I left work late Monday afternoon and headed into Boston. I was heading in to see a show later that night. Social Distortion was playing in town, along with The Supersuckers and The Blackpool Lights.

I drove down RT 2 East, headed for the city. As I came over a rise in the highway, I could see the entire city of Boston and Cambridge laid out there ahead of me. It was like looking down on a model of the city. Pretty cool.

I drove past Harvard University and made my way down towards Fenway Park. The place where I was going, The Avalon, is located right across the street from Fenway. 'This time, I'm not getting lost,' I told myself. I've been to Boston many times, but it seems like every time I drive in there, I wind up getting lost somewhere along the line. Of course, as far as city's go, Boston is not really that big, so you're never really 'lost', you're just kind of turned around, perpetually turned around at times.

Thankfully it was a Monday night and traffic was pretty light this time of night. I made my way over to Fenway and parked in a lot right across the street from the ballpark. I have to say, I was pretty impressed with myself for making it over there without having to turn around or swear at anybody, not even once.

It was only about 6:30 PM and I had time to kill before the show so I walked over to the club to see if anything was going on outside. There were a few people hanging around and there were some guys loading up the storage compartments on the buses parked outside with cases of Rolling Rock beer. I kind of laughed at the sight and continued on past the club. Time to get something to eat.

I headed over to a place behind Fenway Park called The Baseball Tavern. It's a really cool bar that's kind of off the beaten path, unlike The Cask n Flagon or Boston Beer Works, which are located right across the street from Fenway. The Baseball Tavern is a few streets away. That's where you go if you're in the know, ya know?

I sat at the bar, had a whiskey and a beer and ordered a sandwich. I had plenty of time before the show so I took my time, had another beer and watched some Monday Night Football pre-game.

Around 7:30 I settled up and walked back over to the club. As you walk into The Avalon you enter a big hallway where there is a coat room, restroom entrances and of course, the t-shirt tables. The first table I was presented with was the Social Distortion table. I checked out all the Social D shirts but nothing was really jumping out at me. There was one design they had that I liked but it was on some big hoodie thing and I was not interested in that. I am not a big concert t-shirt guy anymore. I used to buy one at every show I went to, but now, eh, who needs another t-shirt..

I walked farther down the dim hallway into the club. In the corners of the hallway were these cool statues that looked like Robbie the Robot from the movie Forbidden Planet, except they were painted white and they had these neat plasma globes inside of them.

As I got to the end of the hallway, right near the entrance to the main part of the club, at a much smaller table, was the Supersuckers t-shirt guy. He had a Philadelphia 76'er's hoodie on and a Boston Red Sox ball-cap. 'That's a weird combo,' I thought, 'You're not supposed to mix sports cities like that.'

There was a clear container on the corner of the table that looked like an old plastic candy jar and there was duct tape stuck diagonally across the front of the container bearing the words 'FOR THE BAND'. I shook my head and laughed. Fucking guys.

I checked out all the Supersuckers t-shirts. Again, nothing was really saying 'buy me' but I wanted to help spread the evil of The Supersuckers so I asked the guy how much for a shirt. '15,' he said, 'and I'll throw in a CD for another $5.'

'I've already got all of those CD's' I said, smiling.

'Do you have 'Devil's Food'? I've got more of those coming out.'

'Yeah, got that one too.'

He just looked at me, grinned and shrugged like, 'Oh well'.

I told him I'd probably come back and buy a shirt after I'd had a couple drinks. 'Bring one back for me,' he said.

'Ok. That I'll do,' I told him.

I headed into the club, bought a beer and stood around near the stage barrier waiting for the first band, The Blackpool Lights. While I was waiting around, I could not help but notice some of the characters in there. There was one kid there with, I'm guessing it was his Mom, who could not have been more than 10 years old. He looked a little nervous. There was another kid who looked about 12 or 13, hair slicked back, wearing a black leather jacket with the words Social Distortion on the back. It looked like the words were hand drawn. That's pretty cool I thought.

After a short time, The Blackpool Lights, a band from Kansas City, walked out on stage. They walked onto stage to the sound of complete and total silence. Nobody clapped, cheered or yelled. Just silence. 'Alright that's the way we like to make an entrance,' the singer said, 'subdued'.

Undaunted, they launched into their set. The lead singer played a Tele and the lead guitar player had a gold top Les Paul that had the finish completely worn off where his forearm rested on the body of the guitar as he slammed the strings. Impressed? Yes I was. The drummer had on a prosthetic leg below the knee but you'd never know it from his playing.

I did not know any of their songs, but I thought The Blackpool Lights put on a great show. The band grew on the people in the crowd too and they became more animated and cheered louder at the end of each song. The band seemed to appreciate that. The singer noted that this was their first time playing Boston and they liked the response. I enjoyed The Blackpool Lights set. I liked their songs and they even mixed in a short little Tom Petty cover into their set. I'm planning to check out their latest CD very soon.

After The Blackpool Lights finished, I headed over to the bar and got a couple Sam Adams beers. One for me, one for the Supersuckers t-shirt guy. I walked back to the shirt table and he was talking to somebody about buying a shirt. I put the beer on the table and said, 'Here you go dude!'

'Hey! I was only joking before, but thanks! That's the best present I've gotten all night!'

'No problem,' I said. 'Have a good one!'

I headed back to the front of the stage and waited for The Supersuckers. I only found out about these guys a relatively short time ago after reading about them here at Faster Than the World. Shit it's only been six months since I first heard these guys? I feel like I've been listening to them all my life.

I was really looking forward to seeing The Supersuckers, ever since I had seen on their site that they were touring with Social D out on the West Coast, I had eagerly hoped that they would come East. I tried not to get my hopes up, because that line-up is almost too good. I figured it was a West Coast stint for both bands and I would not get lucky enough for them to stick together for an East Coast tour, but lo and behold, one day I checked their site and there was a big list of Social D East Coast dates and The Supersuckers were listed on the Boston date. It took me about 30 seconds to get my ticket order in, then it was time to wait.

Now the waiting was over and I was at the front of the stage, right in the middle, right next to the barrier. The Supersuckers came out to a lot of cheers from the Monday night crowd. It was hard to tell how many people there actually knew who they were, but when lead singer and bass player Eddie Spaghetti walked up to the mic and said, 'Hey everybody, we're The Supersuckers, The Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World!' the cheering ensued. And with that, it was on and they proceeded to rock Boston's ass with the appropriately named song, 'Rock Your Ass'.

'I said I'm Eddie Spaghetti here to rock yo asses steady. Are you ready? Then grab a drink and chug-a-lug, have some sex and take some drugs, aright!'

The Supersuckers are all about not taking things seriously, having fun and a pair of Les Paul guitars with lots of distortion, wah-pedal fueled solos and a lot of crashing symbols. In short, a great fucking time.

The Supersuckers put on a great show and had a lot of fun with the audience. Eddie commented appreciatively on how many people were there to see the opening band on a Monday night. 'You know, even though it's a Monday, it feels almost like a really great Thursday' he joked.

Some of the other songs from the Supersuckers set included, 'Pretty Fucked Up,' 'Paid', 'Creepy Jackalope Eye', and 'The Evil Powers of Rock n Roll'. They did a whole bunch of the songs that I knew and that made it more fun.

At one point in the show Eddie let everybody in the band play his bass. Each member of the band acted thrilled and surprised at the chance to feel the power of the bass guitar. Even the drummer got into the act, hitting the strings with one drumstick while he kept the beat with the other. After everybody in the band had their turn, Eddie put the neck of the bass out over the stage barrier to let people in the crowd feel the awesome power of the bass guitar too.

