Because of You - The Goon Mat and Lord Benardo Order You to Take Off Your Clothes

Any release that opens with "Because of You" deserves one's full and undivided attention. Garage blues, swamp stomp. Of course it's on Voodoo Rhythm Records because . . . well, that's what it's known for. 

The Goon Mat and Lord Benardo.

This release came out in late 2017. What a fuck-all year that was. Trump took an oath to serve the country . . . and promptly broke it. Immigration became the new war on poverty/drugs/terror. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos, this duo released audio godhood onto an unsuspecting public. Did Rollins even know about it? I hope so. I think he would have been grooving on it had he heard it.

Belgium. That's where this band formed. Belgium. How the fuck can a band from Belgium do American-style backwater blues better than those with red, white, and blue running thick through their veins? It would seem impossible. Should be impossible. Belgium doesn't have our history of slavery. Belgium doesn't have Mississippi John Hurt. How does this happen? It doesn't matter. 

Your job. Your only job (and it is one you can do easily and well) is to sit back and listen to these 11 soul crushing numbers. It begins with "Because of You" and ends with "Voodoo Got Me." In between there is a lot of drums, guitar, and harmonica. None of it is clean. All of it is pure. 

The letter that accompanied my copy of this release read that it wasn't "cutesy blues." Yeah, that shouldn't be a thing, but if it was, it would not be this. There's too much feedback. Too much noise. Too much movement. I think the closest thing in it to a "radio hit" is "Take Off Your Clothes" and that would only play in the dead of night somewhere in Kentucky for the few who are still awake.

This must be heard to be believed. This must be believed to be heard.

The Perfume of Traitors

 I received a disturbing email. Bandcamp, that thing everyone loves, seems to be a bit of a gatekeeper of what people should be able to listen to. It's a private company, so that is its own decision. Fans of the site and music should know, however, that if your music "offends" . . . off with your head.

This came to my inbox via Gradual Hate Records:

CENSORSHIP (regarding the closure of GH Records Label on Bandcamp) Censorship exists and has always existed, to a greater or lesser extent, those who hold power have always controlled what could  be said or could not be said. The methods have been more or less effective throughout our history, everything has been successfully  explored and exploited, but what was unimaginable just a few decades ago is the censorship we suffer today. It all started very soft and silly. Self-censorship, political correctness, has been sewing our mouths shut and cornering our opinion  without any kind of opposition. The so-called goodism, the progressive, are nothing more than the indisputable dogmas of today,  because disagreeing with any of its precepts places us in the camp of the bad, the carcas, the intransigent, the adversaries of  goodness. Little by little, all kinds of ideas about an ideal world have been creeping into our society and thought without being  discussed because they have not been analyzed, ignoring what the human being is, ignoring that the world is full of societies,  cultures and religions. very different how can you flaunt the indisputable truth? How can one pretend that what one thinks is  good and that whoever disagrees is the worst of demons? Well, not only can you, also, you can't argue, you can no longer go  against it, there will be someone who interprets a suspicious opinion with interest and integrates it into a black book of  anti-good abominations. And is this all something controlled by the people in power? No. All this is the monster resulting from the lack of truthful   information with which to create an opinion, and these are its consequences. Years of “bad education” of data and biased and  tendentious accounts. Years of absolute manipulation. Years of infantilization through the implementation of absurd ideals that have replaced ideas, of creating factions, the good and the bad, of simplifying what is complicated by not allowing opinions, of  censoring, keeping quiet, and now canceling what is not politically correct or, whatever someone wants to interpret as not correct, Nothing is respected anymore, if one believes that one possesses the absolute truth, why not go with everything to someone who  does not think the same? Why not cancel it without measuring the consequences? It doesn't matter if he loses his business, his  prestige doesn't matter, everything doesn't matter, because he's the bad guy. The terrible consequences of that absolutism, of this unique way of thinking, are already being seen as a tsunami that grows and  approaches at great speed, a tsunami of intransigence, a dictatorship of the people over the people. That simplifies things, it is not necessary to submit to someone who not only submits willingly, but is more than willing to submit to  others in any way. Today it will be an opinion, tomorrow a book or a record, then those works that are considered outside the  ideology will be destroyed (this is already happening, books are being rewritten, records will be withdrawn from sale on platforms)  works of art will be burned if they offend this goodist creed and the next thing we can already imagine what it is... If all this is not questioned, why  should the destruction of people be questioned? Aren't they bad if they don't think alike? All this begins in a very silly, very soft way, and little by  little, like the frog in the cauldron, we will succumb without realizing it and end up being little more than cattle. The platforms that delete accounts, the cancellations on social networks, the accusations, the stupid and indiscriminate complaints,  all of this will turn against everyone, without exception, no one will librarian no matter how much they think they are on the right  side. When totalitarianism goes out for a walk it leaves no puppet with a head. I dedicate these words to all those who believe that they fight entrenched behind a computer keyboard and denounce anonymously,  that is not a fight, that is an abject and cowardly attack. I also dedicate these words to all those who guaranteed a social network,  but later censored it, in a vain attempt to convert their clientele into a single herd. Totalitarianism is not eternal, neither is business.

