BOOK REVIEW! ANOTHER TUNELESS RACKET - PUNK AND NEW WAVE IN THE SEVENTIES VOL. FIVE, THE AMERICAN BEAT WEST  BY STEVEN H. GARDNER (Noise For Heroes Press, 2023)

Y'all know I would be lying if I said that I read every word, period and even semi-colon in the 700-plus page book, but at least I'm NOT going to pass it off as if I didn't read the thing but just tell you that it's great like Johnny Carson used to do. Anyway Steven H. Gardner of NOISE FOR HEROES fame has once again done us a fine service with this detailed account of just what was going on in the garages, basements and cheap rehearsal halls of the western portion of these here United States back during the seventies, a time when high energy and exciting rock & roll was certainly on the wane if you were stuck in Everyday USA, but if you wanted the down-to-earth action you surely knew where to look...

Given that a whole load of the punk rock (using that term in the loose Marc Zermati fashion that it always should be) coverage was pretty much focused on the East Coast as far as this continent went (the West being the Entertainment Capitol of the World, and who says that rock & roll is strictly entertainment and not a soundtrack for that International Youth Language of them days?)  there is a whole load of sparkling and pertinent information that is to be found in these pages. Gardner tries (perhaps even succeeds until more facts are uncovered in the future) in detailing to us as exactly what was going up, down and even sideways in all of the areas west of the Rockies, and if the guy missed anything well, whatever it was could have been so miniscule that even an electron microscope couldn't detect it.

Gardener's intelligent enough to dig back into the fifties/sixties roots of what eventually would come to a head what with even the likes of Kim Fowley and his pal Rodney Bingenheimer getting their kudos while the folk at BACK DOOR MAN are lauded for their efforts in moving and shaking the South Bay Scene (although there is nary a mention of DENIM DELINQUENT but you couldn't shove everything in!). San Francisco even gets their dues trying to rescue the area from the rot left over from the entire psychedelic era going to hack while in the Northwest a direct line of energy from the late-fifties garage band era down through the late-seventies is successfully revealed to our scale-falling eyes. Idiots like that Andy Secher, that guy who ran HIT PARADER into the ground back in the eighties and who actually said that he thought that "new wave" was getting all of the bigtime press while heavy metal was being ignored (hunh?) actually believed that punk rock had no roots if you can believe that! And people think that "I" should engage my mind before opening my mouth! Well, if ol' Andy would only get hold of these TUNELESS RACKET books maybe he would get somewhat of an education that listening to hackneyed hair metal bands just don't getcha!

Tirades against now-meaningless rock press cut and pasters who never amounted to anything asides, this book really does its best. If your faves of the day aren't mentioned well, worse things have happened in life. Otherwise well, these pages are filled with facts I'll bet you never knew about with inside-the-clique information that's all peppered with personal opinions that at times just might even make you angry, but if so well you could always write your own book. If you had the stamina, vast knowledge and wall-to-wall record collection that I'm sure Gardner has that is.

Hope everything's going bananas and rice with all of you regular BLOG TO COMM fans and followers! Thankfully life has become somewhat peachy keen around these parts (due to the tundra-like weather there's lots of funtime reading and music listening time on hand) as they should be for you too, at least if you're one of the few who's not on my naughty list. Otherwise well, what could I care if you fall off a log, hopefully a sequoia.

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Things have been happening at a rather fast pace as of late haven't they? I tried to be all up-to-date and current events but by the time I penned something said happening was older than me news and thus got the ax. For example I had a nice paragraph or two all set and ready to go regarding former CNN token black and gay (token for being both) host Don Lemon (who got fired because hey, there are more'n enough black and gay hosts to go around these days) and his involvement in one of those church stormings that the haughty liberal types seem to be all gung ho for as long as they're the ones doing it. Surprisingly enough, for once the police did their job arresting the evildoers at hand, and believe it or not but Lemon actually got arrested with the rest of the miscreants involved which is a shock considering well, even ex-CNN black and gay hosts never seem to get in trouble for things like this! Of course the guy was all over the boob tube defending himself and I really doubt that he will suffer for his dastardly deeds but still, it was nice to see the authorities stand up and do what they should have been doing for ages at least this once!