It was a lot of fun. A really great time. As the band was ending the set, Eddie told the crowd that he'd be in the back of the club afterwards to meet people if they wanted to. He said they had special people waiting in the back to hold the places for everybody standing up near the front, 'so if you're in the front don't worry, your spot for Social D will still be there waiting for you when you come back...'

Wiseass. I just shook my head and laughed.

So of course, after The Supersuckers finished their set, with everyone in the band bowing in unison in a Skynyrd like fashion, I felt obliged to head back over to the shirt area and shake Eddie Spaghetti's hand. There were some people there talking to him but it was not overly crowded. I waited till he was done talking to one guy then I went up and shook his hand. I told him it was a great show and thanked him for rockin' my ass steady. 'Eddie Spaghetti! Thanks for rockin' my ass steady!' was my exact quote.

I have to say, I thought that it was extremely cool that Eddie went and hung out back there and just talked to everybody and met people after his set. You don't see that happen. Ever. Well, I've never seen that happen anyway...

After my quick brush with rock stardom I headed back to the stage, much to the chagrin of those around me. Now I'm not that big of a guy and I was not shoving anybody and I was saying 'scuse me' and what not, basically trying to make my way through the crowd as unobtrusively as possible, but a couple people got agitated that I was trying to get back to the middle of the floor. One guy was all full of attitude because I had accidentally bumped into him and his girlfriend had to move her foot.

I was not in there to cause trouble or fight with anybody but I just looked at him and calmly said, 'Do you know where you are?'

'Yeah, I do. I know where I am, do you?'

I just smiled. 'Have you ever been to one of these shows before? Because in case you don't know yet, there's a good chance that someone might bump into you here, so I think you should relax a little. Now, sorry I bumped into you on my way by.'

I turned around and kept going and somebody was grabbing my shirt. I don't know if it was him or his girlfriend, or somebody else. I don't know who was still tugging on my shirt, but I was going out of my way to be polite as I walked through the crowd, so I got tried of it. I turned around and was like, 'WHO THE FUCK IS GRABBING ON ME? WHAT THE FUCK?'

One of the guys next to me said, 'hey you wanna get by, no problem.'

'Thanks' I said. 'I think some of these people have never been to a show like this before.'

I had found my spot back near the middle of the stage. I was not standing next to the speakers again. I know what happens when you stand next to the speakers. I was going right back to where I was, or at least back to the same general area, so sorry if I bumped into you on the way by.

Ironically I noticed later that the people who were so agitated by my passage earlier wound up standing right on the edge of where the pit was. I hope they did not mind getting bumped into. Heh.

Once again, it was time to wait, but it was not long before the lights went down and Social D came out onto the stage. Mike Ness emerged bearing a dozen or so roses. He threw one or two out into the crowd and then threw out the whole bunch.

At this point the crush was on as I was pushed into the people in front of me by the people behind. The people in front pushed back and that's how it went for a few minutes, like a big wave moving back and forth until it finally broke and the pit got going.

I was right on the edge of it so I got in and jumped around for a while then jumped back out to rest and watch the show. I only went in a few times because I mainly wanted to watch Social Distortion play, but I stayed near the edge and when I got the urge I'd jump in there.

Social Distortion was great. They are such a great band live. Mike Ness is so intense on stage as he is performing and his voice has that angry quality to it, like he's just spitting out his rage and anger over all the junk in his life with every word as he lays into the strings of his gold top Les Paul. Then when a song ends, he has this funny sense of humor as he banters with the crowd.

(image © courtesy Jeremy Saffer)

'You know', he starts, 'I kind of have a feeling, some of you might not be making it into work tomorrow morning... then after a moment he says with a smile, 'ah fuck that fucking job man... tell your boss Mike Ness said you can have the day off.'

Some of the songs they did included 'Reach For The Sky', 'Nickels and Dimes', 'Prison Bound', 'Mommy's Little Monster', 'Ball and Chain' and 'Sometimes I Do', which also featured some guest vocals from Eddie Spaghetti.

One of the humorous moments that occurred during the show was when Mike noticed the young kid that I had described earlier, 'I noticed some of you are here with your Mothers, you guys should consider yourselves lucky...' then he saw the young kid and started laughing and said, 'look at you, how the hell did you get in here anyway?'

Social D ended the night with the Johnny Cash tune, 'Ring of Fire' and then headed off stage. The show was over.

(image © courtesy Jeremy Saffer)

I hung around near the barrier as I waited for people to clear out. At one point someone from the stage crew dropped a set list down to the floor and it landed right next to me. I thought I had a cool souvenir there for a second, but he told me it was for one of the very eager female fans who was leaning over the barrier. I handed it over to her and she was pretty excited. I would have liked to have had a set list, but all it is, is a printout with a list of songs on it, so no big deal.

After the crowd had thinned out I headed out the exit, past the members of The Blackpool Lights who were handing out free posters, and back into the night, happy that I had seen a great show and knowing that I did not have to go to work in the morning.

Even thought Mike Ness had said that I could take the next day off, I had thought ahead and cleared it with the boss first.

You can usually find Ernie here on Sundays, doing a This Week in the NFL thing.

Music Vault archives

Posted by Michele Christopher at 12:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (7) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

So we have been off on the movie week theme for a bit. Well for a week. For the last week. Get it? Week? Movies? That is done now and all of your ideas have been saved. We sometimes run out in ideas for the night. If you didn't notice FTTW has long stories in the morning that have been written all night before when one of us can't sleep, short games in the day, then a short fun post in the night. We also have a new writer who we all hope you like. thefinn is now a permanent writer on this site. We need to figure out what to do, but most likely this site will get busier as he adds more stories in. He is good and we admire him. More writers will be added shortly and this will get really busy, but since that is neither her nor there right now, let's move on to the next topic.

Favorite Beatles Album

I really don't care what you say or do, but you really have to think that anything these guys wrote had some affect of you. These guys were the epitome of getting to where you wanted to go. Amphetamine and rat cellar nights. Three shows a night. Seven days a week. They keep going. They were bigger than god.

So what was your favorite album?

Here's ours

Continue reading "from the music vault: The Beatles" »

Posted by Michele Christopher at 9:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (12) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

It's that time again! Album review! This is when we take an album we both have, decide what we want to review, don't talk to each other about it, then just kick out our feelings about the album. The whole thing. Sometimes you get an album that's more favored by one than the other. But, most of the time not. These reviews fall on feelings of the songs and the work in its entirety. Listen to the whole thing and if it's not just background music while you watch TV, how does it make us feel?

So that's my excuse why sometimes these get a little out there. But, you know us by now. Music and birds are our passion. Well, birds are my passion, but give us a break.

Today's selection:

nomeansno - Why Do They Call Me Mr. Happy

Punk? Yea definitely punk. But there’s so much more going on here. There’s heavy doses of funky jazz and funky doses of heavy metal. There’s weird timing changes, jagged rhythms and lyrics that seemed to have been penned by someone who has traveled through Dante’s circles of hell while on acid.

I’m not gonna lie here. This is some weird shit. It’s an acquired taste. This is not an album to listen to casually in the car or while doing some other work. Maybe later on, after you’ve studied it and buried yourself in it and picked up every single nuance within. But your first couple of listens? Devote yourself to it. Just you and this album. In the dark. With headphones. Turn off the rest of your life and submerge yourself in the music and words. You need to become one with this. And here’s the thing about this album: you either get it or you don’t. There’s no in between. Either your mind completely rejects it or your soul clings to every note.

