Orgy of One

While waiting to see when/if some friends would ever arrive (and I would be lucky if it were an "if"), I popped in a tape I hadn't listened to in a long time.  Ogry of One's ... From Outer Space.  There's a good chance that most of you reading this have never heard of this one-man band named after a Meatmen song.  If you're a Misfits fan, though, you should be familiar or make yourself that way.

The product of Doug Evil (who is now a great photographer out of Pittsburgh and did the logo for my old band JFK's Head -- yes, he's also an excellent artist), Orgy of One came about due to his fascination with the Misfits.  I had received a tape to review, and we quickly started writing.

... From Outerspace is a cassette-only release.  Four songs.  All of them Misfits cover tunes.  "London Dungeon," "Bullet," "Last Caress," and "Mommy ... Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight?"  All of those are classic Misfits, and this one-man band does them proud.  Released on Pernicious Misanthrope Records (year unknown), Evil gave away the tapes for the price of postage, unable to sell them for the obvious reasons.  (He once asked me if I thought he would get in trouble.  I knew Mo and Doyle of the Misfits and told him I thought they'd enjoy hearing it and gave him info on how to contact them.)

Listening to this tape brought back some memories.  Good memories.  I remembered some of my contacts with Evil, too.  He was a good guy, and it looks like he's gone on to some great things.  I wonder if he ever pops this tape in and relives some old times?  Probably not.  I rarely go back and read the things I wrote from so long ago.  Either way, I'm glad I still own the tape, and it definitely isn't going up for sale.

Letters from GG Allin 3

This letter came on a standard piece of notebook paper.  GG didn't seem to care too much about keeping on the lines.  I don't know what set him off this time, but here is what he wrote.


Doug,

No you didn't piss me off, and it's no fucking rock star trip ... Come on motherfucker you ought to know me a bit better than that.  I've been busy with the book, the tour, the LP, the film, but I'm down to my final days of this prison time so I just keep getting more and more fucking busy planning the Terror in America tour w/ the Murder Junkies and everything else.  I'm walking out into a fucking whirlwind of fire.  But I'm ready ... More than ready.  Call me at Merle's [I'm not reprinting the number here] after April 1st ... I'll fill you in on what's going down ...

GG Allin
206045

Soundtrack to Destruction

It's amazing how hearing one song brings back a flood of memories ...

I had just turned 18.  There were three of us.  I was in the passenger seat.  One friend in the back seat, one friend driving.  The needle was buried.  The country road was a blur.  The cop was gaining on us.

At the rate we were going, we'd soon be dead.  That was a certainty.  I told the driver to forget it.  Pull over.  Stop.

The idea was to slow down, pull off to the shoulder and stop.  The lights from the cruiser behind us were filling the car with that sick red and blue.  We were beat.  We knew it.  Slow down.  Stop.

It didn't quite work that way, though.

The brakes were tapped.  Maybe.  Maybe they were slammed on.  It didn't matter.  They locked.  We skidded back and forth on the road, the tires screaming as they tore across the asphalt.  I don't know at what point we went onto the roof.  All I knew was that I heard the crunch of metal and heard glass shatter and then there was a boulder the front of the car slammed into and for some reason weeds were growing down from where the sky used to be.

That's when I realized we were like a turtle on its back in the desert.

When all was said and done, we stood outside the car, waiting to be loaded into the police car.  A fire crew was busy spraying water onto the car.  You could smell burning rubber and gasoline, though there was no fire.

And under the sound of that fire hose?  The Exploited's Live at the Whitehouse.  It had been playing throughout the chase, and it keep playing when we were sliding (later we found out it was 96 feet), on the roof.  And now, with the car being saturated lest it catch on fire, it was still going strong.

If you ever have heard The Exploited, it makes perfect sense for it to be a soundtrack to a police chase.  Don't forget the chaos, indeed.

