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IISSSSUUEE #10

AD DEADLINE FOR ISSUE #11October 1st, 2002AD DEADLINE FOR ISSUE #12December 1st, 2002EMAIL OR MAIL US FOR THE RATES

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• Please make all checks out to Razorcake.

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www.razorcake.com

Razorcake and razorcak.com are slapped in the butt and made to whinny by:Sean Carswell, Todd Taylor, Felizon Vidad, ktspin, and Skinny Dan.

• Sean <[email protected]> • Todd <[email protected]> • • Rich Mackin <[email protected]> • Nardwuar <[email protected]> •

• Designated Dale <[email protected]> • • Rhythm Chicken <[email protected]> •

Everyone else can be reached c/o Razorcake.

RULE NUMBER ONE: DON’T BECOME AN ASSHOLE

“Few things are harder to put up with than a good example.” –Mark Twain

t’s not defeatist to admit we’re all a little hypocritical. Having asocial conscience, I’m aware of the ozone layer depleting, andthat my truck’s emissions are helping speed the process. Itsounds great that everyone should ride a bike, but what about

traveling bands and people who make magazines such as this one?(There’s no physical way I can load a thousand pounds of magazinesonto my Big Wheel. That’d pop me a mean wheelie, and the pedal’s upfront.) To produce, we make some concessions. Somehow, thismagazine has to balance out the abuse of everyday living with wordsand pictures.

I was reading a little piece of paper in the self-titled, really coolHarum Scarum record the other day. It detailed why one of the singers,the lady who did the “Get The Steamroller Off My Cookie Monster”vocals, quit the band. She cited the modern abuses of everything fromvehicular travel to electricity: toxic emissions, concrete, using non-renewable resources, dams, and ending her lament with the hope thatthis quite raging band will “go acoustic and tour on bicycles one day.”This rubbed me the wrong way. I’d like to think of myself as aconscientious objector to a lot of things, but down deep, I think there issuch a thing as “good” electrical use, “happy” electrical use – it powersamps, that when musical instruments are plugged into and turned upreally loud, makes me grin. The trick to learn is balance. This leads meto a story.

Almost all of our shirts were off and we were sweating. The RV’sair conditioning had decided to give up when the heat rose. We wereplaying a card game with quarters right before we pulled over to getsomething to eat at a gas station. Everyone piled out. Executive dietarydecisions were made. Three 18-packs, instead of two, were purchased. I

was with Dillinger Four, one of my favorite bands of all time, catchingup and hanging out. Paddy, the bassist, sat down across from me, andsaid, while unpeeling a silver wrapper, “I’ve never met a hot dog Ididn’t like.” Their roadie, Gerty, unfolded a knife and sawed off the topof a cup. Billy, the guitarist, smiled, and dipped his hot dog deep intosome cheese sauce. Return missions were deployed. More corn dogswere devoured. They were on sale. Hours later, playing songs thatcould choke out the radio, D4 proved to me why I think they’re one ofthe best bands – politically conscious or not – on the planet. Youcouldn’t have belt sanded off my smile as I beat on the curiously deepshag carpet that covered the stage.

With issue #10 of this magazine, we put a long-dead lady, theanarchist Emma Goldman, on our cover because she’s irrevocablychanged our lives, solely from books. Razorcake has a focus instead ofa list of rules. Sean and I follow case-by-case guidelines instead of adogma or a doctrine, and for it to continue to work, it will remain thatway. (Plus, both of us would look pretty darn silly wearing a priestcollar or a den mother’s skirt.) Pretending to be holy or chastising howothers live just isn’t our gig. (For example, just because I’m not vegandoesn’t mean I’m “anti-vegan,” I just chose to eat meat and I am fullyaware of the consequences.) I’ve always found it suspect that mostpeople who are knocking hot dogs, beer, or Otter Pops out of your hand– because they think these things are bad for you – look down on thosewho they think are uninformed, when it’s often a question of choice.What’s troublesome is that these missionaries often chastise others atthe cost of missing a greater possibility; having human electricityunexpectedly shock them. Folks like D4 and Emma Goldman, whopunks happen to stake value in, are the most helpful through the powerof chugging away at amazing songs and writing timeless books.

My only advice? I know we live in a complex world, but neverforget to have fun, and retain a sense of humor no matter what you endup doing, even if it’s serious business… it’ll help you from becomingan asshole.

II

#10

-Todd

Thank you list: Cover image thanks to the City Archives of Philadelphia.Primary source thanks to the kind folks at the Emma Goldman Papers Project, who allowed us to scan a picture of Emma for our cover andlayout; total cover-age thanks to Julia Smut Peddler; welcome to the fold thanks to Felizon Vidad; snug-fitting thanks to Megan Pants forher Epoxies interview and her record and zine reviews; synthesizer-specific thanks to Bob Cantu for his Von Steins interview; fuckconglomerates thanks to Jason Pankoke for his Indie Buyout article; scantastic thanks to Randy Iwata for the Michael Moore video grabs;spilled beer thanks to Namella J. Kim for her Fuse interview and record review; standing in your neighbor’s lawn thanks to Dan Monickfor his shots in Ben’s, Sean’s and Rich’s columns and some Epoxies pics; jesus cronky thanks Cuss Baxter for his zine and record reviews;ripitup, pool-clearing thanks to Bradley Williams and Mike Beer for their zine reviews; it’s tough job thanks to Donofthedead, SarahStierch, and Toby Tober for their record reviews; papercut thanks to the string of insert placers: Sara Isett, Megan Pants, and Dale.

Mohawks give kids more air to thebrain. They become smarter.

(photo by Dave Hornish, of his son, Ryan, who’s eight, in third grade, kills at baseball, and likes The Simpsons.)

Table of Contents

Ben Weasel. ............................. That Iron String .................... pg. 12

Rich Mackin ....................... The Twisted Balloon ......................... pg. 20

Art ..................................... Lil’ Beez and the Misfinks ............................... pg. 7

Sean Carswell ...................... A Monkey to Ride the Dog ........................ pg. 14

Felizon Vidad ................................... Shark Bait ................................ pg. 28

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

The Rhythm Chicken .................... The Dinghole Reports ................... pg. 22

Maddy ..................................... Shiftless When Idle ............................... pg. 8

Money ......................................... Lazy Mick .......................................... pg. 4

Designated Dale ...................... I’m Against It ..........................pg. 18

Jimmy Alvarado ................... I’m a Little Airplane .................. pg. 26

Indie Press Buyout ........................ Article by Jason Pankoke ..................... pg. 50

Gary Hornberger .......................... Squeeze My Horn ....................... pg. 24

Seth Swaaley ................ Swinging Door Conversations ............. pg. 30

Ayn Imperato ........................................ 94103 .................................. pg. 10

The Fuse! ............................. Interview by Namella Kim ...................... pg. 46

The Von Steins ..................... Interview by Bob Cantu .................. pg. 62 Michael Moore ........ Interviews by Nardwuar The Human Serviette ....... pg. 66

Shawn Granton .................................. Pabst Obsession ............................ pg. 35

Dan Monick ........................................ Pants ................................... pg. 71

Emma Goldman ........................ Article by Sean Carswell ................. pg. 54

Epoxies ............................. Interview by Megan Pants .................................. pg. 40Against Me! ........................ Article by Rich Mackin ...................... pg. 36

Record Reviews ........................... Don’t Get Caught Sleeping ................................... pg. 72

Book Reviews ................. Beware Aging Hipsters ............................ pg. 94Zine Reviews ..................... We Know Nothing about Rototillers ................ pg. 90

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

Razorcake is bi-monthly. Issues are $3.00 ppd. in the U.S. Yearly subscriptions (six issues) are $15.00. Plus you get some free shit. These prices are onlyvalid for people who live in the US and are not in prison. Issues and subs are more for every-one else (because we have to pay more in postage). Write us and we’ll give you a price.

Cutting. Tasty.

Issue #10, Oct./Nov. 2002

Holidays in the Rain

Day OneOur arrival was as smooth as a

pint of Guinness. At LondonGatwick Airport, Noel recognizedNick Cash of 999 and we stoppedto say hello. We bumped into Nickand the gang again at the airport inDublin, and we caught a ride withthem into town in the H.I.T.S.(Holidays in the Sun) coach. Mickthe driver drove us through the dri-ving rain right to where we werestaying: the Brewery Hostel onThomas Street, about a block and ahalf from the Vicar Street Venue. Itcould not have been any easier.

We checked in and took a napto prepare ourselves for a longnight out. When we awoke, wewere groggy, disoriented and out ofsorts. In other words, in desperateneed of a drink. When we got toVicar Street, we were in for a jolt.There were skinheads everywhere.Big skins, little skins, old skins, fatskins. Skinheads, skinheads, skin-heads. Noel and I looked at eachother as if to say: I’ll watch yourback; you watch mine. But weneedn’t have worried. In the crowd,at the bar, and in the bog, the skinswere perfect gents. Unlike theirAmerican cousins, no one seemedto have a chip on their shoulder andthey weren’t interested in randomacts of thuggery.

Appropriately enough, thefirst act we saw was an Irish punkband called Blood or Whiskey. I’dlistened to them years before whenI wrote for Flipside. I really likedtheir traditional Irish meets punkrock approach and was looking for-ward to seeing them. They didn’tdisappoint. Blood or Whiskey is asix-piece that features a bouzouki,guitar, tin whistle, bass, drums andbanjo. Depending on who issinging, they sound like ThePogues, Dropkick Murphys andSwingin’ Utters, but they play as ifthey’d never heard of any them. Itwas a lively, entertaining set.

After determining that BrokenBones was more metal than punk,we spent most of their set at the bar

drinking with Arthur

of 999, who was also in TheLurkers. You can’t miss Arthur.He’s about 6’5”, 275 lbs. and canreally put the pints away. He greet-ed Noel with a bear hug that liftedher a good foot off the ground.Before he went on to play I heardhim in the bog singing “Pissing forJesus” with the solemnity of a con-cert soloist. 999 went on and theyreally surprised me with their ener-gy, setting a precedent for the restof the bands of the old guard, whichis to say, everyone. Nick looks likea big-bellied bloke with a perma-nent scowl notched in his shaved

head, but when the music started hewas his old self again, just singinghis ass off and having a good time.They played all the old favoritesincluding “Feeling All Right withthe Crew” and closed with

“Homicide”. Like many of thebands, it was 999’s first perfor-mance on Irish soil.

After the set, Nick took usbackstage, but there was very littlebooze to be had, and I couldn’tbring myself to pinch from thestash. I ran into Daryl fromCocksparrer whom I’d met in L.A.at the Variety Arts Theater. I alsohad the pleasure of meeting Johnfrom Captain Oi Records who,aside from bearing a strikingresemblance to Alexi from the TheYoung Ones, wasted no time indeclaring that Razorcake was the

best ‘zine in America. Daryl andJohn are in Argy Bargy together.We set up an interview, but it didn’thappen; visitors to the Isle ofMuddy Stout should be advisedagainst scheduling appointments

before four o’clock in the after-noon.

When the Business took thestage I was anticipating that theskinheads in the audience wouldlose their fucking minds, but it did-n’t happen. There was no circle pit,just a small area at the front of thestage where people gathered to singand dance, and the bald wall wentfour, five and six skins deep. It wasan impressive sight. Up on stageMick was his gregarious self, butwhen someone launched a pint atTerry the bass player (more on thisphenomenon in a bit), he got veryupset and had to be restrained. Heinvited “the cunt who threw thepint” to come up on stage, but therewere no takers.

After much pomp and fanfare,the Stiff Little Fingers took thestage. Even though frontman JakeBurns is the only original memberof the band (Bruce Foxton of TheJam has been with the band since1991), I was really curious to seethem. They came to the States nottoo long ago but their SoCal gigsgot cancelled as a result of the dis-turbance on 9/11. It might interestyou to know that SLF began as acover band. Their name comesfrom a song off the first Vibratorsalbum, Pure Mania. They openedwith “Suspect Device,” my favoriteSLF song and it went downhillfrom there. The songs weren’t asfast as I’d remembered and Jakewas clearly getting off on his powerchords. When he almost got hitwith a plastic pint glass, he threat-ened to stop the show. I wish hehad. “Nobody’s Heroes” and“Listen” seemed to last forever.With close to a thousand people inthe joint, the setting could hardly becalled intimate, but they played likethey were in a football stadiumpacked to capacity. They closedwith “Alternative Ulster,” a songnamed for a Belfast fanzine. Noelthought they were great, but I wasglad when the Stiff Little Wankersended their set and I could get backto having a good time. At least theydidn’t play any fucking reggae.

We went with a Dublin nativenamed Gavin in search of a pub.

Lazy MickLazy Mick

“Yeah, I’m a fat bastard, but I’m a safe bet. When was the last time you saw a fat man with AIDS?”

Lazy Mick

Peter Test Tube

4

We ended up at a place called theThomas Head near Christchurch.Heads turned as we walked into thetrendy nightspot and we made ourway to the bar on the bottom floor.It was not where Gavin wanted totake us, but it was raining (again)and I did not relish walking in itwith a powerful thirst on me. Ibought three shooters but no onewould drink them with me (somuch for stereotypes about Irishbeing heavy drinkers), so I drankone, brought one back to the bar-tender, and drank the other one. Ispent the rest of the night noddingand agreeing with what others weresaying. My night was pretty muchdone. When the bar closed we wentto a Chinese takeaway (Hey! Hey!Woowoohoo!) and had our firstmeal in twenty-four hours: sweetand sour chicken, beef and broc-coli, and a plate of chips. (That’sfrench fries for you ignorant non-world traveling fucks.) We wereastonished and amused that theChinese restaurant served chips,but we shouldn’t have been. We atesome form of potato with nearlyevery meal. We were, after all, inthe Promised Land of the Spuds.Grace be to God and pass the saltand vinegar…

Day TwoDublin gets its name for the

Irish words for “black” and “pool,”which describes how my head feltwhen I awoke Saturday morning.When one finds oneself in a tinyroom on a cool spring morning inthe merry month of May with therain softly falling on the window-pane and the bedwarmed flesh of abeautiful young woman by yourside, the only thing to do is makelove like crazy until you have suffi-ciently fucked yourself out of yourhangover, even if the bed you are inis creakier than a rusty rockingchair. The creakiest beds in the uni-verse, we discovered, can be foundin the hostels in the fair city ofDublin.

And now I will let you in onthe secret of Dublin hostels. It isrelatively easy to get a private roomduring the week, but it is consider-ably harder to find one on theweekend, especially during thetourist season. Many hostels offerprivate apartments for rent. Theseapartments are almost never adver-tised and can be had for ten euros orso more than the cost of a privateroom. It’s totally worth it, especial-ly if you’re traveling with a largegroup of people. In the hostel prop-er you get charged per person, butthe apartments are rented at a night-ly rate. You get a bedroom, a frontroom with sofa and television, aprivate bath and a kitchen with allthe amenities, including washingmachine. (Don’t bother looking for

a dryer; they don’t exist in this partof the world.) We tested the bed. Itwas creaky. The only downside wasour apartment behind the BreweryHostel smelled like beans, althoughit could have been an odor from theGuinness Brewery. It is said thefirst sensation a baby born in thenearby hospital experiences is thedistinct scent of Guinness beingbrewed.

On my first visitto Dublin in the sum-mer of 1992, I wasdick-in-the-dirt brokeand could barelyafford to feed myself,much less drink andsmoke. I have fondmemories of a fishand chip shop nearChristchurch that pro-vided huge portions offried goodness saturat-ed with salt and vine-gar and wrapped innewspaper. The placehad no tables or chairs.You placed your order,paid and got the fuckout. It wasn’t expen-sive, but it wasn’t cheapeither, and I could onlyafford it if I made it myonly meal of the day. Itwas worth it. Saturdayafternoon we endeav-ored to find it, and wedid, which should comeas no surprise asBurdock’s Fish andChips has been in busi-ness since 1913. Weplaced our orders andtook our catch down acobblestone lane behindChristchurch and ate inthe shadow of the massivemedieval cathedral. It’s momentslike these when you realize younever want to set foot in anothermini mall again. We waddled backto the apartment and took a “nap.”Creak, creak, creak.

Fortified, rested and clean, wewere ready for another night ofpunk rock. Although we were sadthat Nick, Guy, and Pablo from 999had all gone home, Arthur was stillaround and more bands were arriv-ing by the hour. We arrived right asThe Varukers took the stage. TheVarukers are heavy. Very heavy,like Sick on the Bus or EnglishDogs. It’s an arresting combinationof punk, oi and metal. Their newalbum How Do They Sleep? isexcellent. The Varukers bass playerwas one of the few performers whostuck around for all three nights ofH.I.T.S. He never seemed to miss aset and partied long into the smallhours with a smile on his face. Iasked him what made him so happy(code words for “Got any gooddrugs?”) and he indicated his secret

was his girlfriend, a statuesqueJapanese punk rocker.

After The Varukers, we wentto the bar to look for the gang fromVice Squad, whom Noel hadbefriended the last time they werein the States. Beki, Paul, Tony, andMichael were all having a fewpints. Beki was H.I.T.S. bona fidesuperstar, turning heads every-

where she went. Her boyfriend,Paul, Vice Squad’s guitar player,was super nice, although I stilldon’t understand the hair, which islong and could be described as ametal mullet. Michael, the bassplayer, was the most charming,with lots of great stories and awealth of information. (For exam-ple, the two-fingered salute that isthe UK’s equivalent to the middlefinger that we yanks are wont toassociate with Sid Vicious comesfrom a time when the English andthe French were at war. Wheneverthe French captured the Englishthey would cut off their prisoner’sfirst two fingers, which effectivelyincapacitated them as archers forthey could no longer notch anarrow and draw back on the bow.The two fingered salute became away for English soldiers to tauntthe French by showing them thatthey had never been captured.)

Next, Peter & the Test Tubesput on a rousing performance. I hadheard mixed reviews of previousshows, but I was entertained and

then some by the Tubes’ perfor-mance. The Mating Songs of SouthAmerican Bullfrogs was one of myfavorite albums as an angry youngkid (I didn’t realize there were key-boards on the record until I listenedto it on CD many years later). I wasthrilled to hear “Jinx” and “BlownOut Again.” Peter was good ingood humor: “Yeah, I’m a fat bas-

tard, but I’m a safe bet.When was the last timeyou saw a fat man with

AIDS?” It was a greatset. Peter was around allthree days and spentmost of his time onstage lending the stagemanager a hand, adjust-ing mic stands, pickingup pint glasses hurledform the crowd, etc. Apunk rocker’s punkrocker. Fans of Peter andthe Test Tube Babieswill be thrilled to hearthat Captain Oi! isreleasing all of their oldalbums.

Next up wasMenace, a band I knownext to nothing aboutso I’m not going to pre-tend that I do. But theywere damn good andI’ll be looking for themon my next trip toAmoeba. While I wasstanding there watch-ing the set, I took noteof the countless plas-tic pint glasses thatwere launched up onstage. Ireland has allkinds of weird sportslike hurling – a cross

between rugby and lacrosse – butIreland’s true national sport is pinttossing. The object is to hit a per-former on stage with a glass ofstout or lager. The pint, however,has to be nearly full so that the tar-get is thoroughly soaked. Althoughit was arresting, beautiful even, tosee pints sailing through the air, itseemed to me like a criminal wasteof beer. We’re not talking about apint here or there, but hundreds ofpints a night. Pint tossing is harderthan it looks. The singer and guitarplayers move around and usuallykeep an eye out for missiles comingtheir way. The drummer is an easytarget but is protected by his equip-ment. On more than one occasion Iwatched a pint soar toward thedrummer’s kit only to clatter harm-lessly off the cymbals at the lastminute.

The highlight of the night wasthe headliner Cockney Rejects. Afew years ago, Rhythm Vicar re-released Greatest Hits Vols. 1, 2,and 3. As a kicker, they added arecording of the Rejects live in thelate ‘90s, and it was 5

Beki Vice Squad

pretty much unlistenable. I got toH.I.T.S. San Francisco too late tosee them a year ago, but by mostaccounts, I didn’t miss much.Experience has taught me not toexpect too much from my favoritebands, especially when seeing themlive for the first time. I don’t knowif it was the short flight fromLondon or the water from theWicklow Mountains, but theCockney Rejects were awesome.For my money, it was the best showof the weekend. I was expectingJeff to look like a fat auld lager-bel-lied sod, but the raucous East Enderwas in excellent shape and lookedlike he could still do somedamage on the pitch. TheRejects played all theclassic songs: “I’m Not aFool,” “Bad Man,” “HereThey Come Again,”“The War of theTerraces,” “The GreatestCockney Rip-off” andon and on. Once again,the crowd was enthusi-astic but mellow. It wasan amazing show I’llnever forget.

Everyone filedout of the club to hitthe after-party atEamon Doran’s inTemple Bar. Weshared a cab withtwo Dubliners, and itwould prove to be afortuitous ride. Thegent’s name wasBoz and is some-thing of a punkrock Renaissance man. Hisband Steampig played earlier thatnight and he is the principal writer,artist and editor for his zineNosebleed. Don’t be surprised if hiswarped artwork shows up in thesepages someday soon. The woman,whom we’ll call Ms. Kitty, hadrecently returned to Dublin afterrunning a skateboard shop in NewZealand. More on her later… It’salways a great scene when punkrockers take over a bar, and that’swhat happened at Eamon Doran’s,and the Celtic nouveau yuppies atthe bar took it in stride. It seemed asif half the crowd from Vicar Streetwas in the massive three-story pub.Everyone got pretty shit-faced. Wehad a few more drinks with ViceSquad, the Argy Bargy boys andDanny from Anti-Nowhere League,who is a pro-skater. When we hitthe wall, Noel and I went next doorfor some pizza and walked back toour apartment in the rain. By thetime we hit the sheets, the sun wascreeping up over the Irish Sea.

Day ThreeSaturday was an election day

in Dublin, and Sunday’s press cov-erage was the last bit of hard news

the citizens of the city by the Liffeywould receive for the next fiveweeks as it steeled itself for WorldCup frenzy. On a more interestingnote, Britain’s NME made punkrock the lead stories and featuredthe Sex Pistols on the cover. Weread these with interest over a mid-morning Irish breakfast nearDublin Castle. We went back to theapartment and rearranged the furni-ture in the front room. After a longnap, we decided to eat again andhad an authentic Irish dinner ofGuinness, smoked salmon andshepherd’s pie. We were, as theysay, ready to rock.

If Friday night more or lessfeatured early Anglo and Irishpunk, and Saturday night wasstrictly for the oi boys, then Sundaywas hardcore night at Vicar Street.We got there too late to seeSplodgenessabounds, and SpecialDuties was just starting to crank itup. (Ironically, Special Duties’ firstgig was in support of Splodge.) Itwas hard, fast and raucous. SteveArrogant summed up the set withhis closing remarks: “If anyonewants to suck my dick or buy me abeer, I’ll be backstage.” Nice workif you can get it.

Next up was GBH. I wasnever much of a GBH fan and thiswas my first time seeing them live.I was impressed with Colin’s show-manship and ability to duck pintglasses. Unlike a lot of Brit punks,GBH look like musicians and notarmchair football fanatics and lagerlads. A young fan near the front wassinging with his camera in hand, soColin gave him the mic, took hiscamera, and photographed himsinging along with GBH. He didthe same thing with a skinhead’s

video camera. It was nice and all,but I spent more time in the queueat the bar than I did watching theset.

The Anti-Nowhere Leaguewas Noel’s favorite band ofH.I.T.S. San Francisco, and theyput on another spirited perfor-mance. To say that lead vocalistAnimal is an odd fucker is anunderstatement. There is nothingpunk rock about his hair, clothing,or stage demeanor. He comesacross like a cocaine cowboy fromyesteryear when hair was big andtrousers were tight. Boz fromNosebleed called the set a wankfest

and judging from the number ofpints aimed Animal’s way, I thinkthere were plenty of punks in agree-ment. I thought it was a solid set. Toget a taste of Animal’s perversesense of humor, check out his“History of the Anti-NowhereLeague” on the band’s website at<www.antinowhereleague.com>and read about the most vile andintrusive use of a carrot in the“annals” of rock and roll…

The Exploited wrapped up theweekend with an explosive set.Wattie is a stand-up punk who has-n’t slowed down a bit althoughsomething must be done about thathorrible hair. Those mohawkeddreadlocks are getting so long it’sstarting to look like a mullet. Ourfriend Gavin was in seventh heav-en, pogoing away like a kid. Again,I was stunned and amazed by thecivility of the crowd. When the setwas nearly over I went and askedone of the bouncers how manyfights there had been over theweekend. His answer was, “None.”Unbelievable. Punks and skins,Irish and English, all one big happy

family. Sure the ritual of throwingperfectly good pints in the air is alittle strange, but if it takes the edgeoff and eliminates the need topound one’s neighbor into oblivion,I’m all for it.

After the set it was back toEamon Doran’s for another after-party celebration. A band was sup-posed to play in the cellar but theshow was cancelled. Everyonewent about the task of getting morehammered than they already were. Iobserved that some bands werepaid in full (I was the recipient ofseveral shots of Jack Daniels) butother bands were not, which struckme as a lousy thing to do to a bandjust trying to get by in a foreigncountry. Anyway, the party moved

downstairs where a DJ spunpunk records and we drankto U.S. Bombs andFlogging Molly. When theykicked us out of the cellar,we went to the pizza parloragain, and when they kickedus out of the pizza parlor, wehit the street and staggeredback toward Vicar Street andour apartment. On the way wewere joined by some wise-assDublin club kid who some-how ended up with a slice ofour pizza and proclaimed that“America had it coming. Overhere, every day is Sept. 11!”We weren’t much interested inhis political views. When wereached Christchurch, Ms. Kittyinvited me, Noel and a guitarplayer who shall remain name-less up to her apartment. Ithought we were going up for anightcap, but when we got therewe were presented with a room

decked out with a red velvet loveseat, red velvet curtains and a redvelvet bedspread. This is interest-ing, I thought, seedy but interest-ing. Ms. Kitty then led us down thehall and opened the door to a full-on dungeon outfitted with all man-ner of bits, whips, manacles, andrestraints. Mounted on a tripod inthe corner was a very expensive-looking video camera. Noel and Imade polite conversation for a fewminutes and excused ourselves,thinking Ms. Kitty had designs onthe punk rocker she had lured backto her lair. We got in the elevatorand laughed all the way down to thelobby. When we hit the street, thepunk rocker was already there! Hecouldn’t get out of there fastenough, and fled down the stairs.“That bird is bleedin’ mad!” hesaid, and we all had a good laugh.All around us people in suits pre-pared for another week of work inthe Hibernian capital. Noel and Iwent home, rearranged the furni-ture some more and creakedourselves to sleep. –Money

Mickey Fitz, the Business

all photos by Money

Shiftless When IdleMad

dy

RR azorcake readers, I apologize. Instead ofmy usual ramblings about Dee DeeRamone, Vikings, and rock and roll,

today, I am gonna get serious. Today, I am gonnatalk about the Portland zine convention. Now,wait! Don’t stop reading and just skip rightaway to Ben Weasel’s column! (Welcome to Mr.Weasel, by the way!) I know, I know, we are allscared of zine conventions and the prospect ofhanging out with hundreds of fellow zinesters.It sounds about as much fun as being stuck in akayak in the middle of the Nile with Carrot Topand the collective members of Pearl Jam, butbear with me! This isn’t a dumb story about howI went to such and such record store on such andsuch day, and met up with a buncha friends youdon’t know about. This isn’t a chance to dropnames! This is a chance to tell you about how I,Maddy, Razorcake writer and Sour Patch Kid-lover, am a white supremacist. Seriously!

The convention took place a few weeks agoand there was a Friday evening kickoff – lots ofzine readings and bands. I was scheduled toread, along with some other zinesters. Little didI know what was to follow! I read a story frommy zine, Tight Pants, about puking on aGreyhound bus. In case you haven’t read it (and,don’t worry, this is important to understand therest of this sad, sad tale), the basic story is as fol-lows. I got really drunk before getting on a mid-night Greyhound to Chicago from Minneapolis,with the hopes of being able to remain passedout for the full ten-hour trip. (As we all know,alcohol is the solution to every problem.) A fewhours into the trip, I woke up and started to feelridiculously sick. And then a very large womansat down next to me, blocking my exit to the

bathroom. And suddenly, I had to

puke. Right then. Iscrambled to get outin the aisle, practical-ly mounting thiswoman, and rantowards the bath-room, grabbed thedoor, leaned forward,and started pukingeverywhere! Ofcourse, the eyes ofevery Greyhoundpassenger were onme, and I quicklyshut the door andcontinued puking. Inthe original versionof this story, there’sall sorts of gross puk-ing descriptions. Inthe interest of brevity,I’ll just say that,

when I emerged from the bathroom, everyonewas still staring at me. I made my way to theseat. My seat-mate got up to let me in, and thenmoved way over on her seat, giving me abouthalf a seat of extra room, with most of her bodyout in the aisle, and said to me, with a look ofutter distaste, “Damn, you nasty!” in what couldbe best described as a “Jerry Springer guest”type voice.

The story went over well, and I was mind-ing my own business, hanging out with myfriends Maureen and Ben, when a guy and a girlapproached me.

“We want to talk to you for a minute.” “Okay,” I said, figuring that it had some-

thing to do with a workshop on stealing that Iwas leading on Sunday. (Yes, I actually did leada workshop on stealing! Punk rock!) The threeof us went out into the hallway, as the rest of thereadings were still going on.

One of them, I can’t remember which,opened with, “We wanted to let you know thatwe were really offended by your story.”

The other interjected, “We were reallyoffended by the way you made fun of thatwoman’s accent. Making fun of the way blackpeople talk isn’t funny.”

Surprised, I replied, “Well, how did youknow she was black? Lots of people, black andwhite, talk that way. And, although I do mentionthat she was black in the original version of thestory, I left it out in the shortened versiontonight.”

“Look, that’s how black people talk. Youknow that. That’s an imitation of the way blackpeople talk,” one of them said.

“That’s just not true,” I protested, “andbesides, that’s just the way she said it. And I

think it’s funny, and everyone else seemed tothink it was funny, too.”

“I bet black people wouldn’t find it toofunny.”

“Actually, I’ve told the story to a lot of peo-ple at my job, most of whom are black, and allof them thought it was hilarious.”

“We came to this convention because wethought it would be a safe space, and it’s justupsetting to find out that it’s not,” they said.

At this point, as though on cue, someonecame up to me and said, “Cool to see you here!Funny fucking story!”

Then one of the two who had approachedme said, “I just think that all of this is indicativeof a white supremacist way of thinking.”

“What?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “I thinkthat to call me a white supremacist is crazy.”

“What???” they both said in unison.“I think that to call me a white supremacist

is crazy,” I repeated. At this point, they wereclearly at a loss. And so, they changed the sub-ject. Sort of.

“And, another thing,” one of them said,voice rising. “We thought it was pretty sizest ofyou to make fun of the woman for being large.”

“Look,” I said, “first of all, it was importantto the story. I wouldn’t have had to practicallymount that woman if she hadn’t been so large.And also, have you ever read my zine?”

“No,” they both replied.“Well, I make fun of myself a lot in my

zine. And besides, it is a funny story.” Theyshook their heads gravely. Finally, I said, “I justdon’t see where this is going. You’re not goingto convince me, and I’m not going to convinceyou. I just don’t see the point.” After saying this,the two walked off in a huff. My friend Ben saidhe saw them two minutes later giving each otherwhat he described as “a very emo hug.” He alsonoted that the guy seemed to be shaking and cry-ing.

Perhaps the three words to best sum up mycritical and analytic comments about this inci-dent would be, “What the fuck?” I’ve writtenzines for the last nine years, in which, amongstother things, I vividly describe cool ways to killyourself, proclaim my hatred for most girls, andwrite extensively about the various cruel andsadistic ways I “cared for” my pets, and this iswhat arouses so much outrage? In the grandscheme of things, this is about as benign as I get!I mean, my old zine got compared to AnswerMe!, for Christ’s sake!

And not only were they offended, they usedthe phrase “safe space,” which is perhaps myleast favorite phrase and/or concept of all time!It’s fine if you’re offended by something. Infact, you might even argue that writing thatdoesn’t appeal to every last woman, infant,

And if some of us are vegan and some of us work for porn distribution centers, we can still be friends!

8

Maddy

child, and pet turtle is better, or at least moreinteresting, than, say, Family Circus. But no, it’snot just that people are offended. It’s that theyfeel like they have a right not to be offended.They have a right to a “safe space,” where noone is ever going to challenge their beliefs orsay anything that they don’t agree with. Noone’s gonna stray from what two kids in aPortland auditorium think. Right? Right?

If I seem angry and annoyed by this, well,it’s because, although it’s funny and makes for agood story, it worries me. I’m worried that peo-ple like those two at the Portland zine conven-tion might actually make some people “tonedown” their writing out of ridiculous fears ofbeing called racist, sexist, sizest, whatever.Think about a Mark Twain novel written asthough everyone spoke “perfect” BritishEnglish. Or a Nelson Algren story where none ofthe women are described as either attractive orugly, fat or skinny, so as to avoid objectifyinganyone. I’d like to think that it’s just somethingin the Portland water. (After all, that’s where JimGoad of Answer Me! zine made the news after agirl complained about the content of his zine,landing a local retailer in some serious legaltrouble.) Maybe on the west coast, in “idyllic”college towns, people want to seek out some-thing they find offensive ‘cause they never dealwith real racism. Maybe, and this is perhapsmore accurate, it’s just that certain people takethemselves too seriously.

Growing up in the Midwest, land of beer,cheese, and sweatpants, I’ve never met anyonelike those two at the zine convention. I don’tthink it’s inaccurate to say that, in Wisconsin(where I’m from), people are not so uptight.Sure, people recognize racism when they see it,

and people do get into serious arguments aboutpolitics, but in the Milwaukee punk scene noone’s gonna kick me out of a show for wearinga shirt with a naked woman on it, or try to getAnswer Me! removed from a bookstore for jok-ing about rape. No one’s gonna act superior fornot watching television when someone startstalking about their favorite show. (This actuallyhappened in Portland. I’ll spare you the details.)I’m not saying that I hate Portland. I don’t evenknow if that incident was representative ofsomething greater in their scene. (Or if the peo-ple who approached me were even fromPortland.) But I do know that, in the Midwest,sure we have our problems. But, at the end of theday, we kick backwith a corporate-brand cheap beer,some episodes of TheSimpsons (on televi-sion, no less!), and eatour cheese-encrustedpizza with great joyand mirth! And,frankly, that’s the wayI like it! We go to ourprotests; we plan ourbasement shows; weput out our zines. Andif some of us arevegan and some of uswork for porn distrib-ution centers, we canstill be friends! (And Ihave friends in bothcategories – I wish Iwere the latter!) Wedon’t need a “safe

space”! We can talk and debate and let the bestideas win out. And, no matter what, we can stilldrink together. Unless, of course, some of us arestraightedge. Ha!

So, although I had a lot of fun doing otherstuff at the zine convention, met a lot of greatpeople, stayed at a cool punkhouse, saw AgainstMe (so good!), and got a peek at the huge UnionPacific railyard (punk!), I think I’ll stick to theMidwest. Let’s hear it for the fat middle of thecountry where I can write my zine in (relative)peace! Thanks for bearing with my annoyingrantings. Next time around, I promise to go backto writing about dumb crap. The end!–Maddy

Maddy

Everyone Needs a Gnome

I opened my mailbox this after-noon. Inside, a record I orderedwas stuffed, folded nearlyclamshell style. But my vinyl tacowas only slightly troubling. It waspacked in there along with threebills, a credit card offer and - muchmore disturbing – three or four use-less product catalogs. More andmore pour in every day. They spillout like a tiny paper avalanchefrom my tinier mailbox.

How do I get on these mailinglists? You order something onlinewith a credit card once and sudden-ly your mail is packed withthese…these catalogs. Theyshould just send a wedge of treeinstead. Just deposit a large log onmy doorstep and save the printingand mailing costs. Isn’t it enoughto be bombarded with 50 spamemails a day for penis enlarge-ments, porn-cams and 30 Days toFinancial Freedom? Now I need towrestle with this?

My boss gets a ton of these cat-alogs also. Between her mail andmine, I have amassed an enviableknowledge of useless products.Not in my wildest fantasies wouldI have imagined some of theseneedless items existed. I havedeveloped a perverse fascinationwith cutting out the funniest onesand sending them to friends. I nowactually know where to purchasecast-resin cherubs and gnomes. Aswell as polyester pull-on stretchslacks and flowered grandmamuumuu dresses should I, or any-one else I know, ever have a lapseof fashion sanity.

One of the worst catalogoffenders is The InternationalMale – high fashion for, apparent-ly, the Florida-based man. TotalMiami Vice get-ups. Flippingthrough this catalog, I am left towonder: would the world be forlack without knee-length gauzecaftans for men or tri-colored poly-ester shirts worn with “oyster”-

toned trousers? I10

We’ll roast marshmallows in the toxic flames and drink beer from whimsical, light-up, self-cooling mugs.

Here you can purchase a gnome figurine, as well as a lawn goose complete with seasonal,interchangeable outfits for only $19.99, much like my own featured goose. Only $19.99!

think not. Amid the bevy of bright-ly colored and patterned swimsuitbanana hammocks, I am left withthe question – do we need a purpleand gold celestial-print thong? Isense a resounding no. And I’msure we will all be relieved whenno poet or pirate shirts will everagain be sold in the greaterNorthern Hemisphere. Maybe inMiami loudly patterned, tri-toned,man-made fabric shirts with whiteslacks are all the rage. Maybe I’mjust not “with it.” But here in SanFrancisco there isn’t a man I know,of any sexual persuasion, whowould be caught dead in thesefashion tragedies. Maybe I am sti-fling one’s creative urge to dresspoorly. Sue me. I’ll send these cat-alogs to where you live.

At Taylor’s Gifts you can buy alawn statue of a dog crafted to looklike it is burrowing into your lawnlooking for a bone. It is only atorso with the hind legs stickingout. No head. It is essentially aplastic beagle’s ass. Would you pay$19.98 for a polyeuretheyne beaglebutt? Who, I decry, would?

Looking for a garden gnome?Carol Wright gifts has a staggeringdisplay. Here you can purchase agnome figurine, as well as a lawngoose complete with seasonal,interchangeable outfits for only$19.99, much like my own fea-tured goose. Only $19.99! Six tiny,changeable outfits! Or perhaps anAmerican Flag windsock ticklesyour fancy? An array of seasonaldog costumes? Please, buy a plas-

tic crumb catcher to place betweenyour oven and kitchen wall toavoid unnecessary fallout! Lightup plastic ice cubes – neon colors!Only $12.99 for a three-pack!Electric salad tongs! Shoes withspikes in the bottom to fertilize andaerate your lawn! A portableThighmaster – Suzanne Sommersneeds her royalty residuals in thisfailing economy. Damn it, do yourpart!

If you look at these things longenough, you start to think: I coulduse a self-adhering checkerednylon skirt for our bathroom sink,to hide those unsightly pipesunderneath. And we could use thecardboard couch seat booster toplump up our sagging leopardcouch seat cushions. These are the

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weak moments in life. I know I willhit a personal low if I ever kickdown $9.99 for a Snoopy-printedplastic holder for our kitchensponge.

I have tried writing the directmarketing place that supposedlyremoves your name from all mail-ing lists. I suspect they just signyou up for more. Probably at a dol-lar a piece. The catalogs are stillrolling in. I have relegated a specialrecycle can for The Catalogs, lestthey invade any other sector of mylife.

Maybe I’ll start to hold month-ly bonfires – regular catalog blazeswhere everyone can bring all theirjunk mail, all their catalogs, andwe’ll burn it back into the earth.We’ll roast marshmallows in thetoxic flames and drink beer fromwhimsical, light-up, self-coolingmugs.

Another thought haunts me: Iwonder what happens to all thoseunsold items? There must be aclearinghouse, a mega-store inBoise packed with this stuff.Everything’s a dollar. Even thegnomes.

Maybe they ship the stuff backto some third world country fromwhence it came, where it was quitepossibly crafted in a dollar-a-daysweatshop. Maybe the stuff sitsthere in a giant pile, like a museum

attraction, for the locals to stroll byand chuckle at the dumb stuffAmericans buy: “Plastic beaglerear ends! What idiots!”

Maybe they melt the plasticdown into huge globular vats andmake more useless shit. Maybethat’s why some plastic smells sofunny. It may very well be themelted-down hybrid of plasticsalad tongs and unsold dolls.Reused thirty, forty, fifty times likesome bizarre Frankenplastic. Bychance a person or a rodent or twofell into the mix over the years.Someone thought it might be fun todive into the bubbling vat and did acannonball to the bottom, only tobe absorbed like a tiny flower ofguest soap, dissolving in water.There are legends in there, in thoseneedless gifts.

But what does this all mean inthe greater span of organic human-ity vs. economics? I do not know. Ijust wanted to share with you theavalanche of my mailbox, whichcould very well be your mailbox –this consumer reality I must faceevery single day. Of Day-Gloorange, moisture wicking socks. Ofelectric automatic avocado slicers.Of little plastic clips that hold yoursocks together in the dryer. Oftwenty dollar plastic dog butts. Ithink, somehow, that says it all.

–Ayn Imperato

Poisoning Schoolchildrenand Other Patriotic Activities

With five minutes left to go in class, theprincipal came on the loudspeaker to tell every-one that a rocket had exploded, releasing a poi-sonous gas cloud. No one was allowed to leavetheir classroom until the poisonous cloudpassed. So there I was – perhaps the world’smost reluctant junior high school teacher – stuckwith thirty-five twelve-year-olds, waiting for apoisonous gas cloud to pass. Since there wereonly five minutes left in class, all of our class-work for the day was done. Since I was a first-year teacher in a horribly under-funded school, Ididn’t have my own classroom. I roamed fromone classroom to another during the day, bring-ing whatever books and supplies I could carry.This meant that, in case of emergency, I had no

back-up materials: no games for the kids to play,no books with stories that I could read to thekids, no movies to show. Just to aggravate mat-ters even more, when the poisonous gas cloudshowed up, I was teaching in a football coach’sclassroom. He had no back-up plan either. Heonce told me, “When kids get bored and act upin class, just make them do jumping jacks. Ittires the little bastards out.”

The only thing I had going for me when thegas cloud floated overhead (and on any otherday that I taught junior high, for that matter) wasthat I was big and mean-looking. I kept my headshaved pretty close to the scalp and I wore DocMartens to school every day and a few of mystudents had seen me at an all-ages US Bombsshow earlier in the semester, going nuts in the pitand doing shots with Duane Peters, and thosestudents told everyone in the school about it. SoI wouldn’t say that the students feared orrespected me, but I could occasionally

intimidate them.The principal had said that the gas cloud

would pass in forty minutes or so, so I figuredI’d just move on to the next day’s assignment. Istood up and told the students to quiet down andopen their books. I opened my planning bookand glanced down at my lesson plans for thenext day. Prepositions. Jesus, I thought, as bor-ing as grammar normally is, this may be themost boring part of it. I launched into the assign-ment anyway, talking about how a preposition isanything you can do _____ a cloud. You know:in a cloud, underneath a cloud, surrounded by acloud, etc. – which probably wasn’t the best wayto explain it, what with the poisonous gas cloudabove us. I talked for a couple of minutes, thenasked one student to give me an example of apreposition. He said, “Who cares?”

“No, ‘who cares?’ is an interrogative state-ment,” I said. “Who can give me an example ofa preposition?”

I figured it would do Billy some good to be humbled and it would do Glenton some goodto let out some of his rage. Besides that, there was a fucking poisonous gas cloud outside.

Photo by Dan Monick

Stacy, a pretty intelligent smartass, raisedher hand. I gambled that she might actually betaking a shot at the question and said, “Yes,Stacy?”

“Are we going to die?” Stacy asked.“You’re getting closer,” I said, undaunted

and acting naïve. “‘To’ is a preposition, but notin that sentence. When you say, ‘Are we goingto die?’, the ‘to’ in that sentence is half of theverb form, ‘to die’, which is actually an infini-tive. Who can use ‘to’ as a preposition?”

Stacy’s friend Kia raised her hand, andthough I felt like it was futile, I called on heranyway.

“Are we gonna die, Mr. Carswell?” Kiaasked. And when Kia asked the question, itchanged everything. Because I knew Stacy wasjust trying to stir up some shit, but Kia was gen-uinely scared. And Kia had every right to bescared. There was a poisonous gas cloud float-ing by outside, and the only thing that separatedinside from outside was the quarter-inch-thickglass windows. The windows were shut. Theywere sort of weather proof. Not a whole lot ofpoisonous gas could creep in, but still. Somepoisons are pretty strong. It doesn’t take a wholelot to fuck you up.

As I thought these thoughts and weighedthe options of what type of gas this might havebeen and how far away the rocket had beenwhen it exploded and how real this danger real-ly was, the absurdity of my whole situationstruck me. All of these kids were freaked out bythe cloud, and I was trying to teach them aboutprepositions. I closed my book. “I’ll tell youwhat,” I said to the class. “Take out a sheet ofpaper and write about this cloud that’s passingover us. Write about what you think it is, andwhy you think it’s up there, and what you thinkof Kennedy Space Center taking chances withyour life by sending a rocket full of poisonousgas up into the air above us.”

Most of the kids took out a sheet of paperand started writing. I sat back down at my desk,keeping an eye on the kids and thinking aboutrockets. At the time, I was living in CocoaBeach, Florida, which is the town I where I wasborn. One town over from Cocoa Beach isMerritt Island. That’s where I grew up. And onthe north side of Merritt Island is KennedySpace Center, which is where, among otherthings, scientists designed the rockets that wentto the moon. So I grew up with rockets. Theywere nothing new to me. When I was a baby, mymom would carry me out to the front yard so wecould watch the Apollo rockets head to themoon. As soon as I could walk, I’d go out to thefront yard on my own to watch the rockets. AfterI learned to read, I started reading the newspa-pers on the day of a launch. I’d memorize thecrews’ names and their missions and whichrocket it was: Apollo or Skylab or the ColumbiaSpace Shuttle. I’d even read up on the testlaunches and satellites. I tried to learn abouteverything that the Space Center fired up in theair. Of course, by the time I was twelve or so andmy hormones kicked in, I’d completely lostinterest in rockets. And, yeah, I’ve heard all thearguments about rockets just being an extensionof men’s penises, or a metaphor for man’s desireto stick his dick into everything, even outerspace, but by the time I was in junior high, theonly penis I cared about was my own. So Istopped thinking about rockets and stoppedgoing outside to watch them shoot up into the airand started focusing more attention on girls.

I looked across the classroom at my stu-dents. About half of them were busy writing ontheir papers. The other half had given up on theassignment, but they weren’t misbehaving yet. Iwatched Kia, who was kind of a punker in thesense that she wore black t-shirts a lot and dyedher hair crazy colors and was a free-thinker(well, for a twelve-year-old), but was mostly nota punker in the sense that her favorite band wasNo Doubt. The combination of her blue hair andthe rocket that had just blown up reminded meof Angie Huber, a punker girl who I’d dated forabout a week in junior high. Angie’s stepfather,a guy named Fred Haise, had been an astronaut.I only knew this because Angie’s mom alwaysmade a big deal about it. She’d always say hisfirst and last name together, even though he washer husband, like everyone should know whoFred Haise was. According to Angie, though, hewas just an asshole. The one time I met him, Icould see her point. Not that he really did any-thing all that bad. He just criticized Angie a lotand looked mean when he did it. But Fred Haisehad been on the Apollo 13 mission. He was oneof the guys who had been in the rocket whenthey supposedly reported back to MissionControl, “Houston, we have a problem.” Then,of course, they made a Tom Hanks movie aboutthe Apollo 13 mission, but I didn’t see themovie, and I never really did give much of a shitabout Fred Haise. I did give a shit about Angie,though. I gave a shit about any girl who wasgoodly enough to make out with me behindsome school busses when we were thirteen. I satat the front of that classroom and thought aboutAngie and wondered what ever happened to herand if she still hated her stepdad and what shethought of that Tom Hanks movie.

I couldn’t do this for long, though, becausethe poisonous gas cloud was still floating overus, and most of my students had given up ontheir writing assignment. They were graduallyworking themselves up. It started with a few stu-dents talking quietly at their desk. I never didmuch to stop this, and I was too busy thinkingabout Angie, anyway, to stop anything. The talk-ing got louder as they tried to hear themselvesover the other voices talking. I made idle threatsabout sending them outside into the poisonousgas cloud if they didn’t shut up. My heart wasn’tinto my threat, though, and the kids sensed it.They kept talking, and when it got too loud forthem to hear the person who was three seatsaway and talking to them, they started to leavetheir seats and walk around. This was the pointwhere, as a teacher, I was supposed to stand upand do something. Shut the kids up and stickthem back in their seats. But I didn’t do any-thing. I’d always stopped them before they gotto this point, and I was curious to see how farthey would go. Pretty soon, more than half ofmy students were out of their seats and walkingaround, chatting with each other. Their voicesechoed off the concrete walls of the classroom,and it almost seemed like a party. A few studentseven walked up to my desk to chat with me. Iasked them if they’d seen Apollo 13. They saidthat they had, so I told them about Angie Huber.

“Which one was Fred Haise?” Laura – oneof my pets – asked me. “Was he Tom Hanks orKevin Bacon?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t see themovie.”

“I think he was the other guy,” said Travis,another of my students. “I think Fred Haise wasthe funny looking one.”

“The one with the wife and the little baby?”Laura asked.

“I think so. Maybe not,” Travis said, and hewas about to explain why Fred Haise might nothave been the funny looking one when two kidsstarted fighting in the back of the classroom.

I watched the two kids go at it, but didn’tdo anything. Laura pointed out the obvious bysaying, “Mr. Carswell, Billy and Glenton arefighting.”

“Yes, they are,” I said. I thought about get-ting out of my seat, walking across the room,and breaking up the fight, but decided instead tolet it go. Billy had been asking to get his asskicked for the past couple of weeks, andGlenton’s mom was a hooker. I figured it woulddo Billy some good to be humbled and it woulddo Glenton some good to let out some of hisrage. Besides that, there was a fucking poiso-nous gas cloud outside. Deep down inside, I feltlike all bets were off. I felt like, if society’s got-ten to the point where Kennedy Space Center issending poisonous gas into outer space in one ofthose great, big, explosive hunks of metal thatthey call a rocket, and if that explodes and thatgas floats over me and the junior high schoolwhere I teach, and if the best thing they can doafter sending that gas cloud over my hometownis to say, “Uh, you guys need to stay inside for ahalf hour until it passes,” then, obviously, thissociety has no rules. So fuck it all. Let ‘em fight.