So, why do they call me Mr. Happy? Takes you the whole album to find out the answer to that. And it’s worth the trip to get to that point. It’s like you are on a boat, no, a ship, a huge ship that’s out in the middle of vast, churning, dark waters. Think Poseidon Adventure. Not Titanic. Leonardo DiCaprio has no place here. No, we’re talking Ernest Borgnine and Richard Dawson as your captains. And you’re Mr. Happy. Why? Some little kid asks you why they call you that. And then the ship starts rocking. The ocean rises and falls, rises and falls, and one minute you’re partying, thinking you’re on top of the world and then it all crashes and you’re upside down and everything has gone to hell and you wonder if the devil has boarded this ship and is just having some fun with you. Your life flashes before your eyes and every dark secret spills forth, every ounce of bleak emotion you ever experienced - all the sadness, depression, despair, regret, hatred, fear - surrounds you like dark water but you push through all that, come up for air, fight off flying glass and fire and zombies eating human flesh and screaming people yelling at you to save them and you just kick all that out of the way, because you can. You can. You get to the end, you see the light and you’re standing on the deck and breathing in fresh air and that little kid is there and asks you : Why do they call me Mr. Happy?

Because. I’m. So. Fucking. Smart. - M

nomeansno. Ok. I'm gonna start this off by saying I have a bias for this album. This is when I was really playing bass and getting tired of everyone bagging on bass players. "Why couldn't they stand out more? Why couldn't they be more up front? Bass players suck." Go to hell. We hold this thing together if you haven't got it yet.

At the same time as this, there was also a similar thing going on with drummers. Although I don't really know how that works, but whatever. "Why couldn't drummers stand out? Why couldn't they twirl their sticks more?"

Oh. Go to hell on that one.

So we as bass players and drummers were feeling a little down.

So we went to a nomeansno show. Not cause we needed cheering up. But, cause we were bored.

nomeansno came out. Like saying to everyone "We made this fucking band. Me and my brother. You wanna see what a fucking drummer and bass player can do? Hold on cause here we go." Man! This album was blasted with things. Insane bass riffs, insane drum rolls, insane guitar riffs, insane lyrics, insane everything. This was their pinnacle. This is why they struggled all those years. To put this out and say "Fuck you. Bassists and drummers are people, too."

Not only that, when I saw this tour, there was something different about the set. Hm. Is that gonna be there the whole time? The second drums? Shouldn't someone move that? No. Two drummers. It was staying. They were gonna blow shit out with this tour. Two drummers. Wow. All I can remember is my breath being sucked out of me during "The River".
To this day, I will never forget the passion on his face as he sang, wait, not sang, almost cried, as one drummer just nailed the double bass drums as hard as he could while Rob's brother just filled in and added drums and more bass drums. The place was dropped. Faces were dropped as well as jaws. The pit stopped and we just watched and tried to get air. They didn't care. You asked why they were called Mr. Happy? They answered. They played the whole album as we sat there and watched in shock and awe.

This was amazing.

This was something to remember forever.

Walking up to them at the end of the show, thanking them for the set. Them looking at me and saying, "It was no big deal. You are welcome."

But is was a big deal.

This was an album to remember. - T

NoMeansNo Cats, Sex and Nazis
NoMeansNo - The River
NoMeansNo - I Need You
NoMeansNo - Machine

Posted by Michele Christopher at 11:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Just gonna stick this reminder up here: exercise your right as an American and a punk rock lover and VOTE!

Angry Samoans. I'll be honest and tell you guys that when this band played, I never wanted to see them. I seriously thought they were a bunch of huge Samoans that were really angry. Hey, I was a kid. The last thing you want to think about when you are a kid is some fucking huge Samoan with no shirt on, guitar hanging off his huge man boob yelling at you.

Not a pretty sight.

So I kinda thought that might not be too cool to see. So I didn't. I was a kid. Really young. The next time I heard them, it wasn't them. It was a cover by the Accused. But it was one of the coolest songs they did. Forks and eyeballs. Wow. "The Accused did a really good job on that." "Did a good job on what?" "The cover" "The cover of what?" "Angry Samoans, dumbass."

So there I was. Forced with having to buy the album. A song so cool from a band just needed to be heard, nah, demanded to be heard. Who were these guys? I went out and grabbed this. I wondered what it must be like to play this fast and this quick. What this must sound like live. Plus one of the song titles cracked me up for personal reasons, but anyways. This stuff was fast and noisy and, well, out there. As obnoxious as the Meatmen, faster than fuck, and moving at a breakneck pace. This was a much forgotten band that to me, was a great inspiration.

This album told the world "We may not be the best, but we rock the hardest."

Fuck yeah. - T

Ok, I already told you how I used to call those Wild Samoan wrestler dudes Angry Samoans. But it sticks with me. Every time I listen to this album I think about Captain Lou Albano and that pony tail he had on his beard. Anyhow.

Back From Samoa clocks in at just under 16 minutes. That’s the whole album. 16 minutes. This whole fucking album takes up less time than an intro to a Dream Theater song.

What can you do in 16 minutes? Hell, I can’t even cook dinner to this album because it’s over before I’ve even burned the chicken. And really, “They Saved Hitler’s Cock” is not the most appetizing music anyhow. Hell, the whole album is a crash course in offensiveness. And everything is played at this blinding speed and sung like a cocktail of espresso and speed was handed out in the studio, and you find yourself laughing at the lyrics and bouncing off the walls and the whole thing is like, well, you ever read those Captain Underpants books? They are stories full of fart jokes and toilet humor for kids, but for some reason teachers and parents still think it’s good literature. Back From Samoa is like Captain Underpants for punk rockers. You kinda listen to it with a Beavis and Butthead grin on your face, but you know that underneath the whole idea of poking your eyes out with a fork, there’s some god damn good music there. It’s killing time! Todd killings! -M

Angry Samoans - Steak Knife
Angry Samoans - My Old Man's a Fatso
Angry Samoans - Todd Killings
Angry Samoans - Lights Out

Posted by Michele Christopher at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

In today's album review, we depart a bit from your basic punk rock. Something a little different for you all.

Mr Bungle: S/T (T) and California (M)

Mr. Bungle. A band from somewhere like Modesto? Or Stockton? Or some other Northern California town? They are from where? You have to remember, I really hated the stupid stage antic shit that some of these bands did. Lighting shit on fire - boring. Breaking things - boring. But wearing masks and drinking urine on stage? Well fuck, dude. That's kinda new.

I will be honest with you. I didn't like this for a long time. It was too, well, gimmicky type shit. It didn't do anything for me and I didn't like it. I don't really want to sit around and wait for a kick. I wanted it now. But I listened to it again. Like three months later in the car of some burned out punk rocker. His car was decorated in skeletons and I was drinking a Pabst. He lectured me on how cool this band was.

So I listened.

Heading to the show it's kinda cool if you get to know the sound before you walk in the door. Hey, you gotta do it.

This was Mr. Bungle. Weird fast, slow like a circus on fire with all the clowns running out with bottles of gin.

Bondage gear, clowns and midgets. Like something out of a nightmare, they came at you.

This was sweat and beer and gin and .....piss?