 

I cannot say I'm shocked. I am, however, disappointed.  Whenever a company submits to targeted gatekeeping that lets approved controversy thrive, but stifles the "wrong" kind, it opens the door to issues. I'm not saying Bandcamp should allow everything on its site despite its mission of spreading "the healing power of music by building a community where artists thrive through the direct support of their fans." But when it targets with all the accuracy a knee-jerk reaction permits, there is going to be damage. Damage to artists. Damage to fans. Bandcamp is a gated community and should bill itself as such. Artists and fans beware. When the tide turns, it may come your way and you may not like what happens.   Enjoy this from GH Records.

Everything's Dead

There is always reason to celebrate a release from the Dead Brothers. Funeral music for civilization and then some. 

Angst came out four years ago this month and it has never been more timely. Voodoo Rhythm Records, again, put it out. The band is one of the label's mainstays. This time around, Marcus Aurelius Littler, whom I interviewed years ago for Z Magazine, has lent his hand to the proceedings. What follows is a soulful, sinful album that is the perfect thing for lonely, rainy nights were nothing is going right and nothing is looking to change. The world spins on the edge of fascism and in the arms of a pandemic.

You could guess there are 13 songs here. Not a single loser in the bunch, either. I know. How can that be? It's impossible, you say. It's not. Not if you heard this band before. Not if you are paying attention. Paying attention while the world burns.

The press release from years ago states that "we are standing at the edge of the end times." Catastrophe is so near you can smell it. It was with this in mind that the Dead Brothers hid in the Vosges Mountains to "take the pulse of our time." It seems the band read it right. This is the perfect accompaniment to the end times. The end of all things. They just knew it was coming four years ago. 

Do not think it is all doom and gloom, though. Hardly. This is a celebration of the end. A party that is a wake. This is what should be playing as the planet stops spinning and the sun flares outward to consume us. This lets us expire with smiles on our faces. 

Song eight. "Did We Fail?" Probably one of the best songs the band has written, and it has written some amazing tunes. This one haunts in all the right ways, though. It asks a question that is the ultimate question of humanity. Did we fail, or did we even try? Littler wrote it. It's appropriate of him and of this band. It is the zenith of both their existences. It is everything both stand for. This song, more than any other Dead Brothers song, examines everything that ever existed and that which has yet to be born. It is as painful to hear as it is to think about, and that song is sublime.

We did fail. We didn't even try. 

But not the Dead Brothers. Failure is not something the band knows. And it doesn't even have to try.

Beat Me, Beat Me

 Marilyn Manson. I was never a fan. I found the guy articulate. Intelligent. But edgy? Dangerous? Controversial? Exciting? Only if you grew up in the suburbs. Or were Christian. His whole act seemed just like shock theatre aimed at a very specific audience. He did it well. It worked. But it was hardly shocking to anyone who was paying attention.

