Hated in New Hampshire

On June 28, I took a 90-minute trip from my home through a pea soup-thick fog to The Dutch Treat, a bar/restaurant in Franconia, NH. Already something out of a Stephen King movie thanks to the odd weather conditions, my journey instantly became more surreal once I arrived at my destination. 

Characterized by beat-up buildings housing dingy food/convenience stores and the like, the part of Franconia I was in looked like one those run-down, sparse towns you’d normally expect to find on the set of an old Western. It proved the perfect locale for The Dutch Treat, a dive reminiscent of the first Porky’s film that boasted the kind of clientele you’d expect. On this special night, The Dutch Treat was the site of a live music show commemorating the 20th anniversary of the death of America’s favorite New Hampshire-bred outlaw feces chucker/muncher, Kevin “GG” Allin.

Now, if you’re completely unfamiliar with GG, this blog is not the place to go for an introduction. First, take a trip to YouTube to see his many controversial television appearances or live performances. Then, dive into Todd Phillips’ infamous 1994 documentary Hated: GG Allin and the Murder Junkies for a more in-depth look into GG’s short life – an explosive run cut short when he checked himself out with a heroin overdose on June 28, 1993 at the age of 36. 

Since GG’s death, his last backing band, The Murder Junkies, has soldiered on under the direction of GG’s older brother (and frequent collaborator) Merle. These days, the all-important singer position is filled by a skinny-yet-intimidating growler by the name of PP Duvay. The band was headlining the affair with two sets, and I couldn’t wait to see what would happen. 

Like all rednecky Rockers I’ve encountered over the years (C.O.C., Weedeater, Down, etc.), all four members of The Murder Junkies were laid-back, polite and cool. Guitarist Sonny Joe Harlan was the most affable of the bunch, chatting me up about the great Lynyrd Skynyrd when he saw that I was wearing one of the Southern Rock band’s t-shirts. In addition to boasting a truckload of GG items, the band’s merch table featured an 11-by-17 poster version of the art used for the show’s flyer (pictured above). At $5 a pop, the poster was a steal –and I had to have one. After buying one from Merle, he offered to have the band autograph it.

How in the world could I possibly refuse?

Ladies and gentlemen...Dino Sex!

After the three nearby band members signed it (Harlan’s message: “Play some Skynyrd!!”), I walked the poster to the bar in the back to have it signed by one Donald “Dino Sex” Sachs - The Murder Junkies’ masturbation-loving, frequently naked drummer. After taking the marker, Dino proceeded to sign my poster – or at least do something to it – for what felt like 15 minutes. Once he handed it back to me, I was equally amazed and perplexed by the seemingly alien hieroglyphics that now adorned the drawing. These markings were mostly placed within the black border around the art, rendering them readable only when held to the light. (Perhaps I’ve discovered a new party game for guests: “What Did Dino Write?” Kinda like charades, but inspired by a mental patient.) Oh, and he also drew a dick on GG and wrote #1 above it. In addition to signing his own name, Dino was also kind enough to sign for other folks who weren’t able to make it, like Hank III and Jeff Clayton of Antiseen.  

Dino Sex would make the world’s greatest TLC reality show star ever.

Although Dino didn’t strip naked at The Dutch Treat, he did offer a few words about GG prior to the set. (At least I think that’s what he was talking about.) His monologue was followed by an appearance by GG’s elderly mother Arleta, who thanked the crowd while wearing a shirt with a picture of sweet baby Kevin on the john.  

GG's mom, Arleta

The Murder Junkies’ set ranged from songs from the band’s post-GG career (including tracks from this year’s A Killing Tradition album) to such cherished GG chestnuts as “Dog Shit” and “Expose Yourself To Kids.” Naturally, tunes like these brought out some of the hardest, most intense-looking people I’ve ever seen at a show. Memorable audience members included a guy bashing his glass beer bottle on the table in time with the music and a shirtless, drunk, angry, at least 350-pound gentleman slamming his arms and elbows into anyone standing in his way – female or otherwise. Naturally, this didn’t slow down any of people knocked over in his path, as they immediately got up to further partake in the drunken, filthy fun.

