Review: Klownboy Circus of Gore

Do you ever find yourself sitting around, watching the Toxic Avenger, thinking that nobody is making good cult movies anymore? I mean, sure, Lloyd Kaufman is still around. Charles Band. John Waters. All the old guys are still doing their thing, and there are a lot of people out there making copies of the shit these guys were doing decades ago, but where are the cult movies of the 2000s? Yeah, there’s some neat stuff coming out of Japan, but what about the United States? I caught the premiere of Klownboy Circus of Gore last night at the Riverview Theater and found an answer to that question. Check this out:

Klownboy is the epic and tragic saga of a confused clown who is just trying to get through life without the people around him sucking all of the fun out of him. Of course, his idea of fun is biting old ladies at the liquor store, fucking corpses that he finds in the woods and rocking out to Impaler, but that’s neither here nor there.

Two impressive feats that should be pointed out. First, the character of Klownboy is much stronger than you’d expect to find in this sort of movie. His shifts from pathetic sniveling to violent dementia hold every disjointed and delirous scene together.

Second, the special effects are fucking weird. There’s no other way to explain it. They may seem obviously fake at times, but they’re used in such a way that they still manage to accomplish gross-outs effectively. It’s not even that they look fake, it’s that they look bizarre and cartoonish. They are so over the top that it keeps eyes glued to the screen, wondering what the fuck is going to happen next.

I seriously hope Troma or somebody picks this up and puts it out on DVD so the world can experience this insanity.

Hatefuck: The True Story of a Wisconsin Hardcore Band

Hatefuck was a hardcore band based out of Green Bay Wisconsin in the early part of this decade. Members went on to form Pink Reason. An Australian zine called Negative Guest List recently put together a piece about the band, reprinting a few articles from old issues of Freak Tension. I also wrote a longer bit about my part in the band, which was minimal. That bit wasn’t used, so here it is, along with the full article from NGL.

The first time I saw Hatefuck play was the last time I punched someone in the face. I’m not sure if it was the band’s first show, but it was definitely an early one. They were even listed on the flyer as Zone 13 Rejects, which was Hatefuck’s predecessor.

My job was to drive the band – at that point still Kevin, Shawn, Nate and Ralph – to the show. I played the role regularly. My hands off stance on intoxicants made me a good fit. I could drive. They could drink and do whatever drugs they wanted in the back of the van. They took advantage of the opportunity.

I had driven them around as the Rejects a lot, but driving to this Hatefuck show was different. Before we even left Green Bay, things went crazy. We pulled into the Burger King on 29 so the guys could grab some snacks and take one last piss before we hit the road. I waited in the car. I don’t eat meat.

A minute or so passed and the doors of the joint flew open. The guys bolted across the parking lot and jumped into the van, yelling at me to drive away fast. I followed orders, knowing full well that these guys didn’t bluff about quick getaways. Anything could have happened in that restaurant. Chances are, whatever it was, it was not legal.

I drove fast, but not too fast. Speeding would only attract police, I figured. When we were far enough away, I pried the story out of them. Shawn had jerked off all over the men’s room, smearing his cum across the walls of the stalls and elsewhere. Someone had walked in as he was completing his jizz vandalism. Good reason to get out of there.

Halfway to the show, we had a blowout. Spare tire? Fuck no. Plenty of Rhinelander beer. No spare tires. This was Hatefuck. I made a tow truck come for us. Somehow, Kevin and I landed in the cab with the driver. The guy had been a total dick over the phone, pissing about our lack of a spare. When he found out he was towing a band, he got excited. I listened as Kevin tried to explain to this hairy motherfucker, who totally reeked of weed, that Hatefuck wasn’t exactly like Pearl Jam.

By the time we arrived at Nate’s Dungeon, every one of us was fuming. The blowout had flipped a switch and everything felt tense, ready to boil. I knew it was going to come out during the show.

Hanging around in the backyard before the bands started playing, I noticed this kid hanging around who kept fucking up Nate’s shit. The dude broke Nate’s clothesline by hanging from it like a jackass. Any other day, I might have been hanging from the clothesline myself. Not that day. I don’t think Nate cared, but it pissed me off. I called the kid on it. He walked away.