The kids gathered around the fight, but noone stepped in to break it up. Glenton wrestledBilly to the ground and his fists rained down onBilly’s face. Billy managed to cover his facewith his forearms. Glenton whaled on Billy’sforearms and ears and the side of Billy’s head. Afew girls told me that I had to stop the fight. Onegirl started crying. Some of the boys cheered forGlenton or encouraged Billy. Most of the boysjust watched. They seemed hesitant, as if theydidn’t know whether or not they should stop thefight. Still, I did nothing. I let them fight. Part ofme thought that surely another teacher wouldhear the commotion, rush into my classroom,and break up the fight. But, of course, thatcouldn’t happen because no teachers could leavetheir rooms and come into mine because therewas a poisonous gas cloud floating through thehalls.

Then, something strange happened. It wasalmost like a realization spread across the room.I think it started with Glenton. I think Glentonwas on top of Billy, pounding his fists intoBilly’s head and getting really tired whenGlenton realized that I wasn’t going to stop thefight. And if I wasn’t going to stop it, no onewas. And if no one was going to stop the fight,what was gonna happen now that he was tootired to punch Billy anymore? What was Billygonna do? And if no one breaks up a fight, howdoes the fight end? I think Glenton realized thisbecause he stopped punching Billy, got up,walked to his desk, and sat down. Billy stood up,too. His face was bright red and his hair andback were covered with dirt and debris. A paperclip clung to his cheek. He didn’t go anywherefor a few seconds. He just stood there, takingdeep breaths. Then he, too, went back to his seatand sat down. The rest of the kids just stoodaround, not talking, not doing anything. Juststanding there. Gradually, they all sat down, too.I can’t really explain it. Maybe they reached theend of their rebellion, and they had nowhere togo but back to the beginning. Or maybe I scaredthem by not breaking up the fight. 15

Maybe they realized that, with the freedom todo whatever you want comes the responsibilityto respect others, or else those others might kickyour ass. Or maybe the fight just wore them allout like so many jumping jacks.

When they were all in their seats, Kiaraised her hand again and finally asked thequestion they all should’ve asked right from thebeginning. She said, “Mr. Carswell, if it’s sodangerous to everyone, why do they put poiso-nous gas in rockets?”

“Because the people at the SpaceCenter – and the US government, too – takea lot of chances with our lives,” I said.

Kia nodded. She seemed to want toask me more, but she didn’t. Justin pickedup where she left off and said, “What doyou mean?”

“Kennedy Space Center does all kindsof crazy stuff,” I said. “Have you guys everheard of the Cassini Space Probes?” A fewstudents shook their heads, so I explainedthat it was a rocket with plutonium in it.The class didn’t know what plutonium was,so I told them that it’s a radioactive sub-stance. I also explained how dangerous itwas for KSC to put a radioactive substance in ametal container on top of tons of very explosivefuel, then to set that fuel on fire. I explainedhow it was very different from, say, launching anuclear missile, but the mechanics of theCassini Space Probe and the mechanics of anuclear bomb weren’t all that different.

Another student raised her hand. “I don’tunderstand,” she said. “I thought the SpaceCenter just made the shuttle and stuff?”

“Oh no,” I told her. “Mostly what the

Space Center makes is bombs.” This seemed tointerest the kids even more than Glenton andBilly’s fight did, so I decided to go on that tan-gent. I told them that rockets were first made bythe Nazis in World War Two so that they couldkill a lot of people from a long way away. Andthat the top two Nazi scientists who developedthe rocket bombs, Werner Von Braun and DieterHuzel, came to America after World War Twoand headed up the space program. I told themabout all the different weapons they developed

out at the Space Center, like various Inter-Continental Ballistic Missiles, nuclear sub-marines, and the SCUD missiles that the USArmy used to kill a bunch of non-violent Iraqicivilians. And I just kept going. I was allworked up, partly because of that damn poiso-nous gas cloud, and partly because I hated thewhole idea of the Space Center. It killed me thatI had only two real employment opportunitiesin my hometown. I could either take a shitty jobin an under-funded school, making lousy

money and struggling to teach thirty-fivetwelve-year-olds about prepositions; or I couldgo out to the Space Center, where I would getpaid twice as much to develop more efficientways to kill as many people as possible from asfar away as possible.

I knew that most of my students’ parentsworked for the Space Center, and that I’d prob-ably get into a lot of trouble when these kidswent home and told their parents what I’d saidin class. But I didn’t care. I figured that people

who dump a poisonous gas cloud on theirkids’ heads don’t have a lot of room tocomplain. So I went on and on about theproblems with bombs and rockets andmissile defense programs, and, for once,my students really listened to me. Not onesingle student talked while I talked. Noone passed notes or kicked the kid in frontof him or put trash from a spiral notebookinto a young girl’s hair. They just sat thereand listened and actually learned some-thing useful.

Finally, the principal came back onthe loudspeaker and told us that the poiso-nous gas cloud had passed. We were all

allowed to leave our classrooms and go outside.I stopped talking and a few of my students actu-ally groaned because they wanted to hear meslander the Space Center even more. I packedup my stuff, too, and got ready to head off to mynext classroom and to teach my next group ofkids. As I did this, I watched my students fileout. And I thought, damn, these kids would begood students if the Space Center threatened tokill them every day of their lives.–Sean Carswell

In our last issue of Razorcake, we featureda page celebrating the life of a recently departed“brudder” – Mr. Douglas Glenn Colvin, betterknown to us creeps the world over as Dee DeeRamone. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get thethoughts in my head out and onto my computerhard drive for that particular tribute to Dee Dee.The reason being that, at around the same time,my immediate family and I were coping with afar more tragic loss of my father, who’d lost hisbattle to an evil cocksucker known as cancer. It’sthe same wretched disease that claimed the lifeof another Ramone, named Joey, almost a year

and a half ago. Shit. Pops passed

away just nine days after Dee Dee did… I misshim and his deep, unmistakable laugh terribly.And you know what, fuck it – I’d actually like totake a few seconds here and extend a very sin-cere thanks to all my friends who showed theirtrue colors during my family’s rough time thesepast months – you all know damn well who youare. I don’t think you all really know how muchit meant to us, especially me. I’m fortunate tohave such folks in my life. Thank you all. AndAggie, I know you’re reading this. Stay asstrong as you’ve been this far with that sneakyleukemia. I really believe you can overcome thisdifficult time in your life, brother – you’ve def-initely got it in you to do so, as well as a won-derful wife and family to support you all theway. Chin up, cuckoo.

Ahem… sorry to be such a downer to allthe impatient readers (read: FUCK YOU), butthings that I wanted to say needed to be said(Homer Simpson: “Done and done!”). DeeDee’s passing on June 5th was a real kick in thehead, because I was under the assumption thathe had given Uncle Heroin the permanent mid-dle finger years ago. When I heard the news thathis wife, Barbara, found him in the living roomon the couch, void of life when she came homethat evening, all I could do was stare blankly atthe news update on my screen and ask myself,“Why?” as the back of my throat started to wellup and ache, reminiscent of that same sickeningfeeling I felt when Dee Dee’s fellow brotherJoey succumbed to lymphoma. Precisely at thatpoint, I was grimly reminded of the soberingfact that even though the Ramones could neverplay again because of Joey’s death, it really ain’tgonna happen now, because the Ramones song-writing team is together once again, but just notof this earth. Both of them gone at the age offorty-nine. Fuck. If anyone knew the dangers ofdrugs, especially heroin, Dee Dee was the onewho walked the walk. But he also knew when tostop chasing those goddamn awful dragons. Ijust wish I knew why he decided to start packingpoison into his veins again. It’s sad, absolutelysad, of Dee Dee leaving the Ramones legacybehind, but a bit of a disappointment as well,that Dee Dee’s life ended in the way so many ofhis music compatriots did.

I had the pleasure of getting to know DeeDee after I got to interview him back in 1998while working at Flipside. To say he was quite acharacter would be putting it mildly. Gears wereconstantly clicking and whirring in his head.There was always something going on at themoment with Dee Dee, no matter when you hap-pened to catch him on the phone or around townat a show. There was his artwork and paintings,something that he really got into once he andBarbara settled out here permanently in Los

Angeles, miles away from their quiet, ruralhome out in Monticello, a town in upstate NewYork. There were the different line-ups of bandsthat he put together, one after another, giggingall around here, as well as up and down the westcoast, cranking out new songs from his soloCDs, joyous, classic Ramones staples, and otherfine rock and roll covers to sweaty bunches offans. Dee Dee even enjoyed going over to per-form around in Europe, but he always told methat “Ramones fans over there are very demand-ing… They can be really aggressive!”

There was also, of course, the constantlove/hate relationship with the rest of theRamones, something Dee Dee was alwayswringing his hands over. As much as he used torant on and on about his fellow “brudders,” therewas a very special place in his heart for all of‘em because Dee Dee continued to contributesongs up to the last studio Ramones LP, AdiosAmigos (which Kidd Spike as well as myselfwill defend to the death, right, Spike?). A couplayears ago, Dee Dee got a band rolling with hisold drummer and pal Marky Ramone called TheRemainz, which played – you got it – Ramonessongs as a three piece with Dee Dee singing andplaying guitar, his wife Barbara on bass, andMarky on drums.

In the summer of 1999, I was more thanecstatic (I’m an extremely loud and proudRamones fanboy, fuck you very much) to hookup my band with a few shows with The Remainzwhile they were doing some gigs out here in theLA area. Sharing the stage with half the mem-bers of the Ramones, a band that was the bestthing to ever happen to rock and roll in over thelast twenty-five years, was a definite high pointin all my musical years, hands down. After TheRemainz finished the rest of the shows to pro-mote their live CD, Dee Dee and Barbara endedup relocating to Los Angeles, as I mentionedearlier, to do nothing but play gigs, spend timedrawing and painting, and be Angelinos. Thiswas cool, ‘cause I was able to catch Dee Dee’ssolo band play some local shows, as well askeep in touch to see what was up in the life ofthe ol’ Ramone.

He and Barbara seemed very content outhere and that’s why I can’t imagine any reasonsfor him to start poking needles again. From whatI remember, he rarely drank at all and the onlything I remember Dee Dee enjoying daily wassmoking healthy rations of pot, which added tohis already eccentric personality, god bless ‘em.I’ll never forget the last time I saw Dee DeeRamone. I was taking some pictures of L7 atThe Palace in Hollywood, for what was to beused in my column for the very last issue ofFlipside. Anyway, after shooting some film ofL7, who rocked the piss outta the audience, I

I’m Against ItI’m Against ItI’m Against ItI’m Against It,

...Dee Dee was the one who had his fists wrapped tightly around the plunger of the detonation box,ready to slam it down and make those songs explode.

18

Dee Dee RamoneThe Razorcaker’s Official Collector’s Edition

Dee Dee Ramone TRADING CARDS

walked along the wall to the backby the huge bar to get my camerashit situated.

As I was getting everythingbroken down and back into thecamera bag, I noticed quite a fewpeople in the crowd looking in thesame direction. So, naturally, Ilooked around to get a gander ofwhat everyone is looking at andquietly pointing towards. I finallysee what the gawkers were eye-balling – Dee Dee and Barbarawere standing off to the side bythemselves, looking around at thepeople in the packed venue. It blewme away that no Ramones fans

were swarming around them. Imean, you couldn’t miss Dee Dee,ya know? As soon as I saw Barbara,they both walked over with smileson their faces to say hello,exchange hugs, ask what’s beengoin’ on, etc. Dee Dee then insistedon buying me a drink at the bar andI just started laughing, remindinghim, “Dee Dee, you know I don’tdrink, man!” As he pulled me overto the bar, he said, “Well, then letme get you a Diet Coke. You wanta Diet Coke?” I thought that wasreally cool. We hung out a bit, dis-cussed his paintings and how himand Barbara were digging LA andall. After finishing our drinks, wegot up and Dee Dee said they had togo because someone from L7 wasexpecting them. I thanked him forthe soda, and we loosely plannedon meeting up at their place soon tocheck out their recent paintings andjust hang out.

The memory of that nightalways makes me smile because asmuch as Dee Dee’s mind wasalways going a hundred miles anhour, he actually remembered myalternate bar drink of choice, eventhough I’m sure he ran into tons ofpeople in dozens of bars all thetime. I never made it out to theirplace after that evening, but we didrun into each other at a few moregigs and, unfortunately, onlycaught each other on the phone ahandful of times after that before

their number got disconnected.That’s my Dee Dee Ramone story.It ain’t nothing to base a motionpicture on, but it’s mine.

Yet, my happiest memoriesof Dee Dee and the rest of theRamones have always been theirlive shows and LPs. Two years afterforming their band, the Ramonesgot signed to Sire Records andunleashed a record in the Spring of1976 to change the things of rockand roll to come. That self-titled LPfeatured Dee Dee’s songwritingthat pulled no punches on kickingthe music industry in its excessive,oozing ass. And Dee Dee’s share of

material was just the soundtrack todo that. As any Ramones fan cansee, Dee Dee collaborated fantasti-cally with Joey, as well as with oth-ers who worked on their LPs. Butin the writing aspect of theRamones, Dee Dee was the onewho had his fists wrapped tightlyaround the plunger of the detona-tion box, ready to slam it down andmake those songs explode. And didthey ever. He also had that samevolatility onstage when you heard itthough his Ampeg bass cabinets, orsee it through his trademark bop-ping around and jumps in the airwhile cranking it out loud.

Going to see the Ramoneslive for the first time literallychanged my life, because seeingthat first of their many shows com-pletely changed the way that I feltabout rock and roll. “This is howbands are supposed to performlive,” I thought, watching themonstage. “Less talk with lots morerock, and a wall of sound that justdoesn’t knock your dick in the dirt– it floors your whole fuckin’body!” I’m sure I’m not the onlyone who can attest that theRamones were one of the bestbands in the world to go watch andlose yourself for ninety minutes.Nothing else mattered when I wasamong the pogoing herds of peopleat their shows with fists in the air.Like Ned Flanders at church on aSunday, I was testifying every time

the Ramones would come throughSouthern California. Yep, these willalways be the best and happiestmemories of brother Dee Dee.

A funny memory of Dee Deeis his performance in the 1979motion picture by Roger Corman,Rock‘n’Roll High School, where hehad a total of two lines: “Hey!Pizza!” and “Hey! Pizza! It’s great!Let’s dig in!” Although it wasn’tAcademy Award-winning acting,all the live performances Dee Deecuts loose with the Ramones areworth the repeated viewings alone,especially the live concert sequenceat the Roxy Theatre in Hollywood(aka the “Rockatorium”). And whocould forget a fully-clothed, soak-ing-wet Dee Dee playing bassunder a running shower in RiffRandall’s bathroom during the “IWant You Around” dreamsequence, where Riff pines forJoey? Good stuff, my friends, goodstuff.

When the Ramones gotinducted into The Rock and RollHall of Fame this past March, DeeDee’s acceptance speech eerily gotthe last laugh on the whole musicindustry. It was purely a middle fin-ger to any executive suit whothought Dee Dee was just another“punk rock burnout” getting a bonethrown at him. While I watched this

on television, I couldn’t help butfucking laugh out loud with mythumb up in the air as he leanedinto the mic and told the audience,“I’d like to congratulate myself,and thank myself, and give myselfa big pat on the back. Thank you,Dee Dee… you’re very wonder-ful.” People thought it was a “cutejoke” he pulled. Tee fucking hee.Guess what? The fans watchingknew it was no joke at all, just a lit-tle reminder of who did what, just alittle comeuppance from one of thebest rock and roll songwriters whoever shouted “1-2-3-4!”

If you watch the segmentclosely, a few moments right beforehe gives his speech, you can almostfeel the look of disgust in his eyes

as he surveys the audience, squint-ing his eyes. That look said it all.And his speech was the most classy“fuck you” that I’ve ever seen at anawards show. The only thing thatwould have made that part of theshow extra special is havingLemmy Kilmister of Motorheadintroduce the Ramones. He was andstill is one of the biggest, oldestRamones fans on this planet. EddieVedder? That bowel movementisn’t even special enough to beflushed down my own toilet, letalone be chosen to open his god-damn trap at an awards show. But,then again, Vedder is part of thatindustry that he seems to be sovehemently against, not to mentionup to his ears in Johnny Ramone’sass. I’m sure the executivesinvolved in that awards show weremore than pleased to see his dopey,rambling face up there trying to befunny. I would have given anythingto see that dumb dick skulled with abottle from the audience or Ice Tyelling, “Get off the mic, fool!” Iguess there’s always next time…

Well, Mr. Colvin, thank youfor sharing all those fantastic yearsof Dee Dee Ramone with us. Godknows where the hell rock and rollwould’ve been these days withoutthe Ramones. Now that you’re jam-ming in that big rehearsal loft in the

sky, you can go look up Stiv Batorsand Johnny Thunders to start thatband up you guys never got off theground while you were all living inEurope. I’m quite sure your “brud-der” Joey was already waiting upthere in that rehearsal loft for you,chomping at the bit to sit down andwrite songs – the thing you twoloved doing together over the yearsin the Ramones.

Bless the whole gang of you,especially you, Dad. I really domiss you all.

I’m Against It.-Designated Dale

<[email protected]>

19

FREE from your pals at Razorcake!!! Collect them

Dee Dee RamoneTRADING CARD #4

Without getting into the “toomuch information” category, I havebeen finding myself reading a lotabout polyamory lately. If youaren’t aware, that is the idea of notbeing monogamous as a decidedand up-front lifestyle. It couldmean hooking up with friends, hav-ing a significant other who youagree to be non-monogamous with,or any number of other situations.The thing that comes up a lot in dis-cussion of this sort of thing ishuman nature: “But it’s humannature to have a single lover,” etc. Iam not going to say it is or isn’t,because I don’t really know thatmuch about “human nature”. Youknow why? Because I have onlyreally experienced humanity incontext of turn of the millenniumAmerican (well, Canadian andEnglish, too) activity. Sure, I even

know about the

counter cultures and rebelliousmovements of our time and culture,but even they are based on this cul-ture. You don’t rebel against some-thing you don’t know about. I doknow that whatever human natureis has to be based on more thanwhat I see around me, because I doknow that there are other cultures. Ithink that if the way a Papua NewGuinea man hunts a boar makes histhoughts on food different than mygrabbing a slice of takeout pizza,then it might be safe to say wemight think differently on otherissues as well.

The most referenced book onpolyamory is called The EthicalSlut. Actually, I found it to bemediocre, less informative andmore important simply because it’sexistence means some validity tothose who feel this is the lifestylefor them. One thing that did strike

me was the use of terms like“polyamory” as opposed to “non-monogamy”, because “non” termsimply that there is a normal for the“non” to react against. Personally,that is one reason I dislike the term“nonsmoker” because it sounds likeeveryone would smoke, except forthese crazy “nonsmokers”. Tomake a big deal about beingstraight edge, say by getting a “sXefor life” tattoo, somewhat strikesme like getting a tattoo that says,“I’m not going to hit myself overthe head with a hammer.” Wouldn’tthat be considered an obvious pointand not necessary? But if someonewho is straightedge thinks thatdrugs are poison, wouldn’t the factthat they don’t do drugs be obvious,and that NOT doing drugs would bethe norm, or at least the default.

I often bring up the fact that inmany tribal societies, there are no20

The Twisted Balloon

words for “artist” or“musician” because allpeople are artists andmusicians, at least inpotential. While we domark some people as suchin our society, we alsohave words for certaintypes of people like non-smoker and vegetarian.Non-smoker is clearly onewho does not smoke.Surely, our tree-dwellingancestors never rolled cul-tivated tobacco andinhaled the smoke, butthen again, the languageallows for smoker to bethe term for those whoperform unnatural action,and the others are merelynon. But with vegetarian,the term is unusual if youreally think about it.

A vegetarian is a personwho does not eat meat.Some people are vegetari-ans because they don’tthink people should eatmeat in a natural order,moral, or health sort ofway (while others dislikethe meat industry orsomething involved more

with the ideas behind meat than theactual meat itself). But like thestraightedger, if people shouldn’teat meat, wouldn’t the idea be thathumanity is inherently vegetarian?And, if so, this of course wouldmake the term “vegetarian” redun-dant.

Now, many people, usuallymeat eaters, bring up natural orderand how people are designed to eatmeat and it’s natural and all that,but think about how accurate theyare being. When I talk about eatingmeat, I am not thinking of rawflesh, I am thinking of preparedCOOKED flesh. How many meateaters would want to eat raw meat?Fresh kill? A carrot may be bettertasting and easier to eat cooked, butI know I can easily consume it raw.I am not sure I can say the sameabout beef. Now, before the meateaters get too upset about this col-

...at what point does one see a plant and begin to visualize the processed food it could be used to make?

photo by Dan Monick

umn coming across as an anti-meatcolumn, I can say this about anynumber of things.

At what point in evolution didapes go from picking fruit fromtrees to the idea of cultivatinggrain, harvesting it, making a pow-der from it, adding yeast and allthat? I could see how nature mightmake a fruit look appealing, ormake a carnivore want to try THATkind of animal, but at what pointdoes one see a plant and begin tovisualize the processed food itcould be used to make?

Speaking of processed foods,think about how far removed fromthe natural state of any given foodthe actual food product you buyis… Seriously, go into any storeand just start randomly picking uppackages and cans and think aboutthe ingredients. For instance, cornsyrup. Do you have any idea ofhow many things contain cornsyrup? Most spaghetti sauces, forone thing. How does that come up?How many people consider that thetomato and garlic sauce they buyhas a corn derived sweetener?Probably no more people thanexpect there to be horse hoof pow-der in their candy. Gelatin isderived from animal hooves. Yes,that’s right, Jell-O is fruit flavoredanimal product! And candies, suchas junior mints, have gelatin. So

not only is it something you don’texpect to be a kind of meat, but themeat you might not have knownexisted is an ingredient you wouldnever expect to find in a mint.

This might be why I thinkeveryone should consider beingvegan for a few days, even if youdon’t care about animals or their

feelings or how they are treated.This is also what makes me thinkvegans must go somewhat insanein our society. By all means, I cansee choosing not to eat meat oreggs or dairy, but to have to exam-ine all those labels and look for thattwelfth line that has some codeword for an animal derived productseems a little overwhelming. Youcan argue that humans are meant toeat flesh (I do), but were we“meant” to use beetles as red fooddye?

An old teacher of mine usedto bring up how we have lost ourplace in nature, and one evidence isthat we used to walk on dirt andgrass in bare feet and now we walk

on floor and sidewalks in shoes.When was the last time your feettouched something that was therenaturally? For me, the bigger dif-ference of the state we are in andthe state we would be in naturallyis soda.

When I was thirteen, I gotbraces. (There is something that

our tree-dwelling ancestors neverfaced, but then again, I neededthem because none of my teeth rot-ted out giving room for the replace-ments.) The orthodontist told me Ishouldn’t drink soda until I gotthem off, and I seriously wonderedwhat he expected me to drink.Because I, like so many otherAmerican youth, considered sodato be the default drink. Luckily, Ihave grown out of this, but mostpeople I know haven’t. It’s weirdto see people who care about whatthey EAT imbibe a carbonatedsolution of the aforementionedcorn syrup and caffeine, and if theyreally want to care about health,then they should find a substitute to

corn syrup and a number of strangechemicals. Of course, water comesfrom the sky and pools in lakes,and so far is still available for free(at least for now) and is actuallysomething the body needs.

But we are indeed so farremoved from how our bodies andnature work, from even stopping tothink about how these things work,that we have industries based onlow fat versions of junk food. Nowyou can eat crap that isn’t AS badas the regular crap. By all means,whatever you do though, don’tgrow vegetables and eat them. Youwant crunchy food? Eat potatochips. Or low fat potato chips.Don’t eat a carrot, whatever youdo.

True story: a woman I workedwith told another co-worker thatshe hated Funyuns, the artificiallyflavored onion ring snacks, butbought them because it “was theonly chip (her) daughter will eat.”Funny, when I was a kid, the pedi-atrician never harped on my momto make sure I had enough from the“chip” group.

Before we spent our days sit-ting in cars and in front of TVs andcomputers, we were active. Nowwe need to supplement our seden-tary lifestyle by driving to the gymso we can run on a treadmill.–Rich Mackin

You can argue that humans are meant to eatflesh (I do), but were we “meant” to use

beetles as red food dye?

The Dinghole ReportsBy the Rhythm Chicken

(Commentary by Francis Funyuns)[Edited by Dr. Sicnarf]

[Well, folks, the issue #10 deadlineis almost here and our friend theRhythm Chicken is nowhere to befound. I’m assuming he’ll bescratching along sometime soon,but I’ll just start off his column bygiving you a short preview of themost glorious Dinghole Report todate! What you are about to readmay seem somewhat unbelievable,but I assure you it’s true. I swear onmy UW-Green Bay diploma in thename of all mathematical logic thatthe Rhythm Chicken has recentlyplayed to a stadium of 30,000screaming sports fans! - Dr.S.]

(Yeah, but they’re SPORTS fans!How punk rock is THAT? Worseyet, they’re BASEBALL fans!Okay, we all know that the onlysporting event worthy of lofty ado-ration from the punk community isa Packer game (or, of course, oldfootage of A.W.A. wrestling. Allhail the Crusher!). I find baseball tobe quite lacking in the ruckus cate-gory. What is so punk rock aboutmen in tights spitting everywhere?- F.F.)

[Well, look at the Cramps, orLeonard of the Dickies. True, base-ball may not be very punk rock.However, seeing as how theMilwaukee Brewers are DEADLAST this season, I find it quitepunk rock to support the underdog.- Dr.S.]

(Actually, I find the fact that theBrewers ARE dead last to be theonly reason why they would evenconsider allowing a RhythmChicken concert during one of theirgames. I mean, c’mon! It couldn’thurt, right? - F.F.)

[Wow. A “Rhythm Chicken con-cert”. That sounds a bit bizarre.Technically, the 30,000 attendeesmost likely bought their tickets tosee the BREWER GAME and notthe Rhythm Chicken. And then

there’s that silly

name, the “Rally Rabbit”. Wouldthis even qualify as a DingholeReport, seeing as how it was theRally Rabbit and not the RhythmChicken? And how does the RallyRabbit stand on the issue of ruckus?- Dr.S.]

(Yeah, and what about the Pabst,and the carrets, and the carrits, andthe carryts, and Gary Coleman, andBig Bird, and the entire punk rockarena? So, hey! Where IS thatRhythm Critter anyway? - F.F.)

[This IS unlike the RhythmChicken. He’s arrived drunk, hun-gover, half asleep, unclean, irate,etc... but he’s always been punctu-al... and punktual! Yes, this is quiteunlike him. - Dr.S.]

(Yeah, we better give the secretemergency Rhythm Chicken paniccry. Ready? - F.F.)

[Ready. - Dr.S.]

[(LET THERE BE RUCKUS!!! -F.F. & Dr.S.)]

—silence—

(Wow! He’s never failed us on thepanic cry! He should’ve crashedthrough the door by now valiantlyclucking “OOOOOOOH YEAH” -F.F.)

[Yes. Something is definitelyamiss. Oh Rhythm Chicken, whereare... - Dr.S.]

—Door swings open and a clean-shaven, nice-smelling rendition ofthe Rhythm Chicken walks in,casually swinging a briefcase,sporting a Miller Genuine Draftshirt, and chawin’ away on a beakfull of Skoal.—

(What the... WHO the... NO NONO! - F.F.)

[Mr. Rhythm Chicken? Is that you?This surely must be your idea of a

cruel cruel joke. Please tell methat’s radioactive birdseed in yourbeak. Please tell me that briefcaseis full of yard beers*, PABST yardbeers! - Dr.S.]

Good day, gentlemen. I amhere to present my column toRazorcake magazine. Well, golly. Itappears as if you’ve started withoutme. Good show. Very well, then.Have the readers been prepared forthe alterations?

[Alterations? Are you feeling okay,Mr. Chicken? - Dr.S.]

Why, yes. I’m feeling mightyfine, and that is going to be the firstalteration. From this point on I pre-fer to be addressed as Mr. RallyRabbit. Thank you for your cooper-ation.

(What the FUCK has happened toyou? This has GOT to be a joke,right RC? - F.F.)

No, no. Not RC. If you mustresort to your immature sopho-moric abbreviations, then it’s RR.But once again, I would prefer Mr.Rally Rabbit.

[Francis, I’m afraid that he reallyBELIEVES that he’s this RallyRabbit. This cannot stand. Toddand Sean surely will not stand forthis. What about the DingholeReports? - Dr.S.]

Oh, yes. The second alterationwill be the title of this column. Itwill now be called the “BallparkRabbit Reader”.

[(WHAT?!!! - Dr.S. & F.F.)]

Yes, the Ballpark RabbitReader will help keep theRazorcake readers up to date on theongoings of the new prince ofmajor league baseball, the RallyRabbit, me.

(You actually BELIEVE you’re theRally Rabbit! Holy FUCK,Chicken, you’ve lost it! - F.F.)

[I hate to agree with Mr. Funyuns,22

Mrs. Rally Rabbit whispered into my ear, “You’re just like the Dancing Homer!”

Rally

Rabbit

Chicken, but to wholeheartedlyassume the identity of your corpo-rate alter-ego is less than sane.Wasn’t it just about a year ago thatyou swore vengeance on thoseMiller Park scum for labeling yourimage as the Rally Rabbit? - Dr.S.]

SILENCE! I AM THEGREAT AND MIGHTY RALLYRABBIT!

(I bet your corporate-bought sold-out ass can’t even raise a ruckus! -F.F.)

[I hate to be so rude, Mr. Chicken,but if you can’t raise a ruckus, wellthen what good are you to the punkcommunity, the Razorcake reader-ship? - Dr.S.]

I AM THE RALLY RABBIT!I AM IN THE MAJORLEAGUES! I cannot be so unre-fined as to raise a ruckus. I nowchoose to CAUSE A COMMO-TION!

[HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! - Dr.S.]

(HA HA!! C’mon everybody! Dothe lo-commotion! HA HA!! - F.F.)

[Sorry, Chicken, but this is TOOMUCH. We’re outta here. - Dr.S.]

(Adios, Commotion Chicken! -F.F.)

—Dr. Sicnarf and Francis Funyunsexit the column... out the door—

Very well. Now I can com-mence delivery of my first BallparkRabbit Reader.

Ballpark Rabbit Reader #1:Rabbit Commotion ConcertExtravaganza(Rally Rabbit sighting #1, #2, &#3)

It was a gorgeous, hot, sunnyday at Milwaukee’s Miller Park andthe zillion dollar “accordion roof”was open. Mrs. Rally Rabbit and Ishowed up a few hours early for ascheduled Rally Rabbit serenadefor the tailgaters. Miller Park’s Mr.Media had arranged for a flatbedgolfcart to make the Rabbit’s showmobile, constant, and able to reachthe far corners of the parking lot.There was also a swell sign affixedto the cart’s rear which read “RallyRabbit says, ‘Go Brewers Go!’”The first couple audiences were thehungry folks lined up to buy bratsat the Klemments Sausage Haus.The crowd was curious, yet well-behaved (total Les Nessman rip-off!). The next ten or so audienceswere various small groups or fami-lies partying and BBQing near theircars. Many photos were taken of

friends and family posing with thegreat and mighty Rally Rabbit. Mr.Media was handing out little chil-dren’s bunny ears to the kids say-ing, “Rally behind the rabbit!” Mrs.Rally Rabbit was busy taking pho-tos with my camera. There was alsoa video camera man for Miller Parkattempting to catch more footagefor the jumbotron, and some ladytaking photos for the Brewers’ webpage! I’m a media whore and I love

it! This is TRULY the big time!Lucky for them, The Great

and Mighty Rally Rabbit agreed todoing these little public appear-ances for the proletariat. Next timethey will most definitely have todeal with my booking agent. I am,after all, the marvelous and fantas-tic Rally Rabbit, A CELEBRITY!

So, the next couple of audi-ences were groups of untamepartiers at the coach busses, groupsof men who drank on the bus all theway down from Wausau, IronMountain, or Escanaba. Theycrowded around the Rally Rabbit,cheered and yelled, and hoistedtheir Miller products into the air. Asmall crowd of men directly infront of the Rabbit even began thisreckless dancing where they wereliterally slamming into each other.Though it was definitely a commo-tion, I found it to be most undigni-fied. We quickly scuffled off to afar corner of the lot. As we rolledaway, the drunken animals beggedfor more, except for one intoxicat-ed male who hollered out, “You’renothing without us, Rally Rabbit!”How could he say such a thing? Iam the spectacular and amazingRally Rabbit! He must’ve lost hismind.

A few audiences later, theRally Rabbit actually made aninfant human cry! I even tried low-ering the commotion level, but thechild still cried.

Soon the rolling parking lotgig was finished. Mrs. Rally Rabbitand I joined Righteous Thomas inthe stadium to watch the first fourinnings in the bleachers with thecommon folk, the proles. Then Mr.Media arrived to usher the Mrs. andme up to the TV-announcer boothfor a live interview. All in theeveryday life of a celebrity super-star like myself. Mr. Mediaanswered all my questions for me

while I made rock star poses for thecamera. I do it all for the fans. I’mstill getting paid, though. The inter-view ended and we were hurriedlyescorted out to the Rally Rabbit’sstage near the jumbotron.

The middle of the 6th inningarrived, and I was given the signal.I flawlessly displayed the perfectrock star performance, intermittent-ly pausing to raise my paws sky-ward and accept the praise andworship from my 30,000 screamingfans. I am god. See me! Want me!How to become a rock star super-hero! So the bottom of the 6th start-ed and halted, leaving the masseswanting more. Mr. Media gotorders on his walkie-talkie and hewhisked us up to Bernie’s Dugout.Bernie is the “other” Brewers mas-cot who dances around on a stage(known as his dugout) high abovethe crowd. The 7th inning stretchstarted with the Klemmentssausage race. Yeah, whatever. ThenI found myself thrust out withBernie, high above my 30,000adoring fans. I helped Bernie directthe stadium through “Let’s Go Outto the Ballgame”. The next songwas “The Beer Barrel Polka”. Rollout the barrel, indeed. How undig-nified. I proceeded to polka dancewith Bernie, just to appease myfans, of course. How embarrassing.The Rally Rabbit shouldn’t have tostoop so low.—pounding at column door—

Anyway, the 30,000 adoringfans totally ate it up. As we wereagain hurriedly escorted to theRally Rabbit stage, Mrs. RallyRabbit whispered into my ear,“You’re just like the DancingHomer!”

The middle of the 8th inningarrived and I was sitting in my rockthrone awaiting the signal from Mr.Media. I could hear various mem-bers of the Mistreaters and theMilwaukee Talkies in the nearbycrowd yelling things about theRhythm Chicken. I ignored theirchildish remarks and wanting forthings of the past. Once signaled, Iagain graced the stadium with mydivine rally rock. The 30,000 con-sumers were mildly whipped into athird rate frenzy as I caused a com-motion once again.

—pounding at column door getslouder—

I raised my paws and acceptedthe worship and praise I trulydeserved. I am their idol. I AMJourney, U2, and Madonna!

—Dr. Sicnarf and Francis Funyunsbreak down the column door andtackle the Rhythm/Rally monstros-ity. They hold him down and forcea whole pitcher of Pabst BlueRibbon down his throat withDillinger 4’s Situationist Comedyblaring in the background. TheChicken/Rabbit flails about in wildinner turmoil. Sicnarf and Funyunshold him close and scream in uni-son, “LET THERE BE RUCKUS!”Just then, the Rhythm Chickenrises ten times stronger than before,tears off his MGD shirt IncredibleHulk-style, and the Skoal is vio-lently exploding from his beak ashe loudly proclaims...—

OOOOOOOOOH YEAH!!!!!

(We saved him! He’s the RhythmChicken again! - F.F.)

[There’s only one way to find out.Check the column header to see ifthis is indeed a Dinghole Report ornot! - Dr.S.]

??????????????????

*yard beers = cans of Pabst, Blatz,or Schlitz which are lovingly scat-tered and aged in your front yardfor a week or so, then joyouslyhunted like colored eggs on EasterSunday! Nest time you will beintroduced to yard wine and yardshots!

-The Rhythm Chicken<[email protected]>

23

I’m a media whore and I love it!

I would like to start this issue by sendingmy sympathy to the Drazan family, for their lossof father, husband, and outspoken citizen of LaMirada. There are few things in life that canbring a man to become a teary-eyed, bumblingfool. A loss of a friend is one of them, and deal-ing with, or expressing, emotion that one is sud-denly thrust into is one also. So I’ll try not tochoke up in my revelation. As a kid I livedaround the corner from the Drazan clan, andfor certain I can’t really tell you how wemet. All the kids were younger than myself,but in our neighborhood we all would gettogether to play, kinda like that movie TheSandlot.

Now, as things were, Joe Drazen and Iwere friends and one day he invited me overto hang out. So around the corner I rode,knocked on his door, and to my poundingresponded this big, deep bass growl,because everyone had those damn screendoors that you can’t see into but they can seeout of. So, anyway, I heard this “Who areyou?” and I thought to myself, what have Igotten myself into? This was my introduc-tion to Richard Drazan. If I had known thenwhat I know now, I’d have known that hewas just yanking my chain, but as a kid Ididn’t have a clue. Dick was, to me then, amonster of a man, a big truck driver whorode motorcycles and made ammunitionand, most of all, spoke his mind. I don’tknow why, but I always associated him withthat guy from Animal House. You know, theone who rides his bike through the frathouse.

But he took care of us, too. Once hetook us golfing, I think for Joe’s birthday,and he treated us to everything. On top of that,he could swing the clubs pretty good, which waskinda strange because I could only imagine thehellfire he would bring down on the snobs whofind themselves on the fairways of La Mirada.Within the last few years, Dick’s youngest son(you all know him as Designated Dale) and Ihave become pals. We would go over to thehomestead and share our dissatisfaction with ouremployers, because this is where we both bond-ed. See, Richard Drazan spent his life workingin the grocery business and I’ve spent twelveyears of mine in that same grind. The most funwe had was when I was at work and he wouldcome in and complain about the service and theprices and I would tell him Ralph’s was justdown the street.

When this man was stricken with cancer, Ididn’t know how to react. I suppose each of usdeals with loss in a different way. For me, it’s to

find the humor in past events and

hold them dear, just block out those feelings thatwould cause me to well up like a big baby. So,Mr. Drazan, wherever the good Lord sent you toroam, one day we’ll all get together and tell wildstories and laugh until we cry, because thatshould be the only way we cry.

I’m surely going to miss ya. – Gary

BRACKET: LIVE IN A DIVE$ ??Here’s another comic about a punk band fromthat famous comic manufacturer, Fat Wreck.The strange thing is the artwork is stunning butthe story lines are kinda weak, though this one isa vast improvement over the last. Maybe if theywould slightly change their superpowers and getrid of the villain’s flying record surf car, then wemight have something. At the start, we’re intro-duced to the four members of the band – or thesuperhero – squad and are given a description oftheir unique talents. I’m guessing that some-where in the past, Bracket must have playedhigh school auditoriums and covered monsterrock songs because the story opens up to themdoing just that. I like the concert t-shirts that thepeople in the audience are wearing, though. It’sgood to see that people who are into MollyHatchet will hang out with people into the

Beatles or Bon Jovi. Now, in the crowd are somepunks who have the power to change others intopunks also, and when the band sees this, theyjump into a phone booth (because there’s alwaysone at a show) and change into… um… well, Iguess, Bracket the super band. The band chasesthe punks into a “punk” club, where they showoff their talents. Then the story becomes likeDawn of the Dead and the punk zombies leadthe band back to the evil lair. The evil lair is a“punk rock processing plant” where we meet“Massive Mac”, the evil guy on the flyingrecord. Our heroes fight in vain and are turnedinto a punk rock band. End of story. Did you alllike that? Now, I like vinyl just dandy, but whenI see Jabba the punk with his disco necklace, fly-ing around the room on one, I just have to shakemy head in disappointment. I would think whenfour guys have input, one could come witheither a funnier or more evil character. I do,however, like the bands on the shirts at the end:Poison Idea, Angry Samoans, and “let’s go getCokes,” the Faction. With a little tweaking thiscould have been a real funny comic. As it is, it’skinda average. (A Fat Wreck ChordsProduction)

I HATE CARTOONS#1, $4.95 U.S.I like I Hate Cartoons! There’s things in therethat make me laugh. It starts with the Gobler toycatalog. We see Ira Gobler, the king of toys; he’sa lot like the guy who sold bedspreads down inLong Beach. He brings joy to kids in the form ofSeñor and Señorita, the remote controlled sand-wiches, Kiki the fashion Tiki, and – my favorite– Gobler’s Wobblers, which is a large webblethat one can stick their kid in and can roll allover town and always remain in the uprightposition. Actually, this guy has a website exclu-sive to these unique toys. Next in line is thestory of Montgomery Wart and Murgatroid, twofrog buddies, and Kisses, Murgatroid’s tadpolecousin who has Tourettes Syndrome. Imaginethe trouble one can get into with a kid cousinwho has that affliction. Next is the story of LittleDead Riding Hood. Well, the twist on the tradi-tional fairy tale is what happens to the wolf. No,I’m not going to tell you or you won’t go out andbuy your own copy. Seesh! After the fairy tale,there’s some worthless babble about spit (pleaseskip in your reading). Now, here in the middle,we have some bizarre stories, poems and bios,of which “Beware the Licker” is my favorite.“Why I’m Not a Standup Comedian” has suchhorrible jokes that they become drop deadfunny. This thing is just full of the wicked andweird. There’s Jojo the drunk who sees ele-phants that aren’t pink. There’s the “Swear

Squeeze My HornSqueeze My HornSqueeze My Horn

24

...except that the male bears come home to find momma bear in bed with Goldilocks.

Bears” that are a play on Goldilocks and theThree Bears, except that the male bears comehome to find momma bear in bed withGoldilocks. There’s a couple of others in here,too, but if I keep going, I’ll reveal everythingand I wouldn’t want to do that, so I put this inthe recommend reading. Get off yourlazy asses and get a copy of this one.(www.yumfactory.com or <http:// attaboy.laughingsquid.org>)

THE MERCY KILLINGThe tiny twelve-page Goodfellas storyis what this one’s all about. There’sthis guy who basically did straight-upjobs to a point where he owned hisown business and carried a substantialbankroll, then lost it all. Of course, heneeds money so he contacts one of hisold acquaintances to maybe do somework. Of course, for the amount heneeds, he has to do a hit and, well, hecan’t do it. So, since he’s down on hisluck, he ends up putting the hit on him-self. There’s a message here, just likein all stories like this, and damned if Iknow what it is. Life deals dirty handsto millions every year and we can’t doa thing about it. Life is one big chainof events and this is one of those sto-ries, so what am I babbling about? Idon’t know. I love the artwork on this one, butthe story is kind of repetitive, only by the fact ofoveruse, but I do hope this guy does morecomics because I like his visual. (JustineGiampaoli: [email protected], TimGoodyear:<[email protected]>)

POUNDED#1 of 3, $2.95 U.S., $4.50 Can.It looks like another comic about a punk rockband, or maybe it’s just about a guy in a punkband. Yeah, that’s it, a guy in a punk band whohas girlfriend problems. The thing is, this is

written so well that guys will identify with thisdude. The white lies he makes up to avoid con-flict are right on and, of course, some of themcome back to bite him in the ass. His biggestconflict is that he’s getting attached to his littlecheerleader girlfriend but he can’t seem to steer

clear of this girl band punk vixen who ties himup and leaves him in compromising positionsfor his friends to find. The little cheerleader isoff at college and finds out about his deeds, but,hell, wouldn’t you know it, we won’t find outuntil issue #2. I’ve got to tell you, I thought this

one was going to be a flop, kinda like SLCPunk, but I’m having some fun reading it, likea punk rock soap opera. This one also camewith a CD, but, unfortunately, the music allsounds the same and, as Ken the AllnightRocker would say, it’s poopy punk. Imaginetwenty-some-odd poopy punk songs.

Get the comic but spare the CD. (OniPress,6336 SE Milwaukie Avenue, PMB30,Portland, OR 97202)

SINKHOLE#1 & 2 Every once in a while, I get comics that justby the cover I have high hopes but the insidestumps the panel. These two do just that. I’mnot sure if these are stories about people withinner demons or demon people, or maybethey’re anti-drug stories or the release ofdemons in a drug-induced state. Whateverthey are, I’m at a loss to really give them apositive or negative type. Now, I understandsome of the writing is meant to make thereader think and pass judgement of their own,but my interpretation will differ from some-

one else’s, so what I’m going to tell you all hereis find a copy of this and see how you interpretthese quips. Remember, the comic is calledSinkhole. (Automated Comics, c/o Will Riley,835 Greer St, Covington, KY 41011)–Gary Hornberger

Gremlins, Third Degree Burns,and the Cochino

“You gotta quit wiggling around or you’regonna fuck the whole thing up. Just suck it upif it hurts that much.”

The burning subsided, then began anewsomeplace else as my brother took another eggwhite-dipped clump of hair, pulled it taut andunleashed the blow dryer’s full heat on myscalp. I squirmed again and he turned off theblow dryer. The Urinals, previously drownedout by the blow dryer’s drone, came blasting outof the tape player on the counter.

“Look, Dopey, if you’re gonna keep mov-ing around like that, I’m gonna stop wasting mytime right now,” he said. “You’re gonna end upwalking around with only the three libertyspikes I’ve been able to put up so far, and you’regonna look like a fucking idiot. Now quit mov-ing.”

“I wish you would quit calling me Dopey,Dennis,” I told him. “You know I hate thatname.”

Dennis gave me the name “Dopey” when,at five, he became fixated with Snow White.After watching it every day for two monthsstraight, he somehow decided that I looked likea bald, mute dwarf. Much as I hated it, the three-year age difference between us and the size dif-ference between scrawny me and his buffed out,Incredible Hulk-looking ass prevented me fromdoing much about it. I’ve been saddled with itever since. Worst of all, it became a family nick-name. Christ, even my grandmother called meDopey.

“Quit whining, crybaby, and sit still,” hesaid and took up another handful of hair. “Wegotta get your hair all done up and get going orwe’re gonna be late. Don’t know what you’recrying about anyway. I told you a long time agoto cut off all that hippie hair and, if you had, wewouldn’t be sitting here fucking with it now.”

“Fuck you, closet case,” I told him andthen winced as he pointed the blow dryer’s heatdirectly at my scalp just long enough to causeme to yelp. Giggling, he went back to work.

Capping was a ritual with roots deep inEast LA’s culture and, being products of thatculture, we freely traded insults with each otherand most of our friends. Despite all the shit talk-ing that went back and forth during these ses-sions, Dennis and I got along well. Our bothbeing punks and having pretty much the sameinterests had given us a relationship that some-

times resembled more that of best

friends than of older and younger brother. Ihung out with him and his boys, and they tookme along to parties filled with older collegegirls, always keeping an eye on me to make sureI didn’t get hassled and always making sure notto mention I was still a high school junior. Evenwith a schedule filled with college classes andwork, Dennis still went to gigs as frequently aswhen he was younger, possibly even more.

“One must attend church as often as possi-ble and show proper reverence,” he would sayand he meant it. Punk was his religion. It wasour religion, and we believed in it with the samezeal as a Pentecostal congregation. Dennis, ahigh priest in punk’s worldwide ministry, gavehis best sermons while his latest budding disci-ple sat hunched forward on the toilet seat in ourparents’ bathroom, either getting his headshaved or subjecting himself to the same tortureI now endured, the gospel sounds of Black Flag,Die Kreuzen, or the Stains always playing in thebackground.

“Almost done, little brother,” he said aftera while, taking another handful of sticky hairand again going through the same repetitivemotion of stretch, dry, dip the next handful, andso on. A half hour had easily passed since I firstsat down on the toilet seat and my ass was get-ting numb.

“Hey, Dennis, how come you’ve neverjoined a band?” I tried to turn to look at him, butthe sharp yank on the spike he was drying intoplace told me I’d better keep my head where itwas. “Nearly all of your friends have a bandgoing and it just seems like you could be uponstage anytime you wanted with anyone youwanted.”

“Ah, all that band shit just ain’t my trip,”he said. “Too much high drama, you know?Some kinda head-trip is always going down,even when you get along with everyone.Besides, I can’t play a fucking note, I ain’tenough of a self-centered prima donna to seri-ously entertain the idea of being a singer, andI’m too much of a self-centered prima donna todeal with inevitable obscurity. Having home-boys in bands is better. I – we – get into all thegigs free, I get all the beer I can drink, I don’thave to go to practice every night of the week ifI don’t feel like it, and I’m not in the middle ofa constant battle of egos.

“Anyway, I do more than my part for thecause right here,” he added, outstretching hisarms to indicate our current surroundings.“There’s a place for everyone in this world,Dopey. Some of us play in bands. Some of us setup gigs. Some just show up. Me, I fuck up peo-ple’s hair and they let me, hoping it’ll somehowincrease their chances of getting laid.”

“Sometimes I think I want to do the singerthing,” I said, “mostly ’cause it seems like a hel-luva lotta fun, you know? Remember that timeNeto let me sing ‘Cosmetic Christ’ with himwhen his band played the All Nations Center?That was a real good feeling, man, kinda like –Ow! Shit! Move that fucking dryer to anotherspot already, man! – kinda like shot gunning ahalf-gallon of Pepsi, only without having to pissevery two minutes. I think I’d be pretty good atit. I think writing would be cool, too.”

“Better invest in lots of pencils and paper,’cause ain’t no band in East LA stupid enough tolet your hippie ass sing,” Dennis said andflicked one of the spikes on my head.

Our mother stuck her head into the bath-room.

“Dennis, the boy with the filthy words onhis head is here to – Oh my god, what did youdo to his head now?”

She came round in front of me and lookedme over like she was trying to spot a diamond ina hill of toxic waste. Dennis continued working.

“It’s just temporary,” he said, not turning tolook at her. “It’ll wash out, jefa. Don’t startfreaking out or anything.”

“Hijole, that’s easy for you to say. I’ve gota porcupine and a hairless chango with no man-ners for sons.” She slapped the back of his head.“Tell me, genius, how do you expect him getaround with his hair sticking out like that? Jeez,he looks like he just got out of the electricchair…. What are you putting on his head now,more Jell-o? Can he even get into a car?”

Dennis shut off the blow dryer and closedhis eyes.

“We’ll make him stick his head out thewindow, all right? Jesus, back off already.”

“‘Back off already; back off already.’ Youwatch. With all the things you do to his head,he’s gonna end up bald by the time he’s twenty.Well, you better clean up this bathroom beforeyou go anywhere because I don’t spend tenhours a day at work just so I can come home andclean up your messes. And your friend TheCochino is in the living room.”

She left, muttering under her breath whatwas no doubt something about her malcriadosons and their foul-mouthed friends. A few min-utes later, Neto strolled into the bathroom with“eat the rich” on his shirt and a sneer on hisface.