This shit was something when I first heard, I thought was evil clown music. Fuck man, look at the inlay. It's dead drunken dying clowns. What the fuck was that all about? From the second this starts you feel as if you are in a video game hyped on speed playing the pinball game that would save the world. Cause you had a pocket of quarters. The fucking circus needed saving. Only you can save it. One more quarter. You can save it.

The album is loaded with samples. Things that make you think you heard it before...but from where......Samples I had to ask Michele about to find where they came from. Things I knew, but were all in a drug induced haze and couldn't remember. "That was a pinball machine, right?"

All the samples were old video games and pinball machines. Everytime you heard this album, you remembered the old times of playing those games, smoking a cigarette looking over your shoulder to watch for the security guard as you made that last kill in the game you were playing. This album goes on the record for having the most video game and pinball machine samples of anything I have heard before.

I really can't say this rocks cause it's just to out there to define. It is a great fucking album, don't get me wrong, but the insanity of it just makes me pull back and wonder why.

Like people of the 80's sit around and think of Frank Zappa. What they missed. How great he was. He was a genius they missed. Much like that, soon people will see what they missed in Mr. Bungle.

Plus they sing about the girls of porn. Which is kinda cool. (T)

Girls of Porn
Stubb (A Dub)
Squeeze Me, Macaroni

Let me preface this by saying that I am a huge fan of anything Mike Patton and my opinion on all things Patton related, be it Faith No More or Mr. Bungle or any of the myriad other bands/projects he has been a part of, is all a bit biased.

If I had to choose my favorite Patton related piece of work - and that’s really like asking a parent to choose a favorite child - I would have to go with California. Yea, FNM’s Angel Dust forces some tough competition but hey, if you asked me today, I'd tell you I like my daughter better than my son (the mouth of a 13 yr old boy can be exasperating). You caught me on a California kind of day.

This is way different than the previous Bungle efforts. It’s polished, it’s smooth, it’s not as experimental or noisy or juvenile. You’ll get no "Squeeze Me, Macaroni" here. Instead you get lyrics that have matured and musical composition that has flourished. Yea, you still have a lot of that patented Bungle weirdness/noise, but California is like half mind fuck, where the band stars and shows off a plethora of amazing sounds and rhythms, and half lounge music, where Patton's voice is a musical instrument itself. While some say this is Bungle's most accesible album, that doesn't mean much here. That's like saying Mullholand Drive is David Lynch's easiest to understand work. Just because it’s got more melody and more instrumentation and reaches a wider audience, doesn’t mean it’s going to be any less confusing to a non Mr. Bungle fan.

Ok, so you are in this boat. Think Willy Wonka’s boat. That ride where everything is sweet and sugary and then turns into a speeding nightmare. That’s California. It is all smoky bar room and cigar smoke and just when you are about to lean back in your chair and sip your bourbon, the ride gets noisy and disjointed and you hold onto your seat as it shakes. Then it’s back to a slow ride and you’re suddenly thinking of red lipstick and black garters and maybe you’re gonna finish up this song and then go masturbate to a magazine cover. But then the boat shakes you up again and it’s hand and arms inside the ride at all times. It shakes your brain and rattles your skull and "Golem II"and "Holy Filament" play and make you think, what kind of crackhead nightmare is this? You're almost tempted to jump out of the boat but something about the calliope-like sound makes you hang on, even if the sound is giving you flashbacks to some tenth grade mescaline trip at an amusement park . Then you see the light at the end of the tunnel, and the boat is bumping its way over there with the lyrics What would they say/If you went up in smoke?/If I dug you up/And made soup of your bones? playing in your ear and you think, damn this has been one crazy ride. Was it fun? Was it scary? A little of both? Maybe I should ride it again and be sure. And you get back on the boat and you notice little things about the ride you didn’t notice the first time and each subsequent turn on the boat makes you appreciate the ride more fully, makes you see all the noises and imagery and soft sounds and full range of emotions come together to make one pretty surreal, yet fulfilling, experience. -(M)

Retrovertigo
Pink Cigarette
None of Them Knew They Were Robots

Posted by Michele Christopher at 10:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Yes, this is a site about punk music. But hey, we can stray from the confines of our own description every once in a while because it's a free country and we can do what we damn well please. Besides, it’s a day to pretend you are some dark, evil person who wears a hooded robe and chants satanic verses in your bedroom while staring at the pentagram you drew on the mirror with eyeliner and waiting for Candyman to show up. It’s a day to look for the 666 carved on your child’s head, a day to read Good Omens, a day accuse your boss of being the Anti Christ. And it’s a day to celebrate the wonders of Slayer.

Besides, I am a metalhead at heart. Yea, despite my playlist that seems to include nothing but Minor Threat and the like, I have a long, long history with metal. Heavy metal, speed metal, thrash metal, angry German metal, death metal, whatever there is, I've listened to it, banged my head to it, kicked a small child to it, vomited up twenty shots of Goldschlager to it. And out of all my favorite metal bands - spanning from Motorhead to Meshuggah - none has won my heart, mind and blackened soul like Slayer.

However, I am shunned by many a Slayer fan. Why? Because my choice of favorite album isn't the usual pick of Reign in Blood or the hardcore fan's pick of Hell Awaits. It's not even Season in the Abyss. No, it is 1998's Diabolus in Musica, the follow up to the much maligned Undisputed Attitude (see turtle's review of this album below).

For many Slayer fans, Attitude was a hard slap in the face. Punk songs? They are covering punk songs? They felt it was a departure as well as an insult. Of course, these were the people who remained ignorant of the fact that Slayer was actually influenced by hardcore punk bands like Minor Threat. But hey, why let a little history get in the way of your disdain? Anyhow, Slayer fans held their collective breath waiting for Diabolus to be released. Was Attitude a signal that the band had changed? Would this album be more punk than metal? Did we lose Slayer for good? I guess a two year wait in between albums will do that to a fan. Four years, if you are one of those who pretend Attitude doesn't exist.

I remember distinctly listening to this album for the first time. June, 1998. I slipped it into my car's CD player in the parking lot of the mall. I waited. Anxious. The slow bass of "Bitter Peace" kicked in. A trudging kind of metal, heavy in the pit of your stomach. So far, so good. I nodded my head a bit, the way people afraid to actually bang their head in public do. And then the short break in the song where it gets quiet, then you can feel the build up coming, the drums rolling, and...dude. Holy shit. Speeeeeeed! Yes!! Oh yea, you can hear that hardcore influence loud and clear. And I knew that at that very minute, there were thousands of other Slayer fans listening to this album for the first time and feeling a little let down. Fuck them. If you can't appreciate "initiate blood purge, coalition in massacre" at full volume, at full speed, there's something wrong with you.

Ok, next song. Could they follow this up? Could this get better? I was still sitting in the parking lot. Savoring the moment when hardcore punk and thrash metal came together so perfectly, like peanut butter in chocolate. Death's Head played. Oh, yea. Oh fucking hell yea.

And then "Stain of Mind" kicked in. Fuck, yea. That's all I could say. Fuck, yea. I knew that within two hours, I would have the lyrics memorized, the song permanently embedded in that part of my brain that I reserve for songs that fall under "greatest fucking things ever recorded."

