It’s a pity that THE DOORS get all the credit for representing Thee Darkside of the swirling kaleidoscope that was late 60’s SoCal rock. A darned shame, really, since it’s due to Jim Morrison’s lyrics, on-stage antics, and early death - more than anything musical. THE DOORS’ sound - while great! - was rooted more in nimble surf rock and jazzy improv, rather than anything approximating hard and heavy. Sonically speaking, THE DOORS weren’t as much of a challenge to the light, folksy LA approach of BYRDS/MAMAS & PAPAS - nor the airy, astral SF jammin’ of THE AIRPLANE, QUICKSILVER, and THE DEAD - as some would like to believe. Which meant record industry-fueled misconceptions about Southern California rock (where it’s THE BEACH BOYS forevermore) weren’t countered anywhere near as early as they should’ve been.

Northern California had BLUE CHEER to show em how, but it was left to bands like IRON BUTTERFLY and STEPPENWOLF to start recording rock in Southern California that was actually heavy. First: in a somewhat unwitting but overblown, organ-drenched VANILLA FUDGEy way. And then: in burning, riproaring hard-blues blowout fashion that rivaled their midwestern brothers (GRANK FUNK) and southern cousins (BLOODROCK) near the turn of the decade. In LA, you can’t get away from the music machine if ya tried . . . but gradually, such bands found audiences with a less-homogenous cross section of guys and gals outside the Sunset Strip who who actually had to actually live/work/get by there in SoCal, day in and day out. This crowd apparently preferred crushing Gibson SGs to chiming 12-string hollow bodies, and actually dug listening to gtrs bass keys drums being played together en force, regardless of whether it was hitting the charts or not. The music they produced gave off a nastier, smog-choked vibe that, if not outrightly rejecting postcard California, at least provided a viable shadow alternative to the more overtly media-hyped happy sunny smiley pop concoctions coming out of LA then (see THREE DOG NIGHT).

Few records display the strengths of this time/place better than the BLUES IMAGE Open LP from 1970 released by ATCO (as reissued nicely by Sundazed a few years back). These Floridian transplants’ first, self-titled LP is decent . . . but it was here that their heavy, latin-tinged bluesrock really came together in a well-executed whole. They grind out DEEP PURPLEish organ boog (”Pay My Dues”), commanding heavy electric blues (”Clean Love”), an all-too brief stab at rocking the classics (”Fugue U”), plus a pantload of hard-rockin’ tunage with a percussive Cuban influence, ala MALO - though thankfully, without the horn section and schmaltzy balladeering that dogged that band. Lots of these guys could sing and their voices were all earthy and confident, drummer Manuel Bertematti (who Jimi Hendrix would sometimes jam with) was tight and hard-hitting, and what a great gtrist Mike Pinera once was! He doesn’t hog the spotlight, but is always ready to step up and rip you a new earhole when called for.

That BLUES IMAGE also managed to wedge a top-10 hit in here (”Ride Captain Ride”) is just icing on the cake. So what if it’s out of step with the rest of the LP? It’s still a great song, and it makes perfect sense it was included on the soundtrack of that lost docudrama of early 70’s LA junkie streetlife, Dusty and Sweets Mcgee. Open is a neglected, glowing gem of the oft-ignored, heavy end of bellbottomed Southern California rock.

Do watch this quaint promo vid for their lone hit as they try their darnedest to get with the postcard California thing (as if to refute everything I’ve asserted in this post):

BLUES IMAGE - “Ride Captain Ride” 1970

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. 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 mine 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.

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 meet 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 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 up 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) - Well 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 stiff, 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 types 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.

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 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

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 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 close enough to lots of underground music dwellers at a time and place absolutely nobody else with a camera 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 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?

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.