Mom called Neto “The Cochino” becausehe once decided he wanted to be known as “ass-hole” and had Dennis shave the word into hishair. He soon reevaluated the name change, butthe stunt earned Neto a three-week suspensionfrom school (long enough for the hair to growback in) and a more permanent nickname, cour-26

Me, I fuck up people’s hair and they let me, hoping it’ll somehow increase their chances of getting laid.

tesy of my traumatized mother, the first personoutside of our bathroom to see his ’do.

“Fuck, look at the mocoso’s hair,” he snig-gered. “All spiky, dyed, and dirty. Thinks he’sall fuckin’ Mister Punk, que no?” He laughedeven harder, moved over to the sink, andplopped his ass onto the counter. “Hey, fuckers,you gotta fuckin’ hurry ’cause I gotta get to thefuckin’ gig before I fuckin’ hafta play. We gottafuckin’ soundcheck and if I’m late the band’llget fuckin’ pissed at me and I’ll be fuckin’fucked.”

Mom was right, Neto was a cochino – onethat had turned the usage of “fuck” into an artform.

“Watch your mouth, stupid,” Dennissnapped. “My mom is just in the other room.Show some respect.”

“And quit kicking your legs like that. Yourjack boots are leaving scuff marks all over thedrawers,” I added.

“Fuck, sor-ry,” Neto said. “Hey, Dennis,why you always listen to that same fuckin’ tape

man? If I hear Darby Crash sing ‘No God’ onemore fuckin’ time, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill some-thing. Why don’t pop this into your shitty stereoinstead?” He pulled a cassette from his tatteredLevi’s jacket and handed it to Dennis. “I hearHostile Intent are the best fuckin’ band out thereright now. Better than DI, Youth Brigade,Discharge, or any of that other played-out bull-shit you keep listening to.”

Dennis flipped the cassette back and forthin his hand, mulling it over, and handed it backto Neto. “I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

Neto looked truly offended. “Why not?”“Because I’ve heard it a hundred times

already, and it doesn’t get any better. There’s notone good song on there. Face it, Neto, yourband sucks and you sing like a little retardedgirl.”

“Man, fuck you, fuckin’ starfucker. If itwasn’t for me, both your asses would be sittingat home every Friday night watching fuckin’Ozzie and Harriet reruns,” Neto grumbled,replacing Dennis’ tape with his demo. He turned

up the volume and began miming along andsneering into the mirror.

Dennis tapped my shoulder, his signal thathe was done with my hair. I got up, elbowedNeto out of the way and looked in the mirror.

Dennis had again outdone himself. Atop my head stood at least thirty spikes,

each jutting out at ninety-degree angles from itsplace on my scalp, each equidistant to its near-est neighbor. It couldn’t have been more perfectif he’d used a level and ruler. I looked down andsaw that the front of the black Germs shirt I waswearing was covered with dried, caked-on dripsof egg white and I had no doubt the back waseven worse off.

“You look swell, fuckin’ Fabio, now let’sget the fuck out of here already,” Neto said.

“Hold on, I still gotta get some shoes,” Ianswered and started out of the bathroomtoward my room.

“Fu-uuuuck, man, you’re worse than mysister!”

“I’ll only take a minute.”My hair was the hardest, most time-con-

suming part of dressing for a gig. The rest wassimple: one pair of spurred jack boots, aPendleton tied around the waist, suspendershung down over that, a choice short sleeve dressshirt decorated just right (tonight’s choice had“you don’t belong” written on the back in big,block letters), a black Harrington wind breakerwith dozens of band buttons on it, assortedspiked belts, bracelets and other accessories andI was good to go. I piled it all on in two minutes,tops, adding Dennis’ old iron cross necklace tothe ensemble at the last minute.

Neto and Dennis were already out inNeto’s car by the time I stepped out of my room.I ran down the stairs, hopped into the back seatof Neto’s beat up black Gremlin, head tilted justright so as not to fuck up the ’do, and beganscraping dried egg off of my shirt with a finger-nail.

“Did mommy kiss you goodbye, m’ijo?”Neto said, his face curled up in a sneer, and thencackled like a hyena.

“At least my mom doesn’t deny I’m hers,”I responded. “By the way, have you got enoughduct tape to make sure your piece of shit cardoesn’t fall apart by the next block? I’ve gotyour mom and our kids to support, you know.”

“Fuck you, little boy. All I’m saying is ifI’m late for sound check and the vatos in theband get fuckin’ pissed at me, I’m gonna beatyour ass for making me late.”

“You couldn’t kick an old lady’s ass if sheno arms and was waving her ass in front of yourfoot, stupid.”

“I’m just saying,” he repeated, looking atme in his rear-view mirror.

Dennis laughed. “Every week it’s the sameshit. You two are better than an episode of TheJeffersons.”

“Glad to serve as your personal fuckin’entertainment, co-pilot,” Neto said. “Theyshoulda called you Dopey instead, you bald-headed motherfucker. Hand me a fuckin’ beeralready.”

He started the car, took another tape fromhis jacket and popped it into the stereo. CircleOne’s “Beware” came from the Gremlin’sstereo, easily the most expensive and most reli-able part of Neto’s car. Pleased, he crankedthe stereo up, put the car in drive and webarreled into the quickly settling darkness.–Jimmy Alvarado 27

That was a real good feeling, man, kinda like – Ow! Shit!...

HAMSTERS IN A CAGE

Hot Topic is for posers.-Nikki T, punk rock girl in training

I’m engaged to marry a per-fectly nice guy. He treats me well.Most girls would be content to havea perfectly nice boyfriend. (Hell, Iknow a lot of girls who would becontent to have a boyfriend, peri-od.) I should be happy that I’vefound someone who will toleratemy obsessive collecting habits andwho will appear to listen every timeI point out the fine details of mymost recently acquired Sea Weedoll from eBay. I know I shouldgive him my undivided attentionand adoration, and I know that Ishouldn’t be looking elsewhere atother people, but I can’t help it.Maybe I have a problem. But it’sjust this: I like to check out othergirls.

Sean and I will be at a restau-rant or a bar or in some crowdedvenue, minding our own business,drinking our drinks, talking smackabout people, when the inevitablewill happen. A girl will walk by,and I’ll have to stop talking aboutDale* to turn my head and checkher out. Sean will say, “You neverlook at me like that,” and I’ll say,“Yes, but you never wear low-rid-ers and show off your belly, either.”

Sometimes I will look at whatthe girl is wearing, and other timesI’ll take note of her expensivemakeup and hairstyle. All the time Iwill look at her body and considerthe number of hours she must log inat the gym, wonder at the amountof dollars it must have taken to payfor that boob job.

One time, when I was stillemployed and could afford it, I wasat my old gym, strolling the rubberpath of my treadmill and trying toignore the comparisons betweenmyself and a hamster in a cage. Iwas absentmindedly gazing aheadof me when a woman I’d neverseen before crossed my line ofvision. She had the kind of top-heavy build that reminded me of abird: full, wide breast and skinnylegs. She wasn’t conventionallyattractive; her nose was large in

proportion to the rest of her face,and she had a receding chin. Toadmit my instantaneous thoughtsupon that moment will reveal me asan extremely shallow person, but,hey, who hasn’t had these kind ofevil brain smirks randomly sneakup on them? The first thing thatcame into my head at the time was,“Geez, thank god for genes. At leastI don’t look like her.”

I know that these were notvery nice thoughts, and thinkingthese things did not make me a verynice person. I realized this immedi-ately, and I mentally slapped myown wrist. I kept strolling. I wouldhave forgotten all about it, too, if Ihadn’t walked into the women’slocker room forty-five minuteslater to hear a very loud voice hav-ing what sounded like a very one-sided conversation. The person wastalking about her recent liposuctionprocedure. How wonderful it was,how marvelous, how everyoneshould have a great plastic surgeon.

I turned the corner and almostwalked into the fabulous womanwhose husband could afford to payfor her plastic surgery. Her backwas to me, and she gestured ani-matedly with her arms. Shegrabbed a fold of skin around herwaist and shook it at the woman lis-tening to her. “See? When the doc-tor did my lipo, he told me he couldput indentations here around myabs to make it look like I work out.I told him, ‘Honey, I already workout.’”

It turned out to be the womanI’d noticed earlier. I went over tomy locker and opened it, pretend-ing to look for my keys, but I wassecretly peeking through the crackbetween the lockers and trying toget a glimpse of this woman’s chis-eled abs. She was still grabbing atparts of her body, and the folds ofskin were getting in the way.

“I just love my plastic sur-geon,” she continued loudly. I won-dered if maybe she wanted every-one to hear her. She certainly actedlike she wanted to draw attention toherself. “He is so talented! He is thebest! He’s done my breasts, mynose, my chin, even the skin aroundmy eyes. See? He wants everything

to be beautiful! Do you know, whenyou step into his office, there isnothing there that isn’t beautiful?The floor, the walls, the chairs, theflowers… They’re all so tasteful.He’s got it decorated so beautifully.He says he just won’t put up withugly.”

Well. I had to bite my tongueon that one. I pulled back andshoved my face deep into the lock-er. But there was no stopping thejesters in my head, complete withevil laughter.

Honey, if he just won’t put upwith ugly, then you must be payinghim an awful lot of money.

I slapped my wrist.

I can’t help it. These kinds ofideas just jump into my head. Icheck out other women, and somereflex in my brain makes me scoffat the ones who seem to carelessly-on-purpose throw around signs ofwealth and indulgence. It’s evenworse now that I’ve moved to LosAngeles and I have to save myspare change to buy groceries.Every time I see a thin woman withbig boobs (usually fake), dressed infancy Beverly Hills-type clothes(usually a tight, three-quarter-sleeved blouse; capri pants; andbackless high-heeled mules), get-ting into or out of a shiny new car(usually black, usually of the for-eign import variety), and talking onher cell phone (always oblivious toeverything else), my immediatereaction is to think A), Jesus, hangup the phone! and B), boy, you surelook like a bitch.

It’s not just the rich-lookingones who are subject to my scrutinyand criticism. It’s also the poor-looking ones… but just the poor-looking ones who are actually notpoor at all and who are really justtrying to attain the secondhand-store look by spending a lot ofmoney at places like, say, I don’tknow, Hot Topic in the mall.

Last week in San Francisco, Iwas hanging out in a bar with acouple of friends who were heavilyinvolved in a business-related dis-cussion that didn’t include me.Naturally, I passed the time byscoping out the women. I was told

that this bar drew a punk crowd, butthe majority of the people I sawlooked like average college stu-dents. Then there was one girl who,from a distance, appeared to havemade an effort to stand out from thecrowd. Her hair, clothing, andaccessories drew my interest. Cool.Maybe, I thought, she’s a punkrocker. I noticed she even had therequisite studded punk rock belt.She was dressed all in black, wear-ing what I’ve seen on other punkrock girls: sleeveless black top,black bra straps falling down hershoulders, black leather bracelets,skinny leather choker, black jeans.Her look was very carefully orches-trated, and that’s when I started towonder if maybe her attention todetails was more about capturingthe punk rock look rather than thepunk rock attitude and lifestyle.The closer I examined her appear-ance, the more I noticed that herclothes were too tight, too black,too new. Her jeans turned out to bea department store brand name, andthey were cut in the low-rider stylethat is meant to practically revealyour pubic area. Close up, shelooked less like one of TheEyeliners and more like BritneySpears’s idea of Joan Jett. I don’tknow any real punk rockers whodress like this. I don’t know anyreal punk rockers who buy theirclothes at a department store in themall.

I’ve been to a number of punkshows, and I’ve checked out allsorts of girls. I’ve seen girls withbald heads, chelsea cuts, libertyspikes, and those crazy fan-likesections of hair that have beenstiffly sprayed to resemble wingssprouting off the sides of the head.I’ve been at shows where girls inmismatched plaids, torn rags, andripped stockings have brushed pastgeneric-looking sorority sisterswho looked like they were all castfrom the same template. I knowthat, in comparison to thosesqueaky-clean, All-American-look-ing types, the punk rock girls maylook like they haven’t washed theirclothes or hair in months. I knowthat, when faced with the option ofstanding next to the punk rock girl

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Close up, she looked less like one of The Eyeliners and more like Britney Spears’s idea of Joan Jett.

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or next to the Old Navy walkingadvertisement of a girl, the generalpublic will pick Old Navy overSt.Vincent de Paul Thrift Store.

But I won’t. She may not be sporting the

light, subtle scent of a designer fra-grance; she may be redolent ofcheap beer and five different typesof hair products that keep her liber-ty spikes sharp, unyielding, andtinted, but I’ll stand next to a punkrock girl and I won’t have an evilbrain smirk. In fact, my brain isusually taking notes and trying tocommit certain details for futurereference: hmmm, cool bag; sharpoutfit; hey, wow, original idea... I’mgonna have to copy it. My mentalinventory list might run somethinglike this: man’s extra-large bluebutton-down mechanic’s workshirtwith name patch reading “Mario”,original pointy collar replaced by afaux fur black and white leopardprint piece, probably handsewn in.Or: Bleached out denim skirt, orig-inally must have been someone’sold pair of jeans, cut and puttogether as a miniskirt; black knee-high platform boots and torn redfishnet stockings underneath.

Sometimes it’s not the wholeoutfit, but just that one piece thatwill make me stop, stare, and wishit were me who looked so cool. Oneof my favorite sightings of all timehappened at a Knockout Pills show.I saw a kid wearing THE shirt: awhite cotton tee with that shrunk-en-yet-soft-and-worn look that abeloved t-shirt will get after many,many cycles in the washingmachine. That wasn’t what made itso special, though. It was the largemap of the Philippines, faded yeteasily identifiable, that graced thefront of that kid’s shirt. I’m usuallya shy person who never approachesstrangers, but I just had to go up tothat girl, point at her right nipple,and say, “Hey, I like your shirt. Iwas born there.” The girl didn’t actlike I was some kind of nut or com-plete freak, which made her evencooler. She just looked down at herbelly, saw where I was pointing,and said, “Oh, Manila? Thanks. Ifound it at a thrift store.”

I doubt I will ever again havethis kind of conversation where Iapproach a random stranger andintroduce myself by way of point-ing at her breast, but it would benice.

Of all the girls I check out,these are the ones I admire: girlswho are creative and original andwho may have weird little conver-sations with strangers, but who alsoact like it’s no big deal. They dressto look like nobody else, and theydon’t care what other people think.Fuck the stares; those bastards arejust hamsters in a cage. It’s notabout money, plastic surgery, or

shopping at malls to buy things thatmake it look like they shop at thriftstores. They’ll look like how theywant to look. It’s all about the atti-tude.

See, to me, that’s when the girlwatching gets good.

That’s style. Punk rock.–Felizon

NOTES:*Eff you, Dale**When I wrote my first couple ofcolumns for the early issues ofRazorcake, I had this whole con-cept of doing The Postal Series:Why Kids Go Postal, WhyTeachers Go Postal. I wanted togive readers an insider's view of thefarce that is public education. Iplanned to chronicle the issues thatwhite-collar public servants (i.e.,

teachers) like myself faced, and Iwanted to expose the nasty politicaland social issues that were takingplace in the county where I taughtin Florida. Then the Harry Potterincident happened at my school.Rather than take up a whole lot ofspace explaining it here, I'll justsay that white fanatical Christianredneck media nazis should not beallowed to run a library in a smallmiddle school where the studentsare predominantly black and fromsocially and economically disad-vantaged backgrounds. I wasalready on the verge of burnout andwhen no one showed public supportwhen I tried to fight censorship atmy school, that was the last straw. Iwanted to walk out and give every-one the finger ("That will screw myprincipal!"), but the truth was, I

would only be screwing myself (Ihad no money saved and no otherjob prospects) and my students. SoI stuck it out until the end of theschool year, handed in my keys, andtold them I was moving across thecountry to go work for a punk rockmagazine. I guess that was a moregraceful way of quitting than say-ing "Fuck you," but I still kind ofwish that I'd shit on the schoolboard's head somehow.

This column marks my returnto writing, and I kind of felt like Ihad to explain my hiatus just incase that one Razorcake readernoticed the absence of Shark Baitfor the past half a dozen issues. Andalso, because I just did that, I'mnow making a public commitmentto keep writing. (See that,Sean?) I have no more excuses.

New Punk Fashions for the Spring Formal

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It was some time after midnight when weleft the bar. I carried two six-packs I’d boughton the way out and walked back to the apart-ment while Ruby and Toni headed over to thecorner store to buy some cigarettes.

I unlocked the front door, walked up theflight of stairs, and opened the door to the apart-ment. I put three beers on a table and threw therest in the fridge. As I slumped against thekitchen counter, I stared curiously at two pota-toes sitting on a shelf above the sink. They’dprobably been there for months. One had a roothalf a foot long sprouting from the back. Theother potato was curved upward in such a waythat it resembled an erect dick. The first night Ispent at Ruby’s I’d christened them the RatPotato and Dick Potato. A month later and theywere still sitting in the same spot. For a minuteI thought about throwing them away, but Idecided against it. I figured they gave the placecharacter.

A few minutes later I heard the downstairsfront door open. Drunken laughter and the smellof cheap smoke made its way up the steps. Itsounded like more than two people.

Ruby stumbled through the doorway andtook me in her arms. “I missed you, baby,” sheslurred, her long, brown hair covering her eyes.I looked over her shoulder. Toni stood in theshadowed light of the hallway. She was a friendof Ruby’s who I’d met at the bar a couple hoursearlier. She could put the drinks down, butrarely spoke, so I didn’t have a whole lot to goon. Next to her were two people I’d never seenbefore.

“Yeah, right,” I said to Ruby, brushing thehair away from her face. I kissed her on the lipsand tried to count the number of red lines in hereyes. I got to six before I stopped. “Friends ofyours?” I asked.

“Carl, this is James and Terri. Guys, this ismy boyfriend Carl,” said Ruby.

I gripped James’s hand hard and shook it.It was soft and feather-like. He was skinny andhis sunken-in cheekbones gave him a sicklylook. He had a feminine voice and couldn’thave weighed much more than a hundredpounds. The woman was big and burly. She hada crew cut and wore tight work pants. A janitorkey ring was hooked to her belt. I felt the bonesin my fingers go numb as she put them in a vice.All I could think was, tough lesbian.

I cracked my knuckles to make sure theywere all there, laughed to myself, and then

handed the two a couple of beers.

I walked over to the stereo in the living room,put on an Elvis Costello record, and sat down onthe couch. “What’s so funny about peace, love,and understanding, yeah...”

A month, and somehow Ruby and I werestill going strong. Between the beer andwhiskey nights and the sex-crazed mornings, itall felt like some strange and wonderful dreamyou never want to let go of. Ruby was about allI could ask for. She was beautiful, spontaneous,and like myself, often teetered on the edge ofinsanity.

Ruby made her way over to the couch andsat down next to me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Nothing,” I said, “just felt like sitting

down for a minute.”“You’re not mad?”“Why would I be mad?”“I don’t know. You’re acting strange.”“I’m just drinking. I’m kind of tired. Don’t

worry about it.”“Well, they’re pretty cool. We met them

outside of the liquor store. They just got backfrom some party. They like to drink. We’re notdoing anything anyway.”

“It’s fine. It’s your place.”“After everyone leaves, I’ll make it up to

you, okay, baby?”“All right,” I said. Ruby put her wet lips on

my mouth and pushed her beer-soaked tonguedown my throat. I grabbed her tight around thewaist. She kissed me on the neck and whis-pered, “I love me some Carl.” I guess I had itpretty good.

Suddenly, my attention was diverted to thekitchen table. I closed my eyes for a couple sec-onds, gave them a good rub to make sure I was-n’t hallucinating, and then opened them. Jameshad a roll of scotch tape in his hand and waswrapping it around his face. His lips were tapedtight and his nose was pressed down so it lookedlike he had a harelip. The right side of his mouthwas raised and hung about an inch under hiseye. The big lesbian stood behind him andwatched excitedly.

“You doing all right over there?” I askedjokingly. James didn’t say anything. He contin-ued to tape up his face until the entire roll wasgone. It was a little disturbing to look at after along night of drinking.

Ruby ran into the kitchen. As she wavedher hands in the air, I had the vision of a wildostrich flash briefly before my eyes. “Now, thisguy’s crazy! You’re so crazy!” she screamed.Toni stood by the window smoking a cigarette,a perplexed expression painting her face.

James still hadn’t said a word. Maybe he

couldn’t with all of that tape. He walkedtowards the living room, stood in front of thecouch, and proceeded to drop his pants to thefloor. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw hissad, little, tear-eyed dick hanging between hislegs. Well, now this is going to get interesting, Ithought.

Ruby continued to run around the kitchen:“Oh shit, Carl, this guy’s crazy! I love him!You’re so crazy!”

“Oh yeah, baby, he’s a winner,” I said toher sarcastically.

Tape Boy took off his shirt.“God, it’s so small, Carl, smaller than my

pinky.” Ruby laughed, unable to take her eyesaway from Tape Boy’s nether region. She was abig charge of drunken light and energy, and Ifelt it radiate into my pores.

A little sinister smile appeared from behindthe mask of tape. Somehow, he’d gotten a holdof another roll. He began to tape up his nipples.

Then, with a quick and fluid motion ofamazing dexterity – as if this was just as com-mon as brushing his teeth – Tape Boy tucked hispenis back through his legs and taped it to hisass. Obviously, it wasn’t the first time he’d triedthis.

The big lesbian rushed into the living roomand handed Tuck Boy a black sharpie. Heclosed his eyes and marked the eyelids. As heopened them, we squirmed on the couch. In amatter of minutes, he’d transformed from afrail-looking cancer patient into some sort ofstrange-looking, B-movie horror villain.

And there we were on that couch, caught inbetween two strange worlds of fantastic reality.Yeah, sure, I was a little scared. I mean, who thefuck was this nut ball, and exactly what did hehave in mind? Yet at the same time, I was over-whelmed with a sense of insanity that was, in astrange and exciting way, contagious. I guesswhen you have the feeling that you’ve gonecrazy, you know, full off the rocker, you feed offof nights like these. And there’s philosophy foryou. Too many beers and some naked circusfreak and my wild and beautiful girl and thenight running laps around my consciouslyunconscious soul and I’m sitting there on thecouch thinking I’m Schopenhauer.

I felt the world stop for a brief second, andhad the rather disturbing vision of a satanicclown performing in front of me. Maybe thiswas hell? Tuck Boy glided across the kitchenfloor thinking he was the second coming ofBaryschnikov. He grabbed a hold of the dickpotato. I took a long pull at the beer. It was fullof cigarette ash. I nearly gagged as I spit thecontents out on the floor. I grabbed a different30

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bottle, made sure it had beer in it, and washedthe throat down. Tuck Boy stood in front of usand taped the potato in place of where his dickhad been.

“This guy’s not right,” said Toni. It was thefirst thing I’d heard come out of her mouth in awhile. Ruby grabbed my leg; she was all smiles.

The big lesbian had a spatula in her hand.She began to spank Potato Boy.

“No, not my spatulas! Well, just don’t usethem all,” pleadedRuby.

The sound ofplastic on flesh echoedthroughout the apart-ment. If a one-leggedmidget had walked inthe door right then, itwouldn’t have sur-prised me.

“See, Carl, that’show hard you shouldspank me. Just likethat,” said Ruby, nod-ding her head convinc-ingly.

Oh God, Ithought, what the hellis going on here? I ranover to the kitchen,grabbed another beer,and sat back down onthe couch. I could feelthe excitement in theair. This was way bet-ter than what Saturdaynight television had tooffer.

After a coupleminutes, the big les-bian stopped spankingPotato Boy. His asswas blood red andswollen. Big lesbianwent into the kitchen.When she came backinto the living roomshe was holding a foot-long butcher knife.

“No, not myknives!” screamedRuby. “Carl, those arethe good knives!”

Maybe, but I sureas hell wasn’t going tobe the one to grabthem from the brute.“Be careful with thatthing,” I said jokingly.

As Toni hid in thecorner of the couchlooking like a dumbmute – her hands cov-ering her eyes in ran-dom intervals – Potato Boy put the knife inbetween the tape and one of his nipples. Heslashed the tape away with wild flair, first theleft tit, then the right.

“You’re crazy, man, fuckin’ crazy!” shout-ed Ruby. Her beer dangled in her hand andspilled all over my pants. Ash from her cigarettefell to the floor. I looked at Ruby, her eyesglowing like a big ball of stormy ocean dreams.Goddamn, I wanted to make wild and passion-ate love to her right then. Take her there on thecouch and fuck the whole damn room and night

away into a world of circus obscurity.Potato Boy looked down at the dick pota-

to. He gripped the knife tight, raised it above hishead, and held it suspended in the air. A hushfell across the room. All you could hear was anambulance siren from a couple blocks away.With one crushing and violent blow, the potatodropped to the floor, like a head on a guillotine.All that remained was a small stump. I stared atthe decapitated potato and thought, you doing

all right, big guy?Potato Boy started to get wild with the

knife. He carved the air as if he were paintingand then took the sharp blade to his eyes andmouth, violently cutting the tape away. I won-dered where he got his drugs, if he had anymore, and if doing that to his face was painful.The big lesbian grabbed the knife. She wentinto the kitchen, washed it off in the sink, andput it in the clean dishes rack. Potato Boyremained silent. He picked up the stump on thefloor and bowed. We sat there for a couple sec-

onds, speechless, not exactly sure how torespond. Ruby and I then stood up and gave hima resounding ovation. I shouted in a thick,English accent, “Bravo, bravo, fine work,chap!” Give me madness. I wanted more. Wasthis it?

Potato Boy didn’t move. He just stoodthere with the same damn sinister smile frombefore.

“There’s more?” I asked excitedly.He nodded and

proceeded to get downon all fours, his cherryass facing the couch.

“Oh my...” saidRuby, grabbing myarm tight, her faceturning pale white.

The big lesbiancame out of the kitchenwith a large cucumberand walked into theliving room. Thecucumber was nearly afoot long and a goodsix inches around.

“Not the cucum-ber! God, you’re sick!”shouted Ruby. I could-n’t stop laughing.

The big lesbianhanded Potato Boy theice-cold cucumber.There was no hesita-tion. With one violentthrust, the cucumberwent straight into hisasshole. At least half ofit was in there. A damnwork of art in theworld of skin stretch-ing, I thought. His asslooked like a big,wide-open mouth. Herammed the cucumberin and out and stared atus, his head bent paral-lel to the floor, his facestill a twisted mess oftape.

The cucumbergradually began to turninto a ball of mush. Aminute later the toppopped off. Somegreen liquid floodedthe floor. Rubybounced up from thecouch and ran into thekitchen. She cameback with two morecucumbers. She wasjumping up and down,her tits in hysterics...

wild curves... baby eyes... all beauty in this sickand twisted midnight carnival.

Ruby held one of the cucumbers tight,stuck out her tongue, and slapped CucumberBoy on the ass. He let out a half-audible grunt.It was the first noise I’d heard come out of hismouth since I shook his hand. I don’t knowwhat possessed me, other than mental instabili-ty, but suddenly I found myself with a cucum-ber in my hand. I pretended it was a baseball batand stood in a crouched stance. I waited for thepitch. BAM! I gave him a good, 31

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hard whack on the ass. I did it a couple moretimes. It felt liberating. He grunted and contin-ued to work on the cucumber. It was nowalmost all disintegrated, pieces of greencucumber surrounding him.

Finally, he finished. I guess he got off onit. Or maybe he got off on us. Or maybe both.Who’s to say? I suppose we’ve all got our ownstrange pleasures. For him, they just happenedto involve big vegetables.

Cucumber Boy quickly put his clothesback on and tore the tape off of his face. “Ruby,do you have a broom?” he asked politely, as ifthe last half hour had never taken place. Rubylooked at him, dumbfounded and expression-less. She pointed to the closet by the front door.Cucumber Boy quickly cleaned up the veg-etable mess with a broom and a pan andwashed the floor with some disinfectant. Aminute later the wooden floor glistened like apolished silver plate.

“Look, I just want to thank you guys forthe beer and for having us,” said CucumberBoy.

“Yeah, you guys are all right. People usu-ally kick us out after the taped face part,” saidthe big lesbian. She wrote down a phone num-ber and handed it to Ruby.

“Well, uh, thanks for coming. You guysare nuts.” Ruby laughed.

I waved goodbye from the couch as theywalked out the door. Ruby, Toni, and I sat nextto one another and stared at the shiny spot onthe living room floor. We didn’t say anything.You can’t try to understand shit like that.

Ruby broke the silence. “I’m pretty tired.Toni, do you want to sleep with us in my bed?”

I gave Ruby a dirty look and nudged her withmy leg. She ignored me.

“No way,” said Toni. “I got the couch. I’mnot getting in bed with you two. A fuckin’cucumber? God.”

“Come on, we’re not going to do any-thing,” said Ruby.

“The couch is fine. I don’t trust youfreaks,” said Toni.

Ruby and I went to bed. We tried to makeit, but I was too drunk to get it up. Besides, allI could picture were cucumbers and potatoes.

I woke up early the next morning. The sunwas coming in bright through the blinds. Thebirds were outside doing their thing. I lay inbed with my hands behind my head and let themind float off into some strange realm of emptyspace. Ruby turned over and put her head onmy chest.

“I can’t believe someone put a cucumberup his ass in my living room. Did that reallyhappen?” she asked, thinking maybe it was alljust a strange, alcohol-induced dream.

“Yeah, it happened. Pretty weird shit,” Isaid.

I got out of bed and went into the kitchen.Toni was gone. I cooked some eggs and toast,and Ruby and I ate breakfast in bed. A couplehours later we headed towards my apartment.On the way, we passed by the bar. From out-side, you could hear the roar of drunken regu-lars that were already well on their way. Wewalked down Howard Avenue, turned left onMadison, and took it until we hit St. Paul.–Seth Swaaley

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You have surely heard the saying “Actions speak louder thanwords.” As a result, I find myself less interested in sharing theexact words of Against Me! and more interested in talking aboutwhat they did in the four days I spent with them and four shows Isaw them perform.

I did conduct an interview with the band. Well, most of theband. Tom (vocals and lead/sometimes acoustic guitar), Dustin(bass and backup vocals), and James (guitar and backup vocals)were there, along with official tour videographer, Adam, and myown tour mate, Rosie Streetpixie. It started at around 1 A.M. witha full bottle of Jameson’s Whisky, and ended at 5:30 A.M. with anempty one. Perhaps this also is an example of actions speakinglouder than words, especially when the words are filtered throughdrunken, tired ears and tongues.

Oddly, before meeting the band, I had heard rumors thatthey were straightedge. Clearly this was not the case, as Jamesstarted one conversation with, “Who’s got two thumbs and likesbeer? [pointing at himself with his thumbs] This guy!” and oftenpunctuated the interview discussion with tidbits such as “Whisky.Monkey Whisky!” (if there was a context for this, he never said).Instead, they understand the difference between drinking assomething fun to do, and drinking as THE fun thing to do… asevidenced by the line “the beer is not the life of the party” in thetitle track off their new album Reinventing Axl Rose (No Idea).

In a standard interview piece, I would quote the members ofAgainst Me! as they discuss how they aren’t in it for the money.They did say such things, but this isn’t as unusual as was the factthat they split all money equally between acts, citing the fact thata car needs gas, no matter how many people were in it or how farit came. Granted, this money usually wasn’t a guarantee or evendoor money, but the money from passing-the-hat or “if you can at

the door” shows. It’s easy to say that one doesn’t36

care about money. A lot of bands have lyrics about not caringabout money and such, and they play these songs after ironingout riders and guarantees. It’s not as easy to have the money inyour hand and give it away.

Tom has said on more than one occasion, “I don’t want tobe a rock star.” I asked him about this before the third show, andhe looked sheepish and replied, “Aw, man, this is awkward,”before changing the subject. Afterwards, well into the late drink-ing session, I asked again, and this time he did answer. “I don’tcare about being a rock star. I don’t care about being famous. Ijust want to play music.” This was met with agreement from hiscohorts. I have seen so many punk bands over the years, readinterviews with them, and talked to them enough about the DIYrhetoric that I’m not shocked or even impressed by this at all.What is impressive instead is the fact that Tom stayed after oneshow ended, in a basement, in order to help pick up cigarettebutts and other trash left by the crowd. His face while doing soseemed to register guilt, as if the fact that a show leading to amess was the band’s fault. “This is where someone lives,” hesaid, perhaps to me, perhaps to nobody in particular.

While the interview/article and personal interaction betweenthe band and me had been scheduled far ahead (all starting whenI found out that Against Me! was slated to be in Eugene, Oregonthe same day that I was attempting to get a show for my ownspoken word tour, and my attempt to piggyback the shows blos-somed into four days of aligned tours). I first actually met theband the second day of the Portland Zine Symposium in Oregon.They had come to say hello to me and some other friends, as wellas just plain check out zines and other wonders of DIY culture.The fact that many of the zinesters were wearing Against Me!shirts was apparently noticed and appreciated, but taken in stride.

Upon being introduced to Warren, the drummer, he huggedme. And he hugged me, not a handshake-hug, not a slapping onthe back, I-don’t-really-mean-it hug, but a true, honest, kind-you-

Photos and NOT EXACTLY AN INTERVIEWBY RICH MACKIN

REINVENTING

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS

would-give-your-mom hug. When I met Tom, I was takenaback by his clean-cut boy-next-door appearance. Granted, forthe next few days, every time I saw him he was dressed in thesame black punk clothes (the band’s look, if they had one, wasfaded black oriented, unchanged, with inside-out t-shirts), buthe had boyish good looks and a smooth shave, and the kind ofsmile that lights up a room. If Against Me! start publishingposed photos of themselves on their CDs, they would soon befinding themselves on teenage girls’ bedroom walls. Thisthought frightens me asmuch as it would theband, but it is the bestway to drive the concepthome.

The first show wasin a punk house inPortland. Several bandsopened, includingAgainst Me!’s tourmates, Fiya, as well asRosie and me doing ourspoken word thing. But itwas clearly the AgainstMe! show in the heartsand minds of most of thecrowd. The problem was,it was a crowd. I had readearlier that weekend thatthe irony of a band likeAgainst Me! is that theydo what they do so well they outgrow the abilityto do the DIY punk house shows that they are soconceptually tied to. At this show, three hundredpeople were vying to fit in a space that seemedlike it could fit thirty. It was like trying to park acar in a mailbox. Still in all, the band played anamazing set, primarily off of the new album. Theroom felt like it was going to explode. While I domean from the excitement of the band and fans, Ialso mean literally, as there was too much excite-ment and too many bodies to fit. People pretzeledthemselves with one another, to fit all arms andlegs in close enough to get a good view of theband and to secure a good sing along space. Theband set straight to rocking with little goofingaround or stage patter. Enough was said to makeit clear that the audience was as much a part ofthe show as the band. (It was here that Tomannounced “I don’t want to be a ROCK STAR.”)Of course, this wasn’t really much of a concern tohave to prove, as the band was surrounded andalmost submerged by the crowd.

After the set, as the crowd went upstairs to drink the last ofthe beer, Tom indeed was alone in the basement, picking up cig-arette butts and other garbage. If anyone was concerned abouthim being a rock star, they weren’t there to help him play jani-tor.

The second show I saw was in Olympia, Washington,again at a punk house. This time, several bands were sheduled,with spoken word afterwards when the neighbors were less like-ly to complain. Among the spoken word performers waszinester Al Burian. Once again, there was no way that theamount of people who wanted to see the band could fit in theroom. There was no way in hell that the amount of energy couldeither. Unlike the angst and anger of early punk or the averagetestosterone filled hardcore set, the energy at these shows hadan air of hope and beauty. However, the physical problem ofputting too many objects in any one space means that therewon’t be enough room for them all. Amps were in constant dan-ger of being knocked down, and the drums – yes the drums, the

things normally far, far away from the fans – were knocked over bydomino effects from bouncing fans. The band was always opti-mistic, and instead of complaining about potential damage to equip-ment, the concern was always for the fans and the dynamics of theshow: “Is everyone okay? Is everyone’s space being respected?”Tom would ask. It was clear he was sincerely concerned abouteveryone’s well being, but at the same time, somewhat self amused.More than once, crowd bumping was less drastic, with merely themicrophone being knocked over. It bears mentioning that enough

people would be singing along at the top of theirlungs at any point in any song that the lead vocalmicrophone was not immediately missed. It wasclear that the crowd was divided into people whohad not heard the band and people who knew everyword. All interrupted songs were eventually fin-ished, and the band left for a twelve-hour overnightdrive to the next day’s show.

Personally, I avoided that drive and settled intoseeing the band a third time two days later inOakland. This was not a basement show. This wasan apartment show. Several bands played in akitchen – a normal, not especially big, no real reasonthat anyone would think you could fit a band in itkitchen. The band seemed unfazed. Fans came inand looked stunned at the very idea that a show wastaking place in such quarters, but at no time did asingle member of the band complain about anythingexcept for the desire for coffee and/or alcohol,depending on the individual. Even this was more the

occasional “where can weget some coffee/beeraround here?”, not a needto get drunk in order tocope with such an insanesituation. While the ideaof a punk band hangingout with the crowd beforeand during the show isnothing new, I was stillimpressed by how hard itwould be to distinguishband members fromshow-goers in the lineupon the sidewalk in frontof the space. At the sametime, I was noticing that agood dozen, if not more,of the people here for theshow were people I rec-ognized from Olympiaand Portland. A few I

knew anyway, a few I had just met, but in any case, it seemed like itwasn’t a single group of wandering fans, but that a number of peo-ple were indeed basing their own travels on the tour, and wereforming a community as they did. The similarity to Deadheads was,well, I don’t want to make too much of a comparison, but it isworth mentioning.

Not surprisingly, the show was shut down by the cops. Thecops in question were pretty friendly about it all, and the obviouseventuality of the shutdown kept anyone from getting too upset.Within a few moments, the plan was made to continue at anotherspace: a CD plant or distro of some sort, with actually quite a bitmore room and more of a “basement feel” that the die-hard fansseem to discuss and crave. The band proved its adaptability again,not just by up and moving to a second venue across town, but byshifting, during the ride, into a three-piece acoustic act, not some-thing the average punk band could pull off. Warren kept to theback, because a drum set would mean that fewer people could fit inthe room, and beats were provided enthusiastically by claps andthumps from the crowd. The band was threatened by 37

“We want to change whatthe role of the musician,

the rock star,is in our society.”

crowd members that the only way out was through the fans,and that all the favorite songs better be played. Such was thecrowd. This was only half a joke.

Against Me! was released unharmed to the home of ourhost – a young man named Will whose parents seemed com-pletely happy to have fifteenstrangers sleeping in theirhouse. This is when I set aboutluring the band into the tourvan armed with a bottle ofwhisky and a tape recorder.

The thing is, I felt as if Iunderstood who Against Me!were as a band more by watch-ing them than by whateverwords we exchanged would represent. It was also strange that,despite the alcohol and exhaustion, James, Dustin and Tom allkicked into interview mode, not so much presenting a falsesense of who they were, but a more thought out version of whothey were. Dustin, who otherwise was more animated andgoofy, became strangely articulate. Not that he wasn’t other-wise articulate, but it was as if being interviewed tapped intohis most thoughtful side. James, while not entirely losing hishumor, suddenly was saying things he had put a lot of seriousthought into. Tom obviously has been interviewed a lot, andwhile he was still passionate and emotional about every singlething, I could tell that he had said a lot of this before.

I asked if that day’s show was at all typical. “We have notypical show,” said Tom “but even this was a weird day.”

Having cornered Tom now, we discussed the rock starthing. “We want to change what the role of the musician, therock star, is in our society.” This led to a discussion over thename of the new CD, Reinventing Axl Rose. Tom explained,“My favorite band was Guns and Roses. I loved Guns andRoses, (using past tense despite the G’n’R back patch on theblack denim jacket he wore the whole four days I spent withhim) but, Axl Rose was this… he was racist, sexist, homopho-bic. He is basically a huge asshole.” Several lines into the dis-cussion, it became clear what he was getting at: the idea of therock star as a good example – not clean cut, like N’Sync – butinstead of being about sex, drugs and rock and roll decadence,being a force for good and social change. That and, “We hopehe will get mad and try and sue us,” according to Dustin.

Frustrations were voiced, common for the political rock

band: fans who enjoy the music without paying attention to thelyrics, sometimes getting them diametrically wrong. “People think‘Pints of Guinness (Make You Strong)’ is a drinking song, and it’sabout my grandfather being an alcoholic,” Tom said. Later, severalfans mentioned that maybe he shouldn’t have written a song thatwas so fun to sing along to if the focus is the thirty-seven years ofmourning caused by his grandfather James’s death. Me, I suddenlyfelt bad about quoting the song (“Just like James, I’ll be drinkingIrish tonight”) after taking the bottle of Irish Whisky from the gui-tarist, James.

Much of the best discussion of the interview fell under the“No, wait – don’t print that” variety. I know who’s toothbrush Tomused once without permission, details of Gainesville, Florida’s gos-sip, and a few sexual proclivities of a member more than I would dowell to write about. I did, however, also discuss the voting habits ofanarchists and the need to acknowledge there is a system going on,whether or not you choose to take part in it or not. Tom voted forNader this last election. Dustin, on the other hand, said, “I voted formyself. A protest vote is more a statement than not voting, so Iwrite myself in.”

The interview eventually became Tom, Dustin and me with anempty bottle, noting that the sun was rising, and that the park wehad parked next to was actually a golf course, and Dustin wanted togo steal flags. Instead we went to bed. Bed in this case being what-ever floor space had not already been claimed. Again, in case any-one was under the impression these guys are rock stars, they didn’tdebate whether the carpet in one room made a better bed than thearea rug.

The final show I got to see was a free, guerilla show in front ofa subway stop in San Francisco. It was three bands, played in shortround robin sets so as to ensure each band got to play before the

inevitable shutdown. Despitelack of permits and clear theft ofpower for the amps, the policetold us that the show would haveto shut down when someonecomplained, but we could goahead to see if anyone would.The usual faces were theresinging along, this time joinedby droves of commuters enjoy-

ing the music of a band they had never heard of and won-dering how so many kids seemed to know every word. Andyes, I did say that actions speak louder than words, but thewords that were all sung along to still were loud and clear.

Megan: So, initially Viz and FMstarted the sci-fi garage bandinvolving refrigerator boxes as cos-tumes. How did that come about?FM: You did some reading ahead.We need to change that reply rightnow.Dr. Grip: We’re actually fromPoland.Viz: Most people think it’sPortland, Oregon, but it’s not.FM: Our English language skillshave improved considerably sincethe advent of mind-reading tech-nologies, which we stole from theSoviets. Hence our ejection andsubsequent…Viz: Don’t talk too much aboutthat. We don’t want to arouse any-one’s suspicion.FM: Oh, back to the question. Yes,that’s true. Originally, Viz and Ihad some idea about starting a bandand we didn’t know exactly whatwe were doing. We had a wholehost of influences and ideas, butrobot garage rock is sort of whatwe’re calling it now, for lack of abetter term. I think the Epoxies arehalfway between what we imaginedand a real band.FM: You know, once we figuredout that would be too much work.Dr. Grip: I don’t know about that.The robot thing was still in playwhen I started.FM: Well, it was kind of a joke.

Viz: I don’t think anyone thought itwas a serious idea.FM: Yeah, until we get roadies.Then we’ll turn that joke into a ter-rifying reality.Dr. Grip: They needed a drummer,not just a drum machine, and Istarted playing with them for just acouple of weeks and then Roxycame in and sang one of the songsand everything just sort of fell intoplace, really.FM: Yeah, minus the money.

Dr. Grip: We realized we might beable to be a real band at that point.FM: There was a definite momentof realization when we all listenedto it and said, “This sounds good.Now we need to stop foolingaround quite so much.”Dr. Grip: No more dryer boxes fullof dryer hose.FM: Instruments are much moredifficult to play wearing refrigera-tor boxes with dryer hose arms.Megan: I would assume so.FM: We had to find some sort ofbalance in there.

Why isn’t anyone afraid of “The Big One”anymore? In light of our current politicalsituation – daily reminders that some nuclearwarhead could be headed for our homes,Reagan’s vice president’s kid is running ourcountry, emo is controlling the airwaves –everyone seems content to sit in front oftheir TV and let it come to them. Well, I forone am not, thanks to the Epoxies. Theirsongs are laden with desperate lyrics (exe-cuted beautifully, and at the same time pow-erfully, by Roxy Epoxy), but the music thatit’s set against makes you dance. I’m notkidding. You try to listen to their albumwithout one little bop or nod. I dare you. Ihave to admit that I was skeptical about lis-tening to their album. People kept labelingthem as new wave, which isn’t exactly a sell-ing point for me, but I did put it on. And Ihaven’t gone more than three days withoutlistening to it since. Usually on repeat. Andthat was in February.

There is a very good reason the Epoxiesare consistently escaping a solid categoriza-tion: they’re breaking new ground. Sure, youcan hear strong influences of Adam Ant, the

Rezillos, Kim Wilde, X-Ray Spex, and a hostof others, all depending on the song, butthere’s something more there. Everything theydo has a complimentary, and necessary, oppo-site. Are they a band with a schtick, and ifso, what the hell is the schtick? Roxy’svocals jump from crooning to yelling topleading to – hell – yodeling and back again.And it works. FM Static somehow found a wayto make keyboards not only compliment somerockin’ tunes, but to drive them. Hard. Dr.Grip is so focused on playing that you rarelysee him open his eyes during a set. Both theViz on guitar and Shock on bass, which are alittle played down on the album, are nothingless than fierce live.

They are the perfect band to listen towhen you’re breaking hearts, healing yourown, cleaning your room, stuck in traffic, ortaking on the world. The music is immaculate,the lyrics intelligent. The Epoxies make yourealize that, yeah, we’re gonna die, but wehave options for what we do in the meantime.We can sit and wait for it to come, or we candance into our destruction. You have achoice. I’ve already made mine.

Dr. Grip - drums, FM Static - keyboards/vocals Roxy Epoxy - vocals, Shock Diode -bass, Viz Spectrum - guitar

41

was it?Megan and FM: “If I Close My Eyes Forever.”Dr. Grip: I’ve seen that turn into something more likea duel, or more of an attack on the audience, youknow?FM: I’ve seen a lot of fights between the singer andthe audience.Megan: Because, Roxy, you started out singing inkaraoke bars to get used to it, right?Roxy: Yeah, I was just too petrified to do it, so theystarted pulling me out and getting me drunk and get-ting me to sing in front of people.FM: There’s this really crazy karaoke bar inBudapest, actually, where we first saw her sing.Roxy: Yes. Yes.FM: We were able to purchase her for a very reason-able price. There’s attitude problems that decreasedher market value.Megan: Did you have a favorite song?Roxy: I would sing “867-5309/Jenny” because I wasconfident that it was within a very narrow range that Icould hit and wouldn’t make a full ass of myselfalthough the song itself did a pretty good job of that.FM: I was fond of the “Break Up” song by GregKihn. That was my favorite of yours. She does a good“99 Luft Ballons” too.Roxy: I never sang that. You sang that.FM: I didn’t do a very good job, as I recall.Megan: One thing I’ve noticed is that you work reallyhard to support other bands. Did you get similar sup-port when you were starting out? Was there anyone inparticular who helped?FM: Everybody practically that we’ve ever interactedwith has been unbelievably supportive and helpful. Idon’t know if it’s true that we do all that much forother bands. It just seems to be the thing to do.Everyone takes care of one another. Certainly, we’veall been there before and know that it’s a real drag todrive 500 miles and not get paid. It’s just a matter ofrespect.Megan: I know you’ve taken pictures for bands likethe Exploding Hearts and the Automatics. You didone of the covers for the Automatics, right?Roxy: I did most of them.FM: Pretty much all of them. I think all but one of thecovers.Megan: How many of you were involved with theAutomatics?FM: I was.Viz: I was on one of the covers.FM: That’s true.Roxy: I was on one of the covers, then I shot the oth-ers.Megan: I actually have one question about one of thealbums, Ten Greatest.FM: Ten Golden Greats.Megan: Why do you thank the state of Maine?FM: Our bass player is from the state of Maine. Amore interesting fact about that record is that we’renot actually inside the barrels, but in fact behind them.Megan: Oooh, trivia!Dr. Grip: Trick photography, it’s trick photography!Roxy: I am so good.FM: I also maintain that that’s the best album theAutomatics released.Dr. Grip: I like that one, too.Megan: Yeah, I just listened to it the other day.Before you were the Epoxies, you were playing out asthe Adhesives for a while.FM: For a little while yeah, ’til we found out that

Megan: So, if those ice capadingrobots vs. the world had been senthere to destroy one band, genre, orperson – who would that be?FM: What band would be theworst band for us to shit talk rightnow?Viz: [joking] The Spits.FM: [still joking] The stinkin’Briefs. We hate those guys.Viz: I hope the Spits and Briefs aredestroyed.FM: We’re so all inclusive. That’sthe thing. Dr. Grip: We love everybody.FM: We enjoy all the meats of ourcultural stew. There has to be terri-ble awful bands that are hateful inorder to make anything work. It’skind of like censorship. It’s kind ofnecessary.Dr. Grip: I’m kind of voting forLive, actually.FM: Toad the Wet Sprocket.Dr. Grip: They’re already gone.They pose no threat.FM: Yeah, but there’s so manyToad the Wet Sprockets in exis-tence still.Dr. Grip: What’s that one band?