Hatefuck played. I had tunnel vision. All I remember was stomping around that basement, making one circle after the next. I didn’t even really see what the band was doing. I didn’t see them stripping down. I didn’t see the vacuum cleaner go into Kevin’s anus. These are things that I found afterwards when I overheard all the “Holy shit, did that just happen?” discussions taking place in the backyard.

Holding On were the evening’s headliner. Minneapolis straight edge. Good band to include on a bill with Hatefuck. The band started and I got my tunnel vision on. In the middle of my mosh, I noticed the jackass who had fucked up Nate’s clothesline messing with my little brother. I plowed the dude into the wall and put two, maybe three, fists into his teeth before the crowd separated us. I stomped up the stairs to the kitchen, where Kevin was hanging out. When I showed him the blood draining out of my knuckles. He smiled.

I didn’t punch that kid because he did anything all that bad, not really. I did it because it seemed like the direction the evening should go in. Actually, that’s not accurate either, because it implies that the punching was premeditated. It wasn’t. That’s the thing about Hatefuck. There was violence. However, none of that violence ever seemed forced. It seemed to come about because it was the natural course of things.

In other words, violence only came about when it was right. When it wasn’t right, it didn’t come. My favorite Hatefuck show was when they played with Fat Day at a pavilion at Bay Beach in Green Bay on a sunny late afternoon. This was when their lineup had solidified as Kevin, Shawn, Nate and Tim. The show was hot, sweaty and serene. There was no violence, just smiles. That’s when I realized how awesome Hatefuck were. They never hesitated to let their emotions flow through their music. If they were in a good mood and feeling positive, it came through. If they were feeling negative, they could play the same songs, but everything came out differently. It just so happened that they were more likely to be feeling negative.

The most important thing about Hatefuck, the thing that differentiated it from Zone 13 Rejects, was that it was all-inclusive. It wasn’t just music. It wasn’t just four dudes. Hatefuck was a convenient, and often appropriate, label slapped on Kevin, Shawn, Tim and Nate’s lives from about ’02 to ’05. Everything those lives encompassed – people, places, thoughts, emotions, everything – was HFK. It seems grandiose, but it’s not, at least not anymore than life is.

To celebrate this part of life, shows were played. Drinks were consumed. The letters HFK – Hatefuck Krew – were carved into flesh in beer-soaked basements.

So, in a way, every time I hung out with those guys, I was part of an HFK show. It didn’t matter if the band was playing or not. Maybe we were just smashing shit or doing some vandalism. Maybe we were encroaching on punk parties and starting brawls…

I remember when Hatefuck broke up, I was going to be in the next band. Plans for a new musical project were being hashed out around a keg in some Green Bay basement. I mentioned to Kevin and Shawn that I played tenor sax. They thought the idea was cool. Bottles were smashed, not in celebration, but because that was what was done at these things. I tried to pin someone down to a time when we could practice. Nobody really cared. I pushed. A time was set.

The next Sunday at noon, the predetermined practice time, I arrived at Brock’s place. Brock was wasted. He tried to get his bass out. Didn’t happen. Shawn was in the bathroom. I think there was a girl in there with him. The shower was running. Kevin wasn’t there. I sat on the couch, wondering if I should take my sax out and warm up. I decided against it.

I sat on the couch for half an hour as Brock meandered in and out of consciousness next to me. Shawn never came out of the bathroom. Realizing that this probably wasn’t the right band for a straight edge dude who likes to keep a rigid schedule, I took off. Better to just observe, I decided. And drive the van.

I witnessed the birth of Pink Reason. A basement show, of course. I walked in and it was surprisingly packed. Candles were lit all over. Cigarette smoke was heavy enough to take the place of a fog machine. It rubbed in my eyes, bringing the scent of booze and body odor with it. Dax, the first singer of the band, rose up in front of the crowd. His face was covered with duct tape, with only small openings for his eyes and mouth. The shrieks of this deaf man were so fucking shrill that they made my skin crawl. Kevin, Shawn and, I think, Nate, made music that seemed like a pretty natural progression from Hatefuck.

I’m pretty sure a fight broke out that night before I left.

