security guards, FBI, and many other agen-cies. The text is balanced by comics which showthe scenario all the way through, then again withthe guidance of Sibyl Rites. She explains how tophrase responses to get you out of (or into less)trouble. There are a lot of interesting tips in here,which I never knew. Things like the differencesbetween being arrested and being detained, and thehow the police can treat you in each of those situa-tions. For instance, if you are only being detained,the police can’t search your pockets. They can patyou down and ask you to remove the contents, butyou can refuse to show them. Also, if the policeshow up with an arrest warrant, it isn’t necessarilya search warrant as well, but if you let them into thehouse they can search anything within reach. Evenif they have a search warrant there can be glitches.Search warrants have to be specific. They have tohave the exact address and your name. If you livein an apartment, the number has to be on the war-rant. There is a date issued, and they usually onlyremain valid for two weeks at most. If any of thedetails are wrong, the entire warrant is invalid andthey cannot enter without your permission.

Sometimes it seems like the advice for the right actions are a lot morehassle than the gut reaction. In the case of mistaken identity, they suggestthat you stick to your guns, remain silent, and get a lawyer. I don’t knowabout anyone else, but if I’m getting arrested for something I know I did-n’t do, I think I’d protest. Their position is that whenever you give up yourright to silence that you may disclose some detail that the police can thenpress charges (even if they had none to start with). I also know of peoplewho have refused to let an officer search their vehicle to protect their ownprivacy, knowing they had nothing to hide. The officers took their refusalas probable cause that there was something worth searching for andimpounded the car until they could get a warrant. It seems like a lot moretrouble than the hassle of them looking in my trunk for ten minutes andasking about the drugs they know I’m smuggling.

There’s a lot of helpful tips about witnessing police misconduct,working with a lawyer, the rights of non-citizens, and dealing with under-cover cops. The main points I came away with were to be careful in whatyou say and sign. Words can be manipulated very easily to have very spe-cific, and possibly detrimental, meanings. In this case, misunderstandingcan lead to jail time. A good eye-opener. –Megan (AK Press, 674-A 23rd

St, Oakland, CA 94612-1163)

How to Get Stupid White Men Out of Officeedited by Adrienne Maree Brown and William Upski Wimsatt, 206 pgs.

If you read one book about politics this year, make it How to GetStupid White Men Out of Office. Sure, there are dozens of books abouthow Bush is evil, how politics are corrupt, and how America has becomea right-wing theocracy. And I like those books; but this book actuallyshows you how to do something about it.

How to Get Stupid White Men Out of Office compiles over twenty sto-ries of young activists getting involved in local political campaigns – formayor, Senate, state representative, and more. Over and over again, thesame message is repeated: At the local level, you and your friends, CANget someone cool elected, and make real changes in your community.

Although I have been skeptical of Upski (author of Bomb the Suburbsand No More Prisons) in the past, a lot of his intro is right on: “The harshreality that we young whippersnappers [!] hate to face is that most peoplein American actually don’t think like us and our friends. The revolution isnot going to happen tomorrow. Winona LaDuke will not become vicepresident of the U.S. or even governor of Minnesota.”

Instead, the book concentrates on the difficult day-to-day local orga-nizing necessary to win local elections. And the successes are real. Voterselected 26-year-old Jason West mayor of New Paltz, N.Y. in 2003. (West,a member of the Green Party, has since grabbed national headlines formarrying same-sex couples.) Alisha Thomas, a 24-year-old black woman,won a state legislature seat in notoriously racist Cobb County, Georgia.Paul Wellstone inspired progressive folks all over Minnesota.

Lots of important decisions about everything from zoning to policefunding get decided mostly by local aldermen and women.

Electing progressive folks at this level can make ahuge difference. Hopefully this book will motivateyoung people to get involved in these battles.

However, despite all the attention on thelocal, the explicit goal of the book is to use theselocal strategies to defeat Bush in the 2004 presi-dential election. While I obviously think Bushshould be defeated, presidential elections are com-pletely different their local counterparts – the oddsof getting a genuine progressive election areworse, the ability to influence candidates is less,and money rules everything.

Add to that the creeping suspicion of manyfolks that Kerry isn’t really that much better, or, atthe very least, he’s a manipulative amoral rich guy.Of course, if I’m in a swing state, I’ll vote for him,but look at his record: just a few weeks ago, hecalled for 40,000 more troops in Iraq. He voted forNo Child Left Behind, the PATRIOT ACT, theauthorization to invade Iraq, the Bush tax cuts, andmore. Everyone keeps talking again how this timeit really matters who gets elected. Although, ofcourse, it always matters who becomes president, Iwonder if progressives should really expect muchsuccess from working like crazy on the presiden-tial election. What would success mean? Fouryears of Kerry?