Now it is all kind of falling apart. Accusation after accusation is coming out. The tall, decidedly more bloated, shock star is being painted as an abuser of women and men. Television shows are dropping him. His manager and label have kicked him to the curb. It is all quite shocking in much the same way Manson was, which is to say not at all.

The allegations have been around for a quarter of a century. Some were mere hints. Others claims were more outright. In the era of #MeToo, though, it's harder to dismiss these claims, which Manson himself calls "horrible distortions of reality." This from a man who made it his job to horribly distort reality. It is as ironic as it is tragic.  

I'm not taking pleasure in Manson's downfall. He never mattered that much to me. His music was background and not a soundtrack to my life. I have plenty of friends who thought he was a genius . . . and maybe he is. A genius can still abuse women. If Einstein was putting cigarettes out on a girl's nipple, though, that would be surprising. The shit Manson has been accused of? Not surprising at all.

I will be the first to admit that Manson may be correct to say it is a horrible distortion of reality. That these accusations are baseless. After all, he is about the easiest target for these accusations. It's easy to paint him guilty without a trial and nobody would really care all that much. But . . . there's enough smoke to indicate fire. There are enough claims to take the accusations seriously. Was it a consensual relationship that now seems abusive, but was not at the time? Was it always abuse? Are the claims baseless? I don't know. 

Guilty or not, his career is done. The Manson people love and admire can be no more. Guilty or not, he is now on a defensive that he probably can't defend. At this point, the outs seem to be fade into obscurity or suicide. Hard to say which way he'll go. But I do know one thing. I won't care either way.

It's All Just Noise

 "It's all just noise." That's what my father used to say about the music I listened to in my room during my teen years. In all fairness, he was right about Diesel Rhino just being "noise," but that was what appealed to me about it. As for the rest, it was music.

Back in 2016, before Covid-19 fucked up everyone's plans, the Monsters released The Jungle Noise Recordings on Reverend Beat-Man's own Voodoo Rhythm Records label. It was the 1994-95 home recording sessions of the Monsters. If you've followed the band, you know these songs. Jungle Noise was originally released by the German label Jungle Noise in 1995 as a 10" vinyl. Some of the other tracks here were released on 7"s on other labels, and the song "It's Not My Way" was originally meant for a Swiss anti-war compilation, but was not put on that release for whatever reason. 

The band's lineup at the time was a bit different, than what most fans are used to, as well. Robert Butler and Kat Allen were both in the band at that time, but later parted ways to pursue other projects. 

Featuring 19 songs that are a fascinating look at the band's beginnings. It starts out with the energetic fuzzed-out thrash of "Psych-Out With Me" and ends with "Skeleton Stomp." In between you got all the classics like "Mummie Fucker Blues," "Lonesome Town," "Rock Around the Tombstone," and "Play With Fire." It is, indeed, music to ruin any party, and, more importantly, it is historic.

The Monsters is the only band tattoo I sport. Not the Misfits. Not Black Flag or the Dead Kennedys. Not Prince. The Monsters. Why? I recognize its purity. Beat-Man describes the sound as "primitive rock-n-roll chainsaw massacre trash garage" music. That is the most accurate description one can give. 

Purity in audio form, and if you haven't experienced the band's sound yet, you should. This is a good place to start.

Town Talent

 The town I currently live in, Eureka, California, is home to some amazing musical talent. There are lots of areas, however, that produce an insane amount of musical talent. New Jersey, for instance. The grunge scene in the Seattle area. Sometimes it is something about the area, like with grunge, that causes a certain type of sound to become associated with that area. Besides grunge, there was also Atlanta's hip-hop scene and Norwegian black metal. Eureka does not have that kind of association with it, instead we gave the world . . . 

Mike Patton and Sara Bareilles. 

Mike Patton got big being in Faith No More, but before that he fronted the Eureka-based, polarizing Mr. Bungle.

Sara Bareilles is just everywhere, and most people you run into in Eureka have a story about how nice she is or how they know her family.  

