The Homecoming Queen’s Got A Sideways Haircut

The New Wave visited my high school when I was a kid, but I didn’t get to witness it, no siree. Heard all about it, though.

1. THE GO-GO’S – Played a big dance at Palos Verdes High School (from where I eventually graduated) 4 years before I could’ve realistically attended such a thing. I was 11 at the time. But I totally would’ve gone, as I had the biggest schoolyard crush on Belinda Carlisle ever – couldn’t resist her 80’s/60’s fashion sense and pouty too-coolisms if I tried. A boneheaded, annoyingly-cocksure older brother of a friend did go, wearing his GO-GO’s t-shirt proudly and bragging about it for weeks after. “I talked to that cute little dark one” – he meant Jane Wiedlin. “Shit, she totally wanted me.” Yeah, right dude – even my pre-pubescent brain knew your were all kinds of bullshit.

You want proof this actually went down? Four live songs from this show ended up on the Return to the Valley of the Go-Go’s 2-CD comp. on I.R.S. Records from the mid 90’s.

2. OINGO BOINGO – As the saying went, us rich kids up on the hill were spoilt. This musta been in ‘83, again at PV High School. Yet again I was still too young to actually see em – though me and a friend snuck within earshot of the gymnasium to clearly hear Danny & the boys start into “Grey Matter”. We spent most of the evening in the adjacent football field, stirring up the BBQ coals in the firepit from the afternoon’s big football game. Eventually we succeeded in stoking smoldering ambers back to billowingsmoke/roaringflame life, which unfortunately drew the attention of a bunch of huge BOINGO security goons. Said goons gave chase at full speed, and we only managed to ditch em by scrambling under a hole in a fence too small for this pack of MILK-FED PORK. Yeah I’m pretty sure this was all accomplished to the tune of “Only a Lad”.

3. THE UNTOUCHABLES – Ok ok: so I’m finally of age to go – I’m actually in high school! This was in ‘86/’87. And what do I do? Of course I don’t go, because not unlike Belinda once she was cozy in the majors, I’ve now become too fuckin’ cool for these school-sponsored shindigs. But I was in photojournalism class, and helped develop a bunch of photos of THE UNTOUCHABLES skankin’ wild child singer, Clyde Grimes, for the school paper. Did I miss anything? Well the verdict I’m going with is an unequivocal NO. Even a UB40-loving pal of mine who went said it kinda stunk. The UN’ABLES were well past their O.N. Klub “prime” by this point, simply treading water in the byways like so many others for that one, elusive rock-of-the-80’s hit to secure fat retirement pensions forevermore. Oddly, it never fucking happened.

Now why couldn’t've the school powers-that-be booked THE LOPEZ BEATLES instead? They woulda made for a Bitchen Party, fr sure.

Bad Breath To Your Ears, Pt. II

Ding! Ding! Round 2 of Bad Breath To Your Ears is about to commence, wherein we’ll listen to a stack of Grand Theft Audio CD releases and gab all about early 80’s SoCal hardcore, so you don’t have to. Read the first post here, place your bets, and take a seat . . .

Now don’t ever believe otherwise: half the time, it wasn’t the music but the violence (both real and imagined) surrounding this scene that really drew in the fans. I once met this soft-spoken, unassuming guy in Hermosa Beach who’d apparently just got out of jail for killing a guy with a skateboard. It was subsequently explained to me that this quiet gentleman had also once knocked out Mike Muir of SUICIDAL TENDENCIES on stage, with a single, well-placed punch. Now I don’t wanna sound flippant, but tell me: how much more hardcore can one man be? If this fella had been in a band, I’d have tried my hardest to sneak out and see ’em play. And I don’t think I’d've been the only one there.

But enough, off we go:

1. NO CRISIS – Everything + (GTA 018) – Fuckups from Huntington Beach who scored a minor Rodney B. hit with their piano-driven ”She’s Into the Scene”. Nothing else here sounds that radio-friendly, since usually these boys rammed their tunes home with a galloping CHARGED GBH approach (”1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4!”). Which ain’t so unbelievable, since GBH who were absolutely huge in SoCal then. They eventually matured a bit and developed a slightly countrified but still rollickin’ punk sound that probably went over well at Linda’s Doll Hut in the mid 80’s playing with guys like THE PONTIAC BROS. Nothing mindblowing here but this is strong and distinctive suburban punker stuff any way you wanna cut it.