Naturally like anyone would have expected the story fizzed out faster than one of Lemon's sex acts. Tends to be the case with these sagas where good things happen to normal people and bad things to the usual brothers in butt though still, as a result I am stuck with a perhaps not-so-funny image I had AI conjure up showing Lemon's place in one of those tough prisons that still weren't tough enough to prohibit Richard Speck from getting his hormone shots. I'll print it below anyway even though, as you can tell, AI sure has a long way to go (I mean, shouldn't Lemon be smiling??? And that is supposed to be Lemon in case you didn't know because AI sure didn't):

And what else is happening other than the frigid weather that we in the tri-state area have been inundated with these past few weeks? Yeah, things are creeping around here to which I say hooray since it gives me some time to settle back and recharge my batteries (otherwise known as goofing off)  and ooze my "inner child" (what'm I talkin' about...my OUTER child!) back to age three where it belongs. Believe-you-me, I can't wait for the day when I can once again be that happy turdler type who knew when the cartoons were on, hid from the mailman, realized that dogs were our closest friends, grabbed stuff off the shelves when seated in the shopping cart, yelled for mom when I needed wiped... Well, at least I wouldn't mind returning to some of those things even though I get the sinking feeling there's gonna be a day when some underpaid harridan's gonna be changing my diapers in some dilapidated old folks home. Hope I split this world before it goes that far...

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I ought to...let me change that...I BETTER (since I doubt anyone else will) mention the recent passing of former Sister Ray/Room 101 guitarist Mark Hanley because I get the sneakin' suspicion that a few of you haven't heard. Mark really was one of the good ones, not only a great guitarist but a guy who not only treated this humble opinion-spewer like a human being despite my naturally autistic self. But even if he acted like the rest of you and gave me the what for who could deny that the guy was one fellow who helped (or at least tried) to get some much needed musical attitude back into this saggy sorry definitely anti-rock & roll area. 

I do feel somewhat all gosh golly having known Hanley, a guy who was so gracious that he even took some time to talk records and such to me one day when I was visiting his pad when his wife was kicking him out! Maybe I should have helped him pack up but you all know how much I hate physical work and besides, I was having too much fun looking through the guy's record collection and talking music with him. Sheesh, while everyone of you was going outta your way to treat me like the biggest load of number two imaginable, Mark actually treated me like some sort of equal. Perhaps he was being condescending to my subhuman cranial abilities but whatever, he was a guy who didn't turn.

Mark even got some space in the first issue of my very own crudzine back when his pre-Sister Ray group Edge City put out a cassette, one that I'm going to have to dig out one of these days and see if it still plays. Whatever, given how the loco media have undoubtedly ignored his demise I figure the man deserves something more'n just the usual passing mention.

Edge City...Mark Hanley on far left.

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Big heaping hunk thanks to INSP for finally reading this blog and taking my advice to run HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL weeknights at seven. HAVE GUN... or "Palladin" as some would call it definitely was an important series from the classic age of boob tubedom that along with GUNSMOKE and THE RIFLEMAN really succeeded in putting the big bite into the western genre and tensing it up manyfold. Yes, HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL was one great big ball of nerve-twisting horse drama that's sorely needed at least in my sometimes Quinlanesque existence and who knows, maybe some of you regular readers who actually take my opinions as gospel truth will want to tune in yourselves. It ain't like this series is being rerun on broadcast television during the early evening hours like it would have been sixtysome years back (and should be done today!) but I ain't complainin'. 