There is no argument that both are talented in their own right. Both have great voices. And both have a fan following. Bareilles is, as to be expected, a far more liked talent as her work is easy on the ears. Patton, however, is . . . well, he's Mike Patton. I consider him to be the more influential of the two and the more artistic, but that's just me. Listening to Mr. Bungle's first self-titled release should be enough to prove that, but you should judge for yourself.

These two aren't the only famous musicians from here, but they represent the broad scope of talent that Eureka, for whatever reason (Mr. Bungle would say it's the dismal town) produces. If this were a city the size of New York City or Los Angeles, one would understand that broad spectrum, but this is Eureka. One mall with half the stores closed. Two main shopping areas, neither being all that big or impressive. Logging used to be the main industry. Now it's pot. If there was ever an area with absolutely nothing special about it, it would be here. And yet we've produced these two artists. 

That Mr. Bungle, as schizo as a band gets, came from Eureka would surprise nobody who spent over a year here. I've been here for over two decades. I think I know the town a bit. It's a haven for speed freaks, homeless prostitutes, child abuse, sex trafficking, pony girls, serial killers, sons of cult leaders, corruption, despair. It is no wonder that with a town like this you get "Love is a Fist."

That being the case, the town does not explain Bareilles. She's upbeat. Positive. Lilting. There's a side of Eureka that is a bit like her, too, but it only really prospers when you ignore all the other grime. 

Mr. Bungle may be a mystery to people, and that's part of the appeal. But to people like me, it is the soundtrack to Eureka and will forever be associated with it.

This Will Leave A Stain

Maybe you have heard of Frank Cassese because he wrote this truly sublime and disturbing book called Baby Killer. I've sung its praises many times. Little known fact, the book's title was originally going to be that of a Misfits song. You know the Misfits, right? One of the best bands (punk or not) to come out of New Jersey. One of the best bands, period. The noticeable thing here isn't that the Misfits are incredible, or even that Cassese was going to name his book after one of the band's songs. It's that he obviously has some musical knowledge and taste. And with that in mind, it goes to figure he would also produce some music.

Now, what kind of music would the man who wrote Baby Killer make? Punk in the style of The Exploited or even the Misfits? Maybe. What about some neo folk? Not likely. Hip hop? Please. No, the obvious answer is metal. In this case death metal. 

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Corpse Stain.

The album is The Last Messiah. Click on that album title and be prepared for a treat. Now, I'm not the biggest death metal fan. I like it, but I don't actively seek it out. Those of you who followed me back in my Tattoo Savage days may remember I wrote a review of a black/death metal compilation CD that pissed someone off so much that he wrote a letter to the magazine saying he was going to decapitate me and defecate down my neck. The editor published the letter not realizing that it came from just a few towns away from where I lived. She later apologized to me and wished me good luck in not being killed. 

With that in mind, I can honestly recommend this as being worth at least an initial listen. My guess is you'll want to hear it again. Even I, not the biggest death metal fan in the world, have listened to it a few times. Chiefly when I am working on the next volume of Sinful Cinema. 

Go give it a listen and buy his damn book. Neither of these will disappoint you.

Your Coronavirus Playlist: Destination Lonely

On January 24, 2020 the world turned upside down. No, it wasn't Covid-19 and the subsequent death tolls that fueled conspiracy theories and turned every idiot on Facebook into a doctor. It was a nervous breakdown, and not of the Black Flag sort.

"Far out, over the edge, filthy, desperate fuzz noise, garage rock 'n' roll from France," was how it was described. It was an apt description of what was unleashed that day. Destination Lonely. Nervous Breakdown. A double album to usher in a New Age. This was the dawning of the Age of Virus.

Voodoo Rhythm Records released this monster. It came from a studio that was book for two weeks. 17 songs came from those 14 days. Two covers were thrown into the mix: "I Want You" from the Troggs, and "Ann" from The Stooges. You knew that, though. Destination Lonely is bound by law to do such things. And while it seems like the band's third album should be a triple album (imagine the thrills), it was kept to a dual release. Two times the fun as the world started coughing and dying.