Gossip: ok so a couple of em apparently spent some time with Darby Crash at Hollywood’s Skinhead Manor, and there’s one song here where the singer confesses to rummaging through the pockets of a recently-dead Darby for spare cash, before the coroner arrived on the scene. ”Where he’s going, you can’t buy a thing!” Now, who cares if this is true or not? Makes for great HC lore.

2. CIRCLE ONE – Are You Afraid? (GTA 029) – I certainly was at the time – afraid, that is – what with guys like this on the loose. Singer John Macias was one legendary and feared motherfucker, known far and wide for his outta control aggression, gang following (”The Family”), and inconguent born-again Xtain beliefs. He even threw a security guard off the Santa Monica Pier – after which, he was shot & killed by SM police. It’s these sorts of extremes you’d only find in the HC scene at the time. But on to his band . . .

Well, I’m gonna be the first to say CIRCLE ONE weren’t all that together, musically speaking. They’re trying to do some kinda TSOL by way of MINOR THREAT thing, but their songs don’t stick, they aren’t compelling rhythmically, and John sings like a wannabe Jello Biafra (who would want to be Jello?). I always did dig the defiant, middle finger sentiment to “Highway Patrolman”, and the live stuff indicates their shows were probably all near-riots . . .but as rock, well, it just don’t stand up. Still: the backstory is just too compelling for me to sell this CD.

3. HUMAN HANDS Bouncing to Disc (GTA #027) – Just to confuse the issue Brian GTA went and reissued the HANDS, whose lineage dates back to the earliest SoCal (and Phoenix) punk rock stirrings. These guys ain’t hardcore, but they did help jumpstart LA art-punk playing downtown clubs like The Brave Dog to budding performance artists around the turn of the decade. The horn-rimmed glasses and stiff, collared shirts they’d sport matched their starched, pointed rhythms inch for inch. Plus, like MONITOR, they somehow managed to incorporate a goofy tiki aesthetic into their terse thing. This is totally ranking in an anxiety-provoking kinda way. Like THE URINALS, this makes my butt itch in the best possible sense.

4. RF7 – All You Can Eat (GTA 001-R #050) & All You Can Eat, Volume II (GTA 050) – Just great underclass HC rockin’ from Simi Valley, CA that even heavy punker types seem to overlook. RF7 stand at the self-loathing of HC: you know, guys who’d do drugs and beat off and cut their arms alone in dark rooms, and then rock the hell out to forget about how much they hate themselves (Henry Rollins did this more famously, only without the drugs). So it makes sense these guys would find god, and a Christian one at that.

But hey: here god’s totally tolerable, as the stakes are as dark and grim as found on any BLACK SABBATH or BLIND WILLIE JOHNSON record you wanna spin. These guys rock hard and will pummel yr ass 12 ways back to Sunday school. Never really meant to be heard except by their ugly NA brethren, if you’re looking for the real thing, you’re gonna find it here. The second vol. (including their Traditional Values rec in its entirety, which Byron Coley once praised as “the best US hardcore in a decade”) actually beats the first, but it’s all good. There’s some great old video clips of them and their buddies to be found here.

5. HYPNOTICS – Everyone Gets Their Nanosecond of Fame (GTA 043) – antisocial creeps from Long Beach who kept mining a late-70’s punk-influenced borehole riff attack long after hardcore became de rigueur around them parts. Somewhat unusually, their ranks included a keyboardist – maybe this was the SUBURBAN LAWNS influence in/around LB? It didn’t leaven their sound as much as you might believe, since they chose to scream bad-taste songs about nazis, misogyny, phone sex, psychopathic murderers etc. Realistically, you’re gonna haveta listen to this one out of earshot of your wife/girlfriend. But since they don’t have the comedy timing of an ANGRY SAMOANS or FEAR, my no-longer young ears tire of this one pretty quick. Does this mean I’m a pussy? Betcha Joe Stumble loves em.

A Famous Flower of Serving Men

Fifty or so tired, grey-bearded boomers and I got to see Martin Carthy play at the Upstairs Cellar Folk Club in Euston last weekend. Talk about classic fingerstyle! This man’s warm, percussive acoustic gtr playing never goes outta fashion in my book.

