Don't call the metal police

But I was on a folk out bum out rage when I made this one. It all started when I watched Trouble Every Day after getting about four hours of sleep the night before. My brain was having trouble dealing with the tension and the impending carnage so I took a break despite only having twenty minutes left in the movie. I laid down to nap and while I was sleeping it started raining and a windstorm kicked up. A huge gust of wind blew the box fan out of my window and onto my head waking me. I've had a headache for the past three days and have a considerable knot from the blow. I got up, turned the movie back on only to watch the most brutal part yet and then proceeded to be a bummer for the rest of the night.

In the midst of my being a bummer I made an intense folk muxtape. Upon revisiting it I found it to be too heavy so I updated it and a new theme emerged...

I present Jammers and Bummers


Alice Cooper - Sting Low Sweet Cheerio: Nothing is complete without Alice. This is an old one but a great one. I am in love with this song and it's quiet menace. It's off Alice Cooper's first album so the theatrics are not quite in full swing, but it's a quality peek into what's yet to come. From 1969.


Terry Manning - I Ain't Got You: Terry was better known as a producer but on his solo album you get to hear his dirty Memphis sound and it's the perfect balance of fuzz and restraint. Also, an interesting side-note, Alex Chilton of Big Star fame played on this album. From 1970.


The Loudest Whisper - Good Day, My Friend: For a Irish folk inspired concept-ish album, this is suprisingly complete and listenable. I love nearly every song on this record and frankly chose this one because it's my song of the moment, but it was a hard road to chose. Loudest Whisper is still going, but this album is by far my favorite, complete with a children's chorus and mythological refrains. Solid through and through. A little later than the others, from 1977.


Perry Leopold - The Annunciation: I've been completely hooked on both Christian Lucifer and Experiment in Metaphysics for several weeks. I am a sucker for a catchy chorus and "Somebody wake the dead" is right up my alley. What can I say? Haunted by faith, can't really relate, but I do have an odd fondess for tortured Christian folk. From 1973.


Townes Van Zandt - Nothin: Heartbreaking from my favorite heartbreaker. Stark and blunt. Townes at his finest. From 1971.


Mighty Baby - I've Been Down So Long: I always laugh when I hear about the kids from Amazing Baby, I'll never be able to divorce the two. Not as good as the track, Egyptian Tomb but it's still right on. From 1969.


Morning Dew - Upon Leaving: Utterly accessible but solid psych rock from Topeka, Kansas. One of the best driving records I've come across. Always one of my favorite tour jams. From 1967.


Patron Saints - Shine on Heart: This track was originally left off the album because at over 7 minutes, it was far too long. Available on the reissue, it is one of my favorite tracks. Warbling and off-kilter, it is a perfect representation of the Patron Saint's charm. From 1969.


Tradewinds - Virgin to the Night: Solid 60's teen pop. Catchy and totally summertime appropriate. I can't find a release year for this album because this is essentially a compilation and these artists recorded under a few names.


Mellow Candle - The Virgin Prophet: This band was comprised of two schoolmates from Ireland. Haunting folk melodies with a serene ghostlike quality. One of my favorite folk groups perhaps ever. This track is from a series of unreleased sessions dating from 1969-1970.


Meic Stevens - Yorric: What can I say about Meic Stevens. Essentially the Welsh Bob Dylan, this is off his only album primarily in English. Most of his releases are in Welsh but all still beautifully listenable. Still, it helps to be able to sing along, even though Yorric is by far the least sing-song of the tracks off Outlander. I love this man, I love this album, and I love the people who rereleased it. From 1970.


Fred Neil - Ride Stormy Weather: Another track off a best of type compilation. I have no idea when it was recorded but it gets me just the same. A nice return to Americana.

You know what I'm thinking...

"I'm so blogging this"

Yes, yours truly caught in the act taking fish head photos at the bbq. How very meta.

Law and Disorder...

On an unrelated topic, during my search for Hammerskin tattoos I found this:

Nice to see a well-armed Jew

Law & Disorder is the brainchild of host Ken Goldberg.

Don't let the fact that Ken himself was the source of this adjudication and designation bother you. Instead, just suspend reality and listen in as an aging hippie - turned - lawyer makes Eminem sound like a choirboy. Having been temporarily incarcerated on occasion for lapses of judgment has made Ken a sensitive guy. He is a tree hugger and he is only interested in hunting 2-legged prey that is well armed and hunting him.

Our host originates from Chicago where he was declared brain dead at age 15 while he was attempting to set world records for recreational drug use. While he preaches sobriety he encourages the personal freedom to self-destruct at your own hands by whatever means available including any chemicals, whether found in nature, or manufactured in a laboratory.

The main objective of the show is to provide information and stimulate discussion on subjects that the mainstream media refuses to discuss seriously. The media won't dare tackle the issues of legitimate self-defense for fear of being bombarded by anti-gun zealots. You won't find another talk show host who points out that our drug, gun, and sex laws are wrongfully demonizing and criminalizing so many people.

More THOR

The whole Thor trek I went on last night was inspired by this memory, which while meant for here also ended up on the Sick Fantasy drug thread.