As for the show itself, I find it rather rollercoaster-y with some bright episodes intermingled between fair and even downright flatliner ones. Still, as far as dishing out that late-fifties "adult western" style that separated the men from the Giddyup Horsie fare HAVE GUN works out pretty durn well. Now if I can only get the memories of Richard Boone visiting that boy brothel in Melbourne during the filming of KANGAROO out of my head.

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My current fave tee-vee commercial : the Cinnamon Toast Crunch spot where a rogue cereal piece keeps dismembered Crunch squares—complete with eyes and horrified expressions—stored in his refrigerator Dahmer‑style. The jerk-y stop motion look adds to the creepiness of it all. Surprisingly good in that pushes my love for bad taste button sorta way.

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Now what you've been waiting for (hah!). Bought most of these if you can believe it although Paul McGarry gave me the Johnny Thunders solo burn (what else?) and Robert Forward sent me the F/i one. Once again the usual past glories are being written up because frankly, are there any glories today???

Various Artists-SKYDOG POUBELLES, THE SAMPLER STORY CD (Skydog Records, France)

Wow, another milking from the legendary Skydog brand featuring a whole load of numbers that we've all heard for years but eh, it's not too bad hearing them again. Most all of the better Skydog efforts are sampled here as well as a few of the newer signings (newer meaning turn of the century I surmise) that I am not familiar with one iota. Of those, The Michelle Gun Elephant sound like pumped up Dolls, Atom Rhumba Velvets punk funk, the Streetwalking Cheetahs somewhat new unto gnu wave but they would have sounded WONDERFUL in 1979, Sour Jazz more/less late-seventies NYC tuff, and Richmond Sluts the Dolls playing Chris Montez's "Let's Dance". Not a terrible way to spend an afternoon by any means!

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JOHNNY THUNDERS & WAYNE KRAMER'S GANG WAR! CD (Skydog/Jungle Records, England)

Some of you older fanablas might remember when this Thunders/Kramer joint venture was getting a whole load of under-the-underground press during the 70s/80s cusp. The mere sight of them in the pages of THE NEW YORK ROCKER instilled a whole lot of joy and hope for those of us who were still big on that past + present = future equation that was a pretty big part of punk rock ideology. There was a whole lotta hope and promise with this meeting of minds but the group ended in a flash and we hadda wait at least five years before any recorded efforts began to see the light of day. 

Now those various releases of a definitely bootleg variety are good, especially the one recorded live at Max's Kansas City that has that weird guy in the audience warbling along, but real deal fans will definitely want this somewhat (six-years-old in this form) release featuring choice bits from some Detroit and Toronto gigs. Songs are typically Thunderian in that hazed way that he performed throughout his career, and Kramer gets to warble "Ramblin' Rose" to please all of those old MC5 fans who were front and center since the sixties. Not only that but let me warn you that all of you precious petunias are going to wilt once you get yet another earfulla "Just Because I'm White"! Mind if I watch?

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Johnny Thunders-LIVE FROM ZURICH 1985 CD-r burn (originally on Chunklet Industries Records)

While we're on the subject, I must admit that I am somewhat surprised that Thunders was together enough to still make music with such a solid drive this late in his career. These are surprisingly entertaining tunes emanating from a pair of live broadcasts that still have a lot of that old Heartbreakers spirit, without the sound of them falling apart in front of you that is.  Nothing that I'm going to be spinning until I become wormfood, but it sure is great hearing some unadulterated mid-seventies styled punk rock back before the whole genre seemed to become hippie-fied beyond repair!

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The Misfits-THE MANNY MARTINEZ TAPES 1977 CD (Blank Records)

Know nada as to whether this thing is legit or if someone scarfed up some rare tapeage and released it themselves but whatever, THE MANNY MARTINEZ TAPES show the original pre-hardcore Misfits at the very beginning when the group were reduced to electric sync-piano, bass guitar and drums. Because of the WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT fidelity this 'un works even better what with Glenn Danzig's vocals seemingly aping Bryan Ferry as his piano provides perfect syncopatic (what else?) backdrop while drummer Manny Martinez and bassist Jerry Caifa get the beat going to propel the pulse even more. Obviously I am reminded of the Seeds. Dunno where you can snatch a copy, but I got mine through ebay and you might too.