Creed!Roxy: I’m not fond of any of thenu metal either.FM: How about every rock’n’rollband?Dr. Grip: Ummmm…that wouldinclude, like us.FM: Yeah, it would get rid of a lotof really good bands, but it wouldprobably be really good for musicif every band, including us, waswiped off of the face of the earthso something interesting couldhappen.Megan: I’ve heard that Portlandhas a pretty big bar scene. I’massuming that you guys also havekaraoke bars. Have you ever seen akaraoke fight?FM: I’m not sure how that wouldtake place.Megan: People can get pretty seri-ous about it.FM: As in “the mic is mine” typething?Megan: Yeah.FM: I was thinking more of anoperatic duel.Dr. Grip: Like a musical. Likethat Ozzy/ Lita Ford song, what

there was another Adhesives about a hun-dred miles from us. Viz: They were none too happy about it.Dr. Grip: We started crackin’ skulls.FM: In a side note related to both of thelast two questions – I just got an emailfrom one of the British Automatics’ guys,including like…Dr. Grip: “We’re gonnafuckin’ kill you.”FM: Yeah, basically. Hecalled me gay and gave mea giant cease and desistspeech and threatened tobeat me up and said litiga-tion would be forthcoming.Roxy: Really? When wasthis?FM: This was the daybefore we left. I didn’tbother to respond to him.Roxy: Oh my god, likeeveryone came out to seetheir reunion showsexpecting to see you guys?Dr. Grip: Maybe becausethey haven’t been a bandin twenty years.Viz: They did tour the U.S.Their bass player was onFresh Air. FM: I really wanted to gosee them. I’m sure they gotreally pissed at us by theend of the whole thing.Dr. Grip: I’m sure a lot of peo-ple showed up to see you guys.FM: Seriously.Megan: So, what are you a doc-tor of?Dr. Grip: Rhythmology.Megan: I hear you’re also a bitof an inventor.Dr. Grip: That’s Viz, actually. I’m a bit ofa hack inventor. Viz is the real genius.Megan: Was someone working on a bottlecap button maker?Dr. Grip: Oh, that was me.Megan: Did that work out?Dr. Grip: I don’t have the funding cur-rently to pursue that project, but I stillmaintain that it could be a really greatthing. How did that get out? How did youhear about that?Megan: I dug.Dr. Grip: At this phase they’re extremelylabor intensive. They involve a pair of pli-ers and some contact paper and a lot ofpen and ink drawings. I didn’t even makedecent printouts or anything. It’d probablybe cheaper to just give someone twentybucks to make ‘em.FM: We’re really interested in mechaniza-tion anyway, so it’s appropriate.Megan: Okay, this one you all have toanswer: What’s your favorite book?Roxy: Crap.Dr. Grip: Goodness sakes.Roxy: The Guide to Getting It On. (PaulJoannides)

FM: What’s the most pithy answer I couldup with?Roxy: I do enjoy the Sweet Valley Highseries.Megan: Don’t we all!FM: Right now, in the van, I’m readingThe Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis andI just got done reading You Are Going to

Prison. (Jim Hogshire)Dr. Grip: Which I’m currently workingon. It’s very entertaining.Viz: And informative.Dr. Grip: Yeah, primarily informative.Roxy: I also enjoy textbooks on abnormalpsychology.Viz: Oh, I know….Dr. Grip: Ferdinand the Bull.Viz: I don’t know if it is really myfavorite, but I guess it is.Dr. Grip: It’s called The Story ofFerdinand. (Munro Leaf) It’s a children’sbook. It’s fantastic. I recommend it toeveryone.Viz: That and On Food and Cooking.(Harold McGee)Dr. Grip: It’s not an M. F. K. Fisher book,but…FM: I like books about TV.Megan: TV Guide?Dr. Grip: Exactly!FM: No, informative books about TV. Idon’t care about what’s on. Dr. Grip: I like books based on late sev-enties television shows.FM: The Starsky and Hutch series.

Dr. Grip: The Grease photo novel.FM: What’s Happenin’. That’s a goodone.Roxy: Okay, that deteriorated quickly.Megan: Turbonegro said, “Why doAmerican punk rock boys always go outwith the American new wave hooker girls?I don’t know. I don’t like it.” Respond.FM: “In Norway we only go…” – how

does it go again? – “InNorway we go out withourselves and commithomosexual activity.”They can teach us all alesson, Turbonegro.Viz: Because new wavegirls are hot. Dr. Grip: They alwayshave spiky hair.FM: And stickers in all theright places.Megan: On the topic ofromance, if you placed apersonal ad for the entireband, what would it say?Viz: I’m not a ladies man.FM: You want to take thisone, Roxy?Roxy: No way!Dr. Grip: You might wantto hit pause on the tapemachine while we try tothink of a clever answer for

that one.FM: I had this idea thatwe should all take outpersonal ads.Dr. Grip: I rememberthat.FM: And put them upon the website, but alsoput them up on Yahooand whatnot and see

what kind of responses we could get. Minesaid, “My superior technology will enslaveyou.” I think that’s a pretty good one rightthere.FM: Yeah, let’s go with that.Megan: Since you don’t have any of yourlyrics in your liner notes, what’s been theworst mangling of your lyrics that you’veheard?Roxy: “I make some molded plastic.” Ithink it was even more mangled than that.Dr. Grip: “I make some moldy plastic.”FM: I can only imagine.Dr. Grip: Actually, one that I’ve gottenwas, “Talking with your toes” on “NeedMore Time.” “Time can go slow” is what Ithink it actually is, right? Which I fullybelieved were the lyrics for quite a while.Megan: Have you ever had anything blowup on stage? Or have you had to get allMcGuyver?Dr. Grip: Have we ever had anythingNOT blow up on stage?FM: McGuyver happens every singletime.Megan: You’ve got the duct tape.Viz: I think Spinal Tap is 43

probably the main…Dr. Grip: Pods and touchstones.Viz: We’re working towards that.Somewhere between McGuyver andSpinal Tap. We’ve used the Stonehengepieces on several occasions.Roxy: Every show.Dr. Grip: Isn’t that great? It’ll probablyhappen tonight.Viz: It’ll be more like the pods tonight,though. It won’t be as big of a deal,but…FM: What you’re gonna see is us spend-ing like an hour and a half trying tomake something work, that wouldn’t bethat cool even if it did work, but then it’llhalf work, so it’ll be way less cool thanif it didn’t work at all. Viz: Which makes it cooler than that. FM: We had a bubble machine that wespent eons on and no time getting readyand finally when it was time for the bigmoment – this is actually the feather pro-jecting device – we finally click it on andfour feathers go, like two feet, gently waftonto the stage. Tadah!Roxy: When the bubble machine workedit was fabulous. People were like, “Shutthat off!”FM: The bubble machine was kind ofoverpowering.Dr. Grip: We had an incredible bubblemachine for a few shows.Roxy: It was a violent bubble machine!Megan: It was violent?Dr. Grip: It was so powerful that, literal-ly everyone in the first five rows weregoing like this [shields face] and beg-ging us to turn it off. And that was con-structed by Viz here out of …Roxy: A soup can.Dr. Grip: A lottery machine – what wasit?Viz: It was a lottery promo display of aguy who pulls tickets out of his stockingand smiles.Dr. Grip: And a soup can, right?Viz: Yeah.Dr. Grip: And a juice bottle. Viz: And a couple of fans that we found. Dr. Grip: That one was incredible. Theone that was purchased was really pisspoor.Viz: We really need to make our owndevices for that kind of stuff. Dr. Grip: You can’t trust anybody.Viz: The commercially available stuff justisn’t that good at all.Dr. Grip: Or up to the Epoxies’ specs atall. It needs to be annoying.Viz: It needs to be annoyingly powerfuland incredibly fragile.FM: Extreme and in your face. Megan: So, Shock, what’s so specialabout you?Shock: What’s so special about me?Megan: Yeah.Dr. Grip: He’s a clone.Shock: That would be the answer.Roxy: Cloned directly from Viz.

FM: He’s only six weeks old. Dr. Grip: And he plays bass like a moth-erfucker, man! Viz: That was all part of the plan.FM: He was programmed in utero, so thatreally helped him along.

FM: Bioengineering helped a lot, by allindications.Megan: You guys have just toured thewest coast so far?Roxy: Yeah.Megan: Do you have any plans go east atall?FM: Yes, indeed we do.Megan: Because I heard that you might betrying to escape your fate of getting mar-ried in D.C.Roxy: Ahhh yes, I guess we will not beplaying D.C.FM: I’ve worked something out, so…Roxy: Sounds like I’m going to be soldagain.Megan: What’s the best heckle thatyou’ve heard at a show?Roxy: “You’re gay! You guys are gay!”Dr. Grip: “Fuck you, just play!” ‘Causewe’ll stand around looking at our littletoys.FM: “Please stop doing your annoyingshit!”Viz: “Stop doing that shit and just play!”

Dr. Grip: “That was an Adam Ant rip-off!” when we were doing “Need MoreTime.” Which isn’t actually.FM: It’s a complete Adam Ant rip-off!Dr. Grip: “Need More Time”?FM: Yeah, the “oh-eo-we-oh”s.Dr. Grip: Oh, the “oh-eo-we-oh”s, yeah. Italked to the guy afterwards and he wasvery happy that he’d noticed.Roxy: Then there’s Flip Off Guy inSeattle, who just stands there and goes likethis [flips two birds up high], but that’skind of a common thing.Dr. Grip: Yeah, the punk rock salute.Megan: It’s respect.FM: At least he’s not spitting on us.Gobbing.Dr. Grip: True. It would be a really highcompliment, though.Roxy: Although he likes it when I jumpon him. I heard he went into shock when Ijumped on him.Dr. Grip: Gobbing? FM: A big loogie spit thing.Viz: That’s just what they say. FM: Back in the old days when it wasslam dancing. Dr. Grip: Right, ‘cause you had punkers.FM: They have it all worked out to a sci-ence.Megan: Finally, I’ve got a little gamecalled “Fuck, Marry, Kill.” I’ll give youthree people and you have to put themeach into one of the categories. We’vegot Faye Fife of the Rezillos, JosieCotton, and Nick Lowe.Dr. Grip: I don’t know what JosieCotton looks like at all.

Shock: She’s not bad.Viz: Is there a time frame on this?Shock: Yeah, can we go back in time?Megan: You can validate it however youwant.Dr. Grip: I don’t want to kill Nick Lowe,but I don’t want to fuck him or marry him.Viz: I’d marry Nick Lowe, but I wouldn’twant to fuck him.FM: No, he’s probably the richest one ofthe three of them.Shock: So that’d be the guy to marry.Viz: That’d be the most advantageous.Dr. Grip: It wouldn’t matter to me rich-wise, I like his songs the best.Viz: I’d probably fuck Josie Cotton.Dr. Grip: I don’t want to kill any of them.Roxy: I think I’d fuck Faye Fife. I’d prob-ably kill Josie Cotton.Dr. Grip: Yeah, that might be the way togo.Viz: And marry Nick Lowe?Dr. Grip: He writes really good songs,too. He could write some really goodsongs for us, I think.Roxy: I hear Faye Fife is looking prettydamn good these days.FM: Yeah, I think Josie’s gonna getthe axe, unfortunately.Dr. Grip: Yeah, she goes down. Viz: No offense to her, should shehappen to read this. 45

I might throw my gui-tar like a boomerang

at their head...

Hey you! You are being robbed, my goodpeople. The best bands in the world are hiddenamidst a cesspool of mediocrity and bulbous,over-hyped marketing ventriloquist dummy-heads. Most of you are well aware of this injus-tice. Many of you still aren’t. It’s no fault of yourown. Corporations spend billions of dollars inresearch to keep you ignorant so they can keepthemselves satiated with designer produce andyacht club memberships. How much longer canwe stand to hear the next batch of crap somecorporate dickhead in a weenie suit deems“cool”, “edgy”, “alternative”, “cutting edge”,“genius”, or my most personally despised term– “brilliant”? Can’t our intelligence level standup to this brainwashing for the sake of no longerlining the satin pockets of these record industrylemmings? Take a proud and mighty standagainst the way things are. Make a change torebel against these social leeches by lookingbehind the curtain and calling out the fuckingcoward shit wizard. There are bands that aretugging away the ropes to expose the elaboratefacade of dancing, musical, floating turds. One ofthese bands that answer the call for revolutionis The Fuse!. These three young men have beenshowing what it takes to play by their rules,stray from tradition, set a new standard, breakthe laws, and do a mighty fine job of rocking – allin the same night. When asked about their influ-ences, singer F-2 seethes while responding, “Wehave no influences!”. There has been nothing likeThe Fuse! in the history of rock’n’roll. They are

not a derivative product. They

are not reinventing the wheel. They’re puttingnitrous ox in the carb and revving the 440 Hemi-engine until it blows. The Fuse! do not have any-thing released as of this interview, but theyhave quite a few projects in the works. If theyhappen to trample into your town, take the timeto attend the show and experience the concertyou will be talking about for years to come. Ashow by The Fuse! exhibits a feral anarchy like aGolding-esque stampede of mad children. Thereare body parts flying into view while womenshake their bodies and guitars shimmer underthe glaring lights. A garage psychotropic tripperhaps, but maybe it’s just your enthusiasmfinally convincing you to let go of your inhibi-tions. A rousing “Hey!” gets the crowd goingfurther down the rabbit hole and into the lecher-ous world of The Fuse! Take the blue pill.

We entered the cone of silence (Lords ofAltamont tour van – thanks for the loaner guys!)on the parking lot of a bar in the middle of one ofthe seediest corners in all of Hollywood: Sunsetand La Brea Blvd.

Present for this interview were:F-2: singer

F-1: drummer

Nam: Why did you guys start the band?F-1: Why not? It’s about time for a band todo something new, something exciting.F-2: I had this idea for a band and I waslike, “I better do it before somebody elsedoes.” And it’s been two years and nothinghas even come close anyway. So, I was like,“What’s the point?”Nam: So, does the scene totally suck?F-2: Except for four or five bands, the scene

totally does suck.Nam: Like who?F-1: Who cares?Nam: No, I mean who doesn’t suck?F-2: The four or five people you see metalking to at shows do not suck. I don’t wantto namedrop.Nam: Nobody’s gonna know who they areuntil you tell us. You might as well give a“shout out” to your “homies”.F-1: I don’t need to give a shout out. Theyknow who they are. (That is the four or fivebands that don’t suck. If you’re questioningwhether or not you are one of them, youautomatically suck.)Nam: So, where are you guys from?F-1: I live in Downey.F-2: I live in Norwalk. [pause] California.(Both are suburbs just south of LosAngeles)Nam: How did you guys meet?F-1: We both had mutual friends and hisold band broke up and F-2 wanted to start agarage band and I also wanted to start agarage band. It all worked out well in theend.F-2: We never got around to playing thegarage part, though.F-1: We don’t know the garage chords.Doh!F-2: [self defeated] We tried.Nam: What are you guys currently workingon?F-1: I am drinking Bacardi and juice.Currently, I’m just sitting here talking toyou.F-2: I’m debating whether I should go

An Interview by Namella J. Kim

with the Angriest Band in LA – Or the World for That Matter

46

!!

inside the bar and get some drinks.Nam: What was the inspiration behind theband?F-1: Well, like I said, I was looking for aband and they were looking for a drummer.That’s what inspired me.Nam: Because drummers are whores. F-1: Okay, I’m not gonna call you on thatone.F-2: I used to just play in my room in frontof my little cousins and they would all gocrazy. I figured, “Hey, if the kids are into it,if my little cousins are into it…”F-1: Then we might as well get some freedrinks out of it. Most of the shows that weplay…well, I don’t want to pay for the showso I might as well play it, that way we get infor free and get some free beer.F-2: I wait for people to compare us tobands we’ve never heard of so I can go tothe record store and find that record.Nam: Who are some of the bands thatinspired you? Where do you cull your cre-ativity?F-1: I like a lot of old traditional music, likeold mariachi and African drums.Nam: Like African rain dance bands? (Iheart Chaino.)F-2: Yeah, like African rain dance bandswith a lot of group sing alongs and bigmosh parts. Mexican mosh bands!F-1: But not mosh like the nineties, MTVyouth culture phenomenon.F-2: Mosh – like the rite of passage withrazorblades on your fist in a big druginduced frenzy. The real stuff, not this,“Ugh, I got cut with some guy’s spike neck-lace,” bullshit.F-1: We look to the Congo for our inspira-tion.F-2: None of this safety pin through the ear.We’re talking about those big old bamboosticks.

F-1: Damn crusty kids.Nam: Some plates on the lips, too?F-1: [a helicopter flies overhead] Man, Ihope you get that fucking ghetto bird on therecording.Nam: Yeah don’t worry I think I’ll tag it as“Apocalypse Now! With The Fuse!” Okay,so how long have you guys been The Fuse!?F-1: The Fuse! has been around for twoyears.F-2: Give or take a couple of years.Nam: Do you feel you have progressed dur-ing said years? I mean, I had no idea whatyou guys were about until I saw you a yearand a half ago. That was pretty early on atsome weird bar in Culver City.F-1: Yeah, I remember that show. It was agreat show.F-2: I don’t see it as progress. I just see it aswriting the songs and then saying, “Okaythis is our new set.” F-1: The only thing that has progressed ismy alcohol intake. My tolerance level forhard drugs and alcohol has definitely goneup. Yes, that’s quite a bit of progress.F-2: Being in a band helps youdiscover…new drinks!Nam: Do you guys have anything set forrelease? I know you are currently headedinto the studio. Can you let us in on some ofthat action?F-1: We’re gonna go into the studio andrecord twelve songs for ourselves and Iguess we’re gonna release it with RadioBeat Records.Nam: Oh, George. He’s a great guy.F-2: He’s gonna put it out and distribute itand all that stuff. We waited a whilebecause I didn’t want us to be the flavor ofthe month. I don’t want someone to just putit out and then forget about us. I wanted usto do a record with somebody who was real-ly into the band and is a friend. I don’t want

to look back in a couple of years and thinkwe compromised on certain things. That’sone thing I have never done with this band,I never compromised anything. I figured wecould make something with this band andmaybe travel or something like that. I meanit would be great if we can have our friendsthere with us rather than some other, shadypeople. I see some people from labels andthey’re like your friends from work.They’re not your real friends, they’re justpeople you have to see every so often. Iguess if you get along with them, you wouldconsider them to be your friends, butthey’re not your real friends. I’m talkingabout your real friends. F-1: That’s the good thing about George,he’s a really good friend of ours. Too manypeople say this town is filled with shadycharacters and you don’t want to deal withthem. You really want to deal with peoplewho you know.Nam: Who would you like to work with? Ifyou guys could have total creative control –producers, labels, etc.F-1: Kapow (Records) is pretty cool. I thinkwe’re gonna do a single with them. Theguys from Hostage (Records) are prettycool, but I don’t know if the “bros” fromOC (Orange County) will be down with us. F-2: We played a show in OC and we justweren’t that good.F-1: They don’t take too well to the tightpants and skinny ties. I think if we woreHurley shirts they would have taken to usmuch better. You know what I’m sayin’? Ifwe had worn Hurley shorts and fuckingBlink-182, we would have won them overfor sure.F-2: I think the people in Orange Countyare gonna wait until we are on GSL Recordsor something.F-1: Or Hostage, maybe then they will like

We look tothe

Congo

for ourinspiration.

Photos by: Retodd

! !

F-3

us.Nam: Wait. [dramatic pause] Fuck thatshit!F-1: Fuck LA. Fuck Orange County. If wemake any money we’re moving to Portland,actually we’re gonna move to Eugene,Oregon.F-2: We’re gonna move when we get somemoney together. I mean I don’t want to belike thirty and still playing in LA. I’d ratherbe thirty and play somewhere where theyhaven’t seen us before.F-1: Where nobody fucking knows us.Nam: Spread the fucking gospel, myfriend.F-2: The only thing I’m looking forward tonow with the band is perhaps going over-seas, and that’s about it. I set my goals kindof small. First, my goal was to start playingwith the bands I used to see play. I’ve kindof done that already and it sneaks up onyou. Then you have to think, “What am Igoing to do next?” So, now my goal is totravel overseas and see the other people’sreaction. I think the best part of the band isseeing other people’s reactions to ourmusic. Sometimes I feel like I’m get-ting as much of a kick from seeingtheir reaction as they are from watch-ing us when we play. It’s mutual.Especially when they are standing inthe front with their arms crossed andthey’re afraid to move.F-1: [laughing] We get that a lot actu-ally.F-2: I don’t know what they are afraidof. I mean are they gonna be afraid tomove and go to the bathroom because Imight throw my guitar like aboomerang at their head? You don’thave to be at our show if you don’twant to.F-1: I don’t know whether to take it asa compliment or take it like it’s a totalsmack.F-2: You can’t deny the fact that it’s areaction. Some artists expect the crowdto hoot and holler and clap and all thatshit. I think it’s a reaction either way.If you just stand there or you simplywalk out, it’s a reaction. You prettymuch spoiled their perception of whatthey thought bands could be onstageand what they can get away with.Especially all those haters in otherbands going, “Who is this playing thisshow? Why are you playing this show?This sucks.” Well, maybe your bandsucks and maybe that’s why you’re in theaudience and not playing the show!Nam: Yeah! So what’s your take on the LAscene right now? I know you have manyinteresting comments to share.F-1: Like I said, I’m not gonna name drop,but there are bands that we like and peoplein the bands that we love hanging out with.It’s all great but 90% of the bands here thatwe’ve seen are pure shit. How does that shitmake it out of the fucking rehearsal spaceor garage? How? How?!F-2: We could play two shows in LA on

the same night and one show would fuckingsuck and then we’d drive three blocks downthe street and it would be the best show. So,I don’t know. There’s no sense of consis-tency within the LA scene. Maybe I havean unrealistic expectation from readingthese punk rock scene books, but to me theLA scene is…I don’t know. I look forwardmore to leaving (LA) than staying. Well,that says a lot about what I think of the LAscene.F-1: I think it has a lot to do with clubs,promoters and bookers, and people here inLA. There are very few clubs that willallow new bands play and then if they do,they act like they are doing you a favor.There’s one club in particular that I’m notgonna name because it would just popular-ize it more but their free Monday night resi-dencies are a fucking joke. They get a bandthat draws really well and they say, “Okayyou can play here every Monday night. You

can make us thousands of dollars at the barand we won’t even give you drink tickets.”F-2: They exploit – I use the term loosely –the artist, because the artist craves the audi-ence. The artist writes the songs and wantsto see the audience reaction and how it fitsinto the whole scheme of music in general.These clubs will exploit that. The clubs arelike, “These guys are so into playing thatthey probably won’t care if we pay them ornot as long as there’s people here.” I thinkit’s bullshit.F-1: It’s all about money. It’s all one big

fucking dollar sign for these clubs. Wewere lucky enough to get the opportunity totour even though we didn’t have anythingout last year. All the cities were great.Eureka (California) was awesome, Portland(Oregon) was great; everywhere else buthere – it’s all so fucking money drivenhere. F-2: I mean there are some really, super,awesome people out here in LA and if itwasn’t for those people, I think the bandwould have folded a long time ago. It’s areal delicate thing that holds the people Iappreciate together, because it feels likewe’re struggling. It’s like we’re swimmingupstream the whole time. Other bands arecontent rehashing a bunch of done, sixtiesrock’n’roll riffs and they’re like, “Oh cool,I’ve got this old amp and some pedals.”Everything sounds the same. Years fromnow people are going to be into the real six-ties stuff and not this 2000 version of thesixties music. Nam: You guys get compared to some realheavy-duty bands like The Who and theJam. How do you feel about these compar-

isons?F-1: I don’t know. F-2: I get pissed because some-times I feel like when I’m atwork, some people look at a per-son with a shaved head and looseclothing and think he’s in a gang.Well, just because we wear suits,we’re supposed to sound like TheJam! No we don’t. Show me asong by The Jam that sounds likeours because I’d fucking love tohear it. It must be on some B-Sidecompilation I’ve never heard of!F-1: It’s a mixed bag, being com-pared to all these crazy bands.F-2: It’s great that people saythat, but to tell you the truth itnever registers with me because Inever see what they are talkingabout. It’s great being comparedto these bands instead of beingcompared to some bands that Itotally hate, that would be prettyfrustrating, but I’d get over it. Iget over a lot of frustratingaspects about this band. F-1: I think when people come upto us and say, “Yeah that wasgreat, it reminded me of TheWho,” they’re just trying to benice.

F-2: Music has this quality. Once it leaves,once you perform, once it’s played andonce it’s in the room, each person can per-ceive it however way they want. SometimesI see a band and I think they sound likesomething and then when I tell someoneelse, “Wow this sounds like this band.Especially when they go into this inter-lude.” Then the person thinks, ‘I neverheard that.” That does not mean I’m wrongor right. Everybody has a right to their ownexperience with a band, but your questionis, “How do we like being compared to

F-1: The Fuse! has beenaround for two years.

! !F-1

such and such bands?” Well, it’s not thatwe’re belittling people for not figuring outor deciphering who we’re trying to soundlike. It’s just that I don’t see the influence atall. Sometimes it feels like the way wepresent ourselves live is overwhelming. Ithink people are trying to make sense ofit. It’s like being attacked on the streetand having the cops come and try to writea report. You’re trying to describe theguy, but so much happened that you’reprobably describing the wrong guy alto-gether. That criminal will never get cap-tured and that’s like us. They’re trying tomake sense of it and trying to go with theclosest thing they can imagine. I don’teven think about it that much. I’m proba-bly giving it the most thought right now. Nam: Generalization is pretty stupid, butthere are a lot of stupid people out there.You just have to knock it down to thelowest common denominator. F-1: People are trying to make a goodcomment about you and they don’t knowhow, so that’s how they do it. It’s the bestway they know and that’s fine.F-2: It’s not wrong. I think it’s greatbecause some kid comes up to us wearingbaggy jeans and all of a sudden he comesto another show and he’s wearing a tai-lored suit. I think it’s great becausethere’s not enough happening right nowfor people to jump into a trendy thing.There is no trendy thing right now. Like,if I tell someone about a band and theyget into it. People ask, “Hey I really likeyour band, what other bands are youinto?” I tell them, “Try buying a Gang ofFour record.” Maybe he will see whatother people saw in us and he’ll tell us,“Hey that’s the greatest record.” If all ofa sudden we were to play in LA andthere were some random people and aweek later we came back and they’re alldressed sharp and listening to soul music, Ithink that would be fucking great. I’m notall protective or territorial about what weare doing: [sardonic tone] “This is myscene.” As long as it’s in the context ofwhat we are trying to do. I don’t want tosee a bunch of dudes come up talking likecholos and dressing all mod, that would bestupid. The way things are right now, peo-ple are saying they want to start gangs andthey’re getting all violent and all that shit.As long as they have enough respect forwhat we do and keep it in the realm of whatit is and maybe pushing forward a little bitbecause a lot has happened since the sixties.You can’t deny that. Seventies bands actlike twenty years never happened. [laughterall around] Why do you buy cars from theseventies? Because you’re fucking broke.Nam: What’s the working title for yourupcoming album?F-1: We still have to work on songs. Wehave to finish it. I think it’s the last thingwe have to worry about. I personally don’tcare what the album is called. Nam: Any other comments?F-2: Sometimes people talk to me and get

to know me and they’re like, “Wow, Ithought you were going to be an assholeand have a chip on your shoulder. It’s notlike I’m a negative person. I’m just real

passionate about what I do. Sometimes Iseem to get on people’s cases becausethey’re not into the kind of stuff that I’minto as much as I am. Sometimes it seems alittle confrontational.Nam: What are you into?F-2: I’m into a bunch of different things.It’s impossible. Sometimes I crave having agood discussion with somebody aboutsomething that is meaningful. Sometimes Icome across just a little too…F-1: Confused?F-2: Yeah, people just go, “Whatever.”People then say I’m a pretty cool guy andthey didn’t know I was going to be like this.Even in interviews people say, “Man youguys sound pissed.” And you know what?Maybe it’s just us being honest. A lack ofpretense in these days may come across asbeing negative because we’re living in sucha P.C. society where people can’t say cer-tain things. It all becomes a pretense. I wishpeople would be more honest.

F-1: We like to tell it like it is. That pissespeople off all the time. F-2: It’s like a strainer. Sometimes if yourhonesty pisses people off, that’s fucking

great. I don’t want to spread myself toothin and spend my time talking to thewrong people anyway.F-1: I can’t believe these fucking people.I think we’re very thankful to all the peo-ple that have helped us out.F-2: We’re not ungrateful.F-1: Every time any of our friends showup to the gigs, I think it’s great. Whenother bands help us out we try to do thesame.F-2: People who think of us as being neg-ative are probably on the wrong side. Thepeople who are our friends chuckle atcomments like that, but the people on theother side might take it the wrong way.All it does is fan the flames of their dis-like. That’s great. Especially with thebands that hate us. Maybe our commentswill piss them off so much that maybe thenext time they play they will try to dosomething that’s not their style and endup sucking that much more.Nam: Who does all the songwriting?Where does all the drive come from?F-1: All the lyrics come from F-2. All themusic is a collaborative effort – equalparts, but the lyrics are all his. F-2 writesgreat lyrics!Nam: F-2, intense lyrics.F-2: What stands out?Nam: There’s a lot of drive and angerthat comes out.F-2: To tell you the truth, that’s the wayit’s supposed to be. People from BobDylan to people singing folk songs in theDust Bowl, were all pissed. The bestmusic comes out of struggle. Like theseventies discontent with the British gov-

ernment. Or the sixties discontent withAmerica’s participation in the VietnamWar. The best music is born out of discon-tent. It’s so fabricated these days when youwatch MTV and you see a bunch of guyswho look like they work at skateboardshops. I mean what pisses you off? The factthat you can’t ollie as high as your friend.[Guffaws spill out onto the street.]Nam: Well, that should do it. Do you wantto add anything else?F-1: We’re not drunk enough to ramble, solet’s cut it right now.

49

F-2: Give or take a couple of years.

! !

F-2

**With obvious exceptions, the names and titles have been changedto protect the innocent and sidestep the moronic.

November 1999I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of the publishing ser-

vice house where I work on the edge of town. Although it’s chillyoutside, I crack open my front windows to let the sweet air trickle inand mix with the bottled-up toxicity emanating from the preciouscargo stacked behind me, several hundred pounds of it.

Cracking open that first carton makes me feel like I haveaccomplished something worth celebrating for the first time in along while. I take out a copy of my zine and flip through it, soak itall in. I hold proof that maybe, just maybe, I have what it takes tomake it on my own someday.

I realize that, for a while, one or more jobs will be needed tosupport myself while embarking on this new project. Excited, I revup the car and back out to take my cargo home, accidentally smash-ing my tail light into another car’s rear bumper. Upon close exami-nation, I see that the other car’s bumper suffered one little scratch.Naturally, the colored plastic of my tail light shattered all over theplace. I had either inadvertently christened Micro-Film or signaledmy own doom in the publishing realm.

Early February 2000I’m sitting in the cheap office chair in my home studio, listen-

ing to incredulous but not unexpected news from a friend of mine.She works as a copy editor for The Nautilus, our embattled alterna-tive weekly newspaper that has recently weathered abrupt firings.The paper’s production manager, in a fit of loyalty to his excisedbrethren, announced his resignation and the owners are in crisismode to hire a replacement. Copy Editor leaks the situation to me

because she wants to know if I’d be interested in tak-ing a stab at it.

I tell Copy Editor that I would have to think it over. TheNautilus has had its ups and downs. Starting in a vein much moreradical and funky, the paper became a shell of its former self oncethe Founder sold it to a media company based in Indiana. Bungledadvertising revenues from the get-go had sunk the paper’s monetaryworth, yet the infusion of cash from the media company’s investorshadn’t done much other than prolong the paper’s life span. Severaleditors went through the turnstile between 1994 and 2001, and theFounder eventually found himself banished from his own creation.Nothing is sacred there.

I had been involved sporadically with The Nautilus over theyears, including a several-month stint as Copy Editor myself.Considering the alternatives to our sole alternative press – one con-servative daily, one student-run college daily, two or three classi-fieds tabloids – I know that The Nautilus is the only place I want towork. Having had my fill of academic textbooks – the only other“genre” of publication produced in this town – the change inscenery, purpose, and immediate company would be quite appreci-ated.

Could this be a demented middle ground between gainfulemployment and no-holds-barred underground activity that mighthelp make life interesting?

Late February 2000I’m sitting in a coffee shop in downtown, across from the

President and Vice-President of the media company that owns TheNautilus, as they divulge their plans for turning the paper around.For a purported job interview, these two guys wind up talking mostof the time.

President is a life-long “newspaper man” who owns five50

Indie PressBuyoutIndie PressBuyoutAn Insider’s Look intoIndependent Media Gone Wrong

by Jason Pankoke

weeklies in Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio, and intends to addthree to five papers to the roster per year. His kick is to infuse TheNautilus with hard-hitting stories the likes of which would notappear in the other local papers. Vice President was enticed to jumpship from a rival weekly to embellish his business expertise on thePresident’s publications. His kick is to raise advertising rates tobecome more competitive, as well as establish promotional modulesto sell prospective clients on placing ads year round. At times, itfeels like the duo’s particular mantras come from completely differ-ent parts of the playing field. I find them earnest yet full of theirown untested greatness.

I decide I have nothing to lose and put in my notice at thepublishing service house on the edge of town, yet a trickle of trepi-dation scoots down my spine.

March 2000I work nearly thirty hours my first two days on the job,

almost fifty my first week, and wonder what I have just gottenmyself into.

April 2001I’m lying on the office floor late Friday afternoon, almost

beside myself, after most of the others have gone home. The ArtsEditor and Movie Editor sit near me at one of the Ad Reps’ desks.We talk very gravely about whether we would show up Mondaymorning and be able to get into the office, let alone have jobs.

About a month ago, right around my one-year anniversary asProduction Manager, the rumors started springing up that InvestorNo. 1 was getting sick and tired of dumping money into a losingcause. Although his funds indeed float all five of the weeklies, heapparently has an option that will allow him to pull money from thespecific papers not performing well. Since our paper has nevermade money, due to very unsound, contract-less methods remediedonly recently, any funds yanked would immediately hurt. Combinethis situation with our equally hot-under-the-collar landlorddemanding several months’ worth of unpaid rent, plus the virtualabolishment of the word “raise” from our vocabulary, and suddenlyThe Nautilus skates on thin ice.

What else led to this predicament? Various attempts by thePresident and Vice President to make their presence known on-sitehave been met with trepidation. The ill-advised hiring of a less-than-adequate editor in 2000 caused internal headaches as he con-tinuously allowed editorials bordering on the juvenile, much of ithis own writing, that pissed off the community to no end.Editor-less since the fall of 2000 and with nary a freelancebudget in sight, all of the Section Editors and the AssistantEditor have to self-manage, at times stretching their facultiesto the limit.

That said, the paper finally verges on toppling over theabyss so many naysayers think should have already swal-lowed it whole.

July 2001I’m sitting with my feet up on an Ad Rep’s desk late

one Tuesday night, taking a break from production work tostare out the front glass windows and allow my frustrations arespite. I usually don’t sit around with chips on my shoulder,but it is simply one of those nights. We’ve had shaky grounderected underneath us for the short-term with another poten-tial windfall predicted for August, lest the President find newinvestors or a buyer. Our salaries now come right out of thePresident’s pocket.

I work downtown late at night every Monday andTuesday in order to get the paper ready. I rarely log more thanforty hours a week, but twenty-two to twenty-six of thatcomes by 9 A.M. Wednesday, when the printer’s courier picksup the flats. It normally takes me all these stacked hours tocompose the paper on the computer, print out proofs, correct

proofs, print out final lasers, paste them up, and cut in hard-copyads where needed.

This means I coast from Wednesday afternoon on, but itamounts to an anomaly rather than a benefit. Keeping hours thisuneven has resulted in off-kilter sleeping and eating patterns, withmy energy level often bordering on the catatonic. Suggestions havebeen brought up to spread the editorial deadlines across the week toprovide me with a more evenly paced workload. This would helpsomewhat. I like this job, but it leaves me quite ragged.

My only dependable companion on these dank evenings is thegnarled, half-decapitated mannequin standing in the back roomwhere the printer and lightbox sit. With a surface texture reminis-cent of urban decay, she looks like an escapee from an animatedTool music video. Often, I feel like how she looks.

September 2001I’m sitting down at the front meeting table along with the rest

of staff, listening loosely as the well-dressed woman introduces usto the positive achievements of The Nautilus’s new owners. As shegoes down the list of formalities – and dodges our queries concern-ing the company’s practice of firing employees from pick-up busi-nesses brought into their “family” – I zone out the window at thepeople walking about freely. Heh, business as usual.

Somehow, the now ex-President walked a crooked line tokeep the paper from going under. First, the owner of a local musicclub and the operators of several local radio stations expressedinterest in purchasing the paper, but ultimately balked. Then, theowners of another local music club were approached, although theytook a wait-and-see approach. A local car-dealer entrepreneur and aformer Nautilus editor then made an inquiry, but their meager capi-tal backed an iffy business plan. Rumors abounded that theclub/radio tandem intended to launch their own entertainment paperthat would compete for The Nautilus’s readers and revenue.Somehow, this leverage was used to sucker a deal out of anotherlocal radio group operated by a communications conglomerate fromMichigan, playing to the cutthroat one-upmanship mentality thatcommercial stations are notorious for.

Naturally, the phantom competitor hasn’t materialized. Theex-President and ex-Vice President attempted to pull a fast one byhaving themselves hired on by their successors as consultants – ineffect, allowing them to run the paper as they had always intendedwithout footing the bill! Several of my co-workers called them onthe carpet by appealing to the newly hired general manager of theconglomerate’s local stations. After attaining the confidence of the

head office in Michigan, she told the traumatic duo from Indianathat they were dismissed. It was not a mystery that, had theirscheme worked and they navigated The Nautilus successfully out ofthe mire, they intended to sell their other papers to these people aswell.

I know what’s coming next. We’ll invariably have to conformthe paper into whatever the radio lackeys want. I don’t understandthis scenario, but what’s more, how can they? Why would a radioconglomerate venture into publishing for the first time by buying afinancially failing alternative weekly when the economic state ofnewspapers across the United States has been absolutely unstable?

October 2001I’m standing in my office on a Monday afternoon, looking

over a proof of the cover we are running this week. The story isabout local residents staying put in lower-income areas of town andattempting to drive out the drug dealers and prostitutes. The arti-cle’s author also provided photos, none of them attention-grabbingenough for the cover even though they are serviceable for the insidespread. Still, one of them makes the cover out of necessity.

In walks the radio group’s general manager, who had been afew paces down the hall talking to our new Editor, a vast improve-ment over the Boy Scout we had last summer. The General Manager wants to see the cover, so I show her. She sort ofsmiles, offers a few encouraging words, and then goes on her way.

At this stage, all of us feel that The Nautilus now has achance. Utilizing the cash flow that we are supposedly receivingfrom the radio group, we can reinstate the freelance talents as wellas new blood that can only add dimension to the paper. Certainalterations have already been put into effect. Out are the back-pagespersonals and sex ads, in are expanded classifieds and car dealerads. Out is the center-spread club guide, integrated back into theweekly calendar. Inevitable will be the cross-promotion of the radiogroup’s individual stations, all of an ilk not quite in tune with thepaper’s traditional readership. Change is minimal at this point, andthe radio group promises no interference with editorial content.

Mm-hmmmmmmmmm.

December 5, 2001I’m sitting down in my office, after coming in late yet again

thanks to another endless Tuesday night. I haven’t been here for

half an hour when the Editor walks in and asks, “Can we talk?” Inod. He closes the door.

Without fanfare, he tells me that, due to the company-widebudget revisions handed down by the head office, my position isterminated effective immediately. He says that performance hasnothing to do with the decision.

I sit here with my best poker face. Inside, I groan.He goes on to tell me that the Advertising Design Dude will

take on my work temporarily, and that the company has been study-ing other similar weeklies with the intent of instituting a new“model” to increase office efficiency. Or, something like that.

About all I can say is, “I’m sorry to hear this.”He says that he wouldn’t hold it against me one bit if I want-

ed to gather my things and walk right out. I have no intention onbeing so rash. The last thing I want is for the Advertising DesignDude to have to go through the crush I felt when I first started thisjob nearly two years ago. I continue puttering while the office is allbut vacant during the lunch hour, and sit the Dude down for a crashcourse in my procedures and electronic organization after hereturns. I then take two or three trips out the back door to dump myshit in my car.

Exiting silently is the best policy, I decide.

February 2002I’m sitting in a downtown club one evening, not one block

away from my former place of employment, when former co-work-er Edward Burch sits down next to me to slug a pint. He recentlybecame Music Editor at the paper, but also became the second per-son that winter to have his duties revoked. Edward’s musical part-ner, Jay Bennett, had been given the heave-ho from the lauded popband Wilco over the summer. The duo has been recording demosfor their debut disc, The Palace at 4 A.M. (Part 1), effectively occu-pying Edward’s attentions. These topics color our slurred discus-sions.

Two more former comrades eventually fall. After beggingreassurance from the radio group’s accountant that he would have ajob upon returning from a month-long vacation in New York overthe holidays, the paper’s Business Manager was told two weeksafter his return that he had only one more week left. The AssistantEditor became badgered to sign agreements redefining his job andplacing him under scrutiny; several refusals later, he lost his job aswell.

I’m sure there’s a drinkingsong to be found in here some-where. Edward?

Early June 2002I’m sitting down in a bar

and grill in downtown, right next tothe club not one block away frommy former place of employment.Across from me is the Arts Editor, agenuine sweetheart, and we’re talk-ing about Micro-Film for a featurearticle scheduled to run in the paperat the end of the month. Of course,anything to get the word out on myzine is game, but doing so in TheNautilus – sorry, launched anew asThe LandScape – just feels weird. Afew days from now, the AdvertisingDesign Dude – now the CreativeDirector – and the Copy Editor –now Copy Editor/Graphic Designer– will wreak havoc with me in analleyway, shooting photos to runwith the story.

Friends ask me what I thinkabout the paper, post-Pankoke. I do

little more than shrug my way out of answering the question, eventhough they just want to know my opinion about the look of thepaper rather than its content or imagined behind-the-scenes machi-nations. Leafing through any given issue of The LandScape, I getthe impression that the radio group somehow arrived at a new over-all feel gleaned from studying the “best” qualities of the “best”weeklies from around the country. Strangely, this must mean“generic” is the visual vibe of the moment. The paper stock is muchnicer, as colors pop vibrantly unlike before, yet it only calls undueattention to the rushed look of the cover art. Photography is of atypical news-journalism aesthetic, while illustrations and politicalcartoons have been absent for quite some time (unless you count theubiquitous syndicated strips, like This Modern World and RedMeat). Ad counts were noticeablylean through the winter and spring,although it looks like they’veblocked more per page as of late. Istill shrug, because it’s simply outof my hands.

For whatever reasons, TheNautilus/LandScape survives, andalthough its rabble-rousing (andlawsuit-inducing) days are longgone, it still packs enough editorial virtue between its covers thatour Central Illinois college town needs to covet it dearly. Lengthynews stories covering unpopular topics in-depth – bloated universitysalaries, mental illness, inconsistent property taxes, racist mascots –appear each week without fail. Colorful interviews and features givetestament to this town’s diversity – a look at an African-Americanowned beauty salon, a farewell to a beloved greasy spoon – whilelocal arts of all stripes receive ample space, from long-gone movietheaters to a makeshift gallery’s opening to summer Shakespearetheater. Cantankerous columnists cut loose with their criticisms onsocial and political issues, while regular features take note of thesignificant (community member profiles, slow food reports), themundane (layman science lessons, restaurant food critiques), andthe superfluous (wine etiquette, dream analysis). The event calendaris still the most thorough in town, at times highlighting non-profit,alternative, and do-it-yourself items of interest. Music and moviesround things out, often stressing the eclectic and indie. Come tothink of it, the editorial aspects really haven’t changed very much.

Did corporate money truly save The Nautilus? I guess it’s stilltoo soon to tell if the radio group will ever compromise the editori-al. At the least, its existence has been extended, which can’t be saidof the other four publications that belonged to the Nautilus’s formerowners. It seems that the Indiana-based mini-empire has crumbledfast and hard. Prior to the sale of The Nautilus, they had alreadyshuttered the doors of their Iowa paper back in January 2001. Thestaff of their Ohio paper walked out recently, while their flagshiptitle in Indiana closed because the money wasn’t there. Their soleremaining weekly, also located in Illinois, actually wasn’t quitetheirs from the start. As the Arts Editor explained during my inter-view, the yahoos have a large balloon payment due on that paper inJuly and if they can’t pay up, someone takes it away from them.

Ouch.

Late June 2002I’m sitting behind a table in a convention hall on the campus

of Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green, Ohio. We’rehaving a blast at the fourth annual Underground PublishingConference (UPC), organized by the folks who publish Clamormagazine. Somewhere on the premises, Mediageek.org bad boyPaul Riismandel, local IMC librarian Ellen Knutson, Low Hugeditrix A.j. Michel, and squatter-at-heart Dave Powers take turnssitting in on workshops, roaming the floor, and interviewing othermedia-making visitors. Because I’m the brainiac who rented thetable, I stay put the majority of the event’s two days, escaping longenough to see the documentary Horns and Halos.

Directed by veteran DIY filmmakers Michael Galinsky andSuki Hawley, Horns and Halos follows the thorny path tread by

author J.M. Hatfield after his controversial George W. Bush “tell-all” book Fortunate Son is dumped by original publisher St.Martin’s Press and then picked up by New York’s Soft Skull Press.This basement-dwelling small-press house for progressive culture,run at the time (late 1999) by the enigmatic Sander Hicks, intendedto capitalize upon the book’s notoriety while sticking it to Dubya inthe public eye. What we witness here is not strictly a story abouthow mass media bludgeons the left-thinking underdog (which iscertainly in evidence), but how these mismatched rogues, Hatfieldand Hicks, valiantly held their ground until the inevitable collapse.Mere weeks after Fortunate Son returned in early 2001, Hatfieldwas found dead in a hotel room, an apparent suicide. Hicks wouldsoon be forced out of Soft Skull Press by its board members. We

shudder to think that the pub-lishing world could be sofickle and cruel, but it hardlystops us from pressing on.

On a brighter note, I talk toseveral people I haven’t seenfor a while, like Brent Ritzel(Zine Guide) and KarenSwitzer (Ker-bloom!), and Imeet many others for the first

time, such as Galinsky, Russ Forster (8-Track Mind), Michael Dean(DIY or Die), Terra Heinrichs (Stir Crazy), Josh Breitbart (RooftopFilms), and Shawn Granton (Ten Foot Rule). It’s gratifying to knowthat we have a broad-based community of media-makers outside themainstream who not only love what they’re doing, but are willing toconstructively talk about technique as well as content. Our stratos-phere is not one for reckless gerrymandering or destructive compet-itiveness, but to infuse our creations with an open-minded liveli-hood to be shared. We choose the material for our zines and booksand newsletters and web sites and micro-movies because of a desireto explore new ideological terrain, a need to record the undocu-mented, a calling to pummel conventional wisdom, an overture topaint in a different hue. Deficiencies in time, tools, money, and net-working have traditionally hampered the underground, but the dri-ven ones have always managed to see their goals through to the end.We believe that stagnation is only for the dead.

I trade a copy of Micro-Film for a pair of digest-sized zinesbound with twine. It is just another little reminder that the UPC pro-vides a uniquely level playing field for all involved, and it is asinfectious as when Dave and I attended this event for the first timein 2000. In fact, that venture became the focal point of the onlycover story I’ve written to date for the Weekly Formerly Known asThe Nautilus.

You may insert irony when ready.

July 2002I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of Kinko’s after an

interview. It’s sweltering, ninety-degree weather, and I wrench offthe tie that I put on for the occasion. I try to breathe and have tominimize my efforts until I can get the air conditioning cranked upin my car.

I worked a freelance gig for four months after the infamousDecember purge, then took two months off to visit my family andproduce another issue of Micro-Film. Many friends told me to thinkof the post-Nautilus era as a good sign, a chance to move on. Well,where should I go?

Six interviews prior to Kinko’s have turned up nothing. Myformer employer thrice removed, the publishing service house onthe edge of town, would love to have me back but they’re runningon a skeleton crew and don’t foresee any hiring until the fall. Theuniversity is also in a hiring freeze because the state continues toshave academic budgets. Minimum-wage work is not somethingI’m used to, but may have to be an option if this shit keeps up.

Later today, I plan to take out a copy of my zine andflip through it, soak it all in, hold the proof that maybe I stillhave what it takes to make it on my own someday.

53

Could this be a demented middle groundbetween gainful employment and no-holds-

barred underground activity that mighthelp make life interesting?

Changing the World with WordsMy buddy Chris and I were hanging outside the Roxy after the

Anti-Flag show. I felt like I feel after a good show: drenched insweat, ears ringing, throat sore from screaming along with thelyrics. One look at Chris and I could tell he felt the same way. Afew people who I kind of knew (guys I’d seen at shows a lot andchatted with enough times to be embarassed about not knowingtheir names, but, to be honest, I didn’t know their names) came up,and we started to talk about Anti-Flag’s set. Gradually, the conver-sation drifted to the singer’s between-song banter, which wasn’treally banter at all. It was more like preaching. One of my friendsasked why the singer preaches so much, my friend’s point beingthat, with a name like Anti-Flag, anyone could guess what theirpolitical slant was. And if the whole crowd is singing along withtheir songs, chances are pretty good that everyone in the crowdknows what the songs are about. So wouldn’t that make the preach-ing redundant?

Another one of my friends pointed out that it wasn’t that heminded the singer’s preaching so much, it was just that the singerexpressed himself much better in the lyrics, and he should let thelyrics stand for themselves. This, of course, led to the old debateabout mixing politics and music. The age-old question was posed,“What good does it do to sing about politics if you’re not going toactually do something about it? Aren’t lyrics just words, after all,and who in history has ever changed the world with words alone?”

“What about Emma Goldman?” one guy asked. “All she didwas give lectures, and look at all the good she did. She spoke aboutbirth control when it was considered obscene to talk about it, andshe even got arrested in 1916 for it, but she still told a bunch ofpoor women how to prevent pregnancy. You can’t say that wasn’t apositive change made by words alone.”

“Yeah, but giving birth control information is a very specificthing. It’s different from saying, ‘War is bad; we shouldn’t be overin Afghanistan.’ It’s not like Emma Goldman thought she couldstop a war by talking about it,” someone said.

“But she did think that. And the US government feared itwhen she spoke out against a war. They thought it was so danger-ous when people like Emma Goldman spoke out against conscrip-tion (drafting people into the military) that Congress made it acrime to speak out against World War I. And when Goldman did itanyway, they stuck her in jail for two years, then deported her aftershe was done serving her time,” the Emma Goldman fan said.

I listened to this friend of mine (whose name I didn’t know)talk about Emma Goldman and thought, why does this punk rockkid know so much about a woman who lived a hundred years ago?It’s kind of strange.

I thought about it more, though, and realized that it probably

wasn’t so strange. For one thing, a lot of punks consider themselvesanarchists, and Emma Goldman was the grandmother of anarchy.For another thing, Emma Goldman has become a legend in thepunk rock community. Punk bands have been named after her, likeDance Emma Dance and Songs for Emma; the woman who writesthe column on punk parenting for Maximum Rocknroll named herdaughter after Emma Goldman; the Swedish punk band Randysings about her in a few of their songs; and over the years, I’ve seenGoldman’s quotes and Goldman’s autobiography, Living My Life,in punk houses and underground bookstores and zine libraries allacross the country.

Still, I thought, she may be a legend, but she’s become a leg-end mostly in the sense that a lot of people know of her, but don’tknow anything about her. So as I stood on the sidewalk outside ofthe Anti-Flag show, my sweat drying and my friends arguing aboutpunk and politics, I decided that I should write an article aboutEmma Goldman, for all the punk rock kids who have circle-A’s ontheir leather jackets, for all the music fans who scream along withpolitical lyrics but wonder if all the screaming does anyone anygood, for all the women and girls who wish they had a tough-assfemale role model, and for anyone else who reads Razorcakebecause they want a look at our society beyond the television-and-Wal-Mart culture. I even wrote the intro to the article in my head.

Then, I promptly forgot about it.As Chris and I rode home from the show, Chris turned to me

and said, “You know, I’m embarrassed to say it, but I don’t knowanything about Emma Goldman. Do you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I read her autobiography and a bunch of heressays and stuff.”

