Here's What I've Been Doing for Kicks

The A-Bones
Maxwells, NJ--June 4, 1994

Seven years ago, Tom & I went to a waterfront festival in Hoboken, NJ. It was a fine Saturday. We strolled around the docks, ate over-priced food, and saw this crazy little band called "The A-Bones." Since that first waterfront show, I have seen the A-Bones at least 50 times. Why the A-Bones? Fuck, daddy-o. They are the best swamp-abilly, goddamn rock 'n' roll band to be found. For 10 years, they played rock-abilly the way it was meant to be--loud, fast & danceable. And I've danced at A-Bones shows. Hell, yes. I've gotten drunk at A-Bones shows, too. Hell yeh! In the mood to hoot and holler and dance around like an asshole with strangers? A-Bones. Want to hear a band and jump around in a crowd WITHOUT the hostility of jerk-off suburban kids acting like bad-ass punk rockers? A-Bones. Wanna drink?? A-Bones. Well, you COULD HAVE done those things, if you'd seen them before June 4th. But the A-Bones are now DEAD. Yep. They've broken up. Billy & Miriam (ex-Cramps drummer from the old days) run Norton Records and are doing well enough to do it full time (read about Norton Rec's in one of the REsearch volumes). And I assume the rest of the band have other things to do as well. So on Saturday, June 4, 1994, they played their farewell show for a roomfull of regulars--people I've seen at shows for the last 7 years, but have never spoken with; girls I've danced with but never gotten a name. Amy & I swung ourselves around like idiots. They played an hour and a half, complete with guest appearances by The Great Gaylord (a.k.a. the Sultan of Squat) and some old rockabilly singer who I didn't recognize but I'm sure is famous in that circle. God bless you, A-Bones. You will be missed. See you at the first reunion gig.

Mule, Arcwelder, Kepone
Khyber Pass, Philadelphia--May 5, 1994

I knew the name, but I couldn't place Kepone. UNTIL I saw the bass player and remembered them as the band that bored me when they opened for Jesus Lizard some time back. They sound good for a few seconds, but quickly becoming monotonous. And that fucking bass player can't seem to keep his tongue in his mouth. Arcwelder, though, were real fucking good. Basic loud, noisy guitar-driven songs. And try as I might, I couldn't think of a bad thing to say, except maybe that the guitar/vocalist was too pretty, or was trying to be pretty. Shit, I'm supposed to be critical, right? Regarding MULE: hey, it was a Thursday night and we were tired. We left before Mule got on. I'm sure it was a mistake, but I make mistakes every day. One more won't hurt. Next time, Mule.

Thurston Moore, Lee Ranaldo
Khyber Pass, Philadelphia--April 27

I wouldn't recognize Lee Ranaldo if he stepped on my foot, so I didn't realize he was one of the two guys who opened up, playing with their guitars and synthesizers. What one of the local rags called "a wall of buzz," I call shitty guitar art noise. Sorry, Lee. And the same goes for the 2nd act, a very hip japanese noise rocker (whose name I've lost) who played with his guitar for 20 minutes. But Thurston's little side project was pretty good. Not amazing, but worth 6 bucks on a Wednesday night. Sounding like Sonic Youth outtakes from the last 2 albums, the band was entertaining enough to keep me there. I would've preferred something a little more daring, or something, but it was just right for the kids in their "Goo" t-shirts.

The Fenwicks
Brownies Pub, NYC--April 30, 1994

Many years ago, I heard a punk cover of "I am the Walrus" and, ever since, I've stood by the statement that "The only good Beatles song is a covered Beatles song." Test it out for yourself. And if you still don't believe it, go see The Fenwicks perform "Ob-la-di, ob-la-da" at a fever-pitched ska beat. The Fenwicks are not normally my thing, describing themselves as a ska-funk-punk-amalgamation (or something like that), but I did enjoy them live. The main entertainment onstage is the singer; he's a fucking goofball. Half eccentric (a la Tom from Alice Donut) and half Art School/Theater reject, he's got quite an act, including stuffing his harmonica in his mouth (width-wise) and playing it, and later playing a tune on a plastic trumpet with his nose. Their album is called "Member of No Tribe," out on Argus Records. Give it a shot, if you feel like it. But do see them live if you have the chance.