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

The CANDIES were/are brooding Bavarian longhairs who made two bold, narcotically-rockin’ LPs in the second half of the 80’s (Flesh and The Stories Of…), fell off the map presumably to pursue muses of a chemical nature, and then: presto! 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)

It’s 2008, right? Fucking hell. And here I was kinda hoping that, by now, I’d have found one of those ever-elusive Sleestak pylons to catapult me right back to ‘62, ‘77, ‘83 or even ‘91 for christ’s sake. Ah well. While I continue my search, let’s talk about recent releases that have been taking up my headspace lately:

1. BOILED IN LEAD - Silver (Omnium Records, 2008) - Big comeback record by the best Celtocentric rockers ever to call America their home. Original singer Todd Menton has returned to the helm, bringing renewed focus and lotsa great Irish tunage with him - and effectively shaking off the kinda bogue world-explorer sound that gummed up their 90’s records. These guys play tight and inspired - not unlike how Richard Thompson might, if he decided to ditch the professionalism, crank up the decibels/distortion a good 3 or 4 notches, and hit hard at trad material again. Pick of the bushel is the opener “Apple Tree Wassail” - in these environmentally uncertain times, it’s nice to know someone’s taking time to rock in a bountiful harvest. As good as their late 80’s From the Ladle to the Grave highwater mark? Maybe.

2. THE HELLACOPTERS - Head Off (Wild Kingdom/Psychout Records, 2008) - I’m pretty easy when it comes to radio-friendly rock: if you’ve got energy, some catchy tunage, a wild singer and decent drummer - I’m probably game. So you won’t hear no bitching from me about your FOO FIGHTERS, or your MUSEs, or even your OK GOs. Nor about THE HELLACOPTERS, whose SONIC’S RENDEZVOUS BAND bywayof THE KNACK thing sounds totally comfortable coming outta my radio this morn.

Yeah there was a time when they seemed to fetishize post-STOOGES Detroit R&R just a little too much for my taste. It was downright morbid - like they had little shrines built to Rob Tyner and Scott Ashton in their bathrooms! But this new rec, made up entirely of covers by their actual peers (THE NEW BOMB TURKS, THE BELLRAYS, THE POWDER MONKEYS, DEAD MOON, etc.) feels way more honest a statement than covering, say, RADIO BIRDMAN. Coulda used a ballad or two for a change of pace, but hey what’s here is hot and dandy. Not something I wanna think too much about, but listen to? Yep, and frequently.

3. YOKE SHIRE - Witching Hour (Zygo Records, 2007) - Ray’s Realm got me curious about this, and dammit if it ain’t still holding my attention - albeit for alotta the wrong reasons. This PINK FLOYD/JETHRO TULL inspired epic sprawl from Boston is so frickin’ cut off from anything I grew up with (i.e. punk, hc, top 40 powerpop, newwave), I’d almost believe it was conceived in a prog test-tube lab deep beneath Steve Howe’s tennis court! That two brothers could be responsible for damn near every sound on this 2-CD set is pretty impressive. But that it’s all so consistently compelling and imaginatively rockin’ is positively jawdropping. Horrendous graphic art BUT HEY this could be the very best tunage you ever hear pumped outta the stereo whilst browsing your local magickal/pagan bookshop - a true accomplishment, methinks.

4. WISHBONE ASH - First Light (Talking Elephant Records, 2007) - I was in Glastonbury recently and noticed flyers all over town advertising current shows by these English warhorses. No, no - I didn’t go see em play, but I did search the web for soundclips of their recent material, which sounds exactly what I figured a bunch of rock dinosaurs might get up to 35 years on (this is not a compliment). But then I discovered this amazing disc: their first known recording from 1969 recorded as a demo to garner label interest. And it was apparently played on homemade/rebuilt instruments! This illuminates all that was once great about this band: their dancing/piercing dual gtr leads, their rich melodic material, and their nimbly rockin’ bass/drum combo of Martin Turner and Steve Upton. Easily blows away their first proper self-titled disc, IMO.

5. THE DOORS - Live in Pittsburgh 1970 (Rhino Records, 2008) The horrors that THE DOORS’ original output has been dragged through - via endless flogging on “classic” rock corporate radio, on car commercials, and in lame boomer-directed flicks - is ultimately a fate worse than, say, CLAPTON’s reinvention into an incidental soundtrackist for elite fashion runway shows. These days, it’s really, really tough to listen to a DOORS tune and not be at least a little bit disgusted.