I knew after my first full listen that most Slayer fans I knew wouldn’t be digging this album at all. In fact, quite a few of them called it Slayer’s worst album ever (those are the people who like to pretend that Attitude doesn’t exist). I got into a few arguments over it then decided that fighting with people who get annoyed when a band strays even an inch from their original sound is like fighting with someone who gets pissed when the sunset is purple instead of pink. Enjoy something different, dude. Think outside the lines. Yea, this isn’t Reign in Blood, but why would you want every album to be the same? It’s still got war and destruction and blood and Satan. The guts haven’t changed, just the structure. Hey, would it help if I told you that if you play In the Name of God backwards, it says “Kill everyone! Satan rules! Light churches on fire!”? Yea, really. You go do that. Go try it, hero. I’ll be over here enjoying this album for what it is while you listen for something you just aren’t going to get. -M

Undisputed Attitude - You all knew I was gonna grab this one to review. That's what I do. The punk ones and the ones you guys hate.

This album turned me on to Slayer. I'm not gonna lie and say I was huge Slayer fan. They did what they did and that was cool. But after I heard this, I became a rabid fan. This is the one album I truly treasure. Sure, I like all of them now, but back when this came out, I hated them. Well, hate is a strong word. I never bothered with them. They weren't my style and I just didn't care. Speed metal was for burnouts in San Francisco. Back then I really didn't give a flying fuck if you wanted to see Satan or blood. That shit didn't impress me. I saw Satan every night. Hey dude, don't fool yourself. Satan was just a dude who changed his name to Satan. I think his name might have been Brian or Bob or Bill, but still, Slayer didn't really impress me.

Then I heard this one night. Sitting on a couch. Slamming back a beer while wondering where I was at. Fucked up on ten different types of drugs. Thinking I could levitate if I just had one more line.

Then it came on.

"Hey dude....that was TSOL, dude..." "No it wasn't. that was Slayer." What? Really? Fuck me. Really? It had been along time since I heard TSOL so I didn't really question it. I was still trying to peel an apple with my mind so I really didn't care if I was wrong or right on the song. I was focused on the apple.

"Hey dude, that's Dr Know...." "No dude, it isn't...it's Slayer, dude" The apple's skin was still on, so I really didn't pay much attention to it. That skin would come off, god dammit. But I think that was Dr. Know. hmmmmm.

"Oh, OK...Hey dude, that's fucking DI, god dammit, don't fucking tell me this is Slayer again god dammit or I am quitting drugs and becoming a hare krishna, god dammit!"

Apple was thrown out the door in anger and frustration. Poor apple never had a chance.

"Shave your head dude and put the pipe down cause this is Slayer."

Fuck.

I hate religon and I hate not having my apple. It was a green one too. Those are the best, god dammit.

If some of you don't know this was an album of Slayer's tributes and covers of punk bands. Pretty much all west coast punk rock with a few exceptions. They jammed as much in as they could even mixing a couple songs together from a band or two to get the most out of their time. Did it work? You be the judge. 33 minutes of not slowing down. They knew they only had a little time to pack as much punch as they could into this album and they did it. This fucker kicks you in the face.

All you have to know is that this album turned a bunch of punk rockers on to them. This was a band that I ignored until this record came out. When I heard this I kinda said to myself, "This band is pretty cool...." and went out to find the other records like a junkie on a dope hunt. "There must be more....there must be more...." I know people don't like this one but you have to realize what it did.

A lot, and I mean a lot, of people bagged this album and said it was un-Slayerish. Don't ask me what that means. A lot of people didn't understand what was going on. How did their Slayer turn punk? Well the simple fact is they never turned punk. These are all old songs. Guys. This isn't Slayer. Well, it's them playing, but these aren't their songs. One day when you are sitting at a friend's house listening to music and a song comes on and it sounds like a Slayer song? One that you know they did? Think about it.

These guys were paying tribute to their influences.

Or just bored in the studio one day.

You make the call cause this is one of my favorite Slayer albums.

And "Violent Pacification" is just fucking insane.

Happy National Day of Slayer everyone! -T

Abolish Government (TSOL)
Violent Pacification (DRI)
Richard Hung Himself (D.I.)
Stain of Mind
Bitter Peace

Others participating:

ALa at 100 Records takes on Reign in Blood
Kali
Half a Pica

Posted by Michele Christopher at 9:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (1) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Another one by request. This one is for Scott.

Scott asked that we do GBH's City Baby Attacked by Rats and we are complying and more. Being that we are also big fans of City Baby's Revenge, we decided to tackle both. I took on Rats, Turtle took Revenge.

GBH - City Baby Attacked by Rats

I was working at a record store in 1983 when a co-worker played this album for me, asking me to settle a debate with another co-worker. “Is this punk or speed metal?” I listened to the first four tracks or so, shrugged my shoulders and said “Why can’t it be both?” They looked at me kinda weird and the one guy said, “Well, you know, it’s got that whole fast guitar thing going on, so I’m thinking it’s more metal than punk....” Whatever, dude. I mean, yea, it’s got fast guitar. Fucking Yngwie Malmsteem plays a fast guitar too, but we’re not gonna call him anything other than a wanker, ok? The world isn’t black and white, guys. It’s not an either/or premise here. Labeling shit is for people who live in tight confines. That ain’t me.

Label? Call it what you want; thrash, punk metal, whatever. City Baby - and GBH by extension - doesn’t need no stinkin’ label. Violent, offensive, dark, dirty, crude, mean and faster than fuck, City Baby - framed by Abrahall’s guttural vocals and Blyth’s blistering guitar work - is an attention deficit’s delight. Blasting through the songs at an average of about two minutes, each tune does what it has to do and then quits. It grabs you in, fucks with your head, gets your heart pumping, slaps you around and then drops you on the floor. Then you get up for another. By the time the album is done, you’ll wonder if you just went through some Yngwie nightmare, where it’s proven that masturbating with your guitar may get people to call you a genius, but pounding your way through some punk-rock-on-speed and leaving people breathless, worn out, scarred and begging for more counts for a hell of a lot more than having 14 year old kids with used Fenders trying to mimic your licks. It’s when the 14 year olds with used Fenders break shit in their garage while going apeshit trying to play "Bellend Bop" that you know you kick some major fucking ass.

So, if you’re in the mood to get your heart pumping, get your throat burning, and maybe jump off your couch a couple of times and move around like you’re still 18 years and can take a musical beating, then crank up City Baby and prepare to feel that familiar surge of power and excitement like you had the last time you were at a show. And then prepare to feel the agony of defeat as you lay on the ground holding your knee and cursing father fucking time. Not saying I did that, but...yea.

Oh, and dude....if you get offended at "Big Women", you fucking deserve to be forced to listen to nothing but Yngwie fucking Malmsteem records for the rest of your life.

*Big Women is on the reissue

Bellend Bop
Boston Babies

GBH - City Baby's Revenge

This was my first real exposure to GBH. Great Big Hair, Great Britain Hardcore, Grevoius Bodily Harm. Whatever the fuck it meant. Years later I found out what it meant in a different country, but that's a different story for a different time. Right now we are talking about City Baby’s Revenge.

I don't know if this was a part two to City Baby or just some cocaine fueled idea that went to far. Doesn't matter. The song kicks about why they hate politicians and why they hate their attitude. I have no idea what was going on in the UK at that time, but it seems to me like a politician did something bad. Fuck if I know, but the song fucking rocked.

Fuck, I was a kid. Make the fucker kick and I'll like it. Make it fast? I'll like it more. Talk shit about the privileges of politicians? Well just call me fucking Bill Cosby in full on motherfucking dancing mode cause I'm happy as a motherfucker.

This shit was good. It pulled up everything a kid needed to hear about. Politicians. Women’s rights. Vietnam. Bad dope.