It was easy to miss this release from the French trio. After all, some other things were happening at the time. The virus was makin' news and introducing terms like "social distancing" and "shelter in place" while "Schizo MF" and "Blind Man" played on stereos for those of us in the know.

Is it a good album? Of course it is. Destination Lonely can't put out a bad release. It just ain't in their blood, Jack. When something opens with "Lovin'," and it's all kinds of fuzzed out, you just know it's all gravy from there. If you'd judge it by its cover (who doesn't?), you'd be tempted to think it is some college-level experimental minimalism masquerading as "something deep and meaningful, man." You'd be forgiven for thinking that nonsense. And while it is deep and meaningful, it isn't pretentious noodling around. It is as described. Filthy. Fuzz. Noise. Garage. Desperate.

And damn good.

You are trapped inside. Concerts aren't happening any time soon. Why not grab something new to listen to? Take a chance on something? You can get it on Voodoo's site, or on Amazon. I don't care where you get it from, just get it. Put it on and watch the world slide into a new traumatizing normal. To quote the song "Day by Day," "Well I came into your life like a spit on a face/I blew your mind I made you really so insane." These guys knew it was coming before you did. The least you could do is give them a listen . . . before you end up dying in some emergency room . . . alone . . . the coughs of the dying mingling with the beeps of various machines. Yeah, that's the least you can do.


 

Nasty Savage

Does anyone ... anyone remember Nasty Savage? I was first exposed to this wonderful thrash band with its song XXX on the Metal Massacre VI LP, which was a fantastic compilation. Whenever I read articles on the history of metal, or pieces on fondly remembered metal bands, Nasty Savage seems to be left off the lists. Maybe it is because the band is from Florida. Maybe it's because there were a bunch of other great bands at the time that slightly overshadowed the guys. Maybe it's because I'm just one of a handful that liked it.

Whatever the reason, if you like metal you should at least attempt to check out Nasty Savage. It was good stuff then, and it holds up now.

Mr. Mojo Rising

I give music far more credit than it sometimes deserves. I've said it can do everything from cause joy to cure cancer. All hyperbole ... until now. I've just run across a release that has inspired me to write one hell of a terrifying story, and it is all thanks to the music of the Bad Mojos.

Few bands ... no ... no band I know of has ever said that it was inspired by GG Allin and Mahatma Gandhi, but it is a claim made by the Bad Mojos. This Switzerland-based trio who play some lo-fi punk rock may or may not be sincere about it, but they say it and that is all that counts. So how did all this inspire terror?

I was traveling 101 South and listening to the band's I Hope You OD. The song, though it doesn't matter because it was the mood the entire CD was setting that caused this, was "I Wanna Be Dead." It's a pretty standard song title, and the band's sound makes it fit right at home on its label, Voodoo Rhythm Records, but there was something in the air that day. Something that made this release trigger an odd thought in my brain that no other CD has done. I started thinking of a scenario so creepy, so Lovecraftian (this should be a real word by now), so terrifying that it started to freak me out.

I'll be giving the band an appearance in the story, that is for sure. Will the story scare you like the idea did me? I don't know, but I think so. All I know is I could go on and talk about the band's punk sound and so on and so forth, but the fact that it inspired this idea for a story is far more important and interesting to me. If you want to perhaps experience the same thing, try driving down a highway along a bay on a cloudy day and watch the birds in the sky as you listen to "I Wanna Be Dead." Your results, of course, may vary.

... And Justice For None

Metallica's fourth album, ... And Justice For All, was its last great release. I don't think I'm being controversial in stating that. It was the last one that meant anything to me. It was the last one before the band changed. After that release, any moments of pure Metallica were abnormalities and were no longer the standard. The band's game changed, and I did not change with it.