At one point, Upski writes that establishing a solid progressive major-ity “will take a thirty-year-plan.” He calls for the Left to study and co-optsome of the tactics of the Right. All of these are good ideas, but perhapsa better way to achieve a progressive majority would be to focus on build-ing local progressive communities, elected local politicians, and then,slowly but surely, creating a genuine grassroots movement that wouldpush the Democratic party further to the Left, while perhaps creating sup-port for a genuine third party – instead of placing that much importanceon electing Kerry. It’s not the sort of thing that happens overnight. In fact,if it only took thirty years, I’d be amazed.

But these criticisms have more to do with the way the book is pack-aged and its call to action than with the stories themselves. And, in theend, getting motivated to do political organizing is the important thing.And these stories will make you realize how much power you can have ina democracy – if you have a good strategy, lots of energy, and are willingto build coalitions – even with people who – oh, the horror! – aren’t intothe same bands as you, aren’t your age, go to church, and have anAmerican flag in their front yard. –Maddy (Soft Skull Press, 71 Bond St.,Brooklyn, NY 11237, www.softskull.com)

I, Shithead: A Life in Punkby Joey Keithley, 237 pages

DOA were easily one of punk’s greats, an inspirational and influentialband who had one hell of an initial run that lasted from the late ‘70s to theearly ‘90s. They were responsible for some the genre’s greatest tunes –“America the Beautiful,” “Fucked Up Ronnie,” “Disco Sucks,” “RaceRiot,” “Fuck You” and “Class War” (the latter two admittedly covers ofsongs originally by the Subhumans and the Dils, respectively, but it wasDOA that made them honest-to-goodness anthems) – their extensive tour-ing regimen inspired thousands of other bands to do the same, and theirHardcore 81 album is allegedly where North American Punk Phase Twoderives its moniker. I bring all this up to point out that DOA lead singerJoey “Shithead” Keithley could easily, and justifiably, take on a bigger-than-God tone to the proceedings, toot his own horn loudly and get awaywith it, considering his achievements in the underground, yet in this, hisautobiography, he maintains an unflagging level of humility, opting to tellhis story as if he were recounting his exploits to a friend.

The proceedings start with his beginnings as a bored kid in Burnaby,British Columbia who decided to start a band, the Skulls, with somefriends, all of whom in their own right went on to be just as important toCanada’s punk scene. With the dissolution of that band, he and a few ofthe members decide to start another band and, thus, DOA is born. Theremainder of the book is part recollection, part tour diary of the band’sassorted excursions throughout every nook and cranny of North Americaand Europe. He offers up oodles of anecdotes and stories, like beingfucked over by the Clash when the band opened up for them, playing abenefit show with one of his big influences, folk musician Pete Seeger (!),and the numerous politically inspired actions the band took over the years,such as releasing a single of the aforementioned “Fuck You” to help pay110

the legal costs of former bandmate and friend Gerry Hannah when hefound himself up to his eyeballs in trouble as one of the infamous“Vancouver Five,” who were eventually convicted for some bombings.

The minuses to be found in this book, mostly in the occasional klunkywriting passage, a lack of a clear explanation for why he was attracted topunk in the first place, and why it has managed to maintain his dedicationwhen so many of his peers left it by the wayside decades ago, are very fewand far between, leaving I, Shithead one of the best tomes on the punkscene to come out thus far. The book gives little space to DOA’s reforma-tion and more recent endeavors, but does end with the indication that theband, and punk itself, carry on, and we, despite any griping about therecent work of either the band or the movement, are better off for it.–Jimmy Alvarado (Arsenal Press, 103 - 1014 Homer Street, Vancouver,B.C., V6B 2W9, Canada; www.arsenalpulp.com)

It Makes You Want to Spit: The Definitive Guide to PUNK in N. Irelandby Seam O’Neill and Guy Trelford, 275 pages

I love scene histories, especially those that take a more proletarianapproach to what is covered rather than merely singling out a few of thebiggie bands, singing their praises for hundreds of pages and effectiveignoring the rank and file, so this, basically an encyclopedia of nearlyeveryone who bashed on an instrument in Northern Ireland from 1977-82,to me, is frankly the bee’s knees: nearly 300 pages about a whole host ofbands I’ve never heard of alongside more famous names, all given moreor less equal weight, as it should be.

A bevy of juicy tidbits can be found wedged between the covers aboutthe bigger names to come out of the scene, from an almost universal admi-ration for the Undertones’ street pop to an almost universal questioning ofStiff Little Fingers’ motivations, but there is also more than enough aboutthose who made as much of a racket without managing the same acco-lades, from the bands that opted to tour and/or relocate to England to thenumerous others who opted instead to slug it out in the home clubs. Awealth of first-hand experiences can be found here on what a completenightmare being a punk in Ulster could be and what made the scene sospecial that so many felt the need to endure what they did to keep it alive,and what looks to be like everybody involved, from musician to fanzineeditor to filmmaker to label mogul to just plain fans, gets to weigh in withtheir two cents.