I think that’s sarcasm but who fucking knows. Maybe it was good for me to hear about in the long run.

Cause without it you wouldn't have the turtle you know and love today.

Oh yeah....I'm modest too.

Hit a kid with all those topics when I'm still trying to find my "Capt Crunch" cereal. Make me think that wars ten years before my time were bad, the president sucks, politicians are corrupt, bad dope kinda sucks, and maybe me calling my mom a bitch wasn't that cool of a thing to do at seven in the morning.

Kinda grabs you.

That was this album. This is what made you rumble when you sat down. Shake when you stood up. Made you pay attention at school and made you shiver as you fell asleep. The album that some guy wasted off his ass on speed or LSD, or maybe both, would steal from your locker, give back to you broken and apologize for it. This made you think that there might be fucking something out there you didn't know about. It was an eye opener. And for me.....just a start.

High Octane Fuel
Drug Party

Hey, we are still taking requests for album reviews and cars and whatever. We've got several waiting to go already, but if you want in, just tell us what you want and we'll put your request in the queue.

Posted by Michele Christopher at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Today we take on Hellacopters' Supershitty to the Max.

What is it? The rock fueled guitar licks? The ear splitting distortion? The heavy metal vocals trudging over punk rock simplicity? I don’t know what dragged me into this album so hard, but all I can tell you is once it got a hold of me, I was stuck on it. Still am. It’s blistering music that’s not for the faint of heart. Yea, sure, you can bang your head to your Pantera or whatever, but that will never match the roar that comes from your speakers when you crank this thing up. It’s mean, it’s evil, it’s fun, it’s something you listen to while you are doing shots of some illegal liquor that you set on fire before throwing down your throat. And then you rip your shirt off and get up on top of the speakers and shake your tits and scream FIREFIREFIRE! Or maybe that’s just me.

Then you down another glass of alcohol-on-fire and maybe take a second or two to puke it up all over your shoes and by the time "Random Riot" comes on, you don’t even care if you are standing in your own vomit. Yea, this is music to puke up alcohol by. It’s dirty, distorted, fast as hell and will make you wish you were 17 years old again just so you could get in a car with this blasting and go knock over some garbage cans and leave tire tracks and empty bottles on your teacher’s lawn. And maybe puke in the bushes. Like the insert on the CD says - this shit's Sonic as Fuck! -M

A scream, a yell, a start, a "what the fuck is this style" thought. From a band from where? What part of the world is that? Who the fuck are they? Who the fuck do they think they are? This is fucking cock rock that makes no apologies Usually I have to pay to get my balls rocked this hard. But this was for free. And the balls were knocking. You think, well maybe they will slow down after the intro. Well, I guess not. Fuck me. I'm wrong. This thing does not fucking stop and doesn't let you breath. Cause every god damn song in there pulls a part of you out. This is something that asks for nothing, gives you everything and just says "Fuck you, I'm here"

Set it for a six pack and a fast car. Fuck. That was my middle fucking name back then. As long as I could put back a warm Pabst and start the car, times must be good. Cause I never cared about you and I just wanna drive. And if I'm gonna fucking drive, it's sure as shit gonna be faster than you. Fire Fire Fire my ass as I burn past you.

This is garage rock. Bad recording, moving fast and sounding like they had a car outside that could fucking shake the hearing aids out of old peoples easr. Some asshole is yelling for them to get in the car. Cause the car ain't moving till he had beer money. Speed the shit up cause there is a liquor store that's calling you and you gotta beat the last drag strip time to the liquor store. Cause you know you can. This is your time. Burn this motherfucker, crank this up cause Montel is on and you need to find out who the baby's daddy is. -T

Fire Fire Fire
Bore Me
(Gotta Get Some Action) Now!
24H Hell

Posted by Michele Christopher at 1:31 PM | Permalink | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Black Flag, Damaged (1981)

All these frat boys I knew bought this album on the basis of TV Party Tonight and, to a lesser extent, Six Pack. “Party band! Party music!” That god damn song. It was like I had to constantly grab them by the shoulders and shake them and say “Did you not listen to the rest of the album??” But it was like talking to a tree stump. A drunk, horny tree stump who only cared about partying.

The only way I listened to this album was by myself, in my room, those gigantic early 80's era headphones on, lights out, joint smoked. I wanted no one else around as I contemplated life as an aimless 19 year old. This album made me itchy. Restless. Angsty. And then it would take a wide turn on my emotions and make me feel apathetic, despondent, hopeless. I might as well just stay here in bed and get stoned and sleep and not care about anything to jesus christ, I gotta get out of this room, out of this house and do something, anything, like go light myself on fire in front of the White House or maybe just go kick a cat or something, but I gotta move. And then I’d close my eyes and sink back into the music again. And it went on like that. I’d get all the way up to No More and wait for the build up of the drum, that slow steady beat that got faster and faster and I’d think that whole 40 seconds or so from the first beat right up until Rollins kicks in is a microcosm of the album, of my life up until that point and I’d suddenly be yelling I need action, won't take no more, no more, no more, no more and I’d be ready to get up and buy some kerosene or find a stray cat but then Padded Cell and Life of Pain would come and I’d pull the covers over my head and think, fuck, man. Maybe listening to TV Party Tonight in a room full of drunk frat boys isn’t such a bad thing after all.

And then I’d move the needle back to Rise Above and put that thought out of my head real quick.

-M

"I wanna get fucked!" What the fuck did he just say? In the back. Did you hear that? Put that on again. What? I wanna get get fucked?

Remember I was a kid back then. Listening to this on wax on an old stereo. But did he say that? You have to remember, this is when I was spray painting "Sex Pistons" on the streets. Wondering what the fuck a Sex Piston was anyways. But I still painted it. On the street. Its what we did. Dumb pre-punk who didn't have the balls to do anything rough and couldn't even spell Sex Pistols right cause I had only heard them a few times and really never liked them. But its what we did then. Meh. It happens.

Hey guys. We are all young and dumb at one point in our life. Gimmie a break, ok?

But Damaged, this was different. This was something that almost made your cock hard with all the blood racing thru your body. Even the cover was something to behold. Something that hit me hard. Maybe it was teen anger. Maybe frustration with life. Maybe puberty. Fuck, who knows. But it hit me in the face. Fuck "TV Party" . That was fun for about ummmmm....about three minutes.

But the rest of it. Kinda fucking brought me into California hardcore. Say what you want about Greg Ginn And Rollins. They might have ruined the band but they also brought the band up. It was their scene and the could break it if wanted. I won't deny this album had a huge impact on me. Just the kick on "Police Story" ran thru my head for years. Something about it. When shows, parties or clubs were shut down by the cops. Fuck this city! Run by pigs! That's an "I'm tired of this shit" song and they brought the words to life. You can say what you want about Black Flag but I'm probably not gonna listen if you bag them. Hell, my first tattoo when i was a kid was the bars, so you can kinda figure I like them and this album was my first exposure to them and hardcore. And it rocks.
-T

Rise Above
Depression
No More
Police Story

Posted by Michele Christopher at 6:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Today's selection brings you one of the greatest American music recordings ever made: The Supersuckers' Evil Powers of Rock and Roll.

"Adrenaline drips off the frets like week-old bongwater...**** (4 stars)!!" --Guitar World...

...Honestly, the Supersuckers are the greatest live band Seattle has seen sinceJimi was playing street fairs and Heart was covering Led Zeppelin I and II at the Aquarius.

