Longshoreman Punk

Ahoy!

Longtime San Pedro curator, good pal of mine, and all-around freak patron Marshall Astor has just gone and uploaded a whole gaggle of flyers he used for his History of San Pedro Punk art show at the Angels Gate Cultural Center in Point Fermin from 2005. If, like me, you missed the original show, there’s handmade evidence of 25 years worth of very localized, DIY rock action on display here, and boy is it ever a time trip to view as a rolling slideshow.

Check out the visuals here!

Slow Ginn Fuzz

I’m gonna take a stab at articulating just what these three new GREG GINN CDs are really all about. Feel free to alert me if my obscure ramblings are making no sense whatsoever.

A few words of warning: these CDs don’t pretend to be nuthin’ but what they are. They were not made by cohesive bands, but rather by Ginn & a choice few others who could do things he couldn’t (like play sax and drums). So although some of this approximates the full band thing, these are best approached as solo statements. And while I admit the graphic layout/artwork on these things leaves much to be desired, that’s nothing new . . . Ginn hasn’t had any decent cover art on his recs since his brother stopped lending him drawings back in ‘85. Finally, these CDs come with nada in the way of liners, pics or extra info. That, too, is pretty much all we’ve ever got from ornery ol’ Ginn.

So what is here? Well, brother . . . swing that spotlight down to stage right. It’s time for the gtr player to take a turn.

1. GREG GINN & THE TAYLOR TEXAS CORRUGATORS – Bent Edge (SST Records, 2007): It was this kind of thing that I always wanted to unearth in the minefield of 90’s-era Ginn releases. That is, a recording of this incredibly idiosyncratic musician applying himself to Country, BlueGrass, Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers. Here he’s delivered 70 minutes of walking jazz/blues riffage explored in fine detail on gtr/bass/piano, along with real-time drummer Steve DeLollis. In such an intimate setting he’s free to play around with all manner of odd harmonic material, emphasizing his wonderfully fractured sense of melody and polarized tonal palette. This is a record not of SST overkill but of nimble, CHET ATKINS-style understatement. And although it’s a long, winding journey (too long to listen to in one sitting, I’d say) it’s one that should be utterly fascinating to anyone still enamored of Ginn’s lucite Dan Armstrong 80’s heyday.

A gtr lover’s rec, for sure – but if you buy just one of these, I’d say make it this one. It speaks reams about this man’s ability to reinvent traditional idiom in his own, very peculiar image.

2. GONE – The Epic Trilogy (SST Records, 2007): Oh man, do I ever struggle with the sound of rock musicians playing over programmed drums. It’s just not right: to have all that beautiful, real-time fingermagic and gorgeous sonic imprecision bumping heads with – ack! – the icy rigidity of a beatbox. The only time I ever remember thinking otherwise was as a teen listening to BIG BLACK’s Songs About Fucking LP, and that was only because Steve Albini and co. were playing like KRAFTWERK’s robot kid brothers (albeit one’s weaned on punkrock, not krautrock). And the new GONE record does little to shift this belief.

What I can’t for the life of me get my head around was Ginn’s aesthetic choice to use programmed drumming, rather than the swingin’ arms and legs of a real human being. Lord knows, he must know a few capable drummers. To my ears, the programming brings an awkward, Frankensteinian stiffness to the whole shebang, which is something that I don’t particularly want to experience on a daily basis.

Not without reason is this set titled The Epic Trilogy, as this stands as Ginn’s most ambitious solo set yet. In hindsight, a lot of what he released in the 90’s could be seen as test-runs of this sorta sound. The lengthy pieces (all 15min.+ in length) are are built around highly structured, shifting blocks of overdriven, repetitive gtr strumming over programmed beats. Outta this, Ginn occasionally decides to peal one of them mindblowing, cascading breaks/solos I’m always waiting on baited breath for. One astute listener (Mark P.) rightly noted such moments are mighty fine indeed, and sound as righteous as anything off of BLACK FLAG’s Slip It In. But as quickly as he starts a-rippin’, he’s right back into a lengthy set of chunky gtr reps. Makes for one herky-jerky, unnatural trip, indeed.

Oh! And he’s gone and really rubbed it in: this is a double CD – one instrumental, one with martian vocals supplied by BAD BRAIN singer HR. Sometimes, more is not merrier.