For those who don’t know or care, Martin has been the voice, guitar, & guiding spirit at the prow of the British folk revival for nearly 45 frickin’ years now. He’s laid down crucial recordings with STEELEYE SPAN (circa Please To See the King & Ten Man Mop), Ashley Hutching’s ALBION COUNTRY BAND (Battle of the Field), the glorious WATERSONS (For Pence and Spicy Ale), not to mention his mighty BRASS MONKEY. Inspiring collaborations with folks such as violinist Dave Swarbrick (FAIRPORT CONVENTION) and the great concertina player John Kirkpatrick (Richard Thompson’s band) are legion. And damn near all his solo recs – including recent work like Waiting For Angels from 2004 – never fail to make my spine shiver.

Stateside, a guy of this cultural importance – say, John Fahey or Pete Seeger – would not be playing to a less-than-capacity crowd of smelly old farts in a dingy multifunction room above an unassuming working men’s pub on a Camden backstreet. No, it’d be an event. And it wouldn’t be only the 60+ set that care to witness it all; there’d be some young dudes there too, I’m sure of it. Unlike how old blues or C&W is perceived by US hipsters, there’s something about Brit trad folk that invariably turns off the young ‘uns in England.

Yes most Brits can get down with the fey cluelessness of Vashti Bunyan. They can always oogle the alluring depressive episodes of Nick Drake. And they can even nod along with the spaced-out, pinwheel eyes of Syd Barrett. But when it comes to traditional folk music – you know, those really old songs that Uncle Henry used to weeze out on his accordion at Christmas time! – they balk. I’m guessing here, but I imagine it all hits too close to those things people here are still trying to break free from: uptight Victorian morality, post-war frugality, rigid class boundaries, etc.

Whatever, it only means they’re all missing out on some of the most awe-inspiring musical/literary turf left to explore in this country. No, Martin didn’t write it much of it – but he actively delves into it, interpreting, arranging and playing the fuck out of it so’s we don’t never forget it. And I ain’t forgetting this gig anytime soon.

Martin played “Geordie” with the kind of deep, passionate reverence on display here. He banged out “Willie’s Lady” with an alternating rhythm that slowed down during verses to ram home key words, and picked up speed during choruses to match the audience group sing-along. And he did a near-operatic take on “Famous Flower of Serving Men” with such heavy, dragging time I almost imagined a magical hind was somewhere in the room with us. Sure, he forgot the words to one song halfway through, which really wrankled him . . . but it made only his performance that much more endearing! All the rest of his words and his gtr playing glistened like shiny diamonds polished into sharp little teeth. The kinds of teeth all you heavy doomsters and serious punk rockers oughta be able to appreciate, too.

Martin Carthy – “Willie’s Lady” (from Crown of Horn, Topic Records, 1976)

Thanks to Galena Divan Eleven for the recent photo of Martin

Bad Breath To Your Ears

OK so yeah I do have a somewhat guilty but tender affection for pretty much ANYTHING remotely tagable as early 80’s SoCal hardcore. I know, I know – alot of it just wasn’t all that together, musically speaking, and it’s no secret how freakin’ rigid the whole thing quickly became, but hey: as a kid, this stuff blew my mind in 100 different cool ways, the kinds of ways that’ve helped me navigate life (alive no less!) into my 38th year. I owe it one.

(Me, age 15, imitating Darby Crash)

It was when the South Bay suburbs exploded in 1981 (thank you very much BLACK FLAG) that I remember first hearing the word punk in reference to rock. And then – overnight! – hardcore became an irrefutable fact of teen (er, pre-teen) life. I’d start seeing it’s graffiti on the sides of buildings, I’d catch a few of it’s songs on Rodney B.’s Sunday night show, and invariably I’d spot it’s adherents sulking/smoking out in front of local 7-11 chain stores. And you either avoided it like the plague, or you were drawn to it like a moth to fire. Me, I love flames.