Merle Allin 

As soon as the last note of the first set rang out, a visibly exhausted PP limped to the door as blood ran from his forehead. A few minutes later, a fellow showgoer told me that PP broke some of his ribs at the band’s show earlier in the week and was still recovering. Goddamn!  Before long, PP and the rest of The Murder Junkies were back for their second set, although travel commitments for the following day forced me to leave the show during Dino’s drum solo.

PP Duvay

While no excrement was thrown at the show (at least while I was there), it appeared that everyone still had an absolute ball. The Murder Junkies were great, the crowd got off on the tunes and the energy in the room was real. Hell, at least you walk out of a Murder Junkies show never forgetting the band. The same can’t be said for the majority of groups wasting their time and ours these days. And while Dino is a perverted clown who should probably be in treatment, he’s still one talented motherfucker on the drums, as evident on his surprisingly intricate playing on “Chicks Can’t Rock” off A Killing Tradition.

(By the way, it’s important to note that GG wasn’t a slouch in the musicianship department either. His Jazz-colored drumming circa 1977 with his first band Malpractice is even more impressive when considering he was barely in his twenties at the time, while the music he did with The Jabbers in the late ’70s/early ’80s remains some of the finest Punk ever conceived in New England.)

PP Duvay, Dino Sex, Sonny Joe Harlan

Twenty years after GG took his final dump, The Murder Junkies celebrated his life the honorable way: No pretense. No posing. Just good old fashioned, offensive Rock ‘N’ Roll. I’m sure GG was there in spirit, checking out the festivities with a proud, shit-eating grin.

Go HERE for all things GG Allin/Murder Junkies.

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Crazy Rhythms Fade Away: The End of Maxwell's

Yes, that’s me standing outside of Maxwell’s in Hoboken, NJ on a hot July night. And although you can’t see it too well in the pic, I’m holding the Maxwell’s t-shirt I bought earlier in the evening. I know…very touristy, right? Well, even though I live up in New England these days, I’m originally from the Garden State and spent a good chunk of my musical existence circa 1998-2003 at this amazing place. In all the years I went to Maxwell’s, it never once occurred to me to get a picture taken there, let alone get a shirt. Why? Because I always took Maxwell’s for granted. Sure, virtually every other NJ/NYC venue I loved to frequent (CBGB, The Pipeline, Connections, Wetlands, Coney Island High and many more) bit the dust, but Maxwell’s was always there. How could it possibly go away? But there I was on July 6, standing outside Maxwell’s with a lump in my throat as my wife Shannon snapped a picture after our five-hour drive to New Jersey. It was time for me to say my farewell to the site of some of the most important nights of my life.

Although I missed out on the club’s legendary ’80s era with original owner Steve Fallon, I sure made up for lost time when Maxwell's re-opened in 1998. Attending Montclair State University in the late '90s/early ’00s, I regularly made Maxwell’s my hangout when I needed to get away from studies and take in great music. It was also the place I took friends who normally didn’t like music clubs, as the restaurant and the always-friendly crowd made it a nice alternative to the usual routine. I had more than a few dates at the place in my single years. When I returned to New Jersey in 2006 after a three-year run in Los Angeles, it didn’t take long before I was back at Maxwell’s. 

The years and memories blur quite a bit, but here is a small sampling of highlights that immediately come to mind:

* Watching the LA band Betty Blowtorch pull out all the stops during an ’80s Hair Metal-fueled, all-girl Punk explosion. (Less than six months later, singer Bianca “Butthole” Halstead was killed in an auto accident.)

* Jim Thirlwell’s paint-peeling performance with a particularly menacing incarnation of Foetus. He didn’t utter a single word to the audience between songs. As captivating as it was intimidating. 

* J Mascis performing a solo acoustic show to a shoulder-to-shoulder room.

* The Januaries bringing songs from their brilliant (and criminally overlooked) 2000 self-titled album to life on the Maxwell’s stage.

* Tiny Masters of Today, fronted by two pre-teen siblings, rocking it hard with Russell Simins from The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion on drums.

* Living legend Kid Congo Powers (Gun Club/Cramps/Bad Seeds) and Hoboken mainstay/underground music encyclopedia/absolute sweetheart Bob Bert (Sonic Youth/Bewitched/Pussy Galore/Chrome Cranks) slaying the stage with The Knoxville Girls.