“What’s so cool about her?” Chris asked.I thought about trying to condense her life into a twenty

minute car ride – talking about how, even though she was in St.Louis, Missouri when President McKinley was murdered inBuffalo, New York, she was still temporarily arrested for his assas-sination; or talking about the time when her boyfriend was tarredand branded solely because he was her boyfriend; or talking abouthow, on one particular day in her life, she was standing in Sweden,after having been kicked out of America and having just recentlyfled Russia to avoid her own political execution, she faced ten daysuntil her visa expired, and no country in the world would let her in;every government feared her. Rather than talking about how, forlarge periods of her life, she was considered the most dangerouswoman in the world, I just told my favorite Emma Goldman story.

Shake the Hand of the Most Dangerous Woman AliveWhen Emma Goldman arrived in San Francisco in 1908, she

was met at the train station by a group of police officers, includingthe police chief himself. The officers didn’t directly do anything.54

Searching for

Emma GoldmanSearching for

Emma GoldmanSearching for

Emma Goldman

by Sean Carswellby Sean Carswellby Sean Carswell

They just made their presence known.They followed her taxi to her hotel, where four more detec-

tives were waiting for her. Confused and angry, Goldman turned toAlexander Horr, her friend and the person who booked the SanFrancisco leg of her speaking tour, and asked Horr why the policewere following her.

“Don’t you know?” Horr said. “Rumors have gone abroad thatyou are coming to San Francisco to blow up the American fleetnow in the harbor.”

Initially, Goldman thought that Horr was kidding with her.The police continued to tail her, though, and reporters and photog-raphers tracked her down to ask about her plans to blow up thefleet. In her typical, no-bullshit manner, Goldman told reporters,“Why waste a bomb?”

As it turned out, all the attention that the media and policegave Goldman sparked interest in her speeches. People who ordi-narily never would’ve come out to see her speak lined up hours inadvance to try to get into her lecture. The hall where she spokecould hold five thousand people, and it was filled to capacity.People were turned away at the door, and the crowd grew hostiletowards all the police officers who were taking up space in the hall.Fearing the hostility of the crowd, the police chief begged Emma tohelp him. He offered her this deal: he would march his officers outof the hall if Goldman would agree to not incite the crowd to riotagainst the cops. Goldman agreed, and the officers marched out“like guilty schoolboys, accompanied by the jeering and hooting ofthe crowd.” (1)

Among the people who remained in the audience was a soldiernamed William Buwalda. Buwalda was a fifteen-year veteran and,by all accounts, he was an excellent soldier. He’d even been hon-ored by the military for his part in the US attack on the Philippines.According to Buwalda, he’d heard of all the hoopla surroundingGoldman’s lecture that night and decided that it would be the per-fect opportunity for him to practice his stenography skills.

That night, Goldman spoke about patriotism. She spoke ofhow countries’ borders were just arbitrary lines that senselesslydivide people. She spoke of war as being little more than “twothieves too cowardly to fight their own battle,” (2) so they pit theworking class of one region against the working class of another.She evoked a vision of a beautiful world where people’s hopes anddreams weren’t destroyed by their jobs and their societies. In theend, the crowd loved what she had to say. Goldman was surroundedby admirers, by people who wanted to shake her hand and thank herfor her speech.

Goldman shook hands and talked with different members of

the excited crowd. In the midst of the excitement, Goldman foundherself face to face with the soldier, William Buwalda. Buwalda,who was still in uniform, stuck out his hand. Goldman shook it.According to Buwalda, he said, “How do you do, Miss Goldman?”(3) Then, he walked away.

A few police officers who witnessed this scene followedBuwalda home and reported the incident to his superiors. Buwaldawas subsequently kicked out of the military. For attending an EmmaGoldman lecture while still in uniform and for shaking EmmaGoldman’s hand, William Buwalda was stripped of his rank, court-martialed, and sentenced to five years in prison on Alcatraz Island.

Everybody Needs Some Emma SometimesEmma Goldman’s 1908 trip to San Francisco, ending with

William Buwalda’s court-martial, is a good introduction to her. Thestory has so many of the aspects that were essential to her life: hercourage in the face of authority; her ability to show anarchy as apositive, peaceful force (especially when compared to most govern-ments); and the way that her speeches would both give people hopeand also scare the hell out of people in power. I tell this story when-ever I’m talking to people who’ve never heard of Emma Goldman.Hell, I tell this story whenever I can get someone to listen to it. AndI’ve been telling it a lot lately, I guess, because Emma’s been on mymind more often recently. It has a lot to do with the current politicalatmosphere. I think about the US government’s unrestrained attackon the people of Afghanistan, and it inspires me to re-readGoldman’s views on militarism. I hear about Attorney General JohnAshcroft pushing his USA PATRIOT Act through Congress andcrushing our civil rights into a fine powder, and I think ofGoldman’s work in the free speech movement. I watch a dopeyTexas oil boy who can’t get through a sentence without looking at ateleprompter call himself my leader, then try to start the next war inmy name, and I dream of anarchism. And lately, I’ve been wishingthat Emma were still around. I’ve been feeling like, if ever therewas a time when we needed her back, now is that time.

So, a year after my conversation outside the Anti-Flag showand nearly a century after Goldman caused such a ruckus in SanFrancisco, I went back there to find her.

The Source on the West CoastOf course, I knew she’d been dead for over sixty years when I

headed to the Bay Area looking for her. Her death didn’t dissuademe, though. I knew I couldn’t meet her as a person; I couldn’t sitdown and have a chat with her. Still, I wanted to believe that some-

thing of Emma Goldman the human beingstill existed. I hated the thought of her lifebeing forgotten, but something tells me thatEmma Goldman won’t be forgotten. Like Isaid, she’s a legend. But it’s the legend partthat I feared even more. I feared her lifewas becoming a myth. And this botheredme because, if she’s a myth, we can all copout. We can say, “Sure, Emma Goldmandid that, but I’m no Emma Goldman.” Butif we can see that she was a human, if wecan see that, in addition to the great thingsshe said and did, she had trouble paying herbills and had self-destructive love affairsand sometimes did the wrong things justlike all of us do, then maybe we can seethat standing up for what we believe in(even if our beliefs are unpopular), just likeEmma did, isn’t so far-fetched. So I had tomeet this woman, her own death bedamned.

Originally, I wasn’t sure where tostart looking. Then, I remembered some-thing that the historian Howard Zinn saidwhen I interviewed him. I’d 55

asked Zinn a question about Goldman, and he didn’t know theanswer. He did tell me about “THE source” for anything pertainingto Emma Goldman: a woman named Candace Falk. He told me thatCandace Falk had assembled an enormous collection of Goldman’sletters, writings, and personal effects. He told me that she (alongwith a group of dedicated historians, archivists, and volunteers) hasmade this collection available to the public at the Emma GoldmanPapers Project. I took that clue, did a little research on my own, anddecided that, since I really had to meet Emma Goldman in person,the closest I could come to doing that was to goto the Emma Goldman Papers Project inBerkeley. I had no choice, really. I contactedCandace Falk, scheduled an interview, anddrove up.

A Feminist, a Guitar Shop,and a Dog Named Emma

In 1975, Candace Falk, her boyfriendLowell, and their dog were traveling fromVermont to California when they stopped tovisit some of Falk’s friends in Chicago. Amongthose friends was a guy named John Bowen.Bowen worked in a guitar shop in Hyde Park.Candace and Lowell stopped by. As they wentinside the shop, Candace told her dog to waitby the front door. The dog came into the shopanyway. (“You know anarchists,” Falk told me.“She wasn’t going to listen to authority.”) Thedog ran up to Bowen. Rather than getting upset,Bowen knelt down to pet the dog. He askedFalk, “What’s her name?”

“Emma,” Candace said. “Red EmmaGoldman.”

“That’s strange,” Bowen said. “In the back of the shop, when Iwas cleaning the storeroom, I swear I think I saw some letters ofhers.”

Bowen went back to the storeroom, where he dug around for along time, looking for the letters. Finally, he found them in a largeboot box. He returned to the front of the store with the letters, andhe let Candace and Lowell take a look at them.

The letters were in Goldman’s handwriting, and they wereaddressed to Ben Reitman. For ten years, Reitman was Goldman’slover and her manager. He booked her speaking tours, promotedher lectures, secured travel arrangements for her, set up interviewswith the press, and took care of a variety of Goldman’s needs.Goldman and Reitman had a very rocky relationship during thoseten years, partially because Reitman was a very promiscuous guyand slept with several other women while he was with Goldman.Though Goldman was a proponent of free love, her definition of“free love” meant that people were free to love each other withoutthe involvement of the state. It meant that people had the capacityto be in love with more than one person at the time, and, if peoplefound themselves in that situation, they should pursue their pas-sions. Still, her definition of free love didn’t mean sleeping withstrangers nearly every night. Reitman’s definition did, so therewere problems. Still, Goldman forgave him for his affairs. Sheseemed to truly love Reitman and was willing to make some sacri-fices to be with him. Their relationship had its steamy moments,too. As Falk points out, “He was a gynecologist. What can I say?He probably knew a lot more about female sexuality than most mendid back then.”

When Candace came across these letters in the Hyde Park gui-tar shop, she knew about Goldman’s affair with Reitman and abouthis promiscuity. And the letters fascinated Candace. They showedher feminist hero in a different light; they gave Candace an intimateview into Goldman’s love life. “I expected them to be so inspir-ing,” Falk told me. “So I started to read the letters, and, first of all,they’re really very sad. They’re really very tortured. And almost

every one of them was about how awful it felt for her

to speak about freedom and to give people a vision of completefreedom, and feeling absolutely tormented by Ben’s understandingof freedom to be free love.”

Still, Candace and Lowell pored over the letters while cus-tomers came in and out of the guitar shop. Finally, Bowen told herthat she could borrow the letters and photocopy them. Candace tookthe letters and a stack of nickels to a copy machine at the Universityof Chicago, and they started the long, slow process of copyingthem.

Since this was 1975 and the copy machinewas pretty old even for the time, it took a longtime to copy each letter. While Candace andLowell waited for the copies, they continuedreading the letters. As they got towards the endof the stack, Candace came across a letter inwhich Goldman said that, if anyone were toread her love letters, she would feel naked tothe world. At this point, Candace stopped. Shewrapped up her copies, gave the letters back toBowen, and she, Lowell, and Red Emma head-ed back for California. “All during the time,”Falk told me, “I was thinking to myself, howcould it be that Emma spoke so valiantly abouther ideals when actually, her whole life was sotormented? I felt like I should keep hersecrets.”

About a year later, the owner of the guitarshop (Bowen’s boss) decided that he was goingto sell the letters. He contacted Falk about buy-ing them. Falk’s first impulse was to buy theletters and keep them a secret. She was still agraduate student at the time, though, and shedidn’t have enough money to buy them. Whileshe was trying to raise the money, an archivist

from the University of Illinois called Falk and told her that she hadno right to buy those letters, that those letters shouldn’t belong toone person. They should belong to the public, and they should besomewhere that anyone could read them. This archivist also toldFalk about several other similar letters that were kept in variousarchives throughout the US. This information gave Falk her secondimpulse: to research the universal issues underlying the love lettersand write a book about Goldman’s love life with respect.

At this point, Falk went on her own search for EmmaGoldman. She applied for and received a grant. This allowed her totravel to various archives in Chicago, Boston, Ann Arbor, NewYork, and several other places, researching Goldman’s life andloves. Along the way, Falk also learned a great deal “about theSpanish Civil War, about Kropotkin, about the Russian Revolution,about all these fabulous things.” She spent six years doing thisresearch, and in the end, she wrote the biography Love, Anarchy,and Emma Goldman.

Falk told me that, when Love, Anarchy, and Emma Goldmancame out, “it was very controversial because no one wanted toknow that their great hero was this way.” My first thought was,what do you mean by “this way”? Because, though Goldman had anactive love and sex life, I didn’t find it to be very scandalous.Granted, at times it was a little weird to read Goldman’s actual let-ters and see how she nicknamed and abbreviated things: her “Ms”(Mountains), her “T-B” (Treasure Box) and Reitman’s “W”(Willy). It was even weirder to read Goldman’s letter in which shelonged for Willy: “Oh for one S—- at that beautiful head of his orfor one drink from the fountain of life. How I would press my lipsto the fountain and drink, drink, drink.” And Goldman andReitman did have a bizarre Oedipal aspect to their relationship –Reitman called Goldman his “blue-eyed Mommy” and his motherhis “brown-eyed Mommy”. Goldman (who was ten years older thanReitman) signed all her letters “Mommy”. And, though these thingscould be innocent enough on their own, the fact that Reitman wasunnaturally close to his real mother added to the bizarreness of thenicknames and role-playing that he and Goldman did. Still, I don’t56

see why these little things would cause much controversy, especial-ly since Love, Anarchy, and Emma Goldman was published at thetail end of the sexual revolution. Besides, the things Goldman did inher bedroom weren’t nearly as controversial as the things she saidbehind a podium.

After thinking about it for a while, though, I decided that,when Falk said that Goldman was “this way”, she meant thatGoldman’s private life didn’t match up to her public ideals. Forexample, Goldman preached total freedom and equality, yet herrelationships were riddled with subtle power struggles. Still, when Iread Love, Anarchy, and Emma Goldman, Goldman’s flaws didn’tbother me so much. I actually enjoyed learning about that part ofEmma Goldman because, as I said earlier, I’d rather see her as ahuman who did great things despite her faults than see her as amythologized “great hero.”

Destroying MothersI wasn’t sure what to expect when I got to Berkeley. I’d never

been to the Emma Goldman Papers Project before, and I got a littlebit lost on my way there. When I reached Telegraph Avenue,Berkeley’s famous street of kooks and wingnuts, I knew I’d gonetoo far. I double-backed and drove a couple of blocks. I seemed tobe in the right place: on the fringe of the university, just beyond theshops and the crowded strip. And there it was. A low, red brickbuilding. Its door was obscured by the trees in front and it lookedso unobtrusive that I was surprised that I’d seen it at all. I parked inthe adjacent alley.

A couple of minutes later, Candace Falk showed up. Thoughshe was probably in her late forties, she radiated with the enthusi-asm of a kid, and even her wild, curly brown hair seemed to defyauthority. We introduced ourselves and Candace, knowing that Iwas doing this interview for Razorcake, said, “I’m sorry if I don’tlook very punk rock.”

“No need to apologize for that,” I said, thinking to myself thatdedicating your life to archiving the works of one of history’s mostnotable anarchists is a lot cooler than wearing a leather jacket witha big, circle-A on it.

Candace led me through the front door of the EGPP and gaveme the tour. She showed me the conference room, where one wholewall was covered with filing cabinets full of Goldman’s letters.(Goldman had been an obsessive letter writer during her lifetime,and it wasn’t uncommon for her to write ten letters in a day. Falktravelled to various archives in the US and abroad and collectedand/or photocopied thousands of these letters.) On top of the filingcabinets were rows of books on anarchy, labor history, the freespeech movement, and so on. Posters of Goldman hung on the wall,as well as a huge portrait of Roger Baldwin (the founder of theAmerican Civil Liberties Union). I asked about the portrait and thebooks, and Falk explained to me that the EGPP was about morethan just Emma Goldman. It was about archiving a whole move-ment and a period of American history that is being left out of text-books and history classes.

From there, Falk took me deeper into the archives, through thecluttered desks and the computers and the stacks of books, stoppingat a bookshelf. She grabbed a bound book off the shelf and said,“Here we have copies of Mother Earth.” I knew that Mother Earthwas the magazine founded by Goldman and her comrades in 1906.Mother Earth published the works of prominent anarchist writerslike Alexander Berkman, Hippolyte Havel, and Emma Goldmanherself. Eventually, in 1917, the US Post Office refused to delivercopies of the inflammatory “In Memoriam: American Democracy”issue because it condemned drafting young men into the army. I’dread all about Mother Earth, and had even read articles that onceran in Mother Earth, but I’d never seen the actual magazine. Ilooked at the professional layouts and the yellowing pages andasked, “Who reprinted all of these issues?”

“Those aren’t reprints,” Candace told me. “Those are the orig-inals.”

I paused and stared at the magazine in my hand and felt the

jolt of excitement that comes with holding an original document.Because I knew that Mother Earth was a small, underground opera-tion run by a few dedicated people, just like Razorcake is. And Iknow that, with each issue of Razorcake, I handle nearly everycopy as I load them into my truck outside the print shop, or stickmailing labels on them, or pack them into boxes bound for distribu-tors, or whatever. In fact, my fingerprints are probably on the coverof the magazine you’re reading right now. And I wondered whohad handled this Mother Earth that I held in my hand. HadBerkman or Reitman or M. Eleanor Fitzgerald or any other of theanarchists I’d read so much about passed this magazine on to afriend? Had one of them stuck this magazine in a box that EmmaGoldman herself took with her on her speaking tours? HadGoldman sold this magazine to a young, working class woman,who read it and started down the road that led her to rise up againstthe conditions in the factory where she worked? Had a young manread this magazine and decided not to sign up for the draft to fightanother rich man’s war? And exactly where had this magazine beenpassed around, put on a shelf, packed away, donated, unpacked, andarchived so that, nearly a hundred years after it had been published,it ended up in my hands? And whose fingerprints were on thecover?

In the next room, I made a much more concrete connection toan anarchist. I met Barry Pateman, another historian working on theEGPP. Since both Pateman and Falk were ready to do the inter-view, and since I couldn’t spend all day daydreaming about finger-prints on a magazine, we headed into the conference room to talkabout the hows and whys of the archives that surrounded us.

The first thing I wanted to know was how Falk went from aboot box full of letters and a biography on Goldman’s love life tothis impressive historical archives. She told me that, while she waswriting the biography, the National Historical Publications andRecords Commission (NHPRC), which is part of the National

Archives in Washington, DC, decided to expand their reach. “Thiscommission (the NHPRC) was set up to collect and organize thepapers of the Founding Fathers. And that was supposed to be thebasis of keeping the nation great. And Emma Goldman wasn’t ontheir list. It was all men. The Great White Men Project. But therewas a huge radical movement at the time, even among historians.This guy named Jesse Leimisch gathered a whole bunch of histori-ans and petitioned the National Archives, saying, ‘We don’t want aGreat White Men Project. We want a history of the people.’ So, in avery typical top-down fashion, the National Archives chose thepapers of the ‘great individuals’ – they still couldn’t go for the peo-ple and movements, you know. But Emma Goldman got on the list,along with Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, MargaretSanger, and Martin Luther King, Jr. So that’s how we got started.”

The commission offered Falk the position of editor of theEmma Goldman papers, and Falk accepted. I thought it strange thatthe US government – the same one that deported Goldman in 1919because she spoke out against World War I – would later givemoney to a project dedicated to keeping alive her words and ideals.Apparently, this irony hadn’t slipped past Falk, either. As she says,“Our project started out with a kernel of federal funding which a lotof anarchists wouldn’t take. But Ifelt like, okay, the governmentdeported her, and we’re bringingher back with government money.”Apparently, even the NHPRC had asense of humor about this, too. Witha sardonic smile, Falk told me thatthe NHPRC “say that they startedwith the Founding Fathers andwe’re part of the DestroyingMothers.”

In the initial stages of theEGPP, Falk befriended SaraJackson, a woman who worked inthe National Archives in DC.Jackson was one of the first AfricanAmerican archivists, and she lovedthe fact that someone was archivingGoldman’s life. Jackson told Falk,“Candace, I’m going to declassifyEmma Goldman’s government doc-uments for you.” Falk was amazed.This was before the Freedom ofInformation Act had been passed,and government documents werenearly impossible to view. Thanksto the generosity of Jackson,though, the public was allowed, for the first time, to see the insidegovernment reports dealing with the raiding of the Mother Earthoffices in 1917, with Goldman and Berkman’s anti-conscriptiontrial, and with the false implications of Goldman’s involvement inthe assassination of President McKinley. J. Edgar Hoover’s fileregarding Emma Goldman’s deportation was also declassified (thedeportation of Goldman was one of the first cases that Hoover [wholater became the first director of the FBI] worked on).

In return for her generosity, Jackson asked the EGPP to do hera favor. “Because she loved us and trusted us,” Falk said,“[Jackson] would stick in a document or two about lynching duringWorld War I. And we would make sure that those documents wouldget to the right historians, the ones who would use them.” And inthis way, the EGPP kept alive the spirit of Emma Goldman byengaging in their own subversive activities in the name of justice.

Over the years, the EGPP amassed the impressive collectionthat surrounded me when I interviewed Falk and Pateman, but theyalso had to struggle to stay afloat. As the federal funds began toshrink, the EGPP had to find other ways to raise money. Theyrelied on donations from a wide variety of people: workers inmethadone clinics, historians, writers, anarchists, the children andgrandchildren of Goldman’s old friends. Even Ben Reitman’s

daughter Mecca donated money to the EGPP. They also relied onfederal and private grants, and the money that they raised throughselling their “Emmarabilia”, stuff like t-shirts, calendars, magnets,and even a coffee mug with Goldman’s mug shot and her words,“Sooner or later the American people are going to wake up.” Andeven now, every day is a struggle for the EGPP to stay alive. Theimportant thing, though, is that they stay alive.

Beautiful, Radiant ThingsI knew I had my reasons for reading and re-reading Emma

Goldman’s autobiography and essays. I had my reasons for takingthe trek to Berkeley to come as close as I could to meeting her. Butstill, a few hours spent reading books and a few more driving andconducting an interview were one thing. Dedicating your life to thewoman was another. So, after hearing the story of their struggles, Ihad to know why Falk and Pateman had dedicated so much of theirlives to Goldman.

I asked them the question point blank: what’s so importantabout Emma Goldman in 2002? A long pause followed my ques-tion, but I got the feeling that they paused not because they didn’t

know. They paused because theydidn’t know how to sum up all ofthe things that made her important.After thinking about this one for abit, Falk summed it up nicely: “Sherepresents somebody who under-went incredible harassment in herlife. She really took a hit for herbeliefs and she still had a vision ofhope and promise and belief inbeautiful, radiant things. I thinkeverybody needs that. And youdon’t need it from a sugar-coatedperson who thinks the world is actu-ally only nice. You need to hear itfrom somebody who is in the grit ofit, who stares into the flames of vio-lence and oppression. From some-body who can look into the uglinessand still believe there is beauty.”

Okay, I thought, so theydraw some strength off ofGoldman’s words and actions, justlike I do. But there has to be more.They’re historians, after all. Whatabout the whole cliché about peoplewho don’t learn from history beingdoomed to repeat it? I tried to prod

them in this direction by asking them if they saw any parallelsbetween the time when Goldman and Berkman were deported(which was also when the US was gearing up for World War I) andour current time and political situation. To my surprise, Patemanbecame passionate about the lack of parallels.

“One of the things we have to be careful about,” he said, “isdrawing too many simplistic conclusions. This is a far more com-plex society than it was in Goldman’s period of time. In 1918, youcould be a Wobblie (a member of the Industrial Workers of theWorld) organizer and the police could kick your door in, cut yourtesticles off, and lynch you, and nothing would happen to them.You could be a Wobblie organizer and come off a train and theycould beat you to death with an iron bar. They could suddenly raid abuilding. The soldiers would just turn up, trash the Everett WobblieHall, and beat to a pulp anyone who was in there, and nothingwould happen to them. So it’s not quite the same now. But myargument would be that, in a way, the culture that we’re in now isfar more sinister than it was then. That’s why I make the point thatit’s not the same. Violence now is far more cerebral. It’s far morecunning and clever. It’s far more inherent in everyday life.”

Pateman went on to explain how the clumsy59

brutality of a hundred years ago has been replaced by the manipula-tion of information and the media, how now it’s difficult to know atall what you’re fighting against. Pateman illustrated this point byasking, “How many Arab men are in prison now? How many havebeen imprisoned in the last ten months? How many? I don’t know. Iknow there’s a lot. I know there’s over five hundred, but I don’tknow how many. Who does? Where’s the names? Even in the radi-cal left papers, where are they?”

I couldn’t answer these questions, of course. And, truth betold, I agreed with everything that Pateman had said. Still, it didn’tanswer my initial question of why Goldman would still be impor-tant in the here and now. I kept thinking that there must be more,there must be something concrete about Emma Goldman that makesher such an attractive historical figure. Because she’s not just a leg-end to punk rockers. Really, she’s had several rebirths in under-ground communities. She’s been an icon for early feminist groups;for anti-Vietnam War groups; for anti-Gulf War groups; for anar-chists taking over the streets in Eugene, Oregon; for the protestorswho threw bricks through Starbucks windows in Seattle; and forprotestors who condemned those who threw bricks throughStarbucks windows in Seattle. Really,with the exception of Che Guevara, Ican’t think of any historical figure whothe people have embraced as tightly asEmma Goldman. So what makes peoplelove her so much?

I continued to talk with Falk andPateman about Goldman’s life and aboutthe EGPP’s various projects, all the whiletrying to figure out what this elusiveEmma Goldman quality was. Finally,after a couple of hours of questions,answers, and discussions, Pateman articu-lated this quality to me. It took him awhile to articulate it, and he had to couchit in a larger framework, but this is howhe explained the whole attractive com-plexity of Emma Goldman to me:

He talked about Goldman’s life as awhole. He talked about the fame andnotoriety she gained in her life. He talkedabout major events of Goldman’s life: shewent to San Diego, where vigilantesabducted Ben Reitman, covered him intar, beat him with sagebrush, and brandedhim just to keep her from speaking. Shewas attacked and spat at continually. Shewas wrongfully accused of plotting toassassinate one president and convicted ofthe act in the nation’s newspapers. Shewas imprisoned for speaking out on birth control and against thedraft. She and her closest friend, Alexander Berkman, were deport-ed and sent to Russia – the country of their youth and the placewhere the workers had recently revolted against the aristocracy andcreated what appeared (from the outside at least) to be a workers’paradise. Goldman went there and saw instead that Russia hadbecome just as vicious as (and, in many ways, even more viciousthan) any other country. Berkman and Goldman saw their friendskilled in Russia because their friends were anarchists. The two man-aged to escape from Russia, but they were forced to live in exile forfifteen years in Europe while fascism was growing in Germany andItaly, and Stalinism was growing throughout Eastern Europe. Then,when she was in her late sixties, she went to fight in the SpanishCivil War, where the anarchists actually took over in Catalonia.And she had to watch the anarchists beaten back by the communistsand the fascists. And she still didn’t give up. “Even when she died,”Pateman said, “she was still trying to stop the deportation of Italiananarchists from Canada.

“John Taylor Caldwell gives a beautiful story about EmmaGoldman in 1937. She came to speak in Scotland and they booked

her in a cinema because she’s Emma Goldman. But the communistparty said, ‘No. She is a representative of a large anarchist union.’And they stopped their members from going because they knew shewas going to talk about the Spanish revolution. And the meetingwas an embarrassment. Thirty people, including John Caldwell,showed up because the left disowned this woman for insisting tospeak out for free speech, insisting on challenging Stalinism. Thirtypeople were there. They had to bring a table down, and everyone satin the front row to listen to her. She sat down and didn’t try to giveit any mouth or rhetoric. She sat down and talked about the schoolsand the women’s groups she’d seen in Spain. She talked about theway they tried to organize the shoe factories and collectives andanarchist lines without any state intervention, and how it was work-ing, but it was being beaten back by their own comrades. And shedidn’t shout.

“Caldwell said that he cried at the end, because here was thiswoman: old, tired, beaten. But she never gave up. Maybe that’s thebest thing you can say about anyone: they never gave up.”

And that seemed to really strike at the heart of the matter.

Out of the Chaos the Future Emerges inBeauty and Harmony

As I walked out of the EmmaGoldman Papers Project, I felt like I’dfound Emma Goldman. I made a directconnection to her – not as a legend, but asa person who said and did amazingthings. And we can all still feed off of herstrength and intelligence and gather inspi-ration from her. The spirit of resistanceand her vision of beautiful, radiant thingsis alive and as powerful as it’s ever been.And, thanks in part to Candace Falk,Barry Pateman, and the EGPP, everyone– even sweaty kids outside of an Anti-Flag show – can tap into it.

And maybe, in our own little ways,we can all be the next Emma Goldman.

To learn more about the Emma GoldmanPapers Project, go to their web site at<http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/Goldman>. TheEGPP will also be releasing the first two vol-umes of a four-volume set of books calledEmma Goldman: A Documentary History ofHer American Years in April of 2003. Thebooks will be packed with Goldman’s lettersand reprints of other original documents, aswell as a great deal of information about theearly anarchist movement, the early free

speech movement, and the turn of the century labor movement in the US.And, through these books, you can go on your own search for one ofAmerican history’s most dynamic and inspirational figures. In the meantime,you can still read the books that Goldman wrote, like Living My Life andAnarchism and Other Essays.

1. Living My Life, pg. 4262. Anarchism and Other Essays, pg. 1333. Love, Anarchy, and Emma Goldman, pg. 734. Everything else comes from my interview with Candace Falk and BarryPateman.

PHOTO CREDITS1. Page 54. Picture of Emma Goldman in a floppy hat, from the inside coverof the original version of Anarchism and Other Essays.2. Page 55: Barry Pateman, photo by Todd Taylor.3. Page 56: Cover of Mother Earth, June 1917. Courtesy of the EmmaGoldman Papers Project.4. Page 57: Candace Falk, photo by Todd Taylor.5. Page 59: A stolen and bastardized version of Goldman’s articlein the St. Louis Post Dispatch, October 24, 1897.6. Page 61: Goldman in 1910. We stole this picture, too.

61

Interview and photosby Bob Cantu

“I have excellent news for the world, there is no such thing as new wave.” So spoke the lateClaude Bessy (aka Kickboy Face) of Catholic Discipline in Penelope Spheeris’ documentaryDecline of Western Civilization. The term new wave came into existence when “punk” became toocontroversial to use among music industry types. And, yeah, a lot of the bands that called them-selves that were jumping on a bandwagon with an eye towards the dollar sign and the usualassociated perks like groupies and mountains of coke. But the fact remains that quite a bit ofearly eighties music categorized as new wave was, if nothing else, fun. Devo, B52s, the Vapors.Colorful contemporary bands like Seattle’s the Briefs and Portland’s the Epoxies are tappinginto the fun of that era, personalizing it, and adding a harder edge. And you can add OrangeCounty’s the Von Steins to that list as well. But I wouldn’t call it a revival. Hell, most new wavepurists will tell you they aren’t aloof enough, they aren’t robotic enough, they move around toomuch or their ties just aren’t skinny enough to be really new wave. Well, maybe we should forgetabout nomenclature for the moment and just say that it’s fun.

The Von Steins are:Gunther: vocalsHelmut: drumsMagnus: bassMiak: guitarUdo: synthesizer

Bob: You guys are an OrangeCounty band. What part of OrangeCounty?Helmut: Me, Gunther and Udo arefrom Anaheim. Miak and Magnusare from Cypress. But Anaheim isour frequent middle ground.Bob: Are there good shows to befound in Anaheim?Gunther: There’s not a whole lotof good shows. If you look reallyhard you might find some goodstuff.Udo: Let me tell you, OrangeCounty bands... They all kind ofhave one way. So, when ever I tellsomeone, yeah, I’m in a band fromOrange County, they say “Oh,Pennywise, Guttermouth...” No! Iguess you can say that OrangeCounty already has its categories. Eitheryou’re ska or you’re No Doubt.Bob: How long have you all been playing?Gunther: The band’s been together sincelate ‘98, I think. Or, like early ‘99. Fouryears. Me and Miak played a lot of these

songs in a former band we

were in. The same songs that we’re doingnow. It just kinda turned into the VonSteins. Now we’re the complete freaks thatwe are now.Bob: So, the “Say What”/ “Hot Sex” seveninch (split w/ the Four Letter Words) cameout when?Gunther: When did that come out?

Miak: Probably about ‘98.Gunther: That was recordedat Rusty’s, the bass playerfrom Le Shok. And hethought we were weird.“What’s wrong with youguys?”Bob: Why can’t you be like anormal band?Udo: It’s the synthesizerthing that throws people off.They’re like, “What do youmean you don’t have key-boards in the band.”Miak: Even Le Shok havekeyboards but for some rea-son they thought we werereally weird. EspeciallyGunther. Bob: Do you do everything inthe studio while you’rerecording that you do onstage?Gunther: Oh, yeah.Miak: You should see thisguy at practice. He’s evenweirder at practice.Gunther: I’m usually holding

a glass of Scotch and I wear my collar up...Actually, everything is the same when werecord. We just belt it out.Bob: Can people find that seven inch? Is itavailable?Gunther: They can go on our web site andwe’ll get it to them. Or if they want me to

62

give them oral sex, I’ll be glad to do thatand give them a seven inch.Miak: We’re not above anything.Bob: When you’re in music, you can’t be.Udo: We’re a working man’s band.Gunther: Except, no ass play.Udo: Of course, Gunther’s speaking forhimself ‘cause Udo is on the straightand narrow.Gunther: We just want to make itclear that the Von Steins love thickwomen. If you’re a thick woman,come to our show, ‘cause we loveyou.Bob: There was an article about youin the LA Weekly and Johnny Angelpointed out that your bass playerplays the same model bass as BruceFoxton from the Jam. What’s thedeal?Magnus: I really like the Jam a lot. That’show it goes, he’s one of my influences.Bruce Foxton’s bass playing was amazing.It carries the music. A lot of bands aren’tlike that anymore. The bass is so hidden. Alot of the rap metal... it’s so murky, youcan’t even tell that there’s bass playing.Bands with a really strong rhythm section, Ilike. Especially in groups like theStranglers... great fucking bass sound.Bob: Weren’t you all little kids when thoserecords came out? How did you find outabout them?Miak: Good music is good music.Gunther: I loved it back in the day.Listening to it on record players with bigass head phones. But we’re not trying todig up anything. We’re just doing what wewant to do. We’re doing what comes natu-rally. People say that there’s going to beanother new wave, we’re not really pushingfor that. We just are what we are.Udo: Our generation now is kinda the sameas when punk first started, you start to lookback, punk was looking back to the sixties.You know the garage thing. Now we’relooking back. Because, what music do wehave now? It’s fucking horrible! Rap metaland what the hell’s on the radio? You haveto look back to find something good.Gunther: I guess you can say it’s reminis-cent of the whole eighties new wave stuff.We just do what we do, and we love it somuch. We just want to do what comes natu-rally. If we ever do try to do something likesomeone else has done it, we’re not seriousabout it. Bands that are doing the new wavething and our really serious about it, ittotally escapes me. It’s a really derivativeform of music, how can you be seriousabout it? You have to be tongue-in-cheek.We just do what we want to do and it’spoppy. And it’s really reminiscent of theeighties. Which, I do have to say that, it’s alot of our influences. If people want to clas-sify us as a style, that’s fine.Bob: What is going through your mindwhen you’re on stage and you’re doingwhat you do?Miak: Don’t ask.

Gunther: I think I’m just making love toeveryone in the audience. I want to makelove to everybody in the world, no matterwhat race, culture or religion. I hope peoplemasturbate to my voice. I just go nuts, ballsout. And I’d like to stress once again thatwe like thick women.

Miak: I think that Gunther suffers frommultiple personality syndrome. He’s got alot of things happening in his noggin. Udo: He doesn’t ever plan anything butbefore a show he’ll be like, hey, I got thisprop and I’ve got this and I’m going to dothis... And, I’m like, what are you thinking?And then it just comes together. You actu-ally see us laughing on stage because wehave no idea what this guy is going to do.Pull out his dildo squirt gun? What’s goingon?Gunther: It does squirt.Bob: Can people get theEP that was circulatingaround?Gunther: The six songEP? Yeah, on our website.Miak: It’s sort of unoffi-cially available. We’restill looking for a label toput it out.Bob: What’s “Quit YourSexy Job” about?Miak: It’s about quittingyour sexy job.Gunther: There’s no realstory behind that. I justdate a lot of funky hos. Miak: There’s just a lotof strippers in OrangeCounty. Seriously, everygirl in Orange Countybasically looks like astripper.Gunther: And we go forthe thick strippers.Udo: You’re making uslook weird.Gunther: No majorrecord label is gonna wantto sign us if we keep talk-ing about thick women.Bob: You played an excit-ing show at Club Beat Iton the West Side, which isa predominately gay club.How did you end up withthat show?

Udo: That was weird.Gunther: It was weird because I found outthe day of the show that it was sponsoredby a gay porn site!Udo: I thought it was going to be bandsand stuff and then it was just us.Gunther: And some transvestite cheerlead-

ers.Udo: We’re not, like, homo-phobic but we were playing infront of this huge gay audiencethat was freaking out overGunther taking off his clothes.It was cool but it was just kindof a surprise.Gunther: It was cool becauseall the guys looked like GwenStefani in that one video shedoes with Eve and they’re allwearing tight white shirts and

khaki pants.Miak: We’re all about sex. That’s what wedo. Bob: Will you be going on the road at anytime in the future?Udo: September. We’re going to infect thewest coast with our groove.Gunther: With our deadly sperm.Udo: I don’t know about that. I keep mysperm to myself.Bob: Are there any bands out there thatyou’re looking forward to playing with?Udo: The problem is there are only so

Dale Bozzio of MissingPersons is a soccer mom! Oh,

my God! Man, I had the biggestcrush on her when I was seven!

many so-called new wave bands outthere and you can only play with themso many times. It gets old. And sincewe have sort of a hard edge to us weget lumped with a lot of punk bands.Which is cool because even though weplay with a lot of weird bands wealways get a good response. So I knowthat we’re definitely reaching somepeople that we wouldn’t reach if wewere only playing with bands thatsounded like us. So that’s kind of cool.Gunther: I think it’s weird ‘causewe’re too hard for the indie crowd andwe’re too clean for punk and we’re notas serious as groups like the Faint, whotake themselves really seriously. Who,like, pout and all that crap.Udo: Pose.Gunther: That’s what we’re prettymuch about. It also makes it reallyhard to get a show. We don’t really fitin with anybody.Udo: If you want to do your ownthing, there isn’t a whole lot of audi-ence out there. If we were to say “Weare a new wave band...”, then peoplewould be, “Right on, it’s new wave.”But we’re like, we’re kind of this,we’re kind of that... But we always geta really good response. I’m reallyhappy that we can do our own thing

and get that kind of aresponse.Gunther: If the VonSteins can teach youanything, it’s “Don’t doyour own thing. It’s somuch easier to followthe crowd.” [laughter]Bob: You’ve playedwith the Briefs recently.How did you like that?Miak: That was proba-bly one of our bettershows.Udo: Sound-wise, mykeyboards kept cuttingout. But I still got goodresponse.Gunther: The vibe wasgood.Udo: I had several peo-ple grab me after theset, “Wow, your key-boards are really cool!”

That was flattering.Bob: What are you play-ing?Udo: I play a RollandJX3P with a PG200. And Iwas playing Yamaha CS5.It’s all vintage stuff.Bob: You like that soundbetter?Udo: Oh, yeah. It’s so fat.You can’t recreate thatwith the new stuff. A lotof newer bands use a lot ofthat new stuff and you canhear it. There’s a certainbit of intensity missingbecause they’re not usingthe REAL stuff.Miak: There’s kind of atechnical quality to itwhen they’re using newerstuff.Udo: It’s cold sounding.It’s all sequenced. Theyjust press play and singalong with it. I play every-thing live. Every otherquote, unquote “newwave” band just press playand then play along withit. I don’t see a lot ofbands actually playingtheir stuff live. Which iscool. It makes me lookneato ‘cause I can actuallyplay.

Miak: I think analog keyboards are alot more organic sounding. Even, like,the digital/analog equipment...Gunther: You can still tell whetherit’s old stuff ‘cause it has that reallyclean sound.Udo: All of my keyboards are at leasttwenty years old.Bob: Isn’t analog equipment more del-icate.Udo: Totally. If you bump it funnyyou’re whole thing is thrown out ofwhack. You don’t have a pre-set, soyou have to create your sounds live. Itmakes it a lot more fun because itnever sounds the same twice.Gunther: It’s more spontaneous. Bob: Do you ever go to any of theseeighties clubs that spring up?Udo: I used to run an eighties club.That was before I joined the band. I’mkind of sick of the eighties. I don’tmind the eighties sound, but I’m justso tired of hearing Kaja Goo Goo or“Come On Eileen” (Dexy’s MidnightRunners). That’s all right but can’t wemove on a little bit. People either wantto be that or just listen to that.Gunther: A lot of the bands from theeighties that are re-uniting... I don’tknow. I wouldn’t say it’s sad, but...Udo: They’re playing for the youngercrowd that they didn’t have in theeighties ...Gunther: I saw this thing on VH1 onMissing Persons, Behind The Music,and where are they now? Dale Bozziois driving a mini-van and picking upher kids from soccer practice and stuff.It’s kind of weird.Udo: Dale Bozio is a soccermom! Oh, my God! Man, I hadthe biggest crush on her when Iwas seven!

And I’d like to stressonce again that we like

thick women.

65

Interview done in person atan undiclosed location, pre-tending to interview Ivana

Trump, April 24, 2002, Vancouver,

BCNardwuar: Hi, it’s Nardwuar the Human Serviettehere in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada at anundisclosed location outside of an undisclosed hotel.We’re waiting here for filmmaker Michael Moore.He’s been in town, promoting his book, Stupid WhiteMen. He’s declined all interviews, but will he declineus?[Michael Moore’s handler walks up to Nardwuar, whois standing on the sidewalk, outside of the hotel.]Handler: Excuse me, interview Michael, is that whatyou’re trying to do?Nardwuar: Who?Handler: Michael Moore. Is that who you’re waitingfor? What are you doing?Nardwuar: Ivana Trump.Handler: Why are you here?Nardwuar: Isn’t Ivana Trump staying here?Handler: I don’t think so.[The handler walks away. Minutes later, MichaelMoore walks out of the hotel.]Nardwuar’s Camera Guy: There he is. There he is.Go, go, go.Nardwuar: Heeey, Mr. Moore. Can we ask you a cou-ple of questions? Is that okay?Moore: Oh sure, yeah, yeah, yeah.Nardwuar: How are you doing there?Moore: Doing where?Nardwuar: In Vancouver, here.Moore: Where am I?Nardwuar: In Vancouver.Moore: Am I in Vancouver? It’s… ahh… it’s a ahh…[pulls a note card from his pocket and begins readingmechanically, jokingly] “It’s a beautiful city,Vancouver. It has a lot of nice people in it and I’mhappy to be here. You like me. You really like me.Thank you.”

Interview done in person Nov, 1 1996 ,

in the Lobby ofGeorgian Court

Hotel, Vancouver, BCMichael Moore: [speaking as he get out ofhis cab as he walks to the hotel] Rise up.Get rid of the name “British” in yourprovince. You are your own province. Youare your own country. You oughta get theQueen off the money, get the “British” outof the name. Just, do, man, just like... comeon... you guys got such a great country, asit is. Just, like, get over it, man. Just getover it. That U.K.thing, man, the Brits,they’re, like, draggingyou down, man,they’re like a big alba-tross , a big stonearound your neck.Nardwuar: Could weask you some ques-tions, Michael? Wouldthat be okay? Moore: Yeah, yeah,sure, okay.Nardwuar: Vancouver is home of The Vancouver FilmSchool!Moore: Oh, the great Vancouver FilmSchool, and the famous alumni are...?Nardwuar: Kevin Smith, the guy who didClerks. He was only there for like threemonths, but they take credit for him.Moore: Yeah, that’s right. [laughs]Nardwuar: So, Michael Moore, who areyou?Moore: I’m Kevin Smith.Nardwuar: How’s Superman’s cousin,Michael Moore?Moore: Superman’s cousin? Who was

that?

Nardwuar: From Roger & Me, the guythat got shot.Moore: Oh, the poor guy that got shot, oh,he’s alive. He’s alive. He recovered. Hewas in a mental institution for a while, buthe’s okay now.Nardwuar: How does it feel to be back inCanada? Canada, home of ‘60s thinkingand David Gilmore, the CBC?Moore: [laughs] Is he still alive?Nardwuar: David Gilmore?Moore: Yeah.Nardwuar: ‘60s thinking. You’re getting‘60s thinking. You know what I’m refer-ring to there, eh, Michael Moore?Moore: [laughs] No, I’m talking aboutDavid Gilmore. Is he still with us?Nardwuar: Yes, he’s still functioning.

Moore: He’s stillfunctioning. [laughs]How do they keep himalive, is there, like,some secret drug orsome kind of thing thatthe undertaker uses toprop him up?Nardwuar: Taxpayer’s money!Moore: Oh, taxpay-er’s money, oh, that’sit.Nardwuar: You ‘60s

thinker, you!Moore: Oh! That’s what the CBC guy saidto me, right?Nardwuar: In an interview.Moore: That’s right. The head of the...who was that guy, anyways?Nardwuar: Alex Frame, or somethinglike that.Moore: Yeah, he kept pounding on me. Hegoes, “Aah, You’re still in the ‘60s. Yougot ‘60s thinking,” you know. And I’mgoing “‘60s thinking? I was, like, three inthe ‘60s.” [laughs]Nardwuar: How are you doing, MichaelMoore? How are you doing?

Michael Moore is a fat, unkempt guy in a base-ball hat with shaggy hair. He looks prettydirty. He doesn’t have the energy to looklike a slickster trying to pull somethingover on you, and that’s why I findhim – as a personality – so endear-ing. He’s also one of the keenestobservers of politics and corpo-rate policies in America. Whatseparates him from many of hismore academic contemporariesis his ability to iron out verycomplex issues, distill them,and present them to ordinarypeople in a way they can under-stand, executed in a way that isneither condescending or adumbing down of the material. Ifyou haven’t seen his movies, mostnotably Roger and Me and The BigOne, seen his short-lived, but right-on-target television series, The Awful Truthand TV Nation, or had the chance to readDownsize This, and his newest book, Stupid

White Men, and are at all interested in the bigger pic-ture of how policies that effect your everyday life

are made in secretive boardrooms and judge’schambers, I suggest you give him a try.

For sake of clarity, there are twoNardwuar interviews here. The one witha gray background is from 1996, and theone with a white background is from2002. If you’re the type who listens tosuggestions, I’d read the older onefirst. The second one dovetails nicelyinto it. The 2002 interview transcrip-tion was taken from a video tape. It ispretty chaotic because it stops andstarts due to Nardwuar persistentlypursuing Michael Moore – on the last

leg of an extremely long book tour –outside his hotel room, to an interview

in a van right before a TV interview, leav-ing his interview to address Nardwuar, and

then returned to the TV studio. So, if itsounds like it ends and starts abruptly, it does,

but you’ve got to admire Nardwuar’s tenacity.–ReTodd)

66

Nardwuar: Do you mind, Michael Moore, ifwe ride with you to the airport and do aninterview with you?Moore: Why don’t you ride with me rightnow to wherever this guy [his driver, the guywho ran interference in front of the hotel] istaking me.Nardwuar: Do you think we could?Moore: Yeah.Nardwuar: We’d love to. Is that okay?Moore: Yeah. C’mon. Let’s go.Nardwuar: Me and the camera man, Chris,are going to come with you, Mr. Moore.[They hop inside the van.]Nardwuar: So, Michael Moore, who are you?Moore: I’m a dead man right now. I’m justreally… what city is this? Number forty-six?Nardwuar: It’s almost over. You’re missingIdaho. Are you skipping Idaho, Mr. Moore?Moore: I’m definitely skipping Idaho. I’m notgoing there.Nardwuar: What is wrong with your mom’smeat loaf?Moore: [laughs sleepily] Oh, ho, ho, youdon’t want to go there.Nardwuar: You’re brand new book, MichaelMoore, is on Reagan Books. Reagan Books.That is pretty wild.Moore: You know… are you Canadian?Nardwuar: I am.Moore: You know, you guys are closer tothe mother tongue than we are, but can youread that? It’s not Reagan Books. It’sRegan Books.Nardwuar: Okay, I say Nirvana, yousay…Moore: No, no. You’re missing the “a.”Nardwuar: I know. I say “Near-vana,” yousay “Nir-vana.”Moore: But it’s spelled the same way. Youjust read the name of the title of the pub-lisher wrong. It’s Regan Books. It’smissing the “a” that’s in Reagan.Nardwuar: But I just think of, like,Ronald Reagan, because I’m an une-ducated Canadian, unlike you, beingan educated American.Moore: Well, there’s no such thingas either. [laughs]Nardwuar: But Reagan Books ispretty wild. Isn’t Rush Limbaughon Reagan Books, MichaelMoore?Moore: And Howard Stern andthey put those wrestlers (like MickFoley) out, too.Nardwuar: And you’re all in a greatcompany with them, Michael Moore.Moore: [sarcastically] Oh yeah, that’ssome company to be with.Nardwuar: So, you’re happy that yournew book, Stupid White Men, is not air-brushed. Your last book was; not this book,correct? (Downsize This! Random ThreatsFrom an Unarmed American’s cover hadthe dirt from Moore’s fingernails removeddigitally.)Moore: That’s correct. They see me withall my flaws and my inability to grow abeard.Nardwuar: I think this book tour is goinggreat, especially because you’re not doingit in big, chain corporate stores. You’reonly doing university gigs, right, Mr.

Moore?Moore: Just about. There’s a couple of chainstores in there, but of the forty-six cities, Ithink, maybe, there’s only, well, three.[laughs] Why won’t they have me?Nardwuar: How much is your book sellingfor in Canada?Moore: I have no idea. What does it costhere?Nardwuar: I think, like forty dollars.Moore: No way. You mean forty, Canadian?Nardwuar: Forty Canadian dollars for yourbook, Michael Moore.Moore: Ohh. Okay, that’s like ten dollars,American, right?Nardwuar: Well, it’s a lot for us Canadians.Forty dollars, especially in British Columbia,where they lowered the minimum wage. Whatdo you think about that Michael Moore, low-ering the minimum wage?Moore: They lowered the minimum wagehere?Nardwuar: Yes, they did.Moore: What is going on with youCanadians? Why are you doing this? Why areyou snipping away at your social safety net,you know? It makes no sense. You start punk-

Moore: I’m tired.Nardwuar: Now, are you like, blacklisted?Moore: Am I black?Nardwuar: ‘Cause I’m afraid that you’re likeblacklisted. You’re going to be like OrsonWelles. You know Orson Welles did...Moore: What happened to him?Nardwuar: Citizen Kane. And MichaelMoore did...Moore: Ahhh...Nardwuar: Roger & Me... Orsen Wellesfought William Randolph Hearst, MichaelMoore fought...Moore: Well, you keep answering the ques-tions.Nardwuar: Roger Smith! Are you okay,though? Are you gonna be okay? Are yougoing to be blacklisted? Is your life parallel-ing his?Moore: Ahh, well, I don’t think so. I’ve beenvery fortunate, you know. First I got Roger &Me out there, then TV Nation, two summers ofTV Nation, we won the Emmy award, andnow my book just went on the bestseller list,Downsize This!Nardwuar: Canadian Bacon, didn’t theykind of screw you on that? Because, that wasa great film. Did it even get an official USrelease? Like Orsen Welles, he was kindascrewed. Are you like Orsen Welles?Canadian Bacon, could that have been anOrsen Welles film?Moore: No, I don’t think so. They did thismarket research with Canadian Bacon, theUS company, and their test results told themthat people didn’t want go laugh at a film witha guy who had died. Namely, John Candy. So,because of that, and because they felt thatAmericans would think that the film was tooanti-American, they did not give it the properdistribution in America.Nardwuar: How much influence do these

movie executives have?Did they force you tohire Karen “MTV”

Duffy? What was shedoing on there? What was she

doing on TV Nation?Moore: What are you? You know,

this is a prime example of people whodrink too much coffee here in thispart of the country. You know...Nardwuar: Karen “MTV” Duffy!