Shellac, Brick Layer Cake, Rodan, Shortie
Thread Waxing Space, NYC--May 9, 1994

Tom has a tape of a show from WFMU (the ONLY thing I miss about living in North Jersey) that announces--among other amazing shows--Big Black appearing at CBGB's. This was 1986 or so. We were working; we didn't go. In 1988, Rapeman played The Roxy in New Brunswick, NJ. I was new to the area and didn't know where The Roxy was; I didn't have a car; I didn't know anyone to ride with; I didn't go. In 1989, Flour played Maxwells with Albini guesting on guitar; I was working again; I didn't go. Now--eight years after falling in love with Atomizer--I REFUSE to miss the latest Albini incarnation. So Tom and I drove to NYC this Monday night. And fuck me, wasn't it worth it. We sat outside while Shortie was on, though they sounded good from the street. Rodan was good enough to enjoy. Brick Layer Cake (Todd Trainer, Shellac drummer, singing) sucked ass; with or without Albini smacking the drum for them, they were a band to endure, not enjoy. Sorry, Todd. You seem like a nice chap, but, well, sorry. But then Shellac came on and kicked the shit out of this (mostly) industry crowd. (It was such an industry show that there was a back area set aside with a monitor and bar--for the label people who didn't want to get too close to the band, but wanted to see how they'd look on TV. Even Todd Trainer bitched that he's "played 13 shows on this island, but together they don't add up to the fucking guest list for this show.") Shellac played 4 of the 5 single songs (no "Man who invented fire") and a load of unreleased material. It was a truly great show, complete with heckling kids in the audience and a surprisingly nice rapport with the band. They even urged everyone not to pay $25 for copies of their singles at Bleecker Bob's; they've got enough copies to go around. A great show, a great band. I hope you caught them before they go the way of Rapeman. You know how fickle Albini is.

Shellac, Brick Layer Cake, Don Caballero
Walnut St., Phil.--May 11, 1994

(As I said, I wasn't missing them if I could help it.) I'm a sucker for a strong bass line. That's one of the reasons I was always crazy for Big Black and why I'm crazy for Shellac. And as luck would have it, Amy & I were able to park our asses on the ground next to the bass stack. Whooee! Talk about loud. And talk about a great fucking time! Sitting there with a couple drinks in my belly, Amy leaning against me in these tight shorts, the bass pounding in my stomach, Albini's 12-string tearing through my hollow skull--shit, I wanted to throw Amy down on the floor behind the drums and fuck her, hard, in tune. Now THAT would've been a show. But even if we didn't screw, we did get FREE FUCKING BEER. Yes, the guys hosting the party--it really was more like a party than an organized show--had a couple kegs of free beer. And it was 5 bucks to get in. FUCK ME, it doesn't get better. So what more can I add? We skipped out on Brick Layer Cake (having been burned on Monday) and saw half of Don Caballero, who were ok, you know? Good enough, but not as good as I'd heard. But the sound wasn't so hot, unless you were sitting in front of the stacks, so I'd go to see Don C again. But then it was over and we went home. And fucked, hard. What a perfect night.

1-800-544-2028

I cannot accept automated phone solicitations. I am so fucking sick of getting up off my ass to answer the phone, only to hear a fuzzy recording asking me to call for more information on real estate, or banking, or home repairs. In the right mood, I call the numbers back and scream at their machines. Other times, when it's an 800 number, I ask people to call them from everywhere in the country. It's my aim to make it so uneconomical for these companies to solicit in this fashion that they'll stop this shit. So call these fuckers. And stay on the line a long time. Thank you.

Surgery--"Shimmer"
Atlantic Records

What we've got here is a slow starter, a real slow starter. Flat out, the first 2 songs annoy me: "Bootywhack" and "Off the A List." I've had enough tired guitars and slung-low NYC vocals to last a lifetime. But, then out of nowhere, "Vibe Out" (4th song) whips in and lifts my spirits. And it continues. "D-Nice" is a great track; the guitar is interesting, the vocals engaging. Same thing "Gulf Coast Score." But then "Didn't I know You Once" loses me like the first couple songs, and the album ends on a so-so note with "No 1 Pistola." Overall? Half great, half eh. I'll tape the songs I like & forget the rest.