Turtle goes first:

One of the first times I heard this album was right before the tour. They were selling it outside a coffee house where you could get coffee and beer and the same time. Wanna see a fucked up crowd? Sell them caffeine and alcohol. Feed them a little nicotine and you got the makings of either a fucked up crazy show or a riot of kids screaming for one more shot of espresso in their beer cause tonight is the only their parents will let them go out. And if they were gonna go out, they better break something cause tomorrow is a school day.

This album makes no excuses and makes no friends. It does what it does and walks away.

The music grabs you. They are so cock rock. A Texan band living in Seattle. They had the cards there. The music showed it. Something in there came out and said "hey dude, this is cocaine, this is wine, take a big slug cause the dope is mine."

They were new and neat and before they went all cowboy on my ass, a great band to see. This is the best Supersuckers album there is. It makes you remember what rock and roll is, balls hanging out throwing cans at your neighbors, and saying "fuck you" to the world..... Hard driving, broad finding, beer drinking, tv watching, dice throwing, card playing, rock and roll. And if you don't like it. Fuck you. This is who they were. And if you don't like it you can always go buy another album. They will be there when you come back.

Great album. Great rock. Welcome to Texas, motherfucker. Get a hat and grab a beer cause it all gets hard from here.

-T

If anyone ever tells you rock is dead, just sit them down and make them listen to Evil Powers of Rock and Roll. This is the kind of music that makes you believe there is life after nu-metal and emo and boy bands, that there is no such thing as the day the music died, that the negative aura left by every niche and novelty rock band out there can’t kill rock and roll because as long as the Supersuckers exist, rock and roll will still be around to kick ass and take names.

This is the kind of album playing in the background of a heated poker game where large, mustached men in denim vests and ten gallon hats drink moonshine and accuse each other of cheating and occasionally pull out a six shooter to make a point.

It’s a Saturday night driving up and down the main highway in town, half of it spent giving the finger to people who have nicer cars than you, the other half spent throwing empty Budweiser cans out the window and yelling drunken obscenities at the girls lingering in the Burger King parking lot.

It’s music that belongs on a half warped cassette tape that you shove into the tape deck of your 20 year old car and you sing out loud along with it as your car backfires almost in time to the songs.

It reminds you at once of the lights of Vegas, of dirt roads, of Satan and deserts and bar fights and motorcycles. It’s rock and roll, Texas style. And it’s one of the best damn albums ever put down on vinyl.

-M

Posted by Michele Christopher at 6:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (1) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Today we are going back. Back to the first exposure you had to a classic punk rock album. An album that if you dig deep enough into your record collection, you will find it. Reeking like cigarettes and beer. Something that makes you smile when you put it on. The memories when you first heard it. What was your first feeling when you heard this album? Where were you at? What were you doing? Hopefully this will become a regular feature and you guys can add your first feelings. - T

Todays album is the self titled debut of the Ramones. Have fun guys and girls cause we did.

"The Ramones. The Ramones. The Ramones! You gotta hear the Ramones! You gotta hear the Ramones!" A battle cry I heard in the backlot of some ash covered street. Someone telling me how good they were. Someone twice my age telling me they were the greatest band in the world. How punk rock was shit now and how they started it all.

Well ok. First of all fuck you and don't steal my beer, and second of all, I'll get a copy of it in the morning.

You have to understand, I was a kid. I was into early 80's California punk rock. Shit that was mean and angry and didn't really give a fuck about anything although they always tried to sound like they cared about some cause. Well, maybe they didn't but who knows. I was a kid. Californina songs were about beer and hating "Bob," who ever Bob was at moment, were pretty common. But theses songs, the ones I grew up on, the early Califonia punk songs, were fast, mean and lean. Hell, even G.B.H. was a little slow for my style. I needed shit like D.R.I. to make me breathe and bring life me into after waking up on a curb in the morning.

I went out anyway and bought the first album and put it on. My friend and I looked at each other in shock. Turned the wax up to 78 rpm cause we thought it was broken. Like they recorded too slow. Or it was a joke. Or I bought the wrong album. I sat thinking "This is what all the hype is about? This is why they are so big? This kinda sucks, dude."

Remember I was a kid. But as the years grew on I realized that without this album, no one would be where they are today.

I still have this album and cd. This is album I listen to when I just want to rock and think about nothing. What I missed then, I understand now. This album was the blueprint for punk rock.

Plus 53rd and 3rd fucking rocks.

-T

You ever get so excited about something, some new discovery, that you want to share it with everyone you know and so you do and when you shove it in their faces all wild-eyed and stammering with the sheer joy of your find, they look at you like you’ve lost your fucking mind and slowly back away from you?

That’s what happened when I discovered the Ramones. Summer, 1976 ,thank you WNEW-FM. I had been mired in KISS’s Destroyer and Blue Oyster Cult’s Agents of Fortune at that point, and I was about to embark upon a one person war against disco, using the hardest rock I could find as weaponry. No, I had no idea how I was going to wage this war, I just knew that somehow, someway, Thin Lizzy would figure into the death of Donna Summer. Someone had to kill her.

And then I heard the Ramones. And I knew. My satanic, devil worshiping heavy metal was not going to destroy disco. Joey Ramone was. From the first riff of the first Ramones song I heard (Beat on the Brat), the music hooked me in. There was something about it, something raw and exciting and...different. So different. The vocals, the chords, the energy, the sparseness of the music, the simplicity of it all. It made me want to jump around my bedroom. It made me want to play guitar. It made me want to buy a black leather jacket and cut my hair and stick a safety pin in my ear. Hey, I was 14. Leather jackets were cool and so were the Ramones.

I grabbed a handful of dollar bills out of my allowance jar. I was saving for a new stereo system, but this need, this feeling that I had to have this music in my hands needed to be appeased. So I walked the mile to Modell’s to buy the album. I spent the entire walk home cradling that album in my arms as if it was going to change my world. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. But it changed me. And that’s all that mattered.

I spent the next few days holed up in my bedroom spinning this record over and over again. 53rd and 3rd, Blitzkrieg Bop, holy shit, this was the most amazing thing I’d ever heard. It wasn’t great music, I recognized that. You weren’t going to get into a discussion about the complexity of time changes. You couldn’t sit around and get stoned with your friends and analyze the lyrics like we did with Pink Floyd. You just listened to it, for the sake of listening. Just enjoyed it. It gave me a feeling like there was something more out there, something beyond the layered nuances of Led Zeppelin songs that were really nothing more than Lord of the Rings fanfic. Something so simple, yet so enormous.

I fell in love with this album, fell in love with Joey Ramone, fell hard in love with punk rock. And I had to go it alone because, my friends? They sucked, man. It wasn’t until about five or six years later that they finally figured out that the Ramones weren’t some fad band, that they changed the face of music, but by then, my sorry friends had become pussified by too much Bruce Springsteen and not enough four chord rock and roll. But what can you do? We were just kids. And some kids are just stupid when it comes to good music.

-M

Beat on the Brat
Blitzkreig Bop
I Don't Wanna Go in the Basement
53rd and 3rd

[thanks to tesco for saving the day with the mp3s today]

Posted by Michele Christopher at 8:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (1) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Speedealer originally formed in 1994 in Lubbock, TX, under the name REO Speedealer. When REO Speedwagon served the band a cease-and-desist order on their moniker, they shortened their name to Speedealer. In 1998, the band released their debut, self-titled album on Royalty Records. The following year, the hard rocking foursome -- made up of singer/guitarist Jeff Hirshberg, bassist Rodney Skelton, drummer Harden Harrison, and guitarist Eric Schmidt -- released their follow-up record, Here Comes Death, on the same label.