The coverage here is focused on the first five years of the scene’s exis-tence, yet there is little of the pathetic elitism and “this was OUR thingand anything that came after us ain’t real” mentality so prevalent in othertomes, namely the coffee table-sized overviews being peddled by agingLondoners grasping desperately to their still-overpriced VivienneWestwood originals and longing for the days before they sold out, whenthey were still the freaks du jour. On the contrary, this book ends with arecap of what has happened since the “golden age” covered herein indi-cating that the scene is still alive and well and that while many of the oldguard may have moved on, they acknowledge that what they helped tobuild has continued on with or without them. The biggest gripe I’m ableto muster is that with so many obscure bands and out of print singles cov-ered here, an accompanying compilation of, at the very least, the high-lights is sorely needed, but otherwise, this is easily the best sceneoverview that has thus far come along. –Jimmy Alvarado (Reekus, 77Haddington Road, Dublin 4, Ireland; www.reekus.com)

Life and Limb: Skateboarders Write from the Deep Endedited by Justin Hocking, Jeffrey Knutson, and Jared Maher, 188 pgs.

I view collections of short stories much like compilation tapes. If it’sdone right, different readers will have favorite tracks, but none of themoutright stink. It should have a nice flow from beginning to end. Editingis key. Life and Limb does just that. The loose thematic foundation isskateboarding. The editors also do a pretty good job of keeping a centralfocus, but also dilate it just enough to show how skating intersects withart, literature (there’s a story that directly evokes Moby Dick), bus rides,photography, pranks, abstract thoughts, and spirituality. (Some storieshave nothing to do with skating – but ice fishing and raccoon eradicationattempts – but are written by skaters.) By allowing a diverse cross sectionof writers some breathing room, Life and Limb also has the feel of a bookyou could give to a non-skater to show them that skateboarding’s world ismuch wider than a bunch of concrete-terrorizing miscreants or an ever-touring corporately sponsored modular park with jacked-up commenta-tors.

All that said, my favorite stories were those that effortlessly inter-twined skating into a narrative about growing up or growing older.

“Get Radical,” by longtime Thrasher photographer and writer

Michael Burnett, covers how he befriended a dorky kid, Dirk, and skatedhis backyard ramp. One particularly funny section is Dirk’s mom firsttime on a skateboard. In a very unwise initial move, she decides, havingwatched kids skate the ramp effortlessly for months, that dropping in onthe halfpipe would be easy. “Then, in an incident so powerful it has sincetaken up more space in my brain than my entire education in mathemat-ics, she took a slam more appropriate in a rodeo bloopers tape than in theneatly groomed backyard of an upper middle class home in the AmericanWest…. Her chest, less than thirty-six months cancer free, plowed square-ly into the awaiting slope, followed by her chin, which scraped along,bouncing her head a good two or three time in a cartoon-like woodpeck-er motion….” The entire story is filled with innocence, gaining skateskills, tenderness, poor alcohol decisions, and ends with the youngMichael dancing with Dirk’s cute, older sister.

In “Last Summer Some Hippy Pinched My Stick,” by another long-time skater and Thrasher regular, Wez Lundry continues with the engag-ing storytelling. Recounting the karmic gains and losses of his skate-boards over the years, he leads the reader into a situation where they’vehandcuffed the kid who had stolen their boards to a couch as the kid’smom comes in to collect her son. “It was hilarious,” Wez writes.“Someone spotted her and we all hid in separate bedrooms, laughing…. Icame out of hiding, unlocked him, and explained to her what happened,and that we wanted our boards back. She rolled her eyes, obviously usedto her son’s exploits.”

What’s also a positive for this collection is that although it isn’t didac-tic – it isn’t saying “this is right, this is wrong.” It does a good job of look-ing at skateboarding from the inside out, from long-time observers. NiallNeeson’s “The Lost Boys,” makes the comparison of modern skate videosto pornography. And he makes a good point. Neither medium is veryinterested in the chase nor the slow build up, but the flash, flash, flash.“The idea,” Neeson writes, “was that with crisp editing and endlessfootage, the thrill just kept coming. In fact it is an oddly anaesthetic expe-rience, devoid of human context; a great joy reduced to mere mechanics.”He’s right. Watching a highlight reel of Tony Hawk in a vert contest formore than ten minutes has more than a couple similarities with closeupsof Ron Jeremy pumping a porn star. Repetition, precision, inherent skill,and robotics, instead of the loose and fluid joys of skateboarding (and sex)as a whole. 111

The book also does a good job of marking the territorial boundariesthat skateboarding has claimed and the battles that it’s currently fighting.Case in point: rollerblades. I’m a mellow dude and if some young kid’sskating them, I figure they just don’t know better and do my best not totease them. But, if that kids turns out to be a run-snaking little fucker, the“This isn’t a slide!” taunts flow freely from my mouth. Jocko Weyland, in“Cracker Bastards vs. the Fat Dyke Bitch Brood” sheds a little more lighton my impulsive disgust. “The main reason is,” Jocko writes, “is thatrollerbladers have co-opted the style, clothing, and tricks of skateboard-ing and adapted them to a demonstrably inferior activity. They also havea penchant for acting laughably tough while trying to pass their eight-wheeled folly off as being comparable to skating. It isn’t…. They are par-asites who are unfortunately allowed to share space with skateboarders.”