One Too Many Lousy Records

Back in the days of the Dead Kennedys, singer Jello Biafra warbled that the sales slump that had hit the music industry was due to "one too many lousy records."  He was right on.  The music industry, which continues that downward spiral into extinction, blames illegal downloading, the Internet, and terrorism (I made that last one up, but you can blame terrorism for everything these days and get away with it).  The one thing the music industry doesn't blame, however, is "one too many lousy records."

Pirates have done their share of damage to artists and the record industry.  While I will shed no tears if the major labels go under, I do feel for the artists (even the ones I don't like) for their income loss.  Nobody wants to work for free, including the people who think they are entitled to free music simply because they have an Internet connection.

One can't ignore that there are "one too many lousy records" out there, though.  The music industry would never agree with that.  After all, if spokespeople came out and said that the product sucks, they can't really blame anyone other than themselves, and then everyone gets to question the industry's business model even more than they do now.  The truth of the matter is, however, that I've heard quite a bit of what the industry passes off as "good music" (it comes with the territory), and it is cookie-cutter garbage that would have never gotten a major label deal in healthier times.  Pop music has always sucked, but these days it isn't even trying to be good.  In fact, it seems very happy sounding like everything that has come before it ... and that cuts across genres.

Consistently putting out garbage will eventually cause your sales to fall, and now that online sales have declined (gasp!), the record industry is once again scrambling to place the blame anywhere other than itself.  But, really, how can the music industry blame the consumer when it produces acts like Rhianna and Justin Bieber (hot on the newly forged Social 50 chart), which sound just like everything that has come before them?  Katy Perry is fresh and exciting in what decade?  And if you go toward the bottom of the charts it's even worse.  Of course, there are anomalies, but those are anomalies.  What the industry presents as its brightest are nothing more than rehashes and clones delivered as The Next Big Thing and Cutting Edge.  Yawn.  Taylor Swift a genius?  No.  Eminem was the biggest-selling artist of 2010.  While I have no problems with him other than the fact that his music doesn't move me (I do appreciate the artistry involved), he's not exactly new, and he hasn't been on the cusp of cutting edge in years.

The music industry is stale, well past its primes.  Even its mainstays like U2 are showing their age.  And as for what it brands as rebellion these days ... wow.  Parents of teenagers everywhere have nothing to worry about.

So here's a toast to lousy records and declining sales.  Let the entertainers go back to their jobs at the Gap, and let the true artists sign to smaller labels or even go the DIY route.  Let the industry sputter and cough, and I'll help pull out the IV.  Let it die in its own piss-soaked bed of greed and contempt for an audience it never fully understood.  Or maybe it understood it all too well, and that is why it is in this situation in the first place.  When you act the thief, you attract the thieves, and when you release shit eventually people smell it.

Let's hope next year's sales are just as dismal.

Letters From GG Allin 2

This postcard from GG Allin came to me while I lived in Quakertown, PA.  True to form, Allin forgot to put a stamp on it, so I had to pay for postage.  Oh, that scamp!


D -

Just got off the road... Lots of blood, violence + warrants' [sic] added to the list ... My new address is [xxxxxxx] Chicago, IL 60614

GG


Why the hell he picked this postcard I shall never know.

Letters From GG Allin 1

If you've been reading my other blogs you know that I've been publishing some interesting letters I've received over the years.  This is the first of many from GG Allin, the last dangerous musician.

Few of you immersed in the world of what passes as "rebellious" music these days have probably heard of Allin.  His on-stage antics were legendary back in the day, landing him AP stories, multiple arrests and appearances on a variety of shows, including one with Geraldo Rivera before he became a Fox stooge.  He billed himself as a rock 'n' roll terrorist, and he was.  Love him or hate him, he left an impression.

The letters I'll reprint are out of chronological order.  I apologize for that.  I don't have all the envelopes with the postmark dates on them.  This one came in 12/92.  Allin is either responding to a previous letter or a phone conversation we had ...


Doug,

Hated [sic] will have it's [sic] first showing in NYC in late Jan..