Why was she there? Louis Thereaux,he was way better.

Moore: How, how, how many hours a day doyou spend at Starbucks, sir? You’ve got tocalm down.Nardwuar: Karen “MTV” Duffy! What’s theexplanation behind her?Moore: What do you mean “What’s theexplanation behind her?” Look at her dammit.You know, she’s great. What are you talkingabout?Nardwuar: How can you single people out?Isn’t it kind of scary to single these executivesout? I understand you’re going to be picketing

outside of Nike. Isn’t it dangerous? I meanyou’re targeting these people. Thesepeople killed Kennedy, MichaelMoore. Aren’t you a bit worried?

Moore: [laughs] Okay, I’m convincednow, it’s not coffee, it’s crack. The guy is oncrack. What was the question? I forgot the

ing on poor people in your country, you’re goingto end up looking like us. You don’t want that.Nardwuar: But you’ve got to be nice to us,Michael Moore, because don’t the Canadianparkas pay for you? They finance you, don’t theyMichael Moore?Moore: The who?Nardwuar: The Canadian parkas. They’re theguys who finance you, Michael Moore, yourempire.Moore: Who are the parkas?Nardwuar: The people. The people who paid forThe Awful Truth (Moore’s television series). TheCanadian parkas. That’s what you refer to themas.Moore: The Canadian parkas? I’ve never heardthat term.Nardwuar: You used that. The parkas paid foryou.Moore: When did I use that?(Editor’s Note: From <michaelmoore.com>:“Mike’s Book Tour Diary: Sunday, 2/24/2002:Spent all day in the editing room on my documen-tary. The suits are coming to New York to watch itfor the first time on Friday and I think they aregoing to like what they see. As they are comingfrom Toronto and not Hollywood, they cannotlegally be classified as “suits” – more like, the“parkas” are coming, or the “beaverskins” arecoming. This film has been entirely funded byCanadians and Germans, so it’s nice to be dealingwith a smart bunch of people who give you cre-ative freedom and get where you’re comingfrom.”)Nardwuar: Okay, play along with me here,Michael Moore. Help me. Help me. The Awful

Truth funded by Canadians.Moore: No, I don’t want any Canadians to buythis book. Not at forty dollars a book. Don’t buythis book. That’s outrageous. That’s an outrageousprice. I had no idea.Nardwuar: Steal this book.Moore: Well, no, don’t get in trouble, either. Just,you know, channel it somehow. (Or borrow itfrom the library.)Nardwuar: In your new book, Michael Moore,Stupid White Men, there’s a lot of dwelling ontoothpaste and zippers.Moore: [laughs] Don’t give away the ending topeople, all right?Nardwuar: Do you realize that in Vancouver,British Columbia, Canada, where you are nowright now Michael Moore, this is where BillClinton bought the cigar. He bought the cigar righthere.Moore: No way. Is that true?Nardwuar: Yes he did. He bought the cigar here.Moore: It was a Cuban cigar, right? ‘Cause wecan’t get that in America. He bought it here.Nardwuar: Yes. Vancouver, British Columbia,Canada. That’s where it all happened, MichaelMoore.Moore: Unbelievable. Nardwuar: We’re trailing you, kind of, andthanks so much for letting us come along with youin your voyage…Moore: Oh, no, I’m happy to. Nardwuar: Have you ever been trailed byInspector Clouseau characters? Like people run-ning after you, trying to get a file on you, etcetera,etcetera?Moore: Oh yeah. That happens every day.Nardwuar: Any fun instances in ditching them atall? We thought, maybe, since we were waitingoutside, we fooled your driver by saying that wewere waiting for Ivana Trump. [to the driver] Youfell for that, didn’t you?Driver: Ahh, yeah. [laugher]Nardwuar: Do you have any little tricks at all foravoiding people or people who have chased afteryou, Michael Moore?Moore: He wanted to meet Ivana Trump. That’sthe reason.Nardwuar: Ahh, good comeback there.Moore: Yeah, well.Nardwuar: Have you requested your FBI filethrough the Freedom of Information Act or any-thing like that? Have you been able to do that orfound any weird stuff on you? Like, I think there’seven stuff on JJ from Good Times. There must bestuff on Michael Moore.Moore: You know, I’ve never asked for my file.You guys should ask for it. Anybody can get it.Nardwuar: Didn’t the Secret Service ask for anepisode of The Awful Truth?Moore: Yes, they did, actually. They demandedthat we give it to them and we wouldn’t.Nardwuar: Where are we going right now,Michael Moore? Can we follow you some more?Moore: I’m going to go and do an interview, Iguess. Right? Is that what we’re doing? [Gets ananswer from his handler.] See, I just go whereI’m told. Come on along.Nardwuar: Really, is that okay?[Nardwuar struggles with the door.]Nardwuar: I’ve got to get out? How do you getout? Okay, I’ll go out this way.[They get out of the van and walk into a televi-sion studio.]Nardwuar: Following Michael Moore as he

question.Nardwuar: The question here was:Roger Smith was a bad guy. Rogerwas a bad guy. Does that make BillGates a good guy, because he’s hiringlots of people? Bill Gates, the comput-er age, is he a good guy MichaelMoore?Moore: Bill Gates is the anti-Christ.Nardwuar: But he’s hiring people.Moore: No, he’s the anti-Christ. Theanti-Christ will always come, it says itin The Bible, in Revelations, Chapter6, Verse 3.Nardwuar: But, but...Moore: No, no, listen. I’m giving youa Bible lesson dammit, listen to me.You know, Bill Gates, he’s come hereto hire a lot of people, and to shift thetechnology into a situation where hewill rule the world. He will rule theworld. Do you understand?Nardwuar: Roger & Me. Don’t youthink that it was better than CanadianBacon? Was Roger & Me better thanCanadian Bacon, Michael Moore?Moore: Roger & Me was better inCanadian than it was in English.Nardwuar: Are they forcing you tocomedy? You’re writing sitcoms now.Are they trying to dull you? Youknow, like Matt Groening, he did Lifein Hell and it became The Simpsons.Are you going to end up that way?Please don’t do it, Michael Moore.Don’t give up...Moore: You don’t like The Simpsons?Nardwuar: No, it’s been mellowedout since Life in Hell. Remember?Matt Groening did Life in Hell andnow he’s off to...Moore: Oh, man, Life in Hell sucked,man. Life in Hell sucked. You couldn’teven read the damn thing.Nardwuar: Are they trying to mellowyou out? By doing TV Nation and nowyou’re doing Canadian Bacon. Nowyou’re writing sitcoms. Like, pleasedon’t give up, Michael Moore.They’re pushing you into that home...Moore: I won’t let you down. Ipromise, I promise, I promise, Ipromise! [hugs Nardwuar] I won’t letyou down. I won’t do it!Nardwuar: Did you know that MarkFarner of Grand Funk Railroad has adog named after him?Moore: Mark Farner is, like, support-ing the Michigan Militia right now. Imean it’s like pretty scary stuff.Nardwuar: And finally, MichaelMoore, we’d like to thank you, here inVancouver, British Columbia, Canada.You’ve inspired people. Like TVNation. TV Nation – you had the thingabout the car alarms, where youplayed the car alarms outside of theguy’s house.Moore: Yeah, that was cool.Nardwuar: And people in Vancouver,while the Molson Indy was happeningin Vancouver, played Indy sounds out-side of the mayor’s house, to tell himhow bad it was with the noise.

jaunts around Vancouver, British Columbia,Canada. By the way, your publicist said that youhad cancelled all interviews today, MichaelMoore.Moore: I don’t have a publicist. Who are youtalking to, man?Nardwuar: Harper Collins, Canada.Moore: They’re not my publicists.Nardwuar: Okay. They set up all these interviewsand you didn’t do them. So, where are we goingnow, Michael Moore?Please, tell us.Moore: They should-n’t have set up anyinterviews ‘causethey’re not my publi-cists.Nardwuar: Andwhere are we heading,Michael Moore?Moore: Well, I think I’m going to do an interviewin front of a blue screen.Nardwuar: And what is this for?Moore: It’s for a blue screen shot, I guess.Nardwuar: Go ahead and knock ‘em dead,Michael Moore.Moore: All right. Thank you very much.Nardwuar: Oh, can we stick around, just get afew, couple of words after.Moore: I only have a few minutes right now. I’vegot to do this.Nardwuar: Okay, can we just go in front of theblue screen for just, like, two seconds just to fin-ish?Television Interview Crew Guy: No. You’ll haveto leave now.Nardwuar: Michael Moore, I wanted to showyou. Look, I just brought this [Nardwuar pulls outa magazine] to show to your family [Nardwuar’sgetting both pushed and led out of the studio]called “Your Family Survival Guide to Terrorism.”Television Interview Crew Guy: We’re rolling.We’re live.Moore: Okay. I guess I’m doing this show now.Nardwuar: Is it better to be rich or poor?Moore: Thanks a lot, guys.Nardwuar: Can we stick around, Michael? Ordoes this mean it’s over?Moore: Nardwuar, this isn’t my studio. I can’t tellyou.Nardwuar: Okay, can we at least go doot dooladoot doo... Thanks so much, Michael Moore, anddoot doola doot doo...Television Interview Crew Guy: You’ve got togo. C’mon.Moore: Do doo la doot dooooooh.Nardwuar: Almost. Doot doola doot doo…Moore: Doot doot.Nardwuar: Thank you.[Nardwuar gets manhandled. He’s screamingas he’s being led out of the building]Nardwuar: Is it better to be rich or poor,Michael Moore?Moore: [laughs in the background]Nardwuar: It is better to be rich or poor?Television Interview Crew Guy: Is itbetter to be alive or dead?Nardwuar: [still yelling as he getspushed out of the building] MichaelMoore, are you happy that SammyHagar is together with David LeeRoth. [doors slam shut] Thanks Mike.Appreciate it. [to camera] There wehave it. An encounter with Michael

Moore in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.[A few moments later, Moore leaves his televisioninterview for a minute to specifically addressNardwuar in the parking lot outside.] Nardwuar: I was pushed out.Moore: But those were your people.Nardwuar: Wait a second. Let’s just get a clarifi-cation here, Michael Moore. What happened here?Moore: You were just pushed out by Canadians,not me. I love you, man. Those were your people

who pushed you out, vio-lently. Did you see that?Nardwuar: Yes, I did.Moore: Your ownCanadians did that. I’mappalled.Nardwuar: Thank you.Can I have a hug?Moore: Yeah.

[They hug.]Moore: I’m so sorry. These were Canadian pro-ducers, Canadian TV people who did this to thisman. I’m outraged by it and next time, stand up to‘em, man. You play hockey.Nardwuar: Didn’t I stand up?Moore: No, no. You lost. They pushed you rightout, man. You’re the media. You’re the truth.Nardwuar: Hey, remember I talked to you oncebefore and you said that I was on crack?Moore: No, no, you are…Nardwuar: Nardwuar the Human Serviette.Moore: You are a national treasure, man.Nardwuar: Thank you. You remember the lasttime I talked to you, you said that I was on crack?Moore: Yes, I do remember you. Yes.Nardwuar: One last thing.Moore: I was really disappointed that you weren’tthere last night ‘cause no trip to Vancouver iscomplete without talking to you, so I really appre-ciate you being here.Nardwuar: Well, thank you, Mr. Moore. We real-

Moore: Oh [laughs], really? Oww,that’s so cool.Nardwuar: Thank you so much forthe inspiring...Moore: The inspiration. [laughs]Nardwuar: Thank you so much forinspiring people. Moore: And now, I must go make theMagnificent Ambersons, thank you.Nardwuar: Thank you, so much,Michael Moore, now going to a Foxbroadcast. Keep on rocking in a freeworld, and... Fox are milking you now,they better take your show. Is yourshow going to be on, just quickly, yesor no?Moore: Yes, TV Nation will be on.Nardwuar: So Fox has picked it up?Moore: Noooo, the BBC have put upthe money for a whole new season.Nardwuar: Are we going to be seeingit on the Fox?Moore: You’re going to see it here onCTV.Nardwuar: Why won’t we see it onthe Fox? You’re doing that press con-ference for them.Moore: Are you an American or aCanadian?Nardwuar: They’re manipulatingyou.Moore: Are you an American or aCanadian?Nardwuar: They’re manipulatingyou.Moore: What are you? An Americanor Canadian?Nardwuar: I love both nations.Moore: Which are you?Nardwuar: I’m an anti-fascist.Moore: What are you? An Americanor Canadian?Nardwuar: I’m an anti-fascist. I am aCanadian, born July 5, 1968.Moore: Okay, dammit. Now, whywould you care if it’s on Fox, if I justtold it’s going to be on CTV? What doyou care if it’s on Fox?Nardwuar: You are going to a pressconference to milk Fox. Why are youmilking Fox, when they are not gonnaair TV Nation?Moore: I’m going to a party that’s puton by Random House, dammit, thepublisher of my book right now.Nardwuar: But, you’re actually goingto do a live satellite feed with the Foxnetwork.Moore: Oh, no, it’s a special tonighton the election, in America, that’sgoing all out across the country.Nardwuar: I just think that MichaelMoore should boycott Fox, unless theyshow TV Nation. You should not doany TV, you should not handle the reg-ular media.Moore: [silence] Okay.Nardwuar: Well, thank you verymuch, Michael Moore. Keep on rock-ing in a free world and doot doola dootdoo...Moore: Okay, doot doot.

<www.nardwuar.com>69

Moore: You are a national treasure,man.

Nardwuar: Thank you. Youremember the last time I talked to

you,

Dan Monick’s

Photo Page

My good friend Dave G.a.k.a. “Sammy” a.k.a.

“The Donald” justswung through town for

a brief visit. He is aconnoisseur of the word

“pants”.

He has greatlyheightened myappreciation of theword “pants” in theyears that I haveknown him. Thisissue’s page isdedicated to himand the word“pants”.

71

24 REASONS WHY: Yes, I Have Been Drinking: CDFirst of all, if Todd sent me this justbecause of the cover, next time I seehim I'm sneaking a flower into his back-pack when he bends down to get theflask out of his sock. It looks like a stillfrom an outtake of COPS: two short-dressed ladies on a sidewalk, one cryinginto her hand, the other passed out withher skirt around her waist and herskivvies barely covering the businessbetween her widespread legs. Can't saymuch for the music, though. Mostlysounds like medium-bad '80s metal tome. You could find hints of Motorheador Poison Idea if you really looked andwere an optimist, but unless you werehaving an absolutely golden day, you'dsay "fuck it" just like I'm about to. Fuckit. -Cuss Baxter (No label. That shouldtell you something.)

4-SKINS: The Good, the Bad,and the 4-Skins: CDA re-release of the 4-Skins’ first album,all digipacked nice and purty with fivebonus tracks and an “album sized”poster. While most of the songs on thisnever quite captured the volatility oftheir tracks on the first Oi! compilation,this was actually a fairly strong debutfrom one of Britain’s most reviled skinbands. Panther may not have been themost convincing singer in the world, buthe did a decent job when he put hismind to it, and the lyrics are as farremoved as possible from the “WE ARESKINS! LET’S GET DRUNK! LET’SFIGHT! OI OI OI!” bullshit that seemsto permeate that crap passing itself offas “street punk” these days. Quite a few“hits” can be found here, including“Jack the Lad,” “Plastic Gangsters,”“Low Life,” and “Yesterday’s Heroes,”as well as live versions of “ACAB,”“Chaos” and others. If you’re a long-hair, I highly recommend picking thisup and playing it around a bunch ofbaldies just to confuse the shit outta’em. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

ABNORMI: Normien Vastainen: CDThis punk outfit from Finland remindedme of two bands right off the top of myhead: Disorder and Chaos UK. It’ssomething about the din they producewhich seems to be out of control butcalculated that way. I don’t know if theyfollow the same values of “Noise, notmusic,” but I would agree that some ofthose bands’ music might have crossedtheir path by virtue of some degree ofseparation. Guitars are buzz-saw, thebass thuds along to the beat, while thedrums bash at a spastic rate, and the

vocals are droning and

strained. I wouldn’t want to listen to thisafter a night of binge drinking.–Donofthedead (Abnormi)

ADICTS, THE: Smart Alex: CDAlbum number three for these boys getsre-released with extra tracks, lyrics andliner notes that, among other things,explain why they changed their namedto ADX for a short period in the 1980s.The formula remains the same as theirprevious releases: take punk rock andbash it over the head with pop sensibil-ity and a sense of humor. Standouttracks include the title tracks, “Crazy,”“Bad Boy,” “Tokyo,” “Rockin’Wrecker” and “The Odd Couple.” Besure to thank Captain Oi for providinganother gem from the old days on whichto plunk your green. –Jimmy Alvarado(Captain Oi)

ADICTS, THE: Sound of Music: CDA re-release of this punk rock institu-tion’s second album. Expanding thesound a little, yet continuing down thepath begun on their first album, Songsof Praise, Sound of Music is a fine slabof English punk rock, replete withClockwork Orange imagery, a healthydose of humor, and some damn finesongwriting. Many of the tracks hereare now considered classics, including“Chinese Takeaway,” “Joker in thePack,” “My Baby Got Run Over By aSteamroller,” and “Shake Rattle BangYour Head.” Also included are some B-sides, including their take on theRamones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated.”–Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

ALLERGIC TO WHORES/MCCARTHY COMMISSION:split CDAllergic: Heard these guys had some-how softened up and got all poopypoppy ’n shit. If they have, it ain’tapparent from this disc, ’cause what Igot comin’ outta my speakers right now

is some pretty brutal hardcore. There isconsiderably more “metal” in the gui-tars than I remember there previouslybeing, but it ain’t all that annoying.Final verdict is that I still dig ’em.McCarthy: A little more run-of-the-millin sound than Allergic to Whores, butthat’s more like saying the Rezillos arekinda run-of-the-mill in comparison toTeenage Jesus, meaning it ain’t meantas an insult. Loud, fast hardcore withoccasional dual vocal stylings and asocially conscious bent to their lyrics.My only gripe is that there was just awee bit too much metal to the guitars,which effectively led them to beingdropped from my favorite band of theweek contest. –Jimmy Alvarado(Rodent Popsicle)

ALLERGIC TO WHORES/MCCARTHY COMMISSION:split CDThis split features a couple of HC bandsthat come from the brutal side of townmusically and vocally. The first band isAllergic to Whores from Ohio. Theseguys spit out some rippin’ hardcore thatrelies heavily on distortion and dirge.Some of the songs thrash it up, makingthem sound like a cross between UnitedMutation and Antischism. When theyslow it down they come off similar to afew of the mid ‘90s Ebullition bands.The vocals are traded off between theguitarist and drummer with one of thesingers sounding like Martin from LosCrudos/Limpwrist. Overall, they’repretty damn good, but there’s no lyricsheet, so I’m left wondering where thehell they’re coming from. The bandname alone confuses me. Allergic toWhores? Huh?!? The other band on thissplit is McCarthy Commission out ofPittsburgh. They follow suit with moreabrasive HC. However, they fall into amore simplistic, if not crude, reign,making them not quite as interesting asATW. Stick to the Allergic to Whoressongs on this CD. –Mike Dunn (Rodent Popsicle)

AMAZOMBIES: Bitches and Stitches: CDMid-tempo punk with a lot of Go-Gosin it, although I’m not quite sure it’sintentional. This’ll get played more thanonce. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.xcommunicated.biz)

AMDI PETERSENS ARME:Blod Ser Mere Virkeligt Ud Pa Film: 7”I missed them when they came throughtown while they were touring the states.I forgot what the reason was, but I doregret it. I hate to miss the internationalbands when they work so hard to comehere. I heard good things about theshow and wished I was there. Well,these Danish maniacs have releasedtheir second EP, which is every bit asgood as their first. Old school, in theCircle Jerks meets Black Flag kind ofway. Everything about the packagingand music would lead you to believethat this was a long lost record from the‘80s. Not many bands trying to claimold school pull it off. These guys perfectit and truly make this old guy crack atear, an accomplishment that is not easyto achieve. It’s amazing to me the raw-ness and the energy these guys put forth.I know that I’m not the only one outthere raving about this. Taking some-thing that is old and making it relevanttoday is something to cheer for. Theirrecords are going to stand the test oftime. A big thumbs up to Felix Havocfor releasing this in the US. –Donofthedead (Havoc)

APOCALYPSE HOBOKEN:self-titled: 4-CD box setOne decade. 125 tracks (including cov-ers of Roy Orbison, Bikini Kill, Krautand Nip Drivers; radio appearances; andlive sets). Only 250 of these box setswere made by the band, complete with athick booklet that reads like a story, cov-ering the ups and downs and detailingeach recording session or where thetracks were culled from. If you’ve neverheard of Apocalypse Hoboken, don’tworry. You’re in good company. Theywent on largely ignored, especially onthe west coast, where I had the privilegeto see them, eight or so years into thembeing a band, to an audience of three.Chicago-based, starting roughly in1990, and eventually blipping on thenational radar as the oddest signingKung Fu Records had ever made (due tothe fact that they’re neither dumb asposts, sappier than an orchard of maplesyrup trees, or peddling hair-gel emo topre-teens), they’re a true headscratcherof a band, taking their cues from classicpunk rock, straining it into other arenasthat weren’t quite indie rock, thatweren’t quite experimental… well, thatweren’t quite right. I say that with thehighest praise possible. They never fit,but they made great music the entire lifeof the band. It’s spastic, irreverent, andgenerous in their intentional fuckingwith audience expectation and pushingtheir own envelope as far as possible.(For starters, they had a double seveninch called Daterape Nation, a songcalled “The Devil Has a Pussy.”) Iwouldn’t be so bold to compare them toFlipper – AH always had a solid, veryrock-based instrumentation amid thechaos to keep the beatings nice – butthey weren’t strangers to pissing humor-less people off. If you’ve never heard

The cover features a pictureof a guy sleeing.

No doubt the last guy tolisten to this disc.

-Jimmy Alvarado

72

Please note: If you’rean established record

company, and yousend us a pre-releasewithout all the albumart, we’re probablygoing to throw that

shit away... cock gobblers.

Underground Medicine Mailorder, Conneticut

Top 40 7”s

1. Bomb Pops, Everything Looks Like Her (Rapid Pulse)

3. Loose Lips, Addicted to You (Just Add Water)

5. Ends, Jump Ship (Mortville)

7. Horehounds, No Time For You EP (Rapid Pulse)

2. Plugz, Move (Blammo)

4. Rock Bottom and the Spys, Rich Girl (Breakmyface)

6. Diskords, Heart Full of Naplam EP (Vinyl Warning)

9. Shoes This High, The Nose One (Raw Power)

11. Jewws, I Need Your Lovin (Alien Snatch)

13. Pits, Belief in Ruins (Rapid Pulse)

15. Big Balls, Fallen Angels (Balls)

10. Neon King Kong, Mix up the Mix (GSL)

12. Scat Rag Boosters, I Mean It (Goodbye Boozy)

14. Hellacopters, Killing Alan (*****)

17. Hellacopters, Jesus Loves the Hellacopters (*****)

19. The D4, RocknRoll Motherfucker (SDZ)

1. The Slanderin, Zombie Gang (Headline)

16. Rotters, Sink the Whales (Bacchus Archives)

18. Richmond Sluts, Sweet Something (Disaster)

2. White Stripes, The Big Three Killed My Baby (Sympathy For The Record Industry)3. The Flash Expess, Who Stole the Soul (Revenge)4. Various, Battle for the Airwaves Vol. 2 (Radio)

17. Tyrades, Detonation (Big Neck)18. Neon King Kong, Mix Up the Mix (GSL)

19. Hives, Hate to Say I Told You So (Gearhead)20. Scat Rag Boosters, I Mean It (Goodbye Boozy)

5. Lube, Music of Chance (Revenge)6. Loose Lips, Addicted to You (Just Add Water)

7. The Starvations, Horrified Eyes (GSL)8. Radio Reelers, self-titled (Zaxxon Virile Action)9. The Cadavers, Never Mind the Bodies...Here’s the Cadavers (Noma Beach)10. Richmond Sluts, Sweet Something (Disaster)11. Rebel Truth, Doing It for the Kids (THD)

12. Superhelicopter, self-titled (Yakisakana)13. The Bomb Pops, Everything Looks Like Her (Rapid Pulse)

14. Real Kids, Live in Detroit (DUI)15. Briefs, She’s Abrasive (Dirtnap)

16. Gore Gore Girls, Keep Your Hands off My Baby (Get Hip)

8. Fear, Fuck Xmas (*****)

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

the band and you’re in your local recordstore and see AH’s House of the RisingSon of a Bitch, Microstars, or Inverse,Reverse, Perverse (the three easiest tofind) I suggest you pick it up. If you’realready a fan, email ‘em soon. I’m notsure how long these boxes are going tolast. I’m floored by mine. This is DIYdone right. I’m still bummed they brokeup. –Todd (Apocalypse Hoboken)

ARRIVALS, THE: NorthernHospitality: 4 Song-CDEPThe Arrivals are, without question, myfavorite band that I’ve heard in the pastyear and a half, if not longer. You prob-ably have no idea who they are. You’renot alone. In that time I’ve met twopeople who have heard them. Two. Iwas just lucky enough to have someoneplay them for me after playing withthem in Chicago. I was extremely ner-vous about listening to NorthernHospitality, since to say their fulllength, Goodbye, New World has beenin more than heavy rotation would be somuch more than an understatement. Ishould’ve known better. It kicks my assfor a good solid eight minutes and Ikeep going back for more. They actual-ly pull off being a band, in the mannerthat they feed off of one another. Eachmember is integral to what they create,and what they create is some of the bestmusic out there. Live, you can see howthey play off one another, whether it’stheir own material or a Van Halen coverthrown in for fun (Say what you will,Van Halen is hard to play!) The lyrics(when you can fully decipher what’sbeing said) are both intelligent andwritten to work perfectly with Isaac andDave’s cadence, but the balancebetween vocals and music is done sowell that the vocals become just anoth-er instrument in the equation. “Hearts inthe Right Places” is a bittersweet lovesong done acoustic, but somehow it’sstill rough. No lyric sheet though, so Iend up looking pretty stupid singing,“Henry Ford is dead.” Two of the trackswill be on their next release, Songs inthe Key of Obligation. Get your handson anything you can find by these guys.Your life will be better for it, well atleast your record collection. –Megan Pants (Thick)

BANGS:Call and Response: CDWithin a week of moving across thecountry to California, some friends sug-gested going to see Toys that Kill playwith Bangs in a town about four hoursaway. No job, no home, and no plans, Ithought it was a great idea. To make along story short, we spent about eightybucks on gas, had to hitchhike after weran out, and drive about eight hours oneway to get there. Late. Toys that Killhad played all but three songs of theirset, so I was pretty pissed. After someperformance art (not helping my mood)Bangs took the stage. Two ladies and aguy on drums who are not afraid torock. They blew me away, even in mysalty mood. By the second song, I wasup front bopping and dancing my dayaway. I never picked anything up. I wasstupid. This album kicks so hard fromthe start, slowing for “Kinda Good,”then picking right back up. Their alter-nating vocals are so, well, true. Theydon’t sound like they’re trying to beanything, which is a little too commonlately. The music is catchy as hell and

the lyrics balance smooth and sweetwith hollers that make you want to yellalong. My only complaint is that it’sonly six songs long. –Megan Pants (Kill Rock Stars)

BELOW THE SOUND: More Like a Gunshot Than a Car Wreck: CDThink early ‘90s Therapy without themajor label production values. No, thatisn’t a compliment. –Jimmy Alvarado(Berserker)

BLAZING HALEY: Mas Chingon: CDAfter waiting months for this full lengthto be finalized and pressed, I finally gotwhat I was waiting for all along – thethunder that defines Blazing Haley:seminal rock and roll guitar that’s notafraid to get loud; galloping standupbass that’s so wonderfully thick live,you could cut it with a straight razor;manic, all-over-the-place drumming,making you wonder if Gene Krupa hitthe crack pipe years back; and a singerwho can wail it out with the best of ‘em,still making it hard for me to believethat he’s only been belting it out foronly five years. Talent here, and lotsfucking of it. Ten songs that call tomind ‘50s teenage lust, like “TrailerPark Annie,” “Date with Ivy,” and theparty-rocking “They Get Bad Fast.”They even recorded their version ofBlack Sabbath’s “Black Sabbath” as abonus track, and I’d like to add thatthey’ve been playing it long before theinstant adoration of Ozzy/Ozfest/TheOsbournes became so recently fashion-able. It’s unfortunate that Blazing Haleysometimes gets lumped into the “rocka-billy” category, aka The Fonzie DungHeap, because BH have got one hell ofan outfit happening amongst theirpeers, usually leaving them buried inthe dust after just one of their tried andtrue live gigs. It’s also really unfortu-nate that no record labels have taken theopportunity to get up off their asssesand done something with BlazingHaley. I mean, fuck, at least talk withthis band, fer chrissakes! What more doyou need? A fucking engraved invita-tion? This disc kills the competition ofwhat’s considered “hot” for Top 40standards. But, then again, fuck Top 40.This is rock and roll. This is BlazingHaley. –Designated Dale (Rode To Ruin)

BLOOD BROTHERS, THE:March on Electric Children: CDI don't really know what screamo is(ditto kohlrabi), but I think this mightbe some of it. There's quite a bit ofscreaming and the surreal (read: postmodern poetic) lyrics are heavy onwords like "kiss," "lips," "she," "heart,"and "milk." Don't misinterpret me(unless you care to); songs about who-the-fuck-knows-what with lines like"Do you recall when we were young?We licked the summer's salty tongue"are infinitely preferable to (most) onesabout how two friends went in differentdirections and their friendship ceased tobe. Anyway, about the screaming: I wassitting on the dumper trying to remem-ber who this particular screamingreminded me of - because it was some-one, I was sure - and I was about to gowith Articles of Faith when I realized itwas die Kreuzen (I'm pretty keen on thegeography of my punk. Wanda heard

20. Blutt, Chutt... (Heehaw)

Treated tenderly,vinyl won’t ever

leave you and willnever treat you wrong. Just

don’t use it to put out agrease fire.

These are the top 7”s sincethe last mag.

something about Anti Flag on NPRtoday and came to ask me if I knew any-thing about them. I said, "They're fromPittsburgh." But I'm not sure I've everactually heard them.) and then I realizedthe whole thing is pretty die Kreuzen,what with the not-really-for-moshingrhythms and wide dynamic range. Ithink the Blood Brothers might be fromChicago, too, which ties things up neat-ly for me (in case I'm being a knowitallasshole, AOF and die Kreuzen wereboth from the midwest). So, yeah, Ithink if die Kreuzen had been frozenafter the first LP and thawed about twoyears ago, this might be the record theywould have made. Beats the one theydid make. -Cuss Baxter (Three One G)

BLOWN TO BITS: Ruling Class: 7”This is what I know. I’ve been reading alot of these guys in Bay area zines as oflate. A lot of hype is out there. A friendtold me their crowds are very loyal butviolent. I’ve known the singer Jim for avery long time, probably coming on fif-teen to twenty years. He’s one of thelong-standing punk friends I have, atried and true crust punk for life. Theonly thing that surprises me is that ittook him so long to get a band together.We spent many a night drinking as heyelled along to Chaos UK, UK Subs,Disorder, Exploited, Discharge or manybands of the day from the UK. Since Ihave fallen out of touch with Jim, himliving in the bay area and I in LA, I feltcompelled to sample his new band andfirst release with excitement. Pet peevetime here. I hate when bands don’tinclude an insert. I can’t always tellwhere a band comes from without someadditional information. If the label canafford to print the cover, why not xeroxsome lyric sheets or include an insert?Starting with the cover art, it is veryCrass influenced. That is very Jim, inmy opinion. Easily recognizable as apunk release. Musically, they come offas more of a Swedish D-beat thing thatis metallic in a crust kind of way. Theeast coast straight edge metal parts didsurprise me. The vocals are so guttural,they seem to burn the inner lining of thethroat. Background vocals are screamedto accentuate the point. Drums and bassfollow along in the mayhem that theycreate. Still wish I had a lyric sheetthough. Can’t tell if the lyrics are intel-ligent or cutter. –Donofthedead(Disintegration)

BOOTLEG BILL: TreasureTrove of Trash: CDOkay, Sean. You know how to get myattention. Who else are you going tosend a CD that is absolutely coveredwith porn. Not just your regular “highdollar” porn, but porn with trashy girlsin gang bangs, BDSM, facials, pissing,anal fisting, squirting orgasms, and aguy taking a dump in a girl’s mouth, allright there on the cover. So, with expec-tations really high at this point, I poppedin the CD. Surprisingly enough, it didn’tmeet them. Very dull, southern stylerock’n’roll. It actually sounds like mostof the stuff I would hear on the juke-boxes in the redneck bars in Floridawith one slight exception: the lyrics. Forexample, song titles include “Too MuchPorn,” “Smut Peddler,” “Big Muff EarthMama” and “Gorilla Crotch.” Here is alittle of what Bootleg Bill has to offer:“Gonna poke your hole until you’redead/Gonna slow fuck your face until

it’s red” and “Hardcore porn has servedme well/I’m gonna shit on your face,please enjoy the smell.” I bet this guysgets all the chicks with lines like that.–Toby (Scarey)

BOTTLES AND SKULLS:Amped the Fuck Up: CDHaving a hard time with this onehere…. See, I really dig the tracks thatcome from the seven-inch EP fromwhich this was expanded, and I like theadded studio tracks as well, but the livestuff, well, is just harshing the wholeexperience. I’ve listened to this disc noless that twelve times in the last twoweeks and I’ve always ended up eitherturning the volume down or just eject-ing the whole motherfuckin’ thang mid-way through, which can’t be a goodthing. I know they probably put it onthere as a sort of bonus for the buyer,but the live stuff is just blowing thewhole gig. My suggestion is to eitherbuy a copy of the original EP if it’s stillavailable or wait ’til a new full length isavailable. –Jimmy Alvarado (Sickroom)

BOUNCING SOULS/ANTI-FLAG: BYO SplitSeries, Vol. 4: CDThe Bouncing Souls haven’t coveredany new ground in years. They’re not abad band, per se, but every time I hearthem, I think of the rumor I once heardabout them starting out as a Doors coverband. I don’t know if that rumor is trueor not, but the mere fact that it’s plausi-ble speaks volumes. Anti-Flag doesn’treally cover any new ground here,either, but I don’t mind that so muchwith Anti-Flag. Their lyrics are solid,their melodies are infectious, and theycome across with a lot of speed andenergy. So I find myself listening to thesecond half of this split a lot. And thebig surprise: Anti-Flag not only coversthe Buzzcocks’ “Ever Fallen in Love,”but they also pull it off. –Sean Carswell (BYO)

BROCKMEYERS, THE: Paul, the Album: CDI'm not generally a fan of the sweet-sung pop punk, but this group is allright. The Brockmeyers have the powerof the Ramones or, say, Weezer withoutsounding much like either one, and thelyrics are both obscure and literalenough to float above the level of a lotof this sort of stuff. And that Paul, hesure is cute. -Cuss Baxter(Hewhocorrupts Inc/Fudge Sickill)

BROKEN: Mad As Fuck: CDEPStarts off sounding like the Americanequivalent of Broken Bones and veersmidway into Turbonegro country. Notbad as a whole. –Jimmy Alvarado(Magilla Guerrilla)

BROKEN: Mad As Fuck: CDEPI seem to remember knowing that theseguys are somehow descended from thePist, if that means anything to anyone.Lotsa big fat guys play old school NewEngland hardcore with a little too muchguitar solo. The kind of record that, ifyou put it on at a party, nobody wouldmake you take it off, but nobody wouldask you who it was, either. Wait, I takethat back; only two of the guys in thepicture are fat. -Cuss Baxter (Magilla Guerrilla)

BROTHERS OF CONQUEST:All the Colors of Darkness: CDGuys who haven’t moved in time pastwhen they first heard Metallica’s firstalbum Kill `Em All. –Donofthedead (Go Kart)

BUSINESS, THE: Saturday’s Heroes: CDCaptain Oi gives the Business’s secondalbum the digipak treatment. Sound-wise, nothing’s much changed, meaningthe “big” sound is still intact. Musically,this is not as immediately satisfying analbum as Suburban Rebels, although itdoes grow on you after a bit and thereare some classics to be found here,including “Spanish Jails,” “Hurry UpHarry” and a re-recorded “Drinking andDriving.” –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

CAUSTIC CHRIST: 7"At the end of the day, it's the fast andheavy that we all come back to and it'sbands like Caustic Christ that keep thatbrutal realm enticing and exciting. Sayshere it's two members of Aus Rotten andone each of React and Submachine and,as you might figure, you're not gettinganything you couldn't have gotten ten orfifteen years ago, but then you're notgetting something that sounds that oldeither. In fact, you're getting six bare-knuckle punches to the spine that you'lltreasure for years to come and maybepass on to your kids. -Cuss Baxter (Havoc)

CHANNEL 3: Self-titled: CDHoly sheep shit, it’s a new Channel 3disc and, wonder of wonders, it doesn’tsuck in the slightest! Excuse me if Isound a little shocked, but, taking intoaccount the “reformed punk band/suck-ass tunes” ratio that has pretty muchbeen the rule rather than the exception,this disc has no business being as goodas it is. What you get for your buck hereis an album that quite nearly erases anyembarrassing mistakes these guys mayhave made in the “big hair and Aquanet-induced brain damage” days of the ‘80s.I say almost because the “hidden track”here sounds like a Poison outtake, and Ihope it was a joke on their part. Asidefrom this little faux pas, every track onthis bad boy is a veritable instant “hit,”a classic if you will, of epic proportions.Sound-wise, this sounds like the long-lost album that was never recorded afterAfter the Lights Go Out, the road nottaken all those years ago that they’vedecided they’d like to saunter downafter all. I’ve gotta admit, I was a littleapprehensive about these guys showingtheir mugs again after hearing they werepeddling that “reforming to show theyoung ‘uns how real punk is done”horseshit like Exene and a couple ofother has-been glory hogs, but thesethirteen tracks of auditory bliss force meto keep my tongue at bay because,unlike X and their even-more-dismal-with-each-release track record, theseguys have got the tunes to back theirboasts. So recommended it ain’t funny.–Jimmy Alvarado (Dr. Strange)

CHRISTIANSEN: ForensicsBrothers and Siters!: CDI don’t know what to make of this. Itreminds me of At the Drive-In, but notas good or inventive. –Donofthedead(Revelation)

COUNTRY TEASERS: ScienceHat Artistic Cube MoralNosebleed Empire: 2 LPThe Country Teasers are a band whocombine the primary musical influencesof the Fall and old country music with adisdain for people and the way we dothings. Musically, the Teasers range themap from fucked country ditties anddirges to completely fucked country dit-ties and dirges but it's not always easy tohear the country through everything elsegoing on. Frequently, there are threeguitars battling each other, each with asingle twangy line to carry over a quicktwo-beat, and at other times a lone gui-tar and leader B. R. Wallers' plaintivewail. Synthesizers or sequencers orwhatever the fuck you call them makeperiodic appearances, generally toeither comedic or hypnotic effect.Lyrical subjects tend toward: physicalrelations and misanthropy. Conclusionof the foregoing. Nature of Science HatArtistic Cube Moral Nosebleed Empire:thirty-nine songs recorded from '91-'96in various states of production (somesound as good as what made it onto pre-vious records; others, not so good.Vocals are frustratingly muffled onsome tracks) and, I suspect, varyingstates of intoxication. A few of thesongs have been released before, onlabels that I gather the band is less thanhappy with. Topics of discussioninclude: self-relations ("Only Whittlin',""Good Pair of Hands," "Go DownMighty Devil"), girl-relations ("SomeHole," "After One Thing," "Let's Have aShambles," "Getaway!"), religious the-ory ("Adam Wakes Up"), England'spostal system, bridge-burning, secretsin Welsh, Kenny Malcolm on smack,and who knows whatall else. A Wallersanthem of sorts is present in "NoLimits": "... I won't give up the fight/ Ido what the fuck I like," and indeed hedoes. Few of the songs have what youwould call conventional structures andhe obviously doesn't strive for pristinesound if it doesn't serve him.Overblown drum machine tracks leadinto jerky, slide-guitar-stoked balladsand three-minute songs have a singleverse a third of the way in. Wallers fre-quently addresses the band or the listen-er on tape, on one song directing theplayers through the various changes.Shit, if I keep this up I'm gonna forget togo to work. At any rate, Science Hat is arobust collection for lovers of the unpol-ished first-take and if you have to getthe CD, the twenty tracks they whittledit down to will still satisfy. Conclusionof the foregoing. -Cuss Baxter (In TheRed)

CRIPPLES, THE: Dirty Head: CDHere’s a mindfuck for you: Suicide andSonic Youth join the Electric Eels insome really ugly ‘60s pop worship.Although I’ve got seven more discs toreview in this batch, I wouldn’t be sur-prised if this turns out to be the best newCD I hear all week. –Jimmy Alvarado(Dirtnap)

CROSSTOPS: Cloverleaf Fandango: CDHeapin helpin of self-described TruckerPunk, mostly in the tongue-in-cheek nu-shitkicker vein that's hip with the vin-tage westernwear set, sprinkled withmoments of extra speed(that is, velocity. 75

Crosstops are, after all, speed) and heftas on "The Boob Song," a near-copy ofMDC's "Chicken Squawk" with yodelssubstituted for Dave's chicken impres-sion and the line "...my favorite ones arethe ones attached to you," and"Rhinestone Cowboi" which soundslike an outtake from War of theSuperbikes. Subject matter is prettystandard fare for the genre - boobs,asses, fucking, strong drink, UFOs andhippie derision - but the arrangementsare splendid, rich with female backupsand non-git/bass/drum instruments, andthe lyrics are clever. The cover's beauti-ful, too: Fifty-eighy-year-old guy, PorkDukes T under his flannel, coffee mugin hand, leans on a shiny red semi sur-rounded by five Betty Page cowgirlsand only one of 'ems sneering at him."Come on, let's truck together" indeed. -Cuss Baxter (Tinnitus)

CROWS: Durty Bunny: CDFormerly known as the Cheryl Cro(w)Mags, they stepped down from themoniker name to avoid a potential ass-beating by the recently re-formedHarley and crew (Cro Mags) when theyplayed NYC. Well, what can I say butI’m fucking impressed. I’m predisposedto like it. Say Radon (not the shit thatgives you lung cancer, but theGainsville band that had the dude thatdraws Milk and Cheese design an early7” cover) and Hot Water Music and myears will perk. I’ll tell you a secret. Ifyou have great guitarists and bassist anda so-so drummer, the band will soundokay, regardless, but if you have a fan-tastic drummer, which Bill Clower is,the music just propels – it’s meatier,thicker, screamier. And that’s exactlywhat the Crows are: an ass-beating.When it’s fast, it’s a town riot. When it’squiet, it’s a quiet, but effective ass-beat-ing. When there’s harmonica, it’s an assbeating with a wind instrument. You getmy point. Strangely, they remind me ofearly west coast punk mixed with aMidwest work ethic, and although theydon’t have the broken angularity ofBlack Flag, they have that no-nonsense,non-thuggie, creative toughness aboutthem, even when they’re joking around(Black Flag had “TV Party,” Crowshave “Durty Bunny”). In other words,it’s catchy, but they both create musicnot by a simple formula, but by insten-sity and directness with an ear for aimbedded hooks. Very much recom-mended. –Todd (Crows)

CURIOSO: Isso Fica Por Sua Conta: 7”I noticed that some bands in Japan, likeTomorrow and Corrupted, are notsinging in Japanese or English butFinnish, Italian, Portuguese andSpanish. Since the bands I have heardpreviously did that, I was expectingsomething more on the line of fast punk,crust, metal, or sludge from this band. Ifigured since this is the same label thatput out the first 9 Shocks Terror LP afew years back, that was what I wasgoing to hear. I was completely wrong.These guys are very melodic with back-ground vocals that are harmonic butdon’t detract from the energy. The songsare infectiously catchy and sound likethey are having fun. It may sound weird,but this has the feel of the Monkeesplaying punk; a combination of the bestelements of street punk and melodicore

mixed together. I’m not one of manylanguages, so I don’t know if this bandsings in Portuguese, Italian, or Spanish.But, for sure, it’s not Japanese. A suresurprise that hasn’t strayed far from myturntable since I received this.–Donofthedead (Devour)

DECALS, THE: Drive-By Kiss Off: CDTough girl punk rock, heavy on attitude.The songs on this full-length live up tothe promise of their single, whichmeans that the tunes are rockin’, catchy,and decidedly not wimpy. –JimmyAlvarado (Fork In Hand)

DERITA SISTERS, THE: My Bad: CDThey're not sisters, or even women, andnone is named Derita, so I guess maybethere's some inside joke there, butfrankly, there's not too much funnygoing on here aside from a photo of acauldron of potatoes. Frontman MarkGilman, in his liner notes, laments thepassing of the '77 DIY ethic and com-plains that now "punk is a hundredbands with Mohawks singing the sametrite lyrics about how they hate the gov-ernment." Deritas lyric: "Yer so fuckedup in the head/ I just wanna see youdead." This CD is chock full of tritelyrics that are not about hating the gov-ernment. Gilman: "1977...None of thebands sounded the same. There was no'punk rock sound.' " With the exceptionof a few nice Fastbacksy guitarmoments, this set is like the ultimatehomogeneous stew of generic punk overthe last twenty years - the Deritas maynot sound like anybody else; they soundlike everybody else. Gilman: "2001...The original punk ethic has been lost inthe mainstream sea of shit. No one daresto be different." I'll let that choicenugget stand on its own; anybody read-ing this magazine knows what I'mthinking. Gilman: "And if you don't likeus, remember this - we have survivedfor ten years and this is our 15th CD."Big fuckin' deal. -Cuss Baxter (Plastic Bomb)

DILLINGER FOUR:Situationist Comedy: CDBOOOOOM! That’s the exact sound myfriggin’ head made the moment all theinstruments kicked in on this, myfavorite album for the week. I’ve alwaysbeen a little cynical when it came to thisband, primarily because all of my fellowRazorcakers are so hot on Dillinger jockand I like ribbin’ ’em for it, but, truth beknown, I’ve secretly admired this bandfor their ability to add a little pop to theircore and vice-versa and not sound likeall the other shit bands that fail so mis-erably at the same formula. They’re sogood at it, in fact, that the resultingmusic is not hardcore, is not pop, butrather one damn fine slab o’ tuneage thattranscends the punk rock pigeonholespeople will inevitably try to shove theminto. Forget the powerful performancesand obvious work these guys put intothis album. Pay no mind to the substan-tive lyrics they’ve managed to muster.Fuck the fact that this might be the bestrelease I’ve personally ever heard onFat. That’s all true, of course, but thesimple fact is that this mutherfugger flat-out ROCKS, baby, and that’s all a listen-er can hope for. Everything else is justicing. –Jimmy Alvarado (Fat)

DOWN BY LAW:Punkrockdays: CDIt's subtitled "the best of dbl" and I'llhave to take their word for it, never hav-ing been into them. I didn't even knowDave Smalley was in it, which is funnyas I was very keen on Dag Nasty onceupon a time. But then, I never cared forAll either, and Down By Law seems tobe Smalley's tribute to them. I guess ifyou're a fan of Down By Law, you'llbuy this CD. Blink182 probably getstheir copies for free. -Cuss Baxter(Epitaph)

DRYHEAVERS, LOS: Self-titled: CDBilingual Spanish/English punk rockthat falls in style somewhere betweenbands like the Bodies and aScandinavian punk’n’roll band. Good,driving stuff for the most part and thesinger sounds pretty rabid. Thought“Borracho y Agresivo” was a DosMinutos cover, but it wasn’t. –JimmyAlvarado (Pandacide)

DUMPSTER JUNKIES:Psychopathic Thoughts: CDTwo bands come to mind when listeningto this. The Crumbsuckers andLudichrist, who were around in the midto late ‘80s, who incorporated an eastcoast edge with a crossover sound ofthrash and metal. Also, I hear parts ofGBH in the mix. When they go for thefull throttle assault, they just punish.They tend to have mosh parts in thesongs, which I think is great (eventhough I hate the term mosh). What everhappened to the term “slam dancing”?The rawness and pure venom makes thisa commendable release. It’s ugly andgets my blood pumping. No sugar coat-ing here. –Donofthedead (Rodent Popsicle)

DUMPSTER JUNKIES:Psychopathic Thoughts: CDWeird band. The name sounds like somelame ‘77-clone band, they look like askin band, but they play hyper-drivemetal-core, heavy on the metal. Forwhat they are, they are really damngood, very tight, very reminiscent ofboth Pig Children and early AgnosticFront. A little confusing, but good.–Jimmy Alvarado (Rodent Popsicle)

ESL?!: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades: CDThis is some sloppy and kinda simplepunk rock that reminds me a lot of RKL,except RKL’s silly lyrics have beenreplaced here by serious, intelligentcommentary on society and politics.The combination of the sloppy musicand tight lyrics separates this albumfrom most of the generic punk thatcomes out these days. If you like bandslike The Thumbs or Pinhead Circus,you’d probably like this album. –SeanCarswell (Geykido Comet)

EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY:Those Who Tell the TruthShall Die, Those Who Tell theTruth Shall Live Forever: CDThe press release for this album states,“Total silence to total violence, that’swhat we’re talking about here kids.”Well put. Just when you think the stormhas passed - it turns out you were onlyin the eye of it. Six epic tracks from thisTexas four piece. It’s instrumental, give

or take a few vocal bits tossed in withcryptic and mysterious ways to them.The album starts soft with delicate andghostly guitar strums. Then enters therock. Driving and uplifting, “GreetDeath” is a well-written wake. Theheavy, fuzzy guitars and equally heavydrums bring up thoughts of Hum, evenDinosaur Jr. EITS demands attention,and they do get it. Organization turns tofeedback and chaos, then back intoorganization. “Yasmin the Light” edgestowards Tortoise at times with the sweetintro, but that doesn’t last forever. Evenwith the loud-as-fuck explosions (harhar har! no pun intended, I swear) mid-song, this album still stays sweet attimes, but the violence spoken of earlieris always following close behind. Thisviolence moves in slow motion, howev-er. “Have You Passed Through ThisNight?” is a creepy Disney voyagethrough time and mystery, with suddenjaunts and noises keeping you on yourfeet. They’re keeping their eyes on you.There are two things I’d recommenddoing while listening to this album:have an out of body experience or watchvideos of car crashes on mute. –SarahStierch (Temporary Residence)

FARTZ, THE: Injustice: CDAhh, that’s more like it. I thought that,after the waste of time that was their lastalbum (why release your back catalogand then release new recordings of thesame songs hot on its heels?), theseguys were just gonna be content to sitback and rehash all their oldies like somany old bands that’ve reformed, butno, here’s some brand new stuff, back toform and sportin’ some kick-ass shit toboot. Although the reworking of“Buried Alive” was a mistake, thetracks here pretty much stand up to their“classic” work and blaze along quitenicely, thank you. You like your hard-core mean, nasty, and with some sem-blance of a point? Look no further thanthis. Recommended. –Jimmy Alvarado(Alternative Tentacles)

FLIPSIDES, THE: Clever One: CDI always anticipate a new Pink andBlack release with the anxiousness of ahyperactive child. They are very discre-tionary on what they will put out. Twoof my favorite bands consist of twothirds of the roster. The Flipsides makeup the last third. To put it out there soyou can tell what this band sounds like,they’re comparable to their label mates,Dancehall Crashers. The vocals are sosimilar, I would easily be confused. Themusic is similar in the poppy, rock vein.No ska though. There are also hints ofsome southern rock that I hear. Soundslike they share the same rehearsal spaceoverall. From start to finish, this is agem that is well past the rough. I wouldwet my panties after listening to this, ifI wore panties. Maybe I will grab a pairfrom my wife. –Donofthedead (Pink and Black)

F-MINUS/ CRACK ROCKSTEADY SEVEN: Baby Jesus,Sliced Up in the Manger:split CDIf you haven heard of F-Minus yet andlike your punk hard and fucking fast,check them out. Crusty hardcore punkwith gut-wrenching male and femalevocals. They have five songs here last-

ing about five and a half minutes. Kindof a teaser, but well worth it. The CrackRock Steady Seven sound is equallyhard at times, but not as focused as F-Minus. The music is inconsistent, whichcan make it a hard listen. One minuteit’s hard as fuck, the next it’s poppy ska.There are also too many samples ofextraneous crap between their songs. Itgives me the same feeling I rememberwhen I heard Leftover Crack’sMediocre Generation album. They’re agood band with some potential, butsome tastes don’t taste great together.–Toby (Hellbent)

F.M. KNIVES: Useless and Modern: CDHoly crap, what rock did these guyscrawl out from under? Everything I canfind about these guys point to a littleNorthern California hellhole known asSacramento as being their home, but,based solely on the sound of this, you’dswear they was a bunch of Limeys.Featuring former members of a groupknown as Los Huevos, F.M. Kniveshave recorded THE quintessentialalbum of 1977 England, the greatestalbum the Buzzcocks never recorded,provided they had borrowed theDamned’s equipment and nicked thebest riffs that the Undertones and theBoys could muster. Yet this doesn’tsound dated in the least. While obvious-ly taking their cues from punk rock’spast, there seems to be an informed sen-sibility and energy at work here thatkeeps this from sounding rehashed andtired and instead as timeless, vigorousand crucial as the best of any of theirapparent influences. Don’t believe me?I dare any doubters to compare classicravers like the Undertones’ “MaleModel,” the Boys’ “Sick On You” andthe Buzzcocks’ “I Don’t Mind” to thetracks “DOA,” “Summer Holiday” andthe title track and tell me that the latterdon’t hold their own. Pick up twentycopies or so (to ensure you have a sparewhen you wear the previous one out)and tell ’em it came with the highest ofrecommendations. –Jimmy Alvarado(Moo-La-La)

FRAMTID: 8 Track EP: 7”Just can’t beat the feeling of a goodblast of Japanese punk spewing out ofthe speakers. Need a little bit of Dis-core and feel crusty? These Japanesemaniacs will relieve you quickly, like atwenty dollar bag of speed. Your jawlocks tight and your head shakes fromthe adrenaline that pumps throughoutyour body. You feel dirty from the sweatand dirt thrown at you, but you feelclean from the release. Many bandshave done this sound to death, but whenyou come across a band that does itright, it’s well worth the listen.–Donofthedead (Wicked Witch)

FUCK NEBULOUS PROSE:Ha!: 7”My brother handed me this. I thoughtthis was going to be some garage punkthrash unit that he would be known tolisten to. Wrong was I. This is a oneman project by a guy named SeanMiller. The music he plays reminds meof the early death rock bands from theearly ‘80s: a little Christian Deathmixed with some Super Heroines andchop that up with some Birthday Party.Interesting. I was surely surprised.