Here's another scorcher from the annals of my alcoholism.

My bandmate Omid and I had to catch a 6 am flight to Vancouver to interview Canadian heavy metal legend Thor so I did what any tactical drunk would do, decided to stay up all night. I figured given it was an international flight, I should meet my Omid at 3 am, giving us an hour to get to the airport and then another 2 hours to get through security (ahh these post 9/11 times) so I went, suitcase and all, to troll the Ludlow strip.

As I walked in to my first stop, Max Fish, the doorguy stopped me and said, "Hey, you're Jen's friend Beverly, we're supposed to meet." Indeed he and I had a mutual friend and talking about her devolved into shots of Jaeger and singing along to Holocaust's heavy metal mania at the top of our lungs. Seven shots of Jaeger deep more friends showed up and by the time I made it to my (7 years sober) bandmate's house I was completely worthless.

Omid dragged my ass to JFK and somehow they let me on the plane. I didn't know what the fuck was going on when I woke up with a ripping headache midflight several hours later. When we landed I fetched my suitcase from the overhead bin and saw that it was completely covered in IRAK tags as well silver paint pen scrawls from ARE Weapons and Jake.

Still drunk I stumbled to customs where they informed me that I needed either a passport or a state id coupled with my birth certificate to gain entry into Canada. This was right around the time they were changing the rules and I was not aware of this necessity. All I had was drivers license. They told me that I would have to have my luggage searched and if I passed inspection they would allow me into Canada.

At this point I realized what a piece of shit I looked like. Bedraggled, still drunk, with six chains around my neck and a suitcase that said IRAK and ARE WEAPONS and wearing an ASSCHAPEL shirt rolling into town with a man of middle eastern descent wearing a Motorhead shirt didn't look good to say the least. However, despite my shittiness, I had nothing to hide so I agreed to be searched.

Apparently customs agents can detect distant memories because even though I hadn't done blow recently my luggage and purse tested positive for what they termed "significant traces" of cocaine. Then I remembered, a few weeks prior I'd hit it pretty hard with an all-nighter. But being a chick, they weren't even my drugs and I had done laundry since then. I watched them scan my luggage and then pull out my toothbrush for further testing. They did the same with my purse and pulled out my keys. FUCK!

After many accusations and denials we were at a standstill. They said they levels of cocaine did not make me seem like an occasional user and while they didn't care about my personal use, they needed to make sure I wasn't bringing drugs into their country. I was at a loss. It's very hard to defend yourself when you are telling the truth. Suddenly a woman took me aside and walked me to a corner. She told me, "There are two places people generally hide drugs when they are bringing them into the country, in their shoes and in their crotch. We've already checked your shoes..."

I think that must be the point when anyone who is hiding something breaks down and admits it. Since I had no drugs I just looked her in the eye and said, "I've already told you, I don't have any drugs on me, I don't know what else I can do to show you that." And then it was over.

Canada didn't exactly welcome me with open arms. Jon (aka Jon Mikl Thor aka fucking THOR himself) was waiting to pick us up at the airport and he made a comment about how long it had taken us to get through customs. Omid just shook his head in disgust and sighed. Jon took us to get burgers at some legendary Vancouver spot and initially I thought maybe some food would do me good. I was still drunk and beginning that slow painful transition from wasted to a walking waking hangover.

Our burgers arrived and I was doing all right. I ate a few bites then sat there trying to smile and appear attentive and pleasant during my first meeting with Thor himself but a few moments later I had to excuse myself and run to the bathroom. I made it to the stall, but not the toilet. I puked all over the stall, I'm talking projectile vomit all over. I tried to wipe it up with toilet paper but ran out. I hurriedly washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face before high-tailing it out of the bathroom, but I didn't totally get away with it. As I was exciting the bathroom a middle aged woman was coming in and I heard her gasp, "Oh my god! Some people are just disgusting!" as the door was closing behind me.

I sat back down at the table and stared at my burger. Jon joked about how women never finish their food and Omid just glared. Not a good way to start a three day stretch of interviewing one of your heroes.

That whole "getting kicked out of a thrash band for partying too hard" scenario is starting to make more sense.

This is not a blog about Shred Bundy

I swear I have female friends somewhere in my life.











I also promise that I don't only go see shows at the Charleston and I solemnly swear that I'll try to not keep posting the same pictures of the same bands at the same bars. Oh shit, that's a total fucking lie.

I've been a little distracted

I posted these over at Sick Fantasy and I refuse to let my breathless participation in a Facebook group interfere with my blog productivity.


First topic: ANIMALS

When I was about six years old our cat Rosie had kittens. Mom let us keep one and my brother and I selected the black and white one with markings on it's nose in the shape of a bow. We named him Bowtie. He was such a cute sweet kitten, very curious, always getting in to trouble. Maybe too curious.