3. MOJACK – Under the Willow Tree (SST Records, 2007): A plugged-in companion to the CORRUGATORS recording, here Ginn turns it up and takes a more rockin’ approach to similar material. A few of these riffs, in fact, have that same walkin’ blues feel, only here they’re grounded by some seriously loud ‘n’ powerful funk/rock rhythmations. As with his ‘GATORS, this feels more like riff exploration rather than well-rounded songcraft; the tape often cuts off abruptly, as if someone decided hastily ok, ok this jam’s done with. But that just serves to highlight Ginn’s gtr invocations that much more singularly. Sonically speaking, I reckon this one’ll go down easiest of these three CDs, especially if you’ve ever warmed to high-powered jazz rock things like THE SORT OF QUARTET, THE MECOLODIACS, and BAZOOKA. And in fact BAZOOKA’s Tony Atherton is on hand here with his sax, nudging things even further in that improv-rock direction. Could definitely imagine Ginn bringing a full-band version of this project on the road and slaying all pretenders 10 ways to Sunday.

—–

And after all this, you might ask: what of PUNK ROCK? Well, Ginn’s saving that for another day.

Thanks to Medusa Oblongata for a recent grey-haired photo of Greg

Feeble Year’s End

Yes we all just barely squeaked through another year, yet again narrowly avoiding the complete and utter obliteration of all meaningful, rockin’ culture as we know & love it, by millionaire vampires like PETE DOHERTY and his corporate backers. It’s only gonna get tougher, this scraping-by thing . . . but: well-earned congrats to all you still out there standing. And while I don’t usually do this sorta thing . . . today, I’m feeling generous. You reader guys/gals are so cool and hey, since the US economy’s so shitty and nobody’s getting any real Xmas $$ bonus this year, you deserve something substantial. To celebrate, I give you the

FEEBLE EFFORTS 7″ comp. EP (NAR-008, New Alliance Records, 1982)

Side A
Side B

This was the thematic precursor to the Mighty Feeble LP on New Alliance from 1983, which to this day you can still buy off stiff-necked German collectors on Ebay. The idea went something like: collect a bunch of homemade cassette recordings from your friends in the L.A. harbor environs, stuff em all on to one 14 min., 33 1/3 rpm 7-inch record, and sit back and watch as all those little hardcore minds melt to mush.

Don’t miss: Jack Brewer impersonating Leonard Cohen (58 sec. into side A)! Or, D. Boon singing in time to a factory lathe (4 min. 57 sec., side A)! Also dig Tony Platon offering up yet another interpretation of the bitchen SoBay gtr freakout – nearly as wigged any Ginn/Baiza (3 min. 26 sec., Side B). And what of Gary Jacobelly’s phased, acid-folk dream stumble . . . yeah I knew it was possible to extract mescaline from San Pedro Cactus, but I didn’t realize some folks were mic’ing the goddamn technique (1 min. 25 sec., Side B)!

As wild & wooly as as any turn-of-the-decade London D.I.Y. 7″ comp. you might pretend to own – hell, this is truly MeSSThetics. Gotta love the contrary chutzpah of that early, extended MINUTEMEN tribe – especially resident New Alliance freak Greg Hurley, whose artwork adorns the sleeve.

Happy holidays!

Sunn Worship

Ally & I went to see the EARTH/BORIS/SUNN O))) show this past weekend here in London – the same night as the infamous LED ZEPPELIN reunion show across town. Some folks in line bemoaned the £1000+ ZEPP ticket scalp nightmare, but the performers refrained from making any such Page/Plant cracks during the evening (a missed opportunity!). Though now that I think about it, BORIS member Takeshi did play a double neck bass/gtr combo thing that, when ya squinted, wasn’t too dissimilar in appearance from Jimmy Page’s “Stairway to Heaven” gtr. Hmm . . .

