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.

Review: Murder Junkies at Big V’s

The Murder Junkies drummer took the stage and immediately stripped, revealing a chubby, completely hairless body. With his bright red beard and neon green hair, he looked like a giant baby that had just slid out of the cooch of Candyland’s sleaziest stripper.

This flyer is way too conservative for a Murder Junkies/Faggot show.

Some girl yelled, “That’s the smallest penis I’ve ever seen!”

I don’t think he heard the comment. He grabbed the microphone and mumbled bizarre introductions for his fellow band members as they took their places on stage. “On our contract, we sign on the line as ‘The Best.’ We’re going to prove it to you.”

Before he moved to the drumset, he had one last thing to say: “We love you GG! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The drummer isn’t the only member of the Murder Junkies who looks like a demented gutter dwelling Saturday morning cartoon character. Merle Allin, bass player and GG’s brother, is the epitome, with his couple of random dreds reaching down to his shins, his pale face, his cowboy hat and his bushy Hitler mustache. They would definitely be the villains in the cartoons… and they would probably win.

Before the band started, someone standing behind me said, “This is going to go bad.” She was  wrong. This was no GG Allin nostalgia show. The singer didn’t try to mimic GG. He had his own distinct style. As he let loose his broken glass growl, he punched himself in the skull a few times during the first song. That was as violent as it got. Instead of eating piles of shit, he danced around the stage, doing a demented jig as the band tore through their music.

They proved themselves to be their own distinct entity, related to, but separate from GG Allin. Yeah, they played a few GG songs, “Rowdy Beer Drinkin’ Night” being a highlight, but they generally steered clear of what I would consider classic GG. No “Gimme Some Head.” No “Bite It.” No “I Wanna Fuck Myself.” Instead, they played originals, including a tune called “48 Days” that sounded damn near like the perfect sleaze punk song.

They closed out their quick set with a run through “I Kill Everything I Fuck,” with the crowd singing along, before everyone left the stage… everyone except the drummer. He didn’t want to go. He kicked out a ten minute solo before lubing up his drumsticks, jamming them both up his ass at the same time and finishing with a couple psychotic screams into the microphone.

Faggot followed the Murder Junkies. I was pleased to see a handful of GG Allin fans flee in terror as Faggot’s dancers started spazzing out on the dance floor. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I heard one say.

Faggot are a boiling cauldron of glitter and penises. Back when TV used to be cool, you’d be able to turn it on at four in the morning and there was a decent chance that you would stumble onto some B-movie filled with skin and blood and multi-colored fluids. The combination of the weirdness on the screen and the sleep in your brain would somehow damage you. That’s Faggot.

Also, here’s an important fact: Don’t go to Faggot shows to see vagina. I’ve been to a lot of Faggot shows, and last night was the first time I saw vagina at one. You’ll see penises all over the place, covered in glitter, flying through the air, but vagina’s are less likely. The ratio is something like 666 glitter-soaked penis sightings to every one v. So don’t go see Faggot for vaginas. Go because they rock or because you like penises and glitter.

Last night’s set was short and to the point: Big boobed lady doing the splits. A song about fucking a retard at the Triple Rock. Dry humping. Actual pussy eating. A new song that deteriorated into a wall of noise that lasted another fifteen minutes beyond the end of their set. I got glitter on me. Fucking glitter.

The Murder Junkies played Big V’s in St. Paul, MN, on 05/24/09.

Review: All The Pretty Horses at 7th Street

You know that movie The Fly? Not the original one, but the superior, messier version that David Cronenberg made in the 80s? Pretend that Jeff Goldblum wasn’t in that movie. Instead, his part was played by Badmotorfinger-era Chris Cornell. Now pretend that, instead of a fly, it was Ronnie James Dio buzzing around in the transporter.

If the ugly, twisted creature that came out when the two bodies merged happened to be a female, it would have a voice not unlike the singer of Sirens of Titan.

At the show, the vocals were the high point. The rest was sort of baffling. Musically, they seemed to be playing some strange tug of war between grunge band  and jam band. The toothless guitar solos seemed completely out of sync with the vocals. I kept wanting the guitar player to just rock out, but it never really happened.

All The Pretty Horses came onto a stage thick with fog and green lasers. They played Ruin, my personal favorite of their albums, from start to finish. It’s strange music. Goth and glam are the labels most commonly slapped onto it, but neither fit quite right. It’s not really goth, because it’s not mopey enough. It’s not really glam, because it’s too driving.

At least on Ruin, there’s an abandon that seems reminiscent of 70s punk. There’s that sense that things could just go fucking nuts at any point, and on songs like “Walking Dead,” they do, especially live, when Venus just pounds the fuck out the guitar and the sound digs it claws in.

Then they play a song like “In Heaven,” their version of the girl in the radiator’s song from David Lynch’s Eraserhead, and things take a turn for the surreal.