* Agnostic Front’s Roger Miret getting his Pop on as the bassist for Lady Luck.

* Having a cigarette outside the club on New Year’s Eve 2007 when a very friendly Dean Wareham (Luna/Galaxie 500/Dean And Britta) walked over, introduced himself, shook my hand and proceeded to have a nice chat with me. Usually, the fans introduce themselves to the artists - not the other way around! A decent fellow - and Dean and Britta were stunning that evening.

* Every Dirtbombs show I ever saw there. (Three cheers for Mr. Troy Gregory!)

Like countless others, I was knocked over by the announcement that Maxwell’s would be closing at the end of July. With a trip to New Jersey already planned for July 6th to visit with friends earlier in the afternoon, I checked the Maxwell’s website to see who would be playing on that date.

It was The Feelies.

Glenn Mercer of The Feelies 

Growing up an underground music fan in New Jersey, I was exposed to The Feelies’ music at an early age. After reading about the Haledon-born band in the East Coast Rocker while still in grade school, I tracked down a used copy of their classic 1980 album, Crazy Rhythms. Nearly 25 years later, that album is still on my Top Ten Favorite Albums list. In fact, Crazy Rhythms has the distinction (alongside only The Pixies’ Surfer Rosa) of being The Album That Got Me Through High School. And I could go another 10 blogs on how much the rest of their discography (especially 1991’s Time For A Witness) means to me.

So, yeah, the idea of seeing The Feelies’ last-ever show at Maxwell’s was quite appealing to me - especially since fate had never allowed the band and me to be at the same place at the same time before.

The Feelies' Bill Million 

Boasting the same lineup they’ve had since at least 1984, The Feelies far exceeded my decades’ worth of expectations. The band’s immaculate song list (comprised of two sets and numerous encores) included tracks from each of the band’s five albums (with Crazy Rhythms’ “Original Love” and “Raised Eyebrows,” Only Life’s “Deep Fascination” and Time For A Witness’ “Invitation” being personal highlights) as well as faithful covers of The Velvet Underground’s “Who Loves The Sun,” The Beatles’ “Ticket To Ride” and a slew of other classics. (Since other commitments prevented me from staying beyond midnight, I reluctantly missed the band’s renditions of The Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” The Stones’ “Paint It, Black” and another 10 or so cover/original tunes. Amazingly, they had already played 30 songs by the time I left!)

As much as I adore The Feelies’ albums, the band was even better live – and that’s after doing this for nearly four decades. Just perfect. Seeing this extraordinary band on this stage on this night was the very definition of bittersweet.

Feelies bassist Brenda Sauter

The live photos in this post were the best of the batch I took while working my way around the dancing of an enthusiastic capacity crowd. In addition to the three members photographed, The Feelies are rounded out by drummer Stan Demeski (Luna) and percussionist Dave Weckerman (formerly of the Electric Frankenstein offshoot band High School Sweethearts). Guests at the July 6th show included John Baumgartner and Toni Paruta of Speed The Plough and even Haledon Mayor Domenick Stampone, who introduced the band’s second set of the evening.

If you’re new to The Feelies, most of their back catalog (as well as a pretty nice bio) is available HERE. Their music is as great as it gets.

Not surprisingly, the sadness kicked in the second I stepped out of the club for the last time. It’s still hard to take as I write this two days later. A few weeks ago, I was feeling especially maudlin while talking with a friend about the club’s imminent demise and “the temporary nature of things.” When he heard those words, my friend chuckled and said, “It’s been there for more than 30 years! Everything has its time.”

He’s right, of course. I’m just thankful I got to spend so much of my time at Maxwell’s.

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Free Download - The Pixies: "Bagboy"

Proudly presenting a free download of "Bagboy," the first new PIXIES track in nine years:




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A Dog Named Gucci

Please do me a favor and check out the Kickstarter link below. The video is incredibly difficult to watch, but drives home what this film is hoping to accomplish. This film is being made by the people behind the amazing Replacements documentary, Color Me Obsessed, so I already know this will be done with the respect and care it deserves. Please spread the word for these guys by using the Kickstarter link below. Thanks!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/gormanbechard/a-dog-named-gucci-a-film-about-ending-animal-abuse-0

Also, please take the time to check out dog rescue-related projects by Ministry's Al Jourgensen and Effectionhate.