EARTH’s Dylan C. kept his head down and twanged his gtr in ernest, sounding clean in more ways than one. I’ve never bothered with EARTH releases before, as the one “solo gtr/amp” set I saw of Dylan’s in ‘94 was so SMACKED I wanted to put the guy out of his junky misery once and for all. But this revitalized, full-band EARTH sounded powerful indeed, and hit me as nothing so much as a very elongated and relaxed version of the almighty YAWNING MAN. Dylan and his mates utilized the massaging aspects of really-heavy to the hilt (meaning my innards felt all warm/fuzzy afterward) and people were mighty appreciative of everything he did. Me thinks his grunge-survivor status will finally pay off in the long run.

BORIS was uptempo in comparison, though still had time to begin their set with 10-mins. of ultra-slow repetitive riffing. These Japanese longhairs brought a pomp theatricality to the preceedings I’m gonna call “rising-sun prog” (haven’t read the new Julian Cope book yet, or I’d be able to describe this Japadelic thing better!). Whatever it was they were doing, it was clear that these folks didn’t grow up anywhere near the corners of the world I’ve ever inhabited. We thought it especially cool to see the wee chick lead gtrist getting all these overgrown, smelly London hesher dudes to bang their heads in time to her beat.

Now I’m gonna be honest and say I’m not really familiar with much SUNN O))) work, despite the fact my wife’s a big fan – AND that I once considered SUNN O))) member Greg Anderson a casual acquaintance of mine. Yep, Mr. Southern Lord himself used to live in the apts above the record store I once managed in Hollywood, and he’d hang out alot in the store gawking at the ST. VITUS LPs, waiting for his GOATSNAKE pals to show. In fact, I can clearly remember the day when Greg walked in, wearing his biggest shit-eating smile, and announced: “Dude. DUDE! I’ve got a new project going. It’s so cool. It’s all low tones, dude. ALL. LOW. TONES. Dude. It’s SO FUCKING COOL!”

But maybe I shouldn’t've ignored em this long – they was potent stuff, for sure – though it took me more than a few minutes to, ya know, acclimate. Atilla Csihar (pictured above) sang, and his spectre-like presence was as singular as his vocals were hypnotic. Not only did it move so very slowly and so very loudly, but gtr downstrokes came in wave-formations that never even attempted to be on beat. This wasn’t rock – though why my default setting expects such input, I know not. It was just gloriously loud, gang-amplification. And without the rock, you’re left with . . . ? UNDILUTED HEAVY METAL RITUAL. Just awesome.

Which, I’ll betcha, was precisely what was missing from that LED ZEPPELIN show we didn’t get to see, cause none of us got that kinda money to burn. Ah FUCK Page & Plant. We still got SUNN O))).

Living, Breathing, Hissing Dead

As I sit here, trying to come to terms with yet another Dick’s Pick’s set (this one happens to be Vol. 32, live from August 7, 1982, at Alpine Valley Music Theatre in East Troy, Wisconsin – which the liners tell me is mastered from freakin’ cassette) I feel it necessary to emphasize a few vital but all-too-often ignored points re: the singular nature of THE GRATEFUL DEAD. All you jaded, punkass mofos out there who’d rather piss on them: you just don’t know what you’re missing.

No other band in the history of rock ‘n’ roll ever prioritized LIVE to the sheer, maddening extreme that THE GRATEFUL DEAD did. This stance grew out of a firm belief that music was something to be discovered, hammered out, bent, altered and honed in real time, in relation to actual people, places, experiences and emotions. It was an approach once reserved for jazz players, but well, LSD sure does have a way of suggesting new vistas of possibility to even hardened control-freaks. And these SF longhairs learned from their trips. Boy, did they ever.

No other band in the history of rock ‘n’ roll toured as long and hard as THE GRATEFUL DEAD. You think Ginn’s BLACK FLAG were on the road alot? Brother, Jerry & co. played – count ‘em – 2,317 concerts over a 20 year-long tour history! Check out this insane, endless journey here.

No other band in the history of rock ‘n’ roll has documented their in-concert thing so goddamn rigorously as THE GRATEFUL DEAD. GD techs like Owsley Stanley and Dan Healy patiently toiled for years to attain superior on-stage sound and balanced sonic documentation, while archivists like Dick Latvala and David Lemieux made sure the tapes were preserved, cleaned-up and released to the insatiable tie-dyed public from the ’80s onwards. A ballpark count on my part tells me the band has authorized upwards of 75 live albums to date, most of which are multi-disc sets. And this is merely the tip of a vast, iceberg-like collection of recordings in extant in the vaults. Nuts!