To be fair, I had problems with the release when it came out. I placed it as my least favorite of the band's output until then. Maybe I was nostalgic for the raw power that had come before it. Maybe I was bitter about the band's growing popularity, though I found it to be well-deserved in this case. I did not even hate it enough to not see the band on that tour. (Leigh Valley, PA, in case you care, with the embarrassment that was Queensryche.) It just was not as good as, say, Master of Puppets. Again, no controversy there, I think.

I believe if you had to place blame for the band's change it is because ... the band changed. At some point in the process of writing and recording ... And Justice For All, Metallica started to take itself more seriously. The men wanted to mature as musicians. They wanted to delve deeper into their craft. It's because they were artists, and not mere entertainers who were content with releasing the same thing over and over because that is what their audience wanted. Metallica changed because it wanted to. It needed to. To grow as musicians and artists, it had to.

And there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's good.

It just wasn't for me. Not at all. It's not that I wanted the band to stagnate. That is a prison I would never wish on an artist. For me it was that the place Metallica was going was not a place I wanted to meet them at, and I had no desire to be along for the ride. I did not want to listen to a band I used to love experiment with what it wanted to become. Perhaps I wasn't a true fan. Maybe that is true. A true fan would stick by the band no matter what it did. I believe I was a true fan up until that fourth release, though. With that, I sensed the tide was turning. I knew the ride I had so enjoyed was coming to a fast end, and I bailed.

Do I regret it? Not at all. But I do find myself listening to ... And Justice For All more than ever and wondering, "What if ...?"

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

The fuzzy goodness of "Psychonaut" had just kicked in. It wasn't loud on the car stereo, but it was noticeable. My fifteen-year-old daughter and I were just about home. The wind had kicked up something ferocious outside the car, and we were at a stoplight underneath a big tree. It was the ideal place to hear the song.

"I never heard music made by aliens before," she said.

That is how she described the sounds of ET Explore Me. We were listening to the debut Voodoo Rhythm Records release, Shine, which was released 17 years after the band's first seven inch came out. Also interesting to note is the fact that Shine is the band's first full length album. Far too many bands are around 17 minutes before they do that sort of thing. 17 years, however, is apparently just enough time to release a near perfect album of psychedelic punk, organ distortion music from the Netherlands. The fact that it came out in February of this year makes it a love letter to music fans, too. That's all kinds of treats going on for your ears.

Of the dozen songs on the release, it's the first, "Let Me In," that gives listeners a taste right from the start of what they are in for. It is just the right way to start an album, and at times sounds like it is a soundtrack to a Sixties horror comedy like The Munsters. I am not kidding one bit, either. If you hear that and don't think that, you can write to me and complain. In fact, I insist you do. Eleven songs later ... and all of them sound just a bit different from the others ... and you realize that for 17 years you had no idea this band was out there making this amazing sound. It's the type of thing that makes you wonder what else is lurking about.

Now you know ... and knowing is half the battle.

Metal Devil Cokes

I have owned MDC's Metal Devil Cokes CD for what seems like an eternity. Well, no more. I'm officially putting it up for sale on eBay within a week or so. Parting is such sweet sorrow. But how did I get to this place?

I've always liked Texas-born MDC. Dave Dictor always seemed like a progressive kind of guy with songs that were pro-gay, pro-animal, anti-capitalism. Not every song was a winner, but I felt that the band's heart was in the right place, and I appreciated it. But for all that praise, the only release I ever owned was the aforementioned one. I had a copy of one of the band's other releases (long since eaten by a car stereo's cassette player), and I have some compilations with the band on it, but still ... I only ever bought this one release.

Before parting with it, I decided to give it one last listen. Partly for nostalgia's sake, but also to see if maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I'd like it even more now and want to pick up everything the band has done. Sadly, after giving it three listens, I was not changing my mind. My reaction was the same upon first hearing it. It's clever, catchy ... and not much else. Perhaps it's a little too juvenile for my tastes. I remember thinking that very thing when I bought it, too.

I'm putting a lot of my music up for sale. Not because I hate it, but because there is so much of it that I don't listen to anymore and have no desire to do so. Oddly enough, my feelings on the bands haven't changed, but some of these things I've heard so many times that I don't think I need to hear them again. They aren't connected to any particular memory. They don't connect as deeply as some other releases. They just don't move me.