As far as a show in PA ... I did a show somewhere in Bethlehem PA [sic] back in 89 [sic], but I can't fucking remember where ... I know the cops showed up but I got away before they arrived.  It was a very chaotic event.  I remember the crowd chanting fuck the pigs [sic] at my demand -- and locking the doorway to the club so I could escape out the back door ... they bought me some time while holding the cops off ... I passed out in a bloody heap with some bitch named Linda in an alley until my band found me ...

Send #7 [of my 'zine] when its [sic] out -- one to me + one to Shrinkwrap.

GG Allin 206045 [Allin's prison ID number]


I believe Allin's brother, Merle, was trying to get me to book a PA show once Allin was released from prison.  I remember calling a few places and being flatly turned down (not surprising).  Good times.  Good times.

Jesus Chrust Pose

I don't remember a lot about Jesus Chrust, but I had a 7" or two and a shirt.  One of those 7"s was a picture disc that was pretty cool.  I also seem to recall that there were two bands of the same name out about the same time.  (I don't think they ever battled it out in court over this one, but it would have been an interesting case.)  What made me think of this?  Easy.  I was going through some old 7"s and fighting a headache.  Noisecore and headaches kind of go hand-in-hand ... at least to some ears.

I looked the band up on the Internet just to see if it were still functioning, and I was kind of surprised to see that there wasn't that much info on it out.  Then I remembered that other than the name, cool picture disc and shocking images, there wasn't all that much to this band.  It always felt more like a gimmick than something worth listening to.  There were other bands doing the same kind of music ... only better.

I'm sure what attracted me to it in the first place was the name and the images.  I wouldn't care what kind of music it was because the other two things would have sold me.  I do remember not hating it, but also not being blown away.

Noisecore is an acquired taste.  Even amongst those who like musical extremes there is debate about the artistic merits of it.  For some it will never be more than noise.  For others it is a rebellious music that is an answer to stale bands who offer nothing new yet are still enjoyed by far too many people.  It is a genre of music that purposely isolates itself from other music and its fans.  That may be its ultimate fault, but it is also commendable.

Now I gotta go dig up those 7"s and see if my tastes have changed all that much.

Random Letters

Last post I wrote about Psycho and mentioned Charlie Infection.  As I was going through a package of my old stuff from my time on the East Coast, I came across a flier for an April 18 (year unknown) all ages Death Fest at the Escape Club on Salisbury Beach.  The flier featured Entombed (only New England appearance), Hexx, Ripping Corpse, Psycho and "3 or 4 more bands too."  Eight bands.  Eight "bux."  Standard flier.  On the back of it was a letter from Charlie Infection, which gave me the idea to start sharing all these letters I had saved up (unless they were truly personal or something).  They won't all be interesting, and they won't all appear on this blog, but here is the first one.

"Hey Doug -- Here's the inter view [sic] w/some pictures + logos + ads + review pack -- Thanx -- Send us a couple copies when it's done -- Later Charlie I."

Very basic letter, and I will be reprinting the interview sometime.  It should be pretty interesting.

Going through these letters, I saw stuff from writer/agent of chaos George Hayduke, artist/musician Doug Evil, and the late great GG Allin.  Keep your eyes posted on my various blogs, as I'll be posting them all at some point.

Psycho

If you read Maximum Rocknroll during the '90s you could not help but come across ads for Ax/ction Records and its premiere band Psycho.  The label and band ads prompted me to check out the music, which quickly made me a fan.

If there is one word to describe the band, it would be "abrasive."  The line-up I was most familiar with was Johnny X, Mike Psycho and Charlie Infection (with whom I corresponded with on a fairly regular basis).  They cam across as badasses with a hint of workhorse thrown in.  It was a good combination, and while I have long since stopped following the band's output, from what I understand it is still going strong (with a different line-up).  (It should be noted I could find no website for the label.  How punk is that?)

Liked by metal and punk fans, Psycho made a point of playing fast, short songs and doing plenty of split 7"s with favorites of mine like Anal Cunt, Meatshits, and Rot.  Ax/ction, which also served as a distro, carried stuff from those bands and others, as well, which meant I was a regular customer.