Finally, no other band in the history of rock ‘n’ roll has fans that actively helped shape the listening experience quite like those of THE GRATEFUL DEAD. Confused Deadheads everywhere (that’s you, Nazz Nomad) used to record and pass ragged, homemade tapes – like little hand-rolled joints! – from one greasy hippie palm to another. And then what a truly hairy experience the listening becomes – when you can’t be sure that what you just heard was Jerry’s gtr feedback, the taper’s girlfriend sneezing, or the threadbare ribbon hiss at the end of a warped cassette! Once I stuck my little toe into this imposing body of work, I discovered there was, literally, no way out. Getting my head round it all was next to impossible. And when I returned to the studio recordings (all respectable stuff fr sure), I found they sounded more like well-rehearsed afterthoughts of the larger, neverending live GD train-of-thought. I’m ruined, and for life!

Riding Harv’s LA Freeway

I’m thinking the geographical and psychosexual proximity of Jim Morrison & THE DOORS were ultimately to blame for Harvey Kubernik and his Freeway Records.

People don’t wanna remember now, but THE DOORS once signified something more – ok, a lot more than just a cheesedick Ollie Stone flick. What exactly, well that’s for somebody else to delve into, not me. But I know this much: Jim always insisted on crooning his words ON TOP OF every damn recording he ever laid down. Whether his bandmates were behind him banging it out in time, in the next room jamming off into outer/inner space, or down the street eating burritos didn’t diminish or detract from Jim’s mission one iota. That mission being to shape, bend, and mold your entire freakin’ trip via THE WORD. And Harvey Kubernik, well, he dug that mission something fierce. And he’d eventually curate a wild series of records to prove it.  

Admittedly, Harv’s first compilation (the promo-only L.A. Radio from ‘79) got bogged down by a lot of second-tier, wannabe pop-rock. Phil Spector hangers-on, bogue singer-songwriters, Kim Fowley protégées etc. – you know, the kind of dreck that’s clogged up the works out in LA for decades now.  But wordy harbingers of Harvey’s future work were already lurking in them grooves.  And it might well have been about when Harvey learned: I’m just not cut out for this NEW WAVE ROCK thing. Better just stick to what I know best: SPOKEN WORD. 

The concept for his next 3 sets went something like this: ask everybody semi-famous you know around LA to record something, ANYTHING – so long as the focus remained squarely on verbal content. And whaddaya know, but folks met his challenge, and in droves! Everyone – whether their star was waxing or waning, be they poet, author, musician, punk, hippie, freak – turned up to chat, talk, rant, yell and mumble on these records.  This created madcrazy juxtapositions, like a one-liner by Velvert Turner (2nd string Hendrix-clone during the LA glam rock daze) back-to-back with a nasty desert-bake poem from Chris D. (not long outta THE FLESH EATERS, but still a juicehead fr sure). Or ex-SURF PUNK Scott Goddard yaking about pinball (Harvey was big on guys with S.PUNK connections) right before a heavy poem about child abuse by Wanda Coleman (an actual poetess!).  It was the literary equivalent of the proverbial headfuck, but it felt good to me.

Occasionally, you’d find an actual song, like D. Boon’s acoustic “My Part” – but even these moments felt more like statements rather anything to base a rock band on.  More often, you’d find yourself drenched in a whole diverse range of beliefs, attitudes, emotions and aesthetics, all running headlong into one another at 33 1/3 rpm.  These records were fascinating precisely because they weren’t exclusive – and so what if some of it was pretentious, pompous, or just downright bad? This shit was lightyears above & beyond the drivel you’d hear on corporate TV/radio then. Even bad was AOK when it’s mixed with the startling, the vexing, the actually kinda amazing. It didn’t matter if it all stood up as poetry, or performance, or even art – cause it wasn’t specifically about THAT.  It was about a sum total of creative spoken stuff available – the collective uuummph of LA artistic wordplay and oral spell-casting available at a particular moment in time.

For what it’s worth, I reckon Neighborhood Rhythms to be the most consistently interesting listening experience of the bunch – 104 cuts over 4 album sides!  But they’re all long, winding RTD bus-journeys of the mind, guaranteed to jumpstart your LizardKing backbrain. The bits you thought you’d sold back to the used record store as a jaded teen.