Preview: Klownboy Circus of Gore at the Riverview

Specially designed for weirdos who like weird things. Seriously, if this video doesn’t make you want to go to the Riverview Theater for the premier of Klownboy Circus of Gore, then maybe the performance by Mommy Sez No (reviewed in Razorcake #50) or the appearance by Lloyd Kaufman of Troma Films fame will.

Support local weirdness or local weirdness will disappear.

The premier of Klownboy Circus of Gore will take place at the Riverview Theater in Minneapolis, MN, on 10/24/09 at 11:30 PM.

How Much Testosterone Can You Cram Into One Music Video? Only Skarhead Knows.

Even though Skarhead mastermind Danny Diablo was a part of the worst show I’ve ever been to, I’m still a fan. The new video is essential Skarhead, a bunch of meatheads stomping, flexing their muscles and yelling about drinking, fucking and fighting.

I like the little bit where Diablo grumbles something indecipherable about having a kid now. Totally awkward. Almost emo. Also, when I searched for the video on youtube, Sade’s “By Your Side” came up as a related video. Hmmm.

News: Razorcake #51

The new issue of Razorcake is out now. It features an interview with the Underground Railroad to Candyland and all of the other good stuff.

I contributed a nice helping of reviews, which I’m pretty proud of. You can read them online:

• BRAINWORMS II: Swear to Me: LP
• DESGUACE: Yo Me Se Cuidar: LP
• FAGGOT: Self-titled: CD
• GEIN AND THE GRAVEROBBERS: Gruesome Twosome: CD
• GG ALLIN AND THE CAROLINA SHITKICKERS: Self-titled: 7”
• HEXTALLS: Call it a Comeback: LP
• LEATHERVEIN: Self-titled: LP
• REMISSION: Absolute Power: 7”
• RUNNAMUCKS: Clawing Back: LP

The Internet is okay.

Review: No Doubt at the Xcel

Paying extra to get in early paid off. Kate and I got a spot in the front row. Thousands of people trickled in behind us. We passed the time singing along to the Descendents and Bad Brains tunes blasting out of the speakers.

Speaking of the Bad Brains, I was curious about the opening band, Bedouin Soundclash, because Darryl Jenifer (Bad Brains bassist, yo) has been producing their albums. Unfortunately, their mopey ska didn’t really reflect that connection.

Paramore came next, opening with “Misery Business,” the one song I knew.  Their set moved faster than the 45 minutes it lasted. Bonus points for the back flip the bass player did over the guitar player.

A giant white curtain fluttered in front of the stage. The band member’s silhouettes appeared on it and me, Kate and the 10,000 or so people behind us went nuts. “Spiderwebs” kicked it off as Gwen and the band ran around the sci-fi sleek stage set.

Part of me was worried No Doubt might have been one of those bands that, having reached such a level of popularity that they can pack arenas, would put on an overly glossy show, overproduced, choreographed and punctuated by cheesy, rehashed crowd banter. I had no reason to worry. Yes, they were tight musically, but it still seemed fresh, even spontaneous. They were into what they were doing and their energy flowed from the stage in waves.

I don’t usually get starstruck, but with Gwen Stefani and her abs four feet in front of me, yeah, I get starstruck, so highlights are hard to pick out. They played all of their singles, throwing in a few curve balls, like a slowed-down arrangement of “Excuse Me Mr.” They also threw in a couple less-familiar tunes from Tragic Kingdom, like “Different People,” during which Gwen forgot the lyrics, which she blamed on a couple of sisters in the front row with the lyrics “Two sisters only have their parents to blame” written on a sign.

They wrapped up the set with “Just a Girl.” After doing a dozen push-ups, Gwen requested that the dudes in the audience sing the chorus. “That was terrible,” she said before handing it over to the ladies to give it a shot, which she was more approving of.

For the encore, Gwen came back onto the stage dressed like some sort of ultra glam skinhead chick, wearing bleached jeans and a glittery Fred Perry. Instead of covering a song by The Business, they covered Adam and the Ants, perhaps the least skinheady band in the world. Drums were brought to the front of the stage to lay out the marching beats that lead into “Stand and Deliver.” I never thought I would like any fucking song that Adam Ant had anything to do with, but I guess this is an exception. Verses were handled by Gwen with assistance from the singers of Paramore and Bedouin Soundclash.