I don't read MRR these days.  I've got too much other shit going on to even follow up on all that, but I'm still a fan of fast, abrasive bands that seem to put out something new every two weeks.  I'm not sure how Ax/ction stays in production (I imagine either due to Japanese fans or day jobs), but it warmed my heart knowing it was still around.  As for Psycho ... that doesn't really surprise me, either.  There's always going to be an audience for that kind of music.  If New Kids on the Block can come back on television, Psycho can keep plugging away in the underground, as a nice counterbalance to world where nothing makes sense.

The Econchrist/Detonators Influence

Last night, while preparing my daughter for the bath/brush teeth ritual that goes on in many a household around the world, I asked if she wanted to listen to any music.  She's pretty open to music beyond the realm of Disney, and she usually agrees, but I like to ask because it's polite.

She confirmed that she would, and I put on the Econochrist/Detonators split 7". 

She loved it.

I have no idea why it appealed to her.  All I know is that while peeking in at her brushing her teeth she was doing a little dance and kind of singing along,  without really knowing the lyrics.  (You know what I'm talking about.  You just sort of mumble things.)  At this point I had to think, "This may be the only little girl in the world who is listening to this 7" right now.  I wonder if this will stick with her?"

Beyond the aforementioned Disney music, my girl has a deep love of the Misfits, Blondie and the Clash.  All good bands in my mind.  I'm hoping she branches out to embrace some other ones, too, as a varied musical background is one of those keys to being a well-rounded, finely adjusted human being.

Seeing her dance last night let me know she was off to a fine start.

An Unpleasant Death

It had to happen.  My turntable is slowly dying.  Fittingly, it chose to start down this path while listening to the first LP of the Dwarves' Lick It.  It also has a cassette deck on it, which is also starting to go.  What I have to do now is find a decent self-contained turntable, cassette deck and speakers that will fit into an area I have set aside for it.  I've found one or two that I like, and they are in a good price ranger ($200-$300), but the one I have my eye on is a Crosley unit that records onto CDs.  (I fear every time I play a single or LP that I am slowly destroying the thing.)  I'm not a huge fan of the system's retro look, but if it allows me to enjoy my Italian pressing of Social Distortion's Mommy's Little Monster and my Gauge 7", then I'll suffer.

I figured this would happen eventually, but at a time when I'm looking to make a few other big purchases, the timing sort of sucks.  Couple that with the fact that I just got a huge box of vinyl, and I'm a might bit pissed, but appreciative of the irony.

I've had friends ask why I even bother with vinyl.  I think the answer is pretty self-explanatory.  First, as odd as it sounds, not everything is available on CD or even as a download (legal or otherwise).  Second, I like the way it sounds.  I like have a large piece of artwork to look and pour over.  Listening to an LP is a far more intimate experience than listening to a CD.  Always has been.  Always will be.

So this is my quest now.  Sell enough shit on eBay (maybe someone will buy that Yellow Dancer 7" that I've had up forever), and purchase a new turntable.  Hell, I don't even care if it records onto CD, though it would be nice to listen to some of this vinyl in the car or while I'm mowing the grass.  That would only be an added bonus.  I just want the sweet sounds of Born Against to fill the room once again as I step from the shower.  Is that too much to ask?  If you're my turntable, apparently it is.

The Wrong Side of Reno: Punk Rock on Display

The Nevada Museum of Art is hosting The Wrong Side of Reno: Three Decades of Punk and Hardcore Music in the Biggest Little City.

That means 7 Seconds, people.  Probably one of the biggest punk bands to come from Reno.  That along would be reason to check this out, but for art fans you have to know that the art for punk releases is a genre onto itself.  It is, quite simply, the most exciting art in the entire music industry (metal following a close second).  Sometimes offensive, sometimes political, sometimes just artistically based on someone's whim, the art made the records stand out.  And now the lucky people of Reno and all points nearby get to see this exhibit, which runs from 10/2/10 to 3/6/11.  Hell, I may even want to get over that way for this one.