I tended to get lost in the music, only occasionally noticing the bare tits, pirate eye patches, funny hats and tight latex onstage. It’s kind of a shame that this is the aspect of the band that tends to get talked about the most. Kind of undercuts the fact that they fucking rock.

All The Pretty Horses played the 7th Street Entry in Minneapolis, MN, on 05/21/09.

Preview: Murder Junkies at Big V’s

When I was in high school, I went through a really intense GG Allin phase. I exchanged letters with GG’s brother Merle, who was happy to answer all of my bizarre questions. I never completely outgrew that phase, which is why I’m happy that Merle now carries on GG’s legacy with the Murder Junkies.

This flyer is way too conservative for a Murder Junkies/Faggot show.

Will there be shit throwing? Will there be blood? Will they have GG Allin’s severed head jammed onto a microphone stand at the front of the stage? Probably no for the last one, but all the rest is totally up in the air. It’s at Big V’s (the V stands for violence), so chances of at least a fight breaking out are pretty high.

Faggot will be joining the Junkies. Check out my review of their recent show with Anal Cunt.

Also, GG Allin is now a bobblehead.

Murder Junkies will play Big V’s in St. Paul, MN, on 05/24/09. My review of the show will be posted the following day.

News: PETA2 – Making Both Vegetarianism and Punk Rock Stupid

Just like everyone else in the world, I’m really excited about voting for the world’s sexiest vegetarian at PETA2.

Since Swamp Thing isn’t on the list, I’m having trouble deciding between Aaron Dalbec from Bane and the dudes from Cattle Decapitation. Oh jeez.

Then there’s this guy:

Seriously though, have Bane and Cattle Decapitation recently pulled in a bunch of teenage girls as fans, or are there macho hardcore dudes and metal heads nominating people for this?

Oh, and who the fuck put John Norris on the list?

If your music fandom is a little more active and lot less stupid, you can see Bane on 7/31/09 and Cattle Decapitation on 6/9/09. Both are at Station 4 in St. Paul, MN.

5/19 Review: Big Business at the Triple Rock

Tweak bird sounded like a bunch of fucking crows making stoner metal. They were smirking the whole time, like they were in on some joke that the crowd didn’t know about. That’s just like crows.

Big Business shut my brain down. I was watching the drummer lay down these rhythms that seemed complex, yet fit perfectly within the confines of the songs, when my wires started getting crossed. The sound of the drums turned into a complex equation that my brain couldn’t stop trying to figure out. Instead of giving up, it just quit and everything turned upside down. I had to leave early.

Oh yeah, and I was really tired.

Big Business played the Triple Rock Social Club in Minneapolis, MN, on 05/18/09.

Photos: MDC at the Triple Rock

Degross Punk Photography posted a bunch of great pictures from the MDC show. See if you can guess which ones are of Dave Dictor talking about pot and which ones are of Dave Dictor shouting about politics.

Hint: He’s not talking about pot here:

Read my review of the show.

MDC played the Triple Rock Social Club in Minneapolis, MN, on 05/03/09.

Review: Lady Sovereign at the Fine Line

Chester French is one of the most painfully bad bands I’ve seen in a while. Slick nerd pop with shit tons of echo. Hey, guess what I don’t want to hear? Dorks with pubic hair growing out of their skulls covering No Doubt’s “Hella Good” and absolutely ruining “Remember (Walking in the Sand).” If bands like this are going to be put on stage in front of people, it really should involve them being locked in a cage with a half dozen hungry grizzly bears. I’d like to see them quirk their way out of that shit.

Before Lady Sovereign took the stage, her DJ and her drummer started laying down the foundation. Then some 12-year-old girl got on stage and started screaming. Oh wait, that was Lady Sovereign.

For some reason, I had thought Lady Sovereign made more hip-hop-ish music, but what she played at this show was more along the lines of gritty dance pop with maybe a few hints of the h + h. Nobody has more appropriately ripped off the cure than when she sampled their “Close to Me” in the song “So Human.”  During her set, she made odd references to a personal joke that she couldn’t let the crowd in on. At least, that’s what I thought she said through her cartoonish cockney accent. Maybe it had something to do with whoever she was calling on her cell phone while she was getting all emotional on “Jigsaw.”

She wrapped her unfortunately short set with a rousing version of “Public Warning” in which she implored everyone in the crowd to mosh. A few people sort of bounced up and down, which doesn’t really count. It wasn’t really a moshing crowd. Still, Lady Sovereign gave it her all.

Not bad for a 12-year-old girl.

Lady Sovereign played at the Fine Line Music Cafe in Minneapolis, MN, on 05/16/09.

Review: Mike Watt at 7th Street

You never know what you’re going to get at a Grant Hart gig. I’ve seen him spend an entire set pissed off, playing the same song over and over as the crowd jeered, before finally stomping off the stage. I’ve seen him play the punk legend, graciously cruising through one Husker Du tune after another, sending chills down my spine.