Underground gothic is going back to itsroots. –Donofthedead (Fuck Nebulous Prose)

G.I.S.M.: Sonicrime Therapy: CDMany times, timing is everything, espe-cially in regards to getting punk rockreleases. Take this release, for instance.I heard from my brother that he saw ona message board from one of our friends(Friend 1) in Canada that another friend(Friend 2) of ours in Canada had somecopies for sale of an official new releaseby G.I.S.M. I got in touch with Friend 2and got him to hold a copy for me. I gotin touch with another friend (Friend 3)who is friends with Canadian Friendsnumber 1 and 2 to have him buy me thecopy (since he owed me some money)and send it to me. It took a while, butFriend 2 gave the copy to friend 1 totake to Friend 3 when he went to pickcopies of the new Razorcake that I hadsent to Friend 3 to give to Friends 1 and2. Confusing? That is how I got thiscopy. I got the first album, Detestation,by accident too. I ordered a few recordsfrom a small distro that had gotten someStalin records that I had wanted andthey ran out of what I ordered. Instead,they sent me a bunch of differentJapanese punk records and I was trulysurprised. I also had gotten the bootlegCD N’th Nightmare, but that was easy toget at the time. There is a second recordout there whose title I’ve forgotten, butI know my brother has a copy. Back tothis release. I love interesting packag-ing. This release came in a cool black,silver embossed box. Inside sat thejewel case with an insert that consistedof black gradient color samples that ledto pictures of the band. The other sideis a collage of images that I can’t quitepick out the theme at the moment.Quite a bit of imagery for the senses.Sort of minimalist on one side andextreme on the other. If you knowJapanese punk, you know the songtitles are often out there. The intro istitled “Dual Improvisations forHypochondriac” (a weird lounge musictune) and the outtro is titled“Phenomenal Exile in SchizophrenicPatients” (eight minutes of wind noise,samples, and chanting). The othertracks are titled in code, like “KI-1” or“RUNS-3.” That is their trademarksound – blazing metalcore punk that isspastic and epileptic in attack. Thevocals are guttural. He could be mum-bling for all I know. It’s hard to identi-fy them because they are always tryingnot to be pigeonholed into someoneelse’s sound. They take elements fromothers and make it their own. They arejust out there. I imagine it as getting abeer and milk enema while on threehits of LSD and mixing early ButtholeSurfers and Napalm Death. Now get towork and try to find this. It’s worth it ifyou are not into the cookie cutter patchbands that everybody is wearing ontheir studded sweatshirts. If you don’twant to do the work, you can sampletracks by them on the reissue of the“P.E.A.C.E” comp or on the bootlegcomps The Punx, Hardcore UnlawfulAssembly, Outsider or Great Punk Hitsthat are available right now. I’m wind-ed... Time to get another beer and somefood. –Donofthedead (Beast Arts, no address)

GHOST ORCHIDS: Architecture: CDEPA stellar release. From San Francisco,Ghost Orchids have shaken me up. Somany things go through my head whilelistening to this five song EP. Fromlove to musical references. Whether itsthe bits and pieces reminiscent ofSubpoena the Past and the Cure, orgoth rock dance hall nights, GhostOrchids lures you with passion andweariness; nights where things havebecome a blurry, rainy out-of-controlcloud of emotion. This is a record I fre-quently lay in my bed and listen to therain hit the streets of my drabMidwestern town at night. Danceytracks such as “Time-Lapse Sequence”and “Architecture in Surgery” will lurefans into the likes of Joy Division, NewOrder, and Radio Berlin onto thedancefloor. Classic groups, one soon tobe, with shots of keyboards, and uber-haunting bass lines. If you aren’t zon-ing out on the dance floor to thesetracks, you must be making out in adark booth somewhere. Whether it’s adiscreetly empty feeling instrumentalthat numbs, killer drama dance tracks,or bath-tub suicide – it’s all coveredhere. A gem. –Sarah Stierch (GlobalSymphonic)

GLOBAL THREAT, A: Here We Are: CDIf you are a fan of early to mid-‘80s UKpunk, this is a band for you. They takethe look and sound of bands like GBH,the Exploited, Varukers and the like,and meld it into their own in tribute totheir heroes. For modern day refer-ences, The Casualties and The Unseencome to mind. In keeping with tradition

and adding elements that are their own,this was actually a good listen.–Donofthedead (Punkcore)

GOLDEN TICKET, THE:Blue's the New Black: LPOccasionally somber, more often a lit-tle bouncy, it's girl-voiced post punkwith the commanding bass of yourGang of Four and some of the jaggedguitar of your Fugazi and more stufflike that. It seems really long, too, foreleven songs. I haven't timed it, but Irepainted the entire yard while side oneplayed, then went shopping and gottwo different haircuts while the otherside was on. Shit, I forgot to get fudge.-Cuss Baxter (Aerodrome)

GORE GORE GIRLS, THE: I’m Gonna Get You Yet b/wKeep Your Hands Off My Baby: 7”Two excellent lady-made garage popcovers that aren’t afraid of hand clapsand tambourine shakes, and I’m buy-ing. Faster, they remind me of earlyGoGo’s with blushes of the Eyeliners.Lots of shimmy and shake that, oddly,would sound at home both on an oldiesstation that wasn’t afraid to have alter-nate versions of their well-wornfavorites (“Keep Your Hands…” wasperformed by the Beatles and writtenby Carole King) or a slow dance at apunk rock prom. Highly listenable andtoe tappin’. –Todd (Get Hip)

GORE GORE GIRLS: Up All Night: CDImagine that the Ronettes or Little Evagrew up in the punk community andthen put out a garage 77

album that kept the original feel oftheir first hits (“Be My Baby,”“Locomotion”), but sped them up andtattooed them. Well, the songs you’reimagining would sound just like theGore Gore Girls. The singalong factorto these songs are very high, but thesegirls know how to rock, too.Recommended. –Sean Carswell (Get Hip)

HAYMAKER: Self-titled: CDSome pretty swell hardcore. The tempois frantic without being so fast that itbecomes silly, the singer sounds pissed,and the rest of the band is a little like amore metallic Brother Inferior. Thelyrics aren’t vapid or just plain stupid,not one single song reaches the minute-and-a-half mark, and there’s evencover art by Pushead, the first I’ve per-sonally seen on a punk record in quitesome time. What more could you askfor? –Jimmy Alvarado (Deranged)

HELGAS, THE: self-titled: 5-song 7” EPPerfectly acceptable, well-executedmid-tempo pop punk with a couple ofgood lyrics. None of the songs are bad,but on the same token, none of themare infectious nor have deep-sinkingteeth. It’s like they took the least com-pelling parts of the Hollies (like thetempo) and stapled them onto heavilyleashed ‘77 punk. It’s just okay, but itsounds overwhelmingly neutral. I thinka band like Moral Crux does this loadsbetter, mixing bubblegum with fire-power with the result of having a seniorprom leading to a nuclear apocalypse.–Todd (They Still Make Records)

HENCHMEN, THE: Lust for Glory: CDRaw, rude Stooge punk circa ‘82-‘84from this New Zealand band. So far as Ican tell, the tracks are culled fromassorted demos and a live show. If youlike your punk rock primal and nasty,this is a definite keeper. –JimmyAlvarado (Raw Power)

HOT WATER MUSIC: Caution: CDI’ve had a long, satisfying allegiancewith HWM. Not to overstate my case,but I was able to put them on the coverof Flipside #120 a few years back and inRazorcake #2, stated how they, andLeatherface, helped change the way Ilisten to music to this day (which theyhave). The last couple months, for me,have been filled with loads of reflectionon a host of different topics ranging bigand small, and I’ll say this: I like theangry, fast, anthemic HWM better thanthe softer, more melodic, intricateHWM. I love it when Chris and Chuckvacillate hoarse to hoarser and molotovout the lyrics, setting everything in theirmusical landscape aflame. It makes mefeel like, even if I’m alone, I’m singingalong with a thousand voices. Thatshit’s powerful good. Caution is 50/50for me. I’m not completely convincedthat, ever since they’ve learned to singand carry a tune and play guitar partsthat almost sound like keyboards, thatit’s been for the better of my enjoyment.I liked the snarl and rasp, the discom-forting this-shit’s-gonna-break, you-got-a-roll-of-duct-tape? tension. And,although, this album still covers the top-ics of sadness, loss, and regret, and, as a

band, they’re one of the best live ones inexistence, I still find myself reachingback in their catalog and pulling outForever and Counting, Fuel for theHate Game, the split 8”with Clairmel,and Never Ender to find my fistsclenching up so tight and thinking,“This band could take the world on itsown terms and knock its dick in thedirt.” –Todd (Epitaph)

HYBRID MUTANTS: 2 on the Table: CDMetallic punk in the mid-'80s style ofBeyond Possession and the BonelessOnes, except that rather than skate-boarding or the Tell Tale Heart, theMutants sing about loss: loss of friends(to death and growing up), loss of trust,loss of Apollo 19. They do sing aboutbeer, though; one particularly good sec-tion goes, "used to be this time of yearwe'd hang out and drink beer/ but nowI'm drunk by myself throwing up in thewishing well." I like that wishing wellpart. Unfortunately, earlier in the samesong is the line, "used to be this time ofyear we'd cut the rug like a couple ofdeer," which is just sick and wrong. -Cuss Baxter (LEM)

IL CANTO DI MALAVITA: La Musica Della Mafia: CDAnd now for something completely dif-ferent…. What we have here, folks, is acollection of authentic Italian folk songswritten about the mafia. No big whoop,you might say, but considering that thisdisc marks the first time this stuff hasbeen released on CD, that it has beenbanned in at least two countries so far,that the musicians who performed on ithave chosen not to share their identitiesfor safety reasons, and that it’s a bitch tofind, then you’ve got the makings ofone damn intriguing CD. From a musi-cal perspective, a lot of ground is cov-ered stylistically (one of the tracks evensounds like a Mexican corrido!); mostof the instruments utilized are acoustic,all of it performed very well. And thenthere’re the lyrics. Much of the subjectmatter covered focuses on the “rules” ofmembership, but there is enough blood-letting, revenge, and wanton gangster-ism to make Scarface, Cypress Hill,NWA, and the lot sound like De La Soulor PM Dawn. If you’re looking for achange of pace, have a relative with aserious Sopranos addiction, are a loverof offbeat variants of traditional musicalforms, and if you’re able to find thedang thing, this could not come withhigher recommendation. –JimmyAlvarado (www.malavita.com)

JETS TO BRAZIL: Perfecting Lonliness: CDI can’t believe how much dough they’regonna rake in on this one. If you reallythink you need this: 1) I hate you. 2)Wait a week and get it out of the usedbin, where it is sure to be after peoplehear (among many others equally ascheesy) “We live like astronauts/and ourmissions never cross.” What?! Thisrocks so hard(ly), it makes Styx looklike AC/DC. –Megan Pants (Jade Tree)

KLAMYDIA: Muista KayttaaPyorraillessa Kyparaa: CDEPFlying under the radar and not makingmuch noise in the states is this wonder-ful band that is one of Finland’s oldestrunning punk bands. A friend of minewho I trade with in Finland introduced

me to tehm. Upon first listen, I washooked. I asked for more and he camethrough with flying colors. Theyembody elements of `77, street punk,rock, and pop melodies. They sing inFinnish so I have no clue what they aresinging about. Similar to Unborn SF orDie Toten Hosen but more fun. Themusic puts a smile on your face whileyour adrenaline is pushing towards thered. Four songs are kind of a tease, butyou get four very good songs. I have lis-tened to it over and over and haven’ttired of it. If you ever see their music ina bin at your local record store, buy itwithout hesitation. Everything that Ihave heard by this band is superb! Beer-shaking fun! –Donofthded (Kraklund)

KNOCKOUT PILLS: Demo: CDThe Knockout Pills are comprised offormer or current members of the WeirdLovemakers and Los Federales. They’reevery bit as energetic and fun as theWeird Lovemakers or Los Federales (orany of those great Tucson bands like theFells or the Okmoniks), but theKnockout Pills also have a dose of cleanrock’n’roll that sets them apart. There’sfour songs on this demo. All total, it’sabout eight minutes long, and, as far asI’m concerned, that’s about an hour tooshort. Damn, I hope they record a full-length and someone puts it out. They’refucking awesome live, too. –SeanCarswell (Knockout Pills)

KNUT: Challenger: CDIs it a truncated "Knute" or an elaborat-ed "nut"? Because if you're gonna spell"nut" with a K, like "corn" with a K, it'snot gonna get you any kudos (with a K)around here. While it is metalcore, itdoesn't bring to mind any Korn I'veheard, and it's on Hydra Head, who'veput out some pretty primo shit. Way bet-ter shit than this. See, it's like a ponder-ous, angry metal, not the rolling, gumpi-ty gumpity kind that gets your ball torolling. It's not bad ponderous, angrymetal (Wanda said she likes it - there'sone less Christmas present to buy!), butit's just not super. Now, if it's an abbre-viated "Knute", as in great Americanpainter Knute Rockwell, it evinces anintellectual maturity barely hinted at ontracks such as "Whacked Out" and "Bitethe Bullet." And with names like Didierand Roderic, they ought to be some cul-tured motherfuckers. -Cuss Baxter (Hydra Head)

LAMA: Self-titled: CDI’m guessing this a discography of sortsfor this legendary Finland band that Ionly heard of from my brother’s recordcollection. Like many bands that havegrown in popularity after they had bro-ken up, Lama influenced generations ofpunks down the road. They were togeth-er from 1979 and disbanded at the endof 1982. Hearing bands like Lama fromthat time period, I get excited like I’mhearing punk from other countries forthe first time. Not fast, but blisteringand raw in its own right. I have no ideawhat the lyrical content is because theyare sung in Finnish. The music is early‘80s punk that had that unique Finnishsound. To give reference, I hear a mix-ture of the Germs mixed with early UKpunk like the UK Subs and how it gottranslated in Finland. I’m sure glad thatthis graced the palms of my hand. With

collector prices these days, it would costa fortune to compile these songs fromthe original releases. –Donofthedead(Stupido Twins)

LEATHER UPPERS, THE:OK, Don't Say Hi: LPCan't tell you if the Uppers are stillaround. According to the discographyherein, their latest release was a song onNardwuar's Teenage Zit Rock Angstcompilation of 1995 (highly recom-mended), and this one is a vinyl reissueof a 1994 CD-only batch, along withtracks from two EPs. While I hate toimply that there's a "Killed By Deathsound," if there is, these guys were sure-ly doing it as well as anyone in the early'90s. It's raw and visceral and about hotdogs, sugar sandwiches and smokingmonkeys. It's also on brown vinyl andlimited to 500 copies, so see what youcan do about that. -Cuss Baxter(Pantsuit Party)

LIARS: They Threw Us All ina Trench and Stuck aMonument on Top: CDI’m going to start a cult for this band.When this CD made its way through thehands of various Indiana kids, we knewwe had something hot in our hands. Theshow was booked, the show happened,the show destroyed, and we were all lefttossing and turning in our beds, dancingin our sleep to Liars songs. Throweverything you knew about by Gang ofFour, Wire, etc. out the door. Who needsthem? Who needs obvious politics? Wewant the Liars. We want to dance and adestructive party-atmosphere. Its openswith the hip-thrusting “Grown MenDon’t Fall in the River, Just Like That,”where they claim to “have their fingerson the pulse of America.” Perfectlyplaced hand claps are coupled with thestunning vocals, talky and loud,crooned and screamy by way of the tootall (but in the best way possible)Angus. His extra cute vocals, backed bythe rest of the extra cute boys, make thegirls swoon with his Australian accent.The boys swoon too. They just won’tadmit it. One will not be ashamed tosing the lyrics to the now infamous (inour city) “Loose Nuts on theVeladrome” with its heart-stopping basslines, pogo-inspiring drums, and totallychaotic monster of guitars, screams, andmadness. You don’t care what they say,as long as the words you make up soundgood. Now you get a beer. My favoritetwo tracks have got to be “TumblingWalls Buried Me in the Debris WithESG” and “We live NE of Compton.”Two drastically different songs – thefirst being a bit more relaxed, the latternot so much. “ESG,” is perfect daytimedriving music, intimate too. It leads youwith witty and tight-as-fuck drums (yes,drums can be witty, damn it) thanks toRon (ex-Mercy Rule), and a funk-haybass line by Pat (ex-Opium Taylor,Midwest yah!). The lyrics, “Leave yourwork at home, put down your brief-case,” will brainwash you enough to dojust that. See, it is like a cult! “We LiveNE of Compton,” is what disco shouldhave been. If Aaron’s guitar doesn’t cutyou like a knife, the bass will make youdance like Lisa Simpson’s tap-dancingshoes. We end with “This Dust MakesThat Mud,” an epic masterpiece ofzombification rock. This is the Liarsown “Didn’t We

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Deserve a Look at You the Way YouReally Are” (by Shellac). You have tolisten to the whole damn thing, or youjust won’t get the whole experience. Inthe end it all makes sense. Not only dothe Liars and the Locust write the bestsong titles on earth, the Liars are theepitome of everything you want. –SarahStierch (Gern Blandsten)

LOBOS, LOS: Good Morning Aztlán: CDYou know, I often find myself in argu-ments with people as to whether LosLobos could be considered a punk rockband. Sure, it’s no secret how they wentfrom being a wedding band playingassorted sones and “Sabor a Mi” a gazil-lion times to sharing bills in Hollywoodwith the likes of the Blasters and BlackFlag, but does that make them “punk”?Well, when the conversation rollsaround (and, me being me, it inevitablydoes), this is what I say: Punk to me hasalways been about taking from “therules” what you can and tossing the restout with the garbage. Put more in amusical sense, either come up withsomething all your own, or rape and pil-lage what already exists and mix andmatch until you find a way to make it allyour own, and never compromise quali-ty for the sake of popularity. All of the“big names” in punk rock, from DeadKennedys to Suicide to Black Flag tothe Ramones to the Germs are perfectexamples of that mentality. And so areLos Lobos. From their beginnings, LosLobos have done exactly what theywanted, no matter the trend, no matterwhat style was “in” at any givenmoment. They have dipped into damnnear every musical genre available tothem, from son huasteco to cumbia topsychedelia, to soul to zydeco to punkto rockabilly to jazz, to hard rock toblues to norteño to art damage, becom-ing both an ethnomusicologist’s wetdream and worst nightmare. They arethe living embodiment of the term“American music.” They have had anoble career that has spanned nearlythirty years, have released a body ofwork that exceeds in quality the worksof all of rock’s luminaries and they’vedefiantly done it all on their own terms.They even throw their fans a curve nowand then, as some will no doubt per-ceive this album. After years of meldingand blending often disparate stylestogether, Los Lobos takes another lookback at their roots (the last time beingthe phenomenal La Pistola y el Corazón[The Pistol and the Heart]) and give ustwelve tracks of groove music steepedin soul, R&B, rock, and maybe a touchof cumbia to keep the boys in the ’hoodhappy. In most cases, a look back wouldbe considered a regression, but with LosLobos, it means an opportunity to plun-der and revel once again in what was putaway for a while, like favorite old toyspicked up and put to new uses. Onceagain, they are dead-on in their explo-rations and while the initial reactionfrom the listener might be a resounding“huh?” after years of pushing the musi-cal envelope, the party vibe will open’em up and the strong, sometimesunorthodox hooks and great lyrics willkeep ’em coming back for more. GoodMorning Aztlán is a fine addition to analready mind-bogglingly good discogra-phy and proof positive that Los Loboscontinue to follow their own path and

create a few new niches along the way.In my book, you can’t get any morepunk than that. –Jimmy Alvarado(Mammoth)

LOGAN’S LOSS: Riot Like: CDI have never been to a Warped Tour, butI can picture the third stage at 10:30 amwith this band trying their mightiest toattract the attention of the sparse crowd.Formula. They play within the numbers.–Donofthedead (Sinister Label)

MAKERS, THE: Strangest Parade: CDThe Doors presented the world withtheir Strange Parade, a cheap poet’spastiche of psychedelic space junk,swirling organ-filled, emotion-tuggingmelodies and lines upon lines of a soon-to-be-dead man’s brain fart stanzas.Meanwhile, into our latter days ofnumbskull nostalgia-mania, The Makersmarch forth on their very own StrangestParade with a surprisingly charmingoutcome. Hey rocker boy, look aroundyou; the world is swimming with shagsand feathers, bell bottoms, hip-hugger,Euro-trash, glam, light imported beerrevivalism. The more intelligent of thespecies will look back upon our timesand proclaim only two great andredeeming qualities: The Makers andthe way those pants make anybody’s asslook J.Lo-cious. While every otherband’s homage to this particular timeframe of music history looms some-where over deadpan plagiarism of theMC5 and the oft hilarious, self mock-ery-inducing antics of trying to out-stooge The Stooges (nobody can ever bethe Stooges – end of story!), TheMakers style themselves after a moregenteel mood and a general feeling of“groovy” (if your idea of groovy is deadhippies strewn across the highway...insert your own Morrison-ism here).Why do fat men grow beards? Why dothe Makers live in the past? Why?Because both parties can do it so well.Michael Shelley is a majorette of may-hem along with his fellow neo-Romanticists cohorts who dash andsway into a thirteen song journey downthe parade route of gypsies, dead rock-ers, suicidal thoughts, self-inflictedwounds of desire and other suchByronic themes interspersed with aheavy dose of punk rock’s untamed spir-it. Ah, to be young and dream forever ina day... –Miss Namella J. Kim (Sub Pop)

MARS VOLTA, THE:Tremulant EP: CD EPBeep boop. Bjork. -Cuss Baxter (Gold Standard Laboratories)

MEXICAN CHEERLEADER:Self-titled: CDLoud, guitar-heavy rawk with lotsaheart, but something is getting lost inthe translation for me. No offense ismeant here, as there is nothing tangiblywrong, per se, with this release, butsome bands come across better live andI think these guys are one of thosebands. –Jimmy Alvarado (Government Music)

MIGHTY MIGHTY BOSSTONES, THE: A Jackknife to a Swan: CDFamiliarity is comforting. I think Imissed a few of their releases through

the years but their music remains con-sistent. I pop this on and it feels like anold friend. Dicky’s vocals are raspy butcontinue to improve with age. I hadheard some members have changedthrough the years, but I’m not one tonotice too much. After the influx of skabands in the ‘90s that overburdenedmost people, I am finally able to listento that style more often. MMB alwayshad their own identity amongst thecopycats. They have an identifiablesound that they could call their own –mixture of their punk roots integratedwith their love for ska, reggae, andmelody. Fans who have strayed willenjoy this as much as their loyal oneswho will have this on the day it comesout. I know I did. It’s a good sign whenI can listen to a release straight throughand not pass over any songs.–Donofthedead (Side One Dummy)

MISTER CALIFORNIA ANDTHE STATE POLICE: Self-titled: CDEither these guys are geniuses orblithering idiots. Fifty-two tracks here,the longest clocking in at a little morethan a minute. Although there are sometruly inspired moments (“Disco Jesus,”“The Duck Song,” and “Poser”), mostof it comes off like a series of punk rockbrain farts committed to tape to keepfriends in shits and giggles, but notmuch more than that. If distilled downto the best tracks, this would make onehell of a 7” EP heavy on diversity,humor and unmitigated gall. As itstands, though, it’s pretty much a mess.–Jimmy Alvarado (Proud To Be Idiot)

MOURNINGSIDE / BRANDO: Split: 7”Mourningside: modern day hardcorewith sinister, dark lyrics. Brando: fast-core that is raw and abrasive like usingsandpaper for butt wipes.–Donofthedead (Rodent Popsicle)

MUNG: Off the Mark (A 7 Year Boil 1991-1998): CDDecent enough modern punk/hardcorefrom a band that broke up four yearsago. Although by no means my cup oftea, this definitely has some thingsgoing for it, not the least being a fewdamn snappy tunes. The Beastie Boyscover, while an inspired idea, leaves alot to be desired in execution. –JimmyAlvarado (Rodent Popsicle)

NEGATIVE FX: Discography: CDHere is what I know. I heard that Taang!Records initially released this and didnot repress this once it went out ofpress. I’m thinking, what the fuck arethey thinking? This is one of thoserecords that would keep selling slowlybecause it influenced so many. I hearelements of NFX in a lot of modern dayfastcore bands. This, from a band fromthe early ‘80s, that only played fiveshows live. That is fucking amazing, toinfluence so many people years later.Luckily, a Belgium label saw the poten-tial to reintroduce to the masses that thisband was influential. You may be think-ing, “This is 2002 and I’m reading anold guy’s jaded review.” History has ahabit of repeating itself and every styleof punk from the past has been replicat-ed, so you need the balance of findingout what bands came from the past andgetting kicked in the ass with all the new

bands. These recordings have stood thetest of time and are equal to what is putout now. So go out and pick up a pieceof history while it’s still affordable.–Donofthedead (Reflex)

NERF HERDER: American Cheese: CDSometimes you want to write off some-thing before you hear it. I was ready toshoot this to the moon. I put this on withhesitation and was overwhelmed byhow poppy and infectious this was. Mypunkness was destroyed and formedinto a pool of goo on the floor next tothe hairball that my cat left a week ago.I keep losing punk points and I don’tknow how I can reclaim them. I try tolook mean but a stupid grin overwhelmsmy face as I listen to this. I want to slamdance but my body uncontrollablywants to pogo up and down to the pointI have bloodshot eyes. Don’t tell myfriends that I like this. –Donofthedead(Honest Don’s)

NEUROTIC SWINGERS:What’s Your Definition ofUnderground?: CDAnother new band tries to recapture thatold punk rock energy and sound and failmiserably. Let’s have a hand for consis-tency! –Jimmy Alvarado (Lollipop)

NO GOOD HEROES: Radio Rebelde: CDYou know, in another world I wouldprobably adore Rancid, as so much ofwhat they do is right up my alley. Asthings have turned out, however, I wishthey’d break up so all their lame cloneswould fuck off and quit polluting theplanet with twenty-third generationClash posing. –Jimmy Alvarado(Insurgence)

OLVIDADOS, LOS : Listen to This!!!: CDListen to This!!! is on par with therelease of the Cheifs’ Hollywest Crisisseveral years back. Los Olvidados werean insanely talented, visceral and dead-on spastic Sacramento band that was –shamefully – all but forgotten except byold fans, bands that played with them(like Black Flag), record collectors, andfolks who remember their track on All’sQuiet on the Western Front. Like theCheifs, at the band’s creative peak, theynever released an LP, just a smatteringof comp tracks. (And this becomes curi-ouser, due to the fact that all of thesesongs were recorded in solely two dif-ferent studios from ‘81-’83. It’s neverexplained why there’s been a twodecade lapse in putting these thirteensongs together in one bunch.) Make nomistake, this isn’t just a worn out ticketto establish you, or them, some cred.The music’s amazing. It’s diverse andtries many tacks, but never looses inten-sity and power. It’s a charging prototypethat melds the eastern punk fuck andsleaze of the Dead Boys andHeartbreakers (especially in the vocalsand guitar) transitioning against earlyBad Religion and JFA (especially in thebass and drums). They don’t avoid fastbits but they don’t live and die by ‘em,either, which gives them more depth.I’ll be the last to say there’s nothinggood coming out today, but sometimesit’s nice to look back and realize, woah,fuck, that’s some excellent shit from theearly ‘80s that stillstands tall today. 81

Complaints? Yeah, with the booklet, putin the lyrics, list the comps they were on(like the Thrasher SkateRock, vols. 1and 2, and that’s the top of my head), andit’d also be nice to know what connec-tion they have to skating, since it’slabeled as Skate Punk, Volume Two.From what I can get, they seem likepunks who were skate-friendly, not proskaters, like The Faction.–Todd (Alternative Tentacles)

OUR WAR: If You’re Not Already: CDPretty decent straight edge crew-corewith some lyrics that are pretty fuckin’lame. –Jimmy Alvarado (Deranged)

OUT TO WIN: Persist and Destroy: CDI’m older than a lot of you and I don’tconsider this hardcore. This is straightup metal that is similar to having awrestler bash a steel folding chair onyour head. The riffs are heavy and thedouble bass drums drop low tones intothe chest. The vocals are so harsh that ablood vessel broke in my own eye. Myonly complaint I have of this release isthat it only has six songs. The metal inme went into withdrawals after thisended. Might not be your cup of tea, butthe hair on my head wanted to grow forthis one. –Donofthedead (Triple Crown)

OXYMORON: Best Before 2000: CDRe-released for those without a turntableor plain missed out, are tracks from early7”s, splits, and comp tracks. These long-running German street punks know howto make a great bunch of music. Melodicand tight, they carry the oi flag withpride. Everything that I have heard fromthem in the past has been really good.This is no exception. I would highly rec-ommend this because you get to hear theprogression of talent. It also includes avideo clip! –Donofthedead (GMM)

OZMA: The Double Donkey Disc: CDCaca poo-poo college rock. Kindapunky, mostly poopy. –Jimmy Alvarado(Kung Fu)

PANIC: Get Well: CDFrom one of the premier labels in the UKcomes another great pop punk release. Ihear great melody that puts me into popbliss. What I love about Crackle releasesare that they do not have overblown pro-duction and yet sound recorded in agarage. A mixture of, I would say, astronger sounding Queers, GroovieGhoolies and Screeching Weasel. In fact,I’m blown away by hearing some slightBritish accent in the vocals; it makes themusic more appealing to me. With that,it blows away so many bands here in thestates that play the same genre of music.I think this is the perfect moment tocheck out this band since this is theirthird release and you don’t have to gothrough the growing pains. Also, thecovers geek in me really appreciated theMen at Work cover of “Overkill!”–Donofthedead ($13 ppd to Crackle!)

PAYBACKS, THE: Knock Loud: CDLoud, raucous rock’n’roll steeped inDetroit hooks. Kinda reminds me ateeny bit of old Cheap Trick every nowand then. –Jimmy Alvarado (Get Hip)

PETER AND THE TESTTUBE BABIES: The Mating

Sounds of South American Frogs: CDStrange how some albums can bringback a flood of memories and moods inflashes, much like smells sometimes do.This, like Husker Du’s New Day Rising(hell, who am I kidding? Change that toall of Husker’s releases), reminds me oflong ago summers. Flashes of long won(and lost) fights, lost loves, my youngerbrother putting this on for the first timein my aunt’s basement in Spokane andfeeling cheated ’cause it wasn’t as“hard” as Banned form the Pubs andthen having it turn into one of the mostplayed albums in the collectionthroughout the ‘80s, driving around in abig-ass car covered from roof to tireswith assorted graffiti just begging to getpulled over by a pig looking for some-one to fuck with, and long-ago gigs inlong forgotten backyards are all tied tothe songs contained on this, the band’ssecond album. Like Husker Du, thisalbum is up to its eyeballs in hooks andcatchy guitar bits (maybe not as over-driven, densely packed and played asBob Mould’s famous noodling, butthere nonetheless), yet manages tomaintain more than enough edge toleave no doubt in the listener’s mindthat this is a punk rock record made bya decidedly punk band. Lyrically, thisain’t the Clash or anything, but Peterdoes get his point across succinctly andthe music is so damn good that it does-n’t really matter in the long run. Myonly gripe is that the album version of“Blown Out Again” has been deletedand the single version included twice.Aside from that, no complaints fromthis end of the world. Easily one of thebest punk records ever released.Consider this mandatory listening, kid-dies. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

PILOT SCOTT TRACY: self-titled: CD-R demoEmerging from the robes of The CauseyWay (see Razorcake #1 for full inter-view), with front man and collaboratingmain co-songwriters, Scott and Tracy,there are traces of the old project trans-mogrified into something more slinking,sultry, and openly playful. The only thingI don’t like is the name of the band. Itcomes across as way too emo for mytastes (like the name Pilot to Gunner).Yet, don’t let that be too distracting. Ifyou like new wave in the vein ofServotron, with music more suitable forslipping your hand under a special some-one’s underthings, instead of killinghumans (Servotron’s call to arms), whileopenly inviting the use of a synthesizer,you can’t go wrong. Both Scott (ex-Causey himself) and Tracy have sexyandroid, almost hypnotic trances of voic-es and it doesn’t hurt things one iota thatthey cover ground from intergalacticsurf, to the state controlling your monkeybrain, to what could be readings fromchildren’s books with equal grace, hum-mable vibration, and authority. Excellent,hard-to-categorize but fun-to-listen-tomusic. –Todd (Pilot Scott Tracy)

PIRX THE PILOT: Fri NightSeafood Buffet: CDSounding mostly like a modern meetingof the (UK) Subhumans and the(Boston) Proletariat (with occasionaldetours into K-style softness), the

Pirxes sing through a girl mouth and aboy mouth about politics personal andworldlike (and monkeys) with a pointyirony and, probably, a solid riotgrrlbackground. Delicious lyrics like, "I getthe impression that the guy on the cor-ner is laughing at me as I hand him aquarter," get healthy, non-condescend-ing annotations in slightly aggravatingtypography. And strictly sung; noshrieking like some fellow (SanFrancisco) San Franciscans of yore(thank you very much). I think the CDis enhanced with a couple videos, butmy ten-year-old Mac won't operate inthat fashion. Anyway, ears up for asmart, non-clone band who has donetheir work toward proving you can use amonkey in a metaphor for anything. Oran analogy. -Cuss Baxter (New Disorder)

PITCH BLACK: Self-titled: CDHorror punk coming out of the East Bayfeaturing ex-members of the NerveAgents and Screw 32, which really did-n’t show up in the their sound. Let mestart by saying I didn’t care for this verymuch. I have no problem with bandsgoing for the horror thing, but the banddidn’t do it for me musically. In fact, thebest part of the CD was the artwork(cool cover courtesy of their singer) andlyrical content (horror themes, duh!).Musically Pitch Black play punk bor-derline on hardcore at times with gothinterludes here and there. The songsgenerally had dreary intros with melod-ic guitar work throughout, which wasalright musically, but unfortunatelythere was nothing that stood out. Whatreally killed it for me, though, were thevocals. The singer sounds like ayounger, higher pitched version ofRudimentary Peni’s Nick Blinko. Ifound his voice both distracting andannoying at times. No thanks. –Mike Dunn (Revelation)

PUNCH IN THE FACE: Self-titled: 7”This will be one of the hottest, soughtafter punk releases this year. This bandfeatures Ebro from CharlesBronson/Los Crudos fame on vocals.Also, it is being released by Martin (LosCrudos/ Limp Wrist) on LenguaArmada. That alone should get you littlepunkers out there purchasing. I listenedto this thing and a weird sense of famil-iarity came over me. I immediately rec-ognized track two on side A, “BeerCold, TV Loud, HomosexualsFlaming,” but couldn’t remember whooriginally played it. It drove me nuts! Idove into my record collection andcould not find the source. I know thissong. I think it’s from an ‘80s comp thatI have. Are the other songs covers too?I am perplexed and I know I have to goto the punk encyclopedia himself, mybrother. If he doesn’t know, I’m fuckingcrazy. I went to my brother’s and playedhim the track and he said it sounded likeMecht Mensch or Koro. He went to hisvaults and pulled out the EPs. We lis-tened to both and the sound is similarbut it’s not the exact song. I felt defeat-ed and went back home. I dug throughthe collection again for hours. No luck.I looked through my music index onemore time and it struck me once I sawSuburban Voice. PITF was on the SVcomp No Sleep for Hardcore and playedthe exact song. I forgot that this comp

was on regular rotation in my CD play-er for a few months. I feel so stupid. Mymind is rotting and time has become ablur. –Donofthedead (Lengua Armada)

RADAR SECRET SERVICE:Stop Communication: CDThe sound of Joy Division and similar-ly gloomy Gusses, punked up just rightto make this a dandy listen. These guyswould’ve made a huge splash on “NewWave Theatre” twenty-one years ago.Peter most assuredly would’ve evenasked ’em “What’s the meaning oflife?” on the air, and the latest GenkelWorks product would’ve been theirs forthe asking. A definite keeper. –JimmyAlvarado (On/On Switch)

RADIO WITH GUTS, A: Beat Heart Sweet Stereo: CDI was charged to get this. I still like todork out to a vast majority of TheConnie Dungs catalog (which all threemembers of this band were in). Thelyrics could be a little self-depreciating,but I can’t deny that their CDs play likea darker, smarter, less pretend-shockingQueers. Easy-to-digest sadness wouldbe one way to put it, like hard candy inthe shapes of skulls instead of hearts. ARadio With Guts is fronted by the dis-tinctive, old cartoon/ bottle of whiskywavering voice of Brandon Dung.(Like, say, if Huckleberry Hound wasdoing a Muddy Waters impression,which is not a bad thing in my book.)Getting to the point – I didn’t expect tosay this – but I really don’t like thisalbum and have a hard time listening toit all the way through each time I’ve satdown to listen to it carefully. It’s vastlymore “singer/song writer”ly, and likelater Replacements albums became lit-tle more that Paul Westerberg solo pro-jects with instrumental accompaniment,it’d probably be okay if I didn’t haveany earlier work to compare it to. Itseems that Brandon’s found about tendifferent effects pedals for his voice –from watery to scratchy to warbling –and every single beat and strum is con-trolled by the tempo of the voice. I justdon’t find it compelling. Sure, it’srecorded really well, but the songsthemselves aren’t that catchy and,against my best efforts, I just want thealbum to end. –Todd (Stardumb)

REIGNING SOUND: Time Bomb High School: CDImagine Manfred Mann with moreballs. –Jimmy Alvarado (In the Red)

RESONARS, THE: Lunar Kit: CDReal-deal '60s retro, short on garagegrunge but long on harmony and swirlyguitar, like what was going on in thetime of transition from suited mop-topsto paisley-crusted acid-heads. Prettygood for what it is. -Cuss Baxter (Get Hip)

RIISTETYT: Tervetuloa Kuolema: 7"Yessir. Good old Finnish hardcore. Thestuff that launched a thousand pretendstage dives onto unmade beds and pos-sibly the sole reason a thousand thir-tysomethings have ever even said theword "Finland." But wait, this is newFinnish hardcore. I seem to rememberreading that Riistetyt, once among theruling elite over there, had changedtheir name and commenced to suck

sometime mid-to-late eighties. I'mhappy to report they evidently reversedthat trend, and if it took them a while,that's life I guess. Seems like they'repretty good now; here's seven pieces ofevidence for the jury's approval. -Cuss Baxter (Havoc)

SEWERGROOVES, THE:Revelation Time: CDSweden produces an amazing amount ofbands for a country of its size. MaybeI’m biased, but I never seem to gowrong when the band originates fromthat country. Here is a band I haven’theard for a few years, but I am glad theyare still rocking strong. The music isstraight-to-the-balls rock and roll withtinges of garage, southern, and ‘60s tothis reviewer’s ear. No frills and no bull-shit. With the current state of rockreleased by the majors being stagnantand packaged, it’s hard for me to listento that crap. With a band like this, theenergy of punk is displayed with its rawand genuine energy. The songwritinghas improved since the last time I lis-tened to this band, with the addition of amore permanent lineup. A minor histor-ical note is that the drummer for theHellacopters played drums for this bandin early incarnation. I believe since thehype in major music magazines is so bigright now for the Hives and theInternational Noise Conspiracy, whichboth originate out of Sweden, theseguys could be also have greater expo-sure to the world. –Donofthedead (Low Impact)

SIXER: Beautiful Trash: CDI heard this band on the last TKO PunchDrunk comp, so I vaguely knew what toexpect. They have ex-Ann Beretta guysin their lineup and what we have here isnot too far off. Sixer plays mid-tempopunk with emphasis on rock.Unfortunately, I can’t say that I likedthis CD. The songs have a lack ofhooks, making them unmemorable.They also seem to bypass catchiness foran almost underlying rock sound. Thereare a few of the songs that hit the mark,most notably “Get Well Card,” but over-all it leaves me uninterested. This CDkind of reminds me of a second rate ver-sion of The Dragons. Nothing terrible,but nothing spectacular either. I’ll pass.–Mike Dunn (BYO)

SKULLS, THE: Therapy for the Shy: CDHot on the heels of their 7” release onHeadline comes this full-length, the firstever from this recently reformed punkband. For those not in the know, thisband was one of the first wave of punkbands (along with the Weirdos, Germs,Controllers, Bags, Screamers and oth-ers) from Los Angeles and who latermutated into Wall of Voodoo. To befound here are re-recordings of classicslike “Kill Me Kill Me Kill,”“Incomplete Suicide,” “Victims” andothers, as well as some choice newmaterial. The band sounds tight, pissed,and hungry, like a punk band should andthe tracks are jaw-dropping, head-shak-ing good. To those who say no goodnew punk records are to be found, I say,“Fuck you, nay-saying gloomy-Gus.Here’s one that’ll make your toes tapand your testes vibrate with glee.”Mandatory listening here, class.–Jimmy Alvarado (Dr. Strange)

SNOWGLOBE: Our Land Brains: CDBeen listening to this for a few weeksand I keep wanting to say it's drugsmusic but I haven't had any drugs latelyso I can't be sure. It might be coming-down-from-drugs music. It's kind ofquiet (though I just noticed the insertsays "...meant to be played at your cityordinance's highest allowable volume" -I'll have to try that) and invokes a lessbombastic Flaming Lips or a less spas-tic They Might Be Giants. Wanda hearsa lot of Kinks (the non-monster-riff,contemplative songs) and focused lis-tens reveal arrangements full of stringsand horns. I'm gonna trust that if you'rethe kind of person who would like this,you'll know what I'm trying to get at (Ibarely do), but if you can't figure it out,you might want to stay away (read: it'snot punk). -Cuss Baxter (Bardot)

STARVATIONS, THE: One Long Night: CDEPHey, I love old X. I love the Cramps. Ilove Link Wray, but, fuck jesus, theydidn’t make mausoleums to suffocatein. They provided us with unbuiltengines to hop up even more. Threecheers for a band following its own pathand investing in their own sound.Beyond the clubhouses and fascades ofmusical styles such as psychobilly,rockabilly, and voodoobilly, are severalbands that are tapping into some trueweirdness, getting weird with it, andwiggling out with some sounds of theirown, beyond the past. The names, local-ly at least, are limited. They share acommanality, not by clothes, not evenby a genre-locked sound or contrivedoutrageous behavior, but by vision.Throw Rag. Blazing Haley. TheStarvations. Unafraid to add accordion,unafraid to let the ghosts and skeletonsof long-forgotten and obscure musicalgenres to seep into them like a mold,The Starvations are feeling the pulse ofexciting, hard-to-find music, and likeFrankenstein’s monster with lightningkickstarting the sound, I, for one, can’twait to hear what they’ll stomp afternext. Set the CD player on repeat.You’ll be signing high and long to“Grief” and “Last Night I Had aNightmare We Got Married.” Five oftheir best songs to date, and their lastLP, A Blackout to Remember, was fan-tastic. –Todd (Kapow)

STRIKE ANYWHERE:Change Is a Sound: CDRetodd reviewed this a few issues agoand he is the one who gave me a copy ofthis release. Before I saw them in June,I never noticed or heard of this banduntil that day. On that day, I met themembers of this group who I felt weregenuinely nice and sincere in what theywere doing. Live, they were so ener-getic and refreshing to me, I must havebroken a tear on how much I liked them.I had a stupid grin the whole time as Iwatched in amazement. After that day, Iheard from a friend in Finland that heheard great things about this band. Inoticed more and more their name beingmentioned in zines. Where the fuck hadI been? Man, this is fucking good!That’s the most intelligent reaction Ihave at this moment. The production isdead on. They play late ‘80s hardcorethat is refreshing and intoxicating andlyrics that don’t sound 83

like they came from the punk lyricsform book. Bands like this keep meexcited about the genre. Out of everyten bands out there, one always shines.–Donofthedead (Jade Tree)

STUPID BABIES GO MAD/ RUPTURE: split: 7”SBGM from Japan has out, like, fiveEPs at this point. Their popularity is onthe rise. This is no exception. It’s true-to-form punk rock that is abrasive,angry and fast. Also, they’re talentedmusicians and they don’t leave that out.The songs add rock elements that arenot annoying. The three songs on theirside are worth the purchase for thisalone. I notice that Rupture is a “fuckyou” type of band without even listen-ing. The choice of using sexuallyexplicit artwork will hear cries from PCpunks. That is the bait to their venom.The label on their side of the EP has aswastika and their band name on it.Their first “fuck you” song is titled“Washington PC.” It attacks Fugazi,vegans, straight edge, Henry Rollins,and Maximum RocknRoll, to name afew. The second “fuck you” song is aGG Allin-styled attack against religion.Musically it’s average. The humor takesit over the line. –Donofthedead(Devour)

SUBTONIX: Too Cool forSchool b/w Rich Boys: 7”With an up-front saxophone and a stri-dent female vocalist, it’s almost impos-sible to not mention that they sound alot like X-Ray Spex, but beyond theeasy comparison is an extremely edgy,all-girl Italian five piece that aren’t min-ing cemeteries and fucking musical

corpses. At times, the sax comes acrossexactly like a siren, and the vocalistisn’t so much interested in sounding asoperatic as Poly Styrene, as she seemsto be choking back and lashing out,which definitely serrates their edge. Inthe background is a band that soundslike they could be on Rip Off Records;well recorded lo-fi tension wrapped niceand tight around a steady beat. What anice suprise. –Todd (Vida Loca)

SUGAR SHACK: Spinning Wheels: CDIs anyone still using the stupid phrase"punk'n'roll"? A person who is wouldprobably use it on this. Not wanting togo there, I'd say it reminds me various-ly of a lot of the big-balls rock comingout of Scandinaviland the past severalyears, the Candy Snatchers, many pro-jects related to Tim Kerr (he producedthis), maybe the Weirdos. Three and ahalf erect penises. -Cuss Baxter (Estrus)

SUICIDE NOTE: You’re NotLooking So Good: CDHighly noisy, mid-tempo hardcore withlotsa weird, ringy chord fingerings, ascreamy singer, and just the slightestdash of pop sensibility. A pretty fun lis-ten here. –Jimmy Alvarado (Ferret)

SUPERBEES, THE: High Volume: CDSome serious MC5 worship going onhere and, thankfully, they’re very goodat it. There’s also some ‘60s punk atti-tude thrown in for good measure, whichonly serves to sweeten the deal. I’mmighty impressed. Hope my new neigh-bor Sean doesn’t mind too much when Icrank this puppy up to eleven at six in

the morning, ’cause I’ll probably bedoing that frequently with this bad boy.–Jimmy Alvarado (Acetate)

SUPPRESSION: Burnt Out Receptacles: 7”I ask very simple things of people whorelease vinyl and one of them is, list thespeed on the label. It’s not really thathard. If you play side one of this at 45,it sounds like young girl kiddie porn.Pretty disturbing. Blowjobs aresuperfine. Kids are okay. Never thetwain should meet. Suppression is anoisy/noise, lo-fi two piece that bringsto mind the likes of Jesus Lizard, themost caustic of Godheadsilo’s output,and early Butthole Surfers. They soundlike an open headwound feels, and theyscream into it with chipped teeth. Reallyfucking loud, jagged, discomforting,and nary a harmony in sight. Good forcleaning out rooms. Not for everyone,but okey doke on occasion in my book.-Todd (CNP)

TEEN SUICIDE: Self-titled: CDDemo quality punk rock with keyboardsand a good dose of creativity. A littlerawer sound, a little more treble and atad more over-the-top attitude, and Iwould’ve been drooling all over myself.As it stands, I’m merely impressed.–Jimmy Alvarado (Star Time)

TOASTERS, THE: Enemy of the State: CDTrue ska will never die! I wasn’t awarethat this band has been going at it since1981. In gangland terms, that makesthem pretty OG in my book. Anotherfantastic full length, marking it their

eleventh, I think. If you love ska, youshould already know about this oralready own it. If you are oblivious toeverything, put back that major labelrelease and seek this out. Anything fly-ing below the radar is way better thanwhat the major label conglomerates tryto make you think you like. A greatblend of ska, reggae ,and pop thatshould be appreciated by many. –Donofthedead (Asian Man)

TOXIC NARCOTIC: Had It Coming!: 7”I noticed at the local record store that thisband was getting popular. I started see-ing more kids wearing the patches andpurchasing their media. I wasn’t sure if Iwanted to review this because of the gen-eration gap between me and the kids wholisten to them. I said fuck it and pulled itoff the shelf of music that needed to bereviewed. This is a two track EP that waspressed on purple vinyl. I thought theycould have fit more songs on this. Whatpissed me off more was the lack of aninsert or lyric sheet. I guess the moneywas spent on the nice glossy cover. Thefirst track, titled “Cockroach,” remindedme of current day Conflict with its mixof reggae and thrash. The flipside tracktitled “War Song 2K” was more in thevein of a crusty metal track that is a mix-ture of the Amebix meets Discharge.Good production that increases thepower of the songs. It’s way better thanwhat I thought it would be.–Donofthedead (Rodent Popsicle)

UK SUBS: Universal: CDWell, well, seems the Subs have almostmade it all the way through the alpha-

bet. This is their umpteenth album in acareer that has lasted forever and aweek, and yet they still got it going on,baby doll. Loud-ass guitars, strongsongwriting, an undeniable authenticityimbedded into their sound, andCharlie’s growl, which doesn’t seem tohave aged a bit – what more could youask for? Forget all those other bands try-ing to earn punker points by looking thepart but having no clue as to what thefuck’s going on, and give a band with adefinite knowledge of what time it is thepropers they deserve. Put that bootleg ofa Sex Pistols bootleg down and pick upsome new music by a band that not onlywas around back then, but also stillremembers too clearly what all thispunk shit is supposed to be about.–Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

UNDER A DYING SUN: Self-titled: CDI’m already depressed, unemployed andgoing through marriage counseling.Why do I need another emo release?–Donofthedead (Substandard)

USERS, THE: Little Bag of Hope: CDThe cover features a picture of a guysleeping. No doubt the last guy to listento this disc. –Jimmy Alvarado(www.theusers.net)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Barricaded Suspects: CDJesus, what the hell’s going on over atDr. Strange?!? First a new Channel 3disc, then a new Skulls disc, and nowthis. Originally released in 1983 onToxic Shock records, this comp has notseen the light of day damn near since itwas first unleashed on the earth. It’s ofparticular note because it includestracks by Tracy Scull’s post-Undertakers band, Peace Corpse, andthe first-ever recorded tracks by MadParade and Septic Death, not to mentiontracks by Suburban Mutilation (pre-Boris The Sprinkler Norb), RoachMotel (featuring George Tabb),Massacre Guys (with a futureDescendent/All member), Red Tide,Killroy, the Romulans, Abscess, andothers. Tacked on for good measure arefour bonus tracks from the aforemen-tioned Peace Corpse, the Dull, thealways-worth-a-giggle PillsburyHardcore and Zimbo Chimps. As withmost comps from the time period, soundquality varies, but never gets any worsethan listenable. Highly recommendedlistening fodder. –Jimmy Alvarado (Dr. Strange)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: BYO Presents - Sample This,Too!: CDBYO has really upgraded their roster inthe last few years. As a sampler, this hasan incredible amount of bands to meetmost people’s liking. Samples fromupcoming releases by The BouncingSouls (!), The Unseen (I didn’t like theirearlier stuff, but this track is prettygood), Youth Brigade (Sean loves theseguys!), Pistol Grip, One Man Army (Mywife loves these guys!), Anti-Flag (Ilike these guys...), The Beltones (Seanand Retodd love these guys and I thinkMegan does, too! They are growing onme), The Forgotten and Manic Hispanic(They are so good that even if theseweren’t cover songs, they would still beone of the best bands out of OC).