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The Raincoats-ODYSHAPE CD (Geffen Records)

Didn't have much hope for this one. Y'know, with me keeping in mind the whole Rough Trade English Working Class Down With The Struggle Attitude From An Upper Middle-Class Vision that I'm sure the Raincoats were hosanna's for given the crowd they hung 'round with. Despite all of that dated neo-socialism, ODYSHAPE's a good spin even with everything that makes up the Raincoats' entire introverted feminist reason for being. Spinning this 'un years after having heard any of these songs reminded me of a number of things including how much I was becoming less enchanted with all of those Rough Trade records during the mid-eighties, but the weird time signatures and exotic percussive colorings does make this an album that I can wrap more than just my psyche around. It ain't rock 'n roll, but you could say the same thing about THE MARBLE INDEX. Biggest letdown : the version of "And Then It's OK" which sounded so beautiful on a 1979 live tape of mine but turns up quite jumbled here.

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F/i PART ONE AND PART TWO  TWO CD-r set

Robert Forward tells me that these recordings are bootlegs which raises the question as to who would want to bootleg F/i in the first place. But eh, if you liked the sort of sound F/i was producing ever since the early-eighties you definitely will enjoy these electronic blasts that seem to concentrate on musique concrete on the first disque and Hawkwind-inspired repeato-riffs on the other. I could even draw comparisons twixt F/i and a certain act of renown who seemed to be the best kept secret in rock 'n roll until jerks like me discovered them, but I won't.  A must have for those of you who (like me) still believe that the electronic growl of the likes of Chrome, Throbbing Gristle and various other catatonic cantata mongers were the end all as far as the entire history of sound (recorded or not) went. 

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You can buy your back issues of BLACK TO COMM here or you can get 'em for highly exaggerated prices on Ebay, whenever one happens to come up that is.  If you are one of the many who want one yet don't exactly feel like filling my coffers because of your hidebound and rigid belief systems well, why don't you swallow your pride and get one directly from the source. I mean, I'm sure you've swallowed a whole lot worse stuff in your lifetime ifyaknowaddamean...

 MOOM PITCHER REVIEW! THE KID, STARRING CHARLIE CHAPLIN AND JACKIE COOGAN (1921)

OK, I will admit that I went into this one just knowing that I was going to hate it if only because of Charlie Chaplin's status as some sort of comedic ideal that frankly hasn't been relevant to anything for years. Yeah I know as Brad Kohler would have said, I don't have to hate Chaplin just because Dick Cavett likes him but still, after all of the reams of sensitive retrospectives regarding the man's films and the fact that he was such a living god as far as cinema and comedy went to the point where he was allowed to make unfunny films for years after his shelf life expired...well things like that kinda do somethin' to a fella like me and not exactly in a positive way. All of that sophisticated NEW YORKER spin on the guy we've had to endure for years makes me want to eschew anything related to Chaplin even if it is his very early work at the Keystone studios. At least that was an era which I'll admit was the only period of the guy's career I wouldn't mind being front and center for if any film retrospectives would happen to be playing 'round these here parts.

After letting loose of all of my anti-Chaplin prejudices (at least temporarily) I decided to dive head first into this much lauded feature of his and---uh---well, maybe this film wasn't the revival movie theatre beret and stale Doritos affair I sure thought it would be!  It wasn't anything that I would praise to high heaven hallelujah and hosanna-style true, but I managed to sit through the entire film while being able to eke out some enjoyment which is more than I can say about some of the current offal passing as cutting edge entertainment I may have caught a glimpse of.