Dead Milkmen Motherfuckers

My introduction to punk music itself (I was familiar with the names of the bands and the general ideas of it) came when a girl lent me cassettes of the Dead Kennedy's Frankenchrist and the Dead Milkmen's Eat Your Paisley.  I loved the politics of the Dead Kennedys and also got into the nonsense of the Dead Milkmen.  Years after "discovering" that band, my friend Eric and I found out they were playing some podunk club in New Jersey.  (Aren't all clubs in New Jersey podunk?  Well, with the exception of Obsessions, which was just bad.)


Eric and I traveled quite a few hours to get there, excited to be seeing Surgeon General (which we also liked) and the Milkmen.  The show didn't disappoint.  The Dead Milkmen, however, were total dicks.


Since Eric and I got there before the club opened, we were hanging around outside looking like drug dealers.  Basically we fit in with the rest of the neighborhood.  The Dead Milkmen showed up and had their men start unloading equipment.  Their men, however, weren't the typical roadie types, and nor were they band members (which is typical for many punk bands).  No, this was something different.


Two scrawny black men in their fifties were unloading the amps and guitars from a van.  Eric and I found it odd, so I asked one of the Milkmen if we could help.  (I have since forgotten what Milkman it was that I asked.)  It looked like these old men were kind of struggling, so Eric and I wanted to be helpful.


"We don't need any fucking help," was the gruff answer we got from the guy.  The two AARP members had no say in the matter.  


Granted, there is nothing that says the Dead Milkmen have to be friendly to a couple of strange looking guys offering to help unload their expensive equipment.  We could've made off down the street with a mic and traded it for a few rocks or something.
 
I don't hate the Milkmen like I hate the Presidents of the United States, but I don't think I'll ever forget the rudeness of this band that really has no place being rude.  I mean, sure the band was humorous and has a fan following, but it's no Bon Jovi or something.  Quite frankly, I never thought the band was well-respected by many music fans, and I imagine the members felt the same way.  Acting like a prick surely didn't help thing.

Total War

You can take this at face value, or you can personalize it.  While I don't agree with all of Boyd Rice's views, I will admit that the ritual of this when combined with the words can be inspiring.  I don't take this song as a game plan for my political or social life.  But I do find it to be a source of strength for inner conflict.  To attack and destroy the weakness in myself and in those that surround me. 

This was recorded at a live show in Osaka.  (It's a great DVD, by the way.)  Yes, his politics are questionable at the very least, and the imagery he uses inspires discomfort in many (with reason).  I don't think you can deny the words as a source of strength, however, and nor can you deny the power of the symbols.

Then again, maybe it's all about the cool drumming and I'm just kind of simple.

And maybe not ...

Lady Gaga and the Great Mystery

I am lucky enough to have many strong, intelligent females in my life.  One thing that many of them have in common is what they universally describe as a "guilty pleasure."  This pleasure is the megastar Lady Gaga.

For the life of me, I can't tell you the title of a Lady Gaga song.  I don't think I've ever heard one all the way through, either.  I know what she looks like (that is kind of hard to avoid), and I know she's more popular than God at the moment, but I always sort of wrote her off.  That could be because I don't understand her, or it could be my own musical prejudices.  (Poison Ivy from the Cramps, and the always lovely ladies of Nashville Pussy are about as far from Lady Gaga as you can get -- or are they?)  That said, the fact that many of my respected female friends enjoy her music has made me think that maybe something is there that I am totally missing. 

When they describe it as a guilty pleasure, I never get the sense that they are calling it that due to the music, but more because of her reputation and appearance.  It's almost as if they are saying, "I know she's really popular, but there is something about her music that speaks to me."

Granted, I'll never delve into too deeply.  I don't think her music will have the same impact on me as it does to the ladies in my life.  I will, however, throw a little more respect her way if only because of the women in my life. 

Much like Madonna took time to get serious respect from the masses, Lady Gaga may end up being the same way.  I figure that there is something most of us are missing, which will only be revealed in time.  Until that happens, I'm happy to give her some credit.  I fully trust you ladies.  Now I need you to explain.