But what if I'm wrong? It's a question anyone who is selling off part of their collection faces. What if you are wrong, and the moment you sell it, you'll want it back? Well, I guess the band will get my money a second time ... and there's nothing wrong with that.

Psychedelic Crimes - Advance Word

I was excited to get the new Jackets release, Queen of the Pill, from Voodoo Rhythm Records. I'm a big fan of this Swiss fuzzed-out psychedelica, and with the addition of Jim Diamond (White Stripes) to the group, I figured good would only get better. And then I popped the CD into my car stereo ...

But wait, you say, I didn't know this was out. Well, it's not yet. It's not out until June 14, 2019, but I got an advance copy, and I couldn't wait to hear it. And then I popped the CD into my car stereo ...

Being in the car is not the best place to listen to music for the first time, at least not for me. My concentration is on the road and avoiding getting smashed into by some dumb Humboldt County driver in an oversized pick-up truck with State of Jefferson stickers on it. I put the Jackets on because I was excited. I meant to start listening to it at home that morning, but things got out of hand as I was working on my latest Sinful Cinema book, and I sort of lost track of time, so the car would have to be the initial listen. And then I popped the CD into my car stereo ...

"Dreamer" started it all. "Be Myself" finished it. In between were eight more songs. I was mesmerized. This was all the guitars and females vocals I expected. This was all the Sixties vibe  bustling with rawness that I wanted. It was, in a word, Heaven. To quote The The, heaven sent and hell bent. It was so captivating and dream-like that I actually kind of lost track of the fact that I was driving. That's bad ... but in a really good way.

When you get your hands on this (and you will want to get your hands on this) there will be some standout tracks. For me it was "Steam Queen," "Don't Leave Me Alone," "Queen of the Pill," "Floating Alice" and "Losers Lullaby." Your list may be different, but if my description alone intrigued you, you will have favorites, though it will be hard to pick. Just recognize the greatness, bask in the aural swirls, and enjoy.

June 14th isn't that far away.

Bad Luck Rising

In what world did this come out in 2011? That’s what you’ll ask yourself when you first hear Delaney Davidson’s Bad Luck Man. It’s an honest question because this music at first sounds … old. Then after you settle into the groove of this one-man band, you understand it isn’t really old, it’s timeless.

Davidson is fromdson is a New Zealander New Zealand, but you wouldn’t know it listening to these fourteen tunes of hard luck, depression, and relationships gone belly-up. He sounds fully American, like he was born and bred in the land of the blues, parishes, and voodoo. You can picture him wandering the swamps, playing dive bars, and keeping it honest. It’s no wonder he used to be part of The Dead Brothers.

Voodoo Rhythm Records put this out. It was the label’s second release of his. It was a good choice. Years from now when civilization is fighting over scraps of irradiated food and looking for shelter from the perpetual inferno/polar vortex cycle the planet has been plunged into, this music will still touch souls. Whether it’s the title track, “I’ve Got the Devil Inside” or “Windy City,” this music will be understood by people everywhere at any time. They will recognize and respect its purity just as easily as they know its shame.

As I write the first draft of this, Naked Massacre is playing on my television. It’s a sleazy little movie, inspired by a real crime. It’s a subject Davidson could sing about and make it relatable if he so desired. He has this ability to turn even the most transgressive of men into a tortured being you yearn to understand. He’s not a bad luck man, or even a bad man. He’s just a man with the ability to perform songs that move souls.

And that will never get old.

Midnight Memories

It’s just noise. That’s the common refrain heard by every child about their music from every parent. You heard it. I heard it … especially when I was listening to Diesel Rhino.