THE KID is undoubtedly an early-twenties dish-it-out comedy/melodrama typical of the time, the kind of film that would soon go out of style by the end of the decade when the old guard would get wooshed away with a crop of new stars reducing 'em all to supporting roles in some East Side Kids film. It begins with a young woman, played by longtime Chaplin somethingorother Edna Purviance, being released from the Home for Unwed Mothers  carrying her new package so-to-speak into an uncertain world. Boy can you see all of the heartstring-tugging that went into that opening...I guess people felt sorry for sluts and bastards even way back a century ago. Anyway Purviance, in a fit of conflicting emotions, leaves the little stranger in the back of some ritzy limo which gets swiped, and when the culprits discover the turdling in the back they do the right thing, mainly drop it in a decrepit alleyway right next to the garbage. But as you and everyone else watching this would expect, Purviance has a change of heart and wants her bundle of not-so-joy back but hey, it's too late sister. Anyway it serves you right dumping the thing in the first place!

Now's the part where Chaplin, once again ramming his little tramp persona into the ground, finds the baby and after trying to pawn him off and even considering tossing him down the sewer does the worst thing imaginable and raises the foundling himself. Five years later the kid turns out to be budding child star Jackie Coogan and of course the two get into the usual romps and tumbles (including the old one where Coogan breaks windows and Chaplin steps in to repair them gag), all culminating in the part where the welfare agency takes the kid away in what I guess is a real tearjerker of a scene given how a whole slew of documentaries love showing it repeatedly.  Everything eventually come to the kind of a head you would expect from a 1921 silent film custom made to make the sophisticados chitchat over while the suburban slobs have a good laff at all the pratfalls they've been seeing from Chaplin for a good seven years already.

Overall it ain't a bad film, but there's a slick veneer of art and culture here that might have worked with DW Griffith although with Chaplin it all seems too "Victorian" and perhaps what I would call "stilted". Like its trying way too hard to elicit the proper emotions which might have worked with some, but definitely not with me or undoubtedly even you. I mean, I am a guy who is still wowed and devastated by Griffith's BROKEN BLOSSOMS in my own cornball aw shucks way, but I had a real hard time enjoying the gags and felt no emotion for Chaplin, Coogan or Purviance...sheesh, but I probably couldn't have cared less what happens to the protagonists who could have fallen off a cliff for all I care.

Let's face it, despite what all of you aging film buffs and pointy-heads believe in your black heart of hearts, by this time in his career Chaplin was bigger than life and him making THE KID was pretty much akin to John Lennon recording IMAGINE...that was a rather middling album with a few downright turdburgers tossed in (if there were any enjoyable tracks on that one I'm not sure...it was so long since I last heard it) but who other than some fanzine punks or maybe some gonzoid writer of the day would want to go out on a cliff and admit it?

When it comes to silent era comedic pathos I'll take a short like MOVE ALONG that was released by Educational Pictures a good five years later. This one starred a way lesser known comedian, Lloyd Hamilton who was great at playing a flubdub-like character, and who out there in readerland who hadda search for work mostly in vain and was one step from being kicked out on the street couldn't jibe with the frustration (humorous at that) which the down and out Hamilton goes through here. I dunno 'bout you, but I find MOVE ALONG a film that succeeds with all of the button pushing that THE KID does, only way better because it doesn't come off like it's trying to be Tiffany's. More or less the bargain basement where all the real good items can be found.

Even the dream sequences seen in both films are an important filmic lesson...the one in THE KID had nothing to do with the plot and only works for me because we get to see Chaplin tempted by the oh-so-obviously underage Lita Grey who I'd bet was doing the dirty deed with Chaplin even then long before he eventually knocked her up good and hard four years later. At least the dream sequence in MOVE ALONG works as an essential part of the story showing Hamilton and the woman he loves from afar in a brief oasis from a life of downright failure and frustration. Find out for yourself whether I'm once again on-target or flopping like a fish out of its elements since I posted both films below...as the old saying goes, YOU be the judge and knowing you guys well, have you never NOT missed an opportunity to cut me way down to size like you've all been doing lo these many years?