But really, that shouldn’t detract from what they were groovin’ on all them years ago. And this cavernous live recording is where you’ll find a way back in. The blues here is one loooong black train that keeps up a relentless modal howl all night long. Jim’s sober, and hence not hogging all the limelight; Robby K.’s playing gtr with a depth Cippolina always wished he had; and dammit if Manzerek ain’t burping and belching with the best rock keysmen (and NEVER have I paid that man a compliment). You wanna know where Jeffrey Lee Pierce got the idea for his voodoo blues from? Right here bub.

6. MOTORPSYCHO - Little Lucid Moments (Stickman Records, 2008) Thanks to Wordy Diva for the heads-up on this one. Positively staggering progtastic jams from this Norwegian modern rock institution. People have compared these lengthy (12 - 21 minute) cuts to YES and Meddle-era PINK FLOYD, which are valid touchstones I suppose . . . but what I’m hearing clearest sounds like Daydream Nation-era SONIC YOUTH ripping out an hour long tribute to the best Welsh rockers ever, MAN. Just try and tell me the high-pitched vocals and chiming gtr harmonies (not to mention the insistent drumming) don’t get you thinking this, too, was recorded Live at the Padget Rooms, Penarth!

Now, I’m not sure if everyone’s gonna understand a record like this: it isn’t explicitly bell-bottom retro like WITCHCRAFT, nor is it overtly post-modern in heaviness ala BORIS. So it’s gonna confound those looking to “place” it easily. But that’s all to their credit; MOTORPSYCHO is doing their own thing so fucking well, it refuses simple catagorization. For anyone still interested in how powerful modern Scandinavian gtr rock can be, look no further.

7. KURT VILE - Constant Hitmaker (Glutcher Records, 2008) A full year into this blog thing, and I finally get some promos sent to me, unsolicited, for “review consideration”. They asked for it, so here goes:

The first track here gets me thinking how TOM PETTY’s “Don’t Come Around Here No More” might’ve sounded recorded on a C-60. Elsewhere, I’m hearing any number of quietpop/slop superstars . . . BECK, AMERICA, New Zealand’s ALISTAIR GALBRIATH, KENNY frickin’ RANKIN for christ’s sake - all filtered through an ancient, wind-swept Teac 3340S recorder for that “feel” we’ve come to associate with indie dweebs in the 90’s. The relative merits of this, I’m gonna leave up to you, mate. You’d be is good company calling this “homespun, futurist folkpop”; you’d have the support of many others by referring to it as “retardass neo-emo crapola”. Yes I can readily admit THIS AIN’T MY BAG, but does that mean it sucks? Nah, not really. But there is a clueless head-in-the-sand thing happening here that kinda worries me. Like, I don’t wanna be anywhere near this VILE guy when the shit really starts coming down. And we all agree it’s comin’ down fast, right?

Thanks to The Right Reverend Enik for the neato Land of the Lost gif

This blog thing is a real headtrip sometimes.

The letter reproduced above was once sent out into the world by me as part of my wider search into the hydra-headed serpent known as Hollywood punk rock, apparently back in Jan. 1987. Now I don’t actually remember sending it, or if I ever received a response at the time. But inexplicably it’s returned, boomerang-like. And I’m staring at the damn thing again. WTF?

Well, ya see: the recipient Jon, aka JB - he discovered this blog early on. There’s a comment from him on my very first post. He recently let me know I’d queried him by mail about a handfull of p-rock records, 21+ years ago as a dorky 16 yr. old. And a couple weeks back JB “kindly” forwarded this scan to chez PG Recon. Fucking hell, man! What comes around sure as shit goes around. Especially within the claustrophobic, skinnyhead world of California punk rock record collecting.

Which is all to let you know I’m back again to sling around more ill-thought out opinions about all your Hollywood punk heroes. Read the first or second posts in this series if you must, and then: 1-2-3-4 let’s g-g-g-go . . .