Of course, it goes the other way around, too. The younger generation has a hard time coming to grips with the music of its elders. They don’t understand why their parents and grandparents like what they do as much as they do. I remember taking road trips with my grandparents, and the scariest thing I’d hear was, “Let’s listen to Boxcar Willie one more time.” My soul would scream. I could not understand the appeal of Boxcar Willie. I couldn’t relate to him or his songs. Nor could I relate to my dad’s love of Johnny Mathis, or my mother’s need to play Judy Collins.

On the flip side of that, I’m sure my parents cringed whenever they heard Kiss, Iron Maiden, or later on – Skinny Puppy. How could my parents relate to it? It wasn’t their music, and it wasn’t their memories.

That’s where the power lies. Music moves people for different reasons. It creates different memories in different people. How it connects with you as a child may be different than how it connects with you as an adult, but if that connection was strong enough when it originally was created, it will most likely always stick with you no matter how little you listen to it in your later years. I do not listen to Kiss much these days, but if it comes on Sirius, I’ll crank it up and I’ll have some sort of memory attached to it. The last bit of music I bought was Essence! by Death in June. I do not have early memories attached to that band, but I’m interested in making new ones – a new soundtrack for this point of my life. I don’t just stick with the songs and albums I know. My parents did the same thing. I remember my mother buying the newest Blondie release. I remember my dad getting excited when he got a new Anne Murray eight-track.

The music that sticks, though, is what we’ll never understand between generations. We don’t share the memories and that’s okay. We’ll go on not understanding each other’s music choices and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t diminish either side in either way. We don’t have to understand each other in this sense because it’s so personal that it could never be fully understood anyway. Just remember that the next time you question your grandparent’s love of Boxcar Willie, though I have a hard time coming to grips with that ever being an acceptable music choice.

No One Can Save You

Destination Lonely. If that band name doesn’t scream emo I don’t know what does. Then have a title like No One Can Save Me, and you know what the songs will sound like.

You would be wrong.

Three young men from South France have armed themselves with instruments and have created pure, crisp garage rock with roots firmly in the punk scene and a sound that sometimes evokes the guitar playing of Poison Ivy. Yeah, who would have thought such a thing could exist and sound so raw yet refined?

Not I. Not when I first heard the release three or so years ago. Knowing it was on Voodoo Rhythm Records told me it probably wouldn’t be some emo band, but the label has surprised me before. Not with garbage, mind you, but with something I was something unexpected. The Dead Brothers comes to mind. This was no exception. I was expecting one thing and got something else entirely different, and I was blown the hell away.

A quick read of the lyrics finds plenty of doom and gloom. Suicide, murder, loneliness, and hatred are the common themes. They are not happy ditties that one can sing in the shower. These are songs that play over and over in your head in the dark … after your loved one has walked out the door … or you shot him.

Still, it’s not emo. No, Sir. It’s a grabbing, multi-limbed monster, much like the one that can be found on the cover of issue eight of Marvel Comic’s Fear. It’s reaching through an open window, grabbing you by your shirt sleeve as your wife screams in terror from the stairs. That’s what this is.

The opening number, “Freeze Beat,” is an instrumental piece. If a film of my short story Night Fishing ever happened to be made, I would want this music playing during the opening scene. It sets the mood, but doesn’t really give you a clue as to what is coming, much like my short story’s opening scene. The song lets you know you are in for a ride, but at this point you are not sure if it’s a rollercoaster or a ride through a haunted house. Truth is, it’s a little of both.

Between “Gonna Break” and the title song there are moments of clarity and greatness that aren’t evident at first. In fact, those moments are mostly lyrical, but the music is so appealing that you will overlook the lyrics the first couple of listens. The sound is a sonic whirlwind of broken glass, and it is overwhelming in all the best ways. When you finally decided to take in what Marco Fatal is singing (you may remember him from The Fatals), you will experience this moment of enlightenment where the entire picture becomes clear. It is beautifully terrifying.

No One Can Save Me will probably never be heralded as the must-have, top release of all time, but it doesn’t need to be. It is far too personal for that … and far too fun from a listening level. Yeah, it’s a dark, angry release, but it’s also a work of art. And because of that, far too many people will never quite understand it. For those who do … it’s near perfection.