The Miss Alans--"Blusher"
BMG/Zoo

A sticker on the shrink-wrapping led me to expect The Miss Alans to sound something like Lush, or Luna, or any one of those flaky 4AD bands. In any case, I was looking forward to an atmospheric, ethereal background music; I had a six of Porter in the fridge and Amy naked in the bed. It was going to be a pleasant fuck. But after 2 songs, I had to jump up and turn it off. The Miss Alans aren't a pleasant, dreamy music. They're shit. The first 10 seconds of the first song are all right. Airy, plucky, sythn'd guitar. And then the singer opens his hole and out comes crap leftover from a 1986 John Hughes movie. And even worse, on a few songs he slips into an inflection like that fuck from Smashing Pumpkins; I hate that shit. The worst song of the album is far and away "Winona," an honest-to-god sympathy song to the big W. The best song? No such beast. Don't give this crap your time.

small 23--"True Zero Hook"
Alias Records

The current curse of North Carolina is Superchunk, and the comparisons that are inevitably made to any band hailing from that area. But even before I checked the production notes and saw NC as the home of small 23, I was considering a bill with them opening for Superchunk. But that's not to equate the 2 bands--not at all. small 23 reminds me more of the good (rare) Das Damen song, or "Home Again" Doughboys. It's more on that powerpop end of the spectrum. And do I know the singer from somewhere else? (I wish I got bio's with some of this shit.) Whatever the category, it's a great album. Try "Noodles" and "Saturday" for the quick argument.

One Nation, underground--compilation
Monkeyland Records

If I liked this kind of music, I'd enjoy this CD more. But the selections are mostly the same poppy, radio-ready crap that I avoid in daily life. It runs the gamut, at least, from the hippie-edge with The Grovers to alternative-metal tracks from Little Savage and Betty Stress to synth/techno-crap from Night Shade. The standout of the disc, though, isn't a song--it's a soundbite from "Barfly" included at the end of the Zen Parade song. It's the conversation leading up to one of my favorite lines of the movie: "Nobody in this neighborhood can swallow paste like I can." So I guess I won't throw this CD out, like I will The Miss Alans. I'll just leave it on the shelf until I find someone to give it to who'll appreciate it more.

ExVegas--"1993/Thin Across" 7"
Nylon Rash Records

Some bands need to be seen live before they are heard from out of the studio. ExVegas is such a band. For instance, I don't like bands with female singers who sing like female singers--Scrawl, Throwing Muses, etc.--and at first listen, ExVegas should be lumped into this bunch. But I saw them live before I heard the single, and it made all the difference. 3 guitars, 1 Fender Jazz Bass and a drummer: ExVegas is a great band to have blaring out of a large stack in a small venue. Live, the singer gets drowned out, which I wish would've happen on their recording. I missed their first couple songs, which included a cover of HD's "Pink Turns Blue," but enjoyed the half dozen songs I did hear. Worth seeing, and even worth a couple bucks for the single--especially if you like female singers.

Iron City Beer
3-40 oz. @ $1.25 ea., Camden, NJ

After a particularly rough week and accompanying weekend of drinking, I decided to dry out for a week or so. It's tough work--drinking--you know? I've actually been waking up sore from the exertion. Shit, when you're starting at 7 and going 'til 2, it's like another fucking job. So I decided to take a vacation; call out sick from my boss, Mr. Booze. I didn't drink at Shellac (NYC) mainly because I had to drive 100 miles back to Philadelphia at 2 a.m. And I didn't drink too much for the local Shellac show, just to see if I could stop drinking at 5 drinks. And I did. So confident that everything's OK--no trace of alcoholism here, thank you--I stopped at my favorite liquor store after work and picked up 3+ quarts of my favorite cheap beer. I knew you'd be happy for me. Thanks for the concern.

Beer Frame #2

A fine publication that has a healthy respect for the swank man and America's by-products, "Beer Frame" offers a wonderful listing of some of the more odd objects and services to be found in this fine country, such as Guycan Canned Mutton, the Car John Disposable Urinal and a complimentary extra button service by a small shirt manufacturer. I'll be sending out my $2 for a copy of #1, since I enjoyed #2 so much. You should do the same. Or go find for a copy at your local bookstore.