Opening for Mike Watt was Grant Hart in full on fun mode. Before he took the stage, he wandered through the crowd with a pen and paper, asking people what songs he should put on his set list. When he began by playing “Remains to be Seen,” it sounded almost too upbeat.

Someone in the crowd yelled out for “2541.” “Already?” he asked. “Do you want me to play it standing on one foot?” He made it about half way through before he had to return to his standard dual-footed stance. And that’s how it went through a brief set covering his solo tunes, Nova Mob stuff and Husker Du classics like “Never Talking to You Again” and “Books about UFOs.”

To finish, he invited Mike Watt and band onto the stage to help him with a sloppy but fun jam through one of his more recent tunes. After that, Grant Hart left the stage… but he would return later.

I will admit that I knew very little about Mike Watt before last night. I love his first solo album, even though I know it’s sort of a 90s alterna-rock all star record and the bass is mixed too low, so it’s not really indicative of what he does. I saw him with the Stooges last year, but that wasn’t really his show either.

So when he and his band, the Missingmen, whipped through his set at such a breakneck hardcore pace, I felt knocked out. Yes, his music deviated from the formula and sounded azzy at times (pumping his fist in the air and yelling “Coltrane” no less than three times during his set gave away his influence), but it never ventured into wank territory. It all came through so fast that I had trouble absorbing it. The bass was turned up so high I can still hear it nearly 12 hours later. When they broke into “Funhouse,” it took me a few seconds to realize what was happening. Their version was absolutely crushing. Psychedelically skin-peeling, knocking the air right out of my lungs. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a cover song played like that.

For an encore, they had a bit of a surprise up their sleeves. Mike Watt and band came out onto the stage. Grant Hart took his spot behind the drums. Then a second bassist came onto the stage: Greg Norton from Husker Du. When Grant Hart saw who it was, he freaked out for a second and just about left the stage. He didn’t. He climbed back behind the drums and they did what bands who were on the SST label back in the day tend to do: They jammed the fuck out. Of course, considering who was on stage, it was a pretty fucking intense jam.

Mike Watt and the Missingmen played the 7th Street Entry in Minneapolis, MN, on 05/15/09.

Friday Flash Fiction: Toxic Thrash Resurrection

The following short short story appeared in a zine I put out called Are You Sick of Zombies Yet?, which collected a couple of my previously published zombie shorts and this one, which had never been published before:

“We are Slime Time and this song’s called ‘Toxic Thrash Revolution!” The singer let out a banshee scream as the guitar player crushed out the eerie opening chords. A wall of flying hair formed at the front of the stage as heads banged in time to the music.

Tim shoved his way through the crowd, joining the swirl of sweating bodies in the mosh pit. He punched the air and shouted along:

Nuclear death is in our midst

Chemicals fill your lungs

A mutant holocaust everywhere

Hell is where we live!

From the corner of his eye, Tim saw a dude jump on stage. He cheered the guy on, ready for the stage diving to begin. Instead, the man reached into his jean jacket and charged the band. Tim knew what he had to do.

This band had gotten him through high school. Their music had kept him from slitting his wrists more times than he could count. Time to repay the favor.

He jumped onto the stage in time to see the guy whip out a pistol. Too late.

Bass player. Drummer. Guitar player. All shot down.

The rhythm guitar player lifted his instrument. Before he could swing, a bullet tore through his neck. A spray of red crossed the stage, covered the crowd. People ran for the exit.

The guy in the jean jacket turned the gun on Tim.

“Why, dude?” Tim asked as the bullet pierced his chest.

He fell back. The stage lights above him faded away.

They quickly came back into view. The jean jacket guy stood above him, cackling and splashing a jar of neon green liquid around the stage.

The dudes in the band stood up, dripping blood and glowing ooze.

“What is this?” the singer asked through his veil of tangled brown hair.

“The world’s first zombie thrash band!” Jean Jacket yelled.

“We’re zombies?” the guitar player asked, looking down at his hands. “I don’t feel like a zombie.”

“I feel hungry,” the drummer said.

“Me too,” the rest of the band added in unison.

Tim agreed. But hungry for what?

He looked at the nappy hair on the head of jean jacket man and his stomach rumbled.

“Brains!” he yelled.

“Brains!” the guys in the band yelled.

They swarmed Jean Jacket. The bass player took the first bite. Tim had to elbow through the Slime Time guys to get a handful of mind meat.

“Hey!” someone yelled from the crowd. The fans had come back inside. “Are you guys gonna play, or just eat brains?”

The singer laughed and slammed his tattooed fist against the stage. “Hell yeah we’re gonna play!”

Everyone grabbed their instruments.

“This one’s called ‘The Slime Waltz.’ Dance you scumbags!”

With the thud of the double bass drum at his back, Tim smiled and dived back into the crowd. Being dead was no reason not to keep moshing.