Harv’s dedication to this cause certainly kickstarted the phenomena of rock-band types – Henry Rollins, Exene Cervanka, even fucking El Duce for christ’s sake – reading in front of club-goers in LA in the ’80s.  That’s something I actually miss. Would that there were this many screwball characters still wandering around LA streets/clubs interested in speaking to you and me in the context of live performance.  And if only there was still a guy like Harvey K. around, still nuts enough to record em all.

A track from each of the four Freeway Records compilations, in order of their appearance: 

PHAST PHREDDIE & THEE PRECISIONS - “Freeway Dub” from L.A. Radio 2-LP (Freeway Records, promo/no catalog number, 1979)
DENNIS COOPER – “Hello In There” from Voices of the Angels (Spoken Words) 2-LP (Freeway Records, FRWY 2-26, 1982)
D. BOON - “My Part” from English As a Second Language (Talking Package) 2-LP (Freeway Records, E-1031, 1983)
JACK BREWER – “Elysian Fields” from Neighborhood Rhythms (Patter Traffic) 2-LP (Freeway Records, FRWY 213, 1984)  

I’ve Found the Awful Truth, Balthazar

A Personal BLUE ÖYSTER CULT Top 10

1. Hardest rockin’ B.Ö.C. riff:
That one’s easy – “Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll”. The sound of urban renewal in reverse, as interpreted by 5 stubbly fingertips on a Gibson SG through a stack of 50 Marshall amps. Which one of you wusses is gonna try and argue “Godzilla”?

2. Best B.Ö.C. album-side run:
My conscious mind says side one (“The Black”) of Tyranny and Mutation. Something we call ALL agree on. But my unconscious? My psychotherapist tells me all signs point to side two (“The Red”). Good golly!

3. Best 70’s Los Angeles area B.Ö.C.-influenced band:
THE IMPERIAL DOGS, who penned the original version of “This Ain’t the Summer of Love”. They were also one of the few B.Ö.C.-imitators to get that leather/fur/rock quotient just right.

4. Best 80’s Los Angeles area B.Ö.C.-influenced band:
A tie between THE JESTERS OF DESTINY (best Eric Bloom-esque hyperenunciation of weirdass lyrical content) and THE DROOGS ca. Kingdom Day (best hooded, chunk-style Dharma biker riffage).

5. Best B.Ö.C. cover version:
Brant Bjork milkin’ “Take Me Away” from the vinyl edition of Jalamanta. Man this song sucked hard when it original came out on B.Ö.C.’s Revolution By Night in ‘83. And boy, Brant sounds righteous re-imagin’ it in the harsh light of ‘99.

6. Best B.Ö.C. rarity:
Forget about the Live Bootleg EP from ‘72, or the King Biscuit Flower sessions, or whatever. What you’re after is the quadraphonic pressing of Tyranny & Mutation – with alternate mix! Oh it’s hot hot hot, fr sure, and contains a whole barrel full of background vocal/gtr bits buried on the regular stereo edition. The only copy I’ve ever seen is now in the sweaty little palms of Thurston “I’m a musician, dammit, not a collector” Moore.

7. Biggest B.Ö.C. lie:
That B.Ö.C. went belly-up with the release of Agents of Fortune. Hogwash! These Long Islanders continued to be compelling at least until, I dunno, Extraterrestrial Live from ‘82 or some shit – which was after drummer Albert Bouchard flew the coop! And I’m only ball-parking it here; lyrics remain worth exploring up until present day.

8. Best B.Ö.C. lyric:
Yeah that would be

I’m the eyeman of TV
With my ocular TB
I need all the peepers I can find
Inside the barn where you find the hay

(“Harvester of Eyes” from Secret Treaties, 1974)

9. Best B.Ö.C. outtake, now readily available on an expanded/remastered CD:
Buck’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” home demo takes the frickin’ cake, man. But all the extra cuts on Agents of Fortune are as suave/seedy as anything else on that filthy, damned platter.

10. Best B.Ö.C. song:
“Career of Evil”. No contest here.

All the B.Ö.C. questions/answers you'll ever need:

B.Ö.C. FAQ
B.Ö.C. homepage