1. Best RIK L RIK-led effort: Garbage Hearts - The Lost EP (2007) Yes heavy drug use clipped RIK’s artistic fingernails to the bloody quick, but dammit if he didn’t record a dimebag full of minor-key, SLEEPERS-inspired glamour punk gems, some of which dated from up near his death in 2000. Shit I actually had a difficult time picking a favorite RIK moment. This man’s F-WORD album is generally considered the first Hollywood punk LP to see the light of day. His “Outback” cut - as heard on my first punker purchase ever (Rodney On The Roq, Vol. I) - was also the very first song I ever taught myself on bass gtr. And his cuts on the Beach Blvd comp. impressed the hell outta me - at least until I heard the earlier, NEGATIVE TREND EP versions.

But ultimately, this long-lost EP of early 90’s NEW CHRISTS-like material may be his very best. Certainly, it’s some of his most coherent, and I love the way his baritone soars over the din. Check it out if you haven’t - and long may the kids remember RIK’s barefoot croon.

2. Best BLACK RANDY & THE METROSQUAD effort: Pass the Dust, I Think I’m Bowie LP (Dangerhouse Records, ‘79) - Talk about sidespilting - these cads still slay me 6 ways to Sunday. Any JAMES CHANCE/WHITE comparisons will definitely hold water. But remember: unlike James, Randy wasn’t actually musical, just an irresponsible prankster dead-set on exposing some of the sillier/staider aspects of “the scene” at the time. There’s room in my heart for such types, fr sure - even when they’re trying to pants me.

Hey, where’s that tweaked live snippet of “Ziggy Stardust” that graced the original Dangerhouse LP? It didn’t seem to make the cut on the Sympathy For The Record Industry reissue CD. Copyright complications perhaps? C’MON Long Gone John, this was fucking BLACK RANDY - he coulda punked out the Thin White Duke in no time flat.

3. Best FEAR effort: Saturday Night Live ‘81 - As huge as they were around LA in the early 80’s with young, suburban cropped-hair dudes, FEAR (not unlike, say, the ANTI-NOWHERE LEAGUE) always hit me as ersatz HC punk, a patent-leather version of the real deal. Which isn’t to say they weren’t good - they were, and I do like alot of tunes on the first Slash LP, despite the thin/compressed production. But it’s why I’ve chosen this SNL clip: FEAR always seemed to have their sights set mainly on that other, film-industry Hollywood, and Lee hits ya best when he’s on camera. Look hard, and you’ll spot Ian Mackaye in the audience! (BTW: the first single is probably their best studio moment, but I never did turn up that rarity . . .)

4. Best ANGRY SAMOANS effort: Queer Pills 7″ 45 (Homophobic Records, ‘81) Another band of far-from-authentically hardcore types who the HB strut contingent went absolutely gaga over. Had these kinda older, wordy fanzine scribes been anywhere else in the US, no doubt they’d have put out records that sounded like THE GIZMOS or THE SCREAMIN’ MEE-MEES or something. But they came to fruition in SoCal in the early 80’s where BLACK FLAG and THE CIRCLE JERKS were calling the shots; hence, the violent brevity of their cool, bonehead tuneage. This release of Back From Samoa demos came out under the QUEER PILLS moniker in hopes of throwing off the scent of LA DJ Rodney Bingenheimer, who’d they’d already alienated every which way but loose. It didn’t work and also meant that most of these 45s didn’t sell at the time, only to flood into record stores in the late 80’s. The record collector geek in me thanks the gods for this small karmic retribution.

5. Best THE GERMS effort: (GI) LP (Slash Records, ‘79) Will anyone ever come up with a record this transcendent in the name of punkrock again? I don’t fucking think so. Yeah I’ve always kinda felt this record belongs nestled up against, say, yr COIL and POPOL VUH discs. Even now, listening to it transports me someplace far outside my body, where gtrs ring out hidden universal keys and a wordless growl makes the most complete sense in all the world. That these speed-fueled, teenage crybabies came up with something so timeless blows away all known laws of physics. I, for one, don’t like to imagine what Darby would’ve come up with had he’d hung around this Earth any longer (Blowhard new wave? New-Ro balladeering? ugh), cause he wasn’t never no kinda singer, nohow. What Darby was, was a truly potent wizard of cosmic proportions.