Yes: hardcore did attract all manner of idiot toughguys & fascistic meatheads. Skinnyass me, I once got chased halfway down Melrose Ave. by a bunch of skinheads (L.A.D.S. perhaps?) who were older, bigger, and waaaaaay drunker, slurring: “kid – what you asposed to be, a s-s-s-suicidal or something?” But no lie: HC was Thee Giving Tree from which all things remotely exciting, interesting, and inspiring fell in the suburbs during those dark days. And since suburbs constitute like, 95% of Southern California . . . well basically we all had to shut up and eat it, since bitchen subcultural options for the underage set remained mighty limited for years to come.

As a parallel-universe record collecting geek, I spent a lot of time sifting through all manner of punk and early hardcore detritus in the mid-80’s, and then . . . got bored with it all and moved on. But then the 90’s came along, and with em those early, Nuggets-like archival punk/HC comps (thank you Johan Kugelberg). Not long after, punker CD reissues began coming down fast and hard. By the mid 90’s, a manical freak named Brian “GTA” Sheklian began mining forgotten, second-tier HC types on his BOMP RECORDS distributed GRAND THEFT AUDIO label. He eventually released nearly 60 titles, and fully 1/3 of these focus on lost bands from LA and environs (which is where this post ought to’ve begun.)

Now, because I exhibit what might have once been called blatant localism, I’ve only ever bothered to check out those GTA releases by Southern California bands. And truth be told, none are what your average non-punker listener would call amazing; many are only semi-competent approximations of what others – BLACK FLAG, ADOLESCENTS – were carving out in more powerful/meaningful ways at the time. Yet all are totally fascinating to me, as they stand as rich time capsules snatched from a few of those narrow-world, cropped-haircut punk microcosms that flourished all around SoCal then. If you’re so inclined, they might just spin your aging ass too, like they did mine. Here’s a rundown of a few:

1. SIN 34 – Die Listening 1981-1984 (GTA 003-R #020) – This is most fun you’re gonna have in the HC set. SIN 34 were a West LA band notable for ushering drummer/amateur filmmaker Dave Markey (Desperate Teenage Lovedolls, The Year Punk Broke, etc.) into the scene. His presence in a band meant he got his camera close to lots of underground music dwellers at a time and place absolutely nobody else gave 2 flying fucks about documenting. SIN 34 were also one of the few to have a girl singer (Julie Lanfeld), and a rad one at that. She had guts, a sense of humor, and a one of those perpetually-stoned SoCal drawls that covered up for the fact she couldn’t actually sing – but then, what self-respecting HC singer could? Julie’s best bratty couplet: “Now BLACK FLAG is uncool, but you used to write it all over your school!” This CD collects everything NOT actually released on any of their records proper. That’s 36 cuts of demos/live/comp. material that’ll drive your parents up the freakin’ wall.

On a personal note, I used to date someone who was routinely mistaken for ex-SIN 34 singer Julie around the South Bay. Naturally, we both took this as a totally righteous compliment.

2. FUNERAL – Have You Seen My Leather Jacket? (GTA #037) – Forgotten Long Beach punkers who were dragged back into the jaundiced light via the inclusion of their “Waiting For the Bomb Blast to Arrive” cut on the Bloodstains Across California comp. from the early 90s. They plied a sound aligned with SOCIAL DISTORTION (moody, melodic punk) and they did it surprisingly well. Although Long Beach had its fair share of worthy HC punk bands in the early 80s (THE CREWD, SECRET HATE, etc.) it was a scene that was sadly overshadowed by the whole Huntington Beach/Edison High School thing a few miles down the coast. Which is a shame, cause these guys and their town clearly deserved more. Few articulated that baleful, apocalyptic suburban worldview better. Singer/gtrist Mike Martt went on to drunk-rock infamy playing with the likes of TEX & THE HORSEHEADS, THELONIOUS MONSTER, and THE LOW & SWEET ORCHESTRA, and still roams the backstreets of Signal Hill to this day.

3. RED SCARE – 1982-1988 As Promised (GTA 007-R #056) – You had to be fucking tough to survive as a woman on these kinda stages, what with all that testosterone a-flowing free back then. There’s a couple of live tracks on this thing that’ll give you an idea of the kinda BULLSHIT a woman-led band had to put up with on stage. But Bobbi Brat, the singer here, was most definitely up to the task. Her best lyric: “Can’t you see, little boy? I’ll only hurt you; because to me you’re a toy, I play around and desert you.” Although I can’t say this is classic hard stuff (it’s got that weird stiffness that comes with a drummer playing faster than he can reasonably rock) I have spun it alot, esp. when I used to drive deep into OC to meet psychotic Mexican-American vets as part of my last job ever in the States. So, I’m keeping this one. For what it’s worth, there’s a memoir of Hollywood streetlife floating around out there called Coloring Outside the Lines by Aimee Cooper that incorporates some old memories of Ms. Brat.