When the stage cleared, No Doubt wrapped things up with an amazing run through “Sunday Morning.” Then they went away. Sigh.

Set List:

• Spiderwebs
• Hella Good
• Underneath it All
• Excuse Me Mr.
• Ex-Girlfriend
• Happy Now/End it on This
• Simple Kind of Life
• Bathwater
• Guns of Navarone
• New
• Hey Baby
• Running
• Different People
• Don’t Speak
• It’s My Life
• Just a Girl

Encore:

• Rock Steady
• Stand and Deliver
• Sunday Morning

No Doubt played the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul, Minnesota, on 07/05/09.

News: Fuck. David Carradine is Dead.

One of the best musical scenes in any movie ever. Period.

Review: In Defence at Eclipse Records

The flyer declared this a zombie show. I was skeptical, until I pulled up and saw the crowd of punk rock corpses loitering in front of Eclipse Records. With great care, I made my way through them, safely avoiding infection.

The noise coming from the back room caused the deadies to follow close behind as I entered. Born For The Gallows took the stage. They worked the corpses into a serious frenzy with their charged punkcore. Luckily, no fresh blood was drawn. The zombies seemed content to feed on the band’s energy, and vice versa.

In Defence came next. They wore hocky masks, Jason Vorhees style. I guess Jason counts as a zombie… sort of. They plowed through “Call More Dudes.” Jokingly, they announced that their second song would be their last. Unfortunately, the joke turned out to be true.

As the band buzzed through its high impact hardcore, the doors flew open and an elite group of zombie hunters spilled into the room. Arrows flew from crossbows, finding homes in zombie skulls. Swords separated undead heads from bodies. Baseball bats splattered rotten brains across the dark walls.

I hid in the corner as the bodies piled up. The zombie hunters didn’t discriminate between dead and alive. The members of In Defence were brutally killed and recklessly tossed onto the pile of corpses. One arm remained on stage, clutching the neck of a guitar. As the feedback from that guitar filled the air, I snuck out the door.

In Defence played Eclipse Records in St. Paul, MN, on 05/28/09.

Review: Amebix at the Triple Rock

When Misery is on, it sounds like something is broken. That something is your skull. I had hoped that opening for crust legends Amebix would force them to put on a show that would send chunks of brain flying through the Triple Rock. They came damn close, landing somewhere between skull rattling and skull shattering, as they rumbled through favorites like “Bomb Blast” and “Midnight.”

I had assumed that freight trains coming into Minneapolis yesterday would be covered with every crusty punk within a 500 mile radius, clinging to the graffiti-covered steel like barnacles. The place was packed tight, but not uncomfortable, with no obvious overflow outside.

Were Amebix awesome? I couldn’t tell. I had a hard time hearing them through all the farts.

Actually, they were awesome.

Amebix are completely new to me. I just listened to Arise for the first time about a month ago. Perhaps I felt a little bit left out. Most of the people there seemed not only to know all the words, but sang along with all their hearts. There was a sense of reverence and awe that was almost tangible.

I could see why. From the opening of “Winter” on, Amebix somehow found a way to play a set that could be described equally as celebratory and emotionally devastating, crushing and uplifting. From a purely musical standpoint, they were precise and engulfing. I don’t believe that anyone in the crowd was not completely sucked in.

When they wrapped up with an encore that included “Arise” and “Drink and be Merry,” I didn’t really know how much time had passed. They had played a substantial set, but I still felt that the time had moved by too quickly. If they ever come back again, I’ll be ready.

Amebix played the Triple Rock Social Club in Minneapolis, MN, on 05/27/09.

News: Razorcake #50

The new issue of Razorcake is out now. It features an interview with Banner Pilot and lots of other good stuff. Also, it’s the 50th issue!

I contributed a few reviews, which you can read online if you want:

• Mommy Sez No: Hotwaterburnbaby CD
• Psycho Nubs: Alley of the Ignots CD
• Werevilsdare: Full Moon Fury CD

Check ‘em out. New issue in a couple months.