In wrapping this up, Justin Hocking’s “Whaling,” provides an appro-priate bookend. “According to the imaginary bureaucrats in your head,you’re way to old to be skateboarding, but you’re still thinking maybe youcan get up and try the frontside air one more time before the pain reallysets in… Then Bronco slides down and kneels beside you. ‘Come on,’ hesays, grinning, ‘let’s get your ass up out of here.’”

With the hit ratio much higher than the misses, Life and Limb comeshighly recommended. –Todd (Soft Skull)

My Little Funnyby Kaz, 96 pgs.

My first introduction to Kaz was by a crazy guy, Frederique LeBastard, who would write me about the war books he was reading and theobscure punk rock he was listening to at the time. Nice guy. With all theletters, he’d include two or three comics by Kaz. I’d never seen thecomics before. Dark, funny, and drawn like they came from the spleen ofWalt Disney’s nightmare alter ego, I couldn’t stop laughing at them. MyLittle Funny is a great collection, the fifth, of Kaz’s syndicated strips.Here’s a taste of what you’re in for. Multiple, funny fart jokes. An “Awwtits! I’m doomed!” vibe. Fishermen having sex with big fish in lingeriethat aren’t, nor could ever be, mermaids. Polar bears getting a nice, mel-low high from tranquilizer darts and commenting on the buzz as “Frosty.”Smiley faces are replaced by skulls and crossbones. Unicorns with tattooskulls that gore little children. Once-cute animals have syringes stickingout of their arms as casually as if they were wearing necklaces. Shaved,masturbating gorillas. Recurring characters include Sam Snuff, who lookslike an alcoholic Popeye of the Apocalypse, and Creep Rat who looks likea coughed-up hairball with an “X” of band-aids approximately where his

belly button would be. If you’re trying to find that elusive (hypodermic)needle of a comic in a haystack that’ll give you giggles when you crackthe spine, My Little Funny’s just the right type of fucked-up medicine.–Todd (Fantagraphics Books, 7563 Lake City Way NE, Seattle, WA98115)

Pie Any Means Necessary: The Biotic Baking Brigade Cookbookedited by Agent Apple, 116 pgs.

A few years ago, I remember hearing about Bill Gates getting pied. Itseemed so simple, and yet, so perfect. There was something about thesheer humiliation of it all that stuck with me – and still makes me smilewhenever I think about it. Most businessmen are anonymous, and eventhose who are well-known rarely openly discuss their business with thepublic. In their own private circles, they are well respected and isolatedfrom the rest of us. But then, one day, after a mundane meeting about theprice of computer chips, WHAM! Right in the face!

Pie Any Means Necessary chronicles the tales of pie throwing aroundthe world, from economist Milton Friedman’s encounter with a coconutcreme variety to former San Francisco mayor Willie Brown’s collisionwith a mixture of tofu creme, pumpkin, and berry. There’s pie recipes(with the utmost consideration given to throw-ability), pieing photos, tonsof pie puns (“Cream and Punishment,” “No Pastry, No Peace”) and evena pieing folk song (“So if you cut down the last of the forests/Spew poi-son in the air/Don’t you be surprised to find/That cheesecake in yourhair”)!

My favorite section details the activities of Georges Le Gloupier, aFrench pie-thrower famous for having pied pro-war philosopher BernardHenri-Levy no less than five times! Le Gloupier, a classic Frenchmen,pays attention to culinary detail: “We only use the finest patisserie,ordered at the last minute from small local bakers. Quality is everything.If things go wrong, we eat them.”

Although this book would be even better if it had color photos insteadof just black and white, that’s a minor criticism. Really, this book is hilar-ious and provides inspiration to us all. Can you imagine someone pieing,say, Donald Rumsfeld? Or Dick Cheney? Of course, there would besomething amazing about pieing Dubya himself, but, as the writers of thisbook are quick to point out, pieing is even more successful when the vic-tim fails to joke about it and instead becomes enraged. I’d imagineDubya would find a way to have it turn out in his favor, butRumsfeld? Cheney? Ashcroft? Start preparing the crusts and thetopping! Its time to go forth and pie! –Maddy (AK Press)