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Full Album Stream - Gitane DeMone: The Reflecting Shadow

It gives me great pleasure to offer a free stream of Gitane DeMone’s new album, The Reflecting Shadow, below.

The Reflecting Shadow is Gitane’s first full-length solo album since 2000’s Stars Of Trash. Unlike that album, which was mostly Rock-oriented in nature, The Reflecting Shadow is closer to the dark and seductive vibes of her earlier post-Christian Death material. (With Love And Dementia immediately comes to mind.) Recorded in collaboration with Jean-Paul Garnier (who shaped much of the album’s musical style), The Reflecting Shadow is another great chapter in a legendary aural history built on work with Pompeii 99, Christian Death, The Crystelles and various other projects. (Listen to audio of Gitane discussing Christian Death's Ashes album HERE.)

It’s especially meaningful for me to hear new Gitane music right now, as I first met her 10 years ago this month. While living in Los Angeles circa 2003/2004, I played in a band called The Sixth Chamber with Gitane’s son, Sevan. (More on The Sixth Chamber is available HERE.) Although that era of my life was a tremendous amount of fun, it was also quite challenging. Gitane was wonderful towards me, and I recall crashing and eating at her place more than once back then. I’ll always be thankful for her friendship and support in those insane days.

What an amazing woman. What an extraordinary talent.

Plans are underway for a stateside vinyl release of The Reflecting Shadow in the not-too-distant future. In the meantime, enjoy the stream and please consider downloading the album for only $10 and supporting Gitane's work by hitting "Buy" in the widget below.










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Black Sabbath: 13 (Standard Edition)

Please allow me to skip the obligatory opening paragraph about this being the most important Metal album in 35 years, how Black Sabbath soldiered on despite Tony’s illness and Bill’s departure, the addition of studio drummer Brad Wilk and blah blah blah and dive right into the kiddie pool of lukewarm musical water that is Meh-ster of Reality. (Sorry, I mean 13.)

First, the bad news: As a whole, 13 is an unsatisfying hodgepodge of past glories chopped up and glued together by the band and album doctor Rick Rubin, resulting in very little more than a Frankenstein caricature of a greatest hits package.

Ozzy’s singing (as well as the band’s groove) at the beginning of “Age of Reason” is immediately reminiscent of 1976’s “All Moving Parts (Stand Still),” while “Zeitgeist” (cool as it is) shamelessly bastardizes “Planet Caravan” (1970) and “Solitude” (1971) to create the album’s stoned-in-mom’s-basement moment. The drum fills in album opener “End Of The Beginning” are so close to those played on “Black Sabbath” (1970) that it’s downright embarrassing, while “Loner” is 1970’s “N.I.B.” with stale, barely-disguised dashes of “Air Dance” (1978) and “Dirty Women” (1976) thrown in for added blandness. (Couldn’t Ozzy think of anything to add at the end of the song’s first verse other than a dopey “alright now”?) And strip away the studio massaging, and all we really have on 13 in terms of vocals are the fumes and moans of a tired, once-mighty frontman who switched off ages ago.

Criticisms aside, there are some genuinely great moments on here. Every single guitar solo on this thing is (of course) extraordinary, as Iommi clearly put down each note with commitment and vigor. The band interplay during the last two minutes of “Age Of Reason” is pure, classic Sabbath and serves to remind the world of what makes this band so damn special in the first place, while Brad Wilk’s drumming on the album is undeniably solid and respectful of the task at hand. (That said, I yearn for Bill’s beautifully sloppy swing around the 3:25 mark in “End Of The Beginning,” but this is a mere quibble.) And I can’t get enough of “Live Forever,” even if the chorus does subtly pilfer 1973’s “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath.”

Considering that 13 is obviously the only modern Black Sabbath album in the marketplace – and thus the most-likely purchase a kid is going to make if he or she wants to check the band out – I suppose it does serve as an adequate “young person’s guide” to a crucial band. However, the album will ultimately fail to stand alongside the group’s greatest material - or add to the band’s legacy - once more experienced Sabbath listeners remove the rose-colored earbuds of nostalgia and reverence and actually listen to it with objective minds.