Previously released tracks by NOFX,Leatherface, Manifesto Jukebox,Kosher, Sixer, Filthy Thieving Bastards,and Rancid. All that for a very low, dis-counted price. Pass on one six pack (ora twelve pack if you like cheap beer)and go out and get some new music.–Donofthedead (BYO)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Color While You Listen: 7"You're supposed to color the hideous(drawn by a weed-ganked 14-year-old?)xeroxed cover with the three includedcrayons (I got red, green, brown) whileyou listen to the mostly hideous xerox-ed music inside. You'll have to endurethree bits of quiet indie nebbishism(Flashing Astonishers, Visionstain, PaleGreen Stars) and one log of Korny nu-metal (Negative Seaven) with the onlypayoff being the too-short track byDrunken Orgy of Destruction, 1 1/4minutes of goofy lo fi metal in the greatAC tradition. I wonder if the songs wereselected by the same genius who drewthe cover. Shit, I know what they shouldhave done: made it a contest where youcolored the cover and sent it back in soyou wouldn't have to keep the record!Maybe the winner could get a fulllength Drunken Orgy of DestructionCD. Then you could give the crayons toa neighbor. Or just eat them like I did. -Cuss Baxter (Koala Syndicate/ Substandard)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: DroppingFood on Their Heads Is NotEnough: CDOne of the founders/owners of GeykidoComet, Heela Naqshband, was born inAfghanistan, but luckily, she and herparents left the country shortly after theSoviet invasion in 1979. Now that theUS has invaded Afghanistan, Heela istrying to do something for her home-land. She and the rest of the GeykidoComet crew have released this albumand are donating fifty percent of theproceeds (the money they make beforerecouping their expenses) to RAWA, anassociation of Afghan women, forAfghan women. This fact alone makesthis album worth the eight bucks itcosts. On top of the good cause, though,is some great music. There are songsfrom some big-name bands like YouthBrigade, Anti-Flag, and BouncingSouls; songs from lesser known but stillgreat bands like The Thumbs, Randy,Fleshies, and The Voids; and even acouple of pleasant surprises, like thesongs by Co-Ed and Jack Killed Jill. Alot of the songs on this album have beenpreviously released, but that didn’tbother me. The comp is over an hourlong, and listening to it is like listeningto your favorite independent radioshow. There are some tracks includedthat I ordinarily wouldn’t be too crazyabout – a hip hop song, a ska song, anda Chumbawumba song – but they actu-ally work in the context of the album.Highly recommended. –Sean Carswell(Geykido Comet)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Hopelessly Devoted to YouVol. 4.: CDHopeless Records brings you theirvalue priced ($3.98) fourth edition oftheir roster sampler. Included are someunreleased and released tracks byThrice (I don’t get the popularity),

Avenged Sevenfold (they should be on ametal label like Metal Blade or NuclearBlast), Against All Authority (I thoughtthey would have outgrown this label),Common Rider (has a former OperationIvy member, good shit), TheWeakerthans (boring college rock; I’drather pick lint off my sweaty balls),Atom and His Package (brilliant to thepoint that most people won’t get it),Mustard Plug (always had a soft spot forthese guys, ska that always puts me in agood mood), Samiam (more lintpulling), Digger (my balls are going tobe raw from all that lint pulling), SelbyTigers (Sean and Retodd told me theyliked this band), Scared of Chaka (Iknow Retodd would want their CD inhis coffin) and Jeff Ott, of Fifteen, (rubsme the wrong way, like having myprostate checked). See if you like any-one on here. Haven’t heard of any of thebands and artists? Forget what I say, buyit since it’s cheap. –Donofthedead(Hopeless)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: How We Rock: CDThe Zeke track, “Live Wire,” is easilythe punkest thing released on an Epitaphalbum in decades. The rest of this compis a who’s who grab bag of Marshall-worshippin’ rawk bands, includingElectric Frankenstein, Randy,Supersuckers, Donnas, Hellacopters,Rocket from the Crypt, and others. Mostof the tracks are not the best work I’veheard from most of these groups, but ifthis stuff is your cup o’ tea and you ain’tgot any of the albums these previouslyreleased tracks come from, you couldprobably do worse. –Jimmy Alvarado(Epitaph)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Killed by Hardcore 3: CDThis is my current favorite bootlegseries out there right now. I wasn’t toointo the Killed by Death series. Ithought it mostly had a bunch ofmediocre bands. Also, because of beingon those comps, those bands’ recordsbecame inflated by every neuroticrecord collector who had to have a titleand fame of ownership. That escalatedthe price of everything. Ebay is alsoresponsible. This is the third in theseries of international hardcore bandsfrom 1981-1985, when punk got reallymad! I hope this person has a humon-gous collection so he/she can continueputting these comps out. The bandsincluded on this one: Negazione, DeepWound, Appendix, Olho Seco, Gauze,Systematic Death, Die Kreuzen, andmore. It even includes a track by theSoCal band the Patriots. I rememberseeing them at the old punk club TheCathay de Grande. I also used to seetheir 7” around at the record stores, butI never picked up a copy. I do have adifferent track by them which was onthe We Got Power – Party or Go Homecomp that Mystic put out. The packag-ing is always decent with these releases.On the back cover are pictures of theoriginal releases and includes a compre-hensive insert with information of eachtrack and band. I say keep ‘em coming!–Donofthedead (Redrum, no address)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: No Speed Limit Vol. 3: 2xCDThis reminds me of the No Fate seriesof comps from HG Fact in Japan.

Packaged like a 7” EP with a massivebooklet, the similarity continues with itsroster of international bands and mix-ture of grindcore, fastcore, noise,sludge, crust, and more. You get forty-one bands and ninety songs on twoCDs. Bands included that I recognizedare Abstain, Unholy Grave, HatedPrinciples, Scumbrigade, Sewn Shut,and Rot. There are so many other bandson this that it blows my mind how muchpunk is out there around the world. It’sso much to soak in on one listen. Goodfor a case of anger management. Not forthe timid. –Donofthedead (Civilisation)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Pachuco Boogie: CDThe Chicano/Mexicano community haslong had a love/hate relationship withthe pachuco. Ask anyone old enough toremember them and you are bound toget a bounty of conflicting emotions andopinions, ranging from declarations thatthey embodied the strength, defianceand pride of La Raza to dismissals thatthey were nothing more than commoncriminals. Yet fascination with the sub-culture has not waned in the sixty yearssince the pachuco and his zoot suitreached the consciousness of the gener-al public via the Sleepy Lagoon murdercase and the ensuing zoot suit riots indowntown and East Los Angeles, asevidenced by the play “Zoot Suit” andthe numerous songs paying homage tothe subject from the recent swingrevival. On Pachuco Boogie, the tenthvolume of its Historic MexicanAmerican Music series, ArhoolieRecords provides an overview of themusic that was made by and about thepachucos during their heyday in the1940s and early 1950s. As with thebroader community, the music featuredhere is varied in both execution andviewpoint, from the decidedly pro-“pachuco swing,” blues and mambo ofthe legendary Lalo Guerrero and DonTosti (arguably the originator of thegenre) to the condescending, dim viewoffered in the canciones and corridos ofLas Hermanas Mendoza and DuetoTaxco to the “to hell with it all, let’s justdance” stance of Jorge Córdoba andConjunto Alamo. Unlike the dubiousquality of so many other “historic docu-ments” covering music eras gone by tobe found in the racks these days, thetracks compiled here are some of thefinest representations of the featuredartists available, the sound restoration isimpeccable and, most importantly, thesongs themselves are damn good andguaranteed to make any listener,whether or not they claim(ed) thepachucada as their own, to dust off theirtrapos, shinear las tablitas, pull thetando down and boogie into the night.Highly, highly recommended. –JimmyAlvarado (Arhoolie)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Punk IsEverywhere, Part 1: CDIt’s a fifteen-band, thirty-track interna-tional comp that has not a single band Ihave heard of before. It has its highs andlows, like most comps, but it’s prettygood for those who like melodic punkbands. Highlights for me were BugCentral (England) who had an early UKsound, Jason (Brazil) who played amore straight forward punk attack witha little UK thrown in, Wlochaty(Poland) has a classic oi

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sound on one track and crust on theother, and Psychoterror (Estonia) andtheir crust sound. As you can see, themore punk the band was, the more I wasinterested. The most unique track wasby Kalashnikov (Italy) who has afemale singer. The song sounds to methat it could be a Top 40 song off theradio there. The song has piano and key-boards that gives it a new wave sound. Ihate to say it, but that was my favoriteband and song. –Donofthedead(Volxdroge)

VARIOUS ARTISTS:Suburban Life Sentence: CDA collection of punk and hardcore fea-turing a variety of “name” artists likethe Hunns/US Bombs, Smogtown(although, sadly, it’s the previously-released gem “Dance Asshole”),Showcase Showdown, Red Flag 77,Pinkerton Thugs, The Decline,Candysnatchers, the Boils, and tons ofothers. The proceedings are compilednicely, the sense of continuity from onetrack to the next is good, and even bandsthat usually suck pretty hard turn insome strong tracks here. Not bad at all.–Jimmy Alvarado (No Front Teeth)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: TheBoston Massacre Part Two: CDGrumpy old man time. It is inexcusablethat you don’t own a fucking turntable.The CD player was a tool for youunaware fools to pay more for mediathat is less costly to produce than a vinylrecord. I won’t even go into the debatethat audio sounds better than digital. Foryou punk asses, Rodent Popsicle has toreissue four 7”’s for those who don’trealize that a turntable is a valuable pur-chase. You get the Toxic Narcotic/AGlobal Threat split, The Profits 7”,Tommy and the Terrors 7” and the LostCause 7”. Since you rather spendmoney on those stupid patches, the labelhas made it easier for you to hear themusic. Don’t you ever wonder what allthe record collector scum are spendingtheir hard earned money or trust fundon? Not CDs! Also, if all punk was on8-tracks, I would buy a fucking 8-trackplayer! –Donofthedead (Rodent Popsicle)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: The Singles Second Strike: CDThe first three songs on this come offthe out-of-print, rare Rip Offs single GoAway, and the second two songs comeoff the out-of-print, rare Motards seveninch Kings of Blues. So, in my littleworld, it should go without saying thatthis album is worth it for those fivesongs alone. Since everyone doesn’tlive in my little world, I’ll explain. TheMotards may have been the greatesttrashy, garage rock band ever. I’m notexaggerating. They were awesome.They broke up over five years ago, andI’m still crying about it. I’ve listened totheir two albums (Rock Kids andSaturday Night Special) hundreds –maybe thousands – of times, so I wasstoked to see that their rare (andextremely expensive, thanks to collectorfucks) seven inch was re-released onthis comp. Just to make the comp evensweeter, there are five more bands thatfly through that same fuzzy rock’n’rollstratosphere: the amazing Loli and theChones, the Rip Offs, Registrators,

Stipjes, and Problematics. All and all,it’s a pretty solid disc. And, though thismay be obvious, the Motards rule.–Sean Carswell (Rip Off)

VERBAL ABUSE: Just an American Band: CDSomeone needs to give Mike Beer aplaque, medal, or a gift certificatebecause he’s not only re-issuing a stringof some getting-harder-to-find, dead-onpunk classics, they sound great and thepackaging’s right on. Lead by long-timewingnut, Nicki Sicki Verbal Abuse werenear the top of bands (often directlyunder Dead Kennedys on bills) in ‘83-’84 that refined, then later defined, theterm hardcore when people didn’t com-pletely separate it from punk. Makingthe exodus from Texas (like DRI andthe Dicks later did) to San Francisco,and barely being able to live day-to-day,their desperation is only matched bytheir speed and intensity. The songs arewound so tightly, it’s amazing thatthey’re actually playing notes all theway through. The lyrics are simple –odes to beer, living in uncomfortableplaces with no money, and casual sex –but the band rings true, sounding exact-ly like they’re coming from a hard life.There isn’t a lot of fucking around onthis re-issue. In addition to the thirteenalbum tracks, there are thirteen morelive tracks (including a cover ofSabbath’s “Paranoid” and some songsoverlap from the studio versions.). Thesound gives out here and there, butthat’s a small concession. The entire CDcomes and goes, slash, trip, kick, stab.No complaints by me. –Todd (Beer City)

VEXATION: Self-titled: CDI’m pretty partial to hardcore bands,especially when they are able to add anew, unforeseen twist to the genre. Hell,I’d dig a hardcore band that makes upfor what they lack in the originalitydepartment with some seriously aggrotuneage that makes me want to jump offthe nearest piece of furniture in tried-and-true stage dive fashion. Sadly, thisband does neither for me. Jesus, learn anew drum pattern, for chrissakes!–Jimmy Alvarado (www.loveearthmusic.com)

VITAMIN X: Down the Drain: LPDown and dirty, fast and deliriousNetherlands thrash in league with thelikes of Tear It Up and Life’s Halt, andthe world’s a better place for it. Withbands that play this rapidly, repeated lis-tens depend on what they’ve gotten hid-den behind the accelerator pedal andVitamin X have several sneaky littletwists. Like a car launching off the free-way into your lawn, you gotta watch thefootage over and over again to catchwhat’s unique about this particular highspeed musical accident before it crashesall around you and pins you to wall. Imay be completely off, but I hear clipsof Motorhead, snatches of NegativeApproach, truncated AC/DC riffs, andVoid damage. Not for the timid. Theyget extra props for explaining the dan-gers of biotech firms administering genepollution. Goes right for thethroat and keeps the hands rightthere. Orange Tootsie Popvinyl. –Todd (Havoc)

ALCO-BEAT #13, $0.50 or a couple of stamps, 5 ½ x 8 ½, copied, 48 pages.Cartoon pirates on the first pagesmade me think I was onto some-thing here. It’s also put out by a girlin the Midwest whose name ends in“y”, so I started thinking I mighthave another Tight Pants on myhands here. I should’ve known bet-ter and I now apologize to Maddyfor the comparison. If I hadn’t beenat the laundromat with nothing elseto read, I doubt I would’ve tried toread this past the Cedar Point rollercoasters column. Why was there theneed to try to read this? Most of thearticles are cut and paste, which isfine, but they’re layered on top ofother articles. This makes it justabout impossible to read. I also justdon’t think it’s interesting or amus-ing to waste seven pages (smallprint too, by the way) on a play-by-play of what some guy is watchingon TV. In the end it’s just a jumble.Maybe I just didn’t get it. –Megan(Alco-beat Zine, PO Box 1363,Madison, WI 53701-1363)

BARRACUDA #14, $3.50, glossy cover, offset, 40 pgs.This magazine just can’t fail withme. This issue features Von Dutch’sVW Thing, the Caliente TropicsResort, and an article on the joys ofowning a big, smelly truck. TheReal Man Revisited column (myfavorite of every issue) followsCurt Flood’s seven year fight torepeal the reserve clause in MajorLeague Baseball. This magazine isjust consistently good on so manylevels. The articles are alwaysinformative, but they’re also sointeresting that I find myself talkingabout elements from them in prettymuch any social situation for thenext couple of days. The layout isdone so well that it looks greatwithout being artsy in a pompousway. And speaking of looking good,well, you can’t beat the Barracudaladies. Beautiful ladies, great props,and the text is always funny as hell.For all those reviews saying thatthis is one of the best men’s maga-zines out there, chalk one up for theladies loving it, too. –Megan(Barracuda, PO Box 291873, LA,CA 90029)

BOSTON PUNK FLYERS SURVIVING THE POST-RATERA, free, newsprint.This was put together to prove thatthe punk scene in Boston has, infact, continued after the close ofone of the city’s central clubs, theRat. Most of the flyers are less thana quarter page, so it makes some ofthem hard to read. Once I startedgoing through them I began notic-ing how many of the clubs were notin Boston, or even Mass at all. Ifound more for Rhode Island, New

York, New Hampshire, and evenMaine as I kept flipping through.On top of that, there were a lot ofjust plain boring flyers. I’m not say-ing that there isn’t an active scenein Boston – I can’t count how manytimes I drove three hours to see ashow at the Middle East – I justthink they could’ve dug around alittle more for some better flyers toprove their point. –Megan (FNSPublishing, PO Box 1299, Boston,MA 02130)

COMMITTED TO THE CUS-TODY OF THE ATTORNEYGENERAL copied, 29 pages.You know, I think this one canspeak for itself: I am not a malig-nant malefactor/ I am not a rapistto be/ I am not a ruthless ruffian/who shrieks imprison me./ I am nota contemptuous criminal/ I am nota murdering wanna-be/ I just wantto torture Megan/ with my attemptsat poetry. –Megan (Seth Ferranti,#18205-083/Bldg 5703-2, PO Box2000, Fort Dix, NJ 08640)

DEADBEAT, #1 and #2, stamps/trade/donation, 5 ½ x 8 ½,xeroxed, 18 pgs.A brand new, Florida-based fanzinethat’s got its heart in a good place,but is a little editorially loose. Onthe first page, he states, “I hate touse the word mainstream, sincepunk is supposed to be an “under-ground” subculture, but in essence,bands on Fat, Epitaph… and BYOare easily accessible and peopleknow who they are.” I neither nec-essarily agree nor disagree, but twopages later, he extols the virtues ofBad Religion (Epitaph), on thecover of issue #2 is an illustrationof NOFX (Fat/Epitaph), and insideis a full page ad for the WarpedTour (Target). It’s just that the inte-rior logic is inconsistent. However,much to his credit, there’s a full-length, funny, and insightful inter-view with a local band, The MaryTyler Whores, live reviews, a list ofupcoming shows, and a veryearnest track-by-track explanationof The Misfits’ classic, Walk AmongUs. Enthusiastic. Give him sometime, and I think this’ll blossomnicely. –Todd (Mike Sokoloff, 400East Atlantic Blvd. #16, PompanoBeach, FL 33060)

GARAGE AND BEAT!, #6, $3.50, 8 ¼ x 10 ½, offset, 54 pgs.Dumm dum dum dum dummmm-mm…. From somewhere in mymother’s trunk full of Paul Revereand the Raiders albums comesGarage and Beat! After readingthis, I feel like I’ve been living in abox. This is some weird stuff: bandsI’ve never heard of playing songsI’ve never heard. Names like theMonks, the Lemon Drops, and myfavorite, the Chesterfield Kings,

who look like Spinal Tap couldhave been fashioned after them.There are bands who pose for pic-tures wearing suits of armor – I wasnot aware of this. I like it, notbecause I’m all into the music, butbecause this stuff has avoided thecrosshairs of my attention, and Ithink a lot of others as well. Therewas only one band in here (asidefrom the ads) that I knew of, thatbeing the Woggles. I don’t knowhow to say it…. Garage and Beat!will clue you in on some freaky(that’s in a good way, folks) bands.–Bradley Williams (P. EdwinLetcher, 2754 Prewett St., LA, CA90031)

GO METRIC, #15, $2, 7 x 8 ½,xeroxed, 66 pgs.This is a great zine. The writing isconsistently good, they definitelyseem to unaffected by trends (theyrun interviews with defunct bandslike the Primate 5), and are steepedin good garage rock taste withoutfear of open Queen adoration. Onthat tip, they interview Fugazi’sGuy Piciotto solely on his admira-tion of Queen, quizzing him on hisfirst encounter, what made themtick, and album recommendations.Funny, honest, and insightful. Alsoof note is the interview with IraRobbins, who published TrouserPress Magazine (and the TrouserPress Guides). When I was a kid –around thirteen – I’d go to thelibrary after hearing the indepen-dent radio show and read up onbands like The Stranglers and theRamones in Trouser Press. I’d alsobe a fucking asshole if I didn’t men-tion that Maddy Tight Pants makesan incredibly persuasive argumentthat “The Replacements Should BeYour New Favorite Band.” I had noidea Tommy Stinson joined whenhe was twelve and dropped out oftenth grade to go on tour. Fuckin’A.Norb flexes heavy geekness insuper analyzing a current crop oftoday’s comics, and there’s someright-on record reviews to roundout a satisfying read. –Todd (GoMetric, 2780-F Ryewood Ave.,Copley, OH 44321)

HOPEWELL #2, $1, 5 ½ x 8 ½,copied, 44 pgs.A good reason to get this would beif you live in the neighborhood ofDayton, Ohio and are interested inIndian mounds and culture. Forinstance, you could learn that aftercontact with the Adena, theHopewell Indians began incorpo-rating animal effigies into their pipedesigns. You could also get drivingdirections to some places that youmight not be allowed to go. Anotherreason to get it would be if youdon’t know anything about jazz andwould like to read a well written,concise history of it. Here you

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.

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might learn that Roland Kirk washard bop and that Thelonious Monkis known for an extensive hat col-lection. Francis even made a sound-track for this article and you can getit if you send a blank. A third reasonto write away for Hopewell wouldbe that you would like to read aninterview with Ken of SoundPollution Records and read somereviews of his records and otherslike them (that is, hardcore ones). Ifyou did get the zine, you’d also findzine reviews, an interview with theeditor of R’Lyeh Rising zine andshort pieces on racism inCincinnati, sexism in life andtumors in colons. Here’s somethingyou wouldn’t learn, though: how torun a rototiller. You’d probablyhave to go the rental place for that.–Cuss Baxter (Francis, 2915Kenmore Ave, Dayton, OH 45420)

HORIZONTAL ACTION, #9,$3, 8 ½ x 11, newsprint, 72 pgs.This is almost the perfect zine. It’spart punk rock’n’roll zine and partporn zine. The rock part includesinterviews with Chosen Few, TheLeftovers, The Penetrators, and theTestors. There is also a decent-sizedreview section, some small liveshow reviews, and an article on theMC5 documentary, along with aninterview with the filmmaker. Theinterviews are just matter-of-factquestions regarding rock and porn.The porn part includes coverage ofthe AVN Expo 2002, an editorial onphone sex, reviews of some stripclubs, and complete porn reviewsincluding a rating system that aresocks instead of stars. For instance,Rocco’s True Anal Stories #15 getsa six sock rating. All this and a cen-terfold, too. The ads are even great,my favorite being a girl with a ghet-to booty the size of a Volkswagenlying face down, butt up on a bedfor Sack O’ Shit, records and plus-sized thongs. I say almost the per-fect zine because it seemed to covermostly rock’n’roll style punk anddidn’t stray too far from that but,nevertheless, still great. Currentlyat the top of the toilet reading mate-rial here. –Toby (Horizontal Action,1433 N. Wicker Park Ave, Suite 2,Chicago, IL 60622; <www.horizon-talaction.com>)

LOLLIPOP, #57Just when I thought I threw out allthe rubbish, this comes to me. Thishas got to be the worst wanna-be,big-time glossy mag ever. “Let’sjust put a little of everything in andthen everyone will buy our maga-zine” is the impression you getwhen you read this. How pathetic.Let’s talk about Scott Hefflon, edi-tor/publisher/writer. He’s the kindof guy who calls labels begging andwhining for them to do an ad in thiscrap he calls Lollipop. He tells the

label how great the band is; then, ifthe label doesn’t take out an ad, hebadmouths their release in his mag.He is so annoying that many labelswon’t even take his phone calls,never mind sending him stuff toreview. I’ve got news for all youlabels: save your money and don’tsend this little scumbag your stuff.His pay-to-play ethic is pathetic,much like his mag and his attitude.As far as all you readers of finemusic mags, I wouldn’t wipe myass with this, never mind spendingmy hard earned money on it.Karma, come and get him! –MikeBeer (Lollipop, PO Box 441493,Boston, MA 02144)

LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS: THEBALLAD OF MEL LICIOUS,$1, 8 1/2 X 11, xeroxed, 24 pgs.In his addendum, Jimmy says hewas “ejected” from the DimestoreHaloes. Knowing nothing about theHaloes or Jimmy, I won’t try toguess if this story has any autobiog-raphy. It follows the closing days ofthe rock career of a GG-style punkfrontman who nightly rides a riverof vodka into blackout and punchesand pisses on his audiences, per-forms a lewd act in public, and iseventually forced to settle into a“normal” lifestyle. Jimmy certainlyisn’t the worst punk writer I’veread, but this story is full of distrac-tions and mis-steps. For instance,there’s “After five years of touring,I had more drug connections thanass hairs,” followed by “We cut uptwo big fuckin lines and did oneeach. We hi-fived [sic] each other.”Now, has anyone who’s done cokemore than four times ever shared ahigh-five with their drug buddy?Then a couple pages later we learnthat the narrator has never eventried heroin. What is this? GG forthe Romper Room set? And wouldanyone in any era of punk rock everhave taken seriously a band namedTasteless with “Mel Licious” for asinger? I could go on but I gotta gobuy some vodka. Anyway, Iapplaud and encourage Jimmy’sdesire to write, but he strikes me asa sad wannabe. –Cuss Baxter(Jimmy Reject, 115 W. SquantumSt #203, Quincy, MA 02171)

MATTE # 2, $6.95, heavy stock,color cover, 160 pages.For being so damn arty, one wouldthink that Matte’s in-house artistscould draw. And the page numbersgo backwards. Aarrghhh! Hiddenamongst all the other stuff (a screenplay, a transcription of some guyswatching a movie, and an interviewand two columns dedicated to thebreak up of one of the staff mem-ber’s band) were actually a few ele-ments of interest. There was aninterview with some of the creatorsof Oubapo-America, an offshoot of

a language created to challengecomic book writers, which waseven more interesting when theydecide to omit the letter “g” fromthe rest of the interview (one of themany techniques of Oubapo.)Another comic-related article, thisone on Steve Weissman who ismostly famous for his big-headed,no-necked little kids comics, is alsoentertaining (despite having to turnthe magazine sideways to read it.)The cover story on Mexicanwrestling films was by far the bestarticle in the issue. I love wrestlingand watch it almost every week. Ididn’t even know this genre ofmovies existed. All in all, Mattewas a decent read. It gave me a lotto vent about and some new moviesto add to my “to rent” list. –Megan(Matte, PO Box 15345, Seattle, WA98115; <www.matte.com>)

ORGAN, #74, $3, 8 x 11,color cover, offset, 44 pgs.Devoted primarily to prog rock,prog metal, prog punk, and proba-bly prog country too, and with asmany words as possible on everypage (except maybe the five pagesthat bear the same photo of IanMackaye), Organ is having a prettyhard time getting read in this house.Aside from my disinterest in bandslike Sleepytime Gorilla Museum,there’s the matter of the typesetting:it’s all seven-point Helvetica withquantities of fucked lapses in line-and letter-spacing, everythingcrammed into outlined squares withno margins, making the line-to-linetransition a visual approximation ofgetting slapped on both sides of theface sequentially by a shrill, drunk-en grandmother. I’ve got problemswith the layout and general organi-zation, too, but I’ll keep them tomyself. If you’re keen on bandswho take themselves too seriously(from the Otep interview: “I’m anartist and that’s what I am beyondanything else,” or from Dufus’:“Dufus is a freak collective made toopen minds to new and excitingways through existence...”) or getall mouth-watery at mentions ofZappa and King Crimson, perhapsyou should try to read Organ. I said“try.” –Cuss Baxter (Organ, Unit212, 326 Kensal Rd, London, W105BZ, UK; www.organart.com>)

REASON TO BELIEVE #4, $2,offset, 72 pgs.Somebody’s trying to build theMRR of Europe. And not doing tooshabby a job. There’s a Slovakianscene report, interviews withCatharsis, Newborn (Hungary),Coche Bomba (France), HHH(UK), Illegal zine (Spain),Guerillavision (riot videographers),and Penny Rimbaud (re: having tobuy the house he’s lived thirty yearsin). The music covered is hardcore

and so are the politics. I’d compareit to Heartattack if I likedHeartattack. Instead I compared itto MRR. I will say I find myselfdealing with issues over RTB’sjackhammer use of the phrase“DIY” as if it were a concrete thingrather than an attitude that youeither have or you don’t, but I reck-on if you’re doing the right thing,maybe it doesn’t matter if your rea-soning is a little off. There’s goodshit in it, anyway. –Cuss Baxter(Reason To Believe, 145-149Cardigan Rd., Leeds, LS6 1LJ, UK)

SAVAGE AMUSEMENT #16, $1,offset, 12 pgs.Short but sweet, SA provides newsand reviews focusing mostly on 77-style and Oi. There’s not much inthe way of eye candy, but Trev hasa subtle way with words (and spells‘em right, too). You’ll breeze rightthrough the thing without gettingsnagged on any forced adjectives orunfettered properisms. I suspect hewrites just the way he talks, andthat’s the way it should be. MyAmerican opinion is that even ifyou have only a passing interest inthe subject matter (he mentions aband called Barse every twenty-five words or so and I’d never evenheard of ‘em before), you’ll get adollar’s worth just for the read.–Cuss Baxter (Trev Howarth,Rosehill, 20 New Front St., TanfieldLea, Stanley, Co Durham, DH9 9LY,England)

SHOOT THE MOON, #1, $?, 5 ½ x 8 ½, copied, 32 pgs.You know that style of cartoonwhere the people have really bigheads and really small, slit eyes andmouths and there’s lots of hatchmarks for shading? I don’t knowthe name of it, but there’s some of itin here and it’s the best thing it’s gotgoing for it. The editor leads offwith an “I hate zines” rant which Ihope is ironic because she com-plains about spelling errors and inthe same sentence spells “to” for“too.” At least she admits her zinehas neither a lot of contributors,good pictures nor information youcan use. Just those cartoons, abunch of diary entries in handwrit-ing with “x”s for “i” dots, an inter-view with an aunt, book reviews,stuff like that. –Cuss Baxter (Shootthe Moon, 381 Rte 12 North,Northfield, VT 05663)

SKATE AND ANNOY: Vol. 2, # 1, $2 ppd., 8 ½ x 7, xeroxed with color paper cover, 39 pgs.Coming from a not-so-good, thirty-year-old skater who's fallen ten feetdirectly on his head severely in thelast year, Skate and Annoy, seemsto be made for me. The writingfocuses on the older skate set,adopting a transition-friendly,

wider deck, soulful approach. Notonly that, the photography is excel-lent, the layout's clean and inven-tive, the captions are witty, and cov-erage spot on. Instead of the "wherethe fuck were you?" attitude, theygo out of their way to spotlightskateboard companies that stillmake old school decks - and tellyou where to order from. They alsotell tales of how they got into skat-ing and continued for decades, fea-ture an interview with the TexasSkatepunk Scrapbook travellingroad show, and include a diary of anOlympic Village extreme sportsfiasco. My personal highlightsincluded the fact that a Zorlac BigBoys deck went for $1,698 onEbay, and I learned the same com-pany made Ziploc baggies, napalm,and faulty breast implants: DowChemical. Excellent read. Lookforward to more. -Todd (Skate andAnnoy, 3439 NE Sandy Blvd.,PMB #666, Portland, OR 97232;<www.skateandannoy.com>)

TMT, #20, $1, trades accepted, 5 ½ x 8 ½, xeroxed, 28 pgs.It’s hard to go wrong, in my book,with not only interviews with SuperChinchilla Rescue Mission andGunmoll, but with a testified alle-giance to the USFC (The UnitedStates Frankie Corps, a loose orga-nization dedicated to the prolifera-tion of Leatherface adoration). The

interviews in this Australian zineare very conversational, but get tothe point quickly. All in all, it’s azippy read. What sorta confusedme, sorta intrigued me was a guynamed Magoo, who lists his top tenlive shows and keeps on peoplewith odd names (Mugsy, CrustyDelany, Sweet Swinging Piglet,The Jackass) without introducingthem. It also takes balls (balls that Idon’t have) for a devout Entombedfan to state that he was “touchedand had my head warmed by….”Jimmy Eat World’s “fruity, heartwrenching, tear jerking gay pop.”Good read. –Todd (TMT Zine, POBox 31, Greenwood WA 6024,Australia; <[email protected]>)

UNWAXED/FIGHTSCENE,Split, $?, 5 ½ x 8 ½, copied, 28 pgs.Split zines can be pretty cool, butthey always freak me out a little bitbecause I worry about why the zinewho got the front cover or got thefirst half of the pages or whatever,got billing over the other zine.Maybe whoever has the most issuesout gets the top spot. I hope some-times it’s alphabetical. In the cur-rent case it’s pretty even becauseUnwaxed gets the top half of bothcovers but the back half of the mag-azine. Plus they’re both pretty crap-py. Fightscene is zine for zine’ssake: sloppy collages of newspaperclippings, a stupid article about

how the record store won’t stockhis zine because someone com-plained about the profanity in it(dear “deathmetalman53”: that’snot censorship, it’s market prefer-ence), photos you can’t see. I’llgive the fellow small props on hispiece thanking the women in hislife for doing the things that womendo. In spite of all that, though, Iactually like the Fightscene sidebetter than the monotonousUnwaxed side. At least Fightscenehas some chaotic charm.Apparently, Unwaxed is a poetryzine (this is their issue 12) that spe-cializes in rhyming love poetry. Theless said about that, the better. Alsothey have record reviews, pagenumbers and interview done withthem by someone else. –CussBaxter (Fightscene, 1800 Engel Rd#948, Lawrence, KS 66045)

WANT, Vol. 1, # 2, $3, heavy stock, 30 pgs.This is mostly comprised of a jour-nal-like story which they continuein the next issue. It starts early inthe issue and continues past otherfeatures without any headings orpage continuation notations, so youkeep losing your place. It’s filledwith fake ads that aren’t funny. It’salso filled with tons of inserts thatfall out all over your living room.Comics by the Brothers Fillbachare extremely well drawn. There’s

even an insert by them calledPistachio: A Child’s Dream, whichis pretty damn funny. Twisted, yes,but funny. I’d save my three bucksand just try to find more by theartists. –Megan (Want, 11515 SEStevens Rd., Portland, OR 97266)

WHIZZBANGER GUIDE TOZINE DISTRIBUTORS, #6, $4, 8 ½ x 11, spiral bound, 36 pgs.The meat and potatoes of this arelistings for zine distributors on aninternational scale. The distros arerated (“slacker,” “old pro,”“extremist/radical”), and given achance to explain what they do in acouple paragraphs, along with all oftheir contact information. So, forinstance, if you want to ever crackinto Slovenia, there’s a listing forthat country. Also of note are list-ings for zine libraries, archives, infoshops (and if you’re a zinester inter-ested in contributing to a communi-ty and/or having your stuff avail-able for the general public withouttrying to break into the traditionallibrary system, this is a good way togo), and zine stores. Roughly, theother half of the zine is brokendown into who the editor notes asdependable reviewers, favorite zinepicks, and some poetry. A verypragmatic guide. Useful. –Todd(The Whizzbanger Guide, PO Box5591, Portland, OR 97228)

The Battle of Seattle: The New Challenge toCapitalist GlobalizationEdited by Eddie Yuen, George Katsiaficas, andDaniel Burton Rose, 400 pgs.

Let’s cut right to the point. This is the bestbook on the anti-globalization movement I haveread. If you’re looking for a wide range of opin-ions, debates, and issues surrounding the Battle ofSeattle and beyond, you need to read this book. Ifyou’re at all involved in the anti-globalizationmovement, you need to read this book. The edi-tors collected dozens of essays from everyonefrom Alexander Cockburn and Naomi Klein toless-known community activists. Plus drawingsby Seth Tobocman and, of course, the requiredNoam Chomsky interview (!).

The book covers the international globaliza-tion movement, the differences between activiststoday and in the 60’s, the ever-popular propertydestruction debate, new alliances between laborunions, community groups, and other organiza-tions, the controversy over NGO’s, post-Seattleprotests, and the controversy surrounding raceissues within the movement. Along the way, manymore issues get drawn into the bigger picture aswell.

The sections on the anti-globalization move-ment in Third World countries and the differencesbetween the activism of the 60’s and today are themost interesting and well-done. With such aninternational social movement, ideally we shouldall be as up-to-date on activism in Venezuela aswe are in Seattle. This book gets the reader a stepcloser to that point.

The writers in the 60’s section provide anexcellent analysis of the differences and similari-ties between the movement today and forty yearsago. In particular, they are eager to comment onthe positive differences between the two. In heressay “Not Your Parent’s Protest”, BarbaraEpstein writes, “The most important difference isthat movements of the sixties, especially the anti-

war movement, were directed94

against the state; the Seattle mobilization wasdirected against global corporations.” Epsteinconvincingly argues that today’s protesters aretaking on serious, complicated economicissues and forming alliances with labor unionsand community groups that would have beenunheard of in the 60’s.

All too often, the movement gets boggeddown by comparisons to the past. In this book,anti-globalization is explored in its contempo-rary context, without trying to make it fit a pre-existing mold. After reading this book, it’simpossible not to feel like you’re in the middleof an entirely new, exciting, and challengingsocial movement. If you’re looking for anintroduction to globalization, this isn’t the rightbook for you. But if you already know aboutthe actual protests and want to explore theunderlying issues and debates within the move-ment, you couldn’t find a better book. –Maddy(Soft Skull Press, 71 Bond Street, Brooklyn,NY 11217)

Jerusalem Calling: A Homeless Conscience in a Post-Everything Worldby Joel Schalit, 218 pgs.

Jerusalem Calling covers a lot of ground:Schalit’s childhood, his experiences having anIsraeli military hero as a father, his conflictingyouthful impressions about communism, hiscommitments to Marxism and critical theory,his beliefs about the conflicts in the MiddleEast and Bosnia, and his disillusionment withpunk rock. In theory, the idea of writing a booksort of about your family, sort of about politics,sort of about your band, sort of about criticaltheory isn’t the worst idea. However, in thiscase it results in a wandering, rambling bookthat never seems to make a clear or concisepoint.

The writing was problematic. Let me beblunt. If there’s ever a reason I’d want to avoidcontinuing my education, it would be out offear that, post-graduation, I would write sen-tences like, “No matter how diligently individ-uals who are convinced of the Internet’s poten-tial strive to escape history, they will always beconfronted with forces like the religious rightthat are proactively intent on making new tech-nology subservient to antiquity.” Huh?Unfortunately, Schalit’s book overflows withthis type of writing, clearly written for a selectcrowd of critical theorists, graduate students,and Marxists. It’s not that the ideas he express-es are too complicated; it’s just that the lan-guage he uses is.

The actual content isn’t much better.Schalit opens the book with a childhood storyabout a death-driven Christian teacher whopurposely takes his students on a life-threaten-ing hiking trip, with tragic results. Schalitargues that the teacher is an example of theidiocy of religion. He then dives into a critiqueof the religious right that quickly indicates hislack of contact with actual, living Christians. Idon’t like organized religion either, but hisunderlying argument that the world is logicaland religious people aren’t logical, thereforereligion is stupid, is, well, about two hundredyears old, and about as subtle as a crusty punkshouting, “Let’s off the pigs.”

A few dozen pages later, Schalit turns tothe Middle East conflict. Here he just seemsconfused, saying one thing one minute andanother the next. Glorifying his father as a warhero, then acknowledging that the Palestinians

are being mistreated. Talking about how theGolan Heights were fairly acquired (a ridicu-lous assertion for anyone who knows anythingabout the conflict) and then complaining abouthow he doesn’t feel safe in Israel anymore.

Schalit also finds time to talk about punkrock, where he makes his most annoying argu-ments of the book. Basically, Schalit is anotherone of those indie hipsters who are disappoint-ed that punk rock sold out and still, in 2002,offer up Nirvana as an example. Schalit makessure to maintain indie cred by only, surprisesurprise, liking the very early, Sub Pop work ofNirvana, all the while complaining about MRRcalling punks who signed to major labels “sell-outs.” Schalit stopped listening to punk alto-gether in the ‘90s, because of all the businessinfluence.

Of course, if all you do is shop in trendyrecord stores, work for college radio stations,and be in a band on K, well, yeah, I can seehow you’re disillusioned. But you’ve gottawonder if people like Schalit have buried theirhead in a pile of feces (or maybe just rare SonicYouth records) for most of the ‘90s. There arestill basement shows everywhere and highschool kids making crazy, messy music. Thereare still hundreds, even thousands, of punkbands putting out their own records, bookingtheir own tours, doin’ things their way. Schalitseems to think that every band has a press kit,glossy band photo, promo sheet, and businesscard. If you’re that cut off from the under-ground, then it’s no wonder you’re disillu-sioned. To Mr. Schalit, I say, how about check-ing out any of the following bands: theDillinger Four, This Bike Is A Pipe Bomb,Against Me, The Devil is Electric, Chaos LR,Forced Vengeance, Toys That Kill, Yesterday’sKids, the Modern Machines, the Fragments,Shotwell…. and that’s just the music sittingnext to my stereo right now. Point being, ifyou’re jaded, it’s probably your fault.

Interspersed with all of these rants abouthis childhood, the Middle East, punk, etc., areannoying asides, such as “We [Schalit and hisgirlfriend] pulled apart hot croissants with ourfingers, sipped fresh orange juice, softly kissedeach other, and savored the idea that we werein France and in love.” I must ask the question,is this so necessary? Plus we get treated to talesof finding a new Derrida book somewhere inParis and other tales of stereotypical youngacademics softly kissing or doing whateverelse they do. Irritating.

The back of the book states, “JerusalemCalling signals the emergence of a new breedof public intellectual…” I would disagree.Jerusalem Calling is exactly what you’dexpect from an aging indie rocker with aninterest in critical theory. Maybe it’s not com-pletely horrible and maybe there are someinteresting parts, but this is certainly nothingnew. –Maddy (Akashic Books, PO Box 1456,NY, NY 10009)

Terrorism and WarHoward Zinn and Anthony Arnove, 120 pgs.

Fans of Razorcake surely know whoHoward Zinn is by now, if only because wemention him so much in the pages of this rag.If you’re one of those readers who’s heardZinn’s name a hundred times and wanted tocheck him out, but were intimidated by hishefty tomes like A People’s History of theUnited States and The Zinn Reader, then you

may want to check out Terrorism and War. It’s aperfect introduction to Zinn’s writing in thesense that you get all of the things that make himan interesting writer: his calm, even tone in theface of absurdity; his ability to place events in alarger context without overwhelming you withinformation; and his knack for making verycomplex ideas seem very simple and obvious.Beyond these things, Terrorism and War is short,and it’s easy to read. The book is very conversa-tional, largely because it’s presented in interviewformat (though it’s clear that the text of the actu-al interviews have been cleaned up and edited,and he cites his sources). As you may haveguessed from the title, Zinn discusses the attackson the World Trade Center, the US invasion ofAfghanistan, the ways that the US populationand the media responded to both attacks, and,basically, our current political situation. In otherwords, Zinn’s talking about what everyone elseis talking about right now. So why would youwant to hear about it from him?

First off, Zinn articulates his points andsupports them very well. For example, AnthonyArnove (the interviewer) asks Zinn to commenton Bush’s statement that the US is “a peacefulnation,” and Zinn says, “You can’t tell theNative Americans we were a peaceful nation...”And, rather than focusing on the history of USmilitary intervention, Zinn discusses the endlessstring of wars and military campaigns that theUS has engaged in since World War II.

Arnove directs this hundred-and-twentypage long conversation through a number ofinteresting points, from 9/11 to the different pos-sible responses that the US could’ve had to theattacks to John Ashcroft’s attack on civil rightsto the current, unpublicized antiwar movement

to the moral dilemmas behind bombing citizensto a discussion of what other acts could be con-sidered terrorism to his trademark optimisticending. Along the way, he makes succinct, orig-inal points. For instance, when discussing thecurrent anti-war movement, Zinn mentions thata hundred people recently marched throughdowntown Missoula, Montana in protest of ourattack on Afghanistan, and he points out that “ifthere is an antiwar parade in Missoula, thenthere must be an antiwar sentiment in every statein the union, in every town and city.” Now, Iknow Missoula doesn’t speak for the rest of theUS, but it’s still good to know that an antiwarmovement is out there, and it has reached remotecorners of the US.

Zinn also points out, when asked aboutBush’s theft of the election, that real, positivechange has never been made by a president. Andhe doesn’t argue that it doesn’t matter who’spresident, only that, if the people pressure anypolitician enough, the politician will respond.It’s a compelling argument. It’s also refreshingto see this new perspective in the face of a tidalwave of whining about Bush.

Terrorism and War, as a whole, puts ourcurrent political situation in a larger frameworkand clearer perspective than just about anythingelse you’ll read this year. In the face of thesedesperate times, Zinn never gets melodramatic,preachy, or reactionary. In the end, he’s eveninspiring and hopeful. And, though I didn’tagree with all of Zinn’s points (and, believe me,I’d hate it if I ever agreed with all of anyone’spoints), Terrorism and War is still a book that Iwish everyone in the US would read.–Sean Carswell (Seven Stories Press, 140Watts St., NY, NY 10013)

RKL: Still Flailing After All These Beers:DVDOriginally released on VHS, this DVD con-tains all the video footage of RKL lightingit up live onstage many moons ago.Included, as well, is all the funny footage ofthe band on the road with various exploitsof band members, not to mention the hilari-ous art of scrawled graffiti on passed-outvictims in their presence and singer Jasondoing his impression of a water pump,spewing forth vomitus all over the stage.The live material is key stuff, reminding mewhy sooo many bands lifted from this bandto begin with, but nothing else has everepitomized the punk rock rhythm sectionlike the crazy, insane teamwork of bassistLittle Joe and Bommer fucking it upbeyond belief on the drums. The bonusaudio features here are shoved togetherquite nicely with twenty-five tracks of RKLrocking the fuck outta yer television while aslide show of many old flyers of their pastshows decorate your screen. Wax nostalgicor go wax yer dolphin – just get this in yourDVD collection, erection. –Designated Dale(www.maltsoda.com)