Bowtie always would try to sneak his way into the refrigerator when we'd open it. I guess he was attracted to the smell of food but we were forever shooing him away. One day I thought it would be wise to slam the door in his face to try and make him scared of the refrigerator (six year-old logic here.) As I slammed the door he darted forward and holy shit! I slammed the kitten's head in the refrigerator door. The details of the aftermath escape me right now (repressed childhood guilt trauma perhaps) but there was a lot of screaming and crying and one seriously fucked up kitten. After visit to the vet and some massive head trauma the kitten somehow survived, but it was always a slightly off after that. My mother would look at the Bowtie and shake her head and saying, "That cat has always been a little slow since Beverly slammed it's poor head in the refrigerator door."

Second topic: DRUGS

First off, I am writing this merely as participation, thus far I doubt anyone will top Rich's contribution.

I have never been a big drug user, always just a glorious drunk. But as the most likely only sober member of Sick Fantasy I've got to at least make an attempt to participate in this one.

When I was 18 and living as a townie in the ultimate Missouri college town I befriended a motley assortment of freaks and losers from the bar scene (for some reason no one ever carded me, maybe because the company I kept consisted of a former US Bombs roadie striken with TB, a goth ballerina, several bikers in their late-20s, and a Native American tattoo artist named Spider. One summer evening instead of our usual bartime, I went to some local dirtbag's house with Spider to drink some beers and smoke some weed.

Weed's never really been my speed so I've never been much of a smoker. Still, for the sake of party I took a hit or two off the joint and drank two beers. Suddenly, right after Spider, my only friend present ducked out to go home and feed his cat, I started feeling really off. Something really gnarly was coming on and I didn't know what was what so I bailed and decided to walk home alone. Problem was, I had lived in Columbia for all of three weeks and had no idea where the fuck I was.

I picked a direction and started walking. The town was pretty small and everyone lived within a couple of miles from each other so I figured I'd figure it out and walk until a street name sounded familiar. I made it to the corner when a feeling of unquestionable terror gripped me. I stood motionless staring at the street. Watching, listening, waiting. A car passed and slowed down. A head popped out and asked, "Are you all right?" I nodded my head, the realization that this car was the harbinger of my doom creept into brain. "Do you need a lift?" I shook my head no and started walking shaking my head and rubbing my arms. These fuckers were gonna abduct me, they were going to take me into their car and fucking rape me and kill me, I just knew it. They'd find my body weeks later in a ditch in the wooded road leading out of town. I'd have my belly and my throat slit open, the electrical tape they'd use to bind my wrists still present. Seriously, I needed to get the fuck out of there...now!

Two miles and what seemed like hours later I arrived at my front door a shaking mess. I had wandered the streets trying to find my way home utterly convinced that every car that passed contained rapists who were on their way to kill me. I'd circled my block three times trying to throw off my pursuers before finally deciding it was safe enough to approach my front door. I remember trying to get into my apartment. The key wouldn't work. They'd already been there, they'd changed the locks, they were waiting for me. Oh wait...shit, wrong door.

I found the right unit and collapsed as soon as I got in the door. My legs completely stopped cooperating and I pulled myself up the stairs of my shitty split-level apartment. I regained my bearings slightly and decided that I should eat something to make myself feel better. In my room I found a tin of chocolate cookies my mom had sent me and I dove in to them praying that this sweet sustenance would make me feel better. Determined to normalize I went into the bathroom to wash up. I remember staring in the mirror thinking of Bloody Mary and the Candy Man and I was about to die a horrible death and join their ranks. I am not sure what went down in there but I woke up on the floor with the faucet still running, wedged in between the toilet and the sink. Bewildered I stood up and fell backwards into the shower door, ripping the towel rack off the wall in the process.

The second time I regained consciousness on my bathroom floor I decided that standing up was the culprit so I crawled on my hands and knees back into my bedroom where I awoke the next morning covered in chocolate colored vomit from the cookies.

I asked my roommate if he remembered hearing me come home and he said I'd woken him up but I'd made so much noise he figured I had brought some dude home and we'd been fucking in the bathroom. A few days later I ran into a casual bar-time acquaintance and they asked me if I had gotten home all right the other night. Apparently they'd offered me a ride and I had looked really upset and declined and muttered something about self-preservation.

To this day I am unsure as to what was in that weed. Some more experienced drug users offer up PCP as a likely substance while others suggest heroin. Whatever it was laced with, I didn't smoke weed again for two years.

Thorrior?

I was looking for Thor videos on Youtube and found that. It's fucking Malibu from American Gladiators

But I also found this (which is what I was looking for):



I spent three days in Canada with this man. We drove around in his Crystler LeBaron listening to him tell his life story. We never did finish that book, Omid and I had a falling out, but dang...I am so glad I got to go out there and hang out with this dude. Seriously. He is keeping the dream alive more than any other metal maniac out there. This man loves his music, loves his craft, and loves his persona. He feels no shame, has no embarassment and goddamnit, why should he? He is a god, goddamnit!



We watched this Merv Griffith footage with Jon (Mikl Thor.) He has the most amazing archives.



He also had a movie career. I own Rock N Roll Nightmare but have yet to see Recruits...anyone have it?!?!?!





If anyone actually watched that entire van sequence you are my hero. It's the ultimate...what the fuck moment in B movie history. 10 minutes...wow.

Look! It's me and Thor!!



Not everyone agrees with the glory of Thor