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Get Shot!

Way back in 1996, my love for the great California band Spitboy led me to purchase their 12-inch split with a Latino Hardcore group from Chicago called Los Crudos. While Spitboy’s side (Roughly Living) boasted some of the band’s strongest (and, as of this writing, last) recordings, the other side of the record nearly blew my ears off.  Boasting 11 songs in 12 minutes, the Los Crudos contribution (Viviendo Asperamente) offered hyper-fast, Spanish-screaming rage that was far more incendiary than anything else hitting my ears at the time. Surging through subject matter ranging from violence against women ( “En Mi Opinión”) to the empowerment of oppressed people (“Victorias Y Ganancias”), Viviendo Asperamente was – and will forever be – a jolt to my system. In my mind, it’s not a stretch in the slightest to say that Viviendo Asperamente was the Damaged of the 1990s. As the years carried on, I often referred back to this record when I needed to vent some heavy frustration, and this thing never once let me down.

Last Wednesday, I dug out that record and put it on the turntable again after a considerable layoff. (I guess marriage has mellowed me in recent years!) Yup, the record was as ferocious as ever. With the vinyl blaring away in the background, I decided to do see some digging online to uncover the current activities of former Los Crudos singer Martin Sorrondeguy. Following the end of Los Crudos in 1998, Martin launched Limp Wrist, a Queercore group that survives to this day. In addition to serving as a longtime “shitworker” at Maximumrocknroll, Martin recently unveiled a hefty photo book called Get Shot: A Visual Diary 1985-2012.

Outside The Purple Palace, 6/20/13

In an amazing case of synchronicity that I still can’t get over, it turned out that Martin was doing an exhibit for his book at The Purple Palace in Cambridge the very next evening (June 20)  - and I would just happen to be in the area for another commitment earlier that afternoon. I simply couldn’t pass on the opportunity to check out the exhibit and learn more about what the singer on one of the most intense records I own was doing in 2013.

Paul and Martin of Limp Wrist

What Martin is doing in the present tense makes my jaw drop. The beautifully designed Get Shot (published by San Francisco’s Make A Mess Records) features more than 400 photos of people and bands (GWAR, Fugazi, Screeching Weasel, Operation Ivy and tons more) that Martin took over a 27-year period in more than 10 countries on five continents. Some of these shots not only graced the walls of The Purple Palace, but are reproduced in this blog courtesy of my camera. (Note: Martin is a photographer; I’m a picture taker. There is a difference, so please don’t remotely expect any of my shots to do his work justice.)

Like most people I’ve met who scream their lungs out on record, Martin was friendly, polite and accommodating. We talked at length about many of his past and recent endeavors, including Limp Wrists’s just-concluded east coast tour. It was clear from his wide smile and animated speech that he approaches his work with great passion, enthusiasm and care. It was a true pleasure meeting him.

Not surprisingly, the event drew some interesting people. In addition to chatting it up with Nothing Mattress creator Brian Connolly, I met the great Al Quint of Suburban Voice and his lovely wife, Ellen. Al and I both wrote for the zine Hit List back in the late ’90s, so it was a thrill to finally cross paths with the guy behind some of my favorite music columns of that era.

In addition to copies of Get Shot, other goodies available at the exhibit included Susto (a signed/numbered zine of some of Martin’s more recent photography), an awesome set of poster-sized black-and-white shots and (drumroll) a 24-by-18-inch Limp Wrist 2014 nudie calendar featuring the band, bare (or it that bear?)-assed and all. It is one of the most Punk Rock things I’ve seen in years. :)

The Get Shot exhibit energized me. Looking at Martin’s shots, I was transported back to a time in my youth when newsprint – not a computer keyboard - greeted my fingertips whenever I wanted to explore underground cultures. I found myself back in a time when the thought of playing a Punk show was still appealing despite having to walk through three inches of puke and piss in some rathole in order to pack my drums in the back of my car during a hail storm at 2am. This night was a remainder that there are people still in the game and doing great things.

It made me realize that I need to do more – and I love when that happens!

More information on Martin and Limp Wrist is available HERE. Get Shot can be ordered HERE.

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