Urotsukidoji
Penthouse Distributors

Japanimation with a hardcore demonfuck slant. Even in their animation, it seems that the Japanese cannot show pubic hair. Oh well. I recently watched the undubbed version with 2 quarts in front of me and Peggy Lee playing behind me--I recommend you do the same. This is a perfect video for the art school crowd that screams to be dangerous, but will cringe and protest when the multi-cocked demon rapes a high school cheerleader. Show it at the next hipster party you throw.

Boxing Helena
Rented--May 13

Holy Cow! What a horrible fucking movie! If I were the King, I'd've put a bullet through the TV. Even seeing whats-her-name (the lead) with her shirt off didn't help. Whooee! No wonder it bombed! From bad dialogue to bad acting to a PATHETIC resolution, this film has NOTHING going for it. I cannot believe that in 1993, anyone would be stupid enough to use the "it was only a dream" cop-out. Is that Ms. Lynch's idea of artsy? Quirky? MACABRE? The ONLY thing that could've possibly rescued this movie would've been watching Julian Sands fuck Helena the Stump. BUT THEY STOPPED SHORT and consequently, this movie is not worth watching at all.

Friday Night Asia Fuck
Cinemax

A few months ago, I got a call from a pleasant woman at the cable company. She caught me at 8pm and I was already a few drinks into the evening. She offered me HBO and Cinamax for $10 a month, for both. Shit, I figured, 10 bucks? If I see 3 good movies, it's paid for. Then the bill came 4 weeks later--I wasn't being charged a dime. And now, 3 months later, still no charge. So we've got 2 movie channels which we rarely watch--for free. But about this Asia Fuck thing. The last few Friday nights that I've turned on Cinamax, usually getting home drunk from a bar or some such place, I've encountered softcore porn featuring skanky Asian women screwing old white men, or screwing dirty Frenchmen, or screwing each other. Shit, if I were paying the 10 bucks a month, I'd consider Cinamax PAID FOR. IN FULL. And I suppose if the TV weren't in the living room (and in my bedroom instead) then I'd be getting a lot MORE out of these movies, you know what I mean? (Get it? I'd be pulling myself, eh? Ah, grow up. You do it, too.) But, as it is, I sit back with another drink and enjoy the nudity. Is this an official programming decision at Cinamax? Did the big wigs decide to feature Asian Fuck Films every Friday night? They've already got the Vanguard Cinema, where they show ART movies each Wednesday night. And I think they offer a Meathead Action Night and a Dismal Romantic Film Feature every week, too. Good marketing, Cinamax. Very good marketing. I'm not cancelling my subscription (until you make me pay, that is).

Rocko's Modern Life
Nickelodeon

Here's the first version of this review, written 5-94, now painfully outdated: "If it's not already, RML is sure to become the next big MTV hit. Rocko's Modern Life is cool as shit. Rocko is a cynical, dry-witted wallaby who lives in a shithole apartment with shit furniture and a stupid dog, has loud neighbors (frogs named The Bigheads) and has shitbag friends, principal among them being a cow appropriately named "Heffer." Heffer is the adopted son of a family of wolves who regularly serve him beef for dinner. Sarcastic, intelligent and obnoxious, RML is the perfect entertainment for nursing that Sunday morning beer, with or without the kids." Problem is, RML has already been picked up by mtv! FUCK! AND they moved it to the late afternoon! I'm a fucking cultural prophet, I tell you! First early-60's swank cocktail jazz, now Rocko! In any case, my thanks to Amy for introducing me to Rocko. (Hmm...maybe Amy's the prophet this time?) And fuck "Entertainment Weekly" for calling RML a Ren & Stimpy knock-off.

The Operation
The Learning Channel--May 17, 8:00 pm

I was eating dinner and flipping around the channels. Then--glory be!--a man's sac fills the screen. Enter a doctor: he grabs one of the balls, squeezes it tightly in his fist, pulling the normally-wrinkled flesh nice 'n taut, and SLICES IT OPENS. Whoa, mother! Stopped me dead, I'll tell you! It took half a dozen slices to get through all the veins to the ball itself. And it was a fucking mess! I cringed and turned the channel. After finishing my food, I turned it back on. By this time, the doc was deep into this guy's testicle, noodling around, looking for something. And you know what? A man's balls, flayed wide open, look EXACTLY like a woman's genitals when you take 2 fingers and spread the lips. Raw flesh, baby. Watch "The Operation," weekly (Tues. nights, I think), on The Learning Channel. But finish your dinner first.