Slip In In

High school.  Late '80s.  There were a few tapes that never seemed to leave my Walkman.  Slip It In was the first Black Flag release I bought, and it was one of those that stayed in the player.  It matched my mood at the time as the usual high school angst ran through my brain like a lizard dipped in battery acid.

There was a time where every single song on this release seemed to speak to me.  Today, I still reference it.  "Rat's Eyes" actually came up in a conversation earlier this week, which is not surprising with the hell week I've had.  These days, however, I don't listen to it every day or even for months at a time.  I try to have a little variety.  After all, that is the spice of life.

I found that Black Flag has remained one of my go-to bands for those days where everyone seems to be spouting nonsense and nobody seems to care.  It reminds me what it means to be thinking in a sea of what often seems to be brain-dead kelp in human form.  It helps keep me sane.  In the '80s, this release helped me get through the periods, assaulting my ears between classes and on the bus home, where a hierarchy of seats seemed to mirror the social order.  Later, those seats positions would shift.  The losers making ass grooves in the back of the bus are now losers making ass grooves at their local bar, never having the gumption or skills to leave their hometown.  Alcohol fuels them.  Complacency drives them.  They go home to wives they grew tired of fucking four years and forty pounds ago.  They have kids who gather around their feet and cry for the kind of attention daddy never got.  They melt in front of the tube and wait for pay day.  They don't only live to check to check but drink to drink and show to show. 

Slip It In reminds me of that.  Of how good it feels to sometimes not even fit in and how the desire to remain outside of that is not only a good thing, but a healthy thing.  It is survival.  It is the only thing separating you from the animals.  They still value the soothing power of high school football and the hope that one of those underage cheerleaders will forget her panties.  They remember those days.  They don't live them anymore.  There is a sadness to that, but it's not my sadness.  My sadness extends in different directions.  I don't want to relive the past.  I want to survive the future.

Black Flag, on any of its numerous releases, gives me fortification so I can survive.  It gives me firepower and offers promise.  Everyone should have a band that does that.  Nobody should feel like all hope is lost, but some people have gone so far from that notion that they no longer know what hope looks like.  Hope is not a promise of a better tomorrow, but that your favorite CBS sitcom won't be canceled.  Hope is not light at the end of the tunnel, but the barrel of a gun.

"You say you don't want it/But then you slip it on in."  Take what you want from those lyrics.  Just be careful what you're slippin' on in.

A Poison Tree -- Movie Star Junkies

A Poison Tree, another great release from the Movie Star Junkies, hit the airwaves 6/4/10.  Voodoo Rhythm Records, of course, released it. 
You missed it.

Where the band's Melville release was heavily influenced, inspired and made for the writer, this release is obsessed with inner darkness and William Blake.  You can say many bands embrace the former, but the latter?  Not very likely.

From "Almost a God":  I admire the devil/For he never finishes things/I admire God/For he finishes everything. 

It's lyrics like those, mixed with sinister, yet often maudlin music that continues to impress me.  It doesn't always happen on the first listen, but it does happen.  Listening to the Movie Star Junkies is not a feel-good dance on a three-day weekend.  It's a booze-soaked fuck with a bad girl that could end in the murder of either of you.  And you like it.  Summer heat.  Sweat.  Backwoods black magic jive by men in threadbare pants and faded hats.  This is real.  This goes right where your current crop of sound-a-like puppet bands go horribly wrong.

If this band were from America and not Italy, Jack White's label would have them.  Instead, Reverend Beat-Man, who has the best ear for music in the entire fucking world, brings his pleasure to our stereos. 

I don't know how this will sell.  I'm sure Beat-Man, though concerned, is more concerned with getting it heard.  Like almost all the releases on his label, it is important.  It's some of the best music you've never heard.  Don't believe me.  Listen to "Layenda Negra" and close your eyes.  Experience it as it was meant to be ... in a dark, sick state of mind.  From that song: "In the cradle of the deep/In the prison of your ribs/There's a man that never speaks/There's a man that makes you weak."

Welcome, Junkies.  It's been two long years since you've graced our minds.  Thank you for visiting us again.