Much thanks to JB for his lifelong hoarding tendencies

No, this is not the start of a new SST Records-related series of posts. It’s just today’s fleeting desire to gab about a few nearenuf, shouldabeen, honest-to-god almost hits from the SST RECORDS family, ca. world domination period (’86-’92). Yeah you probably cried sell-out back then, but in 2008, with 20-20 hindsight? Well listen again:

1. DOS - “Taking Away the Fire” - (Dos LP, New Alliance Records, 1986) The early DOS song you’d hear spun the most on LA’s KXLU radio, probably since it’s got vocals. The wiggly, prog bass harmonics were totally haunting & singular ringing out amidst the bland sea of tunes by THE CULT and SISTERS OF MERCY they was pushing hard back then. And I’ve always interpreted the lyrics as Kira struggling to come to terms with her drastically less intense, post-BLACK FLAG existence. I admit I was one of the last to truly get the awesome power of DOS, but once I did . . .

2. ANGST - “Some Things (I Can’t Get Used To)” (Mending Wall, SST Records, 1986) Frank Fucking Black covered this, but forget about that for a sec. ANGST was this cool mid-80’s SF trio whose strummin’ sound harkened back to mid-60’s political folkrock as often as their vocals summoned up the blunted tonal palette of amazing, recently deceased Bay area bands like THE SLEEPERS and NEGATIVE TREND. All their records have a handful of rueful, biting keepers on em, this being their most serious contender in the Reagan-era, personal-is-political sadcore sweepstakes.

3. ALWAYS AUGUST - “Flatlands” (Geography EP, SST Records, 1988) Not actually a hit by any stretch but it’s the one I most-associate with these Virginia hippie jazzbos, as a pal of mine spun this rec alot back then. Dig that fretless bass! It’s the very best DEAD-inspired coalescing on a label that was infamous throughout the land for a burning, heretical DEADication. For a moment there, I actually believed this kinda freeform, barefoot sound was gonna REIGN SUPREME over the underground for the next decade. Boy, was I ever wrong. This tune along with a whole gaggle of wildly disparate, Ginn-approved tunage can also be found on the quaintly-titled SST Godhead Storedude In-Store Play Device #5 cassette, freely available for public bemusement/befuddlement here.

4. GRANT HART - “2541” (2541 EP, SST Records, 1988) Out of all the early SST signings, HÜSKER DÜ interested me the least. Maybe it was because I had no line on em - they were a 1000 miles away in Minneapolis, not a 15 minute drive down PCH in Hermosa Beach. Or maybe, it was their drug choice - heroin - that rubbed my then hyper-caffeinated metabolism the wrong way. Whatever, I shied away for years - until it was just about over and bitchen solo projects like Grant’s Intolerance started to emerge (read what the astute Aussie blogger at Lexicon Devil had to say about that period here). “2541″ saw Grant revisiting his early HD years via a cool, Tom Pettyesque pop rock tune that suits his ernest vocals like a homeknit sock. Me, I suspect he could’ve eventually out-WESTERBERGed ol’ PAUL, if only the music industry had cut him some slack.

5. ALL - “She’s My Ex” (Allroy’s Revenge, Cruz Records, 1989) Goofy as you may think this one-time college radio staple is/was, this comes from the very-best ALL record of alltime (Allroy’s Revenge), an LP every one of you so-called rocker types should explore in fine detail before you die. While this particular track is pure pop pabulum, the rhythmations that Bill Stevenson, Stephen Egerton, and Karl Alvarez get up to elsewhere on this rec are unparalleled, especially given how damn radio-friendly so many of the tunes are. And if this is just too embarrassing for you to revisit, try this: pretend singer Scott Reynolds is singing in Swahili, and this will go down like a 6:00 am whiskey flip.

6. JACK BREWER BAND - “Why Did God Create Assholes” (Harsh World, New Alliance Records, 1992) He had songs I liked better, but after a handful of beers, few punch lines sounded more right on. This was the one the audiences (ok, me) cried out for more than any other, “Dog’s Liberation” aside. And boy, Jack loved to give audiences what they loved - when he wasn’t making them feel kinda worried/uncomfortable, anyway. Saw him do this live opening for SONIC YOUTH on their Daydream Nation tour, in all his clutzy glory. He nearly brought down the house.

Thanks to lasvegashardcore for the photo