We each take a stab at reviewing here. Turtle takes on Here Comes Death:

What the hell was with this band? The tour for this record was my initial exposure to them. A bunch of Dallas tweaks on a semi-tour sitting in the back of a San Francisco club with me. I asked them what they sounded like. Drinking beer, the guitarist told me it was "shit that would rip your pants off." Alright tough guy. Prove it. And they did. This is something that you need a saftey belt to listen too. Pure rock and rock high on speed and full of beer. Not really caring about if anyone was watching, just wanted to get the set done as fast as possible and rock as hard as possible.

The sound on this album is amazing. The singer sounds like hasn't been asleep in weeks and the rest of the band sounds hyped as they just groove. This is dope rock if that’s even a genre. But you can tell the feeling in every song that they are rocking as hard as they can to get this thing on tape. Because they know there is a line in the back that has all their names on it. They just want to be as fast and as hard as they can to get this done in one take Because the beers are getting warm and that dope ain't gonna snort itself, now is it?

The outcome is "Here Comes Death." An awesome record that really has no method or no meaning, but if kicks ass. Really. Kicks fucking ass. If you are looking for deep lyrics, this isn't for you. But if you like high powered snarling cock rock with a twist of evil and a side of anger, crack a beer and put this fucker on.

Speedealer - Absinthe
side note from me: this is one of the greatest songs ever recorded. if you don't feel your adrenaline start pumping when that first kick hits, you are either dead or deaf.

My review is for Reo Speedealer:

Part Clutch, part Pantera, completely offensive and brazen and throw beer in your face kind of music. My kind of music. Only one song on this album clocks in over two minutes long. It’s like they want to fuck you up as quick as possible, just to leave you saying, what the fuck was that?

Remember when you used to go to hockey games to see fights and there would be a bench clearing brawl, one so big that every player was on the ice, even the guys who were dressed in street clothes and sitting in the press box, and the goalies were flinging bare fisted punches at each other and there was blood on the ice and beer flying in the stands and all you wanted to do was jump out of your seat and get in there yourself, throw a few punches, kick a few teeth in then maybe buy everyone a beer after?

That’s what this album feels like. It plays at a breakneck speed, throwing raw energy at you from start to finish, splitting your ears with vocals that make your throat ache just trying to match them. It’s not supposed to be listened in the comfort of your own home, either. Reo Speedealer was made to be listened to in a dive bar while breaking a pool cue over someone’s head. Or in a car that’s missing a muffler and coated in grey primer paint, kicking gravel from under the tires on some forgotten dirt road in the middle of nowhere, playing this so loud that the sound still feels like last nights drinking binge in your head long after the last note has ended.

Double Clutchin Finger Fuckin
Pussy

previous music from the vault:


new bomb turks - destroy oh boy
turbonegro - apocalypse dudes

Posted by Michele Christopher at 6:48 PM | Permalink | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Turbonegro: Apocalypse Dudes

Norwegian deathpunk band Turbonegro got its start in 1989 and came close to calling themselves Nazipenis until they thought better of it. Really, all you need to know about them is that lead singer Hank Von Helvete has, on stage, lit Roman candles from his ass (see photo). And all you need to know about this album is that all the huge underground bands came together to record a tribute because Apocalypse Dudes meant so much to them. Very few people heard of them til they were gone and when they did hear this album, they were so inspired that every band had a Turbonegro song in their set.

Apocalypse Dudes is the band’s 1998 offering and arguably their finest recorded moment. How to describe it? Well....

So you’re having a party. It’s going to be the kind of party where there’s so many people, they won’t fit into backyard and they will spill over into your living room and kitchen, maybe even the front yard. There will be things going on the bedroom that you only hear about in whispered rumors weeks later. There will be shattered glass, vomit on the bathroom floor, overturned chairs, tire tracks on your lawn, a turd floating in your pool and several wall holes that will need spackling. At some point there will be the sound of sirens wailing through your neighborhood. The neighbors will complain about the loud, offensive music, the foul-mouthed kids stealing their lawn jockeys, the near-comatose girl on their patio and the car parked on their rhododendrons. Someone will ride a bicycle through your house. Someone will attempt to jump from the second story bedroom window into your pool, and probably miss. The next door neighbor’s 12 year old son will sneak into the party and develop a new vocabulary as well as a drug habit. Your dog will get stoned. There will be a court appearance in your future.

Apocalypse Dudes is the only music selection you need for this party.

From the turtle:

This is a record that I heard for the first time half asleep on a sofa at someones' house who just got back from Europe. He just looked at me and said "Check this shit out, man." The intro. That slow intro. Explaining some story. It sounded so serious. Like they really were gonna go off on some apocalyptic song. Like what was next up was going to be some life altering lyrics or something and that I would need to go protest at the capitol about the next day. But, it was about pizza. And it just made me hungry. So I went and got a pizza. Hey dude, can't change the world, might as well get a double double sausage and mushroom to go.

Rendezvous With Anus
Don’t Say Motherfucker, Motherfucker
Get it On
Back to Dungaree High
Queens of the Stone Age - Back to Dungaree High (from the Turbo tribute album)

Turbojugend

Posted by Michele Christopher at 4:21 PM | Permalink | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

I'm going to be doing some music blogging over at 100 Records. Check that site out, Tesco and friends have some great records posted there as well as a ton of mp3s.

I'm also going to be doing daily "reviews" of random CDs I pull out of this huge Rubbermaid container of music next to my desk. They aren't reviews so much as.....musings.

I'm starting out writing about Destroy Oh Boy, the 1993 debut album from New Bomb Turks.

Destroy-Oh-Boy! is the kind of full-on flamethrower album that could make the most jaded cynic believe once again in the curative powers of punk rock. On this set, the New Bomb Turks combine 1950s and 1960s roots rock at it's rawest, '70s punk at it's snottiest, and '80s hardcore at it's most intense.

People like to slap a punk label on the band, but I don't see New Bomb as punk rock so much as pure rock and roll with a twist of punk. Kind of like chasing a glass of Jack Daniels with a shot of tequila. And then eating the worm.

Fast, furious and full of high fueled energy, Destroy Oh Boy is the kind of music you listen to while imagining yourself doing 150 down a freeway with a beer between your legs and an unfiltered cigarette hanging out of your lips, mountains and exit signs turned to blurs as your hands drum the steering wheel, trying to keep up to the beat.

Or maybe you're in an oil stained garage that's been cleared out to make just enough room for your friend's band and there's a dozen people crowded in there stinking like sweat and shitty beer and the feedback is bouncing off the walls and the shirtless guys are bouncing off each other and when you step outside for a smoke you can still feel the concrete shake.

That's Destroy-Oh-Boy.

Says the turtle:

The first time I heard this album, I was in a college radio station sneaking beer in to the back cause the DJ said I couldn't bring liquor in. He put this on and I melted. This was the greatest punk rock record I had ever heard. Maybe it was the beer we snuck in or the cold ribs we were eating or maybe it was mixture of both, but when the first riff hit, I stopped and listened. "I had a friend he said he was an artist..." That grabbed me. You could tell they were having fun. And on a boring night in a boring town at a boring radio statio....this shit etched into my head. This was rock and roll.

Born Toulouse Lautrec
I Want My Baby Dead
Dragstrip Riot

Posted by Michele Christopher at 9:29 AM | Permalink | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It