4. ANTI – The Hardcore Years 1980-84 (GTA #028) – Fairly rote HC with that polka-beat we all came to dread by the mid-80’s. A couple songs of this so-called peace-punk is all I’ll ever need (though I admit the bonus “anti parent” radio broadcast they’ve tagged on here is pretty hilarious). I wish they’d've expanded their sound a bit – but they didn’t, and so people promptly forgot about em. I do like the smudgey, howling singer though – it’s the voice of someone who dug smoking pot, which was a rarity in HC circles then. Their bassist Danny Phillips went on to be in a lame bottomwrung major-label, U2-ish act called EASTER in the late 80’s – please, please don’t post here about how great they were. Danny could be found working at Recycled Records in Hermosa Beach back then, always your best bet for scoring cheap copies of ANTI records at the time.

5. ABANDONED – Los Angeles, Motherfucker! (GTA #020) – Tony Adolescent was the main culprit here. And yeah, the spirit of the early ADOLESCENTS does shine through this thing, but in a nasty-ass, dark-alley TALES OF TERROR sorta way. Tony was clearly not enjoying his time in La Habra or wherever the fuck he was eeking out his existence at this point. This is not at all bad – but it’s grim, in that way only low-rent suburban LA life could be in the early/mid 80’s. I like this one, but it does make me fucking wince. Anybody ever see these guys play? Betcha they were simultaneously hot and a cheap, swift punch to the kidney.

———

More to come. I just gotta do the circle dance one time, ok?

Amnestic Connections

Mark over at the brand-spankin’ new blog Disaster Amnesiac has beat me to the punch with a great review of Greg Ginn’s new JAMBANG Connecting CD. Hell, Mark’s gotten so close to this rec, he’s nearly managed to turn the album inside out! No mean feat for a novice blogger. I’ve been inspired to reload my copy of this album onto my I-pod for deeper consideration; you latecomers oughta at least get off your asses and buy the damn thing.

Godsend ESL

My favorite Eurock garage band? That’s easy: THE CREEPING CANDIES.

The CANDIES were brooding Bavarian longhairs who made two bold, narcotically-rockin’ LPs in the second half of the 80’s (Flesh and The Stories Of…) before falling off the map, presumably to pursue muses of a chemical nature. And then: presto! They rematerialized, blinking in the harsh light of the new millenium with the wonderful Upside the Town CD. In 2005 they recorded – but apparently shelved – a 4th album called Sugarlumps. I’d give my big toe to hear this one in full, but must make due with the clips found on their MySpace site. All were produced lovingly by Nikki Sudden (RIP), who always maintained these guys were his favorite German band ever.

But that’s just what can be verified. Their attractive sound is what I imagine the dunderhead cousins of Denmark’s SORT SOL might’ve cooked up, if they’d had none of the suave literary aspirations (the poetry’s in the gtr downstoke, mate!). Or maybe, what EINSTURZENDE NEUBAUTEN’s kid brothers woulda mustered, if they’d worshiped THE SEEDS’ Sky Saxon and pretty girls rather than swooning over Dada and Toltec cave drawings. The riffs these guys employ – equal parts ROLLING STONES and THE FALL – are simple but consistently compelling, while their pidgin English lyrics only serve to heighten the mystery to it all. Do consider the following verse from “Garbage Garage”:

a trashy building people hate we know/ but the thing inside it grows and grows/ monster laboratory cost not anything/ your scientist think how it is to be king

Like Roky Erikson’s best nonsequitors, these words mean absolutely nothing to fools, and damn near everything to those willing to listen a little crooked. Yep it’s in this type of Teutonic laboratory where all the best rock & roll is cooked up.

I sure hope these guys climb outta the junkyard long enough to play London before they croak.

THE CREEPING CANDIES – “Garbage Garage” (from Upside the